#cod Ghost

[alchemyfreak321]

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Credit: OG Ghost render by Pavseh@deviantart

[cntloup]

you knew Simon was a softie behind that rough and tough exterior, but you never expected such intensity. it feels like you’re in heaven. how he's making you feel has got to be out of this world.

"eyes on me, sweetheart." he calls out in between deep and bruising strokes of his cock inside your sensitive walls, making you refrain from squeezing your eyes shut in pure euphoria.

he craves to see it in your eyes, how he makes you feel and how he's the only one capable of giving you what you need and more. it's all written all over your face, fucked out expression staring him in the eyes.

he's so close, so so close. but he holds out, in order to drag on the beautiful moment, savor it, your gorgeous face all messy with makeup stains and sweat, newly done nails digging into his muscular back, warm tight cunt wrapped around his girthy cock.

your plush thighs tighten around his waist and your back arches, not being able to hold back anymore as waves of your razing orgasm course through your body again. honestly at this point you don't know how many it has been. and he's right after you, nipping and biting your neck as he spills loads of thick warm cum inside you again, a mixture of both your releases oozing out of your sticky folds.

and he doesn't let go, stuffing you full of his thick cock round after round, pinning your squirming body beneath his gigantic form, until your exhausted body finally gives out, "can't anymore, Si." you mumble, nearly falling asleep in his arms, trying to curl into yourself, "aw, my baby's tired. surely you can give me one more." your eyes widen in response and before you know it, his head is buried between your thighs and he's lapping at your already dripping wet folds, moaning and groaning as he devours your sweet taste, coaxing one more intense orgasm out of you and you whine at the overstimulation, but it feels too good to object.

and he holds your tired, sensitive body all throughout the night as you doze off in his arms.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(im back, christmas break is here!!)

tw: mentions of abuse, violence, sexism (but secondary gender), omegaverse dynamics, crying, heavy angst no aftercare (again)

The uncomfortable tension in the room was palpable as they all sat in their usual debriefing room. Usually, the nest was a place for such a personal and volatile topic such as this, but none of them felt worthy of being there now. Not with how they’d treated you.

Soap was tapping his foot against the floor, the pattern uneven and sporadic, until Gaz snapped at him.

“Could you quit it, mate?” It had come out harsher than he’d meant. Soap huffed through his nose but obliged. They were all tense and on edge, their usually oh-so-controlled scents now sour and bitter with unease and anxiety.

In the field, they had their skills and weapons to fix problems, to take out the enemy. But here, back home? They had absolutely nothing in this fight. No amount of backup or fights could win this for them. In this fight, they were the enemy, and the only way to win this was by fixing the sacred little strand keeping you together that they had so carelessly unwound until it had snapped.

Ghost looked to Price. His hand was in his beard, thoughtfully running through the hair, stressed as Ghost has ever seen him. A sour pang of guilt shot through him. If he hadn’t tried forcing you to his scent gland, then you wouldn’t be in this position, and he wouldn’t have messed everything up, again—

“Y’re thinking too much.”

Price muttered, Simon’s feelings clear through the thick scent that somehow seemed to overpower everyone else’s in the air. He swallowed thickly. They needed a plan of action, some way to fix this, and the only way Price saw things being mended was by a lot of time and effort.

Gaz let the silence simmer for a moment, before speaking up.

“Cane Baker Syndrome, I looked it up yesterday night, it’s just like the med’ said. PTSD. Do you think…?”

An alpha being abused wasn’t as commonplace as it had used to be. Only 50 years ago, if you’d stepped into the common era, you’d see alpha’s being forced to work for a family they’d been forced into providing, their protective instincts abused. Among the more insane practices had been scratching out an alpha’s scent gland, so they couldn’t scent or get attached to their offspring, meaning the omega got the child all to themselves.

Awful things such as that had been outlawed years ago, but still happened in little forgotten corners of the world where loopholes existed.

“We can’t know for sure, but based on their reaction, I’d say we have a safe assumption. When they’re in a better….state of mind, we can ask a few questions.”

