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oceantornadoo · 7 hours ago

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ch11 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: a little piss bc reader is refused a toilet. some light torture scenes and violence.

“Where. Is. She.” Ghost slams John against the wall, his forearm to John’s throat. The man’s snarling, an unrestrained beast in a mask. The world zeroes in on the gaze between them, the terrible acceptance that they have a shared weakness. A shared weakness who is gone, potentially dead. All they can do is beat the rotted carcass of this feeling until it breaks.

Thirty minutes earlier

For the past two hours, there’s been something vibrating under John’s skin. It was there when he pulled Gaz by his collar in the store, searching the man’s eyes for deceit. It was there when he eventually let him down, satisfied with the steel reflecting back at him. It was there when someone handed him his wife’s phone, the screen filled with unread text messages from him asking to get dinner and talk it all out. It followed him all the way to the Castle.

Gaz relocates them quickly, saying he has more devices back at home. John’s home, your home, your shared home. The whole car ride John’s knee shakes up and down, nervous energy permeating the air. All he does is replay your last conversation over and over.

“I am trapped, John.”

“No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage.”

“I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity.”

“I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.”

The words swarm through his head like wasps, picking at the insecurities he hides everyday. The worries that you wouldn’t pick him in a normal world, that this has been pillowtalk to pass the days. If you love something you’re supposed to let it go, but he can’t decide between being noble and hoarding you until you forget what life was like before captivity. And of course, all of these thoughts assume you’re alive. He hasn’t let himself consider the full possibility that Shepherd has hurt you in ways that would defile your mind and your body, never leaving you whole again. It all coalesces into an evil energy, vibrating under his skin as the London streets roll by outside the car.

Gaz leads John into the security room with words not meant for him. Murmurs to the house staff, directions ordered over ear pieces. They blur and buzz in John’s eardrums, these damn wasps becoming parasites. He’s too old to consider hunting you himself, knows that he has to trust his man, but the urge is there anyways. Thoughts of escalating into straight warfare, bombing Shepherd’s home without any care for the innocents within.

That’s what he’s thinking about when Ghost arrives, dragging in coattails of vengeance and dread.

Now

“Stand down, Ghost. This ain’t helpin’.” He croaks out against the pressure in his throat. Ghost’s eyes flare, soulless black pits that see too much. They search John’s, within and around, poking and prodding at the emotions he’s been holding in for the hour since he learned his wife is gone. Whatever Ghost finds is enough, John deemed worthy not to die by the loosening of Ghost’s grip. They pant as one, wishing they had never let themself love a woman enough to destroy their dynasties for her.

The world resumes as Ghost turns away. No one mentions the threat, the way John would have let the guilt drown him if Ghost didn’t. John should have pushed harder, should’ve accompanied you to the store instead of letting you go in his shirt with a faint goodbye on your lips. Like you knew what would happen and went anyway, just to see how far his heart could stretch until it tears.

MacTavish is murmuring low calming words to Ghost, unintelligible over the hum of computers and screens. In this room, all pretense is given up, one man’s hand stroking the other’s. To have a half of a soul live outside the body is a dangerous thing, even more when attacks come from all sides. If he squints, there’s a flash of your glare in Ghost’s, the same half-tilted frown hidden by the mask. It’s like you’re haunting him, no, taunting him with the fact that he’s lost you and now he has to deal with your ghost. It’s all his fault, but he lets the pity fester inside instead of releasing it on everyone else.

“Update, Garrick?” Another croak, a near two minutes after the incident. This is why Gaz is his heir - all he does is hand John the nearest iPad without a mention as to what happened. John reads the screen fast, a list of possible abandoned warehouses near Shepherd locations. It makes sense but the timing is all wrong. He’d expected this if things had been quiet, but there was another scrap between Price men and Shepherd men last night. This kidnapping must have been calculated by someone separate, someone like Phil with a solo mission. He should’ve killed the man when he found out he was working (almost) alone with his wife.

“It’ll be somewhere symbolic. Shepherd likes to make a statement.” Garrick mentions. John hands the tablet silently to Ghost, an offering of peace. In the corner of his eye, he can see MacTavish conferring with Mare, the head of the weapons team, speaking a language only the two of them know. The man frowns, then shakes his head at something Mare says. “Dinnae work like tha’.” It travels over the distance of the room, confusing John enough that he walks over to learn what’s happening.

“Report?” Mare is a bit skittish but cool-headed in times of need, the reason he hired the first ever woman on a Price Family leadership team. He trusts her and her chemistry degrees, plus her sense of urgency. “Sir, we’ve just received word that the weapons stores have been compromised.” It’s like a pin drop, other conversations falling silent as she speaks. “Meaning?” He asks, toeing the line of impatience. “Shepherd’s men struck last night, around the same time as the street fight. We believe it was coordinated between that and the kidnapping to hide it as long as possible. They cut the WiFi, so we only found out during the shift change. All the guards were killed and the weapons taken.”

