#though he isn’t a lieutenant in this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thexsilentxwordsmith · 2 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Part 2 to Truth or Dare

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: After a game of Truth or Dare leaves you and your lieutenant breathless and yearning for more, will you both be able to leave things alone or will one of you not be able to hold out? And what happens when you meet again?

Word Count: 5 k

Part 3: READ HERE

So many questions are left on Lt. Riley’s tongue as he finishes another cigarette and leaves the group of officers behind in the rec to make his way back to his quarter, the spectre's touch of your full lips still causing the skin on his mouth to tingle from the sudden lack of all that delicious pressure. There is so much he wants to make clear, even more he wants to do, but where to begin? It’s all so confusing.

As he lays down in his empty bed staring up at the ceiling, struggling to relax his feverish limbs as it still feels like he has been struck by a live wire, he fails to keep his wandering mind focused on his breathing to ignore the gnawing emptiness that is filling his chest from the absence of your presence. That’s when the questions start to roll in.

Did you feel something too? Maybe it was all just an act? Does that even matter if it was?

“No,” Simon mutters to himself through the silence to stop his train of thought from running rampant. He’s allowing himself to get distracted worrying about the unknown and that is something that will only cause more problems, but he is in turmoil.

Unsuccessfully he tosses and turns in the darkness that fills the space, his thoughts drifting back to that feeling of heat from the proximity of your bodies, the residual pressure from your mouth plastered to his, the look of pure lust in your gaze, and the gnawing compulsion of his fingers to get at your curves.

But this isn’t a lover’s island, there is a job to be done here and he has seniority. Maybe it is better to leave this alone where it stands; who knows what disaster could come from getting involved with another officer in such a capacity. And yet…

There is no stopping his mind from wandering ceaselessly back to those breathless moments where his lips fought yours for dominance with the mind-numbing electricity flowing between you, the attraction so strong it did not seem possible for you both to pull from it.

He has a problem and it isn’t going away.

Across base, laying in the dark in your own bed, your heartbeat pounding heavily in your chest, an ache runs its course throughout your limbs. There is a need for something to ease this overwhelming desire to be craved in a desperate, debilitating way, though you really don’t want to admit it. No, you don’t need something…you need someone. You need him.

You hadn’t been ready to admit it then, but there was a spark between you that is no longer possible to ignore now that you are alone, but you don’t know how to handle things any other way than to just ignore and move on; maybe the desire to have him again will die away if you just let it be. Even as the thought enters your mind you know it’s pure bullshit. There is no denying that things became complicated the second your lips met, that it was like igniting gasoline with a blowtorch. What was once mere infatuation that you could handle, has now grown into an untamed beast inside that leaves you feeling delirious and out of control.

Rolling onto your side, you convince yourself to leave all these questions alone and focus on something else, anything to get your mind off of what you would be doing with the lieutenant at this moment if you both had not been interrupted. As you close your eyes to force sleep to come, visions of a bare and glistening officer thrusting between your legs fills your subconscious and you hope the morning comes soon enough because sleep is going to be short tonight.

Luckily, life around base rarely stands still long enough for anything other than work to get tended to. Any hopes of exploring that tension and ecstasy has to be put on the back burner as life in the taskforce resumes its usual chaos. Daily operations keep your schedule packed completely full all week so that certain thoughts get pushed to the back of your mind. And yet, during those slower moments of the day, they come creeping back up just like they never left.

“ ‘ello?” Soap says as he waves his hand in front of your blank face. “Ye in there, lass?”

Your fork hangs limply from your hand, teetering over your plate lunch and threatening to fall with a clatter as you realize that you drifted off again. This is the third time this week that you have gotten so lost in thought trying to recall that feeling of the lieutenant’s lips that it’s becoming apparent to your fellow sergeant that something is off. Blinking a few times, you shake your head to clear your mind.

“What?” you shoot back at him as you stab the food and push it around the plate, pretending to eat even though you aren’t hungry.

“I’ve been talkin’ for a good five minutes and ye ain’t heard a word,” he says with a hint of agitation. His steady glare gives you the once over as he tries to read your face. “Where ye at these last few days, hmm?”

You mask your face behind your customary smile. “Maybe I’m just trying to imagine a more engaging conversation than the one I’m currently in,” you pick, but Johnny isn’t letting this drop.

His eyes are still on you, scrutinizing your body language even as you stare down into your food to avoid his gaze. From the corner of your eye you can see the gears turning in that mind of his as if he is trying to put things together. You let it go on a few more seconds before you speak up.

“You got a problem or something?”

“It’s just strange,” he chuckles and you raise an eyebrow as you tilt your head to the side. “It’s just…I was speakin’ to Gaz yesterday and he mentioned that the lieutenant seems…distracted…as well lately. Same vacant look ye got goin’ on. Ye wouldn’t happen ta know why, would ye?”

Your heart leaps with a strong thud in your chest. Just what the hell is he implying? You had been certain that Johnny knew nothing, but now you aren’t so sure. Maybe you aren’t being as convincing as you think. “Why the fuck would I know that?” you play it off as you swallow down the lump in your throat. “Do I just know everything that goes on with everyone around here? I’ve got enough on my mind then to worry about the rest of you lot.”

Johnny leans in a bit closer over his plate and lowers his voice as he says the next part, making your blood run cold. “Must be a coincidence then, that both a ye just happen ta be actin’ different at the same time, ay? Ye know, on account a tha other night.”

The heel of your boot immediately connects with his foot only hard enough to make him yelp and pop back upright in surprise. You always forget that Johnny is smarter than he lets on and it’s clear he has been paying attention. Too bad you will never give him the satisfaction of admitting anything. With a laugh he sits back in his seat as you stare him down before rolling your eyes.

“Why are you so worried about the lieutenant? Seems like someone’s a bit too obsessed and that can be a problem. You should probably talk to someone about that.”

He shakes his head. “Whatever ye say, lass,” he says, punctuating it with another chuckle as he tucks back into his lunch. “Whatever ye say.”

Firearms and ammunition is on the schedule for the rest of your day. It is your job to take inventory of all the munitions you’ll need for tomorrow’s end of week training. At least the repetitious task will keep you busy enough that hopefully you won’t be thinking about a certain lieutenant and what he could be up to right now.

At least that is the plan that you start with, but just as every other day this week soon that hulking officer begins to creep his way into your mind. Has Johnny been lying about how distracted the lieutenant seems lately? Could it be about what happened the other night or could it be something that has nothing to do with you? Little by little, it chips away at your calm until that is all you can focus on, even as you try and get through counting and gathering all the materials you’ll be needing for tomorrow.

There is no way for you to know, but at that exact moment there is someone coming your way with a burning question that needs answering.

All week Lt. Riley has gone about his days as usual, except try as he might to focus only on the tasks given to him, all he can do is mull over the same question in his mind: did you feel something in the kiss the way he did? It is eating him alive to know the answer and no matter where he is, who is speaking with, or what he is doing, the question is there to make him restless.

Until finally he has had enough. Just as the question overwhelms his mind again he throws down the work on his desk, shoves his chair back to get out, and leaves his office in a flurry. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but as he walks he passes by Captain Price’s office, the one person that would know where you are stationed today. Quickly he steps inside the doorway to ask.

Price checks his computer screen that has all that information already pulled up. “She has firearm trainin’ tomorrow with the newer recruits, so she will be takin’ inventory in munitions today,” the captain relays the information, curious as to why his lieutenant seems tense and sounds a little out of breath.

Before the captain can ask any more probing questions or mention to his officer that he will need to speak with him in a bit, the lieutenant heads off in a rush towards the munitions depot. No matter, the captain will let him conduct his business with you and send a messenger in a bit to bring him back.

Lt. Riley crosses the base with nothing else on his mind but to get to you and when he does he finds you are completely lost in your work, none the wiser that you aren’t alone anymore until it’s too late. You don’t hear that signature click that means the main door is opening, nor the careful, but heavily booted footsteps padding across the floor in your direction. Just a few feet from you he stops and stares silently, waiting to see if you notice his presence.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel a pair of eyes on you and looking up you come face to face with the person that was just on your mind. You can’t stop the way you hold your breath the moment your eyes connect as every involuntary process in your body gets interrupted by his sudden appearance. Desperately you try to regain composure and shake off that initial surprise; there is no need to make this awkward, it will only make things worse for yourself in the long run.

Clearing your throat, you shoot him a smile. “Sir,” you greet him with a nod and a slight tremor in your voice that you quickly swallow back down. “Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here. Did you need something?”

The adrenaline makes your limbs tingle and instead of just standing there awkwardly as you wait for him to respond, you put your hands back to the task before you hoping to cause your nervousness to settle. If you have to stand looking into his face in the stillness of the room for much longer, you might combust and the risk of looking like a fool is enough to make you act out being too busy to give him your full attention.

Standing this close with the lingering feelings from the reaction that happened the last time you were together, the lieutenant is overwhelmed and it makes him pause. That same magnetism that he had felt that night is already pulling him to you, until his composure falls apart faster than he can calm it. Still, there is a question on the tip of his tongue that he is choking to ask; it’s the whole reason he’s here and he’s not leaving without an answer no matter what.

“I need ya to stop and look at me,” he says as he steps in towards you. You discreetly take a deep breath as you set your things down to turn your face back to look up at him.

He’s already scrutinizing your body language, focusing on any sign that might give him an idea of where your thoughts are at this moment. Those brown eyes catch how tense your shoulders are through your t-shirt, how your pupils seem dilated as you meet his gaze, and finally the way your hands tremble as they hang at your sides.

“I want ya to tell me the truth, yeah?” he says with a nod.

You stare back at him, big doe-eyes sparkling in the overhead lights as your pulse runs fiery hot through your limbs with the growing anxiety from wondering what the hell is going on. “Yes, sir?”

The mask covering his face clings a little too tightly and the clothing on his chest traps in the heat rising in his body, making his skin clammy as he struggles to vocalize that loaded question he’s had swirling in his mind for days. Lt. Riley clears his throat; he thought he’d come up with something better than this, but thinking clearly has long gone now. All he can do is just spit it out.

“Mactavish’s stupid fuckin’ dare, ya remember it? I keep thinkin’ ‘bout it and I need ya to tell me somethin’: was it all an act, the way we kissed?”

Fuck, how are you supposed to answer this?

There is warmth blossoming in your cheeks as the thumping grows stronger in your chest. His question is simple enough, yet there isn’t a simple way for you to answer. Tell the truth? Could you actually go through with something that risky? For all you know he could be asking just to tell you that the kiss is to mean nothing because it will never happen again, that he wants you to let it all go to clear the air of any misconceptions. You pray that that is not what he’s about to say, but as you silently think about how to answer, he pushes for you to stop avoiding the question.

“I need ya to answer me,” he says firmly, eyes never leaving yours. “Were ya pretendin’ or did ya not want it to fuckin’ end?”

A sharp inhale of air does nothing in helping to calm your nerves; you just have to get on with it. “I-it…wasn’t an act,” you say.

The lieutenant has his answer, that’s what he wanted, right? Just to hear you say that the spark ignited between you in those few ecstasy-fueled minutes were genuine; that is it, isn’t it? His curiosity is sated and he should be able to move on, but he can’t. With your confession comes something more, something that he can’t let go of, and that is now that he knows it was real he wants it again. It consumes him to the point that he cannot move away and instead steps in closer as he grabs your biceps, forcing you to move backwards until you find yourself against the wall directly behind you.

“Sir?” you ask to get his attention as he continues to stand there staring intensely into your face without so much as a sound. You hadn’t felt this overwhelmed by his presence since the night you two kissed, but now it is back to cloud your mind and set your pulse pounding through your limbs.

Your furrow-browed stare wavers as you clear your throat and repeat your question again. “Sir?”

Consequences are an inconceivable concept right now; the only thing playing in his mind are how fucking soft your lips look and how he desperately wants to get lost in them again. The sensations of reliving that experience from that night in the rec consumes every molecule in his body until there is nothing left inside him except for you.

He needs it, he needs it now, and as that deep, longing ache settles itself in his chest to cause his heart to pound so hard that he can hear the beat in his ears, he throws sensibility away as he moves to grab your hips firmly in his gloved hands.

“We really shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he says, his body pressing against yours as he draws you in. “Ya know it’s trouble.”

His actions don’t match his words and the contradiction causes your mind to falter on what you should do. Did he want this to end or not? Does he even really know?

“Do you want to stop, sir?” you ask timidly as your body begins to vibrate with the sudden, intense pleasure of his hands as they are back on you again. “You know we can just forget it; it’s really fine.”

One of his hands leaves the curve of your hip and travels upwards so that those long, covered fingers can string themselves through the strands of hair at the back of your head. “Who said I wanted ta forget, hmm?” he admits with his eyes firmly on your lips, watching as they part slightly so you can take quick, short breaths in and out. “Do ya think I wasn’t there, that I didn’t feel what was happenin’ between us that night? Ya think I could just forget all that? Do ya think I want to?”

His gloved thumb wraps around your face so that he can brush it over your bottom lip, letting the electricity pass through the fabric from his fingertips into your mouth. You gasp from the ache his touch leaves behind and he exhales heavily at your reaction. “Do ya know the fuckin’ power ya have over me after that? Shit, I’m riskin’ a lot just ta be here like this with ya again, knowing what could happen when we’re alone. All because ‘a one fuckin’ kiss.”

You swear if he doesn’t do something soon you are going to pass out; your mind is spinning in circles as the warm tension gathering between your bodies becomes unbearable. Only a small swatch of fabric covering his face keeps you both apart and yet you can still sense the heated air from his mouth as it sweeps across the delicate skin of your lips the closer he lowers his head.

He can’t do it, he can’t stop the way he craves you to the point of insanity right now. No, if he was going to stop it should have been long before now. As his hands cling to your body, there isn’t any chance that he is going to let you get away. He needs you, he has to have you, and it has to be right this fucking second to ease the painful longing that has kept him up all week.

Lt. Riley is gone; in his place is a depraved being that only yearns to feel that overwhelming passion that you gave him once again.

“I need more of the way it felt,” he groans adamantly. “I need ya, now.”

Before you can properly react to his heart-stopping statement, the lieutenant frantically wrenches his mask up and completely off his face, not wanting to be hindered at all from you anymore. All you catch is a crown of short blonde hair as he lets the cloth fall to the floor, closes his eyes, and leans in without another word to harshly smash his juicy lips together with yours in a reckless abandon that makes your knees buckle.

Fucking hell it’s everything that he remembered and so much more; you taste like the best type of sin and he is ready to pay everything for it.

The force of his advance shoves your head backward into the wall as he takes your mouth with dizzying harshness, not hesitating to shove in his tongue to fill the cavity behind your lips to capacity. The tip of that wet muscle strokes across the roof of your mouth and the sensation causes your eyes to roll back into your head. If there was any doubt left in your mind, it has all dissipated now that his mouth is back on yours.

“Stop callin’ me sir. Say my name,” he forcefully demands in that husky, breathless tone, a yearning in his voice that makes your soul burn as he speaks those desperate words onto your skin. “Call me Simon.”

You break from his mouth, your lips instantly desperate to form the word and say it aloud. “Simon,” you moan and it breathes new life into his name that he could never have predicted he needed.

Pining you tighter to the wall, he overtakes you rougher and rougher until the harshness of his movements abrades the skin of your mouth to make it swell and bruise. Relentlessly he siphones the breath from you to keep him going. That moist air fills his mouth so that he can speak. “Say it again,” he orders in a growl.

It’s like honey as it rolls off your tongue and you can’t help but want to repeat it. “Mmm, Simon,” you whimper onto his mouth and goddamn the euphoria of having to swallow down the desperation in your voice suddenly awakens an insatiable ache that will need more to quench.

His gloves have to go, now, as his bare hands are burning to get their fill of your curves. Those thin pieces of fabric are hindering him from being able to connect with all that silky skin so that he can know what it feels like against his calloused palms. It is torment to be kept from all that ecstasy. Struggling to peel them off his fingers as he cannot pry his mouth away from yours at all, he finally frees those long, brawny digits and they waste no time in pawing wildly at your body.

Greedy fingers recklessly claw and tear at your clothing, searching for an opening where he can penetrate to find enough balmy skin available to fill his hands until he cannot hold anymore. Deliriously and without looking he rips the pieces of your uniform up until he can get underneath them and let his fingertips get that first touch he has craved nonstop since the second he had pulled away from you that night. Those hungry lips continue to overwhelm your own as Simon is able to grab the hem and his hands have finally found their prize.

