#I love soft intimacy Gaz | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

empresskylo · 8 months

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headcanons for the cod men if they found out you were a virgin... i promise this is not self indulgent 🫣

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 includes: ghost, price, soap, alejandro, konig, and gaz. afab!reader. female pet names used. reader refers to self as a woman.

GHOST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ ok ok ok, he would have never thought he’d want to be specifically with a virgin. like it never really crossed his mind before now, but he just assumed he’d always like being with someone more experienced. he likes a quick hook up. doesn’t have the time to be all gentle and soft and caring for someone who's never done it before, ya know? not that he's an asshole or anything, but he never thought he'd be the right person to take someone's virginity.

♡ but when you tell him you’re a virgin, something stirs inside him. he doesn’t mind. not one bit. if anything, he actually gets a little giddy, wanting to be the one who shows you how it’s done.

♡ and he ends up being rather sweet about it. he goes slow. he takes his time. he spends a good amount of time prepping you. “jus’ lay back, sweetheart. gotta make sure you’re good n’ ready to take me.”

♡ when it finally comes down to it, he’s easy to edge into you. you grip his shoulders tightly, squeezing your eyes shut. “gotta talk to me, love. gotta know i’m not hurtin’ you.” you nod and look up at him. “i’m okay. keep going. please.” he kisses your lips and continues in. after a few painstaking moments, “alright. i’m halfway. jus’ a lil more.” “only halfway?! jesus fucking—“ ghost laughs, his hand caressing your face and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. when he’s finally fully seated, he groans, fisting the sheets beside your head to keep himself from rutting into full force.

♡ “ah. you okay, pet?” “y-yes. are you all the way in?” “mhm” “okay. just… give me a moment.” “take your time, love. we got all night.” you let yourself adjust for several moments. “can you move, now?” he kisses you, slowly dragging himself halfway out and then pushing back into you, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. "you're so fuckin' tight," he groans as he tries to take his time. he doesn't want to hurt you.

♡ and he knows the rumor that women don't usually orgasm their first time, so he wanted to make sure you came at least twice before he shoved his cock in you. he wants you to associate this with a positive experience.

♡ and he tries his hardest to make you feel good too. he begins to rub your clit as he thrusts and you moan loudly. he grins. "you like that, princess?" you nod your head vigorously. and sure enough, he's able to make you come around his cock and he swears that was some of the best sex of his life. it wasn't the fact that you were a virgin, it was the trust and the intimacy of it that made this so good for him. he never thought he'd care for things like that until now.

PRICE *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ price doesn't really mind either way, but he was definitely surprised when you told him -- he couldn't believe someone as beautiful as you had never slept with anyone. but he's honored that you'd trust him enough to experience that with him.

♡ he kisses you and lays you down on his bed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "jus' let me take care of you, love," he coos. you bite your lip and nod. he starts by going down on you, making you come on his tongue like he has before. then he's back above you, wanting your first time to be in missionary, making you as relaxed as possible.

♡ he even made it all sweet and lit some candles (":

♡ he constantly is getting consent and checking in on you. "you feelin' okay?" "jus' tell me to stop if you don't like it." "want me to keep goin'?" "tell me what you want, sweetheart." "this feels good, yeah?"

♡ when he's fully inside you, he strokes your hair and kisses you multiple times. "see, wasn't so bad," he teases gently.

♡ with price, it's really not awkward at all. he doesn't let it be. he's so sweet and considerate the whole time. when he's thrusting inside you, he checks to make sure he's not going too hard.

♡ and he knows the sex will only get better, so he tells you not to worry if you don't finish alongside him. and you don't finish with him, but he makes sure to get you off after.

♡ he holds himself inside you after he comes, grunting and panting above you. then he looks down at you. "i wanna feel you come on my cock, love." you look a bit confused and he starts rubbing your clit, keeping himself planted inside you. with the pressure of the situation over, you're much more relaxed and apt to orgasm. so it doesn't take you long to spasm around him, and he fucking loves it. "god, you feel amazing, princess." and he looks at you with such admiration as you catch your breath and come down from your high.

♡ "it will only get better from here," he teases.

♡ after he pulls out and gets up, he scoops you up too, making you squeal. he carries the two of you to the bathroom to shower and clean up. he washes your hair. helps you put your clothes on (making sure it's his stuff you're wearing) and pulls you into bed with him, his arm wrapped around you.

SOAP *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ johnny has no issue with it at all. he really thinks nothing of it. he didn't care if you were a virgin or not, so when you tell him, all it does is lets him know he needs to be a bit slower with you. and you truly appreciate him not making a big deal about it.

♡ it'd probably happen one time when you two are making out on the couch. things get a little heated and his hands are all over you. he gropes your breast through your shirt and you moan in his mouth. he pushes you back on the couch and teases your shirt up. "j-johnny," you say between kisses. "yes, lass?" "you remember i'm a virgin, right?" "mhm," he kisses you again. "did you want me t'stop?" "n-no," you whine as he rubs a hand over your clothed clit. "i just don't want to disappoint you." he looks at you in annoyance. "what? why would ya disappoint me?" he sees the shy look in your eyes like you're a bit ashamed. "lass, you could never disappoint me. i just want you. but if you don't wanna do anything, that's okay too." he kisses your nose and caresses the side of your face.

♡ with that out of the way, you tell him you do want to. he promises to go slow. and he does. he asks how you want it. you can ride him if that would make you more comfortable, being able to control the pace and all.

♡ you straddle him on the couch, soap's hands running all across your torso. squeezing and cupping your breast. gliding over your ribcage. going down to your ass and pulling you forward.

♡ you're slow when you lower yourself on him and johnny's head falls to the back of the couch, trying to contain himself. "you feel so good," he whines out.

♡ lots and lots of little praises. he wants to make sure you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. "that's it, love." "fuckin' hell, you’re takin’ me so well." "does it feel good?"

♡ and he'll rub your clit with his thumb, smiling as you collapse into him, your arms around his neck as you continue to bounce on top of him.

♡ you're definitely pleased when you orgasm around him, sending soap over the edge as well.