John prides himself on acting like a real corporate boss, restrained and professional. However, this is his last fucking straw. “You’re saying Shepherd took my fucking weapons, then my fucking wife? How the hell does this happen?” Ghost grunts at the word ‘wife’ but John ignores it, too focused on the situation at hand. Instead of answering, Mare’s eyes flit around the room. Since it was converted from two bedrooms, it fits up to thirty people and is currently at capacity. He can read his employee too well, and knows she’s nervous about the many ears around. While he usually trusts his people with his life, it’s been an odd day and he decides to err on the side of caution.

“Mare an’ everyone related t’ me, this way.” There’s an elevator to the upper floor in the back of the room. Ghost and MacTavish fall in line, but Garrick seems frozen and unsure. “Gaz, that includes you.” They don’t acknowledge the head nod, brushing elbows as John hits the elevator button. Once all five are in, John hits the emergency stop between floors, leaving them in purgatory. “Speak.” He instructs Mare.

“There’s a mole. It’s the only way they could have gotten in. I designed that facility myself, sir, and there’s no way they could have gotten in with the tools and soldiers they have. Unless our intel was wrong, and I don’t think it was, we have a rat.” Her words echo in the metal chamber. She meets MacTavish’s eyes and he nods in confirmation.

“Price.” Ghost grunts, his first words in a while. “It’s someone in that room. They’d hav’ to be on yer security.” John nods at his words and turns to Gaz. “How much longer to narrow down locations?” The man still seems flustered by John’s earlier words and needs a nudge to the shin to spit it out. “An hour, tops. We’re thinking of an abandoned weapons facility or church. Something about what he stole, weapons or marriage.” John grunts at the symbolism of it all. “I’m the first one there.” He demands. “Sir, I-” John turns to look his second in the eye. “I’m the first there.” Gaz nods. John turns back to Ghost and MacTavish, staring at him with twin glares of violence.

“Right, men. We got a rat t’ catch.”

“You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.”

John’s words echo through your mind as you eye Phil, standing in the corner with a water bottle. You haven’t peed since this morning, 12 hours ago, and he knows. Taunting words sung with a Southern accent, promising a toilet in return for the weapon codes. He’s banking on your embarrassment, that you won’t want to piss yourself in this hellhole. Too bad for him you don’t like to listen to what men tell you to do.

“C’mon, sugar. Know ya got t’ go. Give me the codes an’ I got a nice lil’ bathroom for you. Even has one of those bidets.” You shake your head, refusing. Your bladder is pushing against your stomach, tension growing with every breath. It wouldn’t be too bad if he hadn’t kept feeding you water. You think you’re on bottle six now, what seemed like a blessing turned into a curse.

“Fine. Time f’ another one.” He unscrews and steps to your side, checking your handcuffs before coming near your mouth. It’s like he’s under orders not to hurt you physically. There’s been no beatings, no threat of knives or guns. He needs you alive, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The weapons require both a code and an eye scan, something you can’t fake with a dead body. Johnny created the code section and Gaz added the eye scan later, his coding skills a thing of beauty. His quick thinking is the only thing keeping you alive.

Water pours down your throat. He presses down your tongue to force you to swallow every last drop. When he leans over you, it’s like rose-colored glasses have been removed. His blond hair is limp, face sweaty with concentration. Gone is the charming assistant, bright and fun. You bet he needs you to stay alive for his own safety, his life relying on it.

As water slips into your belly, the pressure to pee goes stronger. With a dirty hand, he pushes on your stomach, and you whine in discomfort. He shouldn’t be touching you, especially in a place so sensitive. The loss of body autonomy is your biggest fear, whether it be motherhood or this. Only John would understand, you think, berating yourself for being so stupidly stubborn. That’s when you make up your mind, to still have control over the one thing you can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you dirty bitch.” The piss soaks your jeans and, with enough force, dribbles on his shoe. Phil jumps away in disgust, eyes hardened into flint as he glares at you. “Fuck you.” You spit out. A glob of it lands near his shoe, making him jump again. You almost pity how weak he is enough to torture a woman for a living. Almost.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.” He bites back. Phil glances at the mirror and for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel a lick of fear. You’re pretty sure you know who his boss is, someone too violent for the games you’re playing. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Is what you can muster. Instead of answering, he shakes off his shoe and knocks on the door. When it opens, there’s a person in full PPE, holding a metal tray with a filled syringe. You jolt back, but the chair is bolted to the ground and doesn’t allow you to move.

“Wait, please, Phil-” He’s fast, shooting something into your arm. Everything goes dark after that.

Gaz was right. It only took an hour.

