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moondirti · 1 month

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Your ghostsoap x preg!reader!!??? I'm in love I need more of this. You have more thoughts for that universe? I just fell in love with your writing.

Let me camp in this corner of your blog, I'm friendly and don't bite (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

they're all i've been able to think about all day. of course i have more to say <3 if you're curious, anon is referring to this, which should be read before this part.

tags: DARK FIC. manipulation. vehicle tampering. planned abduction. pregnant fem!reader. established ghostsoap – who are not the fathers but would definitely like to be. mentions of somnophilia

Delusional as they might be, it's hard to justify something as egregious as blunt-force kidnapping. Though it briefly occurs to Simon – to pluck you from the parking lot and drive off the hour after they decide to keep you – the logistics don't iron out. Of chief concern, you're six months pregnant. What they'd typically use for POW's thus become's inconsiderable for you; Johnny's the wiz, but even he knows the effects chloroform can have on a foetus. The alternative isn't any better, either – his partner just balks at the idea of tying you up and throwing you in the trunk. (She'll never git ower it, Si. Dae ye want her tae hate us?)

So, things unfold in a far subtler manner.

They go home that night they first meet you. Can't coordinate without resting on it, they rationalise, without scoping their place to assure it's suitable for their soon-to-be-mother. They tuck away the knives laying on random countertops, air out the quilts gifted to them by Johnny's ma in an attempt to make their room cozier. And when they sleep, they dream of you tucked in between them, knocked out, sex-drunk. Dressed in nothing but a shirt, cunt bared for either of them to toy with throughout the night.

Hours upon hours later, well into noon the next day, Simon wakes to find his boy rutting into his thigh, still somewhat comatose, and sneaks a rough hand into his boxers to tug the tension out of the poor thing. They only get up as the fissures of dusk begin to spread across the sky, loading their car with a toolbox and making the drive back to The Dahlia, staking out in the parking lot as they wait for you to arrive for your shift.

(Johnny had deployed the old charm as you brought out their food in two baggies last night, disguising the trap with a lilting laugh as he audibly wondered why you picked up such a late shift.

You’d only shrugged and said you preferred to work nights.)

Sure enough, you pull up in a beat-up Kia at 2200, fussing with your bag as you stumble to the back entrance of the roadhouse.

"Forgot to lock it." He mutters, following your form until it disappears from view. Johnny only frowns, tightening his fingers over his thumb. A little nervous tick.

"Should we be doin' this?"

"And what is this?" Simon turns to appraise the scotsman, larger hand enveloping his, calloused fingertips smoothing over scarred knuckles. "Y'think they'd be kinder to 'er? The type of scum we know grace this earth? It's a wonder she made i' this far, Johnny."

He isn't convinced.

"Look a' me." Blue eyes widen to meet his, dark as their owner battles intuitions that have always been straighter than the Ghosts'. "Wanna give 'er a good life, yeah?"

"Aye. The best."

"Would she be so convinced?" But he knows the answer. They both saw the way you withdrew after being hit on, losing the effusiveness you initially greeted them with. Avoidant. Classic case of hyper-competency, perhaps the very reason you put up with such shitty circumstances to begin with. A stubborn knot they'll have to undo themselves.

And Johnny likes the challenge.

"Lass's got something tae prove." Moments pass in silence. Then: "Ah’ll get th' wire."

"Atta' boy."

They only enter the establishment an hour before the end of your shift. It’s 0600 and space is sleepy. At a point that had escaped their notice, someone had made the choice to shut the overhead fluorescents, and so all that functions to illuminate the dinette is the pale dawn outside. Johnny finds he prefers it like this, grumbling a tired endorsement, before branching off in search of the bathroom, hand rubbing the sore column of his throat.

The softening mass in his pants jumps once Simon catches sight of you, balancing two trays in one hand as you wipe down the serving hatch. He doesn’t need to say anything. You catch the dark blur of him in the corner of your eye, shuffling into a booth, where he occupies an entire side with the mere spread of his legs.

“Hello again. Just you today?” You’re twirling your pen, cradling your belly, and he notes the perpetual shadow cast under your eyes. Poor pet.

He shakes his head, then cocks it toward the loo. “Think he’ll have a go at the toastie today.”

“Good choice. Hard to fuck up.” You give him a tired smile. “And for you?”

“M’good.”

“You sure? Look like you’ve been on the road again, and-" You pause, the water of your eyes rippling as you appraise his mask. Something seems to click just then, because you nod and tuck your notepad away. “I’ll ask again at the end. Maybe you’ll want something to-go.”

In the end, they do take something to go.

Not as greasy as the toastie Johnny spends the hour tearing into, glossing the pads of his fingers with oil. Nor as sour as the coffee he sipped on last night, burnt and way past freshness, just like you’d warned them about. But a much, much sweeter keepsake. Something that’ll sate them for much longer.

You’ve already clocked out once they leave The Dahlia, faces grim but as innocent as they can possibly muster. Sure enough, you’re out standing by your car, wiping tears with the back of your hand. They’re close enough that they can catch snippets of your conversation on the phone (No, I don’t– and It is old but never–).

They wait until you grow desperate, hiccuping – Don’t have that kind of money. Please – before intervening.

“Hey. What’s the matter, hen?” Johnny approaches first, concern no faux thing, smoothing a hand down your arm. What Simon said earlier comes back around (Wanna give 'er a good life?) and his chest tightens at the sheer despair he sees etched across your face. You shouldn’t be this stressed about anything this far along, should have someone taking care of you.

He, they, can be that for you. Could give you everything you ask for and more.

“M-my car. I-I don’t– I don’t know what’s wr-wrong with it, and–”

“Shhh, issalright. Not starting, eh?”

“No. And I have to- to get home before… before–”

Simon steps in, crowding you against the side of your car. You don’t have it in you to look for the red flags; the glances they throw one another, the subtle crinkle in the masked one’s eyes as he smiles. No, you don’t– can’t consider it dangerous. Not when these two wonderfully kind men, who tipped you 100% of their bill both times they came in, are one of your only means of getting help.

“Where do you live? We’ll drive ya if it’s on our way.” A lie. They’ll drive you regardless, and you won’t be taken home.

“Oh- no. That’s okay, really. I’ll just a-ask my boss if I can get a sub on my pay, and–”

Johnny smooths a finger across your cheek.

“Nonsense, hen. It’ll be a skoosh.”

next part

#༄dee answers #ive got a massive headache this is probably the worst thing ive ever written #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader x Johnny ‘soap’ mactavish #johnny ‘soap’ mactavish #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghostsoap #ghoap #x reader #ghost #soap #cod #call of duty #simon riley #john mactavish #x female reader

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lovifie · 1 month

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 11: Gaz’s Date

Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

W: Gaz x Reader, jealous Gaz, the tiniest bit of toxic Gaz, degradation, spanking, rough sex.

A ruckus at the door brings you out of the book you were reading, a mischievous laugh on the other side of the door and when it finally opens you can't help but mimic Gaz's wide smile as he runs to you. He holds your face kissing you before asking: “Do you wanna go on a date with me tomorrow?”

There is an urge to the way he asks, making you want to say no just to tease him; but it's been days since you left the house so you quickly nod. He kisses you again, pulling the book off your hands and laying it down on the table (open, so you don't lose the page).

He softly pushes you back with the kiss, making you lie down on the sofa with him on top of you. You still wonder why he was in such a rush, and it gets answered when Soap enters the house panting and calling your name.

“I'm here, Johnny.” You say, waving your hand so he can see you from the door. His face lights up for the second it takes him to see Gaz is already lying on top of you, looking up at him with a shit-eating grin.

“Too slow, Johnny.” Gaz teases. “My date and I are already set.”

“Oh, away n' bile yer heid!” The scotsman complains, but still lays down on top of the two of you making you groan. You can tell Gaz is using his strength to take some of Soap's weight off of you, because you know damn well that if you had to lie under the two brick houses you would pop a lung.

You chuckle at Soap's dramatism, looking at Gaz. “What are you not telling me, you little shit?” He looks at you with a boyish smile on his face, mischief clear on his eyes, not even bothering to play it as innocent.

“There is this military gala that Price is making all of us attend.” He explains. “And now you are attending too.”

“Wait.” You say, reality is settling in. You slip from under him, sitting up and Gaz pushes Soap off of him making him fall on the floor; both of them sitting up on their new locations. “A military gala? Like… meeting your bosses and all of that? And like… what I'm supposed to do there? I don't-”

“Well technically…” Gaz cuts you off. “Price is our boss. And those that are over him usually leave really early, we go mostly to see old colleagues and get drunk. And you are attending… as my girl.”

“Our girl.” Soap quickly chimes in, correcting Gaz.

“Uh uhh” Gaz answers, shaking his finger. “My date, my girl. You already got yours.”

Gaz pulls you, sitting you on his lap as a petulant child who has been asked to share a toy.

“Oi, Garrick, don't make me beat yer arse.” Soap argues, but quiets down when you move his head to rest on your lap.

“But then… you are introducing me to your… friends?” You ask, anxiousness setting on your stomach. “Are you sure about it?”

Gaz furrows his eyebrow at your question. “Are you asking if I'm sure about letting my friends know about you?”

You look from Gaz to Soap, both with the same confused expression. “Bonnie, if I could I'll keep ye in my pocket just so I could show ye to every single person I come across.”

“Exactly, like…” Gaz looks at you confused. “I think you keep forgetting that we are obsessed with you, birdie.” He chuckles.

He hugs you, kissing your cheekbone. “I want to introduce you to everyone I know, birdie. You are somebody to drag about.”

His words help to ease the thoughts inside your brain, finally letting your anxiety travel to other important matters.

You gasp. “The dress John bought me is still at base…”

“Ye aren't wearing the same dress again.” Soap chimes in. “Ghost and Price are buying ye another one.”

“They are shopping together?” You ask, confused.

“Laswell is probably with them too, so don't worry, I'll be pretty.” Gaz explains, as if you know who the fuck Laswell is.

It is already nighttime when you leave the house, hand on hand with Gaz. Feeling the prettiest girl at the world with the constant compliments for the four men.

Once inside the venue, Gaz’s hand doesn't lift from your back. Always guiding you, introducing you to people and pulling you away from others that, according to him: “is not worth even knowing their names.”

Making sure to enunciate the “She's my partner” to anyone who asks, it was spoken before, that this was not the place to explain to everyone how the poly relationship worked to the old military men who were struggling to look up to your face and not stare at your chest.

It doesn't make the other three men complain any less, Price going “Garrick” whenever the sergeant becomes a little too enthusiastic about you and him. There are a couple of people that Ghost tells you, know about their arrangements. Not the tiny details, but enough to know that there is something between the four of them and that if you are involved with Gaz, you are involved with the rest.

One of those people, is Alex Keller. Whom Gaz is really excited to introduce you to, and who ends up sitting at the same table as you.

It is a round table, wide enough not to be able to reach Ghost's feet that is sitting right in front of you as you sit between Soap and Gaz. Gaz is also sitting next to Alex, and as the night goes on he slowly turns more and more towards him, giving you his back.

You turn to Soap, pout on your face. “I think my date is on a date with somebody else.” You know it is unfair, they haven't seen each other in years and are just catching up; still, you are glad Soap is next to you or else you'll feel quite alone.

“Ye can always make out with me.” Soap proposes, making you chuckle. “But I think I have an even better idea.”

Now, you know both sergeants are little mischievous shits; but the smile on Soap's face still makes you rethink on how much trouble you are going to get yourself into.

“Have any of us told ye that Gaz is a really jealous man?” Soap asks, leaning into your chair and resting his arm on the backrest of it. “Like, really jealous.”

“Gaz?” You ask, quite shocked that the so-sure-of-himself man is the jealous man out of the four.

Soap nods, smiling still. “When we started, Gaz and I were the ones that mixed the pairs, to say it simply. And Gaz knew Ghost and I were already messing with each other, still, at the beginning whenever I'd kiss Ghost, Gaz would turn his head. I promised ye, if I hadn't seen him suck my dick I'd guess he was homophobic.”

His choice of words as you cover your mouth so Gaz can't hear you laugh, leaning more onto Soap's side. “That's why he pulled me away from you on the sofa?” You ask and Soap quickly nods, a smile on his face.

“Especially ye, since you are the last addition. The three of us have been reassuring him that we love him to bits for years now, but ye still have a long road to go, bonnie.” He says, starting to look around looking for somebody. “And I think I have an idea of how to show ye.”

He waves at somebody behind you after a second, urging them to come closer. You look behind, seeing a tan man approach with a smirk on his face.

“Soap, hermano, long time no see” He says, clapping hands with Soap. “What have you been up to?”

“Alejandro, let me introduce ye to Birdie.” He says, before saying your actual name and repeating Alejandro's name to you. He shakes your hand, making you smile at the formalities and he winks at you, satisfied with making you smile. “And actually, I think she can use some of yer help.” He signals the man to bend down to whisper to him. “How do ye feel about messing with Gaz a bit?”

“Let me guess, if I say yes I get to flirt with the pretty lady?” He asks, whispering as well and laughing when Soap nods. “A huevo, hermano. I'm in.”

He pulls an empty chair from a close by table, Soap pulls your chair and Alejandro sits between you and Gaz. Who has yet to notice the treachery taking place behind him.

It is easy to forget that you are doing this to get a raise out of Gaz, especially with how funny the conversation gets between Alejandro and Soap. Telling you about Soap's absolute lack of ability to learn Spanish, and how it almost got him into problems when he accidentally asked for a male prostitute instead of a cigar, when he kept getting the words puro and puto mixed up.

You are laughing out loud, almost crying for it, not just you, the three of you. Alejandro is rocking back and forth on his chair, and his hand lands on your thigh, innocent enough that it doesn't even make you uncomfortable. But not innocent enough for Gaz, who has been side-eyeing the three of you for a bit now, Alex chuckling when he noticed he had stopped listening to him.

The moment Alejandro's hand lands on you, he springs into action, standing up and walking behind you. “Birdie. Can I talk to you for a minute? In private.”

You stand up, knees weak at the look on Gaz's face. He easily pulls your chair back so you can walk. He grabs your hand once you take the first step and pulls you towards the bathroom stalls. You look back to Soap, and see him, Alejandro and Alex who have just taken your place smiling at you with a thumbs up.

He pushes you inside the stall, locking the door behind you and then presses you against the wall, his hips pressed plush against yours. His hand grabs your jaw, making you look at him to his face. “What the fuck do you think you were doing, birdie?”

“What?” You ask, playing dumb.

“What?” He asks back, high pitched voice mimicking yours, his other hand raising to pinch your nipple through the thin fabric of the dress making you hiss. “Do you think I'm blind? Deaf? Or just plain old stupid? Hm?”

“I don't know what- AH!” He pinches hard, making you whine, cutting you off.

“Don't lie to me, birdie.” He says, face getting close to yours where you can feel his breath on yours. “Has Alejandro left you stupid or something?”

