#warfare is so modern

[barneysheadcanonsnstuffs]

Welcome Thing!

Tw// cannibalism joke??

Names I go by: Milo/Barnaby!!!

Pronouns: He/Him

I'm not really big on most nsfw[GORE I LOVE GORE IM EATING YOUR LIVER-] ahem.

I am into many different things but I'm more focused on MW2, HL1-HLA, Portal1, Portal2, many different Portal fanmade dlcs, Welcome Home, TSP, TF2, and MH!

I'm realizing some IRLS[?] I have too! Very slowly.

Gaz from MWreboot, Gabriel from ULTRAKILL, Scout from TF2, Barney from HL Stanley from TSP, Brian Thomas MH, more to be discovered...

I am not fully educated on most terms unfortunately, so if I do get something wrong! Please please PLEASE tell me!!! Thank you for reading this! And Welcome to the shit show of my brain

[orbitganymede]

baby daddy simon who dated you for a year before you got pregnant, you’d gone through most of the pregnancy alone, him being deployed 3 weeks after you found out and gone until the very last month of it. the both of you had tried at keeping the relationship together, but the distance and loneliness got to you, you’d been fine when it was just you but now with baby, you can’t let the father go in and out of their life. he wasn’t very happy with the decision to end your relationship, in his mind you were together forever now, tied together by this beautiful thing you two created, he didn’t even want children before you told him you were expecting but his whole world view changed when he realized that he not only had you to protect but a baby as well.

but you’d moved out against his wishes, finding a small flat you like and making it home for you and baby. he would come over sometimes, when he could, and spend some time with baby but honestly he felt more like some glorified uncle, would be convinced he was nothing to this child until he saw those brown eyes staring back at him, the ones that are so completely his, and he comes to the conclusion that this isn’t gonna work.

he starts small, coming over once a week instead of every other weekend, takes the two of you out for dinner instead of letting you cook or ordering in. stays late enough that you offer him the spare bed in the guest room, even with the distance you’ve put between yourselves, you can’t help but care for him, knowing nobody else will.

then he puts more pressure on you, making sure you see just how valuable he is, taking night shift feedings and waking up early with baby when they’re fussy. he offers to take baby for the night so you can go out with your friends, do things you haven’t been able to since baby’s arrival, even pays for a spa day for you to really relax. he stocks your fridge, full of the snacks you love and a bottle of wine for the hard nights. he buys and sets up new decor in the house, finally gets you the pretty white vanity and a new washing machine that doesn’t squeak. he really just does what he considers ‘husband duties’, things that he should have been doing this whole time.

and when you don’t budge on the separation, he goes nuclear, “no, love, i haven’t seen your birth control pills”, “look how cute this baby is, remember when ours was that small, sweetheart”, “you’re so stressed darling, let me help you” which basically means you end up getting rawdogged within an inch of your life, condom long forgotten, one of simons hands held over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re making. he just hopes he’d tracked your cycle right, that you’re actually ovulating, because you can’t possible refuse his ring after having two of his babies right? you wouldn’t do that to him, would you pet?

[the-palelady]

you’re straddling simon while the two of you are making out, and he grabs your waist in the most desperate of ways, dragging your closer to him.

it’s like he’s trying to consume you, forcing your chest to press into his. it’s almost suffocating, yet it isn’t enough.

his fingers dig into the divot of your hips and he’s still pulling, still eating you whole as his chapped, warm lips devour yours.

those same rough, callused hands loosen and drag up the expanse of your spine, feeling along every scar, every stretch mark. every flaw you have he’s tracing it, memorizing it, painting it on the back of his eyelids so he never forgets.

he’s rough yet gentle and soft all at the same time. he’s the calm before the storm.

he doesn’t leave an inch of you untouched, from the curve of your hips to the dimples in your cheeks.

you look divine in the museum that is simon’s mind. he places you at the center of his own personal gallery, the works of michelangelo and botticelli insignificant to how heavenly you look seated on his lap.

hell, you’re beautiful no matter what, and simon won’t let you leave his side until he’s sure you’ll never forget that.

[noahdrawsalot]

“THE PINK FROSTING JOHNNY, PINK!”

“I’m TRYING SI-!”

“ARE YOU COLOUR BLIND SERGEANT?”

