#mw2 headers

[broken-glass-puppet]

Gay cod? Yessir

Price x husband reader, where they have kinda a relationship like the Addams family, yk Morticia and Gomer (?) and the rest of the team just teasing price for being so smitten

I love that kind of relationship, I live for "I love my wife and I'm devoted to her" trope BUT MAKE IT GAY!

Devoted to him

You are taller than him so when the task meets you they are really surprised by you being taller than their captain, you are tall and elegant while your husband it's...it's him, he is so smitten and devoted to your beauty is adorable, he kisses your hand, and puts a hand around your waist

You are the one 'in charge' in the relationship, kind of, you are elegant, mysterious and handsome and he is in love with you

Once you touch him he leans into your touch, you cup his cheek? He leans and brushes his hand against your hand, your wedding rings brushing against each other, you kiss his lips? He follows your lips whimpering softly

definition of German shepherd x black cat

He will pull you closer by your wait after a particular rough mission

Now for the one shot!!

Price was married, that wasn't a secret amongst the task 141, he had his wedding ring all the time in his finger, it's true that when soap asked who was the lucky woman price chuckle and said in a soft voice "woman? I have a husband mate" so yeah now the entire task knows their captain is fruity but when you enter the military it's kind of hard not to find LGBTQ+ folks, so one time after a mission they all where in a pub,. celebrating and everything when price talked

"I hope y'all don't mind but I thought you would like to meet my husband" he said drinking his beer

"we don't mind at all captain, ya always talk about 'im like a teenage talking about their crush ey" soap teased while the rest chuckle a bit

Price smiled when the door opened, it was you, you where...tall...you walked to price and he walked and kissed your hand, specifically the finger where your ring was, you kissed his cheek softly, making his cheeks heat up

"y'all must be the task, is nice to meet you! I'm price husband" you presented yourself

"its nice to meet you too mr.price" said Gaz, you chuckle and maked a soft motion with your hand "oh drop the titles, you can call me [redacted]"

And after that meeting soap and Gaz couldn't stop teasing price, but you are ether new father figure for the rest of the 141, good job

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - One

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. masterlist ao3 next

You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.

It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.

After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted lady willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of her.

You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.

You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.

Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.

You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.

Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.

What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.

There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.

Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.

In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.

Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.

There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.

But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.

Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.

The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—

“Mrs. König!”

You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.

Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.

Tall, to be sure.

But not unusually tall.

This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.

Something in you falls at that.

Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.

“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”

He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.

The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.

“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”

You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.

“Oh,” you say.

Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”

The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.

“A wedding!”

You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.

But an actual wedding!

“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”

“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”

Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”

“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”

His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.

“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.

“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.

He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”

-

[mxiaogod]

— 15. [FANTOMĂ] GHOST / SIMON RILEY  X FEM! AFAB READER

WARNING : MANHANDLING, DEGRADATION, PRAISE, FEAR PLAY, DOUBLE PENETRATION, KNIFE PLAY, BONDAGE, SPIT PLAY, MASK KINK, IMPACT PLAY, OVERSTIMULATION, BLOOD, PRIMAL PLAY, SIZE KINK, DARK CONTENT! NSFW, (DNI IF YOU AREN’T 18+)

A/N : The story will be substantially altered, and certain portions may not be linked to the original lore of COD. I do not play the game, nor am I educated in the military field; this is simply self indulgent. ALL OF THIS ARE A WORK OF FICTION AND IS LABELED AS DARK CONTENT, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

And a big thank you for 342 followers.💐

— Ghosts are a tale, a haunting narrative; some may find them symbolic, but they are essentially a mental construct; some may believe in them, while others do not. They are terrifying, instilling fear in the hearts of those who cross them.

Your trembling fingers grasp the firm soil beneath you, gripping it with might. The thumping of your heart synchronizes with the heaves of your chest, under your nails are caked with dirt, twigs and dead leaves entangling with your hair. You’ve been running for what felt like hours now, you’ve fallen and got back on the soles of your bare feet more times than you can count, your frail fingers grazing the tender bruises trailing down your thighs as you  try to ignore the constant throbbing in your skull.

A twig snapping causes your head to snap up, wintry wands, waved by nature's hand, take on a bold black silhouette in silvery air; a sob caught in your throat. You get up by the palms of your hands, sliding your back up against the tree as you run, tears blurring your vision by the sheer fear that has its grip in your heart. Multiple debris has dug into your foot but you paid no attention. Through the dance of fog, the  twirl of mist, a small, cozy cabin sits atop of firm land, big enough to play cat and mouse with whoever is running after you. You immediately seek shelter, your frail body slamming the aging, oak door. You slam it shut, pushing an old book case to block the door with whatever strength you had left.

You grab ahold of the ends of your dress, wet from the rain and caked with mud, wringing it with your hands. You start to look around, a measly wooden chair and table sits on the corner, spotlighted by the moonlight, book shelves after book shelves that are littered with rubbish. Your feet thud against the wooden floor as you near the lone desk. A wall of newspapers, pages torn from magazines and books are slacked onto the peeling walls. You grab one that piqued your interest, ripping it off the wall and reading it with trembling fingers.

As you take in the information, a prickling sensation by your nape alerts your senses, tears brimming your eyes as your gut drops. The paper crinkled in your hand as you fell to your knees. “No, no, no!” 

“Found you.” Strong arms held you by your armpits, lifting you into the air. A scream tore from your throat, pain spiraling up to your spine by being slammed onto a shelf. “Fuck! What do you want from me, please let me go!-” You were interrupted by a pointer finger touching your cold lips, “Shh” he said. You finally had the courage to open your eyes, widening as you were faced with a man bigger than you, his face concealed in a skull mask, eyes blown with primality. Your mind, hazed from previous events, is confused by the calmness emanating from him, but the danger was overpowering.

Your whimpers subside as tears lick the flesh of your cheeks. He brings you into the bathroom, tying your arms to the shower head with a crimson rope he picked up on the way.

He steps back and admires his work as your chest heaves from the intakes of air, nervousness and fear wrapping it hands and gripping your throat, along with your heart.

"What did I say, hm?" He inquires gently, his deep voice rumbling deep within his chest. He's so large that you had to bend your head back to face him. As a display of defiance, you shake your head and purse your lips.

“I asked you a question, love.” He repeats, “To- To stop roaming these forests.” you respond, voice steadying. “Right, and you didn’t listen.” you can’t help but feel ashamed for defying him at his disappointed tone. “You said I can’t be here because there are dangerous people around, but you’re lying, I haven’t seen anyone around, except you.” 

“Exactly.” His tone is gruff as he tears your dress off down the middle, ridding you of clothes except your underwear. You gasp and cross your leg, tugging your arms down in an attempt to cover yourself.

“You look so beautiful like this, all filthy and afraid.” As his fingers caress the apple of your cheeks. You flinch from his touch, turning your face to the side. “You scared of me love?” he says, almost humorously. “Isn’t that the reason you come here, everynight? To come see me? Because you know you’ll only get that fear you crave from me.” 

“Does it make you wet, knowing that people fear me? Knowing that you’re the only one who has gotten close enough?” He chastises, “Your curiosity will get you in danger, my love.” Your stomach caves, thighs pressing together as you try to resist the nature of your very being. You tried, tried to resist the chase, the thrill, the fear that this man has brought to you, but it had gotten so addicting, so inhabitable to the point you live and breath for it.

You tell yourself that it’s wrong, so wrong to be living like this, living with threats behind, chasing after you but you couldn’t resist the temptation, couldn’t stay away from him, so raw and untouched. 

His face had gotten closer, you could feel his hot breath on your cheek through his balaclava, your lips part open as you welcome all the ugly parts of him, all the sick and twisted elements that you’re willing to take from him, and he knows that with how you bare yourself to him, like an offering to a god. “Please.” One word was enough for him to kiss your lips through his mask, your hips immediately rutting against his thigh. “I’m going to fuck you til’ sunrise.”

His big hands grip the plush of your hips, helping you to tilt your hips back and forth in his thick thighs until he sees you forming a wet spot on his combat pants. “Look at that, grinding on my thigh like a little slut. My little slut.” He moves high thigh away, and you give him a desperate whine in return. 