“You were ignoring me!” You complain, trying to act tough as if his degrading tone wasn't making you grow wet by the minute.

“Oh! So that's it!” He asks, dry laughing. “I speak with a person for one minute!” He says, raising a finger to accentuate his words. “And you are already looking for another dick to choke on, right?”

“That's not true!” You argue, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Then show me, birdie. Show me mine is the only dick you want to choke on.” He says, rubbing his crotch against your abdomen.

The moment he pulls back, you drop to your knees helping him get his belt undone. He lowers his briefs, shaft springing free and pulsing right in front of your face. He is already hard and it makes you wonder whether he was already when he stood up from the table.

He grabs your wrist, and when his tip is inside your warm mouth he thrusts forward hitting the back of your throat hard making you gag but pulling your hands behind his back to prevent you from moving back.

It’s ironic how similar it is to the first night you met him, when Price cuffed you around his waist.

He thrust forward hard, your eyes watering as you fight your gag reflex. You wonder for a second if he is actually getting any kind of pleasure other than the feeling of humiliation you.

One of his hands moves to the back of your head, pushing you closer until your nose reaches his happy trail. You look up to him, vision blurry with tears.

He groans, pulling your hair to push you back and then up to have you standing. He turns you around, pushing your head against the wall. “I guess I have no other option but to fuck your ungrateful pussy, hm? Fuck you stupid so you can stop whoring yourself to every man? How many more dicks do you need, birdie? How much of a slut are you that four dicks the size of your bloody forearms are not enough?”

It shouldn't be turning you on as it is, every single feminist cell on your body getting ignored by all your blood flowing to your cunt pulsing with anticipation.

He pulls your dress up, pushing your panties to the side before probing your entrance with his tip. He knows it's gonna sting, but in his jealousy-driven mind, that's what he wants. For your body to remember him tomorrow.

He pushes forward, slowly, covering your mouth when you cry at the sting; waiting stills once he bottoms out to let go of your mouth.

He grabs both your wrists on his hand behind your back, still keeping your head pushed against the wall. There is a loud sound of his hips slapping against yours, accompanied by the moans and pants of both of you.

You could as well have the door open with the way you are fucking, everyone that walks by would know perfectly fine what's going on.

He bends forward, close to your face, talking to you through gritted teeth. “This is what you wanted, right? To get fucked like a whore? While everyone outside knows that you are getting fuck? Filthy, filthy slut.”

He moves back, letting go of your head only to slap your ass hard enough to leave an imprint. It makes you jump, making him grunt when you clench around him.

“Fucking. Take it. Whore.” He says, snapping his hips at every word, knocking the breath out of you. His heavy balls keep slapping against your clit, sending shockwaves up your column making your toes curl.

He slaps your ass again, hard, always on the same spot. And he doesn't relent until he starts to see the little purple dots of a bruise forming on your asscheek. It has tears threatening to fall from your eyes, still pulsing around him so close for release.

“I bet you are scared I'm gonna leave you hanging, right, whore?” He asks, reading your mind. The thought of the man finishing before you and leaving you wanting your release was on your mind since he made you stand from the table. “You don't even care about anything else, do you? As long as you get to cum, you don't care that I talk to you like you are trash, do you? Such a fucking whore, only thinking with your cunt.”

He chuckles behind you, not sparing you a second to breathe as your orgasm comes closer and closer. “Then cum, you fucking whore. I don't have all night.”

And you do, whaling his name as your whole body shakes when the orgasm rains over you. Your head hits the tiling with a loud TONK as you do, making Gaz laugh meanly behind you at your lack of control.

He lets go of your hands, letting you support yourself on your hands instead of your face. He holds your hips instead, thrusting in and out fast and shallow, going after his own release.

You clench around him, the overstimulation getting to you and that is enough for Gaz to spill thick ropes of his spent inside of you. Pulling out to see it spill out, just for him to shove his dick back inside making you moan when fucks his cum back inside of you.

“Kyle!” You whine, needing a moment to breathe. He chuckles behind you, getting his dick out and moving to grab toilet paper to dry himself off you. You look under you, between your legs seeing the thin strip of his seed spilling out of you onto the floor.

“Aw, birdie, you're letting it go to waste.” He comments behind you, while he puts his pants back up.

You give him a look making him chuckle and you stand up, leaning back on the sink with wobbly legs. He walks between them, pushes one of your legs apart with his and gets two of his fingers back inside of your saturated cunt.

You groan, slapping his arm. “I'm just making sure that you can feel my cum slipping out of you for the rest of the night so you can stop acting like a whore.” He says, beaming with a smile.

He takes his fingers out, helping you clean up and throw the paper away. He holds you in his arms, the jealousy flushed out of his system turning him back onto his clingy self.

You look up to him, his eyes shiny with love on them. Smiling widely at you. You don't know what pushes you to say it, but once it leaves your lips you are not sure who is more flabbergasted out of the two.

“I think I love you, Kyle”

“Wh- Bird- I- You can't…” he sighs, resting his head on yours. “You can't say such a thing right after I called you a whore, Birdie!” He complains, trying to hide the smile on his voice.

“Hm, don't call me a whore then!” You argue, the same smile on your face. “Are you not going to say it bac-”

Before you can finish the question, his lips are on yours. Plush soft lips kissing you lovingly, he is almost hugging your head with how tightly he is hugging your shoulders. “I think I love you too, Birdie. You little minx”

You chuckle against his lips, butterflies on your stomach as if mere minutes ago it wasn't his dick you were feeling inside of you. It's a silly feeling, but a warm one indeed.

He kisses you again, a soft peck on your lips before softly patting your butt (the side he didn't assault before) and saying. “Wash your face and get out before they think I murdered you.”

You chuckle, getting spooked at your reflection on the mirror. You grab paper again, working on taking most of the mascara running down your face and the smudged lipstick.

You do a decent job at it, cleaning Gaz's lips as well and walking out of the bathroom, still feeling your knees ready to give up. It is clear that whichever high rank that was at the party must have left, because the quiet dinner from before is slowly turning into a party.

On your table, only Ghost, Soap and Price are still sitting down. Most likely waiting to leave altogether, but it makes the walk easier and as you try to sit down, Price pulls you into his lap, Gaz groaning behind you.

Price kisses your temple. “Are you ready to leave?” He asks softly, and you shake your head grabbing the champagne bottle for the middle of the table. “I'm finally out of the house, I want a party.”

It's late at night when the five of you finally make it home. Everyone's a little bit tipsy, enough to make everyone clumsy and to have an easy laugh at everything. That's how you go to sleep, helping everyone get naked too tired to bother with any sleepwear. Between giggles, kisses and smacks to everyone's butts with the corresponding “EH!”

It is a comedic image, the bed not big enough but everyone still stubborn enough to sleep altogether. Too clingy to sleep apart from each other.

Price wishes he could sleep like this every night, knowing the five of you are safe and within reach.

If only he knew he wasn't going to be able to do it again.

TADAAA

Hi lovelies!! 💗

We are now on the last stretch, only one more chapter left. And it has me on my feelings to see the series end 😭

But anyway, hope you like it 💗

Also, debating whether to upload the last chapter later today or tomorrow, so we will see.

Make sure to leave a comment or a reblog if you did 💗💗

TagList: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @cassiecasluciluce @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tired-writer04 @evolutionarry @prettykinkysoul @pagesfalling @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3 @tooloudarts @sodavrrr @anirok2 @lilliumrorum @ladyxtiger @multy-fandom-lover @thriving-n-jiving @lotionlamp @spicyspicyliving @xxeiraxx @vampirekilmerfic @keiraslayz @risingofjupiter @witchthewriter @soupinasock @phantomly27 @arbesa-mind @multifandomheathenannie @spadekip @cmbghost @herefor-tojis-tits @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce

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unreliablesnake · 5 months

Text

One more drink, he said (Simon Riley x reader)

Summary: Soap encourages you to drink a little more, and Ghost has to deal with the consequences.

Note: Ghost being a coward and he knows it.

“Just one more drink,” Soap said while he put the glass of tequila in front of you.

Ghost knew it wasn’t a good idea, but as long as you enjoyed yourself, he wasn’t about to stop you. The hangover tomorrow would probably teach you a lesson anyway. It always did. And he also knew about the perks of you getting drunk with the Scotsman. Drinking a little too much usually turned you into a needy little kitten who crawled over to him for some attention, and since it was clear you were fully aware of what you were doing, he didn’t even feel bad about sleeping with you on these nights.

And sure enough, an hour and four more shots later you went after him to the back of the bar, as if you’d just gotten the idea from him to use the restroom too. You took his hand and pulled him back to you. He stood there with his eyes on you, giving you an expectant look as he waited for you to say it out loud. He needed to hear you ask for it, beg for it, tell him you couldn’t spend the night alone.

“Will you come to my room?” you asked him with a wicked smile.

“What do you want? I need to hear it, love.”

You sneaked your arms around his waist and rested your head on his chest. “I want you to fuck me, Simon,” you mumbled so quietly that he barely caught it.

With a deep laugh, Ghost wrapped his arms around you. “Yeah? Are you this desperate?” he asked before placing a soft kiss on top of your head through his mask. He felt you nod, your fingers digging into his back as you desperately tried to glue yourself to him. “Say you want to go back to the base and I’ll offer to walk you there to make sure you’re safe.”

You finally let go and nodded again. He went to the restroom where he was going anyway, while you returned to the others. By the time he joined the group again, you were sitting there with your head resting on Soap’s shoulder as he was explaining something with wide gestures. Ghost stopped a few tables away from the team, using this opportunity to take in the sight of his chosen family enjoying themselves on their night out.

And then his eyes landed on you, this beautiful young thing who was for some strange reason attracted to him on these drunken nights. Sometimes he wondered if you had any kind of feelings for him when you were sober, but you never showed any signs of this. You kept your distance, you were an obedient soldier, so he always assumed it was just an alcohol-fueled thing between the two of you.

But he wished it was more than that. Every time he slept with you when you asked for it, he thought about this being a way of using you. After all, you were drunk, you couldn’t think straight. Yet you seemed so sure of this, and even in the mornings you didn’t seem to regret being with him. The soft kisses you placed across his scarred chest, your fingertip drawing circles into his skin as you watched him; these all made him think if you put some effort into whatever this was, you could do this outside of missions too.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gaz wave his hand to get him to return to them, so he walked back to the team and picked up his half empty glass of beer that was sitting on the table between them. When he noticed Soap whisper something to you with a wide smile on his face, and then he saw you giggle with your hand in front of your mouth, he felt a pang of jealousy. He knew you probably didn’t want anything from him, but he wasn’t sure the fellow sergeant wasn’t looking at you in a different way. He always looked for the opportunity to touch you, to talk to you, and this made him worry. What if one day you would choose him?

“I think I had more than enough to drink. I’ll go back to the base, you guys just stay and enjoy the rest of the night,” you suddenly announced as you stood up and tried to find your balance.

Ghost finished his drink and put the glass back on the table. “I’ll walk you back. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on the way,” he said as he also stood up.

He could see the look on Price’s face, as if he knew what this was all about, but he didn’t say anything. For this, he was honestly grateful. He didn’t need a lecture, he just wanted to enjoy this night and worry about everything else later. If he truly knew, he would surely say a few words about it later.

By the time the two of you were walking down the street, you had your fingers laced with his and you were trying to explain something to him, something he couldn’t quite understand. It didn’t really make any sense, it sounded more like a rant about a friend of yours. But then you said the word boyfriend. So you weren’t talking about a male friend, you were talking about your boyfriend. You had a boyfriend. How stupid could he be?

“Why are you so quiet?” you suddenly asked him, coming to a halt and pulling him back to you.

He swept a strand of hair behind your ear and leaned down to you. “You have a boyfriend?”

You looked confused at first, but then you slowly understood why he asked you this out of nowhere. “I was talking about an ex.”

“Didn’t sound like it.”

“Are you jealous?” you asked teasingly.

Ghost pulled you into a kiss, the type of kiss that wanted to show you how much he appreciated your company, how much he wished you didn’t play these stupid games with him. Even when he pulled away, you were standing there with your eyes closed and a cute smile on your face. “I’m not jealous,” he lied.

Apparently being drunk didn’t make you dumb, you saw right through him. “So you are jealous,” you noted with a laugh. “It’s okay, I like it when you’re jealous.”

By the time the two of you reached your room, Ghost could barely keep himself under control. The moment the door closed, he pulled you against his chest and grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. You wanted to stand on your toes to kiss him, but he didn’t let you, not yet. This made you a little disappointed, but that cute little pout didn’t make him change his mind. He wanted you to wait, he wanted you to be so desperate that you were begging for him to finally do something.

After a few seconds you were already moving your hands closer to his jeans, slowly unbuttoning it, ready to get him out of it. But he stopped you which drew a pathetic whine out of you. “Say it,” he instructed you.

“Please,” you asked, “I need you, Simon.”

He let his thumb slip into your mouth with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “That’s my good girl,” he replied quietly as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “But you have to wait. I’ll grab a bottle of water first. You want one?”

When he let go of you and turned around to walk to the small fridge on the other side of the room, he heard you sob behind him. It made him sad, sure, he didn’t like to see you cry, but here between these walls this was like music to his ears. You were oh-so-desperate to have him that the way he rejected you made you cry. It was a small win.

So he returned to you and put the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed. You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and he didn’t hesitate to cup your face with his hands. “There’s no need to cry. I just want you to learn a little patience. You might be cute, but crying doesn’t work on me.”

You curled your fingers around his forearm as you looked into his amber eyes, causing Ghost to reconsider the tough love game he was playing. But if he didn't draw the lines now, you wouldn't behave in the future. Not like you would remember this in the morning. He truly assumed you always did your best to forget about these nights.

A few agonizingly slow minutes later he finally leaned down to kiss you, smiling to himself when he felt you wrap your arms around his body as you moved closer to him. You sighed into the kiss, fingers burying into his hair while he picked you up and laid you down on the bed. He took his time with you, making sure he was gentle and loving, the exact opposite of how rough he could be on these nights.

And once again, as he lied next to you in bed after pulling several orgasms out of you, he thought about why he couldn’t keep things casual. He loved you, but there was no way he would risk ending whatever this was by telling you the truth when you were sober. He was too afraid of losing you for good. And for that, he truly hated himself. He was a coward. It was that simple.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #call of duty #modern warfare #mw2 #mw3

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batwritings · 4 months

Note

HI, last request I swear dhvdjdgdgvs SORRY

I really loved your group sex piece for Al and Rudy, and it gave me an idea for a 141 equivalent. They’ve been going through tough times with Hassan, and fem!reader decides to help out.

Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost all take turns on her, in various positions on a bed. At first, she takes it well, but by the very end when it’s Ghost’s turn? Things take a bit of a turn. Any of the other boys can hold her up and keep her grounded, while Ghost remorsefully slams into her overstimulated cunt. He tries to be gentle, but there’s no real winning, since he’s a little too big for her to handle after all of her previous orgasms :(( Eventually, they just keep her calm, while he finishes her up. With every careful slam from his hips, she gets more and more cock-drunk. They comfort her through her final orgasm of the night, which has her crying out in pure pleasure. After they’re done cleaning her up, they make sure to give her lots of love <33

-Hybrid

...Hybrid, good friend, pal, has anyone told you how fucking GORGEOUS your ideas are? Because they really fucking are. Enjoy!~

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were by no means a soldier in comparison to your boys on 141. The most civilian of civilian who was there for each of them (or all of them) when they needed it. And by the look in your boys' eyes after this last mission? They really fucking needed it.

Now, normally you're pretty good at gauging just how hard your boys will go on you when they really need it. Safe to say, you severely underestimated just how much attention 141 needed from you. And you weren't anywhere near done.

Your legs were shaking, inner thighs raw from the beard burn. Your jaw was sore, nearly locking up from how much you had to keep it open, cum drying on the corner of your mouth where it hadn't been cleaned up in time. Words were simply not a thing anymore, and that was all just from Price, Gaz, and Soap alone.

It was Ghost's turn now, and you could see the burn in those chocolate brown eyes. A broken whimper leaves your throat, but it is met with a soft hush and kiss to your temple. "Simon's not gonna hurt you love," Price coos as he pets your sweaty head.

The man in question kisses up your inner thigh as proof, despite the fact that he's watching you like a hungry wolf. He licks a line up your ruined cunt, from your cum stuffed hole to your clit. Your head snaps back and you let out a scratchy moan.

"Go easy on her aye L.t?" Soap rumbles on your other side, taking your hand in his so your fingers are laced with his. "She's been such a good little thing for us. Always taking care of us when we've had a rough day." The Scotsman presses tender kisses to your knuckles and lightly rubs his scruffy face against the back of your hand to keep you grounded.

Ghost only hums in response, lining up his cock with your pussy. The man has gone fully primal, letting his urges think for him. A rare occurrence to be sure but usually one worthwhile.

You can feel your eyes crossing when the lieutenant slams his member inside, a mixed growl and moan of pleasure coming forth in response. His pace is brutal, the headboard of the bed loudly knocking the wall behind you with his roughness. His blunt nails scrape your hips as he pulls you onto his cock over and over.

You're whimpering and moaning, tears pricking at your eyes as you bounce back and forth between overstimulated and bathing in pleasure. "Doing so well sweetheart," Gaz pipes up, having left the room to retrieve damp wash clothes and water. "You're taking him so well."

You whimper appreciatively as the pleasure overtakes the overstim. It was getting harder and harder to notice, but you faintly feel the familiar bubble of pleasure in the pit of your stomach. "S-S-Si-imon...!" You whine loudly, reaching your free hand out to cover his.

"Fuck--" Ghost groans, head thrown back, lost in the throes of pleasure. You can hear the mumbled praise for him as your orgasm overtakes you, your poor worn out cunt weakly milking the man's cock for all it was worth. You can't even flinch away at the spike of pain when Simon exacerbates the already heavy bruising on your hips.

As he comes down, the Brit moves his hands off your hips, one holding him up as he leans over you while the other, rubs your soft stomach where his cock is slightly outlined. You shiver a little, earning kisses on either side of your face from Gaz and Soap.

"You did so well lass, absolutely beautiful," purrs the Scotsman, hand caressing your face gently.

"Our perfect Y/N," Price rumbles, already lighting a post-sex cigar that he knew you liked the smell of. "Always taking such good care of her boys hmm?" You offer him a weak smile as Gaz gets to work, gently clearing the sweat and cum from your skin.

Soap peels himself away from you as Ghost slowly pulls out. You let out a shuddered moan as you feel the cum nearly gush from your pussy. He puts the gentlest kiss you think you've ever felt against your knee as you hear the bath start in the other room.

"Thank you for your attention doll. Now let's get you cleaned up."

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sstormyskyess · 5 months

Text

Pub Nights

author's note: i imagine the boys are very unique when they're drunk and we all know they're not immune to getting just a bit more tipsy than they maybe should be, so here's what i cooked up!

cw: fluff, alcohol/drinking, intoxication, slight possessive behavior, a little sleazy behavior [not from any of the boys], cuddling, suggestive comments/acts

word count: 1700+

TF-141 x GN!Reader

Simon “Ghost” Riley [protective]

♡ You know how a lot people get less aware of their surroundings when they’re drunk? Not Ghost. He gets almost paranoid when he’s had a little too much to drink.

♡ Usually, this manifests in him always needing to have you in his line of sight, or better yet right next to him at all times. It’s hard to reason with him in this state; it’s possible, but it’s rare you’ll get him to just relax a bit before you end up needing to take him home.

Simon’s hand tightens on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. Someone across the bar had been eyeing you up for the past few minutes, something that you hadn’t noticed but he has. You look at him, confused. “What’s wrong, hun?” You tilt your head. He just grumbles and averts his gaze back down to the nearly empty glass of bourbon in his hand. You frown and wrap your hand gently around his wrist. “Simon?” You prompt again.

He sighs and turns to you, meeting your concerned eyes. “It’s nothing, love.” You start to believe him before his eyes snap up again looking past you to the person of interest again. He had started to move, approaching the two of you. A bold move, considering the fact that you had a 6’4” behemoth of a man playing guard dog by your side.

“Hey, sweetheart. You going home alone tonight?” The other man asks. Your eyes narrow and you scoot just a bit closer to Simon. “No, I’m with him actually.” The breath is pushed out of you when Simon’s arm wraps around your midsection and squeezes you tightly to his side. If this other guy was close enough, he’d be able to hear him growling next to you. “Piss off, ya fuckin’ wanker.” He hisses at the guy. At the sound of Simon’s voice, he immediately backed off, hands up and muttering a quick ‘sorry,’ before walking away.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and Simon’s arm loosens just a little. “Thank you, Si.” You kiss him on his clothed cheek, attempting to stop him glaring daggers at the retreating man. “He’s not coming back, baby. It’s okay.” You smile when he lets out a quick huff and fully relaxes his hold on you. “Let’s go home, yeah?” He murmurs, satisfied when you nod and start gathering your things.

John “Soap” Mactavish [sensual]

♡ Soap is going to be all over you, whether you’re drinking at home or not. Wandering eyes, grabby hands, an abundance of kisses—he wants to show you just how much he loves you in all the best ways.

♡ With a stocky Scotsman attached at the hip, it’s common that you’ll end up being assaulted by kisses and trapped in his arms for the rest of the night until he finally falls asleep for the night [a lot of the time, he’s falling asleep on the couch and you have to either drag him or urge him to his feet to get him in bed.]

It was a miracle that you and Johnny managed to get home tonight. You ended up having to get Price to drive the both of you home; you’d have to apologize for making out in the back of his car like a couple of horny teenagers, but that could wait until the morning. For now, you were just worried about not stumbling too much on the short walk down the hall that you had to make to get to your apartment door.

Somehow, you made it all the way inside and to your nice comfy bed. Yes, the bedsprings were a little worn out and yes, the mattress was getting a little lumpy, but that was irrelevant right now. It was hard to focus on anything else other than your boyfriend halfway laying on top of you with his lips connected to the skin on your neck and shoulders, painting you with lovebites and hickeys that you weren’t sure you’d be able to hide in the morning.

“I’m gonna have you up ‘til morning, bonnie, I swear—” He cuts himself off by biting down on you again, his hands slipping under your clothes to take big handfuls of all the plumpest parts of your body. “Can’t wait to hear you moanin’ tonight, y’sound so good…” He smiles against your skin when you whimper quietly at his words. It morphs into a giggle and you playfully try to pull away from him. “I don’t wanna get a noise complaint, Johnny!”

He just takes the opportunity to start stripping you, your shirt coming first so he could bury his face in your chest and start kissing you up and down there too. “Don’t care who hears us, they’ll have to bring it up with me anyway.” His words are muffled by your chest, the vibrations of his voice tickling you and making you giggle again.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick [mushy]

♡ Gaz gets very loose-lipped when he’s drunk. He’ll go on and on about how wonderful you are, and how much you’ve changed his life for the better, and that you’ve made him the happiest man alive.

♡ He gets very embarrassed about it the first few times you see him like that, but eventually you’re able to convince him that it’s just adorable and he’s got no reason to worry. In fact, it was the way he ended up confessing to you, so as much as it can get overbearing, this little quirk would always have a soft spot in your heart.

“Wait. What did you just say?” You turn to Kyle with an incredulous look on your face. There’s no way in hell you heard that right. Did you? Kyle just smiles at you and bumps shoulders with you. “I said that you made my life better more than anyone else has,” he rests his head on yours, “oh! And, that I love you. So, so much.”

Well, that was unexpected. You go silent for a few moments as Kyle sways a bit. He’s definitely had a little too much to drink. You support him with an arm around his shoulders and help get him to his feet, struggling under his weight at your side. “Let’s get you home, okay? You need rest.” He nods in response and lets you take him out to his car. Once you get him buckled into the passenger’s seat, you start the trip back to his flat, all the while he’s trying to hold your hand. Eventually you give in, a small smile on your face.

Once you’re back at his place, you’re faced with the task of getting him to his room to get him ready for bed, at least the best you could. “Thank you for taking me home, love.” He’s practically dead weight on you as you lug him to his room and sit him on his head. He immediately lays back, letting you pat his forehead. “Of course, Kyle. No need to thank me.” You smile. “Can you manage getting undressed by yourself?” He nods and you leave to get him some hangover remedies prepared.

You ended up asleep on Kyle’s couch with him—after he followed you there from his bedroom— with his arm around your midsection and him mumbling confessions of his affections all the way up until you fell asleep. You never realized how he felt about you; apparently, he hid it very well. The funny thing is, you felt exactly the same about him. You did have to wonder though: would he really still feel the same tomorrow? Hopefully he would, or your current position would be very odd.

John Price [sleepy]

♡ When Price breaches the barrier between tipsy and drunk, he quite honestly is ready to go home and hold you tight before getting a good night’s rest.

♡ The moment you get home you’re being dragged to bed, whether you like it or not, even if you want to go along with your usual nighttime routine. Hell, you’d be lucky to even get fully undressed before he’s pulling you under the covers.

You put one of your hands over John’s where they were resting on your stomach, kneading the plush there. He had been hovering behind you the entire time you were getting ready for bed. He was making it increasingly difficult to get anything done, especially getting undressed and into your sleepwear. With his arms practically locked around you, wiggling out of your clubbing outfit was near impossible.

“John, let go for a second—” You squeak when you get hoisted off the ground; the very second you finish drying your face after washing it, he was carrying you to bed and plopping you both down, his face buried in your shoulder. “You’re ready for bed already, darling.” He grumbles deep in his chest. You practically hear the pout on his face as he speaks. “I’m not even undressed yet—” You sigh deeply. “Fine, fine, I’m staying. Can I at least get some water first, though?” No response.

“John, we should really get some water…” You mumble into John’s chest, your voice muffled by his shirt. He just pulls you closer, his hand playing at the nape of your neck and the small of your back. You huff, trying to push yourself away from him. You look up at him with a frown on your face “John, c’mon, let go…” You whine. But before you could even try to escape his hold again, he was dead asleep.

You groan quietly and try to slip your clothes off despite his ironclad grip only managing to make it out of your shoes and the clothes covering your lower half. You had to wait for another ten minutes before his grip finally loosened enough for you to get up and get fully undressed and into your night clothes, as well as getting a glass of water to chug down.

Once you make it back to the bedroom, you realize you must have woken him up because he’s sitting against the headboard, waiting for you. When you walk in, he’s already trying to get up to grab you again, so you hurry to get in bed so as to not make him leave the bed. You’re almost immediately being crushed again and he’s falling asleep again, an adoring smile coming to your face as you rub his back up and down to soothe him back to sleep.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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brewed-pangolin · 5 months

Text

Drunk Text

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+ MDNI: Sexual themes.

Synopsis: You send Johnny a drunk text. It ends with a cop at your front door. (I'm teasing you all before the smut hits the literal fan). Unedited because I'm having way too much fun.

"You up?"

You press 'send'. Thumbs leisurely fumbling over the screen as your vision blurs and mind spins in a concoction of intoxicants.

You were sluggishly writing another message when he responds.

"Aye.

"Where are you?"

You question his inquiry for a moment. Eyes glazed and glancing up at the time on the screen.

2:36am.

Dammit.

"O'Reilly's."

He doesn't respond right away. But you can hear his deep brogue in your mind. Most definitely a stunned yet slightly intrigued 'Steamin' Jesus' escaping his lips.

"Need a ride?"

He's such a gentleman. Always has been. Yet with the sweet ethanol coursing through your veins and clouding your judgement, you couldn't help but give into your fiery and animalistic needs.

"You gonna be my saddle?

Again. No response.

After a few drowned out and muffled moments, his caller ID image popped up on the screen. Your lips curled into a devilish smile, swiping without hesitation to answer the call.

"Hi, Johnny.." You answer. Words slightly slurred. Languidly meandering together and your voice husky with an aire of whiskey fueled confidence.

"Yer a dirty little minx, y'know that?"

"What? You offered me a ride."

"Aye. I did."

There was a slight pause in your thoughts. Overtaken by the cacophony of sounds around you as your mind spiraled into a realm of provocative images.

"Well? Can I get a ride?"

He responded immediately with a rumbling growl. Even with the music blaring and sea of voices behind you, your ears easily picked up the subtle arousal bubbling within his throaty timbre.

"Be there in ten minutes."

You chase your victory with another shot. Hanging up with a triumphant slam of the glass on the bar as you close out your tab and walk out to wait for your drunken trophy at the front of the bar.

Two hours later, you were standing in the doorway of your apartment. Repeatedly apologizing to the officer in the hall and reassuring him there was most certainly not an altercation going on.

"I am so sorry, officer. Believe me, there's nothing going on."

You wrap the knitted blanket tightly around your chest and underneath your arms. Shielding your apparent nudity while the officer looks at you with a slightly gregarious grin.

"Just keep it down, ma'am."

"Yes, sir."

You both turn and part ways. He disappearing down the hall as you close the door and immediately march back into your bedroom.

And you can't help the sly grin curling into your lips as your eyes take in his overly confident expression. His hands resting behind his head, his muscular torso expanding as he takes in the sight of you.

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that, Johnny." You tease. The blanket around you effortlessly falling to the floor as your eyes lock into his dark and hungry gaze.

"Mmm. I'm countin' on it, bonnie."

If there was one thing that rang true that night, it was that your neighbors wouldn't get a moments rest. Because you were too busy riding a Scotsman like a whiskey possessed cowgirl.

The rodeo had definitely come into town.

(Omg, this last line is so stupid. But I had to.)

Part 2?

