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toshidou · 1 year

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Let Me Be Your Lifeline

Pairing // Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!Reader

Word Count // 2.2k

Tags // gender neutral reader, descriptions of injury, blood, Simon has a panic attack/ptsd attack, hurt/comfort, soap gets mad but lowkey understandably pls don't hate him, reader's alias is Siren, swearing, you help Simon when he needs you most (because you're amazing like that), established relationship

AN // you ever just have the thought of simon just Losing it because you get hurt, and the idea of him just. shutting down spurs you to write just over 2 thousand words about it? no? just me? cool. also this has barely been re-read, so if you see any spelling mistakes, no you didn't <3

Wrong

It’s all gone so hideously wrong.

It was never a simple mission to begin with, retrieving stolen information from people who would die to keep it in their possession. But it was something you had all done before, something you should have been more than capable of pulling off without so much as minor injuries.

The horrifying reality is setting in quickly though, your hand clutched to the left side of your collarbone, shuddering breaths pushed through gritted teeth as Soap attempts to shout something over deafening gunfire for merely two buildings over.

“We’ve got two down, Gaz is working his way to us, Ghost isn’t answering comms. Price is fine, the bullet passed through his leg, but Siren got hit below the left shoulder, they’re losing blood fast, the bullet made a clean entry through the back.” You’re barely listening to the reply from the evac squad, all you catch is an approximate time to pick up, 5 minutes. Apparently, there’s a medic on board. Every cloud and all that, you think, your head lolling down to assess the damage for the 4th time in 10 minutes.

Blood runs in nauseating streams between shaking fingers, soaking your uniform through to the skin underneath, the rough material sticking painfully to your wound, coaxing a hiss from bitten raw lips. Johnny’s eyes don’t leave you, worry etching itself into every fibre of his being, from his tense posture to anxiety ridden eyes, darting over various parts of your body as if examining for more wounds.

“Fuckin’ Christ L.T., how fucking copy,” He grits out, fingers holding his transmitter-receiver so hard that even in your shock ridden state, you worry it might just crumble in his hands. After another few seconds of tense silence, he speaks again, “Captain and Siren are down, evac is in T-4 minutes, and you need to get your ass down here right now, I don’t know where the fuck you are or what you’re doing, but if you miss the deadline, we’re leaving without you.”

For the first time since being shot, tears well against your lashline, unable to tell if your head is shaking as ferociously as you want it to in your weakened state. They can’t leave him behind, they can’t do that. He’s their squad member, their Lieutenant, your partner, the love of your life. You refuse to ever leave him behind, would rather they let you bleed out on this manky floor before you ever let that happen.

And then, a crackle.

“This is Ghost, package received.”

It’s relief that floods your system initially, pure unadulterated elation that he’s alive, he’s alive and he’ll be back, he won’t leave you.

But then his words sink through the cottonwool that seemingly clogs your mind, the gears turning enough to figure out that despite being compromised only a few minutes into the start of the mission, he still went for the stolen information.

In retrospect, that shouldn’t have been so shocking, but after months of domestic bliss with Simon Riley, you had almost forgotten about the Ghost. Neglected the memories of a man who was driven by a near suicidal need to complete missions handed to him. And it fucking hurts, more than the bullet hole through your shoulder ever could.

“What the fuck do you mean package fuckin’ received, we called for a retreat 20 minutes ago Ghost, you were meant to be here, not fucking around trying to find something we could have–,”

“That’s enough, Soap.” The interruption comes from Price, somehow looking as composed as ever despite his injury, the only sign he had been hurt at all were the slight tremors to his hands as he reaches up to his own transceiver.

“Just get yourself back here son, in one piece, preferably.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

You close your eyes, willing away the tears that threaten to roll down dirtied cheeks, because if you cry, it makes this real, and not some twisted nightmare you’ll surely awaken from, safe in the strong arms of your love.

“Siren, come on, I need you to keep your eyes open, stay in the room with us, okay?”

Gaz? That’s new. Gathering enough strength, you lift your chin, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you try to focus your gaze on him.

“There we go, we’re not done with you yet, Sergeant.” Gaz pins you with a reassuring smile, his hand coming to pat your knee as he crouches next to you.

“Ah, I knew you were all just using me for my impeccable combat skills and wicked charm,” you drawl, your lips turning up into a hint of a smile.

“Impeccable combat skills that got you shot in the shoulder, no less.” Despite feeling weak, and slightly woozy from bloodloss, you still don’t miss the opportunity to lightly shove at Gaz’s torso.

“Soap, we’re half a klick out from your location, be ready to extract in 30 seconds."

The momentary light-hearted banter is immediately quashed by a terse silence, the dawning realisation that Simon still isn’t here.

He still isn’t there when you hear the sound of a Humvee tearing down the road to the derelict building you’re all hiding in.

He still isn’t there when Soap creaks the door open, only to be met with a medic and two soldiers carrying stretchers.

He still isn’t there when both you and Price, much to the Captain’s chagrin, are assisted onto thick green gurneys, and carried into the back of the vehicle.

It’s only when your nerves have been frayed to their very core, until you’re mere seconds away from diving out through the small car window when you finally catch a glimpse of someone tall, someone familiar, your Simon. Euphoria surges through your bloodstream, all feelings of pain as the medic begins to assist with your wound numbed by the knowledge that he’s okay, he’s safe, he came back to you.

You seem to be the only one even remotely excited to see him, however. From the moment he near dives into the side door, barely able to sit before the truck wheels spin against gravel and take off down an endless dirt path to supposed safety, a suffocating hush envelops the entirety of the squad. The atmosphere so thick, it suspends you in it, makes your limbs feel like lead where they fall limp at your sides.

Though no one dares speak, unwilling to risk the release of pent-up anger, frustration and fear that crackles through the air akin to static energy, wild and unpredictable, Simon’s eyes hold nothing but utter worry. Dark, frenzied irises flickering from your shoulder where the medic continues to care for your injuries, to your face, though never meeting your gaze head on.

You can already sense the guilt setting in, more than used to how his mind works, lost in a constant battle of morals he can never seem to win. It’s frustrating to watch the way he reprimands himself, shoulders hunched to his ears, hands curled into tight fists against his thighs. The once towering, formidable force reduced to someone human. Someone struggling.

But still, you daren’t say a word, now is neither the time nor the place.

30 agonising minutes later, and the truck finally pulls up outside a safehouse. An old, abandoned factory building, if you had to make a guess. The roof looks like it’s one strong breeze from falling off, but what else is new?

Simon doesn’t take his eyes off you as you’re assisted out of the truck. Doesn’t dare blink when you shoo the medic away and towards a grumbling Price. You try to shoot him your best reassuring smile, the gesture rendered meaningless when you nearly trip over a rock after your first step, only saved by Soap darting forward and steadying you with an arm hooked around your waist.

Simon doesn’t move a muscle. His feet remain planted to the floor below him, and you can’t help but get the sickening feeling that something is very fucking wrong. In all the years you’ve known Simon, you’ve never seen him like this, near paralysed, painted black eyes ridiculously wide, so childlike in their fear. He looks nothing like the man you’ve grown to love, strong and steady in his emotions. And it chills you to the bone.

It's only once the door creaks shut that the silence is broken.

“What the fuck was that, Ghost.” Harsh syllables highlighted by a Glaswegian accent sound from next to your ear, your head twisting to the side only to be met with gritted teeth and furrowed brows.

You barely have the time to process the way that electricity sparks dangerously in the dusty atmosphere before all hell seemingly breaks loose.

“That was me doing my fucking job, Sergeant.”

“Your job is to put every member of the taskforce at risk? When the fuck did you receive that order, Riley? Because I sure as shit don’t remember it.”

Ugly, torrid rage lashes out across the room like strikes of a whip, so powerful it sends you stumbling away from Johnny’s grip and towards more neutral ground, your eyes briefly locking with Gaz’s equally perturbed stare.

