#codholiday2023
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Light On - single mom/neighbors fic
Simon Riley/female reader
🎄 @glitterypirateduck’s December challenge: O Christmas Tree
"What about this one?"
You're standing next to a giant tree, one that's probably double your height. "It's a little big but-"
"I don't know if that will fit in your flat, sweetheart." You huff, hands on your hips, and Emmaline wiggles where she's snuggled against him, tucked up on his chest inside his arms. You've got her in some sort of snow suit, like a baby marshmallow, capped with a red knit hat that ties under chin to keep the ear flaps down, and even though she clearly hates it, and looks a little ridiculous, he knows the whole thing is keeping her warm in tonight's frigid weather.
"Okay. What about this one?" The one you're pointing to now is smaller, but sparse, a little prickly looking. He shakes his head. "You don't like any of them!" You protest, and Emma grunts, babbling some sort of nonsense.
"'m just doing what the boss here is telling me to do." She looks up at him, eyes bright with a little bit of snot beneath her nose, and he wipes it away with his thumb. "There you go, baby girl. I gotcha."
"She's not the boss." You step close with a shiver, close enough that he can see the fog of your breath, peek of your neck beneath your scarf, and he reaches out to pad his fingertips across your chilled cheek.
"Cold?" You shrug.
"A little." You dip forward to give Emma a quick kiss on the cheek, and at the same time, he ducks down, pressing his lips to the crown of your head. He's never going to get used to this. Never. Even now, in this moment, he can't believe he's walking a tree lot with you, debating which one to choose. Him. Simon Ghost Riley, picking out a Yule tree with you and the baby. His family.
There's a bang in the street. A car backfiring, probably, but it's enough that it startles someone else on the lot, and they shout, the combination like a shot of adrenaline to his heart, focus and intensity taking over, his movements shifting to autopilot. His hand covers Emma's head, curling forward at the same as he tugs you into his body with a firm arm around your back, essentially immobilizing you, keeping you close in case- "Simon." You say his name softly, gently, fingers holding onto his forearm. The touch grounds him, reminds him to breathe, and he relaxes slightly. "It's alright. We're okay, we're at the Christmas tree place. You're okay. You're with us." With you. With you and Emmaline. At home. He closes his eyes, repeating it in his mind, twice, three times, for good measure, before he trusts enough to uncover the baby's head and let go of you completely. You smile when he does, bright, beautiful, sweet, still working you touch against his arm, not stepping away.
"I'm sorry." He tries to explain, but you shake it off.
"Don't be. It's okay." You loop your arm through his, sticking close to his side. "Want to keep looking?" You ask, nonchalant, and he's overcome with emotion so strong it could bring him to his knees.
"Yeah, but I... I want..." he stumbles over it, words failing, and you wait, patiently, turning into him so you can look up at his face.
"What is it?" Holiday lights glow behind you, twinkling colors mixed with frosted whites, strung together across trees and posts and big red and green signs, 'O Christmas Tree' playing over the speakers that line the perimeter. He's never been one for holidays, never really cared about any of it, all the excitement lost on him, most of the celebrated days spent alone. But now... with you, with the baby, he feels the magic. He thinks he can even see it, in you, in Emmaline, and he's filled to the brim with the wonder, the anticipation for it all, to experience it all for the first time like this, with his angels.
"I want to kiss you." He says the same words he gave you a week ago, outside on the balcony, and you give you him the same smile, warm and welcoming, lips curling upwards with happiness.
"Please." You beam, and he obliges, your lips parting for his, getting lost in the taste of your mouth, decadent honey dripping across his tongue. You make him dizzy, make him stupid, make him so weak for you, and all he wants is more. He wants it all, wants everything you'd give him, and he has to hold himself back, cognizant of Emma in his arms, pulling away regretfully after five seconds that could last five hours, or days. Years. You clear your throat. "Well, okay, uh- should we?" You motion to another row of trees, and he nods with a laugh.
"We should."
Later, after the tree has been decorated, dinner has been made and cleaned up, fire started in the fireplace, Emmaline has had her bath, and you've changed into your pajamas, he sits on your couch with you curled into his side, both you and the baby asleep. It's late, and the lights are out, and he thinks he probably should have woken you to get you both up into bed, but he can't bring himself to shatter the moment, the silence, the fire, and the sounds of your breathing, face barely illuminated by the glow of the lights. He stays right there, listening to the crackle of the logs, staring at the tree, watching the two of you breathe, heart so full he thinks it could explode. This is it, he thinks. This is the magic.
#light on#peaches writes#codholiday2023#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#soft dad simon riley
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Ex bf John Price x reader
1.6k | angst
Price was back in Liverpool (part 2)
“John?”
That voice was definite. It couldn't be, but there you stood when he turned.
A soft smile spread across your lips. “I recognised the beanie.”
It was your gift from all those years ago, dark grey with his initials, JMFP, embroidered on the bottom.
He chuckled, the kind that made his eyes crinkle.
“How long has it been? 5 years?”
He shifted his weight. “Thereabouts.” Has it really been that long?
The last time you saw each other was when he dropped you off the train station, three years’ worth of your relationship dragged behind in your luggage. It was much heavier than it looked.
You stood in front of the train, your back to him, unmoving. His heart had been in his throat since the night before, ever since you started packing, when ‘our apartment’ became simply ‘John’s’. His nails dug into his palms, wishing you’d turn around. There were still a few seconds for you to change your mind. You boarded - your one-way trip back to Liverpool.
“I didn’t expect you to still have it.”
He felt exposed. He wished he didn't wear the beanie, but it was always his favourite.
“You alright?
“Never better.” His cheeks ached, or was it his chest? “You?”
He didn’t need to ask. It was easy to see. Your eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the weather. You looked as good as the day he met you.
In his worn fleece button down, he was suddenly self-conscious of how he was still the same at best, but who was he kidding - the years hadn’t been kind to him. Nowadays his scruff was an excuse to not have to shave so often.
You weren’t supposed to meet again, and not there of all places, but it was funny really. It was the same place you first met. The memories flooded in.
It was no secret that people could only pick one: military or family. Well, most of them anyway, some lucky bastards got to have both. John didn’t care about having to choose when he walked down this path in life. He never had plans for relationships, and the disinterest served him well, allowing him to excel over his peers. Until you came along.
Still a lieutenant then, he was back home in Liverpool browsing the beer aisle at the nearest supermarket. Next to him, your first summer after uni, you were in charge of the drinks for your brother’s birthday BBQ. You asked if he could help you with the overwhelming selection. When he carried the purchase back to your car, you invited him to the party instead.
You were inseparable the rest of summer. Each touch seared his skin and he felt 10 years younger. Despite the circumstances, the both of you were unwilling to leave the fire behind. Between deployments, you always made time to visit each other, connection unwavering.
Seeing you now felt surreal. He stood there with knees that didn’t work like they used to, his head constantly thumping. He’d taken a beating and the years between you suddenly felt further. You were unforgettable, but the air around you made you feel foreign. You didn’t look at him like you used to. Maybe that’s what happened if he wasn’t your muse anymore.
You would have followed him to the end of the world. He knew it – you did it. After a year, you dropped all you knew. Your family, life-long friends, the job you were after the whole of uni. You started all over for him.
With you, he was on top of the world, the luckiest man defying the odds. Life fell into a comfortable rhythm. You made do; got yourself a decent job, far from perfect but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make.
On track to becoming a captain, he always felt a sliver of guilt when he left you for weeks on end, but the kisses grew sweeter the longer he went, and your grateful smile at the door told him it was alright. He could have both you and the SAS.
“I got my dream job a few months ago.”
Of course you did. It was you.
“I heard you got shot in the leg this year. Hope you’re doing better.”
John chuckled. “Who told you?”
“Your mum. She calls sometimes.”
He let out a small sigh. “She always loved you.”
“The 141 doing alright?”
He hung his head and gave a weak nod. He preferred you to not ask.
Death was the soulmate of war. It was the harsh reality how countless comrades of his fell, some you knew personally - their wives and kids and how the horrors haunted even years after.
Distant worry swirled into a dark cloud. Suddenly, someone else was in the relationship. The reaper loomed as she went down her list and it couldn’t help but feel like John was willingly waiting for his turn.
At first, he was optimistic. When the thoughts consumed, he calmed you down with a few days at home, never leaving your side. Over time, it was evident he couldn’t – you couldn’t. Him working overtime didn’t make you miss him more, coming home after weeks apart no longer felt sweet.
Each day ate at you, knowing it could very well be one of his last. This was going nowhere but straight into a singular outcome. With each name scratched out, you were haunted by progressively worse nightmares. It was unhealthy - he could see it on you.
You loved rings. He got you one for each anniversary. When he gave you his family heirloom, thinking the commitment would quiet your consuming thoughts, you gave it back to him. No ring could unearth the dread in your chest. Nothing would change how this was going to play out.
The rest of the evening was tense, and when you jerked awake later that night, the lump in your throat only swelled. Your whole body begged you to run. He could taste it in your hasty kisses, your touches fleeting.
The fear in your eyes had morphed into guilt. That’s when he knew it was over.
When he came back from his next mission, you told him you were leaving, tears down your cheeks. He knew it was coming, but it hurt all the same.
How could he hate you, even if you left? Even after you dropped everything to be with him. It was always too good to be true. He always felt it in the chill of the night, in the beautiful dawn sky of empty deserts, in the howl of the wind. He’d done more than enough terrible things to be denied of the niceties of the world. You were the best thing in his, but it was much too late.
You always said you were both too young, that when you decided to be together, you didn’t fully understand what a relationship with him entailed. You said you didn’t want to make him choose, that he didn’t deserve to be forced to choose. You said he was excellent at what he did, and you weren’t going to take that away.
That night before you left, you kissed for the last time. You forced a smile through the tears as he looked at you with gut-wrenching longing. He wanted to remember forever the way your skin felt, the gasps you let out when he touched you, the way your eyes shut, his name tumbling out of your lips as your back arched.
John wasn’t a crier, but the unshed tears stung. He chanted ‘I love you’ against every inch of you. Maybe if he said it enough you’d change your mind. He wasn’t in his body when he started sobbing. You held each other until sleep took over, and he thought he wouldn’t be upset if he didn’t wake again.
Perhaps you were right. How far he’d come could only be credited to the undying drive in him. It was a blessing and a curse as it cost him you. So he devoted the rest of him into work. It was the only thing he had, the only thing left to do to make losing you worth it, but nothing softened the blow.
When you left, it felt like his world capsized, drained. It took him over a year to put the pieces back together, but he could have sworn you’d taken some with you. You’d awoken a desire in him that never got satiated again. You left him high and dry with a bleeding chest.
You were more than just someone, more than just a partner. You were the one he was going to settle down for, even if he never could figure out how to reconcile the idea.
John closed his eyes. Was this a sick joke the world was playing on him? In the midst of uncertainty, in his unending sorrow where the fantasy of giving it all up had budded, why now?
With you in front of him, he could almost hear you say ‘we should have tried harder’. He knew he would. I just need you to ask. Ask and I’m yours in a heartbeat.
“Nice seeing you, John. Merry Christmas. Take care, okay?”
He let out an unsteady sigh. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how many what ifs and the parallel universes he'd ventured out to, he knew this was for the best.
At least you looked happier. That's the most he could get, as a man with sins too heavy to carry. Maybe he’d get another chance when the world ran out of bad guys. Maybe in another life.
He smiled and you turned.
He pretended not to notice the glint of gold on your left hand.
