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aoioozora · 17 hours

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Simon.

Part 9

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @keiraslayz

@iimichie @mxtokko @chocolate-noodles @akurab @xoxobooksstuff

The waterfall, as expected, was a small one, but no less delightful to see. The falling water cascaded in a white, bubbly froth over the mossy rocks that naturally arranged themselves in steps, and spilled into the large plunge pool below. The rush of water, the chirp of birds, and the rustle of trees in the breeze relaxed everyone…

Except Johnny.

Restless as he was, he immediately threw off his t-shirt and cannonballed into the water to have a dip, making a splash that almost rivalled a meteor falling into the sea. The ladies, who were washing the sweat off their faces by the banks, were victims of this mini tsunami.

“John! Stop splashing around so much!” screeched Lindsey, her face flushed with annoyance as she watched him doggy paddle in the deeper part of the plunge pool.

But that only provoked him to splash around some more and laugh at the annoyed look on her face. “C’mon, dinna fash yersel. It's a braw day, have some fun!” he chortled as he dove and resurfaced, mimicking a shark.

Simon watched Johnny's antics in the water and wanted to get in for a swim too, but hesitated. If it weren’t for the ladies, his shirt would be off and he’d be in the water in an instant.

“Are you gonna swim, Ghosty?” asked Gaz, who had also taken off his t-shirt and was doing a couple stretches before he could take a dip.

“No, I’m fine.” Simon shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You sure, mate?” Gaz’s eyes flickered briefly towards the ladies as he leaned close to whisper, “You know you can show off those guns to her, right?”

He glanced at ____, who was now sitting on some rocks next to Lindsey, having their feet dipped in the water. He could take Gaz’s advice and he knew his body was impressive, but other things about his torso made him conscious.

“Come on, don’t be such a pussy,” Gaz nudged Simon’s arm, smirking, “She’ll like it. And besides, you don't want her to be taken by someone else, do you? Might as well show her that body and secure her, yeah?”

That flipped the switch for him.

“Right then, fuck it.” He instantly took off his shirt and threw it aside.

The two then climbed up the rocks by the banks and dove into the water to join Johnny. While Lindsey was busy now secretly giggling watching the Scotsman, ____ got her once in a lifetime opportunity to see Simon with far less clothes than usual.

Except for the pair of his knee-length shorts, he was naked. His skin was pale except the slight tan on his arms and upon his pecs were etched a few more tattoos similar to the sleeve tattoo on his arm. His body was built and muscular like that of an active soldier or a firefighter, with broad shoulders, well built pectoral and abdominal muscles, and built arms. All his muscles were built to be usable and not for display, and he actually looked strong.

She stared, borderline ogled even, scanning every last bit of his exposed torso, wondering about how strong he was and how much he could carry without breaking a sweat. Of course, all of this was precious information that Frederick would inherit.

“Babe, look at them!” Lindsey nudged ____ out of her reverie to direct her sight to the fun that the men were having.

Simon and Johnny managed to find two large sticks and, pretending to be mediaeval swordsmen… or gladiators engaged in a duel, both screaming “En garde!” and “you fool!” at each other as they clashed sticks. Gaz was busy filming it all and egging them on to fight.

“Boys will be boys,” remarked Lindsey with a chuckle as she too took a video of them. “Men find stick, men play with stick, men happy,” she added, looking at her friend to hear her thoughts.

But ____ didn't hear a word Lindsey said. She was far too busy storing her mental database with the sights of the men frolicking, stick-fighting, and throwing water at each other.

The sight that took the cake was Simon's smile. It wasn't his usual polite little smiles or his teasing smirks, but a full-blown grin of pure enjoyment and happiness. She watched the way his cheeks, flushed with exertion, raised up to his eyes; how his nose crinkled. His laughter was a loud roar, surprisingly, louder than those of his two friends. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she rested her chin on her knee and watched Simon with a dreamy eye, completely taken in by how handsome his genuine laughter made him, yet another thing for Frederick to inherit.

“I caught a fesh!” came Johnny's scream after some minutes of brawling in the pool. The two ladies looked and indeed, the Scotsman was found standing in the middle of the water holding up a huge, writhing fish in his hands like it was a trophy. “Oi Gaz, take ma picture! I need tae put this on ma Instagram.”

“Bruv, did you catch that with your bare hands?” exclaimed Gaz as he came up with his camera, taking a couple photos while the Scotsman waded towards the banks, posing with his prized catch. Johnny announced that he did, and then explained his unorthodox process.

“Your bum’s out the window,” Simon, who now joined them, decided to let Johnny know that he wasn’t making any sense.

“Say it in a Sco’ish accent, mate,” Johnny piped, smirking, “It’s ‘yer bum’s oot the windae’,”

“Right then, it looks like we're having fish and chips for lunch today.”

“Fuckin’ pussy,” Johnny teased, rolling his eyes.