But it takes longer than that to rule out each location. It’s been 24 hours, and they haven’t found you yet.

John insists on checking out every place by himself, as does Ghost. They’re even-keeled enough to split up to make it go faster but insist on Gaz scrounging up more earpieces so they can keep in constant contact. They slept in shifts too, six-hour blocks once it hit midnight, so they weren’t trudging through their search. Johnny stays back to work with the engineers on testing the security system he designed, while Gaz comes along with whoever is searching. The four of them stay on their own radio channel like a task force, acting more military than mafia.

They start from the inner city and expand outwards. It’s methodical. It’s calculated. It’s the exact strategy Gaz planned months ago when the marriage was proposed. He’s the clearest headed out of all of them but there’s still a bite to his tone, a tension in his shoulders, a furrow in his brow. If John wasn’t so out of it himself, he’d be glad that his right-hand man seems to care for his wife.

They sweep warehouses top to bottom. John tugs on every alliance he has, every favor owed. They get pledges of loyalty from smaller gangs, who do their own searches as well. It’s so much and yet not enough because John Price does not have his fucking wife in his hands. Your shampoo scent is not in his nose, your laughter is not in his ears, your waist is not in his grasp. You are gone and he is at fault for not protecting you.

“Focus, Price.” They’ve both slept and are now in their third church in the past 90 minutes. It’s abandoned like the rest of them, creaking doors and blown out windows. They’ve gotten into a rhythm now, sweeping the building efficiently. You’re not there. They finish in twenty minutes, Gaz outside on the phone with the rest of the crew. When they emerge, he stands tall at attention.

“Sir, we’ve got a hit.”

“How you feeling, hun?” The world is woozy, half-tilt on a rollercoaster. You sway from right to left, only steadying when firm hands grasp your shoulders. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring in technicolor. You’re somewhere else, with paintings on the walls and carpet on the floors. That’s when you do a body scan and realize you’re not in the clothes you were kidnapped in.

You jerk away from the man touching you. The wooden chair you’re strapped to falls to the floor and takes you with it. He tries to pick you up, moving in a blur of dark grey, but you thrash away like a fish out of water. His touch is poison, and you fear it was him who undressed you, him who saw you naked against your will. “Get away from me!” You screech, vocal cords sore from disuse. The man’s hands are gnarled crooked things, clawing at your shoulders until your chair is straight again. You try to flinch but your miniscule reactions are still slurry from whatever you were injected with. Once you’re straight, you bite back a gasp.

It’s him. The General. Shepherd.

Square face with a buzzcut. Weathered and old with a cruel gleam in his eye. He sits back down into a chair in front of yours. This one is red leather, squeaking comfortably with weight as he sits down. The man was in the army in a past life, hence the styling of The General. He wears dark slacks and an army-like jacket. The bravado of it disgusts you. A title like that should be earned, not worn like play clothes. You put on your brave face and sneer at him, a cat backed into an alley.

“I see why John likes you.” He looks you up and down like he can see through your clothes. You flinch against your will. “You don’t deserve to say his name.” You bite. He laughs jarringly. “Fucking brat is what you are. Even got Phil under your spell.” That’s news to you. It’s certainly at odds with his behavior. You don’t react, easing your features into a smooth mask.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have the codes.” He stares at you dead-eyed. “Not necessary. We don’t need the codes.” He’s bluffing. You’re willing to bet your life on the hard work of Johnny and Gaz. There’s absolutely no way, no workaround. That’s when you get an idea.

“Oh yeah? You’re just going to put me in front of the eye scanner and go from there?” He frowns like you’ve figured out his plan. You almost laugh. “Too bad. You’re still missing a step.” That reels him in. Shepherd sits forward, elbows on his knees, searching your gaze for a lie. You raise your brows defiantly. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” He squints harder at your words.

“My brother’s old school. Doesn’t trust technology, or anybody else.” It’s certainly true. Simon’s well-known for not trusting people. Even the General looks intrigued. “What are you sayin’?” He murmurs. It’s like you’re holding a prophecy in his hands. Men are so easy.

“There’s a key.” He scoffs and looks away. “And I’m Robin Hood.” You shrug, leaning back as much as you can into your chair despite the ropes tying you to it. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying, my brother has more checks than you can imagine.” Another truth to reel him in. He scratches an invisible itch on his knee, then gets up. He pulls something from his pocket, and you flinch, thinking it’s a gun. He laughs at your reaction. “Fucking brat.” He murmurs. Shepherd turns to the corner of the room and calls someone, talking in low tones.

When you examine the room, it sends a shot to your heart. You’re in a church. There’s blood red carpeting with paintings everywhere, but it’s not wellkept. There’s dust and no windows, the lighting frail. Perhaps recently abandoned?