♡ then he kisses you, runs his hand through your hair, and pulls you into his lap where he'll tell you how good you were, how much he loved that. and he'll make sure you had a nice time too. wanting to make sure you feel good about yourself.

ALEJANDRO *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ gets a little bit of sick satisfaction knowing he’s going to have been the only one to have had you. “gettin’ you all for myself, then, mi amor?”

♡ even though he’s thoroughly enjoyed sex for years and has developed a taste for what he likes and dislikes, he’s charmed to be with someone who is so new at this. it’s a new experience for him in that sense.

♡ he definitely wants you comfortable before he tries anything, BUT, he goes absolutely fucking feral when he gets you to blush and act all shy and awkward. gets off embarrassing you. “you want me to fuck that tight little cunt of yours?” he says. your eyes widen and your cheeks get hot/flush. “a-alejandro” you whimper, a bit startled at his dirty mouth. “hmm? did you think my teasing stopped at the bedroom?” he winks.

♡ “tell me how you want it, mi amor. do you want my cock?” you nod sheepishly. “uh-uh,” he scolds. “gotta use your words.” you turn your face away from him in embarrassment. “yes.” “yes what?” “yes, i want your cock.” your entire body is on fire and alejandro grins madly. he never would have thought innocence would turn him on so much.

♡ but he’s really quite sweet in the moment. even though he does tease you quite a bit, he’s always reading your body and making sure he’s not hurting you and that you’re enjoying yourself. “just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says down at you. “okay?” he asks. you nod, “okay.” “esa es mi buena chica.” that’s my good girl.

♡ even though his is being careful, he can't help but get turned on when your nails are digging into his back and your face is scrunched up. "it's so much," you whimper out. that honestly sends him over the edge. he gets a little sense of pride knowing how intense everything was for you -- and for him.

♡ he makes sure you're not hurt once everything is done and he cleans you up and holds you close to him.

KÖNIG *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ you were a bit nervous to tell him, so you kinda waited until the last minute.

♡ könig had you pinned beneath him, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck, making you giggle. after he’s torn your clothes off and is back to attacking your lips, you break away to mumble at him. “i’ve… never done this before,” you said shyly. he looks at you, his eyes flickering between yours. “is this okay? do you want me to stop?” you shake your head. “no, no. i just wanted you to know.” he smiles and kisses you again.

♡ he’s okay with being your first, but it definitely makes him a bit nervous. he knows he’s going to have to be the one to take control of the situation, figuring you might be a bit shy/awkward and not know how to lead. but he’s okay with that.

♡ he also doesn’t want to hurt you. my guy is 6’7” so i mean… he’s got a big dick, i’m sure of it—he told me himself. he makes you orgasm like 4 times beforehand, absolutely tiring you out, but also making you relaxed and more ready for him.

♡ he’s planted between your legs and you're still panting from your last orgasm, and he lines himself up. “m’gonna go slow,” he tells you. you nod and he slowly enters you. your hands grip his shoulders tightly, already feeling the pressure of him stretching you out. (and even if you weren’t a virgin, it would still be like this tbh. size kink initiated)

♡ it takes a few minutes for him to bottom out. he does little half thrusts with only part of him inside you, trying to ease his way in. “i don’t think you can fit,” you whine out. “you can take it, liebling. jus’ a little—ungh—furtherrrrr—fuck,” he groans as he fills you completely. you’re whimpering under him, but mostly in pleasure.

♡ he catches his breath before asking you if he can move. you nod. he kisses your lips, mumbling against you, “i’ll be gentle.” he begins to rock into you.

♡ and he is. he’s slow and soft with you, mumbling praises. he tries his hardest to get you to give him another orgasm, rubbing your clit. you whine and squirm under him. you trust him so much that you’re actually relaxed enough to orgasm your first time with him.

♡ he’s stopped moving inside you so he can focus solely on rubbing your clit. finally, you clamp down on him and come. you’re so breathtakingly beautiful under him, squeezing him so fucking tight, that könig orgasms right then and there, without even having to move. both of you are a little shocked and you end up giggling.

♡ he lays on top of you, resting his head on your chest, his hands wrapped around you, while you stroke his hair. he leaves a little trail of kisses on your skin and you both lay there for a bit, content and entangled together.

GAZ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ gaz is a bit baffled about what to do. like he gives off hot shit energy, but when you tell him he’d be your first, he gets flustered. he feels pressured to make sure it’s good since he will be your first impression of sex.

♡ you end up having to tell him to calm down. “kyle, oh my god, it’s fine! it doesn’t have to be perfect. i just want it to be with you.” and that definitely relaxes him a bit. he just doesn’t wanna ruin this for you. it’s actually quite sweet.

♡ he’s on the bed, on top of you, kissing you and slowly stripping both of your clothing. when you’re both in underwear he makes an offer. “did you wanna be on top, love?” you give him an unsure look. “idk, i'm not really sure what i’m doing,” you say shyly, playing with the chain around his neck as it dangles above you. gaz rolls over and takes you with him. “you don’t havta if you don’t wanna, but this way you get to control everything. because shit… idk how well i’m gonna be able to control myself once i’m in you.” your face goes red hot.

♡ you take him up on his offer and stay straddling him. you let him help you line yourself up with him and you sink down ever so slowly, gritting your teeth as you do. gaz has his hands on your hips, panting as you take him teasingly slow. “that’s it, baby,” he encourages.

♡ your hands rest on his chest, sitting slightly forward as you take your time sinking down all the way. once you’re fully seated, gaz let’s out a guttural grunt, his eyes squeezed shut, his voice strained, “fuck—yeah, good t-thing you’re leadin’ this because with how fuckin’ good ya feel, i'd be tempted to fuckin' plow right into you.” his words leave you slightly embarrassed. gaz opens his eyes and looks at you lovingly. “ugh, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he groans.

♡ not only does his words make you more excited, but it makes you more confident. you begin to move up and down, putting your weight on your hands. gaz hands grip your hips tightly in his fingers, clawing at you as you ride him.

♡ after several minutes of this, he rolls you under him making you squeal. “i can’t hold back any longer,” he says as he slides out of you and thrusts back in. he definitely does it more powerfully than you were, but it doesn’t hurt. it feels good letting him do the work. he buries his head in your neck, “jus’ let me know if i’m going to fast.”

