#cod Ghost

[codnasties]

your choice about the who but https://x.com/couplesnotez/status/1866215273260335128?s=46&t=MAOekd3o3wRUwA-Er7ENXw last night before leaving for the first deployment and having no idea if they'll come back or not after freshly joining the 141

night before deployment w/ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

for the longest time - most of his life -, ghost had been fearless. willing to throw himself into situations that had warnig light all over them without a care. but at a certain point of time this changed

because ghost now has something to lose: you. pretty little thing that he fell in love with the second he laid his eyes on you. your meere existence in his life impells him to be a better person - and avoid those iffy situations he used to chase after.

he just needs to love you and assure you - and himself - that everything is going to be alright and that nothing will happen to him, while also memorising every single one of your features. that's why every night before he goes on deployment, he makes sure to fuck you nicely.

legs pushed against your chest as he's balls deep inside of you. his eyes fixated on your blissed out face, trying to memorise it for when he needs it later. your moans getting imprinted in his brain and trying to retain the taste of your mouth and the feeling of your walls fluttering around him as plunges into you, working to make you cum one last time before he leaves.

maybe he finally breed you and come back three or four months later to a pregnant missus - and an excuse to finally leave the militay and stop being away from you for such long periods of time

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[slater-baby]

When Simon gets a cold, he’s either:

1) Completely uncaring. Walks around with tissues up his nose like nothing’s changed, and doesn’t understand why people look at him funny or tell him he needs to take a day off work.

OR

2) thinks it’s LITERALLY worse than being shot. Like, he refuses to even walk, he’s so dramatic. He’s literally 6’4, so he can’t lay down on a couch, but for all that’s good and holy, he’ll FIND a way to squeeze himself onto it just so that he can sprawl out in the living room and visibly show everybody how miserable he is.

(BONUS POINTS: If you’re his s/o, he’ll crank up the dramatics until you call in sick to work, make chicken noodle soup, and cuddle with him on the couch. And /yes/ it is worse than being shot— that’s exactly why you need to take a day off, love. “Don’t want your husband laid up at home wit’ nobody to take care of ‘im, yeah?”)

[ghostsandguns]

When Ghost sees you lying in bed with a hot water bag on your stomach, he recalls reading somewhere that orgasms can help relieve period cramps. So he struts over, tosses the bag aside, and pulls down your shorts and underwear.

You don't even have time to tell him you're on your period before he's got two of his thick fingers in your pussy, searching for that nice little spot. He gives you three orgasms with his mouth and hands in preparation for his fat cock.

The mixture of blood and slick makes it easy for him to slide in, completely filling you to the brim. He's nice enough not to hammer against your cervix this time, but he makes sure to cum inside. A little gift "to soothe your belly" he says.

I'm on my period help

[lyraa-kill]

God he’s so fucking beautiful

messing around with simon's face again...

[scoobywrites690]

Pretty simple: Simon Riley is obsessed with making his wife squirt

Loved the simplicity of this one, didn't have to put too much thought or planning into this. I was able to write this whilst watching a documentary.

You and Simon discovered you were able to squirt accidentally. Simon was pulling his fourth and final orgasm out of you when your orgasm came crashing down on you, your stomach tying in knots as the pleasure became too much. Clenching down on Simon's cock as he continues to plow into your poor battered pussy not caring that you were beyond breaking point. Just desperate to pull one more out of you.

Tears stained your cheeks as the sensitivity of it all became too much, your legs shaking around Simon's waist as he circles his thumb around your clit. and that was it for you, that was the moment that you went over the edge. spasming around Simon as your orgasm comes crashing down on you.

"Fuckin hell, luv" remarks Simon "Since when could you do that?!" He says surprised at the sudden ability that he discovered about his wife.

Coming down from your high you take in the situation in front of you and that's when you see Simon still in between your legs his bare chest covered in a wet sheen as droplets of liquid slowly drip off of him. It being too much liquid for it to just be sweat on his body.

His pupils were all blown out, an animalistic look taking over him. like he was ready to pounce on his prey, ready to devour them right then and there. and you were his prey.

From that point on it was Simon's mission to get you to squirt, either it be once or twice in one night. He'd do it. Determined to have you soak him in your arousal, wanting you to ruin the bed beneath you.

either it being you soaking his chest as he pounds into you as he circles his thumb round your poor sensitive little clit. Or you soaking his face as he makes you ride it, his arms locked around your thighs so you can't wiggle away from his eager tongue. your sweet sweet moans fill the room as you cry out in pleasure, your hips stuttering as you soak his face in your sweet nectar.

He just needed it. he craved it. he was a man obsessed.

[naditwombly]

After a long solo mission, Ghost comes home💜 HD and second part 🔥 on my patreon ______________________

PRINTS on my shop: link in bio 🫶🏻 MORE ARTWORKS and RENDERINGS on p@treon: link in my bio 🫶🏻

[the-palelady]

knight!ghost coded i fear 🙂‍↕️

[betweenstorms]

The Tide That Binds Us (masterlist) (previous work) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Siren!fem Reader

“The tide drags us together, lover and monster alike, until our reflections blur upon the water—now I cannot tell where your hunger ends and my surrender begins.”

Simon Riley knew that he had been raised by the sea herself.

His lungs had been shaped by her salted breath, his skin weathered by her touch, both cruel and kind, both lover and executioner. His hands bore the scars of her temperament, the rough callouses of a child she had never coddled, only forged.

He had seen all her faces, too, her serene hush, when the morning tide kissed the shore like a parting lover, whispering secrets in the language of shifting sands. He had also known her rage, the way she screamed in the throat of a storm, a wrathful goddess tearing at the sky, drowning the world in fury. She was treacherous and tender, devouring and divine.

