#call of duty imagines

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[ragingbookdragon]

She huffs lightly when she hears the low growl of the familiar soldier in the room next door, followed by her nurse griping and trying to work with him. Entering behind, she lays a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Go on, Paula, I got him,” she says with a smile and Paula practically screams in relief as she leaves the exam room.

She gives him a fond smile. “Now, Lieutenant, what have I said about antagonizing my nurses?”

He scowls at her. “I don’t like ‘em.”

“I know but I still need you to be kind when they’re simply trying to do their jobs.”

“I don’t like anyone touchin’ me but you.” He’s still scowling behind his mask, holding his side where she can see the black material stained a darker color.

“Well aren’t I special,” she murmurs, closing the exam room door before walking over. “You know the drill.”

He lifts his sweatshirt wordlessly along with the t-shirt he’s got underneath and she sighs at the sight of a cut about four inches long riding up his ribs.

“Do I even want to know how?” She asks.

“Trainin’ with Soap,” he mutters. “‘e’s a slippery lit’le bastard when ‘e needs to be.”

She snorts and goes about pulling on a pair of latex gloves before she begins to clean his wound with antiseptic. He doesn’t make a sound though she knows it stings like a bitch and the only show of irritation from him is the way his muscle ripple beneath her touch.

“I thought I said not to get wounded anymore.”

“Didn’t listen,” he simply shrugs.

“If I had half a mind, I’d assume you did this on purpose so you could come see me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter you’self. I don’t like you that much.”

A laugh escapes her as she checks the depth, ultimately deciding on a few stitches for his wound. “Oh I know you like me plenty, Simon.”

Simon.

She only says his name in privacy when no one can hear them. He hates the way his chest feels funny, sternum scratchy with an itch he can’t get to.

“‘S Lieutenant,” he retorts.

“Of course, of course,” she hums. “My most sincerest apologies, Lieutenant Riley.”

He scowls again but that itch returns when she begins to stitch his wound carefully.

After a few minutes, she sets the clipped thread down and admires her handiwork. “All done, sweetheart,” she says with a gentle smile and wipes it carefully before putting a bandage on it. “Don’t get it wet and—”

“Keep it dry and clean,” he finishes. “I know.”

She laughs and pokes the nose to his mask. “Maybe one day you will learn.”

She watches as he redresses himself before standing, waving off the bottle of pills she hands to him.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“It’s just some ibuprofen, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” he repeats with a growl and she rolls her eyes.

“You are so stubborn for no reason,” she says and places her hands on her hips. “And after all the care I just gave you.”

He looks at her for a solid moment before he leans over and kisses her cheek through his mask. “Thank you, love,” he mutters. “For takin’ care of me.”

She goes uncharacteristically quiet, cheeks getting hot and he smirks at her.

“Ain’t got nothin’ to say? Cat got your tongue?”

She glares at him half-heartedly. “Get out of my clinic, Lieutenant.”

As he heads for the door, he pauses and looks at her. “It’s Simon, to you.” He says, and closes the door behind him.

[alwaysshallow]

you need to be careful what you say to ghost.

no matter if you're in a talking stage, dating, situationship, if this man cares about you, absolutely do not say that you wish you could kill someone.

not debatable. you just shouldn't say that; as anyone else would laugh it off, he weirdly... starts to question you. not the usual questions how was your day, what happened etc.

"and what would you do to him?" he asks, while massaging your back. "choke him? stab him in the back, make people watch?"

"he just deserves to be out of my life, out of this job. i wish he wouldn't bother anyone again, i wish everyone just could forget him," you say—almost mindlessly, as ghost makes you feel relieved. not actually caring anymore, as it's another day of your annoying coworker.

simon just hums at that.

the next day, your coworker... he's gone. days, then weeks of not seeing him; no one actually knows where he is, he just wrote an email to your boss about moving on and taking new opportunities.

"it's just weird." you shrug, looking at simon's reaction; he's cooking dinner now, seeming completely unfazed by your revelation at work.

"probably found a better life," he says.

probably he did.

[saksukei]

subtle things simon ‘ghost’ riley does for you

masterlist | simon has a crush on you | captain john price version

everybody on the base is aware of one thing. first – to not mess with the skull masked lieutenant. second – to not mess with the skull masked lieutenant’s favorite. it's clear that simon has taken a liking to you, but he disguises it well enough for it to sweep under your radar.

just knowing eye stares. god. he's such a sucker for just staring at you, be it when you guys are training, when there's a meeting going on, in the barracks, when somebody says something stupid. he looks to you as a form of reassurance, giving you a slight nod most of the time. this is his way to communicate. he's thankful for his mask because he knows damn well he's blushing underneath when his eyes meet yours and you give him a big grin.

speaking of eye contact, if any time ghost says something sarcastic under his breath and you hear it despite being across the room, he will absolutely wink at you. it's disguised so so well omg. especially if you mention something that's a known joke between the two of you, god he’ll just lean back, give you a wink and continue listening to the briefing. (he also subtly checks you out by the way)

has a habit of just messing your hair. he knows it irritates you, but that's just his way of showing affection. the first time he reached out his gloved hand to mess your hair, price just grinned. he knew simon was smitten.