“HAUD YER WHEESHT-!”

Cue some homoerotic cake making

[lanialania00]

[temeyes]

biker ghost? biker ghost.

[erosology]

könig squishing your cheeks as you’re sobbing “it hurts, könig! s’too much!” him shushing you as he sinks into you inch by inch, just enough of his 260lbs + weight to keep you pinned “shh, shh liebling, it will feel good soon, i promise, just take it for me, ya?”

or better yet, könig getting off on the fact that he’s hurting you, pushing your head back down in the mattress and groaning “oh fuck, liebling, so tight. does it hurt, hm?” and right when you sob out a “yes, yes it hurts!” he makes sure you feel every single inch stretch you out “good, keep crying. it’s making me harder”

[tassodelmiele]

- Ya know, gorgeous, if you wanted to give me one of your lovely hickey, you could have just asked -

....

I chewed on his tiddies. Sowwy.

And I still don't feel comfortable drawing his stupid cute face. Coddammit.

I also made one version with body hair, but i wasn't quite sure...also, I'm kinda happy with the colors, but proportions are a little less...chubby. I'll make him softer next time.

....

[amikoroyaiart]

Some 22 and 09 angst doodles

[whateveriwant]

Ok I lied. Here’s some more Simon fucking himself stupid because apparently he has a chokehold on me. (prev: part 1, part 2)

You’d think a man that regularly fucks his own brains mushy would have a poor performance in the bedroom, right? For a normal man, perhaps, but this is Simon Riley we’re talking about; ‘vigor’ is his middle name.

So even after going for multiple rounds, cycling through multiple positions, and getting covered in multiple fluids, your boyfriend is as ready to go as ever… physically speaking, that is. Because as far as mentally goes, he dropped out a long time ago, somewhere between taking you on your back and then on your knees.

Now you’ve reached the part of the night you like to call your ‘wind down phase’, where you’re just looking for one last, easy release before you throw in the towel. But where you’re tired, sensitive as hell, and already feeling tomorrow’s soreness starting to creep in, Simon’s still pinching and pawing at you like he can’t get enough.

As you lazily ride him, fingers curled over his thick shoulders, Simon’s own hands are pressed hungrily into the meat of your hips. From where he’s sat against the headboard, his lower back propped up by a pillow or two, he’s in the perfect position to guide you back and forth in his lap.

It’s as you feel the slow approach of your final climax that you begin to pick up the pace a little, only to slow right back down again as a sudden noise has you distracted. It takes you a second to place the sound, but once you recognize it, you’re immediately grinding your movements to a halt.

Simon’s phone only rings when it’s you or his work calling. And seeing the current situation you find yourselves in, you know it’s not the former.

The phone rings and rings, neither one of you bothering to move for it. The call gets sent to voicemail, and for a moment you think that’s all it’s going to be, but as the phone promptly begins to trill again, you know something else is up.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you reach over to the nightstand to grab the device. “It’s John,” you tell your boyfriend, seeing his Captain’s contact flash across the screen. You turn the phone around to show Simon, but it seems he has little interest in it, his grip on your waist unwavering as his phone buzzes away in your hand.

“Should you answer? Could be important,” you say. The boss making back to back calls speaks of urgency, if not emergency. But Simon’s focus lies solely on where your two bodies are connected, a sex-fueled tunnel vision if you ever saw one.

Though one look at Simon’s face tells you he’s in no place to have a meaningful conversation right now, as the phone darkens again, only to then light up for a third time in a row, you know this is serious. So despite the haziness in his eyes and the limpness of his jaw, you decide to answer the phone, putting it on speaker.

There’s silence on the other end for a moment before you hear the deep baritone of Price’s voice calling out. “Simon?” He waits a beat. “Simon, hello?” He tries again when he hears nothing in response.

While Price is kept in limbo, you’re busy trying to rouse your boyfriend back from brain death. “Simon, it’s John,” you whisper to him, hoping to not be heard by the other man on the phone. Unfortunately, Simon gives zero indication he’s heard you, his bleary gaze looking right past you.

“You there, Simon?” Price’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Bringing your hand up, you lightly tap Simon on the cheek. “Baby, it’s John. Your boss,” you whisper again, slightly louder this time.

