#simon riley

[graphicpepsi]

salvatore (nsfw, mdni)

Ghost taking his mask off during sex for the first time.

He doesn't even mean to- but with the way you’re riding him like that, the slap of your ass against his strong hips bucking up into you-

he can't stop his hand from pulling off his hot balaclava, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. you're so fucking tight around him- your shaking legs sending pulses up his body.

"Si-Simon," Your mouth falls agape at the sight of the man before you, his blue eyes rolled back, lips parted as he watches you bounce up and down on his dick.

His hands grab the fat of your hips, red hand prints forming underneath them.

"Fuck luv, 'jus like that,"

He bucks his hips up into you before flipping you on your back.

"Simon-"

He snaps his hips into you hard, the tip of his dick pushing into your cervix, gummy walls pulsing around him like fucking heaven.

"Fucken 'ell,"

His eyes fall to the bulge in your tummy, his jaw going slack.

Your pussy stretched to its brim around his thick cock- you were so good for him, almost splittin yourself in two.

"Simon, wanna cum," You whine, blinking back the tears in your eyes.

"I know luv, me too,"

You scratch at his back with your nails, leaving pretty red lines for him to admire the next morning.

He snaps into you harder, placing a warm hand over the bulge in your tummy, pushing into it.

God, he was pretty.

You came around his cock shakily, shuddering into him. You love this feeling, love being stuffed full of his girthy dick.

You pull the hair at the nape of his neck and that's all it takes for him to cum inside of you.

Moments later you're sprawled over his bare chest with his arm thrown around you. You're playing with the hem of his discarded balaclava with your fingers. His hand strokes your arm lovingly.

"Handsome," You murmur, eyes flicking up to the curve of his jaw.

...

[shotmrmiller]

size difference where the one afraid to fuck you is simon. he thinks you soft. which is what you are. soft. fragile. small.

you're not like him. nothing like the guys. battle-scarred. muscles carved by relentless missions, scars that speak of duty.

your skin divots under his fingers, yielding to his weathered touch and if he squeezes hard enough, you'll have marks by morning. (he needs to be careful, he can't hurt you, won't—)

and so simon watches you touch yourself in the beginning, clever fingers swirling over your slippery clit with practiced movements even though his cock is straining against his trousers painfully. he can hear you mewl his name through bitten lips and it takes all of his self control to not tug his jeans off, slot himself between your spread, inviting thighs and push— stretch open your fluttering walls, so hot and slick, until he meets resistance, until he can push no more but—

he can't. you'd hurt. and he'd hurt because he hurt you. he won't.

after, when your eyes are heavy lidded, mouth slightly parted in exertion, you remind him that you aren't made of glass. that you won't break. you'll shatter— in the way you do when his tongue replaces your fingers— but not break.

"not a virgin either, for christ's sake," you groan.

maybe he's thinking too hard about it. he knows your teeth have edges, knows your bite is swift when deserved. but all he's truly good at is making things give. biology made it so with his bulky frame and raw mass.

his eyes trace the contour of your collarbone. delicate. then it darts to the pulse on your wrist. vital. his hands, the size of dinner plates don't coax. they demand. he'd snap you like a twig, leaving nothing but splintered remains in his wake.

you don't seem to mind, however. it slightly alarms him. where's your self-preservation? do you enjoy pain? is this some masochistic thing?

he looks at you, all glassy eyed and dewy skinned (ethereal; you're practically glowing under the soft light of the full moon that paints the room silver) and he thinks of how it's going to take work to make it work. his cock is large (he's seen the guys' eyes pop out of their heads in the showers once they caught a glimpse of what's between his legs) but you're persistent in the end. one too many nights of having him without having him.

he understands. simon knows better than most what it's like to yearn. to want and not have. he'd cause you pain by not giving in, and cause pain by giving in. damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

so he caves. promises to go slow. careful.

