#cbf!simon

[shotmrmiller]

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

-

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

-

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #cbf!simon #cod smut #cod

[silver-tongued-deovel]

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Just getting back into writing, so warning: potentially ooc Ghost.

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- cbf! Simon, who reaches out to an old acquaintance to send his first paycheck to you. He has the barracks and mess hall and knows you have no such comforts.

- cbf! Simon, who finds you left town as soon as you turned 18 from said acquaintance.

-cbf! Simon, who can't seem to track you down no matter how hard he tries. It's just like you disappeared. He can't even find any semblance of an internet presence.

-cbf! Simon, who lets it haunt him. The memories of your friendship and the absence of knowledge regarding your current life pop into his head at the worst times.

- cbf! Simon, who believes he's cursed. That he'll lose everyone he loves.

-cbf! Simon, who eventually accepts that he'll never have a bond like the two of you shared. Sure, he has his teammates. But they don't care for each other the same way you two did.

-cbf! Simon, who eventually learns to live with your absence. He even befriends his other teammates and (eventually) the tf141.

-cbf! Simon, who sees a girl eerily similar to what he imagined you'd look like, all grown up while out celebrating a successful mission with the task force.

-cbf! Simon, with a concerned Johnny, asking if he's okay as he stares at the girl with glazed over eyes.

-cbf! Simon, who hears your laugh, coming from the girls mouth. He immediately stands up to push Johnny away and head towards the bar.

-cbf! Simon, who approaches you with Johnny hot on his heels.

-cbf! Simon, who sees the confused look in your eyes as he approaches you and feels an ache in his chest.

-cbf! Simon, who has to make sure it's you. He calls out your name, and there's recognition on your face. Towards the name, not him.

-cbf! Simon, who's crushed when you ask, "Do I know you?" As if seeing the hurt in his eyes, you add, "Sorry. Can't really recognize you with the mask on mate."

-cbf! Simon, who doesn't think twice before ripping his balaclava. He thinks he hears a gasp come from Johnny. But all that matters is the look in your eyes.

-cbf! Simon, who almost collapses as he hears you mumble, "Simon?"

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If this does well, I'd like to make it into a short fic:)

Thoughts would be appreciated.

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#drabble #cod drabble #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw2 #cod #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #reader #reader insert #x reader #cbf!ghost #cbf!simon #cbf!ghost x reader #cbf!simon ghost riley x reader #no beta we die like men

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Home. (ALT ENDING) || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: M Words: 3K (this one got away from me, sorry) Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: mentions of psychological issues, mentions of self-harm, mentions of therapy Tags: you/your pronouns, hurt/comfort, ANGST, forgiveness, catharsis. a/n: not proofread. THIS IS THE HAPPY ENDING. I'M STILL NOT HAPPY WITH IT, BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS.

[FIC MASTERLIST] || [MY MASTERLIST]

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Anyone would say that Simon Riley is good. 

Good company for going out drinking.

A good partner for duos in training.

A good shot.

A good soldier.

A good candidate.

A good recruit.

A good lad.

But Simon would say he’s a bad, bad man.

Even before he took this job.

Destined to rot from the inside out.

To become the things he’s promised himself to not ever become.

Finding a way out of home, out of the trauma, only works if some of it is not already inside of you.

Slowly eating you up.

Ever-lasting.

All-consuming.

That’s what Simon figured out in the last 15 years.

Grief.

Depression.

Rage.

Antisocial tendencies.

Psychopathy.

PTSD.

Compartmentalization of emotions and trauma.

Tendencies for self-harm and self-sabotage.

Fear of vulnerability.

Trust issues.

An inclination for isolation.

A past muddled by juvenile delinquency and early drug and alcohol use.

An avoidant attachment style in any relationships he attempts to form due to an inability to truly connect with others.

An identity crisis stemming from low self-worth and a disturbed self-image.

The list goes on.

Simon would say he’s got it all under control.

But any Army-appointed psychiatrist would disagree.

And he’s too valuable of an asset to let go of…

Just the ‘depression’ diagnosis would land the average soldier on a watchlist and the ‘tendencies to self-harm’ would get anyone a medical discharge and interned into a psych ward.

Thank God Simon’s not the average soldier.

Price has been pulling strings to keep him around, calling in favors to people for his sake and getting people to turn a blind eye to the fact Simon Riley has not gone to a single routine psych check in the better part of a decade.

In exchange, however, that forced Simon to take a deal with Price and instead see an off-site psych expert. A friend of Price’s, a retired psychiatrist who has no way of getting him discharged.

As such, every time he goes on leave he drives some 4 or so hours from Hereford to a small village in Cumbria up north to see her. He always spends the first week of his leave there, in a chalet right smack in the middle of the Lake District National Park…  It’s peaceful and nice. Over those 5 to 7 days, he talks about anything and everything. 

At first he hated it, but with time, it did bring him clarity on a lot of his issues without any sort of danger or judgement. In her words, Dr. Armstrong had been dealing with John’s shit for “far too long”, and nothing Simon would tell her would make a dent on the appalling things she’s heard… And true to her word, Simon hadn’t spotted any shock or discomfort in her, even as he spoke of some utterly vile things.

She made him feel heard, understood, welcome… alive, even if more often than not he didn’t quite feel human. He always came in the door like the ghost of his moniker, a shadow, with steps too hard, body too stiff, breathing too tense, eyes too sharp… And left with an ease and lightness uncharacteristic to someone like him… Dr. Armstrong unraveled all the damage during those 5 to 7 grueling days… Only for him return to base and begin the process of hardening himself once again.

He’s thirty-three, you’re thirty-two today.

He dragged himself out of the comfortable bed in the guest house nearby to the chalet, and threw on a hoodie and some slides before he ventured out to the main house across the stepping stone walkway and into the house through the sliding glass doors.

Dr. Armstrong was already at the breakfast nook in the kitchen when he came in. She’s not quite gone gray, but she’s getting there. Her face is steadily getting more wrinkled compared to 10 years ago when this started. She’s wearing a light blue robe and a set of warm pajamas. Her hair cut into a pixie à la Judi Dench. “Good morning, Simon.”

Simon, meanwhile, is all disheveled, hair sticking up from having just woken up, face peppered with a 5 o’clock shadow, eyes still crusty and face unwashed. “Mornin’.” He grumbled as he poured himself a cup of tea and popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

“How did you sleep?” She asked him as she regarded him over her green-frame reading glasses, which adorned the tip of her nose. She took a sip of a black mug with a cat’s whiskers drawn in it in white.

“Same as usual…” He replied as he stirred some milk into his tea. He grabbed the plain toasted bread and plopped it into a plate and began to turn to join her at the table when she set down her tea mug and leaned her elbows on the table, giving him a pointed look with a cocked brow.

Holding back a groan akin to a moody teenage boy’s, he set down the plate and cuppa, and grabbed some butter and a knife, spreading it over the toasted bread. He was thankful that Dr. Armstrong forced him to take care of himself, he was… But it doesn’t mean he was happy about it. “How did you sleep?” He returned.

“Slept well, thank you.” She replied and kept a stern watch over him as he reached the fridge and grabbed a yogurt and a small box of raspberries. He poured the yogurt into a bowl, topped it with the fruit and a drizzle of honey from the bowl in the corner of the counter, and then took his slightly more nutritious meal to the table. 

She watched him closely as he began to eat his buttered toast, letting him have a moment of stewing in the ‘forced’ meal. She took off her glasses, folding them shut, and set them aside, along with her tablet, and stared at him.

In a way, Simon was more of a son than a patient to her, after so many years helping undo the damage the military and his childhood wracked on his head. He looked forward to the routine, needed it, so much that if he didn’t have these moments with her as often as he had grown accustomed to, he’d start acting a bit erratic. A bit more prone to violence, a bit harder to contain, a bit harder for John to keep a handle on. “What’s on your mind this morning?” She asked him with a cocked brow.

He finished his toasted and wiped his mouth. Then he started toying with the spoon resting on the edge of his yogurt bowl. “That it’s a bad week to be here.” He told her.

“And why is it a bad week, Simon?” She asked him as she leaned her head on her palm.

“There was this girl,” He began to say before he spooned some yogurt into his mouth. He had long stopped wearing a mask while staying over at Dr. Armstrong’s house. His scars were always on display for her to see. “who I grew up with. Her birthday is this week.”

The older woman nodded her head as she watched him closely. “I see. And… this ‘girl’... Was she a friend? A girlfriend?”