Laborious panting breaths fill up the space between you as the roughness of his hands grip into your hips and square them up against his own, pelvis’ grinding together in search of as much friction as they can find. Only a few layers of clothing keep your bodies apart, but that doesn’t stop Simon from rutting against you and you matching his movements. There is nothing else inside your head except the overwhelming euphoria of his touch along the lines of your body and the growing bulge in his pants that drills into you harder and harder the more it grows.

No immediate danger is there to keep you both tame, no time limit looms over your heads that will force you to stop, and when two desperate things have nothing to lose, they simply let go.

Every single one of his senses is overflowing with all of you: the feeling of your lips against his, the taste of your sweet breath in his mouth, the warmth of your skin brushing over his, the beat of your heart that he can feel through his fingertips, the sound of your quiet whimpers making his head spin. Goddammit you are eager, so willing to meet his advancements with everything you have; there is no question about what you want. And he cannot lie that he wants it too. You’ve both started down this path and there is no turning back; he knows it’s wrong, he knows he should stop, but he won’t.

You are in his veins, circling inside his mind, part of the very air he breathes; whatever risk comes with this could never outweigh the reward of getting to sate the hunger that has been driving him insane.

“Fuck it all,” he growls and suddenly his hands are under your arms and you are being hoisted up off the ground.

Your body reacts from pure instinct by spreading your legs wide and wrapping them around his broad hips, securing yourself to him with a clench of your thighs together. Simon knocks a gasp out of you as he slams your back up against the wall to use it for leverage, his body crushing yours as he begins to grind up into you with that throbbing, engorged cock that is straining to break the zipper of his pants.

Through your clothes he thrusts up into you with powerful strikes, hips rolling into yours over and over with desperation as he tries to get just a little bit more friction between your bodies. You use your thighs to help push yourself up off of him, bouncing over his crotch in response to mimic the way you’d fuck him.

Simon knows he shouldn’t go any further, that he should slow things down because this isn’t the place, but he won’t. Everything is already so close, but still not close enough. He needs the real thing, not this cheap imitation. Even in the haze of this delirious union, there is only one thing he knows he has to do.

He has to get you both naked.

Feverish fingers claw into the negative space between your bodies at the bottom of your shirt until Simon can find the hem. The cooler air outside of your clothing hits your skin with a tingle to make goosebumps appear as he pulls it up off your stomach and over the swell of your breasts.

“Lift up your arms,” he says quickly and your eyes flutter open so that you can follow the demand.

In one swift motion the shirt is off and Simon doesn’t waste any time in ripping off his shirt as well. The feeling of skin to skin sends shivers of ecstasy down his spine as he presses against you. So soft, so warm, fucking hell is he in over his head. He leans in, bending forward so that he can kiss the tops of your breasts through your bra as he hands wander again between your bodies to the clasp on your pants.

Just as his fingers loop through the waistband, you hear the tail end of it. There is no mistaking it, it’s the signature sound of the door to the armory closing shut. You have no time to act as a private with a message from Captain Price enters in a hurry, not paying attention, and stumbles upon something he shouldn’t have under no fault of his own.

“Lt. Riley, Price needs to see y–” the messenger says as he finally looks up, immediately stopping dead in his tracks as his cheeks flush bright red at coming face to face with the two of you half naked and twined together.

The private is tripping over his words as an exasperated growl shuts him right up. “Outside; now,” Simon barks harshly through a heavy pant as he turns his head enough to lock eyes with the now terrified private. Quickly the young man turns tail and bolts for the door, stumbling over his feet to get out as fast as he physically can. Once the click from the door closing shut is heard, those brown eyes turn back to you.

Simon draws in a deep breath before his head falls forward to rest up against yours, foreheads pressed together as he just holds onto you for a moment. “Goddammit,” he curses under his breath in disappointment.

Carefully he untangles his body from yours and sets you back down onto your feet. “Times up,” he repeats the phrase that ended your encounter the last time, though his tone is markedly more miserable this time, and you can’t help the way your stomach knots tightly.

Simon grabs all your clothing back up off the ground, handing you your shirt back as he goes to put his own back on. You immediately redress and straighten your uniform as best you can with your unsteady hands. Everything gets tucked back in place once again as you wait for him to head out without a word, since this seems to be following a certain pattern now.

But instead of simply walking away leaving you to agonize about if you will ever get a chance like this again, his arm reaches out and those long gloved fingers wrap around your belt buckle, gripping it tight in his hand so that he can drag you back against him. The other hand finds its way under your chin to force you to maintain eye contact with him; he needs you to hear him and make no mistake about what he is saying.

“This isn’t over,” he murmurs as he guides your head forward to place one last, lingering kiss on your lips before he breaks away to situate his mask back down over his face.

With that he turns and heads outside to the private patiently waiting to finish giving him the message from the captain. You let your eyes follow him the entire way out the door and only when he’s gone do you finally release the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

This isn’t over. The words repeat on a loop in your mind. Fuck, you sure hope so.

Now the question is: when?

Tagging: @spooky-pomegranate

1K notes · View notes

ghcstao3 · 2 months

Text

ghost is a large man—anyone who sees him could very clearly and obviously come to that conclusion. soap isn’t a small man himself, by any means, but he is next to the lieutenant, because ghost is just big. imposing. powerful.

so it’s a different kind of miserable feeling the first time soap has ever seen ghost look so small.

it’s at a safe house, in the dead of night. they’re meant to be waiting around until exfil the next morning, after a mission gone terribly wrong and too many good men incidentally killed under ghost’s command.

the others were all asleep—ghost had said he’d keep watch to let them all get some needed shuteye. but somewhere in the wee hours, soap had woken up, feeling restless.

that’s when he finds ghost—curled up and crowded as far back as possible against the wall just outside the front door. his breathing is uneven and his gaze is blank, dead—and hunched in on himself, it hardly seems to be ghost himself at all.

silently, soap slides to the ground beside him, close, but not close enough to touch. and in a soft whisper soap just… starts to talk. about anything.

eventually, ghost’s breathing steadies. his trembling hands uncurl from fists, though he doesn’t really look any less small. though, his apparent exhaustion is certainly an improvement from his spiralling. soap keeps talking until ghost’s eyelids flutter shut, until maybe soap is seeing the crack of dawn on the horizon.

the image of ghost trying to make himself seemingly invisible had something heavy and unpleasant sink to the pit of soap’s stomach. and he knows then, and easily, that he’s going to make sure ghost never feels like this ever again.

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap

1K notes · View notes

darklordofthesimp · 1 year

Text

Wrath (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: After you risk your life protecting Ghost, the Lieutenant is furious. Angry enough, in fact, to pay you a late-night visit.

Requested by @chippyroh :

#69 Shut up or I'll shut you up.

#71 You’re driving me out of my fucking mind

A/N: Listen here you little shits, I will not be making a part 2 to this and you cannot convince me this time.

Category: Sexual Tension || Angst || Enemies to ? || Hurt/ Comfort

Warnings: Graphic language, Manhandling/Rough-handling, Sexually suggestive themes.

It was meant to be an easy mission but, really, what were you expecting?

You were experienced enough to know that when it was meant to be a breeze, you had to prepare for a fucking hurricane. And as Ghost stormed towards you, his fists clenched and his gaze furious, you knew this was gonna be one hell of a storm.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He didn’t stop until his chest bumped into yours, heaving and hard. His wide shoulders swayed from side to side as the officer sized you up. “Are you fucking stupid?”

You grit your teeth and glared. “I just saved your fucking life, Sir.”

You weren’t much in comparison to the towering figure that Ghost presented, you knew that. Still, you stood as tall as you could manage and set your jaw. You were right to provide him with backup. You were right to have taken out the people on his tail.

You’d done everything right.

So, why was he so fucking angry?

“Don’t start this shit with me, Sunshine,” Ghost hissed, fingers wrapping around your bicep. He pulled you in flush against his body, your armoured plates knocking against his. “That was out of line.”

“Saving your life?” You questioned, bewildered. “Saving your life was out of line, Ghost?”

His eyes narrowed and a deep rumble reverberated in his chest.

“No,” he snapped, leaning back. “Pretending you were anything but a fucking sniper was, though.”

Your breath left your lungs as though you’d been sucker-punched. You searched what little features you could see for an ounce of regret, any softness in his features to show he didn’t mean it- but the kohl on his eyes only highlighted the sharpness of his gaze.

“This isn’t over, Sunshine,” Ghost warned, snatching his hand from your arm. He imparted a glare that had your throat tightening, before he brushed past you roughly. For once, you wished you had never made it home.

______

You were angry at yourself for crying.

It was in your own shower and hidden from the rest of your unit, but you were still upset.

Your life was insane and full of enough sorrow to destroy most, and there were more than enough reasons to justify an emotional break. However, crying over a man? You were ashamed. Embarrassment seared red hot across your chest, it made your blood boil- it made you angry.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

You had done everything right. Price had clapped you on your back upon your return, commending your quick thinking. Ghost had scoffed at that, watching the interaction from the darkest corner of the room.

“Leaving your post is not ‘quick-thinking.’” The words had been a snarl from beneath his bloodied mask.

Price raised a brow as you shifted on your feet furiously. “I saved you on the evac, Sir. There was no fucking post.”

Ghost took a step toward you, his finger pointing at your chest as though he were marking you for death. You were thankful Price stepped in, you were angry but you weren’t stupid. You didn’t want to go toe-to-toe with the grim reaper himself but you would to defend your actions.

“How about you both hit the showers and cool off. Good job on today,” he gave the two of you a pointed look, “the both of you.”

You said nothing, only returning Ghost’s glare vehemently before storming off.

Your clothes felt too soft on your freshly scrubbed skin. It always felt like that after a mission; everything smelt too good, felt too good and sounded too quiet. It would take you a couple of hours to adjust, but your blood burned at your surroundings.

You were already overstimulated and now you were uncomfortable.

Fuck you, Simon Riley, you ingrateful twat.

You wanted to find him and shake some sense into him. You wanted a fucking thank you. You wanted his recognition, his approval and you seethed at your desire to feel accepted by him.

You dried your hair roughly with the towel, your frustrations translating into your menial tasks. Angrily shower, angrily dry off, angrily get dressed- you were fucking furious and you couldn’t get past it.

Bang, bang, bang.

You gasped, dropping the towel as someone battered against your door. It shook on the hinges under the pressure, and you stood frozen for a long moment. It was late, there was no reason for anyone to be visiting.

Everybody from the 141 was out and about, you and Ghost had returned a day earlier than expected.

You frowned as they knocked again with the flat part of their fist, the dull thuds picking up in volume. You scooped the towel from the floor, throwing it over the chair in the corner.

“Coming,” you shouted before they could go for a third round. You worried the frame wouldn’t hold up much longer. No sooner than you had twisted the handle, the door swung open. You leapt out of the way, eyes wide as a towering figure stepped through the threshold, slamming the door shut behind them.

The lock engaging behind him sounded like a death knell.

“Sir-“ you rasped, stumbling backward as he approached you.

“Cut that shit out,” Ghost snapped, “you know my fucking name.”

Fuck.

You stared up at him with wide eyes, as you continued back into the room. He was furious, just as heated as he had been when he’d gotten back from the mission. The man had clearly showered and changed, standing before you in a hoodie and balaclava.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” You glared at him, heart leaping into your throat as your back finally hit the wall. Ghost’s eyes slid to each side of you, marking how you were trapped between your own furniture.

“You know what you did today, Sunshine,” he said heatedly, “everyone can congratulate you about it as much as they want but you listen to me. Never do that again.”

You sneered, leaning forward. Ghost inclined his head, meeting you halfway as your noses nearly brushed. “I saved your life within the parameters of the mission and I’ll do it again and again if I fucking have to.”

“You were almost killed!” Ghost’s finger rose to press into your chest harshly. “Almost had a fucking bullet put between your eyes.”

“But I didn’t! Had I not stepped in you would have been a fucking pin cushion, Simon!”

You were forced back into the wall as he smacked an open palm into the plaster beside your head. You jumped at the sound by your ear, your lip trembling beneath his gaze. You could feel the heat emanating from his body in waves, he was fucking burning.

“What?” You whispered, your mouth dry all of a sudden. “You gonna fuckin’ hit me, Riley? You gonna hit me for doing my job?”

“Of course not, you idiot.” He snapped, leaning back. Ghost’s eyes narrowed as his hand slid from the wall by your head, resting at his side.

“Why are you here then? Barging into my room, locking the door behind you, putting me against the wall,” you listed, your voice low and urgent as you glared at him. Your chest heaved against his as you raced to catch your breath. “You’re either here to fuck me or fight me and we both fucking know that you hate my guts, Riley. So, get to it and get the fuck out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine,” Ghost rasped, shifting on his feet. “You deserve to get your shit rocked for the way you acted out there.”

You searched his gaze, his eyes the colour of a stormy ocean as he glared right back at you. “You don’t even know what you’re doing here,” you snarled, leaning forward once more. This time, Ghost didn’t challenge you. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved, L.T?”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“Your life is worth more than mine, Simon,” you growled, poking a finger into his chest. “You’re my superior, it’s my job to protect you.”

“Then fucking listen when I say shut up, or I’ll shut you up.”

“Sniper or not, if it ever came down to me or you- it’s my fucking job to die for you-“

Your back slammed against the wall, breath leaving your body at the impact. You were disoriented for a short moment, vision hazy as you tried to regain your bearings. His body was pressed against yours, his hands gripping your shoulders so tight you knew you’d be bruised.

You couldn’t think, you couldn’t anticipate his next move. Not when he gripped your jaw, half his fingers on your face and the others wrapped against your neck. He leaned down and you flinched, opening your mouth to gasp.

He wasn’t going to hit you.

Instead, Ghost kissed you.

You don’t know when he had rolled his mask upward, but his mouth was hot and urgent against yours, groaning when he swallowed your gasp before it could come to fruition. He tasted sweet on your tongue and poisonous to your mind, drowning all your inhibitions in his touch. You whimpered against him and a wicked smile curved his lips upward.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your hands gripped his shirt tightly as his free hand moved to tangle itself in your damp hair, your dripping strands locked tightly between his fingers.

When he pulled away you were dizzy, your head falling back to rest against the wall. Your chest heaved as your heart pounded against your ribs, demanding to be freed.

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, the space between you both filled with his ragged breathing and your shaky gasps. You were so close you could taste him, his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re driving me out of my fucking mind, Sunshine.” Ghost rasped finally, his voice throaty and strained. “You just don’t fucking listen.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes trained on the beast before you. You’d watched this man tear people apart with his bare hands. You’d seen him take bullets to the chest, seen him snap necks and tear limbs.

But those fingers that had wreaked so much havoc rested on your throat softly, now. So gentle, as though he thought you would crumble beneath him if he squeezed.

But he wanted to grip tighter, and you knew it. You could tell by the twitch of his fingers, by the clench of his jaw.

“I can be taught, Sir,” your voice was barely a whisper but Ghost’s eyes snapped open as though you’d yelled at him. He watched you, like a predator observing its prey. You wondered if he thought he’d misheard you, maybe he was praying that he hadn’t.

When he leaned in close, your body shivered against his as adrenaline spiked your system.

“I’ll fuckin’ teach you to listen, Sunshine,” he murmured finally, fingers tightening against your skin. “Don’t you worry.”

Maybe he didn’t hate you, after all.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 ghost #ghost x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty #task force 141

13K notes · View notes

tojisun · 5 months

Text

just learned about the ‘work wives’. im appalled, ngl!!

imagine the boys coming to visit and johnny’s talking loud and everything, laughing in his slight intoxication, then saying, “mary would be pissed if she was here, y’know?”

simon’s out of earshot when johnny hiccups this and only kyle’s around to hear but the sudden tensing of kyle’s body says enough about the gravity of johnny’s statement.

“oh,” you say with a quiet chuckle, hoping you sound fine. “would she now?”

johnny hums, nodding sagely. “been askin’ how much better the ‘real wife’ is. i told her she’s weird for askin’ me that because it’s not like she’s a fake wife but–” he stumbles as he leans towards you, “she still thinks y’r not real an’ that LT’s playin’ hard to get.”

you breathe in sharply, your hands curling into fists. kyle sighs deeply before he’s reaching forward and slapping the back of johnny’s head lightly. he then turns to you with a small smile. the action usually comforts you but it raises your hackles this time, making you curl into yourself in anxious anticipation of what kyle would say.

would he say a rebuttal? contest johnny’s story? would he tell you to take it easy and that you’ve got nothing to worry about, as though hearing that your husband has a coworker who blatantly crosses the line of work relationship isn’t worrying? would-

“our lieutenant asked her to be transferred. she’s gone by monday, love.” kyle smiles and reaches out towards you before hesitating. he turns to you and you don’t know what he sees in your eyes but it makes him – and johnny, stumbling feet and alcohol breath and all – pull you in for a short hug.

