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strlingsav · 2 months

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Memories

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Meeting your ex leads you to reminiscing.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Thanks to @mykneeshurt for helping me out of my rut with this one 🫶🏻

It wasn't your wisest decision; you'd been careful thus far in the grieving process not to use poor coping mechanisms to get you through bad days, but the anonymity and seclusion of the downtown bar brought you a bit of peace. More than yoga or journaling- especially after the first sip of your drink.

You hated to admit it felt good. Even if you sat in silence and merely stared down the liquid in your glass, your brain was finally empty. You didn't want to sit with your feelings anymore, you wanted to get drunk and pretend they didn't exist.

You even contemplated trying a cigarette. Another poor decision surely wouldn't lead you any deeper into your already darkened abyss. The bearded man to your right, with one hand around a beer and the other holding a smouldering stick, made it look serene- cathartic, even. A flat expression and dull eyes, you envied his lack of awareness.

You stuck out like a sore thumb, though. You didn't meld with the horde of middle-aged men, or blue-collar workers crowded around a pool table. Your legs were crossed on the barstool, hair neatly done and makeup on your face- if it wasn't smudged yet.

It made it easy for him to spot you. As if he couldn't find you in a sea of people anyway, your appearance drew in his gaze immediately. His heart dropped to his stomach, a rapid increase in his pulse that throbbed in his throat.

He hadn't seen you for years. Not since you left, since he left. A scarred wound sat in his chest, reopened when you texted him, now raw and bleeding as he watched you. His saliva dried in his mouth, breath catching in his throat when your head turned to meet his eyes, and he swore he watched your lips turn to a small smile.

He wondered if your smile meant you were happy to see him- or whether it was a polite show of acknowledgement. Though rather than turning your back to him, you faced him, resting your jaw in your hand. He sauntered over, his pulse still thumping against his ribs, his hands suddenly clammy and warm- like he wasn't a seasoned soldier.

Sliding in next to you, an arms' length apart, he faced forward, still not yet able to fully find your eyes; eyes he'd missed for years.

Your text came as a shock, though he couldn't deny he'd been reluctantly praying you'd reach out, change your mind, give him a second chance. It was vague, a reminder of who you were, as if he'd ever forget your name and number, and an invitation to the bar you'd made yourself comfortable in. He couldn't say no.

He said your name- a greeting, rolling off his tongue like you'd never left.

"Simon," You nodded. "Thanks for meeting me."

He finally turned his head, his black eyes finding yours with hesitation. You swallowed, nearly succumbing to the nostalgia and breaking into tears, but held strong when he nodded in response and you heard his voice for the first time in a long time.

"Surprised to hear from you. Everythin' alright? You doin' well?" He asked, still nonchalantly peering around even though he was nearly salivating at the smell of you. Still the same- his favourite scent, mixed with your addictive pheromones. It made his stomach churn.

"Yeah," You nodded shortly. "Just needed a friend. How have you been?"

"We friends now?" A hint of humour in his tone made you scoff.

"I needed someone I know- someone who knows me." Your eyes softened as you watched him, suddenly feeling guilty for inviting him.

"Knew you years ago," He started. "Not sure I know you now."

"I'm the same person, Simon," You scoffed again. "Just older."

"And married." He had been stealing glances at your hand, eyeing the tan line looped around your ring finger. He tried not to let his jealousy be as obviously apparent as it felt, swallowing harshly.

Your fingers immediately reached the absence of a silver band, massaging slowly for comfort like you'd always done.

"Separated," You admitted. "A few months now."

He watched your eyes begin to water, feeling resentful of the man who got to marry you- the man you chose over him and were so emotional about now. Though your tears weren't for the man you'd recently left behind- you'd finally come face to face with the man you'd always wanted.

"Still holdin' on?" He asked.

You shook your head, still holding the invisible ring in your fingers. "It's been over for a long time, just finally did something about it."

Simon nodded thoughtfully. Still, the lump of anger sat in his throat, but it was mostly jealousy. Seeing your face again reminded him of the memories he'd pushed down into his chest cavity and burned with whiskey and beer. He didn't need to be reminded that you'd walked away- he didn't even want to entertain the idea of another man touching you.

"You wanna talk about it?" His voice dripped with disinterest and reluctance. It made you chuckle.

"No," You grinned. "I'd rather drink about it."

"That I can do."

His fingers lifted as he ordered a drink, and another for you, while you smiled softly. Truthfully, your feelings for Simon had never faded. Even at the courthouse with your ex-husband, a part of you was still overseas with Simon. Though your decision to leave Simon wasn't easy, you'd suffered too much loss to stay and risk even more.

You'd settled down, naively accepted your ex-husband's proposal, and chose to leave him after nearly two years of marriage- another difficult decision, though not nearly as difficult as saying goodbye to Simon.

The more alcohol in your system, the more you began to remember; every fight, every kiss, every time he touched you. It wrapped around your heart, nostalgia-filled daydreams that evoked warmth in your stomach and pliability in your body. Hours passed before you realized that your speech was slower, and your gaze was fuzzy as your eyes locked in on Simon.

Your hand reached his arm- an innocent gesture at first, though his eyes narrowed at you, feeling your touch for the first time in years.

"Do I look the same?" You teased, rocking side to side, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Or do I have more wrinkles?"

He shook his head, face stoic and serious. "Still just as beautiful."

Your heart leapt, though you were speechless. Awkwardly searching for an appropriate response, you pursed your lips.

Simon tensed. "Sorry- didn't mean to-"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "It's okay. It's just been a while since I've heard that."

Simon paused, watching your body language.

"Thank you, Simon. I missed you."

The latter slipped out- a sharp jolt ran through your body as you sat up straight.

"Think you're drunk," He huffed.

You nodded, letting out a short chuckle. "I am. Doesn't mean I didn't miss you. We dated once, remember?"

He pursed his lips. "Could never forget."

After a few moments of quiet reflection, a stinging sensation in your eyes at Simon's vulnerability, you sighed.

"You always were a good man," You huffed. "Can't say I don't regret leaving." You peered up at him, suddenly very aware that you'd finally spilled your feelings to him.

"Why did you?" He asked, cocking his head.

"I was scared," You shrugged. "Of losing you."

He squinted, before nodding. He accepted your answer, even if it didn't quite fit together in his head. He was relieved to know he hadn't done anything to push you away, that maybe there was a chance he could have you again.

"Well, I think I'll head home," You smiled.

"Let me drive you," He offered.

Your eyes met briefly, before you nodded and followed him out to his vehicle. You'd begun to fall asleep in the car- snoring lightly as Simon drove beneath streetlights and overpasses. He realized he didn't know where you lived, not since you'd moved out. Against his better judgement, he decided not to wake you, but to take you back home; to his home.

He even wrapped his arms around you, lifted you from the car while you stirred in his grasp. Peering down at you, his heart clenched at your soft, sleeping face. The feel of your body in his hands again, smooth flesh against his calloused skin.

He let you take his bed; fresh sheets he hadn't slept in in months. Without crossing anymore boundaries, he left you to sleep beneath his duvet and stumbled off to the couch.

You woke not long after, immediately recognizing the bedroom you'd been put in. The same sheets, same decor; it was like you'd been transported back a few years. Only Simon wasn't beside you, and your framed photographs were no longer resting on the nightside table.

You stood to your feet, slowly, cautiously moving around the room, trying your hardest not to give in and search through his things in hopes of finding a trace of yourself there. You left the room, wandering down the familiar hallway to the living room where he was lain on the same beige couch you'd bought together.

You held back a smile- an arm strewn across his face, harsh exhales you knew meant he was still trying to lull himself to sleep. As you neared, he sat up suddenly.

"Sorry," You whispered. "I didn't mean to bother you."

He shook his head, dismissing your apology. "Y'fell asleep," He said. "Didn't know where you lived."

"It's fine." You peered around the room. Just the same but entirely different- it wasn't yours anymore. "Feels strange being here."

"'M sure," He nodded.

You watched from your position on the wall, arms crossed while he situated himself.

"Everything feels so familiar," You sighed.

He was silent, watching you take in the surroundings. It made his heart soften; a bit of resentment having melted and now replaced with desire at seeing you back where you belonged. In your shared home, with him.

"Brings back memories," He nodded.

Your cheeks reddened at the thought of memories; particularly the ones where your late nights ended in slow sex on the very couch you sat on. Staring up at the ceiling, Simon's hands roaming your body, the TV light flashing across your naked bodies.

"We had good times together," You said, turning to meet his eyes.

"Still can," He breathed.

You sighed softly; it was a mouth-watering offer, however innocent he meant it, that brought your pulse between your thighs and warmed your abdomen. But you weren't sure. You hadn't seen Simon in years, hadn't talked in years, you wondered if trying again would only hurt more than the initial breakup.

"I'm not sure it's a good idea," You sighed again.

He stood to his feet, moving closer to you.

"You texted me," He said. "Had to be a reason."

"I told you, I needed a friend-"

"Bullshit," He scoffed. "You want more than a friend, love." He neared you, so close his chest nearly touched yours. His hand gently landed on your waist, slowly pulling you closer to him. He shut his eyes, inhaling shakily at the feel of your body against his again. "Think you want me to touch you again."

"Simon-" You started, your eyes flickering to his lips.

"That's it," He smirked, nearly unnoticeably. "Missed hearin' you say my name sweetheart. Missed a lot about you, if 'm bein' honest," He pushed his face into your neck, earning a broken exhale from you when he planted soft lips on your jugular.

"Simon, please," You breathed, your reluctant hands finding his biceps while he continued to wrap himself around you like a boa constrictor.

"Don't beg for me 'less you mean it, sweetheart."

He met your eyes, waiting for you to confirm or deny; your teeth clenched your bottom lip, letting it fall as you whispered another light plea. It was quiet and held no conviction behind it, only pure lust that drove it from the back of your throat.

He pressed his lips against yours, tight fingers holding onto your waist, his other hand gliding up to your jaw. Long fingers spread the length of your throat, forcing your lips against his, waiting to hear the moans he'd missed so badly.

You couldn't help but grind yourself against him- arousal was already flooding through you just while his tongue slid into your mouth, but you needed more.

You began to lift his shirt over his head, while he grabbed it at the neck and disposed of it within seconds. Your blouse, expensive and delicate, was pulled apart at the buttons by Simon's calloused hands, which dove down to cup your breasts and squeeze with fervour.

"Missed your body," He whispered into your neck, tugging your bra down your body to reveal your breasts.

"I missed your touch," You whispered against his jaw, your lip quivering at the nostalgia. "God- I missed you touching me."

He lifted you suddenly, strong hands carrying you to the beige couch- it was like your first time all over again. Goosebumps spreading across your skin, Simon's smell invading your senses. You were breathless, emotional, overwhelmed.

He tugged your jeans down your hips, pulling your panties off as you shuffled out of them. He wasted no time burying his face between your soft thighs, rough hands holding them apart while his tongue slid against your clit.

You gasped sharply, your back lifting off the couch to meet his lips, to grind yourself against his mouth. He'd always been over-eager when it came to your pleasure, though his tongue glided against you, encircling your clit with a level of attentiveness you'd not received in years.

His hand ran up your stomach, softly squeezing your breasts, while the other massaged the pliable flesh of your thighs. He missed having you spread out for him, vulnerable beneath him. Your thighs over his shoulders, your expression of pleasure illuminated by the TV; he'd always been driven by your enthusiastic moans.

"Pussy tastes so fuckin' good, sweetheart," He said, his voice hoarse with restraint. "Just as good as I remember."

You exhaled a whine, a gush of arousal spreading through every limb as he continued his methodical massage. You felt his fingers breach your pussy, slowly but surely stretching you out around him, a strained exhale leaving his mouth.

"Fuck," He whispered, leaning forward to connect his lips to your clit once more.

"Yes, Simon," You breathed into the silence. "Shit- you know just how I like it," You gasped.

His fingers curled inside you, his tongue still flicking quickly over your clit. He'd tasted you so many times, watched you come undone on his tongue- he could pinpoint the moment you were close to cumming. Your pussy fluttering around his fingers, squeezing so tight he nearly couldn't move them, your body writhing with pleasure, lips frozen in a gasp.

He'd been grinding into the softness of the couch, attempting to relieve some of the painful arousal. With each stroke of his fingers, his hips jerked forward, imagining himself deep inside you, your juices coating his cock.

When you came on his fingers, his eyes had flickered to your face, watching you combust with firework-like pleasure, galaxies clouding your vision while he watched with awe.

You exhaled, sitting up to make eye contact with him- he crawled over you like a hungry animal, one hand undoing the belt constricting his pants while the other held himself above you.

"Missed the taste of you," He whispered, his lips inches from yours. "Bein' inside you."

His voice was shaky with desire, a painful erection he wanted to bury inside you only throbbing when you'd chew on your bottom lip.

"I want you inside me," You said in return, watching his eyes close as he digested your words.

"Christ-" He scoffed. "You miss my cock, love? Miss havin' it deep inside you?"

His fingers wrapped around your throat again, watching you nod enthusiastically.

"I do- always have," You breathed. "Please," You whispered, another plea that nearly made him cum right there.

He yanked his pants down his hips, his impressive erection momentarily exposed before he gripped your thigh and yanked it to his waist. You felt the soft head of his cock gently probe your pussy before sliding in- smooth and quick, before he was buried to the hilt, connected so perfectly like you were made for him.

His head dropped, a low groan of satisfaction escaping him before he adjusted his hips and looked up at you.

"Fuckin' hell," He shook his head, situating his hands so he could dive closer, press his body against yours. "Stay right there," He insisted.

You tightened your thighs around his hips, your hands gripping onto the bulging muscles of his back, flexing and moving as he fought his impending orgasm. Your fingernails inadvertently scraped against his skin- you knew he loved it, knew it sent him over the edge.

He moved, a thrust that was uncertain and haphazard, but intentional enough to make your lips part. He was so deep, his pubic bone grinding against your clit- it sent a shiver up your spine.

"Too tight," he mumbled against your mouth. "So fuckin' wet."

He began thrusting, harsh and poignant, grinding into you. Your body rocked with each movement, finding yourself bouncing your hips back to meet him halfway. He'd begun to perspire, sweat dotting his forehead, his lips parted as he huffed.

"Simon," You murmured, pressing your lips to his neck as he thrusted into you.

"Tell me it's mine," He grunted. "This cunt is mine- you're mine."

Your eyes met- even if he'd insisted while inside you, you both knew it was true. You were his, he was yours, no matter the outcome.

"I'm yours," You nodded, "All yours."

He kissed you again, forceful and passionate, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, your stomach tightening as he rubbed against your clit.

Another orgasm overtook you- in turn, he began to reach his peak, desperately searching your eyes, watching you gasp and moan on his cock, struggle to breathe while he pounded into you.

