#cod oneshot

[msriri030]

Saving by a Hare:

Mobster! König x Doctor! Reader

tag: Stranger to lover, afab! female but trying most to gn idk

You walked back to your small clinic after making a house call to an elderly couple. The streets were serene, wrapped in a pristine blanket of fresh winter snow. A soft breeze carried the faint scent of pine and cinnamon from a nearby café, blending with the crisp chill of the air. Yet, your mind was miles away.

The couple’s gratitude lingered in your thoughts, their warm smiles and kind words a gentle reminder of why you had chosen this path. In a world where you often faced indifference—or worse, outright hostility—moments like those made it all feel worth it. Despite the challenges, there was purpose in what you did, and that was enough to keep you going.

As you walked, Your thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a small cat, sleek and gray, slipping out from the shadows of an alleyway. It meows softly before weaving between your legs, its tail flicking playfully. You crouched, extending a hand with a soft smile, but the cat darted away, disappearing into the dark alley.

“Hey, wait!” you called instinctively, curiosity tugging at you.

The alley was silent, the air colder here in the absence of light. Your breath puffed visibly in front of you as you trailed the cat’s paw prints in the snow. But something unusual caught your eye—a patch of crimson staining the pristine white.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. Red snow. The metallic tang of iron wafted faintly in the air. Blood.

The doctor in you overrode every other instinct. You bolted toward the source, boots crunching against the snow as your mind raced. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help.

As you turned the corner, you saw it—a large male figure slumped against the wall, motionless. Blood pooled beneath them, painting the snow in a macabre contrast of red and white.

Your heart pounded, but your hands steadied as you dropped to your knees beside them. "Hey! Can you hear me?" you called, already reaching for their pulse.

As a doctor, you were bound by one unshakable rule: to save a life, no matter the circumstances. And right now, you were prepared to do just that.

The pulse was slow but steady—a small relief that eased the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You let out a soft sigh, your breath visible in the icy air. Your hands moved with practiced precision as you assessed the situation.

The man’s face was partially obscured by a makeshift balaclava, one crudely fashioned from a torn shirt. It clung to his skin, damp with sweat and streaked with traces of blood. You instinctively reached to remove it, thinking it might help him breathe more easily.

But as your fingers brushed the fabric, a sudden movement stopped you in your tracks.

His hand, rough and trembling, shot up and grabbed your wrist with surprising strength for someone in his condition. His grip wasn’t crushing, but it was firm enough to communicate a clear message: don’t.

His head tilted slightly, icy blue eyes locking onto yours with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver racing down your spine. Despite his battered state, his voice emerged steady, edged with a cold sharpness that only deepened his aura of danger.  

“What do you think you’re doing, kleiner weißer Hase?” he asked, the German words slipping out in a tone as cutting as the accent behind them.  

You straightened under his scrutiny, meeting his gaze despite the unease clawing at your chest. “I–I mean no harm,” you replied calmly, refusing to waver. “I’m a doctor. I was trying to remove this to help you breathe. Do you know where you’re bleeding from?”  

For a moment, his eyes narrowed, and you thought he might ignore you altogether. His grip on your wrist tightened briefly, but then, slowly, it loosened. His gaze shifted, the icy edge softening, though his expression remained distant—haunted, almost lifeless.  

“Doctor…” he muttered, his voice low and strained, as if the word carried more weight than it should. “A little Hase like you should leave. You don’t want to get tangled up with someone like me. Men like me only have one ending. The kind reserved for mobsters. So go. Pretend you never saw me.”  

His words hung in the frosty air, heavy with bitterness and self-loathing. Your jaw tightened, the weight of his resignation settling over you, but you weren’t one to back down.  

“I will not,” you said firmly, your tone unwavering as you met his distant stare. “I am a doctor, and you are not a dead man yet. So I’ll ask you again—do you know where you’re bleeding from?”  

Something shifted in his expression. His eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard by your defiance. A bitter smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, fleeting but noticeable a glam of life in his eyes.  

“Stubborn little Hase, aren’t you?” he murmured, the faintest trace of amusement cutting through his somber tone before his features darkened again. “Fine. Lower left side. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

You nodded briskly, already moving to assess the wound. His words lingered, though, like a shadow curling in the corners of your mind. Whatever weight he carried, it was more than just physical—burdens you couldn’t begin to imagine.  

Carefully, you lifted his shirt, exposing the bullet wound oozing dark, viscous blood. Without hesitation, you reached for the tools you’d gathered: a pair of tweezers, a needle, thread, and a bottle of alcohol. The chaos surrounding you melted into insignificance as you focused, your hands steady despite the urgency clawing at your nerves.  

“Okay, hold still—”  

“König,” he interrupted, his voice low and gravelly as he offered his name. His icy blue eyes never left yours, watching you intently, as if assessing whether you were friend or foe.  

“Okay, Hold still, König” you instructed, reaching into your bag for your tools.

He grunted, his lips quivering faintly. “I’ve been still this entire time.”

Suppressing a smile, you worked quickly, sterilizing your tweezers and cleaning the area around the wound. “This might sting,” you warned.

He didn’t flinch, his jaw tight as you began extracting the bullet. His muscles tensed under your touch, and a low groan escaped his throat, but he didn’t move an inch. His control was unnervingly precise, a testament to the kind of man he was.

You gripped the tweezers and leaned in, the edges of your vision narrowing as your focus honed in on the task. With painstaking care, you maneuvered the tweezers to locate the bullet. König’s muscles tensed under your touch, his jaw clenching, but he stayed perfectly still, his control unnervingly precise.  

As the metal object came into view, lodged deep within the torn flesh, you adjusted your grip and pulled. Blood welled around the wound, and König let out a low, guttural groan, though his body didn’t move an inch.  

“It’s almost out,” you murmured, more for your own reassurance than his. With one final tug, the bullet slipped free, clinking faintly as you dropped it onto the snowy ground beside you.  

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Glancing up, you saw König watching you, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps relief, perhaps trust.  

“Now the hard part’s done,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. You grabbed the needle and thread, preparing to stitch the wound. “Just a little more, and you’ll be good as new. Well, almost.”  

König let out a dry chuckle, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Good as new, Hase? I think that ship sailed long ago.”

“I don’t,” you replied, a gentle but firm conviction in your tone. “I believe you’d be lovely company to have around.”

Your words caught him off guard, and his lips quirked into a faint, almost disbelieving smile. He let out a low chuckle, this one lighter, more genuine than before. You couldn’t help but smile back, though your focus quickly returned to the task at hand.

With careful precision, you finished stitching the wound, your hands steady as you tied off the last thread. Grabbing a clean cloth, you cleaned the area around the stitches and reached for the bandages.

As you wrapped them around his waist, your fingers brushed against his skin, warm and solid beneath your touch. Despite the lack of defined abs, his build was undeniably strong, and you couldn’t help the slight blush that crept up your cheeks.

König noticed immediately. His icy blue eyes studied you with quiet curiosity before he asked, his tone calm but with a hint of amusement, “Are you okay, Hase? Your face is red.”

Your head shot up, and you stammered, “I’m okay! I’m fine!” You quickly glanced away, fumbling for an excuse. “It’s just… the cold, that’s all.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if he didn’t entirely believe you, but he didn’t press the matter.

“We should call an ambulance,” you said, reaching for your phone. “You need proper medical care—”

Before you could dial, König’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist. His grip was steady, his calloused palm warm against your skin.

“No, Hase,” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. His icy blue eyes bore into yours, more serious than before. “But… Can I call someone? Just for a moment. With your phone.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the intensity in his gaze left no room for argument. Slowly, you nodded, handing him your phone.

As he dialed, you shifted awkwardly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You tried not to listen, but his deep voice made it impossible to tune out. After a few rings, a man’s voice answered, sharp and suspicious.

“Hello? Who is this?”

König exhaled through his nose, the faintest edge of irritation in his voice as he responded, “ Horangi. It’s König.”

A brief pause followed, the silence thick with tension. Then Horangi’s voice returned, his tone a mix of disbelief and reprimand. “König, what the hell happened?”

“I got shot,” König admitted, his voice lower now, almost begrudging.

“You what? Damn it, König. Where are you?”

“I’ll send my location,” König muttered, groaning lightly as if he were already bracing for the lecture he knew was coming. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his attention to the call.

“Can you pick me up?”

Horangi sighed audibly on the other end, muttering something under his breath in Korean before replying, “Fine. But you owe me for this. Stay where you are. I will be there in a few minutes.”

König ended the call and handed your phone back to you. “Thank you, Hase,” he said quietly, his tone softer now.

You studied him for a moment, unsure what to say. He seemed more tired than before, the weight of whatever world he lived in pressing heavily on his broad shoulders.

“You have a friend coming?” you asked gently, trying to gauge his condition.

He gave a small nod. “Yes. He’ll be here soon.”

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional gust of wind that rustled through the alley. Your eyes lingered on König, studying his face—the sharp edges softened by exhaustion, the weight of something unspoken behind his icy blue gaze. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life he led, what kind of dangers waited for him beyond the walls of this quiet alley.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, pulling your attention back to him. “It’s cold. You should go home, Hase.”

You straightened slightly, meeting his tired gaze with quiet determination. “No. I need to make sure you get picked up safely.”

A deep, amused chuckle rumbled in his chest, surprising you. It wasn’t bitter like before, but rich, almost warm. “You’re protecting me. That’s ironic,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you puffed them in mock frustration, gently swatting his uninjured arm. “It’s my job,” you retorted, voice firm despite the blush creeping up your neck. “Would you do the same if you were in my shoes?”

König’s smirk lingered, but his expression softened as his gaze rested on you. For a moment, he didn’t reply, his icy blue eyes searching yours, as though your question had struck deeper than you’d meant it to. Slowly, his hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

The gesture left you momentarily breathless, and silence stretched between you once more, heavy but not uncomfortable. You both sat there, the world around you fading into the background, neither of you daring to break the quiet.

Then, suddenly, the sharp screech of car tires shattered the stillness, yanking you back to reality.

Before you could react, König’s instincts took over. His arms shot out, pulling you close against his chest in a swift, protective motion. His body tensed, shielding you from whatever unknown danger might be approaching.

“Stay down,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

The tension broke only when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. Horangi appeared, sprinting toward you both with a practiced urgency, his sharp eyes narrowing as they darted between you and König.

Without missing a beat, Horangi waved over two more figures trailing close behind him. They moved with the same calculated precision, their presence commanding despite the chaos lingering in the air. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a sharp jawline and dark eyes—Oni, you guessed from the way he carried himself with silent authority. The other, slightly shorter but no less imposing, had a cocky smirk that seemed permanently etched on his face—Hutch.

“You’re reckless, König,” Horangi muttered, crouching beside him while sparing you a brief glance. “Is this what you call lying low, boss?” His voice carried an edge of exasperation, though there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern.

König didn’t answer immediately. He shifted slightly, loosening his protective hold on you but not letting you go entirely, as though reluctant to leave you vulnerable. “I didn’t plan for this,” König grumbled, his voice gruff but steady.

Oni stepped forward, his piercing gaze briefly flicking over König’s wound before settling on you. His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t speak, his silence unnerving yet oddly respectful. Hutch, on the other hand, let out a low whistle, his eyes darting between you and König with an amused grin.

“Well, well,” Hutch drawled, his tone teasing. “Didn’t know you had a personal medic, König. Gotta say, she’s a bit of an upgrade from the usual lot we deal with.”

Your cheeks flushed at the comment, but König shot him a warning look that shut him up immediately.

“Enough,” Horangi snapped, his tone sharp as he straightened. “Let’s get him out of here before we draw more attention.”

After Hutch and Oni helped König into the car, he leaned back against the seat, exhaustion pulling at his features. You stood by the door, briefing Horangi on König’s condition—quickly summarizing the severity of the wound, the care you’d provided, and his current state. Your voice was steady, your professionalism cutting through the tension like a beacon of calm.