“I guess.” Simon said as he ate another spoon of yogurt, brown eyes lowered and focused on the red raspberries suspended atop the fatty yogurt. “We were like…” He trailed off. “She was… erm…” He stopped again and exhaled through his nose.

“I see.” The doctor said as she kept watching him. He kept eating quietly. “And… I assume you don’t talk to her anymore?” She asked.

“No.” Simon replied. “After I joined the Army, she moved away from Manchester and we lost contact.” He said softly.

“Do you still think about it?” She asked him. “About her?”

“Sometimes.” He admitted as he stirred his spoon in his bowl before sighing again and eating another spoonful. “A few times a year… Around her birthday, and mine. And Christmas… And the anniversary of the day we met…” He listed.

“And how does it feel…? Nice? Sad? Bittersweet?” She trailed off, knowing sometimes Simon needed help verbalizing his emotions.

“Sad.” He replied bluntly and ate a couple of spoonfuls of yogurt in a row before pushing the now empty bowl aside with the spoon resting inside of it. 

“And cruel.” The woman watched as he rolled his shoulders, a bit tense, and raised his irises to look at her, eyes softened. “It’s been 15 years since she left Manc, left me and I-” He trailed off. 

Looking away, he kept talking, and talking. “I still think about her. I think I’m okay, I think I’m doing good, doing better, and then those dates come and I’m reminded that she exists, that she’s out there, that she… that she went off and found herself a place and I’m here, and have nothing to show for it, just some stupid fucking medals pinned to the breast of my suit and blood on my hands that doesn’t wash off in the fucking sink.” He hissed bitterly, his eyes unfocused as he poured it all out.

“She was like me. We did everything together, were basically attached at the hip. She was my partner in crime, like a home away from home. Sure, dad beat me and mum, and scared us all and I’m much better now and I’ve grown up, but nothing feels okay. Nothing feels normal or good. It’s all just… just bullshit!” He hissed, his breathing beginning to grow faster. “I go through the motions but I don’t feel okay, I don’t feel safe.” He turned his head away from Doctor Armstrong.

“The last time I felt safe I was in her arms, looking into her eyes and telling her that I loved her for the first time and making all these promises for a future that didn’t happen. A future I stole from the two of us.” He grumbled. “And the worst part is that I used to blame her for leaving, for seeking out a better life, a better place! Maybe I still blame her… But it’s not her fault. It’s really not.” Simon’s eyes began to water in a way they never have before. 

“It’s all my fault. There’s no one to blame but me. The last conversation we had was a stupid fucking argument where I looked her in the eyes, the girl I loved, and told her to stop relying on me… She was looking to me for help, to get her out, to get us both somewhere safe…” He stopped and pressed his lips together to contain a sob. His eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“I was going to marry her.” He confessed and groaned. “I came back from Aghanistan and bought a ring, because while I was out there, with bullets whizzing past me and watching my brothers in arms fall like flies, all I wanted was to do was go back to her… And I was completely expecting her to be there… To be waiting for me…” He trailed off. “After I broke her heart and told her to leave… I… I somehow expected her to have been weak… to have stayed. And she was strong enough to leave.” He nodded as he pondered on it.

“And the worst part is that I want to know what happened to her. I want…” He trailed off. “I know it’s been so long and she probably doesn’t think about me and even if she did, she wouldn’t want to ever step foot anywhere near her and it’s not like I want to see her, or to meet with her or to… I don’t know, pick up where we left off?” He ranted more and more. “I just… I want to know she’s okay, I want to know she’s alive. I pray every year that she didn’t turn to hard drugs and die of an overdose on a street corner somewhere… I…” He trailed off. “I need her to be alive and healthy and safe and… happy.”

Doctor Armstrong’s eyes softened as a lightbulb went off in her head. She had finally found the genesis to most of Simon’s issues. The grief of the past, the depression, the antisocial tendencies, his propenture for isolation, his fear of vulnerability, his trust issues, his inability to truly connect with others, the avoidant attachment style to any relationships he does attempt to have…

It was because he was attached to her, whoever this girl he spoke of was. He grieved her, he missed her, he couldn’t pursue a meaningful relationship when he had lost such a deep one… A relationship, an attachment, formed through trauma, unhealthy, sure, but one that resulted in a bond. Any attempts of his to ‘move on’ felt wrong and soured quickly. And until now she couldn’t figure out why that was… thinking he just kept unhealthily self-sabotaging… until now.

That morning was a first in many ways. Simon was speaking unprompted, Simon was voicing his emotions, Simon was confronting his past, Simon was admitting to his mistakes, Simon was expressing his wants. He was not just opening up, but he was actively prioritizing his wants, his feelings… It was huge for someone whose sense of self was as skewed as Simon’s.

It only took ten years… But they were making progress.

-

‘You just have to write her a letter, Simon. Let her know you don’t mean to impose on her life, but that you simple hope she’s doing well, thank her for having been part of your life. Keep it simple, concise. You can do that.’

Dr. Armstrong severely underestimated Simon’s ability to follow her request. Granted, most of the time he follows them no problem… But when it comes to you? Yikes.

‘Simple, concise’ became 38 and a half pages. None of it proofread. He felt like he passed out and when he woke up he had 38 pages of straight up gibberish, half-baked thoughts and equally half-baked pages. He doesn’t even remember what the fuck he wrote (probably because he was drunk and high, his first time smoking in 15 years).

Trying to read it gave him a headache, so he just transfered it into a Word document, the only file in an all-black slide-out USB drive, and stuffed the USB and a note saying ‘From Simon Riley’ into an envelope. He didn’t even dare send it himself. He simply dropped it off in the mail-out box at base and and called it a day.

That was 3 months ago. 

As he lays in bed after dinner, he silently hopes to God that you’re ignoring him and tossed out the USB drive without even reading the mess of text in it… Or even that the address Laswell’s analysts found for you in Scotland was wrong. 

But he also can’t bear to imagine  someone else opening the envelope, checking the USB drive and finding that letter and-

A buzzing awakes him from his thoughts and he looks across the room to his phone which is charging on his desk in the corner. He moves across the room swiftly, finding a number he doesn’t recognize has sent him a text. 

It has to be you. He’s careful with his number, he doesn’t give it out willy-nilly. Only Price, Laswell and Nik have it. And you, since he included it in the document.

Taking a deep breath, he clicks the text on the screen, his brown eyes screwing shut as if it was about to explode. Or maybe it was just his heart racing that made him feel that.

He was afraid.

Simon Riley was afraid.

The Ghost wouldn’t protect him now.

Not from you.

Or, rather, not for the way Simon might react when it comes to you.

Deep breaths, Simon told himself. 

Deep breaths.

In…

… and out.

Throwing open his eyes, he looked at the screen, finding one tiny little paragraph in the bright green chat bubble:

hi riley… read your letter a bunch of times… truth be told i didnt know how to answer it, been trying to find what to say for weeks on weeks now and coming up short. if ur free anytime soon can we just have a call over the phone? might be easier. if not then im glad to hear ur fine and that u found success x

Simon reads and rereads your text over and over and over…

And then something in him snaps. He clicks the phone button next to your unsaved contact and then stares at the screen, eyes wide and frantic, not even considering that you might not be ready, that you might be busy, that you asked for ‘one of these days’ and not ‘right now’...

The call connects.

Simon holds his breath.

And so do you, he can hear your little gasp.

The counter at the top of the screen ticks by.

00:01

00:02

00:03

00:04

00:05

00:06

00:07

00:08

00:09

00:10

00:11

00:12

00:13

00:14

00:15

Simon’s eyes begin to well up with tears, he can hear your breath on the other side, but he’s too much of a coward to say anything.

00:16

00:17

00:18

00:19

00:20

00:21

00:22

00:23

Thank God that you’re not.

You’ve always been stronger than him.

“Riley?” You whisper his name.

Taking a deep breath, he opens his mouth to speak… But all that escapes him is a stupid little “Hm?”

You pause again, your breath catching in your throat again… before you say it:

“I forgive you.”

His world nearly collapses at that moment and a sob escapes him, a sound so pathetic and weak that he wants to beat himself over it before Dr. Armstrong’s words ring in his head:

‘You can’t keep suppressing your emotions, it’s okay to cry.’

And so he does. He sobs, audibly so, big fat tears running down his face as he lets his back hit the wall and slide down it until he’s sat on the floor.

“Riley…” You whimper, and it sounds like you’re on the verge of crying as well.