"'M close, love," He breathed.

"Cum inside me," You spat out, clinging to him with all four limbs while he wrapped a hand around your throat.

His thrusts grew sloppy, slow- a long, low grunt from his mouth let you know he was cumming; burying his cock as deep as possible, hips jutting forward with every jolt of pleasure. He groaned into your mouth, a sloppy kiss as you felt his warm cum coat your walls. He exhaled, sitting back, slowly easing out of you while his cum began to drip down your ass. He used a finger to push it back inside you, a sly grin over his lips as he did, and helped you sit up.

A quick clean-up, change of clothes and a glass of water later, the two of you settled in your old bed, your old room. His arm tangled over your side, holding you against his body like you'd escape in his sleep, and you fell asleep with him- like it always should've been.

#cod mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ghost smut #mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #strlingsavwrites #call of duty

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ghostslillady · 7 months

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She's gonna have the night of her life.

Also, where did she find a husband who's willing to do this!!!!

@homicidal-slvt @deadbranch @juvenillia @ghosts-cyphera @mysticalgalaxysalad @kneelingshadowsalome @actuallyhiswife @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @writeforfandoms @ghostaholics @mykneeshurt @anitalenia @konigsblog @random0lover @sweet-as-an-angel @luminousbeings-crudematter @blingblong55 @loneghostwolf @tacticalanklebiter3000

#I need my husband Simon Riley!#simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #ghost call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty modern warfare ii #simon riley x reader

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twola · 10 months

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im just wondering if you could do a short story with arthur getting ‘jealous’ of you at a bar for flirting with other men? 👀 and he later makes you regret pissing him off? *wink wink*

Learning The Hard Way

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

In which Arthur needs to teach you a lesson.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz @verai-marcel @shootybangbang @cowboydisaster

CW: There’s a bit of back and forth in this one… that devolves into physicality. Obviously, I do not condone any type of domestic violence. So we’re gonna go with that this type of play is consensual.

Many thanks to my meowdy pardners - @verai-marcel, @shootybangbang, and @redwritr - for helping me shine this one shot until it gleams!

Your voice rings out in the night through the camp, where Lemoyne’s heavy humidity hangs low. “You ain’t my husband, you ain’t my daddy, you ain’t anyone to tell me how to do my job!”

“You listen here- ”

You burst out of the tent and stomp toward the lakeshore, away from the orange firelight glowing toward the center of camp. Fortunately, the night is loud enough, and your voice doesn’t jar the entire camp, drowned out by cicadas and the rumble of men drinking after dinner.

Not that you’re particularly concerned about making a scene. No, you couldn’t give a shit about that. Your temper flares and your boots slap against the muddy grown as you clench your fists, skirts swishing at the speed of your gait.

But even with your artificially elongated stride, the loud footsteps that follow you eventually catch up to you as you reach the wood line away from the glen.

You’re yanked back by your elbow and turned around to come face to face with an equally aggravated outlaw, wrinkles set deeply in his frown as his eyes narrow under the brim of his dark hat.

“I’ll damn well tell you when you’re bein’ stupid about a job. Coulda got yourself picked up by the law on that last stage,” he hisses, and you scowl in return as you yank back your arm from his grip, “Ain’t no way you’re doing this one.”

“No, Arthur. Just because we’re sleepin’ together doesn’t mean you can order me around like some little housewife.”

Arthur Morgan’s scowl deepens. “You ain’t comin’ on this job and that’s final.”

“Fuck you.” You seethe, turning on your heel before he grabs at your arm again, yanking you backward.

“Get your ass back in that tent, you little-”

He doesn’t see the whip-fast arc of your other hand before it connects with his cheek. It sends his hat flying to the ground and he immediately lets go of your arm, reeling from the blow.

“It’s over. I’ll get my things out of your tent and back to my own. You ain’t gonna treat me like I’m some prissy little thing. I don’t need this and I don’t need you.” You enunciate the last word with venom in your tone, spinning on your heel again to walk in the other direction, along the wood line, skirting the edge of the camp toward where the horses are hitched.

You needed some kind of outlet to quell the hotness of your blood after the fight, and stomping around camp wasn't doing it.

Hiking your skirts, you hurry toward your spry little gelding, dapple coated and one boy you know you could always count on. He neighs softly as you untie his rein frm the hitching post. You run your hand through his black mane.

“C’mon now boy. Let’s get outta camp to blow off some steam, sound good?”

As if he can understand you, he nudges against your shoulder with his nose and you laugh as you move to pull yourself up into his saddle. You tighten the strap on the holster mounted on his saddle, your repeater at the ready should you need it.

Without a look back, you guide him into the freshly-borne night, at a gallop before you even hit the main road.

But alas, breathless riding through Scarlett Meadows can quell your aggravation but so much. As the moon rises in the sky, you slow your gelding down upon the red-dirt path leading into Rhodes - the Parlour House in the distance is lit up, beckoning visitors with its warm glow.

A drink or two. That would certainly help you unwind.

Laughter and music waft into the warm night as you slide down from your horse, hitching him to the post right outside the main porch. You straighten your skirts before tucking back stray hairs along your temple as you step onto the porch and push your way through the door.

Indeed, the saloon is full of people tonight gaily drinking away their wages. You weave your way through the crowd to the bar, where you order yourself a whiskey from the bartender, tossing him a few coins when he slides the glass to you.

The drink goes down far too quickly to alleviate your frustration. Barely takes the edge off. It’s not the first time you and Arthur have gone at it - but you know, you know you were right. You were robbing stages before Arthur was your bedmate, before you joined the gang. He’s just going to have to learn to give you your space to do your work.

Hell, no one ever told him not to go on a job. Damn double standards.

Though… you can’t lie to yourself too much. There is a corner of your heart that is warmed by the fact he’s concerned for you - that he wants you safe. No one has wanted that for years.

No. You were an outlaw first. And damned if Arthur Morgan makes you some camp filly to warm his bed.

“Why, ma’am, you look like you could use another drink.”

You turn your head toward the man. His cheeks are flushed with drink and the starched collar of his shirt is unbuttoned at the neck. A silken waistcoat. Probably a Gray or a Braithwaite cousin. Pomaded dark hair and a clean-shaven face. All of the trappings of a feckless rich boy who had never seen a hard day’s work in his life.

Completely the opposite of Arthur.

You give a smile, leaning on your elbow, “Suppose I could…”

He nods to the bartender immediately, and a glass of whiskey appears in front of you at the bar.

You sip at it slowly as he steps closer, his elbows nearly touching yours. A subtle air of fancy cologne; of bergamot and southern jasmine, wafts off of him as he begins to engage you in conversation.

One drink turns into two. Turns into three.

The man’s arm wraps around your waist, landing on your hip, pulling you to near sit in his lap on the barstool. “Pretty little thing like you - we don’t get that much here out in Rhodes.”

You lean into him. Who knows where this could lead. Maybe you could have a little fun tonight. Maybe you could rob him after. Maybe he was just what you need to get a certain brooding outlaw out of your system.

“What do you say about headin’ upstairs for the night?” You whisper as you toy with the lapel of his waistcoat. The golden chain of his pocket watch glints under the lanterns. A sly smile creeps across your face.

He can barely contain himself, grinning from ear to ear, and leans in to nip at your jaw. You giggle in response. He helps you slide off of his lap and presses his lips to your ear, whispering things he wants to do to you all night as he squeezes your hip.

“Just you wait here, sweet thing - I’ll get us a room and we can continue on.”

You smile a roguish, knowing grin that betrays your intent as you return to the barstool. The bartender pushes another glass of whiskey in front of you, which you down quickly, sucking air between your teeth as it burns on the way down.

You tense up as you feel a body moving too close behind you, a man with a large frame leaning into the bar behind you, crowding you in.

The tang of tobacco and whiskey wafts into your nose before you’re yanked from your seat.

By the time you’ve regained your bearings and your footing as you’ve been dragged out the side door of the Parlour House, you recognize what’s going on.

Just like you recognize that black hat.

“Get off me, Arthur.” You yell but are fairly helpless to do anything but be dragged along the path to the empty stable.

The outlaw gruffly snorts in your direction, his large hand clamped on your upper arm. As you reach the stable, your shoulders slam against the wooden wall of the workroom he had cornered you into.

“Your goddamn mouth - I need to remind you who you belong to.” Arthur hisses, groping roughly at your breast with one hand. The other grasps at your skirts and starts hiking them upward. You’re forced face down on the workbench, Arthur’s hand across your back to hold you down, your bucking unable to move against his strength. You squawk indignantly as your bloomers are yanked down your thighs and puddle near your ankles.

“Sure as fuck, ain’t you-”

The loud smack of skin on skin cuts you off, and you yelp in painful surprise at the sting of his palm on the bare, pale skin of your behind.

“Wanna try again?”

Your ass throbs as he removes his large hand from your skin, but with his other placed down hard against the small of your back, you’re unable to move from where he has you pinned to the table.

“I said, sure as fuck ain’t you-agh!”

You cry out, louder, as he swings again, hitting you square across your rear with a searing smack.

“Honey, ain’t making me happy to do this, but you gotta learn your lesson, and seems like this is the only way to get through that thick head o’ yours.”

You hiss at him, glaring daggers.

Smack.

“Changed yer mind yet?”

“Fuck you.”

Smack.

After the fifth blow, tears start to leak from your eyes as you clench your fingers on the table. You aren’t going to be able to ride for a week at this rate - your ass is red and hot, but you also can’t deny the moisture accumulating just below, starting to trickle down your inner thigh. Goddamnit.

“You belong to that man you were battin’ your eyes at?” He seethes behind you, and you growl in response, unwilling to give him satisfaction.

Smack.

The eighth blow makes you cry out in pain, and Arthur falters. When he removes his hand from your rear, he slides his palm down to trail over your thigh for a moment. He pauses, pulling back up and rubbing his palm over your behind almost tenderly. But you know, you know, that he felt your slick as he swept his fingers across the backs of your thighs.

“Y’ready to stop all this nonsense?” Arthur drawls, softly, slowly, as if he were trying to calm a skittish horse. The circles he’s gently rubbing on your sore ass feel almost pleasant, and you don’t clench your fingers nearly as hard on the edge of the table. Your tears have stopped, leaving a drying trail down your cheeks.

You don’t respond - you can’t - because at that moment, he slips his hand down, down between your thighs to caress your glistening folds, and you gasp in surprised pleasure as he presses his knuckle against your clit. You widen your legs without thinking, giving him more access.

“Think you are…” he rasps, and gently moves his fingers against you, placing one arm on the table next to you to lean over your frame. His large frame smothers yours, clothed hips brushing against yours gently.

You whine and shiver beneath him. You know you’ve already lost.

“What d’ya need, sweetheart?”

“I-I… agh- I need-” You stumble over your words, your knees shaking as he pushes that finger within your cunt, suckling on your earlobe as he leans further over you. You can feel his thickening cock against the back of your thigh as he gently presses his hips forward against you in time with the strokes of his finger.

Arthur presses a second finger inside you and a needy cry escapes your throat, your hand shooting forward to grab his, forcing your fingers through his free hand. His breath is warm against your ear and he chuckles, curling his fingers as you moan. God, his hands are so big, his fingers filling you so much better than your own.

“F -fuck …” you stutter out, pressing your hips back against his hand, “A-Arthur… I need you.”

The outlaw extricates his hand from between your legs and you whine in dismay at the loss. Strong hands encircle your waist and lift you from where you are laid out on the table, and through no small feat, he turns you and winds his hands under your thighs, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms wound around his neck.

It’s then that you look at him, for maybe the first time all day, caught drowning in the pools of his blue eyes. You can barely feel him stepping forward, carrying you, his hands firm under your thighs, careful not to touch the inflamed skin of your rear.

Your back is pressed against the wooden wall of the barn, but he doesn’t crowd you in at all. He leans in, and uncontrollably, you do too. When your mouths meet, you give a little sigh, opening your lips and permitting him to enter, his tongue pressing against yours as a rumble bubbles up from his chest.

“Shouldn’ta yelled at you,” he breathes against your lips, and as much as you can, you shake your head at him.

“Shouldn’ta run off,” you whisper in between kisses, the wet sounds of lips meeting nearly drowning out your low reply.

“Shouldn’ta hit you.”

“You know I liked it.” You whisper with the hint of a smile ghosting across your lips.

“Little spitfire, you are.”

Arthur presses his hips forward into yours, and the long, full column of his cock in his pants presses against your bare folds, and you moan and throw your head back, gyrating your hips against him. He swears under his breath, one hand leaving your leg and furiously working the buttons of his fly as he retracts his hips just enough to work his pants open.

It's only a moment more before you feel the hot head of his cock press against your weeping opening, and he presses his lips to yours desperately as he juts his hips forward, greedily swallowing your moan as he quickly pushes himself inside you.

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers interlaced with honeyed locks, and his hand returns to your thigh as he starts to retract his hips and thrusts them upward in a slow rhythm, the wet noise of skin joining loud and stark in the night.

“ ‘M yours, Arthur.” You breathe as your eyes flutter with the slow, languorous rhythm he’s set. He leans in and takes your lips in a passionate kiss as he presses himself deeper within you.

“Was never a question,” he replies with a smirk, as he draws back enough that his forehead still leans against yours as he rolls his hips upward.

You frown slightly, but Arthur leans in for another kiss that steals your breath away. He’s a natural, of course, in the art of stealing. Your breath, your heart. Everything.

“You’re mine, Darlin’,” Arthur whispers against your lips, “You’re mine, ‘nd I’m yours.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #twolafic

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cowyolks · 1 year

Text

WAKE OF THE WATER

Pairing: John Marston x Female!Reader

Summary: You spend the day helping John learn how to swim— he’s quick to repay you.

Words: 5.4 K

Warnings: It’s Smutty y’all— mutual pinning, no mention of Abigail or Jack, outdoor sex, fingering, teasing, p in v sex, so romantic it’ll give you a toothache.

A/N: My debut to Red Dead fics! And what better than the OG character himself. Special thanks to @mykneeshurt for inspiration and putting up with my thirsting. Also don’t mind me being a little rusty, it’s been a few months <3

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” A grouchy voice grumbled in front of you. It shouldn’t have surprised you, John Marston was the most stubborn man you’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. His arms were outstretched, slowly dipping into wide arcs, his wrists bending in a pattern that suggested he was scooping something up.

“Not stupid. It’s survival.” You argued, your own arms working small circles that John was attempting to copy.

“I sure feel stupid.” He complained, stopping his gesturing with a loud plop of his hands by his side. You gave him a glare, pointing an accusing finger at his slouching form. “You’re the one that asked me to help, I’m only following through.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on spinning my arms in a circle like some wounded duck, Sweetheart.” His raspy voice pitched lower at the pet name, a name he had been calling you even more recently. It was no secret that you were sweet on him, as he was sweet on you. Except you ended up being even more stubborn than him, for you were waiting on him to make the first move.