What you didn’t notice, however, was König watching you intently through the tinted window. His icy blue eyes had softened, their usual sharpness dulled by something almost foreign: quiet admiration. He listened to the cadence of your voice, his gaze lingering on your focused expression. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself a moment of calm. There was something about the way you carried yourself—gentle but unwavering—that disarmed him more thoroughly than any weapon ever had.

As you finished and dismissed yourself, König’s eyes followed you. The faint breeze caught your white lab coat as you walked briskly toward your clinic, the fabric fluttering like wings in the wind. The image was seared into his mind, reforging the thought he’d had before—kleiner weißer Hase.

When you disappeared into the crowd, König’s lips twitched into a rare, almost wistful smile. For a moment, his icy exterior melted, replaced by something warmer, something yearning. A quiet vow slipped past his lips, too low for anyone to catch but himself.

“The hunt is on, Hase.”

Oni and Hutch exchanged a glance from the front seat, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and silent amusement. Horangi, leaning against the car, raised an eyebrow at König but said nothing. The three of them, seasoned in the ways of König’s unpredictability, decided it was best to leave him to his thoughts—for now.

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

part 2

kleiner weißer Hase: litte white bunny

Hase: bunny

[alkaline-wtr]

Simon x roommate!reader

Description: Reader secretly gets herself off to fantasies of Simon.Genre/Warnings: Ghost x plus size!reader, masturbation, light smut, roommate au, reader has female anatomy, reader is kind of a creep, one-shot WC: 759

My Masterlist

** Iv'e been working on improving my writting skills especially in the smut genre, and since I'm seeing a lot of roomate!Simon on my TL lately how about we flip the roles? And let's throw in a bit of insecure plus size!reader as well because, why not? Enjoy.

You were at that point in your cycle. You know the one, that strange week when your brain becomes sex-craved. When even the most random things could trigger a warm feeling between your legs, causing your cheeks to flush as the nerves throughout your body wake up.

'I am no better than a man.'

You thought to yourself as your roommate Simon emerged from the steamy bathroom post-shower gripping the corners of his plush black towel around his hips.

You could still smell the oceanic scent of his body wash as it wafted into the living room. The steam evaporated off his broad shoulders. You could only hope he wouldn't glance in your direction or else he'd catch you unable to tear your eyes away from his tall frame.

Luckily, he was unaware of your eyes searing into his muscular back as he turned down the hall to his bedroom.

There it was: the aching feeling in your stomach. Your mind raced with thoughts. You had to stop yourself from biting your lip at the images conjured in your mind of Simon's large hands massaging the fat of your thigh.

Of course, you didn't think he'd ever go for you. The reality of it was always there to remind you, the similar appearances of his previous flings were all dramatically different from you. All picture-perfect, thin, young women who he had been able to pick up at the bar after buying them a couple extra drinks.

Oh, how you wished to be one of the women Simon would guide through the living room late at night. His hand rested on their lower backs to keep them steady as he ushered them to his bedroom. You were ashamed to admit it, but you'd listened to them a couple of times, in your own self-indulgence matching the pace of your curled fingers to the smack of his headboard on your shared wall.

Simon always apologized the next morning, eyes downcast as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Just got a bit carried away, yea?"

You brushed it off blushing at the fact that you'd unbeknownst to him enjoyed the muffled grunts and creaking of his mattress. Would Simon be disgusted to know that you used the sounds to fuel your lustful fantasies? Or would he laugh, finding it pathetic what played in your mind as you bit your pillow, toes curling against your comforter as you brought yourself to your own climax in the next room over?

You fidgeted with the hem of your T-shirt. Hoping he would only think the redness rising in your cheeks was due to embarrassment from the awkward situation.

"Must've been asleep. I never heard a thing."

It made you guilty to see his embarrassment after, when he realized an apology wasn't necessary and had in fact only brought attention to last night's activities.

Most often your relief came from standing hunched over the corner of the shower. Your leg propped up on the tub, showerhead in hand, cheek pressed against the cool white tiles on the wall as you closed your eyes to envision Simon on his knees. Dreaming of tangling your fingers in his blonde hair while he wraps his strong arm under the meat of your thigh to hold you in the perfect position.

Your wrist flicked back and forth in quick movements attempting to imitate the motion of Simon's flat tongue licking stripes along your slick folds with the water jets, turning the water pressure up gradually as you grew closer and closer to your peak.

The climax overtook your body, mouth agape as you suppressed the moan threatening to escape. Your knees shook and grew weak beneath you. Tiny stars clouded your vision as you pressed your body against the wall to keep yourself upright. The rush of dopamine was short-lived leaving you to finish your shower in an unsatisfied silence knowing this was in no way comparable to the real thing.

A tinge of guilt settled in your stomach. The warmth you'd felt in those fleeting moments of need was gone now, leaving your mind void of thoughts. Only the sound of the water drumming on the floor of the tub rang in your ears as you rinsed off the remaining suds of your shampoo.

Maybe one day you'd be brave enough to confront Simon with your feelings. To boldly explain your desire for him. But for now, you would continue to hold back, locking away each fantasy, clinging to the hope that one day things might be different.

[cs-fox]

DEEP COVER | FEM! READER X KÖNIG PART 1

no use of y/n <3

rundown... König is you colonel, and you've just been put into deep cover, making him and your former team believe you've betrayed them.

______________________________________________________________

Deep cover was a… delicate situation.

Only one person could know about your position - a position of pretending to be a mole in your own team’s ranks, so you could go about illegal business without report, and without concern while still remaining loyal to that one person.

It meant you endured a sort of exclusion from within, even though you were “caught” and “detained” almost immediately. You escaped with no sweat and were now in the open, a fugitive. All of your former teammates believed you untrustworthy. All of your former friends believed you a monster.

None more so than König.

As you strolled through the streets of London - which was the first place you’d managed to escape to in your typical under-the-radar fashion - with your hood pulled low, you relished in the anonymity of the situation. Here, nobody knew who you were. And you were on your way to completing your mission.

Before you entered the dingy complex, you paused, letting the light, misty rain fall around you. Tiny droplets gathered on the cotton of your hoodie, not soaking the fabric, but cooling it, serving well to even out your body temperature.

Without allowing any more qualms to invade your mind, you knocked on the rusty maintenance door your last orders had instructed you to. 

A harsh creak, and a figure stood before you, wearing a black balaclava. The fabric was plain, hiding the man’s identity from you. Getting intel from these men wouldn’t be as easy as it looked.

Tenebris, an underground Londonian drug clique, had piqued KorTac’s interest a few years ago, when they were found to have had a vague connection to international drug lord El Sin Nombre. They’d since had been found to have assumed themselves leaders, after Valeria’s capture and identification, supporting illegal weapons trade and supply.

Your mission was to infiltrate and gather information, making them believe that you were an outcast from your military home (as of which all but one beleived you were). A tiny pang of guilt threaded it’s way through your body like a hot wire before you shrugged it off.

I’ll think about that later.

You spoke, holding up a thick card inlaid with a heavy golden emblem as you gave the password you’d interrogated one of their lower-down associates for.

The man reappraised you, before allowing you in, stepping aside to reveal a shoddy apartment building, crammed with mouldy jars, tightly wrapped slabs of narcotics, various types of magazine - not the reading type - and of course, alcohol.

The smell made you wince, the sour stench of B.O. and a sickeningly chemical, vaguely floral scent you knew to associate with cocaine.

This is gonna be a long three months.

König’s POV

König was going crazy, he was sure of it.

His right hand woman - his lieutenant - had just been declared a spy, for an international drug ring.

He couldn’t beleive it.

The woman he’d trusted with his life, the woman he’d been through everything with; his -

He stopped himself. If anyone found out about the way he’d been obsessing over her, he would be shunned, he would lose his authority over his soldiers. Even if not literally, everyone would lose their respect for him; probably even his best soldier; Horangi.

So he had to act as if he’d never so much as looked at her, never so much as patted her on the shoulder.

Whenever his mind strayed towards her, he shook himself, more often than not slamming his fist onto the nearest surface. König became snappy, closed off and irritable, ignoring his subordinates and spending too much time alone.

It made him even more awful to be around when he realised all of this effect was because of one woman.

Klein Luder.

Little bitch.

______________________________________________________________

might post part 2 later x

!! not proofread !!

enjoy <3

[aoioozora]

Simon is very cat-like in the way he loves, I guess.

Like when you're just washing dishes in the kitchen, he comes up behind you and nuzzles his nose against your neck and your shoulder. He lets out a soft grumble akin to a purr as he rubs his rough stubby cheek against yours and wraps his arms around your waist. He continues rubbing his face against your cheek, peppering a kiss or two, rubbing against your head, your hair, taking in your delicious, familiar scent that he adores.

And when you're just sitting down on the couch watching television or minding your business, you can expect him to hobble over and fall right on top of your lap lazily, looking at you with his beady eyes asking for your attention. And so you lavish it on him. You scratch his scalp lightly with your nails and scratch his back until he lets out that same delighted grunt/purr. He rolls over to expose his soft underbelly and you go ahead and lightly rub his chest and his stomach while giving him sweet little kisses on his face. He closes his eyes and smiles, completely happy. And when he decides it's time to nap (ultimate sign of a cat's trust), he keeps his head on your lap and curls up into a ball, letting you run your fingers through his hair.

Sweet little fella. He got a tiger's knives up his sleeve out in the wild, but to you, he's just like an oversized domestic cat.

[Pt. 2]

[masterlist]

[starsofang]

Get Well Soon john price x f!reader word count: 4.3k tw: MDNI, NSFW, jealous price, possessiveness, oral sex, fingering, dirty talk, just a bit nasty ngl

Jealousy was a disease, and John was its desired host that it ravaged with an unfurling blaze of smoldering flames that scorched through the bloodstream like injected venom. It simmered at the bones and left him scathed, dissipating into bitter ash that filled the air around him with the pungent scent of his own distaste.

In other words, John really fucking hated seeing you wrapped around Soap like a damn boa constricter ready to sink your fangs into him like a feast.

The whiskey he’d been sipping on with tedious sips was now thrown back into his throat, sliding down to his stomach and leaving him with an acidic aftertaste. The alcohol only coaxed the fire into an uproar, the tips of the flames flicking its red-hot tongue in the flesh of his skin and scalding him with third degree burns from the inside and out.

He tried focusing on the emptiness that stared back at him from the bottom of his glass, fingers coated in the icy condensation where he gripped around it with vice. It prickled his fingertips, the force of his grasp causing his knuckles to go white and veins to flex uncomfortably in the back of his hand.

But the grim sight of melting ice wasn’t nearly as intriguing as the sight of you, the woman who’s been gnawing your way through his skin and bone for the past however-the-fuck-long that John’s been tongue-tied over you, smiling like a cheshire while Soap maneuvered you around on the dance floor of the dimly lit club, dipping his fingertips in the fat of your hips.

Your hips swayed in earnest, Soap and you sharing a laugh as he tried to replicate your pace and ended up stumbling around like a damn fool. The spark of amusement that shimmered in your irises was so bright, John could see it from where he sat at the bar. It blinded him, like a flashbang being hurled his way without a single ounce of warning, causing his ears to ring and his eyes to blink away the dryness that dusted his retinas.

He shouldn’t be mad, really. You weren’t his, and he wasn’t yours.

Soap was simply livening the mood after a grueling mission was deemed a success. John was the one that offered to take you out, allowing you a night free of suffocating peril, yet here he was, moping like a child who’d just gotten his video games taken away.

He wasn’t a jealous man. He’d never taken an interest in a woman long enough for it to tread into that type of territory, and his work occupied him like a slave to commitment – commitment to the job, and never to a pretty woman deserving of much more than him.

Yet, you had somehow begun worming your way into his brain, molding it to the shape of you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you chewed your lip when deep in thought, the plush skin reddening under its abuse and clashing with the tone of your skin. Everything about you was hardwired into his brain, filed away and hidden in the depths of his thoughts.

It was selfish of him, he knew.

You were his subordinate – if he could call you that, really. You worked with Laswell, which meant you worked with him. A package deal, one he had no choice but to accept when it came down to it.

