AU Vs Canon

Ugh Ik this is totally out of character for Johnny, but I can’t help it, anyways I had a thought last night and I was like domestic Johnny sawyer, living away from his cannibalistic family, and he has a girlfriend or wife whichever one, and it’s like morning time so she’s making breakfast, In her little tank top, and black short shorts and Johnny comes up behind her, and sneaks his hand into the waist band.. and fucks her.. calls her his little housewife.. and babydoll.. 🤭

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer x reader one-shot

In which Johnny proposes to his girlfriend, who proceeds to tell him to convince her to say yes

MINORS DNI

Contains: blood, knife play, smut, marking, being tied down, bitten, scarred

Sorry for the double spacing, idk how to format on mobile

You met Johnny walking along the train tracks one evening as the sun set on the horizon, bathing you in warm autumn light. With one hand on your dress and the other held out for balance and a wide grin on your face, you immediately caught his attention, and he couldn't help but approach you.

The two of you spent the evening sitting on the tracks, talking about everything and nothing. Johnny learned that your family life was falling apart. With the closure of the slaughterhouse, your parents would soon be out of money, and you felt like a burden being another mouth to feed. He told you his family was used to using him to provide, and he had risked his life many times to keep food on the table hunting dangerous wild boar. A recent bar fight made him lose his hunting license, and now he was nothing but a drain. With his cousin Sissy's return to the house, and the way his uncle was never happy with him, he felt like his family would be better off without him.

Your heart broke. He was in his twenties but carried the burden of generations on his back. That was when you first touched him. You cupped his cheek and ran your thumb over an age-old scar. He froze, then leaned into your touch and covered your hand with his, engulfing it entirely.

"You're not a danger, Johnny," you whispered, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. "You were only trying to help." 

He laughed. If only you knew.

"I'm serious," you say, huffing at his dismissive laugh. "I know what it's like to not be appreciated. You deserve better."

His brows furrowed. You would have been easy prey; he could tell right then that you would have followed him anywhere, a little lost kitten looking for a new master, someone to care for her and lick her wounds. He'd lick your wounds, alright. But he was no savior.

For months the two of you would meet at the train tracks. Johnny never brought you home, and you never told your parents either. You were each other's secret.

Then one day as the two of you laid in a field talking about your dreams on a crisp December morning, he couldn't help himself. He rolled over on his side, gazed into your eyes, and kissed you. 

It wasn't like those drunken one night stand kisses, nor was it the type of kiss that led to more. It was every emotion you'd been building up inside him, emerging from places he had thought long dead. 

His lips were soft, tender. It was you who deepened the kiss, wrapping your arm around his neck and pulling him closer. That morning he decided you were the only person who mattered. When the kiss finally broke, he gave you a smile that melted your heart.

As the sun peaked in the sky, the two of you wrapped in each other's arms, he suggested that you run away from your old lives.

"What about your family?" You'd asked. You were sure your parents didn't need you, but he was their provider.

"I've done bad things, babydoll," he said. "The law don't like me 'round here. It'd be a weight off their back if I was gone."

You struggled at first with the idea of taking Johnny from people who needed him, but he assured you Sissy was more than capable of providing for the family without him.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, the two of you met at the train station and left your old lives behind.

********

Johnny never told you the bad things he'd done, and you never pressured him to tell you. He was with you now, and that's all that mattered.

Now, two years after escaping your pasts together, the two of you had a cute little two-bedroom house on five acres of land in rural Georgia. It wasn't much, but you both loved the idea of a small farm with a few animals and a garden.

Johnny had gotten a job as a private detective, of all things, and his clients were always very impressed with how quickly he resolved cases. Though it was curious how often the people interrogated were found dead.

That morning, however, Johnny didn't have a case, so you made him a delicious breakfast of fresh eggs, bacon, toast, and sausage. You'd left him sleeping in bed and gotten dressed in a cute little outfit you knew he couldn't resist: a white tank top and tiny black short shorts.

You were in the middle of stirring the scrambled eggs when you felt a hand slip down the waistband of your shorts, sending a shock shooting down your spine.

"Johnny, I don't get how you're always so quiet," you said, giggling as you felt him press his toned body against yours from behind, his fingers toying with the lace of your black panties.

"Huntin' works better when your prey don't know you're comin'," he whispered against your ear before nipping your earlobe.

"You don't have to hunt me, baby. I'd be as easy to hunt as roadkill," you joked. Johnny smirked against your ear, the validity of your statement all too true.

"You're too pretty to be roadkill, babydoll," he rumbled. "I'd make you into a trophy. Hang you in my bedroom so I could look at your beautiful face every night 'fore I fell asleep."

