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ineylesian · 3 months
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Underneath the cool, calm persona of Ghost, Simon Riley is arrogant.
He knows he’s attractive. A 6’4, lean soldier, your soldier that would bend over backwards for you at any given moment. Yet, Simon is attentive; he notices the way you practically fuck him with your eyes when he’s got some part of him exposed, and he loves it. He can’t help but indulge in himself a little while you get what you want.
It’ll start when he rolls his sleeves up a little too far, playing off the way your gaze drags along his forearm sleeve. Later that night, Simon gives you that arm to hold onto, a light smirk dusting his face as he cocks his head at you.
“Fancy any of these pieces, lovie?”
Simon keeps his facial hair just how you like it, completely aware that the soft scratch of his stubble on your pussy makes you go crazy. Plus, he loves seeing the way you shy away from him when his head raises, slick smeared on hair and dripping from his chin. When you tell him he should keep his hair slightly grown out, he obliges, leaving plenty in the front for you to grab onto when his face is buried in your cunt.
Simon loves you, but he can’t help being a little full of himself sometimes. <3
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ineylesian · 7 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?”
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1K EVENT | COD MASTERLIST
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ineylesian · 10 months
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MIGUEL’S GIRL.
PETER B. PARKER/ MIGUEL O’HARA X FEM! READER
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— 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
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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?”
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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.
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ineylesian · 1 year
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ME, OR HIM?
─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER
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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.
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“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.”
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4K notes · View notes
ineylesian · 6 months
Text
THRASH
SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER
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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.
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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?”
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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
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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.
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— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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.
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3K notes · View notes
ineylesian · 10 months
Text
FEVER DREAM.
MIGUEL O’HARA X FEM! READER
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— 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.
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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?”
615 notes · View notes
ineylesian · 1 year
Text
SEEN A GHOST?
─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER
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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.
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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.”
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ineylesian · 1 year
Text
NO LEAF CLOVER
─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER
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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.
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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.
2K notes · View notes
ineylesian · 1 year
Text
CHANGE.
— JASON TODD X FEM! READER
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— AO3 | MASTERLIST
— WORD COUNT | 3.1k
— WARNINGS | mentions of weapons, smut, unprotected p in v, oral asphyxiation, biting, scratching, handjobs, fingering, fingerfucking, mentions of blood, cumming inside, use of aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), dubious content, overstimulation.
— SUMMARY | disobedience is strictly off the field in the militia, and just one slip up could spell your end.
— AUTHOR’S NOTE | had to wait all day to post this bc i got hit by a massive snowstorm. this is based off of arkham knight’s version of jason btw!
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Steel. Smoothing coolness over your fingers and onto the metallic flow of your veins. Your eyes sweep frigid layers over the expanse below, narrowing down on one stranded wire amongst the mass.
Click.
“The main door’s open, Scarecrow. Ready to proceed on your word.”
Silence passes over the sea of crackles in the fuse box, dripping down to slither against the ground. Your eyes close at the breach of static in your ear, coiling three fingers against the box’s interior.
“Use the backup elevator on your way down. If it isn’t in working order, fix it.”
The call is lost to you. The world is dark and your senses are dulled by the residing pound in your head. Thick waves of raptured nerves pound against your skull, tightening against the surface and latching to the bone as a parasite would. There’s a muffled chorus scraping the barrier, forcing your eyes to shut tighter than you could ever imagine, fisting the other hand into your hair to—
“Stay focused.”
The illusion shatters, painting a revisited world of gloom and steady rain to your vision. Blood trickles from the inside of your cheek, running down to settle in your molars and paint your tongue with iron.
You brush his hand off of your shoulder without bothering to give a response, gums clasping together at the soft grunt that follows. The heavy clink of boots echo your descent into the abandoned mall, soft, yet lingering on your trail.
Just an hour had brushed past since Batman had destroyed the Cloudburst for good. Annihilated Scarecrow’s greatest creation and sent the Militia into complete turmoil in one hit.
You bite the corner of your lip, running a hand up your temple to soak up the light streak of sweat that had gathered there. The weight of such a rapid change of plans sits uncomfortable in your spine, weighing you down from the inside out. The Knight, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by his own grave mistake. His stance is pin straight, pace overtaking yours within a matter of seconds.
And then he stops, reaching out to press the service button on the elevator in front of you.
You step into the elevator, gaze raking against dust and cobwebs as your hands grasp the railing supporting your back. The Knight almost mirrors your stance, only letting himself lean fully against the wall whilst his hands cross against his front.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
His voice is stagnant, devoid of the bark it usually carries. The very depth of it makes your skin crawl, and you’re hit with the feeling that it might sink into the bone. Slowly, your eyes trail upward, falling to rest on the LEDs that blaze back at you.
“You’re-“
“I’m not out of control.” He reads your mind to a tee, gloved fingers tapping rapidly against the arm they hold. “And I haven’t lost sight of the mission.”
Flashing, receptive, and unyielding. The scald of his mechanical gaze shoots daggers into your face, drilling a hole into the deepest parts that lurk within. You nearly flinch at the severity; his shoulders reel back in satisfaction.
There’s a tick in the back of your throat, latching onto your breath and spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of your body. The sight of him— acting so relaxed, so unbothered by the fact that he had compromised you all so effortlessly. Trapped you just as bad while he did it, and ended up in the same corner himself.
He was like a dog, thrashing against the leash bound to his neck. Always testing the limits at the expense of others. And when that post finally broke..
“You just wanted it so bad, didn’t you?” Anger. Your response comes through cold, throwing his guard off and allowing you a step forward. “You’ve lost sight of yourself ever since we got here.”
You’re standing right in front of him now, eyebrows furrowed together in a rivalry with the absentminded tilt of his head downward. Your chest swells with bile, held back by the sudden lurch of indignation that pushed you forward.
“Do you ever..” You pause, drawing a thick strand of breath from the bottom of your lungs. “..fucking think before you lash out? Do you even know why we’re going down here?”
Ding.
The pressure of your knife against his chest plate is swatted away in one swift motion. Tears threatening to keel over your eyelashes are held back with a rough tilt of your head, brushing away stray hairs and pulling your mouth into a tight line. The Knight’s arm is still extended towards the blade punctured through the wall, but he’s looking at you, and what was the threat to snap seconds ago is now confusion.
In the very last stretch of your peripheral vision sits Crane, behind him enough militia soldiers to kill you within seconds.
“The Hell..” He mutters, stealing a glance toward the mass of his men ahead. “You didn’t tell me about this.”
“We were afraid you’d run.”
Silently, you can’t help but feel the same. A sudden hesitation rising at the sound of Crane’s voice. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin prickle, and you glance back at the Knight. He’s looking straight forward, fists lightly clenched at the sides.
You turn away from him, stepping out of the elevator, and into the repurposed expanse that had become the Arkham Knight’s HQ.
He’s waiting for you with his fingers clasped, vials of fear toxin dragging at the cloth on his wrists. With a small nod, your militia soldiers disperse, heading for the other exit and leaving the two of you with him.
“Make it quick, Crane.” The Knight spits, crossing his arms to impose a threatening stance. “We have places to be.”
The modulator hides it. But you can see the way he’s placed most of his weight on the front end of his boots. Ready for something to let him off of his leash.
That was exactly why you were here. Crane knows it, you know it. The Arkham Knight had turned into something beyond the leader of the militia, and it was slowly costing you your chance at winning the war you waged. Snapping and snarling at everyone and everything for a chance to kill the Batman, with no clear sense of control. It was almost as if your commander had been replaced with a rabid dog.
He’d changed, and not for the better.
“You destroyed my greatest creation, Knight.” Crane’s tone blankets over you, condescending and twisting over your throat like a lethal serpent. “And you didn’t stop him.”
Your heart drops at his sudden change of direction, watching as Crane takes a step away from you. The Knight immediately reaches for his gun holster, and you’re quick to follow. Your attempt is simply laughed at, followed by the sudden intrusion of pitch darkness everywhere you look.
A sharp hiss simultaneously breaks out at your side, dousing your arms in a lukewarm breeze. You slap a hand over your mouth, but the substance is already sinking into your skin, leaving a trail of warmth as it spreads. The Knight swears from beside you, and it’s apparent that it’s reached him too.
The low flash of his modulator disappears with a zip, and you follow the noise with your own grapnel. Stumbling over a few railings and a staircase, you hear him stop, and light returns to your vision soon after.
The Knight breaks out into a coughing fit, and your eyes screw shut in reaction. What was once warmth is now an uncomfortable settling of balm throughout it the topside of your body, rendering your limbs pulsing and stiff.
“Fuckin- gas.” The Knight’s modulator rings out, muffled, bubbling with the crisp tone of his real voice underneath. “I feel like I’m on fire.”
Fire was an understatement. The sensation is unbearable, scalding waves of naught branching through your system to layer over, filling you with utmost dread at what Crane could’ve possibly dosed you with.
