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sinkovia · 7 months

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The Coliseum

Gladiator Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, blood, mention of death.

Masterlist

In the splendor of the royal box, you, the princess, watched with bated breath as the gladiatorial games unfolded below. Among the fierce warriors, one figure stood out to you. The way his eyes looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and longing made your heart yearn for him.

As Simon emerged victorious, you approached him with reverence, a crown of delicate flowers clasped gently in your hands. With adoration shining in your eyes, you lifted the floral adornment and placed it upon his head, a gesture of respect and admiration for his remarkable fight.

Your voice reached his ears like a soothing melody. "What is your name?" your words carrying a softness that made Simon's heart flutter within his chest.

"Simon," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head in deference, feeling unworthy to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.

"You fought with honor, Simon, something I rarely see" your praise washed over him like a soothing balm to his weary soul. With gentle hands, you took a fragrant cloth and wiped away the traces of blood from his face, your touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

As a final act of gratitude and affection, one that filled his heart with warmth, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him feeling as though he had been touched by an angel.

Simon was hesitant to entertain any feelings for you, knowing the risks involved in falling for the daughter of the king. He was a gladiator, a man bound by duty and honor, and the idea of getting involved with royalty seemed both reckless and forbidden.

However, you were always there to see him fight, sitting at the edge of your seat praying to the gods above to keep him safe. And every time he came out victorious you would be there placing a crown of flowers you had woven together on his head, smiling up at him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

Simon found himself drawn to you, the princess whose grace and kindness shone like a beacon in the darkness of the coliseum. Despite his initial reluctance to entangle himself with royalty, Simon couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for you, a love that bloomed quietly in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes.

Your meetings in secret became the highlight of his days, each stolen moment filled with whispered confessions and tender caresses. In your arms, he found solace from the brutality of the arena, his heart beating in rhythm with yours, bound by a love that defied all odds.

The shadows of secrecy could only conceal your love for so long. When your father discovered the truth of your forbidden romance, he devised a cruel plan to teach you a lesson.

Your father, driven by rage, forced Simon into a duel against the most formidable warrior in the land. Towering over Simon, the opponent loomed like a mountain, casting a shadow over the arena with his imposing stature.

With every ounce of strength and determination, Simon fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his unwavering love for you. But the odds were stacked against him, and despite his best efforts, he was ultimately overpowered by the brute force of his adversary.

You watched in agony as Simon fell to the ground, his body battered and broken, while the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed in your ears like a cruel mockery of your grief. You cried out, your anguished scream piercing through the crowd. Ignoring your father's desperate attempts to restrain you, you broke free from his grasp and raced down to the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

In your grief-fueled rage, you lashed out, pushing aside anyone who dared stand in your way. With a single motion, you sent a soldier trying to restrain you tumbling down the steps, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch as his body rolled to the bottom.

When you reached the arena you grasped Simon's sword with trembling hands and as the warrior who had robbed you of your beloved raised his hands in triumph, basking in the cheers of the crowd, you plunged the sword deep into his back. The crowd erupted into shocked gasps as they witnessed the princess, their beloved royalty, committing a brazen act of violence before their eyes.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you collapsed beside Simon's lifeless form, the weight of grief and despair pressing heavily upon your heart. Tenderly, you cradled his face in your trembling hands, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips softly against his, a final gesture of love and longing.

But as your lips met his the shocked gasps of the crowd echoed around you, their disapproval thick in the air. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the gaping divide between your station as royalty and Simon's humble existence as a gladiator. Yet, despite the scornful glares and muttering voices, you refused to let go of the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Among the spectators, your father let out a cry of anguish, his voice reverberating with fury and disbelief at the display unfolding before him.

As the king's guards advanced towards you, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination, you knew that your fate was sealed. With resolve burning brightly within you, you reached for the small dagger strapped to your thigh, a gift from Simon for your protection.

With a steady hand and a resolve born of unwavering love, you drew the blade across your throat, the searing pain nothing to the agony within your heart.

As the crimson blood stained the pristine fabric of your gown, the collective gasps and cries of the onlookers reached a fever pitch, mingling with the anguished wails of your father.

As your blood mixed with Simon's on the bloodstained earth of the arena, you knew that in death, you would find solace in the arms of your beloved, united for eternity in a love that transcended even the boundaries of mortality and the barriers of royalty and status.

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dabiekql · 11 months

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Recommendation - Call of Duty: Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 1

Navigation

-----

Honorifics

Childhood Crushes

The Break In / Ver.2

Frozen Fingertips / Part 2

War God Ghost / Part 2

Gladiator Ghost

Zombie Ghost

Don't Make a Habit of Dying

Simon Struggles with Anger / Part 2

Your First Christmas with Simon is by Far the Worst

Hostage / Part 2

One Thing You Love

Trust

Sweet Dreams, My Love

Love Language

Atrapada

Liability / Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley Has a Crush on You

When Reader Bled Through Her Pants

Ghost Comforting Reader

Biker Simon

Single Dad Ghost

Nothing Fucks with My Baby

Around the Clock

Hush

Reader Wearing His Clothes

Digging Gaze

Pillow

Don't Feed Him, He'll Come Back / Part 2 / Part 3

Soft Love with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Lost and Found

Simon Who Cries After Sex Because It's So Intimate and He Just Trusts You So Much

Falling Asleep on His Shoulder

Neighbour Simon

Soft Simon

Tapping Out

We All Have Our Demons

Dog Collar Wrestler Ghost

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #cod ghost #cod simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #ghost imagines #simon riley imagines

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aoioozora · 5 months

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Simon.

