#Simon riley

[oceantornadoo]

this is nasty because i’m insane

bank robber simon riley known as the ghost because of how quietly he slips in and out of vaults. always minimal injuries to innocents with big paydays. he works alone or with a crew called the 141, and he’s never been caught. doesn’t matter how many cameras, guards, door locks or silent alarms, he always gets away. with the amount he’s stolen, people speculate he could be living like a king for generations.

he can’t, unfortunately, because he has a bird who loves shiny things. his little magpie squeals at every new necklace, shiny bracelet, diamond ring. she fucks him better when it’s a rare piece, letting him do whatever he wants, whichever hole in whatever order. doesn’t matter if he’s the one robbing, one look into those pleading eyes and he’s on his knees.

so no, ghost the bank robber cannot retire, because he has a magpie at home who won’t stop until every bank is empty.

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who needs a quickie when you bring him lunch while he's on base. CW : Housewife kink, bit of a breeding kink, dirty talk, hair pulling

You thought you'd do something nice for your boyfriend. Bring him a nice stroganoff.

You didn't think walking into Simon's office in a pretty little sundress and giving him a Tupperware of beef stroganoff would make him so utterly horny.

He couldn't help himself. What man could stand seeing his pretty bird acting like the cutest housewife for him and resist bending her over his desk to thank her?

"Can't look this good, baby" Simon growled. His hips snapping against yours with an audible slap. Over and over.

"I just-I thought it was nice!" you squeak over the sound of skin on skin.

"Oh it was, princess. It was so so nice of you. Being the perfect little housewife f'me"

"H-Housewife?!"

"Yeah, birdie. Gonna put a ring on your finger. Come home to you every night while you hold out a plate of hot food f'me"

You couldn't even think from how good Simon's cock was hammering against your gummy spot deep inside you. Small 'ah!'s coming from you with every thrust.

"You want that baby? Be my sweet wife?" Simon growled. a hand grabbing your scalp and pulling your head off the desk.

"Yes!' you beg, "yes yes, please Simon!" You practically wail.

"and then eventually, I'll fill you up nice and good with my kid. Get you all barefoot and pregnant f'me" Simon grinned wolfishly.

You felt the coil in your lower stomach tighten dangerously at that. The idea of being Simon's housewife, merely having to do the housework and get as many orgasms as you want.

It only took three swipes of Simon's thumb on your clit for you to tremble and cry out as you came.

"Tha's it. Good fucking girl, birdie" Simon groaned as you felt his hot ropes fill you. Patting your lower stomach with a rumbling chuckle

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

I wrote this while playing cookie run kingdom ngl to y'all.

[dante-mightdie]

imagine cat!reader being in heat and pup!johnny having absolutely no idea what’s going on

poor pup is just sitting there dazed as simon takes care of their sweet girl ):

all johnny knows is that simon’s head has been between your thighs for a very long time, back arched against the sofa cushions and curved claws digging into the flesh of your owners back

and all johnny can do is whine and beg for a taste, pressing his face into your neck so he can huff on your solvent scent. only for simon to grab him by his ‘hawk and shove him off you, shushing your whines

“enough. if I let the mutt eat off my plate, he’ll never stop begging for scraps.”

[journen]

I realized I never posted this here! Ghost portrait, to add to my series of MW and Black Ops character portrait arts 😄🧡 Hope you guys like it!

[feinv]

simon riley loves listening to you yap.

cw. gn!reader. fluff.

because of his quiet and reserved nature, and also years in the military spent obeying commands and rarely having the opportunity to express himself, simon riley became an observer. a listener.

so when he met you, those personality traits became more apparent. it’s not like he had much to say, anyway. he barely had time for hobbies or any other activity that was not connected with the military. his life rotated in the same cycle: going on for missions, coming back to you.

and when he came back – starving for an actual home-cooked meal instead of something remotely representing food pressed into cans and plastic packs – he sat you down on the opposite side of the table with a simple “tell me, lovie.”

