#cod men x fem reader

[kiryoutann]

a sneak peek for chapter 9 of this fic. the way i keep using the first names that pops up for her aunt and uncles lmao. mc and simon slow dancing? yes. and the way we know this man gonna be saying that it's all "casual"? yes. (chappell roan's "casual" playing in the background.) still love him but he deserves hell for that.

AND IS THAT ANOTHER TEENY-TINY-BIT OF SIMON'S PERSPECTIVE??? hhhmmm.. biased omniscient narrator is doing something here.

[shhuuga]

pro!wrestler simon chooses to skip the bar after his fights. instead, the "Ghost" lets you unwrap his hands and help him get dressed before sneaking out the back of the arena and speeding off. you, his sweet wife, always worried that the other guy might have given him internal bleeding or something equally as life-threatening, but Simon could care less about all that. "I'm a fighter, baby. We aren't meant to live long, anyway."

but back home, husband!simon makes love to you like he's got all the time in the world. he kisses every single freckle, birth mark, mole, etc on your brown skin. he watches you squirm under his hold until he decides you've had enough of his teasing. his mouth connects to your cunt, sucking your very soul from out of you like you were a juice box.

and then, even if he has bruises blossoming on every inch of him, he's putting your ankles next to his ears and making your eyes roll like his opponents did right after he knocked him the fuck out.

the television is muted, but you look over the foot of your bed as Simon retrieves a warm towel for you, and you watch as your husband holds his fifth champion belt over his head in the ring, blowing the camera a kiss. and if the camera had turned just a bit, they would've seen he was really blowing it to you.

🍬

[diluczangelz]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ .

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ .

Little acts of love is what’s gonna take a boy to a man and these MEN know how to treat their partners

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊ ˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎

He 100% kisses every inch of exposed skin when the opportunity arises.

Your bracelet? He’s kissing your wrist after securing the clasp.

Your necklace? He’s moving your hair and kisses the back of your neck and curve of your shoulders.

Help putting on shoes? He’s kissing your ankle and up your calf, taking his sweet time savouring the moment.

Helping to zip up your dress? (For my more feminine readers) he’s kissing up your spine as the zipper slowly closes over each kiss he left; sealing it to your skin.

Sensual shower time and you want him to undress you? (for my male and GN readers) he’s kissing down from the shell of your ear and down to your chest. His hands holding tight to your waist, cementing in the feel of your skin to his memory.

Oh no you dropped something at the table and bend down to pick it up? Yeah his hand immediately covers the corner of the table to protect your head.

You regularly smoke in the morning? Guess who pre-rolled one and left it for you on the bed side table before he went to work, that’s right he did. With fresh water in the cup.

Fresh (either hand picked or hand selected) flowers that he brings to every date and these are florist flowers, not after thought supermarket flowers, he took the time to choose these. Or pick them fresh for you.

[p1n-p0int]

Vows That Bind Part 1

_____________________________________________

In sickness and in health, for good and for worse. That's how most wedding vows go: sweet and simple yet still carrying the subtle message of ‘I will be there for you no matter what.’ Two individuals connected by the golden bands and promises to stand behind each other like a solid wall made out of steel, unwavering in the innocence of love and devotion. Entwined souls cocooned together for the years to come, withstanding and facing whatever life throws at them. There wasn't anything to fear as long as they had each other.

Then, eventually, the little bubble of the wife and husband is expanded by the addition of offspring—an exact copy and paste of the father, a perfect clone of the mother, but ideally a mix of both parents.

A tiny duplication of sky blue eyes, dirty blond strands of hair, and that oh-so-stubborn look on their petite facades, the same one John would be making whenever he half-heartedly insisted on getting his way in the silliest mock arguments they so often had that brought a peal of full belly laughter out of their beloved sons.

The sharp brow line, upturned delicate nose, and proud mannerism of their mother, in addition to the unbeatable sad puppy stare she mastered and often used against John when he questioned her purchase of yet another set of overpriced, scented candles she just had to obsess about every time they pulled over at the local market. And John always gave in to her way because the happiness that instantly bloomed over the features of his lady-wife was enough of a reward for the man to last him as a sweet, lingering memory for the days of absence spent thousands of miles away during his deployment.

The moment when he, at last, hit the home soil, though, and was discharged on leave for the time being—nothing would stop John from catching the first better cab and running it down in the direction of the home, the car parked at the base be damned, he can pick it up some other time. His house, a little two-level cottage on the city's outskirts with a sizable garden bordering on the forest, was often visited by the wildlife his sons adored to observe.

His usual arrival time was late at night, but on rare occasions, he would get home just for dinner and then spend the entire time chatting with his sons.

John would ask his older son about his grades and friends at school and, with the younger son, about whatever he had been doing to keep his mommy busy while daddy was away. Then, he would help them get ready for bed, and after a quick goodnight kiss on his cheek, he would send them running to their rooms.

And at last, he'd turn towards his better half, standing just a few steps away, who smiled at him with an open expression, full of love and adoration for the man she chose to marry. For he was her first and last thought on her mind when she woke up and went back to sleep each day, worrying about his safety whenever he was away, and when he was close and next to her, she cherished and enjoyed every waking moment by his side.

John doubted there was ever a word that could describe the content love that flew between them, the wordless understanding. They rarely needed words while they had each other.

“I'm back,” John would say, each and every time more tenderly than before. She would answer, “Welcome back,” in a voice softer than the softest of silks.

John adored his little family. He'd do anything to keep them safe and sound, even if it meant sacrificing his happiness. He missed them terribly while away but knew it was for the greater good; his work was necessary. He made sure that the danger of the world would never reach home again, not after the Piccadilly Circus incident.

×××

Like many times before, John was at his home base, passively partaking in a briefing of the upcoming training exchange the upper management wanted Task Force 141 to oversee. 

Sighting, John scratched the base of his neck and finally announced the end of the meeting. The scraping of chairs against the floor panels and agreeable murmurs from the gathered soldiers followed.