Part 9

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost

Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @keiraslayz

@iimichie @mxtokko @chocolate-noodles @akurab @xoxobooksstuff

The waterfall, as expected, was a small one, but no less delightful to see. The falling water cascaded in a white, bubbly froth over the mossy rocks that naturally arranged themselves in steps, and spilled into the large plunge pool below. The rush of water, the chirp of birds, and the rustle of trees in the breeze relaxed everyone…

Except Johnny.

Restless as he was, he immediately threw off his t-shirt and cannonballed into the water to have a dip, making a splash that almost rivalled a meteor falling into the sea. The ladies, who were washing the sweat off their faces by the banks, were victims of this mini tsunami.

“John! Stop splashing around so much!” screeched Lindsey, her face flushed with annoyance as she watched him doggy paddle in the deeper part of the plunge pool.

But that only provoked him to splash around some more and laugh at the annoyed look on her face. “C’mon, dinna fash yersel. It's a braw day, have some fun!” he chortled as he dove and resurfaced, mimicking a shark.

Simon watched Johnny's antics in the water and wanted to get in for a swim too, but hesitated. If it weren’t for the ladies, his shirt would be off and he’d be in the water in an instant.

“Are you gonna swim, Ghosty?” asked Gaz, who had also taken off his t-shirt and was doing a couple stretches before he could take a dip.

“No, I’m fine.” Simon shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“You sure, mate?” Gaz’s eyes flickered briefly towards the ladies as he leaned close to whisper, “You know you can show off those guns to her, right?”

He glanced at ____, who was now sitting on some rocks next to Lindsey, having their feet dipped in the water. He could take Gaz’s advice and he knew his body was impressive, but other things about his torso made him conscious.

“Come on, don’t be such a pussy,” Gaz nudged Simon’s arm, smirking, “She’ll like it. And besides, you don't want her to be taken by someone else, do you? Might as well show her that body and secure her, yeah?”

That flipped the switch for him.

“Right then, fuck it.” He instantly took off his shirt and threw it aside.

The two then climbed up the rocks by the banks and dove into the water to join Johnny. While Lindsey was busy now secretly giggling watching the Scotsman, ____ got her once in a lifetime opportunity to see Simon with far less clothes than usual.

Except for the pair of his knee-length shorts, he was naked. His skin was pale except the slight tan on his arms and upon his pecs were etched a few more tattoos similar to the sleeve tattoo on his arm. His body was built and muscular like that of an active soldier or a firefighter, with broad shoulders, well built pectoral and abdominal muscles, and built arms. All his muscles were built to be usable and not for display, and he actually looked strong.

She stared, borderline ogled even, scanning every last bit of his exposed torso, wondering about how strong he was and how much he could carry without breaking a sweat. Of course, all of this was precious information that Frederick would inherit.

“Babe, look at them!” Lindsey nudged ____ out of her reverie to direct her sight to the fun that the men were having.

Simon and Johnny managed to find two large sticks and, pretending to be mediaeval swordsmen… or gladiators engaged in a duel, both screaming “En garde!” and “you fool!” at each other as they clashed sticks. Gaz was busy filming it all and egging them on to fight.

“Boys will be boys,” remarked Lindsey with a chuckle as she too took a video of them. “Men find stick, men play with stick, men happy,” she added, looking at her friend to hear her thoughts.

But ____ didn't hear a word Lindsey said. She was far too busy storing her mental database with the sights of the men frolicking, stick-fighting, and throwing water at each other.

The sight that took the cake was Simon's smile. It wasn't his usual polite little smiles or his teasing smirks, but a full-blown grin of pure enjoyment and happiness. She watched the way his cheeks, flushed with exertion, raised up to his eyes; how his nose crinkled. His laughter was a loud roar, surprisingly, louder than those of his two friends. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she rested her chin on her knee and watched Simon with a dreamy eye, completely taken in by how handsome his genuine laughter made him, yet another thing for Frederick to inherit.

“I caught a fesh!” came Johnny's scream after some minutes of brawling in the pool. The two ladies looked and indeed, the Scotsman was found standing in the middle of the water holding up a huge, writhing fish in his hands like it was a trophy. “Oi Gaz, take ma picture! I need tae put this on ma Instagram.”

“Bruv, did you catch that with your bare hands?” exclaimed Gaz as he came up with his camera, taking a couple photos while the Scotsman waded towards the banks, posing with his prized catch. Johnny announced that he did, and then explained his unorthodox process.

“Your bum’s out the window,” Simon, who now joined them, decided to let Johnny know that he wasn’t making any sense.

“Say it in a Sco’ish accent, mate,” Johnny piped, smirking, “It’s ‘yer bum’s oot the windae’,”

“Right then, it looks like we're having fish and chips for lunch today.”

“Fuckin’ pussy,” Johnny teased, rolling his eyes.

The men decided to emerge from the water and call the ladies to prepare to return to the cabin. As they trudged back, Johnny excitedly showed off his catch to Lindsey, who he found out wasn't very keen on fish. The Scotsman, taking full advantage of it, would try to sneakily touch her arm with the cold, wet fish, making her squirm and shiver. Johnny and Gaz lightheartedly teased her for being averse to a dead fish, but she didn’t find it funny at all.