"i can take it," you bravely say but he's barely pressing himself to your entrance and you're already making noises that tug at his pathetic little heart. the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip-- you look so pretty, how'd a twisted creature like him get someone like you to come home to-- as his cock fills you has him feeling lightheaded. it takes every ounce of self control to not sink into your heat, to hook your legs around his thick waist and let gravity do the rest.

an unsteady hand weaves its way down to your stuffed cunt, fingers splitting into a vee, feeling how he splits your puffy lips, and the view makes him buck his hips involuntarily.

his hands tighten around your calves when you keen, a high pitched noise that swells the lust he feels burning white hot at the base of his spine, tips of his fingers, deep within his loins. he feels ready to burst.

and he's only halfway in.

your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "m-more, simon, c'mon," the n is low and drawn out.

his fingers bite into your flesh as he pushes slow, oh so slowly, until your vise-like cunt envelops him completely. the sibilant hiss you let out makes his hair stand on end. (shame pricks at his nerves like a thousand tiny needles when his cock twitches at the sound of your slightly pained moans)

simon doesn't move, feeling your swollen walls around his cock ripple, tighten and slacken, like it's got a pulse of its own. he could be here, in you, cock deep in paradise for the rest of time.

"fuck me," you warble out, hand rubbing your swollen clit to well up the pleasure that's being smothered by the searing pang of discomfort.

when simon cants his hips back, he watches his cock come out of you, glistening with slick. his jaw aches from how hard he's clenching it. control. got to keep it slow, gentle. slow, simon, slow, slow--

"harder."

he feels the sudden sharp sting of your nails and jerks forward in surprise, filling you completely in one fast movement.

your moan this time is needy, thick with want, arousal dripping from your voice as it does your pussy, coating him in creamy white, a frothy ring at the root.

simon can see the barest of bumps below your navel, or maybe he's seeing things, your hot cunt putting him in a state of delirium but the way you take all of his cock and continue to beg for more, beg him to fuck you like he means it even though he's twice if not thrice your size well...

you'll just have to forgive him on the finger-shaped bruises they're going to be on your body after.

(you'd looked so cheeky before he flipped you onto your knees, grabbing onto your delicate neck like a lifeline as he pulled your hips to meet his. you'd taken him easier here, cunt sodden with slick but the angle had him reaching a devastating depth no one else could ever dream of reaching and even though it'd sprung tears to the corners of your eyes at the pinch, "mama ain't raise no bitch.")

[sourvers]

GHOST WHO runs his calloused fingers through the fabrics of the clothes you folded for him: now gingerly placed in his duffle bag for another month of service. Neat and compact just the way he liked it.

GHOST WHO has to push the delectable taste of your cooking another plate away as his taste buds prepare for stale food kept in plastic bags, despite the ache festering in his stomach.

GHOST WHO always drops you off to work the day or two before he leaves: admiring the radiance of your face amongst street lights and the upward curve of your smile like the delicate bend of a crescent moon. He'll squeeze your hand before you slip through his fingers, not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, not before the wind whirls and spins; taking him away.

GHOST WHOSE tongue festers bitterness because he knows you're assistant and students will smile and laugh at your jokes and come to you for support because of your tenderness to the world: to which he has learned was your highest virtue, a weapon of undoing to his bruised soul. He'll clench his fist and furrow his eyebrows because he knows the cafe's barista will ask you more 'How are you?' than himself, he knows the youth living down the road will banter with you more as you share a cake you can't finish on your own, he knows the woman walking her dog every Saturday will acknowledge you more than he has in a month. He knows he won't be part of the small moments scattered about your life. He knows it damn well.

GHOST WHO seldom mentions you around anyone, even t141. Initially, it was all about your security: to keep the spark in your eyes aflame, it always is of course. However, amongst the dim lights of a bar, the rest drunk on the fleeting rush of victory and memoria, he'll make sure to silence the thrashing beat of his heart and the desperate desire crawling up his throat to join in on the drunken yearning and say: "I miss my wife."

GHOST WHO returns home to either your waking body or sleeping flesh. The cycle repeats anew.

cod masterlist. ( yet to be made ) / similar posts

⤷ omg! first post of the blog. got a little angst out here... hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

[simonzmama]

closet fuck with noisy lil simon 😒

your spine curves, brushing against the thick wood of the closest closet. it smells of bleach, pure cleaning supplies n it stings your nostrils.

there’s a flashlight propped up in the corner, the thin sheen of sweat coating simon’s skin sparkling beneath the brightness. your nails hug into his back, head dropping back against the door as you fight down every moan threatening to get the two of you caught.

simon doesn’t care much though, not with the way the soft, gummy walls of your sweet cunt hug around his cock, sucking him back in desperately with every drawn, messy thrust. his fingers sit hooked beneath your knees, his own set of claws digging into the plush fat.

