Callsign-hali - ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

He gives off a Halloween vibe 😬

op turned off reblogs but I want this forever

Hiiii congratulations in 1k you deserve it so much!

not sure if this is how to request a prompt for your 1k celebration but can I get "reader gets injured" with Simon please

1K Prompts

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Injury, Hospitals, Angst with Happy Ending, Indirect Mentions to Simon’s Abuse

Summary: He hasn't done it in a long while.

 Word Count: 1.8K (Not Edited)

There is nothing in the world.

It all disappears in a blur as his mind races. His mind, his thoughts, are faster than the car. He can’t make out anything zooming past his window, barely even recognizes the colors or the feel of the wheel under his hands. He’s jittery, highly agitated as he yells and slams on his horn. He doesn’t even process the words he’s saying, doesn’t even know if they’re even words. Maybe they’re just sounds, grunts and wordless screams. He doesn't know, doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter right now. Nothing matters right now. Nothing will matter until he makes it to the hospital. 

He needs a new car, he thinks. This one is too slow. It’s max isn’t fast enough. At this point, it’d be faster for him to get into a car accident and be driven in an ambulance to the hospital than this piece of junk truck. It makes him grit his teeth, swerving in and out of lanes and breaking traffic laws he doesn’t care to keep count of. He can vaguely make out Price’s car behind him, Johnny in the car behind Price’s. Don’t say that, he can hear Price say in his head, Don’t say that, Simon. Especially not now. 

Great, now his own fucking thoughts are making him feel guilty. 

He doesn’t really park, he runs over the curb actually. It causes everyone to jump back, throwing mean words at him that don’t land. The keys are still in the ignition, trusting Gaz will take care of it. Who gives a damn about that fucking car anyways, Simon thinks. He’s already made up his mind that he’s getting a new one. A sports car maybe, not for the looks but for the speed. He’ll have to do research on the fastest car money can buy when he’s home. When both of you are home. 

The cold air of the hospital makes him shiver once he runs inside. He looks lost for a second, eyes scanning the new environment for his goal. His eyes skip over the reception desk before rapidly darting back. Once his eyes lock on it, he walks with purpose. His eyes don’t stray, effectively maneuvering his body around the busy waiting room and lobby until he’s right in front of it. He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until he plants them on the desk. His fingers tremble and jerk, skin flinching with the feeling of absolute dread running through his body. 

“How ca-”

“Last name Riley. Car accident.” He cuts the receptionist off. His voice has the hard edge he uses with the recruits. It doesn’t faze the receptionist. 

He’s impatient as they tap away at the computer, their eyebrows furrowed and they ask Simon for more information like your first name and sex. Simon gives them irritably, almost blowing a fuse when they ask for his relationship with the patient. 

“Spouse.” 

He has never been annoyed to declare that to someone before. But he finds little reason to be prideful and happy right now. 

“Still in surgery, but you and your group can wait in the waiting room to the left. A surgical doctor should be out shortly with news.”

Simon turns around, not even noticing the rest of 141 standing patiently behind him. His eyes scan them, nodding before he turns and walks robotically to the waiting room. Price politely thanked the receptionist for him before following after Simon. Simon throws himself into an empty seat, leg bouncing against the floor. His eyes find the doors that lead to surgical suits. His arms wrap around his chest, attempting to keep his racing heart in his chest. A harsh breath is exhaled from his nose, getting caught under his balaclava. It gets a few stares from some of the families in the waiting room, some clutching their smaller children closer to them. Simon would usually take it off for the sole purpose of not drawing attention to himself, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Or, he doesn’t feel like he can. It feels like it's the only thing keeping him together right now. If he takes it off, he’ll come crumbling down. The fake composure will die away with the exposure and he’ll die before knowing if you’re alright. Depending on the answer, he might not make it through the night. 