“I wasn’t endangering any of your lives by doing what I was trained to do MacTavish, you were all gonna make it out fine whether I completed the mission or not.” There’s something about him that feels entirely too off, though the mask is extending much further than the one that resides on his face. Except this one is splintered, it’s flawed, split edges giving away to insurmountable pressure until it has no other option than to disintegrate, raw, unfiltered emotions left exposed, completely vulnerable.

And all it takes to break down the wall that is Simon Riley comes from the other man opposite you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Simon? What sort of fucked up person lets his team, his fucking partner, nearly bleed out on the floor? Look at them,” A lone, shaking finger points towards you, “They could have died and where the fuck were you?”

“That’s enough, Soap.” The syllables scratch your throat with the force you spew them, but the damage has already been done.

You know that the second you glance at Simon and see nothing but the broken shell of a man, that you were too late. His body is vibrating with the force of his shakes, tremors wracking his body from head to toe, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, like a fish starved of oxygen. He’s having a panic attack. Or a flashback. Or something worse.

“Simon,” You call, keeping your voice calm as you swiftly approach him, ignoring the harsh twinge of pain as you lift both your arms up to curl your fingers around either side of his face, guiding his empty eyes down to you, “I’m right here, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

He gives you no sign that he’s even processing your touch, let alone your words, but you expect about as much. You may never have dealt with Simon’s trauma, but that doesn’t mean it’s new to you.

You keep talking to him, hushed, soothing reassurance along with sweeping fingers against masked cheekbones, physical and verbal reminders that no matter the size of the internal battle he faces, you’re right there with him, guiding him through. It’s only when large hands encircle your wrists do you feel any form of relief, brought nearly to tears as hollow brown eyes slowly ebb to life, pupils shining in the low light of the safehouse.

“You’re here.” His voice sounds scratchy, as though his inner cries were so visceral, they tore at his vocal cords, begging to be released. You’re not sure if you could ever handle hearing such noises from him, not without them plaguing your dreams for years to come

“Always.”

Your response has him crumbling, knees sinking to the cracked concrete floor with a resounding thump; strong arms come to wrap around your waist, near crushing you in his desperate grasp. You say nothing, simply cradling his head to your sternum, fingers soothing over the top of his mask as through they were threading through familiar strands of soft hazel.

You don’t have to look around to know that you and Simon are alone. That it’s safe for him to fall apart here, so you can tenderly piece him back together without prying eyes. You don’t care how long it takes, all you know is that you’ll be there to search through the rubble of his mind and find a new foundation, together.

It’s only after you’ve guided him to sit, swiftly placing yourself in his lap and pushing your bodies together until not a single space exists between you both, do you finally feel him settle against you. Your fingers hooking under his mask, lifting up, up, up, until you’re met with the face of your love, your Simon; the Ghost long forgotten as you place the mask on the ground beside your intertwined bodies.

Surprisingly, it’s him that brings your lips together, eyelids fluttering shut as you sigh against his mouth, following his hesitant lead, a kiss with the only intention of reassuring him that you’re still here, you’re still his.

And hours later, when you both lay on uncomfortable stone floor, arms and legs indistinguishable where they tangle together, you know it to be an irrefutable fact that despite his own beliefs, Simon Riley is by far the strongest man you’ve ever met.

But for those moments when he can’t be strong for himself, you will always be there to catch him, to piece him back together and remind him that he’s still whole, still human, and still yours.

Always yours.

#did i cry writing this #no one needs to know #but anyway i love him #he is tender and fragile pls treat him with care #also #soap and ghost immediately made up after this #have no fear #they are still best friends (/gay lovers but u didn't hear that from me)#simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #cod mw22 #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #soft simon riley #cod x reader #☁︎⋅writing

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snootlestheangel · 9 months

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Dad!Price fic random post

I really wanna update Unending Devotion soon, but I don't know if I will. About to get fucked by work so as a peace offering, take this random compilation of thoughts about Price, his husband, their owl-hybrid daughter, and the 141 boys that most likely won't make it to the actual story line

Enjoy!

6 Years ago: Devyn meets Nik for the first time

She's a hundred percent hiding behind her dad, absolutely terrified of this strange man that he's invited into the house. She's maybe met one other person at this point in her life, and so little 4 year old Devyn Price is not a fan.

At first.

Price is trying to comfort her and get her to trust Nik, but she's not really listening to him. She's too busy digging her tiny claws into his leg as she stares at Nik. He's not offended or anything, he just wants her to accept him. Nik 100% has told Price several times that Devyn takes priority and is willing to give up everything for her.

He does eventually win her over when he finally lowers to her level with a smile. He calls her "Sova" for the first time, and she's totally blown away by hearing a different language for the first time. He tells her where he's from, about Russia, and how he met her dad. She's totally still hiding behind Price, but she's not staring at him like she'll start crying if he makes a sudden movement. And then he tells her he's a pilot. She does her little confused head tilt, not knowing what that means.

"I fly." He explains, and suddenly she's starstruck. A human that can fly???

"But you have no wings!" She'll sign to him, very concerned. He tells her about helicopters and planes. She has him tell her what it's like to fly so high up (she's still struggling to get more than a few feet off the ground).

Eventually, the day ends with her on his lap, hanging onto his every word as he talks about his job as a pilot; the thrills of flying, how he's seen so many beautiful places and met so many beautiful people ("Like Dad?" "Of course, Sovenok").

He ends up having to leave for the night, and Devyn is quick to ask her dad if he's coming back. Price says yes, of course he's coming back.

"Will he stay next time?" Safe to say, Price proposed very quickly after that. If his little angel wanted Nik to stay, then stay Nik shall.

Ghost gets a gift

Devyn has moments where the boys are reminded she's not very socialized, so to speak. She's spent most of her life hidden away for her safety, and rarely had the opportunity to interact with people her age.

This is one of those moments.

Ghost agreed to babysit Devyn while on medical leave. Partly because Price was going to drive him insane if he stayed on base, partly because he wasn't about to go home without Johnny there, and partly because this was the ultimate sign of trust from his captain.

Besides, Ghost liked the company of the little Price girl. She was sweet and calm compared to the average person Ghost was forced to interact with. She never found the whole mask thing to be weird (one of the reasons he was secretly grateful she is the way she is) and she was relatively independent.

But then came the day she gave him a little gift. He was watching some movie on the couch when she came bounding inside, something hidden between her small hands. She grinned and cooed happily at him as she held out her hands, clearly intending for him to receive what was hidden inside.

Ghost was grateful he had better control of his emotions than others. It's rather startingly for the sweetest, most innocent little girl you've ever known to drop a very pristine mouse skeleton in your hands. He opted for the sake of his sanity, to not question how Devyn came to possess such a thing, and instead gave her a soft smile and a thank you.

"You like bones and stuff so I thought you should have this!" Is what she'll happily sign to him, and he can only nod in appreciation. He'll thank her again, ruffle the feathers on her head as he gets up to put it somewhere safe. He shows her what he does with it so she knows he appreciates the gift; even if it is the most macabre gift he's ever gotten.

Origin of her nickname "Moon Pie"

There are times in Price's life where he's reminded of the owl half of his daughter. She's never been a consistent sleeper; it's either she's up all night and asleep all day similar to an owl, the normal for a human being, or the mix of sleeping only half the day and half the night. There's no rhyme or reason to her sleep patterns, but Price has gotten good at finding ways to help her make sure she gets the right amount of sleep. As well as finding things for her to do during the night when she's awake.

She learned from a relatively young age how to fix food for herself, as it was rather difficult to get either of her dads to help her without grumbling to themselves. It was also difficult for her to communicate what she needed due to the darkness and the fact her fathers don't have her inhuman ability to see well at night. She knew where all her favorite snacks were and how to get them without hurting herself or damaging any of the furniture (She got in a bit of trouble for putting large scratches in a leather seated stool once). All in all, she was well-off on her own during the nights.

But of course, she isn't the only one in that house with sleeping issues. Many times, she's often joined by her dad, and maybe Papa too if he's just come home and hasn't reset his internal clock. They'll spend quiet nights together on the couch or when the weather's nice, out on the back porch. She loves flying at night, but only does so when Dad can watch her. She feels safer that way.