After they reached the cabin, Simon immediately hit the shower, and Johnny and Gaz helped the ladies unload the car. Johnny had the ladies take all of their personal belongings inside the cabin and encouraged them to explore when they were done. And so they did.

The interiors were filled with the pleasant scent of aged wood mixed with the musty smell of dust, which made Lindsey open the uncurtained windows to let in some fresh air. The small living room had two plastic covered couches in the center, facing each other. Across was a clean furnace and mantel made with stone, empty, clean, and undecorated. On their left was a moderately sized kitchen equipped with basic tools and vessels, and on their right were two empty bedrooms which the ladies wandered into. One king sized bed sat in each room, and one bathroom united both the rooms in the middle. The bathroom was occupied by Simon, who was busy washing himself inside after the swim.

When he had finished and was dressed in fresh clothes, he threw his bath towel over his wet head and was about to step out when he overheard the ladies talking.

“Oh, where is my camera when I need it?” he heard ____ exclaim.

There was a pause, and then a surprised quip from Lindsey, “What’s this, why’d you bring your Little Simon?”

Bigger Simon had to do a double take.

Deathly curious to know what this ‘Little Simon’ was, he cracked open the door slightly and peeked out. He saw a stuffed toy in Lindsey’s hand, a skeleton plush, the very one he won for ____ at the arcade.

His eyes widened slightly. His heart picked up speed. “She calls it Little Simon?”

He wasn’t sure what to even feel, but he definitely felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach. “But why?” And then he remembered that it was probably because of his skull printed mask, the motorcycle gloves, and his tattoos.

“I kinda can’t seem to go anywhere without him,” he heard ____ say softly in response to Lindsey, sounding a little shy as she took the soft toy from her friend’s hand and stuffed it back in her backpack and continued looking for her camera.

“You have the real man himself, and you’ll be around him until tomorrow morning,” Lindsey answered with a teasing smirk.

“I know, I know,” ____ chuckled, “But still, I have a bit of an attachment to this little guy.”

“Because he gave it to you,” Lindsey playfully shoved her friend’s shoulder. “You know, I might be a little reconciled to you two being a thing, especially after he helped you hike today.”

____ smiled at that. “I’m glad to have your approval, mum.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lindsey rolled her eyes, also smiling.

Simon, in the meantime, had to keep himself from punching the wall to keep his joy at bay. Although he shouldn’t have eavesdropped, he still gained valuable insight on ____’s feelings for him. His cheeks flushed red, his chest felt like it was going to explode, and an uncontrollable smile tugged his lips until the muscles in his face felt sore.

“Let's fucking go!” Simon clenched his fists, smirking triumphantly, “Alejandro, you absolute fucking loser.”

The ladies soon found the camera, took their photos and then stepped outside the room. Only then did Simon finally step out, exhaling heavily and pressing his damp bath towel on his warm face to cool it down.

He gingerly stepped out of the room, pausing to hear if the ladies were still around. It was silent. Exhaling again, he promptly stepped outside to find out what everyone was up to. Johnny and Gaz were setting up the tent, and the ladies were helping them secure the pegs in the ground.

“Ghosty!” Johnny called as soon as Simon was out the front door, “Can ye chop up some wood? We need tae get the fire pit burning.”

“Aye,” Simon nodded, giving his damp hair one last ruffle to dry it before hanging it up on the drying rack on the porch and turning around the corner to go to the woodshed at the back.

Gaz decided it was his turn to take a shower and left the tent with Johnny and the ladies. Johnny, feeling a little cheeky, told ____, “Why don’ ye help Simon out with the wood? Lindsey and I can pitch the tent by ourselves.”

She immediately picked up the hint. “Alright, then,” she said with a half-smile, leaving the two by themselves.

As soon as she was gone, Johnny asked, smirking as he pretended to adjust the tent cloth on the rods, “What’s the craic, hen?”

“Nothing much,” she answered, shrugging.

“I’m offended ye didn’t like ma catch,” he said playfully, enjoying her reactions to him just existing.

“I don’t even like fesh!” she exclaimed, her own Scottish accent unexpectedly slipping in between her normally spoken RP accent.

Johnny was pleasantly surprised by the slip. “Yer Sco’ish?” he asked, sounding amused.

Her fair face flushed red with embarrassment, which confused Johnny somewhat. “Yeah, what’s it to you?” she asked, glaring at him.

“Nothin’,” he answered, unable to suppress a curious smirk at her reaction, “Ye hid it well. Pretendin’ tae be Sassenach, are ye?”

“No, I was raised in England.”

“An’ ye dinnae have no Sco’ish accent at all? From your parents?”

“I got rid of it.”

His patriotic self raised a brow at this. “How so?” He asked, “Are ye embarrassed of it?”

She sighed heavily, crossing her arms. “Yes.” He begged her to tell him why this was so and she answered with, “I got made fun of very early on,” she absentmindedly twirled a lock of her wavy hair around her finger, “and so I shed it and spoke in RP.”

“Who made fun of ye?” Johnny demanded with a raised brow, sounding offended for her.

“Oh, just some lads back in school.” She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively.

Johnny growled under his breath, annoyed. “They’re aff their heid!” he exclaimed, “Fuckin’ eejits dinnae ken how bonny our accent is.”

Lindsey had to admit that she felt a little warmed by how offended he was on her behalf.

“Many of them played with my feelings too, especially if they noticed I had a crush on one of them. They made fun of my red hair and me being Scottish, and mimicked my accent. I have no idea why they didn't like any of it,” she added, suddenly feeling the odd, tingly feeling of anxiety a closed-off person gets when they open up unexpectedly.