And Simon knew better than most that the sea had no mercy.

She gave as much as she took, offered salvation in the same breath she whispered death. Men like him belonged to her in ways those bound to the land could never understand. She did not love, not in the way a mother should. But she kept him. She had taken men stronger than him, smarter than him, much more cunning than him, pulled them beneath her surface with greedy hands, but she had let him live.

Perhaps the sea had been merciful because he had always served her.

He was not like the others, those who fought against her, who defied her will, who prayed to false gods to spare them from her wrath. Simon had never begged her for favor, nor cursed her for cruelty. He had accepted her as she was, giver and taker, mother and monster, and she, maybe in return, had allowed him to stay, to bathe in her glory.

The lighthouse was his domain, his duty, the golden eye of its beacon sweeping across the darkened bay each night, a silent warning to those who dared trespass upon the inky waters. The men who sailed these shores, fishermen, drifters, wanderers with salt in their veins and wounds on their skin, depended on it. On him. On his care. They never saw his face, only the steady rhythm of his work, the light that cut through the darkness.

Simon’s days were predictable.

Ritualistic even.

He fished in the mornings, pulling silver offerings from the sea’s embrace, his hands deft and unthinking as he worked. He maintained the beacon, tended the building, ensuring the gears moved as they should, oiling the great lantern’s heart. When the skies were clear, he watched the stars, mapping the constellations that stretched above him like scars across the heavens.

The nearest town was miles away, across the bay, little more than a scattering of homes and shops clinging to the coastline. He rarely ventured there unless necessity demanded it—a new coil of rope, a crate of provisions—but even then, he lingered only long enough to make his purchases before returning to his solitary world.

Simon preferred it that way.

Isolation suited him.

The sea had always been his most faithful companion, the only one who knew the language of silence, who understood the weight of solitude without seeking to fill it. She never asked anything of him beyond his devotion, never demanded more than he could give. And yet, beneath her endless surface, beneath the lull of waves and foam, she harbored secrets.

Dark things. Forgotten things. 

Monsters.

One of those monsters haunted him that night.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunted as he closed a window due to the heavy wind. The sea was uneasy, restless in a way that only those who truly knew her could feel.

That day, sometime after dusk, the wind had shifted, rolling in from the east with an eerie stillness that pressed heavy against the world, the kind that foretold an oncoming storm. Above, the stars burned brighter than they should have, their cold, ancient light stark against the vast abyss. The moon hung low and swollen, full and watching, a silver god casting its glow over the churning water below. The waves lapped against the massive cliffs, carrying secrets meant for no human ear. Dark and murmuring.

They rose and fell like a monster’s sigh.

And then he heard it.

A siren.

He was a man nearing forty, and he knew well the witchery of the sea. The stories whispered in dockside taverns, the warnings etched into the faces of old sailors, the superstitions woven into every knot of a fisherman’s net—he had heard them all. The sea was no gentle mistress. She was a realm of monsters, of unholy things that ruled the waves with claws and teeth and songs that could drown men without a drop of water touching their skin.

He knew of krakens, their tentacles rising like black towers from the depths, wrapping around ships and pulling them into the darkness. He knew of beasts with too many eyes, blinking in eerie unison from the shadows beneath the waves, their gazes filled with unknowable intent. 

And he knew of sirens, too.

Their otherworldly voices were spun from the marrow of dead sailors, their songs as sweet as they were lethal, beckoning men toward ruin with the promise of something beautiful, eternal and inescapable. He had seen one once, when he was just a boy—too young to understand, but old enough to remember.

He could still recall the way his father’s harpoon tore through its body, the way it bled black, ink and brine spilling into the boat, staining his hands, his boots, his memories.

They were wretched things, their bodies tangled with moss and pearls, their scales slick as oil on water, shimmering and shifting, catching the light in unnatural hues of purple, blue, and silver. Their eyes were the worst of it—milky and hollow, pits of white that seemed to pierce and yet see nothing at all.

No pupils, no soul, no mercy.

And their teeth, too sharp and too many for his liking, gleaming like a reflection of the waves themselves, something meant for rending, for devouring, for dragging men into the deep and never letting go.

“Never trust what comes from the sea,” that was what his father had said as he carved into the corpse, his blade slicing through the slick flesh with the practiced ease of a man gutting a fish, stripping it bare from its makeshift jewelry. “Nothin’ that comes from it is ever yours, son. Not her pearls, not her beauty, not her mercy. You take what you need and leave the rest. If you don’t, she’ll take you instead.”

This was the only truly useful thing his father had ever said to him.

But this one—this siren wasn’t singing.

It was crying.

The sound was heartbreakingly beautiful, a sorrow spun from salt and wind that rose from the darkness and wrapped itself around him like a mother’s embrace. It wasn’t the seductive pull of their song, that honeyed, venomous promise of blissful destruction he had steeled himself against countless times before. No, this was different. It was raw, fractured, a sound that felt like it didn’t belong to the world of the living. It was haunting, the way it seemed to call for him and only him. The sound wasn’t human, couldn’t be, and yet it burrowed into his chest and made his heart tighten.

Because it was not a call.

It was pain.

And goddess help him, it was beautiful. It prickled his skin, sent a cold whisper down his spine, not with fear, but with something worse—recognition. As though the grief in that voice did not belong to the sea at all. As though, somehow, it belonged to him.

And Simon, against all reason, felt himself being drawn to it.

His first instinct was to shut the other windows, too. To bolt the lighthouse doors and to wait for the storm he knew would come crawling over the horizon by morning. The sea always changed before a tempest, the air thickening, the tides rising, tense and starved. Simon had learned long ago that no good ever came from listening too closely to what lurked beyond the shore.