@glitterypirateduck @sofasoap @shadofireshinobi @tiredmetalenthusiast @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot @caramlizedtomatoes @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats
#codholiday2023#call of duty#cod#cod fanfic#cod mw2#cod mwii#captain john price#captain price#john price#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod x you#call of duty x you#cod angst#call of duty angst#john price x reader#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#john price angst
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Let It Snow
Find my John Price masterlist
This is for @glitterypirateduck winter challenge! I took inspiration from the song Let It Snow, because who wouldn't want to use this man as a source of warmth. Really.
John Price is your neighbor. Just your friendly neighbor. Nothing more.
At least, until the heat in your flat dies.
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, sweetness overload, really this is all just cute and fluff.
Word count: 2.5k
You still weren't quite sure how you'd fallen into this thing with John Price. You'd moved in to the flat next to his, the shared wall between the two of you giving you only hints of his life. Mostly, there was silence.
But sometimes there was the rumbling of a deep, lovely voice. Singing. The muted sounds of a TV. Music.
The first time you talked to him, you were coming back from a date that had ended badly. You still weren't sure whether to be angry or upset, and had settled on some potent mixture of the two.
John Price was standing outside, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows, heedless of the chill of the evening. He nodded once to you, gaze sweeping over you.
“Evening,” he greeted, neutral pleasant.
“Hi.” You managed a smile. “Haven't had the chance to introduce myself yet.” You held out a hand to him, giving him your name.
“John Price.” He shook your hand, firm but not painful. Quick.
“Nice to finally meet you.” You glanced beyond him to your door, the temptation to cry rising as upset won over anger. “Hate to run, but…”
“Of course.” He stepped back, out of the way. “Have a good night.”
You bit your tongue to keep the bitter words trapped, simply nodding to him before stepping past him. Your hands only shook a little as you unlocked your door and stepped inside.
You kept your emotions to yourself until you showered, hot as you could stand. Then you allowed yourself some release.
After that, it became much more common to see him, at least when he was home. You passed him frequently when you came home, and once or twice he rescued you by getting the door when you had bags of groceries.
The two of you circled each other, pleasant and friendly and not much else.
Despite his charm, despite his kindness, despite his obvious good looks… you couldn't believe anything more. He was friendly, and that was all. He was neighborly, and that was all.
Even if he was good-looking. Even if the way he looked at you made you both self-conscious and want to preen. Even if you developed a little crush on him despite your best intentions.
And you held on to those thoughts all the way up until your heater broke.
You stood in the middle of your flat, shivering, bundled up in layers and silently cursing the snow outside. And cursing the landlord, who promised he'd get the heater fixed… in a couple days. Three, or maybe four. But you'd be fine, right?
Which left you seething and debating the merits of buying a space heater, if you could find one. It was late in the season, but maybe you'd be lucky…
The knock on your door startled you, and you about jumped out of your skin. Who…? Frowning, you stepped forward slowly, hands trembling from the cold and nerves.
John Price stood outside your door, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest.
“John?” You blinked at him. “Can I help you?”
“Actually, might be able to help you.” He scratched at the hair on his jaw, brilliant blue eyes holding you captive as easily as breathing. “Heard something ‘bout your heater through the wall.”
You warmed, ducking your head briefly, even though you knew you had nothing to be ashamed of. “Ah. Heard that, huh?” You huffed a little laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry, I forget how thin these walls are sometimes.”
“Don't fret,” John assured you. “I'd offer to take a crack at your heater but I might make it worse.”
You smiled, torn between amusement and embarrassment. “It's fine, I think I'll just go find a space heater.”
John paused, not moving from your doorway, one hand hooked at the collar of his shirt, gaze fixed on you. “Or,” he offered slowly, weighing each word as he spoke. “You can stay at mine.”
You blinked. Twice. “...Beg pardon?” You must have misunderstood him. There was no way–
“I've got a second bedroom,” he said, shrugging, like it was nothing. Like it was that easy. “You're welcome to it. Be awful cold without heat.”
You swallowed. That was… a lot. And far too generous. “I couldn't, that's too kind.”
His lips quirked in a smile, the first real one you'd seen from him. “Yes you can,” he countered. “It's just a few days, yeah? Won't bother me, I wouldn't have offered otherwise.”
You bit your lip, torn. It would be warmer to stay with him, and cheaper. “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.” He even nodded for emphasis, holding your gaze.
“Okay.” You breathed in slowly. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Gather up whatever you need,” he said, something pleased in the tilt of his lips. “Just knock when you're ready.”
“Thanks.” You waited until he stepped back and turned towards his own door to close your door.
Not that it helped at all with the temperature.
Clenching your jaw and trying not to think about it, you grabbed a bag and some clothes. You weren't going to impose on him any more than necessary - you'd come back to shower and take care of your own things. And you'd be fine at work.
Your first knock on the door was tentative, almost too soft. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, a little anxious. You knew enough about John Price to trust that he wasn't a crazy murderer, or anything like that. He'd always been friendly.
You were mostly sure you could trust him.
The door opened, warmth spilling out over your half-frozen fingers. John had shed his jacket, leaving him in a soft-looking shirt that clung to his chest in ways you tried not to notice.
“C'mon in.” He stepped out of the way, ushering you in. You couldn't help but shiver as the warmth of his flat cocooned you, your skin tingling where it was exposed. “Bedroom's this way.”
You followed him quietly, though you couldn't help but look around curiously. The flat was sparse but clean, walls mostly bare. Simple furniture in the main room, very little decoration.
It felt a little impersonal… except for the book on the couch, the couple dishes in the sink.
John led you back to the bedroom, nodding you inside. The bed was made up all in pale blue, with an extra blanket folded at the foot of the bed. Honestly, this was better hospitality than you'd gotten from some family members.
“Thank you, really.” You paused in the doorway, still clutching your bag.
He smiled again, easy as anything. “My pleasure. Get warmed up, I've got the kettle on.”
You couldn't help but smile at his retreating back. He was too kind.
It didn't take long to warm up enough to be comfortable, and you even shed a layer to be more comfortable. “Should I keep my shoes on?” You called from the doorway, uncertain. You couldn't recall if he'd been wearing any.
“Nah, leave ‘em.”
You kicked your shoes off but left your socks, padding out to the kitchen to a charmingly domestic scene. John stood with one hip leaned against the counter, mug in one big hand, another steaming gently in front of him. He was also wearing socks, thick gray ones.
“Got milk and sugar, if you'd like.” He nodded to the mug to be clear what he meant.
“Thanks.” You fixed your cuppa and clutched it between your hands, fingers tingly-hot as they finally fully thawed. “Can I at least treat you to dinner?”
He tipped his head down a little, smiling. “Won’t say no to that,” he murmured.
Discussing food was surprisingly easy with him. He seemed happy to go along with whatever you wanted, although true to his word he didn't argue with you about paying.
The first night passed easily, with bits of conversation between the two of you. You caught him looking at you more than once, something soft in his gaze. Like he couldn't believe you were here.
You warmed under that gentle gaze, the little embers you'd tried to smother in your heart catching and trying to grow.
Two days passed in the same kind of ease. His flat was bigger than yours, and set up backwards as far as you were concerned. The second time you opened a door expecting the loo and got the linen closet you swore loudly. John just laughed at you, leading to a round of playful bickering.
(“It's not my fault that this is all backwards!”
“Well perhaps if you looked before you opened the door you'd realize it was on the wrong side.”
“Perhaps if this place was oriented correctly I wouldn't have to.”)
The two of you got along quite well, better than you'd expected. Better than you'd ever hoped. The ease with which the two of you conversed fanned the little flames secreted in your heart.
The fourth morning was clear and cold, faint light coming through the window in your room. You dressed, even more glad to be in John's nice warm flat when a perfunctory look out the window showed snow still falling.
“Morning,” John greeted you, flashing you a smile, hair still a little rumpled from sleep. You tried not to be charmed.
(It didn't work, you were hopelessly charmed by him.)
“Good morning.” You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. “How long have you been up?”
“Couple hours. Tea?”
You hummed your assent, though you drifted to the kitchen window to look outside. Snow drifted down in fat flakes, languidly coating the world in white. “How long has it been coming down?”
“Started in the middle of the night.” John pulled out the mug you were beginning to think of as yours. “Don't have to go anywhere today, do you?”
“Fortunately, no.” You shivered at the thought of having to go out in the cold. You kind of hated when it got this cold - the snow was pretty but ice made for treacherous commutes to work. “You?”
“No.” The mug clinked as he set it next to you. “Got everything I need here.”
You turned, just catching the tail end of his teasing little smile as he stepped back. You blinked at him but didn't push, not quite sure if you wanted to know.
Tea was perfect to keep you warm, and you settled near John. He shifted enough to press his knee to yours, and you just relaxed into it.
He'd gotten you used to little touches over the last few days, and you didn't quite want to admit how much you loved it.
“Care to make a day of it, then?”
You blinked at John, curious. “What do you have in mind?”
“We could watch that movie you've been wanting to watch.” John's lips twitched in amusement. “More tea. Order in for lunch.”
“You're going to spoil me,” you teased, although you were only half teasing.
“Only if I'm doing it right.” He smirked, watching you as you ducked your head, fiddling with your mug.
“You don't have to, you know.” You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, gripping your mug a little tighter so you wouldn't fidget with it.
“What if I want to?” He tipped his head a little, watching you, blue eyes intense.
You warmed under that look but resisted the urge to hide. “Well… that would be a different story.”
Emboldened by your reaction, John moved closer, his thigh now pressed against the length of yours. “I'd like to spoil you for longer than just the few days it takes to get your heater fixed.”
“Would you really?” You blinked at him, a little incredulous and a fair bit flattered.
“I would.” One of his hands landed over yours, big and warm and calloused. “Would you let me?”
You swallowed. Part of you wanted to say yes, wanted to bask in the warmth of him, wanted to give in. But you were scared. There were so many things that could go wrong…
“I don't know,” you whispered, your fingers curling under John's. “I could try.”
“That's all I ask.” He leaned a little closer to you, so close he could probably feel the thump of your heart. “Just need to talk to me, hm? Tell me if anything is too much.”
You nodded, swallowing, eyes wide as he held your gaze. “Okay.”
“Good.” He backed off again, slowly pushing to his feet. “Go get the movie set up, I've got tea handled.”
You blinked, feeling almost bereft as he stepped away. But you shook the feeling off, instead going to the couch to set up the movie.
It only occurred to you long minutes later, when John brought your tea fixed how you liked, that you'd gotten very comfortable here very quickly. But so had John. He'd learned your preferences faster than you'd expected.
“Warm enough?” He asked, voice a low purr as he settled next to you.
“Yeah,” you answered, which was mostly true. Your feet were chilly, but that was manageable.
He eyed you for a moment, and you had the feeling he knew exactly what you didn't say. But he didn't say a word, just grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over your lap, fussing over you in a way totally foreign to you.
Foreign… but nice.
Halfway through the movie John paused it to discuss lunch. You ended up not ordering in - snow was coming down harder now, a thick coating of white obscuring streets and sidewalks. Neither of you wanted to go out, or force anyone else out.
“We'll find something here,” you said with a shrug, unconcerned. “I've got food at mine, too.”
John hummed, one arm settling around your waist. “Could do cheese toasties.”
“Are you offering to cook for me?” You couldn't help your smile, or the way you leaned in closer to him.
“Can’t make anything fancy,” he murmured, smile small but warm. “But I can do this.”
That smile finally did you in. You kissed him. Nothing more than a brief press of your lips to his, just enough to feel the warmth and pressure, the gentle scratch of facial hair. He looked a little stunned when you pulled back… for all of two seconds. Before he kissed you again, one big hand cupping your cheek.
“Is this okay?” He whispered when he pulled back, scant space between the two of you.
“More than,” you assured him, hands resting against his chest.
He hummed, the sound vibrating against your hands, and kissed you again.
If this is what him spoiling you looked like… Well. You could get used to this.
