#COD Fanfic

[quarterlifekitty]

Follow up to this post abt being Price’s specialest princess kitty who gets found by mountain lion!simon after you get lost in the rain.

Price fuckin’ hates Simon. This big, scarred up, anti-social beast, suddenly in his house, and you treat him like a teddy bear. And he fucking lets you.

Tracks dirt everywhere. Tracks blood all the way back to your bed cause he’s just trying to keep his mate fed while she’s got kittens on the way. Leaves half eaten carcasses on the property. Shoves his way into the henhouse from time to time when he thinks he can get away with it.

But he must admit. His precious little angel does look especially beautiful with a pregnant belly. Price had had a field day getting you all sorts of loose fitting, frilly dresses. It almost made up for the week-long tribulation that was trying to get a collar on Simon. You’d had to help by sucking Simon off to get him off guard (when he had to choose between cumming down your throat and dodging a collaring, the choice was obvious).

And Simon does keep unwanted guests off of the property. Coyotes, foxes, the deer that would destroy the vegetable patch— even the wolves that would scare his princess with their baying and howling once they’d caught your scent.

And you were so happy. Always waiting patiently at home for him to come in and settle so you could cuddle him and groom him (after a long hard day of raising hell). Begging for more cushions, bigger ones, so Simon could joint you in all your favorite resting spots.

Again, he just wishes there was less blood.

[thatoneautisticshark]

When Ghost drifted to sleep on Price's bed in the room where they were all hanging out, no one really noticed for a little while.

He'd been quiet today, so no one pushed him to talk, so they didn't spot he was snoozing for another few minutes.

Gaz was the first to spot it, face splitting into a grin as he nudged Soaps leg with his foot to get his attention. “Pstt Tav. Bet ye can't cuddle up to him without waking him.”

Soap grinned ferally, “Bet, ay can totally snuggle ‘im” he stood up, sitting next to Ghost on the bed, giving an extra look over to ensure he was indeed asleep.

He then just layed down, onto one of ghosts arms that was splayed out. Holding his breath as Ghost stirred.

Luckily for him, the lieutenant did not wake, simply rolled over slightly, pulling soap closer, and cuddling him.

Gaz pulled a face in surprise. “Damn … ye reckon he'd cuddle me two?"

Soap grinned, gesturing for his mate to try, as Gaz settled against Ghosts other side, subsequently also being pulled into a cuddle.

Both sergeants had shit eating grins as the snuggled closer. Both in disbelief that this actually happened.

When price finally glanced over, he has to do a double take. “Lads… what?”

Soap grinned “Come on cap! We are gently dog piling LT, aka cuddles”

Price, after a moments hesitation, gently settled on top of them.

Within 10 minutes all of them were out. When Ghost woke, he got a little bit baffled, but simply closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

[leyavo]

Ghost getting badly injured during a mission that they have to call his next of kin.

Next of kin?? What do you mean next of kin.

Mrs Riley?! He doesn’t wear a wedding band to protect you. Not even at home, worried there’ll be a mark to show he sometimes wears one.

It’s then that the TF 141 find out he’s married to you. They’re all wondering what you’re like, convinced you must be in the same line of work.

You’ve been married for six years, only to be called if it’s serious like now.

Soap’s jaw is on the floor as you walk into the infirmary, you don’t even glance their way as you rush to Simon’s bedside. Your hand on his chest as you lean down to kiss his forehead and brush back his hair.

You’re well put together, a lightweight robe layered over jeans and a simple vest. Pops of colour on your olive thick framed glasses and golden wedged heels. Hair pinned back with a pencil, leather bag overpacked with a book, filofax, purse and little cosmetic bag.

Price introduces himself, shaking your hand. A dainty diamond ring sparkling on your finger. Your silver bangles jingle as you greet each man, repeating their names and they know Ghost has not told you anything about them.

All he told you is that he likes working alone, but sometimes works with others.

You stay at the base for a while till he’s well enough to travel home. Eating with him and the guys in the canteen, they’re still staring at Simon like he’s grown another head. Watching you two squabble about little things.

“Do not put that shit on my plate,” Simon grumbled.

“It’s broccoli not a bomb.” You can’t help but roll your eyes, shoulder bumping into his arm as you try to move him along in the line.

The art director job you have takes you all around the world, sometimes you get to meet up with your husband. Simon treating it like a mission in itself, you playing along as you talk to him over the phone as you walk the cobbled streets to see him. “Target engaged, moving in,” you whisper as you spot him standing outside a coffee shop.

FaceTiming him whilst he’s at base so you can show him the little trinket you found in an antique store. He’s laying down in his bed, headphones on so no one hears.

“Nearly the same age as you luv.” Anything to see that little poutie face and brows furrowed. He loves teasing you that you are older than him, but it backfires whenever he complains at his body aching. “You’re supposed to be young and spry.”

Being a couple years older than Simon, you’ve got your shit together. Which drew Simon to you. Both no nonsense, say what you feel and work it out. No games, no silent treatment.

“Watch your tone Si, you’re not in the army here. You’re home so don’t give me that shit.”

“Watch my tone, luv. You just flooded the bathroom!”

“You distracted me!”

“Why don’t I get some towels and we both sort it out.”

Once Simon’s fully recovered, you invite his team to stay at your shared home together for the weekend.

A cottage in the countryside, there’s an eclectic mix of vintage furniture and textiles. That one rug Simon shipped back from Morocco in the living room. Paintings, pottery and sculptures scattered around the rooms. Rocky, a German Shepard trailing after you as you give them a tour of the place.

You make friends with Price’s wife who’s around the same age as you. Even try to set Gaz up with a client you think he’d get on with. Bond with Soap telling him you lived in Scotland as a late teen where you had your first art assistant job there.

Price’s wife scheduling a double date in five months time. Simon side eying John. She’s also invited you to come stay for a girls weekend at the Price house.

[masterlist] & [Price’s wife]

[toolewdarts]

Fuck I even liked the graves portion, I fucking hate that man damnit it was so good though

𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝘼𝙎 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝘿 𝘼𝙎 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀

☾ definition: dacryphilia refers to sexual pleasure or arousal from seeing tears or hearing the sounds of crying. 141 + ALEJANDRO + RUDY + GRAVES X F!READER TAGS | nsfw, smut, crying, mention of a safe word, f!dom, overstimulation, orgasm denial WC | 3,099

JOHN PRICE

… sees you cry and praises.

if john could see your eyes right now, he’d tell you not to be embarrassed. would probably coo at you like a prized horse. ask you what was wrong, and if there was anything he could do to help.

problem was, you weren’t sure what it was you were crying over - the bite of wood against your skin, or john’s tongue between your thighs.

both were agonizing in their own ways. both BURNED with something that hurt too good to admit. both demanded your attention, but as always, john eventually won the fight for it. the tiny little scrapes and bumps caused by the old wood of his desk had started to numb when the tears came. john’s fingers pushing into your cunt acted as a sort of balm. you couldn’t feel anything but him.

his broad shoulders had kept your legs spread for far too long at this point, so they eventually began to ache too. they tremble and quake around john’s shoulders. you know he feels it, and thinks it’s because of his tongue and fingers.

he’s not far from the truth.

and just as soon as john’s eyes shoot up, you’re throwing your head back. eyes squeezing shut, shuddering breath disguised behind a moan, hoping to just cum on his mouth and he doesn’t have to know he caused the tears that seem to burn your eyes. he’s kept you on the edge for so long, it wouldn’t be hard to simply focus on his tongue and let go.

there’s a burn behind your eyelids. more tears form when his fingers curl and his tongue flicks a certain way.

“john,” you breathe out, ending his name with a pant. “it’s… i-”

“look at me, love.”

it was an order. plain and clear. your head snaps up immediately, finding his half-illuminated eyes in the lowlight of his office. dark hair looking raven black, eyes blown up to match - but even then, you see them LIGHT up with amusement. even in shitty lighting, john catches the glimmer of tears. right on the edge of falling down your pretty cheeks - you probably don’t even notice. it only makes him harder.

he laughs in a low rumble. “so fucking pretty, aren’tcha?”

you nod; panting, writhing, crying.

john leans his head in closer, pushing in his fingers as far as they’ll go. “pretty girl gonna cum for me? all sweet and tight around my fingers? keep watching me, love - gonna cum now? yeah, go right ahead, dove. you more than DESERVE it.”

the orgasm hits like a truck when john grinds his tongue against your clit. just before your eyes squeeze shut again, a tear finally breaks free and glides down your cheek - warm and flushed from a climax that he’s sure someone must’ve heard.

john has always promised he’d never make you cry, but this is a damn good exception.