A cup is placed in front of his face and Simon follows the hand up to the face of Johnny. Simon takes it, the warmth feeling strange against his skin. He doesn’t drink from it. Johnny and him don’t exchange words, turning to take the seat across from him and next to Gaz. Price is in the chair next to Simon, all four of them silent. Johnny stares at Simon, Simon stares at the floor, Price flips through outdated magazines from the coffee table beside him, and Gaz is surveying the space. All of them are still clad in their military gear, just gotten off the plane when Simon-- when Ghost-- got the call. Gaz cracks his knuckles and Simon has to bite his tongue to rest the urge to tell him to shut up. 

He resorts to counting the seconds that pass in his head. He loses count whenever the steel doors open and a doctor and nurse comes out. His head snaps up, the boys following his line of sight as the doctor peers over at the clipboard the nurse has. He prepares to shoot up when the doctor’s surgical mask shifts with jaw movement. He starts back from one when the name being called isn’t Riley. He thinks his heart shrinks with every name that passes. Price always pats his back with a ‘the next one, mate’. 

Sometimes between the seconds and names, Simon finds his forehead leaning against his folded hands. His eyes are shut tightly and he tries to do something he hasn’t done in a long time, something he has believed to not work for a long time. Simon sits and he prays. He prays. He doesn’t remember if there is a process he's supposed to follow. He only remembers all his past prayers had been rushed, hiccuped statements made after his father left his room or when he heard the yelling in the kitchen. They never got answered.

Is he supposed to start with something? Is he supposed to have a rosary or a bible or something in his hands? His hands are still covered with dirt from the battlefield, he reeks of smoke and gunfire. Is he clean enough to be praying? Does God or whatever up there care? He hopes they don’t, hopes they give him a free pass just this once. He hopes they do it for your sake. He hopes and prays and hopes some more. Is it enough? It doesn’t feel like enough. 

Is Simon supposed to sweet talk them? Butter them up until their egos are fed and find him worthy of listening to. He isn’t good at that. Or does he need to be direct? Demanding what he wants and not backing down until he gets it? He’s really good at that. You would probably know what to do. Even if you don’t, you’d probably have a solution that makes sense. Everything makes sense when it's you. You make everything make sense. Simon doesn’t know how he lived so long without it. He doesn’t want to be reminded. 

He debates getting up. Debates if he should go to the receptionist and ask them where the hospital’s chapel is. Maybe he’ll find whatever the fuck the religious connection guy is and ask them how to pray. Ask them to teach him. Or maybe he’ll ask them to pray for you. He’s sure they have a better chance of being answered then he does. But a fear glues him to his seat. What if he leaves and your name gets called? What if he isn’t there when it happens? What if he isn’t there for you again? He sits and he hopes and he prays. 

Please. Please, whoever, whatever can hear me, don’t take them from me. Stop taking people I care about away from me.

He hopes it is enough. He hopes they hear him and they remember the shit they put him through. He hopes they take pity on him. Simon hates when people feel sorry for him. He hopes they feel really bad and really sorry and really, really awful for what he had to go through. He hopes they find him to be the most pitiful human there ever was to exist. He hopes it's enough to save you. He hopes they decided to be nice to him today. 

And they are. Holy fuck they are. 

The doctor comes out, a nurse with clipboard following three times. Simon gets up the fourth time, before the name is even called. Price and Johnny and Gaz stand with him. 

“Riley.”

He flies. He flies across the room, ‘Here. I’m here. That’s me.’ He doesn’t know if he says those words aloud or in his head. The doctor watches him approach and Simon almost collapses to the ground when his surgical mask moves. He doesn’t catch everything, his mind being too slow to follow. Traumatic brain trauma. Bleeding. Successful. Lucky. Strong. Fighter. Okay. 

Okay, okay, okay. 

He thinks Price keeps him upright when he grabs his arm to pat him in the back. Simon grabs him back, pulling him close and his shoulders shake as he hides his face. He feels like a kid, crying into his captain’s shoulder as relief washes over him. Price squeezes him. The two of them say nothing, and Johnny and Gaz excuse themselves to get everyone food from the hospital cafeteria. 