he lets you ramble on and on about things you like, dislike, philosophical debates, anything really, with him occasionally adding quips. soap is so shocked at simon’s change of attitude because when he talks for a minute, the lieutenant just asks him to shut up.

he secretly makes things easy for you. like you gotta carry big boxes to the warehouse? they’ll be done before you know it. a report is holding you up? it's already stapled and on your desk. “what else?” he asks. he's terribly intuitive as well, so he knows when something is bothering you.

has a habit of just standing behind you. that's his way of looking out for you. and if he senses any danger, you best believe he's gonna be on his A game. be it a sniper or be it some new private that made a suggestive remark, he’ll put them straight.

he's your biggest supporter except he's constipated in actually supporting. you did pretty well on a mission? most you’re getting out of him is “you did good, yeah?” but that's it.

he's also so so smug with his remarks. i’m talking constant shit eating grins, smirks, fucking irritating cocky behavior but he’s so hot with it. “you think you can take on me?” even with his mask on, u can just tell!! “oh yeah? c'mere and prove me wrong”

fucking simp enjoys training with you soooo much like especially the ‘first one to get pinned loses’ he puts you down so easily. but then he coaches you as well “c’mon you can fight better than this” as he points out other techniques to use. “atta girl” (i’m gonna kms). always the person to challenge you and push you to your limits because he's not taking a risk when it comes to your life.

[thephant0menace]

| Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley head cannons

Being in a relationship with Ghost

Warnings: fem!reader x Simon Riley, strong language, fluff, slightly suggestive and mentions of sex, mention of blood and wounds, lots of pet names, simons awful dad jokes😨

Simon is a very intimate and physical lover.

He loves touching you and will always want to be close and affectionate with you, as he didn’t get that kinda physical affection as a kid.

He’s not big on PDA but as soon as you guys walk through the front door of your house, he’s all over you.

He’s absolutely terrified of accidentally hurting you like his father use to do to his mother.

So when you first started dating he was so cautious and gentle with you.

He was scared he’d break you.

But eventually he got more confident and comfortable with you…thanks to all your late night counselling sessions together on random nights. 

He never tells you about his injuries after returning from missions, so you’ll randomly find wounds on his body through out the night.

It’s an effort to get him to let you patch him up and be acts all tough as he doesn’t want to worry you.

“Just let me patch you up…it’ll be quick!”

“It’s fine, darlin’.”

“Simon, you’ve got a huge slash up your arm…”

“I’m alright. Let’s just go to the bedroom, I missed you.”

“I love you but we are not having sex with your arm sliced open.”

He’d eventually give in after lots of whining and complaining from him.

He hates to admit it but he does like it when you play doctor and sit in his lap, patching him all up.

“Look so pretty in my lap, lovie.”

You just roll your eyes, fighting back a smirk as you clean his wounds.

He loves when you give him back massages after missions and he happily returns them.

Loves when you use all your special essential oils and lotions to massage his sore muscles.

100% has fallen asleep mid massage.

Simon hates spicy food.

But he will suffer through it if you make it for him because he loves it when you cook.

“Simon? Are you alright?” You try to hold back a laugh as you stare at him from across the table.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, m’fine…” He mumbled out, tears welling up in his eyes as he reluctantly scoops another spoonful of spicy pasta into his mouth.

You raise a brow suspiciously, “you don’t look fine…are you crying?”

“No! No, I’m not. Promise.”

“If you don’t like it you don’t have to have it,” you chuckle.

“I told you, I’m fine. Just a bit of spice…” there are tears practically spilling from his eyes and down his flushed cheeks.

You still tease him about it to this day.

He has also taught you how to make tea like a proper Brit.

He doesn’t believe in water.

This man lives off tea and bourbon. NOTHING ELSE.

He’s super quiet for a big guy.

He’s stealthy 🤨

So sometimes you don’t even hear him approaching and it scares that shit outta you.

He finds it hilarious yet he doesn’t even mean to.

Simon also sneezes so fucking loud.

Like you know those big ass sneezes dads do…yeah like that.

It quite literally makes you jump, every. single. time.

No matter how long you’ve been together…it always gets you.

DAD JOKES! DAD JOKES! DAD JOKES!

“Hey love,” he rasps out, voice croaky from sleep.

“Hm?” You groan, opening your eyes slightly.

“What do you call a soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray? A seasoned Veteran.”

“Simon, it’s 2 am.”

A/N: you guys seem to like my Ghost head cannons, so eat up🫶🫶

Also…more Konig and potentially Price fics coming up next!

[lundenloves]

THE CARD

〔 this is dedicated to all the girlies who never stopped trying. because sometimes, putting up boundaries isn’t as easy as it seems and that’s okay. if you think i’m talking to you, i am. 〕

˗ˏˋ to be flat about it, simon’s daughter stopped making him birthday cards. this one unintentionally got a bit deep but i do that with everything so don’t act surprised.

