#modern warfare 2

[ltash]

HAUNTED

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

Smut warning

The city's towering silhouettes blurred past as your crimson Ferrari tore down the deserted road, its engine a throaty roar slicing through the quiet. You gripped the wheel with white-knuckled desperation, the lines between prey and predator blurring in your mind. A spy on the run, from him. The Ghost. A relentless specter of vengeance chasing you down.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, your heart seized as his black Hummer loomed larger, a hulking shadow gaining on you. You slammed the pedal to the floor, coaxing every ounce of speed from the Ferrari's frame. The engine screamed in protest as the car surged forward, but it wasn't enough. With terrifying precision, his Hummer closed the distance and rammed into the Ferrari's side, the impact sending a shockwave through your body. The sleek red machine swerved violently, tires screeching against the asphalt. The chase was no longer a game, it was a battle for survival.

"Fuck!" you hissed through clenched teeth as the Ferrari lost control, spinning wildly before screeching to a halt. The world tilted for a dizzying second, and when it righted, you found yourself face-to-face with the beast, his black Hummer growling like a predator ready to strike.

Heart hammering, you slammed the gear into reverse, the Ferrari lurching backward at full speed with his Hummer following inches apart. Your hands gripped the wheel with brutal force, knuckles pale under the strain, as the deserted road blurred into streaks of shadow and light. But he followed, relentless. The Hummer's headlights bore down on you, twin orbs of menace cutting through the dark.

Then you saw it, his face, or what little of it he allowed. Beneath the skull mask, his eyes burned with an unholy intensity, and that smirk... It was as if the chase thrilled him, as if this was all a game he intended to win. The sight sent a chill racing down your spine, a visceral reminder that you weren't just running from a man, you were running from a hunter.

Your mind raced as fast as your car trying to maintain your distance from his Hummer. You couldn't outrun him, not like this. Ahead, the road curved sharply, a wicked hairpin turn that could be your salvation, or your doom. Teeth gritted, you made your choice. With a sudden push of the pedal, you stopped the Ferrari. The decision was made. Now, instead of running, you were charging straight at him.

The Hummer didn't flinch, nor did the man behind the wheel. He held his ground, his smirk deepening as though daring you to try. You braced yourself, adrenaline roaring through your veins as the Ferrari roared forward. At the last second, you swerved hard, the Ferrari sliding past the Hummer in a hairbreadth maneuver, its side grazing his with a metallic shriek.

You didn't look back. The road stretched ahead, and you gunned the Ferrari, praying the maneuver had bought you enough time. Behind you, the Hummer roared like an angry beast, and you knew the chase wasn't over, not by a long shot.

The Ferrari tore past the Hummer in a blur, but your victory was short-lived. The road narrowed ahead, hemmed in by sheer concrete walls on either side. Your breath hitched as you yanked the wheel, trying to avoid slamming into His Hummer as it roared past, its taillights burning like embers in the dark.

But it was too late. The Ferrari skidded, tires screeching, before the side of the car collided with the wall in a deafening crash. The impact jolted through you like a lightning bolt, and the airbag erupted, slamming into your face and cutting off your vision with a blinding burst of white.

For a moment, the world was silent but for the hiss of the deflating airbag and the pounding of your heart. When you forced the door open and stumbled out of the crumpled Ferrari, the Hummer had already stopped, its reverse lights glowing ominously as it began backing up toward you.

Instinct screamed at you to move. You took off, legs trembling beneath you, and sprinted toward the only cover in sight, a decrepit, abandoned building looming in the shadows. The sound of the Hummer's engine drew closer, a monstrous growl hot on your heels, but you didn't stop.

Inside the building, it was dark and cold, the air heavy with the scent of dust and decay. Your heels clicked against cracked tiles as you bolted up a crumbling staircase, every step echoing like a gunshot. You didn't dare look back, but you could hear him, the sharp clink of his boots, the low rumble of his breath, the relentless cadence of his pursuit.

You reached the second floor, lungs burning and heart racing, and ducked behind a broken pillar. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of the stairs beneath his weight as he followed. You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling the sound of your ragged breaths, your eyes darting to the shadows, searching for a way out.

But you knew there was no escape. He wasn't just a hunter, he was the ghost who always caught his prey.

