#ghost alex | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dante-mightdie · 3 months

Text

part 3. of the toxic!simon adventure (contains smut)

alex begins making many more appearances in your life and simon can’t fuckin’ stand it. tells himself that there’s just something off about that guy, doesn’t seem like he could protect you if it came to it. this statement made price let out a scoff in response

“he’s one of the best soldiers i’ve ever worked with, simon. besides, they’re just bein’ friendly with each other.”

“too friendly…” simon mumbles under his breath, narrowing his eyes as he watches you laugh at one of alex’s silly puns

simon spends a lot of time at the Price household. he says it’s because your old man lives closer to base but the truth is he can’t stand being alone in his flat in manchester, haunted and plagued by the chaos he’s seen on the field

he didn’t appreciate how often he was bumping into alex keller when he came to visit. price claiming that alex has to some work to conduct in the UK and offered him a place to stay. nothing to overthink, he says.

except for the fact that you’re both attached at the hip. watching tv together, joining alex on his morning runs, driving you around to help you run your errands. simon watches with a twitch in his eye, a mean feeling bubbling up in his chest as he watches his favourite toy get snatched up by the new kid in the playground

simon is constantly finding opportunities to get in your way, or more specifically, get in Alex’s way. He’ll watch from the kitchen as Alex’s hand twitches to reach out for yours when you’re both watching some show you were both talking about at dinner…

so simon decides he wants to watch that show too, planting himself right beside you, if he was any closer he would be sitting in your lap.

he caught a peek of the two of you stood in the back garden, alex pointing up at the night stars and leaning over to whisper something in your ear, making you giggle

so simon decided he needed to have a cigarette right that second, stalking out into the garden and slamming the door to announce his presence

“not interrupting anythin’, am I?”

you both sheepishly smile and shake your heads, seperating from each other

later on that night when the house is quiet and everyone has headed off to bed, simon finds himself unable to sleep. he thinks about going for a smoke or having another glass of bourbon but instead finds himself with his hand down his sweats, sloppily pumping his cock

in his other meaty hand, he holds his phone. a picture of you clad in some stringy lingerie that you sent to him one late night a few months ago. these pictures were always the product of you having a bad day and then being ignored by simon

crying in your room because he’s an emotionally unavailable prick, telling yourself that you’re over it and you’re gonna ignore him too. and then less than an hour later, your posing for your camera in a desperate attempt to get him to come to your room

well, at least, that’s what you used to do. simon never responded to these pictures. not even a thumbs up. perhaps you got tired of being ignored by him, simon thinks. or maybe you want him to send you a picture this time. or maybe, just fucking maybe, you’re sending these pretty pictures to someone else…

the thought makes simon yank his hand from his trackies with a curse falling from his lips. his cock aching and leaking against the material of his boxers, desperate for release. he snatches his mask from the bedside table and trudges down the hallway, only to stop at the sound of breathy moans coming through the crack of your door

it’s nearly 2AM. why is the light on in your room? why are you awake? simon’s brain runs a mile a minute with thoughts of you. when did he start thinking about you?

he places a hand on your door and slowly pushes it open enough so you can’t see his bulky frame in the dark hallway

and there you are. laying on your back with your forearm over your eyes, loud moans escaping your throat as desperate sobs. for a second, simon’s brain doesn’t even notice there’s another person in your room, too focused on watching your blissed out expression to notice that Alex was on top of you, pushing on your thighs to tuck your knees behind your ears

the slick sounds of your pussy being fucked would probably have been enough to keep simon’s cock hard, but not when he’s watching you fall apart in another man’s arms

he’s got you folded into a mating press, repeatedly slapping his hips into yours. he nearly vomits from rage when he hears you cry out his name

“Alex! fuck, I can’t… ‘s too much…” you whine out, bracing your hands on his shoulders when Alex reaches up to grip the headboard of your bed

“yeah, ya can, sugar. so good for me. such a good fucking girl. all pretty for me, ain’t that right, baby?” he whispers in your ear, but simon heard it. and it makes him fucking rage that this is what has become of him. standing in the pitch black corridor, watching you get fucked by another man like a pervert

but simon isn’t getting off on this. no, how can he enjoy staring at your panties dangling from your ankle knowing he wasn’t the one tugging them off your wet pussy? how can enjoy the sound of your moans when you silence them by pulling on Alex’s dogtags for a kiss?

you look so pretty when you come, simon thinks to himself as you squeal and kick your feet against Alex’s back. so pretty when it’s too much for you…

not that simon would know. he always turned your face away from his when you fucked, putting you on your knees and shoving your face into the mattress.

simon decides it’s too much for him to handle when he hears you begging for Alex to come inside of you. stalks back to his lonely room and unlocks his phone, shoving his hand back into his boxers and loading up a picture of you…

#mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #toxic!simon #alex keller #alex keller x reader

4K notes · View notes

smutstationchoochoo · 9 months

Text

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room.