You were certain the man was too emotionally constipated to even consider admitting his feelings— but a girl could dream.

“I was thinking you looked more like a goose.” You joked, a soft smile spilling over your lips as you took a couple steps towards him. The loose gravel crunched under your boots as you stood before him, eyes searching upwards towards his face. “Shut up,” he softly quipped, dropping his chin to observe your features.

His stitches still littered the one side of his face, the skin closing shut around them caused redness to flush. His stubble had grown out, since you advised him not to try to shave around the stitches. You liked it that way anyways, not that you would admit it. The dark waves of his hair curled under his hat, shadowing the soft adoring look of his coffee colored eyes.

“I think you need to try a little harder, Marston.” You teased, eyes flickering with mischief. With a quick tug, you popped his hat off his head, nearly laughing at the stray strands of hair that picked up. “Hey!” He called, but you were already sprinting away, headed towards the gentle flow of the Dakota River. As quick as you could, you kicked off your boots, stepping into the cool water of the shallows.

You decided you’d start John off here.

“Let’s put you to work if you find my teaching so irrelevant.” You quipped. John crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at you from the bank.

“I didn’t think we’d start in the water today.” He grumbled, swaying lightly on his feet in what looked to be unease. Never less, he asked you for help, and you were dead set on helping him swim.

“I’m not going to let you drown, ya know,” you reassured, plopping his hat upon your head. A minuscule curl of his lip let you know that he trusted you, even so he let out a puff of air so full that his shoulders slouched a couple inches.

“I know. Just…” he seemed loss for words, except you had this annoying habit of always knowing what he wanted to say.

“I ain’t Arthur, John. I’m not here to judge, just to teach. I’ll be swimming right beside you.”

This was obviously what he wanted to hear. John gave a small nod, kicking off his own boots and unbuckling his holsters and belt to his pants, dropping them to the gravel by his feet with a dull thud. Coffee eyes glanced up, catching your roaming stare as a strange look crossed his features.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You blurted a little too quickly. Resisting the urge to cringe, you instead settled upon your own clothes, that were definitely way too heavy to be swimming in. With nimble fingers you began to unbutton your shirt and skirts, which would leave you in just your free-flowing chemise.

A garbled noise escaped John as you shimmied out of your violet petticoat. “What are you doing?” He asked, voice higher than he likely intended, judging by his flushed cheeks and adverted gaze.

“I’m not swimming in my good clothes, besides they’d only way me down.”You explained, attempting to resolve his panicked state. With a gentle heave, your skirts landed upon the shore by his feet. You took a couple more steps back, the water now up to your breasts. He still stood frozen, focusing intently upon the settling sun that painted the sky hues of burnt orange and crimson. “It’s not like you haven’t seen all us girls in our night clothes, Marston.” You reminded him playfully.

“Right…”

You glanced expectantly at John, watching as he stepped into the water with a slow splash. He reached you after a few strides, the water only coming up to the middle of his belly.

The river felt nice in the July sun, a cool contrast to the blazing rays and unending humidity. You’d spent days in your childhood dipping in the lakes around New Hanover, catching pickerel and skipping rocks, so the steady current and chill was no surprise to you. John, however, wasn’t as used to the cold.

“Best not lose my hat.” He grouched, arms crossed in distaste at the lapping water. Goosebumps littered his exposed forearms, and his jaw sat tight to avoid clattering his teeth.

Right. His hat.

A sudden idea flashed, and without hesitation you took off his worn hat and threw it to the side, watching it soar over the water and to the opposite bank. It sat between about fifteen yards of water, slowly babbling on. It’d be good practice for John, seeing that the water wouldn’t extend past his nose, so he’d be able to stand and breathe, but it would be best for him to attempt to swim.

“What the hell was that for?”

An amused smile crossed your face, “We are going to go get your hat.” You explained, attempting to ignore the way the man playfully rolled his eyes. With a huff, he began to take steps against the current, attempting to walk to his hat. You clicked your tongue distastefully, your small palm landing upon his shirt that clung to his chest.

“Swimming.” You demanded, a firm look in your eye. John clenched his teeth, obviously displeased even though he’d asked you to help.

“I’ll show you first. Watch.” You added, lowering yourself into the dark water. Your hair collected droplets, but you paid no mind, instead you focused on moving your arms as you showed John earlier, this time adding little kicks to propel you onwards.

“Use your legs too, kick back and forth, almost like you’re running, but on your stomach.” You advised, swiveling in the water and paddling back to his sulking form.

“Alright your turn.” You offered, sinking your bare feet back into the soft clay of the river. John grumbled something under his breath, but reluctantly bent his knees next to you. He was so close you could feel his uneasy exhales, with a push, he began to kick and paddle.

A surprised shriek left you as water splashed upon your face, blinding you for a moment as John paddled way too fast. He was winded in a matter of seconds, and now you saw the problem as to why he couldn’t swim. He used all his energy in a matter of seconds trying to keep his head above the surface.

“Whoa, hold on a second.” You hopped towards him, pushing your wet mop of hair out of your eyes. He was happy to stop, heaving for air as his feet found the gravel once again.

He looked irritated, which was understandable. He’d been bullied for this for as long as he was in the gang.

“Maybe I should teach you how to float first. You’re strokes were way too fast, it’s all about staying above the water, gliding if you will.” You explained, being as gentle as possible to avoid making him more frustrated.

“I can’t do it, sweetheart. Best just leave me to drown if I ever fall in.” He growled, his breathing leveling out slightly.

“I’d never. Besides, you know you’re too stubborn to die. Now let’s try this again. Watch.”

Your head dipped backwards, a small inhale leaving your lungs as you tipped and floated on your back. “It’s all about your breathing. You’re a bobber on the water, if your lungs are full of air you’ll float.” You explained.

You tilted your head to the side while on your back, making sure John was listening, as he suddenly got very quiet. He was observing, except not particularly at your form, instead his eyes were unashamedly glued to your chest. The pearly chemise you wore stuck to your breasts, the water forming around your body like a second skin. And to make matters worse, the material was translucent around the soft buds of your nipples.

He adverted his eyes, bravely meeting your own with little shame. You felt the flush of your cheeks in such white hot embarrassment that it hurt your gut. Something shifted in the air— like clear sky to thunderstorm, even his usual coffee colored eyes turnt dark like rolling smoke, predatory and lidded.

“Sorry.” You squirmed, sinking into the water until you were fully covered. John shook his head slightly, almost as if he was in a dazed stupor.

“No need to apologize.” His voice was soft, yet deeper.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, focusing on anything else but the fluttering in your stomach. It was the first time John seemed to be brave in his feelings, or at least his lust. Regardless of your striped modesty, it was a start.

“Try to float.” You commanded, wading closer to him as he tipped back at your instruction. His body kept him up for a couple seconds— a small win, until he deeply exhaled and lost his buoyancy.

You were quick, placing your palm upon the tense muscle of his back, another palm holding just at the base of his neck, nails accidentally scratching softly upon his scalp. “Good, that’s good, Marston,” you complimented. He seemed proud of himself, regardless of his minuscule need for your help.

“Just exhale a little softer, and you’ve got it.” You added, slowly peeling your palms off his warm body. You took a step back when he got the hang of it. A low applauding whistle escaped your lips, a prideful grin escaping you as John relaxed into the water.

“Now kick your legs, gently.”

He followed your instructions, kicking lightly against the current and propelling himself to the opposite bank, towards his ratty old hat. You swam after him, splashing in the water until the both of you reached the opposite bank.

“Well I’ll be damned!” John rasped, going to kneel upon the soft gravel as water dripped off every inch of him. The droplets slipped down his cheeks and lay in his eyelashes. You decided then he was the most beautiful creature you ever had the pleasure to see.

“Well done. It’s a start, but at least now I’ll know you won’t drown.” You beamed, pulling your chemise slightly so it didn’t stick to your skin as it had earlier. “Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’.” John added, rising from his knees and snatching his hat from the bank.

“You’re right, what would you do without me, Marston?” You teased, crouching into the water. You glanced at John through your eyelashes, water lapping down at your chin. “Would be a sorry life that’s for sure.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck at such a bold statement.

“Ready to head back?” You asked, coughing slightly at his stare, he’d been doing that a lot this evening. Staring, burning warm embers in your heart and scorching your skin.

“Out of the water? Hell yes. Back to camp? No.” He spoke, you happened to agree, enjoying the warm weather was one thing, but no robberies, shootouts, or annoying bickering was even better. A soft chuckle left your lips, as you began to trek towards the bank where Old Boy grazed upon fresh grass and wildflowers.

John followed after you, pushing against the waters with his hat now perched upon his head again, lower than he typically wore it. You stepped closer, almost unconsciously flicking his hat up so you could see his face.

“What’s up with your hat? Don’t you like to see when you walk?” You questioned, now loosely stepping onto the bank.

“Scars are ugly, don’t want you to see them.” He grunted, self loathing dipped on his tongue, his words made you frown. “You think that little of me?”

“I think you’re the best woman I know, which is why you shouldn’t be seen with an ugly bastard like me.”

You stopped in your tracks, putting the pieces together in your mind. This was why he never said anything. Why he never told you how he felt. He loathed himself, both inside and out.

He stopped a couple steps ahead of you, noticing that you weren’t following after him towards his horse.

“You’re far from an ugly bastard, John Marston. I mean it.” You insisted, voice soft with meaning. He seemed to disagree, yet didn’t push to argue. Instead he whistled low, alerting Old Boy. The Hungarian Halfbreed was more wild than tame, reminding you much of his handler.

“You hungry?” John asked, ruffling through his saddle bag as Old Boy nickered and pawed at the ground. You took a step forward, scratching the horse upon his whiskered chin.

“A little.” You offered, continuing to pat upon Old Boy as he pushed his head into your hand. “I don’t got much on me.” John grumbled. Water still dripped from his hair, falling upon his damp clothes that were tinted from the setting sun.

You watched as he pulled upon his bedroll in one fluid motion, laying it upon the soft grass facing the running river. In his other hand he held out a jar, intending on you to take it.

You held onto the jar with wide eyes, glancing at the contents with a surprised grin. “Not much? I haven’t had anything that wasn’t in a can or Pearson’s mystery stew in months!” You chirped, happily taking in the plump red raspberries that must have taken over an hour to pluck.

“They’re all yours, sweetheart.” John looked on with a joyful gleam on his features. “I got some bread and cheese I picked up in Valentine too. Figured I’d repay you for helping me.”

You popped a raspberry into your mouth, happily humming as the sweet juice coated your tongue. A pleasing chuckle left John’s chest as he pushed himself upon the blanket, sitting down with his long legs out in front of him. You were surprised when he slipped off his hat, allowing the sun to dance across his cheeks.

You sat upon the blanket next to him, holding the jar out to him as you slid closer to his body. He was surprising warm, even with wet clothes that cooled in the balmy evening.

“I told you they were yours.” He spoke, pushing the jar back towards yourself. You pouted, swallowing upon the berry before speaking. “I’d enjoy them far more if you ate with me.”

John playfully rolled his eyes, but grasped onto one of the raspberries and ate it anyways. “Had so damn many picking them, I wouldn’t be surprised if I turned red like one.” He admitted, a laugh in his tone. You choked out a giggle of your own, knowing the gunslinger always found a way to embarrass himself.

“You’re something else, John Marston.” Your voice was soft. Wrapped in velvet and warm like rich coffee.

“Yeah well, I can’t help that. Whenever I’m around you my head turns to clouds. I act a damn fool.” He let his heart bleed— finally, finally. A switch in your mind flipped, you’d decided you have waited long enough. Life in the gang, it was fun and spontaneous but you didn’t know how long you had, how long John had. Maybe a little push would do the two of you some good.

“I must be the bigger fool.” You spoke so low it was near a whisper. Inching forward, you cradled your head against his neck, happily hearing his intake of breath and taking in the scent of him— of gunpowder and river water.

After a short moment he relaxed, a large hand hesitantly falling to your waist, grasping softly upon the flesh of your hip. His head tilted downwards, scarred cheek nuzzling against the crown of your head. Intimate, lovingly.

“Why’s that?” His chest rumbled with the words, rattling against your own flesh.

“I’ve waited far too long to tell you how I feel.” You took the shot in the dark. His fingers halted the steady tracing amongst your waist, the soothing nature now diminished as he froze.

“You’re kidding?”

Your body was warm at his hopeful question, despite your confidence before, you avoided his stare, wanting, hoping, for him to admit he felt the same way as you.

“I’ve never lied to you, Marston.” The words were out before you could think better, but the steady exhale the man let out was felt against your side.

The pads of his fingers slid against your chin— Warm, rough and comforting, such as an intimate tether pulling the two of you together. You allowed him to maneuver your gaze to his own, a fire building in your gut as he did so.

“God, Darling, if I had known I would have done something about it earlier. Just didn’t think you’d want some washed up outlaw like me.”

You snorted, almost amused at how he managed to view himself. He was always so much more. “Who always brushed my horse after a ride? Or saved me from that one drunk in a saloon? Who bought me a way too expensive painting because I said it looked pretty? You’re the one I want John.”

Your heart pounded at the simple look he gave you, a sugary sweet gesture so full of adoration it had you nearly sick.

“I’ve loved you since I was a boy. I read those stupid romance novels you liked just so I could speak to you about them, hell I went and stole those lemon drop candies in the general store to impress you, nearly got me arr—.”

You cut him off with a long kiss. His lips sat in between your own in an awkward way, as if he wasn’t expecting it.

You pulled away at his hesitation, an apology on your lips, until his palm wrapped upon the back of your neck, his other hand pulling you easily upon his lap. He molded against your lips again, this time only sweetness fell from him. It was pure bliss, everything you’ve ever imagined, and even better when you felt his tongue brush against the seam of your lips, privately asking for permission to kiss you deeper.

You relented, opening yourself up like a winter bloom seeing the summer sun again. The taste of raspberry melted against your mouth, just as a happy sigh escaped you as John pulled away slightly. You became acutely aware of your position, the way you sat perched upon his lap, chest pressed against his own.

“I love you.” You spoke on a whisper, a hand falling to his damp and uncomfortable button-up.

“God darling, I’ve dreamt of you saying those words for years. I adore you.”

He spoke no more words, instead relying on his touch to display just how much he cared. It made your body ache in a fiery desire. You wanted him, you wanted him now.

“Then show me, like I always wanted you to.” You whimpered, words filled with so much promise John couldn’t hide the burning flames circling his eyes.

“You sure?”

“As I ever could be.”

His eyes darkened, yet still managed to keep the intimate expression along his features. The slight tinge of red upon his swollen lips, no doubt from the berries made him even more attractive. His hair damp and curling slightly amongst his neck, the scars that you wanted so badly to kiss.

