Simonrileykisser3000 - Cod & Ff7 Lover - Tumblr Blog

Save a horse, ride a Vaquero 😌

johnny is the guy that comments “😍❤️” under all your selfies

UHHHH IVE NEVER WRITTEN BEFORE, Don’t know how to tag and I didn’t proofread cause I’m real lazy. also kinda stupid, i probably used the same metaphors and similes like a million times. So uh, yeah. Read at your own discretion, I’ll tag what I think is important so read pls

TWS & MENTIONS—— Torture, blood, goreish, betrayal, heavy angst, overall gruesome and violent, mentions of relationship with simon ghost riley (implied but heavily), angst angst angst and more angst with a side of angst. Did I mention angst.

That’s it I think lmk if I missed any? Okay enjoy, hopefully!

Inspo and plot credit to users ghouljams & criminalamnesia !!!

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When your vision blurs and your eyes fog up— you can’t make sense out of the coarse pangs of pain running up your sides, down your legs and through your nose. For the first time in your life, it’s a weary weekend evening and you happen to be tied up to a splinting wooden chair in the middle of a dark warehouse. You think the red running down and dripping onto the floor is your own blood, but again, you can’t see. A fist collides against your stomach once, twice, then thrice, and finally relents.

"P…please— stop," You recognize your voice alongside the ringing in yours ears. Panicked— desperate. Your hands twitch behind your back on instinct, a deep familiar instinct to grab those hands and soothe your thumbs over those scared knuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Price grumbles. This wasn’t what he wanted to happen— not your betrayal, not the torturing, and most insistently— not the feelings that hit him when it all came crashing down. The pang in his heart planted the thought and truth that you were practically family. He shakes his head before slamming a door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell is right!” Simon yells back, slamming down his mask onto the table. He catches a look at your blood smeared over it and anger flares up and over his lips again.

You look at his face and you think you’ve never seen him make that expression. You’ve seen the best and worse of him. You’ve seen the face he makes when he’s afraid, the one he’s made when he cries and his shoulder shake with sobs. It scares you how foreign they he looks now. Ten feet can’t feel anymore distant than right now. Tears boil over onto your red and purple cheeks, voice cracking and quiet.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t! I was with Gaz all the whole time, tell them Gaz!” You manage and don’t notice how through your fading conscience, you omit and slur words together. When Gaz averts his eyes you can’t help but wonder who’s the real traitor in this whole ordeal.

“You abandoned your post, left Sergeant Gaz to fend for himself, didn’t answer none of your fuckin’ callsigns,” Simon steps closer. You flinch.

“Why?” He yells. “Fuckin’ speak!” Fear runs rampant through your veins and you can’t recognize this man. This man is angry and unrecognizable, and you can’t for the life of you believe why.

“Please, Simon— I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” A few words go unsaid in the wake of pain.

“Good at lying, aren’t you?” Simon steps close. He’s quick to pull out his infamous sleek knife out one of his holders and slice it across your shoulder. Warm blood trickles down and you let out a cry so raw it hurts your throat. It hurts, burns— but nothing sears more than the look he gives you.

You shake your head and sob out. This can’t be seriously be happening. You were just returning from hiding after the Mexican cartel stormed you and Gaz’s recon location. You ran until your lungs gave out and when you thought you were safe, Johnny had tied your wrist behind your hands and forced you down onto your knees with a rougher than usual hand.

Confused, you panted out. A joke, perhaps? You look around with a small smile. It drops as quick as it formed and it’s almost comical how fast it all happened. One second your legs were aching from running and the next it was from the cut of a choppy knife. The hand that used it was just as choppy, rigid, tense.

“Please, I didn’t do it! I didn’t fucking do it!” Your voice shakes with hurt and anger. “Why won’t you all believe me!” Your voice tears out of your throat. Simon slams his hand down on a table and the noise beats fear into you and gets your heart pounding.

Silence ensues and you could’ve sworn it was worse than being tortured. Your own fucking force members. Eight years, rough and painful years, for one bark from Shephard to tear everything down and away from you.

It takes a few more beatings from Simon for it to get through your hazy mind—He’ll kill you; Right here, right now. Your history can’t save you in the face of betrayal.

