#Simon Ghost Riley Funny

[msilwrites]

The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Sassy! Ghost, Sassy! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Sassy! Simon Riley, Stylish! Ghost, Dapper! Ghost, Domestic! Ghost, Domestic Goddess! Ghost Genre: Comedy

A/N: Same Y/N (Which is You! :D) from How I Met Your Mother? and Midnight Snack Mystery! This one’s all about the lads at the base figuring out the mystery of why their LT. suddenly looks like he stepped out of a posh catalogue. Spoiler: It’s not as complicated as they think—Simon’s just got a good woman (YOU!!) behind him making sure he’s looking his best. But when it comes to teasing, it’s a whole different ball game, and the lads are getting a taste of their own medicine. Enjoy the banter, because it’s all being thrown right back at Johnny and Roach!

Summary: As Simon's partner, you’ve taken on the unofficial role of his personal stylist—dressing him, picking out his clothes, and making sure he’s always looking sharp. The lads at base start to notice the transformation, and they can’t help but poke fun at their LT, who now looks like he’s stepped straight out of a Zegna/Uniqlo/MUJI catalog. They can’t quite figure out what's going on, but they’re determined to crack the case of why their tough, no-nonsense Ghost has suddenly become the poster boy for high fashion—and, more amusingly, started baking, flower arranging, and fully embracing his inner domestic goddess. But Simon? He’s perfectly comfortable in his masculinity, and no amount of teasing is going to ruffle his feathers. In fact, he’s got the perfect comebacks for every jab, turning it all back on Johnny and Roach—leaving them in stitches as they try (and fail) to get under his skin.

----------

It all started with a haircut. Not the usual military buzz or the "I couldn’t care less" trim they were used to seeing, but something deliberate—a sharp undercut with just enough length on top to sweep back neatly. The kind of cut that suggested time spent in front of a mirror, not the usual wake-up-and-throw-on-a-mask routine they associated with Simon. That was the first clue.

Then came the glasses. These weren’t the standard-issue, utilitarian frames meant for reading classified reports or aiming downrange. No, these had sleek black frames, with lenses that darkened automatically in bright light. Practical? Sure. But also stylish—the kind of stylish that made Soap and Roach exchange looks the moment they first noticed them.

And the hoodie Simon used to wear on endless rotation? Gone. Replaced by a knitted beanie that somehow managed to suit him. Sometimes it was dark green, other times navy blue, charcoal, or black. Even the ever-present balaclava he used to wear religiously underneath his hoodie had disappeared. In its place, he’d adopted other ways to cover his face—a sleek black surgical mask, occasionally printed with a faint skull design. Paired with those transforming glasses, which doubled as reading glasses, the whole look naturally drew attention to the hair underneath—the very hair that started their suspicions in the first place.

Price noticed too. He didn’t say much, just raised an eyebrow now and then, his sharp gaze taking everything in. Kyle, of course, already knew the full story. But he wasn’t the type to share someone else’s secrets, so he stayed quiet, leaving Simon to decide when—and if—to let the cat out of the bag.

But Soap and Roach? Patience wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

The clues just kept piling up. Take his boots, for example. Those scuffed military-issued clunkers he used to wear without a second thought? Replaced. Was that a pair of full-grain leather, dark brown Doc Martens the other day? And hold on—were those reddish-brown Derby boots last week? They’d exchanged a quick glance, equal parts impressed and suspicious.

Then there were the trousers. Gone were the tired, faded jeans that had been his off-duty staple for as long as they’d known him. Now it was joggers on some days—still practical, but clearly high-end—and fitted chinos, khakis, wool, or even linen trousers on others. Twill made a regular appearance too, all in a careful rotation of muted tones: black, navy, charcoal, and an occasional deep green. It wasn’t just the variety that threw them; the cuts were sharp, tailored just enough to make it obvious they weren't just off the rack. They were chosen so well, it might as well have been. It was, frankly, unsettling. Simon Ghost Riley had gone from “whatever fits” to looking like he’d just stepped out of a bloody catalog.

And the hoodie? Either styled differently or swapped out entirely, paired with pieces that screamed effortless style in a way that definitely wasn’t effortless. It was only a matter of time before Johnny cracked, unable to keep the teasing at bay.

"What the bloody hell, LT? You hire a stylist or summat?" he blurted, a wide grin plastered across his face.

Roach, standing off to the side, stared expectantly, arms crossed, waiting for some kind of reaction. Captain Price, ever the one for a bit of amusement, arched an eyebrow and waited too, clearly curious. Kyle, however, had a different approach—he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. He already knew the answer, but he wasn’t about to spoil Simon’s fun.

Simon, as usual, didn’t flinch. His answer came out in that trademark raspy, nonchalant tone. "It’s called a magazine, Johnny."

Johnny and Roach exchanged looks, clearly unimpressed. Roach let out an exaggerated sigh, "A bloody magazine, Simon? Right. And I suppose next you’ll be telling us you’ve picked up a proper skincare routine, yeah?"

Simon didn’t even bat an eye. "Actually, I do," he said, his voice dry as ever. "‘The Ordinary,’ if you must know. It’s decent, keeps the skin smooth, and softens scars too. Might even help with those ones you’ve got under your eyes, Roach."

Roach’s face twisted in mock horror. "Wait, you’re telling me you’ve gone and started doing all that face mask, serum nonsense now? You’ve officially become a bloody beauty guru, mate."

Simon smirked. "Could be worse, I could be slapping on cucumbers and calling it a 'spa day,' eh?"

Roach shook his head, muttering, "I swear, you’re becoming like Kyle. Into all this skincare bollocks now."

Simon’s eyes flickered towards Kyle, who was quietly observing the scene with a small grin. He didn’t miss a beat. "Well, at least Kyle’s got good taste. Besides, better a smooth face than looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, Roach."

Kyle chuckled, adding, "He’s not wrong, mate." Roach rolled his eyes dramatically. "This is just bloody brilliant. The whole team’s turning into a bunch of bloody posh lads, I swear."

Johnny rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, here we go. What’s next, LT? You getting a bloody personal shopper? Or did you pick up some new hobbies like yoga or bloody knitting?"

Simon just looked at them, unfazed, and shrugged. "Not yoga," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. "More like running, hiking—stuff that actually gets the heart pumping." He paused, eyes narrowing playfully. "I’ve picked up embroidery as a hobby now. And, uh... flower arranging."

Roach froze, eyes wide. "Flower arranging?!" he spluttered, utterly dumbfounded. "What in the actual hell, Ghost? You’re out there on Ops, dodging bullets, and then you come home to stick flowers in a vase? Are you serious?"

Johnny burst into laughter, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, this is brilliant. The 'Ghost' , now picking daisies like a bloody florist." He wiped a tear from his eye, trying to calm down. "Next thing we know, you’ll be hosting a garden party for the lads."

Kyle, who had been quietly listening, was now laughing hysterically, clutching his stomach.

Simon, completely unfazed, took another sip of his drink. "It’s a lot more relaxing than you think," he said dryly. "You two should try it sometime. Might help with all that anger you’ve got pent up."

Johnny’s expression darkened, and he slammed a hand on the table. "Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?!" he snapped, clearly annoyed. "I ain’t got anger issues!"

Simon leaned back in his chair, a knowing look in his eyes. "See what I mean?" he said coolly, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Johnny’s jaw tightened, and he shot Simon a glare, clearly more annoyed than ever. "You’re pushin' it, LT."

Kyle and Price both chuckled in the background, not saying anything, but clearly enjoying the exchange. Roach, who had been holding back his laughter, finally lost it, nearly choking on his drink. "Mate, you've definitely got a temper," Roach laughed, nudging Johnny. "I don’t care what you say, you're wound up tighter than a drum."

Johnny shot him a death glare. "You wanna say that again?" he growled, clearly not finding the humour in it.

Simon raised a brow, unfazed, clearly enjoying annoying Johnny. "It’s all right, Johnny. We can’t all be as zen as me," he said coolly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Johnny sighed heavily, knowing that if he lost his temper again, he'd be playing right into Simon's hands. He clenched his fists briefly, trying to keep his cool.

Kyle and Price chuckled quietly in the background, very much enjoying the back-and-forth. Johnny shot them a glare, but they didn’t back off, their grins widening. Finally, Johnny turned back to Simon, raising a finger in exasperation. "You know what? I can’t even keep up. You and Kyle, you’re both turning into bloody high maintenance. What’s next? Face masks, spa days? Gonna start wearing silk pyjamas instead of camo?"

Kyle burst into more laughter, clearly enjoying Johnny’s frustration.

Simon’s lips curled into a smirk. "I can’t help it if I like to look after myself," he said coolly, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You lot should try it sometime."

Johnny groaned, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Don’t start with that. You two are like the bloody dynamic duo of luxury now."