The men decided to emerge from the water and call the ladies to prepare to return to the cabin. As they trudged back, Johnny excitedly showed off his catch to Lindsey, who he found out wasn't very keen on fish. The Scotsman, taking full advantage of it, would try to sneakily touch her arm with the cold, wet fish, making her squirm and shiver. Johnny and Gaz lightheartedly teased her for being averse to a dead fish, but she didn’t find it funny at all.

After they reached the cabin, Simon immediately hit the shower, and Johnny and Gaz helped the ladies unload the car. Johnny had the ladies take all of their personal belongings inside the cabin and encouraged them to explore when they were done. And so they did.

The interiors were filled with the pleasant scent of aged wood mixed with the musty smell of dust, which made Lindsey open the uncurtained windows to let in some fresh air. The small living room had two plastic covered couches in the center, facing each other. Across was a clean furnace and mantel made with stone, empty, clean, and undecorated. On their left was a moderately sized kitchen equipped with basic tools and vessels, and on their right were two empty bedrooms which the ladies wandered into. One king sized bed sat in each room, and one bathroom united both the rooms in the middle. The bathroom was occupied by Simon, who was busy washing himself inside after the swim.

When he had finished and was dressed in fresh clothes, he threw his bath towel over his wet head and was about to step out when he overheard the ladies talking.

“Oh, where is my camera when I need it?” he heard ____ exclaim.

There was a pause, and then a surprised quip from Lindsey, “What’s this, why’d you bring your Little Simon?”

Bigger Simon had to do a double take.

Deathly curious to know what this ‘Little Simon’ was, he cracked open the door slightly and peeked out. He saw a stuffed toy in Lindsey’s hand, a skeleton plush, the very one he won for ____ at the arcade.

His eyes widened slightly. His heart picked up speed. “She calls it Little Simon?”

He wasn’t sure what to even feel, but he definitely felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. “But why?” And then he remembered that it was probably because of his skull printed mask, the motorcycle gloves, and his tattoos.

“I kinda can’t seem to go anywhere without him,” he heard ____ say softly in response to Lindsey, sounding a little shy as she took the soft toy from her friend’s hand and stuffed it back in her backpack and continued looking for her camera.

“You have the real man himself, and you’ll be around him until tomorrow morning,” Lindsey answered with a teasing smirk.

“I know, I know,” ____ chuckled, “But still, I have a bit of an attachment to this little guy.”

“Because he gave it to you,” Lindsey playfully shoved her friend’s shoulder. “You know, I might be a little reconciled to you two being a thing, especially after he helped you hike today.”

____ smiled at that. “I’m glad to have your approval, mum.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lindsey rolled her eyes, also smiling.

Simon, in the meantime, had to keep himself from punching the wall to keep his joy at bay. Although he shouldn’t have eavesdropped, he still gained valuable insight on ____’s feelings for him. His cheeks flushed red, his chest felt like it was going to explode, and an uncontrollable smile tugged his lips until the muscles in his face felt sore.

“Let's fucking go!” Simon clenched his fists, smirking triumphantly, “Alejandro, you absolute fucking loser.”

The ladies soon found the camera, took their photos and then stepped outside the room. Only then did Simon finally step out, exhaling heavily and pressing his damp bath towel on his warm face to cool it down.

He gingerly stepped out of the room, pausing to hear if the ladies were still around. It was silent. Exhaling again, he promptly stepped outside to find out what everyone was up to. Johnny and Gaz were setting up the tent, and the ladies were helping them secure the pegs in the ground.

“Ghosty!” Johnny called as soon as Simon was out the front door, “Can ye chop up some wood? We need tae get the fire pit burning.”

“Aye,” Simon nodded, giving his damp hair one last ruffle to dry it before hanging it up on the drying rack on the porch and turning around the corner to go to the woodshed at the back.

Gaz decided it was his turn to take a shower and left the tent with Johnny and the ladies. Johnny, feeling a little cheeky, told ____, “Why don’ ye help Simon out with the wood? Lindsey and I can pitch the tent by ourselves.”

She immediately picked up the hint. “Alright, then,” she said with a half-smile, leaving the two by themselves.

As soon as she was gone, Johnny asked, smirking as he pretended to adjust the tent cloth on the rods, “What’s the craic, hen?”

“Nothing much,” she answered, shrugging.

“I’m offended ye didn’t like ma catch,” he said playfully, enjoying her reactions to him just existing.

“I don’t even like fesh!” she exclaimed, her own Scottish accent unexpectedly slipping in between her normally spoken RP accent.

Johnny was pleasantly surprised by the slip. “Yer Sco’ish?” he asked, sounding amused.

Her fair face flushed red with embarrassment, which confused Johnny somewhat. “Yeah, what’s it to you?” she asked, glaring at him.

