vam-pyres

[vam-pyres]

Happy Valentine's Day! Here are some gay robots :3

[vam-pyres]

In The Walls

Or; Simon f*cks his Sergeant until he's not sure whether it's sex or love

Un-evil 18+ (2k) CW: smut, imperceptible ending fluff Simon f*cks you stupid. He's not sorry, and neither are you.

Hesitate 18+ (6k) CW: smut, angst, fluff, minor injuries, mentions of blood, canon violence Simon loses sight of you for far too long and realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

Promise rings 18+ (5k) CW: smut, humiliation kink, semi-public Simon fingers you in the rec room and you give him a promise ring. Or two—depending on how many fingers he's used.

Paint 18+ (5.3k) CW: non-explicit smut, lots of kissing, smoking You and Simon share a cigarette. He slips up, and shares something more.

Masterlist 🦊

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୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶ cybernetic pink princess ୧ ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶ

[vam-pyres]

i spill this blood for you

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VideoGame Magazine from 2004.

Famitsu XBox, a video game magazine release in September 2004. The Magazine tackles about the games including Xbox. Here's the sources.

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cyborg

“my body may have its limitations, but when i put my mind to it, there’s nothing i can’t do.”

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Perfume aesthetic: Mugler - Angel

The scent of the wind, the sky, wide open spaces, the color blue, infinity, a breath of fresh air –a pure crystal clear vibration. The delicate swirl of bergamot notes.

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Reader has a new haircut and HATES it. Can we get a little comfort from Ghost?

———————————————————————

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks as you look into the bathroom mirror. You run your hand through your hair, trying to fix the mess, then tuck a strand behind your ear.

“Why did you do this?” You murmur to yourself, “Why?”

You were feeling adventurous; that’s why. You wanted to “shake things up a little bit,” as you explained to your hairstylist. You showed him a picture for reference, ignoring his warning that the person in the photo was wearing a wig. So he did as he was told: he cut and styled your hair, just like that picture, and it looked beautiful. However, everything vanished as soon as you showered this morning.

You take a closer look and exhale through pierced lips. As you try to tame the strands in front of your face, a a biblical tale comes to mind. The story of Samson, a man who derived his mighty strength from his hair, and Delilah, who ordered someone to cut it while he was sleeping, stripping him of his power. You were both Samson and Delilah in your own tragic way.

You close your eyes and prepare to face the world outside the bathroom: your teammates, your superiors, him.

With your head lowered, you walk towards your office, barely acknowledging those around you. Usually, you would smile and greet people passing by, but today is different. Today, you avoid eye contact, try to take as little space as as possible so you go undetected, and when someone acknowledges your presence, you mutter a barely audible “good morning.” The only time you lift your head is when you have to salute a superior, and even then, you can’t wait to be dismissed so you can go back to counting the tiles on the corridor’s floor again.

You open the door to your office and find Ghost sitting at the top of his desk, cleaning his gun. He turns his head towards the door, greets you, and then shifts his attention back to his rifle. He stays still for a moment and turns to look at you again.

“Did you—”

“Yes.”

“Nice hairc—”

“Fuck off, Ghost.”

He furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head. His gaze follows you as you walk behind your desk, sit in your chair, and open your laptop. You feel his eyes piercing through you, and you bring your hand to your forehead, attempting to cover your face while you type in your password with the other hand.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you reply with a sigh, “it’s nothing; I’m sorry.”

He hops off his desk and slowly walks to yours. He stands beside you, towering above you, invading your private space.

“Ghost, please go back to your desk,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t listen. He gently pushes the papers on your desk aside and sits down.

“Hey.” He calls out, tapping the desk twice with his finger. You refuse to look at him and peek at his thighs instead.

“Is this how we’re going to be today?” He asks in a soft voice.

“Leave me alone, Simon.”

He reaches out and tickles your neck with his index finger. You shrug your shoulders and grasp his hand to stop him, but he seizes the opportunity, pinches your chin with his free hand, and redirects your face towards his.

“Look at me,” he orders.

You slowly lift your gaze to meet his. He looks at you with eyes full of understanding and compassion. He slowly tilts his head and rubs your chin with his thumb.