Shepherd is back, knife in hand. He thrives on watching you flinch and thrash as he comes closer. You stop when he’s in your face, knife trailing down the length of your nose. “Where’s the key?” You answer without hesitation. “My father’s grave.” It’s the kind of sick shit Ghost would do, and Shepherd knows it. That’s when the knife slips through your ropes, freeing you. There’s a gun in his other hand pointed straight at your head. “You’ll take me to the key. And if it’s not there, so help me God, I’m blowing your brains out on your father’s grave.” You nod, short and shallow.

It’s only halfway up the dilapidated wooden stairs when you hear it. Pounding footsteps and a low British tone. Shepherd was stupid enough to trail behind you, and even stupider to stop at the noises as well. That’s when your years of self-defense classes with Johnny kick in, quite literally.

You aim a kick to his head. He dodges, of course, but all that body mass has to go somewhere, and quite slowly. It knocks him off balance, a half-step down, giving you enough leverage to elbow the nose. One of the most sensitive places on a man, as Johnny told you. The door above you opens as Shepherd gets one more insult in as he goes down.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

Yes i was thinking of the 21 savage song snitches and rats

Also sorry for comparing motherhood to torture i just really needed to justify reader peeing LOL

Oops shes a girlboss SORRYYYYYY

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galaxy-stardust · 2 days ago

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Simon Ghost Riley x you

His scars

The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand. The world outside feels far away, muffled by the late hour. You’re lying beside Simon, your body warm against his, tangled beneath the covers. It’s one of those rare nights when neither of you are in a rush—no missions, no early alarms, just the quiet hum of each other’s presence.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arm is draped lazily around your waist, holding you close, but there’s a relaxed ease in his grip. He’s not wearing a shirt, and your fingers trace absentmindedly along his skin, following the contours of his body. Your fingertips find the rough ridges of a scar, then another.

You hesitate for a second, feeling the jagged texture beneath your touch. Some of them are old, faded into pale lines against his skin, while others are more recent, harsher reminders of the life he leads. Your fingers ghost over one across his ribs, then move higher, tracing the rough edge of another along his shoulder.

Simon doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He just lies there, silent, letting you explore him in a way few ever have. His breathing stays steady, but there’s something heavier in the air now, an unspoken understanding.

“This one…” you murmur, your fingertips brushing over a long scar that runs along his bicep. “Where did it come from?”

There’s a pause. A long one. You don’t push- Simon doesn’t always talk about these things, and you’ve learned to let him choose when and how much he wants to share.

After a moment, he exhales slowly. “Knife wound,” he says, his voice quiet, low. “Close combat. He got me first, but I got him worse.”

You nod slightly, not asking for more, just letting the weight of his words settle. Your fingers trail lower, following another scar along his side, thinner but deeper-looking.

“This one?” you ask softly.

Simon shifts slightly beneath you, adjusting his arm behind his head. “Shrapnel,” he answers simply. “IED went off too close. Lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Your heart clenches slightly, imagining the pain, the danger, the constant risk he’s lived with. But you don’t let the sadness show. You just keep tracing, memorizing every piece of him, every mark that tells a story.

Then, your fingers find one at his lower abdomen, near his hip. It’s smaller, but deep. You pause, glancing up at him. “And this one?”

Simon huffs a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “That one’s stupid,” he admits. “Got careless on a mission. Took a bullet, but it went clean through.” He shifts, looking down at you. “Nothing serious.”

You look up at him then, meeting his gaze. His eyes are unreadable, but there’s something softer beneath the surface, something unspoken. You know he’s seen and endured more than he’ll ever say. And yet, here he is, letting you see parts of him that no one else does.

Your fingers brush over one last scar - a faint, thin one just above his heart. It’s old, faded, but something about it feels different. You don’t ask. You just rest your palm against it, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your hand.

Simon watches you for a moment, then reaches up, placing his much larger hand over yours. His fingers curl around yours, holding your hand against his chest.

“Don’t need you worrying about them,” he murmurs.

“I don’t,” you whisper back. “I just want to know you.”

There’s silence again, but this time, it’s comfortable. His grip on your hand tightens slightly before he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against the top of your head.

“You already do,” he says quietly.

And that’s enough.