“feel s’good, y-you feel so good,” he’s practically sobbing, knees bout buckling as his brows knit in a pretty heed to fuck his every last drop into you.

“shut up, simon,” you scoff, fingers cupping round the back of his neck till he’s craning into you, feet stumbling and pushing you further into the door. “shut the fuck up.”

but he doesn’t, he’s letting out the most lewd of sounds he can muster like he’s excited for someone to grab the handle of the locked door. like the thought of someone listening in, ear pressed against the door turns him on.

his neck stretches, veins pumping thick hot blood straight downward as he whines n whimpers, hips pressing against you like some desperate fucking mutt.

and in a quick movement, your fingers curl, palm pressing against his popped open cherry lips. that pulls a deep, drawn out groan from the very depths of his chest.

“you need to be quiet, simon,” you scowl down at him, shakin your head in disappointment. yet, his eyes sparkle in a pretty mess of crystal tears, deep lines drawn into his forehead. he looks so desperate, so close to falling apart, it makes your clit absolutely fucking throb. “jus’ be a good boy for once, okay?”

is this good. prolly not but i swear i tried baby!! @juniper-likes-yanderes everybody go fuck!! needs sum luv for these ideas 🙏

[dsdnjfd]

simon eats it sloppy.

through the mask, slobbering on his hands and knees like the mutt he truly is; like his only salvation is the ichor that drips between your thighs. like your cunt is the only thing that could save his wretched, blackened soul. he wants to roll in the tang that'll stay on the back of his tongue for weeks into deployment, that'll stay soaked into the fabric of his balaclava because fok no he isn't washing it before he leaves (he'll nearly tears the thing to shreds when he can no longer smell you on it).

large, calloused palms scratch over the sensitive skin of your quads and inner thighs as he opens you up for him, watches your folds part like that of a carnation (love, devotion, distinction, fascination) as he pushes your knees up to your chest. drags his tongue all over you, the creases where your vulva and thighs meet and gets you shaking before he's even touched your clit. before he's even taken the mask off. brushes his thumb over the little bud reverently, fondly. he thinks the way your thighs tremble in response is the most precious fucking thing.

and when he finally breaks watching you drip onto the cushions below, he's feral. rabid. barely gets the damned mask up to free his mouth before he's on you again, slurping up your slick and sucking your clit into his mouth. the suction is heavenly after so much teasing, and if his tongue finds its way to your ass too, that's his business. your toes curl in the air where your feet dangle uselessly, panties you're sure that simon will pocket later still around one ankle.

simon's relentless when he's like this, a dog chasing after it's favorite toy. he won't let up, won't even palm over his cock until you're at least three climaxes deep from his mouth alone. totally pussydrunk and ready for more.

[konigsblog]

Simon Riley is the type to smoke while eating you out. 🚬

“Attagirl, deep breaths f’me.”

The thick and noticeable smell of tobacco and liquor fills your nostrils, your head thrown back at the addictive sensation between your supple thighs. Simon nips your skin with his sharp canines, his head between your thighs, breathing deep into your pussy before rolling his warm, wet tongue over your slick folds. His boner aches inside of the tight confines of his boxers, leaking pre-cum while he devours your soaking, drooling cunt.

He takes long drags from the cigarette held between his two thick, calloused fingers. Your whines mewls cause his dick to harden and twitch, the sound of your pleasure driving him utterly insane. Your sweet, familiar, and comforting taste lingers on his lips, mixed with the taste of alcohol when he presses his lips against yours, scoffing at your desperation and greediness. Simon can't get enough of your lazy, desperate reaction - how drunk you are off of the pleasure and ecstasy. You lay there on his leather couch, in Simon's apartment, grinding back and forth against his face needily.

”There we go, princess. Rock those beautiful hips- Good girl.” The gravelly and hoarse sound of Simon's voice leaves your thighs trembling and shaking, your orgasm inching closer with each stroke he makes with his tongue. Simon can feel as his boxers become sticky and damp with his white fluids as he continues, too addicted to your taste to stop himself. He rubs his hard bulge against the couch, his nose pressed into your pussy while he dips his tongue into your slit, appreciating your sweet, delicious cum on his tongue.