He twisted, helping to wind your legs around his waist. You straddled him happily, just as he brought his lips to the corners of your own, placing a chaste peck before he swept lower. He latched hungrily to your jaw, then to the rapid pulse point of your neck.

Your intake of breath only seemed to amuse him more, as you could feel his crooked smirk print into your skin. Your hands found the seam of his shirt, quickly you made work of the buttons, happily finding solace against his bare chest patterned with a soft layer of hair.

He jerked at the feeling of your nails running down his skin, the motion causing a distinct hardness to grind against the plush flesh of your ass. A choked groan escaped his throat at the pressure, making you that much more eager to fully touch him.

His lips pulled away from the soft flesh of your collarbone, most likely already littered with lovebites.

“May I?” He gestured to your chemise with his large hands, asking if it was alright to remove the clothing. You were already pushing the dress over your head, relived to get the wet material off of you and replace it with the warmth of John’s skin.

You were in your most vulnerable state, purely bare and held captive to the stare of the man in front of you, yet you felt completely safe. He rutted against you, desperate to feel any friction you’d provide him against his clothed cock.

“You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined.” He complimented in a breathy voice, almost as if he was scared this was a dream. John rubbed his thumb against the swell of your breasts, watching in amusement as goosebumps littered the skin he touched.

“You’ve been imagining me, Marston?” You joked, gasping slightly as his fingers rolled than pinched on the bud of your nipple. “Since we was rowdy teenagers, Miss.” He rasped lowly, fingertips painting lines down your body like a canvas.

“You’re kidding?”

“Naw, not joking. Now hold on,” you braced your arms against his broad shoulders, feeling him grip onto the flesh of your hips as he laid you gently upon your back. The soft fur of his bedroll met your spine, warm the comforting. He’d paused for a moment, simply soaking up every detail, curve, and blemish of your body.

Then his eyes settled upon the region between your legs, already prepped and soaked with his searing kisses and adoring words. You were completely sweet on this man, and it wasn’t hard to see.

“All this just for me?” His palms danced alongside the inside of your thighs, until one of his fingers settled upon the opening of your sex, weeping and aroused. He only teased, gathering up the slick you provided. You jerked at the movement, fighting a gasp as you bucked up in an attempt to receive some sense of stimulation.

A little chuckle escaped him at the sign of your furrowed brows.

“Yes it’s all for you, how about you use it?” You whined out in frustration, nearly begging when he moved his hand just slightly out of reach of where you wanted him.

“Never seen you so impatient, sweetheart.”

“John, please, just touc- oh,” You were cut off by one of his fingers sinking into your cunt. It was such a pleasant shock that it had you hugging around his finger in a vice, a low moan left you at the full sensation, even John couldn’t withhold the throaty groan that left his lips at your open mouth and furrowed brows.

“That’s it, darling, stay laying back for me.” He directed, happily worming his way between your legs so that his upper body hovered over you. He curved his spine, allowing his lips to latch pleasantly with yours, swallowing your breaths of pleasure as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out.

He was acting as a honey bee, treating your cunt like the most precious flower petals that he’d ever nestle in. His pace was nectar sweet, yet you had to clench your teeth, for the sweetness coated your tongue had drowned any other thought than him.

John Marston. John Marston.

“I love you,” Was the only thing you could breathe between his scorching, yet soothing kisses, the only thing your very soul felt as he curled another digit inside you, hitting the very spot that had you gasping.

In your bliss you managed to guide your hand to his jeans, working slowly upon his buttons. He’d hummed at the loss of tight pressure when you unclamped the last one. He pulled his fingers away only slightly to shimmy his jeans down until he was just as bare as you were.

You grunted at the loss of his touch, blindly reached for him, not being able to look away from the absolute adoration that crossed his starry eyes. You visibly gulped when you felt the smooth flesh of his throbbing cock. Satisfaction broke out across his features, a smirk painting upon his lips when your mouth fell open at the steely size.

John was big, and he very well knew it.

Your hand firmly gripped upon his cock. While your fingers managed to wrap around his entire base— he was long, veins curling like an intricate painting weaving to his weeping head. He was so lengthy that you’d likely need two of your hands to grasp onto all of him. Your thumb trailed upwards pressing upon his head that was already leaking heavily. You smeared the lubricant down with a delicate pump.

You’d never heard him whine before, but the sound that mewled from his throat had you gaping in unadulterated shock and hunger.

He bucked against your hand, looking desperate and everything you’d ever need.

“Fuck, oh darling I…” he trailed off into another chorus of pleased groans as you stroked him, eyelashes fluttering upon his scarred cheeks as he gripped his nails into your hip. Surely he’d leave the skin black and blue, but you could care less.

You surged forward, fully attempting to lay John upon his back as he previously had for you. That way you could put his cock in the velvet wetness of your mouth and taste the river that clung to him.

His large hand settled upon your shoulder, halting you from tilting his body weight. “Not today, Angel, I want to take care of you. Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” You hushed, beyond joyful to know this wouldn’t be a one time thing.

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” He rasped, pecking sweet kisses over your face just like fresh raindrops falling after a long drought.

“I want you. Please, John.” You added, swinging your arm over the taut muscle at the back of his neck, the smile upon his lips was blisteringly large.

“Of course.”

His hand moved to meet yours, the very one that was settled upon his throbbing length. He took the reins, sliding his flushing head to meet against the slick that poured from your cunt in an abundance.

“It’s been a long time.” You warned airily, breath catching when he slid himself teasingly slow against your bundle of nerves.

“Since that one ranch hand?” John asked.

Shock coursed through you, He’d remembered? You couldn’t have been more than nineteen when you lost your virginity to that boy on the ranch.

“How… how did you know?” You stuttered, nearly gasping in shock at the look of jealously crashing across his expression.

“I was the one that beat him black and blue when he broke your heart, always was a jealous bastard.” He growled, lining himself up to your entrance once he felt he was slick enough.

“That don’t matter now, I’m all yours.” You whispered, swooping up to capture his lips in a chaste kiss, ironic for the dirty act the two of you were currently performing.

“That’s right. You ready?”

You nodded, just as John breached ever so slightly into your warmth. He’d let out a gentle gasp at the tight sensation, nudging ever so slightly as he studied your face for any detail of pain or discomfort. Your own mouth gaped open as he filled you, a twinge of discomfort wrinkled against your nose, which John happened to pick up on immediately.

He halted his hips, a quick apology on his lips. “Alright?”

“Yes, yes, just not used to uh- you’re big.” You stuttered out, face flushing in embarrassment. John surprised you again, he refrained from smirking or using teasing words. Instead his palm found your cheek, his finger effortlessly brushing a lock of hair beyond your ear.

“I’ll only move when you tell me to.” He comforted, thumb slowly painting strokes d across your cheek down to your swollen lips.

God, he was handsome. Most people fled when this outlaw approached, his scars only adding to his menacing aura, but this man— this man above you was nothing more than golden sunsets and wildflowers. He was everything you loved and more. His scars were pretty silver whips of moon, eyes freshly brewed coffee, and oh, his touch. Your body molded to him, relaxing and effortlessly yearning for more. More of him. Always more.

“Oh John, please move.” You whimpered, creaking your head to the side to kiss upon his circling thumb. He’d reacted slowly, doubt still swimming in his head, but he pushed anyways, bottoming out the hilt.

“God, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, hands now finding your hips as he straightened his back out just so he could pull you into him even deeper. Your legs wrapped around his waist, goosebumps of pleasure escaping the flesh as he pulled slightly out and pushed back in.

His name left your lips again, as if you were chanting a prayer. His eyes darkened significantly at your pleas, taking it as a sign to speed up. His hips clashed against your own, loudly and heavy like roaring thunder. You didn’t care, you were in your little slice of secluded paradise on the bank of the river.

A hand snaked upwards, securing to your breasts, he kneaded the flesh, happily rolling his thumb and index over your nipple.

He took you in, a hungry wolf that was looking for his last meal. He’d caught sudden interest to the soft recoil of your breast that moved with every one of his timed thrusts.

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” He gasped, lips latching onto your neck as he buried himself even deeper into you. “You make me think so.” You whimpered when he suckled upon your neck, likely to leave a purple love mark to remind you of him.

His pace picked up, cock slipping easily out of you now that you were relaxed. Pleasure vibrated your very bones, so much that you could feel your stomach tightening in a burning coil that illustrated your oncoming orgasm.

“John, I’m close.” You breathed, words almost failed you from the simple nirvana you felt. He’d barely heard you over the sound of lewd squelching. Yet he could feel— feel the fluttering of your walls that clutched his cock so well, like a missing puzzle piece that he’d been searching for.

“Damn Angel, me too.” He growled. Sweat peppered his body like morning dew, still he pushed his body faster, chasing your orgasm as much as his own.

It all came undone when his thumb rolled gentle circles upon your clit, a moan leaving your lips as you clutched onto anything that you could grab. White hot pleasure rippled down your spine as you clenched around him.

“That’s it,” he guided, falling apart at the look of bliss that passed over your face. You’d never felt so whole, even when John stopped abruptly and left your welcoming walls. Warm seed spilled over your chest and stomach, covering you in his pleasure.

John nearly collapsed on top of you all in an exhaustingly pleased state. His chest heaved as he rolled on his side. Your own pants filled the air along with the soothing songs of cicadas and flowing water.

“You up for another dip? I need to clean up,” you hushed, eyes fluttering as his hands glided loving patterns across your bare skin.

“Sure, anything for you.”

#red dead redemption #rdr2 #John Marston #John Marston x reader #John Marston x you #red dead redemption 2

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velvet-paradox · 9 months

Text

Smooth

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Female reader Summary: Keegan enjoys shaving you nice and clean and taking you to pound town! Length: Medium Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, explicit content, strong language, established relationship, oral (f receiving), soft dom!Keegan, shaving!kink, fingering, pussy slapping, unprotected p in v, dirty talking, pet names, new daddy!kink, praise, detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaintaint @catswithabsoluteclownery @mykneeshurt @macravishedbymactavish @rimbut-t @notap1e

ENJOY!!!

It's hot.

Keegan is a stickler for routine, likes the discipline, the patterns, the control. He'd lose it if he didn't join the military when he did, take on more than one task a time before he picked up the next mission, the next project. He couldn't sit still for long unless he was truly into what he was doing.

And speaking of…

The project at literal hand was a delicate one.

No messing about, no distractions even though you couldn't help but move an inch higher. He'd scolded you twice now, giving you those piercing blue eyes and peeked eyebrow.

He clicked his teeth at you like a horse, raising your calf.

"Kitten please hold still, I don't want to slip."

"You think I can help it?"

"Kitten please. You're doing such a good job and we're almost done so don't you start pouting and being a bad girl now." Keegan's voice held no bite even though he was stern about it. "You want your reward don't you?"

He moved his fingers then sending a white hot jolt through up your spine.

Carefully Keegan ducked his head back down between your legs, kneeling on his cracking knees, eyes narrow and lazer focused on the task at hand which was… shaving.

Keegan was a grown ass man, he didn't shy away from knowing what he tasted like. He had you lick your own flavor off his fingers, off his cock more times than you could count. While you'd had other partners, they didn't appreciate an after kiss so when Keegan grabbed you after shooting his load all over your tongue and lips, willing licking inside your mouth as he kissed you hard and fast left you dizzy.

He didn't care about pubic in general, if he was lucky enough to get laid, who cared? He really got into that whole Vajazzling craze, rhinestones and safe glitter. Then he was on to the next and full on into waxing but there was just something so intimae about him being on his knees for you, worshipping your body, treating you with such care, he really enjoyed. Stroke after stroke, your pussy would be revealed. Soft and smooth.

You didn't mind at all, less of a chore for you anyways. Since being with Keegan you barely lifted a finger to do anything around the house, his or yours. No more twisting and squatting, no more Charlie horse cramps. No more stray hairs left behind, he bought a replica of the straight razor he used on his face. It was cleaner, faster and he knew exactly what to do with the blade.

"Fuck look at you, cutest fucking pussy." Keegan groaned, moving your skin as he slowly dragged the blade against it.

"Love it when you shave my pussy, baby. Gets me so fucking horny." You hum in return.

"Yeah? Like me revealing and exposing your pretty little cunt just for me?"

"Mmm yeah."

He tapped the little bucket with it, your short and curlies disappearing, he wiped it off cleanly. A warm washcloth came next, wiping you down. He had all of his things neatly around him, a little cup with tepid water splashed against your mound, catching little remnants.

"Turn around, kitten. We're in the home stretch now baby."

You shivered and got up from his bathroom vanity, bending over, sticking your ass out with a little sway of your hips.

"Hold yourself open for me."

Fuck. You bit your lip.

He finished shaving your pussy, the feeling of his breath on your newly bare skin, front to back as incredible. You'd never get over the feeling no matter how many times he tended to you.

Keegan waited on hand and foot for you. You'd catch yourself lost on it, how a hard man like Keegan P. Russ could be soft for you, sweet on you, brought you flowers, ordered take out when your period came so you wouldn't have to be bothered to hobble and cook and fuss over the stove.

He waited until you turned off the shower before stepping back into the bathroom with a fuzzy towel. He wrapped you up, drying you off little by little until he walked you both into his bedroom.

Completely exposed and naked, you sat down on his bed, dropping the towel to your collar.

"Let me see my handiwork, princess."

Like he'd never seen your cunt before, he stood at attention at your feet as you leaned back, the soft towel slipping down your shoulders, pooling around your hands and waist. Keeping your eyes on his as they raked over your naked body you moved one leg, then the other. "Best fucking pussy. Look at that." Keegan groaned, giving in and palming at his crotch.

"You wanna' taste it now?"

Keegan tore off his ghost mask before getting rid of his shirt, the jangle of his belt sent shivers down your spine. He grabbed his thick rod of a cock in his hand, jerking himself off, teasing himself little by little, stepping closer, eyes on your cunt.

The bed creaks with his weight, fitting himself between your legs, moving down to lay on his stomach, a snipers' position as he loops his arms around your thighs. You fit the balls of your feet on the hard, trained muscles of his shoulders.

Keegan is good. Too fucking good.

His hands are large and ghost over your bare flesh, he rubs his chin along your mound, breathing you in with a groan. He spreads your labia, chuckling lowly when you grind your hips up.

"Now now kitten, no need to be hasty. You'll get your reward."

"Keegan please."

"Begging only makes it worse," Keegan cooed and gave your hip a lingering, searing hot kiss. "Be a good girl for me, okay sweetie? You can do that can't you?"

"Yes. I'll be good."

"Do you promise?" Keegan sang, dropping his voice even lower, using his sexy bedroom tone.

"Yes baby I promise, just… it feels so good when I'm all clean."

"I know kitten, I know."