Drabbles Masterlist

@deadbranch @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @sofasoap @jynxmirage @homicidal-slvt @obligatoryghoststare @glitterypirateduck @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @macravishedbymactavish @haurasha

#drunk text #y'all want a part 2?#johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap mactavish #cod soap #soap x you #soap x f reader #cod fanfic #call of duty #cod

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strlingsav · 1 year

Note

hear me out: team 141& female reader go to the bar post successful mission, everyone's a lil too drunk, she makes a move on ghost but he's like "ok uve had too much" (I dnt think he's rly drunk tho) and he brings her back to his room to take care of her, but hes like wait "I've always wanted you" THEN THE HOT AND STEAMY STUFF *ofc it's all consensual*

Ohhhhhhh yes, right up my alley 👀

Always

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Your Lieutenant confesses his feelings.

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

It wasn't your idea to go out; it was never anyone but Soap that always suggested a pint at the bar around the corner. A run-down dive bar across the street from the base, where every soldier knew it was the best place for cheap drinks and entertainment.

It was the kind of place that belonged to the coarse, gruff men that chain-smoked and didn't want to go home sober. The kind that kept their eyes on you as you wandered in, before turning their interest back to the beer in front of them.

You shared a table with the squad. You were a bit hesitant to join them after hearing the stories Soap told about the place. The time he nearly had a dart thrown in his chest during a drunken game, or when he'd lost a lot of money during a pool match. Nonetheless, you'd been convinced, citing something like, "one time can't hurt".

It was filled with cigarette smoke, classic-rock, and the heavy smell of beer. Price lit up a cigar, puffing on it from the far end of the table. He seemed to enjoy the music and beer, not paying much attention to the ongoing conversation between you. Gaz and Soap had been ragging on each other, Ghost joining in when he felt it necessary.

Soap was already a few drinks in, pressuring you to keep up with him. You could, and did, though you knew you'd have to walk back afterward and thoroughly regretted the three you'd already had.

Ghost sat beside you, a hand around his glass of bourbon, quietly surveying the conversation, chiming in with a scoff or witty comment about Soap's intelligence every so often.

"You are not a Scotsman," You shook your head, watching the drunken man nod his head along to the guitar and drums from the speakers.

"Piss off," He sneered. "What are you on about?"

"You can't hold your liquor," You said back, leaning forward with a smug grin.

"And you can? I'm drinkin' you under the table."

"We're even," You rolled your eyes, sitting back. "'Sides, I'm savouring it."

"Shite's gettin' warm in your hand!" He exclaimed.

You narrowed your eyes, shooting the last of your beer back.

"Let's do a few shots, then. And grab me another beer."

His eyes lit up, a smirk on his face. "Now you're talkin' kid." He shuffled out of his seat, stumbling every so slightly as he headed toward the bar.

"He won't stop 'til he's ahead of ya," Ghost said, leaning into your ear.

You shivered. The timbre of his voice in your ear brought goosebumps to the surface of your skin. Looking over at him, you furrowed your brows, inspecting his eyes. Dark and void, no flecks of any other colour to be seen. They were deep and mesmerizing, a black hole ready to suck you in. You noticed you'd been staring longer than normal, pursing your lips before shifting your gaze.

"I know," You were distracted now with the image of Soap, carrying four shot glasses filled with a mysterious liquid. "It's fun to see him try though."

"More entertainin' watchin' him act like a git."

You grinned.

Price then announced he was heading out, mumbling, "I ain't in the mood for watchin' you drunks all night."

You'd bid him good night, but not before trying to convince him to stay. He'd resigned himself to a night in, drinking his expensive liquor, puffing his cigar in the privacy of his own office. He left with a short goodbye, warning the rest of you not to get out of control.

Soap set the shots down, handing you yours with a polite smile.

"Think we should cheers," He said, sitting down. His speech was now obviously slurring. "To another fuckin' mission finished, and to gettin' back home, away from you fuckers."

You shrugged, colliding your glass with his, before tipping it back and letting it slide down your throat. You shut your eyes, swallowing harshly, nearly choking on the burn in your chest.

"Jesus," You were hoarse, a strangled sound leaving your lips. You recognized the flavour of the drink- vodka. "Nasty."

You sat back, your eyes scanning the bar. It was getting harder to see straight- ghost trails and lazy blinks disrupting your vision. A deep breath in did nothing to clear your head, but damn did it feel good.

"Here," He handed you the second.

You hadn't quite recovered from the first, still feeling it sitting in your throat. Your ribs shifted with a heavy inhale, desperately trying to swallow the liquid fire. Your eyes landed on Soap, an amused grin across his face, though you'd already gulped down the shot before he could say anything.

He chased his shot with the beer in front of him, a grimace across his face- the same as yours. It hit you within a few minutes, only exacerbating the way everything seemed to blur together.

It felt great. Fucking great, to drink, relax, unwind. Have fun, for the first time in months. Dress in something other than fatigues and twenty pounds of equipment. To shower and brush your teeth with running water. You'd finally de-tangled your hair, appreciated the sweet smell of deodorant, worn makeup. You were reminded of it by Gaz, when he commented that your face looked "different" from the usual.

Your head turned, catching Ghost's eyes on the way by, and you smiled softly. It was unintentional, nearly uncontrollable at this point in the evening. He averted his gaze.

You'd always thought highly of him, respected him. You had to. But the causal dress brought out a different side of him, a side that had a sense of humour and didn't mind listening to the back and forth between yourself and Soap. A side you wouldn't mind seeing more often. He wasn't just your Lieutenant now, and your drunken self had taken note of that.

You squinted, trying to imagine the face beneath the mask. His eyes were alluring on their own, and your cheeks flushed at the thought of just how handsome he probably was.

You'd let your guard down, after so long of denying the fact that you were attracted to him, you'd admitted it to yourself. You knew you were digging yourself into a hole, unsure how you'd function while working with him, how you'd ever leave the attraction behind and behave in a strictly professional manner.

It was more difficult to think about drunk than it was while sober. While sober, you could pretend his voice didn't awaken a thrumming in your chest, or that you definitely didn't like the way his fatigues fit his body. But drunk- it was a different story. You'd had your eyes all over him, uncaring and indifferent to whether he noticed or not.

It came with urgency, a giggle bubbling up before you could stop it. It was just another urge you couldn't quite hold in. You'd been studying him, and only when he turned to you, did you realize it. You'd been caught.

"What's funny?" He asked, raising a brow.

You waved your hand, trying to dismiss his question, nearly knocking your empty beer bottle off the table. You caught it with a clumsy hand, pushing it out of reach and clutching your full drink to your chest.

"Lightweight," Soap announced, the usual shit-eating grin on his face.

"Fuck off, Johnny."

"You're a mean drunk, kid."

"I'm not drunk." You noticed that your own speech was slurring now. Your mouth particularly difficult to control, short bursts of giggles exploding without warning. "Okay," You nodded slowly. "Just a bit."

Soap laughed, a loud, boisterous laugh that made you wince. He'd also indulged a bit too much, his cockiness making an unexpected appearance.

"Let's win us a game of pool," Soap said, turning to Gaz.

"I'm not giving you any money," Gaz answered, following close behind as the two made their way to the tables.

You sighed heavily, relishing in the feeling of not being in control. Letting go, falling into the drunken stupor you'd gotten yourself into. It was cathartic. Especially after a gruelling mission.

You turned your attention to Ghost, your head tilting up to look at him.

"Just you and me, Loot," You pursed your lips. "Tell me your war stories."

"Don't have any interesting enough." He took another sip, his lips wet with liquor. You could hardly tear your eyes away.

"Bullshit," You grinned.

He shrugged it off, licking the leftover liquid from his mouth. You'd see his lips before, seen the stubble that lined his chin. You knew he was handsome.

"You should take off the mask," You said, still very intrigued.

"Why's that?" He asked, his gaze flickering between your lips and eyes.

"You're handsome. Not sure why you hide it," You popped a cashew in your mouth from the communal bowl on the table.

"I know. That ain't why I wear it," He said. His eyes fell to the cashews in your hand. "Shouldn't eat those."

You stopped your chewing, furrowing your brows as you set the remaining cashews back in the bowl. He was right; by the looks of it they were old- you hadn't noticed with the blurry haze of liquor distorting your vision.

"Always looking out," You grinned sheepishly. "It's alright to take a night off."

"Not when you're pissed," He commented.

You scowled, "I'm not pissed- I'm tipsy. At the most, a bit drunk." Your tone was harsher than intended.

"You're pissed," He nodded.

"You're deflecting. We were talking about how handsome you are."

"No we weren't," He said, swallowing another gulp.

"Okay," You sighed. Admittedly, it was taking a lot of brain power to follow the conversation. "I was talking about it."

He nodded. "You usually so irritatin' when you're in the bag?"

"Are you usually such a prude?" You snapped.

He shook his head, hiding the grin on his lips with a sip from his glass. You were far too drunk to notice. You wondered if maybe you were a mean drunk, suddenly feeling irrationally guilty for talking to your lieutenant that way.

"I'm sorry," You sighed, desperately wanting to lay your head down on the table, bury your face in your arms and hide your embarrassment.

"It's nothin'." He looked amused.

"I'm sure you're not a prude," You said, eyes wide with concern.

"Far from it."

You raised your brows, suddenly intrigued. Sitting up straight, you shifted to face him entirely.

"I've never seen that side of you."

"No reason to."

"I mean," You swallowed the cold beer, setting it down before staring up at him with narrowed eyes. "I could give you a reason."

Your focus was unrelenting as you scanned his face, searching for any hint of an interested expression. He was unreadable- likely due to the liquor in your bloodstream- and it frustrated you. Now, deeply under the influence, you were irritated and aroused.

"Don't think you know what you're sayin'," His eyebrows dipped in, an unimpressed expression in his eyes.

He'd never seen you in your civilian clothes, or with lipstick on. His mouth had gone dry when he first saw you walk into the bar, not surprising given the tightness in his chest anytime you'd brush past him, compliment him, even say his name. It was unavoidable, especially now, watching you lean in, your inhibitions lowered.

He felt his blood run cold, warmth settling in his groin when your eyes lazily flipped over to look at him, your hand under your chin. You had a coy smile on your face, like you didn't know exactly what you did to him, and he'd be a damn liar if he didn't admit it turned him on even more.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Your eyes narrowed at him, a short huff of amusement leaving your nose.

He wanted to believe it was true; he'd been around enough drunken soldiers to know that whatever was said usually had some truth to it. He just couldn't imagine a woman like yourself wanting to be attached to a person like him. You were too good; too righteous. Too loyal, trusting. Sometimes it drove him crazy, other times he cherished how much faith you put in him.

"Think you've had enough for the night."

He finished his drink, setting it down. He licked his lips.

"Maybe," You nodded.

Your head was fuzzy, and it was hard to see straight. Reasonably, you knew it was time to call it. You'd pay for it in the morning if you didn't.

"C'mon," He said, nodding his head, urging you to step out of the booth. "We'll head back to base."

You didn't fight him. Your hand reached the table for support as you stood up, missing the empty beer bottle by an inch. Ghost grabbed your arm, an innocent touch that your drunken state turned into something more; a premonition.

You turned back to look at him, a coy smile- even drunk, you were a bit embarrassed to be so clumsy in front of your Lieutenant.

Your arm wrapped around Ghost's as you headed out of the bar, discretely feeling the hard bicep that was hidden beneath the black jacket he was wearing. You squeezed gently, hoping he wouldn't feel your groping. He knew, he could feel your fingers moving, the heat of your palm over his arm. He couldn't help but look over at you, an expression of bliss on your face, eyes half shut.

You made small talk, the night air sobering you up a bit as you wandered across the street. The flickering streetlights made him look even more intimidating than usual, casting a shadow over his eyes, his tall form towering over you. You were aware now of just how close you were to him; you were surprised he'd let you hold his arm, but glad he did. You were somewhat afraid you'd wander off and end up sleeping in a ditch, but mostly you liked how warm he was, how good he felt under your hand.

You knew when he walked you inside that it wasn't the direction of your bunk.

"I'm over there," You pointed.

"You're stayin' with me," He said resolutely. "Can't have you chokin' on your own vomit."

You frowned, "Fair point."

As he let you into his quarters, you were overwhelmed with just how much it smelled like him. A bit of vanilla, cedar, cigarettes. It was almost suffocating, seeping into your senses until you were filled only by him. It was intimate, breathing the same air he lived in. He'd allowed you inside, allowed you to see his most personal space. You took a deep breath at the overwhelming revelation.

Your eyes scanned the room, cataloguing the belongings inside. There weren't many personal items; no photographs or books. Hardly any evidence that he lived there. It was barren, aside from the furniture. You knew him, knew he didn't live like you did. He didn't have family back home that waited for him with loving arms and smiles. He had no reason to frame photos of the people he had loved before.

You stood in the centre of the room, still taking in the environment, sobering up even more when he appeared with a T-shirt and water bottle in hand.

"Here," He said, holding them out to you.

"Is that yours?" You asked, looking over the T-shirt.

He nodded.

You were flustered now, the drunkenness having mostly worn off, your demeanour did a one-eighty once you realized where you'd ended up. Your Lieutenant's room, alone. It was the perfect opportunity to take advantage of, to confess to every single thing you'd ever thought about him. But you couldn't blame it on being drunk anymore, not when you could feel the embarrassment of what you'd said earlier, and mostly regretted it.

"Thank you."

"Y'can change in there," He nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom.

You did, discarding your jacket, shirt and pants. You slid the shirt over your head. It reached the middle of your thighs, a comical look that made you smile at yourself in the mirror. You chugged the water bottle and pulled your hair from your face before leaving the bathroom.

His eyes landed on you, his heart picking in his chest up when he saw you wearing nothing but his shirt. Relaxed, like you were home. It was undeniably arousing. Like you were branded, marked by him. He tried to ignore it, ignore the way your bare feet across his floor sounded so comforting, the way you so willingly wore his clothes, thought nothing of wearing your damn panties around him. He felt something primal clawing at his chest, scratching its way up his throat.

"How you feelin'?" He asked, settling for a nonchalant question, something innocent so you wouldn't suspect he was practically trembling with desire, to touch you- taste you. He took a seat in the chair across the room.

You stepped over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

"Mostly sober," You breathed out, a small smile on your face. "Sorry, if I said anything out of line."

He nodded; no answer, a nerve-racking response on its own, but his eyes avoided yours. You pushed past the topic, not wanting to dwell on the actions of your drunken self.

"I can sleep on the floor, if you have an extra blanket?" You offered.

He shook his head, "Take the bed. Don't sleep much anyways."

"Why not?" You asked.

"Never have. Too much goin' on in my head."

"Stop thinking for once," You teased.

He inhaled, still slightly distracted by the sight of you, your bare thighs, the shirt inching up as you moved up the bed.

"If only," He replied.

"What keeps you up at night, L.T.?" You asked, a grin of amusement on your face.

You, he wanted to say. You, and your fucking smile. The cadence of your voice, the feeling in his gut he got whenever he felt you next to him, watched you when you weren't looking.

"Paperwork," He teased- though his face showed no evidence of a joke.