It’s worsening by the second. Another string of coughs from the Knight and it increases by what feels like tenfold, traveling down to settle in the pits of your stomach. You almost cry out when you hear him groan, burying your head into your arms and crossing your legs to lessen the heat.
And then you understand.
Crane knew he wouldn’t be vulnerable to any regular fear toxin. He knew the Arkham Knight was gullible when it came to seeing his mission through, and learned to reap the benefits in his own way.
That being, the violent shaking of his hands, back slouched and slid up against the wall to keep him up.
And you? What better way to test out one of his newest toxins with his partner right beside him? He could’ve used a sample that would’ve had you tearing each other’s faces off, but no, that was too simple.
This was worse. So much worse.
Your right knee hits the wall with a light thump, overturning one of the vials Crane had left behind into your hand. If there was any doubt in your mind before you raised the label eye level, it was gone within moments.
“Aphrodisiacs.” You scoff, tossing the empty glass into the distance. “I’m sure you know what that is.”
This was the worst way he could’ve punished you. Introducing fear in the loss of self control, sadistic rather than violent.
The Knight lets out a noise similar to the one that you had, pushing himself up against the wall before turning away from you.
“Great.”
There’s a strain to his voice that slithers into your ears, invasive and loud. It pushes its way past your esophagus, flowing down through your ribcage to pool at the center of your uterus. The sudden burn causes you to stumble forward, and by the time you’ve reached him, you’re nearly panting.
“Jason..” The call comes out dry, barren with a need to be washed away. “I can’t.”
You stop mid sentence, mustering a light groan as his hands latch onto the base of your armor, holding you firmly in place.
“I know, I know I know I kn…” His breathing is uneven, slurred words weaving around you in a delightful vibrato. “Take the helmet off.”
In that moment, your self control is ripped away completely. Your mind feels like it isn’t yours anymore, and you can only think about him, the Arkham Knight, Jason Todd. An animalistic desire erupts within you, begging for contact, for all of him at once.
Your fingers curl around his neck, index stiffly pressing down on the release button. As soon as the glass layer of his visor opens, you tug it off, clumsily setting it down on the table behind him.
The sight of him almost makes you lose it right then and there, twisting a knot of friction between your legs. Jet black hair coats his forehead in unruly strands, slightly damp along with the thin layer of sweat coating his face. And his eyes, iced over almost entirely with lust and mimicking a fatigued droop.
You’re interrupted by the sharp prick of his teeth, scraping skin off of your lips as they sink in. The breath you let out is cut off by the sudden intrusion of his tongue, shoved flat against yours and edging deeper still. It’s the aphrodisiac, wanting nothing but to consume you whole.
You can’t say you’re any different, as the loss of breath makes your hands work even faster on his suit. Pieces of armor are rudely dragged off and left to fall on the ground as you strip him of his outer layer, heading straight for the zipper once you’re done. Once you begin to pull, the Knight releases his hold over your mouth, gasping lightly at the wave of cool air washing over his exposed skin. You take his initiative of tugging your own zipper down to grasp his chin between your fingers, lifting up to dip your teeth into the center of his neck.
“Fuck, that’s it.” He breathes, running a hand under the lower portion of your bodysuit. “Don’t stop.”
The intrusion of metal against your pussy makes you gasp, front teeth dragging a rigid line down the Knight’s jugular. Spit paints sores of red and pressured white, covering his neck almost entirely before you move. Feeling his index finger run over your folds, you clamp down on the ridge of his collarbone. Tanged iron floods your taste buds, eliciting a muffled moan from the depths of your throat as you swallow greedily.
Blood streaks down the unshadowed part of the Knight’s chest as you retract, bringing a hand down to tug his glove off. Your spare reaches the end of his zipper, hastily clicking his belt off before dipping a hand under his waist. The inside of his thigh is searing hot, prickling under your touch. You can feel the pulse on the underside of his dick, unwavering and spilling beads of precum onto your fingers.
The stroke of your hand conjoins with the jerk of his fingers, causing the both of you to cry out in synchrony. You couldn’t feel any more full in the moment, yet, you need endlessly more. Your spare hand clutches a fist full of his hair, forcefully jerking his chin up to for another kiss. The scrape of your teeth against his makes you feel pyretic, the ignition of need on your body almost oppressive.
Your senses are almost lost to you as the Knight pulls away from your lips, leaving a deafening drum in your ears and your vision blurry. The only clear feeling is the shove of his fingers deep in your walls, twisting in a pattern that makes your head hang back. You can feel his cock throb violently in your fist, and the stretch of his fingers brings you right there. Your hand smoothes over the tip as he coats your stomach, feeling yourself gush over his fingers moments later.
Your panting is cut short by the abrupt shove of the Knight’s fingers in your mouth, lathering you in your own seed. The brush of his cock over your clit makes you whimper, biting down on his fingers to ease the scorch. Yet, you crave it all the same, tugging his fingers out of your mouth to stuff his own.
“Come on.” You cough, fingers curling against his tongue. “Fill me up, Jason.”
A brash moan cuts through the release of your fingers as he sinks down into you.
“Shit.” His breathing is nothing short of labored gasps, sliding you closer to his chest. “Need to feel all of you, sweetheart.”
You’d expect no less sweet talk from him even under such a nefarious high, words smoothing over you like a fresh douse of water. The pair of soft murmurs of how good you feel and the stretch of his cock fills you with a warm haze, evaporating in layers with each drag of him against your walls. Desire swiftly replaces the serenity, and you suddenly feel like the pace is too much. Your fingers run under his suit’s collar, nails digging into the plain of his back.
“More.” You mewl, dragging a course line through his shoulder blades. “Ah- give me- more.”
The Knight quickly obeys, picking you up by the plush of your ass and setting you against the edge of a table. Sultry invades every part of you as he burrows even further, and you feel like he might reach your intestines at this rate. He has you curled up against his waist, relentlessly pistoning into your cervix.
It’s all too fast— too much and too little all at the same time. The slap of skin against skin grows sloppier as your juices spill over his cock, winding the coil in your abdomen further than you thought it could go. You cry out as he practically manhandles you, curling your back further so you can take more of him. You can feel his skin cake under your fingernails at the pressure, and you’re forced to lick the salty trail of fresh tears as they trail helplessly down your face.
He paints your insides with ecstasy for the third time, and all you can feel is how full you are. Remnants of his seed drip out of your pussy and down your leg, something you’d certainly never felt before now. Even you knew the Arkham Knight wasn’t capable of holding you over the edge for this long— at least, not when his mind was his.
Over an hour had passed by now. You could feel desire being sucked from your body with each coming orgasm, eyes shut tight to prevent the tears from blurring your vision. The Knight had slowed down tremendously, having set you further against the table as he stretched you slowest he had all night.
“One more.” His voice is reduced to a complete rasp, eyes bloodshot and lashes dripping with tears. “It’s.. almost out.”
You nod, teeth grinding together as the adrenaline wears off and reality sets back in. The Knight’s fingers no longer burn your skin on contact, and he holds you still as he rides out his last orgasm.
The pounding in your head resides, and you’re left with nothing but the light chorus of your mixed pants and the soft squelch of his dick slipping out of you. Every inch of your skin is dewed with sweat, and a sore sits deep within the pits of your stomach, throbbing painfully in between your legs.
“Shit.”
You slowly zip your suit up, only managing to slide yourself off of the table before you’re sent tumbling over. The Knight feebly pulls you into his side, allowing the both of you to slide against the wall and onto the ground.
A glance is shared between you, and a sudden heat breaches your cheeks.
“Shit.” He mirrors, running a hand through dampened locks of hair shadowing his eyes. “Crane knew what he was doing.”
You saw it, too. The exhausted crease of his eyelids, the absolute agony running through your entire system. He’d planned this perfectly.
This hadn’t fixed anything, but you were too tired to shatter the peace you felt now, even if it was momentary.
“Hope you learned your lesson.”
He attempts to harden, scrutinize you with every ounce of energy he has left. The exertion leaves his head flush against your shoulder, and you run a hand over the scar on his cheek before you’re spent as well. His breath stalls at your touch, and only for a moment, you can feel the skin on his face tug upward.
“Maybe.”
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ineylesian · 6 months
Text
thinking about vampire! ghost… so normal about him
NSFW CONTENT BELOW
vampire! ghost is naturally seclusive, being that he’s a monster of nature and might lash out if he’s agitated. but you? oh, he didn’t mean to taste your blood the first time. it was pure accident, iron off a bullet straight through your chest, but it tasted good. the gleam in his eye the next time he found you injured told you he was dangerous, hungry for your blood because it tastes so sweet.
ghost knows he should stay away from you. but you’re just all too willing, timid smile on your face as you let him pin you down against a shabby bed in a rural town deep amidst the mountains. it’s “just a small favor, lovie”, he mumbles, gleaming canines dragging against your skin as he revels in the scent of you. so willing to fuel the bloodlust that he only has for you. a deep groan ripples against his throat as you gasp from his fangs sinking into your flesh, and he eagerly laps up the crimson streaking off of your neck.
ghost doesn’t forget about you, either. your whines nearly drive him over the edge as he thumbs the bleeding puncture wound on your neck, shoving his fingers in your panties to compensate for the pain. blood drips off of his fangs as he lazily fumbles his cock out from his pants, wiping the mess over the back of his hand once he’s balls deep inside you. if you’re too loud, he’ll muffle your mouth by kissing you, fangs lightly scraping over your gums but careful not to cut. the sight of your blood smeared over your lips after he pulls away is enough to send ghost over the edge, moaning into the crook of your neck as he shoots a deep load into your pussy <33
KINKTOBER EVENT | NAVIGATION
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ineylesian · 6 months
Text
$TING — GRAVES & ADLER
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KINKTOBER PROMPTS | Interrogation
AO3 | MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
DEBRIEF | Graves’ and Adler’s means of getting information out of you.