A sharp, glinting metal trails from your sternum, to your hips, a sharp cry escaping from your lips as it digs through skin, just light enough to leave a scar. The knife moves to the side of your hips, tearing through the thin fabric of your underwear, baring your swollen cunt to him. 

He circles your clit with the rubber handle of his knife, spelling his name, you couldn't decipher it with your hazy mind, pleasure rolling off in waves. He trails it back up your torso, your slick sticking to your skin. “Spit on it.” He instructs and you do, sticking out your tongue and letting your saliva drip into the handle while maintaining eye contact. Your arousal and your saliva mix together as he inserts the handle into your cunt, your legs automatically widening to welcome his assault. “Feel so good” you moan through heaving breaths, he smiles under his skull mask, kneeling down on his knees as he lifts half of his mask, exposing his red lips, parted open and wet with his saliva as he sucks your clit into his hot mouth. You throw your head back, hips gyrating on his face as the knife pumps in and out of you, his hands that grips the sharp end of the knife, digging into it, his crimson blood trailing down his forearm dripping down his elbow onto the bathroom floor. Your eyebrows knit and your eyes close in pleasure, your hips shaking from the stimulation. He spits into your clit as he rubs it with his other hand, his eye trained on your face, there’s nothing he loves more than seeing your face contort with pleasure.

“Look down so you can see how I’m on my knees for you, bleeding and desperate to taste you, look and cum for me.” He stated firmly, you trail your eyes down and meet him and it was a sight you’ll never forget, pleasure climbs up your spine, coursing through your veins, consuming you whole.

“That’s it, scream for me, sounds so beautiful.” You come down from your high, head lolling to the side. He nips and sucks you clean until he’s satisfied, “That’s my good pussy, yes it is.” He coos. . 

He stands back up, throwing his knife to the side as he turns you around, the rope twisting harder into your wrist as you wail in pain. His combat boots kick your left feet to the side, widening your legs for him. He grabs ahold of your waist, his other hand pressing down your lower back, arching you beautifully.

He presses his hips into your bare ass, humping and thrusting as he releases groans beside your ear, you bite your lips as you thrust back, his movements getting harsher and harsher until you hear him zip his pants down, hurriedly taking his cock out.

You look back at him, stroking his cock, standing tall with his tip swollen and dripping with pre cum, veins bulging as he grabs himself at the base, his hips rutting into his palm. “Please- want it so bad.” You plead, throwing your ass back onto his hips as he catches it with his palm, steadying you as he guides the head in. “Fuck-”

“Does that feel good?” He asks as he pulls out, and thrust back in. “Oh I bet it does.” He pants as he thrusts his hips, making you take the entirety of his length. A beaded chain, wraps around your thighs, his hand curling against it as you feel it embed into your skin, the chain dangles as he fucks into you, his dog tag.

“Fuck, it’s too much, can’t anymore-” as your hands push his pelvic back.  

Smack!

“You’ll take it because I said so.” He said, thrusting harder, tilting his hips as he repeatedly hits your g-spot. “This is for doing a good job.” He whispers, wet lips ghosting the shell of your ear. You feel him spit into his hands, his thumb circling your puckered hole as he inserts it inch by inch, “And this is for being a good girl.”

“Gonna cum, gonna cum-” You warn as your head falls back onto his shoulder, he lifts both your legs up, lifting you as he continues to chase his high, his cock bulging out your stomach.

“So good love, so good, fuck, cum with me- now.” His ragged moan beside your ear pushed you to the edge, pussy clenching on his girthy length. His hot cum fills your pussy, your eyes rolling back, saliva dripping into the side of your mouth from the immense pleasure.

You feel your arms loosen, as he unties the rope that binds your hand. 

“Care for a bath?” He whispers, rubbing his warm hands on your lower back as he carries you bridal style.

“What’s your name, Ghost? Will you tell me?” You ask, doe eyes pleading.

Your eyes snaps open, jaw trembling from the cry forming inside your throat. You feel your hips itch as you scratch, your scar making an appearance.

S.R

Etched into the skin of your hips, your hair sticking to your neck from the sweat. You dreamt of him again.

But that’s all he ever was, a figment of your imagination, haunting your dreams, instilling fear into your heart.

A ghost, Fantomă.

[last-starry-sky]

too sweet pt 2 - innocent!reader x graves

(because @shotmrmiller's prompt continues to rot my brain. also: pov change? pov change.)

NSFW - MDNI - MIND THE WARNINGS: (graves pov, big ol’ legal age gap, MANIPULATIVE bad man graves, i gave him a made up middle initial lol, corruption kink, dubcon(kissing and touching while reader is drunk, no sex in this part))

pt 1 here

There’s a silver cross hanging temptingly above your breasts when he picks you up. 

You look so cute standing there on your porch, fiddling with your hair and dress, dropping your keys into your little matching purse. A sweet little peach that his mouth waters to bite into. Not yet though, he thinks as he turns off his truck. He opens the door, slamming it shut behind him. He knows that’ll catch your attention. As he rounds the hood he sees you staring at him, still wide eyed (excited, not nervous anymore) after all this time. 

Not yet, he thinks walking through the fresh-mowed grass of your front lawn. He’s patient. He can wait; wait for you to want him as much as he wants you. Hell, maybe you’ll even ask for it, beg for it. He bites his lip thinking about what a pretty sight that would be. He smothers the thought as he nears the front porch. 

“Waitin’ outside for me all alone, darlin’?” he says, watching you mess with your hair again. He’s trying not to let the lewd thoughts creep in, but you aren’t making it easy.

“Um, yeah,” you say softly, “Didn’t want to forget to lock the door.”

He quirks an eyebrow and leans against one of the posts that flanks the porch steps. So cool. Such a good actor. 

“Doesn’t your dad usually-” 

“He’s gone,” you ramble out, “Both of them. My parents. They, ah, went up to the lake for the weekend.” 

You toy with the hem of your skirt again, not making eye contact. The old wood under your heels creaks as you rock back and forth. He cocks his head to the side, giving a gentle hum of acknowledgement. Nothing too eager or expecting, but enough to let you know he’s heard you.

He already knew where your parents were, of course. It was nothing anyone couldn’t gather from a little social media stalking, and he has plenty of time. Didn’t help that your mother posted just about everything on there. With pictures too. That’s how he knew that they had left mid-day, got there two hours later, and that now your mother was three margaritas deep and your father was working his way through a thirty pack with his fishing buddies in the middle of the lake. 

“Hope y’all weren’t waiting for long,” he said with a smile, finally holding out his arm in expectation of a hug. 

You smiled as you bounced into his arms. You melted into him, all stiffness and anxiety leaving once you were safe in his arms. You liked it when he greeted you like this. The tiny bit of chaste intimacy of it. He loved feeling you wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his chest and not-so-discreetly smell his cologne. It wasn’t all one sided, of course. He loved sliding his hand across your back, pulling you close enough to let him press his face into your hair. 

Usually the moment only lasts a second, with one of your parents stepping outside to break the spell, telling you (him) to not stay out too late (like it mattered, they would be dead asleep long before you returned anyway), before he was chastely taking your hand or, more recently, leading you away with a hand on the small of your back.  

Tonight’s hug was different. You pressed your whole body into him. He could have groaned at it; the feel your breasts and stomach squishing against his chest, your hips slotting against his. Fuck, you could be such a tease sometimes and you didn’t even know it. It was enough to take down a lesser man, but Commander Phillip A. Graves wasn’t some horny teenager that’s going to pop a boner the second a pretty girl touches him. Not that you made it easy. Lord, the depraved things he thought of doing with you when he was alone. 

You leaned back in his arms, looking up at him so open and sweet with that pleased smile on your face. He can’t help but return with one of his own. You’re just too much sometimes. It takes a lot to not stare down your dress at your tits. Instead, he looks at your necklace. The delicate, silver thing dances in the porch light. He ran his fingers along the chain, stroking at your neck as he did, the roughness making you blush.

“Haven’t seen this before,” he said slyly, tugging at the chain. “New?”

You shook your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth. “My mom’s. Family heirloom,” you said softly.

“Looks pretty on ya, sweets,” he said letting it fall back into the crease of your neck. 

Your skin is dewy, glistening with sweat. You have to move the chain back into place from where it sticks. Funny that. It’s not even that hot today. 