Fuck, Simon could spend the rest of his life between your thighs, smoking a cigarette, and taking proper care of his beautiful girl.

[grimmzee]

Ghost/Soap farm au - good night

[kymerawrites]

Simon and his girlfriend, sitting on the couch, she just done her makeup and looked marvelous. Simon the man who he is cannot take his hands off her, she kisses his neck with her freshly glossed red lips

“Imagine you tattooed that, let the world known my lips are yours. That would be so hot..” she whispered planting a big kiss on his neck.

She didn’t realize the next midday he came home with her kiss tattooed on his neck, she was in shock and he just grinned like a proud boyfriend.

[baohanhanesel]

Cowboy Ghoap 🤠

[bunnysnared]

I FINISHEDDDD!!! its just the chibi lineup [i plan to do a regular full body one and many other short comics etc!] but its the easiest way for me to finalize their designs out!!

this au is my passion project my life's work my blood my thrumming heartbeat LOL i have all the lore worked out, it lives in my mind rent-free 24/7.. i am happy 2 finally share my designs ‧º·( ˃̣̣̥ω˂̣̣̥)⸝♡

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ request(s): sick fics (1/2) and mama's body image

He pulls you under the covers in the marigold shadow of your bedroom as soon as Orion goes down.

You’re not as bold as you have been over the phone, reverting back to his shy, sweet kitten, bashful in his arms as he sucks marks into your neck, hands drifting down your spine and over your hips to fill his palms with plush curve of your ass.

“Missed you, mama.” You smile softly, hiding your face in his chest.

“Missed you too.” He tries to map you with his fingers, stroking them over your thighs, your shoulders, pulling your fingers to his mouth and dotting his lips across each knuckle. Maybe, if he does it enough, he'll never forget what you feel like.

You're wearing another one of your sleep shirts, oversized, stretched, frayed, a thin veil shielding you from him, and when he slips underneath the hem tracing up towards your navel, you stiffen in his arms, muscles tense like a deer in headlights. "What is it?" You don't answer, gaze holding steadfast and forward, directly at his chest. Fear bristles, worming its way into his gut instincts. He sits up. "What's wrong? Are you dizzy?"

"N-no, I'm fine. I feel... fine." Your body tells a different story, curled forward, still tense, like you're trying to protect your ribs.

"What's going on?" You shake your head, wet track of a tear shining in your cheek in the dark. His anxiety, his fear, won't let him tread carefully any longer, steel backed demand slipping free like he's speaking to one of the sergeants. "Talk to me."

"I don't look the same!" You blurt, and then try to roll out of the bed, away from him. "I don't feel the same, either. I'm kind of... squishy, stretched out because your kid is a giant. And I gave birth to him, you know... he wasn't easy." His grip loosens momentarily, and you seize the opportunity, feet landing on the carpet and trying to stand.

He snatches you around the waist so fast and yanks, tugs you back to the bed and shifts your weight so you're pinned underneath him. "Simon!"

"Look at me." He rubs his nose against yours, keeping your wrists pinned above your head, his thighs bracketing yours. "You did give birth to our baby, honey. You, and this body, grew him, took care of him, kept him safe. I love this body, mama. I loved your body the first night I met you, and-"

"Exactly." You snap, nose tipped up. "You loved the way I used to look and I definitely don't-" His brows lower, and he cuts you off with his mouth, stealing a long kiss before pulling away.

"Don't interrupt me. I did love your body then, but I love how you look now, even more," to drive his point home, he presses the length of his hard cock against where it's nestled between your legs, and your eyes go wide, "this body had my baby, mama," He dips low, closing his mouth over your t shirt and nipple, teasing with his teeth before releasing, "this body feeds my baby," he releases your hands, trailing his down your ribs and over your belly, where he holds you still, "this body is proof you belong to me, that you're mine, and I'd worship every inch of it, if you'd let me. It's okay if you don't love yourself or how you look right now, because I'll do it for you until that changes." Your eyes are half lidded, smart mouth parted on words stolen.