He doesn’t want to make you cry. He really doesn’t… 

But he can’t stop…

For the first time in forever, he feels exactly the one thing Dr. Armstrong has told him he deserves to feel:

At peace.

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[FIC MASTERLIST] || [MY MASTERLIST]

TAGGING ANYONE WHO READ/COMMENTED THE FIC (there's only like... 10 of you total, I'm so sorry)

taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving , @lyralein , @heavenlyrivers , @depressed-but-make-it-cute , @myhomeworksnotdone , @captainquake42 , @waiting-so-long , @erensonly , @pieckyghost

Thank you so much for reading this fic, to the people who've read it here and on AO3! Your support mean the world to me!

#ikea writes 💚 #home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #tw psychological issues #psych diagnosis #time skip #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #childhood best friends to lovers #cbf #cbf!simon #teenage love #masterlist #catharsis

[hecateslore]

hello! could you possibly write and ask about cbf!simon and reader based on the song “one of us” by abba, can end however you’d like! i just live for the angst and your my favorite writer on here. you obviously don’t have to write it if you don’t want to!! hope you have a lovely evening :)

I don't listen to abba so I had to look the song up 😬😬 but thank you so much! also pls don't jump me, I use 2 different writing styles lmfao. The one I use for supervisor!Simon is completely different so tell me if this one weird and I'll literally re-write this entire thing, I'm so deadass.

You could hear the rain pitter patter outside of the cafe you sat in. The bell at the top of the door rang, Simon walked in with wet hair from the rain.

"Good to see you!" He went in for a hug, making sure to squeeze you as tight as he could. "How've you been?" You said, still in his arms. He chuckled and waved your question off. You let go first, taking your seat again. "I ordered for you, if that's alright."

"That's fine," He answered. Simon hadn't been good, The military, his family. He was a anxious wreck. "I heard you got into that Art Progam?"

It was all awkward, and it was all wrong. "Yeah," You nodded, "Been waiting for it." You sigh at the poor conversation. "So, you're home?" You asked. "Only for this weekend." You raised your brows at his response. "Going back east?"

"Uh no, we're going west actually." He said and looked around the room for a waitress or the waitress. "I missed you, you know." You admit, biting the side of your cheek. "I tried calling you." You began, but ended quickly noticing the way his eyes scanned the room.

"That's nice." He muttered. "My Mom wanted me to say hello and that she misses you coming over." You smiled at the thought of a Young Simon and You running around your childhood home. "We haven't seen you in years, Simon." You mention.

"I've been busy." He tells you, playing with the balled up napkin on the table. "Busy enough to not answer my calls?" You chuckled.

The waitress stopped by and placed two glass tea cups down on your table. You and Him both silent. "Enjoy." Was all the waitress said and walked off. "You're not exactly the easiest to get in touch with." he implied, taking a sip of his tea.

"Oh that's not true, " You scoff, "I've been trying for weeks." You noted. He sighs, "Well, what are we doing here then?" he asked.

"I just wanted to see you. it's been almost a year."

It'd only been 8 months since he last called. Simon Joined the armed forces at 18, served for 4 years, then enlisted fort he SAS selection. You resented him for it. You knew you two would lose touch, you wouldn't see each other and you both wouldn't call.

You could see the way he changed, what was left of the little light in his eyes, gone. "I missed you too." He admitted quietly, "I missed your Mom more." he chuckled. You don't smile, you say nothing. The Ghost of a young Simon haunts you. This is the last time.

"How's your boyfriend?" He changes the subject, "He's good. He graduates this year." You played with the rings on your hands, He hummed at the information you'd dropped. "Thats good for him."

"Yeah." you agree, "How's the military?" you asked, "Busy."

"Busy, busy, busy." You repeated, half annoyed and disappointed. Simon doesn't pick up any of it, to busy in his brain. So distracted by his other life outside of home.

"I think I'm gonna go." You decided aloud, Simon nodded. Not fighting, not trying to prolong your stay. He sat there and watched as you gathered you belongings.

You both stood up, "It was nice seeing you, Simon." You said fixing your bags strap. "I'll see you." You grabbed his forearm and squeezed it.

"Goodbye, Simon." for the last time.

hopefully you like this 😟

#lunden’s response ❀— #cbf!Simon #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #ghost angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

[glittergoblinzz]

Ghoap (well, Cbf!Soap mainly) asking Afab!Reader to be their surrogate (pt 1)

CW: Talks of surrogacy/pregnancy

-----------------------------------------

The last thing you expected when you came home after work one day was your friend Johnny sitting on your couch. You two have been friends since childhood and have been inseparable, even after he joined the military. You trusted the man with your life and would let him come over whenever he felt like it, going as far as giving him an extra key to your flat in Sunderland.

At first, you thought something bad must have happened since you could see he was clearly stressed about something. You drop your bag down and go over to the couch, sitting next to him

"Johnny, what are ya doing here? Is something wrong?"

He looks up at you with those crystal blue eyes, running a hand through his mohawk.

"Nah, there's nothing wrong per say, but...there is somethin' I need to ask ya, lass. Somethin' big...."

"What is it?"

Johnny pauses, unsure of how to ask this. After a moment, a voice from behind you two speaks up. A deep, gravely voice with a Mancunian accent. The unexpected voice causes you to jump slightly and turn around. It was Johnny's husband, Simon. Johnny had told you about him numerous times but you had never gotten to meet him in person before. His brown eyes bore down at you. It was hard to tell what exactly he was thinking but from the tone of his voice and how blunt he was, it was clear he wasn't exactly happy.

"He wants to know if you'd be our surrogate."

This makes you pause. They want you to be their surrogate? The MacTavishs? Really? You understand that you and Johnny are good friends and all, but you figured they would have gone through an agency or even adopted instead. You look back at Johnny, who was giving Simon a bit of a look himself.

"Johnny, is this true?"

Johnny turns back to you and his face softens quite a bit before he looks down at the ground.

"Aye...it's true, lass. I know this is a really, really big favour to ask, but...."

Johnny looks back up at you and gently grabs your hand.

"Could ya do this for us? We'll pay ya, take care of ya. Simon's done took a step back from the military for this next part of our lives so you'll always have at least one of us around at all times."

The look of desperation in Johnny's eyes makes your heart break for him a little bit. You knew he's always wanted to be a dad one day, have a family of his own. You fold your arms over your chest and lean back into the couch a bit, thinking it over....

"If I do this for you....how would we be doing this? Do you already have an egg from a donor? Are you just needing me to carry your child for you?"

Johnny sighs

"No. We'd be hoping ya wouldn't mind doing it....the ol' fashioned way...."

"The old fashioned way...? You mean... You'd sleep with me to knock me up?"

Before Johnny could say anything else, Simon interjects.

"No. Not him. I'd be doing it..."

You look up at Simon, clearly shocked. You barely knew this man and here he was saying that he'd be the one sleeping with you. You've only heard tidbits about him from Johnny. Sure, Johnny made him out to be a good man who liked to crack jokes and was a pretty laid back guy but from this first encounter, he doesn't seem like that at all. This made you extremely hesitant to help your friend out in starting his family....

Seeing the look of worry on your face, Johnny clears his throat causing you to look back at him again.

"Don't mind him, lass. He's just a bit....protective. Simon doesn't feel comfortable at the thought of me sleeping with someone else. I hope ya can understand that? And don't worry, like I said before...ya don't need to say yes now. Ya can give your answer later on, after you've spent a bit of time with Simon and have gotten to know him better. I wouldn't want ya sleeping with someone ya barely know."

You slowly nod. You could understand that. You and Johnny have known each other for much longer and it wasn't a secret he had a crush on you in the past....so Simon most likely felt the relationship would be threatened if Johnny was the one to sleep with you, worrying that would rekindle the old feelings he had for you from your younger years. Giving a slight sigh, you smile at Johnny and slightly give his hand a squeeze before letting it go.

"Yeah, okay. I'll give it a shot for you, Johnny. I'll try to get to know Simon better before I make my full decision..."

Johnny's face lights up and he immediately leans in to hug you tightly. He pulls away after a moment with a huge grin on his face.

"Thanks, lass. I promise Simon isn't normally like this. He just....has a hard time trusting people he doesn't know. He'll warm up to ya eventually."

This earns a scoff from Simon as he turns his head away from you two. Johnny laughs and gets up from the couch, moving behind it towards Simon.

"Lighten up, love. I know ya two pretty well....I think you'll get along in no time at all..."

