#fic: simon riley prompt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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oml hiiii, i rushed here immediately when i saw your requests are open ive been in love with the idea of maybe ghost having a teenage niece (his older brothers daughter) who he basically raised when he wasn't on duty but like none of the 141 knows about it because he keeps her a secret. He's basically her father at this point cause the rest of the family was murdered when she was only a baby. Anyways, you can do whatever you want with this prompt or not if you don't want to. But like I can totally just imagine Soap just seeing them in a Tescos and absolutely losing his shit when seeing a teenager swinging from his Lieutenants arm.

if you choose not to do this prompt that's completely fine!!! thank you!!!

—Sole Survivor

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

When you were the only one to live, the sole survivor of that massacre, Simon knew he was in trouble.

He’d found you under the bed. The blood was still congealing over the wooden floors—whoever put you there, Tommy, his mother, Beth, or even his nephew, was all a mystery that no one would ever know the answer to. Yet, the larger question was how you, a baby, had managed to stay silent through it all.

Simon had picked you up with panicked breath and tears in his eyes as the sirens of the police had gotten closer, holding you to him as you blinked awake and yawned. The bodies of his family were strewn around the floor, broken and bent; murdered. But you. Little you.

Alive.

It would be best to leave you to be found by the authorities. To go somewhere far away from him and the future that was now stained into his soul—the pact of revenge and horror that would live through him like a brand. It was the right thing to do; the correct thing.

And then he remembers his mother’s eyes, and he’s already rushing to the back window while cradling your squirming body. The rest, of course, passed as the flow of time always did.

“I’m thinking we should have steak,” your voice pipes up as Simon grabs a bag of crisps from the shelf. Brown eyes blink down at you, balaclava tight to this face.

“You have steak money?” You were a teenager now, older and figuring life out one day at a time. He hadn’t told you the whole story, and he won’t until much later, but you know enough to a point that you were comfortable with.

You know your family loved you.

“You’re the one with the job,” he huffs at you as you utter under your breath.

“Exactly,” Simon grunts. “Eatin’ me out of house and home like I never feed you.”

“I,” you point a finger into the air, “am growing. Soon I’ll be just as tall as you, y’know that? I’ll be towering over everyone and giving them that same dead-eyed look that—” brown orbs level with you, unimpressed. You beam, punching his shoulder. “See! That one!”

“Fuckin’ piss off, would you?” Simon grumbles, moving down to the next aisle in his large and darkly-clothed glory. Your laugh trails after him, feet heavy on his heels. “Givin’ me a headache.”

You both walk around the Tesco, Simon getting strange looks while a beaming teenager walks beside him talking about supper, class, and anything in between. He offered short responses, sometimes sarcastic and sometimes serious—it depended, but the point was that he did answer you, no matter how pointless the conversation.

“I think I’m going to join a club this year,” you speak as you gaze at the items your Uncle puts in his basket. A gaze side-eyes you slowly.

“What, then?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, shoulder bumping into his arm and tilting your head. “Were you in any clubs?”

He grunts, shaking his head before a hand descends to your hair, ruffling it as you hiss in annoyance. “Never had time.” Simon hadn’t told you about his father or what he had done, and God help him if he ever uttered a word about it. That wasn’t something that mattered in your story, just his…he’d never place that weight on you willingly.

You frown as your uncle's arm loops your shoulders casually, keeping you to him as other people walk past you. Brown filters over posture and facial expressions—looking for the barest hint of ill-intent. When there’s nothing, and the forms move around you as easily as they had come, Simon’s attention leaves, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

“Try Debate.” Your face turns to him, curious.

“Debate?” His eyes twinkle, and behind his face covering you immediately find the tell-tale twitch of a smirk.

“Argue so bloody well you could convince a rookie that a P890 can hold 10 rounds.”

You fight the shocked smile that pulls at your lips. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” Eyes swirl, and a hand squeezes your arm; jostling you slightly.

“It’s a compliment.”

“You’ve always been shit at those.” You get a firm glare and a grunt from above.

“Fuckin’ language.” Your lips mock his response, making fun of him before he sends a flick of his thumb and forefinger into your temple.

“Hey!” Simon chuckles lowly, walking closer to the front of the store to get ready to pay as you mutter. “Jerk.”

It was a surprise though, that when you had barreled onto your Uncle’s back for an impromptu piggyback ride as payback—which the man didn’t even flinch at, already used to your antics—that the wide eyes of a man with a mohawk met yours. Your head is atop your Uncles, resting there as the lady at the front gives you strange looks from behind the register as Simon places the items in front of her.

He was gobsmacked, this stranger with his hair all done up like that, and your eyes blink at the display of tags around his neck that mirror your guardians. Broad, yet not so like Simon, and muscled, also, not as much as Simon.

“Unc?” You ask, and the man below you hums in question, pulling out notes from his wallet absentmindedly. “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

Simon tenses under you, fingers freezing.

“With the what?” It wasn’t really shocking that no one knew about you besides Price—and the only reason he knew was that in the event something happened to him, Simon had made the Captain swear that you would be taken care of.

Imagine his horror when his brown eyes darted up only to find them meeting the cobalt blues of his Sergeant, the Scot's hand outstretched to a box of pancake mix with a pack of Irn Bru in the other.

There’s an immediate sinking feeling in Simon’s chest when Johnny awkwardly tips his fingers in a shocked greeting—eyes flashing up to your curious face before he thins his lips and blinks.

You wave enthusiastically back.

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

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siriusleee · 10 months

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LIKE BLOOD ON IRON

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a three part series that I intend to be pretty long - at least 20,000 words. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you comment below. This is a historical fantasy, however, it is not magical. spotify playlist part two

His sword carves a gorge in the dirt, dust swirling in the sunlight left behind him. The sun threatens to fall before he makes it to the center of the village, but it doesn't dare fall before he gets the chance to finish his day's work.

You watch him from the window of your family's house, lucky enough to be close enough to the center that you can see him coming for ages. Your fingers dig into the windowsill; the wind - salty from the nearby bay- blows gently through, rattling the windows you threw open the moment your sister whispered that he was coming down the road. There are only moments before Mother will storm upstairs, chastising you for trying to watch what's going down below.

"It's not appropriate for a girl your age to see this," she'll say for the hundredth time, slamming the windows shut. The wavy glass will distort his features, and leave you nothing but a hint at his form, but even then Mother won't let you continue looking. She'll pull you downstairs into the kitchen with your two sisters and set you all to work.

"Your father and uncle will be hungry when they get home; you all pitch in," she'll say, pantomiming joy when just outside a man will lose his head - your father and uncle observing from the crowd. Father will come home grim, and not speak over the dinner that you and your sisters cooked, and will go to bed silent.

In the morning when you go to the market for whatever Mother needs for the day, blood will have stained the stones paving the center of the village. And the executioner will be back in his small cottage situated far away from everyone in town, not to be seen until he was needed again.

But this time, Mother takes longer. You hear her speaking sharply to your youngest sister, about how she needs to be more aware of her surroundings and stop sloshing all that damned water all over the place. Today you get the chance to see him come closer.

He's large and cloaked - you know from the village boys whispering that he has a mask on to cover his face.

"It's covered in ashes - smeared to look like a skull."

"It's to remind those on his chopping block that he is Death."

No one accompanies him on his journey to the dias that all the buildings spiral away from; every person that will be there is already waiting for him to arrive, breath held in their throats as they hear his approaching footsteps. You watch as each house he passes draws its shutters shut to him as if they could be next if they looked at him. The sea rages down past the docks, far enough away to be just a faint chorus as he approaches your house.