Even if it kept snowing like this. You weren't worried about being cold anymore.
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Happy trails, John.
A/N: I've been meaning to write the captain my captain but he's my holy grail—look but not touch even though I'd beg him to let me make him lonches at 4 am. Also, I watch Die Hard every Christmas because it IS a Christmas movie, argue with your demons. In response to @glitterypirateduck's prompt thing which inspired to me to write something cute and civilized.
“Just once, I’d like a regular, normal Christmas. Eggnog, a fucking Christmas tree, a little turkey. But no. It’s always ‘Die Hard’.”
“John, love. You’re being overdramatic. It’s just the holidays with my parents.”
You rolled your eyes as you stuffed your clothes into the luggage bag, preparing for the trip.
“I know, love, but I wanted to spend a quiet Christmas with my wife— but no, the in-laws have to call with their ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ ", he said with a mocking lilt in his voice.
You snicker and say, “I promise we’ll leave as soon as it’s polite.”
“Sure, sure, I go out and keep the world safe just so when I can get a little reprieve, it’s to not spend it alone with my wife. I’m feeling a little fuckin’ underappreciated.”
You closed the zipper on your bag and went over to the bathroom where John was grumbling his displeasure. Looping your arms around his waist, cheek to his shoulder blade you say, “It’s just Christmas, hun. We’ll have New Year's all to ourselves and we can even have the boys over to celebrate. I’ll even tell you what I got you for Christmas.”
That seems to distract him a bit, as he turns his head a tad with a curious tilt.
“I bought you a Lagavulin 16-year aged single malt scotch.”
His eyes warm with appreciation and he lets out a resigned sigh.
“Right, then. Let’s get this over with.”
Stepping out of the bathroom, you turn to look at the time.
“Jesus Christ, John! We’re gonna need a miracle to get to the airport on time!”
You’re hastily grabbing your bags, yanking them off the bed and you see John on the phone.
“John! Get your bag—”
Suddenly, there are tires screeching outside on the driveway. John walks past you with his bag and picks up yours as well, before jerking his head at you towards the front door.
“You wanted a miracle. I give you— The TaskForce 141”, John says, tossing the bags in the trunk of a truck that has Ghost, Johnny, and Gaz in it.
You don’t even care to question why they’re here— you just hop in the back seat immediately and buckle up.
John’s foot is barely inside the truck when it’s speeding off, tires screeching on the pavement. The entire drive has you almost nauseous with the jerky turns and harsh brakes. At a particularly abrasive step of the gas that has your neck jerking back towards the headrest of the seat, you turn towards John with a white-knuckle grip on the driver and passenger seat— you ask “Who’s driving this car? Stevie Wonder?!”
Johnny, sweet Johnny turns with a confused furrow on his brow and says, “Whad’ya mean, lass? It’s just L.T.”
You’re at the airport in no time with the no-question illegal speed Ghost drove at, and you’re stumbling out of the vehicle with shaky legs. At least you made it.
Gaz grabs the bags from the trunk and places them on the floor but you’ve already run off to check in before it’s too late. John thanks Ghost for the help and after Johnny is rolling his window down— “I heard you’re going to America. To California, specifically.”
John grunts in annoyance at remembering the trip, and he sees Johnny grin cheekily at him before he says, “Yippy-ki-yay, motherfucker!”
#CODHOLIDAY2023#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#john price x reader#captain john price#john price#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price fanfic#price x reader#price x you#john price x you#cod mwii#cod mw2
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For @glitterypirateduck Call of Duty Christmas Special.
Author's Note: For the holiday season, I wanted to write some things for some of my mutuals I've met the past year I've had my blog. This is for @gazs-blue-hat, who is one of the most supportive people I've ever met.
Christmas Song: Last Christmas
Premise: You need a date for your family's Christmas dinner. Johnny is willing to be it.
This is stupid. The dumbest idea you’d had in ages, but the thought of going home this Christmas to see your sister snuggled up on the couch with her long-term boyfriend while your mother regulated you to helping in the kitchen was enough to make you do something stupid.
It had started with a Facebook post someone else made as a joke. “$100 bucks and I’ll go to your family Christmas and pretend to be your boyfriend. $150 and I’ll kiss you in front of everyone and compliment your mom.” You’d sent a screenshot to Johnny, something quick, hoping he’d send a joke to make you feel better about the upcoming shit show.
Christmas exploded around town - lights dripping from each tree, fake Santa’s climbing up trellises. And with it, your mood turned blacker each day. It seemed like every minute someone was messaging you for something new: don’t forget to dress up for the family Christmas photo, bring rolls, are you bringing anyone?, are you bringing anyone?, are you bringing anyone?.
The lowest moment was a phone call from your sister’s boyfriend. You answered the call at your desk, phone sandwiched between your shoulder and ear.
“What’s up?”
“Hey, I was wondering what your ring size is.”
Your fingers slow on your keyboard; through the speaker, you can hear the hustle and bustle of some shop.
“I wear a size 8. Why?”
Silence. And then -
“I’m going to ask your sister to marry me at Christmas this year, and I know you guys are the same size. Don’t tell anyone?”
You had always liked your sister’s boyfriend, but at that moment you could have strangled him. Annoyed, you’d shoved yourself back from your desk, muttering something about taking a break. You slammed your phone down so hard, you were relatively sure that there was going to be a crack in the screen, but you were too bummed out to worry about it.
Johnny found you at your post outside, an unlit cigarette held loosely in your fingers.
“I thought you quit smoking, bird.”
His breath clouds around him, and he sits close enough to you that his knee rubs against yours.
“I did. That’s why I’m just holding it.”
He winces at the tone in your voice, hand coming up to rest itself above his heart in mock hurt.
“Who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”
“Bug off Johnny.”
He knocks his knee into yours, hands tucked beneath his armpits to keep warm.
“Christmas dinner?”
Your shoes tap a maniacal pattern onto the concrete as you try to figure out how to say it all, without sounding so horrible.
“My sister’s boyfriend is going to ask her to marry her on Christmas.”
Johnny ‘hmms’, chewing on his chapped lips.
“You can always pay me like you said the other day.”
“Shut up Johnny.”
Three days later, after all the non-essentials had been sent home for Christmas dinner your phone buzzed; you glanced down at the screen from your perch on the couch, half expecting it to be another annoying family member.
Your fingers tapped against the screen, trying to figure out a way to tell Johnny to knock it off, the joke’s not funny anymore. Instead, you find yourself tapping out the time and your address.
Smoothing the wrinkles from your skirt, you start to think that maybe Johnny was just screwing with you - that this is all some elaborate joke and you’ll have to do this all by yourself. Maybe Johnny’ll laugh about it when the two of you return to work in a few days, maybe-
A tentative knock on your front door breaks you from your near spiral. Before you can talk yourself out of the entire thing, you fling the door open. Johnny stands grinning at you, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. His mohawk is freshly touched up, and whatever cologne he put on rolls off of him in hypnotic waves.
“You look nice,” you say, words falling flat and lame between the two of you. But Johnny doesn’t seem to mind as he holds his arm out to you.
“You look nice too, birdie. You ready?”
Johnny opens the car door for you. You take the moment it takes for him to walk around to his door to peer at the inside of the car - fresh vacuum lines cover the floorboard, and a new Wintergreen scented tree hangs from the review mirror.
“So,” Johnny says, climbing into the driver's seat, “tell me everything I need to know.”
You describe everyone on the drive there: your Aunt Mary, your Uncle Gary, your cousin with the glass eye who gets upset if you stare too long; your sister and her boyfriend. You point out each turn for Johnny, and with each turn of the wheel, your mood grows brighter.
Until Johnny pulls into your parent’s driveway, right behind your sister’s car.
“Alright, Bonnie?”
“Yeah, let’s just do this.”
You don’t get to open your door before Johnny hops out, pulling your door open and holding out his hand for you.
The front door opens to an explosion of people and Christmas music. Johnny is immediately taken in by your aunts, and he suffers through the pinched cheeks, and he doesn’t mind when your grandma kisses him on the cheek. By the time he makes it back around to you, there’s lipstick smudged on his cheek.
“They love you, Johnny,” you say, reaching up to wipe the red smudge away. “I’ll have to pay you extra I think.”
“You think they’ll let me take an extra plate home as a tip?”
“Of course they will.”
The two of you hide out in the corner, watching the little kids run around with their new toys; one of the boys shoves a Nerf gun into Johnny’s hand, and you see a flash of fear cross all the kid's face when Johnny racks it with extreme precision, but Johnny still lets all of them tackle him.
Your sister and her boyfriend stand on the opposite side of the room, refusing to take their hands off of each other. You do your best to ignore them, but there’s a clock inside you, ticking down the minutes until you know he’s going to drop down on one knee.
After Johnny fights off all the kids and returns to you, red from laughter, you don’t stop him when he grabs you around the hips, pulling you into the dining room with him. You hear the titter of your mom and aunt as they fawn over Johnny behind the two of you.
You almost pull away from him, until he stops you in the hallway, pointing upwards to where your mom tacked mistletoe on the ceiling. You feel the blush creep up your neck, and try to send him a message that this is way out of the agreement for the night. When he kisses you chastely on the lips, you don’t say anything, but you can feel the huge grin on your face.
He rests his hand on your knee throughout dinner and listens intently when your grandfather talks about his days in the War.
It’s more than you could have asked for. And after dinner, when all the adults start handing presents over to each other, you know it’s about to happen. You see your sister’s boyfriend fidget with something in his pocket, and your stomach twists. You try to focus on the music pouring in a little too loud from the speakers, the Wham! version of Last Christmas, but you can’t take your eyes off the two of them.
Johnny’s hand taps against your elbow, pulling your attention away from what’s going to be the end game of the night. He’s holding out a little box towards you, wrapped haphazardly.
“Oh Johnny, you shouldn’t. I didn’t get you anything.”
His grin is crooked as he shoves it into your hands.
“I didn’t ask you to get me anything, birdie. Anyway, it’s part of the pretending, isn’t it? Besides you can get me on my birthday.”
You unwrap the box, fingers sliding beneath the too much tape, to rip the paper away until it falls to the floor and all you’re left with is a black velvet box.
“Johnny this is not funny, you jerk.”
His grin is infectious as you open it up, a little silver pendant sits nestled in the velvet, an ‘S’ charm attached the the chain.
“Can I?” Johnny asks, and you nod, holding the box out so that he can take the necklace out.
He puts it around your neck, calloused fingers soft against your skin as he does the clasp.
The room explodes in cheers around you; out of the corner of your eye you can see your now future-brother-in-law on his knee in front of your sister, but you stare at Johnny instead.
The last lines of Last Christmas fade from the speakers, Johnny’s hand interlaces with your own and he tugs you closer.
“I think I want to do this next year.”
#my fics#codholiday2023#johnny soap mactavish#john mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish x reader#johnny 'soap' mactavish#johnny 'soap' mactavish x reader#call of duty#call of duty imagines#call of duty reader insert
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Angsty winter Ghoap drabble (god help me)
***
“Aye, it’s alright little one, Da’s here,” Johnny coos at the little girl, who just gurgles in her cot, arms outstretched. He reaches down to her and pulls her into his, her weight against his heart comforting, and Johnny can’t help but close his eyes, inhale, breathe.
Christmas is hard on Johnny, and the baby girl who settles easily against him, burrowing into her Da's chest, comforted by his familiar scent, is a reminder of why.
But…December is Johnny’s favourite month of the year. It’s Simon’s too.
Johnny sees him everwhere and in everything; the frozen pond on which they'd skate, the glittering lights of the tree that amuse the little one, makes her laugh her awkward baby laughs, the sound of the crackling fire that Simon would build every year. It's the sweetest torture.