☾

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK

… sees you cry and dotes.

gaz has always gone on and on about how much he wants to keep you separate from his work. to leave all the roughness behind when he’s with you. it was never really a problem until tonight - sweet and gentle and slow to a fault. 

too sweet. too gentle. too slow. 

kyle is careful to keep a STEADY pace - a careful rock of his hips, lightly grinding against yours when he’s pressed in deep, making you feel each and every inch of him before gradually pulling out to do when same thing over again. and you know he doesn’t do things without an express purpose - after extending your orgasm a few times, it’s safe to say that your safety isn’t the top priority for once.

he hasn’t gone much faster than this languid pace. selfishly listening to your stunted breaths and pained whimpers of his name. 

if you ask him to go faster, gaz slows down. if you beg for something harder, he smiles and kisses you and tells you to be patient. 

but what has all this patience gotten you? two incredibly drawn out orgasms that fucking ACHED when they hit and kyle stubbornly keeping his thrusts slow and torturous under his guise of being gentle. it’s all a little too much. too intense. your eyes squeeze shut, face nestled against kyle’s neck, hips shifting up when he buries his cock in to try and grind out another orgasm. 

unfortunately, gaz knows you. knows your movements and knows your sounds - the shortening of your breaths and desperate whimpers and choked moans and… sniffles?

his pulls his head up immediately, eyes narrowing in on the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. and gaz grins - he can’t help against it. his cock pulses when a finger comes up to brush a tear away before it has a chance to fall down your face.

“poor baby,” he coos. if you weren’t so wound up, you might’ve noticed how tight his voice sounds. “it’s alright. doing so well for me. gonna make you cum again, don’t you worry. just hang in there, yeah?” his words are breathed against your lips, and by some miracle, gaz picks up the pace. hips picking up speed, even rocking a little stronger and it isn’t until you heard the slap of skin do you truly realize how SOAKED he got you.

the initial tears were caused by kyle’s torturous pace. a new set follows the old when he finally fucks you properly. gaz doesn’t mind - he likes wiping them away.

☾

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH

… sees you cry and teases.

“why’re you crying, bonnie? did you hurt your feelings or something?”

soap knows you won’t respond. not that you could.

the pace of his thrusts are too rough. too quick. too deep. using all his weight to slam into you again and again, not letting up for a moment. the worst part is, you know he has the stamina to keep going, even if you beg him to slow down. to let you breathe air that doesn’t taste like him.

your nails dig into the skin of soap’s chest as you shake your head. everything ached in a delicious way but it wasn’t your feelings that were hurt. soap moves his hand from his bruising grip on your hips to clasp around your jaw, shifting your head to look him straight on. he wants you looking at him, even through WATERY eyes. 

soap grunts as he shifts into a better position to fuck you in. his hair is mussed from your fingers. skin blotchy and flushed from exertion. he still grins at you. “then why’re you crying? want me to stop? is that it?”

“no!” you cry out - half a moan and half a shout.

a thoughtful hum vibrates against his ribs as soap’s fingers release your jaw, only to come up and wipe away a tear that leaked from the corner of your eye. “ahh, i get it, lass,” he breathes out, continuing his rough thrusts with a deep groan. “you’re cryin’ so pretty ‘cause you like getting fucked so good. am i right? my girl loves getting fucked ‘till she cries?”

you’re silent. eyes falling shut, mouth agape, head tilting back to ignore soap’s teases and just feel the addicting slide of his cock. he slows his thrusts only to grind against your pelvis and it’s such a massive difference in sensation that you nearly cum on the spot. it works to make you cry out his name.

“fuck- johnny!” and you do. so, so prettily.

☾

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

… sees you cry and worries.

simon’s face still hurt - a spot right over his cheekbone, purple and swollen and it aches almost enough to make him forget about how sore the rest of his body is.

it’s easy enough to ignore. it’s not liquor or ibuprofen that dulls the pain. his old methods of healing after a rough mission seem useless in the wake of pressing you back on the couch. it’s the touch of your skin, the smell of your hair, the noises you make that really pull him back together. you’re careful not to tug at him too hard or touch any of his TENDER aches, even when he begs you to.

yeah. it’s easy for simon to forget how close he was to not be here fucking you.

his fingers dig into the armrest of the couch, forcing his throbbing body to move as fast as he wants it to. an impromptu fuck on the couch wasn’t exactly planned tonight - you went on and on about how much you wanted to take care of him. but you’ve been clinging to him all night. never letting him out of your sight. it was just a natural progression and simon sure as shit wasn’t complaining.

“fuck, lovie,” he groans out slowly. if you keep moving your hips like that, he’s not gonna last much longer.

and fuck, simon was so close, he could taste it. feel it building in the base of his spine and how tight his stomach gets and it all makes it a little easier to forgo his aches to simply drive into you again and again. your arms wrap around his torso, brushing against tender ribs - when simon hisses, he’s unsure if it’s the pain or the sudden tightness around his cock when you jolt. simon’s mind goes blank and he’s just so fucking close and…

you make a new noise. unfamiliar to the ones simon has memorized when he’s fucking you. his eyes are HAZY and unfocused when he looks at you, and he didn’t quite know what he expected to find. tears accompanied the sniffle he heard, and your hand comes up to wipe them away in haste.

simon’s hips freeze instantly. “hey, hey, hey. what’s wrong? you okay?”

fuck, did he do something wrong?

to his surprise, you scoff. smiling despite wet cheeks and red eyes and simon blames his impending orgasm for how slow he is to understand. “i’m okay,” you reassure him. when your fingers trail up his spine, simon can barely breathe. “i just love you so much. don’t be so RECKLESS next time, okay?”

your legs tighten their hold around his hips. pulling him closer even when simon wants to pull back and really make sure you’re okay. you don’t allow it, instead grinding up against him at the same pace he’d been fucking you in - still sniffling and wiping a tear away on his arm.

simon swears he’s never cum so hard in his life.

☾

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

… sees you cry and stares.

morning has always been alejandro’s favorite time of day.

pinkish gold sunlight coming in through the window promises a beautiful day that he’ll likely be too busy to truly enjoy but welcomes all the same. alejandro hears the bustle of traffic outside - your place isn’t nearly as nice as his, but it’s closer to base and he’s never been known to waste time with you. alejandro is just a little tempted to rip his gaze away from you to enjoy the sunrise coming over las almas.

but he doesn’t. he never does. you’re just too fucking pretty.

alejandro kills two birds with one stone. pulls you out of bed and leads you over to the window just as the sun paints the clouds a deep gold. it saturates your skin in such a perfect way where alejandro can’t help but to touch it. touch your face, your neck, your shoulders, your back, your stomach, and well, he knows your pussy would look fucking HEAVENLY under the light as well.

“pretty fucking girl,” alejandro groans out. he usually likes watching his cock sink inside of you, but there was something about the glow of your skin pressed against the window that makes him just stare at your face. his thrusts are slow and deep, and your breath fogs up the glass, and you keep tugging your shirt down when alejandro pushes it up because you’re the one who has to face your neighbors every day.

when you came along, he didn’t think there could ever be a more beautiful sight than when you first smiled at him.

you proved him wrong with just a few tears reflecting the sunrise.

alejandro could’ve came right then and there. his hips did a little stutter and he grunted when you let out a little whimper while squeezing your eyes shut and he just watched a tear glide over your cheek. he almost pulls you away from the window to flip you around. fully face him so the glass doesn’t GREEDILY soak up all your tears because he’s fucking you so firmly against it.

“al- alejan- fuck, i’m so…”

“i know, baby. keep looking at me. yeah, lemme see those eyes. fuck…”

he kisses you. has a hand tangled into your hair and twists your neck into a better angle and kisses you to taste the salt on your lips and it’s like a bomb went off. alejandro’s hips pick up their pace and you rock back against him and fog up the glass even more when you shudder on his cock.

he cums with your tears wiping off against his own cheeks and salt on his tongue.