Johnny was positively furious. “Tha’ so?” he said, crossing his arms, “Then ye don’ need tae be runnin’ after those bloody twats, ye ken? Whit ye need is a real Sco’ish man. He wouldnae take the mick outta ye.”

Lindsey blinked in surprise at this speech, feeling another bout of warmth in her chest. She chuckled and asked, crossing her arms, “And where am I to find a man like this?”

A smirk tugged the corner of Johnny’s lip. “Right in front of ye, pet,” he said, putting a hand on his puffed chest, “I’m yer man and I ken how tae love ye.”

“Bold words,” answered Lindsey, impressed by his confidence.

He shook his head. “If only a Sco'ish man can appreciate a bonny Sco'ish lass like ye,” he flirted, sizing her up and down to bask in her beauty, “then he sure as hell can love her.”

The lady couldn't help but blush and smile at this. She had to admit that he was winning her, but not quite yet.

“I'm not convinced yet. How will I know for sure you'll treat me right and keep it that way?” she challenged, smiling playfully.

“I’ve been askin’ ye tae go oan a date with me, but ye just want tae talk, talk, talk first.” He sarcastically rolled his eyes and flapped his joined fingers to mimic yapping. “I think it’s enough talkin’, yeah? Time to go oan a date an’ see me in action. Whit ye say, pet?”

“Alright, fine,” she relented, “But I have high expectations, so don’t disappoint me.” The smile lingered as she crossed her arms.

He returned her smile, happy to be challenged. “Yer wish is my command.”

To keep his wet hair from troubling him, Simon pulled out a black bandana from his pocket, folded it up oblong and tied it around his forehead. Just as he was about to enter the woodshed, he heard ___ call as she emerged from behind the wall.

“Simon, do you need-” Her words stopped in their tracks when she saw him sporting the bandana, clearly a new look she hadn't seen on him before.

“Need what?” he asked, turning to face her.

She gulped harshly and then croaked out, “...Help?”

“I don’t, but do you want to help?” He turned back to the woodshed and pulled out a log of wood and a splitting axe.

“Yeah,” she answered, watching him place the log of wood on a tree stump that functioned as a chopping block.

He turned back to the woodshed and brought out a small wooden stool, which he handed to her. He then pointed slightly afar off, smiling. “You can sit still over there and look pretty for me.”

She chuckled, “So far away?”

“I’ll be swinging an axe, darling. It’s not gonna be safe for anyone to stay nearby. If you want to watch, it’s best if you stay far away.” He rested the axe head down on the grass, allowing the long handle to lean against his leg while he rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt above his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms.

She took his advice and the stool, and sat across from him, far away for her safety but near enough to talk to him. She watched as he adjusted his sleeves, spread his legs apart slightly, and wiped his hands on his jeans before taking hold of the axe. Placing one hand below the axe head and the other at the butt end, he raised it over his head, twisting his torso slightly and brought it down with all his strength, splitting the wood in half with a satisfying thwack.

She watched him both carefully and dreamily, observing his motions and form as he split the wood; it would be useful information. A sigh escaped her lips, marvelling at his range of vocations; he was a car mechanic, a gardener, and now a lumberjack, and who knew what else was in his repertoire of practical talents. A plumber? An electrician? Her attraction towards him was increasing at an alarming rate, and even Simon could see it in the way she stared at him.

He exhaled, feeling another flutter in his stomach. Every single instance of her interest in him convinced him further and deeper that she preferred him over anyone else, all of it now piling up into a heap in his mind.

The silence was thick, and her staring relentless, and he felt suffocated (in a good way). He wanted to start a conversation but felt his throat go dry. What would he even talk about? He began to sift through the recesses of his mind for a conversation starter.

“Your skelly plush,” he finally began, his voice a little too unstable for his liking, “You seem to like it a lot. I always see it on your Instagram stories.”

“Yeah, I do, it’s cute,” she admitted.

As he split the loose piece of wood with his hand and tossed aside the smaller piece, he couldn’t help but smile at this indirect compliment she was unknowingly paying him.

“He’s your emotional support plushie then?” Simon asked teasingly as he adjusted the larger piece of the split wood on the stump to split it down again.

“He is,” she answered, gazing again as he swung down the axe. “He motivates me to write.”

“Does that mean I motivate you to write?” he wondered as he threw aside the split wood and placed the next log on the chopping block.

“Speaking of writing,” he began, swinging the axe down, “How’s the novel coming along? You said that there were problems with the male lead.”

“Yeah, there was…” she answered, but her voice trailed off when she watched as he yanked out the axe head lodged in the tight crack of the log, dug his fingers in the said crack, and with a grunt, split the wood with his bare hands, letting out a heavy sigh at the end of it.

A delightful tingle coursed through her lower regions, making her press her thighs together and her cheeks flush. Did she just ovulate? If societal norms didn't exist, she'd already be asking him to split her legs apart. Maybe she was in the ovulation part of her cycle.

“This is juicy,” she thought, covering her mouth slightly to hide the embarrassed smile creeping on her face. Frederick was going to be one hell of a man.

Simon in the meantime, not looking at her, turned the split log of wood around to land another blow on it, all the while thinking, “Did she see it?” But when he stole a glance, she was looking elsewhere. He sighed, raising the axe one last time to split the last log of wood they needed.

“What were you saying, love?” He remembered that she stopped mid-sentence.