He was playing a dangerous game, allowing the churlish spur of envy to grab him by the throat and choke him into submission. It darkened his vision with spots of red rage, lighting with a flicker of flames that illuminated in the reflection of his pupils.

But John was a fond lover of games, given his track record of coaxing enemy intel out of the lips of grotty men through the bite of his threatening words and the sting of his knife into their mangy skin. He knew how to play to get what he wanted, what he needed, but you were a puzzle with thousands of pieces that he just couldn’t figure out how to complete.

He clung to you like a moth to a flame. A dog to its bone. A bullet to a wound.

You were his ecstasy that he could no longer deny, and he was slowly succumbing to the addiction. He got high off of the very being of you, injecting you into his veins with guilty pleasure.

And John didn't know how much longer he could starve himself from his fix.

Unable to watch the way Soap embraced you with a feverish warmth that had your expression melted into content gratification, he stood from the bar stool with a lick of virulent hostility, the legs scraping against the floor like nails to a chalkboard. Gaz spared him a worrying look, and when he went to open his mouth to ask if he was okay, John sent him a dismissive wave of his hand, muttering a gravelly ‘smoke break’ before taking off.

The chill of the night air smothered him with a relieving shiver down his spine, nipping his cheeks that were warmed from a mix of club smog and alcohol firing in his bloodstream. He was far from drunk, far from tipsy, but the burning desire he harbored for you made him feel the buzz of a high that hazed over all thoughts of calm serenities.

Leaning against the old brick of the club, he sifted a hand through the pocket of his jacket, fishing out a cigarette. Cigars were much more his taste, but unenjoyable when having to shove them in the bowels of a cramped pocket.

Lighting it up and taking a thick puff, the burn of smoke did nothing to calm the hideous monster that dared to rear its head against the fabrics of his heart. It was hungry, vengeful, baring its teeth in hopes of sinking them into flesh and bone, tearing its victim apart limb by measly limb.

The music boomed faintly from the closed door of the club, pounding vexing notes through his eardrums and tainting them with a distasteful noise.

John continued his routine of inhale and exhale, dipping into the dance of wispy smoke that surrounded him and basked his aura in musk and pungency. It swallowed him whole, enough so that he didn’t hear the whisk of the club door opening from beside him, and a familiar voice sparking fireworks in his mind.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, and John felt his shoulders tense with wavering remembrance of the way Soap wrapped his tattered arms around you, his lips leaned in close to your ear to speak with you over the loudness of the music, the way he was the reason you were giggling like schoolgirl off her rocker. “I didn’t see you at the bar. You feeling okay, Captain?”

The name left a tangy taste in his mouth. Bittersweet, souring.

“Thought I told you to call me John,” he grumbled with a ghost of a smile, tight and forced. It was more a grimace than a smile, as of course you would notice. Of course.

Keen eye, you had. It was one of the many traits John found himself falling into.

“John,” you corrected with a smile so bright, it practically laid out all of the stars in the sky in a shimmering blanket of wondrous light. “Why are you out here and not inside with the others?”

John had to hold back a lingering scoff that threatened to claw its way out of purgatory and fill the air with bitter irk.

“Got a bit stuffy in there, don’t you think?” he offered in place of spiteful words, but even at his attempt, the words came out clipped if your frown was anything to come by. “Needed a break.”

“You seemed bothered, Cap– John.”

“Mm.”

Your frown deepened and it only burdened him further. He didn’t want to be the reason for your upset, but that green little gremlin that coaxed him into anguished jealousy didn’t give two shits. It settled into his bones with enervating annoyance, paining him with ache.

“Don’t let me stop you from your fun with Soap,” he muttered dryly, uttering the words before he could stop himself.

Your eyebrows raised and you stared at him for a long moment, taking him in. His tense shoulders, tight lips pulled into a thin line, his firm grip on his cigarette that would’ve snapped it in half if he used an ounce more of strength.

“Something’s bothering you, sir,” you noted, and he gave you a taut smile.

“Look at that. Quite the brain on you.”

“No need to be rude about it, John.”

“Not being rude.”

“You are.”

John sucked in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring when he deeply exhaled. His eyes bore into yours like frigid icicles ready to pierce into you. It was chilling to the bone, sending an unsettling shiver down your spine. John noticed.

“It’d be best if you head on inside,” he hummed, his tone quipped with a hint of warning.

“Really?” you asked in disbelief and he snorted.

“Really.”

John knew he was being unfair. His envy was eating at him from the inside, bubbling its way out in molten poison that burned in his mouth.

“Something is clearly bothering you, Captain. Is it a crime to check on you?” Your tone began matching his own sour one, biting into him like a feral dog with its hackles raised.

“What’s a crime is you saddlin’ up with Soap like he’s your bloody suitor,” he hissed, and there it was, the bitter taste of frothing temper seeping out of his lips like red-hot lava. It scalded him, leaving him with third degree burns on his tongue. “Lettin’ him have at you like a fuckin’ dove for the takin���.”

“What?” you breathed, eyebrows knitting together in bafflement. “What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m tryin’ t’say, what I’ve been wantin’ t’say, is that I don’t like the way he was touchin’ you,” he declared in earnest. He stood straight from where he was leaned against the wall, glowering down at you with a look that could’ve pinned you to the gravel beneath your foot. “I’ve been patient. I’ve kept my distance. But enough’s a fuckin’ ‘nough.”

You didn’t cower under his looming glare, nor did you take a step back like you should’ve. You remained firmly rooted in your spot next to him, eyes flickering between the scowl on his mouth to the fiery eyes that threatened to burst into explosion any second.

“You’re jealous, Captain,” you stated, quite obviously. It tickled the little monster that was nearly bursting out of his skin.

“Rightfully so,” he muttered. “I don’t like people touchin’ what’s mine.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was yours to begin with, Captain.”

“John,” he reminded you. “I’d be happy to make you aware of it. Print it in that pretty head of yours so you won’t forget it.”

Warmth blossomed under your skin, spreading from head to toe and curling you into his burning embers. The words struck you like lightning, quick and sudden, leaving you dazed.

You could smell the faint cigarette smoke and whiskey in the fan of his breath as it settled over your face. You took it in, breathing through your nostrils and letting it settle to the core. It was musky and fragrant, stirring your brain into goopy mush.

“How’s that sound, sweetheart?” he mused, nearly sending you into an early grave. Fuck, you’d dig it yourself if it meant hearing those words on repeat.

“I–” You swallowed, mouth suddenly parched.

John stepped closer to you, a dangerous and brooding step. His frame towered over yours, head tilted down to ensure eye contact remained secured. He wouldn’t allow you to look away, wouldn’t allow you the chance to catch your breath. He knew what he was doing, knew what you were feeling.

“Just say the word,” he breathed, tickling your nose with his piquant scent. “Say the word and I’ll make it happen, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you managed, voice less confident than it had been before when you let your frustration get the better of you. Submissive, willing.

John’s lips perked into a pleased smile, eyes brimming with amusement and risk. He was taking the leap off of a daunting cliff, diving headfirst in a pool of unknown and uncertainty. But oh, he was certain of this.

You tasted the poignant flavors that melted from his tongue on to yours when he sealed his offer with a kiss. It was demanding, stern, his mouth molding into yours in the shape of a promise.

He traveled the shape of your jaw, rough hand entangling itself in the feathers of your hair. Tugging, wrapping it in his grasp, luring you into him with a burning desire to mark what was his. It was fire mixing with gasoline, burning scriptures in your skin, burning his name.

John swallowed every gasp and groan, eager and greedy. He captured your bottom lip with teeth, sinking in with a grueling bite, carving his indents into the plush flesh. He barely allowed you to gather air in your lungs, and it left you feeling dizzy, untrusting of your own legs to keep you steady.

“Do me a favor, love,” he grunted in the midst of your kiss, pulling back only to get a glimpse of the glossy look in your eyes. “Go on and tell the boys you aren’t feelin’ well and I’m takin’ you home. Had too much to drink, so I’m gettin’ you to bed, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

Your breath was shaky when you released a sigh, and nodded in tenacity, practically scrambling back into the club like a dog with its tail between its legs.

John stayed true to his promise of taking you home and tucking you into bed – just not in the way the boys were told.

He was like a predator pouncing on its prey the moment you arrived at your humble abode. His hands explored every expanse of your body, shedding you until you were bare with a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom in its wake.

He was famished, like a man starved for weeks on end, and the only thing that would satiate him was ravishing you to the bone.

You thought after agreeing that you were John’s and he was yours, it would feed his burning anger warranted from jealousy. If anything, it was the opposite.

He was firm and demanding, determined to etch every part of him into the plains of your skin. His hands were skilled in the way he practically shoved you into the mattress, lips remaining locked into place on your own.

He was a man on a mission, and you knew John to be one to never fail to complete it.

“M’gonna show you exactly what’s botherin me,” he mumbled into your mouth. His voice was raspy and guttural, laced with an undeniable wisp of arousal. “Been botherin’ me for ages.”

True to his word, his lips, chapped with a sheen of your mixed saliva moistening them, trailed down the column of your neck. They were neither rough or soft kisses, but rather balanced and precise. Teeth nicked the sensitive skin, taking it between tender bites and nursing the hissing stings with the point of his tongue.

Marking his territory, just as promised.

“You never said anything,” you acknowledged through a breathy sigh, lips parted and hazy eyes pointed at the ceiling as he worked wonders on your jawline.

“Didn’t have the gall to, ‘til I saw you cozied up with Mactavish,” he grunted, and as if the thought passing by in remembrance settled into his brain, he bit down a bit harder on the spot where your neck and shoulder met.

John peppered his kisses down from your clavicle, creating a trail to your sternum. It tingled with a feverish burn, spotting your skin with a faint flush. One of his calloused hands slid up your side, prompting a shiver along the way, until it grasped the mounds on your chest in a possessive hold.

His tongue darted out to circle a perked nipple, teasing, mocking. You couldn’t hold back the pathetic whine, and the rumble of his smug chuckle vibrated your whole body. Offering mercy, he enveloped the entirety of your nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth along the sensitive bud and causing you to hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure – perfectly balanced, because John was a calculated man, and he never left a job unsatisfactory.

Your thighs rested limply on each side of his waist, and when he gave a particularly hard suck, they tightened around him, knees knocking into the thick of his ribcage. Instantaneously, his other hand that wasn’t occupied with holding your breast came to grab hold of your knee, carefully peeling it away from where it rested on the warmth of his skin, tugging you apart until you were spread and vulnerable.

That same hand slowly slipped down your knee, sweeping along your inner thigh and worshiping the smooth skin with a swipe of his fingertips. They were rough against your skin in comparison, and the sensation made you jolt.

They continued their downward exploration until you felt the subtle touch of a finger experimentally slide along your slit. You wanted to feel embarrassed by how wet you were from nothing more than kissing and him ravishing your breasts like he was feasting on a meal, but you couldn’t.

Judging from his muffled groan, he didn’t seem to mind it either.

“Fuckin’ soaked and I haven’t even touched you,” he observed, rearing his head back from your chest so he could gleam down at the sight of you spread out for him, glistening in the dim light of the room, forming a sheen over the tips of his fingers.

An embarrassed noise sounded in the back of your throat and you tilted your head to the side to avoid his smoldering gaze. He tutted, grabbing hold of you by the chin to force you to look back at him. His eyes were lit up with the same fire as before, yet this time, it burned brightly, illuminating his thirst for salvation.

“Don’t do that,” he said, tone dripping with the command of the leader he was and had always been. “You’re goin’ to look at me while I take you. Had no problem lookin’ at Soap when you danced with him, so you should have no problem lookin’ at me when I make you come on my tongue.”

You had to close your eyes to compose yourself, sucking in a sharp breath that pierced your lungs and filled your chest with an ache only he could soothe. They sent shocks through your body, lighting up like fireworks.

When John seemed satisfied that you’d listen, that you’d digested every word and command that slipped off his tongue, he let go of your chin, pleased to see you kept your promise of keeping your eyes on him.