Price answered, voice heavy with an edge of guilt that seemed to grow richer by the second. Soap’s incessant tapping started up again, anxiety clearly chewing away at him. He couldn’t defuse you or the situation they’d created so easily like any other bomb he might during a mission.

“Could we get a background check on them?”

He asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. All he wanted was for you to be better again, for things to go back to normal, for a second chance.

But as they all split up, and he went to the nest, usually all so warm and comfortable and smelling of their sweet, rich scents combined, all he found was isolation among his team, sour scents mingling with rotten ones, a few sniffles and the salty scent of tears, he knew one thing.

They’d made their bed. Now they had to lie in it.

(sorry for the short part I’ve been playing cod bo6 multiplayer a lot and I’m kinda addicted + depressive episode, but there’ll be more soon I promise!!)

Part 1 | Part 2 |

[nrdmssgs]

quickie

Masterlist

[konigslilcumslut]

Simon and his cruel patience in bed.

~(Hint of Dacryphilia)~

——————————————-

Simon’s patience has many levels to it. Different amounts for different things.

Sometimes he has absolutely none.

Other times he could be as patient as a saint.

And there is the cruel level of it which is when you are in any form of intimate moment with him.

At first, he wasn’t very patient with it. Desperate to have every single inch of you however and whenever he pleased. But the longer your relationship with him goes on…the more deliberately slow he becomes.

It starts out small, denying you orgasm a couple of times even though he’s on the brink himself.

But as time passes, the more he’d wait.

———————

You’d beg, plead with him repeatedly to the point of tears welling in frustration as he does nothing more than watch the way his cock glides over your clit again and again with every lazy roll of his hips.

“You can wait a little longer luv, be patient.”

Is the only response you’d get out of him.

Even when you start digging your nails into his skin when he deliberately only thrusts the tip into your weeping cunt for the 8th time.

Even when you’re desperately clenching around him when he finally does decide to sink his cock into your aching heat. He’ll still wait. Sitting nice and buried deep in your cunt until he feels like moving.

It’s only when any frustrated tears actually spill that he’ll give in. Relentlessly slamming his thick cock into you, bullying your tight hole and relishing in the way you go completely dumb under him when he finally gives you what you want.

“See? That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

“All you had to do was wait.”

He’d mock your frustration, not in a serious sense but more so in amusement that you can’t find the patience in you to wait for it. Too needy for his cock and it’s something he loves.

————————————————

Aftercare is a must, knowing he tends to put you through a lot when he’s fucking you. So he’ll channel that patience into it. Something you appreciate a whole lot more.

Gentle kisses, a warm bath. Hell even the biggest nap. Anything you want is yours once you’ve let him have his fun.

[codnasties]

hmmm.. nasty thoughts in my brain atm

https://x.com/OnTheKnees1/status/1612871153382465536 pegging ghost, being gentle about it.... yes.

pegging ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

ghost is such a funny man, he really loves to joke around. but his comedian ass also loves making fun of how noisy you get when he fucks you, how blissed out you get, to the point you can barely articulate a proper sentence.

but simon is about to get clowned himself. when you tell him that he would as well feel like that, get completely washed by pleasure if he was te one getting fucked instead of you. and you know what? he takes that as a fucking challenge.

he doesn't even question your provocations and walks himself into a whole new world of sexual bliss, unknowingly. don't get me wrong, he's down to get pegged - and also to prove a point that his jokes about your state after fucking are based -.

but he didn't expect it to feel THAT good. he has to bury his face into the bed to muffle out the moans that inevitably leave him as you thusrt your strap into him. neither did he expect to cum as hard as he did from those slow but deep thust and the feeling of your nails scraping against his short hair.

he may no longer joke about you getting noisy and going dumb when he fucks you, because he's just the same.