“Oh,” she blinked, now gulping harshly to keep her sudden spurt of lust at bay, “Yeah, the male lead. I've thankfully gotten a nice fitting model for him to base his character off of, and so far, it's coming along great.”

“Who's the model, then?” he asked, now gathering the pieces of wood and keeping them aside.

She struggled, looking this way and that as she tried to think of someone’s name to say. “Uh, Alejandro,” she spat out. “Fuck, why did I say that?!”

Simon froze for a split second. “Oh, I see,” he said through his teeth, feeling the full force of disappointment and jealousy hit him like a train. Even the delightful little pile of evidence of her interest in him felt like they were given a harsh, vigorous shake as if to say in warning, “Don't get your hopes up.”

He was glad that his back was turned to her because he felt a painful twinge in his chest strong enough to make his eyes narrow and his lips to frown. “Why'd I even bother?”

Swallowing down all his ill feelings, he collected his composure and the wood in his hands and tucked some under his arm. “We're done here. Let's go,” he said, his voice a hint icy and sharp, though he tried to sound casual and normal.

He did a good job at hiding it, because she didn't notice the subtle shift in his tone.

“Let me carry some,” she offered, now standing and walking up to him.

“No, you might get a splinter,” he reasoned.

She frowned. “Come on, please? Let me help,” she begged.

Simon usually could refuse anyone’s help point-blank, and he could be petty and refuse her rudely, but at the sight of her pleading eyes staring at him, he nearly melted. Though he felt bitter, his tender regard for her didn't falter in the slightest. He still didn't want her delicate hands to get hurt, so he turned back to the woodshed again and brought out a pair of gloves. “Wear these first,” he instructed.

Her face beamed as she took the gloves and put them on. Only when she did did he give her a lighter load of the split wood to carry.

He was silent as they carried the wood to the fire pit, but only one thought filled his mind, “Why am I jealous? She's the author. She can choose whoever she wants as a model for her characters. Maybe the male lead is like Alejandro.” And yet, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed and embarrassed by the fact that he thought himself highly enough to be a model for any character in her work. After all, “she went to Alejandro first to discuss the male lead. It’s not any wonder she would choose someone like him.”

By the time they had dropped the wood into the fire pit, they found nobody outside. After starting a fire, the two entered the cabin and found Lindsey and Gaz in the kitchen, prepping the ingredients for lunch while Johnny's bathroom concert made nice background music.

They joined in and Johnny joined soon after. Johnny was in such high spirits that he couldn't stop singing, either under his breath or out loud. He very openly flirted with Lindsey, who was both flattered and offended by it, since she would've preferred him to be more discreet. Gaz and ____ egged Johnny on simply because they wanted to be entertained, but Simon was by himself, silent, sullen, and annoyed by all the noise.

When ____ had her fill of fun, she leaned over to Simon who was busy dicing up some tomatoes. “Simon,” she called.

“Hm?” He responded, his eyes fixated on the tomatoes, not willing to meet her eye.

“You told me that Johnny was a bit of a womaniser,” she said, her voice quiet and a hint worried as she took a bottle of dried peppercorns and tried to open it.

“Yeah, I did.” he answered, watching her trying to pry the tight lid open.

“I'm a bit worried about Lindsey. I hope Johnny won't raise her hopes up too high and break her heart. She seems to really like him.” She grunted, shaking her aching, red hand, still unsuccessful.

His jaw clenched slightly. “You're worried about her and yet you openly support them,” he quipped, taking the bottle from her and twisting the tight lid open easily. He handed the bottle back.

She smiled gratefully at him as she took the bottle and poured out a couple of peppercorns into a small mortar. “Yeah, I kinda do support them, and I think they look great together, but I'm still worried about how Johnny will treat Lindsey long term.”

Simon was silent for a moment, now staring back at the tomatoes that he mindlessly turned into a mush from dicing too much. “What do you want me to do, darling?” he asked.

“I want you to find out if he genuinely likes her,” she said, now in a whisper, now crushing the pepper into a coarse powder with the pestle, “Lindsey… she's more delicate than most people even if she doesn't show it, and she's easily swayed by her emotions too. I would not tolerate it if he broke her heart just for shits and giggles.”

Simon could hear the bitterness in her voice, and from the look on her face, he could tell that she was reliving some experiences. He was tempted to be petty again, but decided against it. He bumped her shoulder gently with his arm in an attempt to reassure her.

“Don't worry, darling. I’ll find out.”

End of Part 9.

Part 10

This chapter was so hard yet so fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it! As always, leave a comment if you want to be added to my taglist. Thank youu xoxo

Also, you can follow this fic on the tag (#Simon series), which you can find below!

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worms-for-brains · 3 months

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Can anyone catch the little detail I added in reference to Ghost’s past?

#call of duty #call of duty mw3 #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #cod au #gladiator au #gladiator!ghost #fanart

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frogchiro · 1 year

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I hope I’m not bothering you with my ancient greek mythology stuff my little brain is going into overdrive👉👈

Just…sculptor/painter reader using the gladiators as her nude model…running your hands over their muscles and gushing how strong they are and how amazing your latest piece is going to come out!