He returned his attention to your silky cunt, dipping a finger in the slick that seemed never ending. His mouth was practically watering at the visual, and he was desperate for a taste.

John wasted no time in stooping down to be leveled with your cunt, breath fanning over it and causing you to squirm. He sent you a warning glare before poking out his tongue, gliding it over the sensitive nub before fully engulfing his mouth around it.

The sound you released was near inhuman, strangled and choked in surprise. His mouth was warm and inviting as he began devouring you, humming greedily at the tangy taste that smoothed over his tongue and filled his mouth.

It was intoxicating, addicting, surging through his bloodstream like a high he’d never come down from. Hazy, clouded. It disoriented him, smoothing over his mind with nothing but thoughts of consuming you until you were a puddled mess.

Your hand found its way in his hair, tangling in the mess of strands and tugging. Possessive in the way you pushed him deeper into your core, his nose digging into you as he inhaled the sweetness of your scent. The smell of you attracted him like hummingbirds to nectar, and he couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck,” he breathed into you, and the gust of air mixed with warmth and a slight chill all at the same time had you whining. “Look at you. Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t bother to wait for your answer before diving right back into you. He didn’t want to hear words, he didn’t want to hear smugness. All he wanted was to hear those sweet sounds filter out of you, like a soothing song playing on repeat.

He became more possessive in the way he took you, the subtle tenderness he was showing before melting into filth. Your slick soaked into the coarse hairs of his beard, chin dripping with evidence of your arousal that only became more pungent the more he sucked and prodded.

“John,” you whimpered helplessly, and he rumbled with a satisfied noise, so you repeated his name. It became pleading, desperate, voice turning into a shaky mess that only sent his mouth into overdrive.

The ghost of a fingertip brushed along the rim of your entrance, and when you took a breath, he seized the opportunity to sink it into you, all the way to the knuckle. It curled into you, before pulling out then pumping back in. It became a dance, the way his finger fucked into you with curious ambition, and it had you pooling into a moaning mess, writhing from stimulation.

His eyes fluttered up to meet yours with his mouth still wrapped around your clit, and you nearly gushed just from the look of him alone – beads of sweat already dotting on his hairline, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes dark and sultry with intentions of ruining you. They locked on to yours and never left for a single moment, not even when he stretched you open with a second finger, then a third.

It was all so fucking much. You could barely think with him filling you, curving right into that sweet spot of serenity that had stars bursting in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, and to keep you still, he placed a thick arm over the plains of your stomach, holding you down while keeping the other occupied in the tightness of your cunt.

Too much, so much, all at once. It had your mind in the skies, floating on clouds of euphoria.

John seemed to map out your body language just from one taste of you on his tongue along, because when your stomach began to tighten and flex, legs trembling and quivering, he pulled his mouth away from you, fucking you with his fingers with a quickened pace.

“You goin’ to come, sweetheart? Hm?” he asked, and it felt as if he was teasing you. Mocking you, filled with overwhelmed smugness. “Goin’ to come from my mouth like I told you?”

You nodded vigorously, shameless in your own desperation. The squelch of his fingers dripping into your cunt with every shallow thrust was enough to leave you breathless. They filled you with a frantic need, shooing away the emptiness you once felt and submerging you in a febrile warmth.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praised, and it had you keening.

You attempted to lift your hips, pushing them in the direction of his mouth. He released a hearty chuckle, eyes crinkling from his bashful smile before he gave in to what you wanted, Mouth returning to your cunt, sinking into you like a feral animal, quenching his thirst and hunger.

You cried out, hand tightening in his hair. It was almost instant that you felt the coil of string ready to snap at any moment, tearing and tearing, bordering you on the edge of breaking apart.

His tongue flattened over your clit before circling his lips and giving it a hard suck, all while curling his fingers once more. That was enough to send you over the edge, your climax hitting you like a collapsing building, smothering you in its aftermath.

Your entire body shook, wetness gushing around his fingers as you clenched on them for dear life. You ground your hips subconsciously, fucking yourself on his fingers and riding out the seamless paradise and basking in the warm light. All thoughts blanked into nothing but your own ecstasy, and you selfishly drowned yourself in waves of rapture.

You were in heaven, you were one with the angels, singing godly praises with a halo over your head and a fluorescent glow that accumulated around you. This was what peace on Earth felt like, this was what it felt like to die and be reborn.

John’s voice was the gospel, embracing you with clarity and purpose, guiding you to the pearly gates to seek pursuit of happiness.

When John pulled away from you and carefully slipped his fingers out of you, he brought them up to your view, flaunting them with pride. His chin was soaked, glistening with sinful beauty, mangling itself in the hairs of his beard.

If you weren’t so high off of pleasure, you might’ve thought that John was God himself, smiling down at you from the clouds and showering you with loving conviction.

“See that, sweetheart?” he asked, referring to the sticky strings that stuck together when he parted his fingers. “That’s from me. And nobody’s goin’ to get a chance to taste you like I have. We clear on that?”

It was a silly thing for him to even state, given he had just taken you to oblivion, but you nodded anyway, going as far to even hum in dazed satisfaction when he brought his slick-covered fingers to your lips and you wiped them clean.

Jealousy was a disease, and you were the only thing that could cure John of the simmering rage that came with it. Now that he’d made it clear who you belonged to, the ugly monster returned to hibernation, and the sickening green that tainted his insides melted into worlds of color that only you could paint.

wrote this for my girly @ebodebo because i've been deprived of john and needed to write something for him asap, so i hope this met your needs (I need this man so badly it's unhealthy) <3

if you see any writing mistakes, mind you it’s 3am and i woke up to write this so no u didn’t

[patrollingboston]

141 Beach Episode // Cod x Reader

You know how in every good show there's a beach episode? Yeah this is theirs.

The 5 of you were sat in a truck with the aircon blasting. Price was dramatically fanning himself with his boonie hat. With one hand placed on the steering wheel. You had just finished a week-long mission and it left you all somewhere on the east coast with the sun beating down with no mercy. You were so uncomfortable, dressed head to toe in full gear practically sweltering in it.

“Not used to this bloody heat.”

  Soap sighed placing a hand to his forehead to relieve his brow of sweat.

“I’ve got the aircon.”

 Gaz smirked, of course he was fine he was sat in the front seat with cold air blasting directly onto him. You were squished between Ghost and Soap, plus he always wore a sunhat and sunglasses even in the rain.

“How ghost isn’t a puddle yet I have no clue.”

You stated, glancing over at ghost who was dressed in all black with his mask still pinned down onto his face yet he didn’t show a single sign of discomfort.

“Can you even breathe? Isn’t it like being trapped under a blanket?”

“I can breathe fine.”

He grunted not sounding amused by your questions.

“Look at tha’ ain’t it a pretty view.”

Soap said tapping on the truck window, everyone’s eyes glanced to meet where he was pointing. You were greeted with the sight of a gorgeous white sandy beach with the clearest sea water you had ever seen with families playing in the sand and surfers utilizing the waves.

“The things I would give to dive in those waves.”

 You said groaning, resting your head back in the seat knowing you had a hot and uncomfortable 6+ flight ahead of you to get back to base in England not to mention the drive to even get to the airport.

“Can’t we stop for a bit? The missions all done and dusted, surely, they don’t need us back that hastily.”

Gaz asked turning to face the captain with a cheesy grin plastered across his face.

“I could use a pint. I’m sweating like a fucking pig. We only have a few hours but I think we could all use a break.”

“Make that two.”

 Ghost’s gruff voice chimed in his mood perking up at the promise of a cold beer.

“I think everyone here wants a bloody pint.”

A few moments later the 5 of you were all stood on the beach boardwalk, you removed your boots and placed them by the railing before stepping onto the soft, warm sand.

“I have never ever stepped on sand so soft oh my-“

You wondered how long it had been before you stood barefoot on a beach. Probably not since you were a child on a day trip with your family.

“Shit the sands a bit hot ain’t it?”

Soap said as she stepped onto the sand beside you, shifting from foot to foot as he complained about the temperature once again.

“I’ll go grab us some drinks, find a spot I’ll come find you all.”

 Price said before stepping up the stairs and walking towards the crowded beach bar on the boardwalk.

Ghost, who was still dressed fully in his gear stomped behind you scouting the beach for a place to sit like it was the toughest decision he ever had to make.

“Here.”

He said pointing to a peaceful square of the beach, not too far from the shore.

You all placed your backpacks down and set a towel down for yourself. Ghost was wrestling with the beach umbrella to get it stood up.

“Whose going for a swim?”

Soap said with a huge smile on his face as he stripped off his t shirt leaving him in his cargo shorts.

“You go first mate, tell us how cold it is eh?”

Gaz joked, pushing soap slightly closer the seafront.

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“I’ll go!”

 You said, removing your jacket and vest leaving you in a tank top and some old cargo shorts dumping by your backpack them away from the shore so the waves didn’t steal them.

You jogged down to the water front stood beside Soap and Gaz.

“Whose going to make the first move then?”

You all stood in a line, hands on hips inspecting the water as it broke in front of you. As you spoke Soap dived headfirst into a wave like a goofy dolphin. He stuck his head up like an seal, running his hands through his mohawk and wiping the salty water off his face.

“Is it cold?”

 You shouted through the crashing waves.

“Nah, its refreshing.”

He shouted back before running through the water back onto the shore to stand beside the two of you.

“I don’t know if I’m that hot anymore you know-“

You said backing off after feeling the  ‘refreshing’ water splash over your feet and ankles sending little shockwaves through you.

With that statement Soap placed two hands on your waist and lifted you up into the air before placing you over his shoulder like a fireman would carrying someone out a burning building.

“DON’T YOU DARE SOAP, I MEAN IT.”

You screamed thumping his back in fear as he stepped into the freezing ocean once again. Gaz stood on the shore filming the entire situation laughing at your misfortune. Ghost sat watching from afar under a big shady umbrella pint in hand with Price sat beside him reading something, smoking one of his cigars as per usual.

“Ready?”

Soap teased as he began to hoist you up even further before throwing you into the sea with a huge splash. The cold water shocked you at first but after a few seconds, soap was right. It was kind of refreshing. You popped your head up out the water with a frown.

“I hate you asshole.”

“You weren’t going to get in I had no choice-“

You pushed a big wave of water his way aiming for his face secretly hoping the salt would burn his eyes.

“GAZ GET IN.”

Gaz stepped into the water with haste joining you and soap.

“We going play mermaids or what?”

You asked with a chuckle as the 3 of you treaded water in a circle.

“I would prefer to drown Soap.”

Gaz said before dunking soaps head back under the water.

About an hour later you sat on the beach wrapped in your towel, drying off in the sun.

“Been a while since I’ve been able to relax on a beach.”

Price spoke, he was leant back on a sun lounger his hat placed over his face shielding his eyes from the setting sun.

“Thought you were asleep old man.”

Ghost chuckled.

“Can we take a photo?”

You asked bringing out your super old digital camera you dragged around on every single mission.

The 5 of you gathered in closer. Gaz throwing up a peace sign. Soaps arm slung around ghost and a beer held loosely in the other. Captain Price sat up placing his hands on your shoulders. Your smiles were all wide (you would like to believe ghost’s was too) as the light of the setting sun glowed on your faces.

That day was a good day.

[voiths]

☾ "Be a good girl and use your words" ~ Price x reader☽

Pairing: Captain Price (also the other ops kinda)x female!reader

Warnings: Nsfw Content

Word Count: 1320

Summary: This is connected to the series on tumblr "On the run" by @devil-in-hiding but can be read without knowing the series. Reader is pent up with the fleeting touches of the team members and price is there to help but being a teasing cunt while doing so.

Note: Be gentle this is the first written out nsfw oneshot i have written.

It's been around a month now since they "broke in" and showed up on your doorstep and it's safe to say they're starting to affect you.

The way ghost stares at your body whenever you work around the house.

The constant praises coming from Gaz whenever you do something for him.

The flirty jokes stringing out of Soap's mouth at every chance he gets.

But the thing that's been affecting you the most is their touches.