He pulls away, hand still on your lower back. “Should get on our way, then,” he says with a shake of his head back toward the truck. “Reservation’s in half n’ hour. Can’t be late for our anniversary dinner now.”   

-

The whole of your anniversary date plans were a closely held secret. He’d told you the date but hadn't let you pry a single detail out of him. He’d planned everything out the night he saw your mom RSVP to the weekend at the lake. Found a romantic little restaurant, scheduled a reservation to fit with a showtime to that movie you’ve been talking about, even bought that cute little dress for you.

It was all worth it to see you now, after enduring your sad, silent pouts. Your eyes were as big as saucers from the second you walked in. This was clearly the most expensive restaurant you’ve ever been in, if he could read how hard you clung to his arm, nails digging through his suit jacket, as the hostess seated you. You trembled as you waited for him to pull out your chair in the dark alcove he’d asked for. After the hostess had left you with the menus you looked at him nervously.

“Som’ wrong, sweets?” 

“Just . . .” you whispered, looking around nervously. The candlelight illuminated the underside of your face, highlighting your concern. “I hope I’m dressed nice enough. Didn’t know this place would be so fancy.” 

It actually hurts him how much you doubt yourself. As if anyone could (or even would with him by your side) take issue with you. No one can compare to you. Not in his eyes. Your fresh face and simple beauty blew everyone else in the room out of the water. 

“Prettiest one here. Besides, only the best for my girl.”

The waitress returned shortly after, taking your drink order. He surprised you again by ordering a whole bottle of champagne. For the table, he explained; for the both of you, for your anniversary.

“But . . . I don’t drink, Phil,” you whispered across the table once the waitress had left, the cork popped and two glasses already poured.

Good lord, he thought, doesn’t even drink. What part of heaven did you fall from?

“Take a sip,” he urged, “If y’ don’t like it I’ll finish yer glass.”

You slid the flute slowly toward yourself, the pale yellow liquid fizzing streams of large bubbles up the sides. You were about to take a sip, when he interrupted you by reaching across the table with his own glass. You blushed again as you clinked your glass with his.

“To . . . our future,” he said after a moment's thought.

“To our future,” you repeated softly, that small smile returning to your face.

He kept his eyes on you as you delicately sipped the smallest bit of champagne. It took a lot to not drain his own flute. It was damn good, lightly sweet and pleasantly bubbly. Not his usual but worth it to get you to loosen up. For how expensive it was, it had better be amazing. Your eyes met his after you set your glass on the table, imprint of your lipstick marring the rim.

“What’d y’ think?”

“I like it. ‘s sweet,” you said sliding the glass back toward you, dabbing your spot of missing lipstick. 

He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. One sip and you were already hooked. 

“Lemme know when an’ I’ll refill y’ glass,” he said scanning over the menu, trying to seem disinterested. 

He watched you out of the corner of his eye take another small sip. Then another, and another and another until it was half gone. He had fun making small talk about your family and plans for college in the fall in between your sips. You had just started to broach into his plans: when he would be away for work and where he would be, when the waitress returned to take your dinner order. You sheepishly pushed your empty flute toward him. 

He gave his order but once the waitress turned to you, you had to admit that you hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Well . . .” the waitress said, pencil to her lip, thinking of something to suggest.

“What do you recommend with the champagne?” he interjected, handing over his menu. “She really likes it.”

“Do you like fish?” she said taking the menu out of his hand then turning back to you. You nodded. “We have a white wine and rosemary poached cod filet with a spring salad on the menu tonight.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll do that. Thank you,” you said handing over your menu.

Three glasses later, your meals arrived. You were more open and flirty now, and hungry. You did well holding yourself back from plowing straight through your fish. He fed you bits of his steak in between your own food to take the edge off your drunken appetite. Not that it helped much. Once you’d cleared your own plate he started giving your every other piece off his plate. You held up well until he’d reached the middle of his steak. You grimaced with the next bite, washing the pink beef down with another long drink from your glass. 

“W’as wrong? Don’t like it?” he questioned.

You shook your head. “It’s raw. Not used to how . . .” you stopped to swallow, “. . . spongy it is?”

He chuckled, cutting another slice of meat, enjoying watching the red juices spill out over the white plate. Old habits, he thought. 

“Can’t waste a good piece’a beef now by cookin’ all the flavor out,” he said with a laugh as he bit the chunk of meat off of his fork, teeth bared in a true, wolfish grin. And oh, did he feel like a wolf tonight. 

“Sorry,” you apologized, flustered, followed by another sip. As if you were in danger of wounding his pride. “I’m just used to how my parents cook. They like everything well-done.”

The waitress appeared again before he could respond. 

“Have you two thought about any dessert for tonight?”

He watched you look excitedly back and forth from him to the waitress, almost vibrating in your chair. He took a wild guess that, yes, you did want dessert.

“Depends,” he said sitting back cooly, grin still not faded from his face, “What cha’ got?”

“We have cheesecake: either plain or strawberry, and a triple chocolate cake.”

You let a soft “oh” fall out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. You clasped your hands over your mouth when you realized. Both he and the waitress had a short laugh at your expense.

“Chocolate lover?” she questioned. You nodded eagerly, the bottom of your face still hidden in your hands. “Then you’ll love it.” she said to you before turning to him. “Let me guess: one piece two forks?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He promised to “help” you with the cake once all three towering layers of it arrived, but he mostly busied himself with slowly sorting out the bill. He was content to let you enjoy your treat on your own, but you insisted on repaying his earlier kindness by feeding him a forkful across the table. He gave you credit where it was due, you made it almost all the way on your own. He only had to grab your hand to correct your aim in the last couple inches. He didn’t let you break eye contact then, either. He let you pull away, back to your chair, to blush as he chewed the little bite, wiping a smear of chocolate sauce from the corner of his mouth.

He was clean when the waitress came back with the receipt.

-

Like a true gentleman, he pulled out your chair for you when it was time to leave. He watched you stand up slowly, swaying slightly on your heels as you adjusted your purse and smoothed the back of your dress. That might be a problem. He didn’t need you falling on your face because he got you too drunk on your first nice date. He smoothly threaded his arm around your waist after you’d ambled around your chair. You looked up at him with surprise as he gave your hip a squeeze.

“Doin’ okay, darlin’?” he asked as he slowly lead you toward the door.

You nodded up at him, eyes still wide and almost teary. “Yeah just a little . . . dizzy.” 

“Lean on me if y’ need,” he told you softly as he pushed open the restaurant’s front door for you. 

It had rained while you were inside. The storm had passed, thankfully, but it left the sidewalk wet and the night sky covered in dark clouds. Not a single star peaked through. He felt you wrap your arm around his waist, a shiver racking your frame as you huddled against him.

“Cold?”

You nodded pathetically into his side. He pulled out of your grasp for a moment to shrug off his jacket. It wasn’t much, but it would cover you better than your little dress. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you shivered harder, all alone and cold in the night air. A sick part of him almost liked how weak you looked now. Almost. 

“Here,” he said throwing it over your shoulders. “Better?”

You didn’t answer, only nodded again. You reached out the front to hold his hands as he closed the lapels around you. You breathed out a cloud of warm air as you stepped up to him. He swore that moment spun by for an age, your every action taking longer than the next. Maybe he just wanted to sear your every move into his memory. The way you pressed your hands to his ribs, feeling the small stutter in his usually tempered breaths. How he loosely held your arms, strong fingers urging you to draw further and further forward. You reached up and grabbed his tie, tugging his face gently down. 

He knew what you wanted, but he was going to play gentle until you either begged for it or he broke. Whichever came first. He stopped his face a teasing inch away from yours. You breathed another hot, champagne-sweet breath across his lips. He closed his arms around you, caging you in, running his hands down your spine to the small of your back. Your lips were so glossy in the streetlight, begging to be-

“Phil,” you whined, interrupting his thought, “kiss me, please.”

Well shit, he thought, if you were going to be so polite.

It wasn’t much of kiss, if he was being honest. He let you lead, only leaning down that last, lonely inch, so that you could press a peck to his lips. You pulled away right after, shy and surprised. You just stood there in his arms, waiting for him to do something, assuming the worst. 