he would shove a spoonful of food into his mouth one after another, groaning at the delicious taste while you rambled his ears off, lifting his head up every now and then for a nod – an indication that he was listening and you shouldn’t stop.

truly, he never wanted you to stop.

you went out for a shopping spree with your friends? amazing. tell him what you got before you show him later. tell him what you left in the store and why. tell him what you had for lunch. tell him if you liked it.

get distracted when you remember something else. switch the topics every second and forget to finish the previous one. tell him about all the movies and tv shows you watched while he was gone, and how you couldn’t stand that one character.

he loves hearing your voice and how your hands and body move dramatically when you speak, even if he has no idea what the actual fuck you’re saying. there is no such thing as “too much information” for simon riley.

at the end of the day, all he wanted for you is to worry about the mundane stuff. your shoes didn’t match your outfit? yeah.

you worry about that while he takes care of everything else and makes your life easier because he fuckin loves you <3

# simon riley masterlist | main m.list | join the taglist

[theorist-fox]

Johnny's invited to dinner

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Word Count: 900

18+

CW: smut!!! this is literally smut. blowjob, handjob, various jobs that don't involve a salary. smug johnny. assertive dom simon but soft with you and you only.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Agreed to have ya ‘ere to look, not to talk, MacTavish.” 

Simon’s voice is a growl that unfolds like an earthquake, reverberating in your skull. It cracks at the edges when your lips, wrapped around his cock, slide a little further down.

Johnny stands less than a foot from where you kneel, fully dressed but with his dick in hand, stroking idly and passing his thumb over the slit every now and then. 

“Ach—but she seems to like it.” Johnny’s lips quirk in an impish smile, and his hand travels the space between you and him to tangle his fingers in your hair. “Don’t you, bonnie?” 

Simon pierces Johnny with a look. It’s smothered by the way you moan appreciatively around his cock.

Johnny chuckles hoarsely. “Aye, she does.” 

And then he pushes your head forward—slowly but ever so demanding. You comply, following Johnny’s lead, until your nose is buried in Simon’s curls and your eyes are shining. 

You gag around him. Simon smacks a fist on the bed. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

He’s quick to recollect his bearings and uses his thumb to wipe a tear down your cheek. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, and he takes that attempt at a smile as eager consent. One he makes sure to have, once again, by cocking his head inquisitively—you nod, or try to, and he sighs. Gently, Simon smooths the hair away from your forehead in silent thankfulness. 

“Fuckin’ hell, alrigh’.” Johnny grunts, too focused on the sight of Simon’s cock disappearing in your mouth to notice the silent communication happening. He speeds the movement of his hand, tugging at the foreskin right above his glans. “How's she feel, L.T.? Gimme the details.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Johnny tuts. “Ye gotta tell me—been selfish with her for too long. I get why, but don’t keep me in the dark now, uh? Feel like we're past that."

You start bobbing your head, gently guided by Johnny’s hand, while holding onto Simon’s thighs. He feels completely corded, like a rope ready to snap.

This is not what he thought would happen when you offered to have Johnny over for dinner.

But fuck it if he's going to complain.

Your head is cradled everywhere around it like it’s something precious and fragile—Johnny’s hand at the back, Simon’s palms now both at your cheeks.

“She’s warm.” He replies flatly, burying grunts and growls deep in his chest.

“Aye—coulda guessed that.” Johnny huffs. “Elaborate, will ye?” 

It’s then that you shift your head from side to side to accustom your jaw to his girth. Simon’s tip touches somewhere deep down your throat, and you choke around it. Your nostrils flare, and your eyes drown in tears Simon catches with his thumbs. 

“Fuck—” He grunts, rolling his eyes. “She—she’s fuckin’ melting me, Johnny. Tha’ enough?” 

“Yeah?” Johnny croaks. “Takin’ you deep—aye, sir?” 

“’Firmative.” 

“Can see ye bulgin’ down her throat,” he says, and Simon feels the sick need to go and check with his thumb. God help him, Johnny’s right. 

“She’s tight.” Simon pants. 

