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arqhms2 · 1 year

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RESTEZ AVEC MOI, LA NUIT CHANTE.

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X COBRA! READER

AO3 / MASTERLIST / MAIN ACC - @arqhms

WORD COUNT / 1.6k

WARNINGS / mentions of anxiety and panic attacks

SUMMARY / it’s one thing to be fearless, and another to fear your own domain.

AUTHOR’S NOTE / holy this is my THIRD time posting this. p sure my main is shadow banned so i’m here for now! (hopefully this fixes it, and if it doesn’t… man idk)

“Comin’ up for your shift, Lt?”

“Yeah, Johnny. Gimme a minute.”

Soap flicks his comms off, mumbling a few native insults while drawing out his “knackeredness.” The grumbles and complaints don’t end until he has his bag fully zipped up, glancing over in your direction with a lopsided smile.

“You sure you’ll be okay here, Cobra?” His brow quirks in slight concern, offering a dusted blanket over. “Bein’ alone with that dafty might drive y’a up the wall.”

“You’re not much different, Johnny.” The mock of Ghost’s accent on his nickname drives a scowl up his face, turning away with an impolite wave in your direction. “Night, Soap!”

“Haud yer wheesht!”

An amused snort follows the overly dramatic slam of the door, leaving you alone atop the headquarter’s watchtower. Despite being only roughly 100 feet in the air, you feel impossibly higher, nagged on by ravenous winds seeping through the open window above you. The loss of Soap beside you cultivates the space colder, crawling silent shivers up your spine despite the thick layers padded against it.

Siberia is a cold, dark place. Slithering with frigid hands and souls. Not a sliver of spare warmth would be welcomed in the Mother Lands, as if it was whispering to you in relentless gusts and coats of verglas.

You’re not Russian. You’re not welcome here.

In a sense, it was right. This was not your domain, and it showed in the steady increase of casualties and careless injury. Price had to call off his post from a fractured wrist, and Gaz nursed the brand of the bullet in his honor. Even worse, Ghost had bit the frigid depths of Russia with his forearm. The entire expanse of its left side, porcelain bandages dimmed to ivory in the night.

A soft abrasion of cloth and the dent of metal pieces what you could not see of him together. Quietly pulling Soap’s chair to the side to make room. Completely devoid of breath and reaction in his descent to the floor, and the silent twitch of his eyelid after that, snapped back to normalcy once he senses your gaze. The shift of his back against the sleeted concrete unshadows him further, breaking his quietude upon seeing the grin perched upon your features.

“What are you up to?”

The question is simple, tinged with a drop of faux irritation. You see straight through it, yet, feel the smile dropping from your face regardless. He’s quick to notice your change in posture, and turns away.

“Simon.” Your call falls to deaf ears, so you gently nudge his calf with your foot. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it.”

His response is coarse, a bark amidst the chilling gusts of wind that carries it away. Filled to the brim with it a defensiveness you hadn’t witnessed in quite a while, packed with a sting that had you biting your cheek. You’d known it all too well, countless fights and acts of seclusion had spelled it out perfectly. And, as if you’d needed an extra push to confirm it, your eyes drop, taking in the soft jitter of gloved hands.

Just one of many callsigns of a brittle man’s anxiety. A fearless machine on the field turned to a wisp of the wind, eyes glossy and sour, silently corroding in his own skin.

It makes you feel sick, the pungent tang of fear coating your tongue in full. Your throat is chalk dry, sweat glazed eyes frantically coasting around the room. Desperately searching for something, a reason.. a way to stop it.

Ghost liked the scent of wood— liked nature even more. Wouldn’t have minded the slight mess of weaponry laid out in front of you, and certainly would’ve voiced his distaste on your habits if he had. Your mind raced as it went through a mental checklist of his behaviors, raking down to a slim line before you got it.

It was dark. Pitch black, nearly; only a soft glow of the moon reflecting off thick clumps of snow. The lack of illumination dimming his irises into a pool of gloom, flickering from the window to wilderness. Completely devoid of light.

You recalled it right there. In all the years you’d known him, some behaviors had remained the same. The way he would always gravitate toward the lighter side of the room, the bedside lamp he kept in his room, always on past noon. Even when it wasn’t dark. He abhorred the very thought of it.

It wouldn’t be an insane thought to say he was afraid, either. Never scared of a cointoss to tomorrow, or the day-to-day assaults on his life.

No, he was terrified of the dark. A loss of light meant the loss of traction. And with no traction, there’s no goal. No goal is the assailant of purpose. And without purpose, he is nothing.

A Ghost. He simply fears what he is.

“Hey.”

His back strikes up, fully effect and ready for the advance. Streaks of dirtied bone crawl up his face, settling around fiendishly creased eyes. Taut, vile, purely on the offensive. Tightly cradling an enigma behind snapping jaws. Snarling with the faintest taste of doubt.

“Soap left a flashlight around here somewhere, just hang on for a minute.”

Ghost’s eyes are practically shot open, watching mindlessly as the words replay in a broken record’s symphony. You’d figured him out, just like that, no strings attached. And God, it should’ve scared him. A consternation nestled deep within the mania. Command him to lash out on the breach of his security and—

Click.

The world goes quiet. His eyes shrink in the blaze of luminescence, back slouching down at the slightest as you set the flashlight down.

“You frosty?”

Exhausted. From the nightmares to the pain in the arse wound biting his skin.

“Fuck, affirmative. All good.”

Anyone is an enemy to him until he sticks around long enough. Mapping their face out, the things they hate, what he could get bit for and what makes him more tolerable. Bad habits that root him to an everlasting battle of loss and war.

“We’ll get your ass over here then, Simon.”

And, for once, he doesn’t feel like fighting.

The paralyzer demands he stays, act tough, you’re a goddamn soldier after all. It’s in his programming to isolate, but the deviant strand always lives. Hazed eyes remained fixated on the soft glow of the flashlight sprawled out across the post, licking into his soul, or what little he had left of it. And that part of him knew better, because it was full of you.

There’s no room to get hurt. But there’s no room to hurt, either.

He grumbles something lost to you, but moves nonetheless. Shimmying against creaking wood to claim the space beside you. Nearly mustering an eye roll as you drape a throw blanket over his shoulder. His skin is left searing from your fleeting touches, and he can’t help but look your way, following every finite motion of your irises.

You shift to the right, gaze pointed out the shabby window above. Ghost is quick to follow.

“I’ve heard some stories about the sky here. I forgot some of it, but they say the night sings around this time of year.”

“You sure that’s not some fodder you overheard this week?”

Your brows furrow, head lightly bumping against his shoulder. A glance is stolen your way before he’s back to the sky.

“That’s a stupid thing to lie about, don’t you think?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“Would that piss you off enough to kill them?”

He shrugs, offering a soft sigh of amusement.

“Maybe.”

Minutes drift into slow hours, dragging tranquility into the grey clouds drifting to and from your vision. Warmth escapes you at the quiet shuffle of Ghost’s feet, leaving half lidded eyes drooping into ice. Only when the grasps of sleep begin to claw at your consciousness are you roused once more, head tilting up at the soft call of your name.

“Think you’ll wanna see this.”

Both your and Ghost’s blankets are secured around your chest before you’re pulling yourself up, offering a questioning glance to the looming shape in the doorway. He steps aside, and you’re welcomed once more to the thrash and whip of Siberian breath. Yet, the cold stems at the surface as your eyes raise, mouth parting to suck in chill and awe.

“Holy shit…”

A blanket of flurried stars scatters across your field of view like splattered paint, giving background to the mass of constellations ahead of them. Woven further lies an array of colorful waves, stretching pink, green, and blue as far as you can see.

You’re rendered nearly speechless, infinitely impressed. Such a sight strikes ataraxia into the depths of your heart, circulating through the nerves and all that you are.

Ghost is nearly akin, eyelids pried open inches wider in a desperate attempt to burn it all inside. He’s allured, and he wants to remember you, collecting so much of the good that the hurt fades away. After that, perhaps he could forgive himself too.

Eventually, his gaze drifts down to you, who is no less shocked than you were five minutes ago. At this, he sighs. Long, cool, carefully enamored.

Such a feeling that eradicates the venom, allowing him to take a step forward and reach. Lowering his healthy arm to rest along the base of your shoulder. Timidly, softly as if you’d break. The star struck smile you return pumps life into his veins like a holy elixir. Shattering the boundary that is fear and the terror of what he deserves.

But, it is you. And, sometimes, it doesn’t feel like war.

#arqhms2 #call of duty #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley fanfic

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royalarmyking · 11 months

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Ghost Headcannons

GIF by arqhms

The König version of this blew up, so heres the Ghost version.

Ghost + fem!reader, to see who we likes better

Contains; fluff (lots of fluff), sexual themes, lil bit of jealousy, alcohol and smoking, maybe some other stuff i didnt catch.

Ghost on the Daily

~will come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, or tickling you. also tends to land a few kisses on your cheeks/neck

~likes it if y/n takes his mask off to kiss him, he finds it funny that you want him so much (or so he tells himself)

~will get into a fight if another man/woman looks at you longingly, you are his and only his

~likes it when you call him 'Si', 'Lieutenant', or 'Sir'

~will fight your battles for you, even if you dont want him to, though this is helpful if you dont want to deal with that person

Ghost When on Your Period (i feel like this is important information)

~has no idea on how to handle your cramps, mood swings, or just overall you on your period

~he'll get anything that you tell him you need, even if it's utterly ridiculous

~cant cook like König, but will get you fast food or take-out that he knows you will enjoy (and some for himself)

~is also a space heater (like König) and will help your bad cramps go away

Ghost in Bed (this is his forte)

~not as gentle with you

~likes to use bonds on you occasionally, especially if he is drunk

~if he is above you, he will hold your face/jaw to make you look at him, sometimes he will pause and kiss you

~will f*ck you all night because he cant get enough of you moaning his name

~leaves large hickeys on your neck, and collarbone so that any clothes you wear could show them

Ghost at the Bar

~he is the one getting sloppy drunk, and you will be taking care of him

~gets into fights at the bar if another drunk person comments you or tries to touch you

~will grab your waist, press you up against a wall, and kiss you

~whispers dirty things in your ear, even if someone is in front of you/talking to you

~will f*ck you when you get home

______________________________________________________________

Well, this work of art is done, Enjoy

#call of duty #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #headcanon

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

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@ anon who asked about arkham knight jason content: @jvsons writes for him and they also have a nsfw blog where u can ask for AK!jason smut @arqhms <3

Spread the love 💜

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jvsons2 · 1 year

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the urge to delete all of my tumblr accounts and completely start over is CRAZYY bro like

arqhms is so stressful in all honesty. my ghost fanfics semi blew up (not as much as some of them with like 10k notes) but it still created enough publicity to feel the pressure. i hate that i feel like tumblr is a running competition of who can post more and faster, and slower accounts literally just fizzle out. like it’s so impressive how some people can just write fics daily, but i couldn’t do that for the life of me and it’s probably killing my acc ♨️

it really might be because i’ve never really been the type to interact with others, and i don’t do that to be snobby, i just forget, but if that’s what’s fucking me than that would be pretty funny. (i’m also deathly afraid of stuck up accs that act like they’re famous because their posts do well, like bro we are writing FANFIC relax 😭😭)

soz i’m j all over the place as of recently and forgot i even had a spam acc

#jvsons #jvsons2

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ineylesian · 8 months

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just thinking about inexperienced ghost cumming early <33 (NSFW ADVISORY)

you’re the first person he’s been intimate with and he doesn’t know how to control himself at all. war is his specialty, not sex, and it takes a while for him to even be comfortable with you in the first place. he was good at concealing it at first, the way you warmed up to him so well, but you’re just too good at pleasing him and he can’t win. as time passes, ghost can’t seem to keep himself from getting hard at the littlest of things when you two are alone, he trusts you and your presence comforts him.

ghost knows how to please you. he’ll spend hours between your legs and fuck you into oblivion because your needs are more important to him than his own. when you finally convince him to fuck you for his own pleasure, he loses it, fast. the feeling of his cock stretching your walls nearly makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. you’re so hot, squeezing his cock so well that he can’t control his volume. soft gasps and raspy moans fill your ears as he sloppily ruts into you, groaning that he’s almost finished. before he can pull out, his balls leak deep against your cervix, and he moans, drawn out and sated.

entirely fascinated, ghost will watch his cum spill out of your spent pussy before placing a kiss on your temple.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess, lovie. Let’s get you clean up, yeah?”

1K EVENT | COD MASTERLIST

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #🐚 arqhmssummer23 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw22 #call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley x reader

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ineylesian · 10 months

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MIGUEL’S GIRL.

PETER B. PARKER/ MIGUEL O’HARA X FEM! READER

— AO3 | NAVI

— WORD COUNT | 1k

— WARNINGS | smut, masturbation (m), voyeurism (??), majorrr jealously, kinda cheating but not really, dirty minded peter.

— SUMMARY | it should’ve been him, but it wasn’t. you were miguel’s girl.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | remembered a cod fic inspired by jesse’s girl and had to bring it to atsv. also peter b parker is such bee keeping age 🤭 crazy for him

Being dragged into a different universe sucked.

Peter’s head was pounding, his back aching, growing stubble itching at his chin. His foot tapped as Mayday rocked around on his lap, babbling about something he wasn’t paying attention to.

“MJ and I are on the rocks again.”

Yeah. You paused at his answer, looking back with your mouth slightly ajar.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Your response was quick, tones of guilt ridden underneath. “Uhm- how old is May?”

“She’s one.”

He sighed, slotting his fingers against his upper jaw. You were rambling about how pretty she was— his daughter, eyes shining, lashes batting at her teasingly. It’s almost as if you’d totally forgotten about what had just happened.

He’d put it lightly. MJ had called it quits (for the 5th time this year) the night this whole ordeal started. She found out about your, as she called it, “little tango with Peter Parker”, which was years ago and frankly over. You didn’t need to know that, though.

“You want to hold her?”

You excitedly walked over, scooping Mayday— his daughter, into your arms. Peter watched as you swung her around, happily responding with her incoherent babbles with nonsense of your own.

It was years ago, when you and him were together. Nothing much became of it; you dropped in from another dimension, he was single.. and bored.

Nothing much, Peter sighed; he’d know you for merely a month. Fell for you in merely a month, too, recalling the way you’d broken his heart, and his yours, as you headed for home.

