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Just stuff I find amusing.
Note
You have single-handedly fed my dark John Price cravings. If you do write more for Collapse, I will devour it.
glad you liked it!! there’s another part coming at least, maybe a few more 🤍
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━━━━ THE COLLAPSE
pairing: captain john price x f!reader
2k. you move to the mountains of montana and meet your new neighbor. *tw: kidnapping
Your next door neighbor was admittedly a little weird.
You were pretty positive he was one of those doomsday prepper types that you heard of when you moved to the area — but you hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his 'bunker’ yet. You know some of them are pretty well hidden, and you’re a bit embarrassed to admit when he invited you over for a fish fry dinner after you first moved in, you totally went snooping around for it.
As strange as he might be, he seems like a nice guy. Genuine type of neighbor and you don’t want to piss him off, considering he’s your only neighbor. There’s nothing around the two of you for miles. That, and he’s actually been a pretty neighborly neighbor.
He always seems to know where you are but you figure it’s probably just because he’s clearly ex-military. When you catch yourself drinking coffee and staring at him from your porch as he fishes on the lake you share — he waves at you. When you’re trying to fix the fence on your small garden — he’s over right away with tools. When you’re struggling to carry your groceries inside — he’s around the corner, lifting over half of them out of your arms. Telling you that ‘you should really buy in bulk, love.’
And honestly, he’s right, you should. It’s been such a pain in the ass to get and haul groceries considering you moved to bum-fuck Montana — but oh is it ever beautiful. You get an absolutely breathtaking view every single day… but it takes away almost a full day from you in order to drive into the nearest town, load up, and then drive back home and unload them. By the time you’re done, you’re so tired you don’t have any energy to do anything else.
The power goes out one night. You’re not a child anymore, but it really is dark out here without any lights on. Eerie. You’re not from here. You don’t know what could be lurking out there, in the dead of night.
He comes by — of course he does. He’s got flashlights, candles, blankets and whiskey. Says the first two are to see with, the last two are to keep you warm. You let him inside just as the rain turns into a downpour.
You stay up most of the night together, talking. He tells you about his past in the military, you tell him about your writing, how you moved out here to focus and get out of the city. He pours you another drink and you have half a mind to refuse, but really you can’t let him leave yet. You’re a little scared to be by yourself out here tonight. He leaves when the power finally comes back on, only an hour before sunrise.
Loneliness seeps into your soul after a few months. You decide to invite some friends from college for a long weekend. You let him know of course. The plan is to do some hiking, but you’re sure you’ll end every night rowdy in your house. You tell him not to hesitate to show up if you’re all being too noisy.
He comes by that Friday morning, after everyone has arrived the evening before. Offers to be your hiking guide. You think, why not? You honestly aren’t much of an outdoor girly and can’t say you’ve ventured very far out here before. Might as well let the expert do it. He seems happy to — chatting it up easily with everyone, showing them little things in nature here and there.
When you get back to the house, everyone is so impressed by him they insist he comes by tonight for dinner. You almost can’t believe how easily he meshes into your group when he’s at least 12-15 years older than all of you. If you didn’t know better you would have swore he graduated with the rest of you.
He’s always on your team for any of the games you play and he's fucking good at all of them. Almost maddeningly so. You win flippy cup and pong easily. You team up in drunk Jenga and he makes you feel like he’s moonlights as an architect with how quickly you both become champions.
There’s no way he’d join you all skinny dipping in the lake — or so you’d thought. But as the rest of you tear your clothes off at the edge of the docks and jump in one by one, he’s there. Stripping down into nothing. Winking at you before he hightails it into a cannon ball. You hope what little moonlight there is doesn’t allow him to see the blush creeping up your cheeks. Doesn't allow him to track how your eyes move up his body — strong, sturdy, rugged.
One of the guys suggests playing chicken and he’s diving under and lifting you on his shoulders before you can fully register what’s happening. The soft, sensitive flesh of your pussy rubs against him with each movement and it takes every last ounce of your willpower not to grind against him like some sick fucking pervert. He’s your neighbor after all.
Winning was almost a guarantee with the two of you, even with you on top, because of how absolutely solid he is. Hands digging into your thighs, keeping you flush against him. It doesn’t matter who you’re up against because no one can push you off your perch on his shoulders. Your nipples perk, exposed to the chill of the night.
You’re fucking drenched and leaking onto him, you can tell. You just hope he’s distracted enough that he can’t feel your warm juices running down his back. You feel the prickles of his beard hair rub against your inner thigh and you have to bite down on your tongue to suppress a moan from escaping you. When he drops you back down into the lake after your undefeated streak and hits you with a whispered “that’s my good girl”, you almost try to hop back onto him then and there.
Fuck, you need to get laid.
Your friends leave once the weekend is up and it really hits you how well and truly alone you are here. Nothing can beat the beauty and serenity of Montana living — it wraps around your lungs like a creeping vine to take your breath away — but it makes you almost long for the hustle and bustle of the city you left behind. The trips to a girlfriend’s place for a glass (or bottle) of wine after a shitty day. Going out to bars and dancing the night away on a weekend. Hell, even just getting takeout when you don’t feel like cooking. All of it — the price to be paid for living here.
You can’t even begin to think about the detriment it is to your dating life. Sometimes — on the nights where you let your mind spiral — you imagine what it’ll be like living out here alone for the rest of your life.
Shockingly, you do meet a guy without even trying. Jake. Run into him. Literally in fact — you accidently trample over his foot at the grocery store with your cart. You feel so bad about it, when trying to make it up to him you find out he only lives a few miles away from you. He’s cute; outdoorsy type. Avid hiker, knows the area around your place. You invite him over for dinner tomorrow as an apology.
You go simple, not wanting to overdo it. Steak, cooked to a perfect medium rare, and baked potatoes. The two of you sit on your patio and chat until the stars come out and it’s too cold to sit any longer with soft breeze coming from the lake. Jake gets a fire roaring in your cozy little living room and you both curl up to it on the floor with a glass of wine.
He spends the night. You wonder — are you being too easy? Honestly… yeah, probably. But to be fair to yourself, you needed this… badly. You’re in quite literally the longest dry spell of your life. Living in the mountains hasn't helped that.
You jolt, waking up in a sweaty sheen that coats your skin. All night you’ve had the feeling that you’re being watched. It’s probably due to the fact that Jake, who is snoring lightly in your bed next to you, told you a few ghost stories about the mountain being haunted. That, and it’s easy to be paranoid living way out here.
Jake hangs around more and more. You go hiking, fishing, stargazing. Strangely, the more you see of Jake, the less you see of your neighbor. He’s not out on his boat on the lake anymore; you don’t see him grilling in his backyard or hiking the trails around your place’s. It’s… weird. He was such a solid fixture in your life when you first moved here.
It’s been over a month since you last saw him. The ghost of him lingers everywhere and it's starting to drive you crazy. When you’re tending your garden and you notice the part of the fence he helped to fix, you think of him. When you grill fish with Jake for dinner, your mind wanders back to him. Your mind plays tricks on you too — the back of your neck prickles and you think he’s going to be there when you turn around. But he’s not, he just… disappeared into thin air.
You decide you’re gonna go check on him today. It’s Saturday, and it’s a beautiful and sunny day. Typically a day you’d see him outside around the house. Jake’s coming over later tonight and you would like to introduce them to one another, especially after talking him up to Jake. Maybe he’ll come over for dinner?
When you get to his place and knock on the door, there’s no response. The door creaks open a bit from the force of your small hand. The house is dark and silent. You gingerly cross the threshold into his house, taking one tiny step into the foyer as you call out to him. It’s been a while since you last stepped foot in here.
You don’t want to intrude on him or his privacy but you’re honestly starting to get very worried at this point. What if he’s hurt? You push the door open a bit further and take another few steps in, again calling for him.