⇀ 1.1k | no warnings

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | request info | taglist

Your husband often forgot about his birthday. Lost to bad memories, and lack of care but primarily his job. Even still, it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to remember — feeling comfort in letting it slip under the rug, rubbing the back of his neck in absence when you had asked him the date. He insisted it was something to be ignored, and for your three years without kids it was, aside from the one present he reluctantly let you buy. 

Of course, that was until your first born came along. 

And there were a lot of things Simon didn’t know about having children. The obvious ones like the guilty regret late at night, being out of his depth and even how to deal with them. But, also their childlike wonder and passion for random things that seemed so foreign to him. Afterall, a birthday is a birthday, it never seemed to matter whose it was — your kid would turn to incredulous sobs if it wasn’t celebrated. Especially when she had found out about her fathers, bottom lip quivering when he had gently told her how he prefers to not do anything. 

It started when she was a toddler, forgetting about his birthday until she had heard you talking about it. Small ears perked up at the mention of the word, hanging by the door to watch as you traced Simon’s arm and the tattoos, his head shaking and a few words mumbled between you. Every year you asked if he wanted to do anything, knowing his answer but hoping for another.

So, naturally, she took to her bedroom. Trashing her small desk with dozens of crayons to create a card for Simon, one that was unevenly folded yet made with her whole heart. 

She did that every following year without fail. Except, her cards folded more evenly as time passed and the crayons were exchanged for pens, then pencils. The drawings got better and better, words spelt right and the inner messages were longer all before they had stopped entirely.

In seemingly simple change for a shop bought card. See, the words were joined together nicely though the message was shorter and the lack of ten kisses in exchange for one suddenly made the card seem empty. “Why’d you stop?” You would ask one night as the pair of you lay together in the dark, your husband's place taken by your daughter near every night when he was away. “Making the cards.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think he cared.” 

When in reality, those cards were the only thing Simon looked forward to year round. And it wasn’t like he had outwardly expressed how much they meant to him, rather giving a weak smile and a soft kiss to her temple each time. But he kept them, every single one, every drawing was stored for safekeeping in a small box filled to the brim. Sketches that ranged from family drawings, to landscapes, animals and solo drawings of him if not herself.

Time ran from small limbs clambering over your own, six in the morning to reach Simon who had stirred when she fell onto his chest, a hand instinctively placed on the back of her head in his half-conscious state. “It’s your birthday!” She used to drag out with a laugh, sitting up on his stomach and holding the card mere centimeters from his face. 

To the last birthday, handing him the shop bought card in all teenage glory, too embarrassed to write ‘I love you’ so it came as a ‘Love you’ and the once overly done x’s and o’s were now a set of one. He didn’t know the first thing about teenagers either. How past a certain age everything felt detrimental and targeted, embarrassment seeped through everything and it wasn’t cool to like your dad anymore. 

Especially not as a teenage girl. 

And it wasn’t until he was away for his birthday for the first time in years that she had missed it. Missed the softening of his eyes and the way his arm would wrap around her shoulder and pull her to his side, hand rubbing her arm in acknowledgement of her efforts. 

She took his safety for granted most of the time. Waving to him at the door with no doubt that he would be back months later, a naturally blunt text that he was safe would be sent to you and all would be well. Though, sometimes he was required to hand his phone in before the tougher trips. Designed to provide the safest atmosphere, though back home many miles away it never did feel safer. And that was when she missed him the most. 

You always wanted what you couldn’t have.

Simon was no better. He had taken the younger years for granted. The tears before bed, stalking into his bedroom after a bad dream, tired eyes in the mornings and the excitement to see him once back home. He wasn’t to know when the last time he would pick up his daughter was, or the last time she would ask for help when reaching for a cereal box. Hell, even the final she had fallen asleep on his chest or asked him to stay until she had dozed off in her own ‘big’ bed. Small hands wrapping around his fingers, giggles and toothy grins had all evaporated into nothing. 

It was tough being a dad.

But it was hell being a teenage girl. 

Sometimes it felt ike you were made purely to drink iced coffee with alternative milk, wear baggy clothes and feel bad for old people every now and then. The act of growing up isn’t something you want, though something you concede to after realising you had wished your youth away. 

And in that, 

There was something about girls and their fathers. 

The constant need for subconscious approval and love, feeling bad for the man who raised you whenever he was left to eat dinner alone or scorned by your mother in a heated argument you couldn’t help to overhear. Simon’s daughter had always been in that predicament. 

She missed her dad when he left, yet hated when she shared the kitchen with him. It felt like an itch that you weren’t able to scratch, though his rare hugs completely killed all flame she had for him and sometimes, instead, they allowed for tears to flow. Because after all, a girl is really just her dad. 

Maybe that card should've been made after all. 