Roach grinned, shaking his head. "What happened to the hard-as-nails lads we knew?"

Price, who’d been quietly observing the whole exchange, finally spoke up, amused. "Aye, keep it up, Johnny. The man’s still got his edge, don’t worry."

Kyle, still chuckling, chimed in, "Yeah, Johnny, Ghost still got that edge. Don’t worry about it."

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, right, now you’re both ganging up on me, are you? Just because you and LT have turned into a couple of posh lads, now you’re clearly siding with him!"

Kyle raised his hands, feigning innocence. "Oi, I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just enjoying the banter," he said with a grin. "And for the record, Price isn't 'posh'—he’s bloody Captain Price. But Ghost? Still got that edge. You don’t lose that after a few bloody flower arrangements."

Johnny groaned, rolling his eyes. "You're all useless."

Roach laughed, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Johnny, you’re just jealous 'cause they look good, aren’t ya? Posh lads clean up right nice."

Johnny whipped his head towards Roach, eyes narrowing. "Oh, so you planning on being one of them now, Roach? Gonna start sprucing up, get yourself a bloody silk robe?"

Simon laughed under his mask, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d caused.

Roach raised his hands in mock defense. "Oi, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just saying, they look sharp."

Johnny scoffed, his voice dripping with frustration. "Yeah, well, I don’t need to look like I’m about to sign up for fine dining classes to get the job done, mate."

Roach grinned, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe you should give it a go, Johnny. Could use a bit of refinement."

"Refinement?" Johnny snapped, now fully turning on Roach. "I’ll tell you what I need, mate—someone to knock some sense into you."

Roach raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I think you’re lacking refinement, Johnny. Don’t know if that’s your temper or your manners, but something’s definitely missing."

Johnny's face flushed with annoyance. "You think I’m lacking refinement? Look at you, mate, wearing a smile like you're a bloody tea butler."

Roach chuckled. "Oi, you’re the one who’s about to blow a fuse over it. Maybe I should suggest you try a bloody spa day for that anger problem."

Johnny’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Spa day?" he repeated, as if the very idea offended him. "I don’t need a spa day, Roach, I need a bloody escape from you lot."

He paused, shooting a pointed look at Roach, "Spa day, yeah? Maybe I’ll sit in a mud bath with cucumber slices on my eyes, calm me right down—while I think about how I’m gonna throw you in one."

Roach grinned wider. "Oh, I reckon you'd benefit from it, Johnny. All that anger you’ve got pent up? A nice, warm soak might do wonders. Hell, I’ll even join you. We could make it a bloody spa day bonding session."

Johnny shot Roach a glare, his temper flaring. "You’re really taking the piss now, aren’t you? You wanna go to a spa with me? You and me, surrounded by candles and scented oils? You bloody trying to get me to join the soft-lad club or something?"

Roach just shrugged, unfazed. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. Might even get you a nice lavender-scented massage while I’m at it."

Johnny clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his cool. "If you think I'm getting a bloody massage with you, Roach, you’re out of your mind. I'll take you to a pub, buy you a pint, and let you cool your head down the proper way."

Captain Price, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth, finally chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Stand down, Mctavish, Sanderson, please, don't start a bloody pub brawl over a trip to the spa."

Kyle and Simon couldn't hold back their quiet chuckles at the Captain's comment, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Price, still smirking, added, "Although, Johnny, you might actually benefit from it."

Johnny's eyes went wide, and he snapped. "Oh, for the love of—!"

The team burst into laughter, and even Price gave a low chuckle at Johnny’s reaction. Roach slapped his knee, trying to stifle his amusement, while Kyle wiped away a tear. Johnny, now thoroughly flustered, shot them all a death stare, but the laughter didn’t stop.

"Not helping, Price," Johnny muttered, but there was no denying the grin creeping onto his face despite the playful roast.

----------

During Deployment.

The team was deployed on a covert operation, deep in enemy territory. The quiet hum of the comms filled their ears as they moved through the dense terrain. Simon’s mask had clearly evolved since the last time they’d been in the field—no longer the rough, stitched-together skull it once was. This new version looked more refined, almost sleek, the skull etched with sharper, cleaner lines. It wasn’t just a simple piece of fabric anymore; it had depth. The 3D skull design made it look more menacing, almost as if it had been custom-crafted for maximum intimidation.

Johnny, who had been giving Simon a hard time the whole mission about his ‘high-maintenance’ look, couldn’t resist another jab.

"Oi, LT," Johnny’s voice came through the comms, the hint of a smirk in his tone. "What is this now? You hired someone to redesign your mask? Looks like you’re auditioning for a bloody fashion show."

Simon’s voice came through, dry and unbothered. "It's called 3D printing and fabric glue, Johnny. You should try it sometime. Might improve your style."

The silence over comms was deafening for a moment as the rest of the team heard Simon’s response loud and clear. Roach snickered in the background, and Price let out a quiet chuckle.

Johnny, clearly annoyed, grumbled into his mic. "Bloody hell, don’t start with the tech talk. I can barely keep up with your bloody mask upgrades."

But Simon was already back on track, unaffected. "You just focus on keeping up with the mission, Johnny. Leave the aesthetics to the professionals."

As the team continued their watch, the occasional chuckles from the comms echoed, but it was clear: Johnny wasn’t winning this round.

The truth behind Simon's mask wasn’t as complicated as Johnny might have thought. It wasn’t some random upgrade or designer piece—it was all thanks to Simon’s love. Sweet, sweet love. She had taken the time to 3D print, back stitch, and fabric-glue the skull head onto the balaclava, making it look far more refined and menacing than before. She’d made several of them, so Simon didn’t have to wear the same one all the time. The way she had 3D-drawn the skull made it seem almost alive, a sharp, intimidating look that Simon couldn’t get enough of. He loved it.

The evening came, and after the usual MREs, the team settled down to relax. As they unwrapped their meals and poked fun at the blandness of the pre-packaged food, everyone was caught off guard when Simon, usually the quiet one, reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a mix of dried fruit, candies, and confectionary, all wrapped up in a single bag.

He unrolled a toffee caramel-flavored sweet, casually lifting his mask just above his mouth, popping the candy in with a satisfied look.

The team stared at him, taken aback by the sudden indulgence. Kyle, however, wasn’t fazed. He had his own homemade stash of treats, happily consuming his goodies on the side, clearly uninterested in sharing.

Johnny couldn’t hold back his disbelief. "Wait a bloody minute, LT," he said, eyeing the bag of sweets. "You’ve got all this—caramels, dried fruit candy—and we’re stuck with MRE desserts that taste like cardboard. And Gaz has his own little stash, too, but he’s off in his corner like some sneaky, stingy bastard, not sharing with anyone. Where the hell did you get all that, huh?"

Simon glanced at him, his tone as dry as ever. "It’s called baking and confectionary making, Johnny."

At that, Johnny and Roach exchanged a glance, grinning like a pair of wolves who’d just spotted their prey. They could already tell this was their opening.

"Ah, so you’ve gone soft now, eh?" Johnny said with a mock gasp, leaning in. "What’s next? You baking cakes, wearing an apron, putting strawberries on top like some bloody pastry chef?"

Roach smirked, picking up on the game. "Yeah, maybe a little tea party for the lads next, LT? You can serve us biscuits and jam while we talk about our feelings."

"Or maybe we’ll all sit around, and you’ll teach us how to frost cupcakes with your fancy icing tips. I can already see it now—‘Here’s a batch of skull cupcakes, topped with ribbons and flowers. Really adds that tough guy flair, yeah? 'Who’s the hardest in the bakery' vibe.'"

Simon raised an eyebrow, his voice low and measured as he looked Johnny up and down. "You know, Johnny, I’d offer to teach you, but it’s clear you’d eat the icing before you even knew how to pipe it."

Johnny flushed, his jaw tightening as the rest of the lads snickered.

Simon then turned to Roach, his tone dry but sharp as ever. " And Feelings, Roach? Last I checked, I’m a pastry maker now, not a bloody shrink. You want to cry about your feelings? Book an appointment with someone who’s trained in making grown men weep. But don’t do it over my desserts—if you’re sniffling and snotting everywhere, you’ll miss the flavor entirely."

Roach burst out laughing, throwing up his hands. "Fair enough, LT. No tears near the baked goods. Got it."

Simon unwrapped another piece of candy, this time a marshmallow coated in smooth chocolate. He popped it into his mouth without a care in the world, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting over his lips. The sight was almost smug, though Simon, true to form, paid no attention to the reactions of the others.

Johnny and Roach exchanged a long, drawn-out sigh, their eyes drifting toward Simon’s carefully sealed bag of treats. The temptation was practically carved into their expressions, as plain as day. Neither of them bothered to mask the silent scheming that was clearly going on—both biding their time for the perfect chance to pilfer something from Simon’s stash.