The house is just as neat as you remember from last time — nothing looks to be out of place. The dishwasher is running so that’s a good sign that he’s okay. You open your mouth to call out his name again when suddenly someone comes up to you from behind and presses a cloth to your face. You panic, limbs flailing wildly and inhale more of the slightly sweet, acetone-reminiscent scent. Your screams are muffled by the hand covering your mouth, and you scratch at it, feeling the hairy arm of whoever is behind you until the world becomes black.
When you come to, you feel a little foggy. You’re in… a basement? There are no windows, just industrial style lights. A bed resides in the center of the room — a bed that you are currently tied to — with each limb belonging to its own post.
Holy fuck… holy fucking fuck. Sheer terror spreads like poison through your body. This can’t be real. It can’t be. You’re too old to be kidnapped. You think you’re probably too old to sex trafficked… maybe? The rational part of your brain tells you to slow down and formulate a plan, but the other side of your brain — the one that’s currently reacting to the situation at hand — is kicking and screaming and gouging into your skin. The handcuffs on your wrists and ankles dig deep, biting hard into your skin.
You scream when you notice a shadowy figure hulking just out of eyesight. It moves slowly, so slowly. You throw yourself as far as you can to the other side of the bed, trying to get away from it.
When the figure steps into the light, your blood turns to ice. Sweat glides down your back in swift rivulets even as a chill seeps into your bones.
“…John?”
“Yes, love?”
#call of duty#cod x reader#john price x reader#john price x you#john price x y/n#john price imagine#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#captain john price x female reader#captain price x reader#captain price x you#captain price x female reader#captain price x y/n
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━━━━ THISTLE AND BARLEY
pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x f!reader
2.7k. during a solo trip to the scottish highlands, you find yourself transported back in time.
The chill of the evening air prickles along your skin. The spring breeze envelopes you, circling her prey. You are a rabbit, and she is a fox. She waits, patiently, until you are unsuspecting, and then sinks her sharp teeth into your soft skin.
It seems like you are the only one to really feel the chill — but you are an outsider. An outlander. A stranger. There are a few other foreigners here like you, but mostly it’s the residents of Inverness.
You get some relief when passing by one of the many bonfires littered through this valley. The entire night sky was alight — but not with stars. No, those are almost impossible to see compared to last night. There are enough fires lit in the valley to cause light pollution to seep through to the night sky.
Everyone here is clothed in a flowy, bohemian white gown. A beautiful crown of flowers rests atop your heads. Beltane. The official start to summer.
You didn’t know you would be here tonight until the last minute. The hostess of your bed and breakfast was the one who mentioned it to you this morning. It’s your last night in the Highlands so you figured, why not? Your solo travel adventures are about to come to an end. What’s one more night with no sleep?
A lit cave sparks your interest. It’s small, basically just an opening that goes 8 feet or so, but it’s lit up with candles everywhere. They're arranged in some sort of pattern, but you can’t make out exactly what it’s supposed to be. The air in here is even colder somehow — settling in your bones. You cover your upper body with your arms as best you can, unable to stop yourself from entering this ethereal place.
When you get closer to the wall, you see it has something painted on it. The paint is hard to see, even with the candle light. The same pattern is marked on the cave wall that the candles make on the floor. It’s old, flaking. You let out a breath and you watch as it rises in front of you.
The wall is shifting. Shimmering. It looks celestial. Like the night sky. You rub your eyes. It must be the heat from all the candles.
You turn around to leave but are startled by the sight of a woman at the entrance. You recognize her — it’s the owner of your bed and breakfast. A greeting almost escapes your lips but when you catch the look on her face you can’t seem to speak. Mouth hanging open, you just stare at her. She glides to you effortlessly, lithe for her age. Her fingertips are black as they reach out to you. It happens in slow motion. At least, that’s how it feels. She slowly reaches out to touch you and you stumble back, almost into the wall, just out of range.
“Yer where yer meant to be lass. Remember that. You have to remember. This was destined for ya.”
You shake your head to try and get a grasp on what she’s saying to you. Your tongue is suddenly heavy in your mouth. “Wh.. what?”
“Goodbye, lass.”
Before you can open your mouth to speak, she pushes against your shoulder with a firm hand. You stumble, and brace for impact into the cave wall.
Falling. You’re falling. It’s black.
There is no cave wall.
“D’ya think she’s a witch?”
It's morning, that much you can tell. Birdsong flits down to your ears and the sun is bright against your closed eyes. The grass caresses your body.
“Dinnae think so. Not sure what to make of ‘er.”
You try to remember what happened last. How you got here. Where you are. You brain is fuzzy, feeling like you’re suffering from a hangover. Wait — that’s not right, you didn’t drink last night.
“Let’s just leave her.”
Beltane. The celebration. That’s where you were. In the valley near Inverness. You were wandering. There were fires. Dancing.
“No. We’ll bring her to the castle.”
The cave. Oh god, the lady from your bed and breakfast. She followed you, she pushed you. She said something to you. What did she say to you?
“Yer off yer fuckin’ head, boy. What’ll yer Da say?”
You have to get out of here. You are supposed to be out of here. Your flight out of Inverness leaves this morning. How did this happen?
“I cannae just leave her here.”
Sunlight floods your eyes when they shoot open. A groan escapes you, and you cover your head with your forearm. You struggle to fully sit up, headache assaulting all of your senses.
“Aye, lassie? Ye hearin’ me?”
You rub your eyes and look up to who’s speaking to you. It’s a man in his late 20s. He’s wearing a kilt and it isn’t until you look around that you notice almost all of them are. You saw a few men in Inverness wearing kilts but, not quite like this. They look like an authentic historical recreation.
He’s… handsome. The one talking to you. Pools of blue eyes stare into yours, a hand reaching out to you. You gingerly take it, and he helps you stand. “Ye got a name, hen?”
Still in a bit of a daze, you give him your name and take a second to get your bearings. The cave you remember from last night is just behind you — but there are no candles, or paint on the walls. There’s no evidence anyone was in this valley last night. Where are the pits and scorch marks from the bonfires? What about the string lights that were strung along the tree trunks? Even the grass doesn't look like it’s been trampled on by a hundred or so pairs of feet.
“I’m Johnny of Clan MacTavish. May I ask, what’re ye doin’ out here hen?”
You swallow thickly. “I.. erm.. it’s Beltane. The party?”
“A druid.” The tallest one says. He’s one of the ones not in a kilt and has a deep British accent.
“Ah,” Johnny’s face lights up in understanding. “And yer out here alone?”
“I… uh…” you stutter. You’re not sure what’s happening. They really don't know about the party? Most of them look like and sound locals. “I guess… I am?”
“Where ya from?” one of them asks. He’s got a stout build and a thick set of facial hair.
“Well, I’m an American… I’m just… just traveling…”
You pause when you notice their interests peak.
“Which colony ye fae?” someone asks.
Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Colony?”
“She’s a British spy!” another shouts. You flinch.
“Ah, she’s no bloody spy. Look at her,” the tall one from earlier says. “Aye, we never had any spies like her before,” the stout one agrees, coming up to Johnny’s side.
Johnny hums. “I cannae leave you out here to fend on your own, spy or no. Can we take ye somewhere?”
You pause for a moment before speaking. “Inverness?”
Johnny nods and his men grumble, but go back to their horses. He motions for you to follow. You watch as he struggles to get up, wincing in pain and almost falling. The tall one comes up behind you and grabs you by the hips — lifting you ontop of Johnny’s horse and causing you to yelp. “Up ya go.”
Your body goes rigid as Johnny reaches around you to grab the reins. “Ain’t gonna hurt ye, hen,” he murmurs. He kicks the horse into gear and you’re off, still wondering what’s happening to you.
Maybe someone is filming a movie nearby.
You don’t have much of anything to hold onto, so you keep your legs clenched, body stiffened. Johnny notices this, wrapping his big arm around your waist for support. The group keeps a brisk pace, chatting with one another about things you’re unfamiliar with.