˗ˏˋ university is wiping me out already. it’s the first week back do you want to fucking calm down. been set two presentations (both recorded wtf) and three literature papers.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee

as always reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated blah blah blah

[lululandd]

corrupted;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 1.3k+

warnings: possessive behaviour, angst

note: :) (also on AO3)

summary: the first time he came home with his mask on, you didn’t let him in.

you weren’t even convinced it was simon at first. the man held himself too differently; he stood up too straight, his shoulders too square, there’s too much confidence in his stance as he stared you down.

the mask makes you feel uneasy, it makes it seem like he’s looking down at you with perpetual hostility in his eyes. normally you’d look up, but right now you opt to just glance up at him from time to time. but you do see from the corner of your eyes that he tilts his head at you, his gloved fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on the door jamb. 

“it’s me, love.” he assured you in his gruff and gravelly voice, recognising it as the one he reserves for drunks at the pub.

“can you take the mask off then? please?”

he sucked a breath, both his hands now have come up on either side of the door. “just want to shower and go the fuck to bed, love. don’t be difficult.”

you stood your ground, eyeing him coldly. “and how difficult would it be to take the mask off before coming inside?”

his dark eyes bore into yours, brows drawing close together. “christ fuck, woman.” he finally says, bitterness bleeds through his muffled voice as he yanks the thing off his head, “happy?”

no.

finally seeing him, you notice the deepening lines on the corner of his eyes, and the bags underneath it worse than ever before. his lips twitch as if to say something as you open the door wider for him to finally pass you.

simon trudged his boots off by the shoerack before heading upstairs, you hear your shared bathroom door slamming shut as you still stood by the front door. you almost wanted to cry, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. you know simon’s job tires him out, he’s quieter and more reserved the first few days back; but today he gives you no hellos, no instructions to make tea, no offhand comment about the squeaking door that he complains about.

only silence greets you.

~

“come here.”

you barely turn from your little console, “no you come here.” giggling as you tried to find a safe spot so you could look at him and away from the game.

the bed dips heavily, you were tugged towards a warm chest as an arm snakes tightly around your waist and another slides up your collarbone, his finger absentmindedly tracing patterns on the side of your neck. he leaned his head on yours, pulling you flush against him; your back bumped against his solid chest as he leaves soft kisses on the top of your head.

it’s weirdly….foreign.

simon’s love language had always been physical touch; whether it’s a hand on your shoulder, his feet next to yours, knees touching on a hot day, but at this exact moment you can’t fathom why his touches felt so unfamiliar.

his kisses move downward, more insistent, lips lingering longer than it should. intoxicating but peculiar at the same time. 

“stop playing.” he warned, his hand getting worryingly close to squeezing your neck.

his hold had never felt so constricting, as if he fears you’d disappear if he loosens his grip on you. his mouth had found its way to your neck, sucking and biting until he’s had enough and places a large hand on the screen, forcing you to set the thing down.

“i said stop.” he ordered, voice worryingly close to a growl.

leaning further into him, he tightened his embrace on you. seeing you’re no longer distracted, he went back to marking your neck, lapping at the bruising skin. 

you sighed into his touches and kisses, fully surrendering in his hold. as he turned your head with a hand on your jaw, you could now see every scar, every freckle, every little imperfection on his face, and it was harder to form thoughts when he’s so close like this. “sim–”

his lips press into yours; harsh and domineering, as he pushed you into the mattress, making you gasp. taking your open mouth as an invitation, his tongue greedily swipes across yours.

the kiss ended as quickly as it started, with simon pulling back and opting to have a go at leaving marks on your neck again. he left a particularly hard suck by your pulse point, making you let out a nervous giggle, “stop, simon. i don’t think i have turtlenecks that high.”

“then let them see.” he breathed hotly against another part of your neck he hasn’t left kisses on. it made you shudder, no one had ever made you feel so desired before.

wrapping your arms around him, you smiled weakly, “i love you, simon. you don’t have to worry about other people.”

hearing you say that made him finally pause his persistent abuse on your skin.

“say it again.” 

you couldn’t even look into his eyes, your cheeks burn from the constant attention he’s giving you right now. but even that couldn’t dissuade the little voice in your head that's trying to tell you this isn't right, this doesn’t feel like him; but you said it aloud anyway, “i love you.”

“again,” he breathed, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips, “i want to hear you mean it.”

“i love you, simon.”

you could feel his smirk as he peppered kisses on your skin.

~

“simon you can’t be serious.” you chided him coldly, he has been wearing a face mask at home more often now. this time for a whole week straight. neither of you are even ill.

you could see something ominous and unpleasant underneath his glare as he turned his head towards you. “let me be, love.” he doesn’t even call you by your name anymore, as if he had completely forgotten what it is.

you groaned, “ugh, fine.” 

cutting the distance between you in record time, simon seized your wrist and held it up by his face, making you tumble into him. “what–”

“i love you.” he stated.

at this exact moment you thought him insane. you looked up at him, confusion and exasperation clear on your face.