You tossed your heels aside and darted up the crumbling staircase, your bare feet barely touching the cold, cracked tiles as you raced to the top floor. The building groaned under the weight of your frantic ascent, but you didn't stop. Finally, you burst through the door to the rooftop, the open air hitting you like a slap.

The city stretched before you, its sprawling lights shimmering like stars, but they offered no solace. You stumbled toward the edge, your palms pressing against the low concrete barrier as your eyes darted wildly, searching for a way out. The wind whipped against your skin, tugging at the red silk slip dress clinging to your frame, the hem fluttering like a flame in the night. Your hair danced in the breeze, strands brushing against your face as you gasped for breath, heart pounding like a war drum.

Behind you, heavy boots thudded against the rooftop. The sound froze you in place, and your pulse quickened as you sensed him drawing closer.

"Nowhere to run..." His voice cut through the night, low and husky, each syllable dripping with a dark promise. It sent shivers down your spine, pooling dread and something else entirely in your chest. You turned slowly, the city lights framing you against the abyss, as he stepped forward, his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlit sky.

"You're right," you said, your voice trembling but defiant, carried away by the wind. "I have nowhere to run. Because everywhere I go, I find you."

You turned around slowly, the city lights painting your figure in sharp contrast against the darkened sky. Your eyes locked on his as you raised your hand, fingers gripping the cold steel of your gun. For a heartbeat, the tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Then with a measured breath, you raised your trembling hands, palms open in surrender, the silk of your dress shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The wind tugged at your hair, but your gaze didn't waver, your expression caught somewhere between defiance and resignation as he stepped closer, the weight of his presence swallowing the space between you.

Your breaths grew shallow, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven intervals as he closed the distance between you. The air seemed heavier with each step he took, his towering frame swallowing the moonlight and casting you in his shadow. His presence was overwhelming, a force that seemed to pull the very air from your lungs.

You averted your gaze, biting your lip as you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat impossible to ignore. Your pulse thudded like a frantic drumbeat, a rhythm you couldn't control. Instinctively, you backed away, the dirt and debri clinging to the soled of your feet. Your back was pinned to the short wall of the edge now.

He followed without hesitation, his pace deliberate, predatory. When he finally reached you, his arms caged you in, hands braced against the wall on either side of you. With a calculated step, he took the gun from you before throwing away its magazine and discarding the gun on the floor. You froze, every muscle in your body locked in place as his eyes bore into you, an intensity that made it impossible to look away even though you wanted to. The wind swirled around you, but it couldn't carry away the weight of his presence, the unspoken tension pressing down like a storm about to break.

"Accept it... you are mine now," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, sending a shiver through your spine.

With those words, he removed the skull mask, revealing his face for the first time. The moment you saw him, your breath caught. His features were sharp, intense, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering, almost predatory gaze. The man behind the mask was more than you'd ever imagined, and for a split second, you were speechless.

His hand found the nape of your neck, strong fingers tangling in your soft, silky locks. With a gentle but insistent tug, he tilted your head back, exposing your throat to the cool night air. A soft gasp escaped your lips, unbidden, and his smirk deepened, a flicker of triumph in his piercing gaze.

"Trapped," he murmured, his gruff, husky voice laced with a British accent that made your pulse stutter. "Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide."

His words sent a shiver racing through your body, but you mustered what little defiance you had left. "In your dreams," you retorted, though your trembling voice betrayed you.

His expression darkened, the smirk replaced by something far more dangerous. "It's not a dream, darling. It's reality," he replied, his voice low and intimate, wrapping around you like a velvet chain. "Now imagine..."

His other hand moved, sliding up from your ribs, fingers grazing the swell of your breast, then tracing a deliberate path up to your throat. The touch was slow, purposeful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his hand finally settled on your delicate neck, his large fingers enveloped it completely, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Tsk, tsk," he chided softly, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. "You're a wounded bird. Fragile. Beautiful. It will be my pleasure to clip your wings, to cage you in, and keep you all for myself, love."

Your breath hitched, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. His thumb lingered on the rapid beat of your pulse, his touch igniting a heat that spread through your body like wildfire. The closeness of him, the sheer, overwhelming presence, left you trembling, your body betraying your mind as it arched subtly toward him, drawn by a force you couldn't resist.

