NO LEAF CLOVER
─ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X FEM! READER
PREFACE / this is continuation of another fic, “me, or him?”. it’s advised that you read that before this
AO3 / MASTERLIST / CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST
WORD COUNT / 8k
SUMMARY / you had made your choice, all you had to do was execute.
however, a small tinge of you knew that you could never be true to one side; and you would face the grim consequences of disloyalty in the vision of never resting nightmares and a smoking bullet.
WARNINGS / angst, smut, canon typical violence, vaginal fingering, a mix of rough and kinda soft sex, hard overstimulation, finger fucking, cum eating, make up sex if you could even consider it that, implied graves x reader (and a little action), biting, scratching, clothed sex, grinding, you make ghost cum in his pants, he does the same to you dw, unprotected p in v, cumming inside, thigh fucking, ghost literally fucks the shit out of you, but it’s angsty as hell, the mask stays on this time boys
AUTHOR’S NOTE / still can’t stand the people that say ghost is completely emotionless bro, like yeah he’s an edge lord BUT he cares about those closest to him and that’s how i portray him… my baby cakes fr fr
THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
FUERZAS ESPECIALES HQ // LAS ALMAS.
“Exterior squad 414, report, over.”
“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 before 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.
“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 if 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.
“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.
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.
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 was broken 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.
Christ, Fangs, thought I’d lost you.
How are you doing? You safe?
Yeah, I’m okay. What about you?
“Cobra, hey, I’m talking to you.”
Still in Las Almas?
“Fucking Hell, Y/n.” 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 as you stepped 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?”
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.”
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.
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.
2 NEW MSSGS.
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?
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 as 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 missive 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.”
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.
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.
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, dear?
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, sweetheart.” 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.
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, darling?” 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, sweetheart?”
“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 of 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.
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.
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.
hq dads that can’t say no to their babies & come home with a pet +
» bokuto, atsumu, suna, oikawa, akaashi
BOKUTO - resistance: -3/10
akaashi once explained to you that bokuto had approximately 37 weaknesses. in a surprising twist of fate, it turns out that his best friend was wrong, because bokuto has 41. (the last four being you and the three sons you share.)
so you shouldn't have been surprised, really, when a trip to the grocery store ended with you having no ingredients for dinner. you're in the kitchen flipping through a well-loved cook book when you hear the front door open, your mini army returning from their trip to the store.
"hey, did you remember the onions?” you call over your shoulder, humming when you pull a mixing bowl from the shelf.
you're answered by a fit of giggles from your children. bokuto's standing behind you when you turn around, holding two things that are definitely not onions.
"bokuto koutaro,” you start slowly, hands placed on your hips. “what is that?”
he holds up the plastic bag, grinning. “takeout. your favourite.”
“i’m talking about the dog.”
“oh, him!” he laughs, hefting the wiggling husky pup in his other hand. “this is oreo.”
“and what is oreo doing in my house?”
he sets the takeout bag on the counter, holding oreo to his chest. “um…being a cute puppy?” his eyes widen a little when you don’t reply. “boys! c’mon, just like we practiced in the car…”
eyes narrowed, you watch as your children flank their father, making promises of, ‘we’ll fill his food bowls and take him on walks!’ and ‘we’ll pick up his poops and give him lots of pets!’
“fine, but i’m adding it to your chore charts,” you grumble, bokuto high-fiving them all as you rub your temple. he sets oreo down on the floor and letting the boys run out into the yard with him.
he wraps his strong arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crease between your brows. “babe, the puppies were on sale and the boys talked me into it—”
you roll your eyes, watching the puppy in your yard barking excitedly as he chases a soccer ball, wondering just how a seven year old, five year old, and two year old could talk a grown man into doing something. “did you even go to the grocery store?”
he nuzzles his face in your neck (affection is the best distraction). “we were on the way, but we passed the pet store and they said they wanted a puppy, and— well, you know i can’t say no when they look at me like that!”
ATSUMU - resistance: 1/10
it’s been a while since atsumu’s succumbed to anyone’s charms. he’s long used to being the one doing the charming and it’s a gift, really, that he’s such a natural at it. it works on you, doesn’t it? all it takes is a hooded gaze, a pout of his lips, and you’re mush. absolute putty in his hands. what a blessing it was, to have (as he claims) syphoned a chunk of osamu’s charisma and wile in the womb.
but as his seven year old daughter flashes him the look, he knows that as much as it’s a blessing, it’s also a curse.
and he’s succumbing to it. in fact, the only thing stopping him from immediately whipping out his credit card is the thought of you, and how pissed you’ll probably be.
all it takes is one trip to the countryside to visit kita (and get some rice), a look down at her precious eyes and the adorable pout on her lips as she says, “please, daddy? i really really love him.”
the miya charm has been turned against him. weaponized, actually. this is karma, he knows it, and one week later, everything catches up with him.