WARNINGS | smut, finger fucking, light choking, use of aphrodisiac, depiction of an unhealthy relationship, fem! reader.
NOTE | this is me holding back from writing Graves & Adler smut where they just bully the reader,, thinking about it but i have self control… included adler for the small handful of people who love him as much as i do 🫶
ADVISORY | NSFW CONTENT BELOW.
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GRAVES, FOXY & ADAMANT.
“Didn’t expect to see you out here, sugar.”
His figure is barely visible, carolina hues basking in feverish light. You nearly wince at his tone, all too familiar— memories rush back and you scowl his way.
“Didn’t expect you to chase a paycheck.” You fire back, hands rubbing against thick cord. “You’ve changed.”
Graves steps forward, swallowing the light, staring you down like he’s picked up the scent of prey on the wind. Dust swirls through the air as he bends over, face stopping mere inches from yours. His tongue pokes at the hollow of his cheek, eyebrows knit together, watching.
Something in him still doesn’t understand it. Traces of his life he’s desperately chased whole, right where he wants you. However, something’s different this time. When he looks in your eyes, he can only see the enemy staring back.
It pushes him to no end. Control slips away from his hands and just as he thinks he’s getting somewhere, the chair you sit on hits the floor loudly and you’re pinned against the wall. He sees you smile and his grip tightens, closing around your throat in an attempt to kill the remains of you that float amidst his head.
You keep looking at him, and his resolutions fall against the floor he stands on. The gleam in your eyes reflects off of years passed, and he senses the approach you take before you speak.
“You’re Shepherd’s bitch, Graves.”
Playing dirty, as always.
“I’m no one’s bitch. But you…?” The reply pools off of his lips, cool and relaxed, running a hand down your neck. “Still miss me, Mrs. Graves?”
He smirks, lightly jingling your dog tags.
“You got yourself caught.”
You scoff, shifting against the wall. Graves’ thigh pushes against your pelvis, keeping you in place.
“Wouldn’t have been any fun if you never got what you were looking for.”
His head tilts to the side, eyeing you carefully.
“Are you saying I wouldn’t have been able to find you?”
You lean forward, lips brushing against his. Danger flicks between your gazes, but he doesn’t push away.
“I’m telling you.”
Graves’ lips are rough, as is the grip that holds you against concrete. You writhe in his grasp, moving so your arms can hook around his neck. Gunpowder kisses your tongue, the scent of war tickling your nose as he kisses you. Light stubble scratches your skin, opposed to the clean shave you feel in your dreams.
You allow him to strip you of your belt, canines pressing against the inner flesh of your mouth when he tugs at your fly. A smile creeps along his face, pulling away from your lips to study your face. You’re nearly the same as he remembers, so dangerous, yet holding the same dumbstruck look in your eyes whenever he touches you.
“Ever thought of renewing your vows?”
Rough, padded fingers circle around your clit as he tugs his other gloves off. The noise that comes out of you is caught between a laugh and a moan. Graves smirks at the sound, breath pooling against your neck as he replaces his gloved hand with his bare one.
“Maybe.” You shrug, groaning at the sudden intrusion of his fingers against your cervix. “What’s my price?”
Graves’ fingers rub your walls, and you start to burn up. You direct your gaze to his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his dick considers your question. Sweat gathers at your temple, and you bite down on your hand when he adds another finger.
It feels like it did 10 years ago. You and your husband, holed up in a shitty base in a shitty town fucking like it’s your last day on earth. You reminisce on those days often, back when Graves was still a marine and had a ring sitting on his finger. Back when Shepherd was off his radar, before he took you off of his too.
He looks slightly older; scar lighter on his skin and faint wrinkles crawling against the corners of his eyes. The way he fucks you is still the same, impatient and needy, just how you like it.
Before you know it, your abdomen feels likes it’s twisting into knots and you cry out from the pleasure. A low groan pushes its way out of his throat, canines fastened to his lower lip as his fingers pump in and out of your pussy.
“Another round, maybe?” He grunts out, mindlessly pushing his erection against your naval. “That’s cheap, ain’t it darlin’?”
ADLER, DECEITFUL & COY.
“Package came in from labs, thought you’d wanna see it.”
You round the corner of the hall, seeing Adler perched up against the island in your kitchen. A small, plastic bag sits on the side nearing you, adorned with a CIA label.
“Huh.” You hum, pinching the seal between your fingers. “You know what it’s for?”
Adler shrugs, and you tilt your head in acknowledgment.
“Only one way to find out.”
You can feel Adler’s gaze on you, watching through a pair of clear lensed aviators. He’s leaning against the edge of the counter, seemingly over interested in the contents of the bag. A light crackle emanates from the bag as you open it, and you’re hit with a puff of a silver toned dust.
“Jesus.” You cough, subconsciously dropping the bag to wave a hand through the air. “What the Hell is this, Russ?”
Adler stays quiet, perched up against the wall with his hands folded between his chest. His lack of response tells you all that you need to know, and you scoff.
Then the worry sets in.
You feel a subtle heat crawling up your arms, seemingly moving its way up to your face through your veins. Within seconds, your entire body behinds to tingle. Your body feels hot, almost like you’re covered in layers that are glued to your skin.
The world is loud, nerves burning against your spinal cord as confusion races through your mind. You run your hands through your hair, feeling a distinct sensation pool in your abdomen; it takes root, leaking down to your naval.
Through the rushes of blood in your head, you can hear Adler’s shoes click against the floor. The sound makes your stomach churn with need, and you look at him, standing just a few inches away.
“Adler..” You call, reaching out for him. “Something’s— wrong. Help me..”
You sway, losing balance and falling forward. Adler breaks your fall, holding you against the ridge of his turtleneck. You cling onto him as if you’ll die if you let go, eyes opening only when you feel yourself being set down on the couch.
Adler kneels in front of you, catching the hand that paws at his waist. He runs a hand along your face, lips quirking at the balm encasing his fingers. You reach out again, and he makes no motion to stop you.
“Didn’t see this as an interrogation drug.” He mumbles, allowing you to tug at his zipper. “Fuckin’ freaks.”
Your mind is completely lost to him, focused only on the hem of his jeans. An animalistic desire scalds your nerves, and you whine as he pushes you against the edge of the couch.
“It burns, Russ.” You groan, bucking your hips up as he moves to unbutton your jeans. “I need you…”
“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.”
His hands smooth over your pussy, fingers dragging over your clit, adding a teasing flick as he thinks. You lock your legs around his back, attempting to force him into you as your hands palm his dick. Adler clicks his tongue, slowly pushing one of his fingers into you, deciding to test the waters.
“What did you dream about last night?”
“You.” Your voice comes out strangled, practically squeezing his cock in desperation. “I always do.”
His eyebrows raise in interest, finding this drug more useful than dozens he’s used in the past. Shame it had to be tested on you, though. Or.. maybe he was enjoying this a little more than it seemed.
Adler lets you pull him forward, fingers pulling out of your pussy as you sloppily stuff yourself with his cock. He bites down on his cheek as you rut against his hips, searching for friction.
“Tell me,” He continues, placing a hand behind your back to guide you as he lays down. “What am I doing in your dreams?”
“You’re.. ugh— you’re fucking me, Russ.” You moan, dragging yourself down on his cock. “The real you never has time for me— anymore.”
He tilts his head at your confession, reaching over to the coffee table for a pack of cigarettes.
“We’ll see to that.”
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KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
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ineylesian · 1 year
Text
MY FRIEND IN MISERY
─ PHILLIP GRAVES X FEM! READER
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AO3 | MASTERLIST | CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST
WORD COUNT | 7k+
SUMMARY | there are times when you draw the line, glorifying the cracks that sever right and wrong.
upon realization that you’d been trapped under ice, you had watched graves freeze over, hardening against the cruel world before him… until he cracked.
WARNINGS | smut, angst, brief descriptions of torture, finger fucking, unprotected p in v, slight oral asphyxiation, biting, hair pulling, switch! graves, semi clothed sex, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slightly shell shocked graves, blood kink (kinda), graves is a masochist
AUTHOR’S NOTE | AYYY i finally got around to writing for my babygirl graves,, we’re pushing along in the cobra series!! also, some parts of this are a lil sloppy, my bad, i’m tired.
THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
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AUGUST 13TH, 2020.