And it's one of these nights that Price couldn't fall back to sleep after a particularly rough nightmare. He decided since his husband wasn't home, that he'd find something else in the house to make him feel better. It's when he remembers that there was still leftover pie (that Laswell had brought when she and her wife visited over the weekend) that he'll be reminded of his daughter's nocturnal habits.

Safe to say, for a man who's only awake because of a nightmare and is still somewhat shaky from it, he's rather startled by the sight in the kitchen.

After all, it is indeed startling to see a small child-like figure, one with large wings and feathers on her head, sharp claws and talons, and reflective eyes hunched over a plate, a distinct red color smeared around her mouth, illuminated only by the moonlight.

Price clearly wasn't the only one who thought a bit of midnight pie would be nice. Like father like daughter. He decides to affectionately call her "Moon Pie" from that night forward, and Nik has yet to learn the real origins of it: they had promised to save him a slice but finished it that night, after all.

Dad!Price fic (Unending Devotion) taglist: @cod-dump @cr4shposts @cminoko

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callsignfangs · 4 months

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Hear me out. Plushie collector ghost. Thanks 😇😇

Cws: comic ghosts backstory, grief, hurt/comfort, etc (lmk if i’ve missed anything! 😚)

Like most things in Ghost’s lifetime, it all started with his family.

Well, more specifically, his nephew Joseph.

It was back when things were simpler, right after the little one’s first birthday, yet right before he’d trusted himself to go on deployment again.

He’d offered to pick up some shopping for Beth, seeing as Tommy was busy at work and their usual stroller had finally given up the ghost. She’d insisted for Simon to get a specific brand of baby food - the formula type didn’t matter, but she’d been ‘trying to wean him off for weeks’ and if it was any other type he’d ‘just bash it off the spoon like some wild bloody animal’. Simon had teased the tot for ‘giving his mum gyp’ and being ‘a picky little thing’ (Tommy had explicitly banned him from swearing in front of the kid, lest the kid would pick up Simon’s own foul language). It was alright though, Simon could never really hold anything against that doe-eyed, chubby-faced little baby, that silly little thing had already snatched up his heart in those pudgy fingers.

His shocking, immeasurable love for the boy had probably been the reason that, when he first glanced at that stupid teddy in the window of the baby shop he’d been forced to visit at Beth’s request (demand), he instantly knew he needed it.

It wasn’t really anything too fancy. A plush little thing with fake, sewn-on patches. It wasn’t even particularly fuzzy or stimulating, it was just… It just felt right.

He’d tucked the scruffy thing in his pocket after paying. His first thought had been to bolt to Tommy’s house and instantly deposit the little thing into Joseph’s uncoordinated arms.

But, it had just been his birthday, and he’d been absolutely spoiled rotten by the three of them. Simon didn’t doubt that his little bed was already smothered in toys and teddies. Maybe it would be better to wait a little while. Just until everything had calmed down a bit.

After dropping the supplies off with Beth, he’d made a decision. The plush would be a gift for after he came back from deployment - a memoir in the case that he didn’t. His decision to rejoin the military wasn’t one he’d made on the spot, of course. This little life he’d watched - and helped - Tommy build was something he adored to bits. However, there was something missing. The wage was pretty penny as well. That sense of purpose and brotherhood, sticking with one another through everything - exactly what the remains of the little boy in him yearned for. It was obvious to him that he couldn’t leave it behind, that little bear was just more of an incentive. One to come back, to remind him to trudge through no matter what and return home. He couldn’t just up and leave everything he’d helped build.

Little did he know at the time, he’d have it all ripped away anyways. Yanked out of his too-delicate grip, torn away from right under his nose like he was sure everything else would be.

To this day, he really doesn’t know why he kept that stupid little plushie. He didn’t even remember grabbing it, must’ve just bagged it like the rest of his shit after he left. He couldn’t stay there anymore - there wasn’t a thing about that place, those - now tainted - memories that didn’t wrap his stomach in knots.

Grief was a weird thing, really. It made him do weird things that he still didn’t really understand, and, he supposed this was one of them.

That little thing had accompanied him for god knows how long after. He’d only realised it was there when Roba was finally gone, and he’d been swooped up by Price into 141. Still in the same clothes as he had been in when he’d left, he figured it was a wise idea to get rid of them. Shed the last remnant of what he’d left behind.

Habit was the only reason he’d found the thing. His mum had practically hammered it into him that you ‘always check the pockets before the wash, Si, you’ll never imagine the goodies you find in ‘um.’ - hearing his mumma’s voice hurt, even in his own head, so he determinedly pushed it down, still clearing out the pockets in spite of it.

And, much to his surprise, his hand met that patchy little surface. (Maybe mum was right.)

It eventually found a home on his bed, tucked safely under the blanket his mother had gifted him, alongside Tommy’s hoodie - the one he’d mistaken for his own in the rush.

And then, there was a second plushie - this one was unexpected too.

He’d been on a mission in the Baltics - a bloody brutal one at that. Had to stakeout in an evacuated town with Price and Gaz for a painfully long while. Just like the first (Joseph’s), he’d caught an idle glimpse of it when the three were stalking around the town for a decent place to camp out in for the night. To his - very well masked - delight, the little house itself had been perfect as well. Overall untouched by the days of shelling and structurally well-off. The insulation was even somewhat intact.

As they made their way in, he noticed Price accidentally kick at the ragged thing as they entered. It had taken every ounce of strength he had not to either blow up at Price or immediately dart to cradle the worn plush in his arms. He’d internally attribute it to his raging grief at the time - the wound of his loss still jagged and gushing.

Like the good little soldier he was, though, he stuffed away all his burning feelings into his box, shoving it to the deep recesses of his mind alongside the memory of that night.

Originally, he’d decided to leave the thing alone. Keep the hurt shoved away and let anything that tugged at it be shoved down alongside it.

But some part of him- no. Simon ached and throbbed and clawed at his impenetrable, uncaring persona (what if that was Joseph’s? it wailed. he didn’t want to listen.). Was it weak? Absolutely. Selfish? Probably. Pretty weird? Yeah.

It didn’t stop him from snatching the toy up as they left, though.

The new addition to his - unbeknownst to him - growing collection found a home next to his other bear.

He’d insisted that it would be the last. It wasn’t.

The third was from Laswell.

It was before she was married - before she was even dating the lovely woman she now called her wife. Her house had been one of the many subjected to the disastrous british rain, with the whole bottom floor of her house being practically completely flooded. The task force had scrambled to help, of course, offering everything from money to offering up their services as glorified handymen. Laswell had declined, of course. She already had a well paying job and more than enough to get some repairs, all she needed was a place to stay.

Each and every one of the boys would have taken her in in a heartbeat, if not for them being in service. They weren’t exactly meant to leave base, let alone offer their apartments as temporary hotels to someone non-military.

So, naturally, they’d offered up the base instead. It wasn’t exactly pretty, and there wasn’t a guest room, but it was floodwater-free and the couch was decently cosy. It was better, and more convenient, than an impromptu hotel stay right in the middle of tourist season, so Laswell had begrudgingly accepted.

Ghost hadn’t even known about the arrangement until he had finally returned from a dull day of training up stupid, whiny little recruits and was fully planning on stripping and dropping into bed without a second thought.

And he was immediately greeted by Laswell, holed up on the couch with the telly on and wearing a pair of pjs.

Simon wasn’t gonna have that. He couldn’t give less of a shit if it was one of the recruits, the annoying little bastards, but Laswell? The woman who had guided them constantly, always tucked away in their ears when things got bad?

Simon wasn’t having this at all.

The stubbornness of the two made it a long, gruelling task, which basically ended with Ghost - as respectfully as one possibly could - manhandling Laswell into his room. He hadn’t paid the teddies a single thought, much more concerned with getting Laswell - Kate - comfy and situated, even giving her dibs over his laptop full of pirated films for the night.

Clearly, though, Laswell had paid those tiny little plushies some thoughts, seeing as, after she’d finally returned home and been given time to recoup, a box addressed to Simon - not Ghost, never Ghost to her - landed on his doorstep. Well, bedroom door, but what really was the difference on base?