One of the first nights they were here the 5 of you sat in the living room watching an old rom con that you convinced(forced) them to watch. You were lying on the couch with your head in Gazs' lap and with your thighs over Simons'. Halfway through the movie you felt Gaz's hands slowly running through your hair absentmindedly.

You slowly realised just how touchstarved all the years by yourself on the farm made you. Breathing evening out and eyes slowly closing as you felt yourself slowly falling asleep only to be awoken by a hand softly falling on your thigh. Looking towards Ghost you saw no change in his behaviour, he was still looking towards the screen that lightly lit up the room. Trying your best to keep your breathing steady you felt his hand slowly go up on your upper thigh.

On one hand you wanted to stop his hand, embarrassed of the sounds you're trying your best to hold back. What would the others do if they saw?

But on the other hand your skin felt like it was burning up were Ghosts rough scarred hand met your soft thighs. You cursed yourself for only wearing shorts for the movie. The movie has been gone from your mind for some time now, mind only focused of the feeling of simons hand on hour thigh, sometimes gripping it whenever something exciting happened in the movie.

So focused on Ghost's and Gaz's touch you didnt even realise that they started look at you, seeing you lightly squirming, trying your best to stay still and make no noise. Everyone understood to keep quiet, not interrupt whatever was going on.

They only stopped once the movie was over, Simon immediately having to leave to go to the toilet and shower. He definitely had to take care of himself after that.

The others asked if you were okay, worrying about how red you were even though they all knew the reason.

Situations like this only became more frequent afterwards and your need and want for them only grew bigger the more they touched you. But asking them directly for it? No you could never. You held your pride too high for that.

But oh when one night it was just you and price, sitting on a bench on the front porch looking into the dark fields and forests in front of you. Sitting on his lap with one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other running over your inner thigh you felt the wetness grow between your legs.

You both have been like that for at least half an hour now constantly teasing each other. Not even using words. Just you squirming on his lap "accidentally" pressing down and feeling the bulge in his pants grow.

Him running his fingers over your thigh, sometimes squeezing and every now and then getting a little higher on your skin.

But you needed him higher. You needed him closer. Needed to feel his touch more and more.

Quiet whimpers started to slip through, desperate for more. Moving around more in his lap trying more and more desperately each time to get his fingers closer to where you needed him the most.

You were so distracted you couldn't even hear him chuckle at your actions. After letting you struggle for a few more minutes he finally moves his mouth next to your ear.

"Cmon my love say what u need. Be a good girl and use ur words."

Whimpers slipping through at hearing Price's words you let your words break the silence of the quiet night.

"Touch me."

"Not good enough darling i need a bit more."

If looks could kill Price would be dead by now seeing ur death glare directed towards him. But how could he be scared by your anger when you're still pathetically squirming in his lap and whimpering like a mutt in heat.

"Please Sir touch me."

"Atta Girl."

Finally you felt his fingers teasingly move closer to your heat, moving your underwear to the side for more access you let out a whimper of relief feeling his fingers move between your folds.

You didn't even notice his other hand moving your legs apart, letting them fall on side of his legs making sure that you couldn't close yours anymore.

In a teasingly slow pace he drew circles over your clit not daring to get you close to release any time soon. As a desperate action to make him go faster you reached your own hand down but as you were about to grab his arm his other hand grabbed ur arm and pinned it to your back together with your other arm.

"Tell me if ya want me to stop or slow down but don't you dare try and pleasure yourself or try and make me go faster. I don't wanna have to punish such a good innocent little girl like you."

"No no please sir please continue i'll be good."

Chuckling at your words his hand released and moved down to your heat as well.

While one of his hands was speeding up making circles on your clit his other hand moves closer to your tight hole. Even with the fluids your body was producing his finger was struggling to get inside. When you felt the first finger going knuckle deep small moans could be heard.

"Be quiet my love or you'll wake up the others and you don't want them to see you all exposed squirming on my fingers do you."

Moans turned into quiet whimpers as you struggled to keep quiet but as soon as the second finger entered you more moans spilled from your lips.

He kept you there for what felt like an hour teasing you and bringing you so close to release but as soon as he felt you starting to shake and tighten on his fingers he stopped and took it away from you.

You were a moaning whimpering mess for him and he loved it. Loved having you shaking and squirming for him.

"Please Price i need it."

"What do you need love, tell me and address me properly."

"Please Sir make me cum."

"Good girl."

Suddenly the fingers on your clit sped up the circles it was drawing on it and those fingers inside of you curled and pressed so nicely against that spot inside of you.

"Cum for me darling."

All it took was those words and you started shaking and quivering in his lap. Eyes rolling to the back of your head while your back is arching against his chest. Price was whispering words into your ear but in your high you could only assume it was teasing words or more praise.

After letting you come down from your high and having you lean against his chest you let out a yelp of surprise when you felt him stand up. Moving you so he could pick you up bridal style he opened the door with his elbow and stepped inside.

He knew it was late at night but unfortunately that doesn't mean that everyone was asleep in the house but fortunately he managed to carry you up the stairs and into your room without anyone seeing you two.

Laying you down on your bed he handed you a bottle of water that you left on your nightstand.

"Okay little lady do you want me to stay here with you?"

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Early Riser (John Price x Reader) Smut

Based on the prompt: "Keep kissing me like that and we're gonna end up back in bed."

AN: Semi-inspired by the end of Season 1!Hotch who is excited to spend annual leave doing chores with his wife. Love it when a man enters malewife mode.

In other news, I'm gonna start a Price x Reader series soon! It's gonna be a lot of angsty pining so if that's your jam, I can't wait for you to read it!

Requests are open! Here's my guidelines to read before you send in a request and a list of kiss prompts if you're stuck for ideas.

Content warnings: Smut (18+ only, minors DNI), basically Price goes down on you in the kitchen. Reader is gender neutral and genitals described are gender neutral. No use of Y/N.

Masterlist // AO3 Version

Palms pressed into the cool granite countertop, you idly watched the space to the left of your kettle as it boiled. You had barely scrounged up the energy to leave your warm bed to get this drink; you did not have anything spare to be aware whilst you prepared it. The few aspects of your mind that were awake hoped this would fit the loophole of “a watched pot never boils” so that you could return to your room as fast as possible.

Finally, the water bubbled loudly and the switch flicked off. You poured a healthy amount into both your mug and the spare one you had for guests. Steam wafted up whilst carrying the strong scent of coffee; a splash of milk sweetened it before you prepared to stir in some sugar.

Something clamped down onto your right hip. You drew in a sharp inhale before it slid out slowly, relaxing as another hand mirrored its partner and the rest of John Price folded him up against you.

“Good morning,” You whispered.

“It is now.” John’s voice rolled off his tongue like a growl, deepened by his recent rousing from sleep. He paired his reply with a kiss on your shoulder. Briefly allowing his forehead to rest where his lips had been, he then kissed your aching neck. Your heart’s eager pulse greeted him.

“Keep kissing me like that and we’re gonna end up back in bed,” You warned, despite allowing his arms to trap you in a grip a boa constrictor would be jealous of.

John let out a gentle hum; he swayed you both from side to side in time with the clink of the spoon against your mug.

Then he mumbled, “Don’t need the bed.”

The teaspoon clattered on the countertop as his hands found their marks. Instinctively, your body keened against John’s, allowing him to rut into you whilst tenderly squeezing over your pyjamas.

Your voice came out a little whinier than expected, “Don’t want breakfast then?”

“Actually, I’m famished,” John said and his coarse facial hair tickled against your cheek, “Figured I should help myself.”

A laugh tripped over your tongue into a moan before you replied: “You’re horrible. Didn’t you get enough last night?”

“Never enough. Just ran out of steam.” Calloused fingertips found the gap between your sleep shirt and trousers. They spread warmth up your torso, cupping your chest, your shirt caught on his forearm.

“John,” You let your head fall back against him, “We have time.”

“Never enough,” he repeated. “Hate waking up and you’re not there.”

“You need me now?”

“Please.”

Freed from his grasp for a split second, you pushed the coffee cups into the sink, not caring about the spilt steaming liquid that glugged down the drain, then you shoved back the sugar pot and milk. John spun then lifted you onto the cool countertop. His body was drawn back against yours, returning his lips to your neck and the evidence of his affection he’d left last night. Your hips rose up as he yanked down your pyjamas and slid down on his knees. A grunt stuck in his throat; you held back a comment about his aging joints but not the smirk.

Instead, you scratched your nails through his hair, giving it a tender tug whenever he kissed your thigh. “You’re gonna clean this up after.”

His words were half lost against your skin, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the gutters need clearing.” You could feel his lips twitch with mirth against you before he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter. “And the oven could use a scrub.”

“Make me a list.” His hands squeezed the meat of your legs to close them around his head.

A gentle sigh escaped you, “You’re so good to me.”

Looking up at you with bleary blue eyes, John whispered, “Nothing you don’t deserve.”

And, to prove his point, he rewarded you with his tongue, talented and tenacious.

[cloudofbutterflies92]

A little lesson

Kinkober 2023: sub!Ghost x female!OC

TW: handjob, breast worship, car sex MDNI

Normally Ghost and Eden hated informal parties, they would have liked to stay at home with their usual glass of wine, maybe a good movie. But instead they were there, talking to strangers at the party of a longtime friend of Simon's. Wedding anniversary, basically the 15th anniversary, but there was one small detail.

It had been a week since Ghost had provoked Eden, a shirtless photo after the gym, maybe with a towel reaching straight to the v-zone and dedications like "I wish you were here so I can fuck you so hard that everyone knows who you belong to". That was just the corniest phrase or the most puritanical action. He had sent worse. All for a stupid bet.

"If you resist, I will do what you want" had been Simon's proposal. Usually the lieutenant was always calm, very discreet, always giving her the 'initiative'. But this time he wanted to be a little bolder.

It was a few minutes before midnight, the end of the bet, as a week had passed. Eden was talking to the various guests as usual.

A text.

An attached photo of him, probably before they got to the party. With his shirt literally unbuttoned, he is clutching his erect cock.

"I was thinking how much I would need to get this between your tits. To see it move between those beautiful little mounds."

Eden didn't know whether to spit out the champagne or laugh.

"Asshole.”

"What?" One of the guests turned around, the figure was on the horizon, and Eden really didn't feel like getting nervous. But she was going to make him pay, she already had in mind how.

She swallowed, aware that she had to justify herself. "No I was saying Stephanie, the wife seems very patient to me. They really are in love" she proffered, trying not to be seen as she watched her boyfriend adjust his shirt collar and speak in his usual I-don't-want-to-be-here tone.

Simon Riley needed a little lesson

"It was nice to spend the evening together, 15 years is a long time," toward the final minutes of that party as the usual Eden thanked the celebrants. She wanted to try to be nice but sensing Simon's hand resting on her ass was bringing her the urge to want to leave.

Or to hit him.

"I was glad to see you Simon, your girlfriend is really an exquisite person."

"Yeah? I know" with that mischievous glint in his gaze Simon showed all the pride with which he continued that game

A few minutes and then we'll see who sings victory

It was the only thought of the brunette who came out with him in the driveway of the celebrating couple's house. There seemed to be no end to that route that took them all the way to the car.

"Midnight, you know what that means no?" Proudly Eden pronounced, she had won the bet and now the cards were on the table for her to pass.

Simon scoffed. "I have to admit babe, I could have sworn you lost. You know you're ovulating" the lieutenant put on some slow, sensual music, he wanted to avoid rupturing his eardrums that night since he had to endure some obscene music to say the least.

Eden was staring at him bewildered, had he done it on purpose.Had he really tracked her ovulation period?

"You were incorrect, did you really go and read inside my period app?"

"Actually I know by heart that the period ranges between 12 and 20.Math babe" the blond explained with a wink. The audacity.

And that was enough for Eden for her to stop the car in a secluded spot, the hedge was blurred enough to allow privacy.

Pulling on her own cigarette, the brunette's forest eyes analyzed every detail, figuring out how to begin. Her sweet revenge was ready to be carried out.