He stood up from the not-so-comfortable meeting room chair and was about to head towards the rest of the Task Force lads when his work phone vibrated with a singular notification. He immediately took it out and unlocked the screen to look at the message from Laswell:

»THERE WAS A SECURITY BREACH. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION WAS COMPROMISED.«

He was about to ask her for further explanation when his personal phone began to ring. Frowning, as not many people had the privilege of being in possession of his private phone number, he pulled it out of his pocket. ‘My Love’ was plastered on the screen, an even odder scene unfolding, as his wife rarely called during his work hours, and only occasional texts were sent his way. He put his work phone aside, and without further fanfare, John picked up the call right where he stood:

“Love, is everything okay–?”

“Daddy, are you coming to get us? Mommy told us to stay hidden; bad people are coming,” his eldest son sniffled quietly. She said not to come out and to call you when one hour passes.”

John's blood turned ice cold, freezing him momentarily, almost letting the phone fall out of his hand.

His family was in danger.

It was an electrifying spasm that went down his spine and shook him out of his stupor and into action. “I'm coming, son. Papa is coming,” he said firmly, signing to Ghost standing nearby ‘Home, emergency, invasion, ready the unit.’.

»RECEIVED. HEADING OUT TO ANSWER A DISTRESS CALL FROM HOME. FIND OUT WHO MESSED UP. OR I WILL.«

×××

The ride to his home with his men armed from their feet to the tips of their heads felt like a fever dream and a nightmare combined. None of the men dared say a word to him, not while he kept the line his children were on alive.

Even Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, the never-ending stream of chatting during the way to the mission, kept quiet, observing Price with barely hidden worry. Price hated worry; he hated pity, primarily directed at him, but these men he was with were the only ones who could look at him in such a way. And this was precisely one of such occasions.

There was a security breach into the classified systems, and one of the items stolen was intel about their Captain's private life—a life not even they had access to. To think that somebody who didn't mean well got a hold of it and targeted Price's bundle of happiness is an unredeemable crime people will die for committing.

At last, they arrived in front of the little cottage Price deemed a scorched ground. A scorched ground his men did not let him step on, insisting that they will sweep through just in case, while Price gets a hold of his children's hidden place and gets them into the safety of the bulletproof, heavy army vehicle.

He had no other choice but to stomp towards the little bunker-like area he told his wife about as a just-in-case emergency situation he had hoped to God that never would come to pass. Oh, how wrong he was.

As soon as he opened the lid to the hideout, two pairs of hands tackled his legs, clinging to his pants for dear life. His stoic facade quivered, and dropping to his knees, John gathered the sobbing kids to his chest. He picked them up, stood up, turned around, and carried them toward the vehicle under the watchful gaze of his fellow men. 

A subtle movement from the corner of his eye had Price turning his head towards the veranda, where Kyle “Gaz” Garrick waved at him to catch his attention. He raised a brew at the young man. ‘Traces of struggle, blood, no body.’ They took her. They took his wife.

John glanced down at his sons and snuggled them closer to his chest, his face unreadable. Price nodded at the sergeant and continued his solemn march, already beginning to formulate a plan of action in his head.

Whomever it was, wherever they were, Price would find them.

_____________________________________________

a/n: still getting used to writing a "you" POV, especially from third person perspective, so bear with me, k? Great, good night 💀💀

Tag list: @catinpinklace @gothghostiie

[frudoo]

Mountain Man!Price save me… save me…

Warnings: SMUT. Unprotected PIV, creampie ofc y’all know me. Also mentions of guns + hunting deer. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

“You see that one there?” John’s voice is low but not quite a whisper, using his pinky finger to point out a huge buck a couple hundred yards away from where the two of you are planted on the ground.

“Yeah,” You reply softly, keeping a watchful eye on the creature as it takes a drink of water from the creek.

“That’s who we want. Get a dozen meals offa him, easy,” he responds, pulling back from the scope to look back at you with a grin. “Wanna give it a go?”

Your eyes widen and you laugh softly, shaking your head. When you agreed to join him on his hunt, you were under the impression that you’d be acting as moral support, not as an accessory to… deer murder. You’ll cook the meat all day long, but actually killing the poor thing is a far different story.

“Nope, all yours, sugar,” You huff, glancing back at the big buck who was now feasting on a berry bush.

“C’mon, love, ‘fore we miss him,” John insists, lifting his arm and beckoning you closer with a jerk of his head.

You sigh heavily, scrunching your face as the dangling strands on the sleeve of his ghillie suit tickle you. He readjusts the rifle until the heel rests on your shoulder, gently explaining how to rest your head until your eye meets the scope and you can see through it clearly. Suddenly, the tattoos on his biceps make a lot more sense—what you thought were nonsensical spheres and lines are actually a common perspective for your man.

“Yeah, perfect. Don’t let him outta your sight, I’m just gonna…” John trails off, carefully bringing his arm back down and climbing partially on top of you. “Sorry, darlin’, it’s easier for me to show you this way.”

He positions your hand around the grip and your pointer finger on the trigger, then switches off the safety. Once he’s ensured that everything is properly structured, John rests his chin on your shoulder opposite of where the gun is. Your breath hitches in your throat as you try your hardest to keep your attention on the deer, but it’s hard when your husband’s hot breath is blowing against your face and his weight is pressing into you from above.

You try to get back in the zone by adjusting your body, but only succeed in pushing your ass back against his crotch. The low groan that emits from his throat makes you whimper and repeat the action, earning yourself a tut into your ear.

“Focus, baby, or we don’t eat for the next week,” John warns through gritted teeth, desperately holding himself back from grinding up against you.

Biting your lip, you allow your eye to focus on the deer once again, watching him strut to the next bush covered in vibrant red berries. The buck chomps down on a cluster of fruit gracefully, chewing slowly, unaware of the bullet you plan to shoot right into his heart. You suck in a deep breath, slowly start to press down on the trigger, but before you get the chance to fire, a pair of familiar lips attach to your neck hungrily. Your fingers clench out of instinct and the rifle goes off, but instead of hitting its target it buries itself somewhere in the dirt while the buck sprints away to safety.

Gasping, you drop the gun and push it away from you, turning your head back to look at John with furrowed eyebrows. His face is flushed beneath the streaks of green and black paint he had you smear across his skin, eyes wild with the telltale glint of lust.