He’d opened the little present to find a hand-knitted bear. A stark white one, with beady little eyes and a neatly tied ribbon along its neck. It was accompanied by a handwritten note, thanking him for letting her sleep in his room, yet with a very passive aggressive - heavy on the aggressive part - warning to ‘never try that goddamn shit again, Simon, don’t fucking test me.’

That bear, too, found a home in his collection. This one was really a turning point for him.

The other two, while painfully dear to him, were shrouded in agonising memories, letting the bloody, nasty bits of his past creep up on him again.

This one, though? This was Laswell’s - it was Kate’s. She’d taken the time to make it by hand, each loop of string infused with a kind of warmth. This one was gentle, was kind.

That was when his collection really ballooned. Suddenly, the stupid toys weren’t violent, leeching memories from before. They were something new, something sweet and delicate and so, so painfully kind. Embarrassingly enough, it became a bit of a comfort, letting the soft trio against his headboard turn into his little quartet. Then a group. And, before he knew it, he practically had an army taking over his bed. He was more than content with it, of course. It was comfortable, at the very least.

And, honestly? It was a bit of a reminder. That he could grow, and change. That the death and pain and fiery hurt wasn’t everything. That, maybe, just maybe, the tragic ending to one chapter didn’t need to taint the rest.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod fanfic #soft ghost #lil guy ghost #hes just a little guy #hes trying his best #pre ghoap #maybe #if i continue this #fangs drabbles

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medicbrainrot · 11 months

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i pray with the devil you rest in peace (divinity, part 2)

As a result of the success of the mission, everyone had been given a few days leave to rest and recuperate. Simon and Artemis had decided to spend their leave together, using the quiet days to spend some time together, in a calm, relaxed environment.

After a chill night watching movies and playing video games, Simon and Artemis had fallen asleep cuddling on his bed, enjoying a restful evening together.

Simon was fast asleep on the bed, a soft smile on his face as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Both of them were dressed for comfort, Simon in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, Artemis in pajama pants and one of Simon’s hoodies.

Simon rolled over in his sleep, pulling Artemis closer to him. His arm was draped around her back, tucking his face into her neck. He sighs, nuzzling into her.

Artemis was having a dream…no, a nightmare. She feels like she can’t breathe. The memory of the enemy soldier’s knife pressed against her throat causes her to whimper in her sleep.

Her whimpering rouses Simon from the confines of sleep, and he pulls back slightly to look at her. He starts gently running his fingers through her hair, leaning up to kiss her forehead, trying to provide any semblance of comfort during the nightmare she’s experiencing.

“Shh…everything’s okay now… I promise you’re safe, I’ll always protect you. Just like I did then.” He whispers softly.

“No…please…let me go…” She mumbles quietly, a frown marring her features.

“Hey, hey, It’s okay.” He gently pulled her closer to him, putting a hand on her shoulder and leaning her against him. His voice was warm and soft, soft and comforting.

“You’re safe. You’re safe, okay? He’s gone. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.” Simon tried to keep his voice steady as he comforted Artemis, trying to keep any notes of panic out. He kept his arms tightly around her, trying to help her. “You’re okay, I’m right here.”

Her hand reached up to scratch at the wound across her throat. “Simon… Simon… please… help.” She whimpers, scratching at her neck.

He grabbed her hand with one one of his one, pulling it away, placing it against his chest. “Don’t touch it, sweetheart. You’ll undo the bandages, Temi.”

His voice remained gentle, but he was starting to worry. “Artemis, you’re going to be alright. I’m here. You’re okay.”

She starts hyperventilating, the nightmare getting worse. “Please… help me… please.” She whimpers, tears beginning to escape from her closed eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” Simon soothed her, trying to quell his own panic. “I’m here, I’m here, it’s okay.” He held her tightly as he tried to soothe her back to a steady breathing rate. “You’re going to be okay, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

Simon continues to try to comfort her as she cries, when a thought hits him like a bolt of lightning.

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Artemis, sweetheart, wake up.” He shook her shoulder gently. “Come on, it’s okay, wake up, love.”

Between Simon calling her name and the gentle rocking of her body, Artemis woke up in a gasp, her eyes filling with tears.

“Hey… it’s okay. You’re okay.” He soothed as he looked at her, eyes wide and tearful, his own eyes filled with worry. “I’m here, Temi, I’m here. You’re safe.” He pulled her close, resting her head on his chest. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

She buries her head in Simon’s chest as she lets out a few quiet sobs. “He had me… he was gonna…”

“I know.” Simon whispers, holding onto her tightly, wanting nothing more than to comfort her. “But you’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you. He can’t hurt you again.”

He repeated softly, holding her tight as she cried. “It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here.”

“You’re here.” She repeated in a whisper. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.” He repeated back to her, his voice gentle. He didn’t ever want to see her get hurt again, and all he wanted right now was to give her all the comfort in the world.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. He won’t hurt you ever again, Artemis. Never again…”

As her sobs started to subside, the tension in her body started to release.

Simon let out a soft sigh as he felt her body start to relax. She was safe, and she was out of that terrifying nightmare. He kept his arms securely around her, and leaned his head up to press a kiss into her hair. “Do you know what I'm most worried about?” He asks softly, pressing another gentle kiss to her head.

“What?” She whispers.

“You.” He replies quietly. Simon stroked a gentle hand down her back, trying to let her know that he was there, that she was safe, and that he would keep her safe. She couldn’t see it, but his expression was filled with worry and concern for her. Simon just wants to keep his Artemis safe.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He whispers.

“I’m okay.” She whispers back. “It was just a nightmare.”

“I know.” He brushes his hand up and down her back again before pressing another kiss to her hair. “You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m safe.” She repeats. “I’m okay.”

Simon pulled away from the hug for a moment to look into her eyes, trying to get a gauge on how she was feeling. He smiled gently, squeezing her in reassurance. “You’re okay.” He whispered, pressing her body into his again, softly stroking her hair and her back.

He never wanted something like that to happen to her again. He silently vowed to always be a safe place for her, to always protect her. “You’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here.”

“I’m okay, I’m safe, you’re here.” She mumbled sleepily.

Simon sighed in relief when he heard Artemis repeat her answer again, happy to hear that she had calmed down again. “I’m here Artemis, I’ll always be here.”

He held her close, running his hand up and down her back, over and over. He softly kissed the top of her head again, before whispering, “I love you.”

“...love you…” She mumbled back, already half asleep.

Simon smiled gently, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Artemis.”

He was content to fall asleep again with her wrapped in his arms, wanting nothing more than for that moment to last forever. All he wanted was an eternal moment of peace with the two of them together, after everything they’ve been through.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated!

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mrsrileywrites · 2 months

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Have a piece of my mind...

smut, smut, smutty smut...

As always, likes, comments, reposts and positive criticism are highly appreciated 🫶

Simon "Ghost" Riley knows when to fuck and when to make love.

He's memorized your menstrual cycle so before you get your period, when your body and mind are over sensitive and you cry cause you saw an add of homeless dogs in the TV, he's gentle... with his words and his touch.

He makes love to you, he settles for missionary, making eye contact, your legs wrap around his waist while he thrust into you deep and slow, he squeezes your sore boobs lightly, he doesn't want to hurt you, and flicks his tongue on your harden nipples.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, holding your hands on each side of your face as he pepper kisses all over your face and neck, he whisper soft praises and words of encouragement on your ear. "so good for me, love", "good girl, taking me so well", "baby... keep looking at me".

He slides his hand between your bodies to rub soft circles on your clit until you cum with a soft cry of his name.

He gives you the best aftercare, he cleans you up and helps you put on your favorite pj's, he brings you water and your favorite snacks, he wraps you in his burly arms, kissing your forehead and running a gentle hand on your back until you are fast asleep.

Oh but when you're ovulating and constantly horny, when you follow him around your shared apartment, your hands always on him and your voice is whiny and needy, when you mindlessly rub your boobs against his bicep?. That's when he fucks you.