☾

RUDOLFO PARRA

… is the one to cry.

“it’s okay, rudy. doing so good for me. i’m almost there, you don’t have to cry.”

was he crying? fuck, he was. rudy didn’t even notice until you smiled at him fondly, bringing a hand up to brush away a tear that broke past his lashes and threatened to fall down his face. 

rudy waits for the hot flash of embarrassment to hit him, but it never does. maybe it’s because this is you. but it's more likely because he’s so fucking close to cumming, he can’t focus on anything else but you. keeping his hands locked around your hips, strong enough to keep them moving back and forth even when you try to slow them down and draw out his orgasm. 

you hadn’t even notice rudy’s big, wet eyes until you attempted to slow down. keeping a more steady pace in his lap to give your thighs a rest, and yeah, to wind rudy up just a little. he works so hard. he DESERVES to get fucked out of his mind now and then.

maybe you went too far, though. when you try to stall your hips, his hands make sure they keep their pace. his own hips buck up off the bed to get even deeper.

“i know you wanna cum.” it’s difficult to keep your voice steady. to not devolve into harsh pants and groans like he has. “but not before me, okay? make me cum, rudy. fuck, make me cum…”

he huffs - such a large demand for someone so fucked-stupid. rudy is so smart, so capable, and so fucking useless right now that maybe it’s too much to ask of him. so to help him out, you pry his hand off your hip. bring it up to your mouth and slide the whole length of his thumb between your lips, letting it glide across your tongue.

rudy instantly gasps and his hips jolt up. you can feel his cock throb even harder inside of you.

but with his thumb coated in saliva, you bring his hand down to where you meet. rudy takes it from there - give him a task, point him in the right direction, and he’ll complete it. he rubs his thumb in tight, DESPERATE circles while his other hand keep your hips in a deep grinding pace until you cum all over him.

it was good. fucking fantastic. but not your favorite part.

rudy knows he’s finally allowed to cum, and he does. so achingly beautiful in the way his jaw drops open, saliva stringing between his teeth. eyes hazy and wet with damp cheeks and a pink nose and when he groans, his voice is hoarse and choked. 

eventually, when you fall against his chest, all you hear are rudy’s hard panting and his sniffles.

☾

PHILLIP GRAVES

… sees you cry and laughs.

graves can be a real asshole sometimes. sarcastic, arrogant, and you know him well enough to know that he kinda likes it. makes him feel larger than life. untouchable. now is no different.

“c’mon, hun. i wanna hear it. y’can’t cum until i hear you say it.”

your arms are thrown over your face, hiding the way your teeth grit together and your eyes screw shut and how your jaw hangs open to gasp for air whenever graves bullies his cock even deeper with each thrust. and to be honest, you barely heard what he said - it was all just white noise. still, you know what he wants. and you’re a little too PROUD to give in.

there’s silence. graves scoffs and you feel him lean forward to grip your arms in his hands. being ripped away from your face reveals a little tremble of your lips, tiny red splotches on your cheeks, and tears lining your eyes. 

graves laughs as if it isn’t his fault. torturing you and playing with you. resetting the goalpost of what you need to do to cum.

the laugh is deep and GENUINE - the kind you’re treated with in the middle of the night away from his shadows, saved especially for you. the grin that accompanies it isn’t bad either. but the laugh is like a slap to the face (something graves might’ve inflicted if his hands were free - after all, you haven’t said your safe word.)

“my poor baby.” he says it so condescendingly. with a quirk of his brow and tilt of his head. as if he and his cock hadn’t caused the tears. “bet it’s gettin’ painful, huh? bet a good orgasm will make you feel right as rain.”

you slowly nod because god, you need to cum.

so graves hums, still wearing a smirk as he shifts on his knees. you whimper under the movement, spine arching, eyes solely focused on him. “then you gotta ask permission, right? c’mon, hun. sound off for me. i know you can do it,” he encourages while his fingers trail slowly down your body. going straight where you needed him the most.

normally, if you weren’t so wound up, you might’ve gotten smart with him. but as extra initiative, graves bends his spine a little. pushing his cock in just a little deeper and plainly getting off on how you gasp and your eyes finally push out hot, wet tears. 

this has gone on for too long. everything from your pussy down is throbbing.

“shadow 0-1…”

“hearin’ you loud and clear, baby.”

“requesting permission to cum…”

[killerpancakeburger]

Oblivious!Human!Reader x Smitten!Werewolf!Soap 🐺

Soap, pinning them against a wall, in a growl: Y'drive me bloody mad, y'know tha? (sexual) (bc Reader has been missing all the hints he drops)

Reader: Oh... sorry (interprets "driving mad" as "annoying")

[consciouscarrot]

simon ghost riley, who loves you with teeth. literally.

he’ll sink his teeth into you at any given moment, it could be whilst you’re doing something completely mundane like folding laundry, and he’ll come up behind you, tilting your head to the side gently before he grazes your skin with his sharp teeth, teasing you as he chooses the perfect spot for his mark before he bites, pressing down hard. enough for you to wince and shift in his hold. but before you can let any murmurs of complaint, he always softens you up, licking away any traces of blood, pressing light kisses around the now sore area and whispering saccharine praises of you being his perfect girl.

however, the majority of the time, he’s not biting you solely for the enjoyment, but to find solace in marking up any untainted skin he can find. simon needs to see his marks on you as a physical reminder that you’re his, wholly and by choice. that you’re here, that you’re real. he needs to see the once smooth skin slowly bruise and for the indents of his teeth to appear beneath the sheen of his saliva, the clear liquid staining red from where he broke the skin. he needs to physically see your form changing because of him, something to remind him that you are here with him, that he’s not still with roba and his mind hasn’t just created you as a cruel way to cope. he bites until he’s forced to believe in the proof of your existence: in the feeling of your skin beneath his mouth tearing and moulding to his bite, in the quiet whimpers you let out, the metallic tang of your blood on his tongue, the smell of your perfume as he nuzzles further into your neck.

he often stays like that with you for a while, swaying slightly with his jaw still clamped down on you as he holds you close to him, strong arms wrapped tightly around you, squeezing just enough to limit your ability to move. you might lift your hand up to his hair, fingers threading through the blond strands, letting your nails drag over his scalp until he lets out a delicious groan into your spit-slick neck that sounds awfully like a purr.

the intimacy of these moments is priceless, and even though you can feel his drool trickling down your collarbone and your neck is stinging, you’d never trade this for anything. you see it for what it truly is, a display of deep trust. in those moments where he’s overcome with the lasting effects of trauma, those times where with anyone else he would pull away completely, eyes cold and tone sharp, craving comfort and affection but unable to accept even a morsel of it. instead, he chooses to push past those automatic responses, he chooses to let you see his vulnerability as he slowly unlearns the hatred and insecurity his father forced onto him. he lets you ease the lingering anger and grief from his past that he’s so desperate to bury.

when he’s finally ready to pull away, head far clearer than before, he’ll gently spin you around in his arms, eyes tracing over your fresh wound, thumbing the edges of the tender flesh, reddened and swollen with his mark. simon takes these moments to watch you, taking in every micro expression to make sure you’re okay and not angry with him; those dark eyes filled with guilt and sweet adoration boring into yours as he presses your foreheads together, lashes fluttering subtly in contentment.

he breathes out a sigh of relief at your slow smile, your hands rising to cradle his jaw, in a way so gentle and loving that only you could achieve.

a nagging part of his brain is always screaming at him to turn these soft, unguarded moments into a more comfortable version, with something he’s much more familiar with- lust. it’s telling him to give up, to turn you back around and bend you over, to punish you for loving him, for trusting him and for letting him trust you. he ignores it, a trick that took many years of patience and forgiveness from you to learn, until that traumatised part of him slowly retreats back, slowly allows him this seemingly fleeting moment of respite.