He looks at Simon lovingly as he brushes his hand through Simon's short, black hair before giving him a kiss on his forehead. Simon frowns a bit, some of the scars on his face becoming more prominent; especially the ones on his upper lip and cheek.

"Really, Johnny? In front of her?"

Johnny only laughs in response, nodding.

"Aye, in front of her. Now come on, we should probably let her be now..."

He didn't need to tell Simon twice. The Brit immediately started heading towards the door without another word, only stopping in the doorway to wait for Johnny. Before leaving, Johnny turns to you again.

"Again, thank you. This really does mean a lot to me, and especially Simon....even if the brute doesn't want to admit it..."

Another groan is heard from Simon, who's barely...just barely....got a slight upward curl of his lips going on.

"...So I'll text ya soon with some dates and times so we can all get together and hang out a bit, so you can Simon can get to know each other better, yeah?"

You nod, smiling as you stand up and give Johnny another quick hug.

"Yeah. Sounds good. See you later, Johnny. Simon."

You give a slight nod to Simon, who hesitates before giving a slight nod back. Johnny turns and walks to Simon, taking Simon's hand in his before the couple leaves your house.

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghoap #ghoap au #ghoap fic #simon riley x you #john soap mctavish x reader #cbf!soap

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Broken Vows and Promises

*Bzzt*

Upon hearing your favourite ringtone your hands quickly snatched the phone on your vanity. Heat rushes to your face, your hands trembling as they open the message you received from your love. Butterflies erupted everywhere while your heart hammered against your ribcage in anticipation. He's arrived home. He's finally home!

Suds🧼: Arrivin at the bar soon hen. Ah can't wait tae see ye. Wear somethin nice. I've something important tae ask ye.

If you thought your heart was hammering before it's practically breaking through your chest now. You put down the phone after replying, finding it very hard to contain your excitement as you squeal with joy. You place your hands over your heart trying to calm down so you can continue getting ready. You were almost done anyways, just needed to apply his favourite lipstick. You were also wearing his favourite dress. A classy backless number, one he often enjoyed groping you through.

It's been far too long since you've seen him. He's been so quiet lately, it made you doubt if he still wanted to be with you. But that was just your insecurity worming its way through your brain. His absence was due to the nature of his missions. You couldn't hold that against him. Not when he was working so hard to keep the world safe. He's been more stressed since he joined a taskforce the year prior. But he's proud how far he's come since joining the military at 16. You were so proud of him too. He was your everything. Your first kiss, your first date, your first time… You gaze lovingly at the promise ring on your ring finger, the one he gifted to you before joining the military. It wasn't the most expensive or extravagant ring in the world but it meant everything to you. You never wanted to part with it.

You reminisce as you gather your essentials, still giddy from excitement. All the beautiful memories of your childhood with him coming back to warm your heart. The bike rides, sneaking into each other's room at night, the Saturday evenings spent at the lake. All beautiful moments you cherished greatly.

You're at the door just about to leave when another notification rings out. You roll your eyes thinking it's Johnny telling you to come soon. Your stomach flustered at the thought of what was about to happen. Your heart felt so full of love you couldn't control your excited jitters. You glance at the promise ring one last time before opening your phone, still giddy with butterflies.

But it isn't Soap unfortunately. It's your friend Freya. She sent a photo attachment. You laugh, she had a tendency to spam you with memes at odd hours of the day. You press on her name expecting to see another stupid work meme…

But that isn't what your eyes are greeted with…

Your throat seizes, air refusing to enter your lungs. Your body immediately loses all its warmth and your left standing there in shock as your heart shatters into a million pieces. It was your Johnny, Your Suds… His hands were on a man's thigh. A very tall bulky man with a mask pulled down slightly. Who was that? Why were they so close? No calm down, there must be a logical explanation. You take in a shaky breath trying to laugh off what you were witnessing. He's probably just had too much to drink.

Two more pings ring out signalling more messages. More images burn into your retina. Images you wish never existed. Images you wished were fabricated. This must be a cruel joke. The more you looked at the images the more you felt the shards of your heart piercing you. What with all the touching? A final notification pings with a flurry of texts that follow a minute later. Your heart sank into the pits of hell…Your Johnny…his lips…his lips were kissing someone else…You don't get much time to look as a plethora of texts push the wretched image away.

You're frozen, unable to think or move…Your body trembles from the ice coursing through you, your blood runs cold from heartache. You're left staring at the phone as messages and messages pour in. But you don't know what to do, where to look or how to feel. You don't even realise when tears start to obstruct your vision. You collapse as a devastated sob shakes you to your core. Why would he do this to you?

You clutch the phone as you bring it to your chest. Your sobs ring out through the apartment as your phone continues to ping but you're too weak, too fragile to respond or look at anything right now. Your mind reels with questions you don't have answers to. Why was this happening? How long? How long has he been cheating on you? Did he ever love you? Was everything a lie? Why now? You continue to cry out trying to alleviate this raw pain.

Your phone begins buzzing, jolting you from your sad thoughts. You look down to hope it's Freya, your saving grace in this awful situation. You wanted her to come hold you. You didn't want to fall apart alone. But no it isn't her…Rather it's his name and it burns your eyes like venom.

Incoming call: Suds🧼

This was inspired by @s-coquette two shot fic called Three's a crowd. Go check out their amazing writing! Thanks for letting me use your fic as inspiration.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghoap x reader #ghoap fic #ghoap au #ghoap #call of duty #cod x reader #soap angst #ghost angst #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #cbf!soap #x reader #x female reader #john soap mactavish x female reader #john 'soap' mactavish #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader angst

[cas-backwards-tie]

Wonderstruck

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Ex!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley finally takes it upon himself to check up on his childhood best friend and ex lover. He's been torturing himself reminiscing on your relationship and what went wrong for years now. Little does he know... you're in the same boat. Having seen someone today you swore was Simon on your way to work, you too, reflect on the past.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Stalking(?),

Mentions of: Drinking, Smoking, Motorcycle Riding

A/N: I don't know why but I constantly am getting inspired by certain songs, or am reminded of certain characters, and all the lyrics were just screaming childhood best friends to estranged lovers, right person wrong time Simon Riley. Nevertheless, if you'd love to listen to some versions of the song which inspired me, here we are! Line divider credit: @saradika-graphics and I'd also love to thank @penelopepine for helping me with the ending <3

He knew it was a bad idea as soon as it'd crossed his mind, yet somehow he couldn't rid himself of it time and time again. That's how he found himself here; watching you cross the street, he can't help but notice the vintage band t-shirt you have on, frayed at the edges with the little strings of the hem coming undone that you've refused to cut off. In you hands you clutch a new phone, no doubt an upgrade from the last one he'd seen you with- though it's been a while.

As you mindlessly tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he can't help the way his insides churn. You were always effortlessly beautiful; you never had to try for anything. Even now, the way you can walk across the busy cobblestone side streets of London in high heels without seemingly second-guessing yourself, body language still poised on guard and ready in case anyone tries anything, just like he'd taught you.

It's clear from your outfit and the lipstick you’re donning that you're attempting to sway the officials at work. Maybe trying for that promotion you’d always been talking about, but never had the gumption to make today the day. What’s different about today, he wonders. You'd always been a go-getter, and truthfully, it was something Simon admired about you. Even in the moments where he'd resented it the most, the constant pestering and prodding at him in an attempt to get him to move and drag him out of the holes his dug himself into...

Where would he be now if only he listened?

What if you knew better?

He couldn't deny that the thoughts kept him up at night while he was away. Though, admittedly, more often than not it was the string of random memories that he’d get glimpses of during the day. It’d always be at the worst times, too. Two weeks ago in Berlin he’d been clapping Kyle on the back, hoping he’ll get it together as he stumbled out the pub. While Soap had the camaraderie to slug half his mate’s weight over his broad shoulders, Simon found himself unable to help as his eyes were drawn in by a couple a few paces down the block.

“Bollocks!” He’d shouted out in frustration. Double-checking himself, he didn’t have a spare cap on him, and he knew he sure as hell didn’t bring an umbrella on your little last minute ‘trip’. Not that he’d really call walking down to the local Tesco for snacks late one summer evening a trip. ‘It’ll be an adventure! Just think of it like that.’ You’d persuaded him.

“What? Are you going to melt?” He hears you joke. As his brown eyes land on your face when you turn to meet his gaze, a few steps ahead of him down the road, he can’t help the smile that breaks out across his lips upon your laughter. Sure, you may both be a little drunk after spending the evening in and having a drink or two. But it doesn’t change the way he feels about you, if anything, it makes him even more keenly aware of the way you affect him.