“i'm sorry?” was the only thing you could think to say right now.

never have you thought simon was intimidating until this very moment. his eyebrows furrowed so deeply it made his pupils seem darker than it should. “say it back.”

you have no intention of saying it back.

his grip on your wrist had start to hurt at this point, and trying to wriggle away only made him hold it even tighter. the little yelp of pain you let out didn’t faze him even the slightest.

you only now realised this is not simon. in your mild attempt to break free from his grip you couldn’t help but to acknowledge his growing desire that’s been insistently prodding your front.

alarmed, you couldn’t help but to try and wriggle away harder. his insistent hand on the small of your back doesn’t help with the situation, either.

when he finally lets go of your wrist, opting to hold the back of your neck to hold you closer to him, you had already given up resisting. 

at that moment you felt as if you’re something of him to merely possess, and nothing else. tears escaped you, at first a little before cascading fully into sobs and whimpers. you don’t feel the love and warmth simon had, right now his grasp felt stiff and constricting.

“you’re not him, are you?” you hiccuped into his chest.

hearing no answer, you look up to see a man you loved, with a dangerous glint you don’t recognise in his eyes.

“no, you're not,” you answered your own question and his hold breaks. you let out a shuddered breath as you stare blankly at nothing, tears blurring your vision. “is he still in there?”

only silence answers.

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

Gentle!Price with a skittish, touch starved Reader who notices when you flinch or shy away from something as innocent as his knuckles brushing your cheek.

Gentle!Price who wants you to feel safe with him, not crowded or pressured, and gives you space to come to him when you're ready. Which you don't do because you don't know how. It's always been safer to keep people at a distance.

Gentle!Price who initiates contact by offering his hand, palm up, for you to accept or refuse on your own time. Sometimes, you accept. But mostly, you refuse. And he never makes you feel bad about it either way.

Gentle!Price who ducks his head with a smile when the two of you are out for a walk and you link your little finger with his. Or press your leg against his under the dinner table.

Gentle!Price who stands before you after dinner one night and slowly brings his hands up, studying your expression to see how you'll react. When he cups his palms to your face, it's wonderful and overwhelming and you're not breathing but you're not running away either, so you take that as a win. "There you go, love," he murmurs softly, because he always speaks softly around you. "That's not so bad, is it?"

Gentle!Price who waits with endless patience as you reach across the gap between the two of you with shaky fingers and trip over his belt, wander up the buttons of his coat, and rest your hand against the solid warmth of his chest. He knows how hard that was for you but it's a sign of how far you've conquered together.

Gentle!Price who always leaves an available space on the couch for you beside him. Just in case you need it. When you walk through his door after a long day and drop beside him, burying your face in his shoulder with a grumble because people suck and I really missed you, he just gives that delicious deep rumbling laugh you've come to love so much and tugs you more fully into his arms with a kiss to the top of your head.

Masterlist

[tacticaldiary]

Call Of Duty Masterlist

Last Updated: 10/12/2023

Requests: OPEN

Current Works: 29

This is the masterlist for all my Call Of Duty work! Make sure to check back frequently for updates and feel free to send in your requests!

⭐ - Fan Favourite!

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Jealousy, Jealousy

Anyone But Her ⭐

It Was Never Meant To Hurt

Painless Bruises ⭐

Captured In Tandem , Recovery In Tandem⭐

Forget Me Not

Bone Tired

Night Terrors

A Cracked And Fissured Door ⭐

To Hate A Heart That Beats For You

Where One Goes, The Other Follows

It All Comes Crashing Down ⭐

Solace For The Rough Nights

To Coax The Love From A Ghost

Meant To Be a Ghost, Not a Shadow

Superficial Wounds, Deep Devotion

I Swear I Asked For Two

The Price Of A Secret , 

A Fighting Chance,  Frayed Stitches Don’t Hold (Pt 2)  ⭐

Till Death Do Us Apart

Frightened Of The Fall

Cut From The Same Cloth

John Price

Sacrifices

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Taken

Gentle Hands

A Still Beating Heart

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Welcome Home, Love

[writingfromasgard]

Simon "Ghost" Riley Masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley finishes his latest tattoo and his kid's all over it - loves it, says its beautiful and they're gonna draw something one day so he can tattoo it on him.

Then they innocently ask, "Can I color in the next one?"

Simon's staring down at the little tike when he goes, "yeah, you can."

three months later, he's got a few tattoos on his legs that are just lines, no shading, no color. When they heal, he tells them they can use the washable markers he bought them to color the tattoo in.

[forsworned]

Thinking about Simon having a tattoo on his left lower hip when you two start drunkenly making out on your bunk. He's lifting his shirt above his head and you're shimmying out of your skirt. You're happily getting on your knees to unbuckle his jeans, sliding off his briefs as well.

The green little ink catches your eye and you pause for a moment to inspect it. "Is that a tattoo?"

He's leaning back on his elbows, dark brown eyes fixating on your sexy topless figure. "What of it?"