The tilt of his shoulders enamors you - he's enormous, but walks with a grace you can only wish to have. You don't need to be near him to know that the only sounds are the swish of his cloak against the ground, and the sword drawing against the ground.

You startle when Mother grasps your shoulder, letting out a gasping noise, but you don't turn away from the window. As if he could hear you, the executioner's head snaps towards you. You see just a hint of the white ash smeared across his mask before you're pulled inside. Mother throws you into the room with enough strength to cause you to hit the wall behind you, rattling the porcelain that sits on a nearby shelf. She slams the window hard enough that the glass rattles before slamming the storm shutters and latching them.

"What are you doing?" Mother's voice is venomous as she rounds on you, eyes burning. "You are going to humiliate this family acting the way you do."

"I'm sorry Mother," you appease, pulling at the wrinkles in your skirt and avoiding her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Your job isn't to be curious."

"Yes, Mother."

"How would your suitors think about you hanging out the window to watch something so grim?"

You close your eyes to hide the sudden anger behind them; your head stays down and you don't answer. Anything you say won't be good enough for her. It's the same every time there's an execution.

"Come - let's prepare dinner."

You follow, slowly. Inside the kitchen it's warm, and smells of honey and meat. Your mother gestures to a lump of dough that needs kneading and you roll your sleeves up. Your sisters, still eager to get a nice word out of Mother, patter around, stirring and checking on the baking. You know you were given the dough because everything else in the kitchen fails you.

Mother had been attempting to get you some proficiency in the kitchen, giving it her damnedest, curses flying out of her whenever you burnt something. For the past two years, she tried to no avail.

"At least you're a smart girl," she'd say with a sign. "And you can do books - you'll just have to hire someone who can cook."

For three years, your father and mother had been trying to find someone for you to marry.

"Seventeen is when I met your mother, and I courted her for three years to finally get her yes. And you're her elder by three."

The story sickened you.

You'd had some luck that not many wanted to court you - it wasn't unknown in the village that you argued with your mother and father. Everyone whispered behind your back about the time you tried to smuggle yourself on one of your father's cargo ships, bound for somewhere far away and exotic. They whispered about how you fought the sailor that found you tooth and nail, leaving him a scar down the side of his face as he dragged you to the deck. No one wanted a wife that wouldn't listen.

But still, some had come knocking.

Nice young men who would wait the years it took you to be ready to marry if you would just say yes. Nice young men who winked at your younger sisters across the dining table, who pressed flowers into Mother's hands, who clapped Father on the back at the end of the night.

Nice, young, boring men who wanted a boring wife to oversee someone else doing the cooking.

Nice young men who would want their wives on hands and knees cleaning during the day, tongue out at night.

Nice young men you detested.

You'd rejected each one that came knocking - fits that included screaming loud enough that the neighbors could hear, and a few shattered glasses. Once Mother locked you in your room and threatened to send you to a nunnery if you didn't stop screeching. But your father had called on them, spinning a web that you'd been intrigued by them and to come back for dinner again in a few weeks.

You'd been threatened with the nunnery and the whip if you misbehaved the next time they came back, so you sat there, unspeaking while the men spoke only to Mother and Father.

You're broken out of your reverie by your youngest sister, Lily. She presses against your side, tugging your apron to pull you down so that she can whisper in your ear.

"Mother is going to check on you tonight."

You give just a curt nod, eyes trained on Mother and your oldest sister, Maggie. They have their backs turned to you and Lily. Lily who has always hidden your secrets and you have hidden hers. Lily who knows you sneak out at night, climbing carefully out of your window onto the trellis and down where the horse is stabled. Lily who knows you spend all night swimming in the dark ocean, imagining the merfolk and monsters that linger there.

You press a quick kiss to her temple, a thank you for the heads up, as you begin shaping the dough into two loaves of bread.

The front door opens and the sound of your father's boots on the wood breaks through the kitchen. Mother wipes her hands on her apron, flour falling onto the dark blue skirt below, and leaves to say hello. Maggie follows closely behind, leaving you and Lily behind to finish dinner. Lily does most of the work, directing you on what to do to keep everything from burning.

When everything is finished, the two of you cart it to the dining table where Maggie straightens the plates to perfection. You hear the gentle hum of Mother and Father talking, no doubt about your antics in the window. There's an extra plate at the table.

"Who is this for?" You ask Maggie, skewing one of the spoons.

"Edward. And don't mess everything up." She reaches across to straighten the spoon.

Edward the apprentice tailor, her two-year suitor who no doubt will agree to marry before the end of the year. You feel relieved that tonight you will be ignored, you and Lily can eat at the end of the table in peace, whispering jokes to each other.

You leave to wash up in your room, scrubbing at the black dirt that you collected from the windowsill. You wonder if the executioner has made it home; if he drags his sword behind him or does he sheath it. Does it drip blood as he retraces his path?

Lily waits for you at the top of the stairs, and you lace your fingers together as you make your way down the stairs and into the dining hall. You pull faces at each other across the table, and stifle giggles into your napkins - ignoring the dirty looks Maggie sends to the two of you down the table.

Dinner is tortuously slow - when it's over and you're clearing off the table you can see Edward and Maggie in the hallway, pressed against each other in a way that would make Mother blush if she were to see it. You elbow Lily and point toward them, sticking your tongue out and pretending to puke. She laughs loud enough to catch Maggie's attention and the two of you scurry out of her line of sight.

After getting ready for bed, you brush out Lily's hair, perched on the bed you share. Her hair shines midnight beneath the brush, long and thick. The most gorgeous in the family.

"Can you braid it in two tonight?" She asks, trying to turn and look at you, but you turn her head forcefully back to the front.

"If you stay still I can. Keep wiggling little mouse, and you're going to have crooked braids."

Her hair slips heavily between your fingers as you cross one strand over another. You're wrapping a tie around the bottom of the first braid when she speaks again, this time in a whisper.

"Do you think being married would be terrible?"

You concentrate on the tie, measuring out each word before saying it.

"Why do you ask, my little mouse?"

"It's just - Maggie seems so eager to marry, and you're the opposite. Mother and Father seem happy."

"Well, Maggie and I are different people. Maggie is wonderful at this house stuff, and she wants that life. I want to explore, to see more. I want to fall in love with someone that isn't a pick of Father - someone…" You trail off, unsure of what you're trying to say. "Anyway, marriage isn't terrible for everyone. And if your marriage was, I would come and rescue you myself. Even if it means killing your husband. I'd sweep you out of that house, and back with me."

Lily giggles at the suggestion.

"You would end up under the executioner's sword then."

Inside, something twists at the idea of lying down, looking up at the broad man staring down at you.

"He doesn't scare me," you tell her, finishing the second braid. "Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The two of you settle into bed, Lily tucking herself into your side. Just as she said, in the middle of the night, Mother comes in, candlelight casting long shadows across the room. You keep still, pretending to sleep until she disappears. It's too risky to leave tonight, so you let Lily's warmth and soft snoring lull you to sleep.

***

The next night, you press your ear to your bedroom door. You can hear Father snoring faintly down the hall; the moon, directly overhead, tells you it's late enough to slip out. You press a kiss on Lily's forehead and slide your legs out of the window, skirts bunched up to keep from getting caught.

The trellis groans under your weight, but you're sure it won't break underneath you. You climb down, familiar with where to put your hands, where the spiders like to build their webs, and the weak spots - you drop the last few feet down to the ground. The horse nickers softly from her spot in the small stall she's in. The village is quiet, the only sound the whisper of the sea.

