On Domesticating Simon Riley.

Ghost wasn’t even looking for you two. He just needed to grab a goddamn med kit. That’s it. A simple in-and-out trip to the supply closet.

But the moment he opened the door, he knew.

Grunting. Breathing. Whispers. The thud of something hitting metal.

He paused in the doorway, completely still, staring into the dim room as his brain registered what he was seeing.

Soap. Shirt halfway off. Neck covered in bite marks. Mouth open in some silent, stunned expression of praise the lord and ruin me more. Hands gripping the edge of a crate like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

And you? Pressed against him. One hand buried in his hair, the other dragging slowly down his back, nails scratching like you were claiming territory.

You didn’t even look away when Ghost appeared. You just kept your body flush with Soap’s, breath brushing against his ear as you looked directly at Ghost and said,

“Occupied.”

Soap finally realized they weren’t alone, eyes wide as he choked out, “*Ghost—fuck—*this isn’t—”

Ghost held up a hand. “Nope.”

Just turned around and closed the door without another word. Stood in the hallway for a moment. Processing.

Then muttered, “They’re gonna burn this place to the ground and call it foreplay.”

He walked away. Found Gaz.

“Don’t go in the supply closet.”

Gaz blinked. “Why not?”

“They’re in there.”

Gaz paused. “Doing what?”

Ghost didn’t stop walking. “Pick a verb.”

you book one of those fancy, exclusive cruises, and on day four, you confront the man in the cabin next door. he smokes day and night on his balcony, puffing some disgusting-smelling cigars. even with the door shut, the scent seeps in, clinging to the bedding and settling into your clothes.

when he opens the door, your head dips back to meet his gaze. he's weathered and intense, the kind of tired that seems permanently carved into his face. eyes that look like they've forgotten how to soften or blink at a normal interval. he leans a thick arm on the frame, shirt hanging open enough to reveal a dense patch of chest hair, and a faded heart tattoo with some woman's name scrawled on the ribbon curling around it. you can't help but notice a pale tan line on his ring finger where a wedding band ought to be.

and it's cute how you put your foot down. asking him to take his nasty habit to the deck. you're polite but obviously frustrated. annoyed. you're mid-sentence when he interrupts, lip curling in a sly smile that, until recently, has always worked.

"let me make it up to you. smuggled a decent bottle onboard. help me finish it?"

he must still have it because the offer catches you off guard, your irritation softening before you can stop it. not twenty minutes later, with the sun dipping low over the water, he's got you on the balcony, his cigar at your lips, teaching you how to take it.

Okay... all the fucking aside...

I just want to play with and grope Simon's buff pecs reverently, okay? I want to toy with his nipples and make him squirm underneath me while he tries to act like it doesn't affect him that much, but...

Sir, I can see the flush on your stubbly cheeks? SIR, I can feel your thick cock getting harder and larger inside your underwear?

I might (I will) nip at his cute nipple, flick my wet tongue over it, moan around it when I feel it harden between my lips and then bite it gently to make him gasp and then grumble in annoyance, though he still doesn't push me off of him.

And while I suck and lick on one hard bud, I'll play with the other; pinch it between my fingertips, lick my thumb and flick it over it until that cute bud is hard, too.

Meanwhile, I'm getting wet as hell just playing with his massive man tits; feeling his skin twitch and thick muscles flex beneath my touch. I can hear the way he inhales sharply through his nose and then tries to exhale slowly to control himself.

I'm worshipping him again and he still can't wrap his head around the Why?, but that's okay, because I'll do it anyway.

Man's just trying to read a book in our bed and here I am, sneaking up on him (although he saw and heard me coming, ha!) and rucking up his sleep shirt, up to his collarbones to reveal his perfect chest; my eyes darkening as if I found a treasure while he merely peeks over the edge of his hardcover book with an arched and scarred eyebrow, just the tiniest bit curious.

"If ah yer wan' me ta make luv to ya, jus' say so, lovey," he rumbles eventually, closing the book with a loud thud and placing it back on his bedside table with a sigh.