He got you on a mating press while he pounds on your swollen cunt at a supernatural pace and you're panting like a bitch in heat, his hand comes to wrap around your throat as he dirty talks you "fuck, so wet for me", "tight little cunt making a mess on my cock", "is this what you wanted baby?, to be fucked like a whore, yeah?".

He doesn't need to rub your clit, he's fucking you oh so, so good, thrusting balls deep into you, the squelching sound of your wet pussy and skin slapping against skin fill the room along with your loud moans and his grunts, his pubic bone hits your clit just right, your eyes roll back as you orgasm so hard you think you may be having a seizure, he's movements doesn't falter as he chases his own release driving you into overstimulation while he fills your pussy with his hot, white cum.

Simon "Ghost" Riley knows you like the back of his hand so much so he knows when you need to be fucked like a whore and when he needs to make love to you and he'll do it because you are his good girl, the light on his darkest days and the love of his life.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2

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konigsblog · 2 months

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older-boyfriend simon thots™️...

older-boyfriend simon riley x afab!f!reader...

warnings: age gap (20s-40s), degrading, spanking, authority control, slightly toxic relationships.

older-boyfriend simon riley can't help himself from controlling you. seeing you trying to sneak off to college parties gets him riled up, and the thought of other boys drooling and obsessing over you leaves him pissed off... so, when he catches you sneaking out, with a skimpy skirt riding up your ass, he can't help but get incredibly infuriated at your misbehaviour.

he'll drag you by your hair, grumbling quietly while you whimper, stumbling over your words as you try your best to create an excuse. simon pushes you onto his leather couch, lighting a cigarette between his teeth, growling and grunting quietly and holding your soft hug open with a firm grip.

“quit squirmin’, dollface... take it, like the filthy slag y’are...”

he'll make sure to fuck some sense into your stupid, little head, his lengthy and veiny cock bruising your cervix, making you bite your thumb and cry out painfully at the roughness of his pace.

older-boyfriend simon riley will spank you whilst you're drunk. pouring vodka down your throat, his calloused hand on your throat, running down to your sweet, sweet pussy... being so soft and tender, rubbing your little clit soothingly and gently, before spanking your little cunt, making out with you whilst your body jerks and twists at the pain and ache between your thighs.

“dirty fuckin’ whore, look at that pretty pussy... all wet and sensitive, yeah? never been fucked by a real, older man, have ya?’ all sloppy and wet, so precious when you’re cryin’, drunk...”

#orla speaks #RAHHH give me him !! :(#simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #ghost headcanon #tw: age gap #tw: age difference

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utilityknif3 · 6 days

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Nsfw!!! tehee

Imagine being Simon Ghost Riley’s ex wife who he can’t forget. You two have a son together and after being on a mission for a few weeks, he wanted to take him out somewhere for some quality time since you had full custody.

Even though he’s been away for only a few weeks, you two haven’t seen each other for months now.

…

Simon knocks on your door hesitantly. He wants to see you, he needs to. But when you open the door, he doesn’t know what to say.

You’re so beautiful, you changed but you’re glowing.

You just greet him with a simple “hi” and let him in. Simon walks in, lowering his head so he doesn’t hit it on the doorframe and you both sit on the couch and wait…

“He’s not here” you say, breaking the silence and trying to make the situation less awkward after a moment of silence.

“Where is he?” He asks with his deep voice and thick British accent that makes your heart melt each time.

“He’s at his friend’s birthday, he’ll be back later…in a few hours” you reply not daring to look at him in the eyes.

“In a few hours…aight” Simon passes a hand through his short blond hair, trying to think of something to say.

…

You two have been trying to hold a decent conversation for an hour now, catching up on your respective lives. He tells you about the struggles of his job and you tell him about whatever’s been bothering you lately…until you felt his gaze lower to your hand, especially the finger where your ring is placed, the ring he placed. The ring you can’t get rid of even though you tried to.

“You still have your wedding band?”

He asks as he stares at the ring he passed on your finger a few years before, as if he was mesmerized. He wished to do it again, and again… see you all dolled up in your pretty dress for him with that beautiful smile on your face. You two were so happy that day, like it was the best day of your lives.

He wished he could fuck you again like the night of your wedding, slowly and steadily. It was so intimate, just the two of you, his hair tickling your jaw as he pounded into you. He remembers the way your arms were wrapped around his neck and the way your hands would move to touch his hair. He remembers the sloppy kisses he gave you while he was listening to the soft symphony your moans were composing.

Simon snaps out of his transe when you answer

“Yes…it’s a pretty ring after all”

He nods.

He feels dumb for thinking that you two still had something; you moved on and it was clear.

He doesn’t want you to know that he kept the ring and a few of your things too. He doesn’t want you to know that you’re the one in his mind when he’s alone jerking himself off and overstimulating his soaked cock trying to recreate what you would do to him. He’s ashamed. The shirt that you forgot to get back from him had already been stained with his cum so many times that it doesn’t even smell like you anymore.

You already moved on but he didn’t, he never forgot your dates where you’d be just the two of you on the couch watching an old crappy movie. He never forgot the long hours he’d spend sleeping on your pregnancy belly while you’d caress gently his freshly cut hair. He never forgot the way your son would grab his big tatted arm in his small hands…He never forgot the feeling of your pussy squeezing him and taking him so well. The way you’d ride him on nights he felt tired, or the way your tongue would swirl around his tip, trying to milk every drop of cum he had left in him.

Simon loves you, he loves everything about you and never stoped loving you…

…

…that’s why you’re on the couch right now with his face buried in between your thighs. Simon’s tongue passes through your folds and teases your clit slowly while you scratch his hair. He’s so good for you, going a bit faster each time he hears you whimper.

The tip of his tongue teases your soaking hole while your toes curl around nothing.

After a moment of this sweet torture, he finally decides that his pants were getting too tight and stops licking you. He lifts his eyes to look at you, his face all red from embarrassment as your hand leaves his hair.

“Please, let me fuck you like you deserve” He asks politely while you’re panting heavily. At this point, his dick is the only thing you’ve been wanting. It’s been a while, too long.

You agree with a nod and he doesn’t hesitate to lift you up and put you gently on the kitchen counter. He used to make love to you for hours on it, it was the perfect height. He could fuck you from the front with your legs over his shoulders or from the back with your boobs pressed against the cold granite countertop.

He takes a moment to appreciate your body and watches you all vulnerable and needy for him. He wants to make you cry, to make you beg for more because he knows you will want more. He’s the only one who knows what’s best for you.

As you adjust your body on the counter, Simon hurries to take his fully hard boner out of his pants and boxers. It’s bigger than you remember, covered of his precum and ready to stuff you full of his semen.

You bite your lip in anticipation the moment he grips your thigh to holds it up. He’s so hot when he’s on top, his eyebrows are furrowed as he lines up his dick with the hole of your soaked cunt.

He puts it in with a low “fuck” escaping his lips. You feel so good around him.

Simon pounds into you, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs, making sure to leave dark bruises on your skin. He’s loosing himself into your folds feeling your burning walls squeeze his cock too much for him to hold his orgasm.

He burries his dick deeply into you, his tip kissing your cervix at each thrust and eventually it begins to feel too stimulating, too good. Simon cums into you but doesn’t stop his hips from moving. The white substance drips down to the counter and his moans are higher and louder. Now, his thrust are messy and uneven because of the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling trying to bring you to your climax.

You reach it eventually, your own juices melting with his as you two are panting messes. Simon looks at you, at your beautiful face he missed so much. He won’t let you go again.

…

About an hour later, after a good shower, he randomly decides to kiss you and mumbles “I love you”

I know the end is ass idk how to end fics 🤯 and tbh I know that my writing sucks also bc I have great ideas but poor grammar and vocabulary 😓 I promise to get better bear with me 🙌🏾

#simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #mom reader #black reader #x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #smut #cod mw2 #cod smut #black girls of tumblr #cod x reader #cod x you #female reader #ghost x reader

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oceantornadoo · 1 month

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bad day (simon riley x reader, best friends to lovers)

honestly, you should have seen it coming. staying in a safe house with four men who have never ending stomachs? but today, it was the last straw.