You keep to the darkest spots, the shadows even the night fears as you sneak through town. It's too hot for a cloak, but you still keep yours over your head, just in case anyone other than the spiders and bats is awake to see you. The closer you get to the sand, the faster you walk, pausing just once for a drunken sailor to slip past you without noticing you are hidden just feet away from him.

The port is small - bringing in just one or two ships - nearly all of them laden down with wool your father sells. But this time of year there is only one ship, here to pick up sailors that were on leave. It bobs gently across the water in the small port, the flicker of a candle seen sporadically. From this distance, any soldiers on it look like dolls in the distance. The air is cooler rolling off of the ocean, and the salt in the air sticks to your skin. Your bare feet hit the sand and you race to a spot hidden in a cove that separates the village from the ocean - a hidden spot used by couples in the town when they wanted to get away. But at night it was always empty.

Your toes dip in the water, and the bottom of your cloak gets soaked each time a fresh wave breaks on the sand. The water in the distance is still, reflecting the moon and stars. You let your cloak slip off of your shoulders, beneath you'd laced a dress up loosely, enough that if you were caught, you could feign innocence. It comes undone and pools at your feet. Your skin erupts in gooseflesh when the ocean air rolls over it - your chemise not thick enough to block out the wind.

You wade to your hips- the water is warm and still. Beneath your feet the sand shifts, shells sharp against your skin. You turn, making sure that you're still hidden from anyone who may be walking to the port at night, and when you're sure no one is there looking at you, you dive.

Your eyes burn in the darkness, moonlight filtering down just enough so that you can see your hand in front of your face. You push farther out into the bay, not resurfacing until your lungs burn from lack of air. Breaking the surface, everything is blurry, you fall back so that you're floating on your back until your eyes readjust and the stars come back in sharp focus. You float there, watching the subtle shift.

And all at once you feel it: someone's eyes on you. You flounder until you can get your feet underneath you, eyes straining to see the shore - you're farther out than you thought you were, toes barely able to scrape the sand below. You can see your dress and cloak, still pooled on the shore, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. Slowly, worryingly, you push towards the shore, until it's back to your hips. Your eyes never leave the shore, looking for someone there.

That's when one of the shadows ripples forward. You freeze your heart stuttering in your chest as you watch someone walk towards you - you can't think of what to do. Even if you screamed, no one would be able to hear you. You realize for the first time how foolish the venture is.

When the moonlight fully covers the figure, they stop feet from your clothes. Your hands clamp across your chest, the thin white fabric covering you completely transparent now that it's wet. Neither of you moves, and you realize that if you don't, they probably never will.

Hands still clamped across your chest, you walk to the shore. With each step it becomes clear just how massive the person on shore is - it has to be a man, you've never seen a woman that tall, that broad. You're in ankle-deep water when you catch just a glimpse at them beneath the hood of their cloak: white ash, reflecting in the moonlight.

Your panic increases tenfold, but you think if you move too fast, he'll move faster. Snatch you up. So as if he were a dangerous animal, you reach down and grab your dress from the ground, leaving it over your arm as you pull your cloak around yourself. Your eyes never leave him. He waits until you're completely covered before he turns to look at you - just the barest hint of flesh around his eyes.

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be out here alone?" His voice is gravel and honey, deeper than you'd expect. You wonder if it's that way because he doesn't get to speak often.

"It depends on who's out here," your voice wavers, but doesn't crack. He seems to like that answer, letting out a short 'hmm'.

"There's plenty of monsters out here in the darkness." He speaks but still doesn't step toward you. You tighten your cloak around you, wishing for once to be back in bed with Lily.

"The merfolk and the selkies are the only things I worry about." You take small steps backward as you speak, feet shuffling over the sand.

"I've seen worse lurking in the near forest," he says, suddenly stepping towards you. You trip over your own feet, but before you can crash into the sand, his hand is around your elbow, pulling you up roughly. You don't mean to, but you let out a small squeak at his touch and recoil away; he drops your arm as if it burns him.

"You should go home," he says, nodding his head back towards the village. "It's too late for you to be out."

"I think you and my father would agree on that matter."

You can't tell if it's a trick of the light, but you see the corner of his eye crinkle for just a moment.

"I'll walk you back up, then you are on your own to get home safely."

He walks ahead of you as he talks as if he expects you just to follow without saying anything. And you do, terror and intrigue mixing inside of you. His scent wafts to you in the wind, woodsmoke, and metal, and something sweet- like rotted wood. It flashes through you, just a second long - to bury your face in his cloak and take a deep breath. Your curiosity is raging inside of you, mingling with the apprehension of being near him - the same man Mother refuses to let you even look at through the window.

You slip on the sand and rocks behind him, his boots leaving footprints that dwarf yours. It takes just moments, but the two of you emerge out of the hidden crag and onto the soft grass that overlooks the ocean.

You're panting, your heart still beating erratically in fear of him, the executioner, here at night on a dark roadside, and no one to notice the two of you. He pauses, just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder at you - you recognize his silent instructions to hurry home. You take two small sideways steps, eyes trained on him as he walks in the opposite direction, to the small cottage situated between the forest and the sea and far away from where he found you. His exile - where he never ventures out unless called. As soon as he's far enough away, you turn and run.

When you make it back to your trellis you're out of breath, a stitch cutting your side open. You ready yourself to climb up, trying to catch your breath and remember his scent and the way he towered over you.

You wonder if he'd been there with you before, hidden in the shadows.

***

"What are you doing? Are you senseless?" Maggie's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Your fingers slip over the apples in your hand as she grabs your wrist, pulling you back towards her.

"You're supposed to stay with me and Lily; not wander off to do god knows what?"

Her face is pinched, angry - you jerk your wrist out of her touch.

"I'm sorry Maggie, I just got busy looking at the produce."

She gives you a look that says she knows you're lying, but you fall in step behind her anyway. You had been lost in thoughts of the executioner, of how his eyes shone in the moonlight and his smell. Her hair, lighter than yours and Lily's, is pinned up elaborately; she spent two hours in the mirror this morning doing it. She didn't have to say it, but you know she hopes to run into someone who will run back to Edward and tell him about how gorgeous his future betrothed was today in the market.

Lily slips her hand into yours, and you two trail behind Maggie - ducklings behind their mother duck. Lily had whispered to you this morning between bites of breakfast that Mother had set Maggie to watch you to make sure you didn't slip off. She couldn't catch you out at night, but she knew you were disappearing somewhere.

She'd been creeping into the room for the past two weeks, only to find you pretending to sleep beside Lily. You'd close your eyes, and bury your face into the pillow, trying to sleep, but instead filled with thoughts of the executioner. Wondering if he was out there standing in the same spot, the waves soaking the bottom of his cloak, the ash on his mask shining in the moonlight. Wondering if he was thinking about you.

"I'm going to take Lily to the butcher; it's stupid for all three of us to go to the same place," you say, winking down at Lily. Maggie stops and sighs, heavy enough that you can see her shoulders heave.

"Mother said for us all to go together."

"What trouble can I get into with Lily?"

You elbow Lily just before Maggie turns to level a suspicious look at the both of you. Lily speaks up for the two of you, trying to keep her face serious.

"I can keep an eye on her - no one will get into any trouble when I'm around."

Maggie rolls her eyes at the two of you, you can see her wearing down.

"Besides if we go to the butcher, then that means you can take the long way home. And pass the tailor's shop."

That gets her - Edward will be there, working with his father, and if she doesn't have to cart you and Lily around, the two of them can meet in the alley.

"Fine. But meet me at the end of the street and don't tell Mother."

"I would never think of it."

You and Lily watch her disappear into the market vendors before the two of you turn in the opposite direction.