Keegan licked at you, kissing your clit lightly in between hard flat presses, quick sucks and pulls on your sensitive lips. He brushed the bridge of his nose along the underside of your clit, enjoying himself as he devoured you. The sounds he was making were pornographic and lewd. He sat up just a little, angling his face just right to spit on your pussy only to indulge in slurping it right back into his mouth.

"Fuck baby that's it. I love it when you do that," you moaned and reached for his head, tugging on his hair as you arched your back.

"Makes me so fucking wet."

"Yeah? You like that?" Keegan did it again, moving his face and mouth back and forth, back and forth over your engorging bundle of nerves. You cried out and Keegan smiled against your cunt.

"Yeah!"

Keegan chuckled. "Good girl. My good girl loves to get her little pussy eaten out, huh? Yeah you do. Fuck kitten, tease my face."

Your gasp at his vulgarness made him even more eager to please you, wiggling his thick fingers along the apex of your thighs, digging into the meat of your thighs before prodding around your hole.

You grip his hair even tighter, letting him take his time with you.

Getting you wet, satisfied little laughs that left you breathless as you wiggled and arched. In between kisses he likes to look up at your through his thick lashes, watches you unravel as you try desperately to stay still.

"You're so fucking pretty, atta' girl. Should I get my tongue in there or fingers first?"

"Fingers."

"Just my fingers?" Keegan hummed. "Or you want my mouth too?"

"Both. I want both."

"So fucking smooth." Keegan kissed everywhere but your clit after that, leaving it to throb, making you clench around the two fingers he's slipped inside you, massaging your walls. Twisting and curling them to find that soft, spongy little shell that would make you scream, make you cum.

"That's so good baby, a little faster."

"Faster? Needy little kitten." Keegan chuckled lowly, dragging out his fingers, teasing your clit with a few precise circles and presses. He tapped it a few times making you squeal. Reeling back he gave your pussy a nice little islap. Bare and all those nerve endings shocking your system. Noticing how much you enjpyed that little hit he did again and again, another string of his spit slipped between your folds.

You could feel yourself leaking for him.

"Fuck yeah baby."

"A little love tap never hurt anyone. I want you to cum, I want you to cum all over my fingers and my face. You look so pretty when you're all fucked out."

"So do you." You whined as he started to finger you again. You weren't lying, for a big cold hearted handsome man of his caliber and weight, he made the best sounds. Moaning in your ear how good you were, how warm you felt, how inviting. How beautiful you look, how sweet you taste.

How good you taste together.

"Yeah? You think Daddy's pretty?"

Wait.

What?

You swallowed and licked at the drool coming out of your mouth before you sat up, eyeing his icy blues, taken aback as you'd never called him that before. You were met with a growing smirk.

"Are you going to answer me, kitten? I said; do you think Daddy's pretty?"

God the way he said it, it really made your heart race.

"Yeah," you drawled and cupped his jaw, watching how his eyes shifted and his mouth open. "I think Daddy's real pretty."

"Fuck." That seemed to do the trick because Keegan was suddenly on top of you, kissing you hard, biting into your neck as he slipped a calloused hand between you, fingering you so deep and fast it made your head spin, moaning like a real whore.

The sounds of your wetness, flooding around his thick fingers, drenching his palm as you squealed and thrashed, clawing at the sheets was out of control. Keegan groaned deeply as he watched. You could always feel his eyes on you, in the hall, in briefings, in bed.

"Christ, you are so fucking wet. Do you hear it, kitten? Do you hear yourself? You're gonna' make such a mess, gonna' have to change these sheets."

"I'm gonna' cum."

"Tell me baby, say it. I need to hear you say it."

"I… I…"

"Yes? You what, baby?"

"I'm gonna' cum. Make me cum, please. Oh Daddy, I'm gonna' cum, cum for you."

Somehow he got you even wetter, three fingers curling and getting you off until you came with a shout. Your legs trembling, shaking at Keegan's waist as you gasped and reeled from your high.

"That's my girl, takin' those fingers real deep. So fucking pretty kitten, good job. Daddy's kitten did so good, look at you." Keegan praised and kissed your chin, taking a tiny bite of your smooth flesh before slowly pulling them out of your hole, whining as you felt empty.

"Fuck Keegan."

"Ah ah ah," he slapped your tender pussy twice making you jolt and squirm. "Get it right or you get nothing else. I could make you watch me jack off instead. Maybe I'll jerk off in front of your pretty little face, shoot my load all over it."

"No! I want you to fuck me. Please Daddy, I'm sorry. I won't call you Keegan again. Please."

He hummed and smeared your arousal all over you mound, splitting his first two digits into a V shape, rubbing around, up and down your clit. "You just want to cum again."

"Yes I do but… I want you to fuck me, I want you inside me," you huffed and grabbed at his shoulder, pawing at his trained muscles.

"Don't you wanna' fuck me Daddy? Fuck your kitten's pussy wide open. Make me gape."

"Fuck, you say the nicest shit baby. I supposed if you put it that way," Keegan agreed and gave your hip a little pinch. "Get on your knees and hold on to that headboard."

….

Your man is nasty. He has a thing about spit and cum, the only two fluids he's at all interested in. He spreads your cheeks and the spit that hits your asshole is hot, and he's hot and your hanging your head and growling behind you teeth. He fucks you hard, reaching around your hip he finds and holds on to your pussy, fitting his fingers to spread your lips open, caging in his thrusting cock.

"Feel that kitten? Daddy's thick cock is splitting you in half. You are so amazing, look at you taking my cock like this. Good job baby, good fucking job."

"Oh Daddy, you feel so good." You keened as the headboard continued its' rhythm of banging into the wall behind it. Good thing you were at his place, your neighbors would be knocking your door down or calling the police. Which has happened. Just the once.

"Oh I know kitten, feels so good for me too. Best fucking pussy."

Keegan smacked your ass and then he was hunching over you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back, not even slowing down.

Then his hand was on the back of your neck, pushing your head into the bed.

"Good job kitten, you're gonna' take all of it, ya' hear me? What a good girl you are taking Daddy's cock, what a good little slut for me."

Keegan moaned your name, pressing his mouth to your ear as he kept up the pace.

Words you lost on you the longer he fucked you, a new flood of wetness rushed through your core, milking him, sucking him back in over and over until all you could was shout into the sheets.

"What's that, kitten? Daddy can't hear you." His bicep came up and around your chin, in a chokehold as you panted and cooed and drooled.

"I want you to cum inside me," you sobbed, feeling his muscles shift under your jaw. "I wanna' feel you, feel you fill me up. Please fill me up, Daddy. Fill up your kitten."

Keegan chuckled lowly, almost menacing in your ear, sticky like honey and just as sweet. "You want it? You want Daddy's thick cum? Yeah you do and you're gonna' fuckin' get it."

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brewed-pangolin · 5 months

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Thank you, sir. Yes, ma'am

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+MDNI Sexual Themes

Soap MacTavish is, above everything else, a gentleman.

He holds the door open for you, makes you dinner when you've had a hard day.

Let's you handle the finances and own the home you share because he's comfortable in his own masculinity to let the woman run the household (man exudes feminist appreciation, c'mon).

And he respects you. More than any human being ever has. And you can't help but show your admiration for his gratitude every once in a while.

But please, for the love of God, do NOT refer to him as 'Sir' when he's on leave. Especially when you're out in public.

He doesn't find it offensive or as a constant reminder of the world of responsibility he has to return to.

In fact, it's quite the opposite.

That single term of authority, uttered so sweetly from that pretty little mouth of yours, causes his brain to misfire and can't help the unbridled urge to fuck you right then and there.

If you're enjoying a night out, and you call him 'Sir' after giving him thanks for opening the door for you, expect to be pulled into the nearest alleyway, dress hiked up above your hips and one leg draped over his shoulder as he devours your cunt like a feverishly starved madman.

Or, say he paid for dinner because you paid for the previous. And to show your gratitude, you gently lean over the table, batting your eyes and give him a gentle kiss. Only to whisper, oh so lovingly, 'thank you, sir' against his lips.

If you do so happen to make it back to his 4Runner, you'll be shoved in unceremoniously into the backseat with greedy hands, tearing your clothes away while his lips show their appreciation by hungrily encapsulating over your mouth. Only to be contorted into an incomprehensible pretzel as he shows you just how much he loves you by mindlessly fucking you into oblivion.

And that's just the setup for the main event to when you do finally get back home. Behind closed doors and in the comfort of his own walls is where Soap truly shines with his kinky fuckery. Bending you over any flat surface within arms reach, pressing you up against every wall to get a few quick pumps of his cock deep into your needy little pussy until it all culminates with you both fucking like animals on your bed.

By the end, you will both be completely overstimulated and spent. Splayed out over top the mattress, limbs entangled and drenched in sweat as you both come down from your umpteenth orgasm.

"Thank you, Sir." You praise in a drained and muffled whisper, eyes glazed with an overly confident expression curling into your eyes as you gaze upon his sweat glistened and heaving chest.

And Soap's response is exactly what you'd expect from a gentleman such as himself. Breathless, and breathtaking.

"Yes, ma'am."

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @homicidal-slvt @glitterypirateduck @obligatoryghoststare @mykneeshurt @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @writeforfandoms @simpingoverquestionablemen @haurasha @ang3lc @thetrashpossum @kkaaaagt @luismickydees @designateddeadend

#super soap sunday #soap squad #soap squad 🧼#thank you sir yes ma'am #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #soap smut #cod smut #call of duty #cod #incomprehensible pretzel again

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credince--writes · 3 months

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Deep In Those Woods- Chapter 7

Keegan P. Russ x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6- Chapter 7

AO3

You find a strange man in the woods, no doubt running from the federation. He seems, well, in simple terms beat to shit. May your act of kindness not go unpunished.

A/N: Womp Womp Taglist:

@dindjarinsmeshla @tessxq @ladyvlolypop @tiny-kasper

@biggiecheeselover @konigsleftkidney @mykneeshurt @katsufairies @noname0756 @brain-has-left @vinithechocolatevampire

The sun was hot on his face, glaring down and heating the sand crusted onto the exposed skin of his face. The sky was clear- no moisture- not a cloud in sight.

Keegan was in the desert.

He was in his own personal hell.

Sandviper.

His eyes glanced down to his hands, filthy in dark red tones and crusted over too many times to count with layers of filth and flesh, blood, and dirt. Driven so deep into the crevices of his flesh that he wasn’t sure where the filth ended and his skin started.

There’s a dull blade grasped in his hand.

A man leaps from over a pile of sand- knife drawn throwing his body forward ready to fight to the death. Keegan bares his teeth like a rabid dog. Because that is all he is. A wild animal, ready to bite and tear flesh, feels the splatter of blood against his skin. The dust crusted onto his disgusting form and built upon it like a trophy.

The warmth of the blood soothed his chilled skin in the cold desert nights, and cooled his skin in the hot daylight sun. The blood tacking up, soiling the dusty sand under him. Ponds of blood against the dirty yellow sand.

He’s grinning, knife dug into the neck of the man below him. Twisting his knife until the viscera of blood pops in a horrible, twisting, snapping, and schlepping of tendons veins and gore. Flicking the dulled blade as he’d done what? At least seven times that night, he looks up to see the sky has turned dark. The full moon illuminating the hellscape he’d metamorphosed from.

Your corpse, torn open with brute force and dull metal, staring up at him with tears running down dirty cheeks.

Eyes unfocused up at him, cloudly, dead.

And God, do they look beautiful shimmering in the moonlight. The warmth pooling from your neck warming this tips of his fingers- reaching in to cup the wound. Hold it in-

Please-

He’s sitting on the couch next to the window, dozing as the afternoon sun radiates against his face.Jolting forward and wheezing, lungs screaming and heart rate pounding in his ears. He glances down, to assess his hands and frowns at the dark smudges of dirt against his knuckles. Mentally chastising himself as he closed his fist and squeezed, nails pushing in against his palm in a near-satisfying twinge of pain. Keegan was angry at himself in a way he had trouble defending. Here he lay, on a couch in some woman’s home after getting injured. Stranded without contacting his team- he was sure that Logan would be worried sick over the lack of his check-ins.

And here he was sunning himself, content and full, like some kind of civilian. He’s not. As much as he could play- he is just a rabid dog, looking for its next hunk of flesh to tear into. Your eyes, dull, unfocused.

He needed to leave.

He needed to get his radio working- or at least get back into contact with base to let the other Ghosts know he was alive. Lurching forward, forearms against his thighs he leans as far as he can until the creak in his ribs almost forces a whine from his lips. As subtle as he can, leaning back and resting his head against the cushion.

He needed to get out.

The more he thought of hiking his ass out and away, he found his eyes trailing over to the window.

Then trailing over to you.

He frowned, forcing himself to stand before rubbing his fingers against his temples.

He needed to leave.

He was a soldier.

He had a mission.

This was no time for weakness.

And that's how you found him. Standing in the center of the room fully kitted back up- vest pulled back over his bruised chest, his pants with freshly mended holes from the wear and tear they took out in the woods. The same clothes you’d found him in and peeled off of his cold body- mended together, washed, and hung out on the line.

It almost felt like an insult, staring back at him dressed in his gear. You’d mended him back together, and he would just…

Leave?

“Where is my mask?”

His voice was cold.

Detached.

So far from the soft and meek mumbles in his sleep, the breathy moans of pain as you lifted his back off of the floor and sat him up as you fed him.

“I’m leaving.” Your brother spoke, detached and cold as he turned on his heel and left.

“You can’t!” You yelled, hand gripped onto the doorframe as he picked up his bag and a jerrycan of fuel. The tips of your fingers screaming against the pressure on the wood, joints creaking. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I can’t just sit here and hide anymore!” Your brother lashed out, screaming- the rasp in his throat as the words cracked like thunder against the quiet of the field.

The chickens startled.

“Then let me come with you-” You begged.

You pleaded.

You wept. “I won’t risk it.” He bit back. “You’ll be a liability.” Was he right?

Were you a liability?

Could you face the consequences of your existence? Of your choices?

“I-..” You paused, hand releasing from the doorframe and dropping to your side.

“I’ll be back soon. I just- I have to see. The fires, they mean something.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

And he left.

Without looking back.

He needed to compartmentalize. Put this fucking cabin in a little box, and lock it up and stick it somewhere it’ll never be opened up again. There was an ache in his ribs that wasn’t from the injury- a tightness in his throat as he pulled on the armor, his second skin.

His armor.

His hand reached up, not yet donning his gloves, and rubbed the side of his face. Feeling the stubble long since grown out, feeling wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be there- that long. At least it shouldn’t be- he shouldn’t be in this situation.

He took a deep breath.

It would be fine. He needed to get out of this damned cabin- he needed to get his gloves on, mask on, toss his gear over his shoulder even if he body screamed against it. He needed to get out and get a radio and get out of here-

His mask-

His mask?