“Phil?” you asked nervously, trying to step away. “Did I do something wrong? . . . I’m sorry-”

Wrong? Oh honey. You’d done nothing wrong. Opened the gates and let the predator in, yes, but you know what you’ve done, right? You’ve been walking this path since that night at the bonfire. His sweet little thing, caught in his snare. 

He smirked. All he had wanted was for you to kiss him first. To initiate. To remember everything this way, even in your hazy, drunk memories. It would be easier this way. You were always such a good girl, doing what he needed you to do with just a bit of a push.

He pulled you back into him and slotted his lips over yours before you could react. He squeezed your hip, earning him a gasp, as he worked a line of kisses over your bottom lip. The heavy, oily taste of your lipstick filled his mouth. You groaned into his lips when he caressed your cheek with his other hand. 

“Shit, yeah, baby. I’ll kiss ya,” he groaned, pulling apart just enough to speak before diving forward again.

You were melting against his hands, letting him kiss you as much as he wanted in the middle of downtown. It was a good thing that the rain had driven most of the usual crowd indoors. He thinks you would have rather died than face people on the street after they’d heard your audible whine as he tested your top lip with his teeth a bit too hard. He let you step out of his embrace after that, laughing it off. You were so cute when you were embarrassed; cheeks flushing pink and eyes glassy, lips kiss-bitten. He could just eat you up. 

He pulled you close to him again by your shoulder as he urged you to continue your walk down the sidewalk. You acquiesced, leaning into the side of his chest with a sigh as you fell in stride with him.

“Only a little farther walk t’ the truck,” he said rubbing your shoulder to try and keep you warm. “Then we gotta hurry up to the movie.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, falling into your usual mode of silence and thought for the rest of the walk.

-

Your feet were sore by the time you got to the truck, so he lifted you up into your seat before climbing into his place on the drivers side. It had started raining again, too. He turned on the truck to get the heat rolling. He was buckled in and ready to pull out when he turned to you. He noticed you hadn’t buckled yourself in or turned the vents to face you like you usually did. You just sat, engulfed almost entirely in your seat, quietly twirling your necklace and watching rain hit the windshield.

“Darlin’?” he asked, flipping the middle console back so he could lean over to squeeze your knee.

That broke you out of your spell. You looked at him across the cab with those big eyes, tears about ready to spill over. The necklace sparkled in the overhead light once before you dropped it against your chest. With a wave and a soft “Come ‘ere,” you launch yourself against his side. Once you were back in his arms he petted down your back and held you as close as he could manage with your limbs awkwardly crumpled as they were.

“What’s wrong, sweetpea? Tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it. I promise,” he whispered honey-sweet into your hair as you sighed and shook against him. He managed to pull your legs over his lap so that your knees weren’t digging into his kidney and your heels into his leather seats. 

“Won’t be mad?” you piped, almost inaudible from how much you were pushed into his shirt.

“‘course I won’t.” What could he have to be mad about?

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You sighed a long sigh, pulling yourself out of his dress shirt enough to look up at his gentle, smirking face. He followed your eyes when you looked down. Oh. His hand has been stroking from your knee to thigh, stopping at the hem of your dress. He was just trying to calm you. Honestly. He assumed his handsy behavior was bothering you. He was about to pull his hand away when you placed your hand on his.

Oh.

You pulled his hand down your leg until it was at the edge of your dress. The farthest he had ever touched you. 

“Don't wanna go to the movie, Phil,” you whined, running your thumb over his knuckles as his fingers broke under the hem. 

He pinched at the new, sensitive skin you’d allowed him access to. It didn’t stop you. Hell, you continued to push his hand farther under your skirt until, fuck, his hand stroked at what could only be the edge of your panties. You leaned against him and moaned. You were so sensitive it was boiling his brain. 

“Phil, take me home. Please.”

“Sure you don’t want to go?” he joked, having to cover his ragged breathing with a laugh. It didn’t help that he chose to interpret your twisting grip on his forearm as your desire for him to move his fingers that little bit more to the right, barely touching your pussy through your underwear. “Been talking about it all-”

“Yes!” you keened, spine arching and hands balling into his shirt. “Yes, please. Just take me . . .”

“Where?” he asked sternly sliding his hand up the front of your panties, earning a shuddering moan, as he pulled away. He didn’t need to look at his fingers as they took hold of the steering wheel to know you were wet. He kept his eyes on you as he threw the truck in reverse, already rolling back. “Can’t do this here. My house or yours?”

You looked at him silently until a horn honk made the both of you jump. He slammed on the brakes and grabbed the rear view mirror to get a clear look at what was behind them. The little  white truck he had almost backed into screeched out of the parking lot. He chuckled as he tipped the mirror back into position. Too bad for them they had a very noticeable vanity license plate. He would have to make a call about that later.

“Asshole,” he said with a smirk, holding you close as he carefully backed out; pulling onto the dark, wet street. 

[broken-glass-puppet]

Ok so can i request Cod men being down bad for The dilf male reader? I'm sure they all got daddy issues so- it's can be a full fic or just a headcanon I'm ok with anything

We all in this account have daddy issues, any ways (it's a bit SPICY soooooo)

Captain price

He's DOWN BAD like us

He's polite and a gentleman but seeing you with your kids/taking care of kids just makes his heart melt, he loves seeing you being like a father figure to children

You are taller than him and that TURNS HIM ON A LOT, look, my man is a pillow princess and no I don't care what everyone says, HE IS

will flirt with you just so hear you chuckle with that deep sexy voice of yours, call him "sweetheart" "babe" "big guy" and he is in love

Imagine if price flirted and you are just like "oh yeah? Wanna say that again big boy?" Getting really close to him

Simon 'ghost' Riley

At first he doesn't admit he is attracted to you BUT god damn you look good in a plain white t-shirt with shorts doing breakfast

If you are in the military he will stare at your butt, thighs and chest plus you are older than him and that is attractive to him

If you aren't in the military, you two probably meet at a cafe or pub, and when he discovers you have or take care of children he thinks it's adorable

His childhood was SHIT, so seeing you worrying about those kids, his heart started to feel warm

Hug him, press your chest against his face while you stroke his head while whispering "good boy Simon" or praise in general

Jhon 'soap' McTavish

Puppy, a total puppy

He's energetic but also serious and smart, and not many people give him credit by that so, after a mission you went and ruffled his hair and slid your hand to the back of his neck "good job out there McTavish, keep being a good boy ey?" You smiled softly

He falled right there, he nodded giving you puppy eyes

One time in particular he was like putting his harness in his thighs and he was having problem so you grabbed his waist and helped him "stay still" you finished and brushed his sides and smiled "good boy Jhonny"

PRAISE KINK

everytime you touch him, he melts

Gaz

He likes looking at you, he thinks your age your height and size is attractive, he is a big guy fan

In one of the missions he has a injured leg and you carried him to the HQ in BRIDE STYLE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE

And when you are patching his wounds and he whimpers from the pain "shhh you are doing so good gaz, such a good boy" and he almost fainted

He loves playing with your hands, they are bigger than his own and they are rough but gentle at the same time and he LOVES IT

He's in his middles 30's so you are older than him and he is so turned on when he sees you doing traditional dad things, you in an apron? Bedroom, you wearing a suit? Bedroom, you in a swimsuit? Y'all know what I mean

Alejandro Vargas

He thinks of you as a friend, even as a brother from another mother but when he sees you in your uniform, he had to control himself to not grabb your pecs and take you there in front of everyone

When he wants your attention will grab your belt and pull you closer, smirking at your flustered face

Once you too started, fooling around, he will grab your body, arm, waist, ass, pecs, everything

Once he sees you playing with kids or animals he almost grabbed you to take things to the couch wink wink

He's shorter than you and when he wants to look at you he grabs your collar and pulse your face closer

Rudy (MY MAN <3)

Flustered, blushed even

He likes you for you, your height, size and age its a plus but one things he loves even more than your personality is

Your arms

You are like a giant teddy bear, when no one is looking he will pull you for a hug, excuse it's he had a rough time in a mission

Nah

He wants to feel your GIANT ARMS AROUND HIM

You would break him like a twig and he will be thankful

"here's the reports for you [redacted]" You smiled and patted his head "thank you Rudy, you are so good" and he is so flustered

Thank y'all for the cod requests

Fell free to send more :D

[last-starry-sky]

too sweet pt 3 - innocent!reader x graves

(original idea inspired by this post by the lovely @shotmrmiller - part 1 here - part 2 here)

NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: (slut shaming, a lil bit of body horror-ish stuff, pov switches, lots of pet names (as per usual lol), dub-con if you squint (reader is a bit drunk so ymmv), fingering, look me in the eyes and tell me graves isn’t the type of guy to pack heat 24/7, i’m really leaning into how much of a virgin reader is so buckle in, no hard smut (again, sorry lmao))  

You were standing around the kitchen island with your mother. It was your usual morning ritual, but this morning was different somehow. You just couldn’t place it. Things seemed . . . weird. Off. Just a little to the left of normal. Like how the sun felt a too bright, blasting in the front windows like a floodlight, far too bright for the early morning.