You scoff. "Four-leafed clover, eh?"

"Yeah," He takes a swig of the water bottle that sits on your nightstand. "'means you're lucky to even get this far."

You scoff again as he chuckles, but it's cut off by the pleasuring feeling of your tongue swiping across the inked skin. He shudders as you swirls over it, sucking his hip bone, and his fingers thread though your hair.

But you pull away too quick for his liking. "Lil minx." He mutters as he watches you get up from the ground.

You giggle at his flushed cheeks, but it ends with you squealing as he pulls you on top of him, giving your ass a little squeeze. "You won't get away with teasin' me like tha'"

[ragingbookdragon]

Simon’s about ten feet from his front door when he decides he doesn’t want to walk anymore. He’s half tempted to lay down on the floor, call his girlfriend, and see if she can’t pull him into their flat. He decides to walk the rest of the way and leans against the door, face first into the cool metal as he fumbles the keys into the lock, not bothering to look for the keyhole. It takes all of five minutes before he manages to get the key in and unlock the door. And when he does, he slips inside, closes the door behind him, drops his bags in the hallway, yanks off his mask, and drops to his knees to lay on the ground. He lets out a long groan as the muscles in his back and limbs relax, all the tension from the missions in the past months fades.

Footsteps sound through the flat, the echo of his love’s voice calling for him through the rooms and into the hall. He doesn’t look up, only opens his eyes to see her face in front of his; she’s wearing one of her face masks, the gooey gold eye masks, and a cherry red lip mask beneath. It makes him want to laugh and he snorts, low in his chest as her nose scrunches up.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chastises. “I’m doing all this so I could look pretty for you when you got home.”

Simon reaches out and touches her head, fingers brushing gently in her hair; she smells so comforting, like vanilla and orange blossoms, like her shampoo, like home. He’s suddenly falling in love with her all over again as he murmurs, “You look beautiful to me all the time, love.”

Her eyes light up and it makes his heart swell, peace washing over him. “I made chicken and rice. It’s in the oven.”

“With the cream of mushroom?”

“With the cream of mushroom,” she smiles. “And I added an extra can of cream of chicken so it’d be really good for you. And I deep-cleaned the apartment. So it’s clean for you. I also bought you a new leather jacket and boots, so we gotta hit a pub sometime soon so I can show you off to all my ladies.”

He melts further onto the floor, wondering how a man like him has been given a woman like her; she is his salvation amongst all his damnation. “I love you,” he says, quietly, wholeheartedly, and Simon Riley has never felt more human than ever in his life. When he’s here, he forgets about Ghost, forgets about everything that’s brought his life to its knees. He’s Simon, he’s whole, he is loved here.

Her hand moves to brush along his cheek, his nose, his brows, and she smiles at him. “I love you, Simon.”

[alwaysshallow]

simon might appear cold, when you two are dating.

mechanical, almost. not able of human feelings, maybe too harsh for your liking. not really saying the l-word (yet, right? you think that will take him time, even if it's almost six months of you dating, you do not lose hope). your friends don't really like him either, he's weird and has jokes that no one understands. he's not really engaging with anything that has to do with them.

sometimes, it would be easier to just break up with him than hear the silence on his side, when you two are fighting. stone cold silence, like you weren't just saying that he's the worst because he seems like he doesn't care anymore.

but i assure you, he knows what he wants since he laid his eyes on you.

you don't know this, but he bought a ring after two days into dating. is that because he's romantic? not really, it's more like a possession type of thing. he knows you're the one, why would he play games? you're his, he's yours, a loyal dog that stands by your side till the end of the line. nothing more, nothing less.

one day, you wake up with a ring on your finger. no proposing whatsoever, just a fact that you're his fiancee now, and a small gift by your night stand that has you bawling.

he doesn't even say anything about it, he just gruffs that you need to be quiet and his arms tighten around your middle more.

he cares, but not in the typical way.

the only thing that could be romantic is the wedding that you can organise from scratch, but it's a whole ass different conversation.

[saksukei]

simon ‘ghost’ riley has a crush on you

masterlist | subtle things he does for you | simon my love

simon’s feelings hit him like a truck, as if he's a deer caught in the headlights. he only comes to realize it in the heat of the battle, chests heaving up and down as the two of you hide behind a wall for cover. you tell him to reload first and it's something so insignificant, so minute and yet it pieces things together for him. so he does what his first best. swallow the lump in his neck, ignore the swelling of his heart and focus on what’s next.

except

he sucks at it and boy is it evident.

it is so subtle though, subtle enough for it to slip under everyone’s radars including yours. except, captain price is no fool. he's known simon long enough to see the little change in his demeanor when you enter the room. how simon immediately sits up right, in his best posture, giving you a firm nod of acknowledgment.

