Dec 1, 2025
Cod + halo pen sketches!! Been liking call of duty a lot honestly
seen from Russia
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Kenya
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Netherlands
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Costa Rica
seen from Malaysia
seen from Indonesia
seen from Russia
Cod + halo pen sketches!! Been liking call of duty a lot honestly
Eye on the Prize
Johnny MacTavish x fem!reader
Suspense.
Word Count: 4k
CW: Language.
Summary: You’d been working at the bank for six years and never once had experienced anything but boring, normal customers. One day, that all changed, when you met a charming man with a mohawk and peculiar scar.
Disclaimer: Not proof-read. We die like men.
It was a normal day at your normal job as a bank teller.
Sure, you’d overslept, although not by much. You did, however, forget your travel mug of coffee on the kitchen counter, causing you to double back for it.
Yes, your boss was upset with you for being late. No, you didn’t care.
You were not going to work an eight hour shift coffee-less, thank you very much.
The morning crawled along in the usual fashion: deposit slips, check endorsements, and constantly repeating, “Thanks for banking with us. See you again, soon.”
The steady hum of printers set the backdrop, occasionally broken by the muffled ring of a phone or the soft ding of the bell on the front doors.
It was a relatively slow morning until around 10:15am.
That was when you looked into the most gorgeous blue eyes you’d ever seen. They were vivid and alive; the kind of blue that made you lose track of what you were doing. Or maybe that was just you.
The gorgeous eyes belonged to an equally gorgeous man. Broad shouldered and well built, his hair had been shaved down on the sides, leaving him with a messy mohawk and exposing a gnarled, but faded pink scar on his temple.
Another man stood with him, just as handsome, his skin a warm bronze tone. His smile was wide, seemingly genuine, and reached all the way to his soft brown eyes.
“Ye’r a right bonnie lass,” Mohawk said with a lopsided grin and a thick Scottish accent.
You smiled sweetly like you did with every customer, but you could feel your cheeks growing warm.
“What can I do for you?” You asked politely.
The man slid a folded note across the counter.
“We’re makin’ a withdrawal,” he said, shooting you a wink.
You picked up the piece of paper, feeling your blush deepen.
“Of course,” you said, unfolding it, expecting to see his account number. “I’ll just need you—”
You broke off mid-sentence, your stomach dropping like a rock
Take me to the vault. I have a gun.
The letters blurred for a second as your pulse thundered in your ears. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. Both men were still watching you. The second man smiled kindly, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. The Scot, however, leaned slightly closer and tugged his jacket open with a casual finger. Beneath the leather, the dark outline of a pistol rested snug in its holster.
“Problem, lass?”
All the color drained from your face. Your eyes flickered from one man to the other. The pair was perfectly cool. To any onlooker, nothing would seem amiss.
You remembered your onboarding training: In the event of a robbery, comply. Don’t do anything that could get you hurt. When possible, press the panic button, alerting the authorities.
“No,” you croaked out, your throat suddenly dry. “No problem.”
The man’s grin didn’t falter, but he leaned in a little.
“Smile,” he reminded you, in a hushed tone. “Nothin’s wrong, yeah?”
You swallowed hard and nodded your head. This was the sort of thing that happened in movies. You’d been working for the bank for six years and never had anything like this happen before.
You smiled weakly, doing your very best to be convincing.
“There it is,” he said in a praising manner. “Don’ go reachin’ fer tha’ button ya got hidin’ under there, either.”
Deciding it was best to comply with their demands to avoid any potential violence, you cleared your throat and stood a little straighter.
“Of course, Mr. Smith,” you said in your steadiest and most professional tone. “Follow me, please.”
You stepped out from behind the counter and led the two men to the security access door.
The customers behind you carried on with their business, unaware that anything was wrong, and you forced your legs to carry you forward despite the way they trembled. The click of your heels on the polished tile was mercifully steady, though you knew your knees were moments from buckling.
You pulled your employee badge from its clip on your hip and went to swipe it, but your hands were trembling so badly that you had to try three times before it read properly.
“Easy,” the Scotsman murmured in your ear.
His breath brushed warm against your cheek as he leaned over your shoulder. He was close enough that you caught the faint scent of the leather from his jacket and spice from his cologne.
You took in a quick sharp breath, before exhaling slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. You pushed the glass door open and stepped through.
“Right this way, gentlemen,” you said, slipping on the bright, customer-service voice you’d perfected over the years. The cheery and polite tone sounded believable to even you, as if you weren’t seconds away from a panic attack.
“There you go, love,” the other man said as he stepped inside. He reached over, taking hold of the frosted glass door and nodding his head, motioning for you to enter.
You stepped deeper inside, allowing him to close the door behind the three of you.
Your smile fell the moment the door clicked shut and you looked cautiously up at the two men.
“This way,” you said, your voice tight, stripped of the friendly facade reserved for customers.
The hall stretched ahead of you, sterile and too bright, the fluorescent lights buzzing noisily overhead.
You knew exactly where they wanted to go. You also knew that you couldn’t get them inside. The vault required two keys—yours and your manager’s—and there was no way you could open it alone. That thought gnawed at you as you walked.