But I shake my head, glancing up at him with fluttering lashes as I shake my head, tongue circling his nipple lewdly, nearly drooling on it.

"Later," I coo softly, not even bothering to hide my amusement and excitement, "Wanna see if I can make you cum like this."

He snorts then, brows furrowing slightly as he cups the side of my neck with one calloused hand, his touch gentle and affectionate, despite the fact that his hand is large enough to wrap around my throat effortlessly.

The thought makes me squirm on top of him and he knows, because his lips crack into an imperceptible smile.

"Go on, then," he says eventually, kissing his teeth in challenge, "Ya jus' 'ave ta try hard enough, lovey."

And oh my God.... I would.

This scenario also applicable for Soap, Gaz, Price, Keegan, and König. 😭

the simon and kyle blurb?!!! hello?!!! I rarely see this duo together and it’s so unfair 😣

Sugar and spice is the best way I can describe being sandwiched between Kyle and Simon.

Just imagine the sexual tension between them and the reader and how it just... comes to a head.

It's you three, shooting the shit, and the conversation somehow veers over into shotgunning. Next thing you know, you're in Simon's lap, Kyle's scooted a little bit closer and they teach—demonstrate, rather—the basics of shotgunning.

Which turns into Kyle's tongue down his Lt.'s throat.

Which then turns into Simon's tongue down your throat.

Which THEN turns into you sandwiched between the two, you and Kyle making out, your tongue down his throat, and Simon leaving hickies on your neck and groping you wherever he can.

Cheers, darling.

zaun's prettiest

thanks felicia for making vanco real!!!!!

(he called him that bc i like how creators called him "dirty little thing". i wanted vander to treat him the other way around from the very beginning)

Inspired by this post and @waves-against-a-cliff "Cbf!Johnny" comment. I present more of John Mactavish as the dog he is.

cw: dubcon(reader agrees but just covering my bases), f!reader, overstimulation

Living with Johnny was an easy decision. You've known him your whole life, and with his frequent deployments you usually have the flat to yourself. It's like living alone, except sometimes your best friend is around for "long term sleep overs" as he pitched them. He has his share of the bills on autopay and for the most part it's fun when he's around. You watch movies and throw popcorn at each other. You laugh at his stupid jokes in between complaining about your most recent attempt at dating.

"You know it wouldn't be so bad if any of them were halfway decent in bed," You tell Johnny absentmindedly. He's got his head in your lap, eyes focused on the TV screen as your fingers pet through his hair, barely paying attention.

"Hard getting practice in, not like you can ask a bird to play test dummy," He shrugs. You groan, leaning back against the couch. You guess that's fair, but it's not like you're asking for anything spectacular. An orgasm shouldn't be this hard to come by.

"The special service isn't training you to give head?" You tease.

"No that's just the navy." Johnny grins, finally turning his attention to you. His eyes dart over you, he's got that spark in his eyes that means he has a bad idea. "You know," He rolls the idea over his tongue, "I'm a little out of practice."

You push at his head with a laugh. Johnny sits up rather than be pushed off the couch and grabs your hips to drag you close. You shriek and feel his fingers pinching at your soft sides until you laugh.

"Good for both of us, yeah?" He asks, "I get to practice and you get off."

"You're not funny," You giggle out between fits of laughter. You twist in his grip to crawl away and he pulls you right back. His fingers tighten hard enough to bruise and you whine at the ache. "Ow, Johnny." You kick at him and he catches your ankle, flipping you onto your back.

"Lemme see your cunt." He says and the air rushes from your lungs. You stare up at him, his smile too wide. You've always found his toothy grin to be boyish, charming, but now it feels warning, predatory. You blink at him, feeling your cheeks starting to burn.

"Not funny," You tell him more firmly, turning to tug yourself out of his grip, your fingers twisting against the arm of the couch. You forget how strong military life has made him, too familiar with the scrawny kid you used to beat at footie. Johnny pulls you with a strength you've never felt, hauls you down the couch to lean over you. He's actually starting to scare you a little, the heat in his eyes is too close to burning and his teeth seem so dangerously promising.