[libingan]

neeeeeed to see what the other boy’s opinions are on Price’s snippy wife🗣️

—in command.

oh, the boys absolutely adore you—and by adore, i mean they both fear and respect you in equal measure. they’ve seen price command a room full of seasoned soldiers with a single look, but the moment you walk in? they’re floored. genuinely baffled. the captain they know—their captain—reduced to a sheepish, mumbling mess under your watchful eye? it's like watching a lion get scolded by a housecat, and they cant get enough of it.

soap’s the loudest about it. he’s always cracking jokes about how you’re a force to be reckoned with. he just loooves teasing price about how whipped he is for you. to him, you’re this fierce, fiery woman who balances john out perfectly. he doesn’t know whether to be scared of you or be in awe of your strength.

gaz, on the other hand, is a lot more reserved with his thoughts. he admires your confidence, the way you command a room with just your presence. he thinks it’s pretty damn cool that you can be both sharp and kind, no nonsense but still caring.

don’t tell price, but you two exchanged numbers so you can make sure your husband doesn’t do stupid shit outside your home. no wonder price has been receiving more calls and texts of you angrily telling him to quit smoking his lungs out.

ghost doesn’t need to say much to know exactly who you are and what you bring to john's life. there’s something about your no-nonsense attitude and confidence that catches his attention. in his mind, you’re the kind of person who gets things done, who doesn’t let anyone push you around. although, it is funny to him to see price so rattled by the slightest change in your tone.

to sum it up: they all think you’re brilliant. and if you ever joined the military, you’d be running task force 141 by the end of the week.

[devil-in-hiding]

I had this idea last night and it’s been eating away at me since:

Childhood best friend!Simon who left when he joined the military. Cbf!Simon who, after finding his family murdered, disappears again -or so you think. Simon, who spends every night he’s in town at your place while you sleep. Who sees that you kept his old jumper, the one he gave you before he left. He sees how you hold it and cuddle it, holding it to your nose as if hoping it still smelled like him after all these years. He can’t give you a new one, but he can make this one smell like him again. When you’re out buying groceries, so much more often than usual, it seems, he takes the jumper and rubs in against himself; his armpits, the back of his neck, and then, against his cock and balls as the scent of you fills his nose.

You seem to sleep better that night.

Other things start to change too. He now starts to touch you as you sleep. Just brushing his hands against your hair. Feather-light touches that are almost impossible to feel.

He does darker things too. You are, thankfully, single. And he makes sure you stay that way. Your nice lotion gets an extra load of five of protein. Your blind dates mysteriously stop texting you back. You’re getting /frustrated/ which leads to a night with your vibe and dildo (much smaller than his, Simon notes. He’ll have to change that). Your little moans and whines make it almost impossible for him to not barge into your room and take you. But Simon Riley is nothing if not patient. When you finally fall asleep, one hand still clutching your dildo, he sneaks out.

Two weeks later, a mysterious package is at your door from a secret admirer. You don’t even notice the “clone a Willy” printed on the bottom of the silicone toy. What you do notice is how big it is and how much you want it to ruin your holes. You set to work right away, opening yourself up. Getting so frustrated that it doesn’t fully fit. All the while your secret admirer watches from your closet.

And when he does finally lay claim to you? It’s all roses and apologies.

He knocks on your door after a particularly grueling mission, bouquet of your favorite flowers and a teddy bear in hand.

“Simon?” You say, shock coloring your voice. “My Simon?”

“‘Ello, lovie,” he replies. Sheepishly smiling, he holds out the gifts.

“This is real? You’re really here?” You ask grabbing the flowers and teddy.

“‘M here,” he says, scared you might reject him after all this time. Not that it matters, but it would still hurt.

You drop the gifts and he braces for the rejection. What he didn’t plan on, was you wrapping your arms around him and sobbing into his chest. “Si, I missed you so much.” He leads you into your flat, you don’t wonder how he knows where your room is. He sits you on your bed and holds you while you cry.

He’s a perfect gentleman for the first few months of dating and rekindling your friendship. It’s not until you tell him one night after a few drinks too many, “you know, Si? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids.”

“Did you now, lovie?”

“Still do,” you confess, eyes strangely clear despite the alcohol.

He doesn’t think when he finally kisses you. Falling into bed with you is easier than breathing.

Your breath hitches as you feel that familiar stretch when he enters you. But you don’t think about it. You don’t think what it means when he hits every spot that your secret admirer’s gift reaches.

Now he has you. And now he’s not letting go.