♡ it isn’t much longer until you’re squeezing around him, making him groan and grunt wildly. just hearing him like that, knowing it’s you causing it, has you spilling over the edge. the way you tighten around him sends him over the edge as well.

♡ you’re both panting as he lays beside you, pulling you into him. “jesus,” he murmurs. “i always thought it was supposed to kinda suck for women the first time,” you said. gaz looks down at you, running his fingers in your hair, and laughs. you both begin giggling, both ecstatic and feeling amazing. you’ve never felt closer to him in that moment.

♡ gaz couldn’t believe how good it felt to have you coming with him and he's so excited, he's rolling you under him, asking if you're ready for round two.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Text

To Be Alive In Summer

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Betrayal had never been in your cards, and you definitely didn't see yourself being the one responsible for the act. When having to go undercover, first comes the problem of staging your death.

WORDCOUNT: 8.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, betrayal, intense gore, violence, death, allusions to intimacy, weapons, vulgar language, recovery, torture, happy ending, etc.

A/N: The final request is finished, hope you enjoy it @l-inkage! Onto the AUs next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You didn’t want to do it, but in this job, comfort was always an option and never a guarantee. It needed to be done. And that meant sacrifices had to be made to the dark altar of your contract with One-Four-One.

But this one just might break you in the process.

“Are you sure that,” you pause and think over the instructions that Price had just given you—straight from the top of the line. “Are you sure that this is the best way, Sir?”

The man’s lips are flat, eyes narrowed, he doesn’t like this either—especially if you don’t. John’s a Captain, he tallies out orders and expects people to listen without hesitation; doesn’t express his worry about their safety because that isn’t what this is about at the end of the day. It’s about keeping the good people outside of bases like these alive and breathing.

And right now that hinged on you being dead.

“Berto needs mercenaries,” Price grunts, “and any record of you needs to be wiped before we send you in.”

Vito Berto—head of a crime family that had been picking up traction in recent years, so much so that One-Four-One had to be put on it for covert reconnaissance before any more people ended up dead.

You would be sent in under the cover of an experienced mercenary; one among the ranks that Berto would need for a hostile takeover planned in three months on the Palace of Westminster in London. The House of Parliament.

Vito was one cocky son of a bitch if he expected no one to get word of this.

Your job was to uncover the exact date, time, and the mission plan before getting out as quickly as possible. In order to do that, the soldier holding your name needed to be dead so nothing could be traced back to you, your task force, or your loved ones.

And people needed to believe it.

“Can’t the records just be forged, Sir?” You ask, the meeting room dark and pulsing with the cold air from the vents. “What about Gaz and Soap?” Your throat closes for a moment and you speak slightly lower. “Simon?”

Price sighs and crosses his arms, fixing the stance of his feet.

“They’ll deal with it.” Inside of your pockets, your hands twitch.

He won't. Not inwardly.

“I…” your jaw clenched.

Your relationship with Ghost was…strange. You’d both had your fun, of course, and you had a casual air about that sort of thing—it had happened, but nothing more could ever come of it. There was a modicum of soft care with you two; an acknowledgment of partnership in the field and out of it.

You didn’t have to explain to people that Ghost was closer to you than others. You’d seen his face; that says enough.

“It needs to look real,” Price explains, tilting his head down to you. “Not only for Laswell's state of mind but yours. I won’t be putting you in without giving you the best chance.”

“You can’t tell them?”

“Negative. Security measure.” You frown, biting at your lip.

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. A second later a hand is set on your shoulder and the man leans in slightly to reassure you like a relative. You look up into your Captain’s gruff face, seeing the small amount of care he levels into his cerulean irises for you.

He squeezes your flesh, watching hard.

“We need you for this, Trick.” The nickname was exactly why you were the only one who could do this.

You were the first choice. No one was better at undercover work.

“How long would I be gone, Price?” Shifting out of the hold, you cross your arms and level him with a dead stare. “How long do they have to live with this lie?”

John grunts. “Less than three months, yeah? But all of it’s up to how long it takes to gather intel. Full black.”

“Exfil point?”

“Town five miles from Berto’s estate. Cafe with a red door near the bookstore. Woman inside’ll be your handler.” You turn away to glare at the far wall, hesitant even when you know you shouldn't be. This was your job.

Brown eyes keep flashing behind your eyes—a skeletal mask that stares with stained glistening blood, blood you yourself feel reflected on your own visage. A shared damning of two people who would never see those great halls of the afterlife. Neither of you are good.

Simon had to understand.

The Captain sees the shift in your expression.

“You in?” He asks you with a blank look.

You take a deep breath, chest heavy and heart hurting. “I don’t like it,” your voice is low, monotone. “But, yeah, Sir, I’m in.”

“Good,” the man nods, hooking his thumbs into his belt. “It’ll happen in three days. Be ready.”

You watch him walk out of the room, patting you on the shoulder one last time before the door shuts behind him with a click of finality that pierces your lungs. You clear your throat and swallow down saliva, turning your face away as if ashamed.

It’s the quiet that gets to you in that moment—the encompassing nothingness. So often you would have moments like these with Simon. Just sitting; not taking. But this silence was so different.

This was betrayal.

After you steady the slight tremor in your hands, you scoff and shake your head backing up a step before leaving the room; turning off the lights.

You walk down the long hallway, feet heavy as your mind runs, and overhead the lights buzz like flies. Eyes stuck to the floor, your shoulders are hunched in with thought and your lids half-closed in a display of obvious inner turmoil.

The shadow that waits for you, leaning against the wall, you walk past entirely—missing it and not hearing the confused call of your name behind you because of it.

“Trick!” Your hand comes up to itch at your chin, fingers pushing into your flesh. The aggressive Manchester accent slides off of you until large fingers curl into the back collar of your vest rig.

You breathe in sharply, blinking in surprise as your feet get pulled back a step or two, pace halting as Ghost curls around your body, staring down at you. His brows are narrowed, that mask still on and the bottom fabric twisted in the obvious downward press of his lips.