“don’t worry,” kyle says, just like you thought but not in the way you expected him to utter. “LT didn’t waste anytime reporting her.”

he pauses, mulling, then, “johnny here wasn’t supposed to say anything because it’s not his–” he shoots johnny a pointed look, one that johnny misses anyway. “place to disclose what happened. not his story to share.”

you sniffle, discreetly wiping away the tears that tickle your cheeks. kyle pretends to not see you crying.

“thank you,” you murmur. kyle nods, still smiling softly. comfortingly. “i’ll look for si now, if that is fine?”

“of course,” he says, tugging johnny to his side with a grunt. “about time sergeant hits the bed too.”

you nod, watching as the two stumble away, before turning to look for simon. across the room, you see him already looking at you.

and even if it’s just that, it eases the the knot in your chest.

#suns.hc #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #suns #that tiktok video of the work wife being in love w op’s husband even though the work wife has a fiance??? wtf wtf

1K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Text

Normal People Things (dark!141 x fem!Reader)

Soap drags you to his place to meet with his lieutenant. It goes as smoothly as you can imagine. AO3 CW and tags: Non-con, poly, group sex, size kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat, forced orgasms, praise, humiliation

The ride is short – shorter than you anticipated. You don’t know if you wanted it to be longer if you needed more time to sort out the thoughts flying in your head – you feel numb, empty, hollow, all of those stupid words for stupid expressions because nothing can quite describe the dread settling in your stomach.

Your throat burns, your makeup is ruined, you are shaking like a kitten left under a rain – you listen to some light music, something you could hear in the car of a guy you’d probably be interested in. Classic rock, some melodic sensations, if you squint and cover your mouth, you can almost relax and stop the desire to puke. You felt mostly sober when the Scot was pushing his dick in your mouth, the horror of the situation forcing your mind to clear up a little – but now it’s foggy again, blurry and messy every time you open your eyes just to see the same man on the front seat, smiling every time he catches you looking at him through the mirror.

He broke your phone, obviously – snatched it from your hands and broke it in two with horrifying ease. He kissed you after this, cold lips on your forehead. You were crying, or so you think – you were crying this whole ordeal, your face feeling wet and burning as he was fucking laughing, trying to get you to talk to him. You wouldn’t, even if your throat weren’t hoarse and hurting from the fucking he gave you.

“Want to grab somethin’ to eat, bonnie? I know a bloody lovely place, eh?”

You didn’t respond, the thought of taking something from a guy who eligibly kidnapped you made you sick. Besides, it’s not like food will do you any good – your stomach is spinning from a combination of fear and alcohol, and even though you’d love to ruin this pretty car, you don’t want to evocate even more negative feelings from its owner. He hasn’t hurt you too much yet – no bruises, no broken bones or blood, and you don’t want to provoke him further.

“Don’t cry so much, I didn’t even fucked ye. I’ll get ye off later, aye?”

You don’t want him to ever touch you again – despite that disgusting, burning feeling on your panties, the way your little cunt is fucking soaked because his voice is gruff, his face is pretty, and he almost touched you in a way that wasn’t making you sick – it all dropped now, thankfully, your mind is reminded of just how horrible he really is. “Just sit yer wee arse here, lassie. Lt and I will take care of ye” You almost fell asleep when he finally stopped in front of…a building. You don’t know what you were expecting – an evil lair, maybe some grimy base where monsters like him are being made. Not a rather normal apartment building, maybe a bit too scary and dark for your liking – you probably wouldn’t want to live here or even be around this place at night, but, ultimately, it doesn’t look like an evil base.

This only makes your condition worse – you start sobbing again, useless and pathetic begging as the Scot drags you out of the car, supporting your wobbly legs and making sure you won’t fall down to the ground as he gently caresses your body. He is too fucking soft, too gentle – even his grip on your wrists isn’t bruising, he has one hand on your waist, gently pushing you towards the building.

***

Ghost wasn’t expecting guests today. He just got out of another deployment, a few days from the previous mission, ready to get back any time if it weren’t for the fact they all deserved a little retreat – yet, he was planning to go with alcohol, maybe some lowly jerk-off sessions with Johnny and shitton of cigarettes to pass the day. What he wasn’t expecting is his sergeant spamming the 141 group chat – shitty idea, really, too much liability and security problems, despite all the measures Price took to encrypt everything – with pictures of cute, crying girl being all adorable, scared and fucking defenseless.

No one in 141 is a good person – it comes with the job, really, if you’re willing to be a good guy with a gun, there will always be a moment when the lines become blurred. Dragging a civilian girl to their damp apartment isn’t a life-or-death decision made in the field, but they all deserve a bit of sweetness after a mission, right?

They can be good for you. Simon isn’t sure there is anything in his heart that can still be declared as soft and fuzzy feelings, but he is willing to try and find it, even if for a night. They won’t be letting you go, obviously, Lasswell won’t cover their sorry asses in case you’re getting out with a marvelous surviving story, so you all would have a lot of time to get to know each other.

— Thought you’d bring food, Johnny.

— I did. Not my fault they gave up sweets as freebies.

— How is she?

— Quiet. Our lassie is a smart girl, eh? Didn’t even fight too much.

— Fuckin’ hell. Thought they stopped making those a while ago.

— Good thing I found her, aye?

Ghost stands at the door of their shared apartment, staring at adorable scared you. You’re shaking in his sergeant’s hands, poor thing, too fucking terrified to even run – you have mascara smeared all over your face, drool and cum on your lips, and he drags a finger to your mouth, wiping it all away.

You instinctively suck on his finger, the natural obedience coming with a very simple “please, don’t hurt me” plea – and he fucking knows you will be so good for them. He is dragging you inside, allowing Soap to push the takeout bag on the small table in the kitchen while Simon is dealing with all of those silly clothes you’re wrapped in.

You beg him to stop, but, at this point, even you don’t think he will. All ounces of hope were destroyed already. You aren’t sure what you want anymore – maybe you want to just lay down and sleep, hoping that they will stop tormenting you. The ache between your legs only grows stronger when Ghost drags you to the bedroom, his strong, bulky hands holding you so perfectly – so firmly, you can’t even wish to move away.

The mattress creaks under the combined weight of your bodies. You roll to the side immediately, your brain is foggy from alcohol again – you don’t even register his rough, firm hands as he is slowly dragging the ruined dress from your body, revealing the underwear you spend so much time choosing and buying. You liked the combination – you wanted to wear something nice today, even if no one would have seen it.

Now you have this horrifying man in a skull balaclava and harsh hands tugging on the straps of your bra. You sob, head spinning and vomit picking in your throat. The man puts a hand between your shoulder blades, just enough pressure to make you grounded – to remind you that there is no way out, even in your mind.

— Calm down, love. Won’t hurt ya.

You choke on a laugh – they are literally going to fucking assault you, you were already forced to suck on Soap’s dick, and yet, this man is playing gentleman with you while undressing you at the same time. You cry again, your tears met with a soft hand on your cheek – checking on you.

God, you want to drown in this affection, no matter how artificial it is.

— L…let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone.

— Too late for that, eh? Johnny don’t have any bloody manners.

Scot screams from the kitchen, making you wince from the sound.

“Bloody hell, Lt, I ken ye were fine with draggin’ our lassie here a minute ago!“ You sobs intensify, and you never felt more fragile than before – just one loud sound is enough to break you. The British guy drags you into an uncomfortably tight embrace almost immediately – you’d say you’re almost thankful for the moment of affection, but he snaps your bra a second later.

— Sorry, love. Will buy you a new one.

His fingertips are rough on your skin, a contrast that sends shivers down your spine. You whine, feeling stranded like this – feeling like you’re going to be fucking sick from the moisture in your panties. You hate yourself for being this touch starved, but the man is as rough as he is mysterious – and by the look of his figure, perfectly sculpted hands, and a healthy amount of tummy that doesn’t make him look any less intimidating, he might be up to your tastes. It's too bad you don’t have a choice anyway.

— Don’t touch me.

— Can’t help it. You’re pretty.

You feel like you are going to have a fucking panic attack. This is too much – you feel sick, you feel mortified, you are getting your hands out of his hold with the power of surprise and dragging them closer to your mouth, trying to contain the involuntary bile collecting in your throat. You gag, finally feeling all the alcohol you took, getting back to bite you in the ass.

Before you could say or try anything else, before you could even be bent over, trying to calm yourself down before you dirty everything in this fine-looking bedroom, Brit already dragged you to the bathroom, allowing you to look at the tile floor and white ceramics while you were vomiting your guts, cum, and anxiety out of your stomach.

It took you a few minutes before you could get anything out – and another few while you were just holding the toilet seat, not even caring about how unsanitary it was. You feel like you’re going to die, the throbbing in your head only intensifying as you could almost feel dropping out of conscience. God, you will never drink again – even though it’s a promise that will break you right after you break it.

— Bloody hell, love. Easy. Easy.

— F…fuck you.

— You will, love. Promise.

The skull mask guy was rubbing your back the whole time, a motion you didn’t expect from a kidnapper, rapist and a fucking arsehole. He gently took your hair out of the way, he slowly rubbed calming gestures in your aching muscles, and you leaned into his touch, your state was finally reaching the breaking point – you were longing for the soft touch of your captor, not even caring that he is just as awful as his friends, rummaging through various bags somewhere in the other room.

You cry, the depths of the situation finally getting to you – and he drags you into a tight hug after wiping your mouth with a paper towel, throwing it away before you could feel sick from the smell again.

He talks you through it with his grovely voice and deep accent, and you can’t help but lean in and listen.

— Calm down. Can’t have you panicking on my cock.

— D…don’t touch me. Please.

— You need this, love. We’re not the worst people who could have picked ya up.

— You’re a bunch of fucking ra…

He stops you immediately – holds your hand, and drags you back to the bedroom almost too rough, dropping you to the bed before you can manage to scramble your legs and writhe away from his touch. You sob again, crying even more – you don’t have makeup now. Thankfully, everything was mostly wiped out by the paper towels and a mix of your tears, but you still feel horrible. Laying on the soft bed in your soaked panties made you feel like a slut, and this is not the feeling you were expecting out of this night. You just fucking wanted to go home and sleep the alcohol out, not…this.

— We’ll take care of you. Be a good girl for us, and I will make Johnny pay for not getting you off, eh?

You can hear the Scot again, emerging from the kitchen in an apron – to your surprise. He looks too domestic, too clean, his hair is a bit disheveled after your little attempt at breaking out, and you can see the resemblance between him and a very, very sad and polite dog. If he had a tail, it would be curled between his knees, a look of genuine guilt almost making you believe that he wanted to apologize for being so forceful.

— Steamin’ Jesus, I tried to be a gentleman. Didn’t want to scare our lassie too much.

— She’s shivering. Poor girl, was Johnny this scary?

— It’s yer mask. Wee things always scared of those.

They both laugh, clearly not taking your tears seriously. You curl into the bed, trying to protect your exposed breasts and midriff as much as possible. You don’t want to be touched, you feel dirty and used already, but their attentive gaze is making your skin burn and crawl from the feelings you never thought you knew before. It’s a horrible situation, but somehow, you are almost flattered because of how affectionate they both look for someone as insignificant as you.

Maybe, it’s your brain trying to protect itself from further trauma. Maybe, if you’d lie to yourself long enough, you could pretend you want this.

Ghost looks at you, drinking the drowning panic in your eyes. You’re so pretty, so helpless, he doesn’t even want to think of what could happen to you if Johnny weren’t here to pick you up. You’d be murdered in cold blood, left laying on the side of the street after a group of some perverts would be done with you. You don’t deserve to be treated like this, you deserve a proper help and calmness of living with them – and he knows that once he is done with bringing his first orgasm with your body, you will learn to love it too. Maybe not at first, but the seeds would be there.

He tries to be on his best behavior as he slowly drags his body between your legs, catching your ankles once you tried to kick him. You’re like a kitten, growling and hissing, clawing on his hands like it didn’t turn him on even more – he pins you under his weight easily, enjoying the audience of Soap already palming himself through his pants. Fucking pervert – he already came in your mouth not so long ago, but the lieutenant knows that given a chance, his sergeant will break this girl for another three rounds in a row. They can’t have that, right?

— Calm, love. Don’t make it harder for yourself.

— Stop…please, just…god, wait, I…

It’s such empty words, he knows you can’t calm yourself down – you’re a pretty girl, really, you’re cute and adorable, and you don’t deserve his firm hand taking off your lace panties, but he knows that you will love it after a few more times. You’re dripping already, a combination of manhandling and previous foreplay making you adorably weak for them.

— Will make you nice and wet, yeah? Such a pretty cunt, bound to give it a taste.

— W..wait, please, don’t, really, j…just let me…

— Quiet, love. You’ll fuckin’ love it.

Ghost drags his fingers straight into your folds, spreading them as quickly as possible. He would love to give you more time to adjust, but he was hard ever since Johnny made that goddamn call, and patience isn’t his best quality when on leave – he needs you in all ways you can handle. On your back, preferably, he wants to see that pretty face of yours when he will bottom himself in your cunt and make you squeal. Maybe play with your ass for a little – if you’re going to be the team’s favorite girl, they need all of your holes ready to be used.

You squeak from surprise when he drags his mask on the upper half of his face, revealing his mouth. Clean-shaved chin, a bit of uneven blonde stubble, strong jawline – he smirks because he knows he is quite the opposite of ugly, that even after all the burns and scars, he is still that rugged type of handsome that ladies in pubs just love to touch. He wonders if you’re more of a typical pretty boy type – he wonders if you’d like Gaz as much as you love Simon. And you fucking adore him by the sight of your wet pussy almost dripping on his tongue.

You beg him to stop when he slides his tongue in, the feeling of his harsh fingers stretching you only making everything hotter, less bearable. You don’t want to like it, but he is handsome and strong, he is whispering sweet compliments into your pussy, sliding sloppy kisses all over your folds, not forgetting to pay attention to your throbbing clit.

“Such a pretty cunt for us. What was the last time she got so much attention?”

He kisses you down there sloppily, adding another finger almost immediately to really make you feel that burn. You’re crying from stimulation, it’s been a while since the last time you had anything so heated – you just want him to stop, to proceed, to let you go, and also to never stop kissing your pussy and collecting all the juice that’s been flowing from you. You make the bedsheets under your ass wet, and Ghost just can’t help but stretch you a bit more, enjoying the sound of your confused, almost pained squeals.

“Stop crying, love. I could have taken your arse instead.”

He can only imagine how adorable you’d look, crying from his cock in your plump rear. He is by no means small, and the thought of tearing your pretty arse just a little, making you cry from being filled so much, makes him even harder. He needs to be patient, can’t break your rear before Captain gets here – but god, isn’t patience the hardest virtue.

“S’good for me. Sorry, love, can’t wait much longer. Got a bloody lovely cunt f’ me”

You cry even harder when Ghost finally slides his cock in you – one harsh thrust, the sound of his hips slapping against yours, is enough to make you sick again. You’re stretched, dripping wet, it wouldn’t hurt if only he had a normal-sized cock, not the fucking monstrosity he is showing in your underprepared pussy. Nothing would prepare you for this – he started moving immediately, with little regard for your comfort. The niceties he was whispering were falling on deaf ears as he slammed inside of you over and over again.

You feel sick.

— Fuck. S’ tight for me.

You’re clenching around his dick, not allowing him to pull back. Such a pretty girl, he doesn’t know what he would do without that feeling – he wants to fucking devour you whole, to have you laid out for him so prettily. He bottoms finally, stretching you beyond any man could – you feel him somewhere deep, near your cervix, hitting your sensitive walls while all you can do is cry for him to stop tormenting you like this. You can only squeal under him, for him, he is hitting all of your special spots at the same time, and you don’t know if you could really handle him like this.

His hand lands on your folds, playing with your clit – only making you more and more wet with each second, you almost feel like you are passing the breaking point already. He is stronger than you want him to be, and you feel like he is going to fucking break you, every attempt of squirming from under him is met with a fierce grip on your waist, dragging you back where you belong – moaning and crying on his cock.

The intrusion stopped being painful after a few minutes, you’re open enough to allow his cock to slide in and out easily. He bites your neck, munching on sensitive flesh like he is going to rip a chuck off you, leaving marks as if he were a wild dog. You moan under him, the feeling of his teeth on your skin isn’t exactly horrible – but not too enjoyable either.