“you ate my last cookie?”

soap’s face dropped, jaw open. your voice was on the verge of breaking, tears forming in your eyes. you never showed this much vulnerability in front of the team, and he was flabbergasted. he shot a look at gaz, who was equally as confused. “‘m sorry, bonnie, i didnae ken-“ you pushed your hands on the table, shoving your chair back and out. “it’s ok. gonna take a nap.” you were wiping your eyes furiously, feeling unstable. first you got your period four days early (asking price to add pads to the shopping list was something you never wanted to experience again), then you couldn’t find your heating pad, and now your cookies were out? maybe it was the hormones, but you were done.

“oof.” you had ran into a thick wall. scratch that, the wall was moving. your vision was blurred by tears you refused to shed that you didn’t even realize it was your closest friend ghost. “dove?” you hiccuped. why did he always have to be so nice to you? gruff and mean-sounding to everyone else, but an avid listener and sweet talker when it came to you. “jus’ trying to get to my room, didn’t see you. sorry l.t..” you tried to maneuver around him, but unfortunately a 6’4 machine of a man did not move easily.

“why you cryin’, baby?” shit, simon did not mean to call you that. he did not want to have this conversation right now, especially when you looked like you were about to break down. you were always so strong, having to work ten times harder as a woman in the military, and he was always careful to not undermine you or your struggles. unfortunately, that landed him firmly in the friendzone for the past year, unable to confess his feelings without breaking your trust. he maneuvered you to the closest room, which happened to be his. he sat down on the bed, intending to sit you down next to him, but instead you still stood, walking in between his parted legs.

“‘m sorry, just on my period and everything hurts and it’s all hitting at once.” your eyes were red, avoiding his. he could see you were in pain, and as someone who had endured enemy torture and the hardest forms of training, his heart never hurt as much as it did now. he reached a gloved hand towards your face, brushing away your tears. his other hand came to your lower belly, rubbing circles over your clothes. “shhh, ‘s okay. you wanna sit down?” you shook your head in disagreement. you felt like a child, but you were never allowed to be weak outside of your own room. for some reason today, you let simon riley see you weak.

you walked around his body and laid on top of his covers, curling into a fetal position. he let you get comfy, finding a way to lay down that lessened your cramps. finally, you were done moving. “si?” you never called him that unless you absolutely needed him. he got up and locked the door, not wanting to disturb your peace. “yeah, baby?” might as well use it now, you hadn’t complained. if anything your face softened when he said it, and simon riley would die a thousand deaths just to see a moment of relief on your face. “will you lay with me?”

he eagerly stripped out of his gear, climbing on top of his bed to lay down with you. he placed a hand on your arm, letting you choose where you wanted him. you dragged his hand under your sweatshirt, using it like a heating pad for your cramps. you let out a soft moan of pleasure and he answered it with a low growl, pulling you into him by the stomach. his thumb caressed your bare skin with small circles, memorizing every dip and valley. he strived to commit the moment to memory, not knowing if you’d ever be this vulnerable again. “feel better, dove?” you nodded, finally succumbing to sleep that had evaded you the past night. he smiled under his mask, placing a small kiss to the back of your head.

finally you were at peace, and all because of him.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod 141 #fluff #ghost call of duty #tornadothoughts #best friends to lovers #period cramps #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

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yawnderu · 2 months

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>Simon has a neet weirdo as a best friend Or Simon Riley lets his best friend see his naked body for art references.

This wasn't the way Simon was expecting to spend his PTO; naked in his best friend's bed with his hand covering his soft cock, hoping not to make you uncomfortable as you took notes of his body's reactions.

“Can you like... get hard?” He was trying his best not to get hard, going as far as to think about gross things he's seen throughout the years to distract himself from the feeling of your nails raking up and down his bare stomach, defined muscles tensing and bulging beneath your palm.

“'S not how it works.” He grumbled out, tired brown eyes looking away from you. Simon isn't embarrassed— not at all, he's simply not used to someone inspecting him the way you are, curious eyes fully focused on his body, taking in every single tattoo and scar, living proof of how many times he's kicked death's ass.

“Well, just think about... I don't know, tits.” He lets out a dry chuckle at the awkwardness in your tone, trying your best to keep it professional in the name of art. He looks down at you with pure amusement the moment he sees your hand drifting up, tracing the outline of his defined, muscular pecs.

You take a second to fully admire the view in front of you, absent-mindedly starting to play with his erect nipple, not registering the way his breath hitches. Simon looks like a gladiator— lightly tanned skin making his rippling muscles stand out greatly, becoming the virtual image of ancient Greek fantasies, a plethora of scars showing how often he crosses the edge of death.

“Gettin' a bit touchy there.” His playful tone doesn't save the mild embarrassment, about to let go of his nipple before his rough, calloused hand grasps your wrist, encouraging you to keep touching him.

“'S working.” Simon's other hand moves out of the way slightly, just barely enough for you to see his hardening cock, veins starting to become more prominent along his long, meaty shaft. He doesn't protest when you move his hand out of the way, getting a perfect look at him.

“That's... oddly interesting.” The awkwardness coming from you never fails to amuse him, only making his ego inflate by the second, even when you look down at your notebook to keep taking notes of his body's reactions.

“Does it feel weird to get a boner?” He thinks about it for a few seconds before shaking his head, holding back a laugh at the blunt questions. In the name of art, she says.

“Not weird, just... I don't know, bird.” The expectant look that you give him distracts him for a second, trying to think of a better way to explain it.

“Feels good. Bit tingly most of the time, and you can feel it... y'know, grow.” Explaining what getting a boner feels like isn't the weirdest thing he's done for you, half-lidded brown eyes focused on the way you simply nod and keep taking notes, using his words as inspiration for the erotic novels he knows you write.

The room is almost quiet for a few minutes, Simon's breathing becoming harder being the only sound, feeling your soft hands caressing every single inch of his skin, feeling him up more than he can take... and ultimately edging him without even being aware, stopping to take notes every once in a while.

“I can show you how a man jacks off, too. For the sake of art, yeah?”

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simonrileysfavteacup · 2 months

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The Morning After

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x wife!reader

Word count: 700 ish?

Warnings: Mentions to sex, hickeys, naked people, Simon wanting you for breakfast

Summary: The morning after a steamy night.

Sunlight creeps in through the curtains you never closed last night. The curtains fly around the room, pushed by the daring wind. The window’s are still open, letting in the chirps of birds outside. The wind pushes a breeze around the room and you shiver.

You’re laying on your right shoulder. There’s a heavy arm that isn’t yours draped across your waist. There’s a head tucked into the crook of your neck. There’s another forearm underneath your head. There’s someone’s heavy breathing going straight into your neck. You can feel a bit of stubble. You can feel hair, long, soft hair. You can feel a strong chest against your back. All of it is memorized in your mind.

And there’s only one person in the whole world who’s body you know inch by inch.

You squint as you open your eyes, the sunlight almost killing you. The duvet is all messed up, barely covering your tangled bodies. His right arm is underneath your head, draped off your side of the bed. His grip on your waist is loose, he’s still asleep. His breathing is even, you can feel it.

You push yourself out of bed slightly, making a move to shut the window and close the curtains. He grabs onto your waist tightly and pulls you back into the position you were in before. His voice is raspy, almost not even there, as he says, “Five more minutes.”

It should be illegal. His voice. His hair. His chest slowly falling and rising. It should be illegal to look this fucking good in the morning.

“Just wanna close the window,” You reply, keeping your voice hushed.

“Who gives a shit?” He pulls the duvet higher over you, covering your naked body from the wind. “There. Now, give me 10 more minutes.”

His hand goes back to your waist, covering the soft maroon and purple bruises that formed throughout the night.

So, you lay back down, take in a deep breath, and try to fall asleep.

At least an hour goes by before you finally wake up again. Your position hasn’t changed and Simon’s hold on your waist is loose again. You finally move, getting up from bed. He doesn’t pull you back this time, but rolls over. He lets out a groan. “Oh, shut up, you big baby. I gave you more than 10 minutes.”