Halfway down the hall, a uniformed security guard rounded the corner. His eyes flicked in your direction briefly, then away, casual as always. You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.
With the two men at your back, you didn’t dare try to signal him. But you hoped, fiercely, that he would recognize the absence of your usual perkiness and friendliness. That something about the situation would look wrong enough to raise suspicion.
But he didn't bat an eye.
“Soap,” one of them murmured behind you, when the guard came into view.
“Aye,” the Scotsman replied under his breath. “I see ‘im. Ghost’ll take care of it.”
Soap? Ghost? Of course these people would use code names of sorts. That's what the always did in the movies.
As you approached the far end of the hall, your heels echoing loudly, it sat there, directly in front of you: the safe room.
You scanned your card for a second time and, again, motioned for the men to enter.
Soap went inside, but his companion looked down at you and said, “After you.”
You frowned before clenching your jaw tightly and following Soap.
The room was large, but the old carpet muffled your footsteps. The entire far wall was made of reinforced steel. The center contained a large, heavy vault door. The keypad and twin locks gleamed under the stark overhead light.
You drifted instinctively to the corner of the room, pressing your back near the wall as though the distance might give you some measure of safety.
You spread your hands out in a motion that said here you go.
“There’s the vault,” you told them as if it wasn't obvious. “But I can’t get you in. I don’t know if you’re aware, but I don’t have access to it.”
Soap moved closer, his head tilting as he studied the vault with casual interest, as if admiring fine art in a museum.
“Alone,” he corrected, not looking at you.
You blinked. “What?”
“Ya don’t have access to it alone.” His sharp gaze cut back to you, then slid toward his partner. “But in conjunction with a manager’s key, ye’d be able to get us right in. Isn’t that right, Gaz?”
The other man—Gaz—stepped up to you. You hated the way they were looking at you right now, like you were a child who didn't understand a joke.
“You think we didn’t do our due diligence, love?” Gaz asked, with an amused twinkle in his eye.
Your brows drew together, but before you could reply, there was a knock on the door.
Soap straightened, arms folding loosely across his broad chest. His expression flickered with something almost playful.
“Ye gonna get that?” he mused.
You scowled, preparing to argue, before you remembered the shiny pistol in his coat. You wagered that Gaz was probably carrying one similar.
You stomped to the door, your heels thudding on the carpet, and yanked it open.
Immediately, the door shoved against you as a man pushed his way inside, nearly knocking you backward.
You stumbled, searching for balance, until strong hands caught your waist, fingers pressing firmly into the fabric of your blouse and the waistband of your pencil skirt.
You gasped, your head snapping up to see Soap, who wasn't paying you any mind, his attention on the newcomer.
“Alright, Cap’n? Ghost?”
“Just fine, Sergeant,” The man said, his raspy voice carrying a tone of authority. A thick, bushy beard framed his jaw and he sported a black knit cap. In his hands was a long rifle and you wondered how on earth he had gotten it inside without alerting security. “Ran into a little trouble along the way, but Ghost took care of it.”
As if summoned, another figure stepped in behind him.
He was tall, his presence instantly filling the space. Broad shoulders swathed in black, tactical vest strapped tight over a hooded sweatshirt. He also carried a rifle, and his face was hidden beneath a mask fashioned to look like a human skull. At least, you hoped it wasn’t a real skull.
Ghost pulled something from his pocket and held it up between two gloved fingers.
Your manager’s keycard.
Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, and your breath caught in your throat. You had no clue how he got his hands on that, but you prayed nobody had been hurt in the process.
You felt your knees begin to shake again before the hands tightened their grip on your waist.
“Well, le’s do it, then,” Soap rumbled from behind you. He leaned down and murmured in your ear. “Ye ready, lass?”
Your spine straightened instinctively when his hot breath hit your skin.
Guided firmly by his hands, in what felt like an oddly intimate gesture, and you found yourself in front of the looming vault door. Ghost stepped up beside the two of you, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the steel.
“Cute, isn’t she, Lt.?” Soap chortled. Your stomach churned.
Ghost’s head turned, the hollow sockets of his mask falling on you for a long, measured moment. His voice was low, gravelly.
“She is,” he agreed. “But keep your eyes on the prize, Sergeant.”
Soap’s grin widened, unbothered. “Thinkin’ maybe I already do.”
You looked up and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the absolute hunger in Soap's eyes as he watched you.
He smirked when he saw your eyes widen.
“Go on, hen.” He gave your ass a little swat and you immediately felt your face flush.
You glared at him sharply, wishing desperately to claw the smirk from his lips. But instead, your trembling hands fumbled at your lanyard, pulling your keycard free with jerky movements.
The plastic slipped once against your slick fingers before you got a solid grip.
You lifted it toward the keypad, as Ghost lifted his as well. Your pulse hammering so loudly that you barely heard the beep when the reader accepted the card.
Soap leaned down to murmur in your ear again.
“An’ the code,” he instructed. You turned your head, opening your mouth to feign ignorance when you felt him squeeze your hips. “Don’ even start with all that. Told ya: we did our homework.”
You pursed your lips, before your shoulders sagged and you turned back, swiftly punching in the vault code.
The door buzzed loudly and you heard the loud thunk of the mechanical lock springing free.