AL MAZRAH, SYRIA.
“SHEPHERD, we need to send in backup, now!”
“Negative, Shadow-2. You will use what. You. Have.”
Ragged breaths fought against faint waves of radio static, dying out with the start of a exasperated sigh. Your teeth grit furiously against one another at the sudden intrusion of Shepherd on your mens’ safety, digging one of your boots into the ground in a feeble attempt to contain your anger. He knew your entire squadron would die out there without help, and it was clear as the rising smoke in the ruins that he would make anyone else pay for his mistakes than himself.
It was good riddance and salvage, now. Avoid casualties, save the fortunate, and find Graves.
Your head turned at the rising sound of footsteps, sinking into the shallow channel at the sudden flash of light in your direction. Noisy sloshes rippled frigid water against your arms as two Russian soldiers approached, their proximity leading your hand to slide into the water, slowly pulling your pistol off of your waist.
A wave of murky water splashed against your face as you lunged forward, jabbing one solider in the knees with your elbow, swiftly putting a bullet in the other before his flashlight could piece your existence together. Screams of agony bubbled foam waves at the mercy of your knee, holding the less fortunate soldier under the surface while you unsheathed your knife. A messy slash reigned you safe, lifting yourself out of the water as droplets of muted red dripped off of your forearms.
“182, so you copy?”
Silence.
“Shadow-1, evac went dark.”
The soft buzz of grasshoppers answered your call, leading you to switch your comms off with a low string of curses. Fireflies danced along the wafting embers spreading to the arid valley around you, each spark followed by a distance chorus of explosions.
You shook your head, subconsciously raising a hand back to your shoulder before stepping off of the dead body beneath you, knees bending to tug at the zipper of the jacket.
“SC, this is Shadow-2 actual. Going dark.”
Cool water slithered over your chest as you lifted one of the Russian’s jackets over your own, feeling the soaked material sink into your skin. The helmet was next, followed by a pair of night vision goggles, and a scarcely damp ski mask pulled from one of the pockets. You bit back a cough at the scent filling your nostrils, traveling down to rest on the surface of your tongue, each breath leaving the faux residue of sand along your throat.
Each drag of your feet through the polar depths caused your teeth to dig further into the side flesh of your cheek, overpowering the taste of minced soil with blood with every numbing step. Upon reaching solid ground, your knees buckled, forcing you to grab onto a nearby column of debris, gloved fingers digging into the slight char to keep yourself standing. Stray winds of warmth flowed against the icy mass that consumed you, the first flush against your face so sickening you had no choice but to pull down your mask and retch.
Vile, warm, and filled to the brim with remorse on behalf of your dead soldiers.
You stood straight, wiping any signs of struggle off of your face. The last to go was your M16, American branding kicked deep into the mounds of sand below. Left with nothing but your own sopping facade, you stepped out into the main road, squinting down the stretch of rural ground. Not even a klick ahead sat a mass of hungry flames, igniting the winds billowing around you unsettlingly hot.
It was then that you felt the heat creeping along every dampened crevice of your — the Russian’s jacket, aggressive tendrils of changing temperature making your skin crawl. To make matters worse, you were approaching an entire field of aggravated hostiles. One mistake, and you would join the polluted sea of dead Shadows, marked up as one more KIA on Shepherd’s plate.
And just as much as you wanted him to suffer, you were not dying here. Not like this.
You were pulled from grasping thoughts of your general at the brief flicker of shells hitting a half crumbled wall not far off, followed by a ricochet of amused laughter. Dropping down, you cautiously approached the recoil pattern spread out across brick, sucking in a breath at the sound of footsteps just around the corner. The shuffles moved on, and you trailed, slipping a pistol from your waistline at the rise of a Russian voice.
Smiling, conceited teeth poking out from the faint dance of a cigar. The smoke wafted up in one last coil before plummeting down at the crude pluck of fingers, stopping to rest just below a quiet mass of black on the ground.
The cigarette fell gently to the ground beside him, resting trim against the bleeding hole in his collar. You pocketed your pistol, moving to stand above the two bodies and push the corpse to the side. Amidst the dust and blood, your eyes trailed to the embroidered patch on his shoulder. Shadow Company. Your mask was pulled down at the sight of widened eyes, shaking his shoulder lightly to ensure the dead’s gaze hadn’t mistaken you.
“Lieutenant..?”
He didn’t sound good, but bad was better alive. You swiftly nodded, pulling half a roll of gauze from your pocket.
“Listen, soldier.” Firm, yet coaxing words followed the tight pull of a bandage. “I need you to do something very important for me, can you do that?”
A curbed nod answered. Your radio was pulled from under the Russian’s jacket, placed in his slowly outstretching hand.
“You run, you don’t look back, and you get somewhere safe.” You waited for his nod, sighing once it was delivered. “When you’re safe, you flip to channel 11, get in contact with Task Force 141, and tell them we need a CASEVAC, ASAP.”
Anything would do at this point, but it didn’t hurt to be specific.
You pulled the solider up to his feet, sending him off with a harsh pat on the back and a reinforcing smile. Once he had disappeared from the outstretch of smog curtaining the area, you pulled your mask back up, turning for the main road. A quiet rip followed graveled footsteps, flipping a small patch in between your fingers, and curling them against your palm.
Two Russian soldiers, a mere 50 meters away. Your breath hitched at the sudden turn of one, hesitantly stopping to eye you whilst whispering to his comrade.
“HEY, THE HELL ARE YOU DOING STANDING THERE LIKE THAT?”
It was a good thing the military prepared you well concerning foreign encounters. Countless missions in Russia had taught you plenty, but the problem didn’t lie there. It was the cruel reminder that you’d been ambushed in Syria that tied your tongue, biting back the spiting hatred coating your saliva at the sight of the Ultranationalist patches on their — your chest.
“GOT DISTRACTED, IT WAS WORTH IT!”
The soldiers turned their heads in curiosity as you approached, a self proclaimed smile falling to your lips at the unveiling of your hand.
“A real trophy, no?”
Shadow Company’s insignia, laced with thin lines of gold. A small strip on the bottom displayed a “L” in italics, bearing the title of second in commandment to whoever wore it. Silent prayers through fraught eyelashes held the hope that you’d get the chance to wear it again, that is, if you made it out of this alive.
Seeing the stretch of one’s arm out, you placed the insignia in his hand, watching as he lifted it just inches away from his face. The other joined his mindless ogling, sharing sneers of scorn towards the Shadow Company whilst laughing about how stupid their Lieutenant must have been.
If only they knew who was standing right in front of them.
“It’s not every day you get one of these, eh, drook?”
His arm hooked around your shoulder, pulling you between them as they began to walk.
“Seen any stragglers?”
The smoke logged in your throat was enough to neutralize any identifiable feminine vocals. While you did sound a bit strange, no questions were asked.
“Nah, wouldn’t be surprised if we killed them all!”
Nervous laughter joined in with the choruses beside you. The hood over your head provided enough cover for your eyebrows to knit coldly together, swallowing the rising tides of guilt that sloshed in your stomach.
Nearly 300 men had been sent on this exchange mission.
“The Commander.” The rise of your voice was sudden, barely concealing the panic within. “Is he alive?”
“Of course, boss wanted the American to have a little taste of Russian prison torture before we killed him.”
Prison torture. Russian prison torture.
You were blankly shoved into the transport car, left only to yourself for a moment before a hand wrapped itself around your neck once more. Your eyes were shaking in their sockets, blood beneath your hands buzzing with frenzied nerves as you looked over. Upon seeing your expression, the soldier laughed, jerking you to the side.
“You okay, comrade?”
A shake of your head upward and a small smile followed. Forced, almost painful.
“Fine.”
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ONE WEEK LATER.
A PRISON IN AL MAZRAH.
“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!”
A sea of encouraging cheers rose throughout the courtyard, booming in excited waves at every splatter of blood painted across concrete. You ran a hand over your face before stepping amidst the mass of men, firing a shot of your Saiga just centimeters away from their feet. The crowd went silent at this, shuffling to the side to reveal two prisoners lying next to one another, battered and bloody.
“You know what happens when you disrespect orders, no?” Your tone was chipper, coldly sliding a pair of handcuffs onto the first prisoner. “The chamber is waiting for you.”
“Wait, no .. no- PLEASE! DON’T SEND ME THER-“
Ragged breathing were silenced by the wrap of a cloth over his mouth, double knotted around his neck to keep him still. Another officer took the man beside you, dragging him up to his feet before sending a nod your way.
Sand crunched against boots and bare feet, rousing muffles of pain from the man in your grasp. His eyes widened in fear at the tug of your hand over his collar, discreetly pulling his ear next to your mouth.
“Tell you what. Make a scene, and I’ll make sure you get out of here alive.”
A desperate nod answered your whispers, leading your grip on his handcuffs to loosen. Your gaze hardened, watching as he lunged for your weapon, only receiving a crude stomp on the hand, slamming his skin into the blistering sand.
“Got quite the disrespect for authority, huh?” The guard beside you nodded, smiling down at the writhing disobedience underneath you. “Take him to sector 2.”