And yet—he hesitated.

Something inside him rebelled, some nameless part of him that ached at the tempting sound, that tightened in his chest like an iron fist gripping his ribs. And against his better judgment, he picked up his lantern and left the lighthouse.

Unguarded.

The descent toward the shore was treacherous, even for a man who had known these cliffs all his life. The rocks jutted out like broken bones, slick with sea spray, the pathway winding and deceptive. He knew all too well that every footstep here mattered, knew how easy it would be to fall and disappear beneath the tide, swallowed whole. But he pressed on, lantern swinging in his grip, his breath harsh against the cold wind.

And then the crying stopped.

Simon slowed, heartbeat heavy in his ears. He scanned the shoreline, his keen eyes adjusting to the silver-washed darkness. The sea stretched before him, an endless mouth yawning wide beneath the moon, and the wind howled, but the sobs had ceased, leaving only silence.

He was being watched.

His grip on the lantern tightened.

Simon felt it before he saw it, the unmistakable sensation of something pressing against him from the inside out, an invisible weight that made his breath come shorter, his pulse pound against his freezing skin. He swept his gaze across the rocky shoreline, the lantern's glow flickering weakly against the dark. The tide rolled in sluggishly, dragging kelp and shattered shells and rubbish onto the sand, leaving behind gleaming trails of brine that shimmered like veins of liquid silver. The scent of salt and something faintly metallic filled his lungs.

Then he saw it.

Or more like her.

“Bloody hell,” was all he could muster.

Shimmering scales gleamed under the moonlight, their iridescence shifting, broken and glistening in the pale glow. Empty, sightless eyes stared at him, the gleam of too many teeth bared in silent warning. Her hair was woven from the night itself, strands of pure darkness clinging to her face, tangled in the glistening scales and skin. Braids coiled through the wild locks, adorned with shells and pearls that had long since lost their luster—just like the ones his father had torn from a creature like her.

At first, Simon thought she was nothing more than a trick of the light. A specter conjured by the approaching storm, a cruel illusion spun from shadow and tide, a barbaric joke of his goddess. But then—

She moved.

Not much, only the faintest shift of her webbed fingers against the sand, long nails digging in the grains, but it was enough. Enough to confirm that she was no mirage, no phantom rising from the sea’s depths to mock him.

A siren.

But something was wrong.

Her body lay sprawled on the shore, draped across the wet sand like a broken offering, her black blood pooling beneath her, seeping into the white foam that hissed and whispered as the waves lapped hungrily at her failing form. A ragged wound marred her tail, a savage, gaping bite that had torn deep into her flesh, revealing pale muscle and splintered bone. It was raw, violent, the kind of wound left by a predator—something larger, something hungrier.

As if something had tried to eat her.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her translucent throat fluttering with each rattling gasp, as though she were drowning on land, suffocating in air that was never meant to sustain her. But she didn’t look like she was drowning. More like suffering.

Simon stood frozen, the chill of the night pressing into his skin, however, he felt nothing but the pull of her gaze. Those empty eyes, devoid of pupils, locked onto him with a stillness that could unmake a man. Misty and milky white, like pearls rolling in the tide, and yet—they saw him, he was sure of that. Saw through him, into the space where his soul should have been. A shudder coursed through him, sharp and biting, like the cold of the sea itself wrapping around his spine, threatening not to let him go.

He had seen her kind before, but not like this.

Never like this.

Because the sirens Simon knew were born from hunger, nightmares carved from the abyss, their beauty a deception, their cruelty boundless. They did not weep and they did not falter. They were the sea’s daughters, forged in the salt and blood of drowned men. They hunted in packs, gliding through water like living specters, their songs curling through the mist, laced with promise, soaked in death. They spared no one—unless they had need of them. When their numbers thinned, when their kind dwindled, they would let men live long enough to take something from them.

Daughters born with water in their lungs.

Nothing hunted sirens other than humans.

Nothing could.

And yet—

Black tears streamed down her pale, bloodied face, tracing paths across her scales, dripping onto the torn flesh of her body. They mingled with the ink of her, pooling in the sand like an oil slick. The sound she made was not the haunting melody that had drawn countless men to their deaths, not the sweet, treacherous song that pulled sailors into their waiting jaws. It was softer. Raw.

Eerily human.

A fractured sob, torn from something deep and ancient, something that should not have been capable of grief, spilling into the night like the last dying breath of a storm.

It was not meant for Simon to hear.

His feet moved without thought, his boots sinking into the wet sand as he stepped closer. She snarled weakly, her lips peeling back to reveal two sets of teeth, as sharp and long as broken glass. The sound was instinctive, a threadbare defense, but her strength was failing her. Her fingers scraped at the sand, pulling her body toward, or perhaps away from him.

He could not tell which.

Her fear wasn’t for him.

It was for something else.

Simon’s gaze flickered downward, to the wound carved into her tail, the jagged edges of torn scales and raw, glistening muscle. A bite. No clean cut, no wound from battle, but the ruinous mark of something that had devoured and been left unsatisfied. Whatever had done this had been merciless and ancient. It was a claim—one that had not yet been fulfilled.

And she had escaped from it.

Sirens did not flee. They did not beg, did not tremble, did not seek shelter on land, away from the dark cradle that had borne them. They belonged to the abyss, yet this one had crawled to shore. And the terror in her sightless eyes told him why.

She had not really escaped it.

She had only bought herself time.

Simon’s fingers twitched at his side. He should end it. He knew he should. Should put her out of her misery, should stop whatever this was before it became something. But his hand would not move, would not reach for the creature’s neck to kill her. The tide rose, licking at his boots, reaching for her broken body, and yet, she did not fight it. She just looked at him.