“John, I had him! Why-”

“Fuck the deer,” He growls, no longer attempting to push down his desires and instead covering your body entirely with his own. “Got my own pretty, wide-eyed doe right here.”

John grasps your throat and tilts your head back so that his mouth can hastily smash against yours. His tongue shoves its way past your lips, tasting your shock, devouring the unspoken questions that dissolved before they got the chance to slip out. You don’t hesitate to kiss back, eyelids falling shut as his big hands glide between your body and the dewy grass to fumble with your cargos. The button snaps a little harsher than it should and you already know you’re gonna need to sew a new one on when you get back to the cabin.

“Fuck, your cunt’s already so damn wet,” John exhales heavily as he pulls your pants and knickers down just past your hips, exposing your ass and the glistening slick that’s collected between your thighs. “My cock’s just gonna slip right in.”

You whine at that, arching your back in invitation. John hisses and smacks one of your asscheeks hard enough to sting his palm. He chuckles at the little squeal you let out before sitting up on his knees and shoving down the pants of his ghillie suit just enough to expose his dick. It’s already throbbing, fully erect and dripping pearls of precum onto your raw skin. He glides the engorged tip through your warm folds before sliding home in one deep thrust.

The two of you shudder in sync as he bottoms out, hitting the barrier of your cervix with a blissful, dull pinch. John wraps one arm around your neck, allowing you to rest your head on his bicep as he holds himself up with his opposite elbow.

“Fuckin’ deep, ain’t it?” He grunts, punctuating each word with a strong pump of his hips.

“So deep,” you confirm with a gurgle, cheeks completely squashed between the fat and muscle of his bicep and forearm. “Feels so good, John.”

“I know it does, my sweet doe.”

Every thrust is devastating, the veins and ridges of his fat cock rubbing perfectly against the sensitive walls of your tight pussy. Raspy groans fall from his lips and echo into your ear as he nibbles on the lobe, the sound of skin on skin ricocheting throughout the busy woods along with your pretty moans. The head of his dick punches against that rough spot that makes you scream, and he chuckles, angling his hips so that he can make you see stars over and over again.

“That’s right, love, scream for me. Let the fuckin’ mockingbirds hear you, so every single soul that comes through here knows how pretty you sound when I make you cum. Yeah, just like that, baby, sing for me, sing for the birds.”

His words encourage you to obey, your cunt clamping down on him like it’s trying to keep his cock inside permanently. Rivulets of slick cream cling to every inch of his dick as he buries his face in your neck, uncaring of how the strands of his ghillie suit brush against your skin, overwhelming your senses. With a final thrust, he pushes himself deep and releases his potent load into your willing womb, spurts of his seed painting your walls an off-white.

Once the two of you have calmed down, breathing evening out, John gently pulls out and shimmies your panties and cargos back up your hips, effectively keeping his cum contained. He moves from on top of you and stands, pulling his own pants up and tucking away his spent cock, then throws the rifle over his back. You’re utterly useless, laying on the grass and mumbling something incoherent. Your lover just chuckles and scoops you up into his arms, carrying you back to the cabin, safe, warm and definitely planning to have leftover soup for dinner once again.

(When he returns to the woods the next day for a successful hunt without your distracting presence, he hears an awfully familiar call from a certain bird in one of the trees.)

[italktoomuchxd]

SergeantPrice!XMedicReader!

He's just young... young and dumb he's supposed to be a harsh soldier, not some lovesick fool!

You're probably saying something important, maybe something that could save his life on the battlefield, but your voice is like a lullaby to him. He's smiling like a fool as he listens to you talking about warzone injuries, and he's doodling on a paper.

“Sergeant Price, are you listening?”

He's always there, not so close, but always a few steps behind you... making coffee for yourself in the mess hall? He is sitting on the couch, working in the gym? He's there, lifting some weights to show off his muscles. You're eating in the dining hall? Here, you can have his pudding.

He's simply worshiping over you.

[novemberheart]

{overview} you and John take another step in you relationship, the startling truth about how you see your pack comes to light

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, cursing

Chapter 14 <- Chapter 15 -> Chapter 16

The situation had been hard for you to rationalize. On one hand you spent the whole night curled into a ball sobbing your eyes out. A few knocks echoed throughout your room, and you politely requested some alone time. They obliged you. On the other hand, you had a hard time taking what Simon said completely to heart. His actions had always shown he had your best interest at heart. You had upset him and he was hurt. His hurt made him say things that may not entirely be true- but what he was trying to convince himself of.

You prayed it was the second hand.

Regardless, you had taken the words hard.

You have been causing a lot of crises this past week. You were attacked, you caused Johns’ rut, and now Simon was pissed.

At this point, it would be a mercy to send you back to where you came from.

Not even a month in and you had turned into a problem. Omegas weren't supposed to be problems. Problems were eliminated.

You whined curling yourself deeper into your mattress. The alarm on your bedside table went off, making you flinch. You pulled yourself out of bed with heavy limbs. You were exhausted. You didn't sleep a wink, you had hardly eaten any food the day before and you were more emotionally drained than you had been in years. You didn't bother changing out of your sleep shorts but threw on a consoling knitted sweater.

You looked at your closet wondering if you should begin shoving all your clothes bag into your duffle.

You were usually alone at this time. Unless one of them had night training and was just getting home. You took a deep breath, hoping that was the case today. You pushed open your door, it getting caught on Simon’s boot. You gasped staring up at him with wide eyes.

Was he still angry?

Was he going to be the one to tell you that you were being sent back?

He cleared his throat, standing up straight so he wasn't leaning against the door frame. He was uncomfortable.

“Hey, pup,” he greeted softly. Any words you could think of got caught in your throat. As you stared at him a conclusion popped into your head, one that hadn't before. He was fine. His eyes were not rubbed raw, his voice not cracking from hours of crying. He had been much meaner to you and it seemed to have no toll on him. He didn't lose an ounce of sleep over it. He probably just rolled over in his bed and decided to apologize to you tomorrow.

It made you mad. Typical alpha behavior. Causing hurt feelings and omegas to spiral without a second thought. You weren't sure you wanted to be around someone so…..so uncaring.

“Simon,” you greeted gently, still keeping the door partly shut. Would he lash out at you again for not being warm to him?

He sighed, clearing his throat.