“Nothin’,” he answered, unable to suppress a curious smirk at her reaction, “Ye hid it well. Pretendin’ tae be Sassenach, are ye?”

“No, I was raised in England.”

“An’ ye dinnae have no Sco’ish accent at all? From your parents?”

“I got rid of it.”

His patriotic self raised a brow at this. “How so?” He asked, “Are ye embarrassed of it?”

She sighed heavily, crossing her arms. “Yes.” He begged her to tell him why this was so and she answered with, “I got made fun of very early on,” she absentmindedly twirled a lock of her wavy hair around her finger, “and so I shed it and spoke in RP.”

“Who made fun of ye?” Johnny demanded with a raised brow, sounding offended for her.

“Oh, just some lads back in school.” She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively.

Johnny growled under his breath, annoyed. “They’re aff their heid!” he exclaimed, “Fuckin’ eejits dinnae ken how bonny our accent is.”

Lindsey had to admit that she felt a little warmed by how offended he was on her behalf.

“Many of them played with my feelings too, especially if they noticed I had a crush on one of them. They made fun of my red hair and me being Scottish, and mimicked my accent. I have no idea why they didn't like any of it,” she added, suddenly feeling the odd, tingly feeling of anxiety a closed-off person gets when they open up unexpectedly.

Johnny was positively furious. “Tha’ so?” he said, crossing his arms, “Then ye don’ need tae be runnin’ after those bloody twats, ye ken? Whit ye need is a real Sco’ish man. He wouldnae take the mick outta ye.”

Lindsey blinked in surprise at this speech, feeling another bout of warmth in her chest. She chuckled and asked, crossing her arms, “And where am I to find a man like this?”

A smirk tugged the corner of Johnny’s lip. “Right in front of ye, pet,” he said, putting a hand on his puffed chest, “I’m yer man and I ken how tae love ye.”

“Bold words,” answered Lindsey, impressed by his confidence.

He shook his head. “If only a Sco'ish man can appreciate a bonny Sco'ish lass like ye,” he flirted, sizing her up and down to bask in her beauty, “then he sure as hell can love her.”

The lady couldn't help but blush and smile at this. She had to admit that he was winning her, but not quite yet.

“I'm not convinced yet. How will I know for sure you'll treat me right and keep it that way?” she challenged, smiling playfully.

“I’ve been askin’ ye tae go oan a date with me, but ye just want tae talk, talk, talk first.” He sarcastically rolled his eyes and flapped his joined fingers to mimic yapping. “I think it’s enough talkin’, yeah? Time to go oan a date an’ see me in action. Whit ye say, pet?”

“Alright, fine,” she relented, “But I have high expectations, so don’t disappoint me.” The smile lingered as she crossed her arms.

He returned her smile, happy to be challenged. “Yer wish is my command.”

To keep his wet hair from troubling him, Simon pulled out a black bandana from his pocket, folded it up oblong and tied it around his forehead. Just as he was about to enter the woodshed, he heard ___ call as she emerged from behind the wall.

“Simon, do you need-” Her words stopped in their tracks when she saw him sporting the bandana, clearly a new look she hadn't seen on him before.

“Need what?” he asked, turning to face her.

She gulped harshly and then croaked out, “...Help?”

“I don’t, but do you want to help?” He turned back to the woodshed and pulled out a log of wood and a splitting axe.

“Yeah,” she answered, watching him place the log of wood on a tree stump that functioned as a chopping block.

He turned back to the woodshed and brought out a small wooden stool, which he handed to her. He then pointed slightly afar off, smiling. “You can sit still over there and look pretty for me.”

She chuckled, “So far away?”

“I’ll be swinging an axe, darling. It’s not gonna be safe for anyone to stay nearby. If you want to watch, it’s best if you stay far away.” He rested the axe head down on the grass, allowing the long handle to lean against his leg while he rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt above his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms.

She took his advice and the stool, and sat across from him, far away for her safety but near enough to talk to him. She watched as he adjusted his sleeves, spread his legs apart slightly, and wiped his hands on his jeans before taking hold of the axe. Placing one hand below the axe head and the other at the butt end, he raised it over his head, twisting his torso slightly and brought it down with all his strength, splitting the wood in half with a satisfying thwack.

She watched him both carefully and dreamily, observing his motions and form as he split the wood; it would be useful information. A sigh escaped her lips, marvelling at his range of vocations; he was a car mechanic, a gardener, and now a lumberjack, and who knew what else was in his repertoire of practical talents. A plumber? An electrician? Her attraction towards him was increasing at an alarming rate, and even Simon could see it in the way she stared at him.

He exhaled, feeling another flutter in his stomach. Every single instance of her interest in him convinced him further and deeper that she preferred him over anyone else, all of it now piling up into a heap in his mind.

The silence was thick, and her staring relentless, and he felt suffocated (in a good way). He wanted to start a conversation but felt his throat go dry. What would he even talk about? He began to sift through the recesses of his mind for a conversation starter.