"What do you want to do?" You ask, nudging Lily with your shoulder. "We have at least an hour of freedom."

"Let's go by the bakery; I want something sweet."

"Something sweet? You are the best baker in the house, all you do is eat sweet food."

The wind blows your skirts around as the two of you walk across the village, dodging loose stones and puddles. You're trying to jump from one stone to the other when Lily grabs your arm.

"Look!"

Thirty feet away from the two of you, in the middle of the street, the executioner stands. People shove themselves onto the sides of the buildings, straining to get away from him. He doesn't seem to pay anyone any mind as he walks. Lily pulls on your arm, trying to pull you to the side, away from him. But you're stuck fast to the ground; even from this distance, you can see him looking at you as he walks.

Lily whines your name, pulling harder on your arm. He gets closer, close enough that you can almost make out the wrinkles beside his eyes. His eyes catch yours - you can tell recognition sparks in them. You want to say something to him, but you know if you do, it will get back to your Mother. So you let Lily pull you away from him, closer to one of the buildings, but your eyes never leave him.

He passes by, nearly silent for such a large man, black boots shining in the sunlight.

"Why is he out?" Lily hisses in your ear as he passes. You pull your attention from his broad back to her.

"I'm sure he also has errands to run."

"He's so scary."

You watch as he disappears around the corner - wondering what he thought about you, about what he'd say if you stopped and spoke to him, say hello here in public. The thoughts stick with you as you and Lily duck into the bakery. You're stuck thinking about it as she bribes the young boy behind the counter to give her two sweet rolls for free, promising that she'll pay him back next time. The two of you eat them as you walk to the butcher's, honey coating your fingertips.

You watch the butcher wrap meat in brown paper, but your mind is on the executioner: on how he refused to look at you until you were dressed, how he walked you back to the edge of the village. It takes just a short walk to make it back home, Maggie waiting for you at the end of the street so that you can all walk in together. You notice the way one of the pins in her hair is gone, a single lock of hair falling.

Inside it's a commotion - the three of you come through the door to your Mother rushing past with an armful of clothes.

"You all took your damn good time! Hurry up and go get clean for dinner. We're going to have guests tonight."

You press yourself against the wall as one of the hired girls hustles past, a tablecloth in her hand.

"Who's coming? What is this?" You inquire, as your mother shoves a dress into your arms. You try to peer at her over the royal blue material.

"Your uncle is coming to dinner, and so is Jonathan." Your heart sinks. Jonathan. A suitor hand-picked by Father for you. You've barely digested the information before your mother whirls on you, hair in disarray and fire in her eyes.

"And you will not act like a brat tonight. You are twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. Your sister will be getting married this year and I intend to announce your wedding shortly after. You will dress like a lady and act like one or so help me, I will send you to the nunnery this time.

And you," she whirls to Lily, her chest heaving. Lily shrinks half behind you, "will behave also young lady. You and your sister will not make a fool of me tonight. Do you understand?"

The two of you nod in unison together, too scared to say anything else. Mother waves the two of you upstairs - you trip over the dress in your arms, slamming your shin into one of the stairs. You emerge at the top, cursing under your breath.

The two of you rush to your room - Lily's dress laid across the bed; you shake the one Mother shoved in your hands out, nose wrinkled. It's one of Maggie's old ones: dark blue and heavy, elaborate embroidery across the bottom.

"I don't know how she expects me to fit into this," you mutter, throwing it across the bed. Maggie, taller than you by an entire head and more willowy, had never been able to share dresses with you.

"What do you think Uncle is coming for?" Lily asks, emerging from the neck of her dress, turning around in a silent request for you to lace her up.

"Probably to ask Father for money for another stupid business prospect, just like the last time."

You lace her dress, loosely.

"Can you tighten it up?"

"Why do you need your dress tighter? You're thirteen."

"The other girls wear theirs tighter."

Lily pouts at you, and you sigh at her.

"Come here; I'm only doing it a little tighter. When you lace mine, make sure it's loose, if I can even get it on. I'll braid your hair for you."

You re-lace her, just incrementally tighter, and redo the braids you did for her that morning, pinning them up in the back. From below, Mother is yelling to hurry up! You get dressed in a hurry, and to your surprise, the dress slips over you, but you know lacing it up will be difficult.

When your mother comes up the stairs ten minutes later, you have your hands braced against the end of the bed; Lily is pulling with all her might to try to get the back to close.

"Go wash your face, Lily," she says, brushing her away and taking the strings herself.

You know what's coming next; you breathe in, and she jerks the laces tight - you can feel the boning squeeze your ribs.

"Does it have to be this dress?" You ask as your mother pulls the strings again. You press your hands to your stomach, trying to breathe better as Mother ties the back, tucking the strings so they can't be seen.

"Jonathan likes the color blue."

"And that means I have to be packed into this like a sausage?"

Mother sighs, pushing on your shoulders so that you sit on the end of the bed. Her hands are soft in your hair as she pulls it down, and twists it back up, pinning it into place.

"You could do much worse than Jonathan. At this point, he's the only man that will have you."

"Have me? Like I'm a cow."

She sticks another pin in your hair, nearly stabbing your scalp.

"No. Like you're a woman; you can't do everything in this life alone. Besides," she tucks the last piece of hair in, "he travels. You could go with him."

Your hands smooth down the skirt of the dress, picking at a loose thread.

"I want to travel where I want to go, not where someone is going to show me off."

Your mother's fingers are soft on your shoulders as she turns you so she can look at you.

"We don't always get what we want in life. Sometimes we just have to take what we're given. Come on. Your uncle is waiting downstairs to say hello."

She holds your hand down the stairs; at the bottom, your Uncle Henry stands - taller than your father and thinner but not nearly as imposing. He kisses you on each cheek before moving to Mother. You leave them to talk and take your place at the dining table. It's empty except for the plates already sat down. In the kitchen, you can hear the hired girl banging around. The sound grates at your nerves, and the dress itches at your back where you can't reach.

There's a knock at the door - it sounds like a funeral cannon going off. You try rearranging your face into a smile and push yourself up from your chair. You're sure you look more like you have an upset stomach. In the hallway everyone explodes into a chorus of greetings. A moment later, Jonathan walks into the dining room.

If you're being honest, he's not the worst pick that your mother and father could have chosen. He's never been rude or forward with you, and he's not horrible looking, but as he reaches you and takes your hand, all you can think about is how small they must be compared to the executioner's hands.

"Hello, Jonathan." You try to smile at him as he kisses your hand.

"Hello, darling."

He turns just in time to miss the grimace on your face - turning to shake your father's hand when your father walks in behind him. You take your seat, waving at Lily to come sit down beside you quickly.

Dinner passes slowly; you're barely able to eat anything from the rolling in your stomach and the way the dress presses into you. The conversation is flowery and fake - Uncle Henry laughing too loudly, Jonathan smiling to politely across the table. It sets you on edge; Lily can see it because she reaches under the table to pat your knee.

It comes to a boiling point when Uncle Henry begins to describe his new business of shipping items.

"We've got a new ship; smaller and faster than the ones usually used. It can't hold as much cargo, but it can sail routes in half the time. With just two of them we can double how much cargo we're moving out of ports."

Your mother is leaning into the conversation, no doubt to know what she's going to tell Father no to later, Father is enraptured by your uncles conversation, and Jonathan leans across the table, listening in.

"You know," Jonathan says, cutting into the conversation, "I think you'd have more success using them to ferry people. Imagine how much people would pay to get where they're going faster."

Uncle Henry points at him across the table, a grin spreading over his face.

"The boy understands."