Price, meanwhile, had been quietly grimacing in the background, his irritation thinly veiled. Between Kyle off in the distance munching on his private stash of homemade snacks and Simon now indulging in sweets without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction, it was becoming too much. With a pointed clearing of his throat, he finally broke the silence.

Price cleared his throat, stepping in before Johnny and Roach’s plotting could escalate further. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Give me a piece, yeah? You don’t have to share with those two.”

Johnny and Roach immediately protested in unison, their indignation loud and theatrical.

“Oi, why not us?” Johnny exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “What makes you so bloody special?”

Roach nodded in agreement, pointing an accusing finger at Price. “Yeah, We’ve been suffering through these MREs just as much as you!”

Price ignored their complaints entirely, keeping his eyes locked on Simon with a faint smirk. “C’mon, Ghost. Just one. For your captain.”

Simon tilted his head slightly, his voice as dry as ever. “Or else?”

Price’s smirk stretched into a full grin. “Or else, I’ll have you scrubbing all the pots and pans after Johnny’s cooking. And trust me, after the mess he made last time, those little pots and pans are practically welded together from the burnt food.”

Johnny immediately shot up from his seat, face reddening. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean, huh? My cooking’s perfectly fine!”

Price didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes locked on Simon. “It’s your call, Lieutenant.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’ll happily scrub. I’ve always wanted to experience the horror of Johnny’s cooking firsthand.”

Johnny’s face turned a shade redder, his annoyance evident. “You two are bloody awful, you know that? You’re both on my list for this!” He crossed his arms, glaring at both Simon and Price. Roach, in the background, was laughing hard, clearly enjoying the show.

Simon, however, still wasn’t fazed. As much as possible, he really didn’t want to share. Those pastries were a rare treat—something he’d made with his partner, and in a world full of MREs that tasted like cardboard, those sweets were one of the few things that felt remotely normal. He wasn’t keen on giving them up, not for anything. But if Price pushed him, Simon would fold. After all, he could always make more, but for now, he’d enjoy every last crumb of his stash.

Price huffed, clearly not getting what he wanted. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, uncrossing his arms. “If you’re not gonna share, then I guess I’ll have you do some sit-ups. See how long you last, yeah?”

Simon raised an eyebrow at Price's suggestion. "Sit-ups? You trying to kill me, Price?" He smirked, eyeing the sealed bag of treats. “Tell you what—save me from physical exhaustion, and I’ll give you three pieces.”

Without missing a beat, Simon tore open the bag and handed the sweets over to Price with a resigned, yet amused look. "There you go, Captain. Enjoy the sweets... before I’m forced into a bloody workout."

Price, satisfied with his victory, sauntered back to his seat. He eagerly unwrapped the confectionery, popping a piece into his mouth with a grin. He chewed slowly, clearly enjoying it, savoring the sweetness.

Johnny and Roach, arms crossed, stood off to the side, both narrowing their eyes at their captain with obvious irritation. Johnny's lips were pressed into a thin line, and Roach let out a frustrated huff. They were both seething, but neither dared to make another move.

As they fumed, Gaz strolled back in, having just finished his own share of treats. He quickly glanced around before hastily shoving his stash into his bag, attempting to keep his own little stash under wraps. His eyes flicked nervously between Johnny and Roach, knowing exactly how this game was about to play out. Gaz had learned from experience that whenever food was involved, those two couldn’t resist stirring the pot. Johnny’s temper was always on the edge, and Roach’s humor was sharp enough to keep things uncomfortable. Gaz quickly stashed his treats away, hoping to avoid being the next target of their banter. ----------

As Simon and Price gathered their things, preparing to leave their watch and head back to camp, Simon reached into his vest pocket. With a practiced flick, he unwrapped the last of his pastries, the soft rustling of the paper catching Price’s attention. The Captain narrowed his eyes, studying Simon closely as he popped the treat into his mouth.

“Got any more of those, Ghost?” Price asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and barely-contained frustration.

Simon looked at the last pastry in his hand, then met Price’s gaze. “Last one, Captain,” he replied, offering a small shrug.

Price groaned, clearly irritated. “Bloody hell, you’ve got me all worked up for nothing.” He didn’t bother hiding his bad mood. Simon could see the shift in him—the tight jaw, the way his brows furrowed. Captain Price in a bad mood was a whole different animal.

Simon chuckled quietly, reaching for the last pastry in his vest pocket before finishing it off. "Tell you what," he said with a grin. "When we get back to camp, you can have the rest of my stash. I’ll just make more for myself when we’re back on home."

Price, still irritated from earlier, gave Simon a side-eye as he followed. "Good," he muttered with a nod, clearly pleased by the promise of more treats.

But when they finally reached camp, they were greeted by chaos.

Johnny and Roach were already at Simon’s stash, both of them hunched over the sealed bag, shoving and laughing like a couple of kids. Their movements were erratic, each one trying to outmaneuver the other in a ridiculous game of who could grab the most. The bag was half-open, with bits of wrappers spilling out onto the ground, and both of them were clearly struggling to keep their hands off the rest of the sweets.

Simon sighed deeply, watching the two fight over the remaining pieces. His arms crossed, looking resigned to the chaos unfolding before him. He had known it was coming.

Price, on the other hand, looked furious. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened as he watched Johnny elbow Roach in the ribs to grab another pastry. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Price muttered, clearly losing his patience. “How much sugar can two grown men stuff in their faces?”

Johnny let out a triumphant laugh as he held a piece of pastry aloft, dangling it just out of Roach’s reach. "Sorry, Roach, this one’s mine!" he grinned, eyes dancing with mischief.

Roach responded by shoving Johnny to the ground, grabbing the piece, and popping it into his mouth with a self-satisfied smirk. "Told you, mate, this one’s mine now!"

Simon shook his head, arms crossed, watching the ridiculous scene unfold. "And this is why I couldn’t bring more back," he said to Price, a smirk tugging at his lips. "See how they act with it? Can you imagine if I’d brought extra?"

Price didn’t even answer. Instead, his eyes locked onto the mess in front of him, and he marched straight toward Johnny and Roach. Both of them froze when they saw him coming, instantly on high alert. Price reached into the bag and yanked it away from Johnny's grasp, the movement swift and unforgiving.

Johnny and Roach stood there for a moment, completely silent, as Price looked down into the bag. His eyes scanned it quickly before his face twisted into a scowl. There, in the middle of the wrappers, was one lone pastry—no more, nothing else.

Price's jaw clenched. "Are you bloody kidding me?" he growled, his temper flaring. "This is what you’ve left me with?"

Johnny and Roach exchanged nervous glances, suddenly very aware of the storm they’d just unleashed.

Johnny gulped. "Sorry, Captain. We didn’t think—"

“You didn’t think? That’s the bloody problem!” Price cut him off, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a dangerous low.

Roach’s face went pale, and Johnny instinctively took a step back, clearly regretting the situation. The Captain’s bad mood was enough to freeze the air around them, and right now, they were square in the line of fire.

Price didn’t give them a chance to recover. “Now get moving!” he snapped. “Both of you—laps. Around the whole damn camp. I don’t care if it’s a hundred degrees, you’ll run ‘til I say otherwise. And if you stop, I’ll add more.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged worried glances, but neither of them dared to argue. They hurried to start running, the weight of Price’s gaze heavy on their backs.

Simon watched, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He gave Price a sidelong glance, who now looked like a man who’d had a weight lifted off his shoulders, but still clearly pissed off.

Price shook his head, watching Johnny and Roach running their laps around the camp, both of them visibly regretting their decision. The Captain turned his attention to the bag, now completely emptied except for the lone remaining pastry. With a sigh, he unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth with satisfaction, despite the sour mood that still clung to him.

His gaze then shifted to Kyle, who had been standing off to the side, laughing at the commotion. Price raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. He knew Gaz had a stash of his own.

“Oi, Kyle,” Price called out, his tone casual but commanding. “You got anything hidden away in there?”

Gaz, knowing exactly what was coming, shrugged with a grin. “I might,” he said, reaching into his bag. He didn’t put up a fight, just casually pulled out his own stash of treats and handed it over. "Here, Captain. Take it. Wouldn’t want to end up running laps with Johnny and Roach."

Price took the bag from Gaz without hesitation, nodding in approval. “Good call,” he muttered, already unwrapping a pastry. Gaz wasn’t wrong—they were about to head out in an hour anyway, no point in exhausting himself with the other two.

----------

As the plane touched down on the runway at camp, the familiar hum of the engines winding down as they came to a stop, Simon exhaled in relief. The long deployment was finally over, and home was just ahead.