You were quiet for a minute, shifting your gaze around the room before returning to his eyes. You smiled, changing the topic again when you concluded he really didn't want to talk about it.

"Thanks for taking care of me tonight."

"You're my responsibility."

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach; had he felt responsible for you? Had he only let you cling to him out of obligation? Given you his shirt because it was his duty?

"Oh," You nodded. Your voice was weak, but you tried to hide your disappointment behind a small smile. "Always watching out."

"For you, yeah."

Your gaze narrowed. You wondered if you were still drunk, reading too much into his words, putting meaning where there was none. He sat forward in his seat, attentive, unwavering.

You tilted your head, hoping it would give you an alternative angle to follow, a new lead into the words he'd said. With no success, you leaned back on your hands, ready to interrogate him.

"You don't have to do that," You said, prodding for more. Something substantial, something tangible to sink your teeth into. Some ground to stand on so you could tell how he really felt. "Watch out for me all the time. Especially off duty."

"Can't help it," He said. It was quiet, almost unnoticeable except you'd seen his shoulders tense.

"Why?"

He stood to his feet, and your stomach lurched. He was slow, calculating in his steps, moving closer by the second.

"Think you know."

He stopped before you, his gaze so impenetrable you almost couldn't meet his eyes. His fingers reached up, his knuckles skimming the soft surface of your cheek. You shut your eyes, an inadvertent reaction to the rough feel of his fingers. Your skin was flushed, reddened with the rush of blood your heart was pushing to every nerve.

"Because I'm a liability?" You teased, desperately wanting to ease the tension, to appear unaffected by his words, even though your arms had weakened, every bone turning to liquid inside you. You struggled to keep his gaze, to hold yourself up when he was so domineering, standing tall above you.

His eyes honed in on your lips, giving a small shake of his head. "'Cause I've always wanted you."

You inhaled deeply. It stunned you, to say the least. You'd never seen any hint of attraction from him. He was stoic and unreadable, always. But now, he bore his soul to you. Extending an offer that you were too weak to decline. The room stood still, soft exhales and invisible strain sitting in the air.

You finally met his gaze, cheeks tinged red, an exhale of relief. It was a weight off your shoulders, not having to hide anymore. Knowing he felt exactly the same.

"You've always had me, Lieutenant." You stood to your feet, your head barely meeting his shoulder, but you felt powerful, invigorated with a rush of desire.

He hummed, short, acknowledging, satisfied.

His hand moved from the apple of your cheek to the curve of your waist. His hold was strong and warm, comforting, in a way that made you shiver. A twitch in your body made him chuckle, a deep and inviting sound, that offered no relief of the chill running through your spine.

You couldn't count how many times you'd wished he'd touch you. Intentionally or not, you didn't care, you craved it. You craved the sensation, the heavy pour of molten heat that settled in every bone. The ache between your thighs, never satiated by your own hands, leaving your body to the mercy of your mind, begging and pleading for relief by some measure.

"You still drunk?" He asked, quiet and low.

You shook your head, eyes piercing his gaze with ferocity, a never ending commitment. You couldn't be drunk; not with how obvious it was that his hand was on your waist, clinging to you tightly like he'd lose you if he didn't. Your senses were sharper than they'd ever been, especially with him standing before you.

He pulled the fabric of his mask over his head, freeing his face before you. It was a sight to behold, a moment you wanted to seal in your mind and look back on for years to come. You couldn't help your teeth chewing at your lip, biting back the urge to stand on your toes and kiss him, kiss the lips you'd seen a handful of times but never complemented by his other features. He was handsome. Even more than you'd imagined; a composite of Adonis, embodiment of Ares.

He did your bidding for you, leaning over your shorter frame to bring his lips closer to yours. He waited a moment, wanting to be sure you knew exactly what he intended, what he wanted. You grew tired of the torment, and met him halfway.

He groaned; low and harsh. He absolved you of any responsibility, taking over as he tugged you into his chest. He was a towering figure above you, your neck aching as you reached up to meet his mouth. Your hands lifted to his waist, a gentle hold, still apprehensive. You'd never touched him before, never been able to glide your hands across his sides and envelop him in your arms. It felt right.

In response, his palm reached your cheek, fingers splaying out over your jaw. It was a bit rougher, more motivated. He slipped his tongue in your mouth at the same time, his heavy exhales fanning across your face. He was warm, feverish against you, his body entirely consumed with greed.

He tasted sweet, like caramel and the bitter aftertaste of alcohol still on his tongue. You hummed softly against his mouth, relishing in the moment; your bodies pressed together, lips connected fervidly, hands exploring the expanse of his torso. Your fingers slid down his abdomen, and he pulled back, still holding onto you.

"Y'look good in my shirt."

A slow, smug smile spread over your lips. "Shame you'll have to take it off me," You whispered.

You stood on your toes, pressing your lips to his again. It was an addictive rush, every time you felt the way he pulled you in, the softness in his lips.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, slowly crawling over you to pin you beneath him on the bed, pure desire between your thighs, flames flickering inside you when his gaze lowered.

You pulled the jacket off his shoulders, hands lifting his T-shirt over his head. Your eyes dropped to his stomach, breathing in the muscles lining his navel, the trail of coarse hair disappearing under his jeans, the marks and scars across his entire torso. Your hands inadvertently reached out, tracing every line and contour, his head falling down at your gentle touch.

You pulled his belt open, before he took his time lifting his T-shirt up off your body, watching with uninterrupted focus, taking in every bare inch he could see until you were left nude before him.

"Fuckin' beautiful," He whispered, his lips beside your ear, moving to leave soft kisses against your neck.

Your jugular pounded in your throat, his silken tongue finding your pulse and biting down softly. You whimpered, pulling yourself closer to him as he scattered kisses over your neck and chest. His hands engulfed your breasts, warmth erupting over your body when he left wet kisses over your nipples, a flat tongue following.

"Yes, please," You exhaled, your back arching into him.

He laid down beside you, a smooth transition when your hand on his chest pushed him back against the pillows. You climbed over his lap while he gripped your hips, staring up at you as you rocked over the bulge in his jeans.

He grunted, quickly yanking his waistband and briefs down. His cock lifted from the restraints, painfully erect, the size a bit intimidating but you'd never given up from a challenge. You leaned forward, sliding your panties aside, helping him to press the tip of his cock against your entrance, before you sat back down.

His cock slowly inched inside, an uncomfortable stretch, but you were already so aroused it quickly dissipated when your hips moved forward. He stretched his neck back, pressing into the pillows; your pussy was drenched, with soft, velvet walls that squeezed around him. He gritted his teeth.

"So big, Lieutenant," You exhaled, a guttural sound as you appreciated just how much he filled you.

"No Lieutenant shite," He groaned. "Simon-" He gulped. "Say my name, love."

You leaned over him, resting your hands against the pillows while his hands slid up to your waist. You craned your neck down to press your lips against his, your pussy gliding up and down his cock while his hands guided you.

It was a haze-inducing sight; your lips wide with pleasure, panting softly every time his cock would massage your walls, graze your clit.

"You feel good, sweetheart," He grumbled against your neck. "Fuckin' hell- that's good."

"Yes- fuck," You watched his eyes, the way he'd furrow his brows in an attempt to digest just how good you felt wrapped around him.

His free hand massaged your breasts, grabbing and palming the soft tissue as you thrust your hips against his.

"God, Simon."

"Been waitin' to hear you say my name like that," He said.

You shivered on his cock, your pussy clenching down with appreciation for his words.

You moved forward, your hips working to grind against him, to push his cock inside you, falling back with heavy exhales.

He couldn't handle the slow pace, couldn't handle the restriction- how he couldn't bury himself inside you. He flipped your bodies over, realigning himself with your pussy before diving back inside.

You groaned, clinging to his shoulders, your thighs immediately wrapping around his waist, trembling.

"Lie back," He grunted, his hips rolling against yours. "Lie back and let me take care of you, love."

Your lips parted, a satisfied moan escaping. Your hands reached his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he thrust his cock inside you, the sounds of your well-lubricated pussy echoing around the room.

He muffled your moans with his lips, panting heavily after pulling away.

"So deep," You mumbled, "Fuck you're so deep, just like that, please."

"Like hearin' you beg, sweetheart," Another grunt.

His fingers reached down to your clit, rubbing side to side in a way that made your abdomen tense. He felt the clench of your pussy around him, letting out a low gasp against your skin.

"Christ, I dreamt about fuckin' you. Havin' you just like this."

"Simon," You whispered.

His hand gripped your thigh, angling it to penetrate deeper inside you.

"Who's this cunt belong to?" Sweat lined his brow, his fingers still moving in circles on your clit.

"Fuck," You squeezed your eyes shut, savouring just how fucking good it felt, the stimulation was enough to have you writhing beneath him, your body begging for an orgasm. "You, shit- 's all yours."

"That's my girl," He grumbled, plunging his cock inside you with even more speed now, triggering waves of pleasure that engulfed your entire body, had you moaning so loudly he covered your mouth with his hand.

"Fuck," He swore, listening to the muffled sounds of pleasure escaping your mouth. "Fuckin' hell. Let it out. I've got you."

You whimpered and whined, his cock driving into you, extending your orgasm. Your eyes rolled back, nostrils flaring as you tried to catch your breath, your thighs and fingers squeezing relentlessly against him.

He had a difficult time holding back; he so badly wanted to hear every single moan and cry that left your lips, but knew the walls were thin. He wouldn't live with himself if anyone found out, if you'd take the brunt of the relentless torment that would surely follow.

He removed his hand when he was sure you'd recovered, so close to his own release he almost didn't have time to tell you. You could read his face, see the expression of pain and pleasure.

"Wherever," You breathed. "Wherever you want."

Your words pushed him past the edge, and his hips stuttered, pressing flush against yours as he released inside you, his cock twitching with every burst.

He sucked in a harsh breath, head tilting up to stare at the ceiling. He thrusted lazily a few more times, before gently falling next to you. A few moments passed, deep breaths and contentment in the air.

"What's in your head now?" You asked, turning on your side.

He nearly smiled, "All clear, sweetheart."

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

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mockerycrow · 7 months

Text

ONLY YOURS (Sub!Price x GN!Reader)

price masterlist — price picture credit

summary; he’s just too damn loud. — 1.7k words

[WARNINGS; sub!price, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, secret relationships, handjob, light degradation, biting, out of place fluff.]

John watches as Soap laughs and slaps Gaz on his back over some story, his other hand holding a cup of some sort of alcohol; some brand that John doesn’t personally drink. He’s just thankful that it isn’t tequila as he doesn’t want a face full of his spit and the tequila. In John’s hand is a nice cup of whiskey, something that burns but goes down fairly easy. His eyes look into his cup, watching the dark liquid swirl around, vaguely hearing Ghost, who is next to him, speak up about Soap’s story, something about correcting a detail. John doesn’t care too much to pay attention at the moment, not when the alcohol is beginning to kick in just the right way. It’s rare that he gets these moments with his men; being able to drink together as John is nearly always busying himself with something.

“—That reminds me, Captain,” Soap hums, a grin stretched across his face. John picks his eyes up from his glass of whiskey, locking eyes with the tipsy Scotsman. “You’ve seemed much more relaxed, aye?”

John’s lip twitches as he hums before taking a sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn. He nods, his other hand coming up to rub the pleasantly sensitive skin underneath his jacket. “My stress has been much better these days, yes.” John replies with a chuckle. Oh, only if they knew.

Only if they knew why.

God, John feels like such a teenager sneaking around like this; he can’t get enough of the rush you give him, the secrecy you two have to maintain—when you sit on his desk and you force him to stand between your legs with his heavy cock in your hand. John shudders as you grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer—you said no touching, so John scrambles to plant his palms down on the desk on the outside of your thighs to keep himself up. You laugh as he struggles to be obedient, as he lets you position him however you want. Your wrist absentmindedly keeps bumping against the edge of the desk due to how close John’s body is, but you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all, not when John is letting out shuddery grunts and groans as he struggles to stay quiet.

“God,” He groans lowly, his voice gritty and deep in his chest. He’s so close, your breath brushes over his face and all he wants to do is lean forward to kiss you. You ghost your lips over his as your hand begins to drag up and down his leaking cock, pulling a loud gasp out of him. Delicious pleasure shoots up his spine and melts deep in his chest and gut as your hand continues to squeeze precum from him. John’s fingers dig into the wood of his desk as his head reels from how good your hand feels. Your lips twitch into a smile as you watch John’s eyelids flutter and how he nearly leans into you for a kiss but always at the last second, he catches himself; because he wants to be good. John swears as your hand around his cock speeds up, spreading his precum along the length, making your hand a slicker surface to slide against.

You tsk as one particular moan bounces off the wall, and you don’t miss the way his hips jolt forward. “Oh, Captain..” You murmur, your eyes never leaving his pleasure drunk face. John’s eyelids open and he looks back at you, causing his dick to twitch in your palm, his hazy eyes settling on yours—like he’s waiting for you to talk. “And here I thought that the talk we had was important; how we need to be careful and quiet.” You taunt, leaning your cheek against his, your lips brushing against his ear. John’s skin burns from touching yours and he wants more, more, more, more—”But here you are, moaning like a fuckin’ whore.”

John shudders, doing his damn best staying still, letting you play with his cock and heavy balls all you want. “Bloody hell, sweetheart—” John breathes out and you can tell he isn’t complaining about the degradation. In fact, you swear your knuckles are stickier. You hold his cock with one hand and your other hand comes down to the head, your finger swirling right under the mushroom tip causing John to shout out and his hips thrust into your hand, his brain melting and pouring out of his ears—your hand comes up and slaps against his mouth, causing his eyelids to pop open. You’re talking, but John has no idea what you’re saying, not when you’re mercilessly teasing his tip, fuck, he wants to cum so bad.

Your hand that is covering his mouth pats his cheek, leaving a slight sting behind; just enough to ground him back into reality. You were high off of the power your Captain gave to you. Your superior, the man who others respected due to his presence, his work, his efforts; is handing everything over to you. “I’m talking to you, Captain.” You add a mocking tone at the end. “M’listenin’.” John says with a heavy tone, his breath hitching in his throat. You click your tongue, causing him to tense. He suppresses the noises of complaints that threaten to leave his mouth. “Now, there’s one thing I don’t like. Why don’t you tell me what that is, Captain?”

John swallows the spit that has accumulated in his mouth. “Liars.” He whispers, his face burning with embarrassment. God, you being in control is thrilling, sneaking around is thrilling but he can’t ignore the embarrassment that bubbles in his gut every time. “I didn’t hear you, John. You want to be quiet now, but when it matters, you’re whimpering so loudly that I bet someone heard; you know Soap has a blabbermouth,” You grin as you witness John feel conflicted, but you don’t ignore the way his cock throbs in your hand.

John lets out an unsteady breath, and nods—he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to anymore, which tugs another laugh from your chest. John didn’t think he was the type to do this; he was sure only reckless privates and other lower ranks would risk something like this. Handjobs, quickies, everything of the sort on base. If you told him three years ago what he was doing right at this moment, his mouth would’ve frowned and shook his head in disbelief, and he wouldn’t blame his past self for doing so. Risking his whole career for a little stress belief—except, you’re more than stress relief to him and he’s more than a toy for you to play with. John loves when you distract him from the paperwork he has to do by wrapping a hand around his throat, leaning in—so uncharacteristic of him, he thinks—but he loves it more when you press a loving kiss against his temple.

John likes it when your hand touches the small of his back to check in with him, and he likes doing it in return. He likes speaking with only glances, and no words; sending you glances only the two of you understand. You can read him like no other. John likes it when you don’t question his authority as a Captain, you respect his rank and his experience, despite your control in the bedroom—or should you say office? John liked it when he realized you began to get up earlier, at the time he got up just to spend more time with him—an hour or two just for the two of you, sipping your morning drinks in silence together. He’s embarrassed at how easily you got him under your thumb because his libido is suddenly like it was when he was much younger; he isn’t too old, but he’s certainly aged a bit.

He’s brought back to reality by your hand squeezing the back of his neck then traveling to the back of his head, grasping threads of his short hair and gently tugging. “You with me, John?” You ask, your voice firmer than before. John makes a noise as he settles back into reality, his eyelids blinking rapidly as the unbearably hot feeling of arousal swirls in his gut. “M’with you, love.” John croaks, your eyes locking with his. Your eyebrow cocks ever so slightly—he knows what you want. “Green. Just a bit out of it.” John adds, noticing the way your eyebrow relaxes back into place. You hum and let go of his hair, letting his head lean forward a bit more than its previous strenuous position.

“Out of it?” You question, your hand tilting his head to the side by his chin. John’s eyes stay on you, searching for any hint of how you feel, but your eyes have drifted down to his neck area. Your hand trails down from his chin to the buttons on his shirt, which you slowly begin to undo with one hand, your other still loosely wrapped around his cock. “Mm, you mean you were distracted, John.” You mock pout, you blink, and your eyes meet his again. John swallows, your eyes swirling with something he craves.

“Dont’cha worry, pet. I’ll get you back on track.” John’s eyes widen at the name—pet—but he doesn’t have time to think about it too much when you pull one of the flaps of his shirt to the side and you sink your teeth into his shoulder harshly. “Fuck—” John curses, his hips jolting as the pain swirls against his nerves, your teeth hungrily biting down on his muscle and flesh. You pull away and John winces for a second, his breath stuttering when he sees something red on your teeth. Blood. You grin and lick your teeth, somehow stealing all of John’s air from his lungs.

His knees buckle—and crack—violently when your hand suddenly begins to stroke his painfully hard cock, causing him to gasp. “Shit, love—” John moans out of appreciation, and you roll your eyes and grab his face, covering his mouth. “Noisy brat.” You reprimand as you stroke his cock. “My noisy brat.” John can’t believe himself when he nods, agreeing with you because he is yours. All of him is yours—like you are his.

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ragingbookdragon · 3 months

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Y/N, buzzed and looping an arm around Ghost's neck: Heyyyy, has anyone seen Soap recently?

Ghost, balls deep in two beers and a steak: Haven't been paying attention.

Gaz: I haven't seen him since he left for the bar a few minutes ago. I hope he's good.

Price: I know where he is.

Y/N: Where?

Price, nodding to the stage: If I had to take a guess, he's about to perform some spectacular Scottish karaoke.

Y/N: Oh no.

Ghost: What?

Soap, drunk as a mf: WELL A SCOTSMAN CLAD IN KILT LEFT A BAR ONE EVENING FAIR--

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yuesgirlfriend · 8 months

Text

of birds and honey

part 1

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

summary: the year is 1312, and your fathers knight follows you to the wood.

The great hills surrounding the castle are a patchwork of green and yellows, as they always are during the summer months. Gray skies up ahead do nothing to dampen the mood of the castle; everyone is bustling about, preparing for the feast marking the new battalions arrival, as if their presence signifies something happier than impending war.

She can see them, now, where she is perched atop the highest wall-practiced, without fear- in a way her old governesses would have certainly called unbecoming of a lady. But did not the bible speak of the virtues of a young lady- justice, fortitude, among them?

(It takes great fortitude to learn the secrets she has learned, to climb over steep walls like they were bales of hay, to listen to words she would have heard anyway, had she been born a man. Listening from the eaves and skulking about is an act of justice, not a sin.)

The men, traversing down the trail, look like ants, she thinks- where she sits high above them, balancing on the stone, they look like children's toys. Tiny wooden figures, a small boy's idea of heroes, lined up on the yellow-green patchwork quilt.

When they finally ride over the moat and into the stronghold, they look like any other collection knights she has seen- some cloaked, some helmetless, all shining in the half clouded, setting sun.

That night is boisterous and rowdy, like any other feast. The courtyard is crowded with people- servants, villagers, everyone coming together to eat and drink and be merry. The tables are laden with the finest of foods. The smell of roast goose and heron, wine, and vomit hangs in the night air with the shouts and bawdy songs. The new knights drink and eat and throw things, singing their songs with everyone else. The castle hums with life, every voice and every soul another cell in one great organism.

(The whole time, she sits quietly as a lady should, but listens as a lady shouldn’t. No one notices, and why would they notice the Lord’s waif of a girl, silently eating at his right hand? The servants, the townspeople, even her father speak of her when they think she isn’t listening- she is, to them, as unnaturally quiet as a changeling and as likely to smile as a mourner. Such a shame, my lord, that her birth took your wife, god rest her soul. And for the child to not even be a boy…)

The stories that feast are rambling and, wine drunk, but the message is clear- they are hired soldiers with no Christian names, under orders from the king to protect the stronghold that is her home.

But one stands out. The only one still wearing his painted helmet, and as such doesn’t eat or drink with his companions. Instead, he sits on her fathers left side, speaking in low and gruff tones only when spoken to.

She picks at her food as her ears pick up words like more men and allies and a thousand dead, all spoken in an accent she thinks more suited to a farmer than a soldier.

As the feast begins to die down, dancers lying about drunk, he walks with her Lord father, presumably to show him a weak point in the castle walls.

She follows along, unseen, silent footsteps trailing behind them in the shadows. The knight with the painted helmet is tall and broad when he waves a hand at a wall that, upon closer inspection, does seem weaker than the rest. A chink in the castle’s armor, he says.

The fire dies out, people lay around in drunken heaps, and rats are scurrying for food in corners of the room by the time she retires for the night. Her maid is nowhere to be found- based on the way the Scotsman and her were wrapped around eachother earlier, it is likely best not to go looking for her- so she wanders alone to her quarters, a candle in one hand and a half eaten honey cake in the other.

The halls are dimly lit labrynths, and every footstep she takes makes a wet scuff along the perpetually damp straw covering the chilled stone floors. She does not believe in sneaking about when not needed, and enjoys a reprieve from constant surveillance as she licks honey carelessly from her fingers, focusing more on the sweetness of the honey cake than her surroundings.

And just as she turns the corner to the starcase, a hand shoots out from a shadow and grabs her arm.

Her gasp is muffled by a large hand, gloved. His other hand plucks the candle from her grasp, rests it on the narrow windowsill behind him. She scrapes and thrashes at the silver of his forearm, scrambling to reach for the knife at his side before he speaks.

“Pray, be silent, Lady- I know you are able.”

In response, she bites down on the gloved hand, hard. The man hisses but doesn’t let go, only roughly spins her to face him; and this is when she realizes it is the helmeted knight, eyes and armor shiny in the candlelight.

She shoves at his arms, and he concedes, letting her retreat three steps up the stairs before he takes her by the hand again.

“Release me, sir, or you will not enjoy the consequences,” She hisses. Something furious inside her is growing like a wildfire.

“I meant no offense, but only to warn you, fair lady,” he says, seemingly contrite, but with mirth in his voice. Is he smiling, behind that hideous helmet?

“Warn me?” She rips her hand from his. “Of what? Churlish knights, skulking behind corners?” She turns to go.

“You are one to scold on skulking behind corners, Lady. ” Her feet freeze where they are on the steps.

“Yes.” His voice is rough. “You are not as invisible as you may think- not to those trained to see, Lady. You should exercise more caution, when listenin’ from rafters and castle walls like a little bird.” He tilts his head, eyes trained on her, like a cat looking at a tree it’d like to climb. Or a bird it’d like to claw.

“I have been told you have a lovely mind. It would be a waste to see it dashed on a tower’s stony base.”

For the first time in ages, she forces her eyes to meet anothers. His are dark, redless, with what looks like coal smudged on his eyelids and undereyes. His eyes never falter from her stare, as would be proper. His pale lashes don’t so much as flutter.

She turns and continues walking upstairs- but before she rounds the corner, she looks behind and down to where he stands, at the base of the stairs, licking remnants of honey off his glove.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #cod mwii x reader #simon riley x reader angst #part 2 coming soon #call of duty #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley headcanons

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sadist1224 · 2 months

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I still want Mafia!141 AU

Part 1 https://www.tumblr.com/sadist1224/742379650222784512/i-need-the-mafia141-au?source=share

I just still want Mafia!141 who are so used to you, your difficult, persistent character and kind heart that they try to help you in everyday life and drag you somewhere on weekends, literally imposing themselves on you. At first you were angry and nervous knowing who they were, but the more you talk to them, the deeper they penetrate into your heart.

Johnny, who seems to have fallen in love with a self-sufficient, harmful and somewhat fearless barmaid from a small bar, who can't help talking about you for a day, which annoys the Ghost, and Gaz only slaps the Scotsman on the shoulder and offers to bring you coffee to work, and at the same time sandwiches.

Price, who is happy that his boys have found entertainment outside of work hours, but still worries that you are sitting too much in their heads.

The hikes of the 141 guys start to attract attention, and at some point there are more visitors in the bar, some of whom are quite intimidating.

A ghost who notices familiar unwanted faces hanging around your work. And the problem is that your neighborhood is small, at the intersection of two streets of the city, is a no-man's land and gangs have been fighting for it for a long time. And 141 and Los Vaqueros may be ready to accept your area as neutral territory, but others are not yet. He immediately reports this to Price, thinking along the way how he can scare other sharks away from this place.

But they have a job again and Price swears that he will take care of you and the bar as soon as he returns from another city.

It's not the first time you've seen new faces in a bar lately, your income has increased significantly, but the two men who came today seem too suspicious to you. One of them is tall in a sniper hood, the other is smaller, wearing sunglasses and a medical mask on his face. Both of them run their eyes around the bar, meeting you at the bar, wiping glasses, and then bumping into Valeria's stern gaze from the opposite corner.

Both choose a quiet corner away from the eyes, and the waitress brings an order for two beers. These two don't cause you any problems throughout the evening.

But a bar shift wouldn't be a bar shift without incident, right?

Therefore, when one of the particularly drunk customers starts harassing one of the waitresses, you can't help but intervene. A few seconds are enough for you to go around the counter of your workplace and walk with quick, firm steps to a group of drunks.

"Come on, we're going to have a lot of fun~" - one of them says, clinging to the waitress's arm with such force that she can't escape them. The girl turns, fixing a pleading look at you, and a moment later a half-empty bottle of rum breaks with a loud sound on the head of one of the men. The others jump up from their seats while their friend falls to the floor.

The one closest to you swings at you with his fist, but you easily dodge him, making a grab and pinning the man to the table, twisting his arm.

To your left, Val has already knocked the third one to the ground with a good punch to the jaw.

"Is there a problem, bastardos? - the brunette does not hesitate to kick one of them in the leg. This is her place, she can. - You are not welcome here."

The waitress girl hides behind you while you watch the drunks trying to get back on their feet. A crowd has formed around you for a long time, but you know for sure that the people around you are on your side.

A group of male regulars pick up the violators by the arms and take them out the door for a "conversation". Valeria, as always, punches you and goes to the bar with a loud phrase in Spanish. Everything is going back to normal.

However, out of the corner of your eye you notice the stares in your direction from those two visitors. You don't like those looks.

It's late at night, when the shift is over and you and Val have said goodbye, you feel the surveillance again. But you know for sure that 141 is not in the city, and if it's not them, then you need to be ready.

You are not a fool and you know that because of your injury you will not be able to handle a direct fight, especially with several opponents. Your strength is enough to defend yourself, but your instincts scream at you to escape and you manage to take off before someone very tall pounces on you from the shadows.

You run well. You run fast. But, unfortunately, not for long, and there is not enough lane map in your head to choose the most acceptable route to your home.

Therefore, when you are finally dropped to the ground, you group up and manage to deliver several blows to the attacker. One in the knee, the second in the stomach under the ribs. This does not save you from a severe blow to the head and darkness in front of your eyes. Well, you've been caught.

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peachyloveswriting · 1 year

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I saw the need for König requests and came RUNNING omg

Idk why but I really would love to see König (or Soap or...any of them tbh) jealous. Ik it's cliche but....I am starving....just a crumb of content ;-; just a little bit of König watching the main character get attention from someone who isn't him and him going feral. I beg 🙏🧎‍♀️🥲

ATTENTION SEEKER --- König

SUMMARY: During a night out on the bar with the boys, König watches Soap get what he feels like is too "touchy". Not feeling very happy he decides to corner you outside, his plan didn't come to fruition however...

CONTENT: Suggestive, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff.

NOTES: This went a completely different route than I expected but I'm not changing the cringy ending because I'm lazy

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

You're not part of 141 however you are close friends with Soap, being friends with the Scotsman you often find yourself drinking with him on nights off. It's always a good night when you spend it with him and his team. Drinking with him isn't an issue either, he's respectful, he doesn't make nasty comments, and he takes care of you when you're drunk.

Thankfully you're only buzzed at the moment, you've only had about two or three drinks. Soap's laughing beside you while you babble up a story. His hand rests on your shoulder while he clutches his stomach with the other. You came up to the bar a few hours ago with Soap, his team, and könig, your boyfriend. He hasn't said a word since you got here, he usually doesn't but he would at least have ordered a drink by now yet he hasn't. Pausing your story for a moment you look beside you to see the chair empty. Sad to not see the man there you frown, he must've stepped out for air while you weren't paying attention.

Continuing with your story you begin to feel eyes burning holes in the back of your skull, it's hard to ignore the itch that rolls up your spine while you squirm in your seat. Red hot heat collects at the back of your neck while you drift off into silence. Soap's brow furrows in worry as he looks at you. Putting a hand on your knee and shaking it he pulls you back to the present moment. "You alright? Drinks got you already?" He asks. You shake your head. It's not clear in the moment but you can't shake this feeling. "Need to step outside?" He moves his hand to your fore arm, his body turning to step down from the stool.

"Yeah. I'll be right back just stay in here." Turning to slide down his hold on your arm tightens. He looks at you with worry swimming in his eyes, secretly pleading for you to not go alone. "I'll be fine, Soap." You reassure, brushing his hand from your arm. Giving you a curt nod he turns back to the bar. Able to slip away you press your feet into the floor and begins to make your way outside. Your stomach burn with the weight of a full grown adult, the heat bubbles up your throat in a small burp and you push into the cold air of the night. Your breath leaves you in white puffs as you shiver under the sky. Thankfully this bar isn't too heavily populated, standing alive outside shouldn't be an issue. With no creepy guys around at least, König was usually by your side so people would stay away. His usual body heat at your side freezes your back while you sink into the realization that he's not around. Not common for him to be away from you for so long, especially in public.

Brows furrow with worry and arms crossed over your chest, you look around the edge of the building to see if he stepped off to the side for a breather. "König?" You call into the shadows. The response of cold dripping water answers your call as you settle back into clearing your mind. It's hard to think straight when thoughts of König's whereabouts cloud your mind. Being buzzed apparently doesn't help with that, it only blinds you further as you smother yourself deeper in thought. He could be anywhere, and sure he can handle himself perfectly fine but who can blame you for being worried?

The bell on the entrance to the bar echoes through the night, glancing back for a brief moment you can see a figure begin to step from the threshold. Stepping away from the door and looking away you swallow harshly, your stomach churning with the idea that you probably left him alone inside. He would be worried when he came back from where ever he was. Going back in would mean that feeling crawling back up your spine while trying to have a nice conversation, but staying out meant you could breathe and relax. Torn between the two, it's hard to make you're decision, König shouldn't have to worry about you and wonder where you are but he's not around. Taking in a deep breath warm spreads in your gut, it's fizzles like a shook soda while you bite your lip.

König was too important. Biting the bullet you turn on your heel to move back inside. As you turn, a large figure sends electricity through your chest. Calling out in surprise you step backwards to peer up at the person. His tall stature and body scream familiar to you but your back is shoved against the brick wall before you can meet his eyes. Fear settles in your stomach as he presses against you, it's then that the smell of König's cologne hits you.

"König what are you doing?" You ask as you crane your neck up to look at him towering above you. The light casts shadows on his eyes making them look icy and cold as they stare down at you. "He should learn you are mine." His voice is damn near a growl as he rests his hands on your hips and pulls you to the side of the building. Dazed, you press your palms to his chest pushing his body away from yours. Suddenly the air is no longer cold around you, it's smothering, the heat taking you whole. "What are you talking about?" The fizz in your gut has exploded, turning your mind into a jumbled mess. "Soap having his hands all over you." His hands are slipping up your shirt while your press the back of your head against the wall. Clenching your eyes shut and shaking your head you push him away.

"Stop, I can't breathe..." A tight phantom grip holds your neck, involuntary tears form in the corners of your eyes and you lift a hand to fan them off. The quickening breaths in your chest become increasingly hard to take the more you gasp for air. Your heart clenching and unclenching in your chest brings with it small jolts of pain making you seize. "Oh god..." You choke out as you rub your neck.

Two hands grab your shoulders to pull you away from the wall, the cold replaces their warmth momentarily before a coat is draped over you. "Breathe." König says. You nod feverishly, your hands gripping the edge of the coat with an incredulous force. "Breathe in, hold" Swallowing thickly you suck in a slow steady breath and let the air swim around your lungs. "Okay now breathe out..." Tightness firms and loosens as you release your breath, your hands go blindly searching for a hand to grasp desperate for something to hold onto.

Your cold searching hands find purchase in König's hands, a light reassuring squeeze letting you know he's there. Looking at you, he can feel his stomach churns unevenly. If he hadn't of pounced on you like that you wouldn't be like this right now, at least that's what he thought. He's not exactly wrong, if he'd been softer, the situation would be different. Watching you blink up at him with teary eyes makes his heart throb in pain, his biggest fear has just come to life: hurting you.

"I'm so sorry." He states. His hands gently squeeze and loosen against yours while he looks down at you, eyes soft with worry and brows furrowed with concern. "I did not mean to cause this." He's almost whispering at this point. You rock forward on the balls of your feet. "I'm just buzzed baby, you scared me is all." Even though you actively admit to his aggression not being the issue he still looks away nervously. His handa pull from yours to pull the coat around you tighter. "I was already freaked out before you did that." You state.

His head cocks to the side. "Why?" Giving a gentle smile and slipping your arms into the sleeves, you wipe your eyes. "I didn't know where you were, got worried." You explain. "But now I'm confused, why does Soap need to know I'm your's?"

A red shade tints his face while he shifts his weight, his hand fiddles with the belt buckle of his belt. "He was getting all handsy with you..." His voice trails off before that cold look glazes over his eyes and they meet your gaze. "...I did not like that." Hearing his voice drop to an octave you didn't know it could makes a you shudder. "Baby you know he's just a friend." Your hands rub up and down his forearms to console him, he seems unaffected by this and huffs in frustration.

"I did not like it." There's emphasis on every word, venom bleeding through his lips. "But I did not mean to make you cry in the process of showing you." His gaze stays cold, locking you beneath him. König's emotions are out of left field and it feels like he's walking on thin ice. It's clear the alcohol has had an effect of him, but you didn't expect it to be this. *It's okay-" he interrupts you. "Not him touching you like that." Frustration lingers in his throat, burning like the alcohol swimming in his stomach. This feeling of jealousy latches onto his chest like a stack of weights keeping him in place, he can't breathe without it consuming his racing thoughts.

"I really, really, want to show you how much better than him I can be," - subconsciously stepping closer to you, he starts pushing back against the wall - "I just want to make sure he knows...what belongs to me."

"König, I am completely yours and no one else's. You don't have to show anyone that and I can swear by it." In his state of mind it feels like your words are hitting a brick wall, you know what's coming and you're excited but mentally, you're unprepared. "I get that you love me, and you're jealous because of him but I want to do this at a more personal time. I hope you understand."

He pauses just inches away from you, his hand slipping into his pocket. "That is okay. I just want you to do this one thing for me." His eyes plead for you to let him have this one thing, to allow him at least some peace of mind and you can't ignore it. The way they bore into your soul with burning love and guilt. "Yes baby, anything." You weren't really thinking when you said it and you weren't ready for what came next.

When that velvet box came out of his pocket, your heart dropped. Looking down at it and up at you, he opened it to present a small silver ring with the word promise written on the outside of it's width. "I was planning to do this some other time but I want to secure it now. I want you to promise me that one day we will get married and that you'll stay mine until that moment comes. I want this to be how others know, because I don't want to do anything sexual for the reason of jealousy. If I can't show them that way then I'd rather make it as official as possible." He says. His hands tremble and his heart beats rapidly in his chest. For a moment you thought the question was going to be popped. You're thankful this wasn't it but that it was a guarantee of what's to come. His hearts in the right place, even though his mind isn't.

Smiling, you grab his shaking hands and steady them. "Thank you for respecting my wishes and not doing what I'm uncomfortable with...but this, I didn't even think that this was- I- yes. I promise." Swallowing the urge to cry you pull him into a hug, your arms pulling him flush against you while you hide away in his chest. Happy, König wraps his arms around you a smile plastered on his drunken face while he rocks you back and forth. "I am sorry for getting like that." Pulling away and grabbing your hand he slips the ring onto your finger and pulls it to his lips. "I truely am." Pressing a kiss into the ring he softly lets your hand go.

"I know Baby." Cupping his face in your hands you smile up at him. "Are you ready to go?" You ask. He nods, bringing a smile to your face. "This was irrational of me, save me the embarrassment."

You chuckle before pulling his face down to press a small kiss on his cheek. "It's okay. We're drunk, let's just forget that ever happened."

#könig x reader #konig x you #konig x reader #konig imagine

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months

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You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part Three

A/N: Happy Day Three of @sjmromanceweek! This is the final part of Regency Elucien, and for this one, there's no prompt squinting needed since there's actually a proposal. Hope everyone enjoyed this little sequel as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Read on AO3 // Previous Part

Lucien Spellcleaver is going mad.

That’s the only explanation. It’s the only way to describe the way his mind has been spiraling, the way his thoughts swirl and swirl around only one singular thought. Only one singular person. It’s the only explanation for the way his heart writhes and throbs between his ribs, a palpable, tangible pain. The only explanation for why he’s pacing back and forth across his study, scrubbing a hand through his hair until it’s a tangle of knots.

“Well, this is a sad sight.”

Lucien rolls his eyes at the sound of that voice, whirling around to find Eris leaning casually against the door jamb. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I come visit my favorite baby brother?”

“Half brother.”

Eris shrugs, straightening and stepping further into the room. “Mother said that you were sulking.”

“I am not sulking.”

Eris raises an eyebrow, looking pointedly toward Lucien’s desk, toward the pile of paper and ink sprawled across the wood. Three letters. He’s written three letters and received not a single answer. Three letters, each one dissolving more and more into a mess of words and smeared ink and desperation.

He should have told her. He should have told her down by the lake before anything else had happened. But he'd been stupid. He'd been selfish and drunk off the way it felt to finally kiss her, to have her in his arms. Addicted to the way her skin felt against his own, what it was like to have her pliant and beautiful beneath him.

He’d been sure she must already know exactly how he feels. How he’d do anything for her if only she said the word. How his heart beats only for her and he’d gladly tear it straight from his chest and place it in her awaiting hands.

But then she’d vanished in the night like some sort of wraith.

He’d tried to give her space at first, thought that was what she needed and wanted to respect that. Then he’d tried to call on her, only to be informed by a neighbor that the Archerons weren’t home, off to the quick and quiet wedding of the eldest.

That’s when he sent the first letter that went unanswered.

He’d tried to catch Elain in town next, practically loitering at all the places he knew she frequented, but that had been just as unsuccessful. And had led to the second letter that went unanswered. Hoping for his opportunity at the promenade had followed, but the entire Archeron family was oddly missing. And his third letter went unanswered. Then, just a few days ago, he was sure his time would finally come at the house party hosted by Kallias and his wife Viviane, but it seemed the Archerons were uninvited from the festivities.

So, now, here Lucien is. Over two weeks removed from that night with Elain. And absolutely losing his mind.

“I don’t understand why you’re still panting after her,” Eris continues, pushing off the door jamb and stepping fully into the room. “You can’t possibly have missed the Archeron family scandal.”

“And yet, if I recall correctly, weren’t you courting the eldest Archeron not long ago?” Lucien fires back, still remembering the ball his father hosted last season, the way Eris had spent most of the evening twirling Nesta across the dance floor. He still remembers the way Eris’s proposal had been denied, Nesta with little interest in moving to Paris.

Eris hums, his face the perfect mask of boredom. “I can’t decide if I dodged a bullet or if I should be offended that she couldn’t be persuaded to warm my bed unwed.”

“Jealous of a Scotsman, Eris?”

“Never.”

Despite the growled tone of his half brother, Lucien doesn’t believe Eris for a moment. Still, he doesn’t have time for this. Doesn’t have time for their mother’s attempted meddling. Doesn’t have time for Eris’s judgment or opinions. He doesn’t have time to keep pacing around his study if he’s being honest.

“Look, I need to… if you’ll excuse me.”

It’s all that Lucien offers before he brushes past Eris and out the door. He doesn’t stop, heading down the main stairs and all the way out of the estate. He forgoes a carriage or even a horse, hoping the walk will help him clear his head a bit, will help him decide exactly what he intends to say.

But the afternoon sun does little to dispel the anxiety churning low in his gut. The late summer breeze only winding through his lungs, swirling with the tension there and squeezing. By the time the iron gates of the Archeron manor come into view, Lucien’s heart is a thunderous beat between his ribs. He just prays it doesn’t show too badly on his face as he makes his way up the front steps and rings the bell.

It feels like years while he waits, but soon the door is being pulled open and Lucien is met with a pair of blue gray eyes blinking as confusedly at him as he feels.

“Feyre?”

“Lucien. What are you doing here?”

Lucien clears his throat, flexing his fingers where they’re tucked neatly behind his back. “I was hoping I might speak with Elain actually.”

“We’re not allowing callers,” Feyre explains, already beginning to close the door in his face before she hesitates for a moment. “Sorry.”

The door closes with a soft snick, and Lucien can do nothing but gape at the wood, stare at it as if it will magically open and Elain will be standing there on the other side. With a frustrated huff, he spins on his heel, scrubbing a hand through his hair while he makes his way back down the front steps.

“Denied as well?”

Lucien snaps his head in the direction of the sudden voice, surprised to find Rhysand Night leaning casually against the wall of the manor, partially hidden in the shadows cast by the tall branches of the trees lining the street. The Duke looks almost out of place in the bright afternoon, with his dark hair, his black jacket and pants. Still, the sight of him has Lucien raising his chin, squaring his shoulders even as he shoves his hand in his pockets to give an air of indifference.

“Don’t tell me you’re calling on Elain Archeron as well.”

Rhysand chuckles, picking a piece of lint off his jacket sleeve and flicking it aside. “Don’t worry, Spellcleaver. No one but you is calling on your Archeron sweetheart. Especially after what Cassian pulled.”

“He’s your friend I thought.”

“He is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still think him an idiot. Unfortunately, there was no talking him out of that one. Something about Nesta Archeron has had him ensnared for years.”

Lucien glances back toward Archeron manor. “Nesta MacLeod now I hear.”

“And are you hoping for Elain Spellcleaver?”

Lucien snaps his attention back to Rhysand, quick to fire back, “Are you hoping to make Feyre a duchess?”

Rhysand laughs again, shaking his head. “Touche, Spellcleaver.”

“I wish you luck. Feyre and I sometimes had lessons together as children. I remember quite distinctly the way she swore she’d never marry,” Lucien offers, not even bothering to bite back his smirk at the memories. Rhysand will certainly have his hands full if Feyre is who he continues to pursue.

“So she keeps telling me,” Rhysand mutters, rolling his eyes, but Lucien swears it’s not annoyance in the Duke’s expression. It’s almost excitement at the challenge brewing beneath that violet gaze.

“Is your plan to lurk in the shadows here then? Until she changes her mind?”

“What can I say? I’ve never been one for more traditional courting. Perhaps you might consider the same.”

Lucien scoffs, turning away from Rhysand and walking out of the Archeron manor gate. He makes his way down the path that leads back to his family’s estate, but Rhysand’s words continue to ring in his mind. Like a small, needling voice prickling along the back of his mind, scraping and digging their claws in. It’s stupid. It would be stupid. Possibly the most stupid thing he’ll ever do.

But isn’t idiocy what got Lucien into this mess in the first place?

He waits until the sun starts to dip low in the sky, shadows growing across the grass and purples and blues bleeding through the world around him. He waits until the flicker of candlelight casts the windows of the manor in glowing orange. Thankfully, he remembers enough from his conversations with Feyre, finding the balcony she often mentioned using when she’d sneak away in the night.

It’s more difficult than he anticipated, finding the right stones and bricks to use as hand and footholds, his grip slipping a few times. But soon, he’s pulling himself up over the railing and onto the balcony, more scrapes and bruises than he wanted but still worth it. Just like in Feyre’s stories, the door is unlocked, and Lucien is able to slip inside with ease.