Johnny tries his best to be happy for their little daughter's sake, it's her first birthday without one parent. Johnny builds snowmen with her, and makes her hot chocolate, and shows her the pretty lights on the big tree in the centre of town, but she's entirely like Simon in all the ways that matter. Even at just a year old, she can tell when her Da's not quite feeling it, and she wraps her tiny arms around his neck and falls asleep there.
Bedtime is the worst. Johnny hates bedtime. It's not the lack of heating that makes their bedroom the coldest room in the house. No, Johnny's convinced he's the one exuding the cold. It comes from the hollow place inside him, the walls of his heart that throb and ache with Simon's absence that he feels deep inside the marrow of his bones. During these nights that already feel like they don't end, Johnny finds that the silence deafens him.
Someone had to stay home with the wee one, and they'd both agreed that it would be Johnny.
And Johnny was proud of Simon. Insanely proud.
He'd found that sharing Simon with the 141 came easier to him than he would've expected, but neither of them had anticipated the first extension of Simon's deployment. Then the second. Then the third.
He's selfish.
His daughter misses her father.
He misses his husband.
And he feels the now-familiar hole in his chest throb.
***
His eyes never close, but morning comes anyway. He tries his hardest to force a smile on his face, prepares to play the part that his daughter requires of him.
It's Christmas morning.
He's not entirely surprised when his father greets him at his front door, telling him he has some last minute additions to make to the presents under the tree. Johnny's father spoils his little grand-daughter rotten, and Johnny doesn't mind at all.
He knows he misses Simon too, a man he'd accepted as his son all those years ago.
He busies himself by cleaning up after breakfast, but he is surprised to see his little daughter all dressed up in her out clothes. Complete with little skates in her grandfather's hands. She fusses, uses chubby hands to make clumsy little swipes and attempts to make a grab for it, but her grandfather just bounces her on his arm and boops her nose.
"Take 'er skatin,' son. She'll love it. Jus' like her Da."
Johnny figures there's nothing else left of his heart to break, so he does. He takes her skating.
The wind howls and whistles with a vengeance against their ears, but the wee one is distracted by the sight of the trees on their way - bright and glistening with snow and ice. Johnny's heart aches at the sight, wishing that Simon had been there to see what looks like one of the most beautiful Christmas mornings he's ever seen.
When he gets to the pond, the snow threatens to blind him, and he has to squint against it, briefly covering his eyes, but then Johnny he sees him.
Simon is there, skates strapped across his feet, gliding effortlessly on the frozen pond.
Johnny's hand goes automatically up to his chest in a movement of both shock and to soothe himself. He's imagined Simon before - sees him everywhere in December - but his hallucinations have never been so vivid before.
"Merry Christmas, Johnny," the ghost speaks, and Johnny swallows. Hard.
"Simon?"
"'M here, love."
When Simon's outstretched hand makes contact with Johnny's trembling fingers, it's gentle - sweet and warm and full of everything Johnny's been deprived of for months.
"For how long?" Johnny's whisper is pained, hating how much he needs to know. It's senseless and cruel to ruin the moment with the potential answer, but Johnny's always been the more selfish one.
Simon pulls him into his chest, and Johnny hears the sound he's missed most in the world. They cradle their daughter between them, and Simon places one hand on her back, while the other caresses Johnny's beard.
Simon steps forward to place his lips against Johnny's and whispers the words that he's wanted to say for years, the words that Johnny's wanted to hear for years.
"For always. It's over."
***
@glitterypirateduck: I listened to Winter Song by Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson too many times and then saw the ice skating fanart that valiants made and felt some angst winter thoughts rattling in my mind brain and LOST MY MIND IN THE PROCESS.
Bon apple tit!!!! No one ever look at me again!!!
#ghost x soap#simon riley x john mactavish#simon ghost riley#johnny soap mactavish#lumi writes#CODHOLIDAY2023#simon riley fluff#soap mactavish fluff#soft dad simon riley#soft dad Johnny mactavish#ghostsoap
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Baby, Please Come Home
Simon “Ghost” Riley x female Reader
(Alternatively titled: Not the Good Bourbon!)
🎄 @glitterypirateduck’s December challenge
The snow’s coming down
I’m watching it fall
Lots of people around
Baby please come home
They're singing Deck The Halls
But it's not like Christmas at all
'Cause I remember when you were here
And all the fun we had last year
pretty lights on the tree
I'm watching them shine
you should be here with me
baby, please come home
A/N: I love this song and it was giving such pining energy and this entered my head and I just couldn't... let it goooo ❄️
It was Christmas Eve and from your spot on the sofa you could see the snowflakes falling just outside the window. The gentle blaze from the fireplace kept you nice and warm as you watched the steady stream pour from the sky. The fire warms your toes. The mug of hot cider spiced with rum warms your hands and your belly. The warm glow of the Christmas tree washes your shared flat in its soft hues, like a comforting embrace.
It was perfect. With one glaring exception.
Simon’s mission had run long. Again.
You both knew it was a possibility. He had warned you that it was a complex mission—target on the move, long stakeouts, tricky extraction, the usual—though there was only so much he could say due to the confidential nature. But he had promised to be home from the holidays, his firm grip on your chin forcing you to look up at him as he made the vow.
You thought back to that bittersweet goodbye. The familiar caress of Simon’s hand on your cheek. The sensation of his lips pressed against yours, as if he could kiss you hard enough to last through the next several weeks. The longing in your heart as you watched his body walk out the door. As a habit, Simon made sure to never look back; he knew that a final glance would make it damn near impossible to keep his feet moving.
A crack of the fireplace brought you back to the present, and you took another sip of the spiked cider, the burn feeling good, grounding. It took the edge off the pain, just a tad. Just enough.
Untangling yourself from the heavy knitted blanket, you made your way to the large window to get a better look at the falling snow. It never ceased to amaze you. Simon hated the snow, always complaining. You'd tease him endlessly about his Grinch-y behavior—he had to be the only man in the world who would complain about snow on Christmas Eve.
You couldn’t help your smile, tinged with sadness. From your new vantage point you could spot a few kids playing in the snow down below. If you really focused, you could hear the distant familiar tune of Deck the Hells playing from a few doors down. And yet, despite the picturesque nature of the whole scene, it just didn’t feel like Christmas. Not really.
“You should be here with me, Si,” you sighed into your mug, taking another sip.
“Please come home, baby.” You muttered out a solemn prayer to whoever may be listening, a plea to bring your man home safe.
______________________________________________________________
Simon growled in frustration as he sat in the London traffic. The honks of the surrounding cars only added to his growing frustration. “For fucks sake, doesn’t anybody in this goddamn city know how to drive?” He pounded the dashboard in irritation. “It’s the bloody snow,” he grumbled, cursing the white flurries that flew all around the still cars.
In the back of his mind, Simon knows how happy his love must be at the snow. You lived for this kind of thing, a Christmas Eve snow that most certainly ensured a white Christmas. As much as he hated the damn weather, it warmed his heart the way you would smile up at the sky and exclaim with all the excitement you could muster, “It’s snowing, Si!” You could barely contain yourself. No matter how many years the two of you spent together in Britain’s chilly winter, you never seemed to grow tired of the phenomenon. Your childlike wonder of the world around you was just one of the many things Simon loved about you.
Simon absently wondered if you were watching the same snow from the warmth and comfort of their shared home. He could see it so clearly: the wonder in your eyes, the curve of your lips, the way you practically glowed in the soft light. It warmed him from the inside out.
He just needed to get home to you. It had been a grueling and physically demanding mission, but his main motivation was being home, with you, for Christmas. He would do anything to make it happen.
The cars started a snail like pace on the road again. “Fuckin’ finally,” he muttered, shifting into gear and beginning the steady route to his home, his love.
______________________________________________________________
With a sigh that could rattle the ornaments on the tree, you slammed the power button on the remote, shutting off the telly. You loved a cheesy holiday movie as much as the next gal, but you just couldn’t take it—every love confession just grating on the raw nerves of your frayed heart.
In an effort to keep yourself busy, you reheated some more cider on the stovetop, popping by the bar cart to top off the glass. You eyed Simon’s good bourbon, silently debating. “Oh he’ll be livid if he finds out I mixed this with the cider,” you think to yourself. “Though, s’pose he won’t be here to complain about it, will he?” With a shrug, you gave a healthy pour into your mug, before bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a swig. And another, for good measure. “That one’s for you, Si,” you muttered, trying not to sputter as the liquid burned its way to your belly, warming you from the inside out. You weren't usually this morose when Simon was gone, but something about the holiday season had you extra bitter.
There was a thump outside the door, and you nearly dropped the bottle as you jumped. You didn’t dare let yourself hope as you started stalking your way to the door, heartbeat racing. The click of the lock echoed in the silent flat, and you stood there, waiting, heart in your throat, unable to move as the door opened towards you.
Simon’s hulking frame filled the doorway, his blonde hair pointing every which way, a clear sign his mask was freshly pulled off.
“Happy Christmas, love,” his low voice sounded like honey, and on instinct you felt the familiar pickling sensation of tears fill your eyes.
You blinked. And then you were in motion, sprinting to close the gap before throwing your arms around Simon’s neck, trusting him to catch your racing form.
Two strong arms folded around you, lifting you up off the ground, and Simon held you as close to his body as he could. Your familiar weight in his arms, his nostrils flooded with the smell of your perfume, and he could only think of one word, blaring in his mind like a neon sign: home. This was home. You were his home.
“You’re home,” you muttered, pressing your face deeper into his neck, squeezing him closer.
“Course I am. I promised ya, didn’t I?” Simon quipped.
Carefully setting you down on your own two feet, Simon did his best to steady you as you leaned up on your tip toes and finally brought your lips to his.
Simon swore internally.
If you were home, then your lips were heaven.
Simon wound one hand in your hair, pressing you even closer to him, the other hand trailing down to your supple hip. His tongue traced the edge of your lips, begging for access, which you were never one to deny. He drank in your kiss like a man dying of thirst, a familiar taste on his tongue. When the two of you finally came up for air, Simon couldn’t hold back his cheeky grin.
“Babe, is that my good bourbon I taste?”
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley imagine#codholiday2023
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Light On - single mom/neighbor fic
Simon Riley/female reader - 18+ MDNI brief suggestive content, Christmas vibes (these characters do not celebrate Christmas religiously)
🎄 There'll be much mistltoeing / It's the most wonderful time of the year - for @glitterypirateduck's cod holiday challenge
"She's lovely." Laswell comments, standing at his shoulder in the living room.
"She is." He answers, but doesn't bother to look at her, too transfixed on you, watching the way you smile and laugh, champagne flute in one hand, baby in the other. Blood rushes through his body as he stares at you, marveling at how bloody good you look with the baby on your hip, and even though he knows it's an archaic mentality, he can't help but dream about giving you another. Kate gives him a smirk that he just barely catches from the corner of his eye, and he cuts her an exasperated look. "Excuse me."
"By all means."
He makes his way to your side where you're chatting with Gaz's date, Lily, wine colored velvet dress draped across your body, snug and silky across your skin. Your hair is done, styled differently, arranged on top of your head instead of your usual or pulled into something looser, shiny gold cuff curled around the top of your ear. You’re stunning, and his mind turns over, trying to determine if it’s okay or appropriate to tell you for the third time tonight that he’s obsessed with you, that he wants to get you home and worship you, wants to rip your dress off and ruin it. He wonders if you’ll let him take you home early, if you’ll be quiet for him when he bends you over the bed, if you’ll come on his cock all breathy and sweet with his name on your lips.
Emmaline sits embraced in nook of your elbow, white and green dress complemented by tiny, shiny, black shoes, babbling away at anyone who will look at her. She lights up when he steps closer, trying to tip out of your grasp towards his, discontent rising in her crumpled little brow when she can't break free.