“Hear that? Today’s your lucky day.”
The words molded falsely aggressive, allowing you to breath a sigh of relief once the guard had started heading off.
“Once I drop you off, ask to use the bathroom.”
You straightened up, pulling him to walk steady at the loss of prying eyes. Words were no longer exchanged between the both of you, as nearing the compound ahead had captivated your attention plenty. A lone building amidst the desert’s barren landscape, appearing as nothing but a mirage to wanderers.
You’d seen Graves hauled this way countless times the past week, growing to serve as a searing case of déjà vu following the third day. Nerves found haven along your spine at the recollection of the change, the way he was stripped of resilience, snapping and snarling morphed to willful silence. In a matter of days, he had went from fighting guards to trailing lifelessly behind them, not sparing a look anywhere else but the sand that carried him as he was taken away, again and again.
For a man with such tough resolve, you feared for him.
Two heavily armored guards stood posted at the entrance of the building, waving their greetings to you at the clearance of whirling dust. You roughly pushed the prisoner forward, watching as he stumbled into the grasp of the man before you, crinkling eyes of amusement giving way to an invisible smile under the mask.
“Here again, durak?” The guard sneered, holding the slouched neck of the prisoner up. “Not gonna piss yourself this time, are you?”
Ironic.
“Maybe you should take me to the bathroom, first.”
His plead was answered by a malicious string of laughter, tugged forward to round the building in silent acknowledgment. The other guard followed suit, completely unaware of the extra spurts of sand being kicked up behind him.
Shoved up against the wall, the prisoner flicked a finger in your direction.
A quiet pattern of shuffles rang out from beside him as you grabbed the first guard, callously gliding a knife against the bare spot on his neck. The other turned to you, fumbling for his gun whilst wide eyes watched you pull a pistol from your chest holster. His movements fell stale at the addition of a bullet hole to fearful features, right between the eyes.
You stepped back, the corpse wrapped around your forearm slumping to the ground at its retraction.
“Get out of here, before I change my mind.”
His eyes shot open at the sudden change in language, frantically grabbing one of the guard’s guns before scurrying off. Deciding not to take your chances, you dragged the bodies beside a mound of sand behind the building, rutting your boots into the ground to cover the trail of blood that followed.
You didn’t know what your expected from a Russian torture hideout, but you definitely anticipated something less.. normal. The creak of your hand on the door roused at least 5 pairs of visible eyes, all reflected dimly off a large pane of glass.
“Another one. Man, boss really has it out for the American, huh?”
A harsh pat fell to the broad of your back before pulling you forward, eyes shifting to gaze past the glass.
There he was. Phillip Graves, slumped over in a small wooden chair. Dim light filtered over crimson streaks and purple bruises alike, his hair decently tussled and damp with blood.
“Come on, let’s see if you can get anything out of him before dinner.”
“Of course.”
The words mindlessly slipped past your lips, eyes glued to the ground with every step you took. Upon the sharp groan of metal scraping against concrete, his head raised all but a fraction, taking your presence in with complete stillness.
A small table sat in the corner of the room, every inch adorned with familiar and foreign weapons alike. Feeling the eyes of the guards hounding you from behind the glass, you stepped in front of the small armory, spinning a silver knife to your grasp.
Dirtied hair was taken in a harsh tug of fingers, lifting his head high enough to level with your own. The burning urge to reveal yourself to him ate at your every movement, yet the thought of his reaction was too big a risk to take.
“How many times have you been tortured today, American?”
The heavy accent of Russia washed over your English, making a convincing argument to the slight use of broken nouns and slurred speech. His leer reflected glassy, clouded with boredom at your feeble attempt to scare him.
Graves had always been a pretty expressionate man, but all you saw now was the frozen over exterior of a wronged commander who had lost everything, including his dignity.
Your next breath was heavy, blinking at the thought of what you were about to do. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to present yourself. You had to make him talk.
Luckily, you were the only one in this country that knew what made Graves tick.
Gloved fingers slowly rose to grasp his chin, lifting the knife to dance along the mute lights hanging above. The tip of the blade shimmered against drifting particles of dust, moving to rest flat against the base of his right cheek.
“How about a token to remember this moment?”
The edge jutted upward, sliding into his skin at an agonizingly slow pace. You watched as his eyes began to part, teeth gritting in the slightest, just as you knew they would.
You remembered it, clear as day. The time he let it slip. He’d spent weeks obsessing over a nick on his forehead, threatening to shoot anyone who brought it up. A lack of clarification sat in the reason, but you knew it for sure.
Graves was horrified of scarring his face.
“Shadow Company.” The words came out dangerously nerved, eyes never leaving the blade dragging across his skin. “We were delivering missiles.”
You stopped in the middle, delving a little deeper. A shuddered breath responded, the flesh vibrating under your touch silently begging for you to stop.
“Who were the missiles for?”
Oh, he’d hate you for this. There wasn’t much doubt that he’d kill you, the chances only increasing with each droplet of blood streaking against his cheek.
“The Middle East.. the URA.”
Physically unable to continue, you stopped near the bottom of his eye, taking a step back before tossing the knife onto the table. The door creaked once more at your exit, welcoming you to a series of praise and cheers alike. Your stare was blank, fixed on the three soldiers surrounding you.
Cries of joy washed over grim at the first snap, followed briskly by your own blade to the nearest visible weak spot. Blood dampened your gloves, staining the noir fabric you grasped, pulling a guard in front of you to shield oncoming gunfire. Hearing the click of a dry mag, you ducked under the but of a gun, hurling your last knife across the room. In succession, the blade found its way nestled into the chest of the gunman, leaving you with two more close by.
You dodged the swipe of one’s arm, locking his wrist in your hand before stomping on his foot. The stagger sent him tumbling into the other, who had just finished loading his clip. Your eyes narrowed at the sight of his finger curling for the trigger, grasping the gun’s stock, and turning it away from you.
What you didn’t notice was the small canister of gasoline sitting against the crates of ammunition you had pointed the gun at. Eyes wide, you watched as the spark of flying bullets singed wood, horizontal recoil moving straight for the friction hungry fuel. You only cursed yourself for watching, as the guard had taken your extended hand before you could move, twisting your shoulder in perfect syngery with the knife in his hand. In a last ditch effort, you pried his hand off of the knife’s handle, pushing him toward the bullet just centimeters away from impending disaster.
You could only lift one foot before you were sent flying through the observation window, subconsciously crying out at the deafening explosion hammering into your ears. A dizzying hum erupted in your skull as you rolled against the concrete, welcoming your face to a scorching patch of fallen debris at rest. Your teeth clenched impossibly close together at the rising pain in your shoulder, only managing to scoot up against what was left of the wall, head hanging in an attempt to level yourself.
The ashes fell slowly, mixing your bloodied hands to a coat of muted grey. Flames licked at your back, illuminating the ravaged space before you, and pushing back against your shoulder in smoldering waves.
You raised a hand to the knife’s handle, curling it firmly against your fingers before tugging. A sharp hiss slipped through gritted teeth following the thick splat of blood amidst the darkness, your eyes fluttering in surprise at the sheer amount you were losing. You pressed a hand against the dampened patch of heat on your shoulder whilst the other moved up to your neck, clicking the flashlight nestled against your collar on.
Amongst the billows of smoke, you could see the chair Graves had been in. Only problem was, he was missing.
A shallow breath pushed its way from the depths of your smoke infested throat, wheezing out in protest at the grasp of your hands along a column of debris. Pulling yourself up, you stumbled forward, head spinning in acclimation to the blood-loss.
It wasn’t physically possible for you to hate the Russians more than you did now. This land had been a breeding ground for misery, leaving you just as defenseless as you had been the last time you were stranded here. Part of you wished you’d just been dumped into the fires back on that road, accepting a somewhat honorable death instead of.. this.
Rocks crumbled in unstable patterns, shaking the world around you in hefty crashes. You stepped past the metal table, now across the room, kicking weapons to the side in an attempt to preserve your boots. The black of night became visible as you emerged from the building, swirled alongside thick tendrils of smoke, allowing you only a moment to observe the sky before you were tackled to the ground.
Your hand mindlessly reached out, seizing the mystery weapon heading straight for your throat, and directing it to the sand beside you. Blinking against the rising swells of dust, you saw a familiar silhouette through the grit, prompting you to pull your mask down before it was too late.
The whisper of currents accounted for the silence, leaving you to watch as Graves backed away, eyes quivering in shock.
“…Fangs?”
“Yeah.” You breathed, taking in the flash of disbelief across his pupils. “It’s me”
You lay in strained wait, eyes scrolling over the discarded weapon just inches from your head. Certainly he’d kill you right here for what you did. It wasn’t like you could fight back, anyway, with his knee holding you against the ground.
The sight bestowed upon you resembled something much worse than death. His eyes were hung low, sunken further by the dark pools of sleepless nights settled beneath. You never thought he could look so.. lifeless, the stark, blank stare of his pupils making you squirm against the sand.