“Bloody hell is wrong with you, then?”

Sighing, you scowl and shake him off of you, moving back to allow yourself some air. Did he really have to show up now? Why was he even here, you had to ask yourself. Was he…waiting for you?

“Nothing,” you don’t look at him, speaking low. “Distracted, is all.”

Ghost crosses his arms slowly, his brows flinching briefly as he makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Meeting go well?”

“Fine.” He can tell something’s wrong; you know he can—he’s the best at interrogations for a reason. Ghost knows when someone is lying to him.

You glance at his chest before you begin to open your mouth.

What could telling him hurt? Just a hint. He’d get it—I know he would. Berto had the nickname ‘The Tanner,’ given to him by his men. When he found out anyone had double-crossed him, he’d take a large breaking knife and separate the thin layers of skin from his victims. Intel suggests he keeps them awake for all of it, stopping when they pass out only to start again when they wake back up.

If there was any leak in this base…any at all…you wouldn’t be coming back.

You wouldn’t be coming back to him.

Simon’s thighs shift.

“Talk to me.” He always speaks like he doesn’t care about the answer, but you’d be a fool this far into your… relationship? To believe that he didn’t. You’d seen Simon panic over your injured body before—it told you enough.

The easy moments and the side-eyed looks when he thought you didn’t notice or weren’t doing the same to him.

Your fingers twitch, forcing a smirk that didn’t convince even you. Your heart was telling you to explain it to him, but your brain was firmly set behind iron doors; tongue held back by iron tongs.

“Personal matters, Simon. Nothing you need to worry about, Big Guy.” He doesn’t look away from your eyes. Brows set in a line and that mask jeering at you; almost mocking.

The Lieutenant doesn’t answer and your heart is visible from under your gear.

“J-just,” you stutter, face getting hot as you look away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s…”

Trailing off, you rub at the back of your head in a self-soothing motion.

Simon blinks slowly and you hear a large chest-rattling sigh. He shrugs in that way only he can—a fast jerk of shoulders that looks more like he’s trying to push off a bug than simply trying to move past what you’re saying to him.

“Doesn’t make a difference,” it does. “Garrick and MacTavish are waitin’ down at the firing range. Best get down there ‘fore one comes looking like a kicked dog.” You can still feel him digging into you. Knives and the suspicion in his tone.

You don’t want to do this to him. Not after all that you’ve gone through together.

“Right.” Your feet are moving before he is, planted into the floor and pushing off through the small pinches of electricity in the nerves. Pushing out a hard laugh, you try to send him a light smile. “Did you tell them to be ready to get their arses beat?”

Simon looks down at you as he walks beside your form in large steps; arms swinging. “Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Waiting for you.”

If it were possible to shrivel up from guilt, you’d be nothing but bones.

“O-oh,” you huff, but it sounds like all of the air has been expelled from your lungs. “You didn’t have to do that, y’know.”

Simon grunts, accent grating as he stares ahead. “Wanted to.”

“Good. That’s nice.” You feel like screaming. “Thank you.”

It’s nearly instantaneous how fast his eyes go dark with concern. “You sure that head of yours is on straight, Trick?”

You push open the doors outside and wonder if you even have the ability to answer him; out of everyone, you can’t lie to Simon.

“No,” your lips admit quietly, self-degrading in its own right.

A hand grabs you by the wrist and before you can slip out, you’re being pulled back into the building and pushed into a side room.

“Hey!” You shout, eyes flashing as the door is shut behind you. You’re released and the light is immediately turned on. “Simon, what the hell are you doing?”

“Enough,” he levels, and your arms are clasped so you’re facing his chest, looking up into his serious and hard gaze. “Fuckin’ speak to me.”

You’re surprised at how insistent he is about this.

“I’m not telling you anything,” you speak through stutters and he growls in his throat. His hands are like motel lava even under his gloves and above your skin—burning like a brand.

“What happened in that meeting room, Trick?”

“It’s classified,” you say, harder than intended, spitting the words with a hint of desperation. If not for your own safety, then for his, but you know that if he keeps asking then you’ll tell him the truth.

They were going to stage your death, and they won’t be making it pretty.

“Fuck classified,” he leans in closer, curling over you. “You’re acting like someone’s bloody taking you hostage.”

“Simon! It’s not—”

“Cut the bullshit!” You growl and try to shove away from him, struggling with glaring eyes that go sharp with the onset of tears. “Somethings got you worried and I wanna know what it is.”

Simon wasn’t the greatest at articulation, but neither were you.

You knew he was trying to tell you he was concerned. The man was holding you tight, but not hurting you; his face close and his shoulders wide. Along your face his eyes were darting, as if he could peel back your skin and make you explain what Price had told you.

The Captain had given the Lieutenant a look as he’d seen him waiting for you but had said nothing. That alone had tipped Ghost off to something being wrong.

But you weren’t having it.

Yanking out of Simon’s hands, you shake your head and put on your worst glare—meeting muddy brown and huffing.

“Mind your own business, Riley. It’s for your own good.” The man blinks in mute shock, fingers in the air twitching before they fall to his sides.

You speed-walk out of the room before he can speak, lips slightly parted at your strange behavior.

For his own good? What in the hell did that mean?

Simon’s jaw clenches, a grunt in his chest as he aggressively rolls his wrist. He turns to follow after. The both of you don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

Your body shakes along with the helo as it takes off, carrying you away from the scene of gunfire down below. In your earpiece, you hear the loud calls and yelling from your friends. Gaz is calling out to Price to give him permission to move up; the Captain too busy grappling Soap to the ground.

Ghost is taking cover behind a wall, but he’s not quiet.

“Trick’s in the damn building!”

No, I’m not, you want to flick on the line and tell him. Over the three days before this operation you'd barely spoken—in fact, you’d been avoiding all of them fervently by the mass amount of guilt in your stomach.

In the nights, you hadn’t even slept, and now you’re sure it’ll take even longer too.

Their forms become tinier, and you grasp the roof’s handle as the helo rises farther and farther.