It took some time before you'd gotten used to his fascination with keeping trophies, but the numerous animal heads hanging on your walls showed he wasn't slowing down any time soon. You leaned your weight back against him, enjoying the feel of his bare torso, and smiled as his lips trailed down your neck. 

Still, the hardness you felt pressing against your backside proved that the outfit you'd worn to entice him had worked, and your mind was already becoming hazy with lust.

"I been thinkin'," Johnny said, kissing the nape of your neck, "you'd make the most fuckable little housewife." 

Your pulse fluttered against his lips. You'd never pushed him for anything; you'd been happy just being his girl. But the word "housewife" made your heart race. He hooked a thumb in your waistband and pulled your shorts and panties down, and his fingers quickly found your already soaked slit.

"Oh yeah?" You gasped as he dipped his fingers inside you. "You think so?"

He murmured an affirmative against your skin while he rocked his hips against your butt. "I know it. What do you think, babydoll? You wanna get married?"

Your lips curled, one of your hands flipping the burners off on the stove before you turned around to face him. His head was cocked to the side, a handsome smile on his face. Your eyes trailed down his bare chest, pausing at each scar, each one telling a different story before looking up into his deep brown eyes. "It's a tempting proposal, but I could use some convincing. Why don't you make me?"

He smiled, but it wasn't friendly. No, it was more like a predator, the type to make your blood run cold. 

"Alright, I'll make you, darlin'. If you really want me to, I will."

You felt like a rabbit in a snare, squeezed between his muscular body and the stove, completely at his mercy.

"What'll it be, sugar?" He asked, his hands on your hips, and his eyes trailing down to your cleavage before snapping back up to meet your gaze.

You leaned forward and cupped the bulge in his jeans with one hand. 

"Make me."

That was all it took. Johnny's fingers sank into your hips almost painfully as he yanked you against him. "You'll eat those words, darlin'," he growled. 

Then he dropped to his knees and pulled your hips against his lips like a man starved. You gripped his wrists while his broad hands cupped your ass, forcing your hips toward him as he burrowed into you.

He always loved eating you out, but this time there was a primal aspect to the way he licked and nipped at your folds. Your fingers entwined in his dark locks as you moaned his name while he traced your entrance, gathering every last drop of your sticky wetness. 

Johnny twirled his tongue around your clit and dove in so hard you could feel his teeth against your lips, his tongue curling upward, lifting your hips into his hungry mouth.

Desire dripped down your thighs, mingling with his saliva, while your muscles clenched and shivered. They remained taut, each nerve pulsating with sensation. It felt like an exhilarating marathon, beautiful agony traveling from your thighs to your hips. Moans spilled from your lips, and you tried to draw him closer, but he withdrew.

"This pretty little pussy is mine," he said, his voice low and possessive, before thrusting two fingers into you, making you whimper and tug at his hair. His lips descended upon your clit, nibbling it, sending sparks of both torment and ecstasy throughout your body.

"You're such a slut for me, baby girl." His fingers moved to tease your sweet spot, making your toes curl. "So fucking wet."

He stood, and you whined at the loss of his tormenting touch. His eyes were hungry and dangerous. "You're going to be my pretty little housewife, aren't you, baby?"

You gasped as he pressed against you, his hands on either side of the stove, trapping you.

"I could be," you purred, "but… I'm not entirely convinced."

His gaze darkened. "You're mine," he hissed, a predatory snarl forming at the corner of his lips.

"Prove it," you whispered breathlessly. His pupils dilated, and suddenly, you felt the tip of a blade pressing against the soft skin of your stomach.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked up at him. Fear mingled with a strange sense of excitement, sending tingles shooting through you.

"Johnny?" You whispered as your mouth ran dry.

"You ever watch someone die?" He said, more to himself than to you.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. Johnny had always had a fascination with his Bowie knife, and sometimes you'd glimpse it stained with fresh blood, but he had never wielded it against you—until now.

"You ain't never quite the same after that, lemme tell ya."

Both of your eyes fixed on the blade as he subtly twisted it, drawing a single droplet of blood from your delicate skin. You winced, but you didn't concentrate on the pain as you were enraptured by the intense look on Johnny's face.

With the pad of his thumb, he traced the droplet and brought it to his lips. You were immobilized, watching as his eyes fluttered closed, savoring your essence. A low growl rumbled in his throat, as if your blood were an exquisite ambrosia.

Johnny had given you love bites, sure, but this was the first time he'd purposefully tasted your blood. You could tell he reveled in it, and part of you wondered why he never asked to try it before. 

You would have let him, after all. He could've had any and all of you that he desired.