“Bet she is,” Johnny croaks. “Can’t wait to feel her myself. Right, hen?”

Simon watches you struggle to find a way to reply. You can’t speak because your mouth is busy elsewhere; you can’t nod, or you’ll choke. You opt for your hands, wrapping one around Johnny’s thigh and squeeze, digging your fingernails into the denim of his jeans. He stumbles forward, just a tad closer.

Johnny rewards you by massaging your scalp with his pads, a hoarse hum of approval passing through his lips. 

“Trained her right, L.T.” He chuckles.

Simon gives him a look that would normally freeze him on the spot, but it only prompts Johnny to stiffen and bite back a moan. 

“Didn’t train her, you twat.” Simon huffs gruffly, giving a tender brush of his thumb on your cheek as you work your mouth down his shaft. “She ain’t a dog.”

Johnny’s smirk falters, but Simon’s sure it’s not because he’s being reprimanded by his lieutenant but because he’s on the verge of finishing. Judging by the heavy furrow of his brow, he clearly doesn’t want to—not yet.

“Aye she ain’t.” He agrees, voice cracked and breathy. “But she’s a learner. Look at how she takes ye—that ain’t talent, can’t be.”

Johnny winks at you when he catches you struggling to look up. 

You huff from your nose, rolling your eyes fondly. His lips quirk, and he softens you up by grazing his nails down your scalp until your skin rises in goosebumps.

You push your head back against Johnny’s hand, and he takes that as a sign to go on. 

“That’s fuckin' hard work, right there.” He growls, and then guides your head down Simon’s cock once again. His thighs tighten under your fingertips, spine straight and knotted when you swallow him all the way down.

“Careful, Johnny.” Simon warns through gritted teeth. Even though he’s on the verge of toppling over, his voice still sounds delightfully rich—stern and commanding.

Then, he directs his eyes to you.

Yours soften, probably because his cheeks are awfully pink, and the crinkles of his eyes stretch in that way he reserves for you only. “Alrigh’?

You hum in reply, blinking up at him with clumped lashes and happy, bloodshot eyes.

“Three taps on my thigh when you need, yeah?” He says. “Go on.” 

You tap Simon’s thigh three times. He brushes his thumb down your cheek before placing his hand over Johnny’s wrist at the back of your head.

He squeezes it until his knuckles turn white, and then he nods his way. Johnny swallows a rock lodged in his throat when he meets Simon's hooded gaze.

“Go on, Johnny.” His hand on your cheek remains soft and soothing, but his eyes, locked on Johnny’s flushed face, hold a darkness you’re not allowed to see.

“Make me cum."

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Hey!!! We officially reached 1k people so I thought I'd scare you away with some filthy smut.

I love you all. Truly. Thank you for being here and making my days 10 times better.

-theo 🦊

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: Isn't the whole life saving thing supposed to be "you saved my life, now I owe you a debt?" Y/N: Nope, other way around. You saved my life so now I'm your problem Y/N: God wanted me dead and now you get to find out why

[leafavleo]

GHOST who got his motorcycle when he was about seventeen, and he did love his baby. It was almost funny to see him cleaning the vehicle every weekend. You could never find him around the house, only in the garage.

You often joked about how he probably loved that piece of metal more than you, even pretended to be jealous when Ghost slapped the back of the motorcycle after fixing something in it. Not like he didn’t spank your ass on every occasion.

So, when you started to joke again about the motorcycle taking Ghost away from you, he took the matter in his own hands. Placing you on the seat, making you bend pretty for him. The gasps and moans filled the garage as he slammed his cock into you again and again, while you were gripping the sides of the motorcycle so tightly.

“Still jealous?” Ghost asked breathlessly as he watched your ass bounce on his hard cock. The feeling of your tight pussy gripping him making him want to go deeper.

You could only moan in response, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he was holding your head back with one hand, the other one was placed behind him, on the motorcycle’s rear.

He wouldn’t mind if you cum on his motorcycle, in fact, he’s waiting for you to do just that. Maybe then he won’t clean it next weekend.