how simon always looks your way, always. even when you’re not looking, he’ll still check what you're doing, where you are. it’s not intended to be creepy, it's just a form of reassurance that you’re alive, that you’re okay, that he has another chance to confess. (also the type to lean against the door frame and observe you)

what’s shocking is that even during his infamous cigarette breaks, he chooses to hang out with you. he adores the fact that it’s comfortable silence between the two of you. and more importantly, it contains the two best things he needs, silence and you. “what a view” he thinks to himself.

moreso, the lieutenant’s eye for detail is insane. simon is incredibly nuanced, he can notice when your mood is off, when you’re hurt, irritated or whatsoever. he tries to deal with the issue silently, like handing you a bottle of water, leaving a seat for you beside him, ensuring that he does most of the paper work and so on.

simon reacts at the speed of lightning if he notices you’re hurt or in range of fire. he remembers the one time he ran, grabbing you by the waist to make sure you don’t get shot. your small frame clinging against his, your body weight almost nothing to him and he felt lightheaded. he desperately wanted to keep you in his arms but he settles for asking, “you holdin’ up fine?” as he lets you out of his grip.

he enjoys bantering with you so much. such snide and snarky remarks all the time. from “what? can’t handle a little teasing from your superiors?” to “you know it's bad manners cussing behind your lieutenant’s back,” to “thought you were tough?” to “all that back talk, why don't you come and prove it?” he absolutely loves the reactions you give him.

moreso, when he begins getting more and more comfortable, he invites you eat lunch with him as opposed to with the rest of the soldiers. adores the fact that you both can converse without having eyes on the two of you. “plans for lunch?”

oh and of course, the most difficult moment of his life, when you reached forward on your tippy toes to fix his balaclava, simon thought he’d have a heart attack. took all of his strength to not lean forward and press a kiss to your forehead. “looking alright now?” he jokes, you can almost hear his smirk.

he hates the vulnerability, he does. but what he doesn't hate is the fact that it's you. it's you he’s being vulnerable with. and he repeats it to himself every night that you’re the best choice anyway.

[thephant0menace]

| Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley head cannons

Comfort

Warnings: strong language, crying, Wife!reader x Husband!Simon Riley, FLUFF🤭

Nothing was going right for you today…

Everything was just pissing you off and by the end of the day you just wanted to curl up in your bed and cry.

It was a rainy Tuesday night and you were a wandering around the kitchen, cleaning and sipping on some tea when your husband came home from work.

“Hey love…” he sighed as he slips his mask off his face. He was clearly tired from a long and rough day at the base.

You just grumbled out a quiet ‘hi’ as you finished wiping the kitchen bench down.

Simon scoffs, a little surprised at your grumpy answer.

“What the fucks up your ass tonight?” He smirks, walking over towards you with his arms out to hug you.

You just glare up at him angrily before storming off to your shared room.

Simon stands there confused and a little concerned. He’s never seen you so cold and angry towards him before.

Meanwhile you are laying, face down in your bed and sobbing.

You couldn’t handle the stress of the day anymore and you just snapped.

After a few minutes you hear the bedroom door creak open and a pair of heavy footsteps entering the room.

You feel the bed dip next to you and that’s when you lift your head.

You look up at Simon with tears streaming down your red and puffy cheeks.

He puts a hand on your back, his thumb gently rubbing small circles.

Part of him feels awkward and a little confused on what happened or what he did but the other half feels sympathy and a need to hold you and make you feel better.

Simon clears his throat, “do you, uh…want me to stay or go?” He asks a little unsure of what to do.

You pout your lips, attempting to hold back tears before choking out a broken ‘stay’ and reaching your arms out to hug him.

He pulls you onto his lap, letting you rest your head on his shoulder as you continue to sob.

His hands wrap around your waist, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“Rough day?” He asks softly.

You nod, whimpering softly.

“Me too, lovie…me too. Its okay…it’ll be okay.”

Your crying and whimpering slowly comes to a stop and you feel your body relax into your husbands arms as he places soft kisses on your head.

“M’sorry Simon,” you sniffle, looking up at him.

“No need to be sorry, sweetheart…we all have our days.” He whispers soothingly, gently brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face.

“What do ya say we relax in bed and watch a movie or somethin’? Maybe we can order food.” He gives you a playful smile.

The rest of your night was spent cuddled up to Simon, eating take out while watching the most cheesy roncoms you could find.

Moments like these were so precious to both you and Simon.

Just spending time together like a normal couple and enjoying each other’s presence.

A/N: SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED IN AGES!!! I’ve been so busy with dancing and school and work, and on top of that the 400 assignments I have due…but I had to make time to do things I enjoy like writing. So I hope you enjoyed this little scenario I came up with <3

[lundenloves]

CHAOTIC RILEY HOUSEHOLD

{✧} dad!simon, everyone’s favourite dilf.

{✧} this is just a short thing of like a morning? (duh wtf) i mean if bro has three kids you already know he’s physically there but not mentally. and this was like? a depiction of that. it’s literally just one or two words on a screen. *trips on a curb after speed walking away*

taglist | dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | request info

↳ no warnings | 1k | dad!simon

The chaos of the morning always felt extreme to Simon Riley. He had never imagined them to be so busy and full of life, full of emotion, loudness and laughs. Having a full house did that. Having three kids did that. And that was something he would’ve never imagined for himself, period. 