Again, he offers you no response, just a slow blink, an even slower trickle of drool starting to form at the corner of his mouth.

As you hear another gruff, “Simon?”, being spoken over the phone, your taps become a little more insistent, a little more forceful.

“It’s Price, Si. Price. Captain Price,” you hiss, urgently patting him against the cheek.

Somehow, whether by miracle or sheer force, you’re able to knock Simon’s last two brain cells together and coax forth a vaguely human-sounding reaction from him.

“Priiizzzzze,” Simon rumbles out, a garbled approximation of his Captain’s surname.

The line goes quiet for a beat, and you can almost imagine the man on the other side blinking in confusion. Then, “You alright, Simon?” he asks earnestly. “Now’s not a bad time, is it?”

Thankfully, Simon seems to have regained the smallest hint of his bearings again, and he manages to hum a solid, “Mmmf.”

Price takes a moment to consider what he means by such an ambiguous response, and deciding it translates to ‘Speak freely’, he does just that. “Well, I’m callin’ because we’ve just received word of some new developments comin’ out of Hong Kong. Laswell’ll want to give a full briefing tomorrow mornin’, but essentially–”

And that’s about as far as Simon gets before he checks out again.

As Price continues to lay down the basics for him, Simon’s focus shifts back to what he really desires: the person he’s currently buried to the hilt inside.

His Captain’s droning acts as little more than background noise as Simon reaches up and begins toying with one of your nipples. The action is unexpected (not to mention ill-timed given the circumstances), and you try batting his hand away, even as a pleasurable tweak has you choking back a moan.

However, unfazed, Simon drags his fingers down, down, downwards, slowly tracing the midline of your body until he reaches your throbbing sex. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as he begins to stroke you, applying just the barest of touches, but it’s enough to light your nerves on fire.

This time, it’s harder to stop your moans from spilling forth, and you’re forced to mash your lips together lest you reveal your presence to the Captain still chirping on and on. Your free hand darts down to grab Simon’s wrist, meaning to tug it away, but instead, you find yourself pausing, holding onto him as a shudder wracks up your spine.

You know you should push him away – or, at the very least, tell him to ease up a little – but it just feels so fucking good that you can’t bring yourself to do either.

Besides, even if you were to speak up, would Simon be cognizant enough to heed your words? A quick peek at his expression tells you all you need to know. The lights may be on upstairs, but there is no one home right now to answer the phone.

You can feel the hand between your legs grow wetter and wetter as you start to leak droplets of your arousal. The slippery fluid makes Simon’s fingers glide that much smoother, that much slicker as he rubs you.

Even the way he’s touching you now – the way he’s expertly taking you apart – isn’t the result of conscious decision making by Simon. His movements, however deft, aren’t directed by any true rhyme or reason; they’re pure muscle memory at this point.

Simon’s other hand on your hip starts to rock you against him, and you find it’s getting harder to keep yourself under control. Try as you might to tamp your voice down, your ecstasy soon gets the better of you, and before you can stop it, you’re muttering a less than subtle, “Fuck.”

Immediately, you realize what you’ve done, and you slap a hand over your mouth at your mistake. As Price’s side of the call goes similarly quiet, you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to kick yourself for your carelessness.

Just as you think the jig is up, however, you catch a lucky break, as not a second later, Price resumes, “–boots on the ground to confirm what these sat images have been pickin’ up.”

The feeling of relief that floods you is almost akin to euphoria, and you exhale deeply (but not loud enough to be picked up over the receiver) as you bring your hand back down.

That was close; way too close for comfort, honestly. And yet, despite how close you just came to exposing yourself, Simon is totally, completely oblivious to it all.

This time when you reach for the wrist between your legs, you successfully tug it away. You feel like you’ve tempted fate enough for one night.

Though Simon puts up zero fight as you remove his hand from your sex, that’s only because he then reaches up and quickly stuffs his slickened fingers into his mouth. His eyes fall shut as he savors the salty taste of your arousal, a sort of blissful wave washing over him as he sucks his fingers clean.

Somehow, though you’re not sure how it’s possible, you swear you can feel him grow even harder where he’s buried inside you. The sensation makes you squirm, wanting to bear down on the fullness within you, but you force yourself to resist the urge to tilt your hips back and forth.