“Your skelly plush,” he finally began, his voice a little too unstable for his liking, “You seem to like it a lot. I always see it on your Instagram stories.”

“Yeah, I do, it’s cute,” she admitted.

As he split the loose piece of wood with his hand and tossed aside the smaller piece, he couldn’t help but smile at this indirect compliment she was unknowingly paying him.

“He’s your emotional support plushie then?” Simon asked teasingly as he adjusted the larger piece of the split wood on the stump to split it down again.

“He is,” she answered, gazing again as he swung down the axe. “He motivates me to write.”

“Does that mean I motivate you to write?” he wondered as he threw aside the split wood and placed the next log on the chopping block.

“Speaking of writing,” he began, swinging the axe down, “How’s the novel coming along? You said that there were problems with the male lead.”

“Yeah, there was…” she answered, but her voice trailed off when she watched as he yanked out the axe head lodged in the tight crack of the log, dug his fingers in the said crack, and with a grunt, split the wood with his bare hands, letting out a heavy sigh at the end of it.

A delightful tingle coursed through her lower regions, making her press her thighs together and her cheeks flush. Did she just ovulate? If societal norms didn't exist, she'd already be asking him to split her legs apart. Maybe she was in the ovulation part of her cycle.

“This is juicy,” she thought, covering her mouth slightly to hide the embarrassed smile creeping on her face. Frederick was going to be one hell of a man.

Simon in the meantime, not looking at her, turned the split log of wood around to land another blow on it, all the while thinking, “Did she see it?” But when he stole a glance, she was looking elsewhere. He sighed, raising the axe one last time to split the last log of wood they needed.

“What were you saying, love?” He remembered that she stopped mid-sentence.

“Oh,” she blinked, now gulping harshly to keep her sudden spurt of lust at bay, “Yeah, the male lead. I've thankfully gotten a nice fitting model for him to base his character off of, and so far, it's coming along great.”

“Who's the model, then?” he asked, now gathering the pieces of wood and keeping them aside.

She struggled, looking this way and that as she tried to think of someone’s name to say. “Uh, Alejandro,” she spat out. “Fuck, why did I say that?!”

Simon froze for a split second. “Oh, I see,” he said through his teeth, feeling the full force of disappointment and jealousy hit him like a train. Even the delightful little pile of evidence of her interest in him felt like they were given a harsh, vigorous shake as if to say in warning, “Don't get your hopes up.”

He was glad that his back was turned to her because he felt a painful twinge in his chest strong enough to make his eyes narrow and his lips to frown. “Why'd I even bother?”

Swallowing down all his ill feelings, he collected his composure and the wood in his hands and tucked some under his arm. “We're done here. Let's go,” he said, his voice a hint icy and sharp, though he tried to sound casual and normal.

He did a good job at hiding it, because she didn't notice the subtle shift in his tone.

“Let me carry some,” she offered, now standing and walking up to him.

“No, you might get a splinter,” he reasoned.

She frowned. “Come on, please? Let me help,” she begged.

Simon usually could refuse anyone’s help point-blank, and he could be petty and refuse her rudely, but at the sight of her pleading eyes staring at him, he nearly melted. Though he felt bitter, his tender regard for her didn't falter in the slightest. He still didn't want her delicate hands to get hurt, so he turned back to the woodshed again and brought out a pair of gloves. “Wear these first,” he instructed.

Her face beamed as she took the gloves and put them on. Only when she did did he give her a lighter load of the split wood to carry.

He was silent as they carried the wood to the fire pit, but only one thought filled his mind, “Why am I jealous? She's the author. She can choose whoever she wants as a model for her characters. Maybe the male lead is like Alejandro.” And yet, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed and embarrassed by the fact that he thought himself highly enough to be a model for any character in her work. After all, “she went to Alejandro first to discuss the male lead. It’s not any wonder she would choose someone like him.”

By the time they had dropped the wood into the fire pit, they found nobody outside. After starting a fire, the two entered the cabin and found Lindsey and Gaz in the kitchen, prepping the ingredients for lunch while Johnny's bathroom concert made nice background music.

They joined in and Johnny joined soon after. Johnny was in such high spirits that he couldn't stop singing, either under his breath or out loud. He very openly flirted with Lindsey, who was both flattered and offended by it, since she would've preferred him to be more discreet. Gaz and ____ egged Johnny on simply because they wanted to be entertained, but Simon was by himself, silent, sullen, and annoyed by all the noise.

When ____ had her fill of fun, she leaned over to Simon who was busy dicing up some tomatoes. “Simon,” she called.

“Hm?” He responded, his eyes fixated on the tomatoes, not willing to meet her eye.

“You told me that Johnny was a bit of a womaniser,” she said, her voice quiet and a hint worried as she took a bottle of dried peppercorns and tried to open it.