She then stepped out of the car and back into the passenger seat behind him, Simon seemed not to flinch but at the same time was intrigued.

"Y'know, I always told you I don't like these things" Eden removed one of her shoes, the much adored louboutins he had given her.A gulp came from Simon's adam's apple as he stared from the rearview mirror at the silk fabric rising higher and higher. She was not wearing panties.

He looked at her lightheartedly. "Have you prepared yet?"

"Oh not for you, I won't give you the satisfaction until you learn your lesson" with her own thumb Eden stroked her labia, swinging her finger methodically in a cyclic manner. Frustration was evident in Simon, trying to rest his hand on the obvious bulge in his pants.

"Ha ha, no. Take your hand away, you have to look" She ordered, swinging the dress strap to reveal a breast. With two fingers she spread her folds, moaning with amusement at the sight of the desire with which he wanted to fuck her at that moment.

"Would you like to feel your cock inside me? Fill me all up?"

"You're crazy, I need that cunt" he let out a deep, nervous laugh, bloody hell if she was in bitch mode. If there was one thing he was addicted to it was hearing his name spoken by her as he rammed her.

"Uh cheeky lad" she licked her own cherry lips, massaging his tit. The blond just thinking about how perfect those turgid nipples would be between his lips, licked and sucked he let out a choked moan.

"You were an asshole, sending me all those pictures thinking you might have a chance to win mh?Now you're not talking?"

No, or at least he couldn't by seeing her finger-fucking herself.He just wanted that torture of seeing her tease him to end. Just being touched by her would really help.

"Babe please."

"Please what?" In an authoritative tone she blew against his ear "Answer?"

It was enough to see him nod and whisper that "Yes please" to make her stop amused, beckoning him with her finger to join her. The blond wasted no more time, climbed over the seats and sat down beside her.

On all fours she whispered seductively. "I shouldn't be so generous with you," she unbuttoned his pants, lightly brushing the hard fabric of his boxers. He gently slipped his hand into her cleavage, hazel eyes watched her with a sense of contentment. Everyone believed that because of his size he liked to be the dominant one in bed, but the thrill of being subservient was different. It was tantalizing.

"I love seeing you so desperate for me, you know it's rewarding" she left the imprint of her lipstick on his cheek, releasing his hardness. Slowly the brunette reached his loins, massaging them up and down.

"Desperation preceding desire" the brunette went on, allowing Simon to suck on her nipples, the smooth rubbing of her skin, his moans. He depended only on that hand job.

"Christ I have to cum, go ahead" he choked between her breasts, his voice cut and deep.

Eden kissed his forehead. "S'okay, it'll be okay" she increased the speed, making him erupt in that orgasm, coating the woman's hand and gasping for air.

Looking up he saw her caressing him, her lips curved in that reassuring smile like her cherry scent. It was inevitable for him to take her face and suck lightly on her lower lip.

"Are you happy?I didn't know one handjob would do that."

"Happy? This is just the beginning," the curly-haired woman with that devilish wink promised him, causing him to grin and nod.

"I'm always ready for surprises cherry babe"

NSFW taglist: @spookyrares @cassietrn @sweet-samnang @roofgeese @ghostgirlvii @voidika @theelderhazelnut @violetflavia

[gourmetjello]

könig x reader : used

i’m sorry if könig is getting repetitive ahaha who else would you guys like to see ? ♡( ◡‿◡ ) and huge thank you to everyone that likes and reads my posts! and my wonderful mutuals! and thank you for the kind words, they really made my day <3

as usual -> 2nd person pov (i’m finally trying it out!! eek!!) & english isn’t my first language. i know i said that this will be a fluff but gosh — i’m a simple woman, i have a little thought about angst and i have to write it. sorry!! i hope you’ll still like it though!

i know i’ve written about young könig in the military but i just had this idea and i have to write an oneshot about his last few days back at home!

—

you knew the tall, silent guy in your class was trouble.

at a point you even started to wonder who he really was, you just kept defending his name in the student council every week — for example when the teachers made you guys gather in that tiny fucking classroom, room 9 because according to a few girls, he brought a gun to school. you obviously had to save your own classmate as much as you could, there was no way you would ever admit that this dude really did have that piece of black metal thrown into his bag. it had slipped between two books, crinkling them and making the corners slightly dark grey as it brushed against the pages.

the only reason you remembered that in so much detail was because he showed it to you. he was smiling like a kid in a candy store, raising his dark green school bag and unzipping it, showing you the gun that was in there. it was familiar, the knot in your stomach was always apparent whenever he talked about his weapons and the shooting club. you were nervous and scared of the whole thing, yet it felt nice when you guys were alone, out in the woods and he had his steady hand on top of your shaky one, your index finger trembling against the trigger as he whispered encouraging words into your ear.

but at school — you couldn’t just tell him ‘gosh, könig, what the fuck are you doing again?’ because who knows what kind of reaction that would get out of him, right?

the only reason he didn’t get kicked out of the school in that instant was because you somehow convinced the other student council members and the principal that he didn’t even think about bringing something like that to school. he didn’t have any reason to, he was a quiet kid and everyone knows that people like that can’t really cause any kind of harm to anyone, plus being part of a shooting club didn’t mean that they wanted to cause a shooting or hunt people down. you hoped they would take the bait and you had your fingers crossed under the table that he would get out of this whole situation with just a warning or two.

you still remember the night after that. it was so cold outside but fortuna still helped you out a little bit by making it at least dry outside. even though it wasn’t snowing nor raining, it still felt like you would have at least deserved an umbrella to save you from the rain of hushed apologies between desperate kisses. you tried letting him know how much trouble he got himself into but he always silenced you with his lips. they were warm against your purple and cold ones and they gave you some kind of comfort that you had been longing for.

“i’m sorry- i’m so sorry. f-fuck, i’m so..”

he whispered. his sounds were echoing in your head and you felt like you totally lost your common sense, it was like there was nothing in your head. all you could think about how much you wanted him to keep muttering those empty, yet honest-sounding apologies right into your ear. “i won’t do it again. i won’t, i just-“ könig really had the audacity to try to explain himself after all of this, but instead of finding an actual answer to all of your questions and concerns he just lowered himself even more to your level and he gently wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling you closer.

“what are you wearing again..?” you asked quietly, not quite seeing what he had on in the darkness but the sound of cotton brushing against your thick winter jacket wasn’t lying to you. “you’re so stupid. you’re so dumb, könig, you’re going to get sick, and..”

“i know. i know, i know. i know i’m dumb.” he chanted against your skin. his tone was desperate and it was like he was fully aware of how fucking pathetic he was in that moment but he didn’t care. “i’m so stupid. i know.”

standing in front of the mirror after nights like that was always the worst feeling. the whole house was silent and dark, but you had every light flicked on in the bathroom and you kept examining every single rushed and faint little hickey he gave you. you rubbed some kind of cream over all of them, praying that they would disappear or at least lighten up even more overnight. if your mother knew what kind of things you were doing when you were out, she would have kicked you out in a heartbeat.

you couldn’t even deny it, even though you liked the way he made you finally feel alive after spending so many years just reading in bed at home, you felt used. he made a new painting of a dark red sunrise or a light purple sunset over your neck every time you met up with him, and it felt like he was doing nothing but putting the smallest band-aids on your broken bones — but you were rubbing and bandaging up his smallest little scratches with so much love.

and when you felt like you were finally getting a breath of fresh air, the next student council meeting came and he somehow never failed to cause yet another disappointment.

it was nighttime again and the only thing you could hear was the sound the snow made when you stepped on top of it. it was as fresh as it could get, it had just stopped snowing earlier that night and the whole city was painted with a thick, sickening and tiring layer of white. the forest was almost completely untouched, your footsteps were the only ones next to another thin trail made by someone with absolutely huge feet. you could have already guessed that it was könig that arrived earlier this time.

a few minutes later you were already walking beside him, both of your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. your fingers were freezing off even when you wore your warm, knit gloves. it was basically torture being out around this time and in this kind of weather, and if it wasn’t for könig, you would have never even thought of stepping your foot outside.

“you didn’t even do anything this week. as far as i know.” you mumbled as he was too silent. you had no idea what was up with him but whenever you were around he just simply wasn’t able to shut up, showing the complete opposite of what he was like in school. “what’s the deal with you calling me here then?”

silence.

“you missed that spot.”

“what?”

“behind your ear.”

“what are you talking ab-“

“i gave you a hickey behind your ear. two days ago. like, right here. and it was raining and you said that-“

you immediately tucked your hair behind your ear, rushing to run your hand over the wound on your skin, but you couldn’t really feel anything except for a small little roughness — signaling that there really was a hickey there. your heart started beating right in your throat, maybe that was why your mom didn’t want to speak with you at the dinner table last night. and that was why so many girls looked at you weirdly in the hallway. and it caused so many things, that stupid little hickey that-

“can i please suck on it again.”

it seemed like he wanted that to be a question, yet it sounded like a statement.

“excuse me?”

“please.”

the second he said ‘please’ he already had you pinned against a thick and dark tree, you were gasping as he obviously couldn’t just stop at that one little spot behind your ear. you saw your own breath fly away like it was smoke, and for the first time in your lifetime you wished that könig would give you one of his precious sticks of cheap rolled cigarettes. you have never smoked before, you had no idea how a lighter worked but you just craved something to make you feel alive again — because the way he was sucking your skin like a madman was now getting old once you realized why he was doing it. you were convinced that this whole thing was only to always get out of things in school.

while he was working his wonders around your neck, all you could think about was that how he could look you in the eyes like you were the prettiest creature, the most beautiful person ever on this whole world. his blue eyes could speak way more words than his lips could ever form, but the next second you already felt like you were some kind of tool he just used when he felt like he was in trouble.

“schatzi.”

he stopped for a second and pulled away from you. he had that goddman look in his eyes again. fuck.

“i’m leaving tomorrow, i’m already packed and things like that.”

“oh, are you going on vacation? where?”

“hm? no. i volunteered and i got accepted into the military.”

“what?”

“yeah.”

silence was the only thing that filled the air after that. he didn’t dare kiss you again or pepper your face with his soft and sloppy pecks once again. he kind of turned away from you, not daring to look you in the eye as your face displaying all kinds of emotions in the span of like five or six seconds. it was like everything went black for some time and the next thing you remember was that he clicked his almost empy, plastic lighter on.

könig gently pulled you closer to himself, placing the cigarette between his index and middle finger. he then softly placed it over your lips and you took a drag from that stupid little thing in his hands. what you were thinking about just a few minutes ago quite literally happened.

“are you even sad?”

“me..? m-m.” you shook your head gently, hanging it low so you couldn’t see anything but the white snow under your boots that were already soaked through.

you tried to act tough but your throat was closing up and your stomach was in knots. you felt like crying but you knew the tears would freeze onto your face, maybe even turn into snow dust or something silly like that. coldness ran through your body, despite being in your thick winter jacket. it was like you have been snapped in half and the only things you could get out of your mouth werre two short little gasps as you exhaled the smoke.

“yeah. good.” he mumbled.

—

i’m sorry if this one was a little shorter! i was quite tired after practice today but i still wanted to whip something up with this little idea i had. thank you for the support that i received on my other two oneshots and please feel free to share your ideas with me if you want me to write about something!!

also i hope i’m doing an okay job at writing about könig’s personality. i don’t want to make him into a huge baby like others do because i know that it’s far from reality (however sometimes that can be comforting too, i know!) and i’ve been trying to make it a tad realistic. ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

thank you for everything and good night!

[msriri030]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

cw: mention sex work and slight toxic work place

The club buzzed with electric anticipation, fueled by a swirling rumor that someone important to Don Price was visiting tonight. You had no idea what your boss had done to arrange to host this visit for the Don—and honestly, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that, while you were on the clock, you were the club's star singer. But when the lights dimmed and the applause faded, you became just another pawn—another sex worker your boss dangled before wealthy patrons, provided they played their cards right.