He should have ignored it.

Should have let the sea take her back.

But he didn’t.

Simon Riley had never been a man of mercy.

The sea had taught him that early. However, Simon slowly knelt in the sand, his knees pressing into the wet earth, water and blood creeping through fabric, sinking deep. The vastness whispered at his back, the wind curling through his dusty blonde hair like ghostly fingers, urging him away. Goddess, he knew better than to get close—knew what those claws could do, what those teeth had done to men who had come before him. And yet, his body betrayed him, moving against every instinct that screamed at him to turn back, to leave her to whatever fate awaited, to give her back to the sea.

Still, he lowered himself.

His hands rose, palms up—

—a gesture as ancient as the sea itself.

It was foolish, a reckless thing born of madness, a man bowing to the unknown. The sea did not deal in peace. She did not barter in mercy or forgiveness. The sea dealt in flesh and bone, in the sharp edge of hunger and the endless churn of fear.

Just like her daughters.

Simon knew this.

And still, he reached for her.

He spoke before he thought better of it. “You understand me, yeah?”

Her opalescent eyes narrowed.

A response, however weak. Her black tears continued to stream down her face, carving rivers through the salt caking her colorful scales. Her mouth parted, rows of jagged teeth meant for rending flesh stared back at him, but she did not lunge. Did not snap. Did not drag him into the abyss where she had surely taken so many before.

Simon licked his lips, tasting salt and blood. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

The siren bared her teeth again, but there was no strength behind it. Simon only nodded, taking that as an answer.

At least she understood him.

“Listen, creature,” he murmured, shifting his weight slightly, the sand scattering beneath his boots. “If I touch you, don’t want you bitin’ my fuckin’ fingers off, understood?”

She did not speak.

Only watched.

Those empty eyes fixed upon him, hollow as the moon yet brimming with something deeper, something more knowing than they had any right to be. It was unnerving, the way she beheld him, as if she could see past flesh, past bone, past the mortal entity that he was.

As if she already knew him.

But then again, the sea had always known him.

She had claimed Simon long before he had words to name her pull, long before he understood why he would always return to her, why the land had never been enough. He had been raised in the cradle of her bays, rocked by her violent lullabies, shaped by the call of distant waves. He was hers. Her son. More than his own mother’s, more than anyone’s.

And this monster before him?

She was part of that vast, unknowable force.

Another piece of the great and endless goddess. Perhaps this was her wish. The sea had never asked anything of him before. They had provided for each other, mother and son, bound by the quiet understanding that the sea would take as much as she gave.

But perhaps, at long last, she was calling in a debt.

Perhaps this was a favor, whispered in the language of droplets, carried by the hush between the waves—a mother asking her favored son to save her favourite daughter.

Perhaps that was why his hand did not shake as he reached for the siren laying before him.

“Bound by restless waves, I cannot tell if your touch drowns me in desire or devours me in ruin. Which of us wears the mask of the hunter, and which of us the prey?”

[agendercrisisx]

𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙶𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢

Ship: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!reader

If there are any mistakes they will unfortunately not be corrected, because I'm too tired to read and this is what has been served. <3

Warnings: SEX! Porn no plot at alllllll, nipple play, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, switch Ghosty, desperation, reader-insert, reader gets fucked... and cum a lot of cum and creampie.

Summary: Ghost has been away on a mission for way too long and you miss him more than you can handle. This is pure smut, no plot.

Word count: 3880

Your legs are hugging each side of Simon’s hips, his hands are placed on either side of your waist, holding you firmly in place. He is slowly pulling you back and forth on top of his aching crotch, pulling soft whimpers from your lips every time one of your sensitive spots grazes him. The pair of boxers he is wearing is the only thing separating the two of you, the only thing any of you are wearing. You had dropped most of your clothes the moment he had stepped through the door. His jacket and boots were the first to go, and then he was almost ripping the clothes of your body. Not that you were wearing much.

You had waited for his return, hoping he would be sent home a day early. Hoping for his immediate arrival home. You were desperate. You needed him, and your hand was far from enough anymore. Not even the toys Simon had bought for you, to “help” while he was gone, had any effect. You had been pent up for days, and not a dropped had spilt. You were more than desperate to see your husband again. Touch him. Feel him. Fuck him. And as his gaze had met yours, you realized how pent up he too was.

He had quickly picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder. Ridding you of your remaining clothes on the way to your shared bedroom. His movements were gentle as he had put you down on the bed, but you knew that his soft and gentle touches weren’t going to stay like that much longer. You were right, they hadn’t.

His grip tightens and the rub of his clothed dick, against your sensitive pussy, is almost already too much. You knew you were pent up, but to this extent? You were so addicted to your husband, and he you. A groan escapes his lips as he presses you down on him, while he grinds up into you. A whimper falls from your open mouth, and he is quick to pull you down to swallow it whole.

His cock is painfully hard and not long ago you could clearly see a spot, from where he was dripping precum. Now everything is soaked, and it is entirely your fault. The moment he had laid his hands on you, your whole body had set into breeding mode. Your breath turned short, your face red, your legs shaky, your nipples hard, your pussy wet, and nothing or no one could stop you from climbing the mountain, that is your husband.

“Mhm… Need, need you…” You take a shaky breath, in a desperate attempt to calm your voice enough to utter the words. “… You in… inside. Please… Oh please. Simon, please.” Your voice is dripping with need, and the words falling from your lips are barely understandable. But Simon understands enough.

“Anything…” A groan falls from his lips as you press your hips harder against him, it isn’t even intentionally, your body moving on its own.