Yet — here he was. Stood leant against the kitchen counter, piece of toast in his hand with a cup of earl grey on the counter behind him. His oldest argued with his middle, the last drop of orange juice teasingly drank down right in her face. The youngest cried loudly, protesting going to school by pushing her shirt over her head and screaming whenever anyone took a step near her. Plates were everywhere, half finished food was on said plates and you looked like a shepherd trying to herd her sheep. 

Simon didn’t move from his position against the counter. It was like a vantage point, being above everyone in height, yet stood still and seemingly blending into the background of family mess. 

That was until he was pulled from his peace, abruptly at that. “Dad, tell her.” The oldest had dropped her arms to her side in a teenage strop, gesturing to her sibling who scowled. 

“Hmm?” He stared absently, blissfully unaware of the chaos before him. You squeezed past him, your hand on his bicep with the movement, the youngest clung to his leg and the middle began shouting about getting ‘dad involved.’

“She’s just drank all the orange juice, there was enough for two.” Simon shrugged, taking a bite from his toast and waving a hand of dismissal, as if her biggest problem of the morning wasn’t a flake valid. “Mum!” She tried instead. 

“Simon, any day now?” You gestured toward his leg, silently telling him to deal with it. His eyes fell down to his youngest, still clung to his calf with force, half-dressed and crying. Loud. He rubbed at his temple, shoving the toast into his mouth and lifting his leg and her with it much to your fear. 

“What’s wrong, eh?” She wiped her nose on her arm, looking up to her dad with wet eyes. “Kid.” 

“School.” She mumbled, kicking away from him and attempting to run away before he had picked her up. She hit his chest, small hands trying to lift herself from his biceps. “Daddy. Stop.” Her demand only made Simon shrug.

“You’re going.” His hand pushed hair from her face. 

“If she’s staying off, I'm staying off.” The middle chimed in, loosening her school tie and leaning back on her chair. 

“No one is staying off.” He reprimanded, nodding toward the chair. “You’ll fall if you do that.” She shrugged and he manually pulled the chair back down, holding his palm on the back edge. “Go and get your bag.”

“What about her?” 

“I’m about to sort her out,” His youngest landed a slap to his neck, trying to kick out of his grasp once more. “Just— do it. Thanks.” And there came a long groan that followed her up the stairs, the oldest reaching to finish her orange juice in the short absence. Simon sighed. 

“I want everyone out in ten.” You shouted above the kitchen chaos, handing him small shoes that had been kicked off in a strop. He set her down on the table, holding her legs still to slide the shoes back on much to her physical protests. 

“I don’t want to go.” She cried, crossing her little arms over her chest with a frown once he had fixed the shirt and jumper back on. 

“No one wants to go.” The oldest chimed from the table, standing up and kicking her chair back in while absently scrolling on her phone. “I’m leaving.” She shouted to you, sending Simon a salute before walking backwards out the room and to the door with an accidental slam. “Sorry!”

The middle came humphing back downstairs and kicked her bag to the door, leant against the wall and glaring at her sister. You took your youngest from Simon, balancing her on your hip after pulling a jacket on. “I’ll see you when I get home, Si.” He nodded, mug of tea back in hand, brows frowning for a moment. 

“Did you get her food?” His index and forefinger lacklusterly motioned to the counter, nodding his head upward in acknowledgement once you had shown him the lunchbox. “Did you get your food?”

“I’ll just buy—“

“Can we go.” Came an extended scoff from the hall. 

“Buy something today.” 

“You need money?” He cleared his throat, taking your brief kiss before setting back against the counter. His eyes landed on the toddler in your arms, stern gaze unchanged for her own glare sent his way. 

“What five quid? No.” You rubbed his arm affectionately, taking the small raincoat for your daughter and pressing one last kiss to his cheek before walking down the hall. “Remember and sort out those shelves today. If you forget I'll be mighty impressed considering you’re doing fucking nothing.” You rambled while shoving your shoes on, letting your youngest daughter down and watching with a sigh as she sat on the floor. 

Simon let out a string of “Mh-hm’s” for your list of requests, each one becoming less patient and edging a grin from you. 

“Right.” You took your daughter's hand, picking her up from the floor. “The shelves, Simon.” A pointed finger of warning was sent his way and he merely nodded, seeing you out the door. 

And once the house had finally fell to a stilling silence, he blew a raspberry to himself, hard knuckles rhythmically tapping on the kitchen counters. The mess a Monday morning created was something he could and would never get used to. But, it was home. Any drop of silence was his bread and butter, therefore the pin drop quietness pushed a groan of relief from him. Heel of his palms pushed into his eyes. 

Home. Or something like that. 

i’m still in my block this isn’t a redemption.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox

as always, reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.