[gloomwitchwrites]

For call of duty, can you write how 141 would react to you coming home after being announced KIA?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️

Not gonna lie, anon, but I genuinely read this as us reacting to the 141 coming home after being announced KIA, not them reacting to us coming home. I literally dumped everything I had planned and redid it because I missed that ONE word. (oops). Still, it's an emotional one. Your tears fuel me. :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Task Force 141!f!Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): angst, reunions, fluff, kissing, secret relationship, established relationship, grief/loss, swearing, mild humor, suggestive themes, mild sexual content

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Reality isn’t fair. It’s not kind or forgiving.

A week gone and John is simply floating, going through the motions, simply existing. This is why you don’t date military while in the military. It’s shit like this. It’s being told the person you love is fucking dead and now you’re the one left to pick up the pieces.

There wasn’t even a body. Vaporized is what they told him. Instant and painless. You felt nothing. It’s a small comfort, but John would rather have you in his arms than knowing you’re nothing more than atoms.

He sighs, and then puffs on his cigar. Smoke curls around him. It’s all quiet on base. Everyone is gone other than the routine patrol. John sits alone in his office, looking for files for an upcoming mission.

There’s a soft knock on is office door.

“Come in,” he says, not knowing who it might be but it must be important for it to be this late.

The door clicks and then creaks as it opens. John glances up, the cigar halfway to his mouth before the world around him completely stutters to a halt.

A phantom—a vaporized phantom—stands just inside, one hand on the doorknob. You are unharmed—clean. No scratches or wounds that John can see and wearing civilian clothing.

John is already standing, already moving, unable to resist the urge to remain in his chair and write this all off as a delusion. The cigar is forgotten, probably burning a hole in the wood of his desk. You match the forward momentum, shutting the office door, reaching out to him. When his arms go around you, and pull you in, John realizes that this is not an illusion. You are real and alive and here.

“You’re dead,” he murmurs, disbelief in his tone.

“I know. And I’m so sorry. It wasn’t—”

John grasps the back of your neck in a harsh hold, pulling you in for a kiss. He silences your voice, only needing your warmth and taste. You melt for him perfectly, answering the kisses with your own. With a gruff groan, John presses you up against the closed door.

“John,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

“How are you here?”

“I’m sorry. We had to. It was the only way to extract me safely.”

John presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Never again. Promise me.”

“Promise, John.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

One. Two. Three.

The seconds tick by, and still, Kyle refuses to move. For the last two weeks, Kyle has been cold and distant, sitting in the recliner in the corner of the living room.

He doesn’t read, doesn’t return the numerous missed calls and text messages, and he doesn’t turn on the television. He just sits, staring off into space, unable to figure out where his life will go next.

Why you? Why are you gone and not him?

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. You should be alive and whole and happy. You should be home, wrapped in Kyle’s arms.

Kyle sighs, running his hands over his face. An overwhelming wave of grief bubbles up, threatening to rip a sob from him. Leaning forward, Kyle rests his elbows on his knees, cradling his face in his hands. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. The wave crashes against his resolve, eroding some of the numbness.

The coffin is empty. No body to bury. He still hasn’t contacted your family. He can’t do it. Can’t face them. That fact that he is here and you are not is a failure on his part. Kyle promised that he’d look after you, and now you’re gone.

Around him, the air stirs—shifts. Kyle rubs at his face, sudden awareness slipping in. There’s an anticipation in it—a tension.

“Kyle.”

That voice. He knows that voice.

Shaking his head, Kyle keeps his face covered, his breathing becoming ragged.

“You’re not real,” he gasps.

Phantom fingers lightly brush across the back of palm, traveling to his wrist. Another set join them, and two warm hands gently wrap around his wrists. They tug, and Kyle surrenders, glancing up at the delusion his consciousness is creating.

Your smile is a beacon in the dark. It is everything he’s dreamed up these aching days, only wanting to see you again. And this is no dream, this is the waking world—reality. Somehow, you are standing before him, grasping his wrists, smiling down at him with such happiness that Kyle doesn’t entirely understand how this could be possible.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Kyle.”