"I-" Orions cries, echoing from his room, and Simon kisses your shoulder.

"I'll get him."

"What if it's RSV?" He keeps his voice low, hand still covering the back of Orion's head, pacing a small pattern across the kitchen. He's been holding him all morning, too unnerved to be separated from him or put him down for even a second, and now he's sleeping on Simon's chest, tiny fingers and fist curled up in the neck of his shirt.

"I don't think it's RSV. We haven't really gone out much, and he doesn't have a high fever."

"But his snot is green." There's a monster curled up in the farthest reaches of Simon's heart. A cold, black thing that's pulling the strings in his head and making his blood pressure skyrocket. His baby is sick. What if it's serious? What if he doesn't get help in time?

You tuck your fingers inside the corner of his arm, and lay your head on his bicep. "Green snot is also a symptom of a common cold, which babies get a lot." You rub Ry's back and press the back of your hand to his cheek. "His fever isn't very high, and he doesn't have much of a cough. I think we're okay for now."

"Maybe we should take him in, or call the pediatrician again and-"

"Simon, hey." Your hand drifts to his back now, rubbing up and down his spine, like he needs soothing. Well, that's not right. He should be comforting you. You and the baby, he should be taking care of you, making sure you're both- "Dr. Marsh said as long as his fever doesn't spike, he's not sleeping too much, and he doesn't start wheezing, then we're okay to keep him here at home. He's okay, okay? Babies get sick. But we're here with him, and we're going to make sure he's okay. Right?" He closes his eyes, rolling your words around in his mind, your reasoning gaining ground and hooking into him, holding him steady. You're levelheaded right now, steadfast, and he loves you for it, allows himself to lean on it, just a little bit.

"Right."

"Why don't you let me take him? You've been holding him for six hours. Go... take a shower, or something. Or eat. I want you to clear your head, relax a little bit." He lifts Orion into your arms, but shakes his head at your suggestions.

"I don't need-"

"Please. For me?" Refusals die on his lips just like that, and he nods.

The shower does Simon a world of good. His head does feel clear, and he's more focused, more rational, as he dries off and pulls a pair of sweats out of his bag.

Everything is fine. Babies get sick. You're right. His fever isn't even that high.

The lights are dim in your room, where you're on your side, half propped up, Orion on his back in front of you. You smile at Simon as he crosses the distance, leaning over to press a kiss to your head. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, thank you. Sorry I uh, lost it a bit."

"You were worried." You pat the opposite side, next to the baby, and he lays down, big hand on Ry's stomach. "It's the first you've seen him get sick, of course you're going to lose it a little bit." Your choice of words make him wonder, and he cocks his head.

"Has he been sick before?"

"He had a cold around four, five weeks. I was a mess." Your lips split into a shaky smile. "He was miserable, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe through his nose. I took him in right away, cried the entire time, but he didn't even have a fever. Just a cold." You shrug. "They told me if he does develop a fever, then it could be bad, and to bring him back in immediately. I spent the next two days watching him every single second, even when he was asleep in his crib, making sure he was still breathing. Checking his temperature every hour." You sigh. "Here, let's do this." You encourage him to roll onto his back, pulling the sheet up over his chest to his shoulders. "You run too hot." You tease, before carefully scooping Orion up and placing him on Simon's chest, still asleep. "This way, you can keep an eye on his breathing and his temperature and I," the words are cut off by a yawn, "can get some sleep right here. Okay?" He stares at you for a long minute, love and obsession and appreciation twisting him up until he's reaching over and cupping your cheek.

"Thank you mama."

[brainoutofstock]

The accidental sugar baby for retired Simon...

It all began in a pub.

Most of your friends were already making their way home, but you decided to wait for your brother to pick you up as he was hanging out with his own friends nearby. But half an hour passed and he still wasn't there. It was only when you ordered another drink that he called you to say his car broke down and you should take a cab home.

With a groan, you took a sip of your cocktail and browsed your phone to see if you could call anyone. Being alone at home didn't sound like fun, but no one seemed to be available. Your ex, maybe, but he was trying too hard to get you back despite the terrible things he had done to you.