“Good girl,” Soap muttered before he pressed his face into your hair and inhaled deeply.
Goosebumps peppered your skin and your muscles tensed from head to foot.
He chuckled, sounding all too pleased, before he pulled back. The sound vibrated against your scalp, mocking in its warmth. Then his hands slipped away from your waist. He stepped forward, joining Ghost at the vault door.
Together, the two men gripped the thick steel handle, muscles bunched under their jackets as they heaved the massive wheel which let out a deep metallic groan.
You stood frozen, heart in your throat, until you felt a heavy palm settle on your shoulder. You flinched, your head snapping up to see the bearded man—the Captain—as he wordlessly guided you backward, making room for the door.
The vault yawned open with a sound like a growl, the air that poured out was cool and stale. Inside, dim lights flickered to life one by one, illuminating rows of gleaming metal safety deposit boxes that stretched from floor to ceiling along the side walls. Beyond them, the real treasure revealed itself: The floor was lined with neat stacks of currency cassettes, industrial gray and brimming with tightly banded bundles of bills. Along the back wall, more cassettes were stacked high, reaching nearly to your waist, a solid wall of wealth, almost obscene in its abundance.
Only then did you notice the empty duffle bags slung across the Captain’s and Ghost’s broad shoulders, two each. Without a word, they slipped one off and tossed them toward Gaz and Soap. The younger men caught them easily, unzipped the bags and immediately set to work shoveling piles of cash into each one.
The Captain and Ghost began prying open safety deposit boxes with crowbars while Soap and Gaz worked side by side, movements swift and efficient as stacks of cash disappeared into their bags. Their actions were so fluid and rehearsed, it was clear to you that this wasn’t their first job.
Soap looked up midway through filling his bag, his wicked grin flashing like the glint off a knife blade. “Don’t go anywhere, hen,” he called, his voice lilting with amusement. “We’re no’ done with ya, yet.”
You're not entirely sure what came over you, but his words struck terror into your very core. A primal fear seized you. Before you even realized what you were doing, you spun on your heels, the sharp scrape of them against the low, cheap carpet was loud in the cavernous room.
You bolted for the door.
Behind you came a chorus of groans. Gaz muttered something under his breath, and Ghost’s gravelly voice said, “Way to go, Johnny.”
“Christ!” Soap swore.
You ran as quickly as you could in your heels, with your heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted to break free. But you didn’t make it more than a few steps before a strong arm banded around your midsection and hoisted you off your feet. You shrieked, your legs kicking wildly, heels jabbing at shins and knees.
“No!” you cried, thrashing against him. “Get off! Let me go!”
But Soap didn’t let go. His grip only tightened, your back pressed hard against his chest as you squirmed and struggled in his hold. With his free hand, he caught your chin, fingers digging into your jaw, and forced your head to the side until your eyes locked with his.
Those blue eyes that had seemed so dazzling before, now burned, sending chills through your whole body, and a shiver rippled down your spine. They weren’t beautiful now. They were sharp and dangerous.
“Tha’s enough o’ that,” he growled, voice low and stern.
A sob broke from your throat, high and shaky. For a split second, he only narrowed his eyes assessing you further, before his gaze softened. He sighed.
“Alright, alright,” he said, his tone easing though his grip never faltered. “Look, I’m no’ gonna hurt ya, lass. S’long as ya do what you’re told, aye?”
Tears blurred your vision. You blinked rapidly, fighting them back, your lips trembling despite your efforts to press them into a firm line. Finally, you nodded once, shakily. Then again, a little firmer, the motion jerky.
“Aye,” you whispered. “Alright.”
Soap—Johnny, you supposed—watched you appraisingly for a moment before he let a smile slowly tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Tha’s my girl,” he said muttered.
The Captain appeared behind Johnny, his boots thudding heavily as he did.
“I’ve got her, Sergeant. You take care o’ this with the boys."”
Johnny’s hand lingered for one last moment. His thumb stroked across your jaw in a disturbingly tender gesture before he released you entirely. The warmth of his body faded as he stepped back, slinging the half-filled duffle the Captain handed him over one shoulder.
The Captain shifted his focus to you.
“Come with me,” he said. His rifle dangled at his side, and you eyed it warily. “You heard Soap. No one’s gonna hurt you ‘nless you give us a reason to.”
You wrapped your arms tightly around your torso. Your voice was barely audible when you said, “I won’t.”
“S’right,” he replied smoothly. “You won’t.”
He put his hand on your shoulder once more and none-too-gently guided you to the door. “Let’s take a walk, you and me.”
You stepped out into the hallway where your heels clicked loudly on the tile again.
You expected the Captain to guide you back down the hallway, but instead, he took a sharp turn towards the only other room in this area of the facility: the security room
Confusion etched its way onto your features and you glanced back at the man, but he wasn't paying you any mind.
Why would he take you here, where surely, there would be one or more security officers waiting for him?
Turns out, that wasn't a question you needed to ponder for long, because the moment he opened the door, you were met with a sight that caught you completely by surprise.
Inside, there wasn't a single bank employee. In fact, there was only one person. A woman.