“miya atsumu!” your yell echoes through the house, your footsteps heavy on the stairs (like a death march personified) before you kick the door to your bedroom open.
oh, shit. (should he take his shirt off?)
“something wrong?” he asks, feigning cluelessness.
it only seems to piss you off more though, shoving your phone under his nose. “why did i just get a confirmation email about full boarding for our new horse?”
he hardly has time to open his mouth when your daughter trails in behind you, an excited glint in her eyes as she unintentionally adds fuel to your flames. “his name is chestnut!”
SUNA: resistance: 3.5/10
suna tried really hard to say no, he swears. tried to walk quickly past the pet store and to go grab aran’s birthday present without distraction. but all it took was a little squeal of, “look, daddy! kitties!” and he’d been powerless to fight the insistent tug on his hand as his five year old daughter pulled him towards the litter of kittens in a storefront.
he’d just gone in to let her look, he swears. but then his baby was crowding the little pen, and suddenly he was asking an employee if she could hold one. and seeing his daughter hold that little kitten (white with little brown patches) was all it took.
he’d spent at least half an hour at the pet store, leaving with a cute pink collar and a tinkling bell, ceramic food bowls, veterinarian approved food and treats, toys with feathers and pom-poms, and a kitten named patches in a carrier.
your daughter doesn’t even give him a chance to come up with a valid story or reason, immediately coaxing her new kitten out and hauling it up into her arms, running into the living room to show you.
he’s well aware of how lucky he is when the kitten curls into your lap, your daughter gazing down at it so adoringly, stroking its fur so lovingly.
"we're definitely going to talk about this later," you promise, and suna tries to recall the list of chores you'd asked him to do before then. if the bathrooms are cleaned, maybe you'll go a little easier on him--
"oh, did you pick up aran's birthday present? i need to wrap it."
suna, standing there with an armful of cat supplies, just sighs.
OIKAWA - resistance: 2/10
"a puppy is fine," you'd said when oikawa brought up finally getting a family pet. "not a cat, not a hamster, not a turtle or bird. a dog."
"i've always wanted a big dog," you'd told him, when he'd asked which breed you'd preferred. it'd be so cute, a handsome golden retriever or labrador dressed up in a bow for this year's christmas card.
"a dog, tooru," you remind him as he herds the kids into the car. "come home with a bird and you're sleeping on the couch."
"you underestimate me, mi amor," he laughs, kissing your cheek. "i'll come home with a dog more loyal than iwa-chan."
so when he comes home from the pet store with your son and daughter in tow, you expect their excited babbling to be accompanied by barking.
instead, your children present you with a cage holding a guinea pig.
your eyes immediately lock onto your husband, who is standing behind them holding a box containing an unassembled guinea pig hutch and a box of chocolates. the ones from your favourite chocolatier in retiro.
you take the chocolates with a huff, all your dreams of the perfect family photo for your cards flushed down the drain.
"explain yourself," you say flatly, the kids giggling as their new guinea pig sniffs at their hands. meanwhile, you smack oikawa's arm with the box of chocolates. "i wanted a dog."
"but they really, really, wanted the guinea pig," he tries to reason. "and i--" he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a little bow. "look, a bow! for your photos!"
he sleeps on the couch that night.
AKAASHI - resistance: 3/10
he glances up at you over the rims of his glasses. "yes, love?"
"how was the mall?" you ask, obviously probing as you set your blazer aside.
"good," he shrugs, your daughter snuggling into his side. "we got some new books. how was work?"
"that's nice," you hum in agreement, standing before the two of them now. "and it was fine, i got a great author to sign with us today."
he's sweating a little now, the anticipation building in the room. "that's great news. we should celebrate. would you like to go out for dinner--"
"yes, my love?"
you pluck the book from his hands. "why is there a rabbit laying on your chest?"
"his name is nibbles!" your daughter exclaims, patting the rabbit's white fur. "he's so cute!"
"he's very cute," your husband agrees, kissing the top of her head. "you see, we were on our way to the bookstore when we saw the rabbits in the--"
your daughter reaches under the blanket. "and this is sniffles! i didn't want nibbles to get lonely when we go out!"
so, naturally, he purchased another rabbit.
"akaashi," you say a little more firmly, squeezing your eyes shut with a sigh.
you lift nibbles off of his chest, stroking a hand over his admittedly soft fur. "did you even try to say no?"
because that's how akaashi is. one bedtime story always turns into two. one more episode of paw patrol always turns into two more episodes of paw patrol.
and like a magic trick, one rabbit turns into two.