#MW2

[ave661]

original pic:

[yawnderu]

You can never take the military out of a man. Not when that man lost so much thanks to it, giving it his very own soul to serving the Queen and saving the world. Not a single thought about retirement ever going through Simon's head, fully accepting and embracing the idea of dying on the field, of having a warrior's death, fighting tooth and nail until someone gets lucky enough to finally put him down— until you came along.

Simon Riley is a proper lad now, well in his 50's and on his fifth year of retirement, strands of grey adorning his dark brown hair, a thin layer of fat covering his bulging muscles that seem to be getting bigger by the years, never one to stand still for too long and secretly loving the way you praise his body like he's a God.

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, another deep moan dragging its way out of his throat at the way your hand wraps around his thick cock with a vice-like grip, your warm tongue circling his leaking tip, his salty precum mixing in with your saliva.

“Like tha', baby.” Simon whispers, his hand wrapping around a fistful of your pretty hair the moment you lick a teasing stripe over his bulbous, pink tip. His free hand quickly replaces yours— something you're too familiar with after being together for so many years, your hands resting on his thick thighs just to feel the way his muscles ripple beneath your soft palms.

“Open your mouth.” It's not an order, it's a plea, his gravelly voice becoming slightly whiny with each deep groan leaving his lips as he wanks over your face, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath he was forced to take. Your lips part with no hesitation, the warmth of your breath as your tongue pokes out of your mouth is what sends him over the edge, ropes of thick, hot cum landing in your mouth with an accuracy that could have surprised you if you weren't too busy being enthralled by your husband.

Simon looks like a fucking painting, the light coming from the ceiling giving his bulging muscles the perfect shadow, his thin lips slightly parted and a light stubble adorning his pale cheeks, half-lidded eyes staring down at you with blown pupils as he mindlessly smears his hot, creamy cum all over your face with his sensitive tip, just as enamoured as you are.

[elysianvrt]

slow mornings

(thank you to the lovely person who requested this idea!)

[cntloup]

TW: panic attack

You sit on the edge of the bed while violent sobs escape your body.  

You clutch your chest, struggling to breathe, pounding heart threatening to burst through your ribcage. 

Your shaking hand reaches for your phone and after struggling with your quivering fingers for some time, you finally manage to find his number and hit the dial button. 

He picks up his phone and the moment he hears your anguished sobs, he’s on his feet. 

“I’m on my way, love. Don’t hang up. Listen to me. Just breathe. In and out. Can you do that for me?” 

“S-si...” you stutter in between cries of sheer despair, trying your hardest to get some air in your lungs. 

After a few minutes on the phone with him, you finally calm down a bit, “Simon! I- I can’t...” you gasp out. 

“You can, love. Just keep breathing. I'm almost there.” 

He's there in nearly five minutes, quickly unlocking the door with the key you gave him and rushing to the bedroom. 

He gathers you in his strong arms and holds you through all the pain and turmoil, your woeful cries slowly dying down in his soothing embrace. 

He picks up the broken pieces one by one... and carefully, delicately puts you back together again. 

He knows. He's far too familiar with the battle within... and how you struggle to set yourself free of the jaws of the abyss as it’s gnawing at your soul. 

And he listens... listens to every silent word that you never speak. 

And he assures you that he will stay and hold you through it all.

[transmascsimonriley]

good morning

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is afraid to propose to his girlfriend (reader)

notes/warnings: fluff, angsty-ish, cursing, typos i'm sure (i wrote it in like an hr and then lost all energy to closely proofread. sorry)

words: 1367

Simon Riley Masterlist

Forty-Two months. You’ve been together for forty-two months, and Simon Riley is no fool. He knows what he has. Through every imaginable horror, you’ve been by his side. You’ve held his hand, kissed his forehead, brushed your fingers through his hair, let him lay on top of you after a night of sex when he’d just needed to feel you and know that you’re with him. You’ve cried with him and for him. And when it’s asked of you, you’ve waited for him. 

You’re absolutely everything. Of perfect quality despite your flaws. A reminder that things in this world are soft, beautiful, gentle. When he loses faith in the concepts of decency and humanity because of the things he’s seen, you refuel what has been depleted. You make things make sense in a cruel existence. And yet, he hasn’t asked you to marry him. 

Ok, maybe he is a bit of a fool.

For forty-two months you’ve watched your friends get married, cousins and second cousins, and even your mother and your aunt—all of whom began relationships with their new spouses long after you and Simon declared yourselves officially together. You’ve taken Simon to so many weddings in the past three and a half years that you’d both agreed you’d had your fill. But Simon is under no illusions that if it were for you and him, you’d manage to find the energy for one more wedding. 