"I'm not joking," His fingers drag from your hip, trail down to rest against the soft swell of your mons. He holds your legs open with the hand around your ankle and you struggle to take a breath. "Who else am I gonna practice on? You tell me what you like, yeah? And I'll show you what I can do with my tongue."

"Johnny I don't-"

"Ya were just sayin' you're in a dry spell," He reasons, his fingers rubbing teasingly between the waistband of your sleep shorts and just dipping too close to your clit, "can tell me exactly what you want as long as you want, know ple'ny of hens would love this opportunity."

Somehow that gets you. You wince at the mention of someone else, Johnny's never been one to date but he brings girls home sometimes. Or- no he usually goes to their place. Stays out late drinking with the boys and doesn't come home until late in the morning. You scrunch your brows together and he starts in on the begging.

"Please hen? Please," He pouts, dropping to rest his chin against your hip, "please? Please. Lemme do it. You gotta. Please. Ahm askin' nice an' everythin'. Please, please, please."

"Christ," you push at his face, just so you don't have to look at it anymore, "Fine, but just this once."

"Just this once tonight," Johnny agrees too quickly, already ripping your shorts down your legs.

You expected any sort of hesitation, but it feels like you've barely gotten your pants off before Johnny's pressed his mouth to your pussy. His tongue licks broad stripes, his head wiggles to try and push closer, lips kissing and sucking at your folds so eagerly it makes your head spin. You swallow, he's messy, unorganized, but the enthusiasm is there. Your fingers find his hair again and you swallow down your hesitation a second time. Johnny's your best friend, you can tell him anything, so you can tell him what you like.

"My clit," You start, tugging at his hair, "lick- lick it, um-" Johnny follows directions well, moving easily to flick his tongue against your clit. It's too gentle, maddeningly gentle, you can just barely feel it. "Harder," You suggest, "more pressure." Johnny presses his tongue harder against you, laves his tongue like a wave against your clit with firm pressure. You whine, feel him drag his mouth against you, his beard scratching your sensitive thighs. His tongue maintains its position, licking at your clit with varying degrees of intensity, testing the waters and listening to your soft panting whines.

You meet his baby blue eyes, his pupils blown wide, and he pulls back to let you see the way his tongue moves. Flat and pink, flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves in teasing licks before he lowers down again. "You can s-suck too," You manage.

"Where hen?" He asks, lips closing around your clit and sucking hard. Your next words die on your tongue, your mind flooded with the sudden pleasure. His pulls back, and you try to come up with the words again, watching his thumbs spread your folds to further expose your clit to him. He sucks at it again, tongue working against it when his lips aren't pulling it. He only stops to work his tongue between your folds, dragging the tip around your hole to collect slick before pulling it towards your clit. "Gotta be specific or I won't know."

He's such a cheeky fucking bastard. He sucks at your folds, sucks at your thighs as his thumb rubs over your clit. Johnny's mouth is on your clit every time you open your mouth to give another direction. He works you up and then lets you drop back down, his lips kissing over your like he has all night.

"Fuck," You whine, hips following his mouth as he drags his tongue from your hole to your clit, "Johnny." He hums, lips around your clit, tongue fluttering against the sensitive bud. "Your tongue my-" He pulls off with a wet noise, and holds his tongue against your slit, waiting like a dog for your next order, "-my, uh-" fuck, having to ask for it out loud is embarrassing, and yet the heat on your cheeks has started to spread through your entire body, "-my hole. Please." You tack the politeness onto the end. You feel a little... guilty asking, but it's Johnny and he asked you to do this. (sort of)

"Look at you," Johnny coos, "such a good girl, so polite when ya want somethin'." You throw your arm over your eyes so you don't have to look at him. Your skin burns with embarrassment. You can't look at him right now.

"Shut up," You mumble. You feel his tongue prod at your clenching hole, the squirmy muscle wiggling it's way inside you to lap at your gummy walls. Johnny sucks your slick straight from the source and groans. The noises he makes, the wet slurping and sucking, make your blood run hot. His thumb rubs at your clit, his tongue stretching you out, the combination makes your cunt tingle with pleasure. Your whines sound more desperate than you'd hoped.