♠️

I’m clawing the fucking floor my scent kink has not recovered jeowkdkfoekskdkrkkwlfk

[abnormal-vacuum]

simon riley allows himself one drink a year, a stiff whiskey on christmas eve. he spends it alone each year, thinking about tommy and his nephews. he buys toys for a local kids charity because he wants to do some good in his storm of bad.

[ramerooni]

We interrupt this interrogation to bring you Soap's drawing

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

FICMAS - DAY 8 - CHRISTMAS SHOPPING

Title: Helicopters and Mugs

Synopsis: You and Simon go out to the shops to buy the Task Force Christmas Presents

Warnings: None, I don't think. I describe Simon as a serial killer type look, though. I think it's funny idk

AN: Holy shit has this series taken FOREVER to post. I hope you all enjoy this one, I think it's cute?

"Fockin' cold out, innit?" Simon grumbles out, pulling you with his mitted hand by your shoulder closer to his figure. It's snowing, nearly 30 centimetres on the ground (approx. 1 ft), and it is cold as sin. He's wearing gloves with skeleton hands on it--of *course he is*-- and a black trench coat, he has a mask on, and a black beanie--he looks like a bloody serial killer.

But he's *your* serial killer. He's a tall lad--approximately.. 1.88 metres (6'2" or 6'3", I'm bad at maths!) and he's built like a brick shithouse. Needless to say, you're warmed by his disgustingly large body, that smart coat he bought you, a jumper underneath, maybe some boots, and good denim.

You nod a small nod, "Cold, yeah.."

He huffs out, shaking his head in annoyance as he guides you down the street into the first of shoppes.

"What're you gettin' Kyle again?" He asks in that grumbley tone as you pull out your little Christmas plan from your pocket.

You glance through your list, "New hat, and as a gag gift one of those helicopter toys."

Simon barks out a laugh, smirking under that mask.

"And Johnny?"

"Oh- a sketchbook and some good coloured pencils!" You beam up at him, and he just rolls his eyes fondly.

"And Cap'?"

You look down at your list, "World's Best Dad mug. His old one broke and it's not a gag gift, surprisingly."

Simon shakes his head, amused. He leads you into a toy shoppe, "C'mon... We'll get the bloody 'copter first."

Inside the toy shoppe is a fucking nightmare. Parents and kids and grandparents all trying to shop for "the perfect gifts."

"I wonder if they'll have an art supplies section," you says up to Simon, who moves his hand to the small of your back, clearly not liking the amount of eyes on you.

He merely grunts in response, leading you to the boy's section.

You find all the cars and trucks and toys like that and look around, eyes all wide.

"I- I'm never gonna find a helicopter in this mess!" You say up to Simon, who looks down at your shock in amusement.

"Sure you will."

You scoff and roll your eyes at his encouragement, walking down the aisle a little bit, scanning every shelf as closely as you can, begging to find a stupid helicopter.

You eventually find one. It's not model, it's make so the little propellers don't get in three year old's mouths, but it's perfect. You pick up the box and beam up at Simon.

Simon huffs and rolls his eyes, "Yep. Good job. Let's go."

You and him make a leisurely walk to the registre and you narrowly get to pay, but Simon gets to hold the bag, like he'd let you.

You get to a supermarket a while later, Simon driving you.

"Alright. We'll get everythin' else 'ere," he says, hand firmly planted on your thigh, thumb rubbing the inner part.

You nod, check marking Kyle's gift and looking at the list.

"I was thinking we should get Kate flowers and an apology note signed by the force for being so rambunctious," you say thoughtfully, illiciting a bark of laughter from Simon.

"Tha's a good idea," he says, an unmistakeable smirk on his face.

He parks and guides you in, hand on the small of your back again. He glares every pair of eyes that notice you down, like a silent protector. That's what he calls himself to himself, at least, a silent protector.

You get to the little art supplies section and guy Johnny the best looking coloured pencils and sketchbook you can find. Then you go to where the mugs are found and find John a "World's Best Dad" mug.

Simon rolls his eyes as you ask him to take a picture of you and the mug together, taking it and quickly sending it to himself on your phone, handing it back like he did nothing.

Then by the time you get to the hats you're tired.