You squirm softly, hoping he would at least cum soon.

— That’s right. Dumb civvie girls should just relax for the ride.

— N…not dumb. I’m not dumb.

— Only a dumb girl like you would get in Johnny’s hands. S’ry, love, but you really are dumb.

— I’m…

— It’s alright. We like dumb girls.

He moans in your ear, biting your earlobe, engaging in a sloppy kiss that allows you to taste your pleasure on his lips. You hate every second, you want to loathe every inch of his body, but his hand is moving faster and faster, steady rhythm that makes you see stars every time he plunges his cock inside – and, oh god, you can’t help but feel your pussy throbbing around him, the tight knot in your lower tummy getting warmer and warmer as his movements steadily brings you to an orgasm.

It hits you too fast to be prepared for – just a few minutes later, you’re panting under him, mouth open agape as he slides his cock even faster, abusing your poor, sensitive cunt. You’re milking him for cum, not even caring that you are not on the pill – you just concentrate on the head of his cock hitting your G-spot in the most perfect of timings and his rough fingertips caressing your clit in a way that makes you go wild.

You cum with a cry, soft, squeaky sobs escaping your lips as you hiccup and moan, pressing your hips against his in an attempt to become as close as possible. You feel his hot cum filling you up, a slight bulge in your lower tummy becoming even more prominent.

Ghost kisses you on the forehead as he slowly emerges from you, hissing as your tight walls refuse to let him go. You’re so fucking perfect, all flushed and panting heavily, neck covered in bite marks and outline of his bruises forming on your waist.

He pats your pussy a few times, making you shiver from the feeling.

— Such a pretty girl. Lay here, your cunt is goin’ to be a bit more visitors today.

He smiles, kissing you on the lips again – you whimper, curling on the bed, feeling the hot cum dripping from your exhausted, sore pussy. You feel his hand affectionately patting your head as if you were a cat, and he hums in approval when you instinctively lean towards his hand, getting as much affection as you possibly can. He brings you a pillow and drags your head so it would rest more comfortably – and you already feel extremely tired, your eyes closing.

You’re almost ready to sleep when you feel the Scot sliding in bed with you, slowly spreading your legs.

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #yandere ghost #yandere soap #soap x reader #dark ghost #yandere 141 #141 x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #yandere #yandere male #yandere imagines #male yandere

2K notes · View notes

wttcsms · 2 years

Text

these eyes were made for lookin’ at you (only you) ; simon “ghost” riley.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x f!reader word count 5.6k synopsis simon riley didn’t ask to be a hero, but he finds himself wanting to be yours. content contains hints to human traff/icking (not explicit), breeding kink, belly bulge, size difference, pet names/terms of endearment (pretty girl, baby, love, darling, sweetheart), soft!ghost, obsessive!ghost, domesticity, mutual pining, praise kink, probably ooc!ghost but the man is absolutely whipped for you, clothed sex (his uniform is on), minor depictions of violence

He doesn’t quite consider himself a hero, you know.

He’s got a foul mouth, a sense of humor that borders between too dry or too dark, and so much blood on his hands that he’s surprised to see they’re not red when he pulls off his gloves and runs them under scalding hot water.

There will be no parades in his honor. No little boys running up to him on the streets, proclaiming that they want to be just like him. No statues to be sculpted to remember him by whenever he meets his inevitable end, six feet under. He probably won’t even be a memory after death.

And he’s come to terms with all of this, of course. It’s not like he cares — he didn’t sign up to do this shit for the glory or because he wanted to be considered a hero. He did it because someone out there had to be the person willing to do anything for the betterment of everyone.

Perhaps that makes him heroic in some sense; again, he doesn’t particularly care.

Until you.

Until one mission sends you into his direct orbit, knocking everything he’s ever known out of its place. It’s disorienting, confusing—

—exhilarating.

He doesn’t get scared anymore, but there’s something inherently frightening about wanting to share parts of yourself — of your very being, of your soul — to someone. He’s not quite able to label any of the emotions he feels for you the first time he sees you, but he feels enough to know that if he wants to save himself, he should put as much distance between the two of you as he possibly can.

(It turns out that this lieutenant doesn’t have as great of a sense of self-preservation as he proclaims.)

You cling to his arm, ignoring the way your palm digs and presses into the hard armor and tactical gear he sports. You think he might shake you off or forcefully pull you off of him, but he does neither. The soldier freezes, just for a second, and then he turns to face you.

If this is what the Grim Reaper looks like, perhaps death isn’t such an unfavorable ending. You can’t make out any physical features of your savior’s face, save for the pair of dark eyes staring right at you.

The skull mask does its job of securing his identity, but he should consider wearing goggles, you think. You’re not certain, but you think his eyes must be his most incriminating feature. You think if he gave you a proper minute to look at him, the image of his eyes would be ingrained in your memory. You’d be able to recognize him by them alone.

“Do you understand me?”

The gruff voice must be coming from him, if the subtle movements underneath his mask are any indication. He’s staring straight ahead now, watching as the rest of his team begins to usher the other girls who were stolen alongside you into large trucks. Maybe they’re tanks. You’re not quite sure.

“You must not then, yeah?” When he speaks, every word seems to be just the slightest bit rough around the edges. His accent is oddly nice; from the way he delivers his comments, though, you’re left wondering if he is, too.

He must be — nice, that is. A nice man would let you continue to grip his arm for support, even though you’re capable of standing on your own. A nice man would save you from the hell you’ve been subjected to for… Months? Has it been months? Shorter, maybe? Or longer? Time passes differently when all you want to do is die.

“I understand,” you finally answer him. You think your words must come out a little rough, too. The air in this area seems hard to breathe in, and you’re not sure when was the last time you even drank anything. You say it so quietly, you’re afraid that you’ll have to force yourself to speak up, but he nods.

“You’ll be safe now.”

Looking back, those might have just been words meant to comfort you, but you trust this masked man. You don’t know him (not yet), but the way he says it sounds like he means it.

(He means it.)

He goes by Ghost.

He doesn’t tell you why, and you don’t unnecessarily pry yourself into his business.

He doesn’t even tell you the name himself; you hear it from the mouths of the other officers, the other men who helped in rescuing you and the others.

The man who took you — the one in charge of shipping and selling the girls — won’t be giving you any more problems, now. He won’t hurt you again, isn’t even capable of touching you ever again. This is what Ghost reassures you with, and you nod, believing him.

After all, you witnessed him slice the asshole’s neck. You watched the blood spill out of his body. You were being ushered away at the time, but you still found the strength to turn around to watch him die.

You still haven’t found yourself able to detach yourself from him, and he hasn’t found the strength to shake you off just yet. Your fingers look dainty compared to the bulk of his arm, and the uniform he’s wearing only serves to add to his overall mass. You should want to put some distance between you and him; you know what men are like. You know it doesn’t take much for them to snap and change their demeanors in an instant. With the strength you’ve already witnessed and the sheer size of him, you know fighting him off wouldn’t even be realistic. But you still find yourself refusing to leave him alone, as if the evil he just destroyed will come back to life and hunt you down the very moment your savior leaves you.

It’s why you’re in a separate vehicle from the rest of the rescued girls. It’s just the two of you in the back, and the only noise you can hear is the loud huffs from the engine and the sound of tires speeding on rough terrain.

“When we return, there will be people who will come collect you and the others. They’ll clean you up and help you get back on your feet. You’ll be able to start a new life.”

A new life?

The thought excites you.

You don’t know what awaits you outside. When you were a little girl, you were still allowed to bask in the outdoors. The warmth of the sun, the feel of a soft breeze brushing against your skin — sometimes, when you were chained and in your cell, cowering in the dark, you wished that you hadn’t taken advantage of those little luxuries.

“In this life… I will feel the sun?” He hears the innocence in your voice, your question filled with longing and maybe even excitement. It was just past dusk when they rescued you; it’s now nighttime, and he feels himself wishing he had the power to bring the sun down from the sky and present it to you.

“In this life, you’ll be able to do anything you want.”

He’ll personally see to it if he has to.

You had fallen asleep by the time you reached your destination. With one mission successfully completed, Ghost finds himself with another almost immediately after, and with the peaceful expression on your face and the fact that this facility is one of the most secure buildings in the world, he leaves you—

—only to return back to the facility in a little over two weeks.

It’s not as if there’s someone waiting for him in the empty residence he calls home. Besides, it’s only natural — human, even — for him to be curious as to how you’re doing. While he trusts that you’re safe, he finds himself, in between lulls on missions, wondering how you’re adjusting.

(And in the rare moments where he finds himself fighting off exhaustion — the only telltale sign that he’s still flesh and blood and not the phantom his enemies think he is — he finds himself wondering if you’re thinking about him too.)

What did you see when you stared at him that day? He had killed a man — killed many men, actually — without mercy, without hesitation. He’s done it so many times throughout his life that wielding a weapon has become second nature to him.

Sometimes he even feels like he’s the weapon.

And again, he doesn’t care about whether or not he’s deemed a good person or a hero, but he doesn’t want to be a nightmare to you. He can still feel the ghost of your touch lingering on his left arm, the arm that you had clutched the day he rescued you. If not for the employees confirming your presence and guiding him to your room, he would be almost convinced that you’re a dream he thought up himself.

“Poor girl,” the woman leading way is telling him. “She’s been having the worst time out of all the others. I’m not surprised, hearing what they must have had to endure all that time, but the sweetheart can’t even sleep without us sedating her.”

“What?”

The low timbre of his voice makes the word sound more like a growl.

Seemingly shocked at his reaction, the woman almost pauses in her steps before continuing. “Yes, she’s been having nightmares. Thrashing wildly in her sleep, screaming the first few nights, even.” And then, almost as if she’s trying to make him feel better, she adds, “But she’s much better now. Save for a few sobs every now and then.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. If it had been someone physically tormenting you, he would have no issue in getting rid of the source of your pain. Demons who only appear in nightmares, though — that’s something not even he can fight off for you.

When they make it to your door, the woman knocks gently, calling out your name softly, almost as if she does anything too harshly, you’ll break down.

“I brought someone here who wants to see you, hon. I’m going to come in now, okay?”

The woman eyes him almost warily as if she’s just now taking him in. He didn’t bother changing out of his usual uniform, telling the helicopter pilot that picked him up after his most recent mission to take him directly here instead. In his defense, he hadn’t even anticipated you still being here.

But you are.

He’s well aware that he probably doesn’t look the nicest, his mask serving its purpose and obscuring his whole entire face, making him entirely unreadable. If you’re as skittish as the woman claims you are, perhaps it’ll be for the best if he leaves now.

But it’s too late. She’s opening the door and never one to hesitate, he’s stepping in. The woman doesn’t follow; instead, she shuts the door, most likely ready to call for backup if anything were to happen to you.

You look at him, and then a second later, recognition gleams in your eyes.

Now that it’s not as dark, he’s able to take in every single feature of your face, from the color of your eyes down to the slope of your nose and the shape of your pretty lips. He commits your visage to memory.

“It’s you,” you breathe out, sitting up straighter on your bed. “The man who saved me.”

And if the near reverent way you greet him isn’t enough to have him reeling, the next words you say have his heart freefalling:

“You’re my hero.”

You speak to him so sweetly, in a tone so soft that the words you say wrap around him like a warm blanket. No one has ever said that to him. No one has ever spoken to him the way you do.

He swallows hard, and for the first time in his life, he’s unsure of what to do.

“Have you been alright?” He asks, and your expression falls almost immediately.

You answer him after a few seconds of silence.

“Yes.”

You little liar.

“I’m very comfortable here, but I’ve seen many of the others getting ready to travel elsewhere. The people here are kind, and they tell me they have many houses I can choose from. They’ll help me find work and…” Your voice trails off, and he watches the way your hands curl around the bedsheets. “I’ll be normal. Find a husband, make a family, forget all about this.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You’ll learn soon enough that he doesn’t like lying.

He moves quicker than someone his size should be able to; stealthy, too. You don’t catch his movements, but you blink, and suddenly he’s right in front of you, crouched down so he’s able to look you in the eyes.

You were right. You are able to recognize him by his eyes alone.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know.” When he speaks, you can’t help but hang on to every word. You find yourself nodding. “You’ll answer me honestly then?”

You nod again, this time a bit quicker.

“Good girl.” You hear the approval in his deep tone of voice, and you almost wish you hadn’t. You didn’t know what it’s like to be fed such praise, and you’re stuck starving for it now. “How have you been?”

“Alright. I’m happy to be here, but I—” Your voice cracks, and so does something inside of him. You look down, suddenly more interested in your sock-covered feet rather than his eyes. “Everyone else is able to move on so quickly, or they have someone waiting for them. I have no one. No one is looking for me. No one is expecting me.”

The realization of your reality finally settles in for you with your confession. You were born into that fate; the other girls who used to occupy the cells next to you were stolen. By all means, you were assigned to die there. There isn’t a future for you because you’re certain the universe did not anticipate you ending up like this.

No one is expecting me.

He understands what that’s like. It’s the reason why he’s here, because for once in what feels like forever, he finally has someone he’d like to see after a mission.

“You could find someone out there.”

“What if I leave here, and no one wants me?” The words come out a bit wobbly, and you look at him with glossy eyes and wet lashes.

You’re even prettier than he remembers.

He swallows hard, trying to find the right words to say.

(Soap claims he has a bad habit of saying the most awful things at the worst time possible.)

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Because after meeting you for the first time, he — the man with no regard to his own personal well-being and the utmost self-control — finds himself longing to be in your presence. He had to see you again; can’t you already see how you’re taking root inside his very being?

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Will you come back then?” When you look at him like that, all wide-eyed with your pretty lips forming a subtle pout, he thinks he might do something stupid, like—

“Whenever you want me to.”

—make a promise he might not be able to keep.

He gives you a burner phone. It’s supposedly untraceable (he doesn’t let you know about the tiny personal tracker he attaches to it; don’t worry, he’s the only one able to access your locational information), and while he doesn’t give you any explicit instructions, the only number programmed into the contacts list is his.

(That’s fine with you. It’s not as if you have anyone else to talk to.)

You know that he must be a busy person. You wonder if he’s considered a savior to many other people like you. Then innocent thoughts like that spiral into something jealous. Does he normally visit the people he saves? Are there other girls who have been gifted a phone like this?

He doesn’t message you, and you’re too scared of bothering him to reach out.

Every night since he sent you this phone, you’ve laid in bed, thumbs hovering over the keypad, debating what to say if you ever get the courage to text him. Every night, you never hit send on a single draft, and you fall into an uneasy slumber usually after your tenth attempt at a text message.

Sleeping is the worst.

Your nightmares can’t reach you when you’re in the safety of the waking world, but the moment your eyes are closed, it’s like every dark memory you’ve suppressed comes out of the shadows and begins its long-awaited torment.

The feeling of the cuffs on your ankles digging into your flesh feels too raw and real to be a mere memory. The men walking by your cell, sometimes staring at you uncomfortably long, taunting you and calling you cruel names. They’re always so explicit about what they have planned for you, but your seller will never give you up. Not until he finds someone willing to pay the high price he has hanging over your head.

You’re an untouched, undamaged good is what he reminds you. You’ll make him so much money.

But then you feel the cold, clammy grip of his on your arm and his breath on your neck, and you scream and scream and scream.

There must be cameras in the room you’re in because after the first week of nightmares, the kind workers here stop rushing to your room. If you don’t quiet in a few minutes, a male nurse will come in with a syringe and a pitying look before injecting a sedative into your veins. Artificial sleep is the only uninterrupted rest you get these days.

You wake up with your throat raw from your yells, and your skin sweaty. It takes several minutes for your heartbeat to go back to its regular pace, yet the images of your most recent nightmare are still flashing in your mind. You grab the cell phone you keep tucked under your pillow. It must be because of your panicked state of mind, but you find yourself clicking his contact.

The dial tone grounds you into reality, but before you can truly come to your senses and hang up, he answers the call.

“Hello?” Hearing his voice calms you down even more so despite the slight crackle that comes with hearing him through the speakers of the phone.

“Ghost?” You’re whispering, even though you’re certain that the walls are thick enough for you to speak normally without bothering anyone. Besides, anyone with ears probably already suffered through your fit.

“[Name].”

You don’t remember telling him your name, but it makes sense for him to know it. After all, he’s the one who visited you several days ago.

The thought that he would have to make an effort to seek you out and learn more about you is far more comforting than you think it should be.

“S-sorry for bothering you. It’s probably late—”

“Are you alright?”

“Am I… Alright?”

“Yes.” After contemplating a bit, he adds, “And don’t try to lie to me, either.”