His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point, his lips curling as if savoring your reaction. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice like silk draped over steel. "That frantic little heartbeat. It's not fear, is it? No... it's something much sweeter."

Your breath came in shallow gasps, and you tried to look away, but his grip on your neck held you in place, his gaze unrelenting. "You're so defiant," he continued, his tone laced with dark amusement. "But your body... it's honest. It tells me everything I need to know."

"You're delusional," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, though the tremor in it betrayed the truth.

"Am I?" He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over your ear, the faint brush of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Then why aren't you pulling away? Why aren't you screaming for me to stop?"

Your lips parted, but no words came. His hand slid from the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "You want this," he said, his voice dropping to a near growl. "Even if you won't admit it. Even if you hate yourself for it."

"I don't-" you started, but the words died on your lips as his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his touch electric.

"Shh, darling," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth. "Lying doesn't suit you. Let me hear the truth instead."

His hand tightened ever so slightly on your throat, the pressure sending a rush of heat through your body. His lips hovered just over yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

"Mine."

The single word dripped with possession, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced, caught in the tug-of-war between defiance and surrender, but it was his overwhelming presence that tipped the scales.

Before you could muster a response, his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and unrelenting. The kiss wasn't a question-it was a claim, searing through you like wildfire. His hand tangled in your hair, tugging you closer as though he couldn't bear even an inch of distance. The other hand gripped your ass, fingers digging into your flesh with an unapologetic need that made you gasp against his mouth.

The sound seemed to spur him on, his body pressing you against the pillar with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. His chest was solid against yours, his heat radiating through the thin silk of your dress. Everything else, the danger, the chase, the fear, melted away, leaving only the intoxicating fire between you.

His kiss was dizzying, a heady mix of hunger and dominance that left you reeling. His tongue explored your mouth with a fervent need, tangling with yours, your breaths mingling as your saliva mixed. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, like being drunk on a potent cocktail of adrenaline and desire.

Your knees buckled, legs turning weak beneath you. As if sensing your faltering strength, he shifted, his thick thigh sliding between yours, parting them effortlessly. The action left you straddling his leg, his firm grip anchoring you as he pressed even closer. The pressure was maddening, his body a force you couldn't escape, and didn't want to.

"You feel that?" he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. "That's what surrender feels like, love. Don't fight it."

Your only response was a shaky exhale, your body betraying you as it arched into him, every inch of you ignited by the raw, undeniable power he exuded.

You felt his massive hardness poking into your pelvis, your core, thinly covered by the fabric of your thongs, rubbed against the fabric of his jeans as your hips bucked forward. You couldn't stop the moans of pleasure escaping your mouth.

"You have no idea how bad I want to fuck that pretty little cunt of your." His words set your body ablaze.

With ease he hoisted you up on his shoulder and started taking you downstairs, the building was eerily silent saved for his deep measured breaths and the thudding of his boots and your maddening heartbeat.

You were dizzy, intoxicated, still reeling from the sheer force of his kiss until you hear the door of his Hummer opening.

You were thrown on the back seat. The door closed behind him as he climbed on top of you.

It all happened so fast, your head spinning from the intensity of the moment. His lips had been on yours mere seconds ago, possessive and unrelenting, leaving you breathless. Now, here you were, sprawled on the cool leather of his Hummer's backseat. The faint scent of leather and his cologne filled the enclosed space, mingling with the heat of your desire.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence. His massive frame loomed over you, every movement deliberate and calculated as he climbed in, his predatory gaze locked on yours. The dim light from the street lamps outside filtered through the tinted windows, casting shadows on his angular face.

"You've no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. His hands found your thighs, rough palms sliding up and under your skirt, brushing against the edge of your lace thong. He gripped you firmly, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he spread your legs apart. The sound of your breathing filled the small space, quick and uneven, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself.

"You're mine," he growled, leaning down until his lips were at your ear. "Body and Soul."

The heat of his breath sent waves of anticipation coursing through you, and you could feel his body pressing against yours, the weight of him intoxicating. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare skin, teasing, torturous. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a small, desperate sound that only spurred him on.