“Maybe. Who knows?” He teases in responses, tugging his jacket up and over his head to shield himself from the cool summer rain. Despite the time, now he’ll most likely need a shower when you get home. As he jogs to catch up and bring you under his little makeshift cocoon, you do the unexpected.

It was you, of course… he should’ve known better, always testing him, pushing him. With a gentle drop of the plastic bag full of snacks upon the side of the road you’d been strolling down, he watches as you run into the empty street. The streetlights illuminate you in a hazy orangey-yellow light as you begin to spin and twirl, dancing in the street.

With a shake of his head, he’s left stunned once again by the vast difference of your personalities. Your jeans and t-shirt are starting to get damp and discolored, and there’s a taunting, displeased remark sitting on his tongue just waiting to be made. It’s the utter joyous smile on your face as you tip your head back and relinquish yourself to your fate that leaves him wonderstruck, he thinks.

“Come on, Simon!” You beckon, finally meeting his gaze once again with that familiar carefree, hopeful look behind your irises. With an outstretched hand, he knows he can’t deny you this… and really, there’s something inside him that tells him he doesn’t want to, either.

“It’s her, innit?” He hears his Captain’s voice call over his shoulder. Pulled from his memories, Simon dismisses Price with a nonchalant grunt. As the old man tries to place a hand on his shoulder he dodges it, realizing he’s been watching the couple for longer than he’d thought. With Soap and Gaz almost to the end of the block, Simon sighs before shrugging his shoulders to right his jacket and head off in their direction for backup.

That was a time when your playfulness been more easily taken and accepted without question. No fighting, no push back, resentments… maybe that was it: he’d stopped going with the flow. He’d stopped accepting the punches and started dodging and weaving your advances at fixing things and picking up where he left you. Because while it’s too late now, he’s finally realized it for what it is: he left you in the dark, he’s the one who pushed you away, closed himself off.

That night he’d curled up in the temporary bed he’d been assigned, more memories continued to consume him. The way you’d effortlessly ease his worries on nights he’d come home stressed, feathers ruffled from whatever petty drama went on during the day. Whether it was something the guys said that stuck with him, or something he couldn’t get out of his mind when he came back from deployment. Your kisses always seemed to be the cure, your love… or maybe it was just… you.

“You know furrowing your brows like that will cause wrinkles,” you inform him, reaching out to run gentle fingers over his bunched skin.

A grunt of acknowledgment leaves his lips. “More for me to worry about, hm?” While it’s all he says, his eyes are searching over your composure.

“No,” it leaves your lips without thought, “just something to think about, be mindful of. If you’re not upset, then why furrow them?” Voice quiet in the moonlit apartment, your fingers smooth out his brows gently as you admire him. “I read something the other day about how it’s possible our body informs our mental state. If you’re tensing all the time, it won’t help your stress, Si.”

He simply hums in response, doing nothing to stop you as you ghost your lips over his for a moment before planting a loving chaste kiss to his. While big and wide warm hands find the exposed bit of skin between the hem of your sleeping pants and the shirt you wear, it’s the unexpected cool sensation that elicits a muffled gasp. Your much smaller hands are sneaking up underneath his sweatshirt to explore his abdomen, caressing him like he were made of soft silk. Your lips meet again for a chaste kiss.

Then it’s turning into something more; you have to take it slow, your lips dancing against one another, his hand rubbing your back to let you know it’s alright. As you begin to run out of breath, it’s only when you pull away, lashes fluttering against his skin that you ask him. “You know I’d love you even with wrinkles, right?”

Taken aback, he can’t help but stare. Unsure how to respond or what to do, his lips part in search of words. “Is that so?” He finally questions, hand giving your side a soft squeeze.

“My favorite boy… I love you to the moon and back… scars and all. I always have, and I always will, Simon,” you whisper, ghosting his lips again before planting one on him, “I just hope you know that.”

And at the time, he swore he did. It’s odd, really, and he wouldn’t lie to himself about it either. Simon tried dating after you, he tried hooking up, he tried it all… but it never felt right. As many times as he replays the memory, he can never get past the feeling of home. With you, it felt like home. You never made him feel expendable, or worry of the abandonment he knew would inevitably come.

For years afterward he blamed you, he saw it as your fault that you left, you abandoned him… when, maybe, really it’s finally time he admits it was him. He made it a self-fulfilling prophecy, and there was nothing you could do.

It's on your way home from work that you see them; while waiting for the bus, there's a playground in the park a few meters away. Really, the idea that human nature is predictable is always laughable at first, but only after watching people and stepping back to become an observer you've noticed from time to time that... it's more than true. Even from a distance, the children in the park look happy... but that's not what catches your eye. There's a blonde boy, and a girl, much like yourself when you were younger, playing what you can only assume is something halfway between hide and seek and tag, considering the playground offers more space and obstacles than hiding spots.

Perhaps it's the joyous looks on their little faces, or the way they unabashedly play, carefree and unaware of the adult worries and burdens the world hangs above their heads, just waiting any day to drop upon their shoulders unexpectedly. However, you can't help but reminisce on the ways you'd spent your childhood playing games much like the one the children are playing in the distance with a boy, very similar to the one before you, loving life, content, happy, simply aspiring to be the best at finding your ultimate hiding spot.

The soft squeak of the wheels coming to a halt before you and the mechanical release of air as the doors open brings your attention back to the present. Before you know it, you're on the bus, unconsciously taking a seat along the windows, hoping, just maybe you'll catch a glimpse of them as the bus drives down the road down its route. Though as you pass, the sun is beginning to set in the distance, the children departing the playground their separate ways as dusk begins to take its toll and curfew sets in place. The whole time you'd been focused on yourself, it's entirely possible that your own boy wound up beating you at your own game, finding the best spot and hiding himself away from the rest of the world.

Maybe it's the fact that you could've sworn you'd seen someone that looked almost identical to Simon on your way to work this morning, but memories continue to plague your mind for the first time in months. All the weekends he'd spent over at your house doing aimlessly silly things to fill your time, from science projects, to playing 'warrior' outside, you never felt more alive than the time you two spent together.

"I'll keep ya safe, yeah? Nothin' to worry about," Simon insists, gently guiding you to the side of the vehicle. Despite going out with your friends to the city for dinner, you both were sober. It should be fine, it would be. You'd been with him a million times... how different could it be? He'd run it by you as many times as you'd asked.

You swear it's not a good idea, but you trust him to the ends of the Earth. With a look over your shoulder, his brown eyes are steady, not uncertain in his unwavering gaze as he nods in assurance. Swinging a leg over the seat, you're in front this time. Helmets in place, hands on the clutch and brakes, you make eye contact with Simon once more before he flicks both your visors down. "Ready?" You ask him.

"More than ready, Love," he quips. With a quick shove to the kickstand, balance (with Simon's help of course), and a rev of the engine, you start the motorcycle off slowly. Gloved hands around your waist, he gives you a gentle squeeze.

He was always pushing you out of your comfort zone, that one. It was the first time you'd driven his motorcycle, and while it'd been scary and daunting for the first fifteen minutes, you eventually got used to it and it blossomed into something freeing. You understood then why he likes it, and you'd never been more grateful for someone pushing you out of your bubble. While flashes of all the kisses, caresses, and intimate moments between the two of you start to effervesce, you force yourself to remember the last time you'd seen him.

With a lingering hug, you're hesitant to let him go. Even if you know it's necessary, it's still hard... it always has been. "You'll let me know when you get in, right?" You ask, searching his eyes. They stand out from the black warpaint, his uniform always made him look handsome, even if you couldn't imagine how intimidating seeing his actual attire would be in his enemies position.

A dismissive and irritated grunt meets your ears as he shrugs your hands off. He'd packed quickly, something he's been doing more recently; taking more and more jobs, you've begun worrying for his health, not that he'd talk about it, of course. "If I 'ave time."

While you weren't able to get all the details on this excursion, you did manage to get that it was essentially a 'clean-up' for him. He had to go in and make sure that the hostages they'd had a lead on were all rescued and no one was left behind, no assailants or informants lingering or hiding. You've known that his job is hard on him. Losing people can't be easy, especially when you feel like you could've done things differently and changed the ending to their stories. Yet, you also know that throwing yourself into work the way he's been doing without talking to anyone, simply managing to pass debrief counseling by whatever meter their measuring is... not working. Not anymore, at least.