“Price!” Simon barks. “We have to get her—”

“There’s no time!” John responds, grunting and forcing Johnny down as he spits curses and tries to call your name over the comms. You flinch violently, looking away for a moment. “We’re surrounded!”

“I can get through!” Bullets wiz through the comms, and you can nearly imagine you are down there—trapped in the house down the way after being shot and injured by hosties. But you’d never been in that house. Never been alone down the way for recon.

You’d been at the second exfil point. Price knew it. Laswell knew it.

But Simon had not.

“Negative, Ghost! Keep where you are, we can get to her later. We need to—” The building you were supposed to be in explodes in a fiery wreck; a great bloom cloud going into the air as the helo shakes from the after-blast.

You have to turn your face away, shielding your eyes. The pilot calls to see if you’re alright, but you don’t answer. All you can hear is the screams.

“Trick!”

“Simon, get back into bloody cover!”

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!” It gets too much—the bareness of his panic for you. The panting breath; the running stomp of feet.

You rip the connection from the radio on your vest and place a hand over your mouth, breathing as if you had really been in an inferno like a piece of fodder.

Simon had already been through so much in his life, and doing this to him as well as the task force was the definition of betrayal of the loyalty you’d cultivated.

Of the love.

Because you did love him—even if you’d never say it to each other. If he found out about what you did, which he would eventually, in one way or another, he’d hate you for the rest of his life. So perhaps you were mourning, as you stare below as the helicopter takes you higher and higher up. Farther away from him. You were mourning what you had, because you knew it would never be the same.

Simon Riley would never trust you again, and all you had to blame was yourself.

The tiny tears dribble out of you and fall all the way down to the ground, where the man still screams for you to answer him; John barks orders with a sheen of panic in his eyes from the bare-bones ferality of the Lieutenant. Brown eyes blazed and cities burned in his pupils.

John had underestimated the bond that the two of you shared.

And he just might pay the price for it.

—

Getting through selection was far easier than getting through SAS training, Vito Berto seemed to only want mercenaries that had the faintest hint of the ability to hold a smuggled weapon. It made sense because if the people he was planning to send in were well-trained, it would be easier to trace to him—ability equaled a higher level of intelligence. Planning. Resources.

To fit in, you made sure to miss a few of your shots, even if it made your instinctual perfectionism rise. John would have torn you a new one if you’d missed this many during your selection all those years back. Probably would have asked how a Muppet like you had gotten this far with shite aim like that.

But Berto ate it up like Sunday dinner. Gave you the nickname Cross, actually. Like the crosshair of a scope.

It was safe to say you despised him.

But the days grew longer and the nights short with all of your running around. You’d found out that your Captain’s timeline was incorrect—the attack wasn’t in three months, it was in two. And while Berto was cocky, he wasn’t reckless.

He somehow knew there was a breach in the ranks; you could see it by how he looked over the squads in the underground bunker, all of you hidden under rock and stone like prisoners. The man would sneer, eyes filtering back and forth from the perch.

Sometimes you had to stop yourself from simply taking the shot presented in front of you and deal with the consequences afterward.

Price had been clear: all of the people gathered here needed to be taken care of quickly and quietly—if you snapped, the rest would disappear like roaches. Alive and biding time.

During those two months, the thoughts of Simon wouldn’t leave you.

Moments that seeped in behind closed eyelids after you’d slunk back into bed, the USBs full of vital intel stashed into the lining of your uniform in a small hidden pocket. His twitching smile and those deep scars along his face; the ones that would never go away.

In those moments you wondered what it would be like if you had told him how much you cared for his quiet company or his dark humor. The way he would level a hand on the small of your back off duty at the bars as a way to silently shield you from the stares from patrons.

You’d never be able to tell him now.

Vito “The Tanner” Berto knew of a leak, and when you came back to the bunker after sending out the multiple USB sticks, the physical files, and the first-hand accounts of what was going on—eager for just a little more to make this betrayal worth it…he was waiting.

You could only fight off so many others, no matter how subpar the training on their part, before sheer mass overtook ability. Like a house of cards with a bowling ball, you were shoved to the ground surrounded by multiple dead bodies of those you’d taken down with you—writhing and hissing as if a feral animal.

Restraints were leveled with your wrists; your head pulled back so your nose faced the ceiling. You only stopped struggling when the chilled barrel of a pistol was set under your chin.

Breath stilling, it was hard to understand how, even then, all that was in the front of your mind was Simon. Simon and his brown eyes. Simon and his screams when that building went up in fire and smoke.

“Trick!”

You could still hear the exact pitch and rhythm like it was yesterday.

“Cross,” Berto mutters, gun heavy as it digs into your flesh. Men pant and grapple to keep you back as you sneer and jerk your arms. “I should have known it would be you.”

“Well,” you growl, teeth bared, “obviously you didn’t.”

A slow smirk runs on his lips.

“No, but I’ll have to rectify this. I can’t have you getting in the way.” You can only hope that the intel gets out before the end of the second month—if not, then all of this was for nothing.

Why couldn’t you have left when you had the chance?

“Fucking Hell! Trick, answer me!”

He was why.

Simon—the source of all of your problems and the only person who could fix them besides yourself. It’s a sick joke really.

Vito grabs your chin and you huff out a swift breath, heart skipping beats as he burrows his digits tightly into your skin; hard enough to leave marks. He sighs and clicks his tongue and you have to keep back a whimper as his nails create crescents along your jaw.

“You won’t tell me anything, will you, then?”

“Negative,” you spit, heated.

He scoffs. “Of course.”

Berto throws your head back as you try to snap out and bite at his hand, rabid, but the man’s already gone and the mercenaries behind you yank you back like a dog on a leash. Your knees slide along the floor and you rage trying to turn around before the others are forced to shove your face into the ground. There is a distinctive snapping in your nose bridge as the concrete comes up to meet you; the tears come instinctually after—unable to be stopped as you yell in pain.

Blood floods your nostrils and mouth, making you cough as Vito’s voice echoes in your ringing ears.

“Let me get my knives.”

—

They had you chained in some damp back room, the corners riddled with mold spores and the air heavy with condensation. You were tied to the ceiling—feet dangling uselessly below you and the tips of your boots dragging across the floor with a quiet scrape and a creak of metal.