She wore a hooded sweatshirt, like Ghost’s, and had her long dark hair braided down her back.
She was leaning back in a desk chair, her feet propped up on the desk, lazily surveying the monitors.
She barely looked up when the Captain entered, but did a little double take when she saw you.
“Captain,” she greeted, sitting straighter, her boots thudding to the floor.
“Kilo.” The Captain’s voice was a low rumble as he squeezed your shoulder, fingers firm, holding you in place. “This here’s our tour guide.” His grip tightened fractionally. “She’s gettin’ a little… restless. Thought maybe she ought to see what we’ve got goin’ on here.”
“Certainly,” Kilo said with a smirk, rolling her chair back to provide you with a better view of the monitors.
The Captain gave you a little nudge towards the desk.
You shuffled forward, leaning in to get a better view of the security feed.
Every monitor displayed the main bank floor, but instead of orderly chaos, you saw dozens of bodies. Customers, employees, even the uniformed guards, all lying flat on the marble floor, hands on the backs their heads, with their fingers interlocked and their faces pressed into the cold stone.
Pacing among them was a man in a ski mask, who held a rifle in his hand. He moved with sharp precision, sweeping his gaze over the hostages like a predator circling prey.
You gasped before you could stop yourself, the sound small but audible in the quiet room. Your hands began to shake, and you clamped them to the edge of the desk, trying to still the tremor.
“Echo’s got it covered,” the woman was saying to the Captain.
“Hmm,” he hummed in reply. He leaned in behind you, crowding you just enough to make you uncomfortable. “One of your friends down there got a little jumpy,” he murmured. “Saw something he didn’t like, thought he’d be clever with the silent alarm.” His voice was low and even but carried a sharp edge that made your pulse thunder in your ears. “So, we had to take some precautions.”
He turned you then, gently, until you faced him. His piercing gaze locked with yours, unblinking.
“But you won’t give us any problems back here, will you, sweetheart?”
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You dropped your gaze and shook your head quickly, lips pressed tight to keep them from trembling.
“Good.” His tone softened, but it was no comfort. “No one’s been hurt. Would hate for that to change.”
With his hand still heavy on your shoulder, he gave Kilo a curt nod.
“Start pullin’ tapes,” he ordered. “Scrub what you can and prep for departure.”
“Right away, Captain.” She rolled her chair toward the surveillance system, fingers already moving swiftly over the console.
He pivoted you away, his grip firm and inescapable, steering you back down the hallway.
As you rounded the corner, the vault room came into view, and so did the other men.
Johnny was the first one you noticed. He emerged from the room with two overstuffed duffle bags weighing down his shoulders. The nylon stretched so tight you could see the outlines of bundled stacks inside. Ghost and Gaz followed, each burdened with one of their own. The bags thumped heavily against their sides with every step.
Johnny’s face seemed to brighten when he spotted you. He flashed you a wink, somehow both boyishly charming and mildly terrifying.
“We good, boss?” Ghost asked, his voice a gravelly rumble through the skull mask. His eyes flicked to the Captain.
The Captain gave a short nod. “Time to go.”
Without ceremony, he shoved you forward, right into Johnny’s waiting hands.
“Keep her under control,” the Captain instructed.
Johnny caught you by the bicep, his grip iron-tight, and passed off his extra bag to Gaz.
His smirk curled back into place. “Aye, sir.”
You barely had time to stumble before the whole group moved in sync, herding you down the opposite corridor. You were pulled along with them, forced to match their long, purposeful strides as they headed toward the rear of the building.
The emergency exit door burst open, spilling you all out into the cool autumn air. The alley was narrow and dim, trash bins pressed against the brick walls, their odor pungent and unpleasant. Parked dead center was a large black van, its engine idling with a low growl.
The men moved quickly, tossing the heavy duffle bags inside with dull thuds. More money than you’d ever seen in your life, swallowed into the dark maw of the van.
Kilo appeared, slipping into the driver’s seat. Her braid swayed as she slammed the door shut, both hands immediately gripping the wheel.
A sudden muffled boom disrupted the normal sounds of the city, followed by high-pitched screams that carried even out here. You jumped at the sound, your heart in your throat. A moment later, the other masked man came sprinting out of the bank, rifle gripped tightly in his hands.
“Alright, Echo?” Ghost grunted, his voice steady, but his head snapping toward the sound.
Echo skidded to a halt, lifting his mask up only exposing the lower half of his face. He had a strong jawline and a sandy colored beard.
“Let off a flashbang,” he explained. “Keep ‘em on the ground for a bit, but we oughta expect cops any minute.”
The Captain swung himself into the back of the van.
“Then let’s not be here to meet ‘em.”
Ghost climbed in behind him, followed by Gaz, then Echo.
You dug your high heels into the cracked pavement, trying to twist out of Johnny’s grip as he moved towards the vehicle.
“Wait!” you cried, desperation breaking through your trembling voice. “Please! You can’t—”
“Sorry, lass,” Johnny interrupted, sounding anything but. His arm locked around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly off your feet, ignoring your frantic protests. He set you down inside the van as if you weighed nothing at all, before he sat down, and hauled you into his lap. His grin was wicked as he leaned down, murmuring against your ear.