“Love, gotta… oh fuck. You gotta… let me breathe…” His breaths coming out raspy, letting his head fall back into the pillows. He is trying to compose himself enough to get inside that pretty pussy of yours, but the way you’re grinding against him, has his mind blank. He can’t think about anything but you, and how good you make him feel. He is even more pent up than you, you at least had the time to make the worst go away. He hasn’t touched his cock in eight days, the last time he came was in you, right before he left. Just the thought of you while he was away, made him nearly dizzy. Price had to pull him out of his own head several times, but even on missions his mind always found you. Your soft skin, your smile, the way your eyes light up when you see him, your voice as you tell him about your day, the way your hand feels in his, your mind-numbingly beauty, the way you say his name, your moans, the whimpers he can pull from you with just a finger, the way you feel around him, you, you, you. You. Always you.

He can’t think anymore, his thoughts always filled with you, are mush. He can only register how good you feel, nothing in his mind. And he isn’t even inside, he is going to bust the moment his cock touches your sweet cunt. He needs you so bad. He needs you more than water. More than the air he breathes. If this was his last moments on Earth, he would die happy. Nothing more than you fills his senses. Now he just needs to fill you.

His muscles are flexing painfully, his whole body on edge, every nerve feels like it could snap, his entire body pent up, ready to bust any second. His hands are clenched by his side, his legs cramped up, and first as a soft feathery kiss is laid on his inner thigh does he realize your weight is missing. You aren’t sitting on him anymore and his underwear has been removed too. He tries to lift his head to look at you. But his body doesn’t move.

Another light kiss on his inner thigh, makes his body tense to a point he thinks it’s going to break. Whimpers and groans are leaving his lips like a waterfall, and drool is running slowly down his chin. His chest is covered in sweat, his dick is twitching almost violently, and his teary eyes are clenched shut.

You plant a last kiss on his thigh, just besides his balls and another whimper leaves his lips. He is sensitive. More sensitive than you think you have ever seen him before. It’s been years since you were separated for so long, normally it’s just a few days and you can both barely handle that. It has been over a week, you get pent up when he doesn’t touch you for a day. This is nothing short of torture.

Simon throws his head back in a silent cry, as you nose lightly grazes his ball. You bite softly down on his inner thigh and a moan slip past his lips. Normally he wouldn’t make a sound, he doesn’t like being vulnerable, but his mind is so blank he can’t even seem care. The enjoyment you get from the sounds he makes, is clearly shown in slick dripping down your thighs. The sheets under you already ruined, and you haven’t done anything.

You’re sitting on your knees between his thighs, you press your legs apart so your throbbing cunt can rub softly against the already soaked sheets. You whimper at the contact and your mind fall numb for a few seconds, before a soft gasp can be heard from Simon and you mission becomes clear. You must help your darling husband, he seems so tense, he needs relief, and it’s beyond clear that he can’t handle that himself.

Your lips brush his pelvic bone, and your lift yourself up on your elbows to have full access to his leaking cock. You grind your hips against the bed, and your moan mixes with his groans. You lean down to softly kiss the tip of his aching cock, you push your tongue out, and you softly kitten licks the tip.

No more than two grazes in, and his body cramps up. A delicious groan is pulled from Simon’s lips, his hand finds your head on instinct, as he takes a good grip in your hair. He pulls you back to his cock and a last soft kiss to the tip has him cumming undone. His body convulses and string after string of hot cum, falls over your face. Your mouth opens, trying to catch as much as possible. His hips are bucking into the air and his dick is twitching relentlessly. His mind is only filled with pleasure and no coherent thoughts is anywhere near him.

As he finally unloads it all on you and the bed, his lips stay open. Short, shaky breath leaves him, and his chest is falling rapidly. You let a hand run along his thigh, and his desperate sighs is more than enough to make you keep going. He always came so much and so many times, when he comes home after deployment. And you aren’t going to stop, when you know just how much your poor husband need this special treatment.

Your mind is almost as blank as Simon’s, but you desire to keep your husband cumming and happy is stronger than any lust could ever be. Your pussy is going to be second priority right now, it’s your darling husband’s sweet turn. You know how many loads he has in him normally, if he hasn’t cum his entire deployment, and he normally doesn’t, then he needs more than a single measly orgasm, a lot more.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and soft moans are escaping his swollen lips. He must have been biting them as he came, he does that sometimes, trying to keep his delicious sounds concealed. Not that he did a very good job this time.

“Gon’ make you cum’ again, pretty boy.” It’s more to yourself than him, but soft whimpers come from your husband. Your face is rubbing softly against his crotch, you let your tongue slip out running along his balls. Slowly pulling one into your mouth and sucking softly on the sensitive flesh. Simon’s hand is flung over his face in a desperate attempt to keep his flustered face hidden from your hungry eyes. You pull your lips off his balls with a ‘pop’ sound following, and a grin spreads on your lips.

“I love you soo’ much. Gon’ make you feel al’ good.” Muffled sounds can be heard from your husband, but his arm covering his face makes it hard to make out if he is saying something or if it’s just more pathetic whining. You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, finally getting to put his sweet cock in your mouth. You wanted that for days, you missed his cock, his taste, him. You missed him so much. And what better way to show him than let him cum in your throat?

You pull your lips off, to lick a long strip up the underside of his cock. Before lapsing your lips back on his leaking tip and getting your first good taste of your darling husband. A mix of cum and precum was running down and the salty but sweet taste got your own body tensing, close to your own high. His hips are bucking into your awaiting mouth, letting his own body fight for the sweet relief of your lips. You swirl your tongue around the head and a soft moan leaves your lips. Simon groans at the added vibration from your sweet voice.

“Got’a… need’… baby… fuck… just… please… I need…” His soft voice is finally coherent enough for you to make out the words, even though there is no meaning behind them. Every word interrupted by a groan while you move you lips up and down his hard cock. It hadn’t softened at all after his first orgasm, and his movements were more than desperate.