He made his way off the plane, nodding to his team as they began unloading gear, and headed straight for his 4x4. The familiar surroundings of camp didn’t need to come into view—they were home now.

Pulling into the driveway, Simon got out of the vehicle and made his way inside. The door swung open as he entered, and he could hear the faint clink of pots and pans from the kitchen. His smile stretched as he walked towards the source of the sound.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He wrapped his partner up in a tight hug, the weight of the past weeks melting away the moment her arms were around him. The comfort of her, the warmth of home—nothing else had ever quite compared.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her face and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, letting the simple pleasure of being home linger.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice low, “missed you.”

She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling with affection, before asking with a teasing tone, “How was the deployment? Everything all right? Anything you want adding to the stash, or need more of anything?”

Simon shook his head, shrugging. “Nah, it’s all good. The stash is perfect, love. But…” He paused, a cheeky glint appearing in his eyes. “I could do with something extra next time.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? What’s that?”

He grinned, leaning in a little closer. “You know that ginger candy you make? The one with the proper kick to it?”

“Yeah?” she replied, looking at him curiously. “What about it?”

Simon’s grin widened, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Make sure there’s a bit of that in the stash next time. Just enough to get up Johnny and Roach’s noses when they help themselves. They’ll never know what hit ‘em. A proper surprise.”

She let out a laugh at the thought. “You are evil.”

“Only when it’s deserved, love,” Simon smirked, already picturing the chaos it would cause when Johnny and Roach got a taste of the ginger burn.

A/N: Well, I hope this gave you a good laugh and you enjoyed it in some way! I’m thinking about writing another one-shot for the same Y/N (Which is still You! Lol!)—maybe a continuation, but that depends on if inspiration strikes me again. 😂 Cheers, and thanks for reading!

[soupsandwich64]

Price, talking about Ghost:

"...He's like a shadow, in and out without a sound... some say he's the grim reaper of the force, silent and deadly. Barely any information, no pictures, no history.. He's like a mach-"

Ghost: *internal dialogue:*

🎵🎶🎼🫀Life ✨is like a 😲🌊hurricane🌪️, 🗺️here in🛩️, 🍂🏫Duckberg✨🦆🎶🎼

[simonbrain]

going to town on yourself after a long, gruelling week of work, legs spread and your face all fucked out as the vibrator between your legs buzzes deliciously against your clit. you were using the sheets to cover yourself, but they're all soaked; oh well, it's getting stuffy anyway. best to kick them off to avoid overheating.

you're so caught up in chasing your fourth orgasm that you don't realise in the fat ass window that grants you a beautiful view of the city are two men standing on top of a suspended platform, looking right at you. the one with the mohawk gawks, his mouth hanging open, maybe even a little bit of drool seeping down as he eyes the mess between your thighs. the bigger one wearing the black disposable mask sucks in a breath, his jaw clenched as he catches sight of your pretty pink tongue sticking out of your mouth.

your glossy eyes blink open; you're so fucking close. all it takes is your focus darting over to the window where those men are intruding on your privacy, and suddenly you're squirting, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you experience the most intense orgasm in your life.

(the two window washers are still staring at you when you take a peek at them, unmoving. their intense gazes manage to snap you out of your daze, and you feel around for the remote to roll down your electric blinds before you hide your face in a pillow, your stomach still fluttering.

good luck trying to go outside to run your errands later on; you don't even make it into your car before you're cornered by the same two creeps in the car park.

maybe you should have closed the blinds before you started. oops.)

[parkersbliss]

you lock the 141 outside your house (I know my rights tiktok)

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x american!female reader 

synopsis: you lock them out of your (their?) house, claiming you "know your rights." based on a tiktok trend with soldiers.

warnings: none just fluff and humor :)))

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour and I think it's the funniest thing EVER thanks

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Ghost: 

You watch as your boyfriend gets out of his truck in the driveway. He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door, a smile twitching under his mask at the sight of you waiting for him. 

Just as he steps to the porch, you close the door and lock it. “I know my third amendment rights!”

Ghost stops at the door, dropping his bag. Rights? What were you talking about? “Your what?” 

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner,” You reply, reading off your phone. 

Ghost sighs. Third amendment? Of course, the one American he dates is the one that has them all memorized. You could probably recite them in your sleep. Patriotism, or whatever. Which makes zero sense. You were living with him in Manchester. If all went well and you got married, he was making sure he changed your status to British. 

“You fucking Americans.” He grabs the key from his bag, going to unlock the door only to find you locking it. “Are you serious?”

You show your phone at him through the glass, the third amendment displayed on a Google search. He stares back at you from his mask, unamused. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters. 

You giggle from behind the door and give him a few more minutes before going to unlock it. You knew Simon’s limits. You only needed a few seconds of fun anyway, but by the time you unlock it, he’s gone. 

“Simon?” You call out, poking your head out the door and checking around the house. His truck was still there, so he didn’t turn back around. You don’t see any movements or even hear anything. Was he picked up by aliens? 

A thud sounds from behind you, and you yelp, shutting the door and turning around. 

Simon stands in front of you, arms crossed and his duffel bag on the floor.

“What the hell?” You said, looking him up and down. 

“I should be asking you that,” He retorts. “You should really lock your windows, love.” 

“Are you… did you climb through one?” 

“You locked me out.” 

“I went to unlock it!” 

“Third amendment rights, my arse.” He grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. “We’re in England.” 

You shrug, tracing up his arm. “Thought it was funny.” 

Simon just sighs. “Americans.” 

Gaz: 

“Oh, hell no!” You exclaim as Gaz approaches the door. “I know my third amendment rights.” The lock clicks. 

“No fucking way,” Gaz said, strolling up to the glass storm door. 

“No soldiers in this home.” 

He stares at you, his hands on his hips and that signature scowl on his face. There was no way he was coming home to this bullshit right now. “Open the door.” 

“No quartering soldiers without my permission,” You replied. 

Gaz rolls his eyes. Your home? He was pretty sure his name was on the mortgage, even if you were living in it 90% of the time. “I own the fucking property! I live here. You’re the guest.” 

You shrug, grinning. “Not anymore.” 

He runs a hand down his face. Sometimes just sometimes he regrets finding your stubbornness so damn attractive.  “I’m going to crash out, actually.” 

“Crash outside? Yeah.”

“Let me in!” He shouts, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it. 

“No!” You shout back, holding onto it and preventing him from entering without your permission. 

Gaz leans against the glass. “Remind me why I chose to date an American?” 

You smile at him. “Because we’re funny, and we have better Chinese food.” 

He glares at you, trying to unlock the door again. He groans when there’s no avail. “Babe!” 

You say nothing, finding his annoyance quite amusing and a change of pace for once. 

And then he actually crashes out, grabbing the handle and pulling, twisting, pounding at it. He yells a string of curse words and then starts banging on the doorframe. He gives up, frowning, and leans his forehead on the glass. “Please?” 

You unlock it. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He storms inside, throwing you over his shoulder. “You are so in for it.” 

“I like where this is going,” You giggle as he throws you on the couch. 

He raises a brow, hands coming to your waist. “Yeah?” He starts tickling you. You yelp, laughing under him and trying to push away. 

Gaz doesn’t relent and continues tickling you even after you’ve pleaded with him to stop. “You lock me out of my fucking claim it’s your right,” He mutters. “Consider this my very reasonable punishment.” 

Soap: 

“I know my rights!” You shout, watching Soap approach the door. 

He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. He had no idea what you said. The poor guy could barely hear from all the bombs going on around him, and you shout through a door? Good plan.  “What are you on about?” He asked. 

“There will be no soldiers in my home!” You close the glass door and lock it. 

He approaches the front door, staring at you through the glass. His expression is clueless, brows furrowed. “You mean our home?” He knocks on the glass. “Can I come in?” 

“Nope!” 

He frowns. “Why?” 

“Third amendment.” 

“Amendment?” He scoffs. What the hell are you talking about? Is this what he gets for dating an American? You start proclaiming your rights? What’s next, the pledge of allegiance? “Are you taking the piss? Does this look like the land of the free?” 

You giggle at him, his accent thickening with his frustration. “I’m still an American!” 

“Trust me, I know! Can I please come inside?” 

“No soldiers allowed.” You tape up a piece of paper displaying those words. 

Soap continues frowning at you and realizes he isn’t going to be let in anytime soon. It’s a good thing he knew how to easily change that. Americans and their rights. More like Americans and their feelings. He sits down on the porch steps, facing away from you, rests his chin in his hand, and sighs loudly. 

You don’t budge. 

He sighs again, kicking his boots on the porch, turning back at you with sad eyes. Still nothing. He concludes there was one last option to get you to let him in. He grabs his phone, and you watch with furrowed brows as he types something in. Suddenly, music is blasting from his phone as he looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Not just any music, but the sad hamster violin music. 