you’re so understanding that if he wasn’t so broken, he’s adamant that he’d be crying. his sweet lovie. you stay silent, waiting for him to either tell you what he needs, or for him to simply take it. whether that’s lying in bed for the rest of the day, curled up in each others warmth, or space and a little time to himself, you’ll give it to him in a heartbeat. he’d think of himself as one of those self centred, greedy boyfriends that does nothing but expect their girls to be their mums if it weren’t for the way that he knows he does the same for you too. he knows that when you’ve had a bad day, or even when you’ve had a good day, he drops everything immediately to be what you need.

it’s taken him a long time, and he’s still unlearning the bad and relearning the good, but everything feels just that bit easier with you. knowing that you’re his and he’s yours, plus being able to see the clear evidence of that on your skin, it makes him feel like maybe he can be better for you, after all.

hello! just a little smth, might be shit bc i’m rusty and still very new at the whole writing thing so please be kind. will probs disappear again after this. i hope you all had or are having a lovely day <3

m.list

[cherie-doll]

Okay great! Glad I cleared it w/ you first ^^

Could you please write the COD guys reacting to seeing his military crush bite an enemy in the throat, because somehow said enemy snuck up on them and, well, there wasn't much else they could do besides that, except like, die

So of course they chose to bite a guy to death, and he saw all of that

Is it #truelove or #ohmygodwhatwasthatgrossss 😭 /j

yk what's funny, i wrote a draft for this and turns out i never saved it... so here we go again

𖧧 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ᵎ Price had always thought of you as an admirable and exemplary soldier who always completed missions with efficiency. He never questioned how your methos for completing those missions... until now. A cry was about to leave his lips when he saw the enemy sneaking up behind you, until he stood watching in shock as you responded quickly by biting into their neck.

ᵎ Simon could have thought of other... methods that you could have used when taken by surprise. Sure, he's seen unspeakable war crimes but this has got to be one of those top ten moments on his list of things he wishes to NEVER witness ever again. Let's just say the ride back was dead silent.

ᵎ Soap would have such a big, fat crush on you there isn't anything you do that wouldn't look attractive to him. You've done a number of things and he would just kick his feet and giggle to himself. Seeing you sink your teeth into the enemy's throat with agility only made him experience an initial shock before thinking, "wow, they're so resourceful".

ᵎ Kyle could see why you would do something like that but... why? Just why? You have a weapon, he was covering for you and was it really easier to go rabid on someone rather than pull your knife out? He didn't know you had that side to you.

ᵎ Roach is scared. He's running; he fears he might be next if you confuse him for the enemy. He stood aghast for a moment before booking it out of there.

ᵎ Alejandro is lowkey into that. He had been observing you, watching your moves to see how you would perform out in the field. He's heard so much about how quick your reflexes are when it comes to combat but he surely didn't expect this. He likes 'em a little crazy anyways.

ᵎ Rudy made the mistake of assuming you wouldn't react in time. He had pulled out his weapon and aimed at the enemy who was attacking you now, he heard the shot on his end and then paused for a moment. He saw two figures still on the ground, until you got up, blood dripping down your chin and for a moment he assumed the worst; that he had aimed incorrectly and hit you instead. Until he saw the bitemarks on the enemy's neck.

ᵎ Phillip is usually proud of whatever his Shadows do to eliminate the enemy. He doesn't care how they do it so long as the job is done. He's yelling over the comm what a great job you did until he hears... questionable sounds? The sound of choking, ok so he thinks you choked the enemy out until another shadow responds saying you just bit someone and the gurgling sounds was the enemy choking on their own blood. Well...

ᵎ Makarov would sort of just laugh. He's never seen you panic so much in a moment where you don't even know what to do and act on whatever idea comes into your mind first.

ᵎ Keegan was beyond weirded out. When he had told you to learn from Riley he didn't mean for you to also take out the enemy soldiers by ripping their vocal chords out, he had meant it mostly as a joke that even the dog had better skills than you.

ᵎ König does not know how to react, how he should react. He is mainly concerned and hopes this doesn't become a habit. Perhaps he should suggest you visit a doctor? Ah, for your... teeth. Yep, that's exactly why. Not to get a mental checkup too while you're at it.

ᵎ Horangi is off the rails himself, he is no stable man to judge how you take someone out. He did give you the advice to fight with everything and anything. He was only trying to teach the new rookie he had a little crush on how to survive out there. And boy was he amused to see you take that advice.

ᵎ Nikto has killed a man in more ways than he can count. Some too brutal to mention. So, seeing you using your teeth as last resort to nearly bite the enemy's head off was like really falling in love with you. He did absolutely did not care that there was blood on your teeth, spilling down your lips as you tried your best to spit it out.

[hatsbuckets]

price | gaz | ghost

John Mactavish who is restless after missions.

John Mactavish who talks his teammates’ ears off on the ride back, not caring an ounce if they’re listening.

John Mactavish who fills the space, the silence, the leftover tension with words, jokes, stories that tumble out like they don’t need to stop just for the sake of keeping the air from settling too heavy.

John Mactavish who laughs too loud, too easily, who tries to make them laugh too, because if they’re laughing, they’re okay.

John Mactavish who keeps talking, keeps moving, keeps the energy up. Who should feel tired but doesn’t.

John Mactavish who follows an antsy Sergeant to the locker room, lets himself be dragged into banter, back-and-forth, sharp and familiar. And throws a wet towel at one Kyle Garrick's head and dodges when it’s thrown back.

John Mactavish who lets himself be normal, lets himself be loud and easy and himself and feels the buzz of adrenaline settle—not gone, just quiet.

John Mactavish who moves again, because stopping isn’t an option yet.

John Mactavish who finds his lieutenant, sitting stiff, sitting quiet.

John Mactavish who crouches in front of him, grinning, teasing, nudging at him like that alone will shake off whatever is brewing in his head.

John Mactavish who doesn’t stop when the man huffs, rolls his eyes, glares—just keeps at it until the weight in his chest starts to feel lighter. Talking, teasing, waiting on one Simon Riley.

John Mactavish who watches Simon’s fingers twitch, watching for the moment Simon actually listens. Then pretends not to notice when Simon exhales, slow, steady, a release of tension that wasn’t meant to be noticed.

John Mactavish who grins just a little softer, who leans in just a little closer. And taps Simon’s knee as he stands up, as if to say, You’re with me, yeah?

John Mactavish who lets himself be stopped when he turns to go when a gloved hand catches his wrist. glances back, eyebrows raised, breath caught as the hand squeezes his own, just once, firm and grounding.

John Mactavish who lets himself be grounded and settled—drowned—in those beautiful, grease marked eyes that look up at him.

John Mactavish who swallows hard when Simon lets go first. And nods, just once, and walks away grinning like nothing just happened.

John Mactavish who finds himself at his Captain's office, where the door is unlocked, and the sight of one half-asleep John Price behind it with Gaz on top.

John Mactavish who makes his way in like he belongs there, because he does.

John Mactavish who grins at them both, full of mischief, before shoving his way onto the couch without a word, forcing himself into the space he belongs.

John Mactavish who burrows in, leans into the warmth, lets his body finally slow down. He closes his eyes, exhaustion creeping in now, welcome and familiar.

John Mactavish who is knows Simon isn’t far behind.

John Mactavish who is restless after missions,

but never too restless to be lulled into calm with the boys.

John Mactavish who groans at Price's snoring, but smiles, because he's undeniably comforted by the sound anyway.

price | gaz | ghost

[luvvictoria]

The Rescue (And a Whole Lot of Tension)

+ pairings. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, slow-burn, action-packed military romance with angst and tension

+ summary. you and Ghost share a tense, fraught moment as you both begin to navigate their way out of enemy territory after the crash. You, still in pain from your injuries, are determined to stay focused on survival despite the physical strain. Ghost arrives to help you, tossing you a spare rifle and offering his silent, yet steady support.

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part.

+ a/n. Reblog with your favorite line! It would help me to grow my account !! Thank you in advance. Thank you so much for your support ! It means very much to me! Also if you want to take a little peek at the next chapter here is my ko-fi !!