Above you, on the hook, the chains were tied so ruthlessly that you’d lost circulation to your arms entirely, nothing but an electric buzzing far inside of your bones. Akin to the static of a TV screen in between connections. Your clothes had been shredded by blades—long sections of your flesh underneath, cut away.

Blood stains most, if not all, of the floor. It drips from your nose; it falls like rain to pool at your feet in rippling crimson.

Simon had been your partner during required interrogation training and he was far better at it than you. The man could go for hours through the mental strain that was leveled out by other soldiers on him; stoic and silent. It was the way his eyes would blank that told you he could live through far worse—that he already had. You’d had your fair share as well, but never before had you felt as hopeless as this.

There was a slim chance that anyone would come for you here. Laswell and Price would carry the guilt of it, but you didn’t want them to.

The blood slips over your lips, and the taste of copper makes you gag; spitting out saliva from your lips.

It was half your choice, after all.

You try to slip into a happy memory as the lights fade in and out, the footsteps and mutterings outside the door of little interest anymore.

ironic, that the man with the mask of a dead person brought you comfort when so little could.

You never got to tell him how much you loved him. A thin smile comes across your lips.

“Shouldn’t be out here this late,” the man utters as you lay out in the field, arms and legs splayed and twitching when the long grass brushes against them. “Past curfew.”

“Like you aren't out here with me?” You raise an eyebrow, looking up at the stars now that the large base lights have been dimmed. The air is cold, and the breeze makes you shudder through a chill. But you don’t wipe that smile from your lips. “Bit hypocritical, Simon.”

You hear a low grunt.

“Out ‘ere because you weren’t answering your damn door.” A shadow slips to your side, and the man settles down with a huff on his lips. Simon retired his combat mask for a simple balaclava instead, and he sighed long as he settled his arm on the bent form of his right leg.

You blink over at him, raising a brow.

“Looking for me, Ghosty?”

“Bloody hell, Trick.” You chuckle, shifting your arms to rest on your chest as you look back at the stars far above.

“Oh, it’s alright, Big Guy.” The man shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft for me.”

“I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Trick, I’m tellin’ you to—”

“Shh!” You wave a hand in his direction, silencing him and making him blink at you in deep annoyance and confusion. Ghost’s eyes were narrowed, the black of his face paint gone and smelling like standard issue body wash.

He must have gotten out of the shower and come to see if you were still awake before making his way outside when you never answered the door. Funny how he knew where you would be.

“Fucking what, then?” He growls, shoulders wide.

You place a finger to your ear, shifting so you’re sitting up on one elbow and facing Simon. On your face, a wide smile lingers, but on his, the dark brows narrow with knowledge of a deceitful event incoming. “Listen.”

A silence falls, Simon’s ears twitching for something in the long grass or across the field. Nothing. Nothing but the breeze and the way your face glowed as you watched him, eyes glinting with amusement.

After a long minute or two, he looks at you with utter bewilderment. You lean in closer, poking a finger into his bicep.

“Can you hear it, Simon?” You’re one of the few he lets call him that, though never in public.

He glares. “No.”

You flutter your digits in the air, giggles trapped in your mouth. A whisper hits the Lieutenant’s ears. “Silence.”

“Bugger off,” he hisses as you reel back and belt out laughter, holding your sides and lightly curling into yourself. “You’re worse than Johnny. Jesus.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You let your laughter die down to chuckles, sanctity of night broken, but not so between the two individuals who look at each other with brimming affection none will name.

“You’re the one that came to find me, remember?” Your tease makes Ghost roll his eyes, looking away across the open area with its wave-like grasses.

“You’re right, then, I did,” Simon grunts, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “Mistake on my part.”

“Jerk,” a soft slap is leveled to his arm and he chuckles deeply. “But you can’t fool me, Ghosty. I know you’ll always come lookin’ for me—I’m too important to you to lose.”

“Keep kiddin’ yourself, Trickster.” He doesn’t say how he would agree with the statement, it was true after all. “I won’t be dragged into your bloody messes.”

He wouldn’t leave you behind to drown in them, even if it was as simple as you sneaking out of your bunk to watch the stars.

You’d both known each other too long for that.

You smile over at him as he sighs before slipping off his mask, itching at his stubble with hard fingers. The air settles. No comment about it entering in on the see-through waves—there didn’t need to be one.

“Mhm,” you hum, beaming. “You keep thinking that, Big Guy.”

“Trick!” Your memory shifts, and you sit up immediately. You’d thought you’d just heard…

Eyes dart out over the field, jumping back and forth rapidly. You look to the side, but Simon is gone entirely.

“Simon?” Heart beating, you stand fully up and turn in a fast circle, confusion and fear infecting your mind.

“Trick!” Pain sparks in your body, and you hiss and grab at your clothes. You blink so fast that you half-believe the world is ending.

“S-Simon?!” What was happening? What was hurting so bad? Where did Simon go?

“Trick, fucking wake up!”

Your eyes snap open and you instantaneously feel the burning pain inside of your ribs.

The ground is underneath you, hard and wet from your own blood as you yowl and cough, air entering your lungs in quick bursts.

Hands encase your cheeks, shaking your head—keeping you present.

A skeletal mask littered with droplets of human fluid stares down at you, and behind it, panicked brown eyes slash through your psyche in the small moment between agony and confusion.

Simon?

“Holy hell.” It’s that same Manchester accent. The same scrape of vocal cords. “Alright, Sweetheart. Keep those eyes open—keep ‘em on me, yeah?”

What was going on? You try to open your mouth to say something but all of it is lead. Were your ribs broken? How? And why was Simon’s bottom covering pushed up to his nose; his lips stained with blood?

The man frantically goes to press into his radio.

“This is Bravo 0-7,” he breathes, and you whimper as your throat gets clogged with congealed saliva and blood. You cough violently, gagging, and Ghost quickly turns you on your side to help you expel it. His hand is hard on your shoulder.

“I say again, this is Bravo 0-7!” Those browns never leave you, shocked and serious. “Price, I’ve got ‘er. It’s not good; had to revive but I don’t know how long she’s got.”