As the unfamiliar tingle of blood leaving your body coursed through you, he picked you up roughly, and your legs wrapped around his hips reflexively. Your blood smeared against his abs, but he didn't seem to mind; in fact, it seemed to arouse him even more as he carried you to your shared bedroom and laid you down like an offering.

Your eyes remained wide, adrenaline surging through you as he unzipped his pants and revealed his gorgeous erection, stroking it hungrily while his eyes devoured your body. He looked at you like a man might admire an ice sculpture, as if he expected that he wouldn't get to admire your beauty much longer.

"Baby?" You asked hesitantly as you tried to sit up in bed.

Something sinister sparked behind his eyes, and he left the room briefly, returning with a handful of rope. "Oh, you ain't getting away. I'm keeping you," he snarled, then knelt on the bed beside you, tying your wrists together and then to the bedpost with ease.

A rush surged behind your ears as he immobilized you, leaving only your legs free, trembling with both arousal and fear.

How did he know how to handle the rope like that? He'd never tied you up before, but the way he did it so effortlessly spoke of practiced experience. You'd always felt that Johnny was hiding something from you, and you had a suspicion it was directly related to his ability to make you feel absolutely helpless.

But what Johnny didn't know was, some part of you had been waiting for this. You were more soaked than you could ever remember being before, and the unadulterated bloodlust he exuded was intensely alluring. 

"You ain't going anywhere," he growled, his eyes ablaze with an intensity you had never witnessed before. Your blood gleamed on his torso, and every sinew of his body appeared tightly wound, poised for imminent action. "Ready to meet the Bad Man?"

"The Bad Man from your dreams?" You let out a trembling whimper. Now, this was the figure you'd only encountered in Johnny's waking nightmares. Those harrowing nights when he'd awaken in terror, locked in a life-and-death struggle with an invisible foe. Those nights when he shielded you with his body even in slumber, and upon waking, he remained unconvinced of your safety for days upon days.

"Darlin', he's all too real," he murmured, his words dripping with a chilling anticipation. With deliberate slowness, he drew nearer, his eyes locked onto yours. When his face finally met yours, he seized your head and tilted it to the side, trailing his tongue from your collarbone to your ear, where he clamped down with savage intensity. A sharp cry escaped your lips as he pressed his body flush against yours, the taste of fresh blood flooding his ravenous mouth.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned as he ground his hips against your stomach, his length squeezed between you both. Tears welled in your eyes, but you felt more alive than you'd ever felt before.

"Johnny," you whimpered as he continued to suck your earlobe.

"You wanted this, darlin'," he said with a chilling laugh.

You bit your lip. "I-I'm not asking you to stop."

And, for some reason, that gave him pause.

"Really?" He asked, pulling back. His lips were bloodstained, but that wildfire that had consumed him was simmering behind his gaze as he regarded you with equal parts possession and hunger. 

You nodded. "Yes, really. I always knew there was something you were hiding. I want you to know I love you. All of you, Johnny," you said, even as your body shook. "And," you let your wrists go slack, "I like being claimed by you like this."

Something in Johnny shifted then. It was almost too much, the flood of emotions that swept over him, and he didn't realize it, but you felt his tears splatter against your skin.

"I love you more," he said, his voice barely a whisper. You'd heard him say it before, especially during sex, but this was different. It sent chills rippling through you. And when his aching cock slid into your wetness, you both gasped in pure ecstasy.

He gripped your thighs, pulling you against him, and groaned deeply. You felt so good that he couldn't help but pick up the pace, driving into you with a fervor. All your nerve endings coiled and tensed, already hypersensitive, and you wrapped your legs around his powerful hips in euphoria.

"I'm gonna make sure you ain't never forget who owns you," he said, and you mewled in response as he withdrew from you and reached to the bedside table, taking his knife in hand. You caught your reflection in the silver blade, your skin flushed, your lips parted and panting. You couldn't wait to see what he'd do.

Johnny used two fingers to gently circle your clit, keeping you on edge as he traced the tip of the knife between your breasts, down your belly, and to your hip where he'd marked you earlier. His motions slowed to allow him better control, and he pressed the tip of the blade into your skin again, a little deeper than before. 

You winced but didn't move as he etched into your skin. Your body was screaming to have him back inside you, and his slow circles on your clit were driving you mad with desire. Pain was indistinguishable from pleasure as he carved your skin like an artist working on a masterpiece. When he finished, he dipped his head and ran his tongue along the marks he'd made. When he withdrew his tongue, you caught the small JS he'd carved just above your hip before blood obscured it.

"Mine," he said once more, and this time, you didn't argue. After all, no one else had their initials etched into your flesh.