That mere month he knew you was perfect. You were the girl of his dreams, he’d thought he’d escaped that.

But damn, you still looked good. Especially with his kid in your arms.

“Peter.”

Shit. He shouldn’t be thinking like that.

“Peter.”

His eyes snapped open, looking up to see Miguel standing over him, Mayday held firmly in his hands.

“She needs to be changed.”

“You’re such a dad, el diablo.” You snickered, earning a glare from the man beside you. Miguel handed Mayday back to him before turning to you, effortlessly hoisting you onto his shoulder with a single arm. “His terrible jokes are rubbing off on you. I hate it.”

“Miguelllll.”

Your whine echoed down the halls, settling coldly in his ears as Miguel took you away. A frown had absentmindedly settled on his face the moment you disappeared, following him to the bathroom. The moment he looked into the mirror, he saw it, forcing him to smile down at Mayday as she tugged on his pant leg.

“Just my luck, huh, kiddo?”

Peter knew he’d heard this sound before.

“Miguel, what if people hear?”

You’d asked it, over, and over. You were always a cautious person, but you always gave in too quickly for your own good.

He’d also heard the same whine buzz from your throat. The same one you’d do when he’d leave hickeys on your neck. The same one that he’d do to you— except he wasn’t, Miguel was.

Shit. He could’ve picked any other hotel tonight. Any other that wouldn’t have him staring at the ceiling, listening to you get ruined by another man. Any other that wouldn’t possibly have Mayday waking up to the sound of his ex getting fucked in the room above him.

Just his luck, indeed.

Why was he bothered, anyway? You weren’t together anymore, that was in the past, completely. You didn’t love him anymore, and he had a kid with another woman. Albeit, a woman that he couldn’t stay with for more than two months at a time. And, you did look really nice holding May.

…shit.

Seconds passed. Your moans grew progressively louder. Peter could feel his face flush, deep, spreading erratically to other parts of his body. Every nerve in his system was struck, listening to you make noises like that— noises that only he should be pulling from you.

Before he knew it, Peter was palming himself through his suit, aggressively, listening intently as your voice began to run a little hoarse. Miguel must have already make you cum once, then. He imagined himself in that position, spreading the embarrassing amount of precum that had gathered at his tip along his skin as his hand slipped further underneath.

Peter could almost remember every detail from your nights together. He soaked in each reaction, how your face would scrunch up when he fingered you, the way your eyes would roll back when he bottomed out. Your chants and pleas of his name echoed faintly against the shabby motel walls, contrasting with his in a disturbing symphony.

“Miguel.. ah— Miguel— don’t stop…”

It should’ve been his name you were crying. Peter’s strokes grew faster as he tried to block Miguel’s name out, violently fisting himself at the thought of you under him, hot and streaking with tears of pleasure. He could nearly feel the soft curves of your thighs that he would gently trace, choking out a moan at the way you would look at him while he was lapping up your sobbing pussy.

It should’ve been him. Should’ve been you he fucked his kid into. The thought had him grounding his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes brimming with tears as his abdomen began to tighten. You were outright wailing now, begging Miguel to let you cum.

Peter imagined that you were whining his name, just as you did before, eyes glossy, lips swollen and puffy. You cried one last time as you came, and he felt his own cum leaking onto his hands, along with Miguel’s quiet praises. He swore, burying his head into the pillows when he began to console you.

It should’ve been him, but it wasn’t. You were Miguel’s girl.

In this universe, at least.

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #arqhmsspring2023 #peter b parker #peter b parker x reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara smut #peter b parker x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x you #across the spider verse x reader #across the spiderverse

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ineylesian · 1 year

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ME, OR HIM?

─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER

AO3 | MASTERLIST | CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT | 4k+

SUMMARY | las almas was burning at the hands of the shadow company. and you…

you had disappeared on the site of the fuerzas especiales HQ betrayal without a single trace to follow. in under 24 hours you were declared an alpha threat to the task force. Now, the city was under a veil of death and horror, words of commandment spread under the names graves and cobra.

yet, there was still digging to be done, and lieutenant simon “ghost” riley wasn’t quite done with you. after all, cobras always have a reason to strike.

WARNINGS | smut, vaginal sex, overstimulation, fingering, cunnilingus, jealous sex, implied graves x reader, biting, scratching, canon typical violence, ghost being a jealous hoe

AUTHOR’S NOTE | god i am literally such a whore for ghost it’s unreal. also, reader goes by the codename cobra, so you’ll know what that means when it pops up. graves also calls you fangs a few times bc he’s sexy like that

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

“Cobra? Do you copy”

“Cobra. Come in, it’s Ghost.”

“Y/n? Do you read me?”

A soft buzz echoed inside your earpiece as the static began to fade, melting desperate calls to the distant fizzle of newborn embers. Your earpiece was gingerly unhooked from your ear before a pair of arms hoisted you up, gently setting you to slump against the nearest wall.

“You awake, Fangs?”

Your eyes slowly peaked open from the call of a familiar voice, leading you to drag an arm over your eyelids before prying them fully open. Just a few inches away from you kneeled Graves, sifting through a small first aid kit laid out on the ground below. He glanced over to see that you were indeed alive, offering a soft smile your way before returning to the half assembled needle in his hand.

“Hey.” Your eyes shot back open at the feeling of him rolling one of your sleeves up. “Try and sit still. You’ll feel a Hell of a lot better in a few seconds.”

Droplets of rain kissed the newly exposed patch of your skin, coating the area in a gloss that gave way to the thin veins below. Graves ran a gloved hand along your forearm, stopping just before your elbow to bring the needle right beside his pointer finger. You hissed at the sudden feeling of a sharp tick in your arm, yet found yourself gasping at the surges of heat that came right after it. Your hands subconsciously clamped around Graves’ shoulders as the flames of adrenaline licked through your blood, ending in the faint scent of smoke nearby.

“That’s it, Fangs. You’re alright.” Graves affirmed, tucking your loose arm around his neck before pulling you to stand. “You okay to stand?”

“Yeah.”

Graves nodded, allowing you to untangle yourself from his upper region and stand straight. Your gaze was soon pulled from your dirtied vest as he dropped your earpiece on the ground, smashing it dead into the dirt with his boot. Before you could even articulate a response to his sudden agression, your attention was pulled to the sound of approaching tires.

“Your men, I’m guessing?” You questioned, taking the new earpiece from his extended hand. “What’s going on here, Graves?”

The man before you simply shook his head, signaling to the oncoming vehicle with a wave. You grit your teeth at him, taking his outstretched arm before pulling him into a shaded patch of the alleyway.

“You wanna fucking explain that stunt you pulled back at Fuerzas, huh?” You growled, shoving his back against the soddened walls. “Playing Mr. Nice Guy doesn’t work on your enemies, Phi.”

“You think I have a choice, Y/n?” Graves snapped back, tilting his head almost comically at you. “In case you forgot, we are OWNED by Shepherd, whether we like it or not. I did the best I could.”

“COMMANDER GRAVES?”

You pulled off of him at the sound of pounding footsteps, emerging from the shadows with a grim expression set upon your features. Graves was quick to follow, adjusting his vest before leaning down to level with your ear.

“We lost our rights to free will a while ago, Fangs. But that doesn’t change a damn thing when it comes to you, okay?”

An erratic chill ran down your spin as Graves used the last of his cover to run a hand along your side, stopping to give your wrist a light squeeze before fully emerging into the light.

He was right. You had lost your right to life two months ago. But choosing not to fight back? Turning on the people who had the most capacity to apprehend Shepherd?

“… right on. Cobra and I will lead you through a sweep of the city. Remember, it’s the police we’re after. Do what you have to, but try your best to limit civilian casualties.”

“But sir, Shepherd confirmed that we had full, unrestricted reign of the city?”

Silence coated the atmosphere in a blanket of suffocating static, pulling Graves’ jaw taut as he gripped the sides of his vest tighter.

He knew this isn’t what you’d have wanted. The scrutinizing judgment of your ill-witted gaze drilling him from the back was enough to say so. You knew Phillip Graves never wanted his life to play out like it did for the past two years. And you knew he tried to play hero, but at the end of the day, both his life and yours had always mattered more than anything else.

“Of course, do as you must.”

And you were just as bad as him, holding what could be potential liberation behind tongue tied thoughts. But instead of speaking up, you nodded your soldiers off, slipping a hand into one of the many pockets on Graves’ vest as you slipped by. A look of deep solemn was sent his way, captivating his gaze even as gunfire began to light up the dim space around you, ending with a gleam of remorse before the sun disappeared.

You watched as he turned his back, typing a set of eight numbers in the device you stole before dropping it into the mud, kicking it deeper, and moving to join him.

Maybe you could do something before all Hell broke loose.

———

ONE WEEK AFTER THE INCIDENT. / A WAREHOUSE SOMEWHERE ALONG THE OUTSKIRTS OF LAS ALMAS.

“Cobra. I trust you’ve been having successes in finding Hassan’s location?”

“Negative, sir. She won’t speak without Alejandro present. With Graves’ report on the prison break, I’m afraid we’ll have to open negotiations back up.”

A noise of disapproval crept it ways through your earpiece, moving you to sit straight whilst watching Shepherd from the edge of your screen.

“Find Hassan, Cobra. I don’t care how. Golden Eagle out.”

You closed the computer with a sigh, standing up to make way for the armory. A suppressed DMR was grabbed and strapped on top of a lightweight vest, followed by a silencer pistol strapped to your thigh. A line of smokes and frags were clicked onto your belt, finishing off by smoothing your hair back and pulling a black balaclava over your face.

Midnight was approaching fast, leaving you with nearly 20 minutes to reach your destination. Emerging outside, you fastened your DMR to a clip on your vest before spinning your keys in place, letting one foot fall to the ground as you swung yourself onto your vehicle. The engine of your motorcycle raged to life as you yanked your keys against the ignition, leaving a mass of dust in your wake as you tapped the gas, setting off for the barren roads ahead.

The time on your watch had just flashed to 11:59 as you eased to a stop, setting your bike to lay against the sand before dropping beside it. Flicking your thermal scope onto your DMR, you set the gun down against the cool grounds below, finger hovering the trigger as you peered at a warehouse nearly 100 meters ahead. Breathing in, you focused your crosshairs on a pair of guards on the perimeter’s outskirts, lowering down on the trigger as one of them moved in position for a collateral.

Your eyes snapped to the side as a third man dropped in the corner of your scope, winding a faint smile upon your face as you rose up from the ground. Small piles of sand kicked up behind your footsteps as you broke into a sprint, watching bodies drop in the near distance with every footstep you took.

There would only be 10 internal guards at this time. 20 on the outside and dropping rapidly made easy work of it, allowing you to slip in through a side gate completely unnoticed.

A stray guard stationed on the main roof caught your attention, leading you to snatch a half cracked beer bottle off the ground before moving forward. Peaking your head above a ladder, you rose your hand when he glanced away, tossing the bottle a few meters in the opposite direction. Following a string of confused murmurs and the turn of his back, you mounted the roof and ran up behind him, spinning him by his shoulders before jamming a knife into his jugular.

Now came the hardest part, eliminating the ones inside. You couldn’t pick them off one by one since the area was so compact, and starting a gunfight could prove risky. The only one safe way you could think of led you to crouch beside one of the roof’s skylights, peering down at a clump of guards that sat directly below you.

A soft click sounded from your belt as you pulled a smoke bomb from it, smashing a small hole in the glass before dropping it in. The rise of agitated coughs led you to flip on the infrared lens on your goggles, dropping down onto a crate before taking your last fall onto the chest of a guard.

Frenzied gunfire rang out as blinded guards screamed in confusion, their rasps soon cut short by a swift sequence of knives jutted to their skin. You made easy work of the first 5 that had been grouped up, but the rest had already been alerted, and were approaching fast.

You dropped another canister of smoke before sliding against one of the numerous crates in the warehouse, peaking out to see a red, thermal mass just a few feet away. His legs were kicked from behind as you spun your knife to his front, spurting a thick trail of blood into the mist at the expense of his esophagus. A chain of horrific screams echoed throughout the space as you moved forward in rapid, deadly progression, grabbing the last man’s head before putting a silenced bullet in the base of his skull.

A click pushed past your tongue as you knelt down, swiping a now bloodied keycard out of the guard’s pocket. However, you could only freeze in shock as the sound of a cocked gun rang out from your front, leading you to stare straight into the barrel once the last of the smoke cleared.

“Don’t move.”

You raised your hands in defeat, allowing the guard to reach forward and snatch the covering off of your face. The moment his eyes widened was the same a sharp object whizzed just meters past your head, allowing him to mutter a single word before slumping to the ground.

“Cobra.”

His body was kicked to the side, allowing you to step out of the pools of blood that coated your boots and turn around. The sight before you drew a thin sigh from your lips, leading you to avert your gaze at the sound of approaching footsteps.

You couldn’t believe he’d actually followed your message.

“Ghost.”

His eyes traveled to your face, taking in the fresh strokes of red that coated your cheek, soon narrowing into a look you couldn’t decipher. However, if there was one thing you could pick up, it was anger.

“These people, they’re..” he blinked roughly, looking back up to you with a newfound glint of confusion resting in the small corner of light that sat there. “Tell me everything, now.”

“I doubt there’s much you really need to know.”

“Wrong choice.” The harsh bark in his tone grazed your ears as he began walking forward, roughly grabbing the hem of your vest to push you into a nearby crate. “Come clean to me. Right. Now.”

“Tell me what they’ve told you.”

A frustrated sigh passed through the lower region of his mask, followed by the slight tilt of his head downward.

“Shadow Company. Almost an entire section of Las Almas slaughtered.” His voice grew with each passing word, sucking in a sharp breath before looking back up at you. “Graves’ closest advisor.”

You could do nothing but nod.

“I had no control over what he did, Ghost. Shepherd has him wrapped around his finger, I-“

“So you just sit and let him kill all of these innocent people?” He growled, pressing you further into the metal. “You could’ve prevented all of this.. but you..”

“Fucking Hell Simon- don’t say it.”

“You’re in love with that bastard, aren’t you?”

His hand tugged violently on your vest, some fingers moving into the collar of your jacket. Following the upward aggression, one of his knees pressed into your thigh, forcing you to cower under him.

“No, you don’t understand.” You snapped, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I saved him back in Al Mazrah. He owes me his life.”