“Told ye before, m’not done with ya.”
masterlist
the timing was just... the moment had to be captured
bunch of traces and studies ripped from official materials and thrown into a comic, study time has been very fun haha.
i can tell i finished puberty since i last engaged with this game cause back in the day i wats like "ghost! funny stick figure man and my best friend forever" and now it's
JOHN "SOAP" MACTAVISH ↳ Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2
I was wondering, could you write Ghost x fem!reader hand to hand combat training that leads to them making out
YES'M COMING RIGHT UP
reader doesn't have a nickname or any identifying features other than, idk, having hair i guess? also no real warnings except for making out and some suggestive stuff. y'know, promises on the horizon. 👀 i didn't want to go much further in case all you wanted was just makeouts.
---
"No. Hands here. Right. Just about level with your chest."
It's hard to focus with Ghost's hands on your wrists, guiding you into a stance that feels off. You're accustomed to one particular style of defense, and he shifts you into another that makes your muscles ache.
You furrow your brow. "Is it supposed to feel like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like I'm about to throw my rotator cuff out?"
He shrugs, resuming his original stance—one where his hands are lower, parallel to his waist, arms spread like he's going to hug you. "Just means you're using muscles you're not accustomed to exercising," he replies.
"You saying I don't exercise?" you joke.
"Just hold your hands there."
You do, and he gives you about two seconds of warning before he comes at you.
Going up against Ghost in hand-to-hand combat is terrifying. There's no other word for it, no way to describe it outside of using terms like 'pants-shittingly scary'. He's a wall of muscle garbed in black, mask cementing the vision of a very buff Grim Reaper launching himself at you, dragging you into death in some judo move. You're still not accustomed to it, even this many months into your assignment with the 141. The second he moves, that fight or flight instinct screams flee, idiot! and you flinch.
He stops before touching you, sighing like an overburdened elementary school teacher. "You did it again," he says.
You fall out of the stance and raise your hands helplessly. "What do you expect me to do? You ever see yourself in a mirror?"
He ignores that latter question. "I expect you to defend yourself," he replies. "You're gonna meet people far bigger than me out there."
Doubt it, you think. You don't need to remind him that you have gone into the field before, and that you earned your place in the 141 through skill and tenacity. However, at this point, you still haven't seen someone like Ghost out there.
"Okay," you say, rallying yourself and raising your hands again. "I got this. Big, scary dude coming at me. No problem."
You think he raises a brow at you. Not something you can see, but you feel it. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Yep. Totally good."
Ghost goes back into the first pose with his arms out. He hunkers down, looming at the edge of the mat like a very large specter of the imminent end, and yet all you can think is can you use those arms for something else, please.
Which is why you miss the two second warning, and promptly get knocked off your feet by a skeleton-garbed missile of a man.
Because it turns out that he only corrected your stance from the waist up, and you completely forgot what to do with your legs. You didn't brace, didn't set your feet shoulder-width apart to lower your center of gravity and make you more solid. That, and Ghost has such a size advantage of you that it feels a hell of a lot like someone shooting a grenade launcher at a lawn chair.
All to say, you topple and hit the mat hard. Air whuffs out of your lungs, compressed under the sheer weight of Ghost. Sparks dance in your vision for one hot second before you come back to yourself, registering aches in brand new places and the feeling of one of Ghost's (impressively beefy) thighs between your legs.
Unfortunately, robbed of all oxygen, all you manage to eke out is a sad wheeze.
"Fuck," Ghost groans. He manages to hoist himself up on his forearms, lifting the stone weight off your chest so you're not getting compressed like a panini. "Ugh. You okay?"
It takes an embarrassingly long time to get your breath back, and a moment longer to work around the ache in your ribs from having a bulldozer of a man on your chest—not even in a sexy way. "Yeaaahhh," you force out, gritting your teeth and blinking away the last jittery sparkles in your vision. "Gimme a second."
He does, but you register that he's not getting off of you. In fact, he's holding pretty damn steady and not doing something in the name of good teamwork like, say, standing up and helping you off the mat, or asking if you need medical assistance, or making fun of you. Instead, he's most definitely staying quiet, and when you look at him, you suddenly feel pinned anew.
Because he's staring, and it's made so much more intense by the greasepaint around his eyes, drawing out his dark eyes by contrast. You feel his gaze like added weight, and it keeps you still, unable to scoot out from under him even though he's given you room to do so.
Your breathing's back online, but it's not steady, and your mouth is very, very dry.
"Um," is all you can say, and you're proud of yourself for getting that much out.
His eyes flick down, watching your mouth move. They widen when you lick your bottom lip to give it some reprieve.
There's no training for to do in this situation.
And there's certainly no training for— for lifting up his damn mask and revealing a mouth that you're pretty sure you've had wet dreams about. Plush lips, faint silvery scars, fine stubble. God damn, and he was keeping this a secret.
"Ghost," you try again, searching for anything to say. Any word, any question, any kind of affirmation that can give you a litmus test on what the hell is going on here.
Rather than explaining himself, his eyes find yours again and he says—in the lowest of low rumbling voices, "Is this okay?"