When your body is bruised and raw with cuts and you can’t place anything anymore, only then are you granted a silence. Like a madman, captain Price swings open the door of the room he had cowered into.

“Fucking hell, Simon! Stop!” He pulls Simon’s arm back, voice taut and if you could see, you’d see the guilt in the blue of his eyes. His words are like a bite in the neck to everyone in the dark room.

“Shephard conned us. He— Fuck!” He grabs the bloody knife out of Simon’s hand and throws it onto the ground.

“He and graves fucked us over. Lied to Laswell and the rest of us ate it up like fucking dogs!” He yells. Frustration pounds guilt into his head.

Simon’s hand goes limp and you don’t get the satisfaction of seeing guilt seep and set into his face. It would’ve been funny had it not been due to the weight of it all.

“Shit. Shit, shit!” Price runs up to you, eyes frantic as he look over your wounds. Raw, teared and sliced open. Bruised beyond recognition.

You can’t even respond to his hands holding together some of your wounds, the panicked yells between Soap and Gaz, the pale silence from Simon. It’s too quick, you think. That or your mind is slowing down. Most likely the latter.

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

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authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

A Short Comic ft Price & Simon

This idea spawned from the thought: What if Price knew Simon before Ghost? That's why he said "It's good to see you again Simon." during the whole mask scene. To me, Price is a guy that puts a lot on himself. So... this came out.

poor lass

18+, afab reader, somno, perv soap

no thoughts, just best friend soap whispering in your ear as you’re doing mundane tasks, “if i were with you all the time, i’d never leave that pussy alone.” you could be working on base, sat in front of a computer and he’s leaning down to your level. his breath all hot against your ear. of course you couldn’t react, you had to be professional. but you couldn’t help but let your eyes widen, especially at his hand splayed across your back.

god forbid you make some off handed comment about how getting head is probably overrated (bc no ones ever given it to you before so you feel like everyone’s overreacting about it) and he just has to be the responsible best friend he is and show you how wrong you are 😨

“yer tellin’ me y’never got licked before? poor lass.”

sleeping over at your house without asking and sneaking into your room. you would wake up to wet noises and heat building in your core, your eyes peeking open to your best friend buried between your legs.

you wouldn’t even have time to question him or be startled before he’s dipping his tongue back in your cunt all over again, lips wrapping around your clit. any sounds of confusion would be immediately cut off by your own sharp moans and whimpers.

“oh, i know.” he would croon against your cunt, voice full of fake sympathy. “jus’ feels too good, huh? cannae even speak.”

you would feel him smiling against your soaked cunt as you squirm in his iron hold, his strong arms keeping you in place against his mouth.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

The first time it happens wasn't on purpose, but Ghost spills over your pumping fist with a low desperate groan that makes you pulse between your legs. "Good boy." You file it away, make a mental note that he came without his usual warning.

The second time it happens is on purpose. You're riding him, grinding your hips down against his lap, feeling the rough curls of his hair against your clit. You press your hands against his chest, stare at him with a smile as he hits all the sweetest parts of you and coo out, "Such a good boy for me." Ghost swallows thickly, tips his head back with a shaky breath, and groans out a swear. He doesn't come, but you can feel his cock twitch, can see the way blush blooms down his neck and over his chest. "Does my good boy want to come?" You ask, succor sweet. The hitch in his breath is the only warning you get before he fills you, spills his warm come into you with a low groan and a mumbled apology. You've never heard Ghost mumble before.

You ask him about it, apologize quietly in the morning when he's got an arm slung over his eyes to shield them from the sun streaming in through the windows. "S'fine," He'd grumbled, still half asleep, "liked it. Got my tail waggin'."

The next time you say it is when you wrap his leash tighter around your hand, just to tug the thick leather around his neck as he fucks you like a dog. "Fuck," you drool against the bed, "my good boy." He fucks you so deliriously hard, too hard for the desperation in his voice when he leans over and tells you, "I am. 'M yours."

Could we get Cowboy!Ghost getting drunk off his ass making a fool of himself and being overly affectionate, confessing his love to Goose, all in all just being a mess of a drunk pretty please?

Of course Maelstrom anything for you 💜 I have a cowboy!König in the works for you and more cowboy!Soap "corruption kink" Mactavish cooking.