"Hi." You beam, his hand finding the small of your back, Emmaline wriggling around to face him, leaning back with a big smile, knocking her head into his side. You roll your eyes at Lily. "I've become chopped liver to my own baby."
"Alright, sweet pea. C'mere then." He settles her on top of his forearm, chubby fist knotting into the collar of his shirt. "Let's give mama a break, eh?" You smile, relieved, reaching up for a kiss, tip toes stretching until he leans to meet you, and when you pull away, you give Emmaline one on her cheek, bright baby giggles echoing through the room. "We're going to see what the team is up to." He bounces her, and your thumb strokes a soft circle into his waist.
"Okay."
"There she is!" Gaz calls, and Emmaline squirms in Simon's grasp, pressing her face into his neck, head tilted just slightly so she can still see the guys, cheeks dimpled. She watches Kyle cautiously, incredibly shy, and Simon whispers to comfort her.
"What's wrong, baby girl? You're alright. It's just Gaz." She mouths at his shirt, and he smooths a hand over the back of her head softly. "She's not usually so reserved, loves attention."
"Ye're scaring her." Johnny admonishes as huffs, breath rolling in a fog through the chilled air, but when Simon turns, Emmaline whips around, peering over his shoulder to stare at Gaz, expression delighted.
"I don't think she's scared, Soap. Looks smitten to me." Johnny clucks his tongue, half outraged, and Gaz just laughs, stroking her cheek as she coos soft sweet nonsense towards him, making Johnny scowl.
“’m supposed tae be her favorite.” He grumbles, and Price barks out a laugh, clapping him on his back.
“Gotta get your own for that, son.” He shakes his head, reaching a finger out to her fist, letting her grab onto him. She immediately starts to drag it towards his mouth, and Price lets her, chuckling softly under his breath. “Needs something for her teeth.”
"I think we've got something in her bag." Simon rubs her back, watching how her eyes light up when she spots Price's beard, tiny fingers mindlessly drifting towards his chin. "Mama's been giving you frozen pacifiers, huh?"
"Ye should try scotch, my maw used tae give me some, when ah was a bairn." Johnny tickles his fingers across her side and she shrieks into a giggle fit, nearly choking on laughter that has him glowing with pride. "Who's yer favorite uncle, Emmaline? Is it Uncle Soap?" Johnny whispers in his best baby voice, and Simon snorts.
"She can't have scotch, MacTavish. She's a baby, and-"
"Alright out here?" You're standing in the door, half in, half out, teetering precariously on the top step, and for the hundredth time tonight you take Simon's breath away, light from the kitchen shimmering behind you like a halo, framing you in a soft, warm yellow glow, his stomach clenching.
"We're alright." He promises, already making his way towards the doorway, taking the stairs until you're within arms reach, Emmaline clapping her hands together when she spots you. "You okay?" He keeps his voice low, yet still tender, trying not to give the guys too much ammo, and you smile, spectacular and sweet, enough to make him melt on the spot.
"Yeah, just wanted to check on you two." You brush a finger across Emma's cheek, mouth opening to say something else when Johnny's voice rings across the patio, cheeky and smug.
"LT, ye're standın' under mistletoe." He hadn't noticed the cluster of greenery tacked to the bricked arch just outside the door, but it's hard to miss now, and when you glance above your head and laugh, he shrugs his shoulders. "Well..."
"Well?" You raise an eyebrow. A challenge. An invitation. Enough of both for him, encouragement not needed in the first place, his lips finding yours easily, pulling you into the bulk of his body, wrapping an arm around your waist while still holding Emma against his chest in the other. She bridges the gap between you, both of his girls safe and sheltered in his arms, and he blocks out the sound of Gaz and Johnny's shouting and whooping, focusing on the taste of your tongue, smell of your skin, plush lips against his. It's everything, you're everything, you and Emmaline- his family, his to love, to care for, to protect, emotion welling up in his chest that has him pulling away and pressing his nose against the top of your head, mouth finding your temple, your cheek, his eyes closed and breaths measured.
"Merry Christmas." He whispers, still holding you tight, and you dip forward to press a kiss to Emmaline's scalp, your hand reaching for his jaw, thumb reverently stroking across the scar on his cheek.
"Merry Christmas Simon."
#peaches writes#light on#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#codholiday2023#simon ghost riley x reader
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Keegan Russ x reader
3.5k | fluff, second chance, childhood friends
You matched with Keegan on Tinder
@glitterypirateduck’s holiday challenge, inspired by I Don’t Do Drugs by Doja Cat
“No way.” You shook your head. “Not Keegan goddamn Russ.” You chuckled as you stared at his profile.
It had been over 15 years since you saw him last. His teeth might have been straight, bowl cut replaced by a far more fitting fade cut, but his sharp blue eyes and easy smile remained. They were unmistakable.
This dude hadn’t crossed your mind in years, but you were pleasantly surprised to see he’d grown to be a tall and athletic Marine. You hated to admit that he got hot, even that not having a stupid haircut wasn’t a very high bar to begin with.
You zeroed in on his smile again. He was attractive and he knew it. He couldn’t have been there for anything serious.
You laughed to yourself. “What the hell,” you said and swiped right on him.
At the other end of town, Keegan laid in bed, swiping mindlessly on his phone. Left… Left… Oh!? … Yeah, another left… Until his hand froze when he saw your card.
“Goddamn,” he muttered as he rolled to his side, clutching his phone. Where the hell were you all this time?
He took his time ogling your photos. The first one was a full body picture, your figure on display in your tight jeans. The second was a selfie, your eyes bright, donning a brilliant smile and glossy lips. The last two were group photos. He loved your style – comfortable yet tasteful. Your genuine laughter and the twinkle in your eye as you sat among your friends mesmerised him.
Okay, so you were the life of the party.
Keegan often worried about not having enough to say and preferred chattier dates who’d lead the conversation. Evidently, he didn’t have to worry about that with you… Because you probably wouldn’t even look at him twice. With looks like that, you could have anyone.
He lied on his back and gawked at your selfie again, biting his lip.
“What the hell,” he said to himself and swiped right.
He nearly dropped his phone on his face when it chimed right away. It’s a match! He gasped.
He stared at the empty chat window, fingers drumming on his thigh as he contemplated what to say. He wished he had more game.
After a minute, he settled with a simple Hi, hope you’re doing alright :) are you from the area?
You seemed a little quiet the first day of texting, but he’d expected that, a usual occurrence in his endeavour. Keegan didn’t relent, coming up with discussions, although some he had to admit were rather lame. Soon, you asked him specific questions about himself, allowing the conversation to pour throughout the days. He stopped thinking too hard when replying.
As it turned out, you were from the same hometown. You went to different high schools, but had a few mutual friends, although none he knew anymore. He barely kept in contact with anyone back home safe for the handful of his close high school friends.
Now that he reached for his phone far more often on base, grinning at that, it took no time for people to notice the newfound habit.
“We need to tell command someone’s hardly working.” Ajax nudged Kick, nodding at Keegan at the far end of the rec room. “He keeps looking at that one selfie.”
He chuckled. “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is. Don’t get catfished, bro.”
“Or ghosted.” Ajax roared in laughter. He had no business sounding so proud of his pun.
Keegan’s eyes narrowed at them before looking back down at his phone. He wasn’t going to let his buddies stop him from sending you the What kind of bread are you? quiz.
At night, it’d also become a routine to text. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but it grew to be the highlight of his day. He could unwind and laugh with you without having to wait long to have you text back. His bed felt less empty, a little less cold.
“I’d really like to meet you. You’re wonderful,” he said longingly at his phone.
He knew he wanted to after the third day, but didn’t initiate a date in fear of moving too fast and appalling you. But after over a week, with his next deployment inching closer, he’d grown impatient and a bit mad at himself for overthinking the matter. He didn’t remember asking anyone on a date being that unnerving.
Unprompted, your name flashed across his screen, sending his heart racing. Keegan sat up and cleared his throat before answering.
“Hey,” he said with as much smoothness as he could muster.
“Hi, Keegan.”
He could hear the smile in your voice, and he prayed he had even a fraction of the effect you had on him, on you.
“I was wondering if you’re into soccer?”
His brows furrowed. Hell no, he wasn’t at all.
“You want to watch the World Cup screening with me Saturday night?”
But for you? Well for you, he was the biggest fan in town.
“Sure,” he answered immediately. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was it Christmas already?
“For dinner, there’s a taco truck I like near the sports bar, if you’d like to try.”
He tried not to smile too much, but he was failing miserably. He was two seconds away from puking out the butterflies in his stomach.
“Sounds great,” he breathed. “I’m looking forward to meeting you.”
“Me too.” Your easy voice calmed him.
Kick’s comment crossed his mind. He stilled for a moment and decided he didn’t care what you looked like. The little of you he got to know the past week was enough to get him hooked.
“Well, I only wanted to ask that. I’m going to bed.”
“So soon?”
You let out a small laugh. Oh, he wanted to stay on the phone all night.
“Talk to you again tomorrow, okay? Send me more quizzes.”
After you hung up, he bit down a silly grin as he pulled up your photos again.
The following night, struck with a sudden burst of confidence, Keegan called when you were both in bed. He’d expected the pauses on his end (which was why he always preferred texting), but you didn’t seem to mind. At least he knew you weren’t opposed to talking to him. You stayed on the line for half an hour, your laughter lulled his reeling mind.
Saturday couldn’t have come sooner. He’d shaved that morning and put on some cologne before taking way too long to pick an outfit. He hoped it didn’t look like he was trying too hard.
You declined his offer to pick you up. He didn’t take it personally - he was a patient man after all. But when he’d arrived a little too early, he started to lose his cool the longer he leaned on the streetlamp.
He had to do a double take when he caught sight of you walking towards him. Oh, look at the way you lit up, your smile the same brilliant one like in your photos. You were in those delightful jeans again, your hair bouncing to your steps. He straightened up and met you halfway.
“Hi,” you said when you got to him.
“Hey.” His smile didn’t waver. “You look great.”
You took the words out of his lips, the words that he already had so few of. This was the opposite of catfish because you were far prettier in real life. He needed you to hold his hand because he wasn’t going to look where he was going.
He couldn’t wait to brag to Kick and Ajax.
You looked up at him, eyes bright. “Thank you. You look nice yourself.”
He followed you to join the short queue. He stole a glance as you ordered.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said to the cook, giving your hand a gentle nudge when you tried to pay.
First skin contact. Innocent enough.
But why did it get so warm all of a sudden? He hoped he wasn’t sweating. Fuck, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he shove them in his pockets? How close was the acceptable distance to stand next to you?
Well, he certainly stood close enough for you to catch a faint waft of his cologne.
You meant it when you said he looked good. He wore a light jacket over a black shirt, light washed jeans and sneakers. His jet black hair was styled, a little longer than in his photos. The way he stood with his hands in his pockets accentuated his build, his watch a nice touch.
Sure, curiosity got you at first. It quickly came to light that he didn’t recognise you – granted you used a nickname – but you found it amusing nonetheless. You didn’t even mean it to get that far but after talking to him, you couldn’t help but want more.
Dating was always daunting; putting your heart on the line like that rendered you vulnerable. It wasn’t that he didn’t reciprocate – his company was delightful, but whatever you had between you felt stagnant. You thought your initial assumption was right: he wasn’t looking for anything more. Was this a mistake after all?
You sat on the bench nearby, the drinks between you. You took two bites before you stalled.
Your face twisted. “Why’s this hot?”
“Is it? Mine isn’t at all.”
“It is ridiculously hot.” You blinked the tears away.
“Can’t be. Let me try.”
You handed him the taco, instead he grabbed your wrist and leaned in for a bite.