"Of course he does," Father says, pausing to take a drink, "he's already got plans to take my daughter on a cross-oceanic trip after the wedding."

Your fingers falter on your glass, it nearly spills, red drops spattering across the table like blood.

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at you, and you get the feeling that there's a joke you haven't been let in on.

"Well," Father says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Mother cuts her eyes at him, a look you don't miss. "We were going to discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" You ask, voice rising. "Because it seems as if the decision has been made for me."

Jonathan's gaze swivels between you and your father; you bunch the tablecloth in your hands.

"Calm down dear," Mother says, rising slightly from her seat, "we will talk about this later."

"No!" You yell, slamming your hands to the table and pushing yourself up. "We won't. Because I know how the conversation will go. I will be forced to agree. This is an ambush!"

Your cup spills, staining the table red. Everyone in the room seems to hold a collective breath. Jonathan moves to stand; you turn, knocking your chair over. Across the table, Maggie gives you a look of contempt - it's enough to push you toward the door.

Everyone calls your name; you can hear your uncle laughing behind you. Someone's hand grabs at your wrist, but you jerk yourself away without looking to see who it is. Outside it's dark; windows are lit up with candle light and fires flickering. In the distance lightning strikes, grey clouds rolling towards you.

You run, slipping on the grass, towards the cove. You scrape your hands, cutting one of them on a sharp rock as you scramble down. You ignore the sting, and the sound of fabric tearing. You land hard on the sand, scrambling to pull yourself upright.

Across the cove, you see a flicker of white and a shadow ripple.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #prompts #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 2 months

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"You want the mask on, love?"

"I'll tell you when to take it off when I feel like it~"

(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

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ceilidho · 9 months

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ghost working as security at an upscale wedding while you're one of the caterers responsible for the food.

you catch his eye because he's posted facing the entrance to the kitchen where you keep coming and going from (hustling to make sure everything's perfect and bringing out other dishes as the night goes on) but neither of you can do anything about it except make eyes at each other because you're both on the job.

cut to hours later, well into the early morning when the party's starting to wind down and you're helping with the clean up but the big man looming by the pillar on the other side of the room is gone and you just sigh and try to keep your mind on the task at hand. only for him to step out of nowhere while you're waiting in the front of the reception hall trying to find an uber that doesn't cost half your day's wages and offers to drive you home.

#i still haven't decided if i like writing prompts as “reader” versus “you”#like my fics are very much 2nd pov but for reason i find it weird to write 'you' in my prompts :(#cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost cod #ceil writing

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the-californicationist · 4 months

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Revocation

MDNI/18+

Had a prompt from my darling bestie @gemmahale who asked about the 141 and how they might react when you revoked your consent for whatever reason. So, I thought I would do one of these little stacky-stacks for the first time to try it out. Don't be mean to me! This is my first time doing this Tumblr list thing. Idek what it's called.

GAZ

Gaz loves to fuck you with a slow, steady beat. His go-to is keeping you wedged tightly underneath him in a prone position so his length can enjoy the thickness of your ass and thighs. But, all it takes is a sudden sharp breath from you and he pauses, stopping his long rod right where it sits to wait and listen for your protests. "Babe? Everything alright?" He slowly slides out of you the rest of the way, your plump lips kissing the tip of his cockhead gently as he leaves you. Curling himself beside you, he'd be so soft and sure to check on your body and your feelings before letting you get back up to speed. Gaz would pet a huge hand down your back, rubbing your skin and making certain you knew he was there to help you feel good.

SOAP

Soap was adamant about having a light system. He would lean next to your ear and ask you to check in with him. "How are you, bonnie? Still green?" And if you said green, he would sigh, keeping up his pace, grunting with enthusiastic pleasure. If you said yellow, he would pause and wait, since you usually elaborated, and he would change whatever tune he needed to for you. Slower? He could fuck you achingly slow. Making sure you felt every inch of his delicious upward curve, and that lusciously thick head of his. If you said red, though, he would go full hands off and turn into aftercare mode real quick. Water, towels, juice, blankets at the ready, eager to give you what you needed to feel like yourself again.

GHOST

Ghost never lets it get to yellow. Never. He couldn't. Every single moment he's watching you like a hawk, noticing your pleasure, listening for your moans to deepen or to lower just enough to tell him you're close to coming. If you move into a position you don't like, he can feel your tension ripple across his cock, and he fixes it immediately, knowing when your breathing quickens or slows how far along you are to riding another wave of pleasure. You're so reactive, and he loves it. He gets off on knowing just the slightest pressure will send you over the edge. And when you come, it is like a maestro at the crest of his symphony, every note in exactly the place where he wants it, feeling you flutter and pulse around him in a perfect little harmony.

Except for that one time when there was a moth. Then, he was immediately on moth duty, full stop and fully naked. But, he was more than happy to cuddle with you after it was safely dispatched.

PRICE

The thing about Price is that he never fuckin' shuts up. The whole time he's kissing you, licking you, biting you. He's talking to you. The whole damn time.

"Yeah, love? You like that?"

"Want more, yeah? Fuck yeah, I'll give you more."

"Tha's it, love. Tha's my good girl. Come for me, just like that. Make those noises, love."

"You alright, love? Need a moment? Let me hold you. C'mere."

"Fuck, you are feeling so good. So pretty. Tell me how I feel, baby. Go on, tell me."

And so the whole time he fucks you, you are gasping in breaths, telling Price everything he wants to know. He wants to know how it feels, how it sounds, if its warm, if its hard, if you can feel the way he throbs inside of you when he comes. He wants every single juicy detail, and he pulls it from you with his hungry coaxing.

So, when you got a leg cramp, he talked you through it, pulling his fat cock from you with a long, wet pop, helping you get into a better position before he applied pressure to the spot, working out your muscle, easing your pain, talking you through the whole thing...

"Tha's it, good girl. Such a good fuckin' girl. Doin' so good for me..."

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty headcanons #captain john price #john soap mactavish #ghost simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #fic prompt #stacky stack

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 8 months

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Don't mind me having a brain rot of Ghost visiting the orphanage where Jade volunteered in and having one of the fluffiest day of his life.

Ghost during his off-duty time because he was injured. Bored Ghost contacting Jade to relieve his boredom, then her inviting him to visit the orphanage she used to be a part of. Ghost being reluctant saying that he's never dealt with so many kids at once and that he's bad with kids. Jade saying to him that kids have this magical effect on people so Ghost obliged.

Jade telling the kids, "We have a new friend today. Meet Mister Simon!" Only for the kids to call him "MISTER SALMON???" instead. Jade trying to stand up straight as she died laughing inside while Ghost just 🧍

The younger kids asking for piggy back rides on Ghost's back and shoulders. Jade telling them to take turns but Ghost found out that he could lift 5 children on his shoulders and arms, proceeding with giving them the ride of their lives like they're flying in the air because of Mister Salmon's height.

One of the kids crying because Ghost ran too fast and became too afraid. Ghost putting them down but the kid kept crying. Ghost not knowing what to do, panicking inside, only for Jade gesturing to him to give the kid a hug and rub the kid's back.

Ghost who was hesitant at first, but deciding to hug the crying child, having a realization of how big his body actually is compared to a kid, that he hasn't hugged such a vulnerable, fragile kid in a such a long time (or never, even), rubbing the child's back in a soothing manner, whispering, "it's okay, you're okay now. Shhh."

Ghost not knowing what to do when other kids started to hug him as he hugged the crying child. Jade secretely taking a photo of him being surrounded by kids.

Ghost seeing two kids fighting for toys and somehow he ended up making it a push-up and sit-up competition. Ghost having to stick a band-aid on one kid as they were too excited and scraped his knee.