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?” His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment. It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up. Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

8K notes · View notes

sky-is-the-limit · 4 months

Text

"𝑰𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔, 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏."

#he also eats pussy like a maniac #type of man to crawl underneath your hoodie/shirt and fall asleep on your stomach #alex keller #cod #call of duty #alex keller x reader #mw1 #mw2 #alex keller x you #alex keller smut #cod smut #cod x reader #task force 141 #captain price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

4K notes · View notes

floweryanarchy · 6 months

Text

Portrait practice💕

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #captain price #konig mw2 #alex keller #farah karim

4K notes · View notes

fishymom-art · 20 days

Text

Quartz Bees Entry 5: Kiss or Kill

#marble hornets #marble hornets au #quartz bees #quartz bees au #tim wright #masky #skully #ghost alex #ghost brian #jay merrick #mh jam #false hoodie #blood #violence

91 notes · View notes

sapphyrnidae · 1 year

Photo

that iconic lord of the rings drawing except make it call of duty

gaz has to be in the carrier because he’s the one who keeps falling out of helicopters

12K notes · View notes

cod-dump · 3 months

Text

Alex: You can’t get married, the Bible said Adam and Eve not Simon and Johnny. Come back after you legally change your names

Ghost:

Ghost: Do you realize how close I was to stabbing you?

Alex: Honestly thought you were going to before I even finished the joke. I am pleasantly surprised

#alex saw his life flash before his eyes #call of duty #modern warfare #alex keller #simon ghost riley #incorrect quotes #ghostsoap #soapghost

1K notes · View notes

lxvvie · 3 months

Text

Simps 'R Us, Between the Sheets edition: Your faves and the wholesome and funny things you two get up to in bed, part I.

Capt. John Price - When he's half asleep and about to snore loud enough to wake the dead (Price vehemently denies this), you like to have random conversations with him because you know questions you ask will do one of two things: elicit a nonsensical answer from the Cap'n or... wake him up from his sleep altogether.

Gaz - Is curling up into himself because you're the big spoon, you're running your hands over his body because he's highkey lowkey ticklish, and your face is buried in his neck because... he's highkey lowkey ticklish. "Darling, please—" Gaz manages to gasp out between... wait, are you giggling, Garrick?

Soap - Your darling golden retriever chaotic good boyfriend loves... to sleep naked. You're not complaining, though, especially because he loves it when you lay on him. You've made a home for yourself between his thighs; his stomach is your pillow, and he usually has a hand rubbing your head. Helps him to relax, y'know, bonnie? And whenever you don't lay on him, it's an affront to Johnny's... everything. His heart is broken. His soul is crushed. You're too far away from him (even though you're still right under him). How could you do this to him? He can't live like this. No other stud muffin can offer you what he can, beautiful. But no really, bonnie, he needs you on top of him like... yesterday.

Ghost - You really like his body. Like... really like his body. You blow raspberries on his stomach, you smack his ass, you talk about his eyelashes—scratch that, you love his body. To you, every scar tells a story, and you've asked him plenty of times to talk about them. And then you did the unthinkable that had Simon wanting to disappear into the fucking blankets—"Si-bear, I didn't know you had a mole on your inner thigh!" Bloody fucking hell, he'll never hear the end of this. And then you kissed it and Ghost's face had never felt so bloody hot before. Christ, you'll be the death of him, sweetheart.

Roach - Nothing but the most sickeningly saccharine stuff to ever stuff happens with Roach. A poke-fest, a kiss-fest, a tickle-fest, you name it, it happens. Roach loves to sleep with his face buried in your chest and arms wound tight around you. Always. You rubbing his head soothes him to sleep as well.