You don’t pressure him or drop painfully obvious hints, and if he’s honest, that almost makes it worse. Price and Gaz and even Johnny have faced threats of their own in the past by the women they’ve been with, with varying results. Price was happy to agree. Gaz a little less, but his lady was pregnant and it was the right thing to do. But Johnny…Johnny wouldn’t marry his current broad if it meant a quick death. You, though, are a gift. Better than all of them in Simon’s eyes. You deserve to have the man who loves you acknowledge that love by asking you to be his wife. Simon just can’t bring himself to ensure that that man is him.

He attributes that roadblock to your relationship not being equal. He doesn’t provide you with everything you provide him. While he does his best to be supportive and loving and comforting, you’ve mastered those skills and he can’t compete. And how is it fair to ask you to pull that weight for the rest of your lives?

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to ask, but when the question is on his tongue, he can’t get it out. However, because you’re stronger than him, more open and sure of what you want, it turns out he doesn’t have to.

—

“Simon, will you marry me?”

You’re not looking at him. You’ve been spooning on the couch for the last three hours watching mindless TV, and he’s refused to let you up from your spot. At the question, his hand under your shirt that has been lazily fondling your breast freezes. He’s half hard and was about thirty seconds from trailing that hand down your body and into your sleep shorts, but now he can’t. 

Simon swallows. “W-What?” he asks, though he absolutely heard you. Does anyone mistake those words for anything other than what they are? 

His pounding heart clogs his ears, but to his surprise, his cock gets a little harder. 

After too many beats of silence, you guide his hand out of your shirt, and with a sigh, you stand, round the couch, and go into the bedroom. In your absence, he sits up, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath. 

What just happened? He thinks. And what the fuck did he just do? He didn’t answer the way he should have and now you’re gone. He’s hurt you, and he’s so focused on his fuck up that he doesn’t notice you come back until you’re standing directly in front of him. 

A black band is trapped between your thumb and index finger. You’re not smiling. There’s no glimmer in your eye. You simply hold the ring, staring at it. 

“I just want to marry you,” you say, your voice dripping with the disappointment he knows you’re expecting. “And you haven’t asked me.” 

“Love–” he starts, but then you drop to your knees, calves folded under your thighs. 

His heart cracks right down the middle, jagged and splintered. A few pieces fall into his gut. You still won’t look at him, so he reaches out a hand, cups your cheek, and turns your face up to his. 

“You don’ kneel to me, Love,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

Half-heartedly chuckling, you say, “Sometimes I do.”

Simon lets his lips curl into a slight smile because his girl is still in there. Despite the forlorn look on your face, he didn’t completely break your spirit with one unanswered question. And thank fuck for that.  

He doesn’t mean to, but he forces you to sit in limbo as he thinks. The woman he loves is on her knees asking for something that she so evidently believes she isn’t going to get. And yet, it’s from that risk—that display of your love for him and the leap you’re willing to take to prove it—that Simon snaps out of every negative thought that has held him back. 

Hand dropping from your face, he rises from the couch and, just as you had, makes his way into the bedroom. He has no idea where you’d hidden his, but yours has been in a dresser drawer for nearly a year, tucked behind the socks that are never worn because he has too many pairs. 

When he returns, he stops dead in his tracks because you’re still sitting there but your head is down again and a teardrop falls onto your bare thigh as you fiddle with the ring, and that is unacceptable; his behavior is unacceptable. And now he’s more sure than ever. 

Simon discards the box and goes to sit back on the couch. Your embarrassment is palpable, and he hates himself for yanking that out of you. Shame is the last thing he has ever wanted you to feel in his presence. 

Ring between his fingers, Simon lowers his hand until he’s sure the diamond is within your line of sight. 

Your gasp is faint but he catches it—a master at catching every little sound you make and savoring his ability to have you make them. Your head shoots up, eyes wide as they connect with his. 

With his free hand, Simon brushes away the tears that have yet to fall from your cheeks. 

“Switch,” he says. 

“What?”

He takes your hand, pulling you with him as he rises to his feet, and turns your bodies. “Sit,” he says, and you do. Then he eases onto one knee, ignoring the crack of his bones, and holds out the ring. “I’m so sorry it came to this, Love. I didn’—” he shakes his head, “’s my fault.”

Your head cocks to the side. “Your fault?”

“My fault,” he nods, his brow pinching as he decides how to say what he needs to. “You’re my wife,” he says. “I know you’re my wife—I’ve known it—but I get in my head and I start going through the list of things that I don’ think I deserve, and you’re the Queen of that list, Love. You make everything else on that list seem so unimportant that they have no right bein’ there.”

“Simon…”

“But I’ll make you a deal,” he continues. “I’ll marry you, if you marry me.”