This guy who was tall and muscular, almost comically huge, sat on the bar stool next to you and watched you with a small smile, studying your every move as if you were under a microscope. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly unsure of what you should do now, because a part of you wanted to get away from this scary man, but there was another part, a much weaker and curious part that wanted to find out what he wanted.

“So you need a ride home?” he asked casually while he pointed at his empty glass and asked for another round of beer.

Was he listening to your conversation? What a creep. “I'll manage, thank you.”

He let out a deep laugh. “I wasn't offering to take you home. I drank a few beers so I don't drive tonight,” he informed you.

A responsible man. What a nice change. Some of your friends would hop in a car without hesitation. But if he wasn't offering a ride, what did he want from you? Before you could ask him, he typed something into his phone and put it in front of you.

“They specialize in taking women home at night. Female drivers only,” he told you, then took a big sip of his drink.

So he was trying to help you? “Thanks,” you said slowly as you opened the website on your phone. “Why are you helping me?”

“Can't risk a pretty thing like you getting in trouble on the way home.” He kept a pause, watching your surprised expression with an amused smile. “My friend's sister uses this method in Scotland. They can be found in all major cities in the UK.”

Only now did you notice those charming amber eyes of his, surrounded by long blond lashes. There was a scar on his chin, his nose looked like it had been broken at least once in his life, but these flaws made him strangely handsome. You felt a strong need to pry for information about him, to find out what he did for a living or if he had anyone waiting for him at home.

He finished the rest of his beer then stood up, not leaving you time to start a conversation now that you considered him trustworthy. “I'd better get going. Stay safe.”

The next time you met him was in the gym.

When you entered, there he was, having a chat with a guy at the reception, not noticing you until he heard you speak to the receptionist next to them. You asked for a monthly pass, but only then realized you left your bag in the car, the only thing you had was your duffel bag on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, give me a few minutes, I'll go grab my stuff from the car,” you told the young woman with an apologetic smile.

“Lizzie, let me take care of it,” the man from the bar spoke up, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans to pay.

You quickly shook your head and reached out to push his hand away. “No need, I park right outside, I will be–”

But he interrupted you with a smile. “Don't worry about it, love.”

It was clear that arguing would be pointless, so you nodded and quietly thanked him. Once he paid and you finished the registration, he said goodbye to his friend, then began to walk to the locker rooms with you on his side.

“First time here?” he asked as he looked down at you. You nodded. “Need someone to work out with? I have fun helping newbies.”

“I went to another gym until now, but the new owner ruined the place,” you explained.

He let out a thoughtful hum. “Then why did you ask for the personal training option?”

“Having someone to push me helps.”

“Like I said, I'll gladly help. Cheaper than a personal trainer,” he added when he stopped in front of your destination with his arms crossed. “Come on, let's change then meet here. If you don't like it, you can ask for a personal trainer.”

You agreed with a defeated sigh. When you saw him a few minutes later in a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top, you couldn't help but gulp. You knew he was in a good shape, but those muscles made you weak. He looked like an ancient Greek god, a sight that burned into your brain and you knew you would have some dirty dreams at night.

As it turned out in the following hour, he was right. Working out with him was good, he was truly patient and doing rounds together helped you focus on your goal. So you agreed to meet again in a few days, and you found out his name was Simon.

After a week or two, he asked if you wanted to have a drink with him in the pub where you met. He paid for everything. Then the drink turned into dinner. Once again, he paid for the meal. Then he bought you smart watch since you didn't have one, saying you needed one to track your workout. Then he got you new earbuds. “The ones you have are a piece of crap, this is way better,” he explained the purchase.

But if you put these gifts aside, you had to realize he was a truly nice guy. A little rough around the edges, sure, but once he warmed up to you, he acted like a real guard dog. Some guy tried to flirt with you despite you already saying you weren't interested? He would be by your side in a second and ask, “Is everything all right, love?” Whoever tried to bother you left right away.

You began to fall for him, but you didn't want to ruin whatever you had going on. Maybe with time he would make a move on you. Maybe he would show any sign of his interest in you.

But when he rented you an apartment after your landlord broke your lease, keeping a set of keys to make sure you could ask for them in the event of losing your own, you realized this was something you would have never expected to happen. You became a sugar baby.