"You're running from this! You won't even answ-" you shout, gesticulating as you do everything in your power to keep the anger and worry that's tightly wound wrapped up in your gut under control, not to let anymore of it seep out than already has.

"An' you're one to talk?! You don't get to interrogate me," he argues, rounding the couch to get closer. The dark circles under his eyes scream volumes, even if he's unwilling to acknowledge whatever's going on for him. "I deal with that enough in my line o' work. Don't-"

"Simon," you say, tone holding that familiar warning tone.

You'd gotten home safely and were able to change and make something to eat. The feelings haven't left the cavity of your chest, still lingering there, the way he always does. He may be 'Ghost' on the field, yet he still haunts your memories, always making you question whether or not you did the right thing. What if only you'd done more? What if you hadn't pushed him so much? It wasn't always in a bad way, either, in fact, most of the time you'd find yourself chuckling randomly at some inside joke only the two of you share, or something he'd find funny. The stolen sweaters and hoodies you know for a fact long ago washed away his scent. Even if you swear sometimes that you can smell the faint odor of cigarettes he used to smoke. In the city when you're out with the girls you'd find yourself fondly inhaling the smell whenever a stranger would be smoking one nearby.

You'd cursed him: Simon Riley. Yet, the aching inside you he left often made you feel like he there's some sense of closure he never fully gave you. The SAS would tell you that he'd get your letters, even if you stopped writing years ago a little while after the split. You never got a response, and you never really expected one. Simon never really was one for letter writing. It was the only way you felt like you could get that closure, that part of your life done with. Ultimately, it did help you move on in some way.

A sigh tumbles past your lips as you change the channel on the television, unsure what you really feel like watching. A reality comedy show is on, something of a local prank show. It wasn't the best show, really, but it's one you used to watch a lot as a kid, and thus, another reminder of him. This one makes you smile, nonetheless. It's a good memory; nostalgia envelopes you in the way that makes you crave times that felt easier. Just when you wrap yourself in your fuzzy blanket, there's a soft rapt at the door.

Heart accelerating, eyes widening slightly, you slowly rise from the couch. The television volume isn't on loud, and while there may be light coming from it to inform a stranger you're home, that isn't enough to say that you're alone. With slow and cautious steps, you approach the door, careful to check the window near the door from a vantage point you're unseen. It's a man in a black hoodie. Panic sets in and you turn to skillfully head back toward the couch in search of your phone with quiet and quick steps. That's when it strikes you.

With all pretenses abandoned, you rush to the door and fling it open, lips parted in shock and awe. "Simon?" Searching and attempting to scan the partially shielded face, you're able to see tufts of blonde hair lit from the porch light.

"I know you've no reason to-" he starts, hands removing themselves from his hoodie's pocket, "but please let me come in and explain."

"You came back," you whisper. It's more for yourself than him, and whether it's out of bewilderment, intuitive knowing, or a premonition; you were right.

As he takes a step forward and reaches out for you with shaky hands produced from the familiar black pocket of his hoodie, you don't retract. Slow and tentative movements on both ends, he grabs ahold of one hand, thumb consciously skirting back and forth repeatedly in a form of grounding and seeking comfort. "You were right," his deep voice rasps.

Your hand cautiously seeks his cheek beneath the shield of his hood. Fully expecting to meet the spandex material of his balaclava, you're surprised by the warmth of his skin underneath your gentle touch. Wrist pushing against the cotton hood, it gives way, revealing his face. Searching his deep brown eyes for any sign he's genuine... you're met with truth.

With a weak nod you turn, leaving the door to shut softly behind the two of you.

~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #my writing #song fic #taylor swift #cardigan #simon riley x reader angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #simon ghost riley x ex!reader #simon riley x ex!reader #simon riley x cbf!reader #simon ghost riley x cbf!reader #biker!simon riley #song fics

[maryangelex]

I’m in love with the childhood best friend trope and already talked about cbf!soap, but now I’m thinking of cbf!ghost and hmmm very tempting

#cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #fanfic #cod fanfic #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #headcanon #simon ghost x reader #cbf #childhood best friend trope #cbf!ghost

[moongreenlight]

HOUSEKEEPING!

Hi! I’m Seph (she/they). <3

I really only write for Task force 141 at the moment, though I could be persuaded to do something else. If that time ever comes, you’ll be the first to know. For now, we’re just sticking with the TF boys.

Minors do not interact. 18+ account.

If you do not have your age quickly accessible on your account, I will block you!!

I almost 100% of the time write exclusively F!Reader. These fics sometimes contain dark/mature themes that may not be appropriate for every reader. If there are highly sensitive topics being discussed, there will be a TW/CW at the beginning of the story. Be warned that they may not be detailed or tagged correctly. I am not responsible for the media you consume.

Asks are closed right now! <3

MASTERLIST!

Captain John Price

I. Young Housewife Headcanons (nsfw)

II. Young Housewife Headcanons

III. Young Housewife Headcanons (nsfw)

Sass Headcanons (nsfw)

I’m not a baker (nsfw)

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Horny bullshit (nsfw)

Money, money, money (drabble)

Like a Virgin (nsfw drabble)

I. Playing House (suggestive drabble) (cbf!)

II. It’s your duty (suggestive drabble) (cbf!)

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Bad idea, right? (nsfw drabble)

Hard to get (nsfw drabble)

I. Whispered Prayer

II. The Other Side (nsfw)

Housekeeping! (nsfw drabble)

Dionysus (nsfw drabble)

This angle (suggestive drabble)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

General Headcanons (nsfw)

Hand Slander (nsfw drabble)

Back of his truck (nsfw drabble)

Dad!Simon horny bullshit (nsfw drabble)

Government hooker (nsfw)

I. Rumors only grow (secret wife)

II. Keeping secrets (secret wife)

Ptolemaea I (CW)

Ode to the bouncer (drabble)

Come over (drabble)

Ghoap x Reader

Missing (CW)

Whole of 141

Pack Mentality (drabble)

Say he likes crazy girls

WIP Wednesday! (ongoing tag)

#moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites

[shotmrmiller]

y'all know the ghostface mori from dbd?

that's how cbf!simon takes a picture with you during sex on your own phone to send to your ex.

this wasn't supposed to be smut, but it is now. so. oh well.

cbf!simon had met him before, obviously, and didn't even acknowledge his existence the first time— only spoke to you, with his large body shielding you from your then-boyfriend. he was a worthless slip of a boy who walked around unawares with you in his arm, sat with his back toward any entrance and he even let you walk on the edge of the sidewalk.

unacceptable.

the only reason his face hadn't ended up on a milk carton was because when simon questioned your relationship with him, you swore that it had only been dates, and pecks on the cheek.

regardless, when he watched you get ready for a movie date night, simon decided that enough was enough.

he started coming around more, goading your boyfriend while still not addressing him.

"love, you got one of my old shirts around here somewhere?"

"pet, you remember that one lake i took you to and camped overnight? heard it's drying up, that true?"

it's comical if it wasn't just so fucking pathetic how your boyfriend just took it, like some sort of cuck. if it had been simon, he would've ended up on the stretcher in the very first meeting.

and then it clicked.

it should be him, not this meritless imbecile.

so, while he was waiting for you in the living room to take you out for dinner, the very first sentence that your boyfriend hears from simon is, 'ya wanna know why she's not sleepin' with ya? cuz i'm the one fuckin' her every night. sorry, pal.'

simon had been sitting on the couch, legs manspread, and his arms stretched out, lax, on the backrest when he said it.

the very definition of unbothered.

when you come out in your pretty burgundy button up, and tight black pants, simon was very glad that he ran that fool out the door— he doesn't deserve you.

you get a 'this is over' text in minutes, and simon tells you that he wasn't good enough for you anyway. just get comfortable, wear his shirt you love to sleep in, and put on a movie— he'll be back with a couple bottles of wine.

2 and a half bottles of wine later, and you find yourself under him, his tongue entangled with yours as he bullies his fat cock into you for the first time ever.

simon coos into your ear when you hiss at the pain of the stretch, whispering that you can take him because you and him are meant to be.

"it won't hurt the next time we do this, pet."

your mind is warm and fuzzy with the alcohol that courses through your system, and it gives you courage to ask, "promise?"

simon finally bottoms out, and your mind goes blank at the feel of him hitting a spot inside of you that no one's ever reached before.