Johnny continued to play with your clit as he positioned himself at your entrance before pushing into you again. You'd submitted to him before, but this time was different. This time, you felt nothing but pure bliss. You were his, it could no longer be denied, nor would you ever want to deny it.

The resounding slap of his balls colliding with your sopping wetness was lewd enough to make your mind spin, or perhaps it was the blood loss, but either way, you felt light-headed and airy under his command. One hand moved to cup your breast while the other continued to assist his cock in driving you to the brink.

"Are you going to be my perfect little housewife?" He asked, pressing his forehead against yours as he thrust deeply into you. You could see two sides to him, the vicious and the docile, in harmony in his rapturous gaze.

"I will," you conceded, your breaths coming in sharp pants while he pistoned into your exquisitely viscous core. 

"Cum for me, babydoll," he commanded. The tension that had been building since the moment he approached you sprung loose, and you climaxed hard around his throbbing length. With a guttural groan and a final, deep thrust, you felt his climax paint your inner walls before he collapsed on top of you, completely spent.

You wanted to wrap your arms around him, but they were still tied to the bedposts, so instead, you kept your legs locked around his hips and nuzzled your cheek against the top of his head. He looked up at you with the same smile that had melted your heart the first day you met him.

"Thank you, babydoll. Thank you."

Mr. and Mrs. Kralie (est. 1923)

Just a young happy married couple, what could possibly go wrong?

Part one of my taking screenshots of peoples comments on Hell's Smitten, my Gordon Ramsay fanfic 💀

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

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tryna figure out how I wanna draw this man (permanently missing some nails, partial reconstruction of septum, grey hair from follicular damage from inappropriately administered first aid and stress? not quite dad bod but heavier set...think thonk...)

last fanon slander lmao

finished being angry over this abomination (for now) now we're back to normal posting

sorry i'm being an absent friend i'm being an absent self too

Jealous Much

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FemReader

SPICY ❤️‍🔥 GOOD SPICY SAUSAGE

⚠️ Warnings: ⚠️ Hard Sex, Not really but just in case Domcon, Unprotected sex. Fingering fem receiving.

Please support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

It had all started out so innocently...

Being the head doctor at such a large Base you were stationed at ment you delt with many people- A revolving door of bodies coming in to be treated by your skilled hands, but it seemed that people often got the wrong idea when it came to you and your job.

That and you were a pretty cute.

The evening had started out well, You were about to finish your shift and call it a evening to get started on the pile of paperwork on your desk, Their wasnt a lot on staff tonight anyway and most teams out on missions- As you prepared to start your pager went off and you groaned, looking directly at the device on your hip and went to your treatment room next door to your office. Seeing in the large room was non other TF 141, the group often darkening your door with their antics.

"Ah my Best Customers I see- What can I help you with?" You say cheerfully, always prideful in your bedside manner.

"He got blown off the back of the truck-" Soap said calmly gesturing to Gaz who looked- well like he'd been blown off a truck and into sand-

"Oh, Well let's get you cleaned up and checked out" You say softly, helping him from the vest and shirt to check the damage. Fortunately most of the injuries were superficial and the vest look the brunt of the hits.

Gaz stared at you starry eyed, watching how you patched him up and moved with grace around him- That and the slightly tighter scrubs didn't hurt his imagination. He'd had his eye on you for a while, every since he had seen you weeks prior.

"Thank you (Y/L/N)- You know I got to ask what kind of food do you like?" He asked, his lips turning up in a smile. Your hands freezing for a moment as you raised a man.

"Pardon?"

"Food. I'd like to know what you like, a Thank you dinner if you will" He said, The team surprised by the Balls of Kyle to openly and infront of them all ask you out.

"I'm flattered but no- I don't go out like that" You say innocently, Kyle deflating as you finished patching him up.

"What about a few drinks at the pub-"

"Gaz-" Ghost all but hissed, snapping the poor man back to reality with a pout. You chuckle at this and pat the poor man's shoulder, thanking him for the offer but refusing non the less.

Dismissing yourself politely to go and get started on the paperwork.

"Damn You did't have a chance Kyle- I've heard stories that her legs are welded shut. People trying to get at her for years" Soap said with a sad sigh to his clearly love struck friend, however in their conversation they didn't see Ghost eyes practically glowing in silent rage as he watched them leave.

In your office you sighed, feeling quite embarrassed by Gaz so upfrontly asking you out to dinner. It was sweet but you knew it would only cause trouble- the sound of your office door locking snapped you from your mind, looking up in a panic you stop the large figure standing in your office. Ghost.