Where is his mask?

He rummaged- looking as quietly and efficiently as possible for the damned thing while you weren’t paying attention. Stalking room to room with silent footsteps and sharp eyes. Hand hovering over the knob to your bedroom, staring.

Debating.

He’d-

Well.

Maybe?

No.

He’d rather rip his arm off than be caught dead rummaging through your bedroom- Rather poke out his eyes than cross a boundary like that, even if there was the possibility of you stowing it away in there.

He’d just have to ask-

“Where’s my mask?” He’d slipped into this before- the body of a soldier. Maybe he never really left it- he was what he was after all.

A Ghost.

Ghosts can’t change, they are what they are. The remnant of what someone once was,

Is,

Could’ve been.

But deep down, the tone of his voice surprised him- the change- it ripped away any warmth that he’d clung too. Anything he’d foolishly accepted thinking that it could become the norm.

He didn’t deserve it anyways.

“You’re leaving.” Your voice was quiet. Small.

Small like you.

Fragile.

Frail.

Small.

He simply nodded, silent.

You shrunk back, stepping to the side and striding across the building. Tearing open the door to your room- the sound of something clattering against the floor. And in a flurry- you rushing out and throwing the piece of fabric at him. The threads spreads across his fingertips, tilting the mask to the side- where the paint was starting to fade, where a rock had torn through the fabric and stabbed into his skin.

Fresh stitches mending the fabric together.

"I just..." You trailed off.

"Want to make sure he's ok?" Keegan finished.

"Yea." You nodded. "Or at least have some closure. Sometimes just knowing- as much as it'd hurt. To know he is dead, would be better than to wait- to expect."

"I'll help you." His voice was soft- quiet. As if his words came out just above a whisper.

"Why?" You questioned.

Keegan stared, mouth opening and trying to speak but nothing coming out- his mind rushing a million miles a minute.

"Because you owe me?" You teased.

He releases a breath. "Yea, Princess. Because I owe you."

“Yes.” He breathes out- shattering the semblance of control he had on his firm, cold tone.

Your eyes are like fury- hatred, malice. Pain. “You promised.” You say it with such a conviction he nearly flinches back. Blinking once, twice- anger and bile rising back up in his throat.

Could you not see he was saving you? Blessing you? Fulfilling your stupid little promise? “I never said you’d come with me.” He replied.

He was saving you from him.

He can see the glassy haze on your eyes, putrid, vile, hatred.

The glint of your cloudy eyes against the moonlight. Gritty sand trapped in your eyelashes.

He pulls the mask over his face, and leaves without looking back.

#call of duty #deep in those woods #Keegan russ #Keegan p. Russ #keegan p. russ x reader #keegan russ x reader

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raffe156 · 1 year

Text

@mykneeshurt this is the kind of media I’m consuming instead of writing 🙄

#captain john price #captain price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #cod smut #cod fanfic #captain price smut #price x tank #call of duty fanfic

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konigbabe · 1 year

Note

who are your fav fic writers?

I have many, actually ♡ (also feel free to give me recs for your favorite writers so I can check them out!)

Call of Duty related

@yeyinde writes absolute poetry, especially for John Price of Call of Duty but you can find many other gems on Lev's blog

I really enjoy @sprout-fics and her Könix x Maus series

@cowboybxtch is a headcanon master for Call of Duty

@mykneeshurt writes great Call of Duty related stories

and cannot forget the complete excellence that is @nsharks and her bleeding blue series (Ghost apocalypse AU)

Resident Evil related (mostly Leon)

first that comes to mind is @uhlunaro with her attention-grabbing writing and storytelling about Leon (and Luis)

@that-sarcastic-writer has gems (aka say it)

@sullyslover and @vnswrld write excellent stories

recently found out about @meowsiee and her fic ideas are absolute fire

Others that I love

@mvtthewmurdvck utterly excels with her Javier Peña (but again -you can find many other gems on her blog, including but not limited to COD and Marvel)

#writer recs #i hope i didnt forget anyone #i suck at remembering names so there are the ones that came in mind first #im also extremely picky when it comes to liking stuff so sorry #i havent been reading on tumblr much in the past few months so there isn't much #but all of these are amazing and talented people #definitely worth checking out #moni answers #answered #fic recs #fic rec

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strlingsav · 1 year

Note

Your writing is *chef’s kiss* 🙏🏼❤️ would love to request CNC breeding with Ghost, convincing him to put on all his gear and dominate you until he decides its over

RAHHH THANK YOU FOR LISTENING TO MY TED TALK

After much deliberation and some pep-talking from @mykneeshurt, it's here!! Enjoy!!

Fantasy

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— You have an unexpected request for Simon.

Two

Warnings: Dead dove: do not open. Cursing, consensual NC/dubcon, degradation, soft hitting/slapping, fingering (vaginal & barely anal), breeding kink, rough sex. Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It came to you in the middle of the night; an overtly sexual scene on one of the late-night TV shows. Bondage, submission. It intrigued you. It was an odd feeling, one that pushed you far beyond your usual flippant regard for romance shows- it sunk to the deepest parts of you, fluttering with arousal.

You found yourself beneath the stream of the shower that night, touching yourself, fingers between your thighs at the phantom of your husband having every single inch of your body for his every desire.

You'd kept it to yourself, not wanting to scare him, make him think of you differently, like you were a masochist. He wasn't a prude by any means, but your conscience was telling you he might be off-put by your suggestion.

It wasn't that you wanted to be hurt- you just wanted to have him entirely in control. Submit to him, your body and mind. You trusted him, implicitly, after all, but still; you never told a soul what that scene did to you, or what you did afterward.

Simon had an inkling you were hiding something when you'd suddenly told him to slap you while you were mid-climax. He was thrown, unsure whether it was a test of some kind or a trap that he could so easily fall into. To say he didn't want to would be a lie. He did, want to, he just didn't want to hurt you. But he did, softly, enough to sate you for the time being but not long enough to keep the requests at bay.

"You alright?" He asked.

You laid against his chest, his arm wrapped around you lazily, staring at the TV screen while his curiosity ate at him. There must've been some explanation for the recent, new requests you made while beneath him, through clenched teeth and swollen lips.

"Yeah," You sighed, cuddling into his side.

"You sure?" He knew you weren't alright- there was something on your mind. It was given away by the flicker of your gaze, how you'd chew on the inside of your lip when you were anxious.

"I- just..." You trailed off, unsure where to even start. How to soften the blow, make it seem less gruesome than it sounded.

"Out with it," He interjected, his eyes meeting yours when you lifted your chin to look at him.

"I have this thing, this fantasy, I guess, that I've been thinking about," You started, sitting up a bit higher. He was already intrigued, just watching your eyes light up. "I'd really like you to just... fuck me."

He quirked a brow up. "Already do," He nearly grinned, amused at your shyness while approaching the topic.

"No- like, hard. In your uniform. Degrade me, slap me, don't take no for answer." You held your breath, eyes widening as you stared at him.

He pursed his lips, staring at you for a moment before he nodded slowly. "You sure that's somethin' you want?"

"I can't stop thinking about it," You sighed, your hands resting on his abdomen as you sat up.

"How long?"

"Not long," You said.

He nodded again, thoughtfully, thinking over your suggestion while his Adam's apple shamefully bobbed in his throat. The mere suggestions of filthy things from your lips made him sweat.

"Alright." He was firm and decisive.

"You'd tell me if you didn't want to, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're okay with it? You like it?" Your teeth chewed at your lip.

He was even more amused now. "Whenever you're ready."

You smiled. His willingness had your pussy fluttering already, liquified warmth sloshing around in your abdomen. "You'd use me, like the slut I am?" Your fingers ghosted the muscles of his torso, teasing.

He could already feel his cock getting hard, his blood turning to ice in his veins as it travelled to his groin.

"Be a pleasure to, sweetheart." He was grinning, his imagination overactive while he thought over your offer.

It wasn't immediate; there was much more to be discussed, which the two of you deliberated over dinner and bedtime routines. A safe word, boundaries.

He was just as enthusiastic as you. In fact, he'd spent a few early-morning showers with his cock in his hand; long, languid strokes while he imagined his sweet, innocent, wife, on your knees, choking on his cock. At his disposal. He let his forehead rest against the shower wall, the warm stream of water washing away every sinful thought until it hit him all over again.

Now that you'd mentioned it, been the one to bare your desires, he wished he'd said something sooner. Told you how badly he wanted to fill you with his cum, while you couldn't do a damn thing about it. Then, he wouldn't be on edge most of the day, fighting an erection at just the thought of you.

You were fucking filthy, he knew that. He could see it in your eyes anytime you had sex- the whines and gasps you let out when he was a little too rough. You liked it. You liked letting him have control of you, letting go of responsibility to choose or decide. Being manhandled tended to get you off faster than anything, and he noticed.

He came home from work a bit later than anticipated, approaching midnight on a Friday. It wasn't unusual, not in his line of work, but still made your heart leap to hear him come home safe.

He strode in, covered in his fatigues, mask over his face. You'd busied yourself with cleaning before that, relaxing on the couch afterward, flipping through channels until you'd landed on a semi-entertaining show.

"Hey baby," You called over your shoulder, eyes averting back to the screen. "How was work?"

He didn't answer for a few moments, before he appeared beside you, moving to sit down. Your brows furrowed at the image of him- he didn't usually wear his mask at home. You decided against asking him about it when he let out a tired sigh.

"Fuckin' tirin'," He answered, his arm reached the back of the couch.

"Sorry to hear that," You frowned. "Can I make you something to eat?"

He smiled; the sweetness you exuded, practically seeping from every pore, made him weak.

"S'alright," He sighed, shaking his head.

You moved closer, cuddling into his side with open arms. Your head laid on his chest, watching the flashing images on the screen.

His eyes landed on your robe. You'd showered. Smelled like absolute heaven, wearing nothing but the silk wrap. Your thighs and calves peeked out from beneath the fabric, every slight movement further teasing the curve of your ass. You'd adjust it back over your shoulder when it slid down, unknowingly revealing your cleavage, showing a bit too much of your body for him to resist any longer.

"Could use a cheerin' up," He said suddenly.

Your head tilted up, "Anything, babe."

"Take it off," He spoke resolutely, not a question, or suggestion. It was an order. "The robe."

You were taken off guard, not expecting such a harsh demand as soon as he stepped through the door, but your mind quickly caught up with the fantasy you'd discussed at length- and suddenly it was so easy to do as he asked. Your body temperature rose a few degrees with the tone of authority in his voice.

Your hands untied the belt of your robe, letting it fall from your shoulders. You were bare, at his mercy as his eyes raked down your form. You shivered- not just from being exposed, but the overwhelming flutter of anticipation in your abdomen.

"Been thinkin' about you all day," A soft touch on your cheek made your eyes drift closed, leaning into his hand. He sighed- restrained and controlled. "Had a hard-on all fuckin' day cause o' you. You oughta fix that. On your knees."

His thighs spread, making room for you between them.

You slid down to the floor, kneeling before him with those wide, doe-eyes he found fucking irresistible.

"You remember your safeword?" He asked, his other arm now hooking around the back of the couch.

You repeated it back to him, earning a strangled inhale of arousal.

"Undo my trousers."

Your fingers worked quickly over the button and zipper, waiting with burning anticipation for your next order. Your hands laid on your lap, a pretty picture of obedience that he more than wanted to take advantage of.

"Go on," He nodded. "Put those lips to good use."

The permission nearly made you leap forward, yanking his briefs down to release his erect cock from his pants. Your lips wrapped around him, soft and gentle at first, before you inhaled, taking him deeper into your mouth.

His head fell back, a deep groan leaving his lips. Your tongue was warm and wet over his cock, eager as it slid up and down alongside your plush lips.

"Thaaaat's it," He blew a harsh breath from his lips.

Your eyes lifted to watch him, his fists clenching, his thighs flexing. Saliva pooled in your mouth, the excess dribbling from your lips to run down your chin, landing on your breasts.

He leaned closer, his hands reaching out to massage your breasts, thumbs running across your perked nipples.

You were enthusiastic, offering him nothing but fervent pleasure. You wanted to please him- to make him forget about the day, while also greedily savouring the way he touched you and bluntly told you what to do.

You pulled away, wiping the saliva from your face. "Enjoying yourself?" You quipped, raising a brow.

His head rolled forward, eyes piercing yours with an unforgiving intensity. His fingers gripped your jaw, tugging you closer. His eyes flickered between yours, before he laid a harsh slap against your cheek.

"No talkin' unless I ask you a question."

You gasped- your eyes fluttering shut, a tingle running up your spine. You straightened, turning your head back to look at him.

"Didn't say stop, dirty fuckin' whore." He leaned back, still focused on you.

You inhaled, a shaky breath accompanied by your racing heart, it was exhilarating, exacerbating the warmth inside you that spread like a wildfire. Your mouth opened to take his cock in your mouth again. You were softer this time, a bit apprehensive, knowing he did have what it took to punish you.

"Do I have to do it for you?" He asked, low and threatening.

You shook your head.

"Then get on with it. Know you can do better than that- suck my cock like a good whore."

You weren't entirely present, your head still reeling with the rush of arousal.

He groaned disapprovingly, his hands reaching your head, suddenly slamming it down. You gagged, sputtering and coughing as he continued to push harder, dragging you back up before another unrelenting shove. His abs flexed as he thrusted into your mouth, making your eyes and nose sting, tears gathering in your eyes.

He was groaning, leaning forward as both hands rested on your head, forcing your mouth and throat as far as possible, intent on making you beg for air. Your body lurched, your throat bulging as his cock plunged behind your uvula.

"Fuuuuck," He breathed.

His hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the head of his cock lodged inside your trachea, mumbling to himself with utter disbelief.

He could hear you desperately sucking in air through your nose, and finally relented. You gasped as you lifted your head- coughing. He chuckled. Low and menacing, entertained by the expression of pain and horror on your face.

"You ain't done," He said. "Keep suckin' my fuckin' cock."

Your eyes watered, dripping down your face, saliva and dry tears staining your cheeks. You inhaled again, your tongue reaching out first before you took him in your mouth.

His hands were there again, though this time he gripped your hair, helping you up and down the length of his cock. Soft slurps and grunts from you made his head roll back again, basking in the utter worship you offered his cock. Eager, searching for praise.

"Christ," He growled. "You like my cock in your mouth, don't you?"

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, tears still spilling from the clumped lashes of your waterline, nodding slowly.

"Course you do," He huffed. "You're a fuckin' slag."

You shut your eyes, a quiet moan vibrating against his cock. You relished in the praise, even the degradation from him made you wet. Your hand slid between your thighs, desperate for some kind of contact to ease the ache. When he looked down at you, catching sight of your nostrils flaring, eyes shut- he saw your fingers running circles over your clit.