You squinted at the bleached out white walls and shiny tile floor as your mom was cradled your face in her hands. They were cold. Your cheeks were cold. You shuddered in her grasp, peeling her off you as you stepped back. Your foot hit the leg of a stool behind you. You plopped down, falling right into the cushioned seat.  

“How was it sweetie? You have fun?” she said picking up her coffee cup with a smile so wide you wondered if it was hurting her. 

Her voice is unbearably high-pitched and sweet; like cold syrup pouring in your ear. It took you a moment to realize you had heard those words before, that this was not a dream.

It's a memory. 

Oh yeah, you realized, this was the morning after you went on your first date. You felt the stupid smile you had walked in with return to your face. Your first date with Phil.  

The thought of him warmed your brain. His hand in yours as he led you to the front door. How he’d let you doze off in his car on the way home. How warm and protected you felt laying against him by the bonfire. The memory was comforting, creating a mix of pleasant feelings in your chest.

“Yeah mom,” you replied automatically, “had a lot of fun.” It was the exact answer you had given her that morning. 

Her hands clenched around her steaming coffee cup, knuckles white.

“Tell. me. how. it. went.” She said punctuating every word, smile gone taught; practically carved into her cheeks. 

Weird, a rouge blip of a thought came to your mind. Those were the right words . . . but her voice, the way she said them. It was far too terse. This was not how you remem- 

“Really good,” you responded on queue, still dreamy and automatic. It was like you were on a track, all of the lines already set and all you had to do was say them as they came, no matter the parts of your conscious brain screamed at you that something was wrong. You have to stop. You have to stop now.

“That’s good!” she said flipping back into her overly-happy demeanor so fast it gave you whiplash. “He seems like such a nice man. Your dad just wouldn’t stop talking about him after you left!”

That was . . . normal. You still felt weird, squirming in your seat and looking at your hands just to look at anything but her. Maybe if you kept going everything would go back to norm-

“He is nice,” you said before you could stop yourself. “So nice. I’m glad you both like him, too. We want-”

She interrupted you.

"Oh, but I don’t, honey.”  

“What?” you gasped off script, cracking away whatever part of the memory had it’s tenuous hold on you. This isn’t how this went. You remember this morning. You remember what she said. You know-

“You heard me. Whore,” she said, smile dripping off her face. Her words were like a black hole. Void of emotion and sucking you in with a terror like oblivion as the unreal brightness of the room turned dimmer and dimmer behind her.

Your mouth fell open. You tried to do something, anything: turn around, backpedal, run, but you couldn’t. Of course you couldn’t. You never can run away in a dream. You were forced to watch your mother’s face swirl off into the cheery kitchen around her as her voice turned acrid and shrill.

“Don’t play dumb with me you little slut.” Her eyes falling inward into black pits that shone back at you. Mirrors into your own guilty soul. “I know what you do when you’re alone in your room. I can hear you. And now, even that’s not enough? Look at you. I spent all that time, raising you right, taking you to church, putting the fear of God in you, and still you ended up like this. What would your father think if he saw you now? Letting a stranger touch his daughter, in public no less!”

“Mom!” you managed to gasp out, cheeks burning. How did she know? How did she find out?

“Don’t mother me!” her squaking, multitudinous voice called out, echoing around the little kitchen as a pit twisted deeper and deeper in your gut. 

“You think you’re still my little girl? Look at where you’ve done. What you’re planning to do.” You felt like God himself was there shaming you. The cup shattered in her hand, spraying blue ceramic in slow motion. “I sure hope you enjoy your night with him because you’ve made your own bed now.”  

-

The truck sways, bouncing up and down and then left to right, waking you suddenly from your soft, childlike sleep. You hear Phil mumble a quiet ‘sonofabitch’ above you as he corrected the truck with his left hand while squeezing your waist protectively with his right. You’re still right where you’re supposed to be: cuddled safely into his chest.

You crack open your eyes a slit. The cab is dark, interrupted only by the irregular pass of streetlights that flooded the cab suddenly with light only to plunge it back into inky, silent dark a second later. 

You can feel his bicep flex, tensing to hold you close, behind your head. When he’s got the truck back safely in his lane, his muscles in his arm relax. He sighs into your hair and you feel his hand move back down to your thigh, the rough skin of his fingers slowly stroked at the exposed skin south of your skirt. You sigh softly, shivering at his touch, burying your face in his shirt as you stretch yourself in his lap. 

His hand stops when you move, turning to look down at you. It lays there, warm and strong, on your thigh.

“I wake y’up, sweets?” he asked, his breath rustling your hair.

You squirmed in his lap as you shook your head, stretching your neck and wiping at your eyes. His hand tensed on your leg. 

“What happened back there?” you asked sleepily. The alcohol had made your tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth. You could still taste strawberries when you swallowed. 

“Ah. Oh that? Just a . . . just a log in the road,” he said with a pause and a shrug. 

He patted your thigh once before reaching up to take the wheel with both hands. He let out a soft groan as he canted his hips, shuffling your body on top of him as he readjusted himself in his seat. His eyes were focused straight down the road. It made you sad to lose his touch but you understood. Out the windshield you could see the road he was driving you down, if only what was illuminated by the headlights. Pine trees thickly lined both sides of the unfamiliar two lane road, interrupted only by the odd set of mailboxes that signaled a line of houses down hidden dirt roads. Everything was dark green and black. No stars. No moon. You didn’t know he lived so far out in the country, but then again, you had never been brave enough to ask. 

“You okay?” you asked quietly, still not quite woken up. You wrapped your arm around his ribs, relaxing into him, stealing his warmth.

“Yeah,” he said moving his left hand, letting it drip down the steering wheel until it just barely hung off the bottom. “Musta been a raccoon or somethin’ in the road. Got distracted.” 

He let go of the steering wheel, bringing his hand to grip your thigh where his other hand had been just a few minutes ago, right on the hem of your skirt. His thumb swiped back and forth, gently tracing from the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh to the top of your leg. The motion sent tingles racing to your core. You moved your leg a fraction of an inch to relieve the pressure but had to bite back a moan. Oh no, you thought tipping your head against his chest. You could feel how wet you still were. 

“Saw it too late ‘n had to swerve,” he added as an afterthought. You wondered if he had taken his eyes off the road to watch you now; if he could see you with your eyes closed, lip caught in your teeth, blissed out and squirming against his leg. 

He spread his fingers, pressing his warm palm flat to your leg, as he brushed up under your dress. You let your head loll back against his bicep behind you, unable to to keep your next moan from escaping.

“Now I got you distractin’ me,” he said with a hiss into your hair, sliding his hand up further. His fingers brushed at the edge of your panties. You squirmed under him as he danced ever so close to where you wanted him. Needed him.

“Phil,” you sighed. 

You were just about to crack, to grab his hand with your own and make him touch you, when he stopped, resuming his absent stroking. 

“Hold on jus’ a little bit longer, darlin’,” he said with a squeeze to your upper thigh. “Last turn’s comin’ up.”

He slowed down fractionally, taking a wide left turn that swayed the whole truck, the driver’s side wheels falling down into the slope of the ditch before pulling back onto the road. You bounced in his lap as the truck transitioned from the rough, but still somewhat maintained, concrete country road, to dirt and gravel. The trees lined the narrow road even closer than before, choking out the light from the increasingly rare streetlights. 