With a sigh, you ran your fingers through your hair, smoothing it back with a touch of pomade. In the mirror, you checked the fading bruise from last night’s "guest," ensuring the makeup the kind bartender lent you concealed it. Satisfied, you leaned back, drawing a deep breath to steady yourself.

Knock. Knock.

The door swung open, and your boss' voice crashed into the room—gruff, sharp, and impatient. “Don’t screw this up. Got it?”

“Got it,” you replied coolly. As his footsteps retreated, you muttered under your breath, “You bastard.”

Rising from your chair, you adjusted your suit, making sure the lapels were sharp and every detail flawless. A final glance in the mirror—your practiced smile in place—and a sip of water later, you strode toward the stage, your heart thudding in rhythm with the faint murmur of the crowd.

As you approached, the band filled the room with a sultry, polished rhythm that kept the patrons engaged, the melody weaving through the dimly lit club like a spell. You lingered just offstage, nerves buzzing, waiting for your cue. The announcer stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand, his polished smile betraying just a flicker of unease beneath the surface.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed guests from all walks of life,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “please welcome our star performer, Mr. [Your Name]!”

The crowd erupted into applause as you stepped into the spotlight. The familiar warmth of the stage lights greeted you, casting a golden glow over the room. Your eyes scanned the sea of faces until they landed on one that sent a chill down your spine—a man seated next to Don Price. His vermillion suit and open black coat were striking, but it was the skull mask obscuring his face that unnerved you. Though his expression was hidden, his gaze felt piercing, unrelenting. You tore your eyes away and accepted the microphone from the announcer, who leaned in close.

“Good luck, songbird,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both encouragement and warning.

The lights dimmed, the room quieted, and the moment was yours. Drawing a deep breath, you began your performance with one of the club’s favorites—Antes de Ti by Mon Laferte. The band played a soft, smooth melody, their instruments blending seamlessly with your voice as it filled the room. You swayed gently, letting the music guide your movements as you sang:

"Antes de ti

Yo no conocía el amor

Estaba sola y triste como esta canción

Transitaba el lado oscuro de la luna."

Despite the music and the adoring crowd, you could feel his gaze. The skull-masked man’s attention was like a tangible weight, burning into you. A quick glance confirmed that he and Don, in front, were engaged in a quiet conversation, their heads close together. You silently thanked the heavens as the song neared its conclusion. Just one more chorus.

"Antes de ti (Before you)

Yo no conocía el amor( I didn't know love)

Por cada estrella una decepción ( For every star a disappointment) 

No había nada-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah~

(There was nothing-ah-ah~) "

The final note lingered in the air as you extended your hand toward the crowd, lost in the emotion of the moment. But then, your hand accidentally locked with his. The masked man. His gloved fingers briefly brushed yours, and the intensity of the connection sent a jolt through you.

"Antes de ti, mi amor! (Before you, my love!)"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, oblivious to your inner turmoil. But as you froze on stage, the masked man rose from his seat and began walking toward your boss. Your heart sank.

The announcer, sensing something amiss, stepped forward quickly and dismissed you with a practiced flourish. You retreated backstage, your thoughts racing.

What did I do? Did I offend him?

The uncertainty gnawed at you as you slipped into your dressing room, waiting for the inevitable knock that would summon you to face Your boss' wrath. 

The knock came, sharp and deliberate.

You braced yourself, then opened the door, expecting your boss’s fury. Instead, the man in the vermillion suit stood before you, his tall frame filling the doorway. The mask caught the dim light, casting shadows that seemed to deepen its ominous design. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—an aura of authority, mystery, and something darker emanated from him.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your tie to mask the unease creeping up your spine. “Can I help you?” you asked, voice steady.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. The air grew thicker, more charged. His gloved hand rose, brushing over the edge of his mask before he finally spoke, his voice smooth and deliberate, carrying an accent you couldn’t quite place.

“You performed beautifully tonight,” he said, his tone a mixture of admiration and something else—something you couldn’t name. “But I came to discuss something more… more important than music.”

Your instincts screamed at you to tread carefully. “I appreciate the compliment,” you replied, carefully neutral. “But I’m not sure what business we could have.”

He chuckled softly, the sound both disarming and chilling. “You sell yourself short. A voice like yours… and a presence like yours…” His gaze, though hidden, felt like it was peeling back layers, scrutinizing your very soul. “... has value far beyond this club.”

You stiffened, unsure if this was flattery or a veiled threat. “If you’re looking to negotiate something, you’ll need to speak with My boss.”

“Your Boss?” He scoffed lightly, the corners of his mouth barely visible beneath the mask. “Your boss’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t about Club’s business. This was about you.

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice firm despite the uncertainty gnawing at you.

The man stepped closer, his presence enveloping the small room. “What I want,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, almost intimate murmur, “is to offer you something this Club never could.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in just slightly, enough for you to catch the faint scent of something sharp and expensive. “Freedom,” he said, the word hanging in the air like a forbidden promise.

Your breath caught. Whatever this man’s intentions were, one thing was clear—tonight was going to change everything. He extended a single crimson rose, its petals almost too perfect, as though crafted rather than grown. You hesitated before taking it, the velvety texture brushing your fingers. 

Lifting the rose, you studied it carefully. “You promise me freedom,” you said, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “And I don’t even know your name. What do you want from me in return? We both know nothing is free in this life.”

The man chuckled, the sound low and smooth, as if amused by your boldness. His gloved hand reached out, brushing against yours as he gently adjusted the rose in your grip. “Clever,” he murmured. “You see through the illusions most are blind to.”

Before you could step back, his arms encircled you with a deliberate slowness, not forceful but undeniably commanding. The leather of his gloves was cold against your skin as he pulled you closer, his presence intoxicating and suffocating all at once.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he said, his voice now a near whisper, inches from your ear. “Not yet. But I see what others overlook—the fire in you, the defiance you try to bury under obedience. You don’t belong to anyone else.”

His words struck a nerve, stirring something deep within you. You tilted your head to meet his gaze—or rather, the unyielding mask that shielded his face. “And you think you can free me? Just like that?” 

His hand trailed down to your waist, holding it lightly but with undeniable intent. “Freedom comes with a price, it’s true. But it’s not what you think. What I want,” he paused, the room heavy with his words, “is you. Not as a pawn, not as a commodity. You, as you are—your loyalty, your will. In exchange, I’ll give you a life you never dared to dream of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as his words sank in. The rose in your hand felt heavier now, its beauty tainted by the weight of his proposition. “Why me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The man leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “Because you’re more than you think you are. And with me, you’ll finally realize it.”

The room felt impossibly small, as though the air itself had thickened under the weight of his presence. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of the club faded into an afterthought, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence. His towering frame loomed close, not menacing but magnetic, drawing you in despite the warning bells ringing faintly in the back of your mind.

He leaned in, his movements deliberate yet unhurried, and the faint scent of leather and something darkly intoxicating mingled with the cheap perfume you’d hastily dabbed on earlier. His voice was low, smooth like velvet over steel, sending a soft tremor through you.

“By the way,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your skin like a whispered secret, “people call me Ghost.” He paused for a heartbeat, his words hanging in the air before he continued, softer this time. “But you, dollface…” His lips tilted into the barest hint of a smile, one that held both mischief and something deeper, something almost tender. “You can call me Simon.”

The name hit like a soft ripple in the storm, grounding him in a way that made your heart lurch unexpectedly. Ghost spoke of shadows, danger, and the unknown. But Simon? That felt real. Intimate. A name not given to just anyone, but to someone who mattered.

Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze—hidden behind the mask but still piercing—seemed to hold you captive. His gloved hand reached out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw, light as a whisper, before retreating. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, unbidden.

“Simon,” you repeated softly, the name rolling off your tongue with an unfamiliar ease, like it belonged to you now, like it carried a piece of him that he was offering. A nervous, fluttering feeling settled in your chest as his head tilted slightly, watching you with what felt like infinite patience.

In that moment, the world outside dissolved, the distant hum of the club fading into nothingness. It wasn’t about the suffocating glamor of the stage, the shadows of his mask, or the bruised dreams you carried in your heart. It was about him—a man who had given you more than just a name. He had given you a sliver of himself, something real, something raw.

The silence between you felt alive, stretching and pulling like a taut string, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged with something unspoken, something you couldn’t name but felt deep in your bones. Your hand, almost without thinking, reached out. Fingers trembling, you lifted his mask.

And there he was.

The face beneath the mask took your breath away—not because it was flawless, but because it was human. His features were strong yet softened by a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. Scars etched across his skin told stories of battles fought and survived, and his eyes—those eyes—bore into yours with an intensity that felt like it could unravel your very soul.

You stared into the deep, stormy pools of his gaze, searching for the truth behind his promises. His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw not a shadowy enigma, but a man—Simon. Just Simon.

He leaned closer, his movements slow, deliberate, as though giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The world stilled, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears as his lips brushed yours in the lightest, gentlest touch.

It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises, of a hope neither of you dared to name yet. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing a tender path along your jaw as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch melted the walls you didn’t realize you’d built around your heart.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice, low and intimate, broke the silence.

“You deserve more than this, dollface. Let me give you more.”

"Okay, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible but laced with a newfound strength. The simple utterance of his name felt like a key turning in a lock, freeing something long buried within you. His eyes searched yours, and in them, you saw a flicker of something you hadn’t expected—hope.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, more was possible. A life beyond the suffocating confines of the club, beyond the bruises hidden beneath layers of makeup, beyond the weight of a world that had always demanded too much of you.

Simon’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with an aching tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing promise. “One step at a time.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding as the last remnants of doubt began to fade. In the intimacy of the moment, the world outside seemed impossibly far away. There was only the warmth of his presence, the safety of his arms, and the quiet certainty that, whatever lay ahead, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

And as his lips met yours once more, the kiss soft yet brimming with unspoken vows, you felt it—hope blooming in the spaces where despair had once lived.

[alkaline-wtr]

Soap x reader

Description: Reader is jealous of Soaps new coworker.

Generes/warnings: Insecure!reader, Jealousy, angst, technical fem!reader but no specifics or appearance is mentioned, oneshot

WC: 580 (ish)

** 1000% based on real events in my life… Hahahahahaha 🥲

~ ~ ~

‘Comparison is the thief of joy.’

This saying had never felt more true to you than it did now. Why though? It’s not like your lovely boyfriend had been unfaithful?

Soap was loyal, kind, and attentive, and yet somehow your own mind had convinced you otherwise.

It had started as a joke, a halfhearted one, a way to cope with creeping jealousy. When Soap first mentioned the new girl at work, you’d thought nothing of it. You’d never had any reason not to trust him, even now. But that nagging voice in the back of your mind pestered you relentlessly.

One Afternoon, he’d mentioned a fleeting conversation between them and Ghost, he’d only intended to share his joke, hoping to make you smile and feel a part of his day. Before you could stop your self the snarky comment slipped out,

“Oh, you mean your work girlfriend?”

You tried to sound playful, but deep down it wasn't just a joke.

Soap chuckled, brushing it off in his usual manner. With him, nothing was ever too serious.

From then on it became a running joke between you. You would say,

"Ask your other girlfriend then."

After he'd teased you, claiming you 'didn't love him' when denying his request to install a trampoline in your living-room, or adopt an exotic animal from a local zoo. Sometimes you really did mean to joke but, as the words sank deeper into your mind it was harder to force out a smile.

'His other girlfriend.’ At least that’s what you referred to her as. Even her name left a bitter taste on your tongue. The hint of jealousy was easily shoved down in the beginning. After all, how could you not like someone you’d never met or seen?

It wasn’t until he invited you to the pub with his teammates one night, and you’d witnessed their interactions first-hand that you couldn’t ignore it so plainly. The ease of jokes and teasing conversation between them. But Soap? Well, he’s just like that with everyone.

"There you go making messes again, Johnny."

Ghost had nudged him after Soap spilled a bit of his drink on the bar, as she handed him a couple napkins and teased,

"Should we find you a sippy cup?"

You’d never felt this way, in the year you’d been together, jealous or insecure.