“You got’ to speak up.” Not that your words were much more understandable than his, but it was so rare to see him like this. You needed to remember every moment of it, save it in your brain like an exceptionally good porno. Needed to save every whimper, every moan, every soft sound slipping past his bodacious lips, every damn movement. You needed it all engrained in your brain, like a light picture.

The view from his crotch up was godlike, his abs perfectly laid out before you, shiny and covered in sweat. The bumps of muscle sprawled out before you like a meal, and you are nothing, but a woman starved. You keep your attention on his cock, but the need to lick his abs. Taste the sweat on his hard stomach, kiss along the scars and feel his abs tense as you nibble at his skin. The urge to ride his abs, grind you swollen clit along his broad stomach, and make yourself cum just by grinding on his muscles. You know he would love it. He loves watching you, your every move, studying you, memorizing you. You could put on a show for him to remember.

Maybe take a hold of his soft pecs, the muscle on his chest jiggly and delicious. His chest was nothing short of breathtaking. Simon is a fucking baby, loving to suck on your chest, nibble and suck on your sensitive nipples. And as the sweet wife you are, you decide to repay the favour. You lick his tip a last time, before lifting yourself up. You press your chest against his stomach and groan escapes his lips, one of his large hands move to tangle into your hair. Your lips wrap around his nipple and a soft pull can be felt in your hair. You smile and as your teeth softly grazes his hardened bud, and the sweetest groan leaves him.

His grip tightens and he pulls you up so his sore lips can come in contact with yours. He is aggressive but in a sweet way. Pushing his mouth so firmly against yours, that for a moment your teeth touch. His tongue dominating and in control. You body is pulsing, clamping around nothing but air and occasionally when a breeze flows through the room you can truly feel how wet you are. A dripping mess for him, a river of desire for him and only him.

A light touch against your clit, makes your body collapse. You press your face against his neck burying yourself as a moan leaves your lips. His finger circles you again, slowly dipping down to collect some of your wetness to make the glide over you easier. As he comes back up and softly pinches you. A loud whimper escapes your lips, while your body desperately starts humping his hand. Fighting for any sort of friction, to make that awfully lust differ.

His lips find your neck, tracing his tongue along your jugular and planting a kiss right below your ear. He must have composed himself, because soft words leave his lips and you cum in an instant. The way he says, “cum for me darling,” has your entire body convulsing and cramping. You moan and whimper into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulder. You pussy contracting around thin air, but begging, begging so desperately for his cock.

 “Please, ple’se, ple’ce.” Your words are hard to distinguish, and the letters warps together into a blur. But he understands it. More so from the way your body moves, the way your head falls back into the pillows, and the way you so desperately reach for him. He knows. He knows you so well. Every movement of your body is underlined for him, he has looked and studied them a hundred times over and he is sure of every twitch.

A smirk grows on his lips as a single digit of his snakes its way down your fragile body. His nail softly scratches the skin of your stomach as you grow more and more impatient. A whimper falls from your lips, and you buck your hips into the air to get his attention. His eyes find yours and he chuckles. Removing his finger from your stomach to set his hand down beside him. He lifts himself from the bed, to move down between your thighs.

The slightest moment of control seems to fall from his grasp as he sees the wetness dripping from your desperate pussy. His eyes light up and his tongue peaks out to lick himself around the lips like some starved animal. He falls to his elbows, his face now just inches away from you. He can smell you, the meal he is so desperate to taste. His eyes surveying your soft flesh, hungrily looking at your bare cunt. Inspecting your pussy.

The smile on his lips is soon gone, as his head is roughly pressed between your thighs. His tongue darts out to taste you, running along your tight walls, eagerly licking up everything you have to offer. Your screams and whimpers are not of short, as he grabs the back of your thighs with his hands and pulls you even closer. Pressing his nose against your soft bundle of nerves, while his tongue explores your insides. Your hand desperately reaches for anything to grab but finds nothing other than the soaked bed sheet. You moan, and as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, your hips buck into the air pressing even harder against his face. He laughs and the small amount of vibration is enough to push you over the edge.

Your high hits you like a wave, your body contorting and contracting in a mess of limps. You pussy doing anything to find back to him and his so sweet relief. Your hands finally finding something to hold and taking a firm grasp in his hair. You moan while you push his face against your cunt, milking every last drop of your orgasm from his sweet tongue.

You fall breathlessly back into the pillows, taking a moment to catch your breath. But not a second later, you whimper as Simon once again comes in contact with your pussy. He knows you are not done. You know it. But the orgasm that had just rippled through your body had taken its toll. But he and you was fully aware that if he just slightly pushed into you, you would be back on top of him etching him to move.

His finger runs slowly up, a gasp leaves you as his finger glides over your aching hole and another one as he just barely touches your clit.

“You gon’ give me another one. Need ‘nother one luv, come one darlin’, please. Need you to cum for me, y’know just once more. Please sweetheart, just once. Just cum for me once more, I’ll do wa’ever you ask. One time? I’ll make it worth your while.” The tone in his voice always made your knees weak, but with a slight hint of him begging for you to cum. Him begging? No one would believe you. But you know and that is enough. That the big strong sergeant is begging for you, saying he will do whatever you ask. With the fact that his digits are pushing into you, stretching you out, and your pussy is eager to welcome him.

Two of his fingers finds that sensitive little spot in you, and a gentle nudge and another soft whisper from him. “I’ll let you on my cock if you cum again, hmm? Promise to fuck ya’ real good luv.” You nod your head and bite down roughly on his shoulder. A groan escapes you and your body cramps in an instant. The heat enveloping makes you lightheaded, and the pulsing of your sensitive pussy makes your heart beat even faster. You cum around him in a sweel of cuss words and praise. Your body pulling him closer to you in anyway possible, wrapping any part you can around him.