He gave you an amused smile. “It’s not hot at all. Here, I’ll have yours.”
By now, a few drops of sweat had broken out of your forehead. You didn’t question it when he swapped the paper plates on your thighs and took a huge bite.
It wasn’t supposed to be hot! This was so uncool, at your first meeting at that. Your gaze trained on the ground as you took a small bite of his which actually tasted normal. When you looked up, it was his turn to frown.
“Wait. It is.” He put the taco down. ”It is hot.”
“I told you!”
“Oh God. Oh shit,” he hissed, scrambling for his drink. “Why is it so hot?”
You stifled a giggle. “They must have put the wrong sauce in mine, because yours tastes fine.”
“My tongue had never known such pain. What the hell is in this thing?” He continued gulping down his drink. “Oh no, it’s getting worse.” He sniffled before shoving the last half into his mouth.
“You know you don’t have to eat it, right?” You busted into laughter as he chew with all his might. “Why would you do that to yourself?”
His brows knitted, the agony in his watery eyes as clear as day. You handed him a serviette.
“That’s inhumane, but I’m a man of my word,” he said between hisses, wiping at his forehead. “My mouth is on fire. I need to inhale fire extinguisher.”
You could only offer him your drink which he gladly chugged. Still giggling, you finished your meal before making your way to the bar.
“I’m sorry, that was really embarrassing.” He grimaced through his drying tears, forehead still damp. “But at least you’re laughing. I like it when you laugh.”
You wanted to kiss him right then.
Keegan was the first man to make you willingly lose sleep in a long time, but his inaction didn’t sit right with you. Self-doubt inevitably crept up - maybe you simply weren’t his type, but you were too hooked to not at least shoot your shot despite your mounting fear of rejection. Your heart lodged in your throat when you called him that night.
Oh but his voice was so calm and soothing, and what for? He got you hanging onto every word - some straight up sounded like he was purring. Like now, he had to lean in closer and closer to talk over the noise as the bar continued to fill up. The deep rumble of his laughter so close in your ear got you biting your lip.
You didn’t want to like him so much, but here you were smiling non-stop the past hour. He’d taken his jacket off, his sturdy arms on display as he lied back. Now that was the highlight of his outfit. It didn’t help that he kept looking at you like that either; blue eyes piercing, brows striking with a cool smile.
It was unfair how effortlessly charming he was, like it was simply an unfortunate by product of being Keegan Russ, like he didn’t even mean it.
Well, evidently, Keegan was literally sweating about the humiliating incident. He sincerely hoped you wouldn’t excuse yourself to the bathroom to stand him up, but the smile hadn’t left your pretty face ever since. That was a good sign right?
Halfway into the first half, he extended his arm along the back of your seat, eyes still on the screen pretending to not notice the way your lips curled in amusement. You dragged your chair against his, thighs touching now. His fist clenched when you placed your hand on his knee.
He was secretly glad this was your first date – if he could even call it that. At least there was no pressure to keep making conversation and he could focus on your company, which he thoroughly enjoyed thus far. Was wrapping his arm around your waist an appropriate next move? He itched to be closer.
“How long have you been on Tinder?” You turned to him during halftime.
“A few months now.”
“Any luck?”
He looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t get a lot of matches, and when I do - even after many weeks of talking… Well as it turned out, people just aren’t very interested in dating long distance.”
When his eyes flicked up and met your sympathetic look, he wondered if he shouldn’t have been so honest.
“You? Any luck so far?” he asked quickly.
“I went on a few dates with someone who looked an awful lot like my first crush.” You let out a small laugh. “But that’s all. It didn’t work out.”
A speck of jealousy flickered in his chest. “Tell me about him. Your first crush.”
“Well, I was a late bloomer. It was in high school, he was a sophomore when I was a freshman.”
“Handsome dude?”
“Yes, but I actually never spoke to him.” You tilted your head and smiled. “Well, I did once, kind of. I don’t know what possessed me, but one day I walked up to him and gave him a bar of chocolate. He said thanks, and that was it.”
You looked over him. The crowd had started to move towards the bar
“I’ll get us more drinks before the wait gets too long.” You stood up.
Keegan perked up; he wasn’t going to miss his chance. When you came back, he’d mustered all his courage to tug on your wrist in the direction of his parted thighs. There was a glint in your eye as you indulged and he snaked his arm behind you, hand on his knee. You had a playful smile on your lips when you moved it to your waist and wrapped your arm around his neck.
He leaned onto your shoulder, his chest pressing against your side. He watched the way your eyes transfixed on the screen, how your glass would freeze against your lower lip at times. He couldn’t help smiling when you tensed up whenever someone got close to scoring a goal. His other arm wrapped around your waist.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off you when the bar erupted in cheers. You turned to him with a proud grin. Oh, your lips were just right there. He wasn’t going to survive the night.
Your favourite team won and you left the bar beaming. You were glad he offered to walk you home because you still wanted his presence. Your fingers curled around his forearm.
“I didn’t get to ask about your first crush.”
He chuckled to himself. “We were in fifth grade.”
“You ever told her?”
He shook his head. “She hated me. My friends used to tease her about her weight. I didn’t join in but I hung around anyway. I guess when you’re young you do dumb things to fall in.”
You remembered the raucous boys he hung out with.
“Over the summer, I convinced myself to finally say something, but she’d moved away.”
Had he not looked at where you were going, he’d have seen the shock on your face. Your heart skipped a beat. Is he talking about me?
“What was she like?”
“My memory’s fuzzy now, but she had two other girlfriends they teased too but she always stood up for them. Oh, was sassy too.” He smiled. “I used to stand around to overhear her jokes. If I laughed along, she’d stare me down until I left.”
You laughed, too hard for someone who supposedly wasn’t involved in the story. You remembered that too, the way prepubescent Keegan Russ and his dumb bowl cut scrambled away when you gave him bombastic side eye.
You couldn’t believe it. He had a crush on you?
“I think had I spoken up, we’d have been good friends.” He glanced at you with a smile. “You know, when I heard she’d moved away, I came home crying and my mum smacked me upside the head. Told me not to hang around with the shithead boys anymore.”
You stopped in your tracks and took your hand off his arm. “You really don’t recognise me?”
He turned to you, brows furrowed. “What?”
“You used to paste Superman stickers on my Barbie backpack.”
Keegan’s eyes widened. He turned away, a hand over his face, laughing out of pain. No fucking way. He wanted to disappear.
You chuckled. “A new one whenever I managed to peel the previous one off. Said they were boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t recognise you at all.” He lowered his hand. “But you don’t even have the same name?”
“It’s the internet. You’re the weird one for using your real name.”
His brows rose. “You knew it was me all along?”
“Right away.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” He shook his head. “That’s just mean.”
“Was wondering if you remembered, but we were kids. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognise me or forgot.”
The corner of his lips pulled. “Well, I didn’t forget.” And probably won’t. You haven’t left my mind the past week.
And that voice was back, of course. He definitely knew what he was doing, and still you couldn’t get enough.
“Wait, no. Is this it?” He frowned. “Did you talk to me the entire time- meet me just for this?”
“No! No. I wanted to see you.” The edge in his voice stung more than you expected. “I… I didn’t think you’d even want to, because you didn’t make a move.”
His cold eyes searched yours, making your heart ache. If only he knew how much he made you smile, how many times a day you wished he’d replied when you checked your phone. You never wanted to see that pain in his face again.
“Please don’t lead me on,” he finally said, his gaze softening. “Not when you know you don’t want this.”
You wanted to hold him. “I promise I won’t. I know it’s early to say, but I want to try.”
He took a small step towards you. “Are you sure you like me?”
Suddenly he was once again the young Keegan who couldn’t meet your eyes, asking if you wanted to share the last of his favourite chocolate with him.
“Are you?”
“Positive.” His icy blues were back on you. You saw the wary hopefulness in them.
You closed the gap, arms wrapping around his waist. You let out a small sigh as your head rested on his shoulder.
“May I see you again?” He pulled you closer, his voice lighter now. “I want to go on a date. A real one, with my first crush with the death stare.”
You laughed against his neck.
Keegan hated getting ahead of himself, not knowing how many more times his hopes could be shattered before the shards got to small to meet again. But as he held you, he let his mind drift, just a little further, just this time.
With his eyes closed, he thought that maybe in the future - perhaps soon enough, someone would be waiting at the base to welcome him back with a smile and an embrace just like this.
More Keegan: fake dating, werewolf AU
A/N: I think the song represents the uncertainty in the initial stages of falling, when you keep trying to swallow the hopefulness, cautious of each other’s intentions as to not get hurt. It takes bravery handing your heart over to a stranger, unsure if they’ll just stomp on your feelings or be the best thing ever.
@sofasoap @b1rds3ye @macravishedbymactavish @shadofireshinobi @two-gh0sts
#codholiday2023#call of duty#cod#cod fanfic#keegan x reader#call of duty ghosts#cod ghosts#keegan russ x reader#keegan russ x you#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#cod fluff#call of duty fluff#keegan russ fluff#keegan russ#keegan p russ#brian bloom u my fave tuker tambah dong
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Roasting By An Open Fire
Find my Simon Riley masterlist
My entry for @glitterypirateduck holiday challenge! Because this man needs more sweetness in his life, honestly. And it's fun. This started with the fireplace, which is why I'm breaking my fic titling tradition to use just a lyric.
You and Simon have a quiet night in. Some teasing and banter turn into something more.
Warnings: Snarking, teasing, swearing, established relationship, thigh/lap riding, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, pet names, little bit of body worship if you squint.
Word count: 2.5k
You hummed to yourself, gaze sliding from the knitting in your lap to Simon. He was focused on his book, the soft crackle and pops of the fire the only sounds between you. You smiled, wiggling your toes where they were tucked under one warm thigh.
He didn't even look up from his book, one big hand wrapping around your ankle to hold gently. At least until he turned the page.
You loved these quiet moments with him.
Your gaze drifted from him to the fire, watching as a log popped, sparks floating up into the chimney. The fire crackled softly, warmth radiating to you and Simon.
You wiggled a little, adjusting your back against the arm of the couch, getting more comfortable. You knew Simon didn't mind. He liked when the two of you had these quiet moments together.
So did you, really.
Life was often busy - you didn't always have the luxury of this kind of time. So it was easy to take a moment to treasure it.
You knew little bits of his history, things he'd shared with you over time. You knew his life hadn't been easy.
So to know you could give him even this much quiet? This much contentment? Brought you immense satisfaction.
“What's on your mind, love?”
You blinked, refocusing on him with a smile. “Nothing much,” you demurred, wiggling your toes again just to see his lips twitch in amusement. “Just thinking.”
“Mmm.” His gaze settled on you, warm and fondly amused. “Nothing much, huh?”
You grinned. Okay. So you might have just a little reputation for mischief when you said “nothing much”. “Alright, you got me. I was thinking about you.”
“Any particular part of me?” His voice dropped teasingly low, lips curled in a smirk.
“Yup.” You held his gaze easily, head tipping playfully. “Your heart.”
He paused and blinked at you, just once. You'd caught him off guard.
“I was thinking how much I love this.” You wiggled your toes again just to watch his gaze flicker down to his thigh. “And how much I love you.”
His gaze softened, his smile turning more genuine. “Love you too,” he murmured, one big hand squeezing your ankle again.
Your heart fluttered in your chest. Didn't matter how many times you heard those words, you never got tired of them.
Quiet fell between the two of you again as you picked up your knitting, determined to continue.
For all of ten seconds.
And then you got distracted again.
It was hardly your fault that the firelight reflected off his hair and cast gentle shadows on his face. Really, you were just admiring him.
Again, didn't have a lot of quiet opportunities to do this. So you savored this all the more.