He took his free hand out from your dress, nudged in between your legs and his pants and adjusted himself. He closed his eyes for but a moment and groaned as he palmed his cock. It made you blush, you weren’t exactly used to men acting like this around you, but it also made you wickedly excited. He was like this because of you. You had made this strong, older man, a soldier, race you home on a dark rainy road just so he could get his hands on you. 

He put his hand chastely on your waist for a moment, flexing his fingers into your skin. It was as if he was weighing his choices. When you sighed into his touch he let out a held in groan. His choice was made. He skimmed his hand down your body to the press of your legs. When he got to the edge of your dress, he slid his hand under, bunching it against his sleeve as he sought out his prize.

It was the tip of his middle finger that first grazed your pussy. It made you jump, his touch punching out a gasp even through the cloth of your panties. He kept going, pushing his whole hand to palm at your warm, aching core. He ground the bottom of his palm against you, fingers stroked at your weeping hole, earning a pitiful whine into his chest. The brute, indirect pressure was making your legs shake.

You grabbed at his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His eyes stayed stubbornly on the road. “Phil . . . please,” you begged. “Please-”

He cut you off by twisting his hand, curling his fingers under the waistband of your underwear to stroke at your silken folds in a single, fluid motion. You clenched, nails digging into his arm as you squeaked out a silent Ah as your eyes flew shut. 

The truck slowed to a crawl, headlights swaying back and forth, illuminating the same frame of unfamiliar road and dark, foreboding trees, as he concentrated on slipping his fingers through your untouched pussy. His ability to drive completely shot. You were lost too in the overload of new sensations. Your wetness covered his fingers, dulling the rough texture of his skin. He used his strength to press almost too hard as he made a circuit through your labia, up to your clit, finally swirling down and around your hole. You’d never had someone else touch you there, and even your own “experiments”, alone and frustrated in your bed, hadn’t yielded very much pleasure. But this, the tingling, shooting pleasure coiling tight in your core that had you open-mouth panting. This could be something.

He took his remaining hand off the steering wheel to wrap both his arms around you, leaving his whole body flexed on to the brake like a vice. He pressed his face into your hair as he rolled his hips against you with a moan.

“Fuck, baby,” he said with a flick of his fingers across your clit that made you flinch. He was completely blissed out - his voice rough and heady. The combination made you shiver against him. “Fuck. We can’t-” he said tipping your jaw up, forcing you to face him again as a blush crept over your cheeks, “-can’t do this here.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your lips before pulling back, his nose sliding against yours. “Open your mouth for me now, babydoll,” he said taking his hand away from your pussy to peel your bottom lip open with his thumb, your own slick painting your jaw. 

-

Somehow, someway, he did manage to pull his brain out of his cock and drive that last stretch of road to his house. As much as he had wanted to throw his plans to the wind and just fuck you in the truck he reminded himself that this was your first time. He needed to make it good for you. 

No high school specials tonight. That wouldn’t make you stay. 

He let himself indulge in one more sleepy, dazed kiss before he mechanically went through the motions to shut off the car. Slide the clutch into park, unbuckle, radio off, lights off, turn the key in the ignition. He had to move you off his lap to get out first before he could scoop you back up into his arms to bring you inside. When he leaned in to pull you out he saw his jacket crumpled into the corner of the passenger seat. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, almost ready to fall asleep again. A corner of your bright purse stuck out. It was tangled inside his jacket, almost completely hidden. He hugged you tight to his chest as you shivered from the misting rain. Your phone was probably in there too. 

Shame, he thought as he slammed the door shut with his free hand, you’ll probably be looking for that in the morning. 

He didn’t set you down until he got to the front door, not that you protested. Your useless heels would have sunk into the mud of the lawn anyway. It was still cold night despite the weather clearing. He liked feeling of you shivering against his side in the dark as he unlocked his front door. It wasn’t longer than a moment before he had the deadbolt and door unlocked, shooing you inside ahead of him. 

You ambled in, tipsy and disoriented, in the dark, heels clacking in an unsteady gait across the wood floor. He listened with amusement as you made your way around his unfamiliar home with only the sparse outside light to guide you. Sometimes he forgot how dark it could get out here in the country. 

He stopped at the dinner table, taking his time, unloading his usual carry: wallet from his left pocket, phone from his right. Each made a light clink against his keys as he tossed them onto the table. He reached around his back and unclipped his holster from inside his slacks. His clip followed shortly. They both made a weighty thunk on the table. He rubbed at the sore spot the grip had worn into his back, suppressing a groan. It didn’t help that his holster had slid to the middle of his back, making him adjust the way he sat the whole drive home with you wriggling in his lap. 

Once his watch was off his wrist and his shoes kicked behind him, he walked silently back to the door and locked the deadbolt. The sharp CLACK of the metal had always been comforting, but now, it was exciting. A sign that everything was ready. That you were safe now. Finally. he thought with a sly smile creeping across his face. Locked inside his home (could be yours too, in a heartbeat, if you asked). With no one around for miles to bother you. Right were you were always meant to be, darling.

The only safer place you could be is wrapped in his arms, and he planned to remedy that problem as soon as he found you. 

It didn’t take much of a hunt to find you. You’d made a light thump as you found the end of the couch with your hip in the living room and had decided it was as good a place as any to lean against. He had to give you credit, you had hauled yourself up onto the arm of the sofa all by yourself. It was almost cute to watch you struggle to keep your balance as you reached down for your ankle straps, little frustrated noises falling from your lips. 

He was quiet in his socks. He could tell you hadn’t heard him when you jumped as his hand touched your knee. He laughed at it as he slid up your thigh boldly.

“Phil . . .” you said grabbing his belt, looking up with pleading eyes.  

“Need help, baby?” he teased, trailing his hand back down to hook under your knee. You let out a gasp, crumpling his shirt at his waist as your fingers clamped suddenly together. He held your hips with his other hand, hiking your leg up to his hip, allowing him to smoothly slot himself in between your legs. 

This was going so fucking well. 

It took a little bit of fiddling in the dark, but he managed to unclasp your left heel, letting it fall with a loud THUNK against the floor. It didn’t help that there was not another sound in the house beside your rasping breaths. You were such a cute little thing like this: holding on for dear life, whining into his chest, barely able to breathe already. He smoothed his hand up your leg until it met his other hand at your waist. He couldn’t help but give you a little squeeze. You yelped, head shooting up out of his chest to lay your pleading eyes on him.

He pressed his advantage immediately. He chuckled and leaned down to peck a gentle, toying kiss on your lips. His hand was already moving down to your remaining shoe as he pulled away, a small, disappointed oh falling from your lips. This time, he wouldn’t let you hide. He moved his hand from your waist to the small of your back, rough fingers catching on the smooth, clingy fabric of your dress. You were red cheeked and panting, a small ah all the noise you could make, when he pressed you forward, forcing you flush against his front. Only an inch of needy, heated space separated his cock from your barely-clothed pussy and, good fucking God, did he need it. 

Need it. Need it. Fucking need-ed-it.

Your ankle in his hand, he deftly popped your hip open. He tilted forward that last, cloying centimeter to feel you. His eyes fell shut as he pressed to you with a groan. You were so warm. He could feel it through his pants. You let out a shamefully high-pitched whine in return. He felt his trapped cock jump in his pants. He was throbbing and, fuck, so were you. He couldn’t feel it yet, but he knew you were wet. How could you not be? All that excitement in the car had to have your pussy working overtime. 

Your second heel fell to the floor. 

“Phil . . .” you whined in the silence that followed, pawing at his sides and back. His dress shirt made soft swishing noises under your nails. It was almost like music. 

He chanced looking down at you. Fuck did you look gorgeous. Your skin shimmered in the dark with sweat. The first thing that caught his eye was your breasts pushed against his ribs, that little silver cross hidden safely away, swallowed entirely by your chest. Your eyes were huge, with pupils blown wide and glassy with tears as you looked up at him. You were chewing on your bottom lip again, the irritation making it all the more red and kissable. The more blissed out and needy he made you, the more irresistible you became. 

A perfect, vicious circle. A positive feedback loop.

He let go of your ankle to place his hand on your cheek. You were beyond flush, more like burning. When he felt you fold your leg around his hip of your own volition he couldn’t help but feel satisfied. He rutted forward into you. It was a rough pleasure that did almost nothing for both of you, but it was something. A tease in this slow, slow dance he had been leading you on, a preview of what was to come, maybe even a reward for holding on this long, for doing so so well.