Simon is absolutely smashed. It's his own fault really, you told him you'd drink him under the table and he hadn't believed you. He isn't used to moonshine, you really should've stopped him before he got to this point, but it was so fun watching him go shot for shot with you. You're pretty sloshed yourself, but he is just... it's cute, it's really really cute.

You're crouched in the grass between his knees, rubbing his thighs, trying to ground him just enough that he won't vomit all over the place. Although that might be a good thing, get some of the liquor out of his system. No, the way he was boasting about being able to hold his liquor makes you think he'd be upset if you let him throw up.

"God, you've gotta get off your knees princess, give a man ideas." He slurs and if you weren't already so smitten with this man you might fall a little harder.

"Alright, shut yer eyes though, don't want you trackin' me with the spins," you wait for him to finish his grumbling and follow your order before you stand. You make the executive(drunken) decision to straddle his lap and he thumps his head onto your chest as soon as you settle on his lap.

His arms circle your waist and you let him hug you close to cuddle. You try not to coo at him as you thread your fingers through his hair, but he's so sweet like this you can't help one little affection. He grumbles more in response.

"Nobody told me you were gonna be a cuddly drunk," you grin, fingers dipping under his mask to scratch the back of his neck lightly. You press your thumb behind his ear, easy pressure points to keep the nausea at bay.

"'M not," you mumbles against your chest, you bite your lip and try not to laugh, "'m jus' in love with you." You are very much not laughing at that. Your fingers still and you feel Simon nuzzle against you, searching for more attention.

"You love me?" You whisper, because you don't want the rest of the group to hear. Their fun dims in the background, your world narrowing to just you and the man in your arms.

Simon hums an affirmative, "Want you to marry me, have my stupid fat babies."

"Babies? Plural?" Your brain latches on to the only thing it can, there's a non-zero chance Simon has blacked out and this is not how youre going to get engaged, "What happened to not fit to parent?"

He tips his head back, resting his chin against your sternum, the stars reflected in those gorgeous brown eyes you love so much. "I could do it with you," he tells you, and your heart could burst at how soft and honest he sounds, "I'm better with you."

God actually maybe this is how you want to get engaged. You want to bottle this moment, this look in Simon's eye, and save it for the rest of your life. His head moves with the steady rise and fall of your breaths, he looks at you like he never wants anything else than what he has right now. Just you and him sitting under the stars, breathing together.

You kiss him and he tastes like the best moonshine you've ever had, like canned peaches and stale tobacco, like the rest of your life, like Simon. His lips move against yours slow and gentle, he can never believe that a girl like you is kissing a guy like him. He savors everything you give him and then some.

The way you look when you wake up, the way you stretch your arms over your head and groan when you think no one's watching, the way you make every allowance for him and never ask him for anything but him in return. Why wouldn't he love you? Why wouldn't he tell you, show you, every chance he got.

"I love you too," you tell him softly, and his chest clenches so tight he thinks he might be having a heart attack out of shear joy.

"I'll get you a ring," he promises, and you really hope he hasn't blacked out because he's going to be real embarrassed in the morning if he remembers this.

"If we're being proper about this you gotta ask Daddy for my hand," you tell him just to watch him pout and shove his face back into your chest.

"Maybe we elope."

I am in desperate need of some cowboy fluff, how about y’all?

Somehow Simon’s been handed a baby. It’s a little funny. It’s his own fault for being in baby handing distance with nothing to do. When your cousins had bustled into the house and started making a racket, passing out greetings and bags in equal measure, you were sure your older cousin would hand their newest addition to your dad. He was sort of the baby guy, the one that always seemed to calm down even the most colicky infants at family gatherings. So when you turn to introduce Simon and see your cousin pass her bundle of joy off to him you are almost as shocked as he is. Which is the understatement of the century, because he is pretty shocked.

He’s hardly budged from where he was standing when the baby was handed to him, looking big and unsure and absolutely stiff with nerves. You suppose it helps that no one is really talking to him, most of your cousins have moved to the kitchen to pick your pantry clean. You excuse yourself from catching up to go make fun of him.