“This office isn’t big enough for two grumpy fuckers,” he jokes, “I need you to balance me out.”

He brings his hand to the side of your face, and you press your cheek against his palm.

“I’m human,” you reply, “I get grumpy as well.”

“Of course you do,” he reassures you. “Now, mind telling me what’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“Wanna take a wild guess, Lt.?” you ask and give him a side-eye.

“Is it something that has to do with the top of your head rather than the inside?” He ponders.

“Of course, it does, you asshole!” You cry and slap his hand away. “You, too, noticed how bad it looks!”

“I never said it looked bad!” He clarifies and throws his hands up. “You came in here with a new haircut and a frown; you don’t need a degree in applied mathematics to put one and one together!”

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” you reply, crossing your arms. “What matters is that I can’t stand my reflection in the mirror.”

He huffs and removes his mask, revealing his scarred face and messy hair. Though you have seen him many times without it before, it always surprises you when he grants you access behind his facade.

“Wanna talk about bad hair?” he says, pointing to the top of his head. “I have a permanent cow lick because of this mask, for fuck’s sake.”

You chuckle. “Well, it’s your choice to wear it, Lt.”

“And it was your choice to cut yours.”

“And I deeply regret it,” you whisper, lowering your head to your lap.

He shrugs. “It’s good to have regrets, grumpy; It means you’re learning, so you can make better decisions later.”

“Yes, but what about now, Ghost? How am I going to walk around like this?” You ask and tousle your hair.

He smiles and motions for you to stand up. As you comply, he grabs your wrist and pulls you onto his lap. He wraps one arm behind your waist, the other resting on your thighs.

“I have plenty of those if you want one.” He jokes and gestures towards his mask.

“I don’t want your kitschy mask, Lt.” You chuckle and slap his chest. “I want my hair back.”

“They’ll grow back,” he comforts you, “but in the meantime, we just have to play with the cards we’ve been dealt with, yeah?”

You rest your head on his shoulder and bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent.

“I guess so,” you whisper.

“You’ll get used to it, love,” he murmurs, rubbing your back. “All changes take some time to get used to.”

“That or I might decide to shave them completely.” You joke.

He laughs and kisses your forehead.

“Do whatever you want to your hair—cut it, dye it, shave it—I don’t fucking care,” he says as he strokes the back of your head. “But this?” He points his index finger to your heart, “Never change this.”

———————————————————————

[vam-pyres]

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.

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pt. 2 of @peko--peko and me!! our activities in the above photos include: staring into your soul, getting our daily stretches in, and having very different reactions to our cold sweet treat!!

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I think if i put into words how happy this type of image makes me I would get diagnosed with something

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cat army!!! - 👻🐱

Ghost is the ultimate cat whisperer, he does nothing and cats flock to him like hes their messiah. They’re his little army!!! They follow him around the base and ready to defend their dad from anyone!!! friends or foes!!!

[vam-pyres]

💀 Domestic!Ghost 💀

Never have I wanted to marry a fictional character this much 😔

Yes he wears hoodies to dates.

[vam-pyres]

we’ve gotta job to do bell

[vam-pyres]

An Unlikely Duo

Request by ✨ anon: Can I perhaps get a Ghost x GN!Reader, where reader got transferred to TF 141 and has two personalities? Like cold and badass on the battlefield and super friendly and chirpy back at base. So Reader, on day 1, already sees Ghost as a best friend and she loves hugs, so she decides to hug him after a missions success and leaves him frozen and a blushing mess?

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,310

Notes:

Big thanks to my ✨ anon for requesting this. I enjoyed writing it! Hope I did well on my first request!

Fluff (the platonic kind)

Want more?

———————————————————————

You walk behind him, holding a container filled with freshly washed strawberries. His strides are long and confident, making it hard for you to keep up with him as you walk to the truck.

“Would you like a strawberry?” You ask, extending the container to him, but he ignores you and quickens his pace.

You try to catch your breath as you follow him, but it’s difficult. Whenever you think you’re closing the gap, he increases his speed and pulls away again. You break into a light jog to stay close.