He tugged your thong aside, his movements firm but unhurried, as though savoring the moment, the anticipation building between you. His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against your wetness, and you gasped, your hips arching into his touch. The look in his eyes was feral, dark and dangerous, and it sent a thrill of both fear and exhilaration through you.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Don't hold back."

The moment his glove hit the floor of the Hummer, your pulse quickened. His now bare hand was rough, calloused from years of work, and it felt electric against your delicate, slick folds. Every touch was deliberate, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your head fell back against the cool leather seat, exposing the delicate curve of your throat, your breaths coming in soft, trembling gasps.

Without warning, he pushed two thick fingers inside you, the sudden fullness making your back arch off the seat. A sharp cry of pleasure escaped your lips before you could stop it, the sound echoing in the small space. You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying in vain to muffle the cries that bubbled up from deep within you, but the sensation was too much, too overwhelming. His fingers curled just right, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

"You can't hide from me," he murmured, his voice like gravel and honey. His free hand came up to grasp your jaw gently but firmly, pulling your face toward his. "I want to hear every sound you make. Don't you dare hold back."

Your lips parted, and a soft, desperate moan spilled out, your body unable to obey your mind's feeble attempts to stay quiet. His fingers pumped steadily, each movement calculated to drive you closer to the edge. His thumb brushed over your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and your hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the pleasure he so effortlessly gave.

"That's it," he growled, his eyes locked on your face, watching every expression you made. "Good girl."

With a low growl of impatience, he tugged the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders. The delicate fabric slipped, pooling at your hips, leaving you bare before him. His gaze roamed over your body, dark and hungry, devouring every curve, every inch of exposed skin. A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned down, his breath warm against your chest.

His mouth found your hardened nipple, his tongue swirling around it in slow, teasing circles. The sensation sent shivers racing down your spine, a breathless moan slipping from your lips. He sucked gently, his lips tugging at the sensitive bud, before releasing it with a soft pop and moving to the other, giving it the same devoted attention. His teeth grazed the delicate skin, nipping at the underside of your breasts, his hot tongue soothing the sting.

All the while, his fingers remained buried inside your soaked core, curling with precision, hitting a spot that made you see stars. His thumb brushed against your clit, the pressure sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins. Your body was alive, every nerve ending alight with sensation, your hips bucking in time with the rhythm of his hand.

You writhed beneath him, your back arching off the seat as you chased the release that hovered just out of reach. Your fingers clawed at the leather, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps, the heat pooling low in your belly threatening to consume you.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his lips brushing against your flushed skin. "So beautiful, so needy. I could watch you like this forever."

His words only fueled the fire burning inside you, your movements growing more frantic as you rocked against his hand, desperate for the sweet release he controlled so effortlessly. "Please," you whimpered, your voice barely more than a whisper, the plea escaping your lips without thought. "Please..."

His dark chuckle sent a shiver through your already trembling body. "Please what, love?" he teased, his voice a dangerous mix of amusement and raw desire. But you couldn't answer, couldn't form a coherent thought as his relentless fingers drove you closer and closer to the edge.

Your back arched off the seat, toes curling as your body tensed in anticipation of the release that was just within reach. The pleasure coursing through you was all-consuming, a tidal wave threatening to drown you. And then, just as you were about to tip over, he pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping, desperate, and aching for more.

Before you could even protest, you heard the metallic sound of his zipper, the anticipation sending a fresh jolt of need straight to your core. He moved swiftly, one arm slipping under your waist, lifting you effortlessly as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open for him.

Without warning, he thrust into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. A scream of pure pleasure tore from your lips, echoing through the confined space of the Hummer. He was massive, stretching you in a way that was almost too much, yet exactly what you craved. Your walls clenched around him as he filled you completely, his girth hitting spots you didn't even know existed.

He didn't hold back, his pace brutal and unrelenting as he slammed into you, his hips meeting yours with a force that left you breathless. Each thrust drove him impossibly deep, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself, but the overwhelming sensation left you spinning out of control.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice strained as he watched your every reaction. "You're so tight, love. Taking me so well."

Your eyes rolled back, your head pressing into the seat as his relentless rhythm pushed you closer and closer to the brink. Each thrust, each movement, was pure bliss, and you felt yourself unraveling, your body surrendering entirely to his. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of you, tangled in a storm of passion and need.