One kid being prideful and saying to him that he could give Mister Salmon a piggyback ride. Mister Salmon squat-walking as he followed the kid from behind.

Them playing London Bridge Is Falling Down with Jade and an older kid as the bridge. Ghost having to crawl on his four to fit the kids' heights and somehow gets caught on the bridge. The kids laughing as he looked absolutely ridiculous crawling in all fours as they pointed at Mister Salmon and Miss Chacha being the bridge. Ghost and Jade blushing profusely as they hold hands.

Afternoon nap time, Ghost having to soothe a crying kid, eventually sleeping on his arm and Jade helping him tuck the kid to bed.

Ghost looking at Jade as she softly sings a lullaby to one of the kids whilst thinking that she used to be one of the kids. Ghost thinking of how she could still keep the softness when she's the exact opposite during missions.

Ghost and Jade having a downtime together drinking tea while being tired af because he didn't remember dealing with kids was this draining.

Dinner time as Ghost helps Jade and the other caretakers prepare food. Mister Salmon spoon-feeding a younger child because they were very highly energetic. Ghost having a kid throw up on his hoodie as Jade scrambles to clean his hoodie, only for Ghost to tell her it's literally nothing compared to what he's witnessed during his deployments.

Ghost unexpectedly feeling happy that day as he dropped Jade off in front of her house. Jade saying that he's not bad with kids at all, in fact, he was so good with them. Him thanking her and saying he wouldn't mind coming along for the next time.

#I tried to sleep but this idea kept going around my mind #would draw this but I don't have my equipment with me #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #simon ghost riley #charlotte jade le jardin #ghost x jade #ghost x oc #original character #call of duty oc #call of duty au #call of duty modern warfare au #fic prompt #sleepy's thoughts #simon riley #simon ghost riley fic

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ff7-has-taken-me-over · 1 year

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I suddenly had a thought of GhostSoap being normal human beings and doing normal human being things and wanted to write some stuff for it.

1) Simon always forgets to replace the fuckin toilet paper and Johnny loses his mind over it every single time

2) Johnny has these quiet little snores that whistle out every time he breathes out and while it’s mildly annoying some nights Simon still finds it so endearing

3) Simon hogs the blankets, even in summer cause he’s just always cold, no matter what. Johnny tends to just snuggle in real close to Simon when he gets cold

4) Johnny is the cook of the house. He’s really good at it (his mother refused to let him leave home without knowing how to survive on his own) but he can’t bake. Simon’s the opposite where he can bake (his mum loved baking, taught him everything she knew) but can’t cook to save his life

5) Johnny’s always stealing Simon’s leftovers or hidden treats and Simon has threatened to stab him once or twice over it (it never stops Johnny from doing it again)

6) Simon totally found a stray cat and got the ‘you wanna keep him, you look after him’ talk and he has never been more devoted to looking after another living being after the whole thing with his family

7) Johnny’s got a million and one things in their bathroom all for the sake of looking after his hair and skin and what not and he definitely sits Simon down on the toilet seat every so often so he can do the same for him

8) Johnny seeks validation near constantly. Simon doesn’t know why but he always, always makes sure Johnny knows he’s appreciated and doing good and whatever else the man needs validation on

9) When Simon has night terrors the way to calm him down is to just let him cling to you. Don’t speak or anything just let him hold you and let him reassure himself that your alive and well. Sometimes he’ll be ready to talk about it in the morning, other times he’s content to let the memories go and just keep going

10) Johnny is the worst at taking out the trash. Since they live in a semi-old apartment complex they had to take their rubbish all the way downstairs when the bin in their place got full and Johnny fucking hates it

11) When one of them get put on leave and have to go back to the apartment by themselves they’ll play the other persons music and cook their favourite foods (or try at least) to try and fool themselves into thinking they’re not alone in their home

12) Simon totally has a stuffed toy that belonged to Joseph and while it sits on his shelf he was still terrified Johnny was going to say something bad about it or try and get rid of it (that’s happened once with an ex) but Johnny saw it, called it cute and then proceeded to look after it when Simon couldn’t

13) Johnny may not look it but he’s a bit of gardener. He’s got a windowsill full of herbs in the kitchen and their balcony has some random plants that he doesn’t actually know the name or origin of but he looks after them and has very specific instructions for Ghost to follow when he’s not around

14) Simon’s friends with the old guy that runs the convenience store down the street from their apartment and not because he tried to befriend the guy or anything, but because the guy thought Simon looked funny with his mask and decided he was going to favour him out of all of his customers

15) The neighbours tried hitting on Simon once and Johnny happened to open the door and heard them flirting with his boyfriend. He got so possessive that he made out with the bigger man against their door jamb for like 5 minutes until Simon pulled him inside. The news spread very quickly after that

16) The apartment complex have a betting pool going about what they do for a living because they hold such weird hours and will disappear for months at a time. None of them wanna ask the two though cause they’re all a little scared of the both of them

17) Simon’s a bookworm and if it weren’t for their tiny apartment he’d have his own, personal library filled to the brim with books

#fic prompt #ghost x soap #fuck off haters #i’m looking at you die hard cod players #johnny ‘soap’ mctavish #fic #prompt #call of duty #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost #ghostsoap #soapghost #soap x ghost #they’re in love your honour #the guys being normal human beings #multiple prompts #I think I wrote a couple of these out

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queermentaldisaster · 4 months

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‘It was strange to touch each other without one of them dying, but maybe touch was also something for the living.’

Very short Ghoap drabble based on this prompt ⬆️ from @creativepromptsforwriting!

No warnings, just Ghoap fluff.

Ghost blinked as Soap wrapped his arms around him. Soap held Ghost close, as if afraid that the moment he let go, Ghost would push him away. After all, this was new ground for Ghost, and Soap hadn't had permission to hug his lieutenant, so he was expecting the worst.

To both of their surprise, Ghost hugged back. This was...odd for the masked man. But it felt...nice. Even though it was strange.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty mw2 #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghoap #soapghost #ghoap fic #ghoap drabble #ghost cod #cod soap #soap cod #cod ghost #cod fic #writing prompt

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greyauras · 1 month

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Demons and Angels, Ghost/Roach/Soap, Angel!Ghost, Human!Roach and Demon!Soap.

Okay, so you know how angels are actually pretty fuckin terrifying and demons are technically the attractive ones who you would be more likely to go with according to some lore? Basically ghost is an Eldritch horror and Soap's the "whatever you desire" seducer. They both show up around Roach one day (that day being the worst day of his entire life) to save him and try to vie for Roach's choice to be a soldier for heaven or hell due to his new-found life debt. They each try to convince him of the cons of the other side but Roach...likes the both of them...really likes them. He watches them fight over him, knowing they're both his forever if he doesn't "make the decision".

He made it a long time ago.

Bonus point　↓

The enemies to lovers plot has been going on for 280 years and Roach be like.

"Why don't we all just kiss?"

Groundbreaking discovery.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #angels and demons #call of duty #idk #fic prompt #I'm not powerful enough to make this reality #bibically accurate angel #roach the ladies man #ghostsoaproach

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duty-calls-for-booty · 2 months

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Ghost and Soap are on leave during a fireworks display and Soap decides to distract them both from the stress inducing booms and pops by calling out the names of the elements used to get each color.

“That green one there, that’s Barium.”

“Strontium gets you red. You can even mix them like paints. The yellow is Sodium and if you mix it with Strontium you get orange.”

“Blue is the hardest color to make. It uses a Copper and has to be heated to a certain temperature. Too hot and it flares too bright and washes out the color. Too cold and you lose the intensity.”