“Oh my god.” You unlock the door, opening it up to him. “You’re such a baby.” 

He practically skips inside, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your baby.”

Price: 

Your husband stands on the porch, rolling his eyes at you.

“I know my rights!” You shout at him through the window. 

“Do you, now?” He asked, playing along with your prank or whatever this was. If it brought you this much amusement to lock him out, he might as well indulge in it. That was the kind of man he was. Until he started freezing of course, then he would demand you let him in. 

You nod your head. “As an American, amendment 3 of the Bill of Rights says that I don’t have to house you if I don’t want to.” 

Price hums. At least they taught you something in American schools. “Does that extend when you’re in another country?” 

“It does to me.” 

He huffs, grabbing something from his pocket and displaying it to you. “You know I have a house key, yes?”

“I’ll just lock it again.” 

He tilts his head at you. You were really trying to sell whatever rights you thought you had. “Really?” 

“I’m taking this very seriously.” 

Price strokes his beard. “I can see that.” An idea pops into his head, and he steps away from the glass and in front of the door. You didn’t want to let him in? That’s fine. You wanted to lock the door? No problem. He’s got methods of entering from being in the military, after all. “Guess I’ll just have to kick down the door.” He raises his foot, fully intent on doing it. You were going to repaint the door anyway, might as well get a new one. 

You swing open the door. “Are you crazy?” 

He strolls past you. “Did I lock you outside our home? Besides, crazy would’ve been bombing the house.” 

Your lips parted, unsure if he was joking. You assume he is, but his expression says otherwise. “Are you being serious?” 

He laughs at your face, grabbing your hand. “Only if you start proclaiming your rights again.”

You put your hands up. “What rights? Suddenly, I’m feeling like this soldier can stay as long as he likes.” 

Price presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thought so.” 

[ramvur]

Soap is lucky he's pretty

also i rly rly wanted to draw some of my fav kortac guys :) yes ik kortac is a pmc and they dont have a colonel

[skyrigel]

Y/n: Do you wanna come see a movie ?

Ghost: No.

Y/n: why ?

Ghost: Can't let the gang know I like you.

Y/n: ...

*shoves wedding ring in his face while stranddling his lap*

Y/n: We've been married for two years !

[writerstruggle]

us <3

[unspecifiedfigure]

there’s a space in my heart and it’s just your shape 🍻🚬

[shadow0-1]

First meet

[worms-for-brains]

Blasts them with the sillyfication ray 💥💥💥

That’s literally how people be describing their heights in some fics tho lmao 🤣

[msilwrites]

The Petite Mystery (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Gamekeeper! Reader, Groundskeeper! Reader, Ex-MI5! Reader, Stalker! Reader, Naughty! Ghost, Naughty! Simon, Stalker! Reader, Possessive! Reader, Sunshine! Reader, Shy! Reader, Introvert! Reader, Crazy! Reader, Scary! Reader.

This is Part 1 | Click here for Part 2

A/N: This is the same Y/N (You!!!) as How I Met Your Mother, The Mystery of Ghost's Better Half, The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That, and Midnight Snack Mystery.

This story takes place after The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? if you’re following the chronological order, but you can absolutely read it as a stand-alone.

Genre: Fluff/Comedy

Summary: Johnny and Roach are itchy curious about who you are and how such a sweet little bird like you ended up with their scary, intimidating LT. Well, they’re about to find out that they should have never judged a sweet little bird, because you’re far from what you look like.

----------

The deployment prep area buzzed with its usual efficiency—soldiers hauling gear, vehicles lining up, and the distant hum of engines echoing in the crisp air. Johnny and Roach stood near the corner of the base parking lot, waiting for Price to finish his last-minute briefing. Both of them had sharp eyes for details, and they weren’t about to miss anything unusual.

That’s when they spotted Simon’s 4x4 rolling into the lot.

The vehicle came to a stop, but instead of Simon stepping out of the driver’s seat, the passenger door opened, and he climbed out.

“Wait,” Johnny muttered, nudging Roach. “He’s not driving?”

Roach’s brow furrowed. “What, the LT’s gone full posh now? Got himself a chauffeur now?”

Johnny snorted. “Next, he’ll be showing up with a monocle and a cravat.”

They both chuckled, but their amusement quickly turned to wide-eyed astonishment as Simon walked around to the driver’s side. He opened the door with a casualness that seemed oddly out of character for their no-nonsense LT. A petite figure emerged, laughing softly as Simon gently helped her out of the seat.

What happened next left Johnny and Roach gaping. Simon’s back was turned to them, his broad frame blocking most of their view, and the open door of the 4x4 shielded the rest. But even from their angle, they could see the unmistakable tenderness in his posture. Simon leaned in, pulling down his face mask, and his movements—the slight dip of his head, the way his shoulders hunched protectively—made it clear what was happening.

“Is he…?” Johnny whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Kissing someone,” Roach finished, equally stunned.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny murmured, staring.

The faint sound of laughter, soft and feminine, floated toward them, confirming what they were witnessing. Simon seemed to envelop her entirely, his towering frame making her look impossibly small.

“Did you see how tiny she is?” Roach asked, his voice dazed. “He looked like he was shielding a baby bird.”

Johnny let out a breathy laugh. “Looked like he could tuck her in his pocket. And kissing her like he’s bloody starved for it.”

Simon straightened slightly, his hand lingering on the doorframe as if reluctant to step away. Whatever words passed between them were too quiet for Johnny and Roach to catch, but the affection in his tone was unmistakable.

After a few moments, Simon gently helped her back into the driver’s seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before stepping back and closing the door. He gave the roof of the 4x4 a quick pat, then watched as the vehicle drove off toward the base exit.

The two men stood frozen, watching as Simon turned on his heel and strode toward the tarmac with his familiar stoic demeanor, mask firmly back in place.

Johnny broke the silence first. “Did we just witness that?”

Roach shook his head, still staring at the now-empty parking space. “Don’t even say it. I’m trying to process. Tell me that wasn’t a hallucination.”

“Our LT,” Johnny said, the words barely leaving his mouth, “was just sweet on someone. Like… proper sweet.”

Roach nodded slowly, his brain struggling to reconcile the image. “And we didn’t even get a picture.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Johnny said, shaking his head. “You know he’d just say we photoshopped it.”

The two of them exchanged glances, their curiosity burning brighter than ever.

Johnny’s mind was already working overtime. “We’re finding out who she is,” he declared.

“Obviously,” Roach agreed, his eyes still fixed on where the vehicle had been. “No way we’re letting this go.”

They turned toward the tarmac, watching as Simon joined Price and the others, his usual stoic aura firmly back in place. But Johnny and Roach weren’t fooled. They’d seen a side of their LT that no one else had, and they weren’t about to let this mystery go unsolved.

---------- After deployment, on the military aircraft, about to fly back to British soil.

The cabin was filled with the usual hum of the aircraft’s engines, the steady rhythm of soldiers settling in for the long flight back. Simon entered the plane, carrying a basket of exotic fruits, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the dullness of the military plane. He made his way down the narrow aisle, stepping over bags and equipment, before settling into a seat. With practiced ease, he fastened his seatbelt, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes, clearly planning to get a few minutes of rest before they took off.

Johnny and Roach exchanged a quick, confused glance. Their Lieutenant was carrying a basket of fruits—fruits that only grew in the region they’d just come from. It was as if Simon had stopped trying to hide it anymore. It was obvious.

“What the hell is going on?” Johnny muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low so Simon wouldn’t overhear. “Is he just gonna parade it around now?”

Roach shrugged, eyes still locked on Simon, his expression a mix of surprise and suspicion. “No way he’s just... casually bringing that back. It's for someone, right? His... his missus, maybe?”

Johnny’s lips twisted into a grin. “Aye, but how do we get him to say it?”

“Let’s find out,” Roach whispered, already scheming.

Kyle, sitting a few seats away, just smirked. He’d known for ages, and it wasn’t a surprise to him. But he wasn’t going to spoil the fun. With a small chuckle, he closed his eyes, settling in for a nap.

Simon’s eyes flickered open briefly, noticing the basket on his lap had drawn attention. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Price seemed to be considering something for a moment, then finally broke the silence.

“Bit selfish of you, bringing that back here,” Price remarked casually, his tone teasing. “You know, I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.” He gave a lazy, playful glance at Simon’s basket. He'd had those fruits all over the region, loved them, and now he was cursing himself for not grabbing a few to take home.

Simon leaned back in his seat, eyes still closed, but the smirk on his face was evident. “You had plenty of time, Price. Should’ve grabbed some when we were out there.”