He doesn’t respond. Just lets out another groan, but louder and longer.

You grab the shirt he wore last night, the one he threw into a random corner of the room, more focused on your body. You toss it into the hamper. His pants and boxers are thankfully close enough to the hamper, yours nowhere to be found. Guess he was a little too excited.

You walk into the bathroom, getting a fine look at yourself in the mirror.

Hickeys and the traces of fingertips line your neck and chest, your hips and legs are covered, and I mean covered, in bruises. On both sides of your hips are marks of large, muscular hands. The marks are red, and it doesn’t look like it’ll all fade in the next hour. You turn slightly, getting a look at your back. Your ass is marked the same way your hips are, with large hand prints, your back thankfully okay.

“You’re hurt,” Simon’s voice is barely above a whisper as he stares at you from the bed.

This happens every time he leaves a mark on you. He turns cold again, becoming distant in fear of hurting you again. Every single time. It takes so many words of encouragement to get him to open up again, assuring him it didn’t hurt.

“They’ll fade,” You shrug.

“I hurt you,” He whispers.

“No, you didn’t. Last night was probably one of the best nights of my entire life, love. Don’t you dare think I’m in any sort of pain or anything. I’m fine,” You smile at him. “And I left a fair share of marks on you. Look at your back.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, looking over at you again. “Promise?”

“Swear on my life,” You smile. “You want breakfast?”

“Mhm,” He hums, walking over to you and kneeling in front of you. “It’s already served.” Are his last words before diving in between your legs.

#simon riley fluff #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #ghost imagine #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost x you

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 5 months

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“This is my daddy, his name is Simon.” Your daughter stood proud, beaming up at her father as she introduced him to her kindergarten class. “He is a soldier for the SAS.”

Simon watched as nearly a dozen small eyes watched him intently. Usually, in circumstances like this Simon would be nervous, but the tight comforting grip of his little girls hand in his, had his confidence soaring.

“Well class, does anyone have any questions for Mr. Riley?” Your daughter’s teacher asked, giving Simon a knowing smile.

Simon’s eyes widened as every single hand in that classroom rose, each hand eagerly waving, waiting to be picked on.

He answered what felt like a million questions in ten minutes. The questions ranged from, how long has he been in service, what does his job entail, has he killed anyone, is he friends with his other soliders- you name it. He actually found himself enjoying answering the questions, and was genuinely surprised at the maturity of some of the children.

Simon rarely liked being the center of attention, but he felt a surge of pride bubbling in his chest as he looked over at her daughter who was looking back at him like he was the coolest person on the planet.

Later on, a group of kids surrounded your daughter as Simon stood outside the classroom chatting away with some of the parents. He let his eyes wander, watching as his daughter chatted excitedly to her fellow classmates.

“I’m so jealous your dad seems so cool!” One of the kids told your daughter, and the rest of the children nodded in agreement. “I wish he was my dad.”

“I know.” Your daughter said, a proud smile lining her lips. “My daddy is the best there is.”

Little did she know, Simon was standing right around the corner listening to her every word, a soft smile dancing on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: sorry this is trash, lol. Had this idea after a dream I had, and had to write it😂🥺

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley fluff

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snootlestheangel · 11 months

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Unending Devotion by FeelzMaster

It's the Dad!Price fic!!!!!! I posted the first chapter, was planning on adding the second as well but I haven't slept in 24 hours and feel like shit (gotta love jetlag and severely long layovers) so I'll get it out tomorrow!! I'm just so excited and ready for y'all to read this!!

Anywho! Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

Taglist (if you want to be added, just say so!):

@cod-dump @cr4shposts

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lovelyghst · 3 months

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craving consensual somno with (slightly intoxicated) simon riley and his (extremely heavy sleeper) girl. take this as ur warnings.

just him coming home late at night as usual, the bourbon in his system keeping him loosened up and tranquil, yet ever so cognizant as he enters your shared bedroom. those familiar creepy-crawlies invading his stomach with boyish excitement to see you, and quickly turning towards his dick when he lays eyes on your pretty body.

it’s nearly a routine at this point; you purposely fall asleep in these skimpy, two-piece pajamas, usually some sort of small berries, cherries, or flowers adorning the thin, white fabric that leaves little to the imagination, knowing it’ll get him all worked up. the curtains are left pulled and the door cracked open, you kick the covers off and lay with a pillow hugged tightly in your arms beneath you to give him the best view; infinite signs telling him you want it just as bad as he does. it is routine, but it gets so him riled up, each and every time.

he trudges over, as quietly as the tipsy man can manage to the end of your bed, and with tunnel-vision on your exposed thighs. even his jaw fallen slack just a bit in hunger. desperate to get his hands on you after being apart for so long, and wanting to soothe that ache in his cock he hadn’t even realized he was palming through his jeans.

you barely stir when he kneels on the foot of the bed, and neither when he crawls above you and places a kiss right behind your ear.

he presses a cold palm to your shoulder, attempting to urge you onto your back to give him a visual of your features. to let him see your curves in the raw moonlight, how the dainty material of your pajamas becomes a tad bit see-through around your tits and incidentally rides up past your bellybutton, endless thoughts running through his dazed mind as he eventually manages to flip you over successfully.

though, your sleepy hum suddenly alerts him to a standstill, his worst nightmare being to wake you from your serene rest. not now, anyway.

“shhh, sweetheart,” he gently coaxes you, and he can’t help the grin spanning his lips when you mumble the first syllable of his name in that questioning, dreamy tone. he clears fallen hair from your face, slipping his pillow from your grasp as he mutters, “yeah, dovie, s’only me. you’re okay, you’re safe… jus’ go back to sleep for me, now.”

your unconscious mind obeys like clockwork, the smallest of smiles curling your lip corners in contentment, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s returning to his endeavors.

kissing all across your exposed collarbone, thoughtlessly slipping a finger or two beneath the strap of your little pajama shirt and carefully allowing it to glide down your shoulder as he repeats the process on the other side. peppering kisses to your soft skin, before rolling the fabric upward from the bottom so he can properly pay attention to the rest of your chest and tummy.

lips grazing your sternum with short, controlled breaths fanning your sensitive parts; aware of how easily ticklish you are and attempting not to light that fuse, equally straining himself in not turning too feverish as he takes your hardened nipple in his mouth and paws at the other in his hand.

he works his way down slowly but surely, until he’s pulling your shorts off with tender hands and unveiling your bare, soaked pussy, and he can’t even think to suppress the low groan pushed from his lungs at the sight in front of him. he inches forward with nearly crossed eyes, taking incisive ministrations in lifting your legs up and over his back.

your breathing hitches a bit in your slumber when he licks an almost reluctant yet long stripe from your hole to your clit, unable to give himself a moment to savor it before he’s diving back in for more.

“missed this pretty, little cunt on my tongue, baby… christ,” he chuckles lightly to himself, “good girl’s gonna be the death o’ me.”

he sloppily makes-out with your pussy, any and all devotions of rhythm and precision thrown far from his intentions. he only gets to be selfish when he has you like this, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity as it’s laid out on his bed. moaning at your wetness and taste, how your pussy drools for more and coats his chin with a slick he devours like a madman deprived.

the small whines you make in your sleep are nothing but precious to simon, burning them into his brain like any other occasion he’s pulled them from your lips. saving them for the later times like when he’s a thousand miles away, locked away in some office, and can’t possibly bring himself to bother you with a pestering, horny phone call.

you turn your head to the side with a hum, empty hands reaching for any semblance of comfort on your abdomen, which rather concerns him for a moment until he realizes just what you want.

he gives you one of his hands and you blindly accept it, wrapping your smaller fingers around his wrist and thumb to pull the appendage closer. resting just below your ribcage, satisfied and holding it close like you would a teddy bear.

“sweet thing… always loved this perfect pussy,” he mumbles right up against your warmth, quiet as to not disrupt your blissful obliviousness in your sleep. he’s utterly drunk on you and your taste, and the alcohol he had beforehand certainly contributes to his filthy, forward language.