Johnny pulls back, dragging his tongue in broad strokes up your cunt. His licks are long and desperate, too eager to taste you, his eyes closed in bliss even as his ears twitch with your every moan. His mouth leaves you, and you pull your head up from where you'd been arching off the couch to see what he needs. Meeting his gaze is a mistake. As soon as your eyes touch his hand comes down hard on your clit. You yelp, as his fingers soothe over the sting. The sharp pain dissolves into heat, tingles over your skin like a rush of goosebumps. His fingers tap at your clit, and you whimper.

"You gotta keep talkin' hen," He presses, his fingers toying with your folds, "or I might start pullin' at the leash."

"You hit me," You whine. He pouts at you, imitating your own pout, and spanks you again. Your hips jump, your head dropping back against the couch. Two more sharp stinging spanks hit you and your stomach clenches. You can feel slick dripping off of your cunt and wetting the couch underneath you, which means Johnny can feel it too.

"Think you like it," Johnny grins, his fingers press into your cunt, two thick digits filling you without warning. You whine, clenching around the intrusion. "I thought you were helpin' me practice," His fingers twist in and out of you, and you grab for his wrist, "Where's my polite girl gone, hm?"

You squeeze his wrist, try to get him to stop fucking you with those delicious twisting jabs. It only makes him fuck his thick fingers into you faster. You gasp, your muscles tightening as he hits that delicious sweet spot you never seem able to find yourself. Moans drip from your lips, his fingers only slowing when Johnny lowers his mouth to suck at your clit again. You try to blink the stars from your eyes, your lashes fluttering until you can't keep your eyes open anymore. Your pleasure crashes into you with shaking legs, your pussy fluttering greedily around Johnny's fingers.

It's not good enough for him. His mouth leaves you, his breath heavy, and his fingers thrust into you hard. You writhe against the couch, your whines turning high and tight. The spring in your stomach coils and coils, holding you at an edge that doesn't seem to have an escape. The begging in your head falls out of your mouth.

"Please, please," You sob, your hips humping Johnny's fingers, "please Johnny, gonna come."

"Oh bonnie thing," He coos, his fingers picking up their pace, "you come as much as you want, my polite girl." His words split through you. Your back arches, your hips jump, the tightness turns into popping heat and wetness, and you come. Your slick squirting up his arm as he makes soft encouraging noises. Johnny's fingers never stop moving, your orgasm drawn up and released again and again until your hips hurt. Your insides ache, your cunt pushing at his fingers desperately for a break.

Your head is spinning, your vision blurry and your body heavy when you find enough energy to open your eyes. You glance down at Johnny, watch the way he rubs his cock against you. His tip is red and angry, drooling, the length is already coated in the slick it pulls from between your legs. You twitch when he nudges your clit, whimper at the sensitivity.

"Johnny?" He isn't looking at you, eyes glued on the mess between your legs, on the glaze of your come coating your pussy, dripping down your thighs. He wrenches his gaze from you only to shush you, leaning over your body to press his lips against your cheek.

"Just practice," He mumbles, "doesn't count, doesn't mean anythin', does it dummy?"

You feel his tip nudge against your entrance.

This might be a wild one.

But hear me out okay.

Simon has his hand somewhere intimate at all times whenever it’s the two of you together.

NOW okay stay with me…

At first, it was somewhat innocent. You’d both be watching a movie on the sofa, he’d deliberately have you lie across him just so his hand can rest on your ass. Casual couple things y’know.

But as your relationship progresses and he’s very used to being able to touch his pretty girl whenever possible…he tends to stray to more intimate places.

There would be one time, you’d be standing in the kitchen, cooking dinner for him on the rare occasion he gets to have a home cooked meal for once. And he’d stand behind you, humming some dumb song that’s been stuck in his head for days. But his hands will be on your tits.