You don’t even notice they’re getting hard as you run your fingers over their adonis belt commenting how they’re your new muse for your art

I almost (s)creamed the moment I saw this ask nonnie dear you're a genius ;;

Also I feel the need to mention this; please do keep in mind that this is only my silly au and most probably will have historical inaccuracies so if you're a true history/ancient greece/roman enjoyer, please go mild on me ;;

But back to the drill...You are so right??? Like...I imagine that reader would be a young, aspiring artist with a knack for painting. Maybe she doesn't come from a wealthy family so any true school for it is out of the question, your own parents only came along when you started selling your painting and doing commissions for nobles and it actually started to bring in money. Your road to success is still long but you're managing! Plus you're 'stupidly determined like your father' as your mother says so you try to stay positive!

The one problem you had was something you believed many artists suffered from; inspiration and models. Specifically human models. The human body and physique fascinated you from an early age, the moving muscles, facial expressions to different stimuli and so much more but...the problem were the models, or rather the lack thereof.

You could probably hire someone but the money spend on that would be way too much for your limited budget so the next best thing was the coliseum! It was a blessing in poor disguise, the gladiators trained there almost daily and luckily the head keeper of the arena begrudingly let you stay there and practice in exchange for a satchel of money but to be honest...the practice wasn't the only thing you longed for when visiting the coliseum almost daily, it was the gladiators.

They were huge, burly men in their prime, all of them looking like they were born with a sword or spear in hand and to grow up to become warrior and you'd be lying if you said that warmth didn't spread through your body and centered in your lower belly whenever these big, loud and boisterous men didn't call out for you and purred in dripping, low voices how pent up they are and what they wouldn't give for a pretty soft thing like you :((

The worst (or best) part was when you were practicing nude drawings which were equally fascinating and hard to draw, especially with all these men being so...shameless with it. You loved the human body, all artists do but still you were a young lady and watching all the gladiators walking around the barracks all naked and proud was...an experience to say the least and brought a pang of warmth between your thighs, especially when they were so happy to parade themselves like proud stallions in front of you :((

Strong, toned bodies glistening with sweat and water, their hardening cocks proudly on show whenever you run your soft hands over their toned torsos to study the way muscles move and twitch whenever you run your fingers over a sensitive spot, the most reactive being two of the many foreign gladiators, Johnny or like he insisted to be called 'Soap' and Kyle or 'Gaz', like he wants to be called.

These two are always purring low withing their chests to you as you look all over them, their backs, chests, stomachs, making you promise to do a special commission only for them but you're just nodding dumbly because you're too transfixed on the god-like bodies to draw :(

Another gladiator you're very fond of is a huge, blonde foreigner named Simon, or 'Ghost'. A formidable warrior, a veteran for sure, it looked like Ares himself send this one here to grace the people with a demigod of war. He was always incredibly patient with you, letting you roam your hands over his body and all the numerous scars decorating his skin. Once you saw Simon up close you immediately realized why people called him a demigod-he was beautiful. A strong and powerful man in his prime, his muscles jumping and twitching beneath his thick skin and a layer of fat, power and virility was literally radiating off of this man, and you insistently tried not to look at the long and thick cock hanging between his legs, twitching and pulsating with arousal whenever you marveled over his body and your fingers ran over his adonis belt <3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #THANK YOU FOR THIS #i could go on for hours ;;#gladiator au #gladiator!ghost #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader

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seconds-over-first · 5 months

Text

Sketchbook

Call of Duty OCs | Sketch — original characters — sfw — reference John price x fem!Reader | greyscale — self indulgent — sfw — fluff

König x Reader | sketch — gn!reader — sfw — fluff

ghoap cartoon icon | icon — silly — sfw — fluff

Simon Riley x pregnant!reader | sketch — fic drawing — sfw — fluff

personal hc of Roach | sketch — semi-realism attempt — sfw — reference

eldritch horror!König | pointillism — kinda creepy — sfw — horror

141 x reader couch base | base — sketch — sfw — reference

ghoap at ease | coloured — art with effort — sfw — fluff

moment of peace (ghoap) | coloured — sketch — sfw — fluff

cod persona/self-insert | somewhat coloured — wip — sfw — reference

gladiator!König | coloured — art with effort— suggestive — fanart

———

Self-insert doodles 👇

Roach - Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 (pfp) | the dreaded deletion of ibis paint x T^T

Soap - Pt. 1

———

Pocket doodles👇

Soap - pt 1

tags to be updated with each new update

I do not censor for language

Any eventual possible nsfw art will be censored and tagged

Requests for both art and writing are currently open—though I am new to the fandom so pls be kind. I am not completely 100% versed in lore or gameplay

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random-thot-generator · 1 year

Text

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 3

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

Three: The Purgatory Between

[via GIPHY]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Frenemy Fem Reader

Summary: It’s been a month since Simon rejected you, and you’ve taken steps to distance yourself from him, but you’re still struggling to let him go. Then an unexpected turn of events brings him back into your orbit and you find yourself at a crossroads, forced to make a decision you’re not sure you’re ready to make.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Angst, No Y/N

(Notes: ngl, this one got to me a little bit while writing it...)

Word Count: 2608

CHAPTER 3

“Angst is not the human condition, it’s the purgatory between what we have and what we want but can’t get.” ― Miguel Syjuco, Ilustrado

November came to Banfield with a chill wind and a dusting of frost. Cold air seared your lungs as you walked towards the pub, steps brisk and breath fogging. Trailing your fingers over the pickets of a fence, you peered down at your phone to check the time, then replaced it back in your pocket with a sigh.

It was supposed to be your day off, but you were going in to cover for Fiona, the barmaid Ollie had hired over a month ago. Her mum had taken a spill down the slippery front steps of their flat that morning and was in hospital being treated for a mild concussion, so Fi had asked you to cover her shift that night. While you were more than happy to help out a friend, you were not looking forward to working the nightshift again.