“So, I presume... you’re not... a strawberry fan?” You ask, out of breath. Instead of responding, he lets out a dismissive “tsk” and continues walking.

“Why don’t you like str-”

“Get that damn thing away from me and keep moving,” he says as he pushes your hand away. “We have work to do; no time for strawberries.”

You come to a complete halt. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, strawberries are-”

“Just get in the damn car,” he orders, opening the back door and gesturing for you to get inside.

It’s your first day as the newest member of Task Force 141, and the base already feels like a powder keg. But that doesn’t bother you; you’re excited to be a part of such an elite team and contribute as much as possible to future missions. Soap and Gaz were surprised but amused by your cheerful personality when they met you this morning. However, not everyone on the team seems to be on the same page; Ghost was less than impressed. He sized you up from head to toe, looking for any sign that you were ready for the mission. But, instead of finding comfort, he was met by your cheery attitude and endless questions about his fruit preferences.

“What is this, Captain?” He grumbled at Price, “I asked for an explosives specialist, not a fucking Jack Russell.”

“Laswell swears by their abilities,” Price reassured him, “just give ’em a chance, brother...”

Despite his trust in the captain, Ghost remained skeptical. Was it the way you expressively waved your hands while speaking? Was it because you couldn’t stop talking about strawberries? Was it because you couldn’t stop talking in general? Whatever the reason, Ghost was clearly not on board.

He has the same attitude as he sits across from you in the truck, driving to your assigned mission. It’s a look of concern and contempt. as if he can’t believe what fate has brought him this time—like he’s been dealt bad cards yet again.

But that’s okay; you’re used to feeling like an outcast, and you’re not going to let that get in the way of this mission’s success.

“Yo, Lt.?” You ask excitedly, attempting to break the ice by pulling a purple star-shaped charm from your pocket, “Do you like it?”

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “You look like you just got out of a toy store.” He comments flatly.

“That wasn’t my question, sir,” you say wryly, “and if that’s the case, then you look like you just got back from trick-or-treating.” You smile and attach the charm to your assault rifle.

“Take that off this instance,” he says, “I won’t let you and your sparkles hinder our position.”

“Okay, first of all, they’re not sparkles—they’re sequins,” you say, waving your gun around so he can see the charm, “and second, they won’t even see it when they’re dead.”

“Stop talking.” He sighs.

“I’m conversing, not talking.”

“Then stop conversing.”

“Like, who doesn’t like strawberries?” you ask, lowering your voice.

“I told you to stop.”

“And sequins are pretty cool, man.” You mutter to yourself as you cross your hands over your chest.

“Shut it and put your helmet on; we’re almost there,” Ghost says sternly.

You fall silent as you gaze out the window at the passing scenery. The tension in the truck is intense, but you refuse to let it get to you. Instead, you take a deep breath and relax.

As the truck comes to a stop, Ghost explains the goal of the mission: get to the door where the valuable information is stored and collect as much intel as possible. After his brief rundown, you quickly exit the vehicle and assume position. It’s game time, and you’re determined to prove to everyone what you’re capable of.

You move fluidly through the environment, using your firearms, knives, and bare hands with precision to take out any targets that come your way. You are agile and swift, never staying in one place for too long and using your surroundings to your advantage. He takes quick glimpses at you every now and then to check if you are okay. He seems impressed yet wary; as if he’s testing you to see if you’re up for the challenge, yet careful enough to not put you in danger. As you work through the guarded area, you keep calm and focus on the task, finally reaching the steel-framed door. However, the door remains unyielding despite using military-grade hammers and refuses to budge.

You turn towards Ghost to plan your next move when you notice an enemy approaching him from behind.

“Get down, Lt.!” You yell and throw a knife at the enemy. The lieutenant is stunned but quickly regains his composure. He turns to thank you, but you cut him off.

“This isn’t a playground, Lt.; I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly won’t become yours.” You firmly tell him as you push him aside and place the purple star-shaped charm on the door’s lock. “Step back,” you order.

Ghost looks at you, puzzled.” What is-”

“You must learn when it’s the right time for chit-chat and when to listen to the specialist, sir; please take a step back.” You repeat, and he follows your instructions.