"i promise. for you, anything. i swear it." he's babbling, but he doesn't care because you're finally his, and if he has any say in the matter, you'll only be his.

your pretty pussy will only ever know him.

he starts to move, long, slow thrusts, and the burning sting starts to melt into a toe-curling pleasure at the edges, and the liquid fire that started in your belly starts to spread through your veins— a scalding ecstasy burning you from the inside out.

you try to wrap your legs around his waist, but he's too wide, built like a tank— so you give up, and plant your feet down, opting to meet his hips with yours. the flared head of his cock rubs so deliciously against this one spot inside of you, and your vision begins to spot as your belly tightens, muscles tensing for what's to come—

when simon pulls out roughly, and a sob escapes your lips. you were so close, god, why is he being so mean to you?

simon lets out a pained grunt as his cock twitches and slaps the side of your thigh with his heavy hand, chuckling.

"i know you were, love, i swear i'm not trying to be mean, i almost just came in this sweet cunt. i'm not done with you just yet. turn around, on your knees."

your reaction is visceral, and you flip over so fast your stomach churns. you lower your head until the carpet is digging into the soft skin of your cheek, and sensually arch your back.

presenting yourself to him, your glistening, swollen pussy begging to be filled.

"'s tha' wha' ya want, love? hm? f'me to stuff ya full of my cock? beg me, then. beg me like the pretty slut you are— to fuck ya the only way i can. only me and no one else."

the words spill from your lips like water does a faucet, slurred with pleasure. "please fuck me, si, fill me with your cum, i promise i'm a slut jus' f'you, only you can fuck me the way i need, i swear i'm yours, only yours."

something in simon snaps when he hears you profess how you're only his. he sinks to the hilt in one smooth stroke, bends his left leg to deepen his angle and fucks.

you don't even try to stop the sounds that come from your mouth, too far gone, cock drunk. every thrust of his hips punches the air from your lungs, and your arousal is renewed with fervor, this time painfully so. it hurts, how bad you want to come, you just need a little more, a little—

"y'wanna come around me? lemme feel you then." simon's hand curls around your waist and his fingers start to draw cruel, tight, precise circles on your neglected clit, and your climax slams into you so hard, you might just start crying from the relief.

"thaaaa's it, pet. cream all over me with tha' tight cunt o'yours."

simon doesn't stop rubbing your bud, nor does he stop thrusting into you, dragging out your pleasure, almost to the point of oversensitivity.

"'m not pullin' out, y'hear? you're mine now. and i'm gonna cum inside what's mine, clear?"

you dumbly nod, bobbing your head up against the rough carpet, and he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into your hips, jarring your spine.

he finally comes in you with a growl, spurting thick ropes of hot seed onto the entrance of your womb.

your body is limp under his, and while still inside of you, he languidly reaches to the side for your phone. he knows the code for it too, and when he unlocks it, smirks at your background photo.

it's a selfie of you and him— you are posing with two fingers by your face, and simon's arms around your shoulders.

he finds the camera icon and opens it.

it's time that idiot knew you were simon's too.

simon leans forward, his front to your back, and pulls your head up by your tangled, sweaty hair with one hand, and holds the phone with the other directly in front of your face.

"say cheese, pet."

the bright flash of the front camera goes off, and then asks you what that dumbass' name was.

he snarls when you say it, but quickly finds it in your contacts and types a quick message.

'delete this fucking number. if i ever see you around here again, i'll kill you.'

then simon presses send. and then he also sends that picture to his own phone. that fucked stupid look on your face is something he needs as his screensaver.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #cod smut #cbf!simon

[ohmygraves]

artwork is a part of a commissioned piece done by @BANSHENRN on twitter, please do not use!

previous username @ghostcattle

masterlist (last updated: 12/02/2024)

task force 141

141 x pokemon au idea chef au: bambi choose your ending series: leaked - price (nsfw)

simon "ghost" riley

roommate!ghost using your stuff, more roommate!ghost ghost who eloped with his spouse, more eloped!ghost thoughts ghost with a soft body ghost's fake tinder profile sick ghost ghost taking care of you ghost as your fake boyfriend cbf!simon (based off of @/shotmrmiller's ideas) scary dog priviledge - ghost/reader/soap (request) fidget

john "soap" mactavish

soap and barista (coffee shop au) married!soap thoughts soap giving you love bites

john price

price and beauty marks

könig

chef!könig thoughts

requests are currently open, please refer to my about me for guidelines!

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty headcanon #simon ghost riley #cod headcanon #cod ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap cod #soap x reader #soap mw2 #cod #price #simon riley #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig call of duty #cod konig #captain price #john price #price x reader #john price x reader #masterlist #pinned post

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Home Pt.9 - END || cbf!Simon "Ghost" Riley

Rating: E Words: 1.8K Pairing: cbf!Simonxafab!reader / teen!Simonxteen!Reader Summary: Teen Simon and his best friend often spend their nights away from their respective houses because they found a home in each other… CW: death, death of a CHILD, house fire, corpses, grief, cemetery, some smut. Tags: you/your pronouns, SOME SMUT, ANGST, HURT NO COMFORT, heartbreak, grief and loss, loss of identity, canonical Ghost backstory, UNHAPPY ENDING. a/n: not proofread. THIS IS THE END (it WILL be angst and nothing else... but I'll write a happy ending alternative soon).

[← Previous] || [MY MASTERLIST]

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Is it macabre to attend your own funeral? Probably.

Nonetheless, Simon Ghost found himself standing near the back of the cemetery, watching on. 

His family wasn’t particularly well-loved in the neighborhood… but when a tragedy like this happens, especially one involving a boy so young as his nephew Joseph… everyone and their mother comes out to pay respects. It’s the “proper thing to do”, they say, even though it’s only out of pity.

However, he has to admit that seeing Oliver, Archie, Jack and Harry, his old mates, come to pay respects, accompanied by their respective families, pulled at his heartstrings a bit. Especially when Archie tapped Oliver in the back while the latter cried.

He’s been here the entire time watching the people come and go, flowers being thrown down into the holes of the Riley family communal grave, and other arrangements being spread all over and around the headstones. Four holes in total. First, ‘Simon’, then his mum Joanna, then Tommy… Then Beth and Joseph in the same one. 

It was close-casket, the bodies too badly burned to allow anything else. The fake Simon has the cheapest coffin he could get, leaving the best for his mum, Tommy and Beth… And he had forced himself to pick a beautiful little white coffin for Joseph. He didn’t even think they made coffins that small. 

Per his request, they lowered Joseph into the hole first, Beth’s larger coffin covering the little boy’s. Just like she was when Ghost found them. Her lifeless body curled over Joseph’s, cradling him tight to keep him safe below her own chest… It was fruitless.

Ghost allows himself to take a deep breath as, finally, the last few people have walked off. The sun is starting to set and people can only pretend to grieve for so long before the cold wind and the darkness makes them go back home. 

In his skull-printed balaclava, black beanie, and black hoodie, Ghost basically blends into the shadows that are starting to take over the cemetery, standing under a tree as his eyes trace the last people walking away from the open graves.

Just days ago Ghost himself was in one of these… buried alive. That’s the night Simon Riley died, he’d say, though, officially, he died in the house fire that took his entire family… A faulty heater during Christmas Eve, you see?

Lost in thought, Ghost doesn’t realize it until now that someone lingered behind. A woman. She moves slowly, tentatively, in the direction of the graves, carrying a couple of bouquets.

More of the same, he thinks… Though he secretly admires the commitment to stay here as the sky is darkening and the air is cooling down.

She places one of the arrangements near the headstones, somewhere amidst the mess of all the other ones…

She flicks on the torch on her phone, to read the names on them… And very gingerly crouches, right in front of ‘his’ grave. She lowers the second bouquet onto it and tosses it carefully on top of the coffin.

Then, she lays her forearms on her knees, letting her hands hang between her legs as she remains crouched in front of his grave. Only to then watch her fold her hands and bring them up to her mouth, to hide the fact she’s crying. He can tell from the way her shoulders rise and fall and and her whole form shakes.

From this distance, he can’t hear her speak, and with the darkness, he can’t see her face.

But he knows.

He knows it’s you.

He watches you fish something out of your pocket and, slowly, toss it down onto the grave too.

He feels his breath being taken away torturously slowly… It feels like someone has grabbed his lungs and forcefully wrung out the air from them like water off a wet rag. 

He’s suffocating.

-

“Merry Christmas!” You cheerfully squealed as you tossed your arms around his neck from behind, strangling him a bit and, shaking him from side to side.