Later, Simon finds himself in your hospital room. The chair is slightly more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room. The boys have gone home by now, promising to drop by and telling Simon to keep them updated. Usually, constant noise would irritate Simon. But he finds himself thankful every time the heart monitor beeps, praying the noise never stops. He must have dozed off because he’s confused when he feels the slight rubbing on his hand. The sound of the heart monitor is different, still consistent but a bit faster. 

He pulls his head from his arms, propping his chin on his forearm as his gaze drifts to your face. Your eyes are half-lidded and sleepy, face drenched in exhaustion. You are so absolutely beautiful that it's devastating. It punctures his lungs and deflates his body of any breath he will ever take. His heart beats rapidly, hand squeezing yours tightly as his spine straightens. He has to resist the urge to pull you to him and crush you against his frame. 

You give him a dopey smile, one stained with tiredness and the remains of the anesthetic. 

“Hi.”

Your voice is croaky and your speech is slurred. It’s beautiful and the most lovely sound to exist. 

Simon brings your knuckles to his chapped lips. He presses a firm kiss to them, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that a few drops of water drop onto your skin. 

“Hi.”

His voice is just as croaky and just as beautiful.

Got a little carried away with this one.

RAIN

This year's Halloween headshot is here ❤️ Like always, you are welcome to use them as your profile picture, and it would be nice if you could credit me 😉

Oh and since I picked a theme last year (slasher) this year I picked horror games/video games as this year's theme, because the FNAF movie is coming out THIS MONTH. Dude, I've already decided to dress up as purple guy when I go see the movie 🤡 No one can stop me.

Kinktober Day 17: Hate Sex

Hoodie/Brian Thomas X GN!Reader AFAB

[Warnings: rough sex, marking, degradation, facial, language, if you are a minor dni]

[AN: 1506 words]

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you sneer to your superior as you shove him back down onto the bed, a snarl on your lips as you grind your hips against him - his cock rests against your stomach. . Fire dances in your eyes as your nails claw at his chest. Your brows are locked in a furrow as he grins up at you, anger bubbling beneath his amused expression.

“What?” He asks innocently, his hands moving to your hips before you slap him away. “The fact that I can do my job better than you can? You gonna take out all that unchecked aggression on me because you can’t shoot straight?”

You snarl and claw into his chest, leaving deep, red marks before shifting your knees upwards, thighs and calves tensing as you lift yourself over his dripping cock. Your cunt’s slick falls over him like drops of rain.

Brian’s hand moves from your lower half to his cock, palming it before slowly, teasingly stroking it. “You’re a needy little whore, aren’t you?” He chuckled, the condescending tone lacing through his words like venom.

You roll your eyes and position yourself over him. “Move your fucking hand.”

Brian hums for but a moment, the proxy superiority in him bending ever so slightly to your words. “Whatever you say,” he says in that ‘bless your heart’ tone. He places his hands behind his head, watching as you threaten to slam down on him.

You huff, chest tight and rife with anger for this proxy that treats you like dirt because you’re the runt in the group. You’ve proven time and time again that you’re better than that, that you’ve earned your place but still he hits you with a pistol for the most minor of fuck ups. Your emotions are flying, fire running through your veins as you finally lower yourself onto his cock.

The warmth spreads through your lower abdomen as you settle in lower and lower on him, nails leaving little half moon crescents that bead with blood on Brian’s chest as he hisses at the feeling.

You hilt on him, the feeling almost overwhelming. “I’m surprised your dick isn’t as disappointing as your personality,” you manage to choke out before listing upwards, gradually moving into bouncing on his lap.

Brian removes his hands from behind his head and grips your thighs tightly, rough, calloused hands with short nails digging into your soft flesh as he does so. He grits his teeth as you bounce on him, his balls growing tight at the feeling of your cunt squeezing around him as if you were hungering for him.