When Ghost finally found you, the world felt like it had shifted. You were crouched low, the jagged rock digging into your back as you pressed yourself against it for some semblance of protection, though you knew you weren’t safe — not really. The rifle you held in your hands was trembling slightly, but it wasn’t fear that made your fingers shake. It was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, the chemical rush that made everything seem sharper, more urgent, but at the same time, so much heavier. The world around you was drowning in silence, the quiet deafening as you tried to steady your breathing, to ignore the pain that shot through your leg every time you shifted even a fraction of an inch. Your flight suit was in tatters, the fabric torn and stained with a mixture of dirt, blood, and the remnants of your crash. You’d barely managed to stand after the chaos, barely kept it together. But you were still standing. You were still breathing. And that was all that mattered.

The weight of the air around you shifted, a ripple in the silence that made your senses snap to attention. The distant hum of movement, the brush of leaves, the shift in the wind — it was him. The feeling of his presence cut through the stillness like a knife. Ghost was coming.

He appeared through the trees like a shadow in the dim light, his figure outlined against the slivers of fading sunlight filtering through the canopy above. His movements were calculated, slow, deliberate, each step taken with a precision that came from years of training. Even in the fading light, you could make out the familiar shape of him — tall, imposing, his black gear blending seamlessly with the night around him. But it was his eyes that hit you the hardest. Cold, calculating, piercing, yet there was something else there. Something... unspoken. He stopped just a few feet away from you, the distance between you and him feeling like an eternity. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the injuries that were now impossible to hide. The torn fabric of your suit. The bruises darkening on your arms. The blood staining the dirt beneath you. His eyes flicked over every detail, and you knew he was weighing the situation in the fraction of a second it took for his gaze to travel from head to toe. There was no sympathy, no judgment — just the hard, precise assessment of a man who had seen too many people in your position.

But the longer his eyes stayed on you, the more you felt it. The subtle shift. A moment longer than necessary, his gaze freezing just a fraction of a second too long on your face, then drifting down to the broken state of your body. It made your heart skip a beat. There was something else in that look. Something that didn’t fit with the usual mask of indifference he wore. But you couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Not now. Not when the air between you felt so thick with tension that you could almost feel it, heavy, pressing in from all sides.

"You look like hell," Ghost said, his voice low, rough, dry. It was the same clipped tone he always used — blunt, no-nonsense. But there was an undercurrent to it, something beneath the words that you couldn’t quite place. Was it concern? A flicker of something more than the usual sarcastic remark? Or was it just Ghost’s way of acknowledging what was obvious? His face remained unreadable as always, his mask hiding everything, but it was the smallest shift in his posture — the way his broad shoulders seemed to relax just a fraction, like a heavy weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying had been lifted — that made you wonder.

You didn’t have the energy to dwell on it, not when your leg was burning like fire and your body was still on the edge of collapse. But the words stung, even as they rang true. You did look like hell. Hell, you felt like it.

You shot him a look, your voice coming out harsher than you intended. "You always this charming?" The sarcasm was instinctive, a defense mechanism more than anything else. A way to hide the vulnerability crawling under your skin, the way your heart thudded in your chest when you felt his eyes on you. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tossed you a spare rifle, the motion swift and efficient. No hesitation. No words of comfort. Just business. You grabbed it reflexively, fingers still trembling but steady enough to hold the weapon.

“Can you move?” His voice cut through the haze of your thoughts, his gaze sharpening as he looked you over once again. The question was blunt, no room for softness, just the barest hint of impatience buried beneath the command. His eyes flickered to your leg, then back to your face, as if he were already preparing himself for the worst.

"Obviously," you replied, the words more stubborn than anything else. Your body screamed at you to lie down, to let the pain consume you, but you ignored it. You had to move. You had to keep going. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. Not now. Not in front of him.

But as you pushed yourself up, the strain on your leg sent a jolt of pain up your spine, and for a second, you wavered. Your balance failed, your knee buckled, and you stumbled forward, arms flailing for anything to catch yourself on. But then his hand was there — firm, solid, unyielding. It caught you, pulling you up effortlessly, like he had done this a hundred times before. His fingers wrapped around your waist, his grip tight enough to stop your body from collapsing, his presence suddenly too close. Too much. The contact was electric, his touch searing against your skin. For a second, the world seemed to slow down. Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart thudding in your chest, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The heat of his hand through the fabric of your torn flight suit, the way his body was close enough that you could feel his every breath — his proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

For just a heartbeat, you didn’t want him to let go. You wanted the moment to stretch on, to stay in that space where it was just you and him, where nothing else mattered. But then, as if the tension had been too much, he cleared his throat — just a subtle sound, but it shattered the fragile bubble between you.

His hand dropped away from your waist, and your skin seemed to cool immediately, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling hollow in a way you hadn’t expected. The cold air around you rushed in, biting at your exposed skin, but you couldn’t focus on that now. You had to keep moving.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice as gruff as ever, but now there was something else in it. Something softer. Or maybe that was just your imagination.

You nodded, though your legs felt like jelly, your mind still spinning from the brief, intense moment. You didn’t know how long it would take to recover from this, from everything that had just happened — from the crash, from the pain, from the strange, unbearable tension that still lingered in the air between you and Ghost. But one thing was certain: the game had changed, and you weren’t sure if either of you were ready for what was coming next.

The silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. You could feel his breath on the edge of your skin, steady and deliberate, yet it was enough to make your pulse quicken. The heat from his body seemed to wrap around you like a thick, invisible blanket, and for a second, everything else — the pain, the fear, the uncertainty — seemed to blur out of focus. The world had become smaller, confined to just the space between the two of you, and the longer he held you, the harder it was to ignore the way your heart was racing in your chest.

You should’ve moved. You should’ve pulled away. But the longer you stayed there, the more the weight of the moment settled into your bones. You didn’t want to break that connection, that fragile instant of raw tension that thrummed in the air like a live wire. The way his hand was firm on your waist, the way his touch — despite the coldness that was so characteristic of him — seemed to have a warmth that seeped through the fabric of your suit. It felt like the earth had stopped spinning, leaving just the two of you suspended in some fragile, unspoken understanding.

Your breath hitched again, and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear it too. The way your chest moved too fast, too uneven, the way every inhale felt a little too sharp, like you were suffocating in the space between his touch and the absence of it. You were acutely aware of every muscle in your body — the way your leg still burned with pain, how your hands trembled just slightly around the rifle in your grip — but none of that mattered in that moment. What mattered was the undeniable pull of his presence, the fact that his hand hadn’t moved, that his body was still so close to yours.

It was as if the two of you were locked in some kind of unspoken truce. No words, just the feeling of his strength anchoring you to the moment, making everything else fade into the background. The way his touch was both reassuring and suffocating at the same time, like a lifeline and a weight, all tangled up together.

Then, as quickly as the moment had arrived, it was gone. He cleared his throat, a sharp, dismissive sound that shattered the fragile stillness. His grip loosened, and his hand dropped from your waist like it had never been there. The absence of his touch hit you harder than you expected. The air between you seemed colder, the space between your bodies suddenly too wide, too empty. His presence no longer felt like a shield. Now, it felt like a reminder that you were both too far apart to ever truly connect.

tag list : @jajouska @hao-ming-8 @pinkpookiebear

[kruegerspillow]

lovelorn; simon ghost riley

Creators note: we hate drunk blokes who roam round the city like they're homeless! Woo!!

Warnings: angst w/o comfort, swearing, mentions of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of sexual assault (not from simon), not proofread :(

Word count: 1.1k

Simon swore he was capable of love.

He was a bit rough around the edges, he knows that, but he truly is capable of being a lover. He's a human being capable of affection and warmth—

But, those were merely words of reassurance that he memorized like a prayer. Did he believe in them? No, not really.

He had never held his lover like a lifeline, nor has he devoted his soul to a person. His emotions are always bottled up—becoming a ticking bomb—ready to blow up at any moment. One mistake could lead to an explosion. He stayed like this until… you.

You with your cheeky antics, you with your capable demeanor, you with your soft-spoken banters. It flipped a switch inside him that he never knew even existed. He no longer felt like a machine, and, for once, he felt... alive.

But he'll never admit that, for the sake of the carefully constructed walls he had spent his whole life building. Admitting it would mean peeling back layers of himself he’d rather keep hidden, exposing the soft, vulnerable parts he’s always been too afraid to face. Simon was no stranger to risks, but this risk is the only one he'd never take.

And so, he pushes you away.