“I need to apologize to you about yesterday,” He started, his eyes staring down at you. His eyes held no emotion, even though they were big and round. He smelled sincere. There were no warnings going off in your head that this was a trick. “I’m sorry I said those things, even if you hadn't heard them it was not appropriate or even the type of person I want to be. Especially to you.”

That softened you a bit.

“Thank you for apologizing,” you were able to grasp words finally. “I'm sorry I didn't list you as my alpha,” it was your turn.

“Not that I have earned the title,” he added. You remained silent. He cleared his throat again. Did he expect you to disagree? “I would like to work towards it- you seeing me as your Alpha.”

“Of course Simon,” you said quickly. “You have been very good to me in the past, don't think I have forgotten or hadn't noticed.”

He seemed to appreciate the sentiment. He excused himself after, saying he had to get to training. You were fine leaving it there and you felt better about the situation. There was still something that had bothered you, though. Why hadn't you written his name down in the first place?

There was only one reason you could truly think of. He didn't feel like an alpha towards you. That's not to say you hadn't bonded with him over time but he didn't have the same effect on you as John had. All John had to do was look at you and he had your omega belly up and your head tilting back, practically begging him to mark you.

Everyone knew there were different types of alphas in the world. Domineering ones. Modern ones who treated their omegas as equals. Traditional ones who treated them like they were servants. Soft and gentle ones who acted like betas.

John was a provider. He didn't treat you as his equal. He treated you like you were of higher status than him. He was at your service. When you were with him touching a door handle was beneath you. Yet there was that domineering side to him. The part that needed to have control- him needed to have you chipped for example. Yet you knew that was less about ego and more about making sure you were safe.

The truth was, when you thought about your alpha, the first thing that popped into your head was John.

That was why you wrote his name down.

The rest of the day had been a breeze. You decided maybe you should stay home for a few days to hopefully minimize the trouble you could cause.

You had just changed into your pajamas when there was a knock on your door.

“Hi,” you grinned at John.

“I want to show you something. Put your shoes on,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling. You quickly grabbed your shoes and he held up a coat for you to get into. You slipped your arms in, feeling warm and fuzzy from the gesture. It was one of his, the smell of campfire making your brain lull into a state of comfort. He zipped it up for you, grabbing your hand in his and leading you out the door.

“Where are we going?” you questioned in the elevator.

“It's a surprise, pretty girl,” he asserted, holding back a smirk. You ran your fingers over his knuckles. They were rough and a bit swollen. Years of hard work embedded in them.

He led you down a path you had never gone before, weaving past the training grounds and over to where the offices were.

“Now this is our little secret,” he reminded. You two strayed away from the path, walking towards the treeline. “Need to get you proper shoes.” he huffed, looking down at your flats. You giggled, remembering when Simon had said the same thing to you. You two walked for a while, the sounds of war slowly growing more and more distant. “You cold?” he checked. You quickly shook your head. Despite that, he ran his hands up and down your arms to heat you up. “Just a little further,” he assured. “Here we are,” he stopped suddenly, causing you to furrow your brows at him.

You were in the middle of a forest. What was so special? He put a finger under your chin, slowly tilting your head up.

You gasped, your hands gripping onto his jacket in awe.

A sky full of stars. They took up the parts of the sky that weren't covered by the treetops.

“It's beautiful,” you whispered.

“The base only gets dark enough one day a month to see them,” he explained quietly. You wished you could see this every night. But then, you might not appreciate them. You stared up until you got a neck ache, slowly pulling yourself back to earth. His eyes remained focused on you.

He regrets it. Deeply. Not allowing you into the pack sooner. Granted you had brought with you some challenges- but you were well worth it. You were quickly growing to be an indispensable part of the pack and you weren't even marked yet.

So when you looked up at him it was only natural for him to lean down. You nearly went cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact. Your eyes fluttered closed and he sealed the distance. It was short and sweet.

A dream first kiss.

“This is beginning to feel personal,” you whined, causing them to chuckle.

“Not personal, peachy. Just the game,” Johnny smirked. He leaned over pressing a kiss against your temple. You growled at him playfully.

“Easy for you to say. You've plus-four-ed me twice in a row,” you exclaimed, waving your ridiculously large stack of Uno cards in his face. It was Kyle's idea and it started out with a few lighthearted games between the two of you and John. The addition of Simon and Johnny turned it into a full-on attack. After it was John's turn, he put down a reverse card sending the direction of the game back to you.

“Get him, honey.” He smirked at you, nodding his head towards Johnny. The only thing you had that could do any damage was a color changer- if you played it right. You leaned close to Johnny and he quickly reciprocated resting his forehead against yours.

“Interesting tactic,” Kyle chuckled, causing you to giggle.

“What’re we doing right now, Bonnie?” Johnny whispered, his pretty blue eyes lighting up in excitement (both kinds).

“I'm reading your mind,” you whispered back.

“Wanna read my mind in my room later?” he smirked, pressing his forehead against yours harder.

“I choose blue.” you smiled, waiting expectantly.

“Shite, only one I don't have.” he groaned, beginning to grab cards from the deck. You and Simon both celebrated. You for getting him back and Simon because now he was next in line to win.

Simon won, and you all moved into the next round. You crawled around the coffee table so you were sitting in between John and Kyle.

“I took a shower,” Johnny snorted as you moved away from him.

“I'm not being after you!” you explained, grabbing the cards that Simon dealt out. You couldn't stop a smile as you got two plus fours in your pile. You crawled back over to be in between John and Johnny.

“I changed my mind. Can we go this way?” you smirked, twirling your finger in a clockwise motion.

“I'm a bit frightened.” Johnny gulped.

“You've been giggly lately.” Kyle hummed, the feeling vibrating through your shoulder.

“That's because you keep tickling me,” you whined. As if on cue his lips skimmed over your shoulder and against your neck, causing you to erupt in laughter all over again. “Kyle,” you groaned playfully, pushing him away. “I'm not used to being touched so much,” you reminded. You had never been so physical with anyone before. Johnny and Kyle were always all over you, and John had been growing more and more affectionate. Even Simon had his claws in you when the two of you went out.

“Want me to stop?” he questioned, causing you to shiver.