“Your cunt is swallowing my dick so eagerly and you think you have room to talk?” Brian teases through a sneer as he bucks his hips upwards to meet you. “You’re a fucking liar and your body is telling me otherwise.” His hands fly up to your waist, gripping you tightly like he doesn’t care that he’s hurting you before slamming you down onto the bed, the air getting knocked from your lungs.

You gasp and glare up at him, barely even able to process that he’s got you spread wide open for him before he’s pounding back into you. You moan loudly, hissing and growling, slowly giving into the pleasure as his fingers pinch and prod your clit.

Brian’s hips roll forwards, again and again. His upper pubic area brushes against you with every roll and you can’t help but tilt your hips upwards to meet him. His hazel colored eyes look at you with nothing short of disdain before he brings his mouth downwards, pressing nips of his teeth to your collar and shoulder before working up to your neck.

Your hands, that were pressed against his chest, unhook from his now red marked skin to his back where you sink your claws in and rake up and down. You mewl through the pleasure and curse him out at the same time.

“I hate liars,” Brian mumbles against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Think you deserve to get punished for lying to this group’s right hand-”

Your eyes roll upwards as you curl into him upon the prickling sensation of teeth biting into your neck. You can feel his canines sink into the flesh, marking you before he pops off and instead trades the bites for bruises. “You fucking animal-!” You seethe, knowing there’s no way to explain the marks he’s leaving on you. It’s the middle of summer - how the hell are you going to handle that?

“Don’t lie again to me,” Brian darkly warns as his fingers pinch your clit harshly and begin to roll the overworked bundle of nerves that send almost painful waves of electrified pleasure through your fluttering cunt and out towards the rest of your body. “If you do, I’ll make that bite mark symmetrical.”

You want to snarkily reply to him when the feeling of him rutting into you clouds over any thoughts you may have. You can feel every vein and his full length, how his head is still weeping precum and how he’s getting deeper and deeper with every thrust. You want to tell him something demeaning, but it would be a lie. Your body is a slave to the pleasure.

Your hips continually buck upwards to meet his thrusts as you also grind against his hand for the clitoral stimulation. Everything feels fuzzy and what you would describe as TV static. Your eyes are lost watching his muscles contract with every pounding, and his breath his like fire on your skin.

“I fucking-” you gasp when he presses yout clit particularly hard, “-hate you. You’re a goddamn nightmare in human form and I-” your thoughts are derailed when he pushes deeply inside of you, the thick, heavy thrust pressing you into the mattress while his teeth bite at your collarbone.

“Stupid whores need to mind their manners,” he huffs, accenting every syllable with an even harsher thrust. “That cost you.”

“Cost me - ah - what?”

Brian’s eyes briefly look up at you with nothing short of mischief before he subtly shakes his head. “Remember your place or I’ll put you back there myself.”

Suddenly, his thrusts become damn near erratic. He’s moving faster, harder, and working your clit so hard you can’t help but clamp your thighs around him and screech to the heavens how much you hate that he’s making you feel as good as he does.

Your body is practically pulsing, humming, beating in sync with your abused cunt that’s begging for release. You’re gripping Brian so hard that you’re sure Tim is going to ask if he got into a fight with a bear. Your ears melt at the sound of him calling you every awful thing under the sun. He really hates you, doesn’t he?

“You gonna cum on my cock?” Brian rasps against you. “You gonna show me how pathetic you are and bust all over the cock of the man you hate the most?” He giggles almost gleefully as you pant beneath him. “Isn’t that rich? You’re so fucking stupid that you’d actually get off to me fucking you like a whore even though I treat you like one,” he continues to ramble off, his voice low and slightly sing-songy. He likes seeing your frustration. “Cum on my cock then, show me how stupid you really are.”