“Are you busy?”

He’s in a safe house ten minutes away from the facility; say the word, and he can get there in three.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine.”

“No, I’m not busy. Now your turn: how are you feeling?”

“Scared.” It’s easier to admit things when you’re unable to see him. Staring at him makes you nervous because you think he’ll be able to read everything on your own face. Vulnerability is never easy.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Maybe it’s the exhaustion messing with your mind, but you think his voice might have just softened, just the slightest.

“Yeah.”

He’s silent, but you think you hear some slight movement on his end.

“Ghost?”

“Yes?”

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to visit you. Do you not want me to?”

You’re scared to answer, too frightened that your tired state will cause you to let the raw truth slip out.

You think you’re always going to want him.

He can only visit you when he’s in between missions.

(Unfortunately for you, breaks for him are a rarity.)

He comes back to you, sometimes a little bruised, sometimes a bit more broken than when he had left, but he always keeps his promise.

Whenever you want him to be with you, he’s there.

The nightmares gradually get better with time, but you always sleep the best when he’s with you. At first, he would just sit in a corner of your room, almost impossible to view unless you focus hard on him (if you didn’t know he was there, you probably never would have noticed him at all). He eventually began to sit closer to you, somewhere near the edge of your bed. On the rougher nights, you would find yourself reaching out for his hand.

When his presence alone can’t keep the nightmares at bay, and you wake up from another bad dream, he doesn’t force you to tell him what you see. Instead, he talks. Despite his rough voice, the sound of him telling you about the mundane aspects of his day is the most comforting thing in the world. It’s like your own personal lullaby.

He tells you about his life before this. You tell him about yours, too. His gloved hand brushes against your cheek as he tucks back a strand of your hair. You lay your own hand atop his, feeling the warmth of him even through the thick leather. You tell him about your nightmares, all the darker details that make you loathe your very being. He tells you his name.

You whisper it back to him.

Simon. Simon Riley.

You say it several times, sometimes slowly. Testing out how the syllables rest on the tip of your tongue.

He likes his name best when you’re the one saying it.

The facility starts to fill up with other saved victims from missions more recent than yours. You’re free to stay here as long as you like, but one day, Simon presses a key into the palm of your hands. You don’t need him to say anything; the imploring look in his eyes, your favorite feature in the whole world, ask the question for him.

Now the two of you share a bed. His toothbrush stands right next to yours, and the former empty residence that Simon used to spend his off-time avoiding is a home. He cares about what will happen to him because every time he leaves for a mission, you send him off with a soft see you soon!.

He knows that keeping his heart cold would ensure that he would go to great lengths to see to the success of his missions, but running towards death is such a silly thing. Why would he be okay with chasing after that when he knows he can return to his safehouse hidden in the woods and find you in the kitchen humming? If anything, he completes his missions even faster now. You told him that you’ll be expecting to see him soon, and he’s not one to disappoint you.

Simon Riley knows he’s got it bad. He can’t sleep well unless his sheets smell like you. He asks if he can bathe you just to run soap over the smooth skin of your body because he’s entirely obsessed with you, every scar and beauty mark. He knows it’s dangerous, but he keeps a Polaroid of you tucked safely away in one of his inner pockets in his uniform.

One morning, nearly a year since he rescued you, you tell him you love him.

He lets you take his mask off.

You’re smiling at him, eyes shining as you take in every minute detail. You can’t believe this is a face he would want to hide from the world. Selfishly, you’re a bit pleased with knowing you’re one of the few to see him like this, completely bare. To make the moment even better, he says it back.

He loves you.

“I know.” You tell him; it’s obvious. His mask is resting in your hands, after all.

Simon rushes home after every mission to see you, his first love, his only love. He loves coming back to you when you’re barefoot in the kitchen or washing your face in the bathroom, but he loves it the most when you guide him to your shared bedroom, the prolonged distance between the two of you making your longing for him all the more intense.

He loves you all the time, especially when you’re lying beneath him completely bare, with your hands (so much smaller compared to his own) eagerly touching every inch of him you can reach. He just got back; his uniform is partially off, all the weapons left hanging by the doorstep. He’s got nothing but the protective armor and the thick fabric on him, and with the way your body is practically calling for him, he doesn’t think you’ll give him enough time to strip himself of his clothes.

“Simon — missed you so much,” is what you whine out. He knows. You don’t have to whimper it out to him because your actions (and body’s reactions) leave nothing to assumption. You’re struggling to lift yourself up to pepper kisses all over his unmasked face, dainty hands tugging at his sleeves. Your cheeks are flushed, and you attempt to rut against him, trying to get some type of friction to satiate yourself.

You’re already so wet for him that he can feel it through his uniform.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” That’s your Simon. Always reassuring, always there when you need him. And right now, you need him so desperately that you’re soaking the bedsheets beneath you.

True to his word, you feel a gloved hand teasing your slick folds, smearing your arousal everywhere.

“Fuck.” He breathes out, admiring your glistening folds for just a second with a sort of sick fascination. He can spend hours with his head in between your thighs and your hands clutching at his hair. He won’t be leaving you so soon, though. He’ll have all the time he wants to bring you to the height of pleasure with just his tongue; tonight, he wants to give you exactly what you need.

The feeling of two of his thick fingers working in and out of your tiny hole has you moaning and writhing beneath him. You’re always beautiful in his eyes, but there’s something about you with wild hair and eyes shut from pleasure that makes you practically irresistible to him.

Everything about Simon is larger than life, and the feeling of being so small in comparison to his hulking figure should be frightening. But when he’s above you, his large fingers toying with your pussy in the way he knows you just love, you feel protected. Like he’s your shield from the harsh world outside. Inside your shared bedroom, only you two exist.

Your back arches, forcing his fingers to reach even deeper. The texture of his gloves only adds to your pleasure and in an attempt to prepare you for his cock, Simon adds another finger to stretch out your tight cunt.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?” His words come out through gritted teeth, as if it’s taking everything in him not to replace his fingers for his cock. His tolerance is hanging on by a mere thread, but he refuses to fuck you properly ‘til he’s certain you’re ready to take him. Only when your cum is coating the leather of his gloves will he know.

You nod, occasionally jerking your hips in tandem with his thrusts, chasing after your high. You’re beginning to feel hotter, your pussy becoming even wetter, and neither of you can make out the words you’re mewling out. Perhaps your whines are pleas for more, maybe even mercy.

You can’t last any longer, and as his fingers curl against your sensitive walls, you find yourself nearly screaming his name as you gush around his fingers. He grins at the result of his hard work, withdrawing his fingers just to hold them up to you. His gloved hand glistens in the moonlight, and you can only watch as he raises his fingers to his mouth before sucking your essence off of them, effectively cleaning it up.

He never breaks eye contact with you once.

“Should I try it straight from the source?” His grin is teasing, the gleam in his eyes nothing short of wicked.

You weakly shake your head, already too fucked out to properly respond.

“No? I’ve been starving for your taste all those weeks I was gone, love. You don’t want to be a sweet girl and let me have my fill?” You know he’s just teasing you, but you still find yourself upset at the prospect of displeasing him.

“Not yet.” You pout, spreading your legs for him. “I wanna feel your cock.”

His grin only grows wider.

“Looks like my perfect girl’s been starving too, huh?” He leans down to give you a kiss, and you can taste a hint of your arousal lingering on his tongue. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

Everything about Simon is larger than life.

The first time he ever fucked you, you had cried from the stretch of his massive girth invading your previously untouched cunt. The sensation of being filled to the brim was a foreign one, but a feeling you’re certain only he could provide. No matter how many times he’s had you, it always feels like it’s your first time taking him.

He’s whispering words of reassurance as he guides himself into your leaking entrance. Despite him working you to your peak, three fingers doesn’t begin to compare to his dick, and you find yourself whimpering over his words of praise.

“You’re doing so well for me, love. Such a good girl, my good girl.” He kisses your forehead, forcing every inch of himself inside until the tip of his cock is kissing your cervix. The pleasure of being so full outweighs the pain of the stretch your cunt has to make to accommodate his sheer size.

You stare down at where the two of you are connected, taking a sharp breath as the unmistakable bulge in your belly serves as undeniable evidence of just how deep Simon is capable of reaching. It’s always a wonder on how your tiny pussy is always able to take him, and Simon merely chuckles as he notices where you’re staring.

Using the same hand he used to coax your first orgasm with, he gently guides your hand to rest on top of the bulge. He’s smiling as he tells you, “Keep your eyes right there, darling. I want you to watch me as I fuck you.”

His thrusts are always powerful, a true sign of his strength. You’re not even sure where all his stamina comes from because no matter how exhausting his missions may appear to be, he always finds the energy to fuck you well throughout the night.

Your body’s natural instinct is to tighten around him, and the pressure has him growling as he works harder to piston his cock in and out of you. The lewd squelching noises, the smacking of skin against skin — everything is just so downright pornographic.

Your free hand finds purchase on his clothed back, nails digging through the fabric as he continues to work to bring the two of you to an explosive finish.

“Fuck, I missed you so much, darling.” He hisses, relishing in the tightness of your cunt and how your body takes him so well every time. “I don’t ever want to leave you alone again.”

You whine out for him, needing him closer even though he’s already as close as he can get. With his unyielding, powerful thrusts and your heightened sensitivity, neither of you is going to last much longer. He looks down to admire the imprint of his cock in your belly. He loves you and finds every little thing about your body perfect, but he can imagine your belly expanding to make room for his child and your tits swelling with milk. Fuck.

“Want to put a baby in you, love. Will you let me? You’ll never be alone again, not when we make the perfect lil’ family.” He grunts, and you nod, overjoyed at the idea of him wanting something so intimate. A family. Your family. He’ll give you a baby.

“Yes!” You scream out, feeling the coil in your stomach about to snap, every thrust bringing you closer and closer to breaking. “Wanna have your baby, wanna be with you forever.” The words come out sounding like sobs as you feel the tension inside of you snap.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. Going to fill this cunt with my cum, darling.” His thrusts are becoming more erratic as he gets closer to losing control. Both of his hands grip your hips, his hold on you tight as he releases into you with a deep grunt. His cum is thick and warm, filling you up so much to the point where it’s already leaking out despite him staying inside of you all in an attempt to make sure it takes.

Breathless, wild-eyed, red cheeks — the both of you are an absolute mess.

You take a shaky hand to run through his hair that’s damp with sweat, and he leans into your gentle touch. You stare at him with a reverence he feels he doesn’t deserve.

“My hero.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 #smut #lemon #one shot #drabble

12K notes · View notes

rileyslibrary · 6 months

Text

You discover Ghost’s secret collection. (platonic and a little bittersweet)

———————————————————————

“My office, 5 pm,” he said.

And that’s precisely what you did.

It’s 5 pm sharp, and you’re standing outside Ghost’s office. The worn wooden door stares back at you, and you knock on it twice, pausing for a few seconds before swinging it open. It’s such an odd ritual, this brief interlude between acknowledging one’s privacy and invading it—a fine line or, in this case, two knocks away, between respect and intrusion.

Or, at least, that would be the case if someone was inside to intrude on. Because, peeking your head through the door, you realise your lieutenant is nowhere to be found.

“Lieutenant Riley?” You say out loud.

Silence.

“Ghost?” You say again, this time louder.

Nothing.

You recall his orders. My office, 5 pm.

You check your watch. It’s 5 pm.

“Simon?” You finally whisper as you enter the room, closing the door behind you.

You approach his desk and sit on the chair across from his; your go-to chair whenever you come in here to talk strategy, report on various matters, or vent when something doesn’t go as planned, and you need someone to lend you an ear. He does the latter exceptionally well. Apart from when he decides to serve you with cold, hard truths such as “It was your choice though, wasn’t it,” or “ah, but you started it, so why do you whine now.”

Your gaze drifts to the clock on his desk. You grab it, turn it towards you and peek at the time, thinking that your watch might be in the wrong and you’re indeed intruding. But no. It’s a few minutes past five; he should have been here by now.

You hear footsteps right above you, where the captain’s office is located. They’re not heavy steps but firm. Steps from someone who doesn’t need to assert their presence; they already know who—or what—they are. It’s him, you think. He is up there. Price must have kept him busy; that’s why he’s late.

You adjust your position on the chair, straightening your back and stretching your neck. Left ear to left shoulder, right ear to right shoulder, rotating your head to the right, towards the window, and then to the other side, where a bookshelf is located.

And then, something on the bookshelf catches your eye amid the files and maps stacked on its shelves. You squint, trying to figure out its shape as the sun’s rays reflect on its surface.

You stand up and approach the bookshelf. Your back creates a barrier between the object and the sun, revealing its proper form.

A snow globe.

You trace your fingers on the shiny exterior. Although the scenery portrayed inside the globe is cold and uninviting, the sun has warmed the glass up. Isn’t that how he is? Cold on the outside, uninviting. Touch his insides, those depths of his psyche that he hides so well, and he’s warm. Almost kind. Almost.

You lift it from its position. Heavy. There’s a wolf inside, sitting in the middle. Lonely.

You shake the globe and stare in a trance as the white flakes fall on the miniature wolf. You look closer; it’s not a wolf. It looks more like a...

“Siberian Husky.” You hear his voice from behind you.

Your hands twitch, and the snow globe almost slips from your grasp. Reflexes kick in instantly, and you regain control, gripping the snow globe’s base with both hands. You bring it closer to your chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ghost!” You shout.

He closes the door behind him and walks towards his office chair. You place the snow globe on the shelf but keep staring at it.

“A gift?” You ask, pointing towards it.

“No,” he says, opening his desk drawer and taking some papers. “I bought it.”

“You bought it.” You repeat, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” he nods. “For my collection.”

“For your collection.” You repeat, raising your other eyebrow as well.

He stops fiddling with the papers and looks at you.

“Is this how we’re going to keep this conversation going?” He asks.

You look at him, then back at the snow globe.

“S-so you collect snow globes?” You ask.

“That’s what I said.” He replies.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” he shrugs. “Souvenirs.”

You have so many questions. So, so many. As if a stray snow globe in the lieutenant’s office wasn’t peculiar enough, now you have the words ‘collection’ and ‘souvenirs’ adding to your confusion.

Another “why” escapes your lips as you trace the snow globe with your fingers. He sighs, slowly standing up from his seat and walking towards the bookshelf. He probably thinks you won’t get to the actual nature of the meeting if your questions aren’t answered.

“Why do I collect snow globes, or why do I collect things in general?” He asks, now standing next to you.

“Snow globes,” you state. “Why snow globes?”

“It’s a small world, innit?” he whispers, lifting it from the shelf. “They are not empty bullet shells or loots from a dead civilian’s house. Plus, I fucking hate keyrings.”

You chuckle, and he turns to look at you.

“When did you start collecting them?” You ask, leaning on the bookshelf, watching him play with the globe.

“Since I began going on missions,” he explains. He lifts the globe higher, towards the sun. “Every time I visit a country for the first time, I buy myself one.”

“An homage to the country?”

“Sort of like that,” he nods. “Especially if you buy it from an old lady who probably needs the money.”

You both look at the globe, reflecting the sunlight towards you. No wonder you mistook the husky for a wolf. People often mistake Ghost for a wolf. Yet, here he is, collecting snow globes and supporting small businesses. He’s a husky; loyal and protective. A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it.

“It’s pretty.” You whisper.

“You like it?” He asks.

You nod, this time unable to keep your smile concealed.

“You can have it,” he says, extending the snow globe to you and releasing it in your hands.

“No, Lt.!” you shout. “I’d never-”

“Ah, nonsense!” He shouts back, already walking towards his desk. “I’ll be going again next week, so I’ll buy me another one.”

“B-but this signifies your first time there!” You retort.

“And this might be my last,” he replies. He sits back on his chair and pulls it close to the desk as he motions for you to do the same.

But you don’t comply. Instead, you stand where he left you, holding the snow globe close to your chest. You look worried. He looks content.

“Is that why you visited Price before coming here?”

He nods. His eyes have formed little creases at their corners; a hint he’s smiling under that mask of his.

“Sir, please, don’t say that,” you whisper, “you’ll have plenty of first times again.”

He lets out a sharp chuckle and leans back on his chair.

“We, as soldiers, rarely think about our first times,” he explains. “For most people, first times are good. They make them reminiscent of the past. To us, first times are rarely good. Think about it: first time getting shot, first getting captured, first time killing someone.”

“What about winning?” You ask as you approach his desk. “First time winning a war?”

“Ah,” he sighs, “winning.” He interlocks his fingers and lowers his eyes to his lap.