“You look comfortable,” You grin. It really is a sight, such a tiny thing being held by such a big man. That baby is in the safest place in the world and it knows it, cooing and grabbing at Simon’s shirt, big wide eyes staring up at him like he’s the whole world. You know the feeling baby.

“Me and babies don’t mix,” He grits out, probably too nervous to even breathe. 

“Maybe if you weren’t holding him like a snapping turtle you’d be more comfortable.” You tell him, moving close to adjust his hold. The baby’s head resting against his chest, nestled nice and cozy in his arms, not just resting on them like a hospital bed. You smile at your newest family member, poking his little nose and letting him grab your finger. When you look up at Simon his expression is… tight, you can’t place it. You sigh, “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“It is that bad.”

“You’ve never thought about kids?” You mean it to be teasing but the look on his face makes you think maybe this is a more serious conversation. 

“Men like me shouldn’t have children,” He mumbles, looking down at the baby chewing on your finger. 

“My dad did a pretty good job.” He goes still again, for all the progress he’s made in being a person again Simon sure has a terrible opinion of himself. You shoot him a half-hearted glare, extracting your finger from its enthusiastic and gummy aggressor. “For the record, I think you’d be a great dad.” You tell him, turning to go back to the kitchen.

“At least take the damn thing with you,” He calls, it’s not as insistent as you would’ve thought. You think he might actually like holding the baby. You wave your hand over your shoulder at him.

“Nope, that’s your punishment. Pass him off to MacTavish when he gets here.” He’s lucky you’re not ratting on him to your dad. Men like him shouldn’t have kids… You’re a delight.

-

“Who’s the wee man?” Soap asks, leaning to wiggle his fingers at the baby in Ghost’s arms. It giggles, reaching with one pudgy hand to grab at him, the other tiny fist wrapped around Ghost’s tags. 

“I want you to be best man at my wedding,” Ghost says, absolutely not answering the question. Soap freezes, his brows raised.

“You’re getting married?”

“When she says yes.”

“This your bairn?” Soap asks, feeling more confused than he already was. Ghost makes a face.

“Johnny how the hell would this be my kid?” Ghost snaps, earning a bug eyed sniffle from the baby in his arms that caught both men’s attention. It’s the last warning before the baby scrunches up his face, building up enough red frustration to let out a sobbing wail. Soap is quick to scoop the fussy infant from Ghost’s arms, shushing him as he cradles him against his shoulder.

“Anno, let’s find your mum wee man, get you away from mean old Ghost.”

“Not a word of this MacTavish,” Ghost calls after him.

“More scared of Goose than her gander, sorry mate.”

Call Of Duty Audio Smut!

I realised I have not kept up with G W A reddit for a while and what has been going on? More Ghost, some König and Soap too! So here’s for your enjoyment :3 I have included both link to the post on G W A and straight to audio, since not everyone has Reddit, but please go give the artists some praise and comments if you like the audio! All audios are M4F, so male voices for female listeners. Have fun (as long as you’re an adult, MDNI!)

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Caught by Ghost by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, dubcon)

Zero Hour by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, squadmates to lovers)

Ghosting the Party by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, interrogation)

Testing the Perimeter by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, squadmates to lovers)

Only a Specialist’s Touch by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, keep quiet, squadmates to lovers)

Training a Military Brat by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, brat taming duh)

Clouded Conscience by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, friends to lovers)

Lesson in Biochemistry by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, sex pollen, dubcon)

Ghostly Comfort by  AmbroseKincaidVA (audio) (Mdom, comfort sex)

Riling up Riley by Badjhur (audio) 

Your Little Fantasies Are Out Of Control by hfoaudio (audio) (Ghost AND König, mdom, love triangle)

This Town Ain’t Big Enough by mowhispers (audio) (AU, Sheriff Ghost is after wanted listener, Mdom)

Ghost Stories - Prisoner of War-Games by Badjhur (audio) (M4A, Mdom to Msub)

You’re Mine, I’m Yours by lostintheblaze (audio) (Mdom, spit and size kink, exhibitionism)

König

Doktor’s Orders by Badjhur (audio) (Msub König, established relationship)

Trapped in a cave? by Helloworld1337 (audio)

Taking Care of König by wagnerfirst (audio)

Taking care of König by Helloworld1337 (audio)

A Night with König by cover_immortality (audio) (impro, msub)