Not willingly, of course, never. He feared that his touch on your skin will forever taint them, causing your skin to be just as corrupted as him. He didn't want to ruin you, so he built an even bigger wall between the both of you.

But, to you? You'll never understand why he views himself in that way. You've never despised the scars that are now a part of his body. You've never seen him as an outcast, no matter how rotten he is beneath his flesh. He is just Simon Riley to you.

The thought of losing you scares him. After what happened to Johnny, he's unsure if he could bear attending another funeral. A funeral of someone he'd once loved. You. He never expected someone as kind as you to act heedful towards him. Though, at the same time, he is in awe. He yearns for your presence, for the banters and for the feeling of your love.

But it wasn't entirely possible, and it hurt him more than any physical pain he'd been through. With his absence, he's afraid that it'll hurt you more than him. It slowly kills him whenever the thought flashes across his mind, knowing that he might never be yours truly. For now, all he could do is shut himself down and hide behind the mask of his— like a small, fragile coward.

Simon walked through the city, his hood was thrown over his head while his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket. A small shiver ran down his spine as the soft snow covered him. His gaze shifted from one spot to another, taking in the flashing lights that nearly blinded him.

He passed by some drunken men, throwing up and laughing like a lunatic while Simon's nose scrunched up at the nasty stench that hit his nostrils. Though, his movements halted.

His eyes catched on a familiar figure, sitting down on a bench with a cigarette between their fingers. It was you.

His eyes widened, noticing a random bloke that had just eyed you like a predator hunting its prey. He tensed up, watching the man as he reached out to touch you while you shifted in your seat, trying to avoid the queer man.

Simon's jaw clenched before he quickly made his way towards the both of you, his fingers twitching before he grabbed on the man's collar. Fuck, he was ready to risk his job for this.

“What the fuck do you think you're doin’?” The man yelped, squeezing Simon's forearm.

“The fuck do you think you're doin’, eh? Touchin’ someone like tha’ when they're clearly not fuckin’ interested in ya," Simon retorted, the tone in his voice could cut through ones skin.

The man quickly realized his mistake, his lips pressing into a thin line before he mumbled a quick apology. Simon paused, glancing between you and the man, just to notice the distressed look on your face. His eyes softened, feeling the anxiety arousing in your body. His hands retreated from the pitiful bloke. As the man ran away, regretting all of his life choices, Simon immediately grabbed onto your shoulders.

“Bloody ‘ell, are ya alright?” He murmured, the anger in his voice dissipating.

You gave him a quick though not really convincing nod, feeling his hands relaxing against your shoulder. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in the slight twitches that were a clear indication of discomfort.

“Yeah—yeah, I'm good.” You say, sounding like you were trying to convince yourself instead.

For a second, he didn't believe you, wanting to ask you the question again. But for the sake of trying to clear the tension up in the air, he shifted the topic.

“Christ, what're ya doin’ out ‘ere? It's far too late or ya to be wanderin’ around.” Simon scolded softly. “It's not safe.”

The cigarette in between your fingers had been long forgotten. Just as the fire crackled—you ended it, dropping the fag onto the ground and stomping over it. The sound of a honk appear our of thin air, causing Simon to drop his grip on your shoulder and shift his gaze to the source.

“I know—I was just on a night out with someone. I got too carried away with him and... yeah.” You explained.

Simon's heart dropped into his stomach, a despised feeling awakening inside of his body. For a moment, he was out of words—who could you possibly be out with this late? Was he a close friend? Does Simon know who this bloke is?

A million questions ran through his head, but the sound of your voice snapped him out of his trance.

“My driver's here, I'll get going now.” You murmured, turning your back on him before walking towards the car that had stopped for you. Just as you were about to close the door, you paused before giving him an appreciative smile.

“Oh, and, thank you, Simon.”

Despite the warmth from your words, something felt oddly... weird.

You'd never been this cold to him. Did you realize how he'd looked at you with such longing in his eyes? Or did he do something wrong for you to give him the cold shoulder? Where was the jokes that he'd been hoping for?

But he couldn't answer those questions. Not when the love of his life's meeting another man—not when the love of his life's taking a taxi instead of a ride home with him. It helped him come to a realization—

Maybe he wasn't so capable of loving.

And perhaps, he never will be.

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[quarterlifekitty]

Lately I’ve been imagining being Price’s prized, spoiled little kitty hybrid. Silky satin bow on your lacey collar with a sterling silver bell. You’ve got a big embroidered pillow in every room in the house to lounge on. A beautiful bright bay window to lay in every morning.

He lives on a large, ranch like property near the woods. One day while you’re outside at the edges of the property, a sudden downpour comes. A sudden bolt of lightning and thunder makes you take off in a bad direction, until you’re lost and soaked. Wailing for help.

Enter Simon. A stray (or maybe even a mountain lion?) who’s spied you from the tree line from time to time. You’re scared of him, but he’s so big it’s not hard at all for him to scruff you and drag you back to his den.

He sets you on some soft furs to soak up the water, using his tongue to groom you (a little haphazardly, as it’s apparent he barely even grooms himself). Holds you tight to his chest, fingers bloody as he feeds you strips of meat from his most recent kill.

By the time Price is able to find you, Simon’s curled around you protectively— and they’re both pretty sure you’re knocked up with his litter.

[daemonbrain]

a/n: Shamelessly inspired by the fact I hit a curb, ran a stop sign, and almost hit a mailbox within 5 minutes of each other. So I present to you Graves x reader who can't drive! Feel free to drop a comment 🫶

Phillip Graves who loves exactly three things: His shadows, his truck, and his girl.

The downside? He has to keep the three things as far from each other as possible.

He would be damned if he let his pretty girlfriend know about all the questionable things he did for work. All you needed to know was he handled things, brought home the bread, and came crawling right on back as soon as he could.

But as he sat in the passenger seat of his F-150, he knew damn well he'd tell you every shady dealing or national secret him and his shadows have ever learnt to get you the hell away from the wheel.

He thought it was a joke when you hopped into the drivers seat! You had booked a reservation for some sushi place you liked and he had taken a little too long to get ready, only hurrying down when he heard the yell of his name.

"I'm comin', i'm going!" He mumbled.

You stood ready by the door with a smile. You dangled his keys in front of your face and to be entirely honest Phill didn't pay attention to a word you said.

How could he? Your hair all done up, a nice pair of heels, and a dress he's never seen before but is sure that it's somewhere on his bank statement. Too much time staring at your moving mouth, not enough time on it.

Interrupting you mid-sentance, he pulls you in for a gentle kiss. When your hands went to caress the stubble on his cheek, he responded with a groan and a bite on your lower lip, feeling his heart beat with fondness for the lovely lady in front of him.

Pulling away only a fraction, you look up at him with those eyes he could never resist.

"Is that a yes then?" You said, excitement clear in your tone.

Leaning back in, he presses his mouth to yours again. After a moment he digs his fingers to your waist, causing you to swat at his arm.

"Earth to Phill?! Yes or no?" You repeated. Groaning, he rolled his eyes and reluctantly separated from your body.

"Whatever you want sweetheart."

Which is how he finds himself in this precarious position. It was no ones fault but his own and now he was gonna pay big time. You had hopped right into the drivers seat leaving your dumbfounded partner to connect the dots on his own.

He should have objected thinking back, he really really should have. Commander Phillip Graves who has been around the globe, shot at, and knocked around more times than he can count did not want to deal with the fallback of wrangling you out of there.

When you reached your hand out to switch the gear, instead of holding the break like you should've, the loud sound of the engine revving blasted in his ears as you pressed the accelerator. You jolted in your seat, instinctually grabbing his forearm.

"Baby! You hit the gas."

Upon seeing his widened eyes, you couldn't help but chuckle. Laughing it off, you apologize and start up the truck.

At least that incident was stationary. It got so much worse.

"Shit, that was a trashcan."

"Phill turn up the music. That ambulance siren is distracting me."

"Did I just roll that stop sign?"

He was gonna die in this metal box. The two things he loved most were going to kill him. Phillip Graves death by bomb? No, Phillip Graves death by his wonderful girlfriends horrible driving.

In fact, he'd probably have a better chance if he had been in that tank than with you.

"Hon you're uh- this is a 35 zone and you're goin' 58."