“Yes, winning.” You state, sitting on the chair across from him and placing the snow globe on the desk. “Wars against drugs, against human trafficking, terrorism.”

“Winning a war is a fallacy.” He whispers.

“Lt., what are you saying?” You chuckle nervously, baffled by his response. “That’s war for you; there’re always winners and losers!”

“We’re all losers in war,” he says, raising his index finger to the air. “All but one.”

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at him. “Who?” you ask.

“Death.” He replies. “Death is the one and only winner; the rest of us are just playing his game.”

———————————————————————

A/N: This was a WIP for a loooooong time. I remember answering an ask a few months ago, hinting at something to do with snow, but I couldn’t find the inspiration to finish it. And then, be it the events of MWIII, be it the Frozen Tundra, it finally clicked. I hope you enjoyed it and I didn’t make you sad. Ghost will return from his trip, and we’ll get to annoy tf out of him again, so don’t worry.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon riley x reader #simon riley x gn!reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost cod #call of duty

2K notes · View notes

saksukei · 8 months

Text

simon ‘ghost’ riley and his love languages

masterlist | i think i may have wrote too much??

there’s one thing lieutenant simon ghost riley knew when he began dating you. he had to be the best version of himself or at least try. you were the only person he met that he ever wanted to try for.

i. words of affirmation

initially, simon has trouble adjusting to calling you any pet names and just calls you by your name. it isn’t until he gets comfortable enough to say, “love” which is his go to nickname. he says them only in private though.

and then it’s nicknames galore. he calls you his sunshine because he literally adores your smile so much!!! the type to say, “i brought flowers for you. they needed sunshine and you were the obvious choice.” and he also says things like, “my darling angel” when you get him a cup of tea.

most importantly, if you ever do something that’s like daunting or difficult for you or if you learn something he’s gonna say “that’s my girl, always so intelligent.” if the two of you ever hit the gym together and you hit more reps than your regular ones, he’s gonna be so happy for you. “atta girl,” he kisses your cheek as he pats your back.

ii. gifts

he wasn’t very heavy on gift giving. that was until he saw something that he knew you’d like and bought it. and the smile that graced your face with the stars in your eyes made him want to do it more often.

and he felt his heart jump when he saw you cherish the letters he’d written when he was deployed. ever since then, he’s been leaving cute little notes for you, making handmade things you’d like such as bracelets, necklaces. he knows how to sew and he sewed a cute little shirt for you. this also brings me to the fact that he likes knitting a lot and loves making mug warmers? it’s endearing really. he can also carve wood apparently? so he makes sweet little decoration pieces for your apartment. (but also lumber jack simon making me insane)

all in all, he loves giving gifts. he’s the type to make a special notebook for just you and put pressed flowers on each page. “got you something you liked, darling.”

iii. acts of service

simon’s strongest way of expressing love is through acts of service. he’s a military man and a firm believer of ‘actions speak louder than words.’ i’ve said it before that his eye for detail is insane and he uses it in the relationship as well. alongside with his ability to literally commit you to memory, he remembers everything. (except birthdays, but he’ll remember yours).

from bending down to tie your shoelaces, to refilling snacks that he knows you like, to picking up heavy stuff, to guiding you with a hand on your waist, everything really!!! can read your facial expressions like it’s the only thing he knows and can immediately figured out what you like and don’t like. “you okay?”

and god, he's also aware of the sidewalk rule! never lets you walk on the outer side. the type to place a hand on corners and edges so that you don’t get hurt. he’s always looking out for you, ensuring you don't have anything in your way. he’ll always stand behind you because he feels it gives him a better chance to protect you.

iv. quality time

such a sucker for spending time with you but that’s mainly because he knows his is limited. and he would never risk not spending another minute with you. from watching movies, to watching you do make up in front of the vanity, to reading books together, training together, having tea. he finds your presence alone to be comforting. it's like you deal with all of his inner thoughts and reservations without even knowing it.

he also enjoyed doing mundane domestic tasks with you like getting groceries, setting up ikea furniture, cooking and cleaning together, honestly he loves it all. especially if there’s some jazz music playing in the background. i can absolutely imagine rubbing a little flour on simon’s face and he’ll get so offended, chasing you around the entire house, pining you down, just to do the same to you.

v. physical touch

simon is hesitant to become physically affectionate. that's not to say that he doesn’t enjoy it, it's just that when you’ve been met with violence all your life, gentleness is hardly something you expect.

but god, did he want to melt into a puddle when you held his hand or when you pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. he swears he forgot how to breathe. and little by little, he got comfortable. hands hesitant to be on your waist, until that's the only place you found them, his head always nuzzled in the crook of your neck. “this might just be the favorite part of my day,” he says softly.

from lacing fingers, to kissing you the first thing in the morning, once simon’s comfortable, he won’t go a day without being intimate. “c’mere give me a kiss” to “you’re my good luck charm, love.”

1K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 2 months

Text

Oooooh I finally did it!! Mafia au part 6! A little bit of that sweet angst/comfort.

Content: Violence, Previous Injury (mentioned), Panic Attack (non-descriptive)

Let it be said: Johnny’s no snitch.

Outgoing (“loud” Simon would grumble) as he is, he doesn’t run his mouth about anything important. Doesn’t talk business over a pint or boast his connections in bar disagreements. Doesn’t drop names, flash heat, throw around the weight of his employer. Has never spilled a single fucking secret, not for knives, acid, a fucking gun to his head.

Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.

Let it also be said: Johnny is loyal.

He would happily lay down his life for any of his comrades, lives and dies for SpecGru – for Price. And even though you’re new, you’re one of them now. You’ve quickly found and secured your place in Price’s inner circle, different as you may be. Johnny would go to war for you, and your silly pink sticky notes.

Still, keeping something – anything from the boss. Even a private matter like this…

It happened on SpecGru property, that makes it SpecGru business. And it happened to you, which makes it Price’s business.

That you don’t already know that is… well, that’s between you and the boss. Johnny’s already too involved as it is. (Not that he regrets helping you. Not a bit. If he had his way, that little prick would have left with his teeth in his pocket and a new appreciation for his remaining thumb).

So now Johnny is stuck. He likes you; he really does. That you trust him with something so personal isn’t lost on him, especially in this line of work. He also has a healthy fear of your wrath. (You may not carry any weapons he’s seen, but you’ve got Price grimacing when you narrow your eyes just so. Johnny knows where his cupcakes are made, and he likes them without arsenic, thank you). So, personally, he wants to be able to honor your request to keep the matter private.

But then there’s Price, and whatever he’ll do to Johnny if – when – he finds out about all this.

Johnny’s solution?

“Christ, Gaz, ya shoulda seen it. Never seen the little miss tell someone off like that. Graves woulda been shakin’ in his boots. Will have to ask security for a recording of it.”

Gaz, unimpressed with Johnny’s volume, rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering about tea for his sudden headache. And Price, sitting at his desk, twitches and reaches for his phone.

Mission: accomplished.

Not the most elegant, but he’s a mafia lieutenant, not a fuckin’ spy. Now, to get those pastries you like before Price sees the footage.

“Luv?”

You glance up from the expense reports you’ve been working through for the better part of an hour. Mr. Price is leaning in the doorway to his office, shoulder to the jamb. There’s… an odd look on his face. You’ve never seen it before, don’t have it categorized in your mental files.

“Yes, boss?” you ask, straightening up.

“A word?”

You blink. That’s… different. You don’t like it.

Price is a steady sort of man. Not predictable, but consistent. That this is new, unusual, unfamiliar, makes you uneasy. Reminds you of your last boss, who could call you into his office with an affable grin, only to spend thirty minutes berating you for anything and everything he could think of.

Price has never done that, nothing even close… but you can’t suppress the slight shake in your hands as you smooth your skirt down. Hide it with a little flick of your wrists before grabbing for your ever-trusty tablet. Hell, you probably don’t even need it, but at this point it’s practically a comfort item. Maybe you should name it, put some googly eyes on it.

“Sweetheart?”

You startle a bit. Realize your feet have already carried you into his office and followed him right to his desk. Except instead of standing at his elbow as usual, you’re facing him across his desk. Like you did during your interview with him, when you were still strangers. Like you used to do for your previous boss.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you chirp, forcing your usual brightness, “those expense reports, ya know? What did you need me for?”

Without a word, he spins his computer monitor around. Your brow furrows as you process the video playing on the screen. You. Soap. Brandon. Your stomach sinks.

There’s no sound, but there doesn’t really need to be. Even in profile, the expressions are crisp – high end cameras. You feel numb as the scene plays out all over again. You and Brandon snipping at each other back and forth. Your rigid spine, stiff shoulders. Brandon’s sleezy confidence. Soap, getting visibly aggravated as the seconds pass.

And there it is, the moment you spun on your heel, done with the conversation, and Brandon reached for you.

When you see Soap’s hand snap out – just a blur on the screen – you have to sit. Muscle memory collects your tablet in your lap, sweaty hands stacking neatly on top of it. Your heart is beating either too fast or too slow.

Your eyes stay locked on the screen until you and Soap disappear into the elevator, and the video stops.

“Should I play the elevator footage as well?” Price asks, voice low and quiet. “That comes with sound.”

It takes all your years of learned discipline and cultivated poise to resist shrinking in on yourself. It does not, however, stop your eyes from burning.

“Sir,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even, “I am so sorry.”

There’s a beat of tense silence as you gather yourself, throat getting tighter and tighter. Your head is spinning with fear and anxiety. What he’ll say, what he’ll do. How you could possibly damage control this.

“I-I don’t even know how he found out where I work,” you say, “and Soap w-was just trying to help. If I’d known that would happen, I would have taken it outside.”

You can barely look at Price as your voice break midway through, the panic leaking into your tone even as you stay frozen in place.

“Did we – is he suing? Is – is that why—?”

The tears escape despite your efforts, dripping fast and down your cheeks as you shudder in a breath. You can’t pay for a lawsuit, especially not if you’re fired over this. And you don’t want to lose this job. You love this job, you love—

“Oh, darling, what a mess you’ve made of yourself.”

You sniffle as Price rounds his desk and kneels in front of you, plucking his handkerchief from his breast pocket. He tuts at you when you open your mouth to protest, already blotting at your cheeks with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“There now, no need to cry,” he soothes, thumbing away another tear before it can fall. “I know it takes you ages to get your eyeliner right. This is nothing to ruin it over.”

“But…”

“I’m not angry, luv,” he continues, voice still low and quiet. This time, it doesn’t make your shoulders tense. “Wasn’t before and definitely not now. Chin up, there’s a dear.”

“Y-you’re not?” you warble.

“Not a bit,” he answers. “Not at you, at least.”

“Then why…?” You gesture weakly at the computer screen.

He sighs, something almost fond passing over his face. “Darling, you could have been hurt. Imagine if Soap hadn’t been there. All of us on the top floor, waiting for you to get back, not knowing something was wrong.”

He shakes his head, cradling your cheek with the same hand that brushed away your tears.

“You’re one of mine, you understand? Anything that happens to you is my responsibility,” he explains. “And I didn’t… enjoy that you want to keep something like this from me.”

You drop your eyes in shame. Of course. An employee assaulted on company ground, his personal assistant no less. Price would never stand for that sort of thing. He looks out for his own, looks out for you.

“Hey, look at me, luv. None of that now,” he coaxes. “I just want to get to the bottom of why you didn’t want to tell me.”

It occurs to you that that tone you heard earlier might have just been genuine worry and maybe… a bit of hurt. You twist your hands in your lap as you gather your words.

“I didn’t… it wasn’t because of you,” you murmur. “I just… was so embarrassed. And I didn’t want to make it your problem. I’m supposed to make your life easier, not harder.”

He huffs, but you’re relieved to see wry amusement on his face now.

“No more of that,” he orders, as softly as he when he wiped your face. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a love.” He gently pinches your cheek, then stands. “Stay here, I’ll get you a cup of water. Take a moment, yeah?”

You nod, sniffling again. He squeezes your shoulder as he passes, and you finally let yourself breathe. Not getting fired, not getting sued. And Price isn’t mad at you. Christ, he needs to work on his approach.

“Kyle.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Look into that knob from the lobby. And the little miss’s last boss.”

“You’ve got it.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #mafia!au #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia boss price #assistant!reader #assistant reader #john soap mactavish

989 notes · View notes

placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 2 months

Text

Reign down on me - Part 8

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

A/N: So this is kind of a Part 1 of a whole chapter because i wanted to give you guys something. So the next chapter will have a bit more going on, hope you enjoy this for now! Excited for any comments or theories you guys have about what's going to happen 💕

-🐺-

The major opened the door slowly and then gently closed it shut behind him, sparing a quick glance at you before he walked over to Price’s desk with only a few long strides. He was a tall man with gleaming shoes and a pristine uniform to match, his red hair combed back neatly on top of his head. You took in everything, your breathing almost slowed to a stop while you waited for the news. Only when he sat down at the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of Price did he speak.

“Before I start, I want to say that I know you’re a busy man and that your team are integral to many ongoing operations that are running. However,” the major paused, his accent thickly weaving his words. “After the incident outside your hallway with Second Lieutenant Smith, I’m afraid to say that I must ask you to carve out some time for me.”

Price laughed at that. Not a warm chuckle or a dark little rumble, like you were used to hearing over comms or during training. This was one of disbelief, the little glinting breaths coming through like warning shots.

“I’d hardly call that an incident, Major. A silly boy decided to test my hybrid and got exactly what he deserved. There ain’t much more to it,” Price grunted.

He straightened his back and leaned over his table, appearing every bit as menacing as you imagined he could be. The way his eyes appeared to darken below his tilted heavy brow were enough to send even you gulping - and you were the one he was defending. The Major didn’t seem to react however, he wasn’t cowed by the show, he merely sniffed and set his own arms on the desk.

“Ordinarily I’d agree with ye, Price, you know I would. That wasn’t just any boy though, his da’s some parliamentary arsehole and he wants atonement.”

That gave Price pause.

You sucked in a breath and dug your fingers into the couch cushions, feeling the fabric strain and almost give way under your claws. The shaking started seconds later. You were going to be punished after all.

Who would do the whipping, you wondered, I don’t want it to be any of the boys, definitely not Ghost. A small whine escaped your throat at the thought of that before you could cram it down. Ghost was supposed to be safe. The idea that he’d be the one looming over you and raining down pain on your back left your throat feeling crushingly tight.

“You’re not laying a finger on my wolf, do you hear me?” Price said, his voice so low he might as well have growled at the Major.

His. The way he said it was so possessive compared to the way you normally heard that, the way that Ghost usually said it. Ghost’s good Pup. His sweet thing. Price said that you were his with all the ferocity of a wild animal. Like something was threatening to drag you off into the unknown.

“Look I’m not gonna bullshit you here. I tried insisting on something like committed service hours, guard duty or sniffing - that sort of thing. He wasn’t going for it. The problem isn’t so much with what the hybrid did - it’s your Lieutenant he wants to prove a point to most of all. He wants Ghost to know he can’t get away with insulting his family.”

“So what? He wants Ghost punished?” Price snorted, tilting his chin up in challenge. “You gonna string him up to the post and all are ya?”

The major sighed deeply and rubbed his brow.

“No ones getting strung up, don’t jump to conclusions. He said that he wants the hybrid locked down for a week, they’re to be placed with the Smith boy’s squad and kenneled, only to be removed should a mission arise where the hybrid’s presence is essential…now, before you go thinking that you can conjure up some kind of week long escapade, he explicitly stated the sentence is to pause while away and resume on return.”

I’d rather be whipped bloody, you thought. The exact thing you were afraid of was coming to fruition. You were to be stripped of what you’d come to love and return to your old way of life, worse still was the thought that you didn’t even know what the kennels were like in your new base, didn’t know if they could extend your stay which would often happen at Branhaven. There was every chance you could be stuck with that horrible bastard indefinitely. Ghost had made a point of letting you know that he never intended on punishing you like that, that you wouldn’t while away your hours in a dingy cell block, or be made to face a post ever again.

The memory of him settling his hand on your shoulder and squeezing ever so gently as he explained his approach to discipline was so strong, you almost felt his spirit lingering there beside you. He’d said he wouldn’t ever put you out in the cold or whip you unless his hand was forced, and even then he insisted he’d fight whoever threatened you.

Would he fight a major? A politician?

“This is bullshit,” Price scoffed, smacking his hand off his desk and making you jump. “Hobbling my team because his little brat got slapped around is pathetic! What next? Would he like to bend Ghost over while he’s at it? Really, Major, this is a farce.”

“It is, aye. Exactly what happens when you tangle with those sorts, you know that as well as anyone though.”