What are you DOING under there? by Badjhur (audio) (blowjob, plus sized listener)

‘Interrogated’ by 141’s Teutonic Titan by Badjhur (audio) (CNC, Mdom, bound)

CoD Stories - Warm Sentiments by GermanRaidenASMR (audio) (Gentle Mdom, allies to lovers) 

A Lazy Morning with König by GermanRaidenASMR (audio) (BFE, gentle Mdom)

John “Soap” MacTavish

Coming Clean by touchshriek (audio) (Mdom, enemies to lovers, manhandling outdoor sex)

Late Hours by ScotsLibrarian (audio) (Mdom, interrogation)

Late Hours by Touchshriek (audio)

Brats Get Punished Like They Deserve by ScotsLibrarian (audio) (Mdom, puppy sub, rough)

Captain John Price

Bravo Six Going Dark - When the Lights Go Out by Badjhur (audio) (Mdom, listener is a mother, neighbors to lovers)

simon whos all too big and brutish to fit entirely into civilian life with you. the way he stands behind you in public like a dog dressed in a spiked collar, commands stares from strangers which he meets with a a lazy look, enough for em to look embarrassed and scuffle away. the way he grabs a handful of your ass when youre simply walking down the street. the way he grunts and picks you up with ease when you get underfoot. occasionally slipping his hand up your shirt for a feel of your tits in the bar when some guy eyes you too long. letting you sit in his lap as he watches the telly, smoking a fag while you hump his thigh. he pays no mind even though it was he who got you started, having pushed you against the kitchen counter and ground his hips against your ass with his hand cupping your cunt. ignores you when you start to get real fussy too, not having his fat cock sliding in and out of you.

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ brief suggestive content

"Why are we stopping here?"

Vacation was great. It was everything you needed, he needed, a perfect slice of memories now engrained in his brain, moving pictures tucked away for him to think about when he's trying to fall asleep alone on a cold, threadbare safehouse mattress.

Not to mention the hundred photos he took of you in that bikini.

But now, it comes to an end. Now, he's about to blindside you with painful, shocking reality.

He didn’t plan it like this, not really. The town is outside of the place he chose for vacation, but not close enough that it’s in a travel path. It’s far enough away from town, tucked into grassy hill, but still close enough to civilization. He’s not a monster, after all. He knows you wouldn’t appreciate being cut off from the world.

Plus, Price and his wife live a few clicks to the east.

"Simon?" He finds your hand, shutting the passenger door and leading you to the walk. “What is this?”

The words stick in his throat, and you watch him warily. “It’s… let’s just go inside.” The keys feel like an anchor in his pocket.

“What?” Your face twists in confusion. “Go inside?” You let go of his hand, and the sapphire sparkles in the sunlight. He reaches out of instinct.

“Mama-“

“Don’t ‘mama’ me… tell me what is going on.” You shirk out of his grasp.

“This is our house.” Your jaw drops.

“What?!” You shriek. “Our what?”

“Our house. I bought it, for us. F'you, and Orion.” You're standing a pace away from him now, too far for comfort, shuddering. When you clap a hand over your heart, his body goes cold. Stress. Stress can exacerbate your condition. "I need to keep you safe."

"I... I don't know what to say. You bought a house without asking me?" You're waspish, and he's too fast for you, too tactical. You're in his arms in a second, his fingers pressed to the artery below your jaw. It's too fast.

"Take a deep breath." He murmurs. "Try to calm down, everything is going to be fine."

"No!" You jerk backwards and he lets you go, bereft at the loss of your warmth against his chest. "You don't just get to blindside me with this and then think everything is going to be fine."

"I know. 'm sorry. I just... I need to keep you safe, sweetheart. You and the baby. Your flat is great but-"

"But nothing." You hiss and stomp away, before turning back, slicing through the air with an open palm. "My flat is great. It's my home! Mine and Orion's." You sniffle. "I thought it was yours too." Fuck.

"It is. It has been. But it's not safe. It's too exposed, there's no security, your windows face the street. The neighborhood is too difficult to disappear into and away from. It's too populated."

"Gaz and Cami live there." Not for long. He doesn't tell you about Gaz's long term plans, the ones that involve a house just over the hill. He doesn't think it would do him any favors right now.