“Yeah, I did.” he answered, watching her trying to pry the tight lid open.

“I'm a bit worried about Lindsey. I hope Johnny won't raise her hopes up too high and break her heart. She seems to really like him.” She grunted, shaking her aching, red hand, still unsuccessful.

His jaw clenched slightly. “You're worried about her and yet you openly support them,” he quipped, taking the bottle from her and twisting the tight lid open easily. He handed the bottle back.

She smiled gratefully at him as she took the bottle and poured out a couple of peppercorns into a small mortar. “Yeah, I kinda do support them, and I think they look great together, but I'm still worried about how Johnny will treat Lindsey long term.”

Simon was silent for a moment, now staring back at the tomatoes that he mindlessly turned into a mush from dicing too much. “What do you want me to do, darling?” he asked.

“I want you to find out if he genuinely likes her,” she said, now in a whisper, now crushing the pepper into a coarse powder with the pestle, “Lindsey… she's more delicate than most people even if she doesn't show it, and she's easily swayed by her emotions too. I would not tolerate it if he broke her heart just for shits and giggles.”

Simon could hear the bitterness in her voice, and from the look on her face, he could tell that she was reliving some experiences. He was tempted to be petty again, but decided against it. He bumped her shoulder gently with his arm in an attempt to reassure her.

“Don't worry, darling. I’ll find out.”

End of Part 9.

Part 10 coming soon :)

This chapter was so hard yet so fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it! As always, leave a comment if you want to be added to my taglist. Thank youu xoxo

Also, you can follow this fic on the tag (#Simon series), which you can find below!

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truetogaia · 3 months

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just thinking and crying over the way simon would continue to refer to you as “his girl” even after your sudden passing.

he would talk about you as if you were still alive whenever relationships came up in conversation. and he’d be so reluctant to allow anyone, even his respected comrades, to try and comfort him.

“yeah, me n my girl have been together for years now. she’s everything. all i’ve got, ya know?”

he would make sure to always keep your resting place full of life. Whether that was by planting your favorite plant, and naming it after you, or always keeping it filled with bouquets of your favorite flowers. and he’d always take your beloved pet that you left behind to go see you.

“did you miss mommy, p/n? i bet our girl missed you so much.” and he’d smile sadly when your baby showed signs of recognizing your grave. his heavy hand petting it comfortingly “so excited to see her today, yeah?”

cod masterlist

#in my crying era #drabbles #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost angst #simon riley angst #ghost x reader #cod angst #cod fluff #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff

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yawnderu · 4 months

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''You're doing the thing!'' Your excited expression causes a small smile to tug at his lips, his warm hand pressing on the back of your head as he settles you down on his chest again.

''Don't know what you're talking about.'' He forces you to keep your head on his chest to stop you from seeing the way he's trying not to laugh, playing dumb.

''Go back to sleep, love. 'S making you delusional.'' You roll your eyes yet still decide to listen to him, letting your body relax and take in the warmth that comes from his bare body. You're about to drift off to sleep before you feel it against your cheek— his chest flexing, pecs tensing up and becoming more defined under his skin a few times until he releases the tension with a stifled chuckle as he feels you trying to look at him.

''You did it again!''

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bagofshinyrocks · 5 months

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Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?”

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips.

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room.

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

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simonzmama · 20 days

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creds: @plutism

‘magining simon helpin his pretty girl shave after he’s knocked you tf up

he’s heard you callin from the bathroom, panic settling into his chest like a heavy weight as he bursts through the door. yet, you’re sitting on the edge of the tub, rob thrown over your bare body messily as you stare up at him with sweet lil sad eyes.

which is how he got to where he was now, kneeling on the tub floor with his head between your wide thighs. his left hand digs into the soft, healthy meat on your thigh as his right gently drags the razor over the patch of pretty hair resting on your pubic bone.

he’s so gentle it makes your heart swoon, stomach fillin with nausea n heart pumpin with nothing but love for this sweet man.

his left hand slides down your thigh to peel your lips apart, his hand steady as he shaves you clean. he’d be murmuring soft praises n leaves light kisses to your knee trying to get you as comfy as he can. (def has a smile on his face the whole mf time too)

“want me to get your legs for you too, hon?” ‪‪❤︎‬

pls cuz he’d be so sweet, no embarrassment wich your mannnn!!