Price grunted in response, his gaze fixed on the basket. “It’s different now. You’ve got a whole basket of them. I’m just asking for a piece, not the whole lot.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, a low chuckle escaping him. “Oh, I see how it is. Now you want a piece of my stash. What, did you forget your own sweets?” He gestured to the pile of candy he’d handed over earlier. “I already gave you my stash. Should’ve thought ahead and grabbed some fruit while we were there, mate.”

Price leaned forward, not ready to give up. “It’s not the same. I’m asking for fruit now, not your sugary rubbish.” He eyed the basket like a man on the verge of begging. “Come on, just a piece. Please?”

Simon’s grin widened. “You could always just buy it back home, Captain. Probably cost you three times the price, though. You can try to see if they’ve got any bargains?”

Price scowled, but his resolve was clear. “Seriously, Simon, that’s a lot of fruit. Even if you share it with your birdie, that’s still a lot.” He didn’t hesitate to blurt it out, already suspicious that Simon had a significant other. No need to wait for confirmation.

Simon laughed and shook his head, thoroughly amused by Price’s bluntness. He thought the Captain looked like the Lorax with that big scowl and puffed-up chest, all angry and demanding. It was cute in a weird way, especially with his overgrown, untrimmed beard that he hadn’t had time to tidy up during the mission.

Johnny and Roach were stunned. Simon didn’t deny it. It was like he’d just confirmed everything with a shrug and a smile. But verbal confirmation was always best, and they were already brainstorming ways to get Simon to admit it later.

Simon’s gaze flickered over to Price, an amused glint in his eyes. “If not, what then?”

Price’s jaw tightened, and with a wry smile, he leaned in closer. “If not, I’ll make you do sit-ups, drills, or whatever else I can think of. You’ll regret it, believe me.”

Simon’s laugh was low and genuine. “Well, don’t want to be stuck doing drills with you, do I?” He grabbed a piece of fruit and tossed it to Price. “Here. Happy now?”

Price grinned triumphantly. “Finally.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged looks, silently agreeing on one thing: Simon had made the right call. Once their captain got into a bad mood, he was a different animal. Price would probably hunt down the next poor soul who crossed his path after dealing with Simon. Whoever that was—good luck.

“How about you, Kyle?” Price asked, his gaze shifting to Kyle. “I saw you bring in a box of fruit as well.”

Kyle was already trying to nap, his eyes closed and his head tilted toward the window. But when Price called him out, he froze, his body stiffening slightly. He opened his mouth to respond, then quickly shut it, clearly caught off guard. Instead, he let out a quiet, exaggerated sigh and shifted in his seat, trying to make it look like he was deeply asleep, as if he were too tired to respond, or simply not interested.

Price raised an eyebrow. “Really, Kyle? You think you’re fooling anyone?”

But Kyle didn’t budge. His breathing slowed, and he gave the most dramatic, exaggerated snore he could muster, clearly hoping the whole thing would blow over.

Simon chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s too late, mate. You’re caught.”

Price just smirked, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not even going to ask how you managed to get those. But, come on, you can share too. You’ve got the stash, now let’s see it.”

Kyle continued to snore, utterly silent, not letting the act of pretending to sleep falter for a second. His breathing remained steady, but the slight twitch in his hand betrayed him—he was definitely still listening.

----------

The next day at base, the routine was the same. Papers were shuffled, reports filed, and the hum of normalcy settled in. Johnny and Roach sat at their desks, casting occasional glances at their lieutenant. They were still confused.

How had this stoic, cold man—so steady and unreadable—managed to land someone so sweet and petite? A lass who packed him those nice lunches and sent homemade treats during deployments? It didn’t add up, and the curiosity gnawed at them.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, staring at Simon as if the answer was somehow written in his actions. “I still don’t get it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Roach sighed, leaning over the desk and giving his partner a look. “You think he’s going to tell us? Not a chance. He’ll just keep it to himself, like he always does.”

Both of them went quiet, their curiosity lingering in the air.

"Can’t believe it though," Johnny murmured, almost to himself. “He’s so... not the type, y’know?”

Roach grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s the mystery of it, mate. You never know with him.”

Just as Johnny and Roach were stewing in their curiosity, Kyle walked into the room, holding a neatly bound stack of papers in one hand and a ripe piece of fruit in the other. The fragrant, sweet aroma wafted into the air, making its presence known before he even reached Simon’s desk.

“Lieutenant,” Kyle started, placing the papers in front of Simon. “Here’s the mission report.”

Simon glanced up, giving the papers a quick look before nodding. “Thank you, Sergeant Garrick,” he said in his usual steady, even tone.

But before Kyle could even think about biting into his fruit—or worse, escaping the room—Captain Price appeared in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room quickly, narrowing when they landed on Kyle. The Captain’s gaze dropped pointedly to the fruit in his hand.

Kyle froze, swallowing hard. “Ah, Captain,” he said, trying for casual but sounding like a man caught red-handed.

Price marched forward, his steps deliberate and unwavering. The sweet aroma of the fruit seemed to guide him like a bloodhound, and Kyle looked down at his lunch like it was a ticking time bomb.

“You’re holding out on me, Sergeant,” Price announced, his tone mock-accusatory but with a glint of hunger in his eyes.

Kyle stiffened, clutching the fruit closer to his chest as though it were a priceless artifact. “It’s my lunch, Captain,” he said, attempting a firm tone. But the slight wobble in his voice betrayed his nerves.

Price crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly, his gaze sharpening with exaggerated seriousness. “Lunch, is it? Good choice, Sergeant. Can’t fault a man for appreciating the finer things.” His tone was playful, but there was an undeniable glint of determination in his eyes, making Kyle swallow hard.

With a nod toward the fruit, Price pressed on. “I seem to recall you bringing back a whole box of those from deployment. Kept it quiet, didn’t you? Even pretended to sleep on the plane to avoid sharing. Clever, Garrick. Gotta respect the effort.”

Kyle darted a quick look at Simon, silently pleading for backup. Simon, who was leaning against his desk, flipping through the mission report, finally looked up. His eyes glinted with amusement as he met the Captain’s stare. “Captain,” he drawled, clearly enjoying the chance to tease, “you had your chance back at the market. Should’ve stocked up while you were there.”

Price’s gaze narrowed as it shifted to Simon. “You’re welcome to stay out of this, Lieutenant,” he said with mock gravity, his tone carrying a faint threat. “Unless you’d like me to pencil in some extra drills to keep you occupied?”

Simon held his ground, but instead of smirking, he simply glanced back down at the report in his hands, feigning indifference. “Fair enough, Captain. You’re on your own, Garrick.”

Kyle’s shoulders slumped, his last hope dashed. Price took a deliberate step closer, his tone dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “You’re holding out on me, Sergeant,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “Just one piece. That’s all I’m asking. Seems fair, doesn’t it?”

Kyle stammered, clutching the fruit even tighter. “It’s… it’s not much, sir. Barely enough for me.”

Price leaned in, his grin turning mischievous. “Tell you what, Sergeant. Hand over just one, and I won’t bring up the little ‘incident’ with the coffee machine last month.”

Kyle’s eyes widened in alarm. “That wasn’t my fault! The machine—”

“Or,” Price interrupted smoothly, raising a brow, “I could make it an order.”

Kyle groaned, realizing he’d been cornered. With an overdramatic sigh of defeat, he reluctantly handed over a single fruit. “Fine. Take it. But just one.”

Price grinned triumphantly, holding the fruit aloft like it was some grand prize. “Good lad. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Simon, still at his desk, glanced up briefly, his tone light. “You’ve got a real talent for persuasion, Captain.”

Taking a slow, deliberate bite of the fruit, Price hummed with exaggerated delight, savoring it as though it were the rarest delicacy. “Persuasion? No, Simon. I just appreciate good food—and I know when someone’s holding out.”

Kyle dropped into a chair, muttering under his breath, “What was I thinking, coming here? Should’ve known better.”

Simon glanced up from his paperwork, an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, the Captain had been hunting you down the moment you disappeared as soon as we landed,” he said casually. “Couldn't get a piece of that fruit stash of yours. Figured you were hiding it somewhere.”

Kyle groaned. “I’ve been eating in private this whole time. Guess I let my guard down.”

Simon chuckled, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Well, now he knows. Might want to find a new hiding spot, mate.”

Johnny and Roach didn’t miss a beat, swooping in the moment Kyle walked out of the office. “Oi, Gaz,” Johnny called with a grin, “next time, stash your lunch better—or eat it where the Captain can’t sniff it out.”

Roach snickered. “Yeah, mate. You’re lucky he didn’t take the whole box.”

Kyle groaned again, clutching his remaining fruit protectively. “You all can’t be serious. I’ve got to eat in peace, for once.”

Johnny gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Lesson learned, eh? Now go finish your lunch before he decides he’s still hungry.”

As Kyle trudged off, muttering about finding a secure bunker to eat in, Johnny and Roach shared a knowing laugh.