“And what about us, Cobra?” He spat, leaving just a few inches of space between your noses. “You’ve been with the Task Force way longer, and now you suddenly want to act all high and mighty because your team failed?”

“That was NOT our fault.” You snarled, roughly shaking against his grasp. “We had no choice but to follow Shepherd’s orders, you know that!”

“Fine, but the choices you’ve made up until now? Those are on you.”

You grit your teeth firmly together before swiping one of your feet against Ghosts’ leg, taking his stagger to spin him to where you had been moments prior. Kicking a body towards you, your hands forced his head down, the edge of your boot pointing to the Shadow Company’s insignia sewed into left side of one of the guard’s chests.

“I’m killing my men for the Task Force, Simon. I betrayed my squadron, sent you those coordinates, and you still have the nerve to say I’m acting high and mighty? Do you hear yourself?”

Silence.

“I did this all for you, not Graves.”

You.. meaning the Task Force, of course. Not “you” for the man pressesd flush against your chest, hands running along your forearms, stopping to clamp against your wrists in a fluid squeeze.

“But you’re still going to go back to him, aren’t you?”

You sighed through your nose, unlinking one of his hands from your wrist to rest beside his mask. The eyes above you fluttered nearly shut, holding you in a squint that proved he already knew the answer to that question.

“I have no choice.”

Your hand traveled to the side, languidly hooking a finger under his mask, pulling just high enough to expose his mouth and the stubble coating the skin around it. Before you knew it, he dipped his head down to pounce on your lips, teeth knitting against the soft flesh in a sudden course of hunger.

“Let me have you tonight, then, Cobra.”

It was true, you had no choice when it came to your situation. The mere thought of Shepherd catching you with Ghost made your skin crawl.. but right now, you had him, and you weren’t going to take that for granted. A major mistake, maybe, betraying every ill word you’ve spoken to him in frustrated lust.

Yet, you nodded, allowing him to pick you up and set you away from the mass of bodies you had been standing near.

Gloved hands snaked under your arms the moment you touched the ground, moving to unclip your vest and toss it to the ground beside you. His hands continued to roam along the expanse of your jacket, tugging the zipper down in one harsh movement before taking your belt along with it.

“Do you let Graves touch you like this?”

You bit your lip, shamelessly lifting the bottom of his jacket up to access his belt.

“None of your business.”

He shook his head, knowing what that entailed; fingers moving to fiddle with your pants as well.

“Lucky bastard.”

Ghost took no leisure in sliding your panties down once he popped the button holding your jeans open, tugging one of his gloves off with his teeth before tossing it to the side. His index finger plunged to circle around your folds, rousing a deep sigh from his throat at the feeling of your slick coating his fingers.

“Fucking Hell…”

You whimpered as that same finger suddenly pushed inside of you, the sensitivity of the sudden intrusion making you clamp around him. Only a few shallow pumps sufficed for him until he added the second finger, making sure to stretch them open inside of you before moving forward. You bit back a moan as his fingers curled against your sweet spot, the look in your eyes telling him all he needed to know anyway.

His speed picked up with every short thrust inside your walls, eventually rousing a quiet moan from your lips as your head fell back. A soft hum followed the crude noise, only encouraging him to run his other hand along the bundle of nerves above. Your teeth gnawed at your lips at the feeling of rough velcro abusing the outside of your pussy, each sloppy rub of his fingers sending a pleasant shock through your system.

“Fucking Graves.” Ghost mumbled, thrusting his fingers in you particularly hard at the thought of the man. “Wish he was here to watch someone else touch you like- this.”

You bit your hand as his fingers curled on the last word, heating the coil snaking around your midsection tenfold.

“Let me hear you, lovie.” He reached up, prying your hand away from your mouth. “What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck, Simon, keep going.”

You felt yourself growing closer to an orgasm with each approaching second, hands slapping the metal behind you to relieve the heat. Ghost’s thrusts were nothing short of sloppy now, three fingers in at their cruel pace.

“That’s it, come on my fingers. Nice and slow.”

You’d never admit it, but he had such a fucking way with words. So much that one sentence alone had you lathering his fingers in cum, drawing a thin line of slick substance between them as he pulled out of you.

His arms dipped down to encircle your legs, lifting you to sit on the edge of a crate. Now decently higher above, you glanced down, the arousal between your legs growing with no doubt as you watched him sink to his knees. Tugging your jeans down a little further, he hungrily pried your legs apart before glancing up at you, and plummeting his face between your legs.

A sweet moan fell from your lips as the coarse pad of Ghost’s tongue licked up your folds, stopping to swirl around your bud before moving back down to your hole. Just as you were beginning to enjoy the slow pace, he shoved his tongue inside of your pussy, sliding against areas even his fingers didn’t satisfy. One of the hands holding your legs open began toying with your clit once more, eliciting a string of curses from your mouth as you felt your next orgasm start to build.

Though he’d never admit it, Ghost always thought you had a beautiful voice. The way you accentuated some words and let others fall over like rain water enticed him to no end. And now, hearing the sing sing moans and whimpers spilling from you was undoubtedly catching his attention, causing him to glance up from your pussy.

You, on the other hand, had never been shy about complimenting him. You’d always drone on about how nice his accent sounded, how perfectly cocky he was.. Hell, the list never ends. However, if there was something you made sure he was aware of, it was how gorgeous his eyes were. Piercing oak and softly shaped; always adorned with an intimidating smear of black around them.

And with the way they stared up at you now? Your composure was snapped and broken beyond repair.

Seconds later you felt yourself crying out on your second orgasm, leaning back as Ghost hungrily lapped up whatever dripped out of you. He stood up after a good 20 seconds, the upper hand side of his mask noticeably drenched in your juices. He let out a sigh at this, raising a hand to tug what was left of it off.

It had been a long time since you’d seen Ghost without his mask on, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Dirty blonde locks sat plastered against his forehead, longer than what you remembered. However, the moment was short lived, as his eyes were soon to harden back to the way they had looked when you first encountered.

“What’s your plan after this?”

“To steal any information from here, and get Hassan’s location from the girl.”

“You know she wont talk.” He pressed, leaning closer to your face. “What then?”

Oh.

Your mouth contorted into a sickeningly fake smile as you ran a hand along his face, stopping to caress lightly over his cheek.

“You want me to beg for your help, don’t you?”

He only grew closer at this, warm breaths fanning over your mouth in drawn out waves.

“No, I just want you to make the right decision.”

You scoffed, thumb slowly coming down to run over his lip.

“Aren’t I doing that right now?”

A hum answered your inquiry as he pressed his lips against yours, tongue greedily sliding around the inside to get every taste of you. Muffled moans mingled between the both of you, leading Ghost to press his thighs against your own. One of his hands slipped down to finish unzipping what you hadn’t, the other running along your chest, reaching under your bra to cup and squeeze your breasts one at a time.

You eventually broke apart from his lips because of the ache, glancing down to see him smearing his precum along his dick. Your legs vibrated at each push of his hands against your skin, gently clamping down on your flesh before breaking one hand away to drag his cock against your already weeping pussy.

“Think you can take all of me, sweetheart?”

You nodded feverishly, already growing hot at the pure cockiness present in his tone. What was a small match erupted into a flame as he pushed into you, trailing embers down your walls with each inch he moved. You’d never felt so full in your life, groaning shamelessly as he bottomed out, moving back after a few seconds to adjust you to his length.

“Simon, please.. fuck.” You exhaled roughly, head tilting back to alleviate some of the pressure. “Faster, please.”

A screech caught itself in your throat as he began to thrust inside of you, hands moving up to cage around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. This allowed his cock to burrow even deeper than before, the pleasure rousing incoherent phrases from your lips. Ghost eagerly tilted his head up at this, messily taking your lips in his and greedily swallowing all of the sounds from your throat.

Your hands dug into the sheer fabric of his coat, legs feebly wrapping around his waist in an attempt to stay grounded. You mumbled something along the lines of “.. please.. faster” against his lips, rousing a drawn out groan from his throat at the sound. The slaps of his cock against your pussy grew louder as he increased his speed, filling your ear with a mixture of lewd pants and moans.

“He’ll never fuck you like this, Cobra. Never.”

Ghost choked on the last part of his sentence, letting out an almost animalistic moan at the rate his cock was slamming inside of you. Each thrust grew sloppier, filling him with the carnal need to suck the breath out of your lungs, moving to nip at your neck after you gasped for air. His teeth picked at your skin skillfully, drawing out just enough force to have you sobbing his name, desperately clawing at his back for any leverage.

“My god- Simon!” You cried, raising a hand to grasp his hair. “M’ gonna.. cum.”

“.. shit…”

To be completely truthful, you hadn’t experienced anything like this with Graves in your life. The sweltering blister of heat in your midsection ignited further with every thrust, a release itching to come out as your overstimulated walls clenched around him for the third time. Blistering tears streaked down your cheeks as your orgasm came crashing around Ghost’s cock, drawing a beautiful moan from his lips as he chased his own high.

He abruptly pulled out, mixing streaks of white with the arousal already pooling in between your legs. Panting lightly, Ghost helped you down onto the ground after you zipped your clothes back on, never letting go of your shoulders as you regained composure in your legs.

“You know can’t do this without us.” He spoke, voice just above a whisper. “Come back to base with us, we’ll roll out an operation tomorrow.”

You slowly shook your head at him, hands turning his inside out mask before taking his ungloved hand and placing it inside.

“You know I can’t do that.” You sighed, running a hand along his forearm. “Someone needs to be inside, and I need to make sure Graves gets out safe if you’re really planning on doing what you said.”

“No.” His tone lowered as if you’d flipped a switch in his head, firmly taking hold of your wrists, eyes narrowing dangerously at you. “It’s either us or him. You have to choose.”

It’s either me or him. You have to choose.

You inhaled sharply, digging a device holding your frequency inside out of your vest.

“You know I’d always choose you.”

Your hands clasped around his own as you placed the device in his care.

“Just… try not to kill him. He’s looked out for me more than you know.”

Heaving a small sigh, Ghost pocketed your device before leaning down, lips hovering just inches from yours.

“No promises, Cobra.”

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #cod mwii #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #phillip graves #call of duty #ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #mwii #call of duty modern warfare

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ineylesian · 7 months

Note

need your hcs on girl dad ghost PLEASEEE 🙏🙏

girldad! ghost has my whole heart <33

GIRLDAD! GHOST who spends countless hours of his off days lounging on the couch with his baby girl sleeping on his chest <33 especially when you’re perched against the end he’s facing, his favorite girl’s nails gently carding through his hair as a movie plays in the background.

GIRLDAD! GHOST who is so incredibly protective over his girls, but knows his boundaries. You two are the most important things in the world to Simon, and he can’t help but fret you two being safe and happy at all times. This comes with constant nagging over little things, especially the boys your daughter sees. When he found out about his daughter’s first heartbreak, Simon bought her a bouquet of roses, all of her favorite snacks, and a small teddy bear holding a heart to its chest. For a solid week, he grumbled about how he knew that guy wouldn’t treat her right and how he better hope he never runs into him.

GIRLDAD! GHOST who shows up to every one of his daughter’s events he can make. He cleans up nicely, devoid of the mask as not to scare or unsettle anyone. Nothing makes his daughter more proud than seeing her dad in the stands of her games holding a handcrafted sign just for her <3. If she plays an instrument, Ghost will happily sit with her as she practices and tell her how well she plays <3. Any hobby she does brings him joy to no end, especially if she takes it up from her mother.

GIRLDAD! GHOST who probes every guy that enters his house. His handshake is firm, hardened gaze practically melting into the poor boy’s skull as he nervously introduces himself. Simon interrogates the boy all throughout dinner, his own little assessment to see if he approves or not. If he doesn’t pass, much to you and your daughter’s dismay, his daughter’s “boyfriend” won’t be making it past dinner and will be very passive aggressively shown the door.

GIRLDAD! GHOST who takes you and your daughter out in the woods to shoot a few times a month. As a soldier, Simon is skilled with weapons of all kinds and wants you both to know how to use them in an emergency. He needs reassurance that the two of you will be able to defend yourselves if he’s not around; knowing you’re not helpless lets him sleep at night when he’s not home.

GIRLDAD! GHOST who writes in individual letters home to you and your daughter while deployed. He makes sure to ask how his little girl is doing while he’s away, hopefully not having too much fun without him, while telling her how much he misses her. He’ll tell her about all of the sights he’s seen wherever he’s been in the world, asking her if she’d be interested in going someplace far when he gets home, a little family vacation maybe. In your letter, Simon makes sure to tell you how much he loves you, and how he can’t wait until he’s home so he can see both of his precious girls <3.

i love him so much :(((

NAVIGATION

#arqhms #🎃 arqhmsfall23 #girldad! ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mw22 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #call of duty

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ineylesian · 7 months

Text

THRASH

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

AO3 | KINKTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST

DEBRIEF | ghost has been avoiding you since your last deployment. you think he’s hiding something.

WARNINGS | smut, handjobs, slight degrading, semi public sex, dom! reader kinda?, smug ghost

WORD COUNT | 1k

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE READ IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Finally.

“Where are you going, Riley?”

Your hand encloses around the base of his arm, twisting cruelly as the other spins him your way. Black polyester shifts at your fingertips, and you feel his muscles twitch under the jacket.

Ghost looks down at you, eyes faintly parted in shock. You nearly recoil at the sight. His features are ridden with fatigue— eyeblack smudged carelessly around his lashes, hollowing out sunken eye bags that make it look like he hasn’t slept for days.

You open your mouth to question him, until your knee knocks against the fly of his jeans. Glancing down, you find yourself pressed against the outline of his cock, strained against denim and nearly searing through it.

“Huh.” You smirk, lips painted coy. “Having a rough week, honey?”

Ghost sinks down partially on the wall you have him pinned against. His hood is far gone by the winds, and you’re surprised the cigarette he dropped hasn’t blown away yet. Smile sticking to your face, one of your feet stomps on it, languidly dragging the remains against concrete.

“Thought you wouldn’t notice I wasn’t around.” His voice is low, gravely and thick with impatience because he knows he’s caught. “Guess I’m not the only bad one here.”

There’s a low ambiance from inside, softly buzzing the wall he’s pushed up against. His gaze drifts to the side, fighting the urge to push you off of him and take to the woods.