Panic starts to seep in when you see the River Ness, which bysects the city. “Where are we? Where’s the city? It should be visible by now.”
“Yer looking straight at it.”
Your breathing picks up rapidly and you try to focus on not hyperventilating. This was not the Inverness you had been in just yesterday.
“No…,” your voice is a soft whisper. “No, no, no… this can’t be right.”
The horse comes to a stop as Johnny tugs on the reins. “What is it, lass?”
The men start to grumble around you as the rest of the group comes to a stop. “Where’s the city? The buildings? Where’s the airport? This is… this isn’t right.”
“I dinnae ken what yer talking about hen but… that’s Inverness up ahead,” Johnny says softly to you.
“I… I don’t…” you stutter.
“Aye, what's goin’ on? Why are we stoppin’?” someone shouts out.
Johnny shoots him a look and walks his horse a little ways up to give you two a bit more privacy. Tears start to well in your eyes, and your nose has that familiar prickle like it’s gonna start running. You’re afraid to ask, but you have to know. “What year is it?”
If Johnny is confused why you’re asking, he doesn't show it. He speaks in a matter of fact tone when he says, “1724.”
No… how could this happen? You can just jump back in time 300 years… this is impossible. This can’t be real… this can’t be. But you saw — you saw right where Inverness is supposed to be. You recognized the landmarks. And it’s just… not right.
“Do ye still want to go to Inverness, hen?”
What are you going to do? There’s no aiport, hell — the America you’d go back to wouldn’t be the same. And what, do you hop on a boat for months and go back to a different world?
“I… I…” You suck in a shaky breath. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” you finally admit.
“I’ll take ye to the Castle,” Johnny states confidently. “Give ya a chance to figure out where yer going.”
A single tear slips down your cheek. Johnny calls out to the group that you’re headed to the Castle and you tune out the cries of them asking why the hell you were going with instead dumping you in Inverness.
The Scottish countryside passes by in a teary-eyed blur. It’s like you blinked and suddenly night is falling, the sun almost completely dipped below the horizon. Your stomach aches with hunger. You’re in an unfamiliar area, surrounded on all sides by trees. Johnny slows his horse, and the rest of his party follows suit. The tall one from earlier glides off his horse with ease and walks over to pick you up off of Johnny’s horse. You watch in a daze as he also gives Johnny a hand, as he struggles to get off his horse.
You look up at him after he is back on the ground. His white shirt seeps red near his bicep. You're not sure how you didn't notice it before. It’s got a brownish tinge to it now.
“You’re hurt.”
He waves you off. “Ach, jus’ a scratch, bonnie.”
He doesn’t stop you, just observes as you walk over to his side. You gently pry back the sticky fabric of his shirt. There’s a decent sized gash through his arm, red and angry. It looks like the start of an infection; like it might need stitches.
“It's not just a scratch if you need help on and off your horse. Did you clean this after it happened?”
“Clean it?” he tilts his head slightly as he asks.
“Like, rinse it? With water, at least?”
He shakes his head no.
You bite your lip as you contemplate. “Does… er… does anyone have any alcohol?”
Some of the guys burst into laughter. One hands you a flask. “Dinnae think you’d be one to get pished, lassie!” he exclaims.
You ignore him and get to work, ripping the bottom of your flimsy white dress. It tears easily under your fingers. You push it into Johnny’s hands and he holds onto the fabric unquestioningly while you uncork the flask with your teeth and again peel back his shirt.
“This is gonna sting a little,” you admit quietly.
He winces and grunts as you pour the alcohol down his arm, the men breaking out into cries of protest at the loss of booze. You place the cork back in the bottle and drop it on the ground. The man who gave you the flask quickly swipes it away from you before you can waste anymore.
Johnny places the ripped fabric of your dress in your outstretched hands. You tie it tightly around his arm, and while he grimaces, he doesn’t complain. You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder when you’re done.
“You’re probably gonna need stitches, but that should hold you over for a bit. Hopefully it’s not infected, or you're gonna need something stronger than alcohol.”
A voice from directly behind you makes you jump out of your skin. “Told ya she was a druid,” the tall one says.
“Aye,” Johnny agrees. “We could use someone with yer skills at the Castle. Our druid can’t…. well she ain’t as nimble as she used ta be.”
You aren’t sure what to say to that so you watch silently as the boys set up camp for the evening. “We’ll reach home come morning,” Johnny tells you at one point. The sun is gone now, the temperature dropping rapidly. The Beltane gown provides no heat and you scoot as close to the fire as you can without singeing off your eyebrows. You ditched your flower crown long ago.
The tall one hands you some food and you eat quietly while the rest of them chat around you. The stout one from earlier and the tall one sit next to each other and observe you, talking lowly to themselves. You try your best to ignore them.
Johnny walks over and sits next to you. “You should get some sleep, hen.” He’s close enough to you that his kilt brushes against your leg.
You swallow thickly and gnaw on your lip. You nod your head in agreement but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to sleep tonight. The reality is, these men are strangers in a strange time — even if one of them has been showing you kindness.
Johnny moves even closer to you and you can’t help but tense up. He's maneuvering his kilt around, tugging on the end of it.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting my plaid loose. Cannae let ye sleep in just that shift. You’ll freeze.”
You cross your arms, trying to keep in more warmth. “I’ll be fine.”
He covers your shoulders and instantly you feel warmer. A scent of musk and pine surrounds you, earthy and male. He opens his arm to you, waiting for you to lean against him.
“I meant what I said bonnie, I won’t hurt ye. I’m just keeping warm. Yer teeth chattering is making my bones rattle in my head.”
You can’t help the small chuckle that you produce hearing him tease you a little bit. It serves to make you feel even more comfortable around him. You nod and move in further under the plaid, while he wraps his good arm around you and rubs up and down your arm.
“Yer frozen solid,” he murmurs. “Why ye out here in just a shift anyway?”
“It was… uh… apart of the festival.”
He hums in response, still rubbing you arm up and down, up and down. You find a comfortable silence, leaning against him and listening to the conversations around you. Johnny adds his two cents every so often but mostly just sits beside you quietly.
You can feel your eyelids start to get droopy, your head nodding off every so often, but you fight it. You fight the urge to fall asleep. It’s so much harder now that you're warm. So hard when you’re feeling a small bit of comfort from the touch you're receiving.
You don’t even realize your head is on Johnny’s shoulder right away. You start to sit up, but he grips you a little more firmly to his side.
“Sleep, lassie. Yer safe with me.”
#call of duty#cod x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#soap x reader#johnny mactavish x you#johnny soap mactavish x you#john mactavish x you#soap x you#soap x y/n#my work#thistle and barley
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barry is in the new sandman season??!?!?!
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grim reaper!simon “ghost” riley x f!reader
He wasn’t quite sure why but he didn’t want to take your soul.
Fragile little thing, still clinging to life. Sickly. Withering. But you had a fire inside of you, he could feel it. Burning brightly enough that it might even char him.
He wondered the last time your bare feet had touched the grass. The last time you filled your lungs with summer air. The last time you left this tiny little prison keeping your mortal body alive with tubes and drains.
You smile at him. It sends a chill down his spine — something he hadn’t felt since the before. Before he was this. Before he was death. When he was still a man. He can barely remember his old name anymore. Why are you smiling at him?
“I’ve been expecting you.”
Your voice was a melody. Expecting him? You couldn’t be.
“Do I have a few minutes or is it time now?”
He’s taken thousands of souls. More than he can count. Ferried them to the afterlife. Nothing but a blip on his radar, long forgotten. The ones that were still conscious enough to see him begged to live. Begged to be spared. But never this. Never waiting for him.
“Would you like a few minutes?” The words coming out of his mouth surprise even him. He hasn’t heard the sound of his voice in a long while. Hasn’t had the need to speak. It startles even him — a distortion of his human voice.