[tanked-up]

Soap: I remember when you birthed me

Price: What

Gaz: You said it wrong, dipshit

Soap: What was it ??

Ghost sighs: Happy Father’s Day, capt’n

Price: Thanks… but I’m no one’s-

Soap: …

Price: I mean THANK YOU SONS

Soap tearing up: This is a very special moment for me, give me a second

Ghost: Would you like a tiss-

*Soap proceeds to blow his nose on Ghost’s shirt*

Gaz: Or not.

[konigsblog]

Worshipping Simon's cock like this once he's finally home from a deployment. (🌽 link)

Like any other man, Simon adores a nice, sloppy blowjob, especially after months without that sweet and soothing mouth of yours. He's obsessed with the sight of his sweet, dumb girlfriend sitting between his thick and muscular thighs, and the warm and slick sensation of your tongue rolling against his creamy, leaky tip.

“That’s it–... Fuck, you’re perfect, ain’t‘cha, gorgeous?”

Simon can't control his urges at times. Sometimes, all he wants to do is push you down onto your knees in public and fuck your sensitive, tight throat, earning himself stifled moans and needy whimpers. The sound of your pained gags fill the silence between his guttural growls, driving him utterly insane with each deep thrust inching further down your throat. Your tongue is pressed against the underside of his lengthy shaft and rubs against his sweet spot, leaving his weeping dick twitching and throbbing.

He throws his head backwards through the euphoric feeling, fantasising about fucking your throat until your voice is hoarse and strained. Only then, you wouldn't be able to talk back to him, to give him your naughty attitude.

And God, that glossy and shimmering look in your eyes sends him over the edge. He obsesses over the way tears paint your face, how pathetic and breathless you look. He cooes at you and cups your jaw, watching as you greedily swallow another inch.

You're just so eager to please and satisfy Simon, doing whatever it takes to earn his sweet validation and praise. It's worth it in the end, all that pain and agony, the intrusion of his hung cock down your throat, just so you can taste the bitterness of his milky semen, dripping from the head of his length and running down your chin.

Don't worry, he'll pull you in for a kiss, to clean the mess off of your face, pulling away with a mischievous, satisfied, and playful grin plastered on his smug face.

[euno11a]

One of the most embarrassing moments for a woman, is when she unexpectedly gets her period. No pads or tampons to help save her. So sitting in the bathroom of the pub you and the task force were celebrating at was anything but ideal. You were at the bar ordering a drink when the slippery feeling began to grow between your legs. You knew it wasn’t arousal (even though Simon sat beside you the whole time) but it was also too early to get your period.

the way your eyes widened as you felt it drip down your leg and spread across your thighs brought nothing but embarrassment to your face, seeing a small drop of blood drip onto the floor beneath your skirt. Quickly running off to the bathroom, you locked yourself in a stall and let out small choked sobs. Many would say it’s natural, and you know it. But that doesn’t stop anyone from feeling embarrassed about what happened. You pulled out your phone and sent some quick texts to the first person in your contacts - ”Si Pie🫶🥧 ”

-“Ask a waitress for a pad” 16:09

-“please quickly” 16:10

sitting and waiting might have been worse than seeing the bloody mess on your thighs and down your legs. But when you heard the bathroom door open and then close, you expected a woman to slip you a pad that Simon gave her under the door, but instead there were Salomon hiking boots and a deep voice.

“open up, love.” The low voice brought comfort, stuffing your panties with tissue quickly and the pulling your skirt down to open the door.

the moment you saw his eyes soften at you under the balaclava, you broke out into tears once again. He gently pulled you into his arms and rubbed your sides to soothe you. “No need to feel embarrassed, a’righ? Just clean yerself up ‘nd we’ll go back out together.”

listening to him, you went back into the stall, cleaned yourself up to the best of your abilities and then walked out to see Simon leaning against a wall. He motioned for you to walk ahead, gently placing a hand on your lower back to massage away some cramps. Once back at the booth, there was a glass of water in your spot. Everyone continued to chatter, as did you, feeing yourself ease up as Simon linked his arm around you and rubbed your lower tummy.

what a good soldier he was.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: The doctor says I don't have long to live Soap: You're dying?! Ghost: No I just pissed them off Medic!Y/N, in the distance: IM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU