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ethereal-night-fairy · 1 month

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A Lick and a Promise

Chapter 1

Outlaw!Ghost x Female Reader x Outlaw!Soap

You let devils into your home. But why were they kinder than the saints in your town?

Warnings: MDNI, Arson, crude historical language (not by Ghoap), objectification (not by Ghoap), religious themes, small bit of fluff, period typical misogyny, kidnapping, implied physical abuse, sad backstory, implied theft, sorry if I missed any.

A Lick and a Promise Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 2.5k

Fire…there was fire engulfing the town you were meant to call home. Flames erupted from the trees like the gates of hell had been opened. From where you are, you see the flames lick and dance around the wooden buildings as the horses race away from the chaos that was unfolding. The smell of fiery damnation was cementing itself into your mind, it engraved itself onto your skin like a branding. Everything hurt…

Hot air whipped against your bruised and beaten flesh while you continued to struggle on the horse you were forced on. The smoke stings. You hear their screams in the growing distance as the mayor's home is surrounded by dark clouds of smoke. Why? Why was this happening? Why did they take it so far?

You keep twisting your head back to watch from you were forced to ride with the men you foolishly helped the week prior. You continue watching as tears stream down your face. His arms are as tight as a vice despite you pounding your hands back on his thighs. He doesn't let go, he doesn't even flinch no matter how many times you scream, beg or hit him. Your small home grows further away by the second. The little life you built for yourself shattered in the time it takes to saddle a horse with stolen goods. The fast movements of the horse jerks you uncomfortably as you clench onto whatever you can to steady yourself. Everything was becoming too much, the screams, the fire, the smell of burning, the pain, your pain. Your eyes burn into the back of the man with the skull face. Never in your life have you seen a man beat another bloody like he had. The worst part was you felt relieved when it had happened. You felt safe with them even if that feeling only lasted briefly. But why did they want to protect you? Why did they care?

You had let devils enter your home. But these devils were kinder than the saints in town, yet you were deceived by their kindness. They took you without remorse. You don't know why you thought just because these two men were soft to each other that perhaps they'd be good people, perhaps they wouldn't hurt you like everyone else did. You should never have helped them. You should have told them to leave the second they had awoken. Look at where your kindness has gotten you. Kidnapped and probably on the road to your demise. You've become an outlaw by association. What were they going to do with you? Whore you out for money? Sell you to a ranch? Have their fun with you only to leave you drowned in a stream? Was their kindness just a ruse so you'd agree to help them in return for safety?

But in the back of your mind you wanted to believe they had your best interest at heart, that they weren't going to hurt you. That they were too kind to do that. Yet you'd be foolish to trust outlaws on the run again. They had dragged you to damnation with them. Now the whole town hates you even more than before. It won't be long until your face begins being printed on wanted posters…

-The week prior

The blazing sun was gradually making its way further up from the horizon. The sunshine beamed down on the river, making the blue water glitter and gleam on the surface as you watched on. The birds chirped as you enjoyed the warmth of the weather bestowed upon you.

Cold water prickles your hands as you tug the rope to gather the fish traps you had laid in the river yesterday. Thankfully it seemed heavy this time around. You’ll be able to make something for the poor men burning with fevers on your mattress. You hadn't wanted to leave them alone but you had work to do. You needed to gather water for their horses and collect your traps. The small vegetable patch also needed watering so you'd probably have to make another trip round to the river.

Once the dripping basket is in your hands you haul it to the riverbed, struggling as the fish jump around in the woven material. It takes a couple minutes for the movement to finally stop. You deposit all of your catch which consists of a handful of freshwater prawn, three haddock and some anchovies. You gut the fish using the river water to clean off the blood. You hated doing this part but it wasn't like you had anyone to help you anymore.

You missed your parents dearly. Well your mother was dead there's no bringing her back but you wished your daddy would find his way back home to clear his name. That he’ll explain that everything was a misunderstanding and he didn't take anyone's money. He wasn't that kind of man you knew that. He always taught you how to work for an honest living. He lived like that for as long as you can remember. There was no way he ran off with the mayor's money. Yet you had no way to prove his innocence since he disappeared.

Once you're done you place everything in a bucket and carry both the fish and the water back to your little home. You've been struggling to gather game for a couple weeks now, the majority of the traps you'd set were often tampered with or stolen by the time you got back to them. You've resorted to fishing for the time being. You wished the townspeople wouldn't hate you so much. They had already kicked you out of your town home. And returning to your old town was out of the question. It was miles away and you didn't trust anyone in town to take you there, you also didn't have the money to pay them. And you were still hopeful your daddy would return one day.

You're deep in thought on how you're going to prepare for the coming winter when two horses race by you. You halt in fear as you try to make sense of what was happening while trying to clear your vision of dirt. When the dust finally settles your met with two piercing eyes of what looks to be a sheriff of a different town. His uniform is pristine, his bright badge gleams in the morning sun almost blinding you. He has a stern look to him. By the looks of his white hair you'd think he's much older than he is.

“Little lady you shouldn't be out so far out of town by yourself! There's two outlaws on the loose, haven't you heard!?” You take in his stern tone, your mind racing with the information he's just given you. But before you can answer the older gentleman the person beside him speaks up. The voice is jarring as it cuts through your eardrums, bringing back awful memories. It belonged to a man you so unfortunately recognised.

“Don't bother with her sheriff, she's a twofer (loose women). You couldn't make an honest woman out of her even if you tried. She's better off dealing with outlaws by her own self,” all you can do is glare as you take in the hardened face of the mayor's brother. You hadn't realised that he had become a deputy. It's been so long since he's come bothering you, you'd hope he had died of dysentery. You feel bad for the woman in his town. He's probably already abusing the authority he's been given. The sheriff is stunned into silence but before you can defend yourself from the now balding Calvin, he opens his big mouth again.

“I wouldn't be surprised if she was stealing from the town again, just like her old man eh. Did he ever come back darlin’ or is he still on the run? Have ye resorted to selling your backside for some extra dollars? I wouldn't be surprised if you did,” he lets out a boastful laugh eyeing your patched up dress.

“I told you you'll regret rejecting my marriage proposal. Wouldn't marrying me have been better than trying to become my brothers left handed wife (mistress) eh? What? I didn't have enough money to satisfy you? You're no better than a trug (low class prostitute). Won't be long until I see you working at the bed-house. I might even take pity on you and try you out for night,” he smirks down at you from his horse as you try to avoid his leering gaze.

Tears obstruct your vision but you try to keep them at bay. You wanted to call him every name in the book for saying all these baseless accusations about you. But he was a beef headed ten cent man who enjoyed tormenting women, especially those who reject his advances. You weren't the first and you wouldn't be the last to deal with his god awful lecherous behaviour.

“Pull in your horns Calvin! That's no way to talk to a lady!”, the sheriff buts in.

“She's no lady sheriff, a trat (pretty girl) maybe but she's a filthy con. One that likes to toll (to entice) men for money,” Calvin continues his rant in spite.

“Stop airin’ your lungs. Excuse us ma’am we'll be on our way then,” though the sheriff was polite you could see the look of what seemed to be distaste in his eyes as he took in your figure and worn out clothing before leaving. They quickly turn their horses in the direction of the town with Calvin mirthfully laughing along the way.

You're left standing there as you try to collect yourself before returning home.

-at the house

"urgh!...", Simon woke in a fright, sweat was pooling from every pore in his body. He frantically looked around the room trying to figure out where he was. It took a while for his memories of the night before to return. His muscles screamed in pain as he fought to try to move them but they weren't cooperating. His body felt hot and sweaty, like his skin was sunburnt. The sun was setting, his eyes squinted as the dwindling sunshine streamed down from the only window. Damn they were meant to leave before dawn. A whole day had gone by. He feels around his face making sure his bandana was still on before looking over at Johnny. His bandana was still on too. You hadn't tried taking it off. The only difference was that two wet cloths were placed on both of their foreheads and a chipped bowl full of water next to the mattress on the floor. Had you nursed them all day? Where were you now?

"Johnny?... Johnny wake up....," Simon sat up with difficulty calling out Johnny's name but he stayed asleep. Simon felt his forehead before ringing out the cloth and dipping it in the water to reapply. This wasn't good. He's burning up… He needed to get up to look for some yarrow Simon thought to himself. It'll help reduce their fever and then they'll be able to leave as soon as possible. The sheriff might have already made it into town. Simon prayed you hadn't met him. This puts them in a very dangerous situation. Simon sits up with great difficulty as the wound on his arm flairs up with pain. But before he can attempt to stand the door opens gingerly. He freezes when he sees you.

Your eyes meet each other and Simon is too stunned to speak. Your eyes are swollen and red, like you've been crying for some time now. He watches you try to hide the tears by looking away and wiping them hastily. A sudden surge of worry and anger fills his body. Who? Who made you cry? Who dared to hurt you?

Yet when he opens his mouth to demand a name the smell of something delicious wafts through the air making his stomach growl unintentionally. You speak up in a whisper before he can, now fully facing him again with a small smile.

“Food is almost ready, I found some yarrow to help with the fever too. I hope your okay with some fish and vegetable soup. I'm sorry I know it isn't much. But it was the best I could do. I'll make you some tea with the yarrow after you finish eating.” Simon hadn't noticed but you carried a small bundle of yarrow in your fidgety hands as you continued whispering trying to not to wake Johnny or possibly trying to prevent him from asking about why you were crying. He'll find out anyway even if it wasn't going to be from your mouth. Why would anyone hurt someone as sweet as you? You almost seemed too good to be true.

“Yes, thank you. Any food is much appreciated, we aren't picky eaters. This is way more than we deserve,” Simon watches you smile so genuinely at his response that it baffles him. All he did was speak politely to you yet you smile like he had plucked stars from the sky. The thing he didn't know was that no one in town has spoken kindly to you in a very long time. So anyone talking to you even if it was normally was something you cherished greatly.

“It'll be done soon. I just needed to grab some salt. Oh.. and I gave your horses some water I hope you don’t mind that I went near them.”

“That's offly kind of you. I'm more surprised they let you near,” Simon grunts as he watches you grab what you need. That being some salt and another pot probably to boil the tea for later. Your dress had patches all over it, probably from you fixing it with whatever fabric you had laying around. The more he looked at you the more he realised how much you were struggling to obtain the bare necessities for living. Yet you remained so kind and generous. Why?...

“Ah it's no trouble at all, they let me pet them so I'm happy with that…Oh! we'll have to patch your wounds again. Let me go get some sterilised water for you!”, you say gazing at his now bloody arm. The stitches must have opened up while he was trying to move. You smile at him on your way out. You could definitely use some more meat on your bones. You really weren't living a good life out here. Yet you were so kind to feed them and their horses. They'd make sure to leave you behind enough money to sustain you for a couple years. It's the least they could do after all you've done for them.

That reminds Simon he needs to do a parameter check on your house. He'll have to ask you about the sheriff too. But it looked like you were isolated from the town. It was either this or that you rarely went into town for your own reasons. News travels fast, especially in frontier towns. Though it seemed like this was one of the bigger ones. He was glad you would probably be the last person to receive the news. That just meant they could spend a couple days with you without you being afraid of them. And they could leave before you were even given a chance to report them to the sheriff.

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diejager · 6 months

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Saloon

He swung the reins of his horse over the pole, lopping it inward to tie a knot. With a firm and comforting hand, Ghost ran a hand down the neck of his horse, a beautiful black stallion that towered over other horses. Without much thought, he strode into the saloon, the wooden doors snapping behind him as he confidently stepped in, his heeled shoes clicking on the dusty planks.

The bustling and lively room turned cold and silent, faces turned to look at him, eyes fleeting over the red skull that adorned his face and the black cloth that covered the rest of it. He held his head high, shoulders broad and back straightened, he walked with his eyes pointed forward and his hat tilted upwards.

Stopping at the bar, his leg swung around the leather stool, taking a seat and crossing his arms over the table. The place burst into actin once more, voices and chatter filling the room, chairs skidding against the floor and cups clinking together in cheers. Ghost tapped a finger on the rich wood, his brown eyes wandering over the selection of drinks on the counters.

“Evening, sir,” a prettily dressed woman swayed to his side, dressed in a corset, blouse and little petticoat. He liked how simple the workers dressed here, even as pretty as the dresses were, they were easy to move around.

“Bourbon.”

She slid him a clean glass of bourbon, the amber liquor glistening under the golden sun that shone through the windows and the candle lights from the saloon. He reached for the glass, rolling his mask over his nose and tilted the cup, the soothing burn of bourbon trickled down his throat in a familiar taste. The tang of top-shelf alcohol lingering on his tongue, the woody mixed with he soft sweetness burned his throat.

“You’re back, Ghost.”

He tossed back his head, drinking down the last drops of his drink before turning to the voice, the cup softly placed down. The light shone abasing the shadowy figure that spoke to him, but he knew who it was. The ruggedly dressed person with a pistol strapped to the hip and a hat rivalling his stared back at him - you - the reason he often came to this saloon or the ones under your name and territory.

The room never went silent or deathly still when you walked it, it rejoiced and celebrate your arrival as the owner of such fine establishments. Rather than greet you with he same stares and fear they gave him, they welcomed you, waved and smiled your way. You were a name people liked and favourably looked at with pleasant words.

Your shoes clicked as you joined him at the bar, taking the stool to his right. You smiled and waved over one of your workers, the dazzling grin you gave her as she poured you a cup, her lips moving with every tales and rumours she’s heard for the past week. He stared at you, his warm browns washing over your face, your glinting eyes, your fluttering lashes and the dusty sand that matted your sweaty cheeks and nose, your pursed and sinful lips the only part spared from the sand.

He trailed down your neck, the high collar of your shirt and down your chest, the loose bottons that you popped from the heat on your black waistcoat and white shirt. You were a beauty in the rugged and wild look, the clothes matching perfectly to who you - became - were. That richness in your voice and the way you wore yourself, but you were humble, never letting your boldness and cockiness get to your head. Which, granted, made you more tolerable than some in his group, but he favoured you terribly, an obsession with your being that he couldn’t stop.

It made his heart beat wildly in its cage, beating against his ribs. He almost flinched when you caught him admiring you, your pretty hues peering at him from the corners of your eyes. He was glad he wore a mask, hiding the rising burn on his cheeks, flushed red under the dark cloth and red skull he wore to protect his identity.

“So, tell me, Ghost,” you drawled, flashing him a crooked smile, lips rising at a corner. “What brings you to my saloon?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog

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konigsblog · 8 months

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cowboy!simon and my thoughts about him... 18+

cowboy simon is so :( i wanna be spanked by him, being so rough and degrading as he continued to slap my tight ass! knocking the wind from my lungs as i choke on a sob, tears streaming down my stained face before propping myself up, getting ready to ride his lengthy cock :(

wearing his cowboy hat while bouncing on his hard, stuff cock!!! feeling his gloved hands guide my hips up and down as i whimper and mewl, his full balls begging to be drained in my wetness :( being all slick and wet, his tip slapping against my bruised cervix, my voice strained and raspy from cryin'. he spurts deep into me, covering my cunt and thighs in thick cum, milky seed dripping down my thighs.

or sucking his lengthy dick whenever we have privacy, even if it's just beside a house. taking him fully, my raspy voice making him chuckle as i suck on his leaky tip meekly, feeling him force my head down his shaft to the base, gagging as he holds my head still and thrusts and slams deep into my wet mouth!!!!

grr, thigh fucking as well... unzipping his fly and taking his achingly hard girth out his boxers, head slapping against his abdomen before angling my hips to fuck between my thighs. his veins dragging against soft skin and my wet slit, the tip occasionally curving up to my sensitive clit!!! mfkdhsm :( i just know he'd be panting, growling, groaning lowly 'nd everything!!! thrusting between my thighs before making a mess of my sloppy pussy and thighs, being forced onto my knees with his thick, muscular thighs caging my head.

cumming all over my tits as well :( covering my face and chest with his thick, potent seed and slapping the tip against my cheek to get me to open my mouth, watching as he shoots a load onto my tongue, forcing me to swallow it all and be a good girl for him :((

i feel like he'd be into attaching a chain onto a collar before dragging me into doggy style and rutting deep into me!! taking him whole and gasping and sniffling quietly, some moans filling the silence while he slaps my ass :(

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renegadecantlife · 5 months

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Platonic Outlaw/Cowboy!Simon 'Ghost Riley X young orphaned reader.

Outlaw Simon, who's known in the 141 gang for disappearing for extended periods of time, find himself stumbling across a young orphan on his travels and despite his better judgment takes them in so they dont starve or freeze through the night. Come daybreak, he takes them to the nearest town where he intends to drop them off, except.. they wont let go. So the infamous Ghost finds himself reluctantly adopting the small child.

A little brain worm idea for any of you CoD AU writers out there o>o

#cod mw2 #call of duty #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #task force 141 #cod 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #konig x reader #john price #john 'soap' mactavish #kyle 'gaz' garrick #kate laswell #konig #horangi #philip graves #cowboy!ghost

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lululandd · 1 year

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me: i love ghost

dru: he is cowboy

me: >:( i draw now

#cowboy!ghost #simon ghost riley #call of duty mobile #call of duty #cowboy ghost #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #modern warfare #scuffed art #scuffed ghost

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marblemoovt · 1 year

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Cowboy Riding - Simon Riley/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Porn With Plot, AFAB Reader, Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Slight Praise Kink, Slight Degradation Kink, Bathtub Sex, Pet Names (Love, Pet, Darling).

Summary:

Working two jobs to make ends meet, you keep running into a certain cowboy.

------

His words snap you out of your daze. “Tell me, love. Have you ever ridden before?” It’s a random question, but maybe this is his attempt at small talk. You search his eyes but can’t decipher the emotion they hold.

“I don’t own a horse, but I can ride one,” you reply. You can barely afford for yourself, let alone another creature. One day you’ll scrounge up enough money and get the hell out of this town. But for now, you remain stuck. Stuck pouring drinks. Stuck dealing with drunkards. Stuck bathing adult men who can’t seem to bathe themselves.

“What about a cowboy? Ever ridden one of those?”

Note:

I can't believe I finished this. I probably should have waited until after my first final, which is on the 10th, but oh well.

I'm still learning how to write smut. I struggle a lot with it because I'm so used to reading other people who write it beautifully. But you know what, if I keep writing, one of them's bound to turn out decent lol. Just pray to the rng gods.

Since this is my first fic for Ghost, I wasn't sure how to capture his character, especially since this is in a cowboy setting.

Thank you @pipops for introducing me to cowboy!ghost

Am I projecting my red dead redemption 2 hyperfixation on this? Maybe.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Bang!

The saloon doors slam open as a body flies in and collides with a table. The splintering of wood catches your attention from the bar. You set down the glass you were drying. The patrons erupt into hushed whispers as everyone cranes their heads to get a good look, but no one moves. Sighing, you walk around the counter to check if the poor soul is still alive. You knew you shouldn’t have picked up this shift, but the other bartender begged you to cover for them. Plus, there’s a nice revolver you have your eye on.

The creak of the floorboards fills the silence in the room. Upon closer inspection, the heap of debris and limbs is an unconscious, but very much alive, man. You kick his shin but receive only a groan in response. Your boss is not going to be happy about this. As you roll up your sleeves, the doors swing open, and a shadow looms over you.

“Hands off,” a gruff voice locks your body in place. Turning your head, you meet a broad chest. Huh. You crane your neck, and there’s a skeleton glaring at you. Your lips are glued shut, words trapped by an invisible seam. His eyes are dark; they remind you of coal that has been set aflame. Maybe that’s why his gaze feels scalding. Despite being autumn, the room is unbearably hot.

Without another word, the mysterious stranger picks up the unconscious man like a sack of potatoes and slings him over his shoulder. He turns to exit, but you grab his vest. He stares at you in silence. You look at the broken furniture and swallow the lump in your throat. The fear of having your pay docked pries your lips apart.

“You need to pay for that,” and you point at the heap of wood. For a second, you think you’ll end up like that man: battered and unconscious. Arms thick like tree trunks and a frame that hulks yours. You don’t stand a chance, but that’s why guns were made. You eye the shiny pair of revolvers around his waist and grimace. Let’s hope he’s a terrible shot.

The skeleton man grunts, “Later,” and leaves. The second the saloon doors click shut, the chatter resumes. The atmosphere returns to normal like nothing ever happened. You grumble and fetch a broom and dustpan, wracking your brain for an excuse to give to your boss.

Unfortunately, your boss is incredibly pissed. He doesn’t dock your pay, but damn, did you receive an earful. You rub your temples, trying to soothe the throbbing. But the shrill scream of your boss still haunts your eardrums. The only reason you keep this job is that the customers tip well, especially once you get them piss-drunk.

Exiting the saloon, you head to your next job at the inn. It’s not common for you to work two shifts in one day, but you’re short on money. You pass by the gunsmith and pause at the display window, looking in with a sigh. When you arrive, they assign you to the baths, your least favourite task. There’s just something repulsive about bathing strangers—men—who feel entitled to do as they please with you. Sometimes you get lucky, and they only require you to fetch items and set up the bath. Other times you have to tend to customers with wandering hands. And let’s just say you were relieved of your bath duties for a few weeks after shoving a bar of soap down a man’s throat—but not before breaking his hands!

The stairs creak underneath your weight, and you hug the basket of towels and soap to your chest. You silently pray that whoever is behind that door isn’t a complete asshole. You knock and hear a muffled “Come in.”

You open the door, and there’s a skeleton staring at you.

Fuck.

You close the door without a word. Should you leave? But you can’t not do your job. Another incident like last time and you could find yourself fired. It’s not like he remembers you, right? You crouch in front of the door with your head in your hands. What are you going to do?

The door swings open, and a shadow looms over you. “Are you coming in, or are you gonna dillydally?” His husky tone redirects the throbbing in your temples elsewhere, and you press your thighs together. “Either you get in, or I ask for a replacement.”

You shoot up and rush past him into the room. Wordlessly, you set your basket on the counter and check that the water in the tub isn’t too hot. Flicking the bubbles off your hand, you stand to the side and wait.

“Aren’t you gonna undress me?”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his. “What?” you sputter, blood thrumming in your veins.

He tilts his head. “Isn’t that your job?”

You pad over to him like a wary animal, watching for the first sign of danger to turn tail. His dark eyes remain fixed on you; they pull you closer to him. Your fingers graze his neck when you untie his bandanna. You take off his vest, your touch trailing along his broad shoulders. The air feels heavy, and your lungs ache from the pressure. Breathing in deeply, you hold it in before exhaling slowly. Your pulse continues to quicken. He never looks away from you. Even when you begin unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes burn into the crown of your head. You pull the fabric apart and suck in a gasp. Muscles, well-defined and chiselled, wherever your gaze wanders. An array of scars litter his body like brushstrokes, and you restrain yourself from tracing every single one with your tongue.

Clearing your throat, you reach up a hand towards his mask. “Don’t.” The command is sharp, and it cuts through the building tension. You look at him with wide eyes. His grip on your wrist isn’t harsh. You’re more startled than anything. You didn’t even see him move. “The mask stays on,” he says, releasing you. You nod dumbly and fumble with the button on his pants, tugging the material down. All that remains are his undergarments. You swallow, and your throat feels like it’s covered in tar. You undress him, and he’s—almost—as bare as the day he was born. The words clog your throat. It’s not like you’re surprised since he’s a behemoth of a man. But holy shit is he also massive in other parts of his body.

He doesn’t say anything. You haven’t decided yet whether that’s a blessing or a curse. No command to touch him, no order to undress and join him. He walks around your dazed form and lowers himself into the tub. The water sloshes and spills over the sides. Bubbles obscure most of his body. Damn it. You grab a towel and a bar of soap from your basket.

Standing behind him, you dip the soap in water and lather it between your hands. Then you rub his shoulders, fingers travelling along every bump and ridge of his muscles. You start a light massage, keeping in mind to use more pressure than usual. Kneading any knots you find, a low rumble purrs from his throat, and your legs press together. His head leans back, and even in the bath, he’s almost as tall as you. Your hands move down to his biceps, and you bend over to reach them.

You take a peek at his mask and admire the white skull against the black fabric. Obsidian eyes meet yours. They steal all the air in your lungs and turn the blood in your veins into molten lava. His gaze searches your face, and there’s a rush of heat simmering beneath your skin. You blink and avert your gaze, pulling away to get the rag. Wetting the cloth, you wipe down his body. He smells like pine trees and campfires with a faint whiff of bourbon. It’s sweet and earthy—addicting. You shudder, doing your best to ignore the pulsating in your core.

“Alright there, love?” he asks. There’s a sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he rakes them over your figure. “Promise I don’t bite. Much.” You can hear the smug grin in his tone. The pool of heat in your belly bubbles and overflows into the rest of your body. The man knows exactly what he is doing to you.

“Fine,” you squeak, blaming your rise in temperature on the warm water and manual labour.

“I went to pay for the table, but you weren’t there,” he says. You stop scrubbing his arms and rewet the towel, wringing it out to buy yourself more time.

“Oh?” That’s all you manage to say. Oh. No witty remark or even a complete sentence. Just oh. You bite your lip and turn to face him. Much to your surprise, his eyes aren’t black, but a deep brown. The flicker of candlelight makes them look like pools of honey. Colour does not affect their power to hold you in place. For a brief second, you wonder how they would look between your thighs. “Were you looking for me?” you whisper.

“Not at all.” And his voice is husky, rough as the gravel on the road. It leaves you raw and wanting. You drag the towel across his chest, feeling his pulse beat steadily beneath your fingertips. Your heart is thumping in your ears, twice the rate of his. Trailing down between the valley of his pecs, you wash his abdomen. It feels like you’re cleaning a statue, albeit a squishy one. You hesitate to go further.

He stops you. “I can take it from here,” and he takes the towel. You stand back, fiddling with your fingers now that they have nothing to hold. The splash and drip of water fill the void of silence.

“How’s that man?” you find yourself asking. “The one you carried away.”

“In jail,” he responds. Simple and short. The silence stretches. You fidget with the buttons on your sleeve, picking at them until you force yourself to stop in fear of loosening the thread.

When the quiet becomes too much, you ask another question. “Was he bad?”

He shrugs. Beads of water roll off his collarbone and down his chest. “Don’t know, don’t care. Had a pretty bounty on his head, and that’s all that matters.” Your head perks up. Bounty hunting always fascinated you, but you have neither the equipment nor the skills for it.

“You’re a bounty hunter?” You step closer to the tub, fingers grasping the metal rim.

Amusement glints in his eyes. “When I want to be.”

His answer is vague; too vague now that your interest has been peaked. “What else do you do then?” you ask, leaning forward in excitement.

There’s barely any white beneath the skull mask. You’re treading in an ocean of coffee with nothing to keep you afloat. You would risk drowning if it meant having his gaze on you for a moment longer. He examines you and cocks his head. “Do you do this with everyone you bathe, or am I an exception?”

The question catches you off guard. You can’t remember the last time you worked a bath where the company was enjoyable. “Just haven’t seen you around before, that’s all.”

He chuckles. It’s low and sinful. You know the sound will repeat in your head later tonight once you’re alone in your room. “Darling, the less you know, the better.” The pet name sends a pleasant buzz through your body. The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes you bolder and drunk on impulsivity.

You tilt your face forward, your nose brushing against his mask. “Why? Would you have to kill me otherwise?” You’re joking, but the look in his eyes sends a chill down your spine. And then you remember that you know nothing about this man. You don’t even know his name.

His eyes trail down to your lips, and you almost miss how his throat bobs. “Wouldn’t that be a shame,” he mumbles. He locks his gaze back onto yours, and you inch closer. Would you have kissed by now if the mask wasn’t in the way? Your lashes flutter, lips a hair away from his face. He waits for you to make a move. Your fingers dig into the wooden boards of the tub, and your lips graze cotton. At the last second, you wrench yourself away, staring at the wooden floorboards.

Tar coats your throat once more, and the words feel like molasses on your tongue. “If you don’t need me anymore, I can head on out.”

You’re moments away from bolting, but his stern tone stops you. “No,” then a bit softer, “stay.” You peer at his eyes and relax your shoulders.

Your lips quirk into a smile, and you mock salute. “Yes, sir. I promise to be on the lookout. No one will attack you while you’re buck naked.” You pull a stool up to the side of the tub and sit.

He chuffs and rolls his eyes. “Ghost will do.”

“Ghost, huh? Unusual name,” you comment, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Yeah? Well, it’s not as stupid as Soap.” You have no idea who Soap is, but you feel sorry for them.

“Who would name their child—”

“Do you live alone?” he interrupts you.

You pause at the sudden shift in conversation. “I beg your pardon?”

“You work two jobs. No one to go home to?” And there’s that look again like he’s studying you.

You frown. “I don’t think that’s very polite of you to assume.”

He leans back and closes his eyes. “So that’s a yes, then.” You swear he’s smirking underneath that mask; he sounds too smug not to be.

You bristle, heat crawling up the nape of your neck.“Well, what about you? Got a ranch with a wife and five kids?” you snap.

He cracks open his eyes and gives you a sidelong glance. “Jealous?” he teases with a lilt in his voice. “No. I have my horse and my… brothers. That’s enough for me.”

“You don’t get lonely?” you ask.

“Never, especially not right now.” His stare is a permanent brand on your skin. You shift in your seat before getting up entirely. Grabbing the towel from him, you walk behind the tub.

You clear your throat, and he leans forward, exposing his muscular back to you. You hold your breath and trace what looks like an old knife wound. “Where did you get this?”

Ghost shakes his head. “Like I said. The less you know, the better.” You don’t press further, cataloging each scar you come across and tucking the information into the far recesses of your mind.

When you’re done scrubbing his back, the bubbles have dissipated. The water is cloudy from the soap, but you can see the long curve of his cock twitching. Your fingers itch to explore his shaft and trace every vein you find.

“What about a cowboy? Ever ridden one of those?” He looks dead serious. Is this attractive man flirting with you? Your eyes flick towards the water and fuck if you thought he was big before.

You bite your lip and walk around to his side. “Not lately,” you answer. Your fingers dip beneath the water and skim along his stomach. “Are you offering to take me on a ride?” And you’re drowning, swimming in endless depths of honey and gold. You sink deeper. Feel your blood turn to sludge as your limbs become heavy. All oxygen leaves the room when his large hands encompass yours.

“I am. Won’t throw a fuss if you decline,” Ghost murmurs. It’s an offer, not a demand. Calluses brush against the back of your hand. You pull away and take a few steps back. He nods and places his hands on the sides of the tub. Before he can lift himself out, your clothes plop onto the ground in a pile. The soft thump draws his attention, and his irises darken.

You preen under his appraising stare, rubbing your thighs together for relief. The air teases your nipples into stiff peaks, and you hear him swallow. His eyes follow the sway of your hips as you strut closer.

He sucks in a breath. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” and his voice cracks with want.

You drag a finger across his chest, feeling his muscles flex underneath your touch. Leaning into his ear, you whisper, “Is there room for one more in there?”

The groan he utters sends a spike of arousal to your core. He looks at you with blown pupils and gives his shaft a few pumps. “There’s a seat right here,” he says, and you climb into the tub to claim it. The water is lukewarm at best, but the man beneath you radiates heat. Your clit brushes against the tip of his cock, and you hiss through clenched teeth. You definitely need some preparation before attempting to take his length in you. Not only is he long, but he’s girthy too. And the thought of it splitting you apart makes you clench. You seat yourself on his thighs, his erection pressing against your stomach. His hands cup your bottom, and he kneads the soft flesh. “Gotta stretch you out first,” and his fingers spread your slick folds. Your breath hitches when he draws circles around your entrance. “Ready?”

“Fuck yes,” you respond, aching to be filled. Ghost plunges one finger inside, and your nails dig into his shoulders. One of his fingers feels like two of yours. The slight burn fizzles when he sets a steady pace, pumping his finger in and out of you. Your hips rock to match his movements. “More,” you plead.

A breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest. “As you wish,” and he adds another digit. Crescent moons mark his skin, and the sting spurs him on. He crooks his fingers to reach the spongy area on your walls. All your nerves short-circuit, and you beg him to do it again. So he focuses on that sweet spot, stroking until your vision becomes spotty. When the meaty part of his palm grinds against your clit, your walls spasm as your orgasm hits you like a stampede. He doesn’t stop, pistoning his fingers with deadly precision.

“No more, please,” you beg. You’re starting to become too sensitive. The pleasure is teetering on that fine line that separates it from pain. You try to wiggle away, but his other hand pins you in place.

“You can take it. I know you can,” Ghost coos, fingers seeking to coax another climax from you. You bite your lip and shake your head. Tears sting the corner of your eyes. Still riding your previous high, you’re dangerously close to that precipice. He adds a third finger, sending you careening off the edge. The second orgasm rips through you, electricity sparking through your veins and setting every nerve ablaze. This time he slows down and allows you to ride his fingers. Your hips roll, grinding against his palm, anything to add to the friction.

“Fuuuuck,” you moan, trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. You slide off his fingers and bring them to your mouth, licking them clean.

He groans at the sight. “Fucking hell, pet.” His hips jerk when you grip his cock, sliding your thumb across the tip. “Ride me,” he orders. The authoritative tone makes your stomach coil. His hands rest on your waist, fingertips bruising your hips. “Don’t be shy. Show me how well you can ride my cock.” His words are filthy, and you want him to kiss that dirty mouth of his.

You take in a shaky breath. “Yes, sir.” Aligning yourself, you sink down slowly. The stretch is incomparable to earlier. Even after three fingers, you’re still struggling to take him. He grunts and digs into your waist, thighs quivering with anticipation. There’s a delicious burn as your cunt stretches to accommodate his girthy length. He disappears into you inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he spits out. You try to even your breathing. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, and you can feel him throbbing inside you. His tip kisses the entrance of your womb, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. “Alright there, love?” Your mind is unable to process his question. There’s a thick fog blanketing your head, and all you manage is a whimper. He chuckles and strokes your lower back. “You haven’t even started moving yet.”

Like a newborn foal, your legs struggle to support your weight. Using his thighs, you lift yourself up and sink back down. The sensation of his cock dragging along your walls knocks all the air out of your lungs. You’re eager to chase that feeling. You pick up the pace, finding a comfortable rhythm. The water around you sloshes, and waves form with each bounce of your hips. His hands trail up your body, and he brushes your nipples with his thumbs. He hums, admiring how they pebble from his touch. You shudder and lean into him, mewling when he tugs and twists your nipples between his fingers.

“You’re riding me so well, pet.” His praise is music to your ears. You want to hear more, want him to moan your name as you milk him for all he’s got. So your hips move quicker, slamming into him at a brutal pace. He’s consistently rubbing against your cervix, and you’ve already cum multiple times because of this. “Gonna kill me with that sweet cunt of yours,” he grunts.

The only thought left in your mind is to feel his seed spill inside you. And when you beg him to fill you up, the look he gives you is predatory. His hands return to your waist, and he starts using you. He uses you like an object for his pleasure. His strong arms lift you before slamming you down onto his cock, and he repeats this motion. You don’t move, too cock-drunk to do anything but take what he gives you.

All you can smell is cedar and bourbon mixed with the musk of sweat. It overwhelms you, and you don’t think you can work at the bar anymore without your arousal smouldering like the embers of a flame. A salty aftertaste remains on your tongue, and you wonder if he tastes as good as he smells. Ghost curses when you clench around him like a vice. You could listen to him make these noises forever.

He’s twitching wildly inside you, and your clit throbs alongside it. “Fuck, darling. Gonna stuff you full just like you asked. You’re filthy like that, aren’t ya? Riding a man you just met like a whore, begging him to fill you with his seed.” You clench at his words, and his amused chuckle tightens the knot in your stomach. His deft fingers find your clit and mercilessly tease the bundle of nerves. The toe-curling pleasure is too much. You’re starting to lose track of where one orgasm ends and another orgasm begins. “Again. Cum,” he commands, and your body obeys. Your vision blurs, and your heartbeat crescendoes in your ears. He’s officially ruined having sex with anyone else for you.

His hips rut into you, chasing his own high. Your walls flutter around his cock, and it throbs in response. He chants your name like a prayer, dissolving into a groan as he empties his seed inside you. Thick ropes of hot cum paint your walls. You stay seated, panting to catch your breath. His chest heaves, glistening with sweat. He admires the bulge in your stomach before gingerly unsheathing himself from you. A grimace tugs at your lips as you clench around emptiness.

Ghost steps out of the tub and dries himself with a spare towel from your basket. He gets dressed and wordlessly moves towards the door.

“Will I see you again?” you ask, clambering after him. Your knees knock together, but your grip on the tub keeps you upright. The breeze chills your wet skin, and you can barely walk. You’re worried he’ll disappear if you let him go. Like an apparition. Like a ghost.

He pauses in front of the door and looks at you over his shoulder. “Do you know how to shoot?”

“I’ve been meaning to learn—”

He interrupts you. He seems to have a habit of doing that. “Sunrise. At the lake. I’ll teach you,” and he leaves without another word.

You stagger over to your clothes and slip them on, the fabric clinging to your damp skin. When you grab the basket from the counter, you nearly drop it from the unexpected weight. Rummaging through the towels, your fingers brush against cool metal.

Inside is the revolver you had your eye on, and engraved on the barrel is a familiar skull.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

The number of headcanons and plot bunnies that spawned from my brain is insane.

Could this be an entire series? Easily. Will I write it? Probably not. Maybe eventually.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon riley smut #cod smut #cowboy!ghost #no y/n #afab reader #gender neutral reader #Simon has a large cock and you can't convince me otherwise #The 141 and Los Vaqueros live on a ranch together and you can pry that from my cold dead hands #I wrote this instead of studying #Pray for me #Time to cram for finals

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negativecharm · 6 months

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Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowboy Ghost Cowbo-

#i just saw one edit of cowboy!ghost #just one i swear #hades #self talk #cod mw2 #cod #simon ghost riley #cowboy!ghost #cod headcanons

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http-paprika · 3 months

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My self indulgence of this week is vampire/cowboy/religious imagery/horror Ghost story. I stayed up last night writing some of it and I had to share my brain rot with y’all. Don’t know when or if I’ll post it, but just chew on the beauty of that idea and enjoy the aesthetic.

#i love cowboys I can’t help it #cowboy!ghost #cowboy!au #vampire!au #call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #fanfic

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ghouljams · 6 months

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Cowboy!Ghost gets so much shit from Soap and Gaz because every time he hears you singing murder ballads it makes him hard. He snaps and growls at them to shut the fuck up, but it doesn't help that whenever you walk by singing about killing your husband or a friend's boyfriend he goes a little dumb. It's just- Y'know he doesn't have a death wish, but maybe...

It's the way you could absolutely kill him, and you're telling him how you'd do it with the sweetest smile in your song. He's not proud that it turns him on, but those are the days that he tugs you into the hayloft, behind trees, into the cab of the farm truck, for a quickie. Not that he could ever tell you that's why he's doing it, you might take it the wrong way. He doesn't want you to hurt him, it's not a masochism thing, no it's the guarantee that if he ever hurt you, you wouldn't hesitate to defend yourself.

And maybe a little bit it is the way you hold a gun while singing "Ouachita river." Lord he'd thank you if you shot him.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #x oc #ghost mw2 #cod x oc #simon riley cod #simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cowboy!ghost #he needs therapy lmaooo #loser

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ethereal-night-fairy · 4 months

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A Lick and a Promise

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGejRbbYp/

Outlaw!Ghost x Outlaw!Soap x Female Reade

This was inspired by the above art

All bruised and broken up, Soap and Ghost are on the run from the sheriff and his posse. They finally come across a run down shack to rest in. Only to find a pretty little lady sleeping there already.

Warnings: MDNI, slight perving, looking non-consensually, light injuries, a small bit of blood, needle and thread stiching, small bit of fluff, period typical misogyny, maybe some future kidnapping? sorry if I missed any.

A Lick and a Promise Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 1.8k

Night had fallen, a blanket of darkness was cloaking their vision. The only solace they had was the full moon guiding their horses. They needed to stop to find shelter and possibly something to eat. Ghost didn't think Johnny could hold out much longer. He was hurt far more severely than him. Dirt roads are dangerous in the dead of night. They needed to find shelter soon.

They were above snakes for now. But no one knew how long that would last.

They come across a beaten down house? It looked more like a shack, small and decrepit. It was on the outskirts of the town they were entering. They needed to lay low just in case the sheriff chasing them had associates here.

They wrap their arms around each other once they get off their horses and tie them to some trees in this sparse forest. It was enough cover to hide them from prying eyes. In case anyone came snooping here.

They walk towards the shack with some difficulty. There's an outhouse and a small patch of ploughed soil where some sad looking veggies are planted. And an old outdoor campfire with an cast iron pot situated on it. It wasn't lit of course. It's a sorry state but it'll have to do for now. They just needed a place to rest and patch up their wounds before moving on. It looks abandoned with the way the roof has holes in it. And the wood looks like it's about to break if you leant on it too long.

But unfortunately for them it wasn't abandoned. They find a little lady all alone laying in bed. This run down shack (it doesn't even deserve to be called a house) was no place for a delicate woman like you. You don't even stir when they walked in, probably in a deep sleep. They should have left and found somewhere else to rest but going out now would prove difficult especially with their injuries. They didn't want to disturb you, they just needed a place to rest for a bit.

You look ethereal as you lay in your white nightgown. The moonlight filtering through the holes in your roof gave your complexion a heavenly glow. They try not to stare too long. It was rude enough they were in your home without permission. Sure they were outlaws but they had morals and reasoning behind what they did. That's why they planned to leave before you arose from your slumber.

You still don't stir as the boys make themselves comfortable in your sparsely furnished home. There's a single chair and table in the corner where Ghost settles Soap as quietly as possible. He immediately goes to look for some water to wash his wound with. Thank God neither of them were shot.

There's a couple of large pots in the corner. It's probably where you store your water. It didn't seem like there was a well near your house. You probably carried it from the river. It was probably a 5 minute horse ride away. A girl like you shouldn't be expected to do such menial labour. Where was your husband? Or your male guardians?

As Ghost takes the lid of the pot it slips and clatters to the ground. The loud noise vibrating through the small shack. You startle awake sitting up in your small straw filled bed that was falling apart. You clutched your thin blanket to your chest as you stared at the two shadows in your home. They both had bandanas on so you were rightly frightened. Probably too shocked to speak.

It was like you three were in a stalemate. Waiting for someone to make the first move. They stand in awkward silence until Soap decides to make the first move to soothe you, which ends up startling you. Despite your fear he continues to move towards the candle on the table causing you to flinch and bring your legs up to your chest as a form of protection. Ghost doesn't move or say anything, afraid he'll startle you more. Soap manages to light the candle with his lighter. The fire bringing a warm glow to the surroundings.

“It's alright lass..”, Soap puts his hands up in surrender showing you he's not a threat. “We're nae here tae hurt ye, just two blokes who are lost and in need of some rest”, you stare at them with dilated pupils still extremely afraid. You shrink back as far as you can go, your body shaking.

“W-what do y-you want f-from me?”, you shiver and shake trying to prevent your tears from falling.

“Just some water and bandages if you can spare them”, it's Ghost who speaks up this time moving towards Soap where you'll get to see him better. You don't know why they thought that would help because it just sent your frightened mind reeling when you saw that these two men were built like a brick house and tall as an oak tree.

They watch you shakily point to your worn down cabinet dresser. “There s-spare rags on t-the second shelf and the water is in those pots in the corner.” You don't say anything else as you shake in the corner watching them.

“Much obliged”, Ghost grunts out. His own injuries getting the best of him.

Ghost moves to the cabinet with some difficulty. He retrieves the rags and grabs the cup beside the pots to gather some water to boil outside. He leaves grabbing Soaps lighter on his way out. Soap continues to try to sooth you with words but eventually gives up seeing that he was just scaring you. You two just sit in silence as he settles back onto the chair with a groan. When he goes to take off his bloody shirt you flinch and panic again but he tells you it's just to treat his wounds nothing else. You eventually settled, sneaking some glances here and there of his toned body. He finds your embarrassed expression funny. Had a pretty little lady like you never seen a man naked before?

But you refuse to say anything else, deciding to sit on bed staying on high alert.

It was bad enough you only noticed they were in the house when Simon made noise and usually he's silent. So they could have entered and left without you ever noticing. You had absolutely no protection here. A pretty thing like you could easily be kidnapped. You needed to be more careful with your safety, Soap thought to himself. At least get a latch for your door. But considering the little items you had. You were probably already struggling to make ends meet. You poor thing. No man to take care of you. All by yourself at the edge of town. Where you couldn't even go to a neighbour for help.

Simon comes back in with the sterilised water and cleaned rags. Soap felt bad that he was making him do all the work but he genuinely couldn't move. The pain in his rips was getting much much worse he hoped he hadn't fractured it. Ghost crouches down in front of Johnny wiping away his blood and making sure everything was clean. He ended up wrapping his ribs with his shirt because the rags weren't long enough. Johnny heaved from the pain but he was grateful nonetheless.

When it was Simon's turn he tried sitting on the table testing his weight to see if it could hold. Surprisingly it didn't break. Johnny tries to help him but couldn't lift his right arm very high due to his ribs. So he could only watch his lover patch himself through his pain. Simon was sweating profusely as he tried for the third time to wrap a cut on his dominant arm, to no avail. It was a deep one too. It needed to be stitched up.

What the two men hadn't noticed was that you had been watching them intensely. Seeing how gentle and kind they were being with one another brought a smile to your face. You watched intently as they took care of their wounds. They didn't notice your expressions soften as pity took over your features as you watched them struggle.

“D-do you n-need help?”, your soft voice rang out. It surprised the two men that you even bothered to speak with them let alone offer more help.

“If ye don't mind…he's struggling tae wrap his arm”, Johnny answers for Ghost because he knew he'd refused. They watch you gingerly get out of bed. Your blanket falling on the straw mattress. They got an eyeful of your thin gown. Very thin for that matter. They averted their gazes. They weren't perverts, they swear they weren't. You must be cold in such thin clothing…yeah they were just looking because they were concerned…mostly…mostly concerned…

They watch you walk over with a needle and thread in your hand. The first thing you do is put the needle to the flame making sure to wipe it clean of soot before threading it. You look at Ghost for permission to approach, still clearly scared of him. He gives you a simple nod making sure not to look at you inappropriately and turning Soap's head away as well when he caught him eyeing your chest. You were quick and efficient in stitching his shoulder before carefully wiping it clean and wrapping it up. He was grateful you had allowed them to stay. Though it was probably out of fear. You offered them water to drink and some hard biscuits you had stored in a tin. They went down with some difficulty but the water helped. At least they had something to eat.

You were still careful not to get too close to them though. Which was understandable. They promised to leave the next morning. You gave them your straw mattress to lay down on for the night even after they refused. You countered they needed it more since they were injured. A true angel you were. They hadn't met someone as kind as you in a long time. Despite being afraid you offered them hospitality. Though that would be a very stupid thing to do if it was anyone else. They really ought to teach you some common sense. How did you manage to survive on your own this long?

They watch you place the mattress on the floor as you retreat back to the safety on your bed frame to wrap the blanket around yourself. Soap didn't know why that disappointed him so much. He swears he's not a pervert…you were just very pretty…they wouldn't dare do anything to you though! Not unless you wanted it. But they needed to be gone by morning if they wanted to escape the sheriff. So it seemed you weren't in their cards of fate unfortunately. They'd think about that another time. For now Soap and Ghost held each other on the floor resting on their good sides trying to get some rest in before they had to bid their pretty angel goodbye.

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