He’s standing, wrapping you up in his arms. There is no mistake. You are here. You are here.

Kyle murmurs your name over and over again like a mantra. He touches you everywhere, needing to know that every inch of you is real and not a figment of his imagination. You curl against him, tears forming, threatening to fall and stain your cheeks. Kyle kisses them away, grasping the sides of your face to steal your breath.

You melt beneath him, and Kyle’s only desire is to keep you near him, to relearn your every moan and whisper. He can get answers later. Later. Right now, you are here, you have returned to him, and that is enough.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny made the choice, and now he has to live with the consequences.

It’s his own fault for caring about you, for deciding that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He should have found a civilian. That way they’d be mourning him and not him mourning you.

Three months and the missive still burns a hole in his chest. It’s folded up nicely, faded and worn from him unfolding and refolding it, tucked into an inside pocket beneath his bulletproof vest. It’s right over his heart. Right where you should be. Right where you belong.

The missive doesn’t belong to Johnny. It’s addressed to Captain Price, but the man handed it over to him, because he knew—even though Johnny did his best to hide it. He didn’t want to share what he had with you with anyone. That was just for the two of you.

“You all right, Soap?”

Simon’s voice cuts through the static.

“I’m aces, Lt. Don’t worry about me.”

The words feel false on Johnny’s tongue. He hates lying—but he especially hates lying to Simon.

Even behind the balaclava, Johnny can sense Simon’s frown. But the big bloke says nothing, appearing content with his answer.

“Price wants you in Conference Room B.”

“Now?” asks Johnny. “We’re supposed to transfer out in a few.”

Simon shrugs. “He didn’t say much. Just said he needed to talk to you before we leave.”

Johnny sighs but he goes, patting Simon’s arm before jogging to one of the main buildings. It’s inconvenient—and Price could have just met him on the fucking tarmac.

“What do you need, Captain?” says Johnny, pushing open the door.

Captain Price stands just inside the doorway. And he’s not alone.

At first, Johnny doesn’t understand. It’s like all but one singular bulb has been extinguished, the remaining light illuminating the one ghost in the room. Because that’s what you are. A ghost. Unreal and ethereal. Not reality at all but a simple hope in the back of Johnny’s mind that has finally blossomed into delusion.

“Soap.” Price’s voice is gruff. He sighs and then takes a step away from you. “I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

He brushes past Johnny, lightly squeezing his shoulder as he makes his exit.

And Johnny does not move. He stands in the doorway like a bloody git, unable to understand how you’re standing before him.

You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.

Your smile is hesitant at first, your movements even more so. It’s a tentative walk to him, and you don’t touch, you only gaze at him, eagerness and hope in your eyes.

“Johnny,” you breathe, and he knows that voice.

So crisp and clear and real.

Johnny reaches out, and pinches. He pinches your arms, your waist, your cheeks.

“Ow,” you laugh. “What the hell?”

You are not cold, but warm. Solid.

Johnny laughs in disbelief. “Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

Your arms go around him and suddenly, like a firework bursting with color, Johnny is happy and whole.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shuts the front door and frowns.

Whenever Simon comes home, Bravo always greets him. The all-black German Shepherd is a singular ball of energy, turning in quick circles and tap tap tapping his paws against the hardwood in anticipation of back scratches and belly rubs.

For the past week, Bravo’s presence has been the one bright thing, the only bit of happiness keeping Simon going. The rest of it was snatched from him, torn apart and shattered, scattered to the wind. The letter is tucked inside the drawer of the bedside table. He only read it once. And once was enough.

You are dead. That’s what the letter says anyway. And it infuriates him more than anything. Every mission you’ve ever been on has been with Simon. Except this last one. And on this last one, you did not come home.

“Bravo!” shouts Simon, dropping his keys in the designated spot next to the front door.

Removing his coat, he hangs it up, and then kicks off his sneakers. Sighing loudly, Simon heads down the hall but Bravo does not emerge. Simon pokes his head into the living room and finds no dog. Kitchen, and still nothing. He even checks the backyard. No Bravo.