And then, he breathed. Low, quiet, scared.
He ran a hand over your hood, tugging it off to reveal the last of you. A swallow followed the full sight of your face, a look of contemplation dancing across his irises. You tensed, following the drift of his eyes to the weapon, and back to you.
“You.. forget it, shit.”
Unable to retaliate, you were pulled to your feet, left to reclaim your balance as his arms retracted, almost reacting as if your skin had burned him.
“Don’t..” His breathing slowed, a sigh following the ever so faint soften of his gaze upon straying over yours. “Don’t do that, ever again.“
“Graves, you’re not making any sense.”
You took a step back as he stumbled forward, holding back a hiss at the sudden grip of his hand on your forearm. Panicked breathing filled your ears at his notion, growing closer with every waking moment you stood there, eyes fixed on him with an inability to look away.
“I’m, I- fuck.. I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Solid words melted to a fevered string of mumbles, strengthening the hold on your wrists to keep himself standing. “I just know that I need you, Fangs.”
He was steadily shaking at this point, using the last of his energy to lean forward before his knees gave out. You staggered back at the mass entrusted to your hold, slowly setting him against a nearby crate before diving a hand into one of the pockets on your utility belt. Working past the clouds of confusion that dampened your mind, you flicked the cover off of an adrenaline shot, lifting one of his arms up to jab it against a non tense mass on the underside. The smaller supply was self dosed, finally giving you enough energy to think properly.
“We need to get out of here.” Your tone was low, quiet in the way hurried words slipped through a taut jaw. “Once we clear the area, we can call for.. shit.”
The adrenaline came too late to work effectively. In a matter of seconds, he had slumped over completely, heartbeat barely present against the slip of your hand under his shirt.
You swore, throwing the empty cartridges of stimulant to the side. Mustering all of what little strength you had, you pulled Graves up to rest against your back, stopping to pull a compass from your belt.
Settlements would be over the dunes, half a klick north. You just hoped your own adrenaline shot would last.
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TWELVE HOURS LATER.
AN ABANDONED BUILDING SOMEWHERE ALONG THE OUTSKIRTS OF AL MAZRAH.
Click, click, click.
“Price? This is Cobra actual, come in.”
Static.
Your hand clenched against tepid air, unplugging the radio before shoving its port back into the socket. Dim rays of sunlight filtered against the table you sat at, bringing life to tiny particles of dust floating to rest against your gear. The Russian’s coat had long been dumped into the garbage, leaving you in a worn, dirty shell of your PMC, or what was left of it.
A faint spark from the radio pulled you back to reality, hovering your thumb over the PTS.
“This is Price, send traffic.”
You sighed in relief, pressing down on the button.
“I say again, this is Cobra. Immediate backup requested, Northeast Al Mazrah.”
A laugh followed.
“The Hell you doin’ in Syria?”
“I’ll tell you later, out here.”
The rise of footsteps captivated your attention, leading you to turn in your chair and set the radio down. From around the corner, you saw Graves peak his head into the room, blinking at the sight of you, as if he’d been looking for some time.
“Hey.”
You patted the side of the chair as you stood, reaching over the table to grab your utility belt. To your ease, over 10 hours of sleep had done him well. He looked much better, able to walk and move normally despite the lack of medical care given.
“How do you feel?”
Graves settled down into the chair, sending a reassuring smile your way, fading into the ghost of his lips curved upwards at the sight of you, still decently battered yourself. The stab wound on your shoulder had been sloppily bandaged, joined with the smudges of dirt and char along what skin he could see.
“I’ll live.”
What would’ve been a question to your own health was caught in his throat, pushed back down in a thick gulp at the sudden rise of your frame. Your face stopped a mere 5 inches away from his own, a hand covered in cloth steadily reaching out to close the distance. Blood caked eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of warm water, dragging down to smear days of torture down his cheek. Upon reaching the right side of his face, you stopped, frozen in abrupt fear at the sight — the thin line of your stigmata sitting firm along his cheekbone.
“Your face...” You blinked, mouth drawing into a thin line the more you looked at it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
A hand crept along your forearm, stopping to clasp around your covered fingers.
“Don’t.” The cloth was guided down to press against the opening, rousing a light hiss from him. “You did what you had to.”
Hand lightly trembling, you watched blood trickle out of the stressed legion. He moved you down, soaking up the last of the grime on his face before letting you go.
Shifting back, Graves lifted his chin, allowing you to pop the top two buttons of his shirt off. Beneath the dark blue sat a nasty gash of contrast, glowing in agitation against pale skin. Your mouth parted in surprise, taking in the next, and the one after that, pulling his shirt down to expose a sea of heavy damage spread across his collarbone.
“Wait ‘til you see what’s below that.”
“Christ, Graves.” You muttered, fumbling for the disinfectant. “I should’ve been faster.”
Although the last words pushed off of your lips were practically silent, he heard you just fine. Before you could address his wounds any further, he grasped your chin, forcing your eyes to level with his.
“Listen, Fangs. I owe you my life, and then some.” His thumb dragged along your jaw, stopping just below your ear. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about things you had no control over.”
Your breath hitched at the sudden change in his demeanor, mouth drooping to the side in anticipation of what you’d do next.
On second thought, maybe he was just being stupid. You were just trying to clean his damn wounds, and he was letting himself get way too flustered over your proximity.
“You need me.”
Oh?
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
A lopsided smile joined raised eyebrows, completely aware that you had meant that as an inquiry. Your eyes narrowed at the rise of arrogance in his tone.
“Don’t fuck with me, Graves.”
The low bark in your throat gave away that you were on edge, and he was entirely the reason why. You never had liked when he teased you, but that wasn’t it, not this time. There was no room for that, anyway, as the subconscious press of your hand against his bruised chest was getting him more worked up than he liked to admit.
“I needed you then, and I need you now.” His head tilted, leaning up to sever most of the distance between you. “I want you, Fangs.”
The need — the want for you wasn’t new. For the past week, his thoughts had drifted to you countlessly, wondering if you were still out there, if you were as angry as he was concerning Shepherd. Guessing by the way you ruthlessly slaughtered those men for him, you were just as furious, maybe worse. After all, Shadow Company was yours just as much as it was his.
Whatever it was; between the both of you, something needed to alleviate, fast.
It was quick, his lips finding solace against your own. You sighed at the feeling, pooling warm air over his skin. He almost felt ashamed at how worked up you’d gotten him from doing almost nothing at all, latching onto your wrists to hold you against him.
Maybe the shame was partially from the guilt; he should be mourning right now, thinking of some way to get back at Shepherd for his fault in the massive loss at Al Mazrah.
He knew you were thinking the same, forcefully grasping at his hair to silence the internal war you were having with yourself. It was all solemn, mid thought, each stroke of his tongue against your teeth, sucking in every possible taste of you.
Maybe it wasn’t so wrong, then. Disaster had always loved your company, and now you had a someone to share that burden with.
Your friend in misery, perhaps.
You kissed until you could no longer feel the steady inflation of your lungs, breaking away from his face only when his fingers dug into your forearms. One of your hands was pulled up to run along the expanse of his right cheek, lathering now stale blood along your fingers as he pressed them against the laceration. Graves let out a soft groan at the sting, bringing your fingers to his mouth to lick at the mess of him sticking to your skin.
The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue as he let go of your arm, lowering his hands to circle around your waist. You were blindly set onto the edge of the couch in the living room, left devoid of prying teeth as he lifted himself off of you.
Graves’ eyes wandered down from your coat, falling to watch your hands circle around the hem of your jeans, popping the button free before tugging the zipper down. The very sight was mesmerizing, forcing him to push your hands up before he got too carried away.
“The things you do to me..”
You sighed at the feeling of his hands on your bare skin, hastily tugging your jeans off with one hand, and using the other to slide your underwear down with it. Slender fingers crawled up your thigh, stopping to rest on the inner curve.
“May I?”
Always a gentleman.
“Yes.” You whispered, thighs clenching around his arm. “Hurry.”
A soft laugh slipped from his lips at your desperation, wasting no time in dipping his fingers where you so desperately wanted them to go. You bit the inside of your cheek at the invasion of him against your folds, eagerly lathering up your arousal before prodding at your hole. Graves couldn’t help but groan himself as he pushed two fingers inside of you, now plenty aware of the painful strain of his erection against his pants.
What a great way to pay someone back.
“Taking me so well, darl’.”
Your eyes closed at the thickening of his accent on the last word, threatening to leak all over him right then and there. Graves was too busy to notice, thankfully, as his eyes yet pulled away from the sight of his fingers slipping in and out of you, canines clamping down against his lips as his skin grew more drenched with each thrust.
“Mmph, Graves.” You drawled out, pathetically moaning at the presence of him pressed knuckle deep inside you. “Gonna… cum.”
“Atta girl.” His fingers abruptly curled, rolling your eyes backward in shock. “Cum for me, Fangs.”
A low whistle pooled from his lips as you soaked his hand, glancing up to look up at you, smiling lightly at the feverish look on your face. Before you could even think of settling down from your high, Graves slinked a hand down to your thigh, softly groping the flesh as he spread you out.