“Keep lookin’ at me like that and I'll think you want something, love.”
You chuckled, though you didn't look away. “What if I just like looking at you?”
He snorted softly. “Should have your head checked,” he joked.
“That's nothing new,” you shot back, trying not to grin. “Been saying that for a long time.”
Simon huffed, shaking his head. One hand settled on your knee, thumb stroking your thigh. The warmth even from that gentle touch transferred through your lounge pants easily.
And he knew exactly what he was doing, too.
“Si…” You bit your lip, ducking your head. Two could play at this little game of teasing.
He groaned softly, gaze hot as his fingers tightened on you. Then he moved, book tossed aside as he knelt on the plush rug between the couch and the fireplace. You squeaked as his hands fastened on your knees, turning you to face him and then tugging until you were precariously perched between the edge of the couch and him.
“Think it's fun to tease, love?” He pulled your knees apart so he could settle between your thighs, head tipped to look at you.
“Always.” Even with your heart beating fast and your face heating under his attentions, you couldn't resist teasing him.
At least while you could still think.
Simon huffed at you, pushing closer to you, forcing your legs wider to accommodate him. “That so?” He smirked, hands sliding slowly up your thighs, the warm drag of his skin over your sweats delicious.
“Teasing you is the highlight of my day,” you teased. One hand lifted to brush through his hair.
Simon huffed and tipped his head enough to nip playfully at your wrist. “Well, since you're so fond of teasing…” His fingers hooked in the waistband of your sweats and your panties, tugging both down with your slightly clumsy help, until the wad of fabric ended up tossed elsewhere. (Hopefully not in the fire.)
You shivered as those big hands smoothed up your thighs until he could grip your hips, holding you in place, perched a little precariously on the edge of the couch.
You knew you were in for it when Simon tipped his head and smirked up at you.
“Well, love?”
“Well?” You blinked at him.
His teeth flashed in a brief grin before he tugged you off the couch and into his lap. You squeaked, grabbing his shoulders for support, even as he chuckled at you.
“I could tease you all night.” He lifted his hips just enough to press his erection into you, making you gasp. “Get you close again and again…” His hands guided your hips into a slow rolling grind against him, the friction of his pants against your skin almost maddening.
“Is there a second option?” You swallowed hard when his fingers gripped you a little more tightly.
“Still thinkin’.” He smirked at your little whine, pulling you tighter to him. “Take off the rest.”
You didn’t even hesitate, tugging your shirt off and dropping it behind you before your bra followed. Simon didn’t make it easy for you, dipping his head to kiss and nibble at the column of your throat while you were still working your bra off.
“Darling,” you whined softly when he thumbed your nipple, toying gently with it.
“Still thinkin’,” he teased, nosing back up the column of your throat to kiss the hinge of your jaw.
You huffed at his teasing, fingers of one hand tangling in his hair. But you didn’t stop moving, biting your lip as heat gathered between your legs.
“Good girl,” he rumbled teasingly, fingers digging into your ass. “Keep going.”
You’d be mad that he knew exactly which buttons to press… except you loved it. Loved that he knew you so well. Biting your lip, you dared to move a little faster. There was both too much sensation and not enough - the brush of his clothes against your skin, the pounding of your heart in your chest, the distinct lack of anything inside you.
“Si,” you whined softly, squirming.
He grinned, showing teeth even as he teased you. “Made up my mind,” he murmured, voice dropping lower.
“Yeah?” you managed, swallowing hard.
“I want you to come, just like this.” He dug his fingers into your ass, pulling you down harder against his lap. “Then I’ll fuck you.”
You couldn’t help the little noise you made at that. But you did keep moving, biting your lip, knowing he was entirely serious about you coming first. He sort of took pity on you, both hands moving to your breasts, nipping and kissing down your neck and collarbone.
It wasn’t long until your hips were stuttering, Simon helping you ride out your pleasure against him, even as you stifled little noises against his chest.
“Good girl,” he purred, one hand rubbing up and down your back even as you relaxed into him, still a little shivery. “So good for me.”
You huffed wordlessly, scratching his scalp lightly. “Tease,” you murmured, too full of affection to be even a little bit annoyed.
Simon just hummed softly, giving you a few moments to recover. Gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks made you smile, eyes closing briefly. “Still alright?” he asked softly, lips just brushing your cheek as he spoke.
“Mmhm. More than.” You wiggled a little, more playful than needy, grinning at the soft groan that earned you.
“Clearly I haven’t worn you out yet.” He tipped you carefully to one side until you went sprawling onto the rug, already warmed from the fire. He didn’t follow you immediately, though, instead tipping his head a little and just… looking at you. You warmed, pulling your knees in.
“What?” You resisted the urge to cover yourself, curling your fingers into the rug.
“Just admiring the view, love.” Simon smiled a little, sweeping his gaze over you slowly, purposefully. “It’s a very good view.”
That got you to duck your head, warm and flustered. “Now who’s teasing?” you grumbled.
“Not teasing,” he protested, hands landing on your knees, gently pulling them apart again. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous.”
You had no response to that except to hook your heels behind his thighs and tug him closer. He huffed softly but lowered himself over you, taking his time kissing you. One of his hands slipped between the two of you, pushing clothing out of the way. Your face burned - he was too impatient to undress all the way this time. That didn’t happen often, and it made you squirm.
Your breath caught in your throat at the feeling of him pressed between your thighs, the head of him just notched into place.
“Relax for me,” he murmured, even as he pressed into you slowly. Your jaw dropped at the stretch of him filling you. It didn’t matter how many times you’d had each other, taking him was always a stretch. He took his time, pulling back slowly and sliding a little deeper with each pass.
“I can take it,” you murmured, pushing your heels against him, trying to draw him in deeper. “Come on, Si.”
His lips twitched in a grin, a little mischief in his eyes. Uh oh. “That so?” He pulled back and you had a moment to anticipate before he pushed in, not stopping until he was pressed up tight to you, as deep as he could go. You couldn’t help the little noise you made, or the way you clung to him, hands fisting in the back of his shirt.
And then he paused there, still hilted in you, forehead pressed to yours. “Alright?” he asked softly, holding your gaze easily.
“More than,” you assured him, one hand unclenching from his shirt to cup the back of his head, fingers scratching lightly through his hair.
He nipped your lower lip before he started moving, languid thrusts that let you feel every inch of him. His soft groan echoed in your chest, only encouraging you to squirm under him. It was impossible to hold still, need flaring higher every time his hips met yours. You burned between the warmth of the fire and the warmth of him, legs hitching up higher over his hips.
“Should make this a new holiday tradition,” he murmured, gazing down at you. The backs of his fingers were gentle against the skin of your cheek, even as he picked up the pace.
“Making love on the rug?” You gasped when he changed the angle a little, adding a little swivel of his hips that nearly made your eyes roll back.
“In front of the fire,” he answered, as if it should be obvious. “You’re beautiful like this.”
You opened your mouth to respond, trying to come up with something sufficiently snarky. Only for all the air to be punched out of you when Simon grabbed under your knee, hiking it further up.
“Glad you agree,” he hummed, amused, adjusting his weight to gather up your other knee, too, hooking both over his elbows before driving into you again.
Which left you a mess. You clung to his shoulders and back, whining even as you tipped your head back, giving in entirely to him. Everything was just riding the edge of too much - the stretch of him inside you, the way he angled your hips to get as deep as he could every time, the brush of his hair against your skin.
Your eyelids fluttered before you focused on the warm glow the fire gave him. A droplet of sweat started at his brow and slid down his nose, briefly catching the light, until your eyes closed against the onslaught of pleasure.
“Feel good, love?” Simon asked, voice lower and rougher than normal.
All you could do was nod and cling, squirming as you approached your peak. Simon kissed you, open-mouthed and hungry, swallowing all your noises. One nip to your bottom lip and you cried out, coming around him.
He groaned, low and pleased, against your mouth, hips stuttering briefly at the feel of you pulsing around him. “Fuck,” he rasped, eyes dark as he watched you. “Feel so good, love.”
You whined a little, nails scraping gently against his scalp, blinking slowly up at him with hazy eyes. He was close, you could tell from the way his thrusts shortened, chasing his own pleasure. You decided to give him a little nudge in the right direction. You looked up at him, eyes a little wet from the beginnings of overstimulation, and bit your lower lip.
Simon groaned your name as his hips stuttered and then slowed as he came, making you squirm. He stilled, pressed up tight to you still, his forehead resting gently against yours as you both breathed.
Your head tipped back to settle against the floor while you caught your breath, fingers still tangled in his clothes. After a moment you giggled, breathless.
“Hm?” He lifted his head to blink at you, confused.
“Mistletoe.” You grinned up at the sprig you’d pinned to the ceiling in a moment of cheekiness. “Forgot I put that there.”
Simon huffed a laugh. “Can’t ignore that,” he murmured, tipping your head to kiss you, slow and sweet and a little bit filthy.
You hummed, scratching lightly at his hair. “You’re right,” you murmured with a sly little smile.
“Oh?” He shifted his weight, still pressed up against you, making you shiver.
“You are beautiful like this.” You grinned at the the way his cheeks went pink.
“Cheeky,” he muttered, but he kissed you again anyway. “Ready to get up?”
You wrinkled your nose. You wanted to, because cleaning up and a hot drink sounded divine, but you loved feeling him like this. “Okay,” you agreed with a little sigh.
He chuckled at you, pressing a kiss to your nose. “I’ll lay on you again later,” he promised before he pushed himself up and helped you to your feet. You shivered, chilly without his warmth on top of you, and Simon gently nudged you towards the bathroom. “Clean up, I’ll make you a drink.”
“You’re the best.” You kissed him, just a quick peck, before heading for the bathroom.
Later, cuddled up on Simon’s lap trying unsuccessfully to hide your yawns, you agreed with his earlier statement.
Definitely needed to make this a new tradition.
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SEEING IS BELIEVING
Pairing: Captain John Price x Female Reader
Prompt: He came home from deployment late every Christmas Eve, precisely right around the stroke of midnight. It installed a new tradition in the Price Household that your kids adored.
Words: 1.2k
Warnings: Pure Fluff, Sexual innuendos, do children count as a warning?
(Based on the song I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus for @glitterypirateduck CoD Holiday challenge)
For the fifth time that night, you checked your phone, nervousness plunging in your gut when you had yet to hear word from John. The last time you had, he'd tiredly called saying he was at the airport, soon to be departing for home.
You glanced at the clicking grandfather clock, the reflection of Christmas lights portraying a glow that made it hard to read the hands that pointed to 23:45. Everything was ready and placed exactly where your boys had wanted it.
Flour still lay across the countertops and dirty dishes were scattered in the sink, minus the licked clean spoons once covered in cookie batter. You'd do the dishes tomorrow, after your sons opened their gifts and celebrated the return of their father.
As if he could hear your thoughts, you heard the soft jiggling of a key opening the deadbolt and a small shuffling. Your socked feet hit the ground in anticipation, a tired grin making its way across your face as you heard the faint grunt and fall of his boots hitting the ground.
He was finally home.
John heard your footfalls and turned, blue eyes locking with your own in such affection you felt yourself slowly warming. His arms outstretched, offering you the safe place between them.
"C'mere..." He whispered, his voice softer than it had been in months. Here there wasn't orders, or threats, or fear. Just his loving wife and boys. Laughter, love, and family was what he fought for.
You wasted no time, happy to be held and swallowed whole by the sheer size of his chest and biceps. He picked you up off the ground, swaying you slightly as you shivered against his cold skin and seeping frigidness of his coat. None of the cold mattered as his lips pressed lovingly to your own. The warmth heating you more than any furnace ever could. You'd missed the subtle taste of rich tobacco, and the scent of sandalwood and pine that encased him.