How do you say yes or, perhaps, fuck yes without sounding desperate? It's like he reached into your head and plucked out those fantasies you've kept under lock and key since you joined on and saw him for the first time. Hell, you're not totally sure this isn't one of those dreams right now.
So you nod. Just two quick jerks of the head, fabric on the mat definitely fucking up your hair. You can hear the static next to your ear, but you could care less.
Because once Ghost's lips are on yours, nothing matters.
He's so warm, lips deceptively soft (what did you think, they were going to be as calloused as his fingers?), the tang of sweat on his skin, his forearms bracketing you. He's in every direction, kissing you and siphoning out the air again, leaving you gasping when he pulls back.
One breath.
Two.
And he kisses you again, like a confirmation that yes, this is very real and it's happening to you. He didn't trip and fall and kiss you on the way down. His right arm comes up so his fingers brush against your cheek, and then he cups the side of your face with his enormous palm. You open your mouth against his, tasting him, hearing his heavy breathing in tandem with your own.
At the same time, your mind rushes to make all the connections to figure out how you got here, how Ghost is on top of you when he's supposed to be teaching you how to defend yourself. How—
How you missed all of those signals.
Too-long glances at meetings; hands brushing yours when he passed you documents, ammo, rations, a radio; the way he kept close to your six so it was never undefended; every nickname from him teeming with a little more whimsy than you thought him capable of. Never once did you stop and consider if that was how he treated everyone in the 141, or if that was saved for you.
You never asked the question, but you're sure as hell getting an answer.
His tongue brushes against yours, sealed between your lips, teasing whines out of you. He hums in satisfaction, or possibly pleasure; vaguely, you wonder if he's wanted this just as badly, or if this is a spur of the moment decision and he's enjoying the payoff. Regardless, you can't ignore the slight pressure of his thigh between your legs, riding up higher and higher until—
Until you get an incredibly stupid idea.
He doesn't get a two second warning. What he gets is your arms around his back—the hug you wanted and now he gets—and the sudden upward jerk of motion that sends him flailing backwards. In a move you had no idea you were capable of, he's now on his back, mask still riding up to his nose, eyes wide, expression damn near cartoonish.
"Wh—" is all he gets out before you're kissing him.
You're the one bracketing his hips with your thighs. You're the one pinning him down and making him breathless. And, damnit, once you pull back enough to get a look at his face, you're the one getting him to look up at you like he's seeing you for the first time.
You grin, leaning in close and whispering, "Is it supposed to feel like this?"
He licks his lips, and your eyes trace the trail of his tongue. "Like what?" he asks, quieter now than you've ever heard him.
Your answer is another firm kiss, the ache in your muscles shifting course and alchemizing into something far hotter, liquid heat settling between you. And you pull back one more time, dropping your head so your lips brush his ear. You swear you feel him shudder.
"I think we have a few more forms to go through," you say.
and i know someone asked me this already BUT i need......brat tamer alejandro.........hrhhnrgnh
can't believe it literally took me making a cod server to actually do this drabble, but here we are I guess 😂
anyways
You really should've known that teasing Alejandro right before the stakeout was not the smartest move you could make.
But come on, how exactly were you supposed to function when he was wearing that cream henley with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms? He knew what it did to you, when he dressed down around base. And the fucker still did it.
Really, you can't be blamed for pushing him into that storage closet and falling to your knees.
Also, it absolutely was not your fault that the stupid intercom interrupted you before you could finish him off, calling for everyone to head to the briefing room before the massive stakeout.
Alejandro, however, clearly did not see things the way you did.
The dark look he gave you when he announced you'd be with him up on the hill providing cover fire if the worst came to pass sent shivers down your spine, but you didn't protest.
Surely, surely whatever he had planned for you couldn't be that bad, right?
...
Right?
~~~
"See anything, lieutenant?"
You damn near bit through your tongue so you wouldn't curse Alejandro out, well aware of the fact that your mic would pick up even the quietest of whispers and broadcast it to your entire team.
"No sir," you grunted, fingers sweaty on your sniper rifle as you peered through the scope, trying desperately to keep still. "All clear."
"Good," he purred, voice thick with sin. "Victor 1-1, going off comms. Stay vigilant, vaqueros."
You heard a chorus of your teammates responses, but you couldn't acknowledge them, forced to clap a hand over your mouth as Alejandro ground his hips against yours, damn near making you scream.
"Something wrong, mi amor?"
Alejandro's voice was in your left ear, far away enough from your mic that his voice wouldn't carry through the comms. The dark delight in his tone was obvious, since he knew you were unable to answer him. At least, not without giving away to the rest of the Vaqueros that he was currently buried balls deep in your aching cunt.
"Nothing to say, hmm? Have I finally found a way to keep that smart mouth shut?"
You tasted copper, the tang of blood almost sweet on your tongue as you tried desperately to maintain your composure. You'd been out here for only an hour, and you still had the rest of the night to go. Something told you Alejandro wasn't planning to let you off easy.
There was some shuffling noises behind you, and you didn't even have a chance to turn and look before Alejandro put one hand on your waist and planted the other in the dirt by your shoulder and begin to draw his hips back and forth in a slow, tantalizing drag.
A whimper escaped behind your clenched teeth, and the crackle of your comms sent dread pooling in your stomach.