Alex - You're also the big spoon here, too. You're busy talking about conspiracy theories you believe the government is/was involved in and Alex is entertaining you ("That so, Boss?"). In actuality, his eyes are comically wide because the truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction and you may or may not be walking a little heavy there, Boss.

Alejandro - Is the big spoon to your little spoon in bed no matter what you're doing. Loves to intertwine your legs together, too. Alejo murmurs how much he loves you in your ear and kisses the top of your head before telling you good night.

Rudy - Sometimes when he's asleep, you'll whisper "Rodolfo" in his ear which causes Rudy to shoot up, eyes comically wide because the only time someone calls him by his full government name is when he gets into shit but it wasn't him this time, it was that idiot Alvarez— "Didn't get to tell you good night and I love you, Rudy, so... good night and I love you, Rudy." Oh. Oh. Ha. Real funny.

Farah - A cuddle bunny through and through. She loves laying up under you, her head resting on your shoulder or under your chin, or her face in the crook of your neck. She wants to hear you as you sleep. She wants to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or the resonances as you speak. Farah simply can't get enough of you.

Keegan - It's really you teasing him because Keegan isn't one to really get flustered or deviate from his infamously neutral expression. Much. Until you came along. You two are relaxing in bed and you're the one randomly calling out, "Hey, Kee-Kee," to which Keegan makes the most surprised and disgusted face in response and you're wheezing.

2K notes · View notes

alexthetrashyracoon · 1 month

Text

Simon loves you. He adores you. He worships you.

You love Simon. You adore Simon. You worship Simon.

That’s one thing you two have in common.

The other thing is that you two hate your own bodies.

You hate the fat on your belly and the fat of thighs that make every jeans you wear too tight. You hate how slabby your arms are when you wave at someone and wear a t-shirt. You hate the stretch mark on your stomach and under your arms, around your thighs. You hate the little double chin you’ve gotten over the years and can’t get rid off, no matter how hard you try.

Simon on the other hand hates how rough his body is, how firm and hard. He hates the scars all his years in the military had left behind. He hates how there is always a reminder of a bad past, one where you didn’t have a place just yet. He hates how calloused his hands are, from years of punching people or holding weapons. He hates that no matter how hard he tries, he always is a bit too rough, never too much to hurt you, but it’s not easy to relax.

So one of these days, your parents invited you and Simon over for brunch and you agreed to go. But now you’re standing before the full body mirror and stare at the tight shirt you chose to wear, you swore the last time you had it on it wasn’t like this. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes as you squeeze the pouch of fat on your belly.

That’s when Simon walks inside. He’s dressed casually, jeans and shirt. He looks good, handsome. But as always he hides most of his body behind long sleeves and pants.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers into your head, wrapping his arms around your waist to take your hands away from the small pouch. “You’re gorgeous, sweet, sexy. There are a million words I could say to describe you, but they won’t be enough. You’re perfect, the way you are.” Simon says softly, looking into your eyes through the reflection of the mirror.

You believe him.

Because you might hate yourself but you love Simon.

Simon is the same. He believes you when he stands at the sink and looks at his scarred hands. Those hands aren’t made to love someone, they are made to kill and destroy. Those hands aren’t meant to touch someone as pure as you.

That’s when you walk into the bathroom. You see him, hate and disgust in his blue eyes.

You place your smaller hands on top of his before taking them and placing his hands on your cheeks. Smiling softly.

“Your hands are made to protect, you save not just me but many people. They are gentle and kind. You are gentle and kind. You aren’t a machine that’s made to kill. You are perfect, just as you are.”

And Simon believes you.

Because Simon might hate himself but he loves you.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x gn!reader #cod x you #alex writes #fanfiction #cod mwii

3K notes · View notes

dante-mightdie · 3 months

Text

part 4. of toxic simon

a/n: got a few ideas from my requests on what to add for this part so thank you very much, ash loves you <3

cw: kidnapping, weapons, murder, angst, comfort, themes of smut

It had been a few weeks since simon had walked in on you and alex. since that night, there had been a dramatic shift in the price home. the once broody lieutenant was now just the pure embodiment of rage and misery.

he barely left the guest room for the whole of his leave. and when he did, he was causing problems. never in front of your father, however. he's not stupid. but he constantly felt the need to size up alex in front of you. looming over him with that fucking mask on, flexing his muscles.