His large hands cradled the apples of your cheeks, just as your own hands settled upon the tense knots of his shoulders, loosely massaging them with a watery grin painted on your face.
You always missed him, but your heart never comprehended how much you had until he was in your arms again.
"I love you." You lamented, three tiny words that met more than anything you could ever feel or say. John seemed to understand, just as his forehead bopped against your own. "I love you too, darling. More than anything."
Then, the elegant chiming of the grandfather clock broke apart your loving embrace. You were late, and so was he. Quickly you gave him a peck of his lips, before whispering, "The gifts are in the garage, so is the suit, I'll go get boys, we will be down in five minutes."
You hustled to climb upstairs towards their rooms, but his hand caught your wrist before you could leave. Price brought you back to him, the scratch of his beard once again tickling your face as he kissed you one more time.
"Merry Christmas, love."
A sweet smile, "Merry Christmas."
You hurried up the stairs, not surprised to find your two boys, four and six with their eyes open, waiting excitedly for when you would come up and retrieve them to let them have a peak at the presents.
"I knew you wouldn't be asleep, you devils." You had joked, sweeping your robe further around yourself. Your boys beamed, eyes wide in wonder despite their lack of sleep.
"Is he here?" Your eldest asked, looking up at you with the same blue eyes he inherited from his father. Your youngest clung to your leg, near shaking in childlike anticipation.
"Didn't you hear the reindeer hooves on the roof?" You asked, heart nearly melting as they both let out childish squeals they attempted to mask with silence. "C'mon, I'm sure he is at our tree right now putting up your gifts, I hope you made the nice list!"
"Of course, I did! I protected you while Dad was away!" Your eldest puffed his chest, so immensely proud of his role in being the "man of the house" while John was away.
"You were very helpful and strong." You pinched his nose, giggling at the little wrinkle at the touch. "And my little man helped! Last week he picked up all his toys!" You ruffled the toddler's hair, lifting him up on your hip. He touched your cheek with his chubby fist, "Where Papa?"
You smiled, kissing him upon his rosy cheeks. "He will be here as soon as you wake up tomorrow morning." You promised. "Now who wants to see if we can sneak a peek at Santa?"
"Me!"
"Okay c'mon, make sure you be quiet." You whispered, watching humorously as your eldest began to walk on his tiptoes, going so slow you had to wait a couple seconds before he met you at the top of the stairs.
"Go ahead." You ushered him on, watching as he began to tip toe down the wooden stairs. You followed after him, just as your little one put his finger to his lips, muttering a shh, as a ringing bell met your ears.
Your son took the last step down the stairs, looking up at you for permission to look around the doorframe. You nodded, settling both of your sons in the correct position to get a good look. Carefully, they both peaked onwards, towards the lit-up tree.
"I see him!" Your eldest called, possibly too loud, because as you peaked too, you could see broad shoulders shake in laughing amusement. John had the red coat laced in white fur over his back, the signature hat upon his head. His back was turned to the stairway, hiding his familiar features, despite his face being covered in a cheap, white, curly beard.
Your youngest squealed as John bent down to pull a red and green wrapped present out of his bag, placing it gently down under the tree. "Shh, or he'll hear you." You warned lightly, sneakily pulling out your phone to take a picture of your boy's lit up expressions to show your husband later.
After watching several more presents be placed under the tree, you ushered your boys back up the stairs, their smiles permanently staining their lips.
"Mum, did you see the size of that gift?"
"Yes, I did, now go to sleep so you can open it first thing tomorrow morning." You instructed, nearly laughing as both your boys pulled back their covers and flopped into their beds. With gentle kisses to their foreheads, you shut the door behind them, slowly making your way back down the stairs where John would likely still be unloading gifts.
He heard you, but didn't turn around, grunting slightly as he put the last gift under the tree. "Went all out this year, I see." He sighed, moving the white beard with his exhale. You approached, looping your arms around his back and kissing his shoulder blade against the red coat he wore.
"That's not even all of it." You teased, playfully smacking his rear with a padded thud. John turned, a playful eye roll giving away his amused adoration. "Oh yeah?" He caught onto the hint of seduction in your tone.
Your fingers curled around the faux beard, twisting it slightly against your nails. With a gentle tug, you pulled it away from his chin, placing a slow and devilish kiss upon his lip, sucking slightly on plump muscle.
"How about you take me to bed, Santa?"
He laughed heartily, picking you up by the waist, your legs wrapping around him. "With pleasure."
#cod#call of duty modern warfare#modern warfare#call of duty#captain john price#captain price#John price#captain price x reader#captain john price x reader#John price x reader#codholiday2023
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For @glitterypirateduck Call of Duty Christmas Special.
Author's Note: For the holiday season, I wanted to write some things for some of my mutuals I've met the past year I've had my blog. This is for @lethargicluv - have fun with finals.
Christmas Movie: White Christmas
Premise: Simon is your neighbor; neither of you want to spend Christmas alone.
It’s bitterly cold outside, but the plates in your hand keep you warm as your boots crunch across the snow covering your yard. Thankfully it’s a quick trip next door; you knock the crusted snow off of your boots on the steps before juggling the plates around so you can knock on Simon’s door.
You see his curtain twitch and know that he’s looking out to see who’s knocking. Half a minute later, you hear the locks being undone and the door swings open.
“I brought you dinner,” you say before he can say anything, shoving the plates towards him. “I saw your truck pulled in late, and I had extra. I figured you hadn’t eaten.”
His eyebrows knit together above the black hospital mask he’s always wearing, but he still reaches out to take the plates from you.
“Thanks.”
“No problem!”
The two of you stand awkwardly in the cold until finally, you give a half turn, shooting a smile over your shoulder at the man glowering in his doorway.
“Have a good night!”
The next day the plates are washed and stacked on top of each other outside your front door.
It starts a game between the two of you: every time you bake something there’s just too much extra for yourself, and every time Simon spots something wrong at your place he’s there to fix it, grumbling about your shit landlord.
“You’re going to break your neck one of the days,” he grumbles at you, bouncing on your front steps, the wood bowing beneath his weight. You frown at him from your spot at the front door; you’re still bleary-eyed from the sleep he interrupted with his knocking on the door.
“I’ll call the landlord and have him fix it,” you tell him, biting off a yawn.
“Don’t worry about it.”
You can tell from the way he stands that in less than an hour, he’ll be there with a hammer to straighten everything back up.
It goes on for weeks until you’re knocking on his door again, but this time empty-handed. Simon opens the door, fully dressed like he somehow expected your request.
“Do you think you help me get a Christmas tree?”
You almost expect him to say no, but agrees without question, and an hour later finds the two of you wandering between pre-cut Christmas trees. The snow falls lightly, tangling in the fur around your hood.
The aisles are thin, picked almost clean of everything but the Charlie Brown trees. You pause to look at one, fingertips tracing the green needles before moving on to the next.
“Bit late for a tree isn’t it?” Simon asks from behind his mask, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie.
“Yeah probably. It just felt a little depressing around my house.”
You’re evaluating the trees with an air of expertise, but not knowing what you’re looking for. While you do, you find yourself talking to Simon, just to fill the silence.
“I usually go home each year, but my parents are going on a vacation this year. I wasn’t going to decorate for just myself, but then everything seemed so boring and drab. What do you think of this one?
This one is skinny and little but still filled out more than most of the trees on the lot.
“I don’t think it’ll hold any ornaments,” Simon says, amusement coloring his voice, “but it isn’t the worst-looking one.”
“That’s fine because I don’t have any ornaments.”
You step back, admiring the tree before giving yourself a small nod.
“Yeah, I think this one. Do you think we have to ask the guy-”
You don’t have the sentence out of your mouth before Simon gently nudges you out of the way and shoulders the tree. You trail him back to the front of the lot, watching how green needles shower onto his back. He pauses just long enough to let you press a bill into the lot owner's hand before setting off to his truck.
He doesn’t let you help tie the tree down in the back of the truck, telling you to go buckle in instead. You watch him wrestle with the limbs in the rearview mirror, hurriedly pretending to be playing on your phone when he climbs in.
“You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
Christmas music plays on the radio as Simon takes the two of you through a drive-through, passing your burger and fries without hurry. The two of you eat in the parking lot, and you try not to stare at his face as the two of you eat.
“Are you - are you doing anything for Christmas this year?” You ask timidly, picking at your fries. In all the weeks the two of you had spent rotating around each other, you’d never seen anyone else at his house, never heard him mention anyone else.
“Watch TV and sleep,” Simon replies, wiping his hands on a napkin before tucking his trash into the bag. “Don’t do much other than that usually.”
“Oh.” Is your simple reply, and then you speak again before thinking. “Do you want to come do Christmas at my house? Just me and you?”
You see the way he moves slower with the trash and the way he hurriedly pulls his mask back over his face. You think you’ve overstepped a boundary, but Simon finally answers as he puts the truck into reverse.
“Ok.”
It starts a nervous excitement in you. You can’t remember the last time someone’s come by to visit, much less the last time you’ve had someone over for a holiday. You find yourself nearly on your hands and knees scrubbing at the baseboards to try to get the place gleaming. The Christmas tree Simon carried into your house is sparsely decorated, but what you lack in ornaments, you make up for in enthusiasm.
You hadn’t known what to cook - would a guy like Simon like traditional Christmas food? You’d spent forty-five minutes at the grocery store standing in front of the Christmas hams before your hands migrated over to the steaks. What man doesn’t eat steak? You’d chosen two: a bigger one for Simon, and promptly spent too much money on all the sides.
It all culminated in your house being cleaner than you’d ever had it, the steaks cooking in the oven, and your fingernails nervously bitten down as you tried not to watch out the window obsessively to see when he would finally exit his house.
Five minutes before he agreed to be at your house for dinner, you spotted Simon exit his front door, not bothering to lock it after it swung shut behind him. You leave the television on to try and fill the silence - Bing Crosby talking about Christmas in White Christmas - and open the door just a minute too early to be completely casual.
Simon stands on the bottom step, too tense to be casual himself. His black mask is gone for the evening, and it’s an act of extreme willpower not to stare at his face. You have to force yourself to keep your eyes on his own.
“Hi,” you feel lame, so you keep going, “you’re right on time.”
“Traffic was pretty light tonight.”
You laugh; the corner of Simon’s mouth twitches up, and your stomach flips. You step aside, a wordless invitation, and Simon takes it.
He looks gargantuan in your living room as he takes in the last-minute Christmas decorations, and the classic Christmas movie on the TV. His nostrils flare.
“Smells good.”
You feel a satisfied blush start at your chest, so you scurry around him to try to hide it.
“Thanks; it’s the chef special tonight.”
You check the potatoes; the entire time you can feel Simon’s eyes boring into your back. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been in a long time, your fingers hesitate on the pan before turning around to face him again.
Simon’s leaning against the kitchen island - much too casual for the irregular heartbeat that you’ve had since you first opened the door for him. Nervously, you rub your hands on your dark jeans and try to think of something to say that doesn’t make the conversation fall flat.
“I didn’t get you a present; I couldn’t figure out what to get a guy like you.”
“I don’t need anything; it’s nice enough you invited me over.”
You lean across the counter, emboldened by the look on his face. You trace the edge of the countertop and let yourself study the wrinkles and scars that litter Simon’s face.
“How else was I supposed to pay you back for all the things you’ve done around here.”
Simon shrugs, a mischievous look in his eye that you want to follow, but not tonight. He pulls out one of the bar chairs with his feet, settling down on it like he’s always been there.
“You’ve got some loose shingles on the roof - I think I’d fix those for a New Year's dinner.”
Your grin is so wide it nearly breaks your face apart.
“I can do that.”
#my fics#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ‘ghost’ riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#codholiday2023
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