Your mouth agape and legs falling apart, the view in which from Simon sees you is astounding. His beautiful wife, spread open for him. Whimpering at any soft contact and begging for him to touch you.

Your eyes find his and the lust in his makes you crave the sweet taste of him even more. You need him more than air to breathe.

“You are such a good fucking girl for me.”

His hands roughly grab the fat of your thighs and pulls you into his lap. Your still twitching pussy rubbing against his throbbing cock. His hands move to feel the soft ski of your waist and gently rub his thump against you lowest rib. The few seconds of gentleness is quickly overthrown by his own his eagerness to feel you and you no longer remaining self-control.

Before you realise you are pushed into a pillow, his right arm holding him over you as his left is helping him push the dripping head of his cock against your eager pussy. You whimper at the soft contact and a scream of pleasure rips from your chest as his slams into you. Filling you to the brim. His pace is set, hammering into you as he pulls your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Letting his cock hit you at a new angle, a different string of sounds leaves you as you get used to the girth of your husband’s cock.

You clamp down around him as another orgasm is ripped from your body. Leaving you shaking as he continues the bruising of your cervix. His gaze meets yours and his eyes has a faint haze to them, he isn’t thinking he is running on pure adrenaline and lust. He is only thinking about the way you feel around him, the way you squeeze and moan. The way your hands are gripping at the hairs on his neck. The way your legs are pulling him closer. The way you bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself mildly composed. He only thinks about you.

“You feel so good luv’, can’t last long like this.” His words are a mess between heavy breathing and whimpers. You nod and pull him closer, your hands pulling his chest against yours. Running your hands up to his shoulders and down to his biceps to get a grip as his movements speed up.

He is so close, he can’t control himself any longer. His movements getting sloppy and unprecise as his body tenses.

“I’m gonna fill ya’ up yeah? Be a good girl for me and take it.” His words are followed by grunts and the feral movements of his body is all you need to know. You pull him tighter against you, whimpering against his ear and nothing else is needed for him to come undone. Groans falling from his lips, his body contracting and convulsing as he pushes harder against you. His head falling against your shoulder as a last string of cuss words escapes him.

…

"Dear Y/N L/N Riley,

Your intimate relationship with the Sergeant, Simon Riley, is to be none of the officers’ concerns. But as of late, a law of the state has been broken.

As the laws dictate, all destruction of government property is prohibited. As official, Sergeant Riley is defied as such, therefore the damages that have come to the Sergeant is classified as a crime.

You will not be incriminated for this instantaneously, but this shall refrain from repeating.

Regards, Captain Price

-don’t let this repeat Y/N, we cannot have Ghost running around with love bites on his neck in uniform."

Your cheeks are burning. You would have never guessed them to send a letter regarding sexual intercourse with your husband. But this only taught you one thing. Don’t leave hickies where others could see.

I've had this is my drafts for months and I just never pulled myself together to finish it. But now I finally did, the ending is a bit rushed but I would rather write something than nothing. I hope you liked it.

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Continuation.... (stalkers!taskforce 141 x reader)

Incorrect quotes.... Let's goo!!!!

Warning: It does get NSFW

*loud arguing from inside the walls*

Y/N yelling from the couch: Can I get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: Can I please get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: That's what I though.... Suckers.

.................

Y/N: Helloooo

Ghost: It's 4am. Shut the fuck up or we are shutting down the WiFi.

*silence*

Ghost: Finally.

*le several minutes later*

Y/N leaning close to Ghost's ear: Herroooo

Ghost falling of the bed: Fucking 'ell!! It's illegal for you to be this QUIET!!!!

Soap rushing in the room: Simon wh- Y/N!!! How did you get in here? This fortress.. is impenetrable?

Y/N: Door was unlocked

Ghost: Son of a bitch

..............

Price: Okay kid.... I'm gonna put this bag over your head, now. Don't struggle.

Y/N: Why?

Price: So you don't see where we are taking you.

Y/N: is it.... somewhere....in my own house?

Price: Well-

Y/N: In the same house I constantly bust you in?

Price:

Y/N: This house?

Price, impatient: Yes, this house. Now, put this on.

Y/N: Can't.

Price, irritated: Why not.

Y/N, quietly: Tied up.

Price: Right.

Y/N: It's not gonna last you know.... It's not that big of a house. I will find you again.

Soap: Shouldn't WE say that.

Gaz: I feel threatened.

Ghost: We made renovations.

Price: Don't tell her that.

Y/N: So you made extra space.

Price: Maybe...

Y/N: ....And didn't fix the leaking roof.

*silence*

Soap chiming in: I dug holes under the house for the water.

Y/N: You did WHAT?!

Price: Shit. Don't trash around... My duck tape!!!

.........

Price fixing the holes from under the house: Kid, listen. I am sorry for my sergent.

Y/N: Man with your cake shouldn't call me "kid".

Price: My what?

Y/N: I have too many spicy thoughts to consider you a father figure.

Price: Not sure I want to understand that.

Y/N: I unfrathered you soon after our first meeting.

Price: Please, stop.

*silence*

*Price reaching toward his shirt*

Y/N: No, keep your shirt off.

Price:

Y/N: Yeah...Flex them muscles.

Price, frantically looking around: What? Where are you?

Y/N: Don't worry about it.

Price spotting a small camera: Did you put surveillance on us.

Y/N: Shhh.... Keep working bby girl. Do your thing.

Price: Don't call me that!

.......