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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bravo666 · 3 days ago

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insecurity

price x reader

you don’t really get why he picked you.

it’s not really his fault that you’re confused. when you manage to ask why you—letting insecurity fizzle up and rise like ginger beer in your stomach—john tells you all the right things, the things that you would expect: you’re beautiful, a sight for sore eyes, his one and only. “oh, sweetheart,” he says, and his soft brow furrows with something that brushes close to pity, his only wish for you to see what he sees in you. you look into those blue eyes and try to catch the curve of your own reflection.

it’s good. really, it is. his murmured praise and whiskered kisses make that insecurity die down and grow flat for a time. john loves you. you hold fast to that.

but, sometimes, you just can’t make sense of it.

something else that isn’t his fault: john’s a certain kind of man. a man’s man, one might say. being a military captain has that effect, though you can almost imagine a newborn john price coming out of the womb gruff, bristled, and with bad knees. he’s the type of man who has opinions on alcohol and cares a lot about how his favorite football club fares this season. his ideal future involves a dog, a yard, and a run of children, and he’s not shy about it.

you’ve known men like that before. moreover, you’ve known their wives—and it always is their wives, not partners or anything as newfangled as that. they’re not all the same—nice women, rude women, pretty or plain—but there are certain qualities that they all share. housewives in spirit, chins raised. pampered. manicured. best in show. knows when to nod and smile and give her man a knowing look. the missus.

it’s safe to say that you don’t quite feel like you measure up to the mold. you have edges, hard and frayed, that don’t fit into the soft mold of the person you feel that john wants. it’s just not very you. your anger, your anxiety, your hard-headedness, your tears: none of these feel like something cute—so why does he coo over you like it is? it’s not even that john wants something else; from the warm spot you occupy by his side, you can see the way the road maps out before him in his eyes, contextless and spit-shined.

(dinner burns in the oven. he says it’s okay, that you’ll get it right next time. these things happen. don’t get upset, sweetheart, i’m not mad while he holds you round the middle.)

you labor over these thoughts, rolling them between your hands with the biscuit dough you knead out. the question remains: why, exactly, did john price pick you to lay his head down besides when the world is teeming with more eligible candidates?

an answer comes when you meet his team for the first time. they arrive for dinner after john and them have been off on a short deployment—you promised john a roast when he got back because a little extra motivation for him to come home in one piece can’t hurt, and one of them must have overheard it turned into them inviting themselves over—and soon you’re putting faces to names that have lived only in john’s all-too-brief stories. you greet them all as they arrive at the door to john and your’s home: handsome kyle and boisterous johnny and quiet, intense simon. normal men, you think—well, barring the balaclava simon won’t take off, but at least you were forewarned about that. normal soldiers.

but then the five of you sit down to eat, and—well, it’s still normal. except it isn’t. It’s impossible to explain, and you’re sure that if you tried to talk to john about it, he’d laugh a little and say i don’t know what you mean, lovie, but you’re quietly sure you see something in the way they all lean their shoulders to your john. a deferential quality, even subconsciously, one that stretches beyond what you think is typical for a commanding officer to hold with his subordinates. it’s in the way simon pauses and flicks his eyes to john, waiting for a tiny nod before he rolls the bottom half of the balaclava up to eat, or how kyle sits on john’s right and keeps passing him the food first, or even the way johnny straightens his spine a little when john nods at something the lad said mid-story, the sergeant all puffed up with pride.

and when the boys break the scotch out near the end of the night and the lips get looser, it’s not hard to guess why.

“price picked me. i felt like my hands were tied in my old life, and he gave me a new one.”

“‘e’s a good captain. not many other men can see past all the shite and cut to the ‘eart of what matters.”

“aye, the captain? ah’m wi’ him all the wey, the surly bas’. made me the soldier ah am today.”

you sip your own glass and the room feels just a little bit smaller as the boys banter on. they owe him their lives, they say, before segueing into hey remember whens and ribbing laughter. your boyfriend catches your eye across the table, your place among his boys, with a smile.

he’s a man’s man. good with his hands. you should have realized that he had a knack for fixer uppers.

(after dinner, he slides an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your hair. “thank you for dinner, love,” he says, and when you’re pulled into his chest like this, the rumble of his voice tucks itself away into your bones.

“of course,” you say, and then, “john?”

“yes, lovie?”

“why… why did the boys invite themselves over?

he chuckles like you’ve told a joke, and you’re half expecting him to say silly rabbit. but instead, he just leans back and grants himself enough access to smooth down the back of your shirt and gently re-tightens the strings of your apron, his favorite of the ones that he’s gotten you.

“well, love,” john hums, “what can i say? they all just wanted to meet the missus.”)

#captain john price #call of duty #price x reader #cod mw2 #price x f!reader #theres intentionally enough ambiguity where you dont have to be a woman. it doesnt matter to price hes making you his wife anyway #molding you. shaping you. training you <3 my unsettling husband who gets what he wants #og post

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multific · 2 days ago

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Back From The Dead

Simon Kalivoda x Reader

Summary: Months after Simon Kalivoda’s tragic death, you visit his grave, never expecting to see him again. But Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, a miracle.

Shadyside had a way of swallowing people whole, leaving nothing but ghosts behind.

That’s what you told yourself when you stood at Simon Kalivoda’s grave, fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

It had been months.

Long enough for the town to move on, long enough for people to stop whispering about the massacre.

But you never moved on.