He has to be quick, but he has to be quiet too. He tiptoes down the hall, pausing at each door and pressing his ear against the wood to listen for voices. He even dares to open a few, just a crack, to peek into the rooms beyond. Finally, on the fourth door he tries, Lucien is greeted with the sight of long, beautiful curls of golden brown hair.

He darts into the room, closing the door quickly behind his back. Elain whips her head around at the sound, brown eyes widening in surprise and her brush clattering against her vanity table. She’s on her feet in a second, and for a moment, Lucien feels struck dumb. Her hair is a beautiful curtain of gold where it falls along her shoulders and down her back, her night dress lacey and white. Her warm, brown eyes draw him in as much as the pink beginning to dust across the constellation of freckles on her cheeks.

“Lucien,” Elain exclaims, snatching up her robe and tugging it on. “What are you doing here?”

“I am going insane,” Lucien explains exasperatedly, stepping closer to her. “You have made me insane, Elain.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. And do not say that you are not because I know you are.”

Elain crosses her arms across her chest, not quite meeting his gaze fully, and Lucien knows that he was right all along. Knows that her sneaking out of his room, that this silence between them, was fully intentional. He dares to step even closer to her, until they’re practically toe to toe, until he can fully track the way her bottom lip finds home between her teeth. His hands reach up, skating a hair's breadth away from Elain’s arms before he hesitates, dropping his arms back to his side again.

“Did I do something wrong?” Lucien asks gently, practically pleading. “Did I hurt you our night together?”

Elain opens her mouth before seeming to think better of whatever she was going to say. She swallows hard, and when she finally speaks, her voice is quiet enough that Lucien almost doesn’t hear it. “I missed my monthlies.”

“Oh.”

It’s all Lucien can think to say, the only word, the only syllable he’s able to push past the pressure suddenly squeezing in around his throat. It’s certainly a turn of events. Certainly not how he expected this night to go. But there’s no denying the spark that flares to life in his gut, fanning the embers glowing warmly between his ribs.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain says, turning away from him completely.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“You’re going to be a Duke after your father. I am sure you do not wish there to be any bastard children. But don’t worry. I’ll speak with my mother. Perhaps, there is somewhere far away I can go. Then no one will ever know.”

“Go away?” Lucien splutters, reaching for her shoulders and trying to turn Elain back around to face him. “Elain—”

Elain steps out of his grip, but she at least whirls back around, brown eyes misty with unshed tears. “And I won’t tell anyone. I swear it. I will lie if I have to.”

“Elain…” Lucien feels near hysterical, finally giving in to the desire twitching through his fingers and cradling Elain’s face between his palms. “Marry me.”

Elain huffs, tugging his hands away from her face. “Don’t be stupid, Lucien. I did not tell you to trap you into wedding me. You’re going to be a Duke. You’re meant to have a respectable wife.”

“And who says you are not? Who says you are not everything a gentleman could ever dream of in a wife? Who says you are not everything I could ever want?”

“You’re crazy. What will your father say? Marrying an Archeron after everything that’s happened?”

“Let him try and stop me. And if he does, I will give up my title. Gladly.”

“Lucien!”

“Dammit, Elain. I love you.”

Elain rolls her eyes, and if Lucien wasn’t so exasperated, he would be more endeared by the gesture. “You are not thinking straight. I know our night together was… pleasurable… But I didn’t think—”

“You think this is just because of that night?” Lucien asks with a frustrated huff of his own. He grabs Elain’s hands in his, clutching them to his chest, to where his heart beats solely for her. “Elain, I have loved you for months now. I’m sorry that my poor courting attempts have not made that abundantly clear. For all your accusations about me being a scoundrel, being around you turns me into a fumbling fool. I never know what to say. And oh, I wanted to say it. That night. Before that night… But my love, you were the one who said no talking. The one who promised we’d speak only to sneak away while I slept. I would have asked you for your hand right there beside that lake. I would have asked you that night in my bed. And I am asking you right now. Marry me.”

The tears slip free from Elain’s eyes, and Lucien is quick to reach a hand up, catching them where they roll down her cheeks. “I can’t.”

“Elain,” Lucien begs, his voice almost broken.

“I have not told you everything.” Using their hands that are still joined, Elain tugs Lucien toward her bed until they’re both sitting. “It’s about my family… You know that my father is a merchant, but what you don’t know is that there was an awful storm. It sank all of my father’s ships with everything on them.”

“Okay, but what does that—”

“You don’t understand, Lucien. We lost everything. My family has nothing now. We had to dismiss the staff. Mama has had to sell her nicest jewels just to keep food on the table. It’s why Nesta was going to marry Viscount Mandray, and now? Now, we’re nothing.”

Lucien squeezes Elain’s hands in his. “You think I care about that?”

“But you should! You’re going to be a Duke someday.”

“Elain,” Lucien starts, leaning close until his forehead rests against hers. “Do you love me too? Do you want to marry me?”

“It’s not that simple,” Elain whispers, already beginning to shake her head.

“It’s a yes or no question, my love.”

Elain sighs softly, sliding her hand across Lucien’s cheek until it’s cradled in her palm. “You already know the answer.”

“Then that’s all I need to know.”

Lucien closes the breath of space between them, pressing his mouth to Elain’s. She makes a quiet, contented sound into the kiss, parting her lips under his ministrations, and it feels right. It tastes like coming home. It takes everything within Lucien to will himself to pull back, to not allow himself to sink and drown in the feeling of Elain’s soft, golden hair threaded between his fingers, of her body pressed warmly against him, of her lips slotted firmly and perfectly against his own. But he does all the same, pulling away from Elain and pushing up to his feet to stride back across the room.

“Where are you going?” Elain asks, jumping up to her own feet.

Lucien pauses with his hand curled around the latch to the door. He turns over his shoulder back toward Elain, offering her a smirk and a wink, before he yanks open the door and slips out into the hall. It’s easy enough to retrace his steps, back out of the balcony, to climb over the railing and jump down onto the grass. He takes a moment to brush off his pants, straighten the cuffs of his sleeves, and then he’s stalking back around the manor and right to the Archeron’s front door.

He has to ring the bell twice before the door is finally pulled open. Lady Archeron’s face is pinched in annoyance, but Lucien watches the exact moment her eyes widen in recognition, realizing just who is standing on their front step. In an instant, her face morphs into a polite smile, and she dips into a small curtsy.

“Your Grace. To what do we owe the pleasure at such an hour?”

“Lady Archeron,” Lucien greets, dipping his head politely. “I am actually hoping to speak with your husband.”

Lady Archeron’s eyes glance away, further into the house, before meeting his gaze again. “Forgive me, your Grace, but we are not currently accepting callers or visitors.”

“I must press, my Lady. It is quite urgent.”

Lady Archeron’s attention darts away again, and Lucien can see the conflict playing across her expression, but finally she appeases. She pulls the door open fully, gesturing for Lucien to step inside. His footfalls echo across the floors, through the silence of the front hall. He glances around, spying Elain standing at the top of the stairs, one foot raised as if she’s about to step down. He waits until her mother’s back is turned before sending her another wink and following Lady Archeron further into the manor.

“You’ll have to forgive our home, your Grace,” Lady Archeron offers, leading Lucien down the winding halls. “A terrible sickness has torn through our staff. We had to send them away tonight.”

Lucien hums in understanding, not correcting her or letting on to the fact he knows the real reason for the lack of staff in the manor. Lady Archeron comes to a stop in front of a door, but she doesn’t even bother knocking before pushing it open, revealing a study on the other side. Lord Archeron sits behind the large desk in the center of the room. Papers are spread across the wood around him, but judging from the glass of amber liquid at his elbow, the way his head is cradled in his hand, Lucien suspects little work is actually being completed.

Lord Archeron looks up in surprise at the intrusion, practically jumping to his feet when he takes in exactly who is stepping inside his study. “Lucien Spellcleaver. I must say I am surprised to see you in my study.”

Lord Archeron shares a pointed look with his wife, the two sharing some sort of silent conversation, but Lady Archeron doesn’t seem to back down from her husband’s ire. She merely closes the study door and walks around to stand at her husband’s shoulder. Lucien takes it as his cue to settle into one of the open seats on the other side of the desk.

“I do apologize for the intrusion,” Lucien begins, leaning back casually. “But I simply could not wait. I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand. For Elain’s hand.”

Lord Archeron clears his throat a bit awkwardly, turning to share another look with his wife. “We are, of course, honored at such a proposal, your Grace…”

“I am well aware of your family’s financial situation, Lord Archeron, if that is your concern.” Neither Lord nor Lady Archeron are able to cover their surprise, their panicked expression, but Lucien merely chuckles quietly. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of informing the gossip mob of the ton. But I do wish to marry your daughter. I will write for a Special License. We can keep the ceremony small and private if you’d rather avoid your family being the center of the gossip ring any more than it already is.”

“You’re a mad man,” Lord Archeron scoffs, shaking his head.

“Maybe I am.”

“If you’re aware of our financial situation, then you know we have nothing to offer. You’d really marry my daughter without a dowry?”

“I will. Feel free to draw up the contract right now,” Lucien offers, leaning forward and meeting Lord Archeron’s gaze head on. “But I will have Elain move into my family’s estate tonight. You’ve dismissed your staff, and I will not have my wife living in such conditions.”

“Your Grace…”

“Do we have an accord?” When Lord Archeron doesn’t answer right away, Lucien stands up, leaning over the desk. “Do we have an accord? I can assure you, you will not receive such an offer from any other gentleman of my status and title.”

Lord Archeron considers for a moment, eyeing Lucien, but then he’s turning back to his wife. “Gather Elain.”

Lady Archeron nods her head, vanishing back out of the study and closing the door behind her with a soft snick. It doesn’t take Lord Archeron long to draw up the contract, even with the way he pauses in bewilderment each time Lucien demands the conditions be most favorable to Elain, with the way he practically balks at the pin money suggestion Lucien makes. But the ink has barely dried before Lucien is taking the pen and signing his name.

There’s a knock at the study door, and when the door swings open, Elain is standing there with her mother. It takes barely three steps for Lucien to stride over to her. He takes her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Lucien…” Elain whispers, peering up at him in confusion.

“Pack your bags. I’m going to go get a carriage from my family’s estate, and then I’m going to come back for you. Wife.”

~ * * * ~

Lucien all but sprints up the gravel walkway to his family’s estate, yanking open the large front doors and rushing inside. He quickly glances around the front hall, spying one of the house maids with a bundle of linens in her arms. Her eyes widen at his slightly frazzled state, the way he all but burst through the doors, but she seems to come back to herself quickly, dipping into a low curtsy.

“Have you seen my father?”

“I believe he’s in the east drawing room, your Grace,” the house maid offers quietly.

With a nod of thanks, Lucien starts to head in that direction before another thought occurs to him and he turns back around. “Oh, and can you inform Mrs Baxter to have one of the room’s in the west wing made up? My betrothed will be arriving at the estate tonight.”

Lucien doesn’t wait for the house maid to confirm she understands or to say anything else. He continues down the halls, his strides hurried and determined until he comes to the door for the east wing’s drawing room. Thankfully, his father is indeed there when he steps inside, lounging in one of the large, comfortable chairs, a book opened in one hand and tea still steaming on the small table at his elbow.

“Lucien,” Helion greets, his smile slipping away after he takes in the state of his son. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m getting married,” Lucien explains, deciding not to bother with beating around the bush. “To Elain Archeron.”

Helion closes his book and sets it aside. “I see…”

“And there’s no point trying to protest or stop me. I’ve already signed the marriage contract with her father.”

“Well, then I—”

“Lucien Spellcleaver,” Aurelia’s clipped tone precedes the door swinging open again, his mother’s pinched face coming into view. “What is this I hear from the staff about you being engaged?”

Lucien winces at his mother’s expression, but he refuses to back down. “Because it’s true. I just came from the Archeron manor, and Elain will be moving into the estate tonight.”

Aurelia huffs, her exasperation clear. “And you didn’t think to tell your mother what you were planning?”

“Weren’t you the one who taught me that love makes you do crazy things?”

“You do then? Love her?”

Lucien thinks of the honey strands of Elain’s hair, the way they curl around her face and cascade down her shoulders and back. He thinks of the deep brown of her eyes and the way they spark beneath the afternoon sun. He thinks of her kindness, of the beautiful sight of her smile and the melody of her laugh. He thinks of the sweetness of her kiss, and the adorable expression that takes over her face when she calls him a scoundrel.

“I do,” he breathes, unable to fight down a grin. “I really do.”

His mother steps closer, reaching a hand up and lovingly patting his cheek. “Well, alright then. I best go make sure everything is ready for the future duchess.”

Everything seems to happen in a whirlwind after that. His mother vanishes back out the drawing room door, and his father helps him to ready a carriage. Then, Lucien is off back to the Archeron manor. The footmen work to load all of Elain’s trunks and bags onto the carriage while Elain takes the time to hug her younger sister goodbye.

When everything’s secured, he holds out his hand, Elain’s fingers curling around his palm as he helps her into the carriage. He slips into the carriage as well, closing the door behind them and signaling out the window to the driver. The carriage jerks forward, and Lucien turns his eyes back on Elain, watching as she curls and twists her fingers through the fabric of her skirts. He reaches across the carriage, capturing Elain’s hands in his own, squeezing and tracing his thumbs across her knuckles soothingly.

“What if your parents hate me?” Elain whispers, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“That’s impossible,” Lucien assures her, moving to wedge into the space beside Elain. “They will love you as much as I do.” He reaches forward, pressing his palm against her stomach. “Love both of you as much as I already do.”

Elain reaches her own hand down, covering Lucien’s and lacing their fingers together. “I overheard some of the other ladies talking at the market. Apparently, even if you miss your monthlies, it’s still possible it will merely come late.”

“Then we will just have to try again,” Lucien explains, moving his free hand up so that his fingers curl around the nape of Elain’s neck, his thumb tilting her chin up. “And again.” He brings her mouth to his, kissing her. “And again.”

When Elain pulls back, her lips are parted, eyes slightly glazed over before she blinks and comes back to herself. “You truly are a scoundrel.”

“Get used to it, my love.”

“People will talk, you know,” Elain sighs softly, fiddling with the laces of his shirt like some sort of nervous tick. “I’m sure the whole ton will have something to say about… the speed of everything.”

“Let them. Let them be green with envy over my beautiful wife.”

Lucien pulls Elain into another kiss, all but hauling her against his body. He presses her back against the walls of the carriage, until she’s laughing breathlessly into his mouth. It’s his favorite sound, one he much prefers to her worrying. He pulls back but doesn’t go far, settling his forehead against Elain’s. Even in the low light, it gives him the perfect opportunity to count every eyelash where they kiss her skin, to count every freckle dotted across her cheeks. She reaches a hand up between them, fingers gently tucking the strands of his hair behind his ear.

“Lucien Spellcleaver, you are something else.”

“And you are everything, Elain Spellcleaver.”

—

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