“No,” you mumbled, burying yourself in his chest. He ended his attack and was content with having you rest on his chest. It was his “day off”- well as close to a day off as they get around here. You yawned, stretching out, your limbs popping back into place. He was tired, his eyes fluttering shut before he abruptly opened them again. “Sleep, Gazza,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“I have to get up soon,” he yawned, causing you to whine.

“Night training?” you mumbled. He nodded his head. The front door opened causing you to peek your head up from Kyle’s chest. In came Johnny, shirtless and dripping sweat. You gasped, eyes widening like saucers. “Kyle, your boyfriend is almost naked,” you whispered. Kyle leaned up with you, his cheek pressing against yours. You both stared at Johnny through the kitchen passthrough window, as he gulped down a large electrolyte drink.

“Wow,” you whispered in unison. Johnny's head snapped to where you two were lying and you both quickly shrunk back into the couch. You could feel your heart rate pick up as Johnny's footsteps got closer and closer and closer and……

A large, wet raspberry was blown against your cheek.

“Mac!” you shrieked, wiping his spit away. He chuckled, kissing the top of yours and Kyle's head before heading towards the bathroom. “Kyle, your boyfriend was flirting with me.” you poked.

“Can’t say I blame him, doll,” Kyle chuckled, getting the two of you comfortable on the couch again.

You could tell something was off the moment he walked in.

You already had a twisting gut feeling you knew what this was about.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greeted. His large hand runs up and down your back. You leaned into him, your ear resting against the broad expansion of his chest.

“You're leaving aren't you?” you mumbled, your hand tangling itself in his shirt. John hummed in agreement, sitting in the stool next to you.

“Me and Johnny leave tomorrow. Then a few days later Simon and Kyle will have to head out too.”

“All of you?” you sputtered. You thought at the beginning they would take it slow. Not just leave you here by yourself. Especially after what happened last week.

“We should all wrap up fairly quickly, especially Simon and Kyle. Me and Johnny will be gone for at least two weeks, but when we come back we’ll get to go on leave. Think about where you want to go.”

It wasn't much consolation. You knew this was the agreement. You just wished you had more than a month to adjust. It had gone by so fast.

Hopefully, their being gone will go by just as fast.

Hello friends! Let me know how you feel about the way Simon and Omegas relationship is playing out so far. Or any other thoughts you have about the series. I love to hear what all of you think! See you in two days for chapter 16. 🧡

[multific]

Opposites Attract

Nikto x Reader

Summary: He saved you by accident. He didn't even see you in the room. But after doing so, you didn't want to leave his side.

Nikto was known throughout the army for his rugged appearance and tough demeanour. 

When he wasn't on a mission, he spent his days working in the fields, his hands calloused from hard labour, and working out. 

But despite his rough exterior, Nikto had a heart of gold.

It was something he hid very well.

It was something the years and torture took out of him.

One day, he met a soft and kind woman whom he saved during a mission.

You were the complete opposite of him, gentle, kind, and delicate. 

Your presence was like a breath of fresh air in Nikto's otherwise harsh world. 

After saving you, you didn't want to leave his side. He was the only person who protected you.

You felt safe with him. 

From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was smitten. He found himself drawn to your softness, grace, and quiet strength.

Despite your differences, you soon found yourself falling deeply in love. Nikto would bring you wildflowers he picked from the fields, and you would tend to his wounds after a long day. 

You never asked him about his mask. Never asked about his past.

Even without asking, you knew he was struggling. 

You were the perfect balance of rough and soft, yin and yang, fire and water.

Though your love was not without its challenges. 

The people around you whispered behind your backs, questioning how a man like Nikto could ever be worthy of a woman like you. 

But neither of you cared what others thought. 

You knew that your love was true, and that was all that mattered.

It was all you needed, one another.

As the seasons changed and the years passed, your love only grew stronger. 

Slowly, Nikto learned to soften his rough edges, while you found strength in his unwavering support.

And so, in probably the most unlikely scenario, a rough man and a soft woman found their happily ever after, proving that love knows no boundaries and that sometimes, opposites truly do attract.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[callsign-songbird]

Gym buddy Simon

(Small chubby fem mc)

Gym buddy Simon. Soap set him up for one of those stupid "find me ___ person" sites as a prank, and he never expected Simon to find someone that he LIKED. And yet, there you were. Sending him a sweet little request, trying to work on your self-confidence. Tiny chubby little thing. Simon is immediately smitten. He knows that he's going to be more of a personal trainer than a gym buddy, but he really doesn't mind. Just means he gets to watch you sweat and work for HIM. And oh, he likes that. He loves it when you sweat, when you whine because something is a bit too heavy, or you can't take much more; he loves watching your muscles work and strain under your soft layer of squish. Honestly? Simon loves that squish. He has to focus on his own workout whenever you do jumping-jacks or anything that makes your little bit of chub bounce. If he does happen to see it, he'll become almost entranced, imagining kneeding at the soft flesh and littering it with kisses and bite marks, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your plush hips and grinding you back against him. Before he realizes it, his mask has a small wet spot from where he was drooling. He's never been so excited to go to the gym. You're such an absent-minded thing, forgetting the most important things sometimes. But, it's ok because Simon always brings his gym bag, which is always loaded with snacks, protein shakes, pre-workout, hair ties, water bottles, and even some extra gym clothes. He's also incredibly accommodating and pays attention to small things. You have better cardio when listening to a certain playlist? He talked to the gym staff about using their speakers. Nervous about people watching you? Well, he's got the perfect little secluded corner for you. Feeling stressed? He's a great listener! On your period? (He figured out your tells pretty easy) he's got Midol and some feminine hygiene products in his bag of tricks, too. Eventually, you run into the rest of the squad at the gym, and he gets possessive! Long story short, this is a need.