It was freezing outside and you had rushed out in the early morning so you could exchange gifts.

You were twelve, he was thirteen.

“Bloody hell, Y/N, are you tryin’ to kill me?!” He complained playfully as you let go and fake pouted… Then you both broke into laughter.

He tossed a bag of Cadbury mini-eggs at you, which you caught with a giggle. Then, you carefully handed him a little box with a Terry’s chocolate orange in it.

It was all either of you could afford.

“Merry Christmas, you pain in the arse.” He grumbled at you… As if he didn’t have a massive crush on you.

-

You were thirteen, he was fourteen.

“Merry Christmas, Sleepin’ Beauty.” He said it first, as he watched you sneak out the door carefully at 1:30 A.M. You had agreed to meet at midnight but you took your sweet time because you accidentally overslept.

“Shut up, you tosser.” You scoffed as you stopped in front of him, exchanging your gifts.

Terry’s chocolate orange, Cadbury mini-eggs.

“Go back inside, it’s freezin’.” Simon added as he watched you shiver in your pajamas. Poor thing, he thought, as if he hadn’t been here, in the freezing cold, waiting for you for over an hour.

“I will, I will!” You announced dramatically. “Merry Christmas, Riley.” You added as you reached up and kissed his cheek.

Then you turned and rushed back inside. Leaving him outside... but the chill in his bones was long forgotten.

-

You were fourteen, he was fifteen.

The wall clock at your local pub announced it was midnight.

“Merry Christmas, love.” He told you as he surprised you by dangling the Cadbury mini eggs bag in front of your face.

You leaned up and stole a kiss off his lips, his mouth melting into yours. Your friends around you complained in mock disgust at your PDA.

You pulled away and stuck your tongue out at them, mocking them back, before you turned all your attention to Simon.

You reached into your little shoulder bag and pulled out his chocolate orange, handing it to him. “Merry Christmas.” You told him and smiled sweetly.

-

You were fifteen, he was sixteen.

You were cuddling in the backseat of his dad’s Renault Clio, smoking together.

You had dozed off a couple of times by now, feeling warm and cosy in his arms, as usual.

Simon looked out of the window, enjoying the sight of the empty farm fields, lightly speckled in white snow.

“Darlin’?” Simon called for you and you stirred awake again.

You lifted your head from his chest, ever so slightly, where you had been lulled to sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat. 

“Hm?” You murmured groggily.

“Merry Christmas, lovie.” He whispers as he kisses your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Riley…” You return as you nuzzle up to his neck, your nose rubbing against his skin.

You’d exchange your gifts before he dropped you off at home…

-

You were sixteen, he was seventeen.

It was tight in that backseat, his body no longer fitting lengthwise across the backseat and yours just barely fitting too.

Simon thrusted into you, holding one of your legs over his shoulder, while the other wrapped around his hip. His knees were bent and his head was pressed flush against the smooth roof of the car.

Your moans were loud and almost pornographic, forcing him to have to kiss you to shut you up. But even then, he kept up a hard and unforgiving pace, his hips slamming into yours feverishly.

It all stemmed from the undeniable hunger you felt for one another after three months apart while he was in Basic Training.

He couldn’t get enough of you, the way you looked up at him with those tear-filled eyes, your face red from the heat, your breaths erratic, your forehead dripping with sweat…

“Been… thinking… about this… for so long…” He grunted through the strain of trying to hold back his orgasm.

“Simon!” You moaned, your voice jumpy and high-pitched as he kept the rhythm that was driving you both to the brink of exhaustion.

“Three… bloody… fuckin’... months… without you…” He groaned. “God…” He grunted. “Keep moanin’ for me, darlin’... Show me who you belong to.” He demanded.

And you did. You made sure to make yourself heard, calling his name and whining, desperately so, as he made you both reach your limits.

As you both winded down, your weak legs wrapped around his hip, his head lying on your sweaty breasts, he looked up at you. “I love you.” Simon told you.

Your eyes softened when you looked down at him, his brown eyes seemingly even more beautiful that night than they ever had been. “I love you too.” You told him softly.

He pushed up and kissed you sweetly and, after glancing at the dash clock out of the corner of his eye, he chuckled against your lips.

“Merry Christmas.” He murmured. You probably replied something of the sort as well, though he kissed you back into silence.

You would exchange your gifts soon after.

-

You were seventeen, he was eighteen.

Simon was at the mess, shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow Corporals, squeezed tight so they could all fit at the table.

His rifle hung around his back, as he lowered his head like an obedient dog while shoveling mashed potatoes and slices of roast turkey into his mouth.

The CO had barked a hurried “Merry Christmas” to the troops before allowing them to dig in.

They hurried to eat. 

Simon was one of the first to stand up and rush his tray to the tray return trolley, and then slap his helmet on.

Then, he dashed out the door to join his platoon in the frontlines, swinging his rifle forward.

There was no Terry’s Chocolate Orange that time…

There was never going to be another one.

-

By the time Simon Ghost finally catches his breath again, you’re pushing back up onto your feet. He imagines you’re about to walk off and leave… But you don’t.

The sun has fully set by now, bathing the cemetery in darkness… And there you are. Still standing. 

Grieving over him.

His chest hurts, his heart squeezing with the realization that you are not taking his death well… Even after 15 years.

He wishes he could go forward… To tell you he’s not actually dead… that he just needed to pretend.

He wants to ask you how you’ve been, what you’ve been up to, to tell you how grateful he is that you came, how proud he is that you’re alive and healthy, by the looks of it.

He wants to tell you about his regrets, he wants to apologize, he wants to tell you he wanted to marry you, that he's never loved another woman like he's loved you.

But he doesn’t.

He simply continues to watch you from a distance as you hang around for a long, long time. Longer than anyone else. Hell, longer than Oliver did.

He watches your figure seemingly take a deep breath… And then… you start walking off toward the car park

He’s tempted to follow after you, even if just to watch… just for a moment more.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he walks up quietly toward 'his' grave, spotting what you threw into it easily.

He recognizes the shiny foil of a Terry's Chocolate Orange amidst the flowers without any issue.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before turning and walking away.

There was a time when you found a home in each other's arms...

But that's dead and buried now... Just like the chocolate orange will be.

And that's for the best.

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[← Previous] || [MY MASTERLIST]

taglist: @iite-cool , @spicyspicyliving

Thank you so much for reading this fic, to the people who've read it here and on AO3! Your support mean the world to me!

#ikea writes 💚 #home cbf!simon fic #cod fanfic #tw child death #tw death #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #childhood best friends to lovers #cbf #cbf!simon #teenage love #masterlist #angst #heartbreak #time skip #graveyard

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Broken Vows and Promises

Eventual Ghoap x Female Reader

Excitedly awaiting on the arrival of your boyfriend, you get yourself ready in the hopes of receiving a wedding proposal. But you didn't even make it out the door before your world comes crashing down. (This will be a dark fic read tags)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

(pictures are for aesthetic purposes only)

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghoap fic #ghoap smut #ghoap x reader #ghoap #ghoap au #simon riley x john mactavish #simon riley x john mactavish x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x soap #cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #cbf!soap #cbf!soap x reader #cbf!au #call of duty #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #soap and ghost #soap angst #cod angst #cw kidnapping #cw stalking #cw depression #cw dubious consent #cw dubcon #cw dark content #Broken Vows and Promises

[katzenmas]

Kitty's Collection Of Thoughts

this is my masterlist that i will update every time i post something. It will include drabbles, fics, headcanons and blurbs. some of my works include dead dove content, i want to say i do not condone any of it in real life, only fiction. stay safe and sane out there guys! Enjoy!

COD Ghost who desperately wants to fuck Johnny's girl PT.2 SMUT! Mechanic!Price who is a creep and takes advantage of you SMUT! Mechanic!Simon thoughts Simon Riley and the ordeal of falling in love CBF!Gaz drabble LIGHT ANGST! Johnny decides he likes cats Sub!Simon drabble SMUT! Taking care of Price drabble Sub!Simon Dom!Johnny x Switch reader SMUT! Creep!Tattoo artist reader x Ghost PT.2 SUGGESTIVE! PT.3+Johnny Konig who uses post it notes to communicate with you Thoughts about Nikto's life Simon with a mommy kink drabble SMUT! Post-roba Simon AU

#call of duty x reader #cod headcanons #cod #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #fluff #ghost headcanons #simon riley #masterlist #cod masterlist #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap matavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #konig x reader