The night is young, the sun gone some hours ago when you and the rest of the Task Force arrived. Instead of drowning yourself in liquor from your recent success in Berlin, you took to shadows and scathed trees in search of your Lieutenant. He’s aware that you’ve been worried sick about him since you touched down in Germany, and he’s also aware that you no longer care due to the erection pressing against your leg.

Ghost looks back at you, shallow blues swallowed by a forlorn sky.

“Well, you got me right where you want me.”

It’s been a few days, nearly a week since you’ve seen even a shadow of Ghost around. He’s been avoiding you because of something like this? Trying to flip if on you when he’s cornered? Ridiculous.

“Always trying to soften the blow on yourself.” You scoff, fingers looping around the frame of his belt buckle. “You’re pathetic.”

Your hand pulls on the last of the zipper, pushing his belt loop to the side, and tugging his boxers down. Ghost groans, low and savory, his cock nestled against a faded scar on his abdomen. Your hand moves from the band of his underwear, fingers daintily running along the base of his dick.

Mild hums join in with the music from inside, and you hear boots kicking up dust from the exit around the corner. Ghost reaches for your hand, but you’re quick, moving the other to delve under his mask. His lips quiver under the cold press of your hand, and you smile, pressing him further toward the wall.

“Don’t want other people hearing us, yeah?”

He nods, half heartedly, blonde eyelashes shifting under amber lamplight. You hum, smoothing your pointer finger along the tip of his dick. Pre drips against your skin, warm and sticky. Low vibrations hit the hand that covers his mouth as you lather his length in his own mess.

It’s loud, the squelch that joins squawking crows and chilling drafts. Ghost’s breath is warm against your skin, choppy and dripping with saliva as you work his dick. His face drips with sweat, skin warm to the touch despite the winds that roll over it.

“Needed me this bad, huh?” You simper, teasingly squeezing his balls, hung low and heavy. “I wonder what the others would think, not being able to keep your dick in your pants. What’s gotten into you, Riley?”

Riley. He shudders, hips involuntarily bucking toward your hand. You grin, tongue lining your teeth in satisfaction. He was right, you have him exactly where you want him.

“Well,” you release your hand from his mouth, increasing the pace of your strokes as you do so. “Got anything to say?”

Ghost gasps at the release, pooling fogged breaths to the night air, other hand wiping the spit from his chin.

“A little disciplinary action couldn’t hurt.” He sighs, eyes smug and gratified. “Think I’ve learned my lesson, but you can finish your punishment if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes, watching with exasperation as his lips quirk up. He always does find a way to turn things in his favor.

“Dick.”

He hums, quiet and bobbing softly against his adam’s apple. You feel his dick throb in your hold, hot and slick against your palm. Ghost cocks one of his fingers up, motioning for you to let off. Your hand leaves his chest and his neck cranes forward, arm snaking around your waist to hold you against him.

His lips taste as they always do, remnants of war and gunpowder mixing with ashes from his last cigarette. His canines prod at the flesh of your mouth, loosening only when he feels his release nearing.

Through parted lips he moans, low and satiated. You savor every noise, feeling the last waves of ecstasy wash off as warm liquid leaks over your fingers. You part, sloppily wiping his mess of the black of your pants as he tidies himself.

“Cheers, lovie.” He tilts your chin up, the ghost of a smirk disappearing with the rise of his mask. “Won’t go off your radar like that again, yeah?”

#arqhms #🎃 arqhmskinktober23 #🎃 arqhmsfall23 #arqhmsthirst #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #kinktober

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ineylesian · 1 year

Note

Hey!! If it’s not a bother, could I request sleeping hcs with the TSF boys (+ könig and graves??) You can do fluff or NSFW (or both.) If you do thank you so much and have a wonderful day!!

SLEEPING HCS

— TSF, KÖNIG & GRAVES X GN! READER

MASTERLIST | AO3

— FT. / simon “ghost” riley, kyle “gaz” garrick, john “soap” mactavish, john price, könig, & graves.

— WARNINGS / partial nsfw, mentions of insomnia, mentions of nightmares & terrors, mentions of separation anxiety.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE / found this in my requests and thought i’d do it to try and clear my writer’s block. even though i’m technically not accepting requests, i’ll most likely do small things like hcs!

CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS WORK ARE MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

SFW

⤫ in all honesty, simon doesn’t sleep much, especially after or during deployments. he has a particular habit of pacing around during the night, and will often sit by you on his side, but he won’t sleep. part of this stems from deep rooted anxieties concerning war; he’s seen what happens to people who let their guard down, and he’s not willing to even think about taking such a risk.

⤫ if you’re also the type of insomniac he finds himself to be, your nights will often be spent staring out of your nearest window or balcony, indulging in mindless chatter until it’s time to hit the road again. in these moments, you’ll find simon more vulnerable than usual, and he’ll take it upon himself to talk about things he wouldn’t dare speak of other times. there’s always an underlying look of distance in his eyes when he speaks of his past, and you know as much as him that he wishes it was different.

⤫ when he does sleep, it starts off distant. he’ll quietly shuffle himself onto his side of the bed, give you more than enough room, and bid a whisper of a good night call before he’s silent. if you choose to face him, you’ll see that he often sleeps straight on his back, half-lidded gaze dragging shapes into the ceiling, and, when he does finally succumb, that’s when he tends to get handsy. part of you assumes it’s because of his dreams, and he’s subconsciously latching out, but you don’t stop him.

⤫ you tend to find yourself being greeted by an ever so slightly contorted face of shock and rapid shuffles every morning. simon knows his sleeping habits, he ends up clinging to you every time he falls asleep, yet he can’t help but utter an apology every morning and scramble to get off you. it takes time to get him to let go of this habit, and eventually he does, waking up only a little less shocked and reluctant to pull away.

⤫ is amazing at making tea for any occasion. if you’re restless, don’t fret, simon has something that’ll put you to sleep halfway through the mug.

⤫ following that, if you don’t like tea, simon is always willing to talk you to sleep. he’s nothing if not a great listener, so he’ll have you ramble until your words are drifting off to meaningless drawls.

⤫ contrary to what others may believe, i don’t think simon would sleep with the mask on. he would only be open to sleeping in the first place if he knew he it was impossible to be compromised, and he knows you, so he’s okay with it. however, when he first started sleeping with you, he did wear it, and it took nearly a year for him to take it off.

NSFW

⤫ simon doesn’t see sleeping sleeping as a terribly different thing than the regular, but the question of whether he’d succumb to such a thing depends on his mood.

⤫ on deployments, chances of sleeping with simon are slim, as the threat of being somewhere he doesn’t know makes him cautious. adding onto that, if you did end up sleeping together, you wouldn’t hear much, as his mind is typically elsewhere.

⤫ cautiousness is a major turn off for him. the chance of you being compromised in such a vulnerable act is something he just won’t risk, so you’d only get to be with him in secure areas.

⤫ his energy fluctuates depending on the type of missions you’d led that day. if something went wrong, (especially concerning you) expect simon to be on the more brash side. scolding flows in and out of as many rounds as you can manage, and when you tap out, he’ll be soon to follow.

⤫ the softer side of simon only really comes out in the safety of your home. not having one himself, being welcomed in the comfort of your place is akin to a haven for him. he’ll treat you as if you were the finest piece of glass he’d ever seen, and would stay in bed with you no matter how restless he feels.

— KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

SFW

⤫ i’m just gonna say, either a totally chaotic sleeper, or so quiet you can’t even tell there’s someone next to you.

⤫ gaz usually tends to lean on the more hectic type of sleeping on deployments, as the adrenaline doesn’t quite leave until he’s completely knocked out. this could be really bad, or really good, depending on if you like to be smothered when you sleep.

⤫ no matter what position you’re in, your limbs are bound to get tangled with gaz’s. on particularly “bad” mornings, you’ll have to wait until he wakes up to escape.

⤫ however, gaz does have a calm side when it comes to sleeping. he’ll knock out with a hand wrapped around your waist, subconsciously pulling you up against his side.

⤫ gaz is a snorer. a quiet one at that, but if you lean in close enough, you can hear it. if you tell him, he’ll insist that he doesn’t and you’re just teasing him.

⤫ i cant stress this enough, but night chats with gaz are a regular. he could talk for hours on end, and it only gets worse when he’s tired. if you’re chatty as well, expect a multi topic conversation with your lover before bed.

NSFW

⤫ accidentally (?) loud. every place you touch seems to be a sensitive spot for gaz, and knowing that, it’s rather simple to get him going. keeping him quiet is always fun, especially when you’re in close proximity to others.

⤫ always has enough energy to please you before bed. though, he does prefer taking it easy so you can both relax properly.

⤫ aftercare is a little tough with gaz, as once he’s tapped out, he’s nearly spent. despite this, he has an iron grip and will refuse to let go despite how sweaty you both are.

⤫ pretty big pillow talker. gaz loves to ramble about the things he wants to experience with you one day, and the intimacy of laying beside you makes him feel like a love struck boy.

— JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

SFW

⤫ hugger, plain and simple. soap’s grasp is so tight that you can’t even begin to pry yourself from his grasp.

⤫ soap is big on swooning over you when he’s tired, no matter how disheveled you may look. he typically puts you to sleep by mumbling sweet nothings in your ear while drawing soft kisses over your hair.

⤫ can also be a chaotic sleeper like gaz, however, he’s usually more on the calm side. he has trouble sleeping if your skin isn’t touching, though.

⤫ would never admit it, but soap loves to be the big spoon. something about feeling you flush against him develops a sense of security in his mind, and makes sleeping much easier.

⤫ sleeps with an eye mask on, and is not ashamed of it one bit. his favorite is the one with cat eyes and ears that you bought him for his birthday.

NSFW

⤫ unlike some of his comrades, soap is down to sleep with you almost anywhere. he’s willingly to play a game of risk if it means he can satisfy you.

⤫ missions tend to get him riled up, and with that, he’s more aggressive in bed. if you can handle it, he’ll take you for a few rounds in a row before abruptly tapping out.

⤫ is super into cockwarming you during the night, especially if you’re too tired to do anything else. the feeling of being inside you puts soap to sleep faster than anything else.

— JOHN PRICE

SFW

⤫ heavy, heavy sleeper. once he’s out, he’s not waking up until the morning.

⤫ prefers to have a cigar before getting into bed. will gladly share a light with you if you’re interested.

⤫ only sleeps on his back, but loves to hold a grip on you. his favorite way to sleep is with your arms wrapped around his neck.

⤫ if you have a hard time falling asleep, price has a few tactics in the back of his head to help. depending on the night, he usually ends up raking a hand through your hair, or softly droning on about something you certainly don’t care about. tea also works if you’re particularly restless.

⤫ on deployments, price doesn’t tend to sleep nearly as much as usual. on some nights, all you can do is stay up and talk until you fall asleep. during the later hours is usually when price lets his words slip, and in those moments do you truly hear how much he values you and the task force.

⤫ doesn’t sleep until the later hours of the night due to his duties as the task force’s captain. however, when he can, price will sit beside you in bed while you drift off, and humor any of your requests until you’re asleep.

NSFW

⤫ despite the pent up stress that follows him through the day, price isn’t a big fan of drawn out sex at night. adrenaline will only allow him to manage a quickie before he’s knocked out.

⤫ however, price is super into giving you oral before bed if you’re willing. and, knowing him, he’ll have you shaking out an orgasm (and exhausted) before the five minute mark.

⤫ off deployment, price is one of the best service partners you could ask for. if you’re restless before bed, he’ll make sure to take his time and deliver whatever pleasures you desire.

⤫ on the other side, if he’s in some type of mood, price will have you singing until your vocal chords run dry. when this happens, you’re both passed out just barely after your last round.

— KÖNIG

SFW

⤫ absolutely massive. in most cases, way larger than you and will absolutely smother you (accidentally.) if you happen to be around the same size as him, expect to be wrestling over blankets every night.

⤫ on the topic of blankets, könig simply takes up so much of the bed that he ended up getting his own blanket. it’s weighted, too, and he is very possessive over it.

⤫ huge fan of soft touches. könig typically isn’t in the mood to talk much when he’s tired, and would rather fall asleep holding your hand.

⤫ always bids you a quiet “schlaf gut” with a kiss on the cheek before bed. it’s one of his odd necessities, but sweet nonetheless.

⤫ pretty clumsy sleeper. könig tries his best to be cautious, especially if you’re a margin smaller than him, but it’s pretty much impossible to keep him from flopping around once he’s asleep. you’ve just learned to deal with sleeping below a giant mass.

⤫ has a similar case as ghost when it comes to wearing his mask to sleep. will only take it off if he’s sure the both of you are safe.

NSFW

⤫ like soap, könig is a huge fan of you cockwarming him to sleep. the feeling puts him at ease, and usually has him asleep pretty fast.

⤫ if he’s more needy, könig will silently plead for you to give him some sort of relief. his favorite way to relax is with your hand wrapped around his cock, and silencing his whimpers with your lips.

⤫ most of your more heated make out sessions are in bed, when you’re too tired to do anything else. könig will be on your lips for hours, and he really gets going when you trail kisses down his jawline.

— GRAVES

SFW

⤫ stomach. sleeper. always has one of his hands on his stomach, and the other is usually wrapped around your back.

⤫ if you’re not allergic to animals, expect to share a bed with one. graves has a small tuxedo cat at home that adores him to no end, and will always manage to shove in between you.

⤫ (reluctantly) graves allows you to pamper him before bed. he’ll be too tired to even complain about the extensive routine you put him through sometimes, and will fall asleep with cucumbers over his eyelids.

⤫ in the summer, graves sleeps like a 50 year old dad. won’t sleep without the window open or ac on, and snores at a moderate volume. however, he’s completely silent in the winter.

⤫ instead of one or two pillows, graves has a singular massive one that he sleeps with. you argue that he should buy something softer, but he wouldn’t trade that pillow for anything.

⤫ if it’s possible, graves needs to sleep with white noise. whether it’s the soft buzz of a random channel on TV, or rain patterning on the window sill, any noise will help him sleep.

— NSFW

⤫ graves sleeps with you, a lot. having sex in the later hours is just his thing.

⤫ if you have the night off, graves will make sure he takes his time with you. he’ll go numerous rounds over a couple hours, and it’ll end with the both of you completely knocked out before it’s really that late.

⤫ on deployments, graves has the drive of a rabbit. he’ll take you almost anywhere, as long as it’s sheltered and safe.

⤫ relating to the last points, if the two of you were on a particularly dangerous mission and couldn’t sleep together, he will be all over you the moment you arrive home. most times, he’ll take you right on the couch in your living room, and you won’t even make it to bed.