He would be there, and you didn’t want to see him.

You scowled as the big Manc invaded your headspace once again. You were so tired of thinking about him, but that seemed to be all you could do these days. If you weren’t rehashing his rejection, you were trying to fathom what motivated him to behave the way he did, then and now.

You had been ghosted before, but never quite like this.

After Riley’s rejection, he had subsequently avoided you, which was not surprising at all. You had predicted that was what would occur, had expected it, having survived a sinking ‘ship before. When he didn’t show up the following evening, you took it in stride and stiffened your upper lip, bearing the inquisitive stares of your regulars in silence. As the week wore on and he still had not shown his masked face in the pub, those inquisitive looks turned sympathetic and then pitying. This too you bore with stoic resolve, even as the subtle humiliation of it burned like smoldering embers in your chest.

Then he just showed up one night, out of the blue. He glared around the pub after he entered, as if he expected someone to do or say something to challenge his presence there, but everyone kept their eyes trained on their own pints and waited until he had taken his usual seat at the bar before daring to cast surreptitious glances his way. You waited until he was settled in his seat before you forced yourself to walk down to his end of the bar, doing your best to keep your expression neutral as you asked, “Your usual?”

His eyes had lifted no further than your throat as he grunted an affirmative and then made a show of looking away, as if your mere presence was an annoyance to him. You made his drink and slid it over, not even getting a nod of acknowledgement from him for the service. He spent the rest of the night behaving this way, sitting at the end of the bar, glowering over his drink in silence while blatantly ignoring you. It had been humiliating to be so publicly snubbed, and in front of your regulars, no less. When he returned the following night and behaved the same way again, you rang Ollie the next morning and asked to be switched to days.

Since changing shifts, you only saw Riley from a distance now, and only occasionally. Sometimes you’d see him entering one of the shops or wandering the aisles in the market. In those situations, you gave him a wide berth, going in the opposite direction to avoid him. Other times, you would be walking to or from work and notice his dark gray Gladiator passing by or see it parked along the curb. You never slowed, never looked over, never acknowledged him at all, just kept your eyes facing forward as you continued on your way. It wasn’t easy ignoring him, and these brief sightings always took their toll, leaving you feeling tired and restless and impotent.

If you had to describe your current emotional state, you would liken it to being in a perpetual state of limbo. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the next thing to happen because it just didn’t feel finished yet. You still went about your day as you normally would, kept going through the motions, but try as you might, you simply couldn’t ignore the gaping hole he had left in your world. It irked you that he had made such an impact on your life, that he had left such an indelible mark on your existence, that it had altered your very state of being.

It just didn’t make any bloody sense. You had known him for less than a year, the relationship itself never venturing outside the friend zone. There was no reason for your heart to ache this much but ache it did, and it made you miserable. It was both frustrating and confusing to have to carry these feelings with you all the time, to go to bed with them and wake up with them every single day. You were tired of it hanging around your neck like some bloody albatross weighing you down. You wanted these useless feelings to shrivel up and die already, so you could get back to some semblance of a normal life.

As you came upon the White Dog, that old saying, ‘Be careful what you wish for,’ popped into your head. You were about to walk straight into the metaphorical lion’s den and face the cause of all your woes, so you tried to mentally gird your loins for the battle ahead. You’d be face-to-face with him again, but you were determined not to break this time. You would serve him drinks and chat with the regulars and clean up the bar like everything was perfectly fine. Even if it bloody killed you.

You stopped just outside the pub and took a fortifying breath. You can do this, you told yourself, then opened the door.

As soon as you entered the bar room, Ollie was there to greet you, his stern expression taking on a gruff sort of affection as he looked you over. “Sorry ya had t’come in on yer day off, love.”

You shrugged and offered him a little smile. “It’s alright, Ol. I don’t mind. Besides, it’s a Tuesday. I expect things will be pretty slow tonight.”

Ollie hummed in agreement, loading a few glasses into the dishwasher. “If it’s dead before closin’ time, go ahead an’ close up shop early, doll. No sense in you hangin’ about if there’s no customers.”

You tried not to wince at the nickname. After hearing Riley refer to you as ‘doll’ for months, both the regulars and the staff had picked up on the habit as well. Hearing others call you by the pet name only served to keep him at the forefront of your mind, another small but effective means of torture. You gave your boss a tight-lipped smile. “Sure thing, Ol.”

When the pub reopened for business, Ollie hung around long enough to make sure you would be alright on your own and then took his leave. Your old regulars began to wander in as the day grew later and the shadows began to lengthen across the floor. You smiled, served drinks and waited, your eyes darting to the entrance every time someone passed through the door.

Riley showed up just after sunset, coming in with a cold wind blowing at his back. Conversation became subdued as he paused to stare at you standing behind the bar, your steady gaze meeting his as your regulars held a collective breath. There was only the slightest of nods in acknowledgement from him, or perhaps it was simply him accepting the situation. Either way, he went to his seat at the end of the bar and sat down. When he was settled, you strolled down to him and tilted your head. “The usual?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and you watched him blink his eyes shut before finally nodding. “Yeah,” was his croaked reply.