You audibly gasped at the sudden glide of his tongue over your pussy, mulling over your glistening folds in needy apprehension of tasting you further. A hum vibrated against your skin as you coated his tastebuds, perfectly sweet, yet too short lived.
Without warning, his tongue snaked into your hole, greedily slithering along the shallow of your walls. One of your thighs was released of his grip as his fingers traveled up, stopping to rub harsh circles against your bud.
You’d never taken Graves as a man to shamelessly eat someone out like this. Yet here he was, licking you up like you were the last thing he’d ever taste.
His eyes drifted up at the ragged shift in your moans, growing hoarse with every ministration of his tongue against your pussy. Seeing the coats of sweat beginning to shine along your face, he winked, stuffing himself further against your walls, effectively making you cry out.
Cocky bastard.
Graves increased his pace almost knowingly, eyes drifting back down to focus on his fingers, furiously rubbing at your folds. You felt your second orgasm wash over you in blistering ripples, feeling his tongue slide out of you. He rested at your folds, lapping any of your juices that missed his mouth.
When he was satisfied, he stood from your legs, wiping the back of his hand over the tip of his nose, moving down to his mouth next. Sitting up, you pulled him to sit beside you, lashes fluttering at the pure look of haze returned. Sighing, you slowly pushed him against the arm of the couch, watching his eyes flick upward, never leaving your apprehending grasp.
A soft hiss followed the graze of your hand along his clothed erection, moving to tug at his zipper in your own anticipation. Your mouth parted in the slightest at the drag of his boxers downward, frankly taken aback at the size of him.
“Fangs..” Graves mumbled, feebly pulling one of your shoulders forward. “Need to be inside you now, honey.”
The low whine in his tone forced you to swallow a line of drool back, grasping his dick whilst sliding closer to him. You sank down onto him agonizingly slow, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan biting its way from your lips. Impossibly full was the only way to describe it, his dick stretching your walls wider than you envisioned possible.
“That’s it, baby. Taking me so well.”
Graves pulled you forward, cursing at the pained bliss working up in his shoulders. Each stretch of his wounds elicited a sweet moan from his lips, falling into a rasped symphony with your cries at his erratic pace. Your neck lowered to nip at his jaw, lightly twisting his skin between your teeth as you worked your way up. Upon reaching his lips, your teeth retracted, eagerly swallowing the pitiful vibrations pooling into your throat.
The lack of oxygen was nearly calming, pulling you away from the raging fires of blame in your head. Deep inside, you knew the shame and remorse of what happened would never go away. You’d have to learn to accept it, but accepting wasn’t always the easiest choice.
It meant going after Shepherd; sticking a deadly target on your back that would never disappear. Ending the possibility of you and Graves before you even got a real taste of it.
It was selfish, really. But who were you without that need?
Nothing. Such a simple word being the catalyst of the scorch in your chest, the fresh scar on Graves’ cheek, the raging forest fire of agony melted into desire.
Your lack of hesitation when it came to Graves wasn’t due to the stress, however. Each drag of his tongue along your skin proved you’d been pulled into the undertow long ago, as had he.
After all, it was common knowledge that you do crazy things for the people you love. And, maybe you could learn to love Graves in time.
Tears pricked against the corners of your eyes, washing salty streams of heated frustration down your face. Graves continued to devour every inch of your mouth, sucking the low song of sorrow into his own being as you cried. His own vexations fell to the ruthless piston of his cock in and out of your overspent walls, sparking a match to the kerosene coil in your abdomen once again. You spasmed against his dick, nails curling against the rough material of his shirt in a weak attempt to stay grounded.
Sensing your struggle, Graves dropped his hands down to your waist, dipping under your coat to roughly squeeze at the scalding flesh underneath. The coarse sensation of his hands on you sent your body into overdrive, crying out against his neck as you came over his dick. He was quick to follow, messily rutting into you a handful of times before pulling out, swiftly lifting your coat up to come on your stomach.
The two of you sat still, quietly panting amidst the cool dawn air. Minutes of stiff silence held you in place, breaking reluctantly at the shift of Graves against you, slowly peeling your coat off the prevent it from dirtying any further. Slightly trembling legs fell to gentle hands, setting you down where he had been as he stood, tucking himself together before leaving the room.
You stared up at the ceiling, listening to the hushed click of shoes on wood as Graves moved about. Upon his return, a damp cloth was pressed against your abdomen, wiping his mess up before folding it in half, lightly patting cool water against your face.
“What are we gonna do about Shepherd?”
The burning question, one that he had been mulling over for some time himself. Yet, despite how much he tried to craft a solution, he was left empty handed, and utterly helpless.
The couch dipped, you lifted you legs momentarily so he could sit beside you.
“I don’t know, Fangs.” He muttered, following your gaze up to the barren ceiling. “I don’t know.”
Accept it, we’re utterly screwed.
Right?
“Do you regret what we just did?”
Your eyes dropped, his followed suite. His pupils were still slightly wide, hair sticking up in unruly strands, shirt wrinkled beyond repair. He almost looked normal — you almost felt normal.
“Do you really take me for that kind of man?”
You shrugged, watching with a fleeting glint of amusement passing your eyes as he rolled his own. Silently, you beckoned him forward, allowing him to flip you over while his back took the couch’s surface. Your hands drifted up to his neck, resting in a loop around it.
The faint thrum of his heart fell intimately privy to your ears, effortlessly draping the serenity of much needed sleep over your eyes, welcoming you to the darkness as they finally shut. Seeing this, Graves slid one of his hands above your chest, stopping to brush a strand of hair out of your face before draping it around your shoulder.
“I didn’t regret it, Fangs. Not a single second.”
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4 HOURS LATER.
Click, click.
“Cobra, this is Price, over. What’s your 20?”
Your eyes squinted against the fresh light of dawn, raising a hand to rub over your face. As quietly as you could, you pried yourself from Graves’ hold, pulling your clothes on before heading for the radio.
“This is Cobra. Ready to deploy a flare on your word.”
“Ready when you are.”
You tugged your utility belt forward, pulling a small red stick out of one of the pockets.
“Roger that.”
Low tides of dust greeted your skin as you stepped outdoors, popping the cap off of the pyrotechnic. A sharp scrape of the surface and the flare sparked, enveloping the area around you in a violent sea of red as it was dropped to the ground. You stepped away from the signal, watching the clouds nearly two klicks off shift, welcoming you to the sight of helicopter blades.
A quiet shuffle roused your attention away from the sky, looking back to see Graves leaning against the doorframe. Your utility belt was handed over at his approach, leading his arms to cross, eyes never leaving the approaching aircraft.
“You sure you trust these guys, Fangs?”
You nodded, waving up to the shadowed figures now visible amongst the sky. Upon touchdown, you beckoned for Graves to follow, stopping at the foot of the helicopter at the sight of Price, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the man beside you.
“I’m supposing he’s with you?”
“Yeah.” You reached up, grasping his outstretched hand. “American Special Forces mission went to shit, thanks for the help.”
Your blatant lie passed without question as Price nodded, leading you to share a look of relief with Graves before pulling him into the aircraft. A brief handshake was shared between the supposed ASF and TSF captain before he sat down beside you, biting back a laugh at the prying scroll of Price’s eyes over your injuries. Before you could spit out any excuses, he sat across from the two of you, nodding questioningly to the patch of red under your shoulder.
“So, got a story to share?”
896 notes · View notes
ineylesian · 11 months
Note
I don't mean to bother you but for the spring even request could you possibly write about Graves guiding his inexperienced girlfriend through a handjob
MOTION
PHILLIP GRAVES X GN! READER
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— AO3 | MASTERLIST | SPRING 2023 EVENT
— WORD COUNT | 616
— WARNINGS | pwop, handjobs (obv), kinda sub! graves, smut in a closet, petnames (sugar, sweetheart.)
— AUTHOR’S NOTE | tysm for the request, you could never bother me!! this actually challenged me a lil but i hope you like it 🫶
— THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
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It’s slightly dark; the only thing you can see clearly is the hem of his jacket, slightly unzipped from your advances. Dust clouds your vision as it rises upward, the prickling sensation of Graves’ teeth on your neck making you dizzy. His hands trail down to your own, eagerly taking them and settling you on his abdomen.
The bass of bar music settles uncomfortably in your ears, and you shift from the ambience. A round of boots passes, followed by the idle murmur of your subordinates. It wouldn’t be long before they began checking rooms.
“Don’t have much time...” He mutters between marks, adjusting your legs so they rest on a storage crate. “Think you can help me out, sugar?”
You eye the placement of your hands on his naval, feeling your skin grow clammy as one travels to his jeans. Your fingers stop once they take hold of his zipper, looking up to him with a sheepish smile.
“I’m afraid I might disappoint you here, Sir.” You sigh, lightly prodding against the bulge in his pants. “Would you be so kind as to help me?”
Graves whistles, low, and frankly impressed. The singsong pitch of your voice smooths like velvet over his ears, and he hums. A gloved hand gently secures your roaming fingers, allowing you to discard his pants and the garments under them.