----------

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Johnny and Roach found themselves heading outside the base camp, making their way to the entrance checkpoint. It had been a long day of drills, and both were looking forward to some downtime. Roach was talking about the latest gossip circulating the camp, but Johnny’s attention was diverted by a familiar sight.

A black 4x4 rumbled by the entrance, its engine humming with authority. Johnny squinted, recognizing the vehicle instantly—it was their LT's .

But it wasn’t the vehicle that caught their attention. As the 4x4 slowed to a stop near the gate, they saw the figure in the driver’s seat. A petite woman with an adorable, almost innocent look about her. She had that civilian air to her, the kind of vibe that screamed ‘not military,’ but in a way that made her seem even more out of place next to Simon.

Johnny’s eyes flicked over to Roach, who had already stopped talking and was watching intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and calculation.

"Did you get a good look?" Johnny muttered under his breath, not taking his eyes off the woman.

Roach nodded slowly, his gaze narrowing as he scrutinized her. “Yeah, I did. She’s the one. LT’s lass. No mistake.”

The vehicle's engine cut off, and they saw Simon open the passenger side door, climbing in with his usual intimidating grace. As the door shut, the 4x4 began to roll away, heading toward the exit.

Johnny leaned back, still processing. “She didn’t look like what I expected.”

Roach snorted. “Did you think she’d be in military fatigues or something? Probably just got off work like the rest of us.”

“True,” Johnny replied, his voice thoughtful. "Didn't expect that she was some civilian, did you?”

Roach shook his head, a half-grin forming. “Nah. She had that look, didn’t she? Like she couldn't hurt a fly?”

Johnny chuckled. "Haha! Yes! It made me think though….”

The two shared a laugh as they leaned against the wall, lighting up their smokes.

“Man, though,” Johnny continued, taking a drag. “How did our intimidating, stoic Lieutenant bag that sweet little thing? I mean, look at her—she looks like she’s never been near a battlefield.”

Roach exhaled a puff of smoke, grinning. “You reckon he bullied her into it? Like, maybe he just stared at her until she gave in.”

“Definitely,” Johnny said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “He probably hit her with that cold, ‘You will date me, or I’ll make your life hell,’ routine. Gotta be how he roped her in.”

Roach snorted. “Poor lass didn’t stand a chance.”

Johnny leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Or maybe he just showed up at her work one day—just, boom, there he is. Glaring, all ‘You’re coming with me,’ like the bad guy in one of those old action movies.”

Roach slapped his knee, laughing. “She must’ve been terrified! Imagine being told to ‘sit still and don’t ask questions,��� and then—bam—he drags you off to dinner or something.”

“Could’ve happened like that,” Johnny mused. “Or, y’know, maybe he just used that whole ‘I’m Ghost and you have to listen to me’ thing until she cracked.”

The two of them burst into laughter, shaking their heads at the ridiculous idea of Simon using his ‘charm’ to win over someone so sweet-looking.

“Poor lass, though,” Johnny said with a smirk, taking another drag of his smoke. “Bet she had no clue what she was signing up for.”

Roach nodded sagely. “Nah, she’s probably in too deep now. You don’t mess with a man like the 'Ghost' .”

They stood there for a moment longer, finishing their smokes, both of them unable to shake the thought of Simon’s mysterious partner. Whatever the story was, they were getting more and more curious to find out.

----------

Johnny and Roach were out of camp, taking advantage of their rare weekend off. They wandered through the small town, talking about nothing in particular—just enjoying the freedom of being away from base. Their plan was simple: grab a bite to eat and then head for a pint or two at the local pub. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets as they strolled, the sounds of chatter and the hum of passing cars filling the air. It was late morning, the perfect time for a leisurely brunch as they wandered through the town, talking about nothing in particular—just enjoying the rare freedom of being off base. The plan was simple: grab a bite to eat and then head for a pint or two at the local pub.

The market stalls lined the street, colorful and brimming with fresh produce, meats, and all sorts of wares. Johnny had his eye on a butcher's display, already imagining a steak to go with their planned pints, when something caught his eye. He stopped dead in his tracks, and Roach, who had been walking ahead, followed Johnny’s gaze.

There, just a few stalls over, was a petite woman pulling a tiny metal cart behind her. The cart was filled with an assortment of veggies, fruits, and wrapped meats, likely picked from various stalls. She moved from stand to stand, carefully inspecting the goods, her head slightly tilted as she seemed to weigh her options. The first thing that hit Johnny was the face mask she wore, one of those simple, cloth coverings that obscured half her face—but even with only half of it visible, Johnny knew exactly who she was.

Roach’s eyebrows shot up, and without saying a word, both of them instinctively glanced at each other. Johnny felt a surge of curiosity wash over him. How the hell did she end up here, out of the base, in the middle of this town, looking so... ordinary? So normal.

“Is that…?” Johnny began, his voice low.

“No way,” Roach muttered, squinting at her as if to convince himself that it wasn’t who they both knew it was.

It had to be her. There was something about her—something unmistakable even through the mask. Her petite frame, the easy way she moved, pulling the cart with practiced ease, was familiar. But what really stood out was her style. The clothes she wore were simple yet chic—loose-fitting, utilitarian in a way that reminded Johnny of their LT’s own aesthetic. The muted tones, the comfort over formality, yet still looking put-together—practical but dapper. They both instantly recognized it. It was as though she had stepped out of Simon’s world but was just far enough removed to make her seem… normal.

“Yup, that’s her,” Roach said, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Johnny could only nod, his mind racing. She looked so out of place, yet so very in-place at the same time. There was no mistaking it—this was definitely their LT's lass. They had no idea what she was doing here, but the fact that she was casually strolling through a market, shopping like any other civilian, made Johnny’s curiosity spike.

Without much thought, they both started walking slowly, following her at a safe distance, making sure to stay hidden in the crowd. Johnny didn’t know why, but something about this moment felt like they were seeing a side of their LT that nobody was supposed to see. They had to know more.

Her movements were casual, unbothered by the bustle of people around her. Johnny’s eyes kept flicking between her and Roach, who mirrored his thoughts with a look of mild disbelief.

Johnny and Roach trailed behind her, maintaining a discreet distance, but neither could shake the growing sense of disbelief. There she was—Simon’s mysterious partner, moving through the market with an ease that felt both normal and unsettling. As they drifted along, their curiosity deepened with every step.

Her cart was nearly full now, a careful selection of wrapped packages of meat, freshly picked vegetables, and fruits—lots of them. More than enough for someone so petite. Johnny’s eyes flicked over the contents, each item making more sense the longer he stared. The cuts of meat were well-chosen, and the fruits were nothing short of gourmet—clearly handpicked. It was like she had a very specific plan for what she was buying.

And then it clicked.

Everything in her cart, from the meats to the produce, seemed chosen not just for her, but for their LT as well. It struck Johnny—this woman wasn’t just shopping for herself. She was choosing what would likely end up in their LT’s meals. It made him wonder—he’d never thought Simon as the kind of guy who’d spend his time picking out fruit at a market. But this woman, this ‘sweet little bird,’ was the one who made sure their LT’s meals were as meticulous as his work. There was no way Simon—so focused, so disciplined—was wasting time on something like this. So, how the hell had he bagged someone like her?

Johnny's gaze shifted back to Roach, who was eyeing the cart too, clearly processing the same thoughts.

"How the hell did he...?" Roach muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

Johnny let out a low whistle. “I don’t know, mate. But there’s no way she’s just...normal.” His voice had a mixture of awe and confusion. What was she thinking, being with someone like Simon—the feared 'Ghost'? How had she ended up with him?

They continued to follow her, neither of them willing to be the first to give up on figuring out what the hell was going on with Simon and this woman.

As they rounded another corner, Y/N, seemingly unaware of the men tailing her, made a sudden turn into a quieter alleyway. Johnny and Roach exchanged a quick glance, then hurried to catch up, trying to keep their steps light. But it didn’t take long for Johnny to feel something was off.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he watched her movements become more deliberate, more aware, as if she was setting up a trap.

Too late.

Before either of them could react, Y/N slipped into a side street, vanishing around the corner. Johnny and Roach hurried their pace, rounding the corner just in time to see her reach the back of an old 4x4 Defender—her vehicle.

“Bloody hell,” Johnny hissed, now acutely aware that they had made a mistake. She was aware.

It wasn’t long before Y/N, her back still turned to them, paused. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and then—bam—she whirled around with a speed that took both men by surprise. A small plastic bottle hissed in the air, and before either of them could react, the world went black.

The spray hit them both in the face at once—sharp, acrid—and in seconds, they were on the ground, their bodies heavy and unresponsive.