You gave him a curt nod and made his drink, sliding the two fingers of Dewar’s to him, ready to turn and walk away. His warm, dry fingers wrapped over yours before you could move your hand, and you glanced down at his hand then back up at him, a confused frown knitting your brows together. He didn’t meet your eyes at all, instead keeping them closed as he held you there for a moment longer, the pads of his calloused fingers grazing over your skin before he let you go with a slow exhalation. His expression bordered on pained before he dropped his head to hide his masked face within the shadows of his hood.

It felt as if his fingerprints had been seared into your flesh, and you found yourself rubbing the tingling space between your thumb and forefinger again and again. You could still feel where his calloused fingertips had caressed your skin. and you wondered what he had meant by doing it. What was trying to convey with that brief but intimate touch?

As the night wore on, the customers began to thin out, drifting back to their homes in twos and threes, the room growing ever quieter, until at last it was just you, Riley and dear old Ned. It felt like things had come full circle, in some weird sort of way. When Ned began to snore, you huffed a quiet laugh.

Riley slanted a glance your way. His tumbler had been sitting empty for the last hour, but he’d declined another drink. He just sat there, silent and brooding, shoulders hitched up around his ears, spinning the glass slowly back and forth between his big hands. You got the sense that he was waiting for something, but what you couldn’t guess.

Your phone dinged, buzzing like a bee against the wood of the bar as it vibrated. You turned off the alarm and sighed. “Last orders,” you murmured.

Riley stopped turning the glass and held it between his hands, fingers flexing around it before he slowly pushed it towards you. He stood then paused, head down, hands curling into tight fists at his sides. He was struggling with something, you knew. You had seen him act this way before, but whatever it was must have been too overwhelming for him. Grabbing his coat from the back of his seat, he spun on his heel and marched towards the door, steps hurried, body tense.

“Good night, Riley,” you said softly from behind him, and his steps faltered. He stopped, hand resting on the door latch, head bent forward. You heard him inhale a slow, deep breath, heard it hiss out with a relieved sigh. “‘Night, doll,” he finally rumbled out, his voice sounding so tired and defeated. Then he left.

You stared after him, a feeling like deja vu making the moment seem surreal. Shaking your head, not sure what to make of what had just occurred, you huffed, frustrated and went to wake up Ned.

After seeing off Ned and his wife, you went back inside, locking the door behind you. Going to the supply closet, you gathered your cleaning supplies, then set about wiping down the tables and flipping the chairs. When the knock sounded at the door, you jumped, then blew out a breath as you squeezed your eyes shut and listened.

Three knocks, a pause - a little longer than usual, and then the fourth and final knock.

Riley.

You sucked in a deep breath, eyes glued on the locked door, debating. Finally, you blew out the breath in a tired huff and called out, “Yeah?”

“Doll...”

You waited a beat, grimacing before you answered. “Yeah, Riley?”

You heard a light thud on the door and drifted closer. He was standing so close to the door, his body was blocking out most of the light from outside, his fingertips casting twin sets of shadowed ovals against the frosted glass. The thud you had heard must have been his head, because it was still pressed against the door as well.

“Riley, what—”

“‘M not good at talkin’,” he said to the door, through it, to you. “Not good at explainin’ things— m’feelin’s an’ the like.” He paused, but you didn’t say anything, giving him the time to process his thoughts into words. “I wish it could be different, doll. Wish I could fix it, change it somehow, but I can’t. There’s not much I can offer ya.”

You stepped closer, teeth worrying at your lip. With the barrier of the door between you, he was able to finally talk, but he was hesitating again, his silence stretching out. “I’m here, Riley,” you said to the door, your hand coming up to press your hand against his. You could feel his warmth through the glass, and your chest constricted.

There was another thud as he bumped his head against the door again. “I didn’t mean t’hurt ya. There was better ways o’ sayin’ what I did, but ‘m not used t’bein’ careful wif m’words. Didn’t bloody think at all before I opened my stupid gob,” he muttered, and you sniffed in amusement. He blew out a breath. “I can’t be what ya need, doll, what ya deserve, not with the life I lead. Ya’ve seen what soldierin’ does to a man. I’ve heard ya talk about yer da before, so ya know what it does to the people that love men like me an’ him. I-I can’t put ya through that, love. I— I just can’t.”

“Riley...”

I miss ya, doll. I’ve missed ya since I walked out tha’ night an’ I’ve not stopped missin’ ya. Yer... bloody hell... yer my friend, dammit, an’ ‘m sorry fer hurtin’ yer feelin’s an’ treatin’ ya bad. I don’t like ya bein’ mad at me, doll. I don’t want ya being mad at me anymore. I can’t... fuck... I can’t bloody stand it.”

Your heart was beating so fast, and your hands were shaking. You could feel the threat of tears at your eyes, felt them stinging in your sinuses. You sniffed, batting the tears away as you swiped at your nose. You promised yourself you wouldn’t break this time, but here you were again, a blubbering mess over this confounding man. You took a steadying breath and tried to calm yourself down.

If you opened that door, you knew you’d be opening yourself up to more heartache. If you opened that door, you’d be agreeing to take him as is, fucked up warts and all. You’d be walking back to him with your eyes wide open.

You took a step back, saw his shadow shift on the glass as he did the same.

Leave the door shut and he would go away, he would leave and not bother you again. He didn’t have to say it for you to know it was true. He was giving you the out, if that’s what you wanted. He was leaving it for you to decide.

You blinked, sniffed, then made up your mind.

Breathing out a shaky breath, you opened the door.

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#simon ghost riley x fem reader #simon riley x fem reader #cod ghost x fem reader #ghost x fem reader

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collectorscorner · 4 years

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