You tried to grasp at the leather cushioned seats but in vain. Your hands fell your sides as you completely surrendered. Body arched I pure bliss, mouth drooling from the sheer magnitude of pleasure his thrusts brought. His cock hit your cervix in a painful yet delicious way sending you to the oblivion.

The Hummer shook with the intensity of him thrusting into you, the fabric of his jeans hitting the inside of your thighs, your juices destroying his clothes. He lifted you up arching your back more.

The coil became tighter and tighter in your core. Your breaths shuddered, your moaning intensified as his pace become more brutal.

Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your whole body trembled, toes curled, with a groan he released his essence into you filling you to the brim.

His hands rested on both side of your head as you laid beneath him unable to even respond, your body writhing with the aftermath.

He slowly pulled out, his cum dripping out of you flowing down your thighs as you squeezed them shut.

"You are delicious." He whispered in your ear. "And now I got a taste of you, and I want more and more."

He chuckled darkly before he zipped back his jeans and took the drivers seat. Behind him you slowly sat, tugging the straps of your dress up again.

"Clean up." He threw a box of tissues your way.

You took the box with your trembling hands.

"Fasten your seatbelt sweetheart, it's gonna be a rough ride." He said as he started the engine. The Hummer coming back to life.

You looked at your crashed Ferrari desperately.

"Don't worry. You will get it back. As long as you are a good girl for me." He teased.

The Hummer roared to life as he accelerated, the wheels screeched on the asphalt as it raced, disappearing into the night.

[giotanner]

When Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley was invited by Captain John Price to join Task Force 141, he hadn't considered that... the more elite the squad, the more colorful the personalities within it would be (see: the young Scottish Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish)

If you like this, please consider to reblog it—it helps stay in the Call of Duty circle!

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ART COMMISSIONS OPEN

[rj-opp]

pov: You now became a perfect mate and life long partner and have no choice whatsoever😶

[sw11ft]

The community is great and all but some of y’all are unhinged… 😅

Also shoutout to @pampanope for drawing my name in a cool way I’m gonna use it as a watermark more often now :D

[spiltspit]

improvised Christmas

[surgeonssturgeon]

After playing Call of duty; Modern Warfare 2, it is well known between me and my sibling that i have a severe love-hate relationship with… Captain Johnathan Price. I don’t like saying his name.

Like, do i get a extreme urge to deck his face in every time i see his face anywhere? Yes. Would i be sad if he died? Mortified.

I censored his face because it stresses me out, he and his dumbass fucked up mustache, i hope he dies of lung cancer. But not really though.

[rainswriting-blog]

An Argument With The 141 Boys

Summary: when you tell them “fuck you”

Warning(s): light angst, cursing, suggestive

Word Count: 1169

Reblog’s and feedback are appreciated. 18+ minors do not interact

Captain John Price

The door slams behind you as you stomp into the hallway, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Fuck you,” you mutter under your breath, loud enough for Price to hear.

You don’t make it far before his voice calls out, firm but calm. “Stop right there.”

You freeze, the authority in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, you turn to face him, your anger colliding with his piercing gaze.

“I don’t care how angry you are,” he says, stepping closer. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t treat me like some fragile thing!” you snap, your voice shaking. “I can handle myself, John.”

His brows furrow as he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I know you can. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?” you demand, frustration boiling over. “Why do you keep shutting me out? Why do you act like I don’t belong in your life when things get tough?”

His expression softens, the walls he’s carefully built around himself beginning to crack. “Because I’m scared, love,” he admits quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Scared that one day, I’ll come back, and you won’t be here.”

The vulnerability in his words takes the fight out of you. “John…”

He steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face. “You mean too much to me, Y/N. I’m trying to protect you, but I’m doing a bloody awful job of it.”

You place your hands over his, your anger melting into something softer. “I don’t need you to protect me. I just need you to let me in.”

For a moment, he studies you, his eyes searching yours. Then, without a word, he leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate.

As you slowly drop to your knees.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Your heart pounds as you pace back and forth in the small living room, replaying the argument in your head. “Fuck you,” you’d said, your voice dripping with frustration. You hadn’t expected him to follow you home after that, but the knock on your door tells you otherwise.

When you open it, Simon is standing there, his mask in place but his eyes intense. “Can I come in?”