"Simon? What are you-" He waved off your words as he walked over to your desk, Warmth blooming on your face as he grabbed you a bit roughly from your seat and forced you across the desk.

"S-Si I'm still at work you cant-" You were cut off as he pressed his fingers harshly against your clothed core, rubbing circles over the thin blue fabric.

"I know- How many times have they looked at you like that?" He growled, you could practically hear the jealousy rolling from his tongue as he spoke. You whimper as you feel his free hand slide down you scrubs and panties in one motion.

"Thought about you bent over this very desk"

His fingers slid into you easily began to move slowly, almost teasingly inside you to stretch you out. "Not knowing youre mine, aren't you?" Simon asked, his voice low and on edge.

"Yes Sir~"

You replied, barely able to breathe from the intensity of his touch. "Good girl" He said, pulling his fingers out and smacking your ass hard enough that it stung.

Standing close behind you, rubbing his cock against your now sore ass. You felt him push into you, Inch by inch slowly and wjth care as if he wanted you to feel every bit kf it, Bottoming out quickly with a huff. Slowly he began to move slow at first, but each thrust getting harder than the last.

"Oh fuck-!" You whimper out legs shaking as you have to bite back a loud cry of bliss. The soilder thrusts faster and harder into your aching cunt, his fingers digging into your bare hips, his breath coming in short pants.

"That's it, Good Girl" He growls out.

He pulls his hand away from your red hip and grips the back of your neck, holding you still whilst he pounds into you. You feel the muscles in your legs begin to tremble as your orgasm builds and the grip from Simon damn near makes your head fuzzy. You could feel the heat building inside you, and knew you were so close to cumming so quickly. But Simon didn't stop. He pushed himself deeper into you, harder and faster as he felt you walls flutter around him.

He began to hiss, grunting your name in your ear as his hips desperately shuttered against yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your wimpering desperate sweet moans.

You mindlessly blabbering out his name as like prayers, his hand quickly flying from your neck and covered your lips to keep you quiet, smirking at feeking you tighten by the action.

"That's it~"

He grunted against your ear, rolling his hips in just the perfect way that he knew you liked, feeling your legs shake as you screamed out against his hand in bliss, cumming all over his cock. The man only able to give a few weakened thrust into you as his own hips shook.

Feeling Simon bury himself deeply into you- Deeper then you'd ever felt before as he moaned in your ear and came, Warmth filling you as you whimpered against his gloved hand. Simon panted hard above you, pulling his hand away finally from your face he carefully pulled out of you, You giving a soft whine as he did so.

You laid there, panting hard as the crashes of your orgasm made your legs weak as you leaned over the desk for dear life, the cool wood like heaven on your scorched skin.

You felt gentle kisses up your neck as Simon pulled your panties back up and smoothed your scrubs back down like he hadnt disturbed it at all.

"You with me Love?" He said softly in your ear- you humming and nodding as Simon helped you back to your feet and set you so you were seated on the desk, you trying to keep the wave of cum from spilling from you.

"You know, you can just have me change my last name. I'm sure people wouldn't dare flirt with Mrs. Riley" You point out with a smirk, Simon giving you a half cooked glare as he fixed himself back in his pants and grabbed for his mask which he had tossed off mid action.

"Could be dangerous if people found out my wife was on base- Or they could station you elsewhere" He said, Walking over and running his large hand over your thickened thighs.

"It's dangerous either way, Besides someone is bound to find out.. Or I get sent back home if you end up knocking me up-" You point out, especially since Simon had cum inside you and knew damn well you weren't on the pill. He smirked at this and kissed you gently on the lips, a twinkle of mischief in his eye-

"Now that would be a sight~" He purred out, planting kisses on your neck as you giggled at his antics.

"Now that would be something worth takin' a risk on~" He whispered in your ear as you were picked up, getting a surprised yelp from you as he laid the both of you down on the floor of the office.

"You serious about this?~" You say Grinning up at your husband as you were laid on your medical coat on the floor. Simon nodding as he began to pull off your shirt.

"Deadly~" He purred out before the sounds of you and him giggling echoed through the office- Clothes now being tossed off fully for the next round.

Just outside your locked office door stood a horrified Soap, he had gotten there in the middle of the action holding Gaz Vest which had been forgotten and he had a few questions for you, Shocked at hearing the apparent good doctor was getting her back blown out in her own office-

However after hearing what he's just heard and the fear of discovering LT Ghost wife and hearing the unmistakable voice of his LT.. this was a fear he didnt know he needed to have. He slowly began to step away from the door as silently as possible-

He had to warn Gaz of whatever storm was coming his way for hitting on the LT wife and He really didn't want to be there for the making of baby Riley-