Now, there’s nothing sexual about it really. He just likes holding them. Likes touching you. He’d probably give the occasional squish now and again because let’s face it he’s a man and they’d all do it.

But the only time his need to be touching you would turn sexual, is by complete accident.

(Hear me the fuck out okay?)

So you’d both be lying in bed, you’d be scrolling through your phone as he’s reading beside you (he reads, it’s obvious).

But his hand, would be down whatever pants or shorts you’re wearing for bed, underneath your underwear if you are wearing any at the time…and his hand would simply be resting on your cunt.

Like I said, it wouldn’t be sexual at first and it was an accident this time around.

Because this man can’t sit still at home, it’s too quiet…too calm…he needs something to do.

So what does he do? Play with your cunt.

The pad of his middle finger would idly rub up and down over your clit, not even trying to put any effort in all whilst he focuses on reading. Even if you’re there slightly squirming from the pleasure that the rhythmic motion of his finger creates, he wouldn’t really notice straight away.

He’d circle it a few times, all the while you’re trying to keep quiet as to not disturb him. Having to hold in every moan or soft sound your body aches to let out.

And for the most part, he seems completely focused. Even when his finger would slide down and gather every drop leaking out of you and bring it back to your clit just for more stimulation.

It’s only when you’re close to cumming from the lazy but constant stimulation that he’ll lean down slightly just to whisper in your ear.

“C’mon…give it to me love…please…”

He knows.

He always knows.

Suggestive themes! 18+ only!

Something something lumberjack!Simon being absolutely feral for you after a fight where he says something stupid and you slap him without thought.

You’re never violent. Have never raised your voice at him, or at anyone for that matter. You never cuss, never instigate, you’re polite. But him smarting off without thought and having you open-palm slap him across the face drove him insane. He barely felt it, barely registered it. But the thought of you being violent, that you did it because you felt something so strongly in regards to him, had him rock hard and absolutely foaming at the mouth.

Your eyes widen and you instantly start to apologize, but his mouth slanted across yours seconds later and it had the apology halting in the back of your throat. You’re putty in his hands, which is good because he’s pawing at your hips and ass while walking you backwards to press up against the hood of his truck.

“So fuckin’ hard for ya, sweet’eart.” Simon groans against your lips, teeth clashing and tongue sliding against yours in a dirty glide.

“M’sorry, Si. Didn’t mean to.” You’re able to mutter between rough passes of lips and teeth, but he’s just shaking his head as he wraps both hands around your hips to lift you onto the hood.

“Nothin’ t’be sorry for, lovie. S’my fault anyways.”he replies on a breath, slotting himself between your spread thighs and dragging his hands up your back to tangle in your hair. He’s using one hand to hold your neck while the other is tugging your hair back to arch your neck and jaw for his rough ministrations.

“M’not violent though. S’not right of me.” You try again, panting and sighing deep in your chest as his stubbled cheeks scratch at your skin while he sucks hickies and bite marks into the delicate skin of your throat and shoulder.

“Hot as fuck is wha’ it is.” Simon retorts, using the excuse of removing his mouth to talk to bite a little too hard into the meat of your collarbone.

“Fuck, Simon. Too hard.” But your hips are still rocking against his body where your legs are wrapped around his broad frame.

“Sorry, sweet’eart. My bad.” But he’s grinning mischievously, not really sorry at all.

You roll your eyes and laugh, wrapping your own hand around the back of his neck to bring him back in for another kiss and another taste.

Price

Found this on an old flashdrive and you cannot tell me this isn't Captain John Price coded. Like could you just imagine John has been home for a few months, meaning he hasn't been working out as much, his stomach becoming a bit heavier with all the foods you've been cooking.

And you just can't get enough of it. Don't get me wrong, no matter how he looks, John's body is incredible. But there's just something so...domestic about him when he starts looking like this.

The Secret History

“But how,” said Charles, who was close to tears, “how can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?’ Henry lit a cigarette. “I prefer to think of it,” he had said, “as redistribution of matter.”

The way I'm obsessed with this group, ugh!!!

Digital Illustration, 2025

Gorchart