The floodgates burst and you spasm around him, your body feeling lighter than air as static and symphonies overtake your vision and hearing. You can hear your heart pounding in your chest as your cunt waterfalls over him, squeezing and pulsing as he continues to rut inside of you. A loud, pained moan leaves your throat from the sheer overstimulation as arch into his chest, nails digging in so deep that you’re not sure you can even be pried off of him when suddenly, he pushes you off of him.

Brian’s thick cock leaves your hungry cunt and before you know it, he’s planted a knee by the side of your head and his cock is waving in front of your face. He wraps his hand around it and begins to stroke it, quickly. He snorts like a bull as he tilts his head back. “Open your mouth.”

Not needing to be told twice, you open your mouth, tongue lolling out slightly and watch for a split second as thick ropes of cum begin to rain down from the head of his cock. Your eyes flutter shut on instinct before the spurts hit your face. You feel warmth splashing over the bridge of your nose, your brow bone, your cheeks before your intuition says he’s done.

You slowly peel your eyes open, the sticky liquid blanketing your face before it slowly begins to drip down as you tilt your head upwards. You see Brian’s lips pulled into a smile.

“What?”

He chuckles, his eyes checking you over.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks. This is the first time he’s ever looked at you with content.

➸ ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ʟɪᴇᴜᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴛ!ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ

pairings: simon "ghost" riley x female!reader

a/n: i wrote this for the "praise/degradation" kinktober prompt and it could fit both jake sully and ghost so i decided to publish it for ghost. is it self-plagiarism to just copy paste it and post it for dilf!jake, too? asking for a friend

warnings: pwp under the cut (18+ mdni), pet names (doll, love, princess, kid), implied age gap, slight degradation, some praise, semi-public i guess??

wc: >400 words

ghost masterlist (x)

“Feels… so… good… fuck!”

Bouncing on your lieutenant's cock in a hidden bush after excusing yourself from target practice was not on your list of things to do today, but then again… it never was. But you just couldn’t help it, not when there he was, so fucking hot, giving orders, showing trainees how to shoot all the different guns in the army's arsenal, not when your underwear was uncomfortably sliding against your swollen folds, dripping in slick. The people will be fine practising on their own for a while, right? After all, the target was right there, all they had to do is… aim at it… right? 

“Fucking hell, kid…” Ghost's voice was gravelly and low, the thick accent mixing beautifully with the gritty groans that escaped him as you twitched around his length with every thrust that threatened to bruise your already aching cervix. It was maddening, the pace he set, the way he couldn’t help but buck his hips upwards to be even deeper in your tight, soaked pussy, the need to be closer, to feel you, to fill you, ever present and ever growing.

“You look so good taking my cock. So good.” 

The best you can do in response is a faint moan, so focused on maintaining the pace he set, thoughts overflowing with how good he felt, how much it all was, how when he pulled the mask slightly upwards and captured your nipple in his mouth, sucking while circling your sensitive clit with his thumb, it all made tears prick at your eyes painfully and free flow down your face as the orgasm drew closer and closer with each passing moment. 

“Couldn’t even wait 'til the end of practice, could you? My desperate, needy slut. Always have to have all your little holes stuffed, eh?” 

HIs words always had such power to bring you to your knees, or to your orgasm, the feeling overtaking all of your senses, white noise all you were able to see and hear as he continued abusing your convulsing cunt. 

“Squeezing me so well, gonna make me cum all over this pretty pussy. But I’m not done yet, love.” 

It took no effort on his part to pull you off him and manhandle you in a new position, barely managing to hold your own weight on all fours, so spent and overwhelmed from the onslaught of sensations he was so good at eliciting in you and for you. 

“Come on, doll. Face down, ass up. Gotta make sure to fill you up until everyone on that field knows how much you like being fucked until you’re dripping from all sides.”

Reblog if your blog is boopable-safe so you can get all the (probably new) achievements. I don’t care about notes I just want boops

hug❣️