As Simon turns into the bedroom, he comes to an abrupt halt.

There’s Bravo on the bed, and sitting on the edge—

“You—”

You hold the letter in your hands, attention turning to Simon as he enters. Standing quickly, you extend the arm holding the letter while you bring a singular finger to your lips, implying silence.

Simon’s stomach flips, and then twists quickly. He moves across the room a couple strides, grasping your waist and pulling you close. He says nothing, only searching your face as you keep that finger pressed to your lips.

You flip the letter over to the blank side.

Compromised.

Everything clicks into place. Either you faked your death or someone lied.

Simon cups the side of your face as you drop your finger away from your lips. His mouth replaces, tasting and seeking, wanting to remember. You open for him, accepting it all. His hands tighten on your waist and it takes every ounce of Simon’s control to not throw you onto the bed and rut like an untamed beast.

But he does refrain.

Simon has the car loaded and the alarm system armed in ten minutes. Even on the road, Simon doesn’t speak. He’s not sure if he can. All he does is keep his hand on your thigh, squeezing tightly, attempting to ground himself and keep his focus on the road.

At the safehouse, Bravo takes off, running through the tall grass as you and Simon enter the barn through a small side door. The moment the bags are dropped onto the floor, Simon is on you, fisting your clothes, tugging at them in a need to seem them gone.

“Simon,” you groan against his mouth.

He wants answers. He needs to know what happened. But reconnecting with you is far more urgent.

“After,” he begs. “Please.”

You nod, understanding.

The two of shed your clothes quickly, falling onto the sofa in a tangled heap. Simon’s hand delves between, fingers finding your arousal. You’re ready for him—just as eager as he his. He makes no gentle effort, just a quick thrusts until he’s in to the hilt. Your brief gasp is swallowed up by his mouth, tongue delving inside for a taste as he starts to thrust.

This is what he needs. More than anything.

Talking can come after.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[codnasties]

breeding kink w/ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

while price has a breeding kink because he actually wants children, ghost's breeding kink comes from a completely different place because he does not really know if he wants kids. his reason for wanting to breed you comes from a primal instinct of his. something in his mind tells him to mark you as his so that no other man tries to have a go at you.

that kind of possessiveness of his is what is what lands you on your back, legs peeled appart and this behemonth - and that thick cock of his - standing right in between. he's going to be plowing into you for the better part for an hour, trying to get out of you all of those little sounds that he loves.

the cherry on top is obviously cumming inside, letting people know that your sweet, now cum filled pussy belongs to him. deep and harsh thust to ensure that he's properly breeding you. and while he loves watching cum being pushed out by your pulsating walls, when it doesn't it makes him feel like he did his job properly.

he's also the type to just put your panties back on and letting them get stains with his seed.

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who is obsessed with your hips. CW : Bruising, PiV, drooling. @debutationstan messaged me and it sparked an idea so...

He always has a hand on your hip when you're grocery shopping so he doesn't lose you.

He's got his hands on your hips when you're sat on his lap in the pub surrounded by his teammates.

He's got his hands on your hips as he stands behind you while you make him a cup of tea. Kissing at your neck tiredly.

And you can guarantee he's got a hand on your hip when one of your coworkers at the Christmas party gets a little too comfortable.

But his love for your hips meant you had to wear your high wasted skirts, jeans, even a few dresses. You had fingerprint shaped bruises on your hips almost all the time, because unfortunately for you, Simon loved your hips just as much when the two of you fell into bed.

You were on your hands and knees, crying out into the pillow beneath your face as Simon fucked into you from behind. His hands grabbing at your hips while he drooled above you.

"Fuck, you look so good like this baby" Simon groaned. And you felt more of his drool hit your lower back.

"'m close, Si!~" you whine loudly into the pillow, practically screaming in pleasure when Simon reaches around and rubs your clit in tight circles.