Revive? You’re spacing in and out, limp, and trying to breathe.

Simon tears open his medical pouch and begins wrapping tourniquets—packing the wounds with gauze until you can get proper medical treatment on the helo back to base.

“Bloody…” he trails, Price barking an order over the connection to bring you out; the firefight was moving to the East to give him an opening to sneak back out. “C’mon, Trick.”

Everything swims; you want to go back to that field—those stars.

Simon was here? Truly? The thought was hard to understand in your state.

“S-Sim—” Your voice gurgles, and you can’t feel your legs. You had to tell him. Tell him the good and the bad; all of it.

“Don’t talk,” he growls, moving you as your body seizes in a state of static shock. “I’m getting you out of ‘ere.” You’re lifted up in one grand movement, Simon grunting as he shifts you carefully into a bridal hold. “Then you’re going to explain this to me when you’re squared. Won’t take no for an answer.”

You could feel the anger sizzling off of him even half-conscious. The mixing emotions that convulsed into a mess of adrenaline and desperation. Forcing your eyes to stay open, you blink up at him as he glances down at you at the same time, just before he exits the door he had broken down.

The visible skin of his lips and chin tighten; going down with the twitch of with a serious frown. Something flutters behind his eyes as he stares before glancing away and clearing his throat.

“Eyes on me, Trickster. Don’t you dare close ‘em.” You grimace as he begins jogging, heavy boots echoing along the empty corridor as the sounds of gunfire and pandemonium sound off from the other side of the bunker.

It was hard to push back the black at the sides of your vision; already it was seeping back in. Ghost holds you tight, unwilling to even let you slip an inch from his grip as the lights above swirl, brightening and dimming.

“Oi!” You’re jostled, and you snap back to it, tensing as your wounds flex and pull. Simon glares. “What’d I just say?”

Your weakly poisoned grimace makes his lips twitch up.

“Good.”

There’s the sudden flick of a safety being clicked off, and the Lieutenant halts in a jerking of feet and a ruffle of canvas.

“I’ve heard about a Ghost making his rounds, hm?” Berto stands at the end of the hall, pistol held in front of him. “I saw an apparition disappearing to find one of its own. No worries. She’ll be a ghost, too, soon enough. Perhaps I’ll have to put you both to rest together.”

The voice makes you go panicked, remembering the tear of flesh and the sharp blades slicing your skin away, chunks that peeled, and the long stripes of flexible tendons. Your lungs fight for breath, your head weakly slapping into Simon’s neck after an attempt to move your body. Limbs shake and battle nerves; the fabric of your brain.

Your blood stains the man’s gear all the way down the front. It’s dripping to the floor, down his arms and off his elbows. You’re bathing him in it—a full-body baptism of betrayal.

“Berto,” Ghost says, accent casual despite the gun leveled at him. The name is drawn out. “Apologies, but I’m taking back what’s mine.” He tilts his head. “Scratch that, I’m not apologizing for getting back on a Bastard like you, eh? Pity I can’t hang you up like a hog, I’m proper good with a blade too, but as you can see, I’m on a crunch.”

Vito’s face goes confused, skin scrunching. “What—”

The bang of a bullet being discharged echoes down the way. The clatter of a great expulsion of air from lungs. Stumbling. Gargles.

The slam of a body to the ground.

Smoke spreads up from under the clutch of your knees, where Ghost holds the abyssal body of an M19 forward, his finger lightly on the trigger before he shifts it back in well-practiced discipline.

“Slag,” he spits.

Simon hikes you farther into him, lending over his available body heat as you shiver. He presses his face into the top of your head, sighing in relief before starting his pace again. The man’s lips brush your flesh as your lids flutter.

“Still with me?” You whine into his neck, fingers twitching. “I know it hurts, Love. I know. Easy with it.”

It didn’t just hurt, it burned. Buried like the nine layers of Hell.

He keeps whispering to you, slinking around corners and stepping into shadows. By the time he makes it outside with you, the chill of the air on the bottom of his face he didn’t even bother to re-cover, you’re tapering on the edge of oblivion again.

Teetering like a porcelain doll on the end of the high shelf.

“Bravo 0-6, leaving the bunker now, I need that MedEvac prepped and ready to go,” Simon speaks quickly, not wasting a single instant.

John’s voice wafts through. “Copy, 0-7. Helo is comin’ in, be ready it’s going to get hot!”

“Affirm. Keep it frosty down ‘ere.” There’s a low chuckle and the swift wizz of bullets.

“Get our Trickster back in one piece, Ghost.” Simon hears the buzzing of helicopter blades in the night, a slick form descending from the dark clouds not moments later. He turns away from the flurry of air, walking hurriedly backward so the air doesn’t aggravate you.

“Trick,” Ghost calls to you above the noise, hearing the hurried feet of medics coming out to take you from him. Your face is scrunched and you burrow into him. “I’m handing you over!”

You try to open your eyes enough to convey your unease at that. You have to tell him. You have to explain why you had to do it. The guilt is eating you; gnawing with red teeth and gripping with devil’s claws. You have to explain that you love him even if he hates you now.

Medics grapple you away, and you are in pain, lips peeling back to gasp sharply, thrashing.

No!

“Fuck,” Ghost growls, pulling you away from the men as they ask him what in the bloody hell he’s doing. He doesn’t even know—all he knows is that he’s pissed at you for what you did, but never in a million years did that mean he wanted to see you in pain.

Simon can’t lie, when he was told you were alive, the universe had held its breath. A miracle. A ruse. But alive. Alive and trapped.

“Stop it!” He yells, caging you into him. “I’m here! I’m right here, Trickster!”

You’re already too gone for it, not recognizing the metal of the helo as you’re settled on your back, the loud slam of the door. Fingers pull and prob as you hiss and snap, suffocating.

Ghost holds down your shoulders, his eyes right above yours—but you’re not looking. The helo takes off

“Bloody hell,” Simon yells. “Look at me!”

You don’t know what compels you to do so, but your eyes open just the slightest bit wider. Brown melts into your pupils, taking you in and reminding you of chilled summer nights. Simon. You pant but stop struggling.