It was a gentle love from the start. He’d made you feel seen, heard, desired. Making sure you always knew how special and important you were to him. He gave you sense of security you'd never known. So why did it feel like he was slipping away now?

She was nice… and you hated that. The involuntary bitterness you felt for her left a pit of guilt in your stomach.

She didn’t deserve your judgment. She’d never crossed a line, never disrespected your boundaries. You only hated her because she was pretty, thin, funny… You hated her because she wasn't you.

The recurring nightmares were the heaviest burden.

This woman you barely knew… was somehow plaguing your mind and she’d done nothing wrong.

You hated how easily your mood changed on those mornings. Even the dreams were fairly innocent. Sharing flirty glances, Soap brushing his hand with hers.

It was nothing more than your own self-loathing manifesting in your most vulnerable state, painting a picture of betrayal and infidelity. When really your own mind was the only one haunting you.

Maybe it’s just easier to blame someone else than confront the harsh reality, you don't value yourself.

Regardless of the awareness of your own self-loathing, you shoved it down and continued the inside joke with a smile.

[justanoasisimagines]

You rub my back and I'll rub yours

Summary; When Phil sees your back is aching, he finds the perfect excuse to make his move. Pairing; Phillip Graves x Female!Reader Wordcount; 525 A/N; Hey my lovelies, back with a Drabble. I may write a part two to this I don't know yet. Also my requests are open and you can find my request guidelines pinned to the top of the page! Also Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Phillip observed you lean over as you explained something to them for the third time. You were too patient. Too kind. He'd listened to you explain it clearly. It wasn't hard to understand.

What Phil couldn't understand was how your trousers were standard issue. They fit too perfectly on your body. Highlighting the natural curve of your ass. It was driving Phil crazy, how good you looked.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to call you his. Show every man in his office, that you were his and his alone. He needed you like he needed air. Running his hand over his hair, he leaned back on his chair, staring at you shamelessly.

You remained hunched over for at least thirty minutes. Phil's paperwork remained untouched. He could try, but there would be no point. He couldn't concentrate or perhaps he didn't want to.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, he snapped out of his trance as you straightened out your back, hands holding onto your back, wincing in pain as you attempted to stretch out your aching muscles. Immediately, Phil began to rummage through his draw searching for something.

"Hey Darlin', here," He threw the tube at you which you caught with ease and a wince. Phil's smile when you began to approach his desk, leaning your hip against it as he looked up at you.

"Thanks," Phil looked down at the muscle relief in your hand, then looked back up at you. An opportunity had arisen and he would be a fool not to take it.

"You want me to help you with that Darlin'?" A smirk graced Phil's lips as he observed your eyes widen at his forwardness. "Don't think I haven't noticed the passaway looks you've been giving me for months now. So, what do you say?"

Phil noticed your eyes widen at his proposal. However, his Ma always told him if you don't ask you don't get. The muscle relief rested in your hands as you contemplated your decision.

Phil smiled when you placed the muscle relaxer into his hands, he rose from his chair, taking your hand a hold in his, he pulled you away from the room. he didn't care who could see the two of you leaving together.

He'd deal with them if they dared to turn it into mindless gossip. He would make them fear him if he had to. Pulling you along, he makes his way to his quarters. No one would bother you here.

"Get yourself comfortable Darlin'." Phil locked the door behind him. Not wanting anyone to disturb the two of you.

Phil then proceeded to rub your back gently, taking the time to work through any aching muscles and knots in your back. Phil admired how smooth your skin felt as he enjoyed you sinking deeper into the mattress.

Perhaps if he asked you nicely, you'd give him one in return.

[aoioozora]

when Simon comes home from work and calls out your name, he is perplexed by your lack of response. A gander at the shoe rack tells him that you haven't stepped out of the house for a snack or to restock the fridge.

he decides to look for you. nowhere in the living room, not in the kitchen, not in the bathroom, but oh! you're in the bedroom.

in the darkness of the night, he can vaguely make out your form on the bed, and he draws nearer. upon closer investigation, he finds you curled up into a little ball like a freezing kitten, cuddling a teddy bear plushie he bought you at a fair many years ago.

Simon was never one for plushies, but you were, and he'd lavish and spoil you with your heart's desires. and now seeing his lady love cutely sleeping with an equally cute plushie, he can't help but melt into a hopeless puddle.

he slyly takes a photo to tease you with later and with a rare smile, he gets in bed next to you and pulls your unsuspecting body close to his as he spoons you. he buries his face in your hair and plants a soft kiss on your neck before closing his eyes to enjoy your warmth

and eventually fall asleep.

[masterlist]

[guppybibi]

𖦹 pairing: John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x gn!reader (i think?)

𖦹 content: Crack & fluff + talking about death & reincarnation, not proofread, probably ooc

𖦹 notes: more self indulgent fics

“I wouldn't mind bein' reincarnated as a bird whin ah die,” Soap starts, looking up at the sky as a flock of birds elegantly pass by. Almost as if it was planned. “it doesn’t seem tae damn bad.”

You looked back at him, sporting a look that simply said “What the hell did you just say to me?” And he knew that look all too well.

“Cmon, ye'r lookin’ at me lik' ah said a'm a serial killer or something. Stop that.” He huffs, which you then reply with. “You just told me you wanted to become a literal bird if you could get reincarnated if you die, why a bird?” Seriously, out of all the things in the world–he chose a bird? You can't fathom the reason why he chose that creature out of everything, maybe it was the ability to fly part?

“How come nae a bird?” He asks, questioningly lifting up an eyebrow. “Well I guess they're cool because they can fly and stuff but..there's a lot of better options out there.” You truthfully answer, stating out your opinion. An opinion that Johnny smirks at, uh oh..

”Wha says us folk cannae fly either?” He questions yet again, placing the two of his arms on his hips. “Well I mean not literally since we don't have wings-” You try to explain, yet the man that stands before you wastes no time and hoists you up. “See! ye kin fly as weel lassie! ye dinnae hae tae be a bird.” He remarks, and after a few moments of laughter and spinning you around like a professional ballerina, he gently sets you down.

“So, you don't want to become a bird because of the flying thing..I give up on guessing, why?” You finally ask, shaking your head in defeat.

“ ‘Cus ah wanna see how it feels tae tak' a shite in th' sky.” There, he said it in the straightest possible face he could use. “Oh.” How typical of him to say that.

[starsofang]

Southern Nights

kyle garrick x country!reader

tw: fluff that developed into brief smut. idk how that happened tbh. don’t look at me.

Kyle Garrick was many things, but picky was not one of them.

With food? Maybe a bit, but with women? He’d be absolutely mad to stick to a specific type of woman.

He’d been with them all — thin, chubby, short, tall, pale, tanned. Some were flings, some were girlfriends, and some were just mindless flirtations on drunken nights when he’d seek refuge in a shitty bar after months of grueling missions.

Kyle couldn’t exactly say he’d been with a southern girl, though. Not until you.

All wit and charm, pearly smiles and the cutest accent that made his sound like choked gurgles.

He didn’t know how he landed you. He must’ve done a hell of a lot in his past life to even gain the pleasure of calling you his, because the way you looked at him with that sparkle in your eye made him appear like he was God himself gazing down at you from the clouds.

Kyle knew close to nothing about the south. Fuck, he was british, could you blame him? How did a bloke like him end up with a southern belle like you?

Sure, Kyle had worked for the CIA before turning to John Price and vowing his loyalty to him. Even so, it seemed improbable of him to fall for a woman that accentuated her words with a lick of country charm, who wore sturdy boots on her feet that thumped along the pavement every time you walked beside him, hand in hand.

Despite it being near sinful for you two to pair together, it worked to perfection.

You taught him everything there was to know about your side of the road. He didn’t realize there was so much that went into being a pretty, little bird, but he was fully willing to learn so he could take mental notes of every piece of information that made you, you.

On late night drives when the two of you wanted to clear your headspace while also remaining in each other’s presence, you’d show him your collection of songs. He didn’t know any of them, nor had he taken the chance to listen to the arrangements of fiddles and guitars that poured through the speakers.

Somebody named Chris Stapleton was a repetitive appearance, and he didn’t have a clue who that was.

But the smile on your face as you sang along to the lyrics with your eyes on him while his remained on the road was enough to have him bob his head along and mirror your smile, giving your hand an affectionate squeeze from where he held it on the center console.

Bars were certainly different, too. They were more rundown and rugged than the ones he was used to, and it wasn’t a crowd of young people who were there to fuck and party.

No, it was a mixed crowd of all kinds of beings, sharing laughter with friends and enjoying shots of whiskey and a concerning amount of piss beer.

The music wasn’t upbeat and erratic and instead, filled the bar with a lovely atmosphere that made you want to saddle up with your lady and enjoy the blessing of her existence rather than fuel a desire to grind against one another.

The change of pace was something he hadn’t realized he needed. It was comforting, even more so with you under his arm, talking wildly about past experiences at that specific bar with old high school friends.

He thought you were beautiful like this, your words slurring together in your own form of accented youth, specific words slipping off your tongue in a way that gave him the subtle reminder of your roots.

Kyle had yet to know about customs, and when you pulled the cowboy hat you had graciously gifted him (he personally didn’t think it suited him, but he’d never shy away from your presents) and planted it on your head, he gave you a curious raise of his eyebrow.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy,” you teased, and when his mouth gaped open in confusion, your sweet laughter filtered through his ears. “You’re the cowboy, Kyle.”

It took him an embarrassingly long five seconds before realization dawned on him. You giggled some more, eyes crinkled into dusty, starlit crescents, and he had to swallow down the rest of his drink to hide his lingering sheepishness.

And when he took you back to his your place, seeing as you practically moved in by now, he didn’t hesitate to ravish you in ways that had that southern drawl drip off your tongue like honeyed nectar he couldn’t get enough of.

Even as you clambered on top of him after he’d spent the last twenty minutes tugging pretty, little moans from your soft lips with his tongue between your thighs, where he’d worshiped you like the sky goddess you were, you made sure to keep the gifted cowboy hat perched on your head.

The hat wiggled with instability on every bounce of your hips, threatening to fall off with every thrust Kyle uprooted to meet yours.

Your baby hairs slicked with sweat against your forehead, right where the brim of the hat met, and by god, Kyle thought he was looking at the loveliest bird he’d ever seen.

“My pretty dove,” Kyle cooed breathlessly, fingers dipping into the fat of your hips as he guided every motion back up, then down, until you were slammed against the plains of his pelvis with every push and pull. “Look so beautiful wearin’ my hat, don’t you?”

You moaned his name with broken fervor, and the sound of it sent shivers down his spine.

“Keep talkin’, birdie. Y’know I love your voice, sounds so pretty like that.”

His words opened the floodgates for your mindless babbling, accent heavier than ever as it laced over with need and desperation.

Kyle was in pure heaven when each and every accented word fell from those pretty lips. They pricked his skin with want, fueling the warmth building in the pits of his abdomen.

Your body glistened with a gorgeous sheen as it continued to bounce and wiggle on top of him, chest rising and falling in erratic attempts to gather air as each thrust knocked it out of you.

The hat laid a bit crooked, but stayed true to its temporary owner, branding you as his from where it loyally stayed atop your head.

When you finally gave in to the tight coil in your core and exploded into a mess of warm, fuzzy pleasure, Kyle took in the sight and engraved it under his eyelids as he couldn’t hold back from finishing inside you.

After Kyle had you successfully spent, body floating on a soft cloud of his blankets and pillows, his hat halfway off your head from where your face pressed into the mattress and sleepy snores left your lips, he basked in the sight of you.

Kyle didn’t have a type before. He’d gone through nearly every course of women before you came along, but now, as he brushed away the stray hairs from the softness of your face, he thought maybe he had a thing for country girls.

Only if they were you, though.

i’m a y’allternative girl from the south who lives in fields of cows so the fact i haven’t written this sooner is surprising but lord have mercy, i’m happy i did because kyle is so 🤌🏻 this was meant to be sweet and fluffy but i got ahead of myself and ending up making us fuck him instead but hey who’s complaining? not me