[lovelyghst]

könig constantly staring at your tummy because, no matter its shape or size, he can only daydream about how good of a mother you’d be for the baby he’ll eventually be seeing in that exact spot.

he’s so shameless with it, too. praising you up and down all day long, yet always managing to land at your center and just below, where he gives you the most physical love. lingering kisses whilst working his way down, a constant palm over your belly when he holds and fucks you close, muttering strings of german right up against your soft skin that he’ll later shrug off and dismiss when you ask him what it means.

consisting of promises for a good life, one that he’ll go through hell and back to make happen, and his persisting love that’ll be shared between two soon enough. all before you both become far too needy, and he’s forced to crawl back up your growingly-impatient figure and fuck you hard. deep enough to make him momentarily forget that you’re on birth control, and desperate to disregard how your pretty whines and sweet begging for him to finish inside you doesn’t carry nearly the same significance for you as it does in his mind.

to say he’s obsessed with the scene would be an understatement, which he could never bring himself to outrightly admit to you.

he knows neither of you are in a position to take on another life at the moment, especially with you being so damningly younger than the colonel, but he just can’t help himself, and you surely can’t blame him for his not-so-little secret you’re still so blissfully unaware of.

[kiryoutann]

warning(s): MDNI, sexual contents, attempted baby-trapping.

Simon baby-trapping this, Simon baby-trapping that. How about you trying to baby-trap Simon instead?

Like a fish out of a tank, your lips formed a perfect 'O'—an invitation he accepted as he slipped his rough fingers into your mouth and tucked them beneath the blanket of your tongue. The brush of warm flesh made his cock throb, drawing a muffled sound from you.

Simon put his free hand to continue steering your hips, maintaining their steady rhythm as they started to falter. The angry crown of his cock pulled out before slamming back in and disappearing between your plump labia. He let his ears feast on your cry, watching your eyes squeeze shut as he reached that sweet spot inside. Saliva dripped, running down the curve of your chin and down between your swaying breasts.

The ah-ah! sound becomes the only thing you can produce after he liquifies your brain into a tangled mess, trapping your tongue under the weight of his calloused fingers.

Your inner walls fluttered and clenched around his length, your climax peeking and cresting, forming high waves. Simon growled through clenched teeth. Your back arched, head falling back as you surrendered to your second peak.

His grip on your hips tightened as a warning. “Off, love—fuck, ye gotta get off, now.”

You did not heed him, continuing to bounce on his twitching cock. He groaned, trying to hold back the inevitable tide of his release.

“Love,” he tries again before calling your name, his own hips stuttering.

“No, please- I’m—I’m on the pill,” you gasped—

And the lie slipped through your lips without thinking.

Even as a part of you knew this was wrong—that you were trying to trap him and you were being reckless—you kept going. Simon stopped trying to get you off him, letting you slam your hips one last time before he emptied thick ropes of seed into your womb.

Sex and your indifference to potential consequences permeated the air, screaming for your attention. A voice curses you in the back of your mind, full of snarls that you have gone too far; that you have hated Mother too much to dismiss everything she says—even the true ones—as nonsense. That you will only live to regret this.

But you have to—it's a necessity, driven by the roots that tell you to cement this bond between you. Sure, it may be born out of a desperate fantasy of your own insecurities, but you need this.

“Nothing can make them stay, my dear. Not for love, not for sex, for all your years of devotion to them, not even for their own flesh and blood!” Your mother is screaming in your head.

(Nonsense. Nonsense, all of it.)

You watch his chest rise and fall; somewhere deep within the confines of his strong ribs is a heart that beats in almost the same rhythm as yours. The dim lighting of the room you only acknowledge when it reflects faintly on the slick of his scar-littered skin. Those brown eyes stare at you beneath a canopy of blond lashes, moist lips pulled into a slight smile under his strong nose—and you return it with a wider one.

Would a child make you stay, Simon?

[part of chapter 10 of "A MAN'S HEART IS TRULY A WRETCHED, WRETCHED THING.".]

[d0youc0py]

“Her and Soap would make a good couple, no?” Alejandro smirked, watching as you and the Scot took turns drowning each other in the pool.

“No they wouldn’t.” Ghost said quickly. A little too quick. Price chuckled knowing exactly what was running through his head.

“Why not? I don’t think I’ve seen Soap laugh so much and they seem pretty affectionate with each other.” Alejandro continued. It’s true, you and Soap were a bit touchy touchy but in a headlock and kick each other type of way.

“They’re friends- nothin’ more.” Ghost was growing annoyed of this conversation. He couldn’t blame Alejandro though. From outside eyes you and Soap could be seen as a good pair. Simon hated the thought of anyone thinking you were with anyone but him- yet he did almost nothing to make it seem like you were with him. Only the most observant people- such as Price- noticed the little things Ghost did for you. The way he always carried extra of your ammo in case you ran out. The way he always made extra of his breakfast for you to have some too. The way he would put up a fight when Price wanted to send you on a mission without him.

“I’d have to agree with Ghost on this one.” Captain sighed, standing up from his chair. He patted Ghost on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get started on lunch.”

“I’ll go with you!” Alejandro and Rudy were quick to stand up.

“What you don’t trust me?” Price raised a brow.

“Well I don’t know if you brits are very well known for you food.” Alejandro chuckled, wrapping an arm around Prices shoulder.

“You kiddin’? You know how many cooking show take place in England?”

Ghost sunk down in his seat and tugged at his balaclava. The heat was getting to him. Plus the way you, Soap and Gaz splashed around in the pool looked so refreshing.

“Hey Lieu?” You swam up to the side of the pool, resting your arms on the hot surface. “You sure you don’t want to come in the pool? I could use some back up in here.” God how he loved your smile. It was almost enough for him to rip his clothes off and hop in. It wasn’t that you hadn’t seen his face before. You were a jack of all trades- one of the trades being medicine. You had treated him for a head injury a while back and the way you accidentally called him handsome made it easy for him to take his mask off in front of you. It was the rest of him he was worried about. The bullet wounds on his abdomen. The burn mark across his chest. The deep angry scars all over his back- and all over him really. He wasn’t ready for you to know how fucked up he really was. He didn’t- couldn’t scare you off. So here he was. Sitting in a lawn chair, drinking a bourbon, in a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt.

“Lieu?” You repeated. He knocked himself out of his trance.

“No, I’m alright.” He took another swig of his drink trying to drown out your pouty lip.

“Alright.” You sighed. “I was hoping we could’ve formed an alliance. I’m getting tired of Bubble Boy and his attitude!” You yelled the last part, causing Soap to shoot you in the head with a water gun.