With everyone clear of the area, you pull the cord and duck for cover. Five seconds later, your bomb detonates, blasting open the door and granting you access to the information inside. You quickly survey the room and pinpoint the location of the vital information. You approach it with calculated precision, relying on your training and experience to predict potential threats. The room is full of guards, but you’re prepared for them; you take them out, using your weapons with deadly accuracy. The intel is kept in a secure case, and you begin working on cracking it open. You have a special tool for the job, and the lock gives way in seconds. You open the case and extract the valuable information.

After a quick glance at the documents, you are pleased to see that it is exactly what you were hoping for. Ghost calls for backup to secure the scene, collect the documents, and transport them back to the base. As he completes his orders, he turns to the team for a debriefing, but instead is met by the old, cheerful you.

“LT., WE DID IT!” You yell and leap onto Ghost, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He freezes and raises his hands as if he’s been arrested for a crime.

“Get off me,” he orders with an unusually high-pitched voice.

“No, you deserve it.” You object and proceed to pat him on the back.

“I did nothing wrong to deserve this, soldier; get your fucking ha-”

“Shhh, Lieutenant.” You cut him off by putting your hand over his mouth to silence him. “You must feel the hug.”

“I said-”

“They’re right, Ghost,” Soap interrupts him with a sinister grin, “you must feel the hug.”

“Yeah, listen to the specialist, sir,” Gaz adds, trying hard not to laugh.

Ghost looks at Price for help, who has a satisfied smirk on his face. The captain turns to Ghost and mouths an inaudible “told you so,” establishing you as a valuable member of their team from now on.

———————————————————————

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“Abso-fuckin-lutely not,” he said.

He was so serious and adamant one would have thought you had asked him to remove his balaclava so Auntie Maurie could pinch his cheeks.

“Are you allergic, Lieutenant?” you asked, extending “that thing,” as he referred to it, in front of his face.

"Get that thing away," he yelled, taking a step back. He couldn't even look at it.

“Lieutenant, it’s a kitten, not shit,” you explained with a smirk. Still, he dismissed your point, stating it was the same thing, using agricultural produce as references: “tomayto, tomahto, potayto, potahto,” and stuff like that.

But you took it with you to the base anyway. He wasn’t in charge of such executive decisions, and the Captain allowed it, saying it was a good solution for the mice problem.

You fed and cared for it the way its mother would have if she weren't dead, but Ghost was far from happy with the new addition to the family.

He side-eyed it and always questioned its motives like it was some tango. “Why is it doing that?” and “why is it looking at me weird?” were his two most common questions. To which the answers were always, “it’s a fucking cat,” and “you’re the one who's looking at it weird.”

But he was warming up to it every day; not in the way water warms up on the stove, but in the way the ocean’s layers have different temperatures.

At first, he learned to acknowledge the kitten, or the kitten taught him to do so. The verdict was not out yet, as you and the rest of the team had different opinions.

Then, it came in the way a higher-up would scold his soldiers, with statements such as “stop playing with the focken gun slings, you little shit,” or “get out of my boot.”

And then it was more of a conversational thing, where the kitten would meow at him, and Ghost would reply something along the lines of “it’s tea; you don’t drink tea,” and he would proceed to show the cup to the cat as evidence. Like he didn’t want to hurt its feelings or betray its trust.

Later on, he’d pretend to throw a little piece of chicken to the ground accidentally, and the kitten would run to it. He’d look at the kitten and mutter something like “ah, shit, too late to pick it up now, innit”, and let the kitten have it. It was like a secret handshake between the two of them, thinking that no one would notice.

But you did.

Just like you look at them now, Lieutenant Simon “get that thing off my face” Riley lying on the couch with that kitten sleeping on his chest.

And he looks at you, looking at him, and you open your mouth to say something.

But he stops you. He brings his index finger to his mouth and shooshes you, gesturing at his sweet little “stop playing with my shoelaces” ginger companion.

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Scars and all

"You gotta be kidding, Si. You got this one from your rookie days?"