Price’s face was the dictionary definition of scorn. You shrank back into the sofa, subconsciously trying to become a part of it and escape from all the tension. The major didn’t even wince through it. He faced Price with all the stoicism of a tree on a calm day, but Price continued to rant and plead your case until you thought his red face might start to turn purple. All the while you listened with quick little bursts of scared breath.

The conversation didn’t go anywhere except against a dead end, ramming over and over into the same conclusion. The major grew tired of Price’s fit and walked out, saying that he’d expect you checked into the kennel’s by the end of the night. He let the threat of what would happen, should he fail to comply, linger somewhere above you - like an anvil - in the air.

Price growled out a profanity as the door slammed closed. Only when the air had settled and the Major’s presence fully left did he turn to you and soften. His eyes, that had held so much venom, melted from slits and into doleful pools, his taught mouth slackened.

“Pup…” He sighed, looking you over.

He didn’t finish the sentiment. There was a wordless understanding between you both that he didn’t have the vocabulary for the sympathies he wanted to convey. With that quiet look of apology given he sighed out and pressed his head into his palms.

“Fuckin’ shower of cunts the lot of em.”

Price hadn’t immediately given up of course. He picked up his phone and got to talking to numerous sources, but apparently none of them were of any use. You flinched back from where you were perched every time he hung up his phone with a bang. It almost made you feel sorry for the thing. No matter what arguments were made, no one was willing to hear Price out. That much was clear after he’d clattered down into his old chair like a shot bird.

You had expected as much.

In the end it was you that convinced Price just to take you to the kennels. Making a point of stressing that it would be far better to go before Ghost could come back. Something within you shook at the idea of being put back into the same horrible place by the same man that had rescued you from there to begin with. At having Ghost have to take the responsibility on his shoulders, once more letting down a hybrid in his care.

After being checked in and issued a bedroll, it was time to say your good nights. You stared at Price through the doorway of the kennel, biting your frayed lip. No matter what he said, you knew well enough that it was your own stupid stubborn fault that you were back there again - for not just acquiescing to the brat’s commands in the first place. Stunts like that were the exact reason that you had the disciplinary record that you did. Always going against anyone that wanted to shove you down, all in the name of some kind of renegade fantasy that you had any control over your life. Fiercely defending the shreds of your honour as if you hadn’t spent most of your life as a beaten dog.

Stupid.

At the very least though, conditions were far better than your old haunt at Branhaven. That was something, you tried to tell yourself. The shiny black sleeping bag they’d given you was plenty thick and there was a groaning old heater that rattled overhead, so that the nipping cold temperatures felt more like being left in a draughty room. Even the construction wasn’t as bad as the other ones, rubber crumb flooring like that of a playground, meant that you wouldn’t get as stiff and a hard fibreglass front over the concrete walls meant that you wouldn’t be exposed to the elements. It was almost possible to think of it like a stay at the worlds worst hotel, rather than a mandated stay in the kennels.

It wasn’t home, but at least you knew that you’d get to return there as long as you listened and kept your stupid trap shut for once. Home with Ghost. Now that you’d calmed down after the initial shock of being issued the punishment, an internal clock had materialised in your head. The countdown to when you could go home. All you had to do was take your medicine and you could be with Ghost again, everything could go back to how it was. That thought alone was enough to keep the needling panic at the back of your mind firmly restrained there.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” Price said, his voice stony and rough. “I don’t wanna leave you here, Pup…I really don’t.”

“Don’t wanna leave me, or don’t wanna have to face Ghost and tell him I’m here?” You said, making an attempt to lift his heavy expression.

He grunted something that could be interpreted as a bitter chuckle.

“Neither.”

You smiled a little, but didn’t have it in you to laugh. At seeing your expression, he crossed the threshold between you both and closed his palm over your head. His roughened fingers skimmed over your ears and softly rubbed some of the worry out from deep within your tissue. A proper moment of reprieve settled over your body, loosening tight muscles, before you were forced to part again by the approaching footsteps of the guard.

“Sorry, Sir. I have to lock all the kennels up for the night for lights out,” he explained sheepishly, eyes not fully able to reach Price’s gaze.

Price nodded at him and went to comply, though only after giving you one last ruffle over the ears. He stepped back after and allowed the fibre glass door to snick to a close. Your heart thumped extra loudly while it shut. Price gave you one last mournful look and then told you to get some rest, assuring you that he’d be watching over you even from afar.

“Good night, Price,” you whispered back, watching his retreating back with sorrow filled eyes.

The guard grunted and double checked the door, ensuring it was locked and rattling the mechanism a few times before he was satisfied. The soft click of metal on metal forced your ears to twitch upward into alert.

“Get into your bedroll. Light’s out,” the guard said, his voice hardened now that your Captain was gone. “If you cause trouble or give me any crap you’ll be removed for discipline and then returned here. Do you understand?”

“Understood, Sir,” you nodded, unfurling the sleeping bag with a shiver.

The guard allowed you to sort your bedding and once inside the puffy roll of fabric he flicked the light switch and left you bathed in the darkness. He continued down the line from there, the only evidence of his presence, the fading lights down the line and the clicking of switches and doors.

You whined softly while rubbing your face against the cold fabric below, blanching at the cold rubber flooring. Your heart lurched at the thought of your bed back home. The thought of your cushy blue pillows, Simon’s soft fur, the dialogue unread from the ‘Super-Wolf’ graphic novels by your bed, the smell of rotisserie chicken that was supposed to linger in the air, no where to be found in that sterile place. This was all wrong.

No matter what position you got in, no matter how hard you tried to shut your mind off and return to old coping mechanisms, the idea that you could be safely in your bed weighed on your chest like an elephant. Before you were used to being shoved into a kennel and forgotten about, but now you knew that there was a better life. A life that had been ripped from you.

You wanted to scream, wanted to claw your way out of the sleeping bag and slam yourself against the clear glass like a mad person, wanted to raise hell until you were returned to your rightful place. Though you never followed through. You had to be good now. It was the only thing that would get you home.

Instead, you let your head loll to the back wall, facing the speckled brick and let loose the tears that you hadn’t wanted Price to have to witness again. Couldn’t have him thinking that you were completely pathetic afterall. The hot paths they left burned against your cold cheeks, though they still couldn’t compete with the heat that filled your aching chest.

I’ll be with them again. Ghost won’t let me go.

-🐺-

“Mum…I had a nightmare. The monsters want to take me away.”

Your little tail was pinned fast under your legs, your ears folded so close to your head you could feel the fibres of your hair even through your fur. Blinking back the tears from your eyes, you swallowed and looked up at her imploringly, hoping for a big cuddle just like the ones you’d seen her give to your older sister.

If she knew the meaning in your look, she didn’t show it. She groaned and got up from the couch, mumbling something under her breath before grabbing your wrist and shepherding you back to bed. The long dark corridors of your house seemed all the more haunting at night, the sounds of all the appliances ringing through the walls like wails. You shivered all the way back to your tiny room. Your mum’s iron grip may as well have been a shackle tugging you to prison.

“Right, get back to sleep. You won’t have another nightmare after you’ve just had one.”

She turned the light on while you sorted yourself, impatiently hovering by the switch until you were lying back in bed and clinging the stuffed dog that your sister hadn’t wanted - had so graciously thrown at you one day - to your chest. His name was faint to you now, a shadow in your anxiety addled mind, what did you call him again?

“Sleep tight,” she sighed, turning the light out and spiriting out the door.

You blinked out through the darkness and sighed, curling into a little ball and trying your best to retreat from the leering shadows in the corner of the room. In that darkness your mind created faces, grinning horrible faces that wanted to gobble you up and turn you into mince. Just like the monsters from that horrible movie your dad had watched the night before, completely unaware that you had been hiding under the dining table, trying to avoid your mothers wrath for the milk that you’d spilled before bed.

“Monsters can’t get you here, sweetie,” you whispered to yourself, remembering the calming words you’d overheard in your sister’s room a few nights prior. “Nothing will get you when you’re safely tucked up…snug as a bug in a rug. You have your teddy to protect you, he’ll watch over you all night! Then in the morning everything will be fine again and the sun will be shining.”

The words didn’t seem to hold the same weight when you said them to yourself. They just rang hollow in the static. Perhaps they didn’t work the same since you were different, a half-breed ‘thing’ that no one asked for. Were you worth protecting? Would the sun shine for you in the morning?

-🐺-

“Hey, Pup. Oi. It’s ok, you’re alright. Easy…Easy”

You gulped in a hungry breath of air and opened your eyes, chest absolutely heaving as you fought off the last of the evil spirits that cackled and snapped at your extremities. In all your confusion between sleeping and waking, you couldn’t be sure if the arms that were wrapped around you were real, and if they were, you couldn’t be sure that they were friendly.

When you whipped round and saw Gaz staring down at you with wide concerned eyes, you still questioned to yourself if you were in another layer of a dream. This couldn’t be right, you thought drowsily.

“Gaz?” you mumbled, tilting your head when he smiled at you. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from the bogeyman apparently,” he smirked, ruffling your ears until you swatted his hands away. “That looked like a fuckin’ mental dream, mate.”

“No, Really - what are you doing here?”

You looked around, noting the wide open kennel door and the hazy blue sky beyond, a soft gradient of navy and electric blue sheeted over the fences and trees beyond. It couldn’t be any later than three, maybe four at a stretch. Your sleeping bag was tangled round your ankles and the heater had turned off, but other than that nothing had changed in the kennel.

All was quiet on base, no cars whizzed by, barely any noise sounded through the crisp morning air. Sleep soon scratched at your eyes, forcing you to rub them and then embarrassingly let loose a high pitched whining yawn that had your face heating like a furnace in embarrassment.

“Aw, you are just a cute Pup, aren’t you?”

“Gaz!” you growled, trying to fix him with a stare serious enough that he would answer.

It was no use though. He wasn’t Soap, so a little mean look did nothing to wipe the stupid smile of his smug face. Though he did relent when you growled, and when he noticed your darting looks round the opened gate, probably seeing that you were searching for the guard. At that point you’d suspected Gaz had to have stuffed him in a locker or something.

“Relax, you can stop clutching your pearls. Price has a mission for us.”

“What?” you frowned, thoroughly doubtful, “Really? Right after I got kenneled, huh?”

“Genuinely,” He snorted, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe him at first either, but he wasn’t in the mood to piss about and explain himself. Cap said to come get you and load up ASAP, he’ll explain when we’re in the air.”

“We’re flying out?”

“Uh huh. Sooner the better too, can’t believe they made you spend a night in this place. What a fuckin’ joke.”

“Doesn’t feel like a joke to my back,” you ground out, wincing mid stretch when you felt a bone crack and heard the resulting sound.

“Jesus. You keep making noises like that and they might retire you,” Gaz snorted.

“Ha ha,” you said dryly.

He gave you room to move away from him, allowing you to stand up before looking you over. It was almost comical seeing the way he searched you for any signs of harm, his calculating eyes narrowed as if he were looking for weapons. He paused a moment, only unfreezing when you raised your brows at him and quirked your lips.

“You solid?” he asked.

“I think so. You?”

“It’s three in the morning and I’m freezing my arse out here instead of being passed out in bed - course I’m not,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes and bumped into his side, happily strolling out of the kennel and out into freedom. One night down you, you thought, only six more to go until I get to go back to my bed. At the very least you were happy you wouldn’t have to go to that prick, Smith’s, unit for the day. More than having to be separated from Ghost, you feared what he would do to you while in his care. You strongly suspected he’d have more than a slap lined up for you at that point.

Gaz lead you to the changing rooms before taking you to the chinook, handing you your gear and waiting on the squeaky wooden benches outside the shower block while you got ready. Then after taking the world’s quickest and coldest shower, trying miserably not to get your hair or fur wet, you stepped out to greet him with gritted teeth and soggy ears. If one thing was abundantly clear then, it was the fact that Ghost had utterly spoiled you. There was no way you could face a cold shower again without thinking about the bathroom at his.

“When I get to go back to Ghost I’m gonna live in that shower,” you huffed, teeth chattering while wrapping yourself up in the big cosy fleece that Ghost had given you a few days before. “I’m gonna stay in there until I turn into a prune and then I’ll make sure that Ghost cans me and traps all the warm condensation in.”

Gaz laughed while watching you lace `up your boots last. Your fingers were shaking still from the bone chilling cold that had seeped through your entire body. It was a wonder that you thankfully managed to finish changing without any help. As much as you had considered pathetically asking him to tie them for you, you werent sure if you could go on soldiering knowing that Gaz had to help you like you were some kind of baby.

“Pup in a can sounds like a pretty good product. New kind of IED discovered, we can just start lobbing you at the enemy instead of wasting grenades.”

“Lobbing me?” You said in faux shock, flattening your drippy ears. “I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”

“What? It’s a pretty solid strategy, would work wonders if we were facing an army of Mactavishes.”

“Gaz!” You squawked, flinging your dirty shirt at him. “Mean!”

He batted it away easily and laughed with you.

“Oh c’mon. Soap would laugh if he was here.”

“Pfft, Soap here? coming to the kennels? Fat chance.”

“Aw, I’m sure he’d do it for you. His little furball,” Gaz teased, ruffling your ears. “Our fuzzy wuzzy puppy.”

You huffed and shooed his hands away, growling when he went to mess with you again. Gaz didn’t flinch at that, but he did roll his eyes and move back to lean against the wall. He was graciously allowing you to put away the rest of your gear in peace so that you could move out. He grew quiet while you shoved your things into the soft green rucksack, and just as you’d clicked the clasp on your bag closed, he regarded you with a more considering look.

“What?”

“What?” Gaz returned, folding his arms.

You frowned.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“Maybe it’s cause you’re funny,” he shrugged.

“Shame that you’re not,” you replied dryly.

“Well shit. Mess with the wolf and you get the fangs, huh?”

“You know it, Garrick.”

-🐺-

The chinook was more comfortable than the kennel. That you figured out after your belly was filled with a fat bacon roll and you had Gaz’s shoulder to lean on. Your eyelids dripped like syrup, lashes fluttering as you listened to Price drone on about the mission over the shaky comms.

“Pup, are you listening? Knew I shouldn’t have bloody given you breakfast first,” Price admonished.

You slowly blinked back at him.

“I am,” you huffed out, straightening your back against the chair. “We got evidence of WMD’s in Lata, so we’re gonna go there and secure em with a team from Los Vaqueros forces.”

“Top marks,” Gaz chuckled, ruffling your ears.

You rolled your eyes.

“These ears ain’t for nothin’,” you said with a sly grin.

“Those ears better stay alert,” Price grumbled. “I need you alive and well so Ghost doesn’t disembowel me on return.”

Your ears perked up at that, your body quickly straightening up all the way. In all your tiredness and confusion at being taken away, you’d hardly thought about how Ghost would’ve felt about you being seperated from him for the first time.

“You spoke to him last night then?”

“Tried to,” Price snorted. “After I told him where you were he just about bowled me over trying to get to you. Managed to convince him to let you be, but he was a pain in my arse all night. He wants to speak to you later, so if you would please be careful today me and my neck would thank you.”

“Is he coming here?” You asked hopefully, tail raising in your excitement.

“Probably not. If all goes well we should be outta here in a few days to a week. He said to call once we finish up tonight though.”

Oh. As much as you tried to stop yourself from visibly deflating, there was little you could do to prevent yourself falling back against the chair with a huff. It had already been to long without him and it had only been a day. The thought of the growing distance only gnawed at you as you thought about it more.

“Relax, Pup. You’ll be back home to Ghost before you know it,” Price hummed. “Just gotta get through this in one piece first.”

“Yeah…but that’ll only be after I finish up my time at the kennels,” you grumbled, fully sagging into Gaz in defeat.

“We’ll see.”

You tilted your head at the Captain wondering what the hell he meant by that, and even though he saw your curious look he didn’t answer it. All he did was wink. Even when you begged him to elaborate he shook his head and tilted down his boonie hat, making it perfectly clear that the time for talking was done.

“You could use more sleep yourself,” Gaz said afterward, watching you in your confusion. “Don’t worry too much about the future right now, you barely got any sleep last night by the sounds of that dream you were having, so you’re not gonna be able to think straight. Rest your head on me and I’ll try and keep the nightmares at bay, ok? Gotta wake up fresh for the mission.”

You pursed your lips, heart beating like a frail bird in your chest. So many questions danced around you, but every thought was dimmed by the tiring heaviness that had refused to shake itself from your body from the moment you’d woken up.

Gaz was right, you did need more sleep. And curling up on him sounded like a dream. However when you looked up into his soft hazel eyes, a sudden wave of heat pulsed through you and gave you pause. He practically glowed in the emerging morning light.

“You sure you want me cuddling up to you?” you asked, laughing breathily to cover up your nervousness.

“Only as long as you don’t tell Ghost,” he winked. “Wouldn’t want him to get jealous.”

You shoved him playfully at that, but soon settled down once Price barked out for you both to be quiet. Bodies going ridgid before slackening into each other. Your head drooped gently down onto Gaz’s shoulder and he let his cheek rest on top of your head. The warm rays of the morning blanketed you both in its gentle hold and in minutes you were sinking into a now peaceful sleep.

#reign down on me #simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader

488 notes · View notes

thexsilentxwordsmith · 2 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction.

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says.

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit.

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement.

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge.

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore.

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?”

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm.

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together.

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth.

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him.

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth.

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand.

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his.

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment.

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed.

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready. But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own.

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent.

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both.

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie.

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case.

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back.

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up.

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken.

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it.

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed.

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

2K notes · View notes

a-dauntless-daffodil · 1 month

Text

Vaggie: “A letter of complaint probably isn’t gonna do much, babe.”

Charlie: “I don’t care.”

Vaggie: “Neither will Lute.”

Charlie: “I don’t care! Emily- will she at least read it?”

Emily: “Reading stuff is one of Lute’s main jobs, since Adam never wanted to.”

Charlie: “Then she’ll have fun reading FIFTY of these in a ROW.”

Emily: "I don't think she'll actually have fun with that..."

Charlie: "GOOD."

Charlie: “…....wait. Her name is spelled L-U-T-E?”

Vaggie: “Yeah? How’d you think she spelled it?”

Charlie: “I thought it was loot. Like, pirate’s loot, loot boxes, stolen loot, people looting during a blackout…”

Vaggie: "Nice idea."

Charlie: "Thanks!"

Vaggie: "Waaay too imaginative for her and Adam though. It's just Lute."

Emily: “Oh, so it isn't short for Lutecia??”

Vaggie: “No. But PLEASE tell me you’ve called her that.”

Emily: “A few times… no wonder she glared at me…”

Vaggie: “You’re the most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.”

Emily: “Y-you’re welcome!”

Charlie: “You're both gorgeous. Try looking in a mirror sometime, Vaggie. Anyway- I guess it being a stringed instrument makes more sense? Adam did have that whole guitar playing thing going on.”

Vaggie: "Huh?"

Emily: “Aw, theme naming~”

Vaggie: "What?"

Charlie: "I guess it's kinda cute. I guess even mean people can be cute..."

Vaggie: “What the actual hell are you talking about sweetie?”

Charlie: “Lute! Like the ye oldie guitar thing!”

Vaggie: “It’s lute. As in, lieutenant?”

Charlie: “….”

Emily: “…”

Charlie: (horrified) “No…”

Emily: “E-even Adam wouldn’t be that lazy-”

Vaggie: “You’re talking about the guy who outsourced bothering his ex.”

Charlie: “But-”

Vaggie: “And then outsourced dealing with the people he’d outsourced the work to.”

Emily: “Oh heavens he would.”

Vaggie: “The only thing Adam spent energy on was Adam, the only things Lute cares about is Adam and murder- that’s why I figured I could go waltzing back up there with you, babe.”

Charlie: “You really didn’t think they’d recognize you!? But you- you literally just grew out your HAIR!”

Vaggie: “I wasn’t in uniform or covered in blood. And those were the only times Adam or Lute ever paid attention to any of us before, so…”

Charlie: “They- rgh. RrrrrrrRRGHHH.”

Emily: “I think I need to write a few letters too, now.”

Vaggie: “I think we need to get the letters away from Charlie before she sets them all on fire-”

-FWOOM FLAMES-

Emily: “Fire extinguisher?”

Vaggie: “Under the desk.”

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #emily hazbin hotel #chaggily #chaggie #lute hazbin hotel #incorrect quotes #a seraphim and the hellborn daughter of a seraphim get upsetti spaghetti and write complaints to heaven #vaggie thinks this is a slight waste of time #but supports them in it anyway #meanwhile... not me assuming lute's name came from the musical instrument #for a very long time #a very #VERY #long time #-w-;

414 notes · View notes

mykneeshurt · 1 year

Text

Pride

Thank you to @ave661 for the eye candy

Price x AFAB!reader

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, daddy kink, praise kink, semi-public sex, p in v, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, unprotected sex

Reader is early 30s Price is 38 … though in my mind he’s 100% 45 lmao man radiates dilf energy

This isn’t proof read … I love chaos

It’s started as a joke, a tongue in cheek joke aimed towards you Captain over some celebratory drinks in the local pub. It had been a hard mission, alcohol was a must after what you’d been through as a team. It was the middle of December, fairy lights hung above the bar as a roaring fire lit up the snug corner of the pub.

Drinks were flowing, the atmosphere was cosy and conversation was easy. You were sat in the middle of your Captain and your Lieutenant. Their wide bodies crowded you in the booth as you relaxed into the warmth of their firm muscles. As you were drinking Gaz came running up to the table ‘right, I’m off.’ He had a smirk on his face as he downed the last of his pint, noticing a woman stood by the door you threw him a wink ‘she’s very pretty Gaz. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

Soon after Johnny slipped away, telling you he was meeting up with an old friend. Even your stoic Lieutenant had been making eyes at a lucky woman at the bar. Turning to your Captain, your head swimming in alcohol you pouted at him. ‘What’s the matter cap? Worried you’re a bit too old for these spring chickens in here?’ You smiled as you said it, rubbing your tongue over your teeth.

‘Careful love’ he growled, just low enough so only you could hear, ‘could teach you a thing or two yanno.’ You scoffed rolling your eyes, you dropped your eyes to his lips as you bit yours softly. ‘An old man like you? What would you know about pleasing a woman?’

And that’s exactly how you ended up in the back of his car, laid out, bottom half bare as he ran his tongue up and down your cunt. You gripped the leather seats as his tongue swirled around your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure to sent jolts of electricity through your body.

Your sweet moans filled the car as Price inhaled them like the very oxygen he needed to survive. Arching your hips into him you craved more. He was holding back. ‘John … please’ you begged as you gripped his arm. ‘What’s the matter? Old man too much for you?’ He questioned, his deep blue eyes fixated on your glowing body. ‘Feels so good John, don’t stop.’

With your permission he grazed your slit with his thick fingers, gathering your arousal. The sound was sinful. You bit your lip as he gently pushed into you, stretching your hole as you gasped for breath. You couldn’t see it, but he had one hell of a smug grin over his face. If it was one thing the Captain took pride in? It was how he could fuck.

He picked up his pace as he slowly added a second finger, stretching you further. He watched as his fingers moved in and out of your glistening hole, conducting a chorus of gasps and moans from your lips. He kept thrusting his fingers, watching your body writhe from pleasure. Your chest heaving and panting, your eyes screwed shut as you clenched your thighs around him.

‘Pretty little thing ain’t you?’ He cooed, before adding his thumb to your swollen bundle of nerves. A sharp gasp left your lips at the sudden intrusion. ‘Shit, oh my god’ you whimpered, burying your face into the leather seat. He leant over you, still keeping his punishing pace, lips hovering just above yours. ‘Not god love, just John.’

Feeling you begin to clench around his fingers he replaced his thumb with his mouth. Nipping, sucking and licking your clit, pushing you further and further to the brink of your orgasm. A string of incoherent words emerged from your throat as you threw your head back. ‘That’s it, give it to me love’ he whispered against your cunt, his beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Pushing your fingers through his hair you gripped it, pulling his face further into your aching pussy. He smiled against your folds savouring your arousal on his tongue. Your orgasm rushed over you in a tidal wave of unbridled pleasure. Completely blinded by your orgasm you hadn’t realised what you’d moaned.

Opening your eyes you saw Price staring down at you, a devilish glint in his eye. ‘Daddy huh?’ Oh god no. You didn’t realise you’d said it. He nuzzled into your neck nipping it softly between his teeth ‘mmm let daddy show you how well he can fuck eh?’ It was a growl, a low rumble from the depths of his chest.

He pulled you up onto his lap as he kissed you, his arms wrapped around you as he cupped your head into his. The kiss was messy and desperate, tongues fighting for control amongst the mass of teeth and lips. Rolling your hips into him you felt his hard cock against your core. ‘Fuck me John, now’ you demanded. Never being one to say no he quickly pulled out his cock and lined himself up.

You sank down onto his cock, both gasping as he filled your hole. He gripped your hips and began guiding you, rolling you back and forth as you covered his cock with your arousal. ‘Keep goin love, just like that … pussys so good’ he praised. He licked his lips as you began bouncing, wrapping your arms around his neck you nipped his bottom lip.

The windows were steamed up, the car filled with the sound of skin on skin, your pussy being filled and fucked. But the good Captain wanted more, wanted to show you how good he really was. In a swift motion he placed you face down on the back seat, instinctively you arched your hips up to meet him. He slipped back into your cunt, both of you gasping once more.

You pushed back into him as he began to thrust, gripping both your hips he slammed into you. A truly punishing pace, his cock felt so good as it ground against your core. He let out deep satisfied moans as he fucked you from behind. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling completely cock drunk. ‘Oh fuck daddy!’ You wailed as you scrambled to grip onto the leather seat, his pace was unrelenting. ‘That’s right’ he growled, ‘let daddy take this of this pussy.’

Spanking your ass he watched as the muscle juggled with each thrust. His eyes glued to the shape of your body beneath him, he snaked his hand into your hair. Pulling you backward causing your to arch your back further, your tits bounced each time he slammed into your pussy. ‘Oh fuck, right there, right there daddy’ you spat through gritted teeth.

‘Good girl, takin’ this cock so well.’ The praise drove you wild, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. Your skin felt like it was on fire, he rubbed your back, each fibre of your being lit up as he caressed you. ‘More daddy please, please please please’ you muttered, it was almost like a mantra. He spanked you again ‘little whore cock drunk already? Daddy’s doin a good job huh?’ He groaned under his breath.

You felt yourself tighten against his cock, ‘fuck fuck fuck, gonna cum’ you said, your voice strained from pure pleasure and desire. He dropped his hand from your waist to your clit, toying with it between his fingers. Daring you to come on his cock, pushing you further and further. He couldn’t not make you come again, his pride wouldn’t let him. He needed to hear your pretty little moans again, feel your cunt constrict around his cock.

Your jaw went slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you pushed your forehead into the seat beneath you. No sound came from your mouth as your orgasm ripped through you. John wasn’t too far behind, he pulled out and flipped you over, shoving his cock down your throat. You gagged around him as he came down your throat. Looking up at him through hooded lids, tears stung the corners of your eyes as you swallowed.

Whispered grunts and whimpers fell from his lips as his cock pulsated in your mouth. Your sweet saliva coating the entire length of his sensitive shaft. He offered you a warm smile as he pulled out, tracing your jaw with his thumb. ‘Now. What do you say to daddy?’

With a content sigh you licked your lips as you grazed his muscular thigh with your nails. ‘Mmm thank you.’

————

Taglist - @luminousbeings-crudematter @griffmors

I low key hate this lmfao daddy kink makes me shudder but it fit - thank you to @johnnytavish who suggested the daddy kink lmao

#call of duty #cod mw22 #captain price smut #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x you #modern warefare 2

3K notes · View notes

captainfern · 6 months

Note

Okay! But going off of your reblog of that younger gif of John (which made me go absolutely feral), I feel like he’d be so confident in himself in general, appearances, personality, and especially his ability to please a women. Obviously it mellowed out after he got older, but he definitely still falls back into those habits every now and then, so! with that being said do you think you could do a small post about younger John being all cocky while he’s absolutely making you go dumb for him, and even though you wanna retort and say he’s wrong- you know he isn’t?? (Sorry but writing this literally made me scream like- this man is so 😩😩😩)

younger/lieutenant john price x fem!reader, 18+

p0rn starts straight under the cut btw

lieutenant price fucked you in front of a mirror, his strong hands gripping your hips and pulling you back onto him, your arse against his pelvis, as he fucked into you from behind

his thrusts were hard and rough, warm palms shifting to knead the flesh of your arsecheeks as his cock drilled into you. the fat head slammed repeatedly against your sweet spot, punching the air from your lungs

your body trembled against the mattress, your eyes glazed over, watching yourself— and watching price and the way he fucked you. he was watching as well; his eyes flickering from the sight of you in the mirror, to the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your wet heat

you moaned outwardly, the sounds of skin-on-skin echoing through your bedroom. price grunted in response, his calloused hands squeezing your hips, fucking into you at a faster pace, the mattress squeaking

“price—!” you moaned, eyes rolling in your head as his cock nudged up against the base of your cervix, making your thighs quake where you were bent over on all fours. “price, sir, please don’t stop—!” you sobbed, his cock hitting just the right places inside you to have your cunt squeeze him tight

he groaned. “‘m not gonna stop, baby. ‘m not gonna fuckin’ stop. not gonna stop fuckin’ this pretty— wet— cunt—” he punctured his sentence with grunts as he thrusted in time with his words. “—‘til you’re milkin’ my cock”

you wanted to scream— his cock filled you up so nice, but you weren’t going to admit that to him. it’d go to his head. after all, you and your lieutenant— your fellow lieutenant and comrade— already knew how he made you feel

price grunted behind you, folding his upper body over your back, sweat sticking between the two of you. he continued to rut against you, cock dragging along the silky, wet walls of your cunt. he placed kisses down your spine. “tell me how good i’m makin’ you feel”

cocky son of a bitch. he already knew you felt good, but he wanted to hear you say it

but you could only whimper and whine as he fucked you, pleasure crowding your mind as your orgasm loomed over you, your body growing hot. your pussy fluttered around his cock, dribbles of arousal dripping down your inner thighs

price chuckled behind you, slamming into you harder. “aw, can’t even speak? poor baby. have i made you go all dumb on my cock, hm?”

you mewled, head flopping forward to hide your face in the covers. but price didn’t let you— he grabbed a the back of your neck and pulled you up roughly, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror as he continued to fuck you. hard

“look at yourself while you’re getting fucked— while i’m fuckin’ you, yeah?” price uttered, fingers gentle but firm, holding you in place so he could continue fucking his fat, leaking cock into the wet heat of your cunt. he moaned at the sight of you. “yeah, fucked you so good that you can’t even speak properly, isn’t that right, my pretty girl? i told you that i’d make you go all dumb on my cock, didn’t i?”

you whimpered, trying to chase an ounce of authority in your head. “m’not going d—”

“don’t— fuckin’— lie—” price growled between thrusts. “my cock’s that good that you’ve gone all dumb, haven’t you? fuckin’ admit it, baby. admit that this cock makes you feel so fuckin’ good that you forget everything”

you whined. “price—!”

“tell me,” he whispered in your air, the tip of his cock pressing flushed against your g-spot, grinding against it as he moved his hips against your soft arse. “tell me how much you love my cock an’ i’ll let you come all over it”

you moaned, eyes threatening to close as he fucked you hard. your legs shook, sweat covering your bare body. you moaned again, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as his thrusts increased

“fuck, fuck— m’kay, i love your cock, sir! i— fucking hell— i fucking love your cock and how it— oh my god— makes me feel. makes me— makes me go dumb— can’t fucking think right with your cock inside me—” you rattled off, moaning loudly, desperate. your orgasm was about to hit you

you could almost hear price’s smile behind you. “good girl,” he chided, cocky. “that’s a good girl. that’s what i wanted. now you can come ‘round my cock”

you came, wet cunt squeezing him tightly, fluttering as your toes curled and eyes rolled. your orgasm was powerful and, if it wasn’t for the grip he had on the back of your neck and on your hip, you would’ve collapsed forward. you moaned his name, and whispered it again over and over as you came down from your high

he was grunting and groaning behind you, his head on your back now, rutting into your cunt like a man starved. he groaned loudly, mouthing at your warm skin. then, he moaned your name and came inside you, cock twitching as he spurt hot cum deep into your pussy. you whined at the sensation

“price…” you muttered as he fell down beside you, pulling you into his chest with his cock still buried deep inside you

he hummed. “s’alright, my pretty girl. just lay here with my cock in that wet fuckin’ pussy, an’ i’ll be fine to go again in a few minutes”

#damn i really wrote that #straight up #captainfern #captainfernsalutes #captain john price #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #captain price #fem reader #captain john price smut #captain price smut #cod price #cod smut

774 notes · View notes

thewulf · 3 months

Text

Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.” Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it. He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy

532 notes · View notes