"Victor 1-3, everything alright?"
Rudy's voice was carefully clear, but you could tell that he knew something was up. You heard Alejandro chuckle as he picked up the pace a bit, and you instantly knew he'd told Rudy what he was planning to do to you tonight.
"All c-clear, Victor 1-2. Slight tickle in my throat."
Alejandro's snicker was mean, and he punished you further with a particularly deep thrust. You were still in your full tac gear, and the heat was damn near unbearable. All Alejandro had done was shuffle your pants down just enough, but he'd oh so kindly left the rest of you fully clothed, maintaining the illusion that everything was fine.
But everything was decidedly not fine, considering he wouldn't let you come.
Every fucking time you got close, he'd stop. He wouldn't pull out, no, that would be too easy.
No, he'd press his hips flush to yours and settle down on top of your back, pressing you into the dirt. He'd lay there, letting you clench down around him desperately, trying and failing to maintain the stimulation needed to push you over the edge. He'd bite meanly at your throat, leaving bruises with the imprint of his teeth that you'd need to cover up with heavy duty concealer, lest your entire base find out that you'd let your commander fuck you stupid into the dirt during the mission.
You were so ready to curse him out, to just fucking beg that he let you come, just once, please, when over the comms you heard your fellow vaqueros announcing the target was moving locations.
A softly muttered curse escapes you, and you force yourself to focus in through the scope and track the movement of the target.
Alejandro doesn't seem to care, as he begins to thrust again. You clench your teeth and try your hardest to focus. The target is following his typical evening route, but you have to be conscious of any deviations in schedule.
It's damn hard though, with Alejandro somehow hitting the exact right spots inside you that make you want to scream, but you can't you have to do your fucking job...
That crest begins to swell inside you once again, and already you feel that bitter disappointment that Alejandro will deny you release yet again, when he suddenly doubles down, one hand sliding around your waist to press on your lower belly, where you can feel how fucking thick he is inside you.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Is he really going to do this to you now?
The dark curl of his voice in your ear simultaneously sends lightning through your veins and ice down your back.
"Remember, mi amor."
Your orgasm crashes over you like a goddamn tidal wave.
"Not. A. Sound."
Sergeants.
You and Soap joined the 141 together, as you’re a deal package but the longer they are together, the more people see them they recognise that they are more. Characters – Soap, Reader, Ghost, Alejandro and Rudy. Word Count – 1.5k
‘I’ll save you a seat Lt.’ ‘Soap.’ Your voice broke over the engine as the plane started it engine, Ghost watched as the Sarge tensed up and dropped his hand. ‘Don’t annoy the lieutenant or I’ll push you out the plane.’ You said, Soap rolled his eyes as Ghost watched you stand at in the back of the plane. ‘Yes ma’am.’ Soap sarcastically replied, he turned back to Ghost and gave him a smile before he jogged over to you. ‘Jesus Christ.’ Ghost mumbled as he watched you whack Soaps shoulder. ‘Any problems?’ Laswell quizzed over the comms. ’Negative.’ Ghost replied whilst he watched you talked to Soap before he took over the conversation. ‘Good, I hope you’ve meet up with Sergeant MacTavish and Y/L/N.’ Laswell’s voice came through as he watched the Sergeant continue to explain something in depth to you before you shook your head and turn to the team, as he followed behind you. ‘Positive.’
‘Don’t swing like that.’ You almost scalded him like a child, he stuck his tongue out at you as you lowered into the seat beside him. ‘Are you and Soap a thing?’ Rudy asked, Ghost was suddenly interested in the conversation and noticed the way you and Soap looked at each other, almost disgusted. ‘No, I’m his common sense.’ You jabbed your fork at him. ‘Common sense?’ Alejandro asked his thick brows furrowed, you nodded. ‘Yeah, when he was a cadet he decided that jumping off the ten foot level would be good.’ You explained, Soap smiled widely as he remembered it. ‘Didn’t everyone do that?’ Rudy commented, you nodded as you agreed with him. ‘Yes but Johnny boy here decided to go head first.’ You added, they looked at Soap who shrugged. ‘Luckily for him I can spot stupid a mile away.’ You said, giving his shoulder a forceful nudge which caused his chair to tumble backwards, he let out a startled yelp as he tried to grab onto something but came up empty handed before his back collided with the ground. ‘I told you.’ You said, taking a bite of your food as he rolled off his back and got into his seat, all four legs on the ground and frowned. ‘Is it just common sense or lack of you can detect?’ Ghost said, Soap narrowed his eyes at the masked man. ‘Nope, got a good bullshit detector as well.’ You joked.