"The fuck are you doin'?" He asked, sitting up.

You stopped, waiting expectantly for his reaction. He did, and with a disapproving head shake, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat.

"Can't resist touchin' that cunt, you greedy fuckin' slut."

He lifted you to your feet, practically dragging you through the hall to the bedroom, where he let you fall back onto the bed.

"You wanna be used, sweetheart?" He asked, towering over you as you leaned back on your elbows. "Oughta treat you like the right whore you are."

"Yes," You breathed. "Yes, please."

"Spread your legs," He ordered.

You did, and his hand came down swiftly against the flesh of your pussy. You cried out.

"Shut the fuck up," He growled. "Or I'll leave you here."

"I'll be quiet," You nodded. "I'll be quiet, please."

"That's right, beg for it. Beg me t'ruin this cunt."

Your hands twisted the bedsheets between your fingers, knuckles bleeding white.

"Please, ruin it. Ruin me."

He hummed- not quite satisfied but he was too selfish not to continue.

He lifted his mask, enough that his lips could press against the flesh of your breasts, sucking harshly to leave deep, reddened splotches of broken capillaries. His hands reached your wrists, pinning them at your sides while he tugged at your nipples with sharp teeth, listening to your pleading whimpers and soft cries every time he'd bite a little too hard.

He reached the expanse of your inner thighs, holding both wrists with one hand, he let the other caress you softly before his now-bare palm would strike against them. You flinched, thighs closing together inadvertently, stifling the shout out of surprise and pain. He let his saliva shoot out of his mouth to your pussy, before leaning down and absolutely devouring your clit.

You arched your back. A relieved sigh, echoing around the room, low moans as he sucked and licked at you, sloppy, messy. His biceps hugged your thighs, tugging you closer. He nipped and bit at your clit, eliciting a twitch in your hips, harsh exhales when he'd envelope your clit in his mouth, caressing his tongue over it with reckless abandon.

On the third orgasm, you tried to push him away, tried to wrench your hands from his grip but it was no use. His strength overpowered yours tenfold, and the position was too difficult to slip out of. Your hips twisted, bucking wildly against his face.

"Stop movin'," He growled, his eyes narrowed as they flickered up to yours.

You swallowed, whimpering pitifully instead. Your pussy was drenched but sore.

"Please," You whispered, your head turning to press against the duvet. "No more- can't take anymore."

"Can't take anymore?" He repeated. "You'll keep cummin' until I say so, sweetheart. Y'like it, I know you do."

You let out a low groan at the feeling of his fingers opening you up, sliding into the drenched warmth of your pussy, curling upwards repeatedly.

"I feel how wet you are," He muttered. "You're enjoyin' this."

You grunted. "I-I can't, no more, please," You whimpered, your voice breaking.

"Take it. Know you can take it."

He continued, relentlessly flicking his tongue over your clit, drawing his fingers back and forth inside you. Your body was writhing, tears dragging down the apples of your cheeks. You were overwhelmed, your vision distorted with the fresh tears brewing in your eyes, thoughts flustered and incoherent. It was methodical torture.

"Look at you," He cooed. "Hardly even started yet 'nd you're fuckin' cryin'. You wanna stop?"

You nodded.

"Too fuckin' bad. I ain't done with you yet, love."

You groaned, eyes squeezed shut when your fourth orgasm overtook you. It was brutal, drenching you in sweat, making your hips and thighs ache with how long you'd been flexing to keep steady.

His lips and chin were soaked with your cum when he settled before you. He grabbed your hips, flipping you over. He yanked your arms behind your back, forcing your chest down to the bed, his other hand caressing the soft flesh of your ass that pressed against his pelvis.

He savoured the sight of his wife on her knees, bent over for him to use as he saw fit. His hands pulled at the malleable flesh of your ass, teasing slaps intermittently, soothed by calloused palms.

"Just a hole for me to use, ain't you?"

A quiet sob racked your shoulders- overwhelmed and overstimulated.

He pulled his cock from his pants, stroking roughly a few times before he plunged inside you.

"Fuckin' hell your cunt is tight. Gonna have to make this cock fit, huh?"

You whimpered, a pleading noise that came from your throat as your head fell forward. You took in a deep breath, relaxing into his touch- you trusted him.

A pleased sigh left his lips, he lifted you to his chest by your arms, his dark and mocking voice in your ear as he said, "There's a good girl. 'M gonna fuck you dumb."

The initial strokes were painful, deep and unforgiving, taking far longer than you'd like for him to glide freely in and out. Your teeth bit at your lip, holding in any and all cries building up in your chest, pounding against yours ribs.

"Go on," He groaned. "Wanna hear you scream on my cock."

You took in a shaky breath, your ribs flaring as you inhaled. He had a tight grip on your hands, his other wrapping around your throat, bruising the delicate skin. His shoulders tightened, back flexing as he moved his hips back and forth, using your pussy to massage his cock.

It was hazy, a veil of utter exhaustion having fallen over you. Your cheeks were tight with dry tears, nose running, body sore and contorted in a way that was uncomfortable. But Simon's hands didn't relent and his thrusts were poignant, purposeful and ruthless.

"Tell me how much you love this cock," He grunted, sweat dotting his forehead from his efforts. "Punishin' you like the pathetic whore you are."

"I love it," Your voice was meek, grainy.

A hand met your ass with a harsh impact.

"Can't hear you, speak the fuck up."

"I love it. I love being punished," It sounded pathetic, like complete surrender to his hands.

He grumbled, satisfied with your answer but still not finished his endeavour.

He took a handful of your hair, roughly pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder. You were sniffling, your eyes relentlessly leaking with tears.

"Fuckin' pathetic," He growled, his hips meeting your ass as he drove his cock up into you. "Feels good doesn't it? You love takin' this cock, eh sweetheart?"

You nodded, "Yes- yes it feels good, so good- fuck."

"Need a cock in you all the time, like the desperate slag you are."

"I do," You whimpered, your lip trembling as your eyes shifted to look at him.

His released you, forcing you to the bed while he slammed his cock in and out of you. Your arms bent at an uncomfortable angle on your back, hips positioned so he could dive deep inside you.

You were hardly stifling the sobs now, your lips parted as you gasped for air. His hand reached down against your cheek, his palm pressing your face further into the bed.

"You keep on cryin', I ain't stoppin' 'til this cunt is full of my cum."

His thumb traced over the tight entrance above your pussy, pressing every so lightly, teasing- the way he knew you liked. You couldn't suppress the moan that crawled up your throat.

"Might just try this hole next." He lifted you again, pressed tightly against his chest as he cupped your ass, parting your cheeks for better access.

You shook your head, quiet protests falling from your lips, barely audible.

"Think you'd like it up your arse." He was smug, relishing in your helplessness.

You couldn't help but moan as he whispered the filthy and depraved words in your ear. You were still protesting his suggestion, though with less conviction as you felt your abdomen tighten, flutters of pleasure dancing through your clit.

"I'd rather fill this cunt tonight," He said, his hand wrapping around your waist to reach your clit. "Put a kid in you. Use this cunt just how I like."

Your whines had turned to moans, back arching even further with each stroke of his fingers, every thrust inside you. He could feel the muscles inside you squeezing down, pushing against his cock- and it made him twitch.

"Be a good slag for me-" His breath against your ear made you shiver. "Cum on my cock."

You did- toes curling, crying out with unbridled pleasure, eyes watering, wrenching violently against his hands keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, sucking in deep breaths as his pace stayed steady.

"'M gonna fill this fuckin' cunt," He breathed.

You shook your head again- a quiet no leaving your lips as you twisted your body, trying to get away.

"Stay right there," He grunted, his hold on you even more firm than before, a slap against your ass punishing you. "'M buryin' my cum in you, like it or not."

His head fell back as he released inside you, his hips still driving against your ass. He began to slow not long after, pausing for a moment with his cock still deep in you.

Once he pulled out, he released your wrists, coaxing you against his chest in a firm hold. When you'd regained your breath, he spoke.

"You alright, sweetheart?" He asked, a light hand moving the hair from your face.

You looked up at him with tired eyes, smiling softly.

"More than alright- you?" Your eyes were half-shut with utter bliss.

He nodded. "I'd say the same."

He held you in his arms, fingertips and palms leaving soothing touches over the reddened expanse of your thighs and backside. He left comforting touches along your waist and hips. He kissed your cheek, gentle and loving, before pressing his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly, appreciative and loving, finally pulling away.

"Let's get you a bath, love."

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you #ask strlingsav

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ghostslillady · 5 months

Text

This is how I imagine Simon Riley would kiss me!

The Clenched fist! The hungry look! That grab!!!!

Someone please write a fic about this! 😭😭😭🛐🛐🛐

@homicidal-slvt @juvenillia @tacticalanklebiter3000 @tropes-and-tales @reallyrallyauthor @rowarn @ageless-aislynn @actuallyhiswife @greatstormcat @pedge-page @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @mysticalgalaxysalad @ghostlychief @ghosts-cyphera @ghostaholics @konigsblog @writeforfandoms @empresskylo @luminousbeings-crudematter @pimosworld @pokechbi @anitalenia @alwaysshallow @sweet-as-an-angel @diejager @kitkatscabinet @kneelingshadowsalome @mykneeshurt @loneghostwolf @captainfern @blingblong55 @neoarchipelago @multi-fandomlovers-world @deadbranch

#Where is he??#How do people find such men?#He's such a book husband #simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2

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twola · 11 months

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Hey don't know if this one is up your alley but I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is a sharpshooter (kinda like Black Belle) and Arthur was originally gonna take her to the sheriff's but they end up getting caught up in a fight with the O'Driscolls and she saves his life, then que the enemies to friends to lovers lmao

Later on they meet again and take down a house full of lemoyne raiders, they both lay low for a while then smut ensues lol.

I'm bad at describing but you can put your own twist on it if you want, make it however long you want, don't matter I just love your writing ❤️❤️

Hoooooo’kay. So this is probably a bit harder than the original requestor was thinking, but I’ve written too many sweet one-shots recently. It’s time to get a little nasty.

Anything You Can Do

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur meets his match in one of his bounties. His infuriatingly difficult match.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz

Curtis Malloy rolls his eyes as the gunslinger ahead of him inquires about the bounty poster tucked on the far corner of his desk. Of course, the man would ask about that one. A picture of a woman, of all things, wanted for murder, robbery, and theft. A woman with hard eyes but a pleasing face.

Wasn’t the first one to come askin’. The sheriff took the damn poster off the wall after men started dying when they went after her. He’d hear talk of fool-hearted bounty hunters heading north into Ambarino to find this lady to bring her in, only to end with lead between their eyes, floating down the Dakota River.

But this man, well, he’s been rather successful as of late - and Malloy knew that he probably ran in the same vein of people he was picking up. No loyalty to the trade, he guesses. And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t any skin off of his nose. Would get the man out of his hair and stop begging for more folks to hunt. Give him more time to deal with this Moira situation…

“Supposed to be up campin’ by Window Rock. But she likely has the area booby-trapped. Startin’ to lose count of the men who’ve gone up there to get killed tryin’ to take in this little lady.” Malloy warns as he hands the poster to the man ahead of him. The man grunts, tucking away the poster in his brown leather jacket, nodding before exiting out to the street.

Malloy gives a look to one of his deputies across the room.

Both begin to laugh.

Arthur’s seen his fair share of women easily fend for themselves. He saw the way Black Belle could shoot - likely better than he could. He sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet Mrs. Adler in a dark alley. She’d likely stab him before he could get a hand on her.

This woman supposedly had a deadly shot - a pile of bounty hunters at her feet. He knew he wasn’t going to just walk up to the tent and threaten you. This required a bit more finesse.

But still, as he gazed through his binoculars at his prize, you certainly didn’t look like the woman people were talking about in Valentine. Fairly short in stature, long dark hair falling in waves over your back. Arthur raises an eyebrow when he notices your curves as you kneel on one knee at your campfire.

Nope, he definitely does not miss the way those trousers hug your form.

He also does not miss the revolver in the belt slung around your hips as you rise from the fire, stretching your arms above your head and yawning. He does not miss the fishing line taut along the ground, tied to a rock precariously perched on a tree branch. Obviously placed there to alert you of intruders. Several fellers likely met their end due to that fishing line.

Arthur circles the campsite at a wide angle, hidden by the shadows of the night. He takes his time hunting his prey, taking in the lay of the land around, noting your movements, and ways of egress - like stalking a deer, he has you in his sights and is damn sure of it before he makes his move.

That move being edging dangerously close, revolver drawn, and diving at you once you’re in distance to reach. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as his large form lands atop you on the hard ground, caging in your limbs beneath him. You squawk, in a rather undignified manner, as he holsters his own revolver and reaches into yours to draw it out, disarming you and tossing your revolver several feet away.

“Get your damn hands off me.” You spit, but alas, the way he has you pinned down, you’re unable to fight back. The strength of this man was frightening. If it weren’t for the damn noose you know is waiting for you at the end of this, you would be excited by how strong he is. He quickly and easily hogties you, leaving you cursing and sputtering on the ground as he whistles for his horse.

Once his mare has sidled up, he heaves you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes, and you yelp in indignation as he tosses you over the rump of his horse.

A sack of potatoes with a very nice ass in those trousers.

Arthur blinks briefly before shaking his head, pulling himself up into the saddle. Just to cut back through Cumberland and to Valentine, then he’d get the pretty penny on this woman’s head. One of the larger bounties he’s seen, he has to admit.

“You lousy sack of shit, I wasn’t bothering anyone!” You yell from the rump of the horse.

“Ain’t me who decides your bounty, Miss-” Arthur simply replies, urging the mare into a trot, before you cut him off with a hiss.

“Say another word and I’ll geld you.” You interrupt before he can say your name.

“Sure, lady.” Arthur chuckles, knowing you wouldn’t be gelding anyone hogtied on the back of his horse, crossing the Dakota near Fort Wallace.

Blessed silence. For what seems like only a few moments.

“Since you know me so well, who the hell are you?” You ask, raising your head a bit.

“Now why would I tell you that?” Arthur chuckles, urging his horse southward on the road, deep into Cumberland Forest.

“I’d like to at least know the man’s name before I get fucked.” You retort, an even more sour tone in your voice.

“Arthur Morgan, my lady.” He replies, egging you on with the honorific, knowing you ain’t anything close to that, especially with the mouth on you. He’s about to stay something to prod you further when he hears voices up the road in the distance.

“Shit.” Arthur curses, as four green-sashed men crash through the trees. He immediately circles the horse to change direction as he hears a rider approaching on horseback, yelling at him.

Of course, O’Driscolls had taken up again at Six Point. Morgan, you idiot, you’re waltzing straight past them.

“Let me go and I can help you.” You call from behind him, trying to duck from whizzing bullets as much as your bindings would allow.