You snicker and, excluding the tears he’d caused, your face does exactly what he’d hoped it would do wherever he imagined proposing. The only detail unaccounted for is your answer, which he supposes is fair. He hadn’t directly given you one either. 

But then you say one the best damn things he’s ever heard leave your mouth. 

Your pretty lips part and you tell him: “Yes.”

A/N: I don’t think love has to be affirmed in the form of a proposal and wedding, but for the sake of the fic…

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining having a normal, regular boyfriend that you love very much, and yet the 141 looks for any excuse to get you to leave him.

And eventually...you do.

Like, your boyfriend might not be the tallest or the buffest of anything like that, but he's sweet. He's a computer nerd just like you and he takes extra special care of your feelings. He's not super macho, but that's okay. You feel safe and loved in his presence.

But of course the 141 can't see that. They only see what your boyfriend lacks. He's scrawny, can't protect you, he's probably sleeping with a bunch of people while you're on deployment. How could he love you when he's a civilian who has no idea what you're going through?

At first their sly comments piss you off. How dare they talk about your bf like that? But as time goes on you just roll your eyes and shrug. They just don't get it.

It isn't until one day Price decides to have a sit down meeting with you. He pulls out pictures of your boyfriend spending time with a mutual friend of yours. You don't think much of it until the photos start getting more domestic. The last photo is of them cuddling on a couch at a house party. You refuse to believe what you're seeing but...you have to face the facts.

It hurts, but you trust Price's judgement.

They boys take care of everything for you. They pack up your stuff from your shared apartment and move you into a new one close to the base. They can tell you're torn up about it, so they spend more one on one time with you. They take you to the bookstore and the movies, and fill whatever time you would've spent with your boyfriend.

It isn't until months later, when you've forgotten your now ex's name, do you think that maybe everything had gone a little too smoothly.

But it's also hard to think about any of it when your "new boyfriend" might as well be the entire 141.

[ratviolnist]

im sorry my cod followers i changed his hair please don't beat me for this but the previous design reminded me of divorced ryan gosling in clarence universe

[houseoftroi]

A little piece for @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot of her OC, Christine "Riot" Vega. I try my best to stay true to what the character looks like and the general attire. I had to draw the facial scar, since I don't own the morph to make it. I think it looks realistic… hard to tell with your own work. Though, I think their outfits look fantastic. Ghost is always in black, so I thought I'd break it up just a bit.

If you don't like it, just lemme know and I can take it down. I do hope you enjoy it! Go check out @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot's wonderful stories and artwork!

[cntloup]

Simon meets a pregnant woman whose bf dumped her

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

[bl-beater]

I once again present some Jordice

[melancholic-tea]

~🩸

[spiltspit]

I just think johnny could convince simon to wear a kilt

[rhymewithrachel]

:(

(Orig)

[temeyes]

biker ghost? biker ghost.

[cntloup]

Fem!Reader

Simon saves you from some creeps

Simon would not hesitate to beat them up right on the spot.

Usually he would shield your eyes and take you away from the scene of violence if you ever come to face one.

But the moment he sets eyes on some creep getting too close and making you uncomfortable, he sees red.

He drags him away from you and throws him on the ground, then crouches down and starts beating the shit out of him.

You sob and wail, begging him to stop, but not for the sake of the fucking loser who made the mistake of touching Simon Riley's princess, to hell with him.

But for Simon's sake. Even though you know deep down this is nothing to him. He's done far worse than this.

But you still wouldn't want him to go into all that trouble or hurt himself for you.

Amidst the sound of throwing punches mixed with your yells, when the bloody prick is nearly unconscious, Simon finally comes to his senses by the sound of your voice.

He gets up and grabs the car keys from his pocket, then hands them to you and tells you to go sit in the car and wait for him to take care of the mess.

And you take them with shaky hands, looking at him through glossy and dazed eyes, 'ok' you breathe out and turn to leave, feeling dizzy and light-headed from all that happened before your eyes.

Simon walks back and grabs the creep's bloody jaw and makes him beg for mercy, shouting and spitting in his face.

And of course the fucking creep starts begging right after his whole life flashes before his eyes.

But there is no mercy from Simon's wrath, his bloodshot eyes throwing flaming daggers at the poor bastard as he knocks him the fuck off with one final brutal punch to the face.

And he comes back to you after he thoroughly cleans up his hands, not wanting to touch you with the dirty blood still lingering on his skin.

'You ok, dove?' he asks, sitting on the driver's seat and taking your hand in his.

'I-I'm fine. Are you... ok?' you ask, always holding a deep concern for his well-being as he does for yours.

'Yeah' he responds with a light chuckle, 'I'm alright, love. No need to worry about me.'

And he holds your hand all throughout the drive back home while reassuring you and promising that he will always protect his girl.