How could you?

He wasn’t just another name on the news. He was Simon.

Loud, ridiculous, reckless Simon who swore he’d live forever.

And yet here you were, talking to a headstone.

“I hate this,” you muttered, kneeling in the dirt. “You weren’t supposed to go out like that. Not you.” Your voice cracked, and you clenched your jaw. “And now I’m standing here, talking to you like a crazy person, hoping you can hear me wherever you are.”

The wind howled through the trees, rustling the leaves around you. A chill ran up your spine, but you ignored it.

“I miss you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I thought was possible.”

A sharp crack echoed through the cemetery. It was like twigs snapping underfoot.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned, expecting some drunk kids messing around. But there was no one there. Just rows of gravestones, shadows stretching long beneath the moonlight.

You swallowed hard and turned back.

Only to come face to face with Simon.

Your breath caught, the world tilting sideways. You couldn't even scream.

He looked… real. Solid. Alive.

Not a ghostly figure or a vision, but Simon.

He was standing there in his stupid ripped jeans and an oversized hoodie, hair messy as ever.

Your heart hammered. “What the-”

“Holy shit.” His voice was rough like he hadn’t used it in a long time. His wide, disbelieving eyes scanned you before he let out a breathless laugh. “I-am I dead? Wait, no-was I dead?”

You stumbled back, hands shaking. “This isn’t real.”

Simon looked just as freaked out as you, staring at his own hands before touching his chest. “I-this is so fucked up.” His eyes flicked back to you, desperate. “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?”

You didn’t know what to say. You could barely breathe. Your mind screamed at you to run, but your heart-your heart told you to move closer.

“Simon,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “It’s really you.”

Tears blurred your vision as you reached out, hesitantly brushing your fingers against his arm. Warm. Real.

He was real.

That was all it took. Suddenly, you were throwing yourself at him, and Simon caught you without hesitation, arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go.

He smelled the same, faint cologne, cheap shampoo, a hint of candy.

“I thought you were gone,” you choked out against his shoulder.

Simon exhaled shakily, squeezing you tighter. “Me too.” He pulled back just enough to look at you. “What happened? I-” He swallowed hard. “I remember the axe. The pain. And then… nothing.” His brows furrowed. “How the hell am I here?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Simon let out a breathless laugh. “God, I missed you.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if this is real and I get a second chance...” He swallowed hard, searching your face. “I don’t wanna waste it.”

Your throat tightened. “You never wasted anything, Si.”

He huffed. “That’s not true. I wasted so much time pretending I didn’t want more with you.” His voice dropped, more serious than you’d ever heard it. “I want it now. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed him.

And when he kissed you back, warm and alive and real, you knew one thing for certain.

Simon Kalivoda might have died that night.

But somehow, some way, he had come back for you.

And this time, you weren’t letting go.

Shadyside is full of horrors. And maybe, just maybe, you were allowed a single miracle.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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2econd-of-1sts · 2 days ago

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Shadow 1: I still have nightmares about the time we fought the 141.

Shadow 2: Dude, same. I wonder what the skull face guy is up to.

Shadow 1: I bet he's getting ready to assassinate a world leader.

Shadow 2: I bet he's doing black ops in Russia.

Ghost, driving down to the shops with his toddler to pick up dinner: Isla, stop licking your seatbelt.

OMGGGG 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Poor Shadows just remembering with shivers the absolute terror that was Simon “Ghost” Riley, slashing his way through a blockade with nothing more than the echo of a blurred figure to indicate that he was ever there. The fuel of their nightmares for the remainder of their lives. Tall and brooding, deadly and swift.

Cut to him in a scene sitting calmly while his kid(s) colour in his tattoos, or paint over his nails, or do his ‘makeup’ with washable paint. Putting his sniper skills to good use, at last, and sitting perfectly still for them. It’s one of Soap’s favourite pictures of his family.

I love this. Made me laugh out very much aloud.

#ask box #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod ghost #cod soap #baby isla #soapghost #Soapghost ask box series

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girl-lostconnection · 2 days ago

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Reading Gösta Berling’s saga (novel of Swedish author Selma Lagerlöf (incredible woman btw, first to ever win Nobel Prize in literature (which says more about Nobel prize committee but let’s not get sidetracked).

And there is a moment in the book where the Plain is complaining that she is surrounded by mountains.

[“It is quite enough,” says the plain to the mountains; “if you set up your walls about me, that is safety enough for me.”

But the mountains will not listen. They send out long rows of hills and barren table-lands way down to the lake. They raise great look-out towers on every promontory, and leave the shores of the lake so seldom that the plain can but rarely stretch itself out by the soft, broad sands. But it does not help to complain.

“You ought to be glad that we stand here,” the mountains say. “Think of that time before Christmas, when the icy fogs, day after day, rolled up from the Löfven. We do you good service.”