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #könig x reader #phillip graves x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #könig smut #könig call of duty #john price #simon ghost riley smut

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ineylesian · 11 months

Text

FEVER DREAM.

MIGUEL O’HARA X FEM! READER

— AO3 | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 1.2k

— WARNINGS | smut, mentions of wounds, fem anatomy used, penetration (f), cumming inside, overstimulation, biting (you see those fangs), blood kink (??), oral asphyxiation, light choking.

— SUMMARY | you often find yourself waiting for miguel to come home.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | posted nothing on my to do list bc ATSV has taken ahold of all of my thoughts. miguel is actually so fine i just had to hop on it

— SPANISH TO ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS ARE BELOW EACH PARAGRAPH.

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

You knew the deal. Nine words spoken in a nonformal contract to you the first time Miguel clawed his way into your apartment, bloodied and bruised.

“I cant promise you I’ll come home, mi alma.”

And you knew the words after that, too.

“… but I can promise you that I will die trying, with you in my thoughts, always.”

That night, he sat you down. Made you swear that you would never get too attached. Being a superhero in New York was a lethal deal, and you had to be prepared for anything— everything. Miguel wouldn’t stand the thought of breaking your heart, at least without warning, so he forced you to seal it, everything you loved about him buried away in the depths of your mind.

Yet, human emotion was the victor concerning the inner workings of your heart. And, when he comes home, every little detail of that contract you made shatters.

Miguel treads the glass of your longing heart with fatigued steps, focused on nothing but the sweet capture of your embrace. You feel as if he is a gift sent from the heavens themselves, gazing upon shades of brown that reflect tawny in the light. The light stubble he grew scratches against your jaw as he draws thick sighs of relief, and you feel as if you’re in a fever dream, hands tiredly fumbling for your belt as you sing your praises of his return.

And still, nights like those are a rarity. The words he uttered to you years ago float through your head like a lost prayer, and you’re left lost in the shadow of his absence.

You often find yourself waiting for Miguel to come home. Through all four seasons, the same spot on the couch awaits you night after night, TV static spitting dull reflections of the world outside as you stare up at the ceiling. Some nights, you wonder if he’s finally met his maker and run short of luck.

You still wait. Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. Just as you’re about to lose hope, he returns, just the same as you remember. Suit roughed up, gashes and cuts adorning his skin. He’s nonchalant to the fact, sultry eyes staring you down— a look that you know is just for you. Your fingers find homage in the roots of your hair, brushing thick, unruly strands from his gaze. A little longer than you remember.

“Qué bueno verte, tesorito.” He mumbles, tracing his teeth against your neck as he picks at your skin. “Te extrañé.”

[“IT’S GOOD TO SEE YOU, TREASURE. I’VE MISSED YOU.”]

You hum, eagerly latching around the collar of his suit as he pulls your shirt off. Heat trails along your thighs as his bare hands run along them, dipping his head to kiss you while his index finger loops around your panties. He tastes lightly of cedar and pine, and you smile against his lips as the familiarly of him settles deep within your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you, day and night.” His voice is just above a whisper, fingers dragging along the slick folds of your pussy. “Couldn’t wait to come home and…”

His sentence trails off into a hitch in his throat, blinking slow at the sight of you, practically drooling for him. His fingers swipe lazily at your bud, kicking the rest of his suit off before snaking over you. You’re panting lightly, face tinted in a dusted pink as he strokes his cock, teeth lightly tugging at his lips as he does so.

“Don’t tease me, Miguel.” You complain, softly pinching his arm. “I want you, now.”

He huffs in amusement, lips perking up in a smile.

“You haven’t changed a bit, cariño.”

[“HEART.”]

The shift of his hips is sudden, and you gasp at the sudden intrusion of his cock filling up your hole. A heavy breath escapes you as he struggles to push his way fully inside, hands planted firmly on your sides, head just inches from yours. Sensing your discomfort, Miguel peppers kisses over your lips, seemingly making the way he bullies his way into your walls more bearable.

“So pretty, mi alma.” His words are soft, flowing in both ears as he draws himself back. “Sé que puedes tomarlo, breathe.”

[“MY SOUL. YOU CAN HANDLE IT.”]

You do as he instructs. Tears prick at your eyes as he thrusts in and out of you, cock heavy with lust, dragging against your tight walls. With each slap of his balls against your pussy, you can see Miguel’s gentle nature slowly escape him. His breathing becomes rugged and hot, panting against your neck in rough takes. Tiny beads of sweat collect at the base of his forehead, and he grips the headboard above you to stay grounded.

“Mmh- feels so good Miguel.” You whine, hands clawing at his scalp. “Don’t stop.. please.”

Your words toy with his self control, twisting a knot deep in his abdomen that furrows his eyebrows tightly together. The growl that emerges from his throat is nearly animalistic, and you bite your lips as he lifts your neck up with his nose.

“Need to taste you, por favor.” His words are strained, mouth hanging open to flash the canines rooted into his gums. “I’ll be gentle, ah- I promise.”

[“PLEASE.”]

His pace is unrelenting, in sync with the fangs that sink into your flesh. Miguel moans against your skin, sending a deep vibration to your nerves that makes you squirm. Blood drips from the puncture when he releases himself from you, lifting a thumb to stifle the bleeding.

The taste of your own blood fills your mouth as he kisses you, and you feel a wave of heat flash over your body. Your stomach tightens, and you cry out against his mouth, faintly gasping as he presses down harder on your throat.

It’s all too much— yet not enough. Miguel groans your name, pace stuttering as spurts of cum paint your insides white. His hold on your skin lightens at the feeling of you gushing over his cock, thrusting sloppily against your spent pussy a few more times before pulling out.

He fully snaps back once his dick flops against your stomach, thick strands of hair messily coating his eyes. You pant in synchrony, chests heaving, blood slowly flowing from your cheeks. He looks so pretty like this— glassy eyes fighting to stay open, fangs prodding against his mouth, slightly ajar.

Such a sight reminds you of why you wait for him to come home, no matter how long it takes. After all, you knew what you signed up for, and his return only made you yearn for him further. Never could you imagine putting your life in anyone else’s hands.

You push at him lightly, gesturing to the open wounds on your neck. Miguel scrambles once he sees them, hurriedly returning to you with a large wrap of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Lo siento, cariño.” He mutters, gently sticking a few thick layers of bandaging against your skin. “I should’ve controlled myself, I’m-“

[“I’M SORRY, LOVE.”]

You cut him off by pressing your index finger to his lips, smiling as his mouth slowly falls shut.

“Don’t worry, Miguel. You’ll let me get you back, won’t you?”

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #arqhmsspring2023 #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara fanfiction #across the spider verse x reader

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ineylesian · 1 year

Text

SEEN A GHOST?

─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER

AO3 / MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT / 2k+

SUMMARY / every mission comes with its sacrifices, and consequences.

you had suffered both; now Ghost has been off your radar for a week, and you feared he wouldn't come back.

WARNINGS / smut, pre-established relationship, vaginal sex, handjobs, makeup sex, just a lil overstimulation, clothed sex ofc ofc

AUTHOR’S NOTE / i rushed this so hard bc i forgot it was halloween y’all my brain is fried. graves and alejandro are a part of task force 141 in this for shits and giggles. happy halloween y’all!

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

OCTOBER 31ST, 11:37 PM.

A SMALL BAR ON THE COAST OF CHICAGO.

“Aye, Soap! Another one brother!”

A chorus of cheers rang out as the Scot downed his 4th shot of patron silver, slamming the glass down on the table before shaking his head victoriously.

“You’re next, Graves!”

You watched the dirty blonde raise his hands in a feeble protest, surrendering with a laugh after receiving a good swing on the back from Alejandro. His shot was swapped for a cointreau orange, raising his glass high before whistling for your group’s attention, nodding over to Price once the chatter had ceased.

“Great job this week, everyone. I know the intel Laswell found on Makarov was a surprise, but we’ll take things one at a time.”

His glass soon rose to join Graves’, and the rest of you followed suite.

“Happy Halloween, task force 141!”

The small, crowded bar erupted into celebration once more as you all rose your glasses to a toast, your own hitting Soap’s with a satisfying clink. You could feel his eyes lingering on you even after lowering your glass, leading you to take a thin sip of your own whiskey before looking his way.

Seemingly sensing his words coming, you tilted your head in faux confusion.

“Is Lt. feeling okay?” He questioned, tequila glazed lips curving into a slight frown. “It’s weird to not see him here, he’s been pissin’ about having some whiskey for days.”

“Yeah, he’s just a little stressed out.”

Stressed out was putting it lightly. Ghost hadn’t spoken to you since before you neutralized Hassan, leaving not a single trace of himself to follow before going off the grid. You hadn’t had a single clue of his whereabouts for a week now, all because of a stupid mistake.

You had grabbed Hassan by the neck before he could shoot Soap, the sudden shift of your body sending the piercing 50 meter shell made to kill him clean through your shoulder instead. Thankfully, you heard Soap’s gun go off, but you weren’t so lucky yourself, the pure force of the bullet sending you flying through the nearest window. The last thing you could remember was your shrill screams against the night air, hand clenched on one of the bullet’s openings while you plummeted towards the ground.

Three days later you had woken up, left to the sight of a bouquet of flowers signed “Price”, and not one missed call on your phone. You couldn’t even bring yourself to text him, figuring he’d decided to call it quits on your.. situationship after you’d embarrassed him in such a way. After all, if that rappel harness wasn’t still strapped to your waist, you would’ve been tallied up as another KIA.

You sighed, supposing there was nothing better to alleviate the stress than the cold glass cupped between your fingers.

“If this is about the whole Hassan situation, he hasn’t talked to me either.” Soap spoke up, grabbing your refill and sliding your way. “Think we hurt his pride, but he’ll be okay.”

“He still hasn’t apologized for ‘hurting’ my shoulder.” You snorted, filling the empty glass halfway before taking another shot. “I just don’t understand why he’s been so adamant on avoiding me, you know?”

Another shot fell smoothly down your throat, burning a trail of non sober tears down your cheeks as you slid it away from your grasp. Soap gently massaged your shoulder as your head dropped down onto the bar table below, letting a pathetic groan slide out at the mere thought of how stupid you looked right now. Completely wasted and crying over Simon Riley.

“I just… I love him a lot, John.” You mumbled after some time, propping your head up against your chin. “I know we weren’t completely serious, but I really thought he was different than that.”

“Well, wait.” One of Soap’s hands waved to the side, halting whatever melancholic path your head was turning for in its tracks. “I may not be that observant, but it’s clear as day that crabbit cares about y’a. Lets your name slip on every mission I do with him.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly as a napkin was passed your way.

“Besides, with the way he’s been actin’ lately, he probably thinks you’re mad at him. It’s almost like the idiot did it on purpose.”

A laugh couldn’t help but break its way from your lips, leading you to cover your face with one hand while the other swatted at him.

You watched as he reached for one of the Halloween decorations hanging above the bar counter, plucking up a small ghost hanging from a string and offering it your way. A roll of your eyes accompanied the hand that reached out, turning the small piece of paper in your hand before sliding it into your pocket.

That same little decoration sat guarded by your hand as the evening droned on, eventually leading you out onto the street as everyone slurred their goodnights. $5 and a cramped taxi ride and you had arrived at your hotel, bidding quiet hellos to anyone concerned with your existence. You quietly slipped into the elevator on the first floor, emerging on the eighth while your fingers dug the keycard out of your pocket.

The digital clock on the nightstand was the first to greet you, slowly flashing a red pattern that read 8:43 PM in the darkness. You ran a hand through your hair before stumbling into the bathroom, throwing up about 4 shots out of your system and into the toilet. After a 5 minute tooth brushing session, you emerged back into the small hallway that broke off into the living space, bed sheets riled up just as you had left it this morning.

BANG.

Your eyes knitted in confusion at the sudden, brash noise, safely assuming it came from your window. The raging wisp of the curtains had you reaching for your nightstand, pulling a fully loaded M9 from the drawer and tugging on the safety.

However, when you went to turn around, your shoulder met a solid barrier that definitely should not have been there.

“It’s me.”

The familiar rasp of Manchester fell to your ears, blowing your eyes wide as you whipped around. Your gaze rose to glaze over his own, shadowed eyebags imitating the tactical war paint he adorned almost perfectly.

You remained silent, slowly sliding the pistol back into the nightstand drawer before pushing it shut. Ghost seemed completely fine riding the waves of naught before your eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly in nerved anticipation.

“I wanted to see you.”

“You want to see me now? That’s funny.” A bitter laugh barked from you. “Nothing for a week and now this?”

“I know, I know, it seems shitty.” He sighed, rubbing a hand along his clothed cheek. “Just needed things to cool down.”

A click sounded from behind the nightstand, illuminating you both in the hotel lamp’s soft cream glow.

“You can’t be serious, Simon.”

He stiffened before you, quivering fingers betraying the solid, cold facade painted across his irises.

“You think completely disappearing will ‘cool things down’?” You continued, almost baffled at the sheer stupidity if this entire situation. “In case you forgot, there’s a 50 caliber hole in my shoulder. What do you have to say to that, huh?”

Silence.

“Sweetheart, it was an accident.” The words pooled out soft, quiet in the way they wrapped themselves around you, agonizingly constricting. “I would never hurt you on purpose, you know that.”

“Well you just pulled a pretty big fucking accident, didn’t you?”

His eyes closed, a hefty sigh escaping the thin layer of his mask in a manner that made you nauseous. Yet, your eyes only parted in surprise as he peeled the dark coat of polyester fabric off of his face, lips caught in a taut line as you stared him down.

“Well, now you have me.” Accent thicker than normal, he leaned forward, gently grasping one of your wrists. “May I make it up to you, darling?”

Bastard. You had to give him props for being this patient.

And you cursed yourself for hooking your arms around his neck, breathing in the mixed scent of mint and cedar wood, uniquely his, solely familiar. His lips gently pressed against yours, handling your area of injury like it was the fine china. You allowed him to lay you down on the bed, not missing the spark of raging exhaust that trailed the match in his eyes, leading your gaze to drift down to his eyebags for the second time.

Situationship, your ass. You didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to lie about that.

“Haven’t been sleeping well?”