"Will you just come inside and look at it, at least?" You shake your head. "It's not a bad drive to the beach. You could take Orion as much as you want. Teach him to swim. We could take as many vacations as you want, as a family. Please, give it a chance. That's all I ask." You cross your arms over your chest, but after a minute, nod.

"Fine."

The house is a blank slate. He didn't have time to get anything done, but he tries to pitch it as a selling point. "You'd be able to do whatever you want." You raise an eyebrow.

"Like paint the kitchen pink?" He swallows.

"Sure." You're trying to test him, punish him, but he's not upset. He can already tell you're starting to entertain it all. The house is triple the size of your flat, with three bedrooms, a sizable kitchen, even a garden.

He follows you around, your finger trailing over the walls, window sills, trying to hold his tongue, allowing you space to work through it in your mind. "What if I have to go into the office?"

"You said you never go into the office. You're completely remote." You glare.

"And how are you going to get here? It's so far from your base."

"There's a small airport to the east. We'll get in and out that way. It will be quick."

"We?" Shit.

"Ah, Price and his wife live, kind of close by." You blink, and then laugh out loud.

"You've got to be kidding me. Is this your plan? Some sort of weird commune for special task force wives?" It's the first time you've said, called yourself his wife, and his cock swells beneath the zipper on his jeans, possessive instinct flowing freely. "Don't."

"Don't what."

"I know that look." Still, you don't move as he stalks closer, close enough you're backed up against the windowsill in the master bedroom.

"What look mama?"

"The caveman look you get. Me husband, you wife." You try to imitate his accent, and he chuckles.

"I love you." You roll your eyes.

"I'm pissed at you." There's fire in you, one that burns too bright to be quelled by most, but he's made it is business to know you so well, he can tell when there's something simmering beneath the surface.

"But you like it." Your skin is satin soft, and he strokes your cheek.

"I do. I'm really mad, but I do like it. You... you did a good job."

"Gonna forgive me?"

"Depends." You smirk. "Are you going to earn it?" He presses himself to the inside of your thigh.

"How can I do that?"

"Want to christen our new bedroom?"

blue collar simon is a dream, necessity, a way of life, a religion.

just the thought of him coming home in his work clothes. by the time he’s out of his car he’s already peeled off his neon work shirt to sling it over his shoulder. the neon shirt coated in dirt and grease, but somehow always clean after you throw it in the wash.

his hands are coated in the same dirt and grease the shirt fell victim to because the shirt was used as a poor attempt to try and clean his hands. so, when he walks in the door after work, his boots barely making it two steps in before you call out to him to take his shoes off. kicking them off, he finally makes his way to you while your sat at the kitchen counter. fingers quickly typing either a work email or placing an order of some sort. he can’t remember if he said you could buy something with his card, knowing him he probably did agree.

your body squirms slightly as he comes up behind the stool you are sat on, his face nuzzling your neck before he places a kiss. he knows how much you hate when he’s filthy after work, but also knows how you secretly enjoy the sight of him.

“simon,” you can’t help but huff out, the annoyance half fake and half real as you’re trying to work. “go shower,” the order barely has any authority behind it.

“not unless you’re joining,” he teases, one hand reaching to close your laptop before he’s pulling your stool to turn you towards him. simon’s hands grab your own to guide you to stand up and follow him to the bathroom, a grin on his face as he catches your gaze looking at every part of him that isn’t his face.

sunday mornings with retired simon riley.

he swore he'd never see heaven with the amount of blood on his hands, but waking up next to you bathed in golden light and draped in linen sheets has him convinced that maybe he's already there. died honorably in battle and ascended without realizing it. he curls his arms around you, whispering praises to you so softly that you don't even stir. he tugs you into his side, sighing deeply as your bodies melt into one, legs and arms tangled together. some mornings he indulges himself by diving back into the embrace of sleep, but elects to stay up other days to map out the lines and curves of your face with his eyes.

he must have done something, simon thinks to himself. some act of selflessness that must have slipped his mind, some miracle - there has to be a reason for the universe to grant him with his own personal slice of nirvana.