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soap-ify · 4 months

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thinking about laying beside simon on the bed, your head resting on his shoulder while his hands held a book that you had gifted him, his eyes fixed on the text.

your fingers absentmindedly traced over the scars on his chest, letting your soft fingertips draw over the rough sunken skin of the healed gashes — a painful story written in each of them. and you wanted to read it all, read every scar and cut, kiss all of it, absorb it so you could share it with him — a connection only you’d ever have with him.

your fingers slowly found their way to his stomach, hand caressing the muscles that had softened up ever since he had come home from deployment, your eyes noticing the stretch marks starting on the sides of his tummy that you adored so much. pale lines adorning his skin, urging you to probe them too, your hand touching him so gently — an angel soothing a wounded soldier.

simon is gorgeous, too gorgeous. he never seemingly saw it the way you did. “you’re so pretty…” you lazily whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder.

you were the warmth his cold heart sought, the fire that melted him, the sun that gave his moon the light he never thought he’d see. he needed you in the way a man needed a god, in a way a plant yearned for water. and you were happy to give it all to him, everything for your sweet simon.

“you tryin’ to tickle me, love?” his gruff voice broke you out of your trance, your eyes finding his which were no longer looking at the book, an intrigued grin playing on his lips that made you giggle heartedly and give his stomach some pats.

“maybe.”

#teared up while writing this because he really is so beautiful :( sobs shakes #im a simon with stretchmarks truther !!!#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod fluff #call of duty #rurufic

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chaosandmarigolds · 8 hours

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Among the Bullets

Chapter 2 Part 2

Summary: You're a transfer mechanic for a task force which you know nothing about, and while trying to figure out your standing with each of the members you begin to realize you may be over your head. (Evental romance, He just sucks at flirting, but he is trying bear with meee)

Warnings?: jealousy? Body descriptions, nothing really.

With a defeated huff you set the tablet down, leaning back in the chair was that was worse for wear. The light from the screen being the only real light source of the room, the hours of searching for a file you knew would be under the most secure of networks left you with a file that was more crossed out than not. A file you, of all people, should have access to. Yet perhaps the other people that was on that team thought not, and some part of you agreed with that.

After anothe few hours toying away in the hangar you had told yourself it was high time for an actual break, so you had gone to the mess hall, spending the thirty minutes pulling apart what you thought was a roll and reading over the briefing file for the up coming operation. Seemed easy enough, although there were a few things that were crossed out, so you assumed that was on a need to know basis. Even with all of the black ink covering the words in the upcoming operation, it didn’t hold a light to the scribbled out words of the past- a past you were now trying to uncover for your sake of mind.

The way that the captain had referenced this, that mission, as if he knew the details you hadn’t been given until you had blood on your hands- he had information you wouldn’t ever be given. And you had been there. You were stay on the slow moving fan above you, mind whirling with questions you had buried deep down, just as you were about to doze off into a light slumber a knock came to the door, heavy set of hands yet a soft knock- enough to startle you

“Hi!”

You blink to the change of light and see the kind looking girl in front of you, bit taller, holding a duffle bag like the one they had given you in her clutch. Her blonde hair neatly slicked back into a bun and her eyes giddy if not fatigued. When you see her you give her a little smile, “Can I help you?” Maybe that was a bit rude but she didn’t seem taken back by it.

“Um, the- the guy with the mask- like the halloween one?- He said I’ll be sleeping here.”

Oh. A roommate. Lovely. While you try to hide your ghost of a smile from her words while speaking about the lieutantle you look her up and down, clean clothes, ironed even, white blouse tucked into a clean pair of khakis, black riding boots. She…if it was able to say, was the exact opposite of you. With a few moments you nod and open the door some more, rubbing your eyes.

“You must be the mechanical engineer for the operation, I’m chemical engineering” She chirps in response and looks around, setting her bag on the sofa, which would be your bed as you would insist she take the actual bunk. Being a scientist would explain a lot of things, such as her apparence. To that you hum, and she noticed your uneasy expression from the doorway, “Louise. My name is Doctor Lousie Johnson.” ‘

“You actually say doctor?” That was what you said, which was most likely not the best thing to say but it was you had. Sure, techimcally you ahd your doctorate degree, but the idea of introducing yourself like that made you cringe. So as the silence crept, you shrugged, introducing yourself with a shake of the hand, “And technically I’m a mechanic for the operation.”

Louise tilted her head, carefully taking out the tablet she had been given, her touch delicate, “Ah. Well in the briefing document they said engineer.” Her eyes lit up as she looks back up to you, “Oh! On that note can I have access to your notes on-”

“Eh, Tink-”

You spin on your heels as you hear the scotts voice interrupting your thoughts and the words Lousise was speaking, looking at him as he was half knocking on the door. He flashes a smile to Lousie, and then looks back to you, “Goin to the bar with Si and Kyle, you’re comin.”

With a frown you retort, “I try not to drink the night before I have something important to do.”

“Nows the bes time to drink,” He frowns to that, his eyebrows furrowing, “Si said to drag ya if needed, so gimme y’er arm.”

You tilt your head with an exasperated look and turn your head as Louise bites back a little laugh, the woman quieting as you give her a glare, her hand clasped over her mouth and eyes scrunched up in laughter. Without missing a beat you look back to the man, “I’m not going to the bar, Sergeant.”