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Why? So you can tell me how I’m overreacting?”

He exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I didn’t come here to fight, Y/N.”

“Then why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“Because I can’t leave things like this.” He steps closer, his presence filling the doorway. “Not with you.”

Your resolve wavers as you step aside to let him in. He removes his mask once he’s inside, revealing the weariness etched into his features.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

You sigh, your anger fading as you look at him. “You can’t just shut me out, Simon. I’m not some stranger who doesn’t care about you.”

His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, he’s silent. Then he steps forward, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. “I know,” he murmurs. “And that scares the hell out of me.”

“Why?” you whisper, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Because you’re the one thing I can’t lose,” he admits, his forehead resting against yours. “And I don’t know how to handle that.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours, tentative at first, then deeper, as if he’s trying to say everything he can’t put into words.

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, your voice thick with need, fingers curling into his shirt as you tug it upward. “I need you.”

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

The words are barely out of your mouth when you see Johnny’s expression change. He doesn’t look angry—just hurt. “Fuck you, Johnny,” you’d snapped, and now you’re regretting it as he stands there, silent.

When you try to walk past him, he catches your wrist gently. “Wait,” he says, his voice softer than you expect.

You stop but don’t turn to face him. “What?”

“Do you really mean that?” he asks, his thumb brushing against your wrist.

Your shoulders slump as the fight drains out of you. “No,” you admit quietly. “I didn’t mean it.”

He tugs you gently, coaxing you to turn and face him. When you do, his blue eyes are full of concern. “Then what’s goin’ on, lass?”

“I’m just… frustrated,” you say, your voice trembling. “You’re always risking your life, and I’m stuck here, not knowing if you’re going to come back.”

Johnny’s expression softens as he steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “I know it’s hard, love. But you’ve got to trust me. I’ll always come back to you.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you look up at him. “You can’t promise that, Johnny.”

His thumb brushes away a stray tear. “Maybe not. But I can promise I’ll fight like hell to make it home to you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache, and when he leans in, you meet him halfway, his lips warm and reassuring against yours.

Johnny lifts you effortlessly, his hands firm yet gentle as he pulls your panties to the side. His movements are slow, deliberate, and teasing as he slides himself into you, leaving you breathless in his grasp.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

The tension in the room is unbearable after your outburst. You can see the hurt in Kyle’s eyes, even though he’s trying to hide it. “Fuck you,” you’d said, and now the silence between you feels insurmountable.

He finally speaks, his voice quiet but firm. “You didn’t mean that.”

You look away, guilt gnawing at you. “I was angry.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just… I hate feeling like I don’t matter. Like you’d choose your job over me every time.”

His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. “Y/N, you matter more than anything to me. But this job… it’s not just a job. It’s who I am.”

“I know,” you say, your voice breaking. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Kyle pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly. “I know it doesn’t,” he murmurs. “And I’m sorry for making you feel that way. But you’re the reason I fight. You’re the reason I want to come home.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat soothe you. When you look up at him, his lips find yours, a soft yet passionate kiss that feels like a promise.

“Please, Kyle,” you murmur, your voice soft and pleading as you look up at him. “Take me to bed.”

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[urmomschocolatemilk]

I 🩷 bikers

Biker!Simon who’s tatted uppp. He’s rolling up his sleeves while he rides to let everyone get a look at his muscly arms laced with inked designs because yes, he does want to show off

Biker!Simon who's rolling up next to you at a red light, head turning while he thrums his fingers on the seat under him. He can feel your heated gaze through your window.

Biker!Simon who flips open his visor and lets his eyes find yours. He wants you to know that he sees you staring and he's staring right back at you

Biker!Simon who passes his phone to you with the new contact sheet open on his screen, ready for you to fill out

Biker!Simon who trashes on the TikTok bikers and calls them cornballs but doesn’t hesitate to send you photos of him in a compression shirt and helmet at any chance he gets

Biker!Simon who buys you a helmet before your first date, and takes you home. And no matter how much you beg him that night, he refuses to go above sixty on the highway because he why would he ever put his girl at risk like that?

[whateveriwant]

I know I’ve already gone on and on about what it’s like to have a size difference with Simon Riley, but I’m sorry, I just will never get over how big and strong this man is.