You made a pfft sound and waved him off. Gosh he really wished you kept both of your hands tight on that wheel at this speed (at any speed really).

"Those things are like suggestions. This could totally be like a 45." You said.

"You'd still be- oomph!" Phillip was interrupted by his body being jerked against his seatbelt. Without a moments delay, his arm shot across your chest to keep you firmly pressed to the back of the seat.

Without a second of acknowledgment you slap the steering wheel with a scoff.

"Come on, that was bullshit! Hardly enough time to stop." You complained while staring at the shine of the red traffic light.

"Well maybe if you-"

Nope. Not gonna do that. He didn't even have a chance to raise his voice a note higher before you were glowering his way. No thank you ma'am.

"Nothin'. You're right. Bullshit."

He would hide the keys away from you from now on. He'd dig through your purse when you went to the washroom and snatch them up before you'd even have the chance to ask to drive home.

If Phill was gonna die any other way than old age amongst the horde of kids and grand-babies y'all would have together one day, it was not gonna be because you flung him into a fuckin' electrical pole.

Suddenly, the truck began to move faster...

and faster...

The moment he heard your squeal, his heart dropped to his stomach.

"Phill! Phill my heel is stuck-" The panic in your voice was palpable, the sight of cars in the distance coming closer in view by the second. Tears had begun to gather at your lash line in alarm.

With the reflexes as a man with his own PMC, his unclicks his seatbelt and practically flings himself over the console. Grabbing your foot, he jiggles it from the wedge it trapped itself and pushed on to the break you had made no attempt to use.

Another hard stop, but one made just in time before any collision could take place. Snapping out of your stupor, you allow the truck to slowly roll for a moment while a red faced Phillip looked at you with fury that knew no bounds.

"Pull over."

With a grimace, you attempted to reply. Only to have Phill grab the wheel and fully turn you to the side of the road, signaling and all.

Clicking on the emergency lights as he opens, exits, and closes his door while you still reeled from your miiiiinor incident.

Opening your door, his stern expression warranted no argument as he held a hand out to help you down.

"Out right now. No buts or nothin'."

Hastily complying, you slip your palm into his and scampered to the passenger seat.

After you buckled your seatbelt in and Phill had time to huff and rejoin the road, he uses his free hand to grab on to yours and press a tender kiss to your knuckles while keeping his blue eyes stubbornly fixed forward.

…

Safe to say you let him play his own music this time.

[leyavo]

Wife/girlfriend series, I wanted to do some more for the other TF 141 guys after doing Ghost’s. John Price is much older than the others and a bit set his ways….

[masterlist] (I’ll post Gaz and Soap’s tomorrow or later)

Price is on his third wife, you.

The last one bled him dry in the divorce, but that still didn’t put him off marriage.

His family not bothered to get to know you as much as the first and second wife. As if they know you’ll get fed up with him and his ways.

You can tell why he hasn’t had any luck with women. The man is terrible at doing laundry, grumbles to himself instead of talking and smokes like a chimney. Set in his ways, he finds it hard to break away from it.

“Breath of fresh air, darling,” he says to you as you chuck his dirty laundry at him.

“Clean your own crap, I’m not your maid or your mother!” You snapped, taking the cigar from his lips and smushing the end into the ashtray.

John Price just kept pushing and pushing, liking that you set boundaries with him and unintentionally made him get his shit together. He loves it when you tell him what to do.

You never wanted him to change, just wanted him to get a grip on his life.

“I have a career too, I might not be a bloody captain, but what I do matters too.” You work for a social impact company, helping young kids and teens going through poverty in your county. The same kindness John loves as he watches you interact with the people around you.

You were once that kid, struggling to get by and caring for your mother. The one thing you didn’t want, was for everything to fall on you like it did as a kid. You’re firm with it, telling John exactly how it felt. How his actions made you feel.

Well you did break up briefly, only for him to come crawling back. He still has his moments, a little mopey and lazy whenever he’s back from a long mission, but that’s normal.

He likes that you understand his vulnerability, likes the way you whisper that he is safe and protected whenever a nightmare tears him awake. It’s small quiet moments where he loves you most. The brush of your fingers over his knuckles or you palm over his chest as he tries to catch his breath. The way you giggle as his beard and moustache tickle your neck as he kisses you there.

And John gives you a home, security. One thing no one else has. The reassurance that there’s always food stocked up in the fridge and a set schedule for the heating to come on when the temperature drops. That if you can’t do something he’ll help you do it. So nothing has to be on just your shoulders.

Helps you down at the soup kitchen now and again when he’s back home, cleaning all the dishes so that your hands don’t get a rash from the washing up gloves. Little things that make your heart swell.

How he learnt how to knit during the autumn, so he can help you make hats for the homeless. It helps him distress, sometimes even does it in his room back at base to wind down. Currently knitting you some socks too.

Even in charge of the laundry when he comes home, loves the scent of detergent that he grumbles when it’s discontinued and he has to get used to another.

“Bloody found it.” The first thing John says to you as he unpacks his gear. Accidentally letting slip where he was stationed and how he got the discontinued detergent in another country.

And when you ask why he can’t just let it go. “Smells like you, darling.” He’s liked it since the first time you did his washing. Reminds him of home when he puts his civilian clothes back on, always a set put to the side for him to wear home.

When you meet the guys you’re surprised about the dynamic. How John easily gets them to listen and lay down the rules before they enter the house. Shoes come off straight away etc. no smoking indoors but on the patio outside. Watch out for the two chihuahuas running about the house and check underneath the blankets before you sit on the sofa.

One particular chihuahua not moving from Simon’s lap, that he stays in the armchair for ages till the dog wakes up. Johnny and Kyle telling you the most embarrassing stories of the captain, that one time his trousers split in an important briefing and no one told him, but everyone noticed. John doesn’t mind though as he likes the sound of your laugh.

[thatoneautisticshark]

Autistic ghost, who whenever he has a meltdown, when he calms down, simply says, "that was dramatic" while his hands and mouth bleed.

Ghost who uses the same gun every mission.

Ghost who, once comfortable with the team. Will wordlessly pull one of them on-top of him, or against him.

Resting is a safe house? He he silently tuggs Gaz against his side. Leaning against him with a soft hum.

Sitting with soap on the couches? He pulls Johnny against his chest, laying down, nuzzling the mohawk.

Doing paper work alongside price? It's not long until price ends up half on his lap, Simons arms round his middle.

He keeps his blond hair long, getting away with it because no one sees under the mask

Autistic ghost who learnt sign when he was young, because he was thought to be fully nonverbal.

The team who all learn sign, just so if Simon isn't in a talking mood, he doesn't have to.

Simon who penguin pebbles all his team. He leaves interesting teas or nice cigars on the desk of price. Shows Johnny nice rocks or gives him can tabs, because he knows Johnny collects them.

Gives Gaz new nail polish colours and snacks.

[evergreenfields]

You start off as Price’s but you become Nik’s.

Nikolai x Price x Fem!Reader

C/W: MDNI, sex, smut, descriptions of male and female bodies, mentions of monthly cycle.

You were Nikolai’s First Officer, but he didn’t find you, Price did. Price saw your small planes pilots license and questionable history and took you in.

Price’s eyes roved during briefings, he condidered you both an asset to the team and a distraction. He also saw how well you and Nikolai worked together, like a well oiled machine.

But it was Price’s lips that found yours in Nikolai’s plane’s galley. He was loaded with his gear so you were pushed between him and the wall, his gloves hand grasping the back of your neck. Your hands found gaps where he wasn’t covered with gear; his biceps. You were enveloped by his scent and touch.

“I need you now.” Price insisted in a low tone, caressing your exposed hip.

“I know a place,” you breathed into his mouth as his gloved hand slipped past in your waistband.

“You’re both still on radio.” Nik’s voice rumbled knowingly into both your ears. A jolt of arousal went through you with the thought of Nik palming his erection through his trousers in response to the sounds you two were making. Price wouldn’t admit it but that same thought pulsed through him too. Price responded with a “sorry mate” and pulled the cable out of both of your radios.

You both bumped through the tight corridor and in to your tiny cabin, frantically taking off his fatigues and your flight suit.