You sit in the booth, sipping the shirley temple as you read over the document for the thousanth time. It wasn’t anything special, the group was mostly sitting at the bar, chatting away with the doctor- who was aptly very quickly nicknamed ‘Doc’ You didn’t quite care for bars, however everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves- at least everyone expect for the Lieutentant, who somewhat mimicked your own posture but at the bar top. It wasn’t as if you were paying attention though, because that would be crazy, why on earth would you be watching-

About seventy percent of your attention was on the group you had isolated yourself from, how they laughed, how Lousie just clicked. It was idootic, you would most likely never see these men again in your life, nor her, after this operation, yet here you were feeling some sort of elementary school rejection. You were on a job, you were getting paid a decent chunk of money for this, and not to mention there were about a billion other factors which motivated your actions. With another sip of the drink you look away and to your tablet again, wiping off the oil smudge you had been too lazy to care about till then.

“Ya know its not safe for a lady to be out here alone,” a voice snapped you out of your trance, yet ther voice had no real body, you figured out it was coming from the person one booth over.

A quick glance back to the group, who were laughing with their backs to you, you bring your lips to your drink, speaking slowly and hushed, “You can say Hi like a normal person, Jack.”

A gruff laugh, and while you can’t see his face the rain covered grey hoodie was enough to confirm it was him- after all, you bought him that hoodie a few moments go by and you can hear him take a long swig of what you would guess was rum, “They want an update.”

A long silence and you take a breath, hands looping around the glass as you think, “Can’t give them one yet, they haven’t told me anything…important, no location, time, nothing, they told me to be ready for anything and to dress warm.” You look around and then clear your throat, “They did ask if I was comfortable with 4320s.”

“The tracktor?” He almost aughed, and for a spilt second you could almost see his smile before you replied.

“Urals 4320s, dumbass.” You snipped back playfully, and look down to your glass, getting lost in thought for the millionth of a second, and when you looked up you noticed the luetiant looking at you, eyes narrowed, with a wary gulp you wave.

Somehow, you had been given the task of dragging the ‘somewhat’ buzzed doctor back to your room, with a arm under her, aggravatingly small, torso you lead her through the hangar. Listening to the ‘buzzed’ words as she spoke, now, you wouldn’t lie- she seemed like a sweet girl, kind, and very smart in her field- if not a bit dense socially, most likely the only thing you both had in common. Yet there was something that rubbed you the wrong way, and perhaps it was your one jealousy.

She was what your parents wanted for you, perfect hair, perfect body, clothes, smile, eyes, makeup, all of it, she reeked of perfection. The worst part was that you couldn’t be upset at her for it, she was too kind. “I think- I think they’re nice.”

“Mmmhm,” You nod slowly as you kick the door to the room open, and that had been your go to response to anything the woman had to say, a quick mmhm and a nod, or maybe just a little lifeless laugh that would trigger her own chaotic giggles. Now, this was technically a task you had taken upon yourself, the boys had offered and you knew deep down they wouldn’t have done anything- but the ‘girl code’ was ingrained into your blood. So, with a roll of the eyes you took her back to the room, which now left you there.

“The scary one is-is funny,” She stumbles out as you sit her down on the bunk, a hand on the top of the head to keep her from hitting her head, her eyes going over your emotionless expression, and she hums, “But he was looking at you.”

“You’re drunk, shut up.” You snip and then kneel down, taking off the boots with tough pulls which would get you a grumble and a scold, that you couldn’t care enough about. It took about ten minutes of standing by the bed and shoving her back down before she finally relented and stayed down, so you hum once she was out. So you push yourself up to stand, walking over to the desk, grabbing your bag and pulling out the tablet.

The faint light in the bottom of it catching your eye, so you frown and grab the flip phone, double checking the door was locked as you lean against it, looking over the message.

Mission is in Poland- dress warm. Be safe.

The contact name stung in your mind, Jackson. Unshokcing that they would have him be your contact, nonetheless, made your blood run cold every time you thought of him, much less when you spoke to him less than two hours before.

You too, okay?

You stood outside the office for a solid few moments after you knocked before you heard the voice telling you to come in, and just as you remembered it was dimly lit, and the harsh smell of the smoke hung in the air. With an exaggerated clear of the throat you look to the captain, “Good morning, Sir.”

He motions for you to sit down, which you dismiss the offer with a shake of the head, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have a few questions.”

The man seemed to almost expect this and he nods, “About the doctor.”

“Why a chemical engineer? From my experience-”

“This isn’t about your experience. You were chosen for this operation, that should tell you everything you need to know, solider.”

You stare at the captain for a long moment, the words rubbing you the wrong way, they way he was relaxed making your blood boil, “I am not a solider. I will never be a solider and I will not be treated as such, I am consult and I demand some information on this operation aside from the vests I will be wearing and the truck I am expected to ride on. A chemical engineer and a mechanical one all in one op leads me to the assumption that is like operation that was lead on March 20th 2018 and I will need that information if you expect me to proceed.”