Like I feel like sometimes his size gets lost on us since he’s surrounded by other tall, buff military guys all the time. But y’all, I’m telling you, this man is big. Like 6’4, 250+ pounds, big enough to eclipse the sun big.

With a man that big, it honestly doesn’t even matter what size you are because he’s always going to be bigger and stronger than you anyway. You can be tall, short, stocky, thin, whatever, and this man is still fully capable (and willing? 👀) of snapping you in half like a twig.

Are you worried about potential home invaders? Well, you shouldn’t be. One quick flick of his wrist and he’s breaking the neck of anyone who tries to threaten you. Did you accidentally lock yourself out of the house? Well, don’t bother calling a locksmith. There’s no lock left to pick after he’s just caved the door in with his foot. Do you have a really stubborn jar you’re struggling to open? Well, hand it over, love. He can crack that sucker open in half a second flat.

But Lord, don’t even get me started when it comes to all the ways Simon uses that strength of his in the bedroom.

Like when he tells you to sit on his face so he can eat you out. Don’t even try it with that nervous, hovering, “I’m too heavy, Si,” bullshit. You better sit your ass down right when and where he tells you to or he’ll hold you down by the hips until he’s had his fill.

Or when, after a night of heavy flirting and teasing, he’s got that look in his eye as he corners you against your entryway wall. Don’t be surprised when one moment your feet are firmly planted on the ground, and the next you’re lifted into the air, your legs slung over his arms as he drills into you like you’re his own little fuck puppet.

Or when he’s got you spread out on his bed, got your knees up by your ears, got the backs of your thighs burning in a way that’s matched only by how your walls have to stretch to take his thick cock. Don’t think he’s being mean or malicious when he sees your eyes well with tears but does nothing to change the way he’s fucking down into you. It’s not that Simon doesn’t care whenever you cry and quiver and plead with him to go easier on you, it’s that he knows the truth. He knows that, deep down, you love when he handles you like he isn’t afraid to break you.

[rileyslibrary]

After suffering a gunshot wound, you wake up in a hospital bed with Ghost sitting by your side. Unfortunately, the effects of anaesthesia leave you unable to recognise him and, worse, confuse him with someone else.

A/N: Fluff. Based on a request I received a while ago. Hope you like it, anon!

———————————————————————

A machine on your left beeps rhythmically. The taste of something metallic lingers in your mouth, and the iodine smell stinks your nostrils. Your eyes open slowly, but the bright ceiling light forces them shut again. You lick your lips and attempt to swallow a couple of times. Dry. Your mouth is dry. You need water. Your hand moves towards your face, but a low, raspy voice advises you against it.

“Careful now,” it says, and a hand gently grabs your wrist. “Don’t pull the IV off.”

You turn your head towards the figure beside you and squint. It’s a man, but your blurry vision doesn’t help you identify him. Your eyes travel to your wrist and focus on the closest part of him: a skeleton’s hand.

You try to shake your hand off his grip, but it turns out futile. Frustrated, you give up and raise your middle finger at him.

“Not my time yet,” you declare. “Fuck off.”

“Pardon?” he asks.

“Not ready to go yet,” you reply, tucking your middle finger in your palm and lifting it back up again. “And also, fuck off.”

The man releases your wrist, placing your hand gently beside you. He clears his throat and leans forward. Though your vision remains blurry, you spot what looks like a human skull with a hood over it.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks, his tone softer.

“How am I feeling, love?” you repeat. “Did Hell improve their customer service?”

“I’m not-” The man begins but pauses. He sighs, shakes his head and rests his elbows on his thighs. “Never mind.”

“Where am I?” You ask.

“Hospital.” He replies. “You took a bullet.”

Directing your attention to your body, you feel a dull throb in your chest. You wince as your fingers brush against the bandages.

“You are joking.” You reply and slap your hand on the bed. “Why? How?”

“Well,” He says and tilts his head to the side. “You exchanged a few shots with the enemy, your gun ran out of bullets, his didn’t, and here we are.”

“My gun?” You ask, shocked. “I have a gun?”

“Several.” He nods.

“SEVERAL?” You shout. “Why would I possibly need several guns?”

“It’s your job, love.” He replies.