The plain complains that it has no space and an ugly view.

“You are so stupid,” answer the mountains; “if you could only feel how it is blowing down here by the lake. One needs at least a granite back and a fir-tree jacket to withstand it. And, besides, you can be glad to have us to look at.”

Yes, looking at the mountains, that is just what the plain is doing. It knows so well all the wonderful shiftings of light and shade, which pass over them. It knows how they sink down in the noon-day heat towards the horizon, low and a dim light-blue, and in the morning or evening light raise their venerable heights, clear blue as the sky at noon.]

And now I’m thinking about Reader x Simon, where he’s required to keep them safe and sound, sheltering from cold and winds, nurturing their flowers and herbs so they continue growing. It’s a tedious task, a difficult task — one that takes its toll on him.

But how could he want for other job when you are so lovely with your glistening rivers and your swaying buds of field flowers. His perfect beautiful darling.

You get prettier day by day and you flourish because he is here. Because he protects you, because he’s sheltering you from every cruel gust of wing, from heavy snows and blizzards. He’s the reason you look so lovely.

That’s reward enough for him.

As for your complaining? Well, he can live with that. You get fussy sometimes, you are still young, not like him who’s been standing for centuries. But it’s okay, you will understand with time. You have all the time in the world

(Also this little moment where mountains are like ????what do you mean nothing to look at??? Fucking look at me, I’m pretty enough)

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #gösta berlings saga

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machveil · 4 months ago

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Husband!Simon Riley that lurks behind you constantly. in your home, at the grocery store, at a bar - he’s just looming behind you. sometimes he just stands and stares at the back of your head, absolutely smitten that you’re his and he’s yours. he’s not the best with words, but he’s great at following behind you

Husband!Simon Riley that’s silently delighted when you lean against him. he’s sturdy, a wall of a man - he’s cracking a small smile under his mask when you lean into him. he’s wrapping his arm around your waist, supporting your weight as you glance around. he tried leaning against you once, he didn’t tell you and caught you off guard, almost sending you tumbling to the floor

Husband!Simon Riley that likes when you give him mundane tasks. he’s always been good about following through on orders, yours just happen to be less life-or-death than his job. he’ll do exactly what you tell him to do, no comments or complaints. you want him to fold laundry? he’s doing it how you showed him, folding shirts and pants the way you like. you want him to change a lightbulb? he’s already walking to the closet. you want him to give you a kiss? say less, he’s stalking towards you

Husband!Simon Riley that spritzes his clothes with your perfume/cologne. just a little, he likes that he can walk around alone but it still feels like you’re with him. it doesn’t matter what scent it is - floral, fruity, smokey, musky, he’d happily drown in the scent. sometimes he sprays his balaclava with it before he leaves on a deployment, the 141 silently side eyeing each other because they can smell Ghost coming before they can see him

#it’s your world Simon’s just living in it #wife guy Simon Riley #husband!simon riley #husband!ghost #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost headcanons #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #hit post

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rintinningvt · 1 year ago

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Do not talk to me, I'm not over the fact that Betty's existence really revolves around Simon. They both love and care for each other, and grow obsessed when separated, but goddamn- When he told their love story to Fionna, she asked him "So you got on the bus with her?" and he replied in surprise "Why would I-?" Betty Grof's life revolved around Simon, before and after they started a relationship. Heck, even before they officially met. She dropped everything to be with him, losing her sense of self in the relationship. Simon loves her but he didn't (and still doesn't, debatably) have her wants and best interests in mind. They could have gone on that trip together, she could have gone alone but they could've shared some time together on the bus and gone long distance for a while. But they didn't. They were both so enamored with each other and both lost themselves in different ways to their relationship. They were doomed from the start.

#fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #betty grof #text #I am in shambles and I am not feeling well-#They both threw away their lives for each other but not in ways that the other wanted/was healthy for them in the long run #when they were doomed by the narrative and the narrative is co-dependency #Idk if it's a known fact or I'm just kinda seeing too much into smth. But Betty's full name sounds similar to Simons' last name to me #As I said; that last part could be me seeing too much into smth that was accidental.#When you sacrifice everything so your boywife can be safe only for him to risk all that safety to see you again (POV: You Are Betty Grof)#the “DO NOT SEPARATE”-couple bc if you do the world will be in trouble #I am just stewing here with my thoughts don't mind me

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mokeonn · 9 months ago

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I think that the 2010's media landscape of Buzzfeed articles about plotholes in disney movies, Cinemasins critiques, and Watchmojo Top Ten scenes in movies that make no sense has truely ruined a lot of media. People are afraid that their work will be torn down if they dare leave a single thing up in the air, if they dare ask their audience to suspend their disbelief.