Y/N stepped back, eyeing them with cold precision. Her breath was steady as she wiped her hands with a wet tissue on her side, almost as if she had done this a thousand times before. Without a second thought, she opened the back of the Defender and tossed them in, like they were sacks of potatoes. The weight of their bodies made it a bit more challenging than usual, but she didn’t seem to mind.

After all, she was no stranger to the art of subtlety—and incapacitation.

A/N: Oh no!! You (Y/N) incapacitated and caught Johnny and Roach!! 😱 This is what happens to nosy people!! 🤭 Wondering what’s in store for them as you interrogate them? Well, stay tuned, because this is just the beginning! 😈 What happens next? I’ll reveal all in the next part—coming soon!! 😜

Edit: Here is the next part --------->

[soupsandwich64]

I JUST HAD THE BEST IDEA.

Y'KNOW HOW THE VIBE WITH SIMON IS THAT HE LIKES TO KEEP BUSY TO KEEP THE VOICES AT BAY?!!?

WELL WHAT IF THE READER WAS A GAMER.

AND GAZ AND SOAP PICKED UP GAMING TOO CAUSE MAYBE IT WAS A WAY TO WIND DOWN AND SOCIALIZE WITHOUT HAVING TO MEET UP AT A PHYSICAL PLACE.

SO SOAP, GAZ AND THE READER PLAYED TOGETHER.

LET'S SAY THEY PLAYED THE FOREST/SONS OF THE FOREST.

(Only choosing these games cause I love them)

AND LETS ALSO SAY SIMON LIVES WITH THE READER, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP.

HE DOESN'T REALLY PLAY VIDEOGAMES UNLESS YOU ASK. BUT HE LIKES WATCHING KINDA IN AN OLD MAN WAY, LAUGHING WHEN YOU DIE AND THEN MOVING ON.

But then.

After you start playing with Gaz and Soap.

He starts hearing how much more fun all three of you are having, especially all the screaming from you as you play The Forest.

He wants to play too.

He buys a gaming laptop lets say.

Starts playing with you.

Takes a bit to adjust but picks it up quickly when the ball starts rolling. He IMMEDIATELY gets tactical as hell and keeps trying to apply logic of survival skills and stuff. "Why can't I make (____)? Why does the stamina and hunger drop so fast? I've gone longer without on the field" etc.

And then.

The cannibals attack.

He sees your player get attacked..

And surprisingly, he feels a wave of protectiveness.

Its stupid though, right? Its just a game, you didn't actually die. But your gasp of shock and disappointed sigh stir something inside him. (Especially if you're bad at combat or a scaredy cat like me)

So suddenly instead of cleaning his guns or watching the same movie over again like he usually does on Friday nights, he's watching youtube and finding the objectively best "battle tactic" for The Forest. Bro is getting TECHNICAL with it, just like at his job. Even using the same terminology. He's treating it like the cannibals and mutants are terrorists threatening the crown. Bro is all in. He practices on single player, over and over, till he has a system.

The next time you and the boys play, he's gone from 0 to 100. You turn around and he's already got fish drying and a whole defensible camp built. Earns the 'deforestation' achievement five minutes into the game. Gives you instructions on what to do. Gives you the freedom to do all the fun stuff. Oh my gosh. Lets you try and make your own base but you ultimately die and end up back in his. if you're like me, you're geared towards decorating and shi cause obviously I am. So he'd keep you safe while you hunted deers to make waterskins and chairs. Gaz and Soap would probably be trying to make their own settlements and follow the story. Ghost already knows everything about the story and easter eggs and how to get to all the caves and what order, but he lets you and the boys figure it out. Maybe gives you secret hints to help you. Only you.

[gomzdrawfr]

Competition

Based on this! (Image provided by supporter)

[ickyyrus]

Roach Paper Scissors …

[parkersbliss]

if you and the COD men had Instagram

pairing: task force 141 x gender neutral reader (platonic), ft. keegan, alex, konig and alejandro

warnings: totally inaccurate brain rot, some of these people would not have instagram or post them like this LOL, like def OOC but it was funny to me? obvi they don't actually know each other canonically

a/n: I canon ghost would actually vaguely appear in the back of their insta posts with no tag and people just think the grim reaper is coming after them :)

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

Liked by valval, kganrusset, and 226 others

soapify gang and @/lasvargas !!! view all 33 comments

(Y/U/N) ZOO WEE MAMA SOAP UR BICEPSSS 🤤 → soapify glad someone noticed → gatzby one bite? 🥺 → soapify boy.

j.price my men → (Y/U/N) no, MY men :)

gatzby ghost in jeans really completes the vibes → (Y/U/N) imagine ghost is actually smiling behind the mask → user141 I'm not.

lasvargas this is too cold, showing the opps fr → (Y/U/N) @/iphilgraves 😘 → gatzby BITCH U HAVE HIS INSTA?? → soapify do NOT bring his energy on my page. → j.price (Y/N). office. now. → (Y/U/N) awww 🙁 → user141 this doesn't surprise me

Liked by iphilgraves, sandroach and 463 others

gatzby FOAP!! view all 122 comments

user141 Calling an airstrike on you right now. → gatzby NO PLEASE

soapify GHOAP → user141 Die.

(Y/U/N) bros got an overbite fr → user141 I will literally knock out your teeth.

katelasss Never seen this angle of him → user141 And you never will again.

iphilgraves Not so tough with the jaw hanging out, now? → lasvargas gtfo before I bomb you → iphilgraves Thought we were teaming up to mutually bully him → gatzby I BLOCKED U??? → iphilgraves Whoops

j.price Did you take this before we got ambushed? → (Y/U/N) it was funny → j.price Kids 🤦‍♂️

Liked by walkingL, imrudyyyy and 658 others

(Y/U/N) did somebody say serve? view all 99 comments

user141 Serve your country. → (Y/U/N) I am????

soapify serve me a sandwich → (Y/U/N) bitch.

gatzby serve me that ASS → (Y/U/N) say less king

j.price Serve some revenge. → (Y/U/N) sir yes sir

lasvargas we all know this diva

katelasss Can you serve a response to your emails? → (Y/U/N) oops, yes ma'am

alexkellar scrolling feels like a divorce → (Y/U/N) it is

vladmak What core is this? → (Y/U/N) beat ur ass core.

Liked by konig, alexkellar and 833 others

(Y/U/N) he wanted to say hi (we’re stranded at sea) @/kganrusset view all 129 comments

kganrusset YOU wanted to take the photo 🫵 → (Y/U/N) details, details → kganrusset whatever 😒 lmk when you get tired of handing out my number to other bitches → soapify am I included in bitches? → (Y/U/N) are u fucking serious. → gatzby yeah. → kganrusset you can reach me at 348-

j.price How did you end up with Keegan out there? → (Y/U/N) girls trip! → kganrusset Please take them back.

user141 Ghosts crossover before gta6? → (Y/U/N) ghost joining the ghosts when?

soapify the mcu (military commander universe) is expanding → kilokarim ULF crossover again? → iphilgraves shadow company crossover? → (Y/U/N) when? → gatzby (Y/N) STOP. → lasvargas mexican special forces crossover? → konig KorTac crossover? → vladmak Konni crossover? → katelasss No.

j.price Why don't you have half of those people blocked? → (Y/U/N) my bad, cap → user141 They're not blocking them. → (Y/U/N) I like the drama 🤷‍♀️

—

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[machveil]

Roommate!Ghost coming back after a long deployment where outside communication wasn't allowed, only to see you've gotten a cat during that time. The cat's name? Cat Simon. A chonky black cat with a bit of RBF who needs to be snuggled at all hours, and was lovingly provided via finding him in an alley trying to eat thrown out chinese food in the pouring rain. His paws are rated E for everybody and he sounds cranky when he meows while his purrs will vibrate the entire couch and can be heard across a room. Now Human Simon and Cat Simon have to figure out who gets to be the little spoon and who gets the most forehead kissies. (Surprise, there's actually two cats, they just look really really similar and for a while Simon didn't see them in the same space at the same time. This one's name? Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, Reese or PB for short.)

-🐸

🐸 anon, your mind never ceases to amaze me

if you brought two chunky little cats home Simon wouldn’t even bat an eye - he might bat an eye at ‘Simon’ the cat, but he can work with that. since there’s two cats I think it’d be really funny if, while Simon thinks there’s only one, he thinks little Simon kitty man isn’t a fan of him. he’ll pspspsp Simon the cat and call his name - sometimes he chirps and comes right over (cat Simon) and sometimes Simon gets flat out ignored (PB)

once he sees two chunky cats eating in the kitchen he does a double take, eyebrows screwed together. “Oh— wha’ the fuck?”, he snorts and goes off to find you, chuckling when you nervously say PB looked so miserable when you found them, so… it’s okay to keep them both, right? obviously, Simon was already a proud father of what he presumed to be one, now he’s got basically twins