“Yeah, so you can shoot me in the back of the head too? Not a chance, lady.” Arthur retorts as he spurs his mare into a gallop, and you grunt as the wind gets knocked out of you from the jolting.

The O’Driscolls are in hot pursuit, the rider is joined by three others as Arthur pushes his horse back toward the Dakota, but with you slung over the back of her rump, he’s not able to urge his horse faster, not if he was going to get this bounty. Needed you alive.

He curses aloud as a bullet whizzes by his head on the right, and he turns the horse to the left, which was a poor decision as the mare reaches the cliffsides jutting up on either side of the Dakota, the river far below.

Pinned down along the face of the cliff, Arthur senses his horse getting skittish. Any more of this and the mare is going to buck him, and the bounty. He curses again as a bullet nearly hits his hat, sliding off the saddle and dragging you to the ground. You squeak with indignation until you hit the ground, groaning and cursing him. But to your surprise, he is unsheathing his knife and cutting the ropes at your ankle and wrists. You immediately scramble up and turn to him, smacking him hard across the face.

“Serves you right, asshole.”

“Y’done now, lady?” Arthur fumes, working his jaw as he reaches over your shoulder to grab the long guns from his horse’s saddles, before the damn thing spooks and runs away.

“If you wanna go with them, be my guest, but O’Driscolls don’t have a particularly good reputation of their handlin’ of women.” Arthur sneers at you, shoving a repeater at your chest, glaring before another bullet whizzes by and the both of you hit the ground out of sheer reflex.

You immediately open and close the lever to chamber a round, gritting your teeth. “This thing full at least?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Arthur retorts as he pulls revolvers from his belt, dual wielding as his mare screams and bolts for cover.

By the time the two of you rise, bullets fly and hit their targets, one O’Driscoll falling off his horse in a spray of blood to his chest, another gets shot in the head and his body limply clings in the saddle. Arthur runs across the open glen, knowing he’s a sitting duck in the wide open, and you dart in the other direction to the other treeline, quickly disappearing from sight.

Goddamnit. Of course you ran. Morgan, you’re even more of an idiot.

Arthur is fuming to himself so much so that he doesn’t hear the clicking of the revolver’s safety until too late, the steel of a barrel being pressed against the back of his neck.

“Drop 'em’.” The O’Driscoll threatens, and Arthur drops the revolvers in his hands, clattering to the ground as his captor pushes him forward, winding an arm around his shoulder and pressing the revolver further into his neck. They stop in the middle of the clearing.

“Think ol’ Colm misses ya, Morgan.”

Arthur scowls at the ground with the warm barrel of the gun against his neck, probably burning his skin. The O’Driscoll laughs behind him.

“You stop right there, you mick bastard.”

Your voice, high and sharp, cuts through the mountain air like a knife.

The O’Driscoll spins himself and Arthur around, forcing Arthur ahead of him to shield most of his body.

“C’mon now, you go on and leave the shootin’ to the men, dearie. I’ll even give you a head start.” The O’Driscoll laughs as you point the repeater dead at his face, twenty feet away.

You don’t move, and the O’Driscoll frowns, shoving his pistol into Arthur’s neck harder.

“Put the gun down, lady. Or Morgan gets the next round.”

Your stance never wavers. A small smirk comes across your face.

“Doin’ me a favor then?”

The O’Driscoll raises his eyebrow, but in a flash, it is all over. The crack of the repeater echoes in the glen as a body hits the ground. Arthur’s hat rolls on its lid across the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” Arthur stumbles ahead, holding his ear, absolutely covered in blood and brain matter. His eyes flit behind him, to take in the O’Driscoll, dead on the ground, half his face caved in from the bullet that hit him between the eyes.

He looks up to you in shock and bewilderment. You slowly lower the repeater and open and close the lever, chambering another round. Completely unfazed.

“I got one more round in here, Mister Morgan. I’d like very much not to use it on you.” You state with an air of superiority, dead serious as you grip the repeater tightly.

Arthur slowly raises his hands, his guns still strewn across the ground feet away after his tussle with the now-dead O’Driscoll.

“Now listen to me. I’m gonna take one of these horses and be on my way. And you ain’t gonna follow me. You’re gonna forget that bounty and get on with the next sucker you chase down.” You say, with an even, deadly tone.

“Don’t you usually shoot them men comin’ after you?” Arthur asks, his hands still outstretched.

“I do. But usually the men comin’ after me ain’t as handsome as you are. Would be a shame to blow your brains out.” You say with a smirk, starting to back away, toward where the O’Driscoll’s horse grazes in the long grass.

Arthur’s cheeks tinge pink as he remains still, but lowers his hands.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again, Mister Morgan. Maybe you can make up for me savin’ your pretty hide.”

You give an exaggerated curtsy before climbing into the saddle of the horse, the repeater still ready to fire. You grab the reins tightly and circle the horse once before galloping off, leaving Arthur Morgan standing alone in the clearing, saved but for the dead O’Driscoll.

Lemoyne was too damn hot. Sweltering. Disgusting. Even as the dusk fell. Even outside of the damn swamp, Arthur hated it. The gang had moved south after that shootout with Cornwall in Valentine. Bad business all around. Now, Dutch and Hosea have been working both angles of the local yokel families, locked in some kind of bitter generational feud.

Arthur just needed to clear his head. Dutch had him working as a lawman, of all the ridiculous things. He’s taken this free moment to do his own work, having been tipped off on a Lemoyne Raiders safe house not far from Ringneck Creek, supposed to be just a few of these idiots and a cache of items they have stored from their roadside robberies throughout the state.

Ripe for the taking.

The old barn house stood on the rise, and he could tell, as he swung down from his mare just beyond the treeline. He smacks her rump and she’s off, back down toward the Kamassa. He lets the rifle strapped across his shoulders down, aiming through its sights at the movement of men in the distance.

“Well well, if it isn’t the fastest draw in the west.” A sharp voice cuts through the quiet.

Arthur swings his rifle at the interloper that appeared several feet away from him, cursing himself for not being aware of his surroundings.

Oh. It’s you.

God damnit.

“The hell are you doing here?” Arthur harshly whispers, lowering the rifle.

You nod your head toward the barn behind him, “I was going in on a tip I got that the yokels had things stashed here.”

Arthur frowns. “Don’t tell me you got that from Alden.”

“The ticket man, in Rhodes.”

“God damnit.” He rolls his eyes. He scowls at you, standing there with your hand on your hip. Looking positively infuriating in dark trousers and a fairly tight-fitting button-down. Highlighting your curves, while your dark hair is pulled back into a long braid.

Focus, damnit. Arthur chides himself as he turns back toward the barn, looking again through the scope of this rifle at the men mulling about.

“Tell you what, Mister Morgan. You could use another gun. I could use wastin’ less bullets on these inbreds. Split what we find.”

Arthur has counted seven Raiders going in and out of the barn, which would be a fairly large number if he were alone. He sighs in exasperation.

“Fine.”

“Well, probably wasn’t the whole lot of them, I’m sure there are more of these wannabe civil war soldiers slinking about.” You muse, rifling through papers on a makeshift as Arthur picks a lockbox, pocketing the billfolds inside. Stepping over a dead body, you catch Arthur’s frame over that lockbox.

You notice what his hands are doing, and glare at him. “Hey - asshole, we’re splittin’ this.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, tossing one of the billfolds at you. You catch it with ease.

“After that noise we should probably lay low for a bit.” You move toward the barn door, shouldering your repeater, stopping to listen outside for a moment.

“Oh, so now there’s a we?” Arthur snaps back at you as he follows you to the door.

“Be my guest if you wanna head into the swamps at this time of night. I, on the other hand, have a cabin I cleared out on the other side of Dewberry Creek.” You glance at him, pushing through the barndoor with your hand on your gun, looking around for any kind of movement. Your horse has meandered closer, and you whistle lowly for it to come closer.

You pull yourself into the saddle and look down at him.

“You coming? Or you just gonna stand there like an idiot?”

“Ain’t this homey?” Arthur retorts, looking at the rundown state of the cabin inside. A bed, with a near-disintegrating blanket, an old table, broken cabinets, and maybe one chair that didn’t look like it was about to fall apart.

“Ain’t your momma teach you manners? Lady invites you into her abode and you just insult her.” You slide the rifle from your back and place it upright against the stone fireplace.

“You’re a lady now? Coulda fooled me.” Arthur follows, placing his repeater on the table, unwilling to have you get the last word in.

You sneer at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Last time I checked, I have two tits and a cunt - pretty sure that makes me a lady - unless you’ve encountered different.”

“Pretty sure a lady wouldn’t be speakin’ like that.” Arthur returns, glancing away from you and trying to hide the flush that he knows is burning up his cheeks - he’s trying not to look at your breasts, framed by your crossed arms. Trying not to think of your ass in those trousers, the taper of your hips, the cunt he suddenly can’t not imagine filling.

“Oh, is you a gentleman? A dashing outlaw with ladies falling in his lap from here to Armadillo?” You point at him, pressing your finger into his chest, gritting your teeth as your self-righteousness and hackles both rise.

For once, he’s silent. For once in the whole goddamn time you’ve known him, he’s given you an opening. Seize it. Take the enemy down. Merciless. Just like shootin’.

“Bet you couldn’t please a lady even if you was the one being paid.” Your voice lowers as you go in for the kill.

To his credit, Arthur resurges with sputtering indignation, pushing you several steps backward until your back slams against the cabin wall. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Christ alive, the mouth on you. How’s about I shut you up by givin’ you somethin’ to fill it?”

With his hands clamped on your shoulders and his large frame looming over yours, it’s not fear that you feel. Not that he’s going to hurt you, or turn you in. Something more profound than that. Something that shoots to your very core.

“I’d like to see you try.” You hiss at him, and see his jaw work in frustration, “Probably can’t even make a woman come.”

His thigh immediately rams forward, parting your legs as his hands fly to your hips, lifting you several inches above the ground, you yelp as he presses up against your core.

“I’m gonna make you eat them words, missy.” He hisses as he leans into your ear.

“Not if I make you come first.” You respond breathily, your hand moving to cup at the seam of his pants, grabbing at his burgeoning cock. He grunts and shoves his thigh up higher, and you mewl as it causes you to grind against the hard bone of his femur.

“You’re askin’ fer it.” He grunts as he presses his pelvis against you, his cock hard against your belly. A zing of pleasure shoots through your core in response. He’s not lacking, in any measure. His hands briefly leave your body to pull at the buckle of his gun belt, and the belt clatters to the floor at his feet.

“Yeah,” You grab his collar two-fisted and pull him to you, “I am askin’ fer it.” You parrot back in his drawl, lips inches away from his for just a moment, before you bridge the distance and take his mouth forcefully, not letting him respond as you shove your tongue inside.

He’s not surprised, nor taken off balance, matching your fevered press into his mouth with his own, battling for supremacy as his tongue wrests with yours. You barely feel one of his hands leave your hip and start to work the buttons of your trousers, it's not until he works them open enough to shove his hand down the front of your pants that you groan in surprise into his mouth. His rough, calloused fingers weave their way downwards, under the waistband of your bloomers, and straight to your moistening core, where he slides a long, meaty finger into your cunt, making you mewl.

But you cannot let him win.

Summoning all the fight you have in you, battling against the sweet sound of his hand smacking up against wet skin, your hands shoot down to cup his burgeoning erection through his pants, and he moans as his hips move to press forward into your touch.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you open his pants, breathing through your nose as he latches his mouth to the side of your neck, slipping his middle finger inside you, making you curse under your breath as you finally reach your goal. You nearly rip his pants open and fish his hard cock out, your fingers wrapping around it as you begin to pump his shaft, desperate to make him feel as helpless as he’s making you feel.

Arthur moans needily against your neck, rolling his hips, and losing his rhythm as he rocks his hand into you. You smile as your head tilts back, pleased at yourself that you’ve met him and matched him.

It would not be for long, though. He retracts his hands and finds your hips again, and the next thing you know, you’re lifted in the air, caught off guard, and instinctually wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you both the several steps to the table. One of his hands moves to your lower back, keeping you upright, as he lays you down and spreads you out on the flat surface.

The gunslinger leans over and captures your lips again as he starts to work your trousers and bloomers down your waist, over the swell of your ass that you raise in the air to help him. You have the wherewithal to kick your boots off as he works your pants down your thighs, standing to his full height as he peels them off you completely, leaving your lower half bare to his gaze. Your tapered hips, glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

You take advantage of his dumb-struck stare to unhook his suspenders from the front of his pants, yanking them down over his hips to let them rest above his knees.

Wasting no time, before you know he’s going to catch you, you wrap one hand around his shaft and cup his testicles with the other, squeezing both gently as he groans, his hands holding himself up as he leans above you, his hips starting to thrust forward.

It's only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before his eyes open, hands snap to your hips, and you’re yanked bodily forward, ass nearly hanging off the table, and you let go of his member as he presses forward, the head of his cock touching your wet folds and making you both moan aloud.

“Still askin’ fer it?” He pants, and all you can do is moan in response and shake your head in the affirmative, spreading your legs for him.

Arthur immediately slides his cock all the way in, until the chestnut curls at the base of his cock meet the dark hair over your cunt, and you cannot help but to mewl, watching as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. Your legs spread even wider as both of you can’t look away from the sight: his long, hard shaft glistening with your slick, disappearing into your body.

One of his hands moves from your hip to splay beneath your abdomen and presses down hard, he moans in appreciation as he can feel himself through your skin as he buries his cock in your cunt again. And again. And again. You fall back from your elbows completely onto your back, the pressure of him making you gasp and whine.

Fuck, this is where you hurtle toward that point of no return, there’s no holding back the wave of pleasure that threatens to drown you as Arthur pounds himself into your hips. There’s no winning or losing anymore, there is just the chasing of that pleasure.

You’re cresting, back beginning to arch uncontrollably as he pumps into you hard and fast. You don’t give a shit about losing, because you’re wrung so tightly you’re about to snap, needy whines escaping your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop tears from overstimulation from spilling down your cheeks.

The head of Arthur’s cock keeps hitting that spot in your cunt that makes you want to die in pleasure, his large hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You can barely recognize the shriek you give as your own, and the grunts in return, fucking you harder through your release. Your spasming, clenching, shaking release.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur grits out. The broken syllables of his name escape your mouth as you come, he thrusts deep inside of you and you gush warm slick around his length.

He immediately groans, loudly, clenching your hips hard as he jerks himself from you, painting your mound white with arcs of his spend landing in your dark pubic hair. Arthur pants, not letting go of your hips as you at least have the wherewithal to lean up on your elbows again.

“Think…” he rasps, voice sex-hoarse and breathless, “I win.”

A smile cracks from your lips as you tighten your legs around his hips, drawing him closer.

“Best…” you pant, “Two outta three.”

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