“I would… I would like to say goodbye to my mom.” He wants to wipe away the tear trickling down your face. He wants to tell you it’s going to be okay.
He nods and hovers to the corner of the room. You don’t seem to mind that he’s waiting there while you call in your mother. She doesn't accept what you have to tell her. It’s not your time, how could it be? You’re young, you have so much life left to live. You’re going to live, she won’t hear anymore of it otherwise. You say okay, another tear falls. You ask her to go get you something to eat.
When she leaves, you look back over to him. A shaky breath releases from your chest. You quickly wipe the backs of your delicate fingertips on your waterline.
“I’m ready.”
But he’s not. Oh no. He’s not.
He doesn’t want to take your soul. Doesn’t want it to incinerate that last little piece of him that’s still human. The piece that wriggles its way up to the surface every so often. He knows if he helps your soul to the afterlife, he’ll never remember his name again. Never remember the touch of a woman’s skin, the feeling of a hot breath against him. Never feel the ache in his chest where his heart used to be. The phantom pain that reminds him who he was. Simon.
He’s at your bedside before you can even blink. You’re not phased, not one bit. He sits, and reaches to take your tiny hand in his. You furrow your brow gently but give it to him.
He sees a flash of the man he was again. The black robe slips down his arm. A sliver of skin reveals his tattoos back at him, tattoos he hasn’t thought about in decades. You study him in silence while he does the same.
Why does your soul sing to him? Why does it remind him of the things he’s forgotten? Why you? Why not the other thousands upon thousands of souls?
“Will it hurt?” your tiny voice squeaks out.
They don’t deserve you — the gods that rule the afterlife. They’ll waste you, they won’t cherish you like he would. Like he could. You deserve so much more, delicate flower that you are.
“No, darling girl, it is as easy as dreaming.”
They have millions of souls. Billions. Surely they won’t miss yours. He can steal one soul for his own. It’s just one. One soul. The most precious soul he’s come across.
You close your eyes and let out a slow breath, waiting for the end to reach you. Death’s sure kiss.
He leans in slow, like he’s approaching a scared animal. Your eyes don't open. No — you trust him.
His lips meet your pillowy soft ones. He almost forgets how to do it, but your lips remind him. They help him. You kiss him.
He feels your soul like a lump in his throat. His large hand — the one not holding your wrist — wraps around your neck. It burns him, this kiss. He knew it would. Sizzles the very bones in his body.
An electrifying feeling takes hold of the both of you. Your skin is covered in goose flesh (his would be too, if it still could be). Your nipples harden, a wetness trails down your panties. You don’t break from him or his kiss. He wonders if it burns you a little too.
When the lump in his throat settles he finally feels it. He’s whole. For the first time in… maybe ever. He’s done it. He’s really done it. He breaks away from you.
Color has returned to your cheeks, the blood rushing beneath your skin. Already you look better than you did before he entered the room.
You don't understand it, he knows you don’t. Someday he’ll explain. Someday. But not yet.
The gods of the afterlife will never find you, and if they do, they’ll never have you. You’re his now. He’s done it.
He’s melded your souls together.
#call of duty#cod x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#ghost cod#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader
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VELVETCHRRY 🍒
hi i’m cherry! under the cut you can find my works. all female reader unless specified otherwise. i take requests (but reserve the right to not write them for any reason)
note: this blog is 18+ only. works will be tagged appropriately when containing dark themes. read at your own risk.
johnny “soap” mactavish
thistle and barley
outlander inspired. travel back in time to 1720s scotland.
one | two
simon “ghost” riley
pretty little birds
simon meets the new medical professional on base.
one | two | three | four
musings
grim reaper!ghost x reader
ghoap
musings
hockey!ghoap x smm!reader
john price
the collapse
john gets a new neighbor.
one | two
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hockey player!ghoap x smm!reader thoughts
just thinking about how you’re a social media manager for a new hockey expansion team. johnny and simon — who grew up playing hockey together — both got drafted to the pros but have never played on a team together before. they’re both selected for this new franchise — the first time they’ve played together since they were kids.
simon is a defenseman. big, hulking — he’s the guy that's going to initiate fights with the players that are picking on his teammates. you aren’t going to get away with a dirty hit when he's around — he will retaliate. he will dish out a big clean hit when they think they’re safe. especially if it’s johnny. he’s the team enforcer, but still a talented defenseman.
johnny is your center star. he’s wicked fast on the ice, and is always showing off with plays you think are near impossible. he’s surprisingly humble — giving credit where credits due, passing to his teammates when they’re open instead of taking a wild shot himself. he’s the chatty one, always talking up the press during intermission and after the games over.
(and ofc we have gaz as a winger and price as the old goaltender close to retirement, who just can’t give up the game yet)
you were hired with a batch of social media managers in order to promote this new team to the locals. you want to attract season ticket holders. you want people excited for the upcoming season. you want people to meet their players — even though most of them have a history on the ice.
you’re really good at your job. your main job is keeping up with the videos and pictures of the team and players — creating the content that gets posted. your coworkers laswell responds to the fan tweets and comments — she’s got more of a knack for that, where you have the creative eye.
part of your job is getting to know the players and getting them to open up to you on camera, especially when you’re recording. you have them follow along to the latest tiktok trends, record practice sessions and even what time everyone shows up to the arena (simon is early, price is right on time, gaz and johnny are running late). normally your job would be staying on home ice — not following the team when they’re away — but to keep up with content the owners request you specifically go along. it’s been a total hit online and tickets are selling like hotcakes.
you start to really get to know the team — you fly with them and stay in the same hotels. you’re with them at every practice. they start requesting you be the dj at practice even. it helps loosen them up. you get great content. you joke with them. you even stand at the bench during games. (content content content)
johnny of course chats you up first. he's easily to film and he’s your star. he’s the one generating the views and likes and hearts and comments. he’s the one everyone’s excited to see. he’s the first to jump on a new trend you want to film and he’ll encourage everyone to do the same. he’s the only reason that you get simon to be on camera. (and he still won’t go on camera much, rather you have to get shots of him on the ice)
they do their best to include you in everything, but especially when they’re at an away game. if the boys are going out for dinner, johnny will make simon knock on your hotel room door and convince you to join. (you don’t take a lot of convincing, however johnny has to pour simon a stiff bourbon to work up the courage to go ask you). you’re included in celebrations when the team wins. they drag you to one of the guy’s houses for a private dinner and drinks.
johnny and simon start to separately invite you to things — just the two of them. it’ll start off as johnny acting like he has a great new idea for content. he and simon did grow up together, they are best friends. they could have a great little segment together.
but it turns into more. they sit on either side of you. johnny brushes a hand against your thigh and rests it there. simon has an arm on the back of your chair, always keeping his body in the way of any potential threats. always keeping you safe. their sweet little puck slut princess. their hands are all over you by the end of the night.
they take you to a shared hotel room — after all it would be irresponsible for any of your to drive home. and johnny and simon share everything. they’re happy to share a room.
they’re happy to share you.
#cherry’s hockey playoff thots™️#call of duty#cod x reader#ghoap#ghoap x reader#ghoap au#ghoap fic#ghoap x you#ghoap fluff#ghoap smut#simon ghost x you#johnny mactavish x reader#ghost x reader#johnny mactavish x you#ghost x soap x reader#my work
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With the mention of Jessica being a barracks bunny, I can’t help but think about angst where there is a miscommunication between Doc and Simon where she thinks he cheated with the barracks bunny. From personal experience in the military, their need for male validation makes barracks bunnies rude and jealous towards their female peers, so I would not be surprised if Jessica tried to steal Simon from Doc, or spread rumors that she slept with him to get back at Doc.