This is almost torture at this point, like you’re caught in some kind of kinky Saw trap. Honestly, you’re not sure how much more of this you can take. But thankfully, it appears you won’t have to endure it for much longer.

“All that’s to say, it looks like our timetable’s been moved up. We’ll be shippin’ out earlier than expected,” Price starts to wind the one-sided conversation down.

Though Simon has been relatively mute this entire time, for some reason, at this moment, he takes the opportunity to let out a long, “Mmmmmm.”

While you know the noise isn’t much more than an appreciative moan at your taste, Price is unaware of that fact, and so he asks, “That’s not a problem, is it, Lieutenant?”

You both wait a few beats for Simon to respond, but with less than a handful of working neurons left in his brain, you figure that’s unlikely to happen. Knowing Price is still expecting an answer and your boyfriend is unable to offer him one, you realize you have to take matters into your own hands once more.

So puffing out your chest and straightening up your spine, you muster up your best Simon impression as you expel a deep, gravelly, “Hmm.” The several seconds that follow find you holding your breath in anticipation, praying to whatever god will listen that Price buys your impersonation.

It’s after he eventually says, “Alright, well, I’ll expect you at 0800 for tomorrow’s brief,” that you breathe again, feeling nearly on the verge of passing out.

Frankly, this whole ordeal has left you exhausted. From having to hide from Price to having to pull one over on him, you feel like your heart is liable to give out any moment now.

If only Simon had been more of a conscious participant in this conversation maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. You and him could have quietly laughed and swore together in your shared misery. Instead, he’s too preoccupied with squeezing your nipple again between his wet fingers to notice anything’s the matter.

You don’t even bother pushing his hand away this time as you can sense the call is mercifully coming to a close.

“Have a good rest of your night, Simon,” Price says through the speaker.

If you weren’t so wrecked right now, you could almost leap with joy from how utterly relieved you feel. From the moment you answered this call, you thought you’d undoubtedly be found out. Truth be told, you’re not sure how you managed to make it through the past several minutes unheard and undiscovered. All you know is that you did and you’re beyond grateful for that.

But before you can hang up the phone to celebrate, Price has one last thing to say. Just as you’re about to press the end call button, just as you’re about to fling the phone to the far side of the room, just as you’re about to collapse into a boneless heap because you’re finally, finally, finally in the clear, Price gives one last farewell that makes your stomach fall out of your ass.

“And you too, (Y/N).”

The call dies, and you wish you died with it.

[wintersongstress]

Simon "Ghost" Riley | Modern Warfare III (2023)

[orbitganymede]

self proclaimed guard dog simon who’s never held a conversation with you or even really tried to interact with you at all. he had caught a glimpse of you out on the town and traced you back to your current job, lucky for him, on base. you’re a little freaked out, this mammoth of a man randomly shows up one day and pulls a chair up to your desk, takes out a book and just hangs out for a few hours? even leaves an extra lighter for his cigs in your pen holder. introductions were a quick back and forth on names and that’s about it, sometimes he comments on your clothes or jewelry, he saw your dainty little chain on your neck and purchased an S charm the next day, left it on your desk and that was that. you really shouldn’t be okay with this but he’s kinda intriguing, and the guy that has the office next to yours hasn’t bothered you in weeks, something you’ve been begging for mentally, so really what’s simon doing wrong? he sometimes even brings you a stray pudding cup from the mess, how sweet.

but what really gets you is when you’ve just got in your car, setting your things down, buckling your seat belt, the works, but simon slides in your passenger seat, gives you a look (his eyes look so pretty in the sunlight) and tells you to “take us home”, you’re nervous to say the least, you heard what happened to janet in admin when she told him one of his stacks of paperwork was filed wrong, that she wasn’t gonna take his next one until he fixed his mistake (she’d left crying, cursing his name to high hell, and asking for a transfer) so really what choice do you have.

and maybe he walks into your place, goes straight for where you always store your remote and turns on the channel you like to watch, almost as if he’s seen this routine before, he even asks what face mask you’re gonna do tonight, you wonder how he guessed that you do a face mask every friday night (he suggests the blueberry charcoal one, says it makes your skin glowy (he did not use the word glowy)) you shrug and go on with your nightly tasks, make dinner, do dishes, shower. but what actually makes you stop in your tracks is when he walks out of the bathroom, still steamed up from his shower, butt ass naked and asks you what your favorite position is, pet.