He hums in agreement. Your finger traces the scar that divides his eyebrow, warm and kind. He can count with one hand the times he's felt that kind of touch in all his life. You sigh, pressing your lips together.

"And this one?" You ask, following the line across his left cheek. He grins, making his dimples show.

"Bar fight."

You shake your head, frowning at him with poorly hidden amusement. "I'm not even surprised."

He hugs you closer, getting your bodies flush against each other and tracing circles on your back. He sighs, closing his eyes and letting you explore the map of his skin. Your thumbs press against his dimples briefly, making him laugh.

"What is this one from?" You trace the scar across his lower lip that goes down to his chin. He gets distracted from your question when you get closer and kiss it.

"I..." he tries, willing his brain to concentrate. "Mission in Russia, I think. Knife."

You hum, kissing it again and completely erasing any thought in his mind.

Your hands move to his hairline, touching a thick scar that outlines almost half of the top of his forehead. He knows you're frowning, even if he isn’t looking at you.

"Don’t ask."

He feels you tense slightly, but you do as he says. With how smart you are, he's sure you figured out what that one is from. But you don’t say anything, and he silently thanks you.

Instead, you touch his nose and trace a line that goes across the bridge of it. You kiss it too. It sends shivers down his spine, he doesn’t think he can answer now even if he tries.

"This one?" You whisper. He can feel your face almost touching his. He swallows.

"I-I'm not sure." He answers instead, not actually even stopping to think. You chuckle.

"Make something up then."

He can't make something up. He can barely remember his name now, with your hands moving down to his shoulders. He's not even looking at you.

"Maybe..." he takes a deep breath, "I broke it?" He tries, even though of course it's been broken before and you know that. You giggle, squeezing his arms slightly.

"You're shit at storytelling."

He actually is not, but do you really expect him to function fully when you're touching him?

He's not wearing a shirt, and it was fine until you press your palms right at his chest. He squeezes your shirt between his fingers, trying to ground himself. He can feel his entire body getting hotter.

"Gunshot?" You ask, outlining a round scar in the middle of his right pec, close to his nipple. He shudders, nodding. He's silently praying that you won’t- fuck.

He almost bolts out of the bed when you press your lips against it. And he will deny it until he dies, but he yelps too. You giggle against his chest, setting his nerves on fire. His breaths are starting to quicken.

Everything is warm and soft. Your skin, the sheets, your clothes. He's covered in softness that he's not familiar with. He'd do anything to not let go, afraid of even opening his eyes again and all of it banishing.

"Answer me," you order him softly.

Wh-what was the question?

"Y-yes," he replies, even though he can't remember what he's answering to. He just hopes it makes sense, that you don’t notice he's saying it just to please you. He'll say no if you prefer, whatever you want. Whatever you need.

"You sure?"

You're teasing, he knows that. Of course he's not sure, he can barely think with you two pressed so close together.

"A-ask me something else," his voice shakes slightly, making his face go red. He's sure his chest looks the same.

"Okay," you accept. "But open your eyes first."

Taking a deep breath, he does. Your beautiful face greets him, soft and welcoming, loving. He almost wants to squirm with how intensely you're looking at him.

Your hands move lower, down to his abdomen. He squeezes his muscles involuntarly, making you chuckle. His face goes even redder.

Your fingers follow a line that goes from the middle to his right flank, and when you kiss it, his eyes burn a little bit. He's almost hyperventilating, overwhelmed by your attention.

"How old is this one?"

He remembers that one clearly, if only because he had met you not too long before it happened. When he had seen you again, it was with bandages covering it and stitches keeping it together. He never told you, and still, you had treated him so gently he had figured you knew. Turns out it was just you being you.

When he whispers his answer, your head snaps up to his level. He sees you figure it out, how the realization comes to your eyes. But you don’t say anything again, and instead press your lips against his.

You didn't touch even half of his scars, but he's sure you know them by memory. He'd pour out every single story if you asked, make up something if he didn't remember. He'd do anything for you, give you everything you desire. He's just lucky it's him you want, scars and all.

"You're so beautiful, Simon."

He swallows your words just as he keeps kissing you, but his dimples show again and his face stays red for a while.