A hum drew its way from his lips, free hand reaching up to rub at the crevices of purple and grey that hung below his eyelashes. You couldn’t help but squeeze your legs together at the sleep deprived squint that emerged from his efforts, silently cursing yourself for getting pulled in so quick. It was like a curse, his touch; the languid, carelessly blinks that followed each ministration of cold hands on blazing skin.

Damn, he was good.

Slim fingers hooked themselves under the hem of your pants, sliding the material down to your knees before moving a hand to rest on your inner thigh. His spare fell to run along the base of your stomach, creeping down your skin at an agonizingly slow speed.

“Simon.” You warned. “Stop teasing me.”

The man before you let out a soft grunt before abruptly dipping his hand down to your panties, taking a firm hold of the top before ripping them straight off. You frowned at the amused glint of his eyes that followed, yet had no room to protest as the feeling of cool skin brushed against your folds. Both his index and ring fingers toyed with the outside of your clit, molding his flesh warm at the pure heat radiating from your pussy.

The thinner finger was the first to find itself pushing into you, gently making a roundabout along your walls before pulling out, lathering the rest of his fingers in your arousal. You groaned softly as he reentered you with two fingers, the gradual speed of him stretching you out sending a sharp chain of light shocks along your spine.

Despite everything in Las Almas captivating your attention, you still sucked Ghost in like he was just another part of you, completely devoid of pain due to the amount of times he’d drilled into you already. However, you could definitely tell he was trying to be somewhat sentimental with you, despite looking like he hadn’t slept in at least two days.

Your mouth twitched at the feeling, or rather loss of feeling between your legs as Ghost pulled out, motioning for you to move closer. His hands found hold on your waist before spinning you around, leaving you straddling his thighs, face nearly level with his own. A slight shift in your leg roused a sharp hiss from his lips, tucked harshly between his canines.

“Sweetheart, I’m afraid I’m gonna need you to take over. Unless you want to stop, of course.”

Your eyes softened as his own closed, raising a hand to run along his jawline, feeling the stubble of a week’s negligence kissing your fingers.

“That tired, hm?”

“Mhm.”

You inhaled, spare hand moving down to fiddle with the top of his sweatpants, noticing that they left little to no room of imagination. Ghost’s breath hitched as you slid his boxers down, fingers trailing the leaking spurts of precum down his length before running your hand along it. Your fingers gently curved inward, stopping to wrap curtly around the base of his cock before taking a drag up, and down no faster. You kept at this for a minute all until one of his hands clasped around your own, feebly attempting to pull you closer.

“Faster, darling..”

You leaned in as close as he wanted you, warm breaths fanning over his lips, lips curving into a satisfied smile before completely stopping your movement on his dick.

“Ask nicely, Simon.”

“Please, fuck..”

Your lips dipped to lock against his, swallowing up every noise of he made as you began your ministrations once more. The other hand continued where it had left off on his jaw, slowly crawling up his skin before gently tugging at any strands of dirty blonde you could get your hands on.

Parting from his lips, you rapidly increased your pace again, hand sloppily running up and down his irritated dick. Fatigued noises of bliss spilled out of his lips at each relentless jerk, finding stability in the hand that pulled at his hair.

The hand held in his hair gingerly dropped down to your own region at a swift tug, hastily moving him to rest at your clit to relieve the needing ache that had swelled there. Ghost’s head fell back, fingers furiously rubbing between your folds and nub, the rough pads of his fingers against your sensitive flesh rousing a cry from your lips.

“Fucking Hell, sweetheart.” He panted, reaching over to the nightstand with his spare hand, swiping a tissue from the box and dropping it down to his tip. “Can’t make a mess in- FUCK.”

You felt the tissue above your hand dampen, running your hand down his cock one more time before you were abruptly pulled up, his fingers messily slipping inside of you at the same time. A strangled moan clawed it’s way from your throat as the flaming coil in your naval severed, rendered Ghost’s sweatshirt completely drenched as you rode out your orgasm.

You were both left helplessly panting as his fingers slipped out of you, wiping against his sweatpants before removing his sweatshirt and tucking himself together.

“Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

An diverted eye roll responded to your taunt, too focused on helping to roll your pants up. Leaving the hem where it had been, Ghost’s hands lightly moved to your sides, running your shirt above your arms. A dim gaze fell to rest on the rather large bandage draped over your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He breathed, eyes contesting yours in a guilty squint. “Truly.”

“Hey.” Your fingers pulled his jaw up, gently caressing the side of his neck. “We completed the mission. In the end, that’s all that matters.”

“Now you’re really starting to sound like me.”

You snorted, turning so you could wrap a leg around his upper thigh.

“In your dreams.”

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #mwii #ghost smut #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw22

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ineylesian · 1 year

Text

NO LEAF CLOVER

─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER

PREFACE | this is continuation of another fic, “me, or him?”. it’s advised that you read that before this

AO3 | MASTERLIST | CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT | 8k

SUMMARY | you had made your choice, all you had to do was execute.

however, a small tinge of you knew that you could never be true to one side; and you would face the grim consequences of disloyalty in the vision of never resting nightmares and a smoking bullet.

WARNINGS | angst, smut, canon typical violence, vaginal fingering, a mix of rough and kinda soft sex, hard overstimulation, finger fucking, cum eating, make up sex if you could even consider it that, implied graves x reader (and a little action), biting, scratching, clothed sex, grinding, you make ghost cum in his pants, he does the same to you dw, unprotected p in v, cumming inside, thigh fucking, ghost literally fucks the shit out of you, but it’s angsty as hell, the mask stays on this time boys

AUTHOR’S NOTE | still can’t stand the people that say ghost is completely emotionless bro, like yeah he’s an edge lord BUT he cares about those closest to him and that’s how i portray him… my baby cakes fr fr

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

11:07 PM.

FUERZAS ESPECIALES HQ // LAS ALMAS.

“Exterior squad 414, report, over.”

Click.

“All good here, sir.”

Radio waves fell shallow as the remaining patrols checked in, leaving only the soft rattle of metal against concrete to your ears. A few seconds passed before the canister popped, engulfing the narrow exterior you stood in with heavy smoke, soon giving way to an array of green lasers on the walls. You ducked under the first two, gloved hands sliding along cold stone to fall into a prone next, just barely shifting past the harsh buzz after a few slow movements.

A quiet hum responded to the force of your hand on fluorescent red, leaving the last section of the underground tunnels in Fuerzas completely unguarded.

You crouched down beside the first corner in the system, pulling a flare from your pocket, setting it alight, and stepping away. A single spark shot from the pyrotechnic before it was crushed by your foot, the bundle of ashes seeping from the short lived explosion allowing you to trace a check mark onto the wall with your foot.

“Exterior squad 182 to Commander Graves, permission to send traffic?”

Your eyes narrowed at the panic steadily climbing each word, prominent even through static.

“This is Graves actual, send traffic.”

“There’s a hostile bird inbound, sir. Approximately 2 clicks away and approaching fast.”

A distant curse carried over the comms, followed by a short bout of silence save a few shuffles.

“Copy that, 182. Lock down and stand by for further instruction.”

Creaking metal followed your return to the surface, sliding a pair of binoculars out of your pocket, and peaking out above the fortress walls. The violent whir of fan blades led your vision to the southeast tower, clicking down on an effective zoom before holding the lens up to your eyes, spotting Price behind a sharp glint of light. A brief wave was shared between you before he raised a hand to his comms, giving you the green light to move.

“Cobra to Graves, what’s your location?”

“Heading to the FE General, be careful on your way over.”

Your fingers fell from the comms button on your shoulder, turning your attention to the array of warehouses ahead. A minute of dodging your own soldiers and you were kneeling beside a sequence of panels on the 4th warehouse down, sliding a screwdriver into each bolt while lightly prying at the edge. Once the metal surface plate popped off, you unclipped a small canister from your vest, tugging the cover off with your teeth before dropping it into the filter and fastening it back to the wall.

You stood back up at the cue of a soft hiss from the depths of the ventilation system, tugging yourself away from the building before it spread outside.

Price had called your part in their covert operation “The Fixxa Uppa”, point and blank. You had held your tongue at the lack of empathy he held for your situation, giving strict orders to kill any Shadows on sight, and apprehend Graves.

Quiet footsteps and sand hidden tracks led you to the Fuerzas Especiales General building, still pristine in coating and flying the Los Voqueros flag. You sighed at the recollection of Graves’ refusal to tarnish what represented your old allies, scolding your soldiers about reputation and the idiocy of raising an American flag in Las Almas.

The lower region of your chest pulsed slowly at the thought of Shepherd, now exposed and helplessly losing thousands of soldiers by the minute. Yet, your mind also flicked to the flip side: Graves, frantically barking out orders over Shadow Company’s comms while providing as much support as he could give. And you? Perhaps the rapid shift of your pulse with each waking step proved that you really did feel bad, but you and everyone that knew you were well aware that you despised Shadow Company.

Yet, you had stayed, fiercely protecting and slaughtering the men under you all the same. Every action for the sake of the man who you were set out to betray.

A heavy series of explosions coaxed your steps swifter, knuckles raising to deliver three swift knocks on the conference room’s door. The familiar rap pattern led the door to swing open almost instantly, your wrist being seized in the process.

Your eyes parted as you were pressed against the door, eyelids clamping down to adjust to the loss of light. Reopening, you were welcomed the slim, familiar outline of Graves, light pants representing the life you couldn’t see.

You clicked the flashlight fastened to your vest on, illuminating his face in a soft white glow. His skin glistened with a light coat of sweat and blood, hair disheveled, belt almost bare, rifle hanging carelessly from his side. Your gaze slowly drifted to his face, taking in the sight of his teeth fastened to his upper lip, eyes drilling into your own in a tight squint.

Any upcoming words of concerns that had planned on parting your mouth were washed away just seconds later, in their place the flaming sensation of Graves’ lips sealing over yours, swiftly, aggressively, filled to the brim with indecipherable motive.

Graves never kissed you on missions.

Yet here you were, inhaling the scent of smoke and pine on his collar while his blood dribbled down your chin, coating your tongue with metal as he brought your faces closer together. One of your hands subconsciously reached for the back of his head, keeping his mouth firmly planted against your own while he feverishly sank his teeth into your bottom lip, drawing a harsh breath from your nose.

The sudden blast of a breach charge broke you apart, followed by the rise of gunfire on the first floor. You frantically reached down, fumbling with your belt before snatching a case of 5.56 mm cartridge from the side, fastening it to Graves’ waist.

“They’re after you.” Your words came out jumbled, too focused on turning him towards the emergency exit just one room over. “You have to get out of here.”

Your efforts fell to no avail, however, as Graves was quick to pull your wrists down, rooting the both of you in place.

“I’m not leaving you here, Fangs.” He retorted, swiftly coaxing you behind a desk before crouching down, softly running a hand over your arm before falling to his gun. “We live together, or we die together. Remember?”

Of course, how could you forget?

The phrase echoed in hand with choruses of flying bullets and screams as a small group of your soldiers barged into the room, narrowly avoiding incoming spurts of fire. You raised your gun to rest against the desk’s surface, peaking over the side to ensure you were firing in dead areas. After spending the entirety of your mag, you pulled your rifle back, silently hoping they had noticed you flick your gun’s muzzle flash on.

An aggressive sequence of beeps fell close to your ears as you slipped a new clip into your weapon, leading your eyes to widen in shock at the sight of a semtex laid to rest on the surface right above you.

You threw your gun to the side before kicking Graves as hard as you could, sending him staggering a safe distance away and heading in the opposite direction. Bullets chased every fraction of your explosion-illuminated movement, forcing you to slide down on the floor next to one of your men.

However, you were only welcomed to the sight of glistening knife harshly jutting into the chest of your cover, spurting a hefty coat of blood onto your cheek. Your eyes widened in shock as the solider grabbed hold of the arm that held the blade inside of him, twisting himself and the attacker back into you, pushing away to leave him falling straight into you.

Sweltering winds kissed the hairs plastered to your face as the force sent you flying backward, crashing through the window behind you, fraying your skin with minuscule shards of glass. Your waist was roughly seized by the man on top of you, swapping your bodies seconds before you smacked against the ground.

You cried out in air deprived silence, hearing a series of cracks erupt throughout your upper region as the impact rolled you to the side, melding the world a fleeting series of red and white before fading to black.

—-

ONE WEEK LATER.

beep.

…beep.

BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Cobra… you hear me? Try opening your eyes.”

The words reigned similar to static in your head, each inhale pooling a deep ache in the front of your head. A jittered breath pressed it’s way out of you as your eyelids pried apart, leaving you to clear the atmosphere with a few blinks before looking to the side. On the side of your bed stood Price, sending an affirming nod your way while he set a change of clothes on the table beside you.

“Welcome back, soldier.”

You slowly shifted your way up against the pillows, wiping a hand along your eyes while the other detached the ventilator mask from your mouth.

“The mission.” You breathed out, eyes snapping to Price. “What happened?”

“Well, your accident was distracting enough to stop the mission before we could complete it.” He started, offering a bottle of water your way. “We had to drop everything to save you.”

He paused, gaze drifting to your watch, surface glass now split unevenly down the middle.

“I was hoping you could help us. Graves is completely off our radar, and we need to take care of him before moving in on Hassan.”

Your breath hitched, hand clamping down on the bottle of water resting above your lips.

“Our mission is kill on sight.” He continued, lips settling into a thin line. “But I’m willing to give him a choice before that. Join the Task Force, or die.”

You remained silent for some time, taking a swift glance at your watch before looking back over to Price.

“Alright.”

“Good.” He nodded, lightly patting your shoulder before standing up. “We’re meeting up at Flint’s in a bit. Join us if you’d like.”

Darkness enveloped your vision once his footsteps completely faded, hands growing clammy at the thought of even putting a hand on that watch. However, you’d agreed to it, and Price had certainly done you a favor by dropping the mission to save you.

Sighing, you leaned forward, legs kicking off the bed to stretch before you slid off of the sheets, wobbling slightly until your body adjusted to carrying your weight once more. Dim infirmary garments were swapped for one of your “civvy” outfit, leaving only the watch on the table as you slipped your right shoe on.

Cool metal snaked around your fingers, lightly securing hold around your wrist as you brought it down, following a soft click of worn silver and carbon fastened against your skin. You tapped on the messages app next, sliding down to Graves’ contact before placing your finger over it. Your teeth lightly rocked against each other at the blank canvas of screen before you, fingers hovering over the small keyboard as you thought. Ever so slowly, they began to move.