“My job is to have several guns?” you ask. “And shooting at people?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he explains, “but it’s mainly for defence.”

“Well,” you shrug and wince at the pain. “Doesn’t look like I’m that good at defence—especially for having several guns.”

“I was really worr—”

“Water,” you interrupt and gesture at your mouth. “I need water.”

“Doctor said it’s not the time for water yet,” he replies.

“Why?” you ask, pretending to check a non-existent wristwatch. “What time is it?”

“No, love,” he replies and muffles a chuckle. “Doctor said you need to wait until you have some water.”

“You throw the ‘love’ thing a little too freely,” you mumble, licking your lips and lifting your index finger. “I’d be really careful if I were you.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why?”

“I,” you say and point at yourself, “got a boyfriend, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” he exclaims and tilts his head. “Is that so.”

“Yup,” you nod. “And he can kill you.”

“Can he?”

“Can?” You say, and a smug smile forms on your dry lips. “He will absolutely, one hundred and a thousand per cent kill you.”

“Is he that good?” He asks.

“I mean,” you shrug, motioning at the bandages on your chest. “He’s much better than I am.”

“Oh wow,” he exclaims and leans forward. “Is he as good of a boyfriend as he is a shooter?”

“Far from it,” you reply, letting your hand fall to your side.

The man doesn’t speak. He doesn’t seem that comfortable all of a sudden. He shuffles in his chair, trying to find a better position, and when he does, he clasps his hands together.

“Go on,” he finally says. “Spill it.”

“Ok, so,” you begin, “first things first, he doesn’t listen to me when I want to vent, and whenever he does, all he says is nonsense.”

“The lad gives you solutions,” he snaps, “and you call them nonsense?”

“I don’t want solutions, man,” you reply, shaking your head. “I want him to just listen to me.”

“Even if the solutions he provides are literally the answers to your suffering?”

“Even then.” You confirm.

“Gotcha,” he nods. “What else?”

“Oof,” you sigh, “how much time do you have?”

“I’m immortal,” he reminds you, “plus the next reaping is in five hours.”

“Oh boy,” you reply. “Business not going that well lately, huh?”

“Not many deaths to take care of,” he spits. “I guess some people could use some serious training when it comes to their aim.”

“Speaking of training,” you say, “he’s always at work and never spends much time with me.”

“The guy’s trying to spend as much time with you as he can, for fucks sake!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “He even lied to get you on his team!”

“How do you know he put me on his team?” You ask.

“I keep a close eye on him.” He replies.

“What did he lie about?”

“Your precision in aiming,” he jokes and motions for you to continue. “Next one.”

“I can’t think of anything else,” you reply. “Other than he doesn’t say how much he loves me.”

“You’re having a laugh now, aren’t you?” He says, and his tone feels almost threatening. “He’s showing it to you daily; offering advice, keeping you close to him, even risking the possibility of being accused of nepotism for crying out loud! He doesn’t need to say it as well for you to know it!”

“It’s just nice to hear it sometimes,” you sigh and twist a thread from the bed sheet. You turn your head slightly toward him, and he lowers his head to the ground.

“How about you?” You ask. “You have a girlfriend?”

“I do,” he confirms.

“Shut up!” You shout, widening your eyes and immediately closing them back again. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Hell,” he replies. “Right in the pits of it.”

“How is she?” You ask.

“Perfect.” He states.

“Bullshit,” you murmur. “No one’s perfect.”

“She is to me.” He says, shrugging.

“Do you love her?” You ask.

“Absolutely,” he replies, nodding slowly. “One hundred and a thousand per cent I do.”

———————————————————————

[elysianvrt]

"So you do like me?"

"I like you alive."

--

pls take this sick doodle as an apology for not posting

[rj-opp]

Dork dad 👶💀

Idea from here <3

[daredussy]

stay safe out there 🫡

[spiltspit]

I just think johnny could convince simon to wear a kilt

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thought of this at work today lmao

[ltash]

Lieutenant Simon Riley hates Lizards so when he spots one he calls you, his 5 feet shortie to get rid of it.

Minutes after he is screaming as you are following after him with the lizard in your hand.

"Get it off me ," he screams. "You'll pay for this."

Meanwhile soap is rolling on the floor crying while in a laughing fit.