“Doin’ okay, sweets?” he asked, petting your burning cheek with his thumb. 

You nodded with a bat of your lashes. You straightened your back suddenly to make yourself taller when you saw him leaning down to kiss you. You were still so excited, enthusiastic. 

Trusting. 

He let all the chains come off. Long gone were the quick, chaste pecks at your front door. The ones that drew you into him. A delicate summer moth hypnotized by a porch light, never to escape. Even the “real” kisses he’d had with you outside the restaurant and in the truck were blown away. He held your jaw open with an iron grip while he forced his tongue in your mouth. He was sloppy, aggressive, taking what he wanted. He would only momentarily break away to nip at your open, panting lips, before diving back in. It amazed him how submissive you were. You weren’t fighting him in any way, just let him control everything while you let out an occasional moan or whine. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out why that was. 

You’d never been kissed like this before. How could you have an opinion on how you liked it when you’d never- Fuck, he forgot. How could he forget? You’d never done anything before. He’s got a little virgin in his hands, whining and squirming, practically begging for it. 

Hmm, he thought. Could he really . . . could he make you beg for it?

He squeezed the side of your thigh as he rolled another thrust against you, groaning against your lips. You yelped at the pain of his fingers biting into your skin, but it dissolved into another high-pitched whine. Fuck, could listen to that all night. Your legs tightened around his waist, keeping him close. 

“Phil,” you sighed as he rolled his hands up your thighs, dragging your dress up with it. “Phil please.”

Oh fuck, he thought. She’s really going to do it.

“Please what, darlin’?” he asked hoarsely, resting his forehead against yours, watching you squirm as he tried to pull your dress out from under you.

“Please . . .” you trailed off shyly, trying to make him stop by pawing at his hands. Not that you could.

“Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said voice drawn gruff and dry. 

He balled the stretchy fabric of your dress in his fists and pulled. It resisted, pulling ever so slowly from where it was trapped under you. The sound itself was delicious tension. More music to his ears. It was a long, soft noise as the knit stretched to it's limit in the quiet of the room. You tried to turn your head away, to hide your pants and whines, but he prevented it by shoving his face into your neck. He kissed and nipped at your neck until, without fanfare, your skirt popped out from under you.  

You slammed a hand to his chest before he could make another move. This time, he obeyed you. 

“Phil!” you plead, red faced from embarrassment, “Can we . . . can we not- um can we go . . . ” You caught your breath for another couple moments, wiggling your knees on either side of his waist, before turning to him. “Can we do this in your bed . . . please?” 

He hauled you up by your thighs, throwing you up onto his chest without another word. You scrambled to throw your arms around his neck as he backed away from the couch. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered into the side of your head.

[beiswatching]

- req by @phillygraves

- philip graves from cod discord layout

_ ꒰۪۪ ᩧ ͡ ͡ ◞𓈒 F2U with credit AND Reblogs ^o^𓂃◟ ͜ ᐩ ་།

[inurspiderwebs]

simon ghost riley layouts if possible please? ^___^

_ > 💣 MODERN WARFARE . •

Like + Reblog if used

[v1x3n]

pls helppppp!!! i need those nsfw anime banners/ headers for my text series and idk where to find them 🙁🙁

[broken-glass-puppet]

Ok now write Cod men being jealous because dilf reader is pay all his attention on the new dog he got and almost forgot about cod men what will they do or say to get the dilf reader attention on them again??? (I know that i request one already but i can't help myself your writing is so Fun to read I'm sorry ����)

You wish is my command also I LOVE THAT PICTURE, HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVED SHARKS?!!

Captain price

At first he's jealous but then he starts to look at you like a husband looks at his spouse, and he is still jealous so he comes from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and started kissing your neck, trying to catch your attention, whispering things in your ear and one of them flustered you so much "I can be your pup if you want" he teased kissing your neck

Simon ghost Riley

Simon has a German shepherd so when he sees you playing with another pup he is a bit Jealous...just a bit...okay he is extremely jealous, he knows it isn't the dogs fault so he just simply gets closer to you and leans against you so he can get your attention and now he has your attention again

Jhon 'soap' McTavish

He is annoyed that you aren't giving him attention so he just goes up to you and kisses you softly, you are surprised by that so you look at him and smirk "where you Jealous because I was calling someone else my puppy huh? Do you want me to call you a good boy?" And he is so flustered by that

Gaz

Not that jealous actually he just goes up at you and starts playing with the dog too, so you can be close, he likes being around you and he isn't that jealous actually

König

He is a dog person so he could go so he can play with the puppy too, he scratch the puppy's ears and pets him, he is great with kids and also animals, but you of course can't stop calling him pet names like "good boy" or "sweet boy" he loves it, he likes Felling vulnerable and small

[nit0filia]

𝐂𝐨𝐃 𝐌𝐖𝟐(𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐) ⸻ Soαp & Ghost 「Iᥴoᥒs/Hᥱᥲdᥱrs」

[satanlyedit]

MARA, COD.

If used, please give credits to my Tumblr or Twitter @sxtanly where you can ask for an edit. I answer faster there than here. A thousand apologies to everyone but due to health problems I disappeared.

[loveofvernonslife]

Till the room STINK!!!!

requested by anonymous: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY GIF HEADERS • 640px : 360px tumblr headers in normal coloring and b/w version • no credit needed, put please consider to like/reblog if you use/save :)

[last-starry-sky]

About me:

F/32/US - call me by my url(s) or just Kate

This is my 18+/nsfw fandom and writing blog for COD, specifically MW2.

My main (which is generally sfw) is first-full-moon.

I write and support a wide spectrum of fanfic/art. If you don't enjoy dark themes, then my blog isn't for you, sorry! I tag all pairings and all fics should have PLENTY of warnings. Block what you want! As an adult, you are responsible for your own content curation here.

Asks are OPEN. Anon is ON.

Masterlist:

All of my writing is tagged with starry writes. Everything in the subcategories is organized oldest to newest.

I give permission for my works to be saved for personal use.

If you’d like to translate/post to a website I’m not on, please contact me here FIRST so we can work things out!

FEED MY WORKS INTO AN AI AND I WILL FEED YOU TO AN ALLIGATOR.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

- character tag - x reader tag - ghost/soap tag - ghost/soap/reader tag - Phantom!Ghost ((this is baby's first fic. pls don't read it. also, i'm never going to finish it lmao)) Girl's Night Out: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 pt1 - Chapter 2 pt2 - Chapter 2 pt3 - ((Chapter 3 is up next!)) Babysitting with Totally Platonic Roommate!Simon: Chapter 1 Size Kink prompt for lovely anon❤️ Jealous Simon/bi!reader prompt for anon - part 2

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

- character tag - x reader tag - Medieval Highlander AU: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - ((Part 4 may be the last one. We'll see if I ever feel like writing it.))

John Price

- character tag - x reader tag - put your ear to my heart//or set your teeth against my throat

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

- character tag - x reader tag -

141 x reader

let it out[COMPLETE]: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Phillip Graves

- character tag - x reader tag - too sweet: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - ((Ch. 5 is A Thing and will happen))

Misc:

- König x reader tag - character tag - kinktober 2024 masterlist

WIP List:

Girl's Night Out ch. 3 (also the goddamn finale)

too sweet Ch 5

an unnamed Gaz fic (or two, we'll see how spicy I feel) that expands on a random idea post I put out a few months ago.

maybe an expansion/rewrite of put your ear to my heart, bc something about park ranger price/shifter price is so ❤️

uhhhh the cnc ghost thing i've had kicking around FORVER?

credits: divider by saradika, shit-ass header by me

[luvr-bunnyy]

all i feel is you

JOHN PRICE x GN!READER

word count: 1.6k. ct

© luvr-bunnyy pls don't use my headers or writing without permission

warnings: none, just a lil bit angsty oh!! and use of the pet name ‘love’

[a/n: okay!! so I decided to try my hand at writing for mw2 seeing as a vaguely remember playing the og campaign years ago, this was inspired by an hc on tiktok by @wibixthecowboy y’all should check it out !! I’m a lil rusty with my writing but hope you enjoy!! ]

Relief flooded your entire body as you stepped out of the car.