Price stayed quiet as you spoke, seeming to take your words with a shaker of salt, which he prayed you would be thankful for, “You have all the information you need, as does Doctor Johnson.”

With a scoff you go on, “With all due repsect-”

“That will be all.” He interrupted you, his gaze hard and he holds out his arm for the door, “You are dismissed.”

“Did you get an’ sleep?”

The voice snapped you out of your train of thought, zipping up your bag and you look up to the lieutant, giving him a brief laugh. Maybe to ease your own nerves, sure everything you were about to do made your blood run cold but the sight of a man who might as well just be a ghost at that point seemed to do nothing for them. He lived up to the callsign. It was four hours before you would go on the transport, for the operation to actually begin, and you were getting all of the things you thought you would need- however they didn’t tell you what you would need, so you were going in blind.

“Enough, sir.” You respond with an equally amount of lackluster.

He looked you up and down, the uniform they had given you to wear was ironed and clean- unlike what you would normally wear. “You’ll be fine, yeah?”

With a quick glance up to him you hum, and you look around, eyes landing on Lousie as she chatted up Johnny and Kyle and you look to the Lieutant, “With all due respect I need to know why we need a chemist. I need to know what I’m walking into.” It wasn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the words spilled out and it was much too late to turn back. “Last time I had a chemist on my op-”

“Take it up with the Captain.”

“I tried. He didn’t give me a straight answer.”

The lieutenant looked down at you, the mask seeming a bit more intimidating up close, the black paint smuged around his eyes and the thread he used seeming to be tight to the cloth. He seemed to be mentally debating something, ot jdudging you, you couldn’t figure out which, and you didn’t quite want to. So with a grunt he picked up your bag without warning and began to walk to the transport.

“Hey???” You yell after him, a bit more confused than anything, catching the attention of the rest of the group from the other side of the hangar, “Thats mine?!”

Annnnyway that’s it! <33 comments and all that jazz mean a lot to me!!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod fluff #coco's chaos <3 #cod x you #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #coco’s chaos <3 #simon riley fluff #simon ghost x you #ghost fanfiction #ghost imagine

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 3 days

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Price and CIA!Reader having their "song" as Suspicious Minds.

Dancing together, swaying in their kitchen together.

"We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out. Because I love you too much, baby," Price would rumble with you held close to his chest.

"And I know all your dirty little secrets, Captain," you'd smirk against him as you squeeze both his ass cheeks in your hands.

"That you do," he'd chuckle before continuing to hum along to the song as you waltz around the kitchen until the song ends.

[Legit just swooning while listening to Elvis and thinking about our Boonie-clad menace]

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squishycheekanon · 24 days

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Price, price and more price🌸🩵

Imagine being John’s pen pal. It’s starts off so innocent, strangers, with you intent on staying that way after a recent nasty break up with a rather nasty man.

You just wanted something to take your mind off of everything while you wallowed away in self pity. Your work had sent you home for a month, said you needed time to heal and get your mind right.

So here you were with nothing to do when one of your friends suggested being a pen pal. And who of all people were to take up your request but John Price.

A simple, name, favourite colour and asking how his day was going was all you wrote. He replied with exactly what you’d asked word for word. Very straightforward and almost strategic and of course asked you the same things.

Then it was age, favourite food and how tall he was. A little description of his face. And again he replied with exactly that. You knew then that you’d have to work hard to get more out of him.

The weeks went by and slowly but surely, John began to become looser. Open up more. Genuinely talk to you. It helped not only you start to heal but also help John heal. He didn’t even know he needed to heal in any way. Maybe the loneliness, the fighting, the pain, the emotionlessness had finally caught up to him.

Work decided you still weren’t ready which was quite honestly bullshit, that’s what you told John anyway. He completely agreed and asked for your manager’s name and social security number. You thought it was a joke, he wholeheartedly wanted to teach the man a lesson.

This week you decide to paint the spare bedroom in your apartment and you told John all about it. You felt almost giddy as you sent letters back and forth deciding paint colours. He loved the domesticity of it all, felt like his little woman was asking what colour to paint a shared home while she waited for him to return. What he wouldn’t give….

He loved the little things like that. Loved when you’d tell him about what you were getting from the grocery store and he’d suggest something he thinks is good. Loved when you’d tell him about a new outfit you bought. He’d tell you how much he’d love to see it and how he bets you look beautiful.

You feel ecstatically nervous when he asked for your phone number. You obviously gave it to him. Impatiently you waited, staring at your phone for it to ring. When it did you jump up, palms sweaty, lump in your throat, heart beating so loud you could heard it in your head…then you pressed answer.

“Hi love.”

“Hi John.”

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audisive · 24 days

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♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

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