“You’re just mad cause I’m winning!” Soap yelled.

“She’s kicking your arse.” Ghost shouted. His comment caused a whole new wave of competitiveness between you and the Scot- so much so that Gaz stepped out not wanting to get a black eye.

“I feel like we should be filming this.” Gaz chuckled, pulling out his phone. It was quite entertaining watching two highly trained soldier go after each other with water guns.

About an hour later Alejandro announced lunch.

“Thank god! I’m starving!” You groaned, pulling yourself out of the pool. Ghost suddenly decided the sky was much more interesting to look at than your dripping body. When he looked back down, he had to stop a groan from leaving his lips. There you were- wearing his shirt. His shirt. It was plain black- but had L.T Ghost printed on the back. His insides were swarming, and he barely had any time to process as you ran inside to start eating. He needed to stay there for a moment. He needed to calm down. He wasn’t use to this. Such little things completely throwing him off. He looked down, noticing how his bag and your bag were so close, that’s when he noticed another black clothing item. He grabbed it, holding it up. It was another entirely too big for you black shirt. The one that was probably suppose to be your cover up. So it was a mistake. You meant to grab yours but instead you grabbed his extra shirt. That helped ease the tension in his eyes. He should’ve known you were too good of a girl to be such a tease.

••••••••

The sun had finally started to set. All of you were still coming out of your food coma, and spread all over the house to digest. Times like this were your favorite. Eating delicious food. Hearing and sharing stories with your almost chosen family. Now here you were sprawled out on the tile, your feet dangling in the water as you stared at the pink sky.

“You against company?” Simon asked. You lifted your head to see him sticking his head out the door. You quickly shook your head, giving him a smile. He grabbed a chair and sat down next to you. He followed your gaze and looked up at the sky. Your eyes left the sky in favor of his jawline. He had taken off his mask to eat and couldn’t be bothered to put it back on.

Feeling your eyes on him he looked down to meet your gaze. The mask wasn’t able to hide his emotions anymore- not that you caught the obvious adoration across his face. Your eyes traced over the scar that extended from his cheekbone down to the corner of his lip. He watched you watch him- knowing exactly what you were looking at. Yet he didn’t feel insecure. You had a glint in your eye, it wasn’t judgement or pity. The closest thing he could compare it to was understanding. You didn’t feel sorry for him. You didn’t look at him with any disgust. You just admired it. Like people would a painting that they couldn’t quite understand but enjoyed the feeling it gave them nonetheless. You enjoyed the feelings he gave you. The security you felt with him. You knew instinctually that he would always be there. Guiding you. Watching you. Protecting you. Making your day better- even in the smallest ways. His scars were assurance of that. He’d always fight his way out to be there.

The look in your eyes made it possible for him to say something he’d wanted to all day.

“Wanna go for a swim?” He asked.

[alkalineapparition]

Give

König x Reader | Full Chapter

Part 19- You can thread the needle, time and time again

König POV 

At this, König stills.  

Shock. Then fury—frigid and sharp. His fists clench as he fights to hold it in, his body going rigid. A statue. Waiting, unbreathing, for you to continue.

For a long while, you say nothing. Still picking at the damned sheets, eyes unfocused. He clears his throat. You jump.

"Explain." His voice is stiff, strained with barely concealed rage.

"I... I don't know where to start," you admit, chewing your lip beneath the mask.

König forces himself to be patient. "Start from the beginning, yes?"

You inhale deeply, exhaling slow. Shoulders straightening, still looking at the floor. Still refusing to meet his eyes.

"I joined the Army when I was eighteen years old." 

Not quite the beginning he meant, but he does not interrupt. He will not miss a chance to hear about the thing you so rarely speak of—yourself.

"I didn't... I didn't necessarily want to. But I didn't really have any other options. My home life, it wasn't... the best."

Your face twists with something dark. He doesn’t press— knows better, though a pit forms in his stomach.

"Anyway, I figured I'd join, maybe be assigned a desk job or work in the mess hall doing food prep," a bitter laugh slips out.

"I did get a desk job; communications. And I loved it. For a while." 

Silence again. 

"Why the Green Berets, then?" 

A little smile, still tinged with that acrid aftertaste. "I wanted to do more," you mumur, so softly he almost misses it.

"The Green Berets, they do the most humanitarian work out of any of the United States armed forces. Did you know that?"

He shakes his head, equally quiet. "No, I did not." 

"I felt like a coward, hiding behind the desk. I didn't want to join, I had to. It was... almost a compulsion. Couldn't imagine doing anything else." You shake your head. 

"I was young and stupid. I hated getting up early. Hated being yelled at. Hated exercise. Still can't understand what I was thinking..." you trail off.

"But it was something I had to do. And I did— I was the youngest female Green Beret to ever graduate." There’s something like pride in your voice.

"I was promoted to Sergeant. Still working comms, but in the field this time." 

You swallow. Your next words snag, a loose thread caught on jagged metal. 

"It was near the end of my first contract, when my squadron was ordered to preform an exfiltration in Al Mazrah. A local group had captured some high ranking-personnel from a multinational spec ops unit." 

It clicks into place before you finish. The undeaniable truth of who exactly you had been sent after. 

König says nothing. 

"It went well at first. Almost textbook. We grabbed the target, were on our way out. He was beat to shit, so I was practically carrying him. Then... then all hell broke loose."

Finally, you look at him, eyes haunted— decaying.

"There was a grenade," the words are whispered, anguished.

Dear God.

"I... I laid on top of the target. Didn't have time to run."

You are pleading with him now. Begging him to understand. 

The room is silent but for your ragged breathing. Tears threaten your lash line, the ache in them evident as you choke, "My team didn't make it." 

The sight of your tears nearly undoes him. This quiet devastation is somehow worse than the mournful wailing from that night outside the medical wing. It rips through him, as your pain always does.

Before he can stop himself, König grasps your hand, threading his fingers with yours. 

He squeezes. His gaze never wavers.

You take a shaky breath, steadying yourself. 

"I don't remember getting up or dragging us out, but I must have. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the hospital, feeling like shit warmed over." 

"I was medically dead, you know. Five whole minutes. In a coma for nearly a month." 