Ghost glanced at you as watched Graves get out the car, your brows furrowed as you followed and noticed the men get out the car behind you, hands resting on their weapons and eyes trained on them. ‘Bullshit.’ You mumbled, Ghost looked at Graves as well and tensed up. ‘You sure?’ He muttered, his voice deep enough that it would just sound like a grumble to anyone further away. ‘Watch.’ You said, you suddenly moved your hand to you back and scratched but the men to you and Ghosts left fingers dropped to the trigger. You watched as Soap walked closer, his voice agitated as he tried to get between Graves and Alejandro. You shoulders tensed as Alejandro was shoved into the back of the jeep, the back of his head connected with the metal panel. One of the men that stood next to Graves shoved Soap away, he stumbled and gained his balance as Graves looked over the group. ‘I’ll phone Shepard.’ Soap said, he turned and walked back to the car but glanced at you, you rubbed your nose and his eyes darkened. ‘Shepard sends his regards.’ Graves said, then all hell broke loose, Soap was shot and his body was flung back before Alejandro was knocked unconscious. You reacted quickly and took down the two men that were stationed in front of you, Ghost took down the three behind you before you both dropped to the ground at the bullets fired at you, you breathed heavily and watched as Ghost moved around the back of the car, his body low to the ground. ‘Get out of here Johnny, go.’ He shouted, his shoulders slumped and you wanted to run around and pull Soap away but Ghost slouched back next to you. ‘We need to go.’ He said, you nodded and pulled your hand gun out as the light flickered above you, you raised your gun and fired, the solider dropped down before you and Ghost pushed off and disappeared into the darkness.
‘Soap.’ You breathed out, glad to see him even if he is all bloody. ‘You managed to survive without me.’ You joked, he smiled up at you. ‘Barely.’ You quickly crossed over to him, a hand landed on his left bicep as you looked at the bullet wound that stained his right. Your brows drew together before carefully lifted the sleeve shirt up. ‘Soap.’ ‘I’m fine, it’s a through and through.’ He replied, you narrowed your eyes as you looked at him. ‘Sit.’ You commanded, Ghost watched as he walked over to the rotten bench and carefully sat on it. ‘Any word from the others?’ Soap asked Ghost as you pulled the bandage out the small first aid kit you carried. ‘Negative.’ Ghost grumbled, you placed the off white bandage on Soaps bicep before he automatically lifted his other hand up and pressed his finger against the end, you wrapped the material around before he let go. ‘Graves will be keeping Alejandro close, along with his other men.’ You told the pair of them, you pulled Soaps stained sleeve back down. ‘As much as I believe in our skills we need help and we need to get out of here.’ You said, you informed the men whilst your straightened your back and picked your gun up. ‘I’m guessing someone would have told you about an unknown safe house?’ You turned to Ghost, his dark eyes watched you before he nodded. ‘Rudy told me of a place.’ He said, you nodded and Soap’s jaw almost touched the floor. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’ Soap asked. ‘Need to know.’ Ghost grumbled, Soap looked offended as you walked over to the church window, the streetlights didn’t give much light and plenty of hiding spots for the shadows to hide in. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’ Soap grumbled. ‘Because Ghost is our superior Soap.’ You reminded him, Ghost and Soap turned to look at you as narrowed your eyes. ‘There’s a car ‘bout ten feet away, but three shadows have it surrounded.’ You informed them, the three men had their fingers on their guns ready for anything. ‘Just three?’ Soap asked, you nodded before you turned back to them. ‘No including the ones hidden in the alley ways, torturing random innocents, on top of roof tops, controlling the –‘ ‘Okay, we get it, do you have to be so negative?’ Soap asked, you raised a middle finger to him and he smiled widely at you as you turned to Ghost. ‘You good to drive?’ You asked him, he nodded and watched as you walked back over to Soap and pulled the knife from his thigh holster. ‘Soap passenger seat, I’ll get in the back.’ You said, your fingers tightened around the ‘Isn’t Ghost our superior?’ Soap asked, you rolled your eyes. ‘Don’t see anyone else coming up with solutions.’ ‘Y/N’s right,’ Ghost said, you smiled widely at Soap who rolled his eyes, ‘we’ll need to move now.’ He said, Soap stood up and tried to hide the wince but you narrowed your eyes at him and tried to find any other injuries that he was keeping hidden from you.
‘You love him, don’t you?’ Ghost asked as he walked into the room and set the cup of tea and water on the small unit. ‘Thanks.’ You breathed out, you straightened yourself and you heard the bones pop. ‘I do.’ You replied, answering the question, Ghost nodded as he lowered himself into the seat and you picked the cup of tea up. ‘I mean,’ you allowed the warmth to seep into your hands, ‘he’s the home that I’d prefer to be with.’ ‘So why aren’t you together?’ He asked, confused that you weren’t in a relationship. ‘We tried but we aren’t meant to be in a relationship so we’re friends.’ You told him, he hummed as he lifted the bottom of his mask up and took a sip of tea. ‘You can sleep.’ Ghost said, you shook your head. ‘I’ll watch.’ He added, you hesitated, you looked at the cup of tea then to the back Soap’s head before you looked back to Ghost, he jutted his chin as he encouraged you. With an exhale you set your tea on the small table and stood up, Ghost watched as you stretched your back and then walked over to the small cot, careful not to cause too much noise. You stretched a hand out and ran it over Soaps head, the shaved hair had started to grew out, you smiled before you pulled the covers back. You sat down on the edge before you rolled onto your side, as you pulled the covers up, you buried your nose into Soap’s shoulder as you hand came around and draped over his waist. ‘Thank you Simon.’ You breathed out, his noticed the way your entire body relaxed.
forget guns, sledgehammers r forever