Ghost basks in the familiar cadence of Soap’s voice, letting it soothe his anxiety. He asks questions intermittently to keep Soap engaged, let him know that he’s present.

It’s the most either of them have enjoyed fireworks in years.

#ghost x soap #ghoap #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #modern warfare #writing #my writing #fic ideas #writing prompt #drabble

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sudsyv2 · 1 year

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I have so many silly prompts and only one small brain that can’t remember all of them so I’m writing them down ><! (if you like any feel free to use them !)

I’ll probably be adding to this list daily 😽

MISC:

1. Ghost and soap who have reincarnated so many times but somehow still meet each other in their new lives.

2. Soap and ghost on a swing, just swinging and chatting

3. Duke ghost and butler soap or reverse! Either way one’s trying not get them in trouble and the other doesn’t give a fuck if something happens, they’d literally go to war with the entire country if anyone opposes to their relationship

4. Siren soap!!!!

5. Ghost and his inability to say no to Soap

6. Gamer ghost (sorry this is just so funny) and rich boy soap who’s got an embarrassing crush on him

7. Tattoo artist soap and biker ghost

8. Big werewolf ghost and his somehow more feral human boyfriend soap!

9. Soulmates, red strings the whole deal

10. Ghost getting called big guy by soap (and liking it)

11. STREAMER GHOAP AU THINK ABOUT IT, IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY

12. Finding out each others love language

13. Ghost is a rock collector he collects shiny rocks and when he finds one he really likes he shows soap

14. Painter soap

15. Soap doodling on ghosts arm

16. Soap learning to cook, just cause he’s bored

17. WRITE MORE OF THE PROMISE RING SHIT I GOTTA WRITE MORE OF IT

18. Ok so hear me out, a tiny creature (can be a baby monster thing or idk) imprints on both soap and ghost

19. Soap is good with kids

20. Photographer ghost but he doesn’t talk about it. Though one Christmas, soap got him an expensive camera and he was extremely happy about it

21. soap carry’s small bandaids with stickers on it all the time. You got a small cut? He’s got a hello kitty, Batman, any kind of bandaid you want he’s probably got

22. Tyrant ghost looking for a wife and then in comes knight soap looking to defeat tyrant ghost

23. Ghost has incredibly dumb theories and soap is the only one who listens to them

24. DINOSAURS!! THEY BOTH REALLY LIKE DINOSUARS AND THEY HAVE ARGUEMENTS ON THEIR FAVORITE DINOSAURS

25. Detective Ghost and an Arsonist on the run from the police Soap

26. Literal ghost! soap, like that bitch is haunting the base grounds, and lieutenant who goes by the name ghost

(Will add more)

FLUFF:

1. Soap looking at ghost with such a loving shine in his eyes, those damn puppy eyes staring at ghost like he had just given soap the world

2. Soap buying ghost flowers

3. Soap kissing all of ghosts scars

4. Them just laying together, cuddling, soap is rambling about something and ghost is listening intently sometimes even adding a “I see” in between to let soap know he’s listening

5. Soap would be the one to propose but wouldn’t be able to hide the fact he was going to propose, his excitement written all over his face

6. I know it’s probably not possible but imagine ghost being ticklish

7. Ghost, whenever they’re cuddling, likes to put his entire body weight on soap. And soap doesn’t even mind, playing with ghosts hair and rubbing his back.

8. Soap having to get on his tippy toes to kiss ghost and ghost leaning farther and farther back to see just how determined soap is to kiss him (very. Soap is very determined.)

9. Taking a shower together, nothing sexual happens it’s just them washing each other after a long day

10. SLOW DANCING, AND BOTH TAKE TURNS TAKING THE LEAD

11. Ghost kissing soaps hand

12. Ghost learning how to knit and knits soap a blanket that says “soap and ghost”

13. Bass guitarist ghost in a band who really wants to woo this super cute guy (soap ofc) that always shows up to their concerts, and gets his bandmates to help him write a song for said super cute guy (soap)

14. Soap can sing and sometimes ghost will just ask if soap can sing for him. When they’re both sleepy! And soap does, it’s usually always some type of silly lullaby. Works wonders for ghost though

15. Price telling ghost that his lover boy(soap) is here

16. Ghost gets a small scratch on his cheek and soap kisses it better, ghost not expecting the kiss is left frozen in place for a couple seconds while soap is just walking off cackling

17. The way they wake each other up. Ghost gently nudges soap awake but if he could stare at soaps sleeping face forever he would. Soap on the other hand, says ghosts name and kisses his face. Like a lot. But ghost is always up after the first kiss, he just likes to act asleep to get more kisses

18. Their first kiss. Not like their usual quick ones that leave them both wanting more, this one is soft and tender. Eerily gentle.

19. Soap seeing Ghosts genuine smile, it left him breathless as ghosts deep laugh ran through his entire body and made him shiver

20. Soaps and ghosts adopted cat son Phantom!!! Phantoms patterns on his face look like ghost so of course soap had to adopt him. Anyways cat dads ghoap

21. Aftercare (I’m the biggest slut for aftercare that shit is amazing)

(Will add more)

NSFW (there will be NO things like noncon or r/pe here unless it entails them finding a way to heal after it)

I don’t usually write smut so I’m sorry if these are bad 😭

1. Werewolf ghost goes into rut, human soap offers to help him through it

2. Power bottom soap who is extremely good at getting guys like ghost to be on their knees for him

3. Soap wearing lipstick and leaving big O lipstick stains on ghosts dick

4. Ghost in bed is extremely touchy, he needs to have soaps skin under his hands gloved or not.

5. Ghost pressing his hand on soaps stomach to feel the bump of his own cock in the other

6. Soap is under ghosts desk sucking him off

7. Soap cockwarming ghost while the other writes a report

8. Roleplay idk what they’re roleplaying just roleplay

9. Soap likes to moan loud to see how long it takes for ghost to push his head against a bed/wall just to shut him up

10. Soap loves it rough

11. Ghost lifting soap up to fuck him and soap is absolutely in shock and turned on

12. ghost is a big biter, soaps had to cover up way to many bites from him

13. Lmao monster fucker soap

14. Ghoap exploring their kinks!

15. My friend said virgin ghost and I was like ok sure, then he hit me with “experienced soap telling inexperienced ghost how he wants to be fucked” and I was like damn ok

16. Ghost is extremely weak to the way soap says his name, especially in bed. Hearing that breathless “Simon” mixed with soaps strained yeses and moans gets ghost hard (really fuckin hard lol)

(Will add more)

#ghoap #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soap cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mctavish #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #FICS #HALF WRITTEN PROMPTS MY BRAIN IS TOO TINY TO WRITE THEM ALL FULLY !!#silly prompts #you can use these if you want 👁️#I’m being incredibly silly nothing can contain me #I need to be tied down.#anyways look at all these prompts!!#sudsyv2

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mccutcheon121 · 4 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Holidays, Christmas, Grinch References, Pre-Relationship, pre Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish, POV Simon "Ghost" Riley, but still, POV Third Person, Feelings Realization, sorta - Freeform, I don't know, Not sure what to tag on this one, I'm Sorry, I'm Bad At Tagging, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022), Year of the OTP Prompt Event 2023 Series: Part 12 of M's 2023 Year of the OTP Event Summary:

Ghost is trying to focus on the words on the page in front of him but keeps getting distracted by the noise that’s coming from the other side of the common room. Soap and Gaz. When is it not the two of them? Ghost wonders. They are decorating a Christmas tree they brought in. Johnny is wearing a ridiculous elf hat headband. No telling where he got it from. Probably one of the other fellow soldiers thinking it’d be funny. Of course, the sergeant is never one to back down from anything.