[the-palelady]

simon deserves a quiet, loving marriage.

after everything the man has been through he deserves someone that loves him the right way. someone who sees past the flaws, the scars, the darkness that has embedded itself into his mind.

words of affirmation don’t have to be spoken to one another. the two of you just know how the other feels just through their actions or even just the look on their face, the glint of light behind the others eyes as your gazes meet.

he makes you laugh with his occasional morbid jokes or jokes that most wouldn’t find funny, and in return you do the same for him. your laughter is contagious to him. it makes the corners of his lips twitch into a smile that makes your heart beat just a bit faster. has your face brightening in a way that has him asking, “y’alright, love?”

you both meet each other in the middle. not everything is thrown onto one person: laundry, the dishes, you name it. you and simon help each other, work as a team because that’s what partners do. nothing is ever done alone.

he loves the stories about your day no matter how minuscule they may seem to you. they are everything to him. he loves the crinkle at the edges of your eyes when you have a bright smile spreading wide across your face. he loves your mind, how intelligent you are, how you help remind him of things that he so easily forgets.

but most of all he loves how gentle you are. and he’ll always feel like he doesn’t deserve it. he’s a bad man isn’t he? he’s taken the lives of countless of people and yet here you are preparing the man a plate full of your amazing food, warming his bed, and standing with that sparkle in your eyes by the front door when he comes home.

those tendrils that sit in waiting at the back of his mind slowly creep in every so often and it’s like you can see them with those sharp, knowing eyes of yours. the second you spot them you’re shooing them away with a kiss to his brow bone, nuzzling just a bit closer to him in bed until it feels like he might consume you whole with how big he is.

when you finally relax into him, your lips pressed against his temple, he just barely makes out, “everything will be alright.”

and he knows then and there that he does deserve you, that he does deserve your laughter, your smiles, the warmth you bring him, and your kindness.

simon knows everything will be alright because he has you.

[yooo-lets-go]

My brother I’m begging, can we some Ghost being down bad for Soap? I’m on my hands and knees

You keep me under your spell

[temeyes]

dilf gaz? dilf gaz.

[ohmygraves]

simon who gets into a fight with you, all messy and angry, lots of yelling at each other, and ends with him just slamming the door to your shared bedroom, not wanting to escalate it further and just... cool off.

he hears the cries and sobs from the other room, your mouth babbling something he couldn't quite understand between the sobs and the sniffling. he was upset, you were the one being dumb and was yelling at him and he didn't want to hurt you further. it's not his fault... right?

simon spends some time thinking about it, on the bed with a scowl on his face. he couldn't even hear your crying anymore, you'd probably gotten hungry or thirsty and just left. the silence was a little unnerving, and it's not like it'll end if the two of you kept being so persistent, so he figured out he should just apologize and take it from there, regardless if it was his fault or not.

though as he was about to go look for you, his nose was hit with a familiar scent... instant noodles?

not surprised, you probably were so upset you wanted to eat something too.

he made his way to the kitchen, not going to lie the scent made his mouth water too. he knew how much you liked it, and he loves whatever you like too.

in the middle of the kitchen, you stood in front of the stove, the smell of instant noodles wafting through the entire house. you looked... tired. and small, hunched over the pan just looking at the food as it cooks.

simon didn't really care if you'd claw his eyes out for this, but he reached out, leaning over your shoulder, his arms around your waist.

"smells good... share wit' me."

you didn't respond, still a little upset that he just acted as if everything was fine, but you didn't push him away, not even noticing that there's a small smile on your face. you took the pan off the stove, placing it on a kitchen rag on the dinner table, and handed him a fork. lord knows he can't use a chopsticks.

as the two of you ate together out of the pan, the two of you started to talk again, continuing the fight earlier, though calmer and sprinkled with a few jokes here and there. regardless of who was at fault, the two of you apologized, and you admitted that you'd decided to make the noodles because it would lure him out of the room. simon pouted, knowing that he couldn't resist it when you cooked anything and some good snack every once in a while.

as upset as he was that the two of you fought, you think that he's more upset that you lured him with instant ramen like some dog.