Silence reigns again. And König wonders how the fuck you are still here.

You fidget, waiting for him to speak.

"What happened next?" 

Your eyebrows raise, clearly not expecting such interest in the after. 

"Got honorably discharged, started recovery. It was shit."

The dry tone of your voice forces a a low laugh from him. 

"And how did you end up here?" 

"KorTac didn't take long to reach out. Funded my recovery under the condition I sign a contract after."

It is his turn to raise his eyebrows. Since when did KorTac take an interest in wounded soldiers? His confusion must be evident, since you shrug.

"Don't know why. But I sure as hell wasn't turning down the chance to walk again." 

The horror at your statement must also be plain on his face, because you let out a biting laugh. 

"You think the VA gave a fuck if I walked again? They wanted to stick me in a wheel chair to rot." 

It makes him sick. The thought of you—prideful, so independent—withering away in an underfunded hospital. Alone. Forgotten.

König swallows against the ache it brings, reaching for the right words—for something, anything, that might stitch back the wounds you just tore open for him to see.

"It's how I got these, you know." Your voice is conversational, almost hollow, as your fingers trace the scars eclipsing your chest and arm.

"You must think I'm horribly stupid."

He does not miss the forced humor in your voice. Nor does he miss the quiet search beneath it—the search for his damnation, his approval, something.

"I think," he begins, his free hand trailing up your arm, fingers ghosting over skin before settling at your shoulder, "that you are brave."

He holds you like something fragile, like fractured glass. Despite the strength beneath his hand, he finds you delicate. Precious.

You look up at him, startled. "I think," his voice is little more than a whisper, "you are horribly selfless."

König wishes to believe the sudden, unsteady catch in your breath is a mirror of his own feelings, but knows it is not. He stomps his down, determined to right the lense through which you view yourself, if nothing else.

"I think you are so very kind, Taube, but unable see past yourself. Please do not think I would ever consider you less than, for being courageous." He searches your eyes. 

Something unnamed passes through them, soft and warm, vulnerable. It makes his heart stutter in his chest. 

 

He wants to kiss you.

 

The thought is errant, but cutting. König jerks back before he can act on it. 

Scheiße.

Clearing his throat, he allows his hand to fall from your shoulder. 

"And you are not the only one with scars, Atlas." 

He looks back to you, but you look suspiciously unsurprised. "Is that why you wear it?" Your chin tilts towards his face, an obvious reference to the mask.

The question is curious, no judgement in your voice. He nods, absentmindedly brushing his fingers across his mouth. 

"Ja. I learned early that others do not take kindly to those who appear different." He pauses. "Children are cruel." 

You frown. "Yes, they are. They're also ignorant." You look down, and before he can stop, König finds himself marveling at the shadows your lashes cast against your cheek, fluttering as you search for words.

"I bet you're beautiful under that hood anyway." 

 

His breathing stops.

 

Barely able to choke out the words, he mutters, "I assure you, I am not."

You hum, unconvinced. "Whatever you say." 

His eye twitches, desperate to change the topic. "Will you be able to work with Price?" 

Cutting him a look that could peel paint from the walls, you nod once. Sharp and decisive.

"Yes. It just... caught me off guard, is all. If I had known it wouldn't have been like that. I swear, I'm fine." König hears what you do not say. How it is less about the Captain and more about the remnants of your past.

About never being able to escape it entirely, no matter how far you run.

[jumexju]

i dont kink shame but ddlg is not included in that statement

[frudoo]

Mountain Man!Soap + his very pregnant wifey <3

Warnings: Pregnancy obviously, reader nicks herself on a thorn/blood.

“Ge’ yer arse outta tha’ garden!” Johnny’s frantic voice gets closer and closer, followed by the sound of the back door slamming shut.

You roll your eyes and continue picking the weeds out of your precious vegetable patch, completely unbothered. You’ve been at it all morning and your husband has just now woken up to notice you missing from the bed.

“The kids?” He crouches down beside you, placing a firm hand on your sore lower back.

“Playing over at Kyle’s house,” you reply calmly, leaning forward to pluck a particularly thorny weed from your tomato plant and effectively nicking yourself.

“Steamin’ Jesus, hen,” Johnny grumbles, hooking his arms beneath your armpits and pulling you up to your feet. “Ye’re too pregnant fer this.”

You huff and shove his arms away, ignoring the furrow in his brow and the disapproving whine he lets out. Rubbing your swollen belly, you waddle back towards the house. Johnny’s right on your trail, yelping when you don’t hold the door open for him and it smacks him in the face. That makes a pleased grin curl at the corners of your mouth, even though it gets you an earful from your annoyed husband.

“Ah told ye no’ tae work in the garden when ye’re this- this-”

“This what, Johnny? Huge?” You cock an eyebrow, running your cut under warm water and cleaning all the dirt out of it.

“Ye ken tha’s no’ wha’ ah meant,” Johnny frowns, settling himself behind you and placing his hands under the curve of your belly.

“Sure it- ahh, that’s nice, baby,” you hum in satisfaction when he leans back, holding your belly up and taking so much pressure off of your poor body.

“There’s me sweet gal,” Johnny grins, burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck. “See? Ye dinnae hate me. Ye’re jus’ grumpy from carryin’ mah massive bairns.”

“Shut it,” you mumble with no real hostility, leisurely wrapping a bandage around the cut.

“Mmm, since the kids’re at Garrick’s… how aboot a shower?” Johnny kisses his way up the side of your neck, hands gently releasing your belly so that you’re holding all the weight now.

“Uh-uh. If I’m too pregnant to garden, I’m way too pregnant for whatever it is you have planned.”

“Ye do hate me.”

[italktoomuchxd]

SergeantPrice! XMedicReader!

Just a normal day at the base. The captain was being extra harsh today, so he ended up with a twisted ankle… Bingo!

“Can’t I stay? It really hurts,” he pouted. He just wanted to stay with you a little more.

“It can’t be that bad! It didn’t even swell.”

“Maybe you should do a painkiller shot to me or something?”

“No, sergeant, you’re not staying here until you’re dying.”

That was probably the worst decision you ever made… he ate expired cheese from his last mission and got food poisoning…