alex never indulges in simon's desperate attempts to pull a viscous reaction from him. to make you see that your new man isn't that much nicer than him, darl'. so you might as well come back to what you know.

no, instead alex leads you out of the room. not without a soft mumble of 'let's go sugar. you don't need to be hearing this.' simon wonders if you've told alex about him. about how he smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

he's gotten low a couple of nights. resorting to snapping mirror picks in his tight black briefs after his shower. you there were no identifiers that it was ghost. no, only you knew it was simon.

he's a bastard. he knows he wont get a response from you. he will, however, get to listen to the hushed bickering coming from you and alex that night when he sees the photo.

alex got called away on duty after a big fight between the two of you. It was clear that you hadn't made up by the time he left, either. simon can tell by the way you moped around. barely speaking to anyone in the home. simon tried to speak to you, hoping to score back some points whilst things were rocky between you and your man. you just brushed him off, sulking back off to your room.

later that night when simon was laying in bed, his phone buzzed with a text from you.

'simon' was all it read

simon rolled his eyes, feeling like a kicked puppy after you ignored him, he decided to ignore your message. puts his phone down and rolls over to go to sleep, ignoring the constant buzzing of his phone from behind him.

simon was sure he got a few good hours of sleep before being violently woken up to a strong hand shaking his shoulder.

"simon. simon, get up." he recognises your father's panicked voice calling out to him. he's groggy for a few moments before your father says two words that hit him like a bucket of ice water,

"she's gone."

simon feels and ice cold chill run down his spine at your father's words.

"my daughter she's fucking gone. someone took my fucking daughter."

simon had to stop price from tearing the whole house up, grabbing his shoulders and promising him that they will find you.

simon and price are on base the very next morning. along with alex, gaz, and soap. everyone is deadly silent, standing tall and ready as their captain briefs them on how they're going to get you back. Alex has a tick in his jaw and simon is sure he's going to snap if anything goes wrong

10 minutes before they ship out and simon is having a cigarette, trying to ease his nerves. he hadn't even checked his phone yet and it only just clicked in his brain that you text him last night. those messages were still unopened on his phone. with a weight on his chest, simon unlocks his phone and feels his heart sink when he sees those texts,

'simon? is that you?'

'simon seriously I can hear noises downstairs'

'are you outside my door?'

'simon, please. i'm scared.'

you were calling him for help.

simon has been fighting down bile for the past 45 minutes. the helicopter ride certainly not helping ease the horrendous amount amount of guilt he's feeling. neither is watching alex bounce his leg nervously, or price chain smoke cigar after cigar.

it's a long trek from the drop-point to the abandoned warehouse where they suspect you're being kept. simon trudging through the mud behind everyone else, praying that no one says a word to him.

"if my intel is good, she's in that building there." alex says, pointing down to the building.

"this is a weapons free op, boys. shoot to kill. do what you need to do to get my girl back home safe." price commands out in his gruff voice, but you can hear a slight edge to his tone. a streak of nervousness that simon has never seen in his captain.

It's a clean sweep once they breach the entrance, bodies dropping in quick succession. room after room being swept and an anxious feeling hanging on everyone's shoulders each time they don't find you.

simon makes his way to the basement floor, taking out the hitmen guarding the heavy metal doors at the end of the dark hallway. he pushes the door open slowly, gun raised and ready to take out an immediate threats.

there were no threats in the room, simon quickly realised, just you. poor, terrified you huddled up in the corner with chains attached to your wrists and ankles. shaking violently like a feral cat. the fear in your eyes causes simon to immediately lower his gun and raise his hands in a 'I-mean-no-harm' way.

he takes a couple hesitant steps towards you, careful not to frighten you even more.

"hey..." he whispers, "it's just-"

"she's here!"

simon was cut off by the sound of alex alerting everyone to your safety. he immediately rushes past simon, knealing in front of you. the second you recognise him, you're reaching for him as sobs start to make their way from your throat.

"It's alright, baby. I'm here, I got you. You're safe now." alex coos to you as he scoops you into his arms, leaving simon to stand behind him like a ghost.

the sight of you reaching for alex instead of him makes simon feel as through someone is prying his rib cage open with a crowbar. he felt truly left in the dust. but he can't blame you, no. this was his fault.

he lost.

#mw2 #ghost #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #captain john price #john price #toxic!simon #alex keller x reader #alex keller

3K notes · View notes