Lol not me venting about barracks bunnies😅I Anwyas, love your work and just had to ramble about it haha
very fair!! that all depends — would reader/doc/dove believe jessica? because we know simon said he wasn’t interested, and only seems to have a one track mind. also the fact that sasha claims he’s “untouchable”. but reader wasn’t there to hear what was being said between simon and jessica.
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Little Pretty Birds is soooo good, you’re a great writer. Do you plan on keeping the series fluffy, or is there a future with angst? I’m so excited to keep reading it either way, I’m just curious :)
thank you so much! to me this is more meetcute/fluffy/smutty with the potential for a little bit of angst dribbled in here and there. i’m not opposed to writing angst, just more likely to do it in a one off fic buttttt that being said, simon still is an active tf141 member so…
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━━━━ PRETTY LITTLE BIRDS (3)
pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader
2.4k. you go to work and run into some familiar faces.
“Seriously?! You played darts and he drove you home — that’s it?? Not even a steamy make out sesh in the car?!”
You shrug, nibbling on another little bite of your sandwich. “Maybe he’s just a gentleman. I mean, he did walk me to the door.”
Sasha snorts. “Yeah, or maybe he really is gay.”
“A loss to women everywhere, if true,” you add absentmindedly, looking out to the guys currently occupying the track. Most are running at a good pace, but some are off to the corner stretching. The sound of gunshots barely reaches your ears here from the range.
“Well, at least Jessica will be happy that you didn’t bone him.”
You jerk your head in her direction. “So she is pissed at me?”
Sasha shrugs. “More like embarrassed. I think she could have handled the rejection a little better if five minutes later you weren’t coming from the bathroom with Simon fucking Riley and heading straight for his table.”
You gotta give her that one. Hell, roles reversed — you might have been pissed at you. “Got me there.”
You like Sasha. She’s only a few years older than you, one of the nurses here. You hit it off instantly when she learned you were a nurse before — but especially when she learned you worked the ED for most of your nursing career. She, along with most of the other nurses, now prefer to come to you for things because you get what it’s like to be in their shoes and you have a little (quite a bit) more power than they do.
“Jess is a barracks bunny. She’ll get over it soon enough.” Sasha’s eyes go wide as saucers in realization of what she just let slip. She smacks you lightly on the arm. “And don’t ever, ever, ever, repeat that.”
“Barracks bunny?!”
Sasha shushes you and looks around before half-whispering. “She gets around. And guys like Simon? Well they’re untouchables, top of the bunny list. Nobody has ever heard of him sleeping with… well anyone. I was wondering if you might be the first.”
“And you?” you ask her.
“Nah, not for me. Don’t get me wrong, there's plenty of fit men here I would sleep with. But… I don’t really think I’m cut out for it.” She waves her hand around. “I don’t wanna end up falling in love with one of them and then worst happens. No, I’ll take a nice, boring job for my next man. A mail carrier maybe?!”
A chuckle escapes you listening to Sasha. Honestly, you hadn’t been here long enough to really start thinking like that. All your patients that had been in recovery from various accidents had nothing major. You go back to nibbling on your sandwich, enjoying the nice breeze that the day has provided. It’s very much Springtime, but smells reminiscent of Summer are in the air, and they always serve to lift your spirits.
“You know, speaking of Jess,” Sasha points towards the track, “I think she’s already over it.”
You follow her finger to see a blonde in blue scrubs that is unmistakably Jessica, talking to a few of the soldiers stretching near the track. You and Sasha burst into laughter, trying to cover your giggles with your hand in order not to draw too much attention.
“Anyway, I gotta split,” Sasha stands from where she was sitting next to you, brushes off the grass from her scrub pants. “Catch you later?”
You nod up at her. “Later, Sash.”
The rest of the afternoon flies by in a blur. You have a few routine physicals to clear soldiers for active duty, two combat-related injury managements (one bullet wound and one particularly nasty stab wound), and four family medicine exams — all for kids that live near base with their parents. A couple of routine vaccinations, one surprising case of springtime influenza and one broken bone.
By the time you finally slink out of your office from updating chart after chart, the sun is already starting its descent past the horizon. The base has quieted down considerably from this afternoon, other than what seems to be an impromptu soccer game on one of the fields. Football, you remind yourself.
You’re tempted to go over and watch… you’re pretty sure Monday nights are the ones where food trucks park past the first security check point — but you're bone tired. Bed sounds good, you think.
“What’re you still doing 'ere, dove?”
A voice from behind draws you out of your reverie, startling you slightly. You turn around to see Simon, clad in dark jeans, a black zip up hoodie and balaclava, same as when you first met him. He walks over, his long legs carrying him to you in just a few steps. “You working overtime?”
A sigh releases itself from your chest. “Busy afternoon, and I wanted to finish charting before I left for the night. What about you?”
He nods to the game happening just north of the two of you. “Soap’s playing. Figured I’d grab a bite and hang around, harass him a little.”
“Soap?” you ask, brows furrowed together.
He lets out a low chortle. “Johnny.”
“You call him Soap??” A slow smile graces your face.
“You saw him at the bar. Slippery little bastard.”
You can’t help it when a belly shaking laugh escapes you. The kind that causes you to cover half your face with your hand and hope to whatever deity that you don’t snort right in front of him. Simon chuckles along with you. “You eat yet?”
You shake your head no.
“Wanna join me?”
The tension in the air is suddenly thick —or maybe it’s the lump in your throat — but you can feel it. You can’t put a name to it but there’s something on a molecular level, brewing, buzzing, building when he’s around. Something that sings to your skin, electrifying it. You never been one to believe in soulmates; how could you, with the countless divorces you witnessed as a child? But this feels… tangible, real.
You shift your weight back and forth beteeen your feet and chew on your lip. Exhaustion is hitting you like a ton of bricks. Fuck it — what's that saying? You can sleep when you’re dead?
“Only if there’s a taco truck.”
You swear he's smiling under the mask. He holds out an arm to you. “There is.”
You both get some food, and find a good place away from the main crowd of spectators to sit down and eat. Simon takes off his sweatshirt and lays it on the grass, his broad arms looking like they’re about to pop out of the hem of his gray t-shirt. You take notice of the tattoo sleeve he has on one arm. “Sit,” he directs, pointing to his sweatshirt.
“Oh, I can sit on the grass…” you start to counter.
“Sweetheart,” he says a little sternly, almost like he’s reprimanding you. “Sit.”
You can’t help it when you stick a fraction of your tongue out at him playfully and sit on his sweatshirt. After taking the first bite of your taco you unintentionally let out a moan. “Fantastic.”
Simon has his mask rolled up to his nose and is stifiling a smile when you look over at him. You swear the speed in which he inhales his tacos is superhuman. He carefully rolls the mask down while you still have half of your food left.
A comfortable silence settles around the two of you. The game is rowdy, and you would expect nothing less. You easily pick Johnny out of the group of men playing — he’s on skins, not shirts — and keep an eye on him as you finish up your food. Once you’re done, you ball up your trash in stick it in the little baggie.
You pull out two sticks of gum and hand one to Simon, pointing at his twitching fingers. “A new oral fixation might help you if you’re trying to quit.”
His head whips in your direction. You blush, unsure if you said something wrong. He studies you a moment longer before clearing his throat and slowly taking the gum from your outstretched hand. He doesn’t speak until it’s in his mouth and the mask is rolled back down once again.
“How’d ya know?”
You give him a sheepish smile. “You mean, besides that it’s in your chart?” You pause, looking back over the game. “My dad was a smoker, rolled his own cigs and everything. I know the signs.”
He clears his throat again, shifting in his seat on the ground. “H..Have any suggestions?”
“Well, usually nicotine gum is better than this. But I’ve known things like lollipops, tic tacs or mints can work for some people. You just have to find the right thing for you that occupies your mouth.”
Simon shifts again, his stare burning a hole through you. You’re about to break the silence with something when Johnny runs over to you, absolutely drenched with sweat. “Glad to see parta me fanclub could make it!”