YOU

“Still alive?”

SENT. 5:48 PM.

Your watch sat idle as you pushed through the front doors of Flint’s, waving your hellos to Price, Gaz, and Soap before sliding into a booth nearby. Soft strums of an electric guitar fell to ring around your ears as a waitress walked up to you, setting a small glass of water in front of you with a smile.

A part of you hoped he didn’t answer. That this could all be over and you could leave Las Almas behind

But you knew it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

Minutes passed before a shadow passed across your table, the sudden halt of footsteps rousing your attention. Your eyes parted in surprise at the sight of the man now sitting directly across from you, setting a shot of whiskey on the table with a soft clink.

“Ghost?”

His eyes drifted up from the rim of his glass, locking you in his usual, hard gaze.

“Knew it’d take more than a fall to kill you.” His voice drifted out low, devoid of the gritted shout he adorned during missions. “Was worried you’d gone soft.”

Your eyes dragged along the upper region of his sweatshirt, stopping at a small strip of white that sat wrapped around his neck.

“You broke my fall.”

“Smart girl.” He leaned forward, lifting his mask up a fraction to take a sip of whiskey. “Antibacterial gauze works wonders.”

Your attention broke off at the rise of a buzz on your wrist, leading you to lift the device up while flicking it on.

2 NEW MSSGS.

Your heart rate picked up with each tap, fingers drumming noisily against the table as you waited for the screen to load.

GRAVES

Christ, Fangs, thought I’d lost you.

How are you doing? You safe?

“Cobra.”

YOU

Yeah, I’m okay. What about you?

“Cobra, hey, I’m talking to you.”

GRAVES

I’m good.

Still in Las Almas?

“Fucking Hell, [name].” You felt your wrist being snagged from across the table, pulling reality back to you in the form of an annoyed glint of narrowed eyes. “Stay on task. His location, that’s it.”

A lump pushed its way past your throat, following a shallow nod as you looked back down.

YOU

Yup.

Can we meet up?

You flashed the watch in Ghost’s direction, eyes knitted in irritation at the feeling of his eyes hounding every movement of your fingertips.

“Ghost.” You pushed through partially grit teeth. “I can feel you staring at me. Stop.”

A swift glance upward showed pure negligence of your request, his gaze seemingly burning a hotter trail into your skin than before, sinking uneasiness into the veins below.

GRAVES

Shadow Company has one stocked warehouse on the outskirts of Quilán. Tomorrow work for you?

Ghost leaned over to look at your outstretched arm, giving a curt nod at the message before standing up. You followed, fingers typing one last message before showing it to him and shutting the watch off.

YOU

6pm. I’ll be there.

—-

THE NEXT DAY.

5:52 PM. QUILÁN, LAS ALMAS.

Cool winds swirled around the barren expanse of the vast plain ahead, coating your hands in tiny fragments of sand. You stopped at the foot of a tree line, spotting two sizable warehouses peaking out of a fortress of barbed wire. The sight of shifting masses atop the towers flanking each side of the perimeter led you to place your fingers against your shoulder, tapping into 141’s comms.

“Be advised, multiple armed personnel spotted.”

One of your hands raised in a wave, earning the reaction of one guard before moving forward. You imposed a sickeningly faux smile at the entrance gate, earning a series of nods from the guards stationed there as they let you in.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant.” One spoke, motioning off to the larger of the warehouses. “Commander Graves wishes to see you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, soldier.”

You broke away from prying eyes by rounding a corner, taking a glance around to ensure no one was watching before patching into comms once more.

“Larger warehouse in 2. Cobra out.”

The earpiece was shoved into your pocket, leaving you just one stretch away from the warehouse. Turning to face the front door captivated your spine in a frigid chill, rendering your blood cold in comparison to the blazing sand chipping into your skin. A sigh pooled from the depths of your nose as your gaze dropped down to the handle, hand reaching out to hover above it whilst you waited for visuals on your team.

Your watch flashed 18:00.

Soap poked his head out from the top of the warehouse, sending a thumbs up your way before ducking back down.

Okay.

A steady groan followed the drag of metal against the floor, illuminating the pitch black interior with marengo streaks of light. Your eyes traveled along the contents of the warehouse, eventually stopping to focus in on a large mass of crates and containers, and a thin shadow looming out of the side of them.

Through shifting shadows of grey and black, you saw Graves step away from an array of ammunition boxes, holding a finger up in wait as he fastened a few clips to his belt. However, his hand only dropped flat as he glanced over, taking in the sight of you with pleasantly widened eyes.

The last of your footsteps clicked against the vast space, rousing a shuffle instead as you stopped to look up.

You couldn’t bring yourself to smile at him. Hell, you couldn’t even speak, and he knew, arms stretching out to envelop your being, holding all of you against him like he’d die if he let go. Warm hands brought themselves up to grasp lightly at the back of your shoulders, allowing your arms to snake around his neck.

The two of you stayed there for some time, long enough to numb the soft movement of your arm running down his vest. Seconds passed before the safety of a gun clicked just feet away, shooting Graves’ head up as he let you go. The attempt of his body to turn around fell to no avail as one of your hands clamped around the pistol strapped against his vest, rooting him where he stood.

Price slowly made his way towards the both of you, gun pointing solely at Graves, allowing you to step away, tossing his gun under one of the nearby crates.

“You’re gettin’ two choices here, son. Only one of ‘em is gonna let you out alive.”

Graves’ mouth fell to rest in a flat line, hands leisurely moving to rest above his head. His gaze then traveled over to you, what was once a soft meld of blues hardened into something more practical. Then, he looked up, breathing out a quiet huff of amusement at the sight.

“Join TSF 141, or die.”

Price stepped closer, watching as Graves’ eyes lowered back down to you.

“Could’ve guessed you were playing me, Fangs.” He lightly shrugged, nodding up to the man crouching on the rails above you. “Big dog Ghost up there left a little something back at the warehouse, didn’t he?”

Your eyes narrowed. The knife.

“Make the right decision, Graves.”

“The right decision?” He scoffed, flicking a finger between you and Ghost. “I’ve been giving everything I have for you, only to figure out you’ve been fucking around with him? Now you want me to join you?”

“This isn’t about him, or any of them.” You snapped back, jabbing a finger against his chest. “You knew what Shepherd did to us, and you still chose to stay with him. How can you live with yourself?”

“You’ve got one last chance, son.” The gruff call of your captain rang out, feebly smothered against airborne tension. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Who was by my side the entire time?” Graves voice pushed out low, taking your finger and turning it to push against your vest. “Only you made that decision.”

A single, deep breath pushed its way from your mouth as you brought the same hand up, ripping Shadow Company’s insignia off of your chest, dropping it to the floor, and smothering it under your boot.

“It’s not too late to change.”

His head shook slowly, taking a step back from you before lowering his hands.

“Not for you, Fangs.”

The world before you sparked into a violent surge of smoke and fire as explosions broke out from above. Gunshots scraped against the ground near you as you ran, diving behind a nearby crate to cover yourself.

Only to realize the inside was fizzing.

You were sent flying backward as the middle of the warehouse erupted into flames, the sheer force of the chain linked explosions slamming your back into the wall. Air starved lungs desperately inhaled smoke, leaving your vision blurred and burning at the thickness of the atmosphere around you.

Your arms weakly pushed against the ground, pulling you far up enough to grab the side of a table, hoisting yourself to stand with a pained groan. A massive crash echoed from across the interior, shaking the ground below you and pulsing blistering waves of smoke against your face. Another followed shortly after, only leading you to assume the roof was collapsing, the shriek of stressing metal confirming your suspicions.

Raising a hand to your shoulder, you pressed on the your radio, using your spare hand to hold your earpiece to your ear as you ran.

“Price, Soap, Gaz-“ You paused, choking on a fresh inhale of fumes. “Does anyone copy?”

Silence.

You cursed under your breath, bringing a hand up to hover against your lower face whilst running amidst the shadows. Your foot kicked against a railing, leading you to blindly turn for the stairs, narrowly avoiding falling chunks of debris from the ceiling as you neared closer to it. The thin flooring shook under each of your footsteps, the section behind you breaking off with a sharp clang just after you’d cleared it.

Sucking in the ashen material of your arm, you broke into a sprint, heading for the first gleam of light visible. Your arms rose to cross over your face, shattering glass as you dived outside, stealing harsh breaths of fresh air from the sky on your fall.

You landed in the midst of a large bush with a quiet thud, breaking into a coarse fit of coughs and retches in a desperate attempt to clear your system. Once the haze of CO2 had swept out of your lungs, you pulled yourself out of the mass of thick branches and leaves, staggering up to look at the warehouse before you.

“Cobra, do you copy?”

Your hands fumbled for the button on your shoulder, tapping into 141’s comms with a sigh of relief.

“Good here, Soap.” You responded, pacing away from the destroyed warehouse. “What’s going on with the others?”

“Don’t know, you’re the only one I could reach.”

“We need to find the others. I’ll take the second warehouse, you sweep the outside.”

“Got it.”

You let go of the comms with a hum, eyes moving up as you approached the smaller warehouse. The sudden rise of gunfire widened your eyes, clear that it came from the inside. Your boots fell hard against dry grass, kicking up heavy tracks before you jumped on top of one of the ac units hooked to the wall, using the slight leverage to pull yourself up to the hanging ladder halfway up.

A fury of dying lights sparked against the air as you peered down through the skylight, running towards the edge in sight of a vent. Gripping the ledge of the shingled roof, you slid in through the metal nailed to the wall, boots softly thudding against a metal walkway overlooking the inside. Thinly strung lights dimly lit the vast area below, only giving way to the continuous reign of bullets clanging against metal.

You dropped down to the next section, dodging weapon crates and supplies before breaking for the staircase. Frantic hands unhooked the Deagle on your belt as you grew closer to the ground floor, spurred on by the abrupt end of shots from all around. Your hands laid to rest against the nearest railing, watching with wide eyes as a lowly flashing streak of red shot past you face, and to the far side of the warehouse.

One of your arms instinctively raised against the mass detonation of the semtex fused with boxes of mines, lighting one side of the warehouse up in a raging sea of flames. Tugging the safety off of your pistol, you jumped down onto one of the crates below, kneeling against the edge in search of any signs of life against the weak light of fire. Eventually, a shadowed figure crossed not far off from where you perched, leading you to scale the line of containers in swift apprehension, keeping your movements light.

Your teeth grit firmly together at the rising waves of familiar heat brushing themselves against your skin, the waves in pursuit forcing you to climb up a layer to breathe. Eventually, your target led you to a small, void area of the warehouse, charred black, and holding a slumped body against the ash. Your eyes widened at the scarce patch of white on his face illuminated by edging embers, your breathing increasingly erratic by the second as the quiet click of a gun’s safety rang out from the shadows.

Before you could articulate a reasonable plan of action, your feet were sliding off of the containers overlooking the scene, landing just above the shadowed figure with a harsh thud. The reaction to the noise was not sufficient enough, as by the time the gun was pointed your way, you had blindly tackled them against the wall, hand moving to hold their gun up as you slid the Deagle against their chest.

A crude gunshot bounced off the walls, crawling into your ears in horrid sight of the body pinned against your leg. You stepped away from the mass of blood pooling onto the ground beneath, watching as the lifeless body of Graves slumped against the ground, his blood sickly warm on your hands. The warehouse grew silent in your wake, save the faint crackling of burning wood, ever softer the drops of red liquid falling to mix in with the rest.

“COBRA, GHOST?”

The words spoke muffled to your ears, fighting against the deafening drum of your heartbeat pounding against every crevice of your being. A hand took hold of your shoulder amongst the scorching ripples of heat, turning you to face Price, who gave you a light squeeze where his hand sat as he took your gun.

“Good work, kiddo. Let’s get you patched up.”

—-

ONE WEEK LATER.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

2 NEW MSSGS.

SOAP

Hey, didn’t get the chance to see you after the mission.

I owe you one, big time. Let me know when you’re free?

YOU

Tomorrow okay?

The watch fell limp against your side, following the brush of a bag hitting the ground. A briefcase was placed against your coffee table, beside you an SR-25 waiting to be taken apart.

Not an ounce of pride swelled in your chest at the achievement of killing Hassan. The honorary medal that had been draped around your chest now sat idle on the floor, particles of dust beginning to settle over the bright coat of gloss over the surface. Deft hands worked in steady motions, pooling out breaths of focused air as you pulled the weapon apart.

Your mind had been elsewhere for some time, thoughts scrambled by dull static while you sat atop that building, sparking not even an ounce of a reaction out of you as you pulled the trigger. Instead of confirming your kill, you pulled the sniper back, silently disappearing as soon as you’d arrived.

The visions had been relentless. When you closed your eyes, you saw horrified faces and snow white bandages stained red, the scent of gore and death so evident, so real that you choked on your breath. And you saw yourself, watching Soap and Gaz carry him away, earning nothing but stale breathing from blood coated nostrils.

You’d been told he had a 15% chance of survival. That was, before you left to finish Hassan and the cartel. It was said that chance would rise to at least 70 with a blood transfusion. They advised against it, you were taking his job, steady aim was more important that everything else. Just a little missing blood could have thrown off your aim, let one of the world’s most notorious terrorists walking free after dropping a missile on the Pentagon.

You did it anyways, taking the gamble that the doctors wouldn’t tell Price. Guess it paid off well — well enough for the rest of the world, anyway.

A quiet clink shuffled against styrofoam as you placed the last part of the sniper rifle in the briefcase, smoothing over the scope with your hand before shutting it and flipping the locks closed.

It was one thing to be a hero.

And another to be a killer.

The vision of Ghost wasn’t the only nightmare that haunted you since it happened. Graves, the blood, his blood on your hands; the .50 round of your Deagle in his chest.

His funeral wasn’t special, at least from what you’d heard. Your failure to show resulted in a brief visit some few hours after, placing the Desert Eagle beside the small pile of tempered soil that covered him. Ironically enough, it had been more like a late return.. you’d almost forgotten the pistol was originally his.

The door to your temporary apartment clicked shut, leaving you to the garage, and a brand new Porsche, one of the many thanks of service from the military for your success in killing Hassan. If only they knew about Shepherd, the Shadows.. Makarov.

Almost 15 hours and 2 full tanks of gas later led you to the coast of New England, “Her lady Boston” as specifically named by Price. The TSF had a good majority of their American warehouses here, probably as close to the UK as they could get.