"Come f'me. Come on, birdie" Simon demanded, and you nod desperately. A choked out warble escaping you as you came. A sound you were convinced sounded horrible, but it was that desperate sound that tipped Simon over the edge and he spilled into you.

You gasp as Simon pulled out, feeling the bed shift and him start to mouth at your hips. Quiet groans coming from him. God, you were in for a long fucking night.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[damnibreathealot]

since we’re here…https://www.tumblr.com/damnibreathealot/769935492221386752/httpswwwtumblrcomdamnibreathealot76979031556?source=share

but with a fleshlight- HEAR ME OUT!! Please I’d love to see Simon whimper from overstimulation😭😭💝💝💝

doesn’t even have to be long just Simon kinda crying from cumming to much omg

simon 'ghost' riley being overstimulated by a fleshlight! ✎ | use of toys. mentions of overstimulation and crying. dacryphilia from reader. as per usual, gn!reader. a very shit proof-read... 💔 ✎ | fuck yeah! i like this suggestion. @cringeycookies

fuck, you could never be happier with the situation you're currently in right now. simon sprawled out on your bed, whining his ass off from the fleshlight wrapped around his oversensitive dick. he's lost count of how many times he's came. was it five, six - fuck, his mind was too numb to even think at the moment. all he could think about is the rubbery toy grasping around his cock.

he looks down at you. your cocky grin and the way your hand was gripping firmly around the fleshlight tells him you aren't playing to stop anytime soon, but maybe if he begs prettily enough, you might budge!

"f-fuck! l-lovie... shit... too sensitive. stop!"

"is that how you beg, si? you could do better, no?" your teasing words shoot straight down to his cock, causing it to twitch pathetically.

"please! lovie, fuckkk, please? can't take anymore. stop, please?"

"hm... one more and then we're done then." "fuck! thankyouthankyouthankyou!" his words jumbled together as he thanks you for your mercy but his words were quickly cut off by sudden fast moment against his cock. his head throws back before looking down at you once again. your hand guiding the fleshlight up and down his cock with swift movements. his previous orgasm helping as lube as you fuck him sharply with the fleshlight.

his eyes roll to the back of his head and his cock twitches, indicating he's close to cumming. he pulls at his own hair as groans and whimpers leave his lips. fuck, he was like putty in your hands. you squeeze the fleshlight tighter in a specific way and that causes him to go haywire.

a loud grunt leaves his lips as his five or six orgasm drenches the fleshlight, but to his surprise, you keep going. shit, he should've known better than believe that you were actually going to stop after this orgasm.

"no more, fuck!"

"yes more, cmon, you can give me one more."

[jammyjen26]

It’s Christmas day, sitting on Simon’s left thigh and smiling as your little siblings open their presents.

Simon’s spending Christmas with your family for the first time.

He hadn’t expected to be so welcomed and didn’t expect you family to get him so many gifts.

Even paying for him to go on a ski resort with you and your family

He’s happy, he’s got his girlfriend on his lap, a mug of hot cocoa on the other hand

Not to mention that when you guys get home he’ll make love to you and give you more gifts.

He’s in love, watching you smile and laugh.

Your little brother asking him to help him set up his toy truck.

He feels included, he doesn’t feel left out or feel like a stranger.

He wants to do this again next year and the years to come.

[nerdygirlramblings]

couldn't stop thinking about omegaverse and my spitfire soldier and got this

Ghost first notices you training rookies. He didn't expect anyone else in the gym this early and is surprised to see a whole squad on the mats. He watches a soldier get taken down in a grapple in under a minute and hears your voice ring out, "That shite is gonna get you hurt in the field. Ya gotta find a way to block 'is scent! You don't think an alpha will use any advantage God gave them in battle? Ya gotta be smart!"

He sticks around a bit longer and notices two other rookies whose stances would lead to injury. He's about to step over and fix it himself - he doesn't want someone hurt because of an easily corrected issue - when you zero in on the two he was watching. You correct them in a similar manner to the first. "Nooooo. Only do it like that if you wanna go home in pieces, yeah? Ya need ta carry your weight like this." You show them both the correct way, reaching over and bodily adjusting them when you need to.