That serves to get a chuckle out of you. “Fanclub? Oh no, actually I’m here for him.” You point to a random guy in a shirt.
Johnny clutches his chest in an exaggerated fashion, and pretends to start sinking to the ground. “Breaking my wee heart, lass. Least I got LT.”
“Actually Johnny, I’m here for him too.”
Simon going along with your bit really makes you laugh, and you clutch your stomach and almost fall backwards at the face Johnny makes at the two of you. Simon splays his hand across your back to keep you upright until your giggles subside.
Johnny is getting called back to the field by someone. He points at the two of you while he jogs backwards. “This isn’t over!” he jokes.
“You guys always been close?” you ask after Johnny’s well out of earshot, peering up at him. He’s even tall just sitting next to you.
“Pretty much… he’s a good kid,” Simon settles on.
“Seems like it.”
Simon taps you lightly on the arm. “Just don’t tell him I said so, or I’ll never hear the bloody end of it.”
You smile at him. “Deal.”
It’s dusk now, and with it comes a slight chill in the air. Your eyelids are dangerously droopy as you try to keep focus on the game. You and Simon keep up a nice little chat, but neither of you are afraid to let a little silence settle in between you either.
“So…” he starts. “Any plans for the weekend?”
You purse your lips, eyes still tracking the ball and Johnny. “No, hadn’t thought about it yet. You?”
Simon takes a breath. It’s now or never. “Yeah, got a wedding on Saturday.”
“Oh! That’s fun! I love weddings,” you say absentmindedly.
“Yeah… they’re alright. I actually… erm… don't have a plus one yet… and I’m in the wedding party so…”
You stop watching the game and turn to look at him, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. “You need a date?” You shyly smile.
“Yeah… do you… would you like to come? As my… my date?”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay. I'll be your date, Simon.”
“Lovely. Thank you, dove.”
Simon’s not a good man, despite the fact that he’s somehow led you to believe otherwise.
He tells himself the listening device he put in the trees at 0500 this morning was well intentioned. For your safety. Only to be able to listen in if any creeps tried to approach you on your lunch break. But now he’s been listening to you and your coworker chat since she sat down 20 minutes ago.
Simon knows a good man wouldn’t do that.
He also knows a good man wouldn’t camp out near your office to see when you leave for the day. To be fair, he had meetings with Price later this afternoon and Johnny did push him to bring you as his plus one for the wedding. He wanted to give you a fair heads up since it was this Saturday. What if he’d asked you later in the week and you’d decided to go out of town?
He wasn’t sure if you’d accept his offer to hang out after you were done working. Hell, he was just going to leave if you didn’t — he loves Johnny like a brother but he’s got better things to do than watch the bloody base footie game. Things to prepare.
“A new oral fixation might help you if you’re trying to quit.”
He’s instantly hardening hearing you say that, mind running a thousand miles an hour. Oh, he would love a new oral fixation, and he definitely has one in mind. He’s been craving a cig since he sat down but he figured you probably wouldn’t be into it, and the last thing he would want to do is turn you off of him.
He shifts how he’s sitting, trying to not make it obvious what he’s thinking. If you looked down, you would know. Lucky for him you don’t, but he knows that his lack of response is making you feel like you did something wrong. So he takes the gum.
“You just have to find the right thing for you that occupies your mouth.”
Fuckin’ hell love. Now he can’t think straight. How is he supposed to just sit here with you like normal when you say these things to him? He’s painfully hard now. His skin is on fire under the mask.
He sees his saving grace when Johnny starts running over to the two of you. Your playful banter with him helps take his mind off it… a little.
He’s nervous. So fucking nervous. It’s a new emotion for him — he’s always so confident, so sure. Has never cared enough to be worried about the sting of rejection before. You can’t say no to him, because he’s not sure he’ll recover.
And… you don’t. You don't say no. Even though he fumbles a bit with the ask. Even though he can barely get the words out himself. You say okay. You say you’ll be his date.
“You just have to find the right thing for you that occupies your mouth.”
I think I already have, little dove.
#call of duty#cod x reader#ghost cod#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#my work#pretty little birds
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━━━━ PRETTY LITTLE BIRDS (2)
pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader
2k. you play darts.
You can feel a warmth in your cheeks as you follow closely behind Simon. He parts the crowd easily, and you notice multiple pairs of eyes on you as you walk by. You do a small smile and wave to the table of your coworkers, most of them looking at you bug eyed. The girl who approached him earlier has her jaw on the floor. Hopefully she doesn’t take it personally.
He stops when he approaches the table he was sitting at earlier. “This is Johnny, Gaz and Price.” You smile at them and give a soft hello. Simon tells them your first name, and you assume he knew it from your badge the other day.
“Aye, Doc!” Johnny exclaims. His energy is contagious and you can’t help but return his smile.
“Nice to see you again, how’s the knee holding up?”
“Ach, fine. No issue,” he swats his hand, as if to swat your concern away.
“I’m not actually a doctor, y’know,” you add softly.
He shrugs his shoulders and Simon pulls out a chair for you to sit on, thanking him as you do. He silently walks the short distance to the dartboards and starts talking to a group of guys standing there.
“So, LT invite ye to our dart game?” Johnny asks, pulling your attention from Simon’s broad back.
“Oh, I don’t mean to impose on you guys…”
“Nonsense,” Johnny cuts you off, again waving his hand in the air. “Cap’s leavin’ anyway, so we could use a fourth.”
Simon walks back over to the table and places his hand on the back of your chair. You almost shiver as his fingers make contact with your back, knuckles brushing the fabric of your shirt. “Board’s ours.”
Johnny gets up and claps his hands together. “Let’s do this. Gaz, on me. Doc with Simon.”
Simon offers a hand to you and you use it to help yourself stand up. Price stands up, downs the rest of his whiskey and bids everyone a goodnight. The four of you do the same. “Don’t have too much fun you lot,” he calls out behind him as he walks toward the door.
The ghost of Simon’s fingers trail on your lower back as the group makes its way to the dartboards. The guys Simon talked to earlier clear out when they see your companions and Simon nods at them in return. Johnny pulls the darts out of the board as a waitress stops by to grab your drink order.
“Round a Jamo shots,” Gaz says to the waitress. Johnny laughs as he walks back to the table — darts in hand — noticing that you pulled a face. “Not a fan, bonnie?”
“Erm, not entirely… what about a compromise? Picklebacks?!” you suggest.
“Dinnae know what that is,” he admits. Gaz shakes his head. Simon stays behind you, silent. Observing.
“Shot of Jameson, followed by a chaser of pickle juice.”
Now it’s Johnny’s turn to pull a face. “Alright lass, if that's what ya want.” He nods to the waitress and she makes her way back to the bar. Johnny and Gaz argue over which game to play while you and Simon settle up to the high top. It’s chairless, like the rest of the high tops at the bar. Simon’s broad leg brushes against yours.
“So, how long you been working on base for?”
“Not long,” you admit. “A few months now.”
“Mmm. What convinced ya to join up?”
“My grandpa actually. He was medic and I would beg him to tell me his stories growing up… when I finished P.A. school, this job kind of fell into my lap and well… I took it as a sign.”
Johnny dumped the red set of darts in front of you and Simon when he walked back to the table. Gaz was firmly clutching the blue set in his hands. Right on cue, the waitress brings by four shots of Jameson and another four shot glasses full of pickle juice on a serving tray and places each in front of everyone. You bite your lower lip and try to look at Simon from your periphery. Is he gonna take off the mask?
“Cheers,” Gaz holds up his Jameson shot and Johnny follows. You join in, Jameson in one hand and pickle juice in the other. Simon lifts his large hand, the shot of Jameson engulfed in it, and you all clink glasses. Simon's hand brushes up against you, and you feel a spark run through your fingertips down to your toes. You visibly shiver from the minimal contact. What am I? A nun?!