Dec Prompt - Holidays Together

@yearoftheotpevent

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saintship · 6 months

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Ooohh can I request #3 with Ghost please? I’m picturing reader and Ghost have been flirting and dancing around each other for months but Ghost hasn’t really made things “official” so she gets annoyed and decides to go on a date with some one else… Ghost finds out and of course goes all possessive and… well you get the rest. But also, anything you want to right for this prompt I would love and thank you so much!

Prompt #3 - “How was your date?”

My debut back. I missed you, reader

EDIT I HAD AN UNFINISHED SENTENCE IN THIS PLS KILL ME PLS KILL ME PLS

Why bother - Ghost x reader

You and Simon were an odd pair; A linguist and a revered operator seemed to live in different worlds. But, after Hassan and their allegiance with Las Vaqueros, it was clear that none of the 141 was equipped to deal with foreign communication on their own, the fact exacerbated by how long it took to get any information from a civilian without Alejandro’s help.

You were a special case, individually offered a position working closer to operators like the ones in the 141. Rigorously trained to hold your own, you were assigned to accompany Captain Price and Kate Laswell in analyzing foreign communication, your true profession. Missions centered around gathering intelligence or questioning a suspected threat were the ones that you would tag along for. It wasn’t until late into your first duo mission with Ghost that you saw a glimpse into Simon Riley.

You were walking the bustling streets of Urzikstan. You knew he was sweating under his uniform just like you were, but he had a way of making it look like he was completely unbothered.

“You don’t mind the heat?” You had observed quietly as the two of you walked to the exfil point.

“Never said that.” He didn’t break his focus from where it was trained ahead of him.

“You didn’t have to.”

He glanced at you, and you saw a mixture of disbelief and amusement in his eyes.

“Spend four weeks in Moscow sleeping in a drafty shed and tell me you still prefer the cold.” He offered.

“I could say the same about four weeks here..”

“Do you enjoy bickering?”

“When I have a good partner.” You concede. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he laughs. He really laughs.

Even though it’s barely a second of time, a quick escape of energy, it felt like the dawn breaking. You couldn’t help but want to take on the challenge that was being Ghost’s friend, and you knew he responded to honesty; people who didn’t tread fearfully or treat him like he would violently snap if they asked for his name.

“You would like Soap..”

“I’ve met him.”

What you meant was, you had met Soap, and you did like him, but you found yourself wanting to talk to Ghost more. Soap had his own friends, his own way of having fun, his own way of working. Things you didn’t gather so easily about Ghost. He had a shell you wanted to splinter at slowly until he didn’t even realize he was out of his comfort zone, he was just talking. And you did.

Over time. Over missions, and food, and early morning skies, you broke through. And the part you took the most pride in was the fact that you didn’t force a single minute. It was only until he asked if you’d like to help with his rent, and share his flat, that he began to deeply confuse you.

What began as playful, exaggerated jokes became something that just felt too real to be humor. The way he looked at you, the way he rested an arm on the top of the doorframe as he spoke to you, as he made these jokes. Weeks went by of tossing and turning, bargaining, long conversations with your friends and flip-flopping between emotions regarding Simon. And then there was a night that lit up your heart before it caught, burning even deeper than before.

It was late, a movie he had chosen playing quietly on the TV screen as you and Simon spoke over takeout. At one point, he gestured to something on your face, and didn’t give you ten seconds to locate it yourself before his own thumb was swiping against your skin, his palm warm on your jaw. He kept his hand there, and you were aware that he was suddenly closer than before. But just before you had the courage to break the tension, he busted out laughing, wiping the food residue off his hand with a napkin. The idea of having a tense moment with you, to him, was funny. Ridiculous, outrageous. You had excused yourself to go to bed early, white-hot shame burning your lungs and throat. You cursed him, cursed yourself. It took everything in you to pretend like it was all fine. It took even more to say yes to a date with someone else.

A few days later, you walked into the living room to grab your keys, dressed up and accessorized.

“Got a date?” Simon spoke from the couch, and you could hear that stupid, beautiful, stupid smile in his voice. The question was a joke.

“Yes.” You replied shortly, ignoring his questions as you let the door shut behind you. If he wanted to know, he should have asked sooner. God knows you’ve done enough waiting for the both of you. His muffled 'Hey!' was the last thing you heard before sitting down in the passenger seat of your date's car.

By the time you got back, you were more dissatisfied than before. The guy hadn't bothered to throw away the old food in his car, he tried to order for you, commented that "You'd be so much happier if you hit the gym more", drank four beers in under thirty minutes, and didn't notice when you slipped away with a poor bathroom excuse. You rode a taxi home, surprised to see the living room lights still lit beyond the filmy curtain of your shared flat. He must be working late.

Your key got stuck in the door for a moment, nearly causing you to break the damn thing off its hinges in frustration. You weren't sad; that guy didn't deserve that power. You were just fed up.

You hung your keys and yanked off your shoes, padding into the kitchen with a steadying sigh. Simon was making tea.

"Hey." You greeted shortly before getting the leftovers you wanted and turning to leave again.

"What, no debrief?"

The words were playful, but his voice was cold. Like you'd left a argument unresolved. You paused in the doorway.

"It was bad."

"No shit." He lifted his mug to his lips, the smug look in his eyes making you want to tip the steaming coffee onto his stupidly perfect chest and stomach.

"What are you so smug about?" Your tone was a bit snippy as you set down what you were holding. Simon shrugged.

"You know that you won't find a decent guy on an app, love."

"I'll get back to you when I find a fuck to give."

Any playfulness in his demeanor stilled to a stop.

"Watch your mouth."

"You don't get to tell me when I'm allowed to be angry, Simon. And my dating life is none of your concern. Not that you know much about relationships anyway, all you've ever done is talk in circles and stare when I'm walking away."

His brow knitted in a quiet anger. "What the fuck are you saying?"

"Don't. Don't look at me like I'm insane, you know exactly what I'm talking about." You pointed at him briefly, your voice wavering in its strength. You weren't angry. You were finally just sad.

He set down his mug, scoffing frustratedly.

"You won't find someone if you're only going out to get at me. If that makes you so happy, I'll tell you; it does get at me. You drive me insane when you give shitty people your time while I wait for you." He steps a bit closer.

His hypocrisy made you grasp at the sides of your head, exhaling roughly as your eyes closed.

"What? What now?" Simon gestured weakly to your frustration.

"You don't wait for me. You have never waited for me. You treat the idea of anything happening between us like a joke. Who does what you did the other night and expects the other person to not be confused? I saw how you looked at me, and for a second I actually thought that you might.. what are you doing?"

He had drawn closer while you were talking, taking your hands in his.

"You and me.. it's not a joke. It never has been."

"What?" You breathed, shaking your head gently.

"I'm sorry, alright? But I don't want to watch you go out with.." His jaw twitched. "I just—god, I just want to kiss you.."

You didn't pull away when he took your hands, and now, you weren't pulling away when he brought his lips to yours. Every daydream that had plagued your boring shifts, every glance, every catch in your breath. He kissed all of it away, and replaced it with the real thing. And when he drew back, he looked softer than you'd ever seen him before. His hair was mussed, remnants of his eye black lingering on his cheekbones. Those cobalt eyes. He held your jaw in your palm again, and this time the warmth of his body was all over. He spoke softly enough to let you know his words were only for you.

"I hope that tells you how I feel, because I'm a bit shit with words.."

You just kissed him again. No words was fine by you.

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