He's impressed with your style, so different from the way others would simply shout and demean. It reminds him of Price. He inches his way around the edge of the room, hoping to smell you and is disappointed to see the scent blockers on your neck as he gets close.

A few days later, Soap runs into you on base. Literally. He's out for an early morning run and sees you through the trees ahead of him. He likes how graceful you look cutting across the trail. He stays behind you for a bit, downwind to try and catch your scent. When he can't smell anything but the natural scents around you, he lengthens his stride to pace you.

He pulls up next to you and sees the scent-blocking patches on your neck and wonders if you're trying not to spook anything in the woods. You flash him a smile and he swears his heart stutters. He hasn't been this quickly smitten with someone since he met Ghost.

You run along with him, and he can tell from the amount of sweat soaking your shirt you've been at this for a while. As the route loops back towards the main part of base, Soap cuts left to his barracks and notices you continuing on. He decides to test a hunch, so he takes the fastest shower and is back out watching the trailhead ten minutes later.

Sure enough he sees you come up the path and take another loop. Your stamina is impressive. He has nothing to do, so he casually leans against the wall and watches you pass by two more times before finally coming his way. "Nice form," he calls as you pass, and you flash him another bright smile and wave as you head to your barracks.

Gaz finds you on the shooting range. It's early, and he thought he'd be the only one practicing. He's checking out his weapon for the morning when he hears three different pop pop pops in quick succession. Looking up, he's surprised to see one soldier - you - making their way back and forth between three different lanes.

He grabs his equipment and starts working over towards an empty stall on your left, passing all three of the lanes you're working. He notes a standard Glock 17, a L129A1 sharpshooter, and an SA80 weapon. He glances at your targets and is a little shocked to see the tight groupings at both the head and center mass of each one. You can handle all three weapons with equal skill, something he hasn't seen in too many people not in SAS. He looks over your uniform and nothing indicates if you're on another task force yet.

It's finally Price who brings you up to the team. He's heard whispers of you across base since you were transferred there a month ago. When he hears about you, it's either with awe or derision. You're an omega.

Omega's have only been cleared to serve in active duty for a few years, and there's still a lot of prejudice against them. Some of the upper-level alphas don't like how good you are. Others are impressed but nervous due to your secondary gender.

Most military packs exist without an omega, or if they have one, it's an omega in a civilian position or not involved with the military at all. The 141 has never had an omega, and until you it wasn't something Price even considered. Price wants you on the 141 for all the things that make you a good soldier. He has no idea what bringing an omega on will do. So he decides to talk to his pack about it.

He calls everyone into his office and starts by showing them your picture. He's a bit surprised to see all three men react. Ghost leans forward, Soap breaks out in a grin, and Gaz sits up straight in his seat. The room starts to smell subtly of woodsmoke and cold ozone; the boys are interested already.

"She's new on base," Price starts, "but she's already made a name for 'erself."

"I can understand why," Gaz says quietly. "Saw her on the range a few days back, and Cap, I haven't seen groupings like that since our last qualifier."

Ghost nods. "Knows 'er stuff, tha one," he tells Price. "Watched 'er handle a green batch, musta bin right after she got 'ere, and she reminded me a' you."

Soap is practically bouncing in his seat as he tells them about running with you and how it made his beta feel.

"So it sounds like yu'd all be open to me makin' an overture," Price says. When the others nod, he drops the last bit of information, the one he's sure will send some shockwaves. "She's an unbonded omega."

The shift in the room is palpable. Subtle interest become full-blown arousal, the air thickening with the scent of pine and linen. "I dunno what it'd mean if she joins us, but we gotta consider courtin' 'er might be a thing."

He looks at his men, his pack, and closes with, "If we do this, an' do it right, she'd be ours." The avarice in Soap's eye, the interest in Ghost's, the admiration in Gaz's convinces Price this is the right thing to do.

All that's left is to introduce himself and make his intentions known.

next

[sweetestcowboy]

I LOVE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH !!

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”