You tap the bottom of your Jameson shot on the table before taking both the Jameson and then the pickle juice back in one breath hold. Johnny hoots in approval before him and Gaz take both shots right after. “Good call bonnie, kills the burn right off.”
When Simon lifts the bottom of his mask up from his chin and takes both shots, you swear you really must be a nun with how little of his face showing suddenly soaks your panties through. You see the strong outline of his jaw, and a very old, muted scar that runs slanted down his chin. A smattering of blonde 5 o’clock shadow is the last thing you notice before he pulls his mask back down. You quickly look away before someone can notice you drooling.
“Gaz, you’re up,” Johnny announces.
You have a tell when you’re about to shoot. You do this little side to side sway with you hips that Simon can’t help but watch. The soft noises you make after each throw that have him wondering if he can provoke those same sounds from you in bed.
He noticed you studying him with the mask pulled up from under his chin, your shiver as he brushed his hand against yours. Touch starved little bird.
He imagines what he could make you do with the promise of seeing all of him. Wonders if you would let him mark you as his, teeth meeting soft pillowy flesh.
He isn’t sure why you haven't asked about the mask yet. He’s never met a woman interested in him who hasn’t. He’s sure you’re curious — and it’s clear you were trying to get a peek of him earlier from the corner of your eye — but here you are, respecting that it’s just a part of him. That alone serves to make him a little hard.
Simon holds his breath when you stand too close to him. Your perfume threatens to send him over the edge, a soft floral and citrusy scent that has his muscles tightening.
You’re shit at darts. Absolutely horrible — although you do get a few lucky shots in every once in a while. He wants to teach you — the rough pads of his fingers caressing your silky smooth center while he breathes in your ear how to shoot. He wants you dripping down his fingers as you aim the dart, wiggling your hips just slightly before you throw it, him slipping two fingers inside of you and…
“It's your turn, Simon!” you exclaim, slight buzz coloring your cheeks as you hand the darts to him.
Fuck. He’s got a massive hard on right now. No way he can come out from behind the table.
“You take my turn for me, dove.”
“Wha.. really?! But… you’re the only reason we have a shot at winning.”
It’s true, Simon hasn’t missed a single shot all night. Not that Gaz and Soap aren't sharpshooters, but their talent has an inverse relationship with the amount of booze they consume, and right now the two of them combined are about neck and neck with the two of you.
“Absolutely. You got this.”
His praise warms your cheeks even further. He’s happy you haven’t drank much, unlike Gaz and Johnny. You’re still aware, cognizant. He doesn’t want to lose you to a drunken stupor, even though he’d be happy to hold your hair and then punish you for it in the morning with a few good spanks.
After a few lucky shots from you, he hears Gaz and Johnny moan something about hustling the two of them. Johnny pats you on the shoulder as you pass him and head straight for the table with Simon.
“Good work little dove.”
You beam, but blow it off by shrugging your shoulders before bumping one against his arm. “I have a good partner.”
Johnny and Gaz come up to the table. “Who’s up for ‘nother round? Ay, what were those shots we took earlier Doc?” Gaz asks.
Simon watches you closely as you put your small hands up and wave them around in front of your face. “Oh… no more shots for me, thank you.”
Gaz and Johnny both groan but Simon cuts them a look that has them backing off. “We’re gonna grab a quick one at the bar then, be right back,” Johnny says, practically pulling Gaz with him.
“Alright?” Simon asks you once they've left.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. This is… fun. I haven’t had much lately.”
Simon’s fingertips trace the wood grain of the table. “Why not?”
You shrug. “Self inflicted, really. Once I moved here, I didn’t know anyone and I didn’t exactly force myself to go out. Plus, I went on one really terrible date the first week I was here. After that, I figured I would just take the time to get my bearings first.”
Simon chuckles a little. “How terrible?”
You sigh slightly. “Well… to be honest… he was dreadfully boring and self absorbed. Some guy who works in… finance?” You waved one of your hands around. “He only talked about himself and how good he was at his job, then when we were about to leave he asked if he could ‘pencil me in’,” you make air quotations with your fingers “for a lunch date back on base. I lied and told him lunches are too hard for me to get away and have been avoiding him ever since.”
“Wait, he works on base? A suit?”
You shrug your shoulders, not knowing his terminology. “Lucky for me, we must not work near each other, otherwise he’d see I take most of my lunches outside under the trees by the track.”
You couldn’t know this, but Simon makes a mental checklist in his head to not only see if he can figure out who this suit is, but to scope the trees near the running track on Monday. He can’t have his little bird in harm’s way. He can only imagine which soldier’s eyes you’ve caught while sitting and enjoying your lunch. That track gets a fair amount of use considering there are more people stationed on base than there is room in the gym, and spring has just rolled around.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon mutters under his breath. You whip your head in his direction in time to see Johnny trying to stand on the bar, shirtless, and to the dismay of the bartenders. Gaz is cheering him on. Simon spins off the table and walks to the bar with swift intent. He barks something you can't hear at Johnny, who’s color drains from his face and gets down from the bartop. Simon flicks him on the nose and you can hear Johnny yelp. Gaz looks terrified in the corner. He drags both of them by the ear back to the high top.
“Should get these two idiots home. Let me give you a ride to your flat.”
You shake your head. “That’s okay, thank you though.”
Now it’s Simon’s turn to shake his head. “Look, your friends are gone. Let me give you a ride home so I know you make it safe.”
“Please hen, maybe he’ll take it easy on us if ye ride wit!” Johnny pleads and his brow scrunches more after he speaks, Simon pinching down harder on his ear.
Simon hears your hearty laugh before you turn around and notice that indeed your coworkers have all left for the evening. “Almost bar close, anway,” Simon adds.
You bite that damn lip again and look around for a second before speaking. “Well if you’re sure…”
#call of duty#simon ghost x you#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost cod#cod x reader#my work#pretty little birds
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Was Pretty Little Birds your first fic?! It was phenomenal; I feel you captured Simon so well. Would love to read more about his and Doc's relationship, if you plan on writing more for it :) I can only imagine the look on her friends' faces when they learn big bad Ghost and their little ol' Doc are a thing haha
hi!! thank you so much!!! not my first fic but my first time writing for simon. there will be more pretty little birds coming 🤍
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━━━━ PRETTY LITTLE BIRDS
pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader
2k. simon gets a checkup. he’s assigned as your patient today.
“Mr. Riley?” your voice rings out through the small lobby. You don’t expect it to be him when he stands up - hulking behemoth of a man, skull painted balaclava gracing his strong face. You don’t really know why you placed any expectations upon it, his name. Riley. It was simple. Short. Sweet.
You shake yourself from your stupor when he walks up to you. You give him a small smile before turning around and leading him towards your room. He doesn't say anything, but from what little you got from skimming his file, it doesn’t surprise you. It goes either way with military guys - either they’re like the chatty Scot in your chair just last week, or they’re like him - reserved. Calculating.
Sitting behind the desk, computer screen already pulled up to his chart with the tap of your badge against the scanner. He sits in one of the chairs in front of you and… have they always been that small? He looks almost uncomfortable, his body smushed into the wooden thing. He doesn't say anything, doesn’t let out a complaint, just accepts it for what it is. You’re almost certain he’s sat or slept in worse.
You clear your throat before speaking. It’s a habit when you’re nervous, but also because you need to clear the silence that’s permeating through the air. “So, uh, Mr. Riley,” you start. “You sustained a fair amount of injuries, but the thigh wound is the biggest consideration. Seems like you’re walking okay on it… any concerns?”
The room fills with a pregnant silence again at the absense of your voice. He shakes his head no. Really not chatty, but that’s okay. You respect that, the silence that some patients need. You could absolutely talk his ear off if he needed but you know when the time to keep the chatter short is. You can do that. Short. Sweet. Like his name.
Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth as you take a glance over at the screen. “I’m going to order labs - routine stuff. Just to make sure everything’s in good shape.” You fingers click clack on the keyboard as you type in the order. He stays silent, doesn’t move even an inch from his position as you type away. You can feel him observing you, taking you in, assessing.
You stand up and motion to the exam table. He follows suit, siting his hulking body up there with ease. You’re almost positive he didn’t need to do the little hop you always have to do to get up there. You quickly glove up, opening a drawer containing phlebotomy supplies. When you turn back around, there’s something unspoken in his eyes. You motion to his arm and he nods and pulls the arm out of his zip up.
You swallow thickly. His arms are massive, and you work on a military base full of hulking men. Your bottom lip works its way between your teeth again while you tie the tourniquet off around his massive bicep, struggling slightly because it’s almost not long enough. He makes a fist without you asking him to, knowing the routine.
“Do this yourself, rather than a nurse?”
You have to stop yourself from jumping out of your skin at the rough timbre of his voice. You suck in a breath before speaking.
“I was an ED nurse, before I went back to school to become a P.A.”
You rub the alcohol swab across his antecubital. You prime the needle, warn him about the small poke, and start filling the vials with his blood. It’s silent again, the only noise filling the air the sloshing of his red ichor into each small glass vial and what you’re sure is your loud breathing.
The gauze is wrapped around his arm gingerly after you pull out the needle. “Well Mr. Riley… if there are no concerns..?” He shakes his head, sliding off the exam table and standing up next to you. His hulking form absolutely towers over you. He subtly nods his head in your direction before moving towards the door. “Thanks Doc,” he says on the way out, and you don’t bother correcting him as he leaves the room.
“I can’t believe you haven’t been here before!” one of your coworkers nudges you, already a bit drunk. The bar is dark, a hole in the wall, with sticky floors and music loud enough that you need to slightly raise your voice to talk to someone if they aren’t right next to you. The only people who really come here are people at the base. It’s the regular spot, you've learned.
You smile at her and take a sip of your drink. You only moved here a few months ago and haven’t really had the desire to venture out yet. You’re crowded around a standing high top with a few of the other medical staff you work with. They pratically begged you to come out with them tonight, and having turned down all their offers in the past you felt inclined to accept.
“Holy shit, is that Simon Riley? He’s fucking legend.”
“I would climb him like a tree. Mmm.”
Your attention whips from your coworkers to the object of their desires across the bar. Sure enough, his hulking form is sat there with a few other guys. You think you recognize one of them from the medical office. You turn back, trying not to stare.
They drone on about him, wondering if he has a secret girlfriend, wondering if he’s gay, wondering whose advances he would accept out of the group. Finally, one of the girls gets the courage and makes her way over to the table of guys, a slight swish in her hips on approach.
“Bonnie little bird, aye LT?” Soaps asks. He noticed - of course he did. The Scot seems to be the one to really notice him. Don’t get him wrong, so do the other guys - Price especially - but it seems that Johnny really knows him like a brother. His best mate, really. Not that he’d ever say it outloud.
Simon just grunts in response. He thought he was being sneaky with his observations of you, at least enough for Johnny not to notice. You, who didn’t push him to speak, or feel the need to fill the silence with useless chatter. You, who did your best to give him what respect and space you could. You, small, little thing, who didn’t look up at him with terror in your eyes.
His mouth dried up, teeth sticking to his gums. “Saw ‘er for a check up las’ week,” Johnny adds. “Sweet lass.”
Simon straightens his already rigid posture. He knows what Johnny is trying to do, get a rise out of him, see what he’ll divulge. It’s not often Simon notices people who are not threats or targets. He thought about you more than he’d care to admit after his appointment yesterday afternoon.
He pegged you for a chatty little thing. Thought for sure you would be uncomfortable with the silence that usually follows him. He was surprised to be wrong about you. Pleasantly. Didn’t hurt that you were easy on the eyes.
“Right sweetheart,” Simon agrees. It comes out of his mouth before he can even stop it. He isn’t sure why it heats his cheeks. Isn’t sure why his cottonmouth is even worse than before. He can feel Johnny grinning beside him.
“Should go talk to ‘er, LT?” Johnny suggests, his voice lower, so the other guys won’t pick up on it. Simon shakes his head and Johnny makes a noise. “Ach, c’mon.”
Simon is about to respond when he notices one of the girls from your group get up and make a beeline to their table. He sees the slight blush that colors your cheeks at her approach, even in the darkness of the bar. She saunters over, eyes locked on him. He clenches his jaw.
“It’s Simon, right?!” she practically squeals. He doesn’t even look at her, his eyes locked onto you, squirming in your seat while watching this unfold. He gives her a grunt in confirmation. She leans onto the table right where he sits and a low chuckle escapes Johnny. She bends down, pushing her breasts together with her arms. “You want to buy me a drink?” she purrs.
“Lass, how about…” Johnny starts, wanting to spare her from whatever it is that Simon will say but his gruff voice cuts him off.
“Not interested.” His eyes still haven’t left yours to look over at her. She straightens up from her position on the table. “So, what? You really are gay then?” Hurt and rejection carries through in the high pitch of her voice.
The lads at the table break out into laughter. Her face reddens and she scoffs before turning away. Simon still looks at you, that sweet pink plump lip of yours nestled softly between your teeth again. He imagines what it would feel like to have it between his teeth instead. He wants to trace his thumb across the span of your lips. You skin so soft under his rough hands. His pants start to tent, blood rushing south.
He clears his throat and adjusts slightly in his seat. “Gonna take a piss,” he says under his breath to Johnny. He expertly maneuvers his way towards the bathroom, sliding through the throngs of people at the bar. He nods to some of the men he knows from various ops on his way there. He stops at the hallway to the bathrooms and when he hears the opening of a door he turns the corner.
“Oof, I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there!” You squeak out. He places his massive hands on your arms to steady you. “Mr. Riley..” you trail off in recognition.
“Doc,” he nods at you. “Just Simon.”
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and Simon feels a pinch in his chest. “You upset my coworker,” you blurt. Heat rises up your neck, you cheeks flush. His hands are still on you.
“Lemme guess, she’s tryna decide which of the blokes at the table is my secret lover.”
A sly smile breaks out on your face. “Something like that,” you admit sheepishly.
He leans down, having to really bend over to get down to your level. “Who’s your money on, then?” His voice is a gravelly whisper and it causes heat to pool in your lower abdomen.
You bite your lip and it takes every ounce of self control in him not to pull it out with his thumb. He fists his hand so hard, he almost draws blood with his fingernails.
“Blue eyes, sitting next to you,” you finally say.
He lets out a low chuckle and you decide you really like the way that sounds. You want to know how to make him do it again. The noise sends electricity through your body, pebbling your nipples against your lacy bra.
“Solid choice, that.” He straightens back up and you’re reminded again just how big of a man he is. “But I prefer pretty little birds.”
You blink up at him, not quite sure what’s happening right now. You’re trying to meld this Simon to the one in your office yesterday, but they almost seem like two different people. You swallow thickly. Something fills the air between you, something abuzz with energy. Something you’re not sure if you can name.
“You play darts?” he asks suddenly. You shake your head no. You know generally how to play but you’re not very good at it. “You want to learn?”
You pinch your lips together and your eyes flash toward the high top with your coworkers. Simon doesn’t miss this, of course he doesn’t. He holds his breath, waiting for your decision. He wants to put you over his shoulder, walk straight out of the bar and take you home to his flat. But he knows that’s not the way things are done. He doesn’t want to scare you off, not when you're already so receptive to him. So different from the others — like your coworker, who think they are owed some piece of him. So he waits.
“O.. okay,” you finally accept.
Simon smiles under the mask, his eyes crinkling the only indication of his delight.
#call of duty#ghost cod#cod x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#my work#pretty little birds
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