“how easy y’get on my mouth, ‘nd yet how tight you are around my cock… fuckin’ hell—”

he watches intently as the tips of his fingers delve between your folds, gradually disappearing whilst your chest begins to heave a little heavier; a faint, broken noise of pleasure omitting straight from your throat. tightening around his digits as he pushes them further in, just as you do wrapped around his cock when you’re conscious.

he’s not thinking straight; he’s merely experimenting with you as he curls his fingers upward, prodding at that gummy spot in your cunt and greedily sucking on your clit to push you over. toying with you, rather, because the face you make when you’re first emerged from your slumber with a mind-shattering orgasm is truly priceless.

your eyes snap open as you come around his digits, squeezing his hands tight with your vision going blank. the high is strong but you don’t allow it to last very long when the dots in your brain are connecting, turning you all excited for the implications of it all.

erratically catching your breath with a huge grin on your face, matching his as he comes up to greet you. he’s stupid, shamelessly drunk on your taste, and it radiates from his expression as if he just witnessed a star being born right before his muddy eyes.

you haven’t a clue what just happened, but you fucking loved every sober second of it.

and before you know it, he’s coming back up to meet your lips with his own, which you graciously accept, taste of slick and alcohol and all. humming as he slips his greedy hands upward and behind your back, giggling when he impatiently flips over on his back and hauls you with him. til you’re curled up by his side, halfway on his chest whilst one leg slips between both of his bulky ones.

“i‘m glad you’re home…” nearly a pout, “really missed you, si.”

you’re the first one to speak, quietly, sincere as ever as you examine his pretty face. the faint bags beneath his lids, the wetness that sticks to his dirty-blond stubble. his rough and gruff exterior that hides behind it a boy who’s absolutely and utterly whipped for you.

“that right?” he taunts, eyes remaining shut. “and my tongue, i bet?”

you shy away with a laugh. he won’t remember these words in the morning, but you’ve always loved how cocky and brazen he gets with a couple of drinks running through his blood.

“i missed all of you...”

his eyes barely have to open for him to effectively, and lovingly, judge you with a mere glance. it’s one of his talents.

“some parts more than others, clearly.”

“that’s not true,” you contest, but the humorous hesitancy and sheepishness in your voice tells him otherwise.

“sure, baby, sure.” he takes a moment to breathe, overtly proud of himself. “y’missed my mouth, n’ my hands. even with how rough they are with ya sometimes, yeah?” you hide your flushed face in his neck with a groan, praying this embarrassment is short-lived though preparing for the worst as you feel his lips inch closer to your ear.

“prob’ly missed me fuckin’ my cock into that tight, little cunt—”

“okay, fine!” you finally admit and pull away defensively, slapping his chest but only earning a laugh from him. “but i definitely don’t miss that dirty brain of yours, you big dog.”

“you love me anyway,” he states, matter-of-factly.

you give a big smooch to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and then down to his lips, which he returns.

“i do. a lot,” you add and he hums, feeling fulfilled.

and, oh, he’s so fulfilled with you. you take care of him by allowing him to take care of you, and it’s a two-way street. you ground each other whilst never forcing one to tether themself to earth.

you sit up to fix your top, smoothing over the fabric and shrugging the straps back into place. shimmying back into your shorts when you catch a glimpse of the large man’s dark jeans contrasting your light sheets, belt buckle glimmering in the corner of your eye.

“simon, honey, you need to change before you—”

you look over and are suddenly forced to stifle a giggle when you discover that the poor man has fallen asleep, a droopy smile still ornamenting his slick-covered face. taking your hand and swiping the apple of his cheek with your thumb, you’re pleased when he doesn’t budge one bit. dragging it downwards past his muscled chest and abdomen, landing just beneath his leather belt.

your fingertips trace his hard-on over the jeans, knowing you can’t just leave him like this, all aching and pent up and too exhausted to do anything about it himself.

maybe you could do him a favor and return the sweet gesture? <3

#i got carried away #cod mw #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

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sweetiecutie · 4 months

Text

Warnings: pantie stealing and sniffing, masturbation, Simon has a crush on you, kinda softie! Simon

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who felt guilt pooling in his chest as he fisted his leaking cock violently, a pair of your pink frilly thongs that he pinched from laundry basket in you house was pressed against his nose, inhaling lungfuls of your soury scent. Bright blush covered his normally pale cheeks, honey-coloured eyes rolling back as Riley’s back arched, series of low groans and stifled moans slipping past his lips as hot cum shot out of his overstimulated cock, landing in small puddles on his pubic and tummy.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who could barely look you in the eyes the whole next week out of sheer shame and embarrassment, brushing you off whenever you tried talking to him. You pouted, not getting such wanted attention from your older brother’s broody best friend, just clicking your tongue as he openly ignored you, finally giving up and turning around on your heels, marching off to your room, snacks and mug of tea in your hands. If only you could see Simon’s eyes lingering longingly on the soft slope of your ass, trying to burn the image in his brain, you small booty shorts doing nothing to hide delicious plumpness of it.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who clenched his teeth tightly, breathing deeply through his nose to try and control himself as you sat on an arm of the armchair he was settled in, drunkenly babbling about some new movie you’ve been meaning to watch. He desperately tried not to look at your tits as you leant against the back of that damned armchair, your chest poking out of the deep cut of your crop top barely ten centimetres away from Simon’s head, basically inviting him to bury his face in beautiful softness of your boobs. But he just gripped his beer tighter, looking strictly in front of him and nodding absentmindedly at your words, subtly shuffling his hoody down to hide a growing tent in his pants.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon on whom you can always count. You need a drive back home after going out for drinks? He’s grabbing his car keys and telling you he’ll be there in a few minutes. Some weirdo has been bothering you at work/uni? Simon is discreetly asking bastard’s name as to not rise any suspicions in you, just to have a little friendly chat with him a bit later, making sure to break duchebag’s nose so he doesn’t stick it into your business anymore. There’s something off with your car and you need to get it fixed? How good that Simon is a handyman, bringing your car back to life not worse than any mechanic would (and he’s definitely not flexing his stupidly big biceps while doing it).

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who knew better than to make a move on you. He knew you liked him, and he liked you too (more like was totally obsessed). But he valued his best friend too much, knowing perfectly well that he wouldn’t appreciate it if Simon fucked his little sister.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who realised that he was absolutely, utterly, totally fucked as he watched you and your older brother roughhousing around the kitchen, bickering and play-fighting - your smile was so bright and warm, making him feel hot like sun in the middle of August, your loud laughter made his chest buzz with something soft and Riley felt as if he was about to pass out because of the flow of softness he felt for you that moment. Soon your eyes met his, mischievous smirk curled your pretty lips as you threw a pillow at him, surely dragging Simon into your little brawl, creating a huge mess for which all three of you will surely get a good scolding from your mom.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who tried to distance himself from you because you deserved more than him. He genuinely did try to ignore all your soft smiles and fleeting touches, the way you batted you pretty eyelashes as you listened to him explaining something to you or the way you would nibble on your bottom lip as your eyes wandered up and down his torso as he wore one of his compression shirts. Simon did try his best to save you from himself, but all of his resolve vanished completely and utterly the moment you got brave enough to stand to your tippy toes and press a tentative kiss to his chapped lips.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who scooped you up in his arms, giving you no chance to escape as he deepened the kiss, moaning quietly into your mouth as you let his tongue in, greedy hands roaming up and down your body, feeling all the curves and dips of it - just like he dreamt of doing past few years. Simon barely registered pressing you against the wall, meaty forearms boxing you as his torso pressed against yours, grinding his boner against your tummy, goosebumps running up his spine as he felt your small arms gripping on his sides, pressing him closer to yourself.

Brother’s bestfriend! Simon who broke off your kiss, a silver strand of saliva connected your lips as he gazed deeply in your eyes, blush on your face made him feel warm and proud. He pressed his lips against your forehead, nosing at your hair and inhaling sweet scent of your shampoo. Withdrawing back for just a few centimetres he muttered in his raspy breathy voice “Go out with me”

Likes, reblogs and comment are highly appreciated, give writers some love!🩷 I’m thinking about making part 2, let me know what you think<3

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