"Si," you say, holding up a hat, "take your beanie off and try this on. If it fits your head it fits his."

He tries the hat on. It's a sturdy cap, a very dark grey colour and it has some sports brand's logo on it.

It fits his head and you purse your lips as he hands it back to you.

"Wha'?" He asks, stepping towards you, "somethin' the matter?"

You shake your head, shifting your weight and tilting your head, "I.. just don't know if he'll like it. It isn't like his current hat."

He puts his arm around your shoulder, his beanie being onto his head with his other hand, "Birdie, it don' matter if 'e wears it or no'. I 'magine 'e'll like it no matter wha'."

You nod a small nod, putting the hat into the basket along with everything else.

"To checkout," you say with a small smile, leaning up to kiss Simon's clothed cheek.

"To checkou'," he confirms, guiding you along happily.

[rubyspring]

Christmas mood.

[darkmountainstorm-blog]

[angelrissa]

Finally decided to finish writing part one to this prompt. Please ignore that I took 2 months to write like this

content warning! : descriptions of gore/injury, slight groping, no dialogue, Also i'm not particularly great with writing, its all just for fun.

wc: 648

Things just seemed too peaceful. Surely there should be more noise than the guttural moans of pain escaping your cracked lips. Yet, there was nothing, no sounds of the excessive nature surrounding you, no wildlife chirping with life, nothing, just the exhausted heaving of your chest as you desperately try to catch your breath, limping to find anyone that could possibly help you.

You can't recall how long it's been since you were separated from your team, but it was long enough to know they weren't searching any longer, but you doubt they searched in the first place, you were somebody people didn't mind losing, deadweight as they'd call it. While the fading sounds of your surroundings echoed in your mind, a sudden sharp pain snapped you back to reality. Blood gushed out of your leg, a deep red color that seemed to somehow look delectable to the raw hunger aching in your stomach. Thank goodness you saw the thick berry jam oozing from your body inviting your fingers to shove themselves into the jar and stuff the two digits down your desperate mouth. You let out a wicked scream of pain when two fingers greedily dug into your wound realizing you had further mutilated yourself, causing your feeble body to collapse to the ground. It's too bad you were oh so close to what looked like an isolated cabin standing solitary in the woods, only just a few feet away from your blurred vision.

Your senses were dulled, each breath more labored than the last, but somehow, the sight of the cabin ignited a flicker of hope within you. Clenching your jaw against the pain that radiated from your leg, you pulled yourself up with weak determination. The wound was ghastly. Hot blood pooled beneath you, staining the dry leaves and soil underneath like a gruesome work of art. But the cabin stood resolute, a solitary figure against the contamination of the forest, a chance that someone lived there.

You dragged yourself forward, each movement sending daggers of agony through your leg. You could barely focus, the world shifted in and out of clarity as you stumbled toward the door before collapsing on the dirty excuse of a front porch. The world twisted and warped around you like a reflection of your child self in a fun house mirror at the state fair. Gasping for air, each inhale felt like swallowing shards of glass that clawed at your throat. Shadows clouded your vision, thick and eerie, covering the world in a muted, dark hue. But something was wrong, completely, irrevocably wrong. One shadow seemed to stand out darker than the rest, it was the shadow oddly shaped like a man. A man so unsettling it was probably best you died here before he got his hands on you. He loomed over you, taking pleasure in your agony. Knowing nobody would ever find you out here, he's not even quite sure how you managed to get here, but oh is he thrilled you did.

His large hands quickly reach down to grab onto your body, calloused fingers roughly grazing over your breasts where your bulletproof vest previously clung to your skin, but now pathetically hung off your frame. You immediately recoil at his touch, wincing from the ache of your wounds. You may have been delirious but you just knew you weren't safe.

How sick of him to stare at you like a piece of meat while you desperately clung to life, praying you won't die like this. But he just couldn't help himself. How could he? You just weakly lay in his arms, so afraid, such a tragic girl. He needed to save you. He would be your savior whether you wanted him to be or not.

(I plan to make this a series if I have the time)

taglist - @ang3lc

[unmotivatedartistry]

⤙🢔 click for better quality 🢖⤚

simon ghost riley.