The London cold had seeped into your clothes, chill reaching all the way down to your bones.

Icy wind nipped at your cheeks and nose.

It was nice to be home.

John, who was none the wiser, was sat in his home office. Cup of tea on a coaster as he finished the last of his reports. He knew the whole point of being on leave was to rest. Relax. Get away from work. He knew you’d give him a lot of grief if you were there.

A glint of light caught his eye.

Putting the folder down, he glanced at the source. His silver wedding band. The one he usually wore on his tags, underneath his shirt, for safekeeping. Sure, he was allowed to wear it on his finger but it felt too vulnerable. Too dangerous. Plus, all the people that needed to know, knew. The boys and Laswell.

You were an operator that mainly worked on a contract basis.

They had met you on a few occasions.

John sighed.

When he had first stepped foot into the empty house, his heart ached. The many photos you both had around the house were covered with dust, another reminder of how long it’s been since he’s seen you. Your beautiful eyes, ones that he could stare into forever and would most definitely not mind getting lost in.

The way they squinted when you would smile was one of his favorite sights. You often complained about the crows feet you were getting, he would always scoff and bat your hands away from poking and prodding at your face. Pulling you into his arms and littering kisses all over your face. Utterances of praises and compliments leaking like sweet honey from his lips.

God, how he missed you.

With another heavy sigh and a lump forming in his throat, he took a huge gulp of tea and leaned back in his chair. “I should probably get dinner started…or maybe order in?” He muttered to himself, clearing his throat. “I think I’ll order in.”

Picking up his mug, he made his trek out into the kitchen and straight to the take-out drawer. It was stuffed full of different take out menus, chopsticks, disposable cutlery and an array of napkins, and a ton of estranged soy sauce and chili packets.

Just as his fingers wrapped around the handle the ‘thunk’ of a car door shutting had caught his attention. Back straightening and head tilting like a puppy dog. The sounds that followed were footsteps up the porch stairs and keys in the lock.

He couldn’t help the way his heart started to beat faster in anticipation. He was almost giddy at the thought of seeing you. So, he set his mug down and raced down to the front door. Pulling the door open just as you pulled your key out of the lock.

Your eyes widened at the sudden action but a huge smile replaced your surprised expression. “John…”

“Oh, love…”

Dropping your duffel bag, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and holding tight. He held you firmly at the waist, walking you a few into the house. “I missed you so much. Can’t believe you had me puttering around this damn house by myself.” The vibrations of his deep voice against your neck made you laugh. Holding him at arm's length, you cupped his cheeks, thumbs smoothening out his beard.

“I know, I’m sorry. I was out for longer than expected.” He could see it in your eyes, you had been replaying the horrors of your last mission right at that moment. He understood, more than anybody and you were so glad that he did.

“I know, but you’re here now.” He smiled, gazing into your eyes.

“Well? You gonna kiss me or what?” You gently pinched his cheek.

Chuckling in disbelief, he shook his head but gladly granted your wish. He leaned down and met your lips in a languid, drawn out kiss. Conveying all the things his words could never. Relaxing further into his hold, all stress left your body. All the ghosts in your head vanished, cowering away from the light that John always seems to exude.

Pulling away, he noticed your red cheeks instantly. Whether it be from the kiss or the cold, we’ll never know but John wanted to believe it was the latter.

“Bloody Jesus, it’s cold. Let’s get you nice and warm.” He rubbed your arms to warm you up a bit before stepping around you and grabbing your bag and shutting the door. Shedding your jacket and hanging it up by the door, John grabbed the landline and started punching in the number he knew by heart.

“I’m orderin’ Indian, what d’ya want?”

“Ooh the paneer tikka masala and some chicken samosas. I’m gonna change.” You pecked his cheek before running off to your room.

Glad you had decided to shower before heading over, you simply changed into some sweats and one of John’s pullovers.

Staring into the mirror, you grimaced. Hand coming up to pull at your dark under eye bags before your fingers started to wander to the scar you had on your temple. It was new, a horrid reminder of the near death experience you had on this last op. John didn’t know, he hadn’t noticed. Too caught up in his excitement of your homecoming.

So, as you slipped your rings back on, you made your way back out into the kitchen. The soft crooning of Paul Anka was a pleasant surprise.

“Food should be here in twenty minutes.” He took a second to look you over. A cheeky smile lifting his lips, as he opened them to make a comment but then his eyes trailed over your face and his jaw fell shut.

Well that’s new.

Noticing that his eyes were lingering, you quickly turned away and stepped into the kitchen.

“Okay, well I’m gonna make some coffee. Want any?”

He shook his head as he sat at the island. “Just tea for me, love.”

You nodded and got to work.

As he watched you wiggle around and make coffee, attempting to discreetly dance, a pressure started to build behind John’s eyes.

That new scar had been a confirmation of what he heard before going on leave. He had basically begged Laswell for some kind of update and what he was given was heartstopping. You had gone dark after your armored vehicle had been hit by an RPG then after a day or two of him pacing around the house, Laswell gave him another update. You had been located and alive.

Now seeing you in front of his own two, tired eyes. Alive and dancing rather terribly, made a flurry of emotion swirl around his chest. And before he knew it, he had his face buried in his hand, quiet sobs shaking his shoulders.

“Here you go, but careful it’s-” You turned to face him and froze at the sight. “-hot…” As your voice trailed off, you placed the mugs down. “John?” Now your eyes had started to water. “Honey, what happened?”

“Nothin’, sorry.” He pulled his hand away and avoided looking at you, voice rough.

Slowly, you approached and wiped his tears and snot away with the sleeve of your sweater. “Okay, but you know you can talk to me.” You whispered, gently grasping his left hand and pulling it up to your mouth, placing a kiss on the knuckle of his ring finger. “For better or worse, remember?”

At your words. He couldn’t help but continue to sob. Pulling you to stand in between his thighs, burying his face into your sternum. His arms wrapped around you and his hands gripped onto the back of the sweatshirt. You were his guiding light, his lifeline and he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna hold onto you for dear life.

And you let him.

You ran your fingers through his hair and let him feel whatever he was feeling, a few tears streaking down your cheeks as well.

His cries subsided and he just let himself revel in your hold, in your presence. This wasn’t always promised in your line of work.

Sniffling, he pulled back a little bit only to be met with your gentle eyes. Worried, adoring, loving eyes. “I just. I love you so much and I missed you.”

That definitely wasn’t all but you didn’t want to pry. “I love you too.” You rested your forehead against his. “Forever and always?”

He nodded. “Forever and always.”

‘DING’

Both of you jumped at the sound, pulling away from each other. John chuckled and ran a hand down his face. “Gave me a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Snorting, you shook your head and made your way to the door, grabbing your wallet out of your bag along the way. Paying and tipping for the delivery before returning with two bags of food, shoving the door closed with your foot.

“Let’s eat.”

As you placed the forgotten mugs into the sink and started to unpack the food, John pulled you away from the island and spun you around. “Come on. Indulge me for a second.”

With a hand on your waist and another in yours, you rested your free hand against his bicep and swayed to the music with him. A kitchen waltz.

The both of you were definitely not ballroom ready but this was perfect.

All he felt was you.

Your love.

Your acceptance.

Your presence.

You.

And that was all he’d ever need.

[sweetheartsofmidsummer]

About me

hi, I’m Jester :) I’m new here! I’m an adult!

I draw, read and write and sometimes even share it

gender is a social construct and I haven’t figured out in which box I wanna be in, but I prefer they/them and the occasional he/him.

im trans 🏳️‍⚧️, german 🇩🇪 and an anti-fascist. Punch ‘em Nazis!

stuff I like can be found under #jesterjuggles

family drama can be found under #jestersfamilydrama

currently obsessing over CoD mw2 (mw3 is a bad dream and Soap never died), Deadpool, DnD and other stuff I can’t remember lol

I ramble a lot which can be found under #jesterjuggles

profile picture was made with Picrew “☆ friend maker ★ by Rowan“!! https://picrew.me/share?cd=tbrCxoG6Ez #Picrew #_friend_maker__by_Rowan

header found on Pinterest (credit to whoever made it)