Your legs fell limp as you let off the brakes for the last time, shifting into park before leaning your head back against the headrest. A few stretches later and you were off to a small facility on the edge of the city, steadily welcome to the chirp of seagulls and scent of the Atlantic.

An automated door and a cool gust of wind welcomed you to the inside, nodding a greeting to the receptionist before heading for the lounge. Upon seeing Soap, Gaz, and Price, you waved, to which all stopped their conversation and turned your way.

“Aye, if it isn’t the infamous Cobra.” Soap snarked, ruffling your hair with a smile. “Welcome to New England.”

“There’s a whole lot to do here.” Gaz added, giving you a pat on the back. “Hope you’ll hang with us a little.”

Lastly, you glanced over to Price who had just finished putting out his cigar, nodding to you before pulling you into a quick side hug.

“Good to see you, kiddo.”

You breathed out a small sigh of acknowledgment before sliding into the seat beside him, setting your briefcase beside your foot.

“What have you guys been up to?”

Soap and Gaz glanced at each other, then to Price, who shrugged.

“We’ve just been laying low for now.” Soap answered, following a nod from Gaz. “Waiting for Laswell to dig up what she can on Makarov.”

“Shit, Makarov..” Your fingers drifted along the table, the image of Price’s face upon looking at the man’s picture popping into your head. “And Shepherd?”

“As much as I’d like to go after him, the bastard’s untouchable right now.”

You nodded, figuring going after Shepherd would be a waste of time in this state. You’d need a whole lot of evidence to even begin to prove his guilt, and right now, you had none.

“You should get goin’, it’s bad to keep a geezer like him waiting.” Price’s voice rose to your ears, motioning a finger to your briefcase. “Room 24.”

“Thanks.”

Wood steadily creaked under your shoes as you set off in the direction Price had pointed to, briefcase wrapped tightly around your fingers. The hairs on your neck rose with each step down the hallway, forcing you to look down while fiddling with the keys in your other hand. No one had seen him for days beside the doctors, and not even they had permission to say anything regarding his condition.

The sound of the key turning in the doorknob made you step away, running a hand against the clammy skin on your face before placing it on the door.

A hushed creak followed your first step into the room, streaks of harsh light from the hallway clashing against the dim world inside. Your eyes fell into a squint at the loss of light from shutting the door, kicking your shoes off before taking a few steps forward. Seeing as there was nowhere else to go but the kitchen and bathroom, you peaked around the corner to what you presumed was the bedroom, gaze landing on a partially shadowed figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

The sound of the briefcase hitting the floor roused his attention, bringing his features to the light as you flicked the nightstand lamp on.

Part of you wished you hadn’t. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to leave the briefcase and go.

You bit back a grimace at the sight. Your eyes shut momentarily, blinking a few times, unsure then if you even be sure you were looking at Ghost. Throughout all the injuries, all the years, this was the worst you had seen him, less harsh on the eyes, almost.. small. His gaze mirrored that of a sick child, taking in the pure look of visual disgust reflecting your irises.

You weren’t really disgusted, but it sure looked that way.

“Just came to drop off your rifle.”

The words came out in a simple, quick murmur. You turned to leave, biting back a hitch of your breath at the hand clasping around your wrist.

Damn, he was fast.

Silence was quick to latch onto the atmosphere, dripping an uncomfortable buzz into the hand that held you. Your eyes glanced upward, taking in the sight of defiantly cold irises stricken with something.. unusual, the very sight itself turning discomfort to panic.

“Why?”

You blinked up at him, confusion evidently spreading across your features. That question could’ve meant anything, especially now, you’d done a lot of questionable things in the past few weeks. Whatever it was had his eyes shot open, looking like he was seeing a reflection of himself in the mirror.

And maybe he was. Maybe you being here wasn’t good for him.

“Why aren’t you angry?” He grabbed your shoulders, voice hoarse despite the lack of words spoken. “Why did you save me?”

The pure silence of the world around you gave way to a sliver of a crack in his voice at the dying syllables.

“It’s my fault Graves is dead.”

“No.” Your hands grasped at his forearms, feeling them shake through his jacket. “It was my choice.”

Your choice. You said you’d chosen him, and you did.

You’d never anticipated a happy ending after getting closure, but this — this wasn’t what you’d been anticipating. You never expected him to say thank you for saving his life, but you couldn’t wrap your head around why he was looking at you like you killed him.

“I betrayed Graves, and I killed him.” You continued. “Wanna take a good guess why?

Denial flashed through the whites of his eyes, causing him to let go of you, rubbing his hands across his mask.

“Don’t-“

Too late. You roughly snatched his arms, tearing them away from his face before sticking one of your fingers to rest against his throat.

“I did it because I fell in i-“

Your sentence molded into a mere mumble as his right hand cupped over your mouth, his posture gradually folding with each waking second.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

You could feel his hand jittering against your skin, giving away what his eyes tried desperately to hide. And you saw right through it, the anticipation stowed away deep beneath seas of lifeless umber, practically begging to break free. So you placed your hand over his, slowly prying your mouth free before folding your fingers against his.

“If that’s not what you want to hear, I won’t say it.”

When you break Ghost down, Simon Riley is an open book. Right now, his pages of vulnerability were on full display, allowing you to run a hand along his arm, stopping to squeeze at the shoulder. Upon hearing a quit hiss of pain push through his lips, you’d knew Simon Riley was fully yours.

“So, what do you want, Simon?”

A shuddered breath heeded your question, eyes screwing shut as you ran your fingers everywhere they’d go, stopping to rest at the hem of his sweatpants. When you shifted to move, his eyes shot open, grasping your arm to keep you there.

“You.” He breathed, drooping down to rest his forehead against yours. “Always wanted you, Cobra.”

Years of built up tension… insufferable hatred, snapped. Just like that.

Before you could continue to move, Simon broke out into a rather violent coughing fit, leading you to usher him to the edge of his bed. Your hand drifted down to his pants once more, lightly prodding at his clothed erection to alleviate the tension in his upper chest. Seeing as it worked, you pushed him further into the sheets before climbing up yourself, gently moving to straddle his thigh.

The groan he let out at the pressure almost roused a smirk from your end, yet you stuck to lightly dragging yourself against his leg. Your hand groped softly at his dick, watching as his gaze rose up to the ceiling.

“You like that, huh?”

A partially coherent “yes” made its way to your ears, the slight whimper in his tone causing you to bite back a moan. Your own arousal became evident in the partially damp feeling of your clit digging into the fabrics of his pants, the warmth of the skin under threatening to make you drool.

Short, quiet breaths filled the air as your hand worked on rubbing along the base of his clothed erection, earning a muffled noise of suppressed pleasure from him every time your fingers grazed over the right spot. You gnawed at your lips as one of his hands lifted up, loosely grasping your hair while you rocked back and forth on his thigh.

“You like this.”

He shrugged, spare hand moving to run along the hem of your pants, the press of his cool hands against your skin drawing a gasp from your lips.

“You do too.”

You watched as his eyes gradually darkened with each ministration, sweet moans melting into rough groans and curses. It was almost like a switch, how fast he could go from Simon Riley to Ghost. The pure sight of his now bored looking gaze instinctively made you dig your nails into his cock before the pleasure built up too much, eliciting a sharp breath from him in the process. At the same time, he twitched under your fingertips, hips subconsciously jutting into your hands, silently begging you to go faster.

And faster you went, scratching and squeezing coarse groans of pleasure from behind the mask. You got off at the same pace, letting out a low whine as your lower abdomen began to cloud with heat.

“That’s it, cum for me, lovie.” Ghost encouraged, lightly tugging on a handful of your hair. “I’ll be right after you.”

A gravely moan pushed its way out from the back of your throat as you came, completely soaking the fabric underneath you. True to his words, he was cumming just seconds later, a warm patch of seed turning the base of his crotch a deeper shade of grey.

You had no time to regain your breath, as Ghost was already pushing a hand into your pants, rudely shoving your underwear to the side before stroking his pointer finger down your folds. A deep inhale passed him at the feeling of your arousal coating his fingers, encouraging him to being an extra finger in to you with your clit.

“Soaking wet.”

Your eyes threatened to roll at the cocky gaze irises carried, clearly proud of the power he held over you. Yet, he clearly wasn’t over his own pleasure, as two of his fingers were quick to stuff themselves into your pussy, swirling around your walls as they began to pump into you.

“How does that feel?” He asked, dragging his fingers in and out of you, horribly, agonizingly slow. “Got something on your mind, don’t you?”

“Too slow.” You mumbled, fingers sinking into the cool fabric of his jacket at the complete stop of movement. “Don’t- tease me.”

A hum answered your commands, returning his fingers into your leaking pussy at a much faster pace. His fingers grew increasingly slick with each pump until he was practically nailing you, eyes glazing over with pleasure as your fingers delved under his hood, raking blazing lines over ice cold skin.

“Fuck-“ He groaned, head tilting to look up at you as his fingers relentlessly fucked your hole. “Cum again for me, dirty girl.”

Your legs clamped around his arms, crying out in pleasure as you gave into your second orgasm, coating his fingers in a generous amount of slick. Your teeth grit together as he swapped hands, pushing into you with his other set of fingers, raising the others up show you just how much you’d soaked him. Then, he beckoned your hand toward his mask, allowing you to expose his mouth as he slipped his fingers between his lips, tongue wrapping around the sickeningly sweet taste of you.

Those same fingers gently pushed into your mouth after he’d had his fill, making you lap up his saliva as his fingers swirled around the front of your throat. You bit down on your cheek as his fingers slipped out of your mouth and back into your pants, not bothering to hold your legs apart as he started to rub at your clit.

“Mmph, Ghost..” you sighed, hands running along the irritated expanse of his back. “You feel so good.”

“Taking my fingers so well.” He muttered, nipping at your neck through the mask. “Think you can take my cock?”

“You already know the answer to that- shit.”

Your eyes shut tight at the rush of another orgasm building up in you, waves of pleasure messily sloshing in their threats to spill again. Just as you’d thought you’d gotten used to it, Ghost roughly curled his fingers upward, snapping the dangerously thin thread sitting in your abdomen.

“FUCK!” You groaned, shuddering as Ghost fully pulled his fingers out of you, allowing yet another wave of your juices to pool against his pants.

The quiet drag of his sweatpants rustled in your ear, following your own pants being peeled off of your legs, and tossed behind on the floor. You watched as he dragged his boxers down, running a hand along his dick before taking hold of your shoulders and settling you against the pillows perched against the headboard.

And then he stopped. The flash of uncertainty in his eyes clear as the sunny skies of New England.

“Is this the last time I’ll see you?”

Your eyes parted at the sudden question, the burning desire of your answer present in his still, solid gaze. You glanced to the side, thinking about the mere handful of suitcases carrying your life’s worth sitting against your apartment door in Chicago, ready to go on your word. The decision was sure before you came here; leave the Task Force, rebuild your life brick by boring brick.

Yet, when you looked into the ever-longing window of vacance in Ghost — Simon Riley’s eyes, that thought went straight out the window.

However, there was no forgetting the terrors that seethed around him, igniting his very being in a fearful light. You knew it better than anyone else, and as long as you lived around him, you’d be plucking hopes off of a no leaf clover, trapped with the living, breathing nightmare that was Simon Riley.

“I don’t know.”

Maybe you liked the horror, the constant reminders of your failure to stay loyal settling in each crevice of your mind as you woke up covered in sweat, vocal chords arid from screaming.

And Ghost? Oh, he’d fallen deep into it with you now.

Some would’ve called it love.

Others called it getting by.

As much as he hated the uncertainty wavering in your answer, Ghost couldn’t bring himself to stop, stop touching you, stop looking at you. Each flutter of your sweat stained eyelashes made him want to scream, to cry and beg for you to stay with him until he was nothing but a forgotten pile of bones six feet under.

He buried those feelings deep inside your weeping pussy, bottoming out against your walls before dragging himself out, hissing at the way you sucked him in. Meanwhile, you were fighting back the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes as he relentlessly stretched open your overly sensitive walls, crying out at each full piston of his cock.

This was the misery, a feeling worse than any torture you’d ever endured. The absence of light in your fall from grace, leaving you a shell of the strong soldier you once were, a barely living, coldly breathing shadow. That shadow had spread to every part of you, poisoning your mind with acidic waves of remorse as you continued to be reminded of how you failed to save the man you loved. It was horrible, killing him with your own hands to cover up your failure to change.

You were horrible. And so was he.

Your body screamed at the sloppy thrusts of his cock, in, and out. Tears had long since began dragging down your face, painting the world in a static haze as you threw your head back, crying out at the painfully pleasant drags of his dick, carelessly abusing your pussy.

Maybe horrible wasn’t so bad, anymore. As long as it came with the face of bone white splattered on aged black, and the cold, broken soul that stared at you from behind it.

What felt like your twentieth orgasm hit you with crippling force, starving the air from your lungs as you screamed in grim bliss. Ghost continued to hammer into your sweet spot, chasing his own high and coaxing you back into yours just as fast. What was once slightly ragged breathing had bred animalistic pants, following a bruising grip of his hands on your thighs to keep you steady.

“If you leave.” He spit out, groaning at the sudden clench of your walls around him. “Promise me something.”

You feverishly nodded, pitifully clawing at the abuses of your nails on his back as his pace picked up. A strangled moan spilled from his lips as he painted your insides white, soothing the scorching burn with thick ropes of his seed.

The pull out was gentle, leaving you devoid of him yet so full as he lifted a hand, brushing stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“Promise you won’t forget me, sweetheart.”

The request pooled out soft, a mere rumble finding it’s way pushed out of strained vocal chords. You thought it was the most beautiful thing — his voice, his body, everything about him seemed like a gift from heaven itself in your infernal world. And even though most of his body was covered, your eyes still fell victim to the mesmerizing sight of the glistening smudges of aged paint, glazed over with a heavy coat of sweat.

He’d never looked so bewitching. The sight alone enough to hound each waking memory and follow you until your last breath. And as long as you breathed, you would hold it with you like a fleeting spark of bliss.

“Promise me.”

His voice rang out again, practically begging for you to say something, anything. You looked at his eyes, taking the barren, so lifeless yet lively plain of his gaze, reflecting the sight of a breezy, cloudless day.

“I promise.”

If crossing empty skies was all this pitiful life had left for you, you would do it over, and over again, and never look back.

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