"good morning love," he rasps as your sleepy eyes crack open for the first time. a lazy smile tugs at your mouth as you snuggle deeper into his side, an action that makes his heart - something he didn't know he still had until you - sing. "m'glad you're awake. started to think you were a dream."

Simon Riley! who isn't traditional in the gross way but in the he wants to protect you and make sure you don't feel like you have to provide for yourself, he wants to be a safety net, something to rely on

Simon Riley! Who made it a point to buy your dream house as soon as you were married,

Simon Riley! Who didn't expect houses to require so...much...work

"Baby! The water won't turn off?"

"The fuck you mean it won't turn off just-" Simon grumbled as he dropped the moving box and walked into the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the faucet and trying to pull it, only for it to come flying off. Leaving him dumbfounded and you a giggling disaster.

Simon Riley! Who likes handy man tasks as much as the next guy but the people at the store are beginning to know his name

Simon Riley! Who didn't have a dad to teach him some stuff like plumbing and whatnot so he calls Price

"Oi, Cap-"

"She came to her senses and ran away, yeah?"

"No...I need you to tell me ho' to turn off th' water."

Simon Riley! Who does know how much you love watching him do yard work but doesn't dwell because these godddamn weeds-

Simon Riley! Who loves nothing more than watching you paint the walls of the house, finds it like to be a scene of a movie and it would be a lie if the reality was much better than the cinema

Simon Riley! Who hates facebook because you would randomly send him across the city because you found an old China cabinet you thought would be perfect

Simon Riley! Who doesn't care how his buddies tease him about becoming a domestic civilian so soon, because he would happily fix a thousand houses if it meant a thousand more years with you

(Comments and feedback make my day! annnd yeah that's it <3 )

You stir awake, sighing as you roll over to face your sleeping husband. You sit up, fixing your stretchy shirt over your very swollen belly. You pat Simon’s side. “Si? Si! Si!”

He groans as he wakes up, rolling over and shoving his head into his pillow. “Go back t’ sleep.”

“I want a big mac.”

He groans louder. 

“Please, Si? I’m super hungry. And bubby keeps kicking.”

He sighs, “Look ‘t the time, lovie.”

You almost tear up. 

When he notices the frown on your face, he sighs again, getting up. “Which one is the closest?”

You smile, almost jumping with joy as you lean up to press a million kisses to his cheek. “The one on 42nd.”

He leans down, kissing your belly and your lips before heading off to get dressed. 

He returns 20 minutes later, a bag and 2 drinks in hand. You practically moan at the smell as he hands you the bag. 

“I love you,” you moan as you take a bite of your burger. He chuckles, eating his own. “Bubby loves you too. He’s kicking every time I take a bite.”

“Bet ‘e does.” Simon kisses your belly as you stuff a few fries in your mouth. “Lovie?”

“Yeah?” you ask with a mouth full. 

“Do ya think he’ll like me?”

“For the millionth time, my love, you are nothing like your father. You’re far too kind and too amazing and too sweet. He’s going to love you. Just like I do.”

He chuckles, “Love you too.”

He leans down, kissing your belly. 

“Both of ya annoying little buggers. Always fuckin’ hungry.”

imagine looking for your husband and walking through the house for 5 minutes straight without finding a trace of him. not in the bedroom, not in the bathroom, not on the couch, he's not even in the kitchen or in the garden. opening the door full of stickers to your little girl's room, you see her at the small pink table with an even smaller tea set. once you fully open the door, you see him. simon riley. playing tea time with your daughter. you can't help yourself but chuckle when you take in how he looks. colorful ribbons in his hair, a small tutu stretching around his waist and a pink cup filled with imaginary tea in his large hand. -and is that nail polish on his fingers?

Gunpoint

grounding

He did.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

His Jupiter. His Rome.

Ah, the night's just getting started. Don't let me catch you so easily next time. ⸺ QIN CHE // SYLUS ִֶָ☾.

sylus oh sylus

Not to freak anyone out but uh…. Yeah lol

And turns out the mysterious user423412 was him indeed…

ken sato, the beautiful man you are

Guys u know what? If you notices how Zayne's voice cracked and his breathing became so heavy, inconsistent, and DESPERATE

(atleast on the JP dub of his trailer)

I FEEL LIKE THIS MAN CRIES DURING SEX...

I SAID WHAT I SAID.