The sight of his cock is nothing new— you practically have the mold of it imprinted in your brain. However, you’ve never jerked him off before. The pure thought of it had Graves’ teeth drilling into his lips in apprehension, the excitement shown in the beads of pre that slipped from his tip.
His hands move once more, securing your fore fingers against the base of his dick. With a push of his thumb, yours slides near his balls, and he lightly presses down.
“That’s all, sweetheart. You know the motion.”
A subtle wink is thrown your way, and the rough padding of his glove is gone. You resist the urge to furrow your eyebrows as you begin to move, languidly stroking up to his tip. Pre spills over your fingers, lathering the entirety of Graves’ dick as you move back down.
You glance up, finding approval in the lopsided smile Graves sports. The sight encourages you to move faster, your body edging up against his thighs to gain perch.
“You’re a natural, sugar.” Graves puffs, planting a hand on your back. “C‘mere, don’t wanna leave you hangin’.”
He pushes you forward, hand steady on your shoulder blade as his lips raise to meet yours. You revel in the taste of him, lightly buzzed with alcohol and pine. His mouth is hot, sucking you in with the alluring prick of his canines. You sigh at the feeling of his spare hand running along your jawline, grasping your chin to keep it steady.
Graves eventually has to pull away, labored breaths mold into drawn out moans as you work his dick. You bite your lip at the sight of him, cheeks lightly dusted pink, eyes fluttered shut from the pleasure. Words fail him as his climax approaches, and you can feel him throb in your hand as a silent warning.
He opens his eyes only when your hand is coated in his seed, hair tousled, mouth slightly ajar. The rising shouts of Shadow Company soldiers grows closer than ever, and you slide off of him, grabbing an old uniform off of the floor to wipe your hand with. Graves stifles a chuckle at the look on your face, and when his men pass, he runs a hand over a patch of mess you missed on your sleeve.
“I owe you now, yeah?”
239 notes · View notes
ineylesian · 1 year
Note
Ok this is my first time requesting but I was wondering if you could do a Jason todd x reader with cockwarming and fluff -✌️
A “BAD” PLACE
JASON TODD X READER
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MASTERLIST
WORD COUNT / 1.3k
SUMMARY / there’s a certain way jason likes to wind down after patrol, and that’s with you on top of him.
WARNINGS / cockwarming (duh), petnames (doll, sweetheart, darling), basically just a bunch of light foreplay, jason being a soft shlut, a little bit of grinding, just a lil begging
AUTHOR’S NOTE / congrats on being my first request anon <33 honestly this isn’t super smutty bc it’s cockwarming but hey!! don’t mind my headers for now they’re kinda goofy. reader is also gn in this, hope you’re good with that!
THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
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“…yes. That’s the trend we’ve recently identified with this mysterious, cult may I say.”
“What do you presume the GCPD will do about this? Do you think they’ll just leave Batman to take care of it?”
You kicked your legs up on the coffee table in front of you, burying yourself further into the couch with the help of a blanket. With a small frown, you watched as the reporter continued to nail the GCPD officer with pointless questions about the newest threat in Gotham. By the time they were done, the amount of times “Batman” had come out of their mouth totaled to.. 28 times.
Did these people not understand that there were other people fighting crime besides Batman?
Your frustrations were immediately set aside at the sound of the window just to the left of you squeaking, inviting your gaze to watch as a gloved hand waved at you from outside. You practically jumped off of the couch, sliding the latches on the window to the side before sliding the window up, allowing your mass of a boyfriend to tumble in onto the window sill. A lopsided smile was thrown your way as he took his coat off, wordlessly handing it to your subconsciously outstretched hand.
“What the Hell happened to you?”
The question came off as more of a curious inquiry, delivered with raised eyebrows rather than narrowed ones. Jason only shrugged at you before running a hand through his windswept hair, tugging off his gloves before looking up to you once more.
“Just usual stuff, doll.” He leaned forward, coating your face in a dust of warm breath. “Maybe I was thinking about you a little more than I should have.”
You scoffed at his attempt to distract you, silently backing away to prevent the friction in your pants from growing any further.
“I’ll get the first aid kit, go sit down.”
A quiet sigh followed your order, and he backed up, allowing you to turn away and head for the bathroom. Before grabbing the kit, you took a detour and tossed his jacket in the washing machine, setting a small cup of laundry detergent to the side before heading for the sink. Just a few seconds later you were back in the living room, spotting Jason sitting a little too close to your blanket for comfort.
“Hey. There better not be any blood on that blanket.”
Jason raised his hands alarmingly as you moved to loom over him, taking the blanket in your hands for examination. After a quick once over, you saw no traces of red on it, leading you to set it on the coffee table alongside the med kit.
“Anything exciting happen tonight?”
Knitted eyebrows slowly formed at your question, following a slow drag of disinfectant on his cheek.
“Not much.” He answered, swiping a hand over his bangs so you could get his forehead. “Everyone just seemed a little angrier tonight, maybe.”
“You think it’s because of this whole ‘cult’ thing?” You asked, sticking a few bandages onto the open wounds on his neck. “I heard them talking about it on the news, seems like it could get serious.”
Jason hummed lowly as you reached for the zipper in the center of his bodysuit, dragging it down to slowly reveal his chest. You stopped just above his pelvis, gaze disappointingly dragging over the small bruises that littered his skin.
“Jason..” you mumbled, the drop in your tone snapping his attention your way. “You should’ve told me you were hurt this bad, I could’ve been faster.”
“Oh, no, no, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me.” He whispered, leaving a soft peck on your cheek. “I’m okay. You don’t need to go any faster.”
A low noise of acknowledgement settled in your throat as you continued to work, taking swift glances up ever so often. About halfway through, you noticed a definite strain in his features, accentuated by the small lump sitting in his throat. You shifted, eyes widening when he let out a soft hiss.
“Jason, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, honey.” His response was strained, accompanied by the disappearance of his eyes as he tilted his head back. “You’re just, you know.. leaning.. on a bad place.”
You immediately looked down with wide eyes, spotting one of your knees wedging a wet cloth against his pants. Yet, as you went to move, one of Jason’s hands clamped against your thigh, keeping it in place.
“I didn’t mean bad like that, keep going.”
“How could you be this injured and horny?” You chuckled, setting the cloth aside to reach for his zipper.
“Pent up frustration, maybe?”
You smiled at his stupid allusion, lightly pressing your knee against his erection through the suit. A soft groan followed the assertion of pressure, leading you to tilt his chin downwards so you could see his face. Your spare hand moved past the zipper and into his pants, softly running a hand down his cock before sealing your lips over his, swallowing the noises of pleasure that came with each languid movement.
“Not much energy, doll.” He gasped, running a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I might have to disappoint you tonight.”
You settled the tip of your index finger against his lips, breathing a shush over his cheek before pulling his dick free from his suit. Your clothed thighs rubbed against the length as you moved, smearing precum against the space between your legs as you discarded your pants, moving for your underwear next.
“What do you want me to do, love?” You asked, lightly rubbing his jittering forearms.
“Don’t know yet.” He sighed, teeth grit together at the feeling of your thighs against his cock. “Need to be inside of you, though.”
“Magic word?”
You clenched your thighs slightly, rousing an almost pained hiss from him.
“Please, darling. Please..”
A strangled moan fell from Jason’s lips as you finally sank down onto him, biting back the pleasure threatening to escape your own lips at the feeling. You trailed sloppy kisses down his neck as he weakly bottomed out, fully stretching you out with a drawn out sigh.
“You feel so good, darling.” He puffed out, dipping a hand under your clothes to run along your back. “So good.”
“Are you gonna cum just from this?” You teased, running a hand down his chest.
“Maybe. You just feel that good.”
You hummed in response, bending down to lightly nip at his lips. The soft drag of your teeth on his flesh sent a ripple of vibrations through your body, dragged on through sloppy kisses as his hips stuttered with pleasure. Your arms hooked lazily around his neck as he dragged his tongue throughout the expanse of your mouth, drinking in every little taste of you he could get.
Yet, you could tell he was tired enough as it is, partially because of the small line of spit running down your chin at his ministrations. You also didn’t want anything going wrong in case you both fell asleep, leading you to carefully unlatch yourself from his dick. A soft groan of protest followed while you wiped him clean, deciding that he could just wait until morning to shower.
After zipping his suit up, you headed for the bathroom, cleaning yourself up as well and refilling the med kit before setting it back under the sink. Upon your return to the living room, Jason had curled up to the side, your precious blanket draped over his chest. A quiet snort of amusement caught itself in your throat as you settled down beside him, earning the drape of his right arm over your side.
“Love you.”
The words fell in a mere whisper beside your ear, rousing a smile on your features as you pecked his cheek.
“Love you too, now go to sleep.”
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ineylesian · 1 year
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sneak peaks of the next two upcoming fics.. ghost is halfway done already,, and i’m one step closer to becoming one of the only graves writers on the planet
stay tuned 🫣
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