All too often nowadays I see stories (especially fantasy), take the time to explain how every small aspect of the world works and how it all logically makes sense. The constant time stopped to explain why an event happened, how this object works, or why this is important to the characters. It's just really not needed and it honestly makes a lot of stories worse.

I am of the opinion that the best stories truly just drop you into their world and explain nothing. They just take you through the story of this world and you just have to accept it and continue on. "When he became king, the land became barren." I don't want the story to stop and explain why this is, or how it happened, I want us to move on so we can just assume that the king has such rancid vibes that everything died.

#simon says #i watched the Last Unicorn again recently and it fucking slaps #and I noticed a huge part of why it slapped is because it doesn't explain shit #same with a lot of other fantasy things from the 70's and 80's I've noticed #and even older stories all the way back to fairy tales and fables #they just tell you something and move on #and it works!#a lot of the time it feels far too hand-holdy or immersion breaking for the characters to stop and explain something for the audience #like these characters would not take the time to explain the aspects of their world in detail to other people who live in this world #this is clearly for the audience only and so that they can feel more satisfied with an answer #but it fucking sucks!!#it is bad writing!!#to presume your audience has no suspension of disbelief so you stop everything to explain how the world works for them alone is bad!#it makes the story feel awkward because it feels out of character for the people of the world to talk like that and it feels insulting tbh #like you really think the audience's ability to pick up details of the world from dialog and onscreen (or page) information is that poor??#and to some extent it is #lord knows we are having a serious media literacy and general literacy issue in the United States #but it's honestly just bad writing and it bugs me so much. my number 1 pet peeve in fantasy is overexplaining especially when it doesn't fit #like just fucking tell me that there's a magical world on the other side of this wall in a village and move on #i can just accept this fact #imagine if the Dark Crystal took the time to explain every aspect of the world #that movie is already jam packed with random story and world bits that you just have to accept and move on from #now imagine if they took a solid 2 minutes to explain what the fuck Fizzgig is.#i think leaving it at 'he's a friendly monster and Kira's friend!' is the perfect place to leave it at #we do not need a full explanation on Fizzgig's species and behavior and why he's friendly unlike other monsters #he's a friendly monster and he's Kira's friend! that's all we need to know! we got a dark crystal to put back together!!!

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bludraws094 · 9 months ago

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love it when a characters just A Guy but either

is being dragged into Weird Shenanigans against their will

exists in a world where being just A Guy is considered weird as fuck

first is like "im gonna do my taxes" "no <3 fuck you <3 <3"

second is like "im gonna do my taxes" "what the FUCK are taxes"

anyways tag your blorbos idc. also when i say just A Guy i mean "normal person who wants to live a normal life". not like. the epitome of a suburban dad or office worker. im Exaggerating for the purpose of being Silly and Goofy

#🩵#this is about simon petrikov #btw #he was just trying to be a nerd but got stuck in nuclear fallout and then got cursed and THEN got stuck way in the future #AND THEN HE WENT AND LIVED IN A HUMAN HISTORY EXHIBIT THING JUST SO HE COULD GO BACK TO BEING A NORMAL GUY #before anyone mentions that the whole “finding a crown to fix your world” thing was mostly him: HE WAS FUCKING DEPRESSED #THAT MAN HAD ISSUES #AND HE DID NOT CHOOSE TO HAVE A UNIVERSE IN HIS HEAD #anyways i havent watched adventure time or fionna and cake in a while this is just from my memory of the shows

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gutsfics · 2 months ago

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i love you Characters With Strange Relationships To Their Parents

#i think the oc with the healthiest relationship w his parents is Simon and even he still has a lil mental breakdown about them #like they try their best to be good parents but theyre human. they fuck up occasionally (see: the whole New Start Incident)#Devi also has a strong relationship w his parents but. he experienced A Lot Of Shit growing up that they didnt know how to help him-#-navigate. and then he straight up died. (he gets better dw but still. that'll mess w their relationship Forever)#and i Want to say that Avalon is a good dad. and he is!! but in his Canon Dad World (hwu) he kindaaaa. abandons his family to do college.#like dgmw him going to college & getting them out of his hometown was a good thing. but also they were in grade school when he did that #Janey does her best to raise em when Avalon's not around but its hard doing it mostly solo w a more-than-full-time job (teaching)#as for the rcd kids au. umm. well rcd kids au Hunt and Avalon r in a better place mentally to raise kids than canon rcd them.#but they still raise their kids in fucking *hollywood* without stepping out of their very public facing jobs #anyway what is living without having a strange relationship w your parents #there is no “normal” when it comes to the people who raised you. & im saying this as an applies-to-everyone-ever blanket statement #thats not to say! that Everyone has a Bad relationship w their parents! its just that life is so messy that theres no such thing as “normal”

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khioneee · 3 months ago

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tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

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