—

Price trusted Nikolai with you but he did falter when he saw how you both got on. Neither of you labelled the relationship; Price’s work was his life and his life was on line frequently, so this was the set up on base.

You flew with Nikolai on missions with Price but it also meant a lot of waiting on stand by. Sexual frustration and limerence began to form.

Nik’s eyes would linger on yours over breakfast with both of you freshly showered, smelly florally and looking dewy with suggestively wet hair.

You sweating in your flight suit while removing the wheel blocks made Nikolai turgid. You’d huff and puff as you entered the cockpit, cleavage shining with sweat, hair plastered to your forehead.

You enjoyed the late night chats on the wing, they were almost romantic. Nikolai would regale you with his mother’s fables, you would tell him about your life.

You enjoyed him teasing you and teaching you phrases in his language.

“You keep teaching me swear words! What if I meet a handsome man and want to charm him?” You bark at him.

“Those words will work.” He would wink back, your core pulsing between your legs.

One particular day, there were incorrect readings on the flight instruments and a host of other mechanical issues. You and Nikolai both stalked through the plane grumpily trying to fix the myriad of issues.

You kept getting in each others way and sorry turned to excuse you which turned to fuck sakes to go fuck your self. To which you did, plunging your battery-dead vibrator into yourself furiously at the thought of Nik capably using a huge spanner to undo bolts the size of his fist. His tattooed forearms rippled with muscle. You thought of those rough hands holding your supple thighs to your chest while being mercilessly split apart on his cock. You imagine his thrusts being hard and fast, the toy isn’t nearly thick enough. You come hard but the itch still wasn’t scratched.

Without knowing, Nikolai was fisting his cock languidly at the imagined thought of you riding him and baring your tits to his hungry mouth.

Nik erupted onto his thatched chest, groaning in his mother tongue as rope after rope landed on him. He lay there for a while, letting his brain unfurl from the mental images of different positions he would put you in.

—

“Good of you to join us,” Nikolai says, not unkindly, holding onto his coffee.

“I’m not even late.” You snap back.

“I was not being sarcastic, y/n.”

You shoot him an apologetic look and tell him “I didn’t sleep so well.”

“Warm milk helps you sleep.” He says plainly.

“Is that what you do?” You chuckle.

“Not exactly.”

Soon, you complete the pre flight checks and are up in the air. You find yourself starting at his hands and arms before last night; rugged, scarred, big on the delicate dials, it was doing something to you. It made you think of his fingers finding your nipples and you let that fester until you were alone in your cabin, furiously rubbing your clit until you collapsed onto your back, panting as quietly as you could.

Later, you call Price.

“You called to ask permission?” Price rumbled over the satellite phone. “Is my doll having feelings for big ol’ Nik?” You ignore the throb in your clit and answer him.

Later, Nikolai answers Price’s call.

“Alright Nik?” Price says, “keep y/n primed for me, yeh?”

“Price?” Nikolai pauses.

“Good friends share.” Price ends the call.

Not long after he heard the call go dead, Nikolai stalked through the plane with intention, heavy foot steps on metal gang ways. He finds you in a galley. You don’t have to tell him you spoke to Price earlier because Nikolai looks famished. His eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth and before you know it, you’re in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, groaning into his kiss.

Moments later, Nik may have been leaning over you, braced against the wall with his hands white knuckled, but he was at your mercy. Your mouth was hot and wet on his cock and you noisily bobbed back and forth, trying to get as much of his veined length into your throat. His cock was thicker and veinier than you imagined, you knew it was going to fill you up and then some. He began pumping his hips into your mouth, you felt the edges of your lips burning with the stretch.

He hummed in submission, you didn’t think it was possible for him to make a sound so soft and needy. You felt the girth as your jaw ached but you slipped your fingers to your clit, Nik felt and heard your moan.

“You must stop,” Nik pleads, “I want to finish inside you.” He abruptly stops, shame crept up to him, he had considered himself a selfless lover until now. He mentally slaps himself for moving so quickly, he had no idea if you wanted that, if you were on birth control, or if you even wanted to go all the way.

“We do as much as you want.” He looks straight down at where his body lewdly intersected with yours, your eyelashes are dewy and your eyes fucked out before any penetration.

You see the concern in his eyes, so you slowly take his cock out of your mouth, raise yourself up with your palms running along his burly stomach and chest. You find his worry endearing, you knew he was a big softie at heart. You tug at his hand and pull him into his cabin. It smells thick with his cologne and you feel like you’re breathing in liquid.

You sit Nik down in the edge of the bunk, his massive frame takes up most of the room. You strip off and climb onto his warm lap, find his cock and pump it a few times before running it along your sopping folks.

His hand clasps your face and he pulls you in for a kiss. You line up his cock with your hole and lower yourself.

Nik groans into your mouth and you moan into his.

“Come inside me Nik,” you whisper, plunging down onto his cock.

“Fuck.” Nikolai grits out, his huge hands on your hips pull you up and then slam you down.

But then with a little effort and a crooked smile, Nik hoists you up and your head touches the ceiling.

“Allow me,” he smirks, he turns and gently lowers you onto the mattress and lifts your legs onto his wide shoulders. With one thrust, he plunges into you and your world becomes motion.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you moan desperately. Nik continues the deep plunges, his cock kissing your G spot. You grasp his shoulders to steady yourself from the endless movement. You should never have doubted his stamina, he lumbers around like a bear but he moves viciously.

You cum hard and soak both your groins, you have no energy to comment (you weren’t about to apologise) and Nikolai beats you too it, praising you in another language with such reverence that you blush. Nik holds you through your orgasms and only puts you down after a few minutes of rocking back and forth.

Later you lie in your tiny bunk, folded together in a new intimacy, Nikolai runs hot and you’re embraced by his giant bicep and fuzzy chest.

“You called him.” Nikolai says, less as a question and more as a statement.

“And I take it he called you too,” you pout only slightly defensively.

“You make me curious.” Nikolai lifts his head to look at you. You soften at that.

__

The new arrangement suited you, Nikolai and Price even knew your monthly cycle, making sure to only gently tease your buds when they were sensitive.

One time, Price only said “I’m on channel 3.”

The rest of the squads were under shade in the hangar while Nikolai was frantically rutting into you on the plane, muttering how tight you felt.

To anyone else, it would have looked like Price was going through schematics for their next mission, fingers spread over a map, he had studied them more than enough. But only Price could hear the wet skin, clunking walls and both of your groans and grunts.

Your ear piece almost fell out as Nikolai pistoned into you as you faced the instrument panel in the cockpit, back arched deliciously so he hit the spots you needed to make the noises Price wanted.

“Where?” Nikolai’s guttural groan rang through the cockpit and down the radio.

“Wherever our princess wants.“ Price’s voice terse with unmet need. You can imagine his usually cool eyes darkening.

“Oh god, on my tits” you manage to breathe out after your orgasm swept through you.

Nik pulled his leaking cock out of you and you collapsed onto your haunches, you only noticed the emptiness in your core for a moment and then you found yourself holding onto his large hairy thighs as he covered your breasts in white hot streaks. Your cunt fluttered. Nikolai moaned and you gasped at the sensation of his cum falling between the valley of your cleavage.

The comms are silent for a while until Price quietly commanded, “send a pic, out.”

Nikolai waits for you to nod and instead you give him a fucked-out smile and push your tits together, squeezing the cum to form as a pile in the valley of your cleavage. Nik whistles and takes a picture on his phone, making sure to crop out your face. He runs a finger down your cheek and gets you up off the floor, your legs too gooey to walk back to your cabin. He carries you back, humming a tune as he goes.

“Lucky.” You mumble, half asleep in his arms.

“What’s that?”

“I’m lucky.” You smile up at him.

“I’m the lucky one,” he squeezes you tighter.

“Oi.” Price chimes into your ear.

“We are the lucky ones.” Nik chuckles heartily, you feel it reverberate through his chest.

He gently puts you down in his bunk and leaves the small room. When he comes back with tissue, you’re already asleep, his heart skips when he softly dabs at your chest and pulls the blanket over you.

“I take it that’s from both of us,” Price quietly mutters at Nik’s chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Definitely not.” Nik whispers back with a self-satisfied smile.