Y/N: It's a crime I am being stalked but nothing more.

*silence*

Y/N: I said-

Ghost: We heard what you said. We can hear everything you are saying.

Y/N: So?

Ghost: What do you want more? Torture?

Y/N, mischievously: I will send you some clips.

Ghost: Our network is secured. You can't just-

*ding*

Ghost: Okay... Not happy about that.

*ding* *ding*

Ghost: I got it.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Ghost: Captain!

Price: Yeah. I got it. Opening now.

Price: Oh my-

Ghost: We are NOT doing that!!!

Gaz: This is deranged.

Soap, stripping: Guess I will take one for the team.

Soap, yelling: Hey lass. If I do that, ya need to put on a helmet.

Price: Don't even think about it!

...........

Soap: It's a very quiet evening.

*silence*

Soap: I will fix the roof in the morning.

*silence*

Soap: Will you just talk to me?

*silence*

Soap, activating his puppy eyes: Your silence is killing me.

*silence*

Soap, angrily: Fine. Be like that. I don't care!

*from another room*

Ghost: Should we tell him, he is talking to a decoy doll for the past 20 minutes?

Price: Nah, let him be. Where is Y/N anyway?

Ghost: Shop? I think.

Price: You think?

Ghost: That's what I've heard.

Price, suspicious: Didn't Kyle say he was going shopping?

Ghost: Yeah.

Price:

Ghost:

Price: Fuck.

..........

*Gaz leisurely stretching on the couch*

Y/N: One down! Three more to go!

*on the other side of the house*

Ghost: Captain! The sergent is down.

Price: Shit. Y/N you will pay for this.

*Gaz laughing cause he can hear them through his ear piece*

Soap, stripping: I will avenge you.

Price: Mactavish! I said no!

...........

*in bed*

Y/N: Wasn't that bad, huh.

Price taking a deep drag from his cigar: Never said it was, doll.

Y/N, scrabbling something in a notebook and whispering: One more to go!

Price: Why one more?

Y/N: Mactavish ambushed me as soon as you feel asleep.

Price, laughing: God dammit.

Price wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N: Now we are never gonna leave... You know that, right? *planting a little kiss on Y/N forehead*

Y/N: I am counting on that.

.........

Y/N, dramatically: You are the last one left. Surrender.

Ghost, tryng not to laugh: Never.

Y/N: There is nowhere to go, Simon.

Ghost: You sure about that?

Y/N: Surrender! Or else.

Ghost: Alright. *drops pants*

Y/N: Shit- How? What do you eat?

Ghost, stretching his arms out: Come 'ere sweetheart.

Y/N, walking backwards toward the door: I think I forgot the bathroom oven opened.

Ghost, walking towards her: No, no. Come 'ere and take what you bargained for.

..........

That's it!

[eyelambspider]

Stream Starting Soon! || COD Hcs

⤷ summary : 141 just so happens to watch some of your streams !

┊pairing : tf141 x twitchstreamer!reader ┊content warning : fluff, pining, sfw, swearing (by me smh) ┊a/n : again, a prompt recommended by @lady-boketto that had me in a chokehold

honestly, who knows how it starts... but one day gaz and soap figure they've both 'off-handedly' seen one of your clips and liked you.

the two of them talk more about your streams after that.

a murmur between two friends... occasionally holding their phones up to show each other new clips and vods of yours...

maybe they both secretly sub to your channel without the other knowing...

whatever the two of them 'chat' about though, ghost and price initially don't pay them much mind

until soap finally shoves the phone into ghosts face and forces the masked man to watch

ghost actually quirks the smallest grin under his mask at one of your clips

its you playing a horror game and getting scared (he loves your horror streams)

price on the other hand, picks up the chatter about you and fills in the blanks himself

each of them thinks your cute, with ghost and price usually having their eyes on your webcam instead of... whatever game you're playing

Once, price caught the three of them huddled together. supposed to be gearing up for a mission. And instead its Soap and Gaz sitting shoulder to shoulder, snickering to themselves and nudging each other knowingly while Ghost stands, glancing occasionally over their shoulders while pretending not to care. When caught, they expect price to scold them, but the captain just sighs and nods "Come on then, lets see it"

they all watch it.

soap actually gifts some subs to you, just to rub it in everyone's faces that you thanked him and said his name

yes, he plays the clip to annoy the others. its saved in his phone "just for that reason"

ghost and gaz eventually follow you on your other platforms, but only gaz would bring it up in conversation

ghost cannot be caught looking personally at your stuff

price on the other hand, just likes to relax on his off days. remembering how calming your voice is when you're 'just chatting' or playing something relaxing and falls asleep with your streams playing in the background

(opening fan mail) soap would send a gag gift to you (him and ghost snorting as they watch you open it)

ghost would get you a stuffed animal/plushie, which he's surprised to learn that the little thing is still sitting on your desk, in full view of the webcam.

they all think its fucking hilarious when you rage, slam shit, or just turn away to cool off

(hear me out) all their phones pinging-in sync-to notify that your stream is starting...

[shadow0-1]

Interrogation

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Am I too lost to be saved?

[angelrissa]

¨Savior¨ Masterlist | Simon Riley x F!Reader

When your first ever mission goes south and you're separated from your team, you find yourself injured and stumbling upon an isolated cabin in the woods. It's not long before you meet the owner of the cabin, a man who gives you faux hope you'll be saved only to learn the true intentions behind his 'kindness'

CW : noncon/dubcon, dark fic, smut, descriptions of wounds and injuries, kidnapping kinda

First Post

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Extras :

Warning

This master list isn't complete!!! Please let me know if you have any feedback, or comments I don't write often but I enjoy it and hope my audience does as well!

reblogs are dearly appreciated!