The medics jump into action, ripping away the remains of your shirt and pants so they can get to the wounds; assess the damage done.

“That’s it,” Simon sighs long, swallowing. “That’s a girl. There we go, Sunshine.”

You blink, face peeled as everything swirls far more aggressively this time.

“Listen to me, Trick. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, you understand. You said I’d always find you, yeah?” Hands grab your cheeks. “Well, I fucking did, eh? I found you. We’re gonna fix you up, Sweetheart. It’ll all be gone by morning.” You stutter down a breath, ragged throat stretching.

“Let ‘em fix you up—”

“I love you.”

It all fades to black, but all you remember is the sweep of horror that spreads behind the man’s eyes.

—

“You went back,” Price’s arms are crossed, and he stares at you as your fingers play with the sheets of the hospital bed. “Why?”

You sigh and rub at your face.

“Trick.”

“I felt like I needed to,” you give away, twitching your fingers out in an expression of nonchalantness. “I felt…” Your voice trailed off into a growl. “Bad.”

“Feelings aren’t a part of this, Trickster, you bloody know that,” John hisses, leaning his head closer as you glare silently. “If you’d left when you could, none of this would have fucking happened.”

“I feel bad, Price!” You break, snapping. “I fucking know! But I-I thought if I just got a bit more intel, then this would have been worth it.” Taking a deep breath you shake your head and rub at your face, all of the bandages and stitches pulling tight. “It’s eating at me. I can’t…I can’t just act like what I lied about can be forgotten.”

You shrug as the man listens silently, monitors beeping and the small buzz of the overhead lights.

“Soap barely looks at me—Gaz gave me that fucking pity smile and it makes me want to scream.”

“They’ll get over it.” The Captain repeats what he said months prior firmly. “They know the Op was top priority, they’ll grow up and be back to fucking around in days.”

You scoff, muttering in a dejected tone. “He won’t.”

John is still, fixing his feet from under him as he rolls his nose and looks away slowly.

Simon hadn’t come to visit once in the time you’d been here in the ward—four days. That fact alone makes you restless. You don’t remember what you said to him, if you said anything. But you knew that he wasn’t going to be going out of his way to be near you anymore.

You’d taken a grenade to the relationship you’d built. Toy building blocks are scattered.

“Simon’s…Simon,” Price ends on. You groan and itch at the IV in your hand. “He cares about you more than anyone, yeah? He just needs time. Wasn’t himself after the set-up.”

“I’ve been told,” Gaz had informed you about the Lieutenant's self-isolation after your ‘death’. The snappy orders—deathly glares. He’d gone back to the ruthless man he was in the field and instead of being directed at his enemies, it was directed at them.

Kyle explained how he’d argued with Price about how he could have gotten to you, before abruptly falling silent and stalking away as if a flip had been switched. Snake eyes and clenched fists.

They’d heard him in the gym late at night, reaming on the punching bags. They didn’t think he slept more than three hours per day if the red lines in his eyes were anything to go by.

And then they were told that you were alive but captured, and he’d gotten worse.

You’d nearly started sobbing when the Sergeant had told you all of that.

“I betrayed his trust, Price,” you level. “I…I never wanted to do that to him. Ever. Not Simon.”

A shadow passes by the door just as the Captain grunts. “That’s the job.”

“That’s not the job I signed up for when I got into this. We don’t lie to our own.”

“‘We get dirty, the world—’” You cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘stays clean’.” Your eyes level with his. “I can do the dirty work, John, you know that. Infiltration and undercover work is what I’m good at.” The man nods slightly. “But if you ask me to betray One-Four-One’s trust again, I’m out.”

Blue eyes blink in shock, but you don’t let him speak.

“Find someone else to get fake blown up in a building. I can’t get his fucking screams out of my head.” John watches you silently, eyes narrowed.

You meet that gaze head-on, not backing down from this.

The Captain shakes his head a minute later. “Bloody made for each other,” he mutters under his breath, grunting. Another shadow slips past going the opposite direction, probably a nurse.

Without another word John turns and exits the room, tossing a hand behind his head casually in a way to say goodbye.

You huff and roll your eyes, heat on your cheeks.

The day wains, and you let the nurses come in to do their checkups and replace the IV. As the curtains are pulled back into place, supper sits heavy in your stomach.

You wanted to see Simon.

You knew it wouldn’t go well, and wouldn’t be the goody-goody outcome you prayed for…but you felt wrong without apologizing in person. It went against your morals, and already those were incredibly skewed. Maybe he’d yell, or even ignore you as if you weren’t there.

Simon wasn’t above not speaking to people he didn’t like.

You had to try.

When all was dark, you shuffled out of the hospital bed and fought the weakness of your legs. Shaking like a leaf, you walked around with only your tied gown, unapologetic of the slit down the back showing flashes of your bra and underwear.

It wouldn’t be anything the Lieutenant hadn’t seen before.

Walking through the silence, you sigh and stand outside of his door; dread in your heart and seeping from the pulled stitches of your wounds. Your bare feet on the tile make you shiver.

Lifting up a fist, you hesitate.

Your hand hovers over the wood, sliding forward before you pull it back to you. Closing your eyes tight, you clench your jaw once and take a deep breath.

Knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock.

The sequence was your call sign. If you knocked like that, he would know it was you—whereas Simon's own was just a single slam of the side of his fist.

The only real problem now was that he wasn’t answering.

You stare dumbly at the barrier, blinking like a fool. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to understand the realization that he wasn’t ignoring you—he just wasn’t in his room.

Taking a step back, you rub the back of your neck in exasperation and hurry to the nearest exit.

“Of course,” you breathe. You know exactly where he is at a time like this.

The field holds a standing shadow, a ghost of issued fatigues with a thick jacket against the chill that leaves you shivering. Simon stares out over the training grounds with his hands in his pockets, balaclava pulled all the way down to hide him from you.

You come to a slow halt behind him and stare.

It’s not long before the man gunts, turning his head back from over his shoulder to look at you blankly. He knew you were there.

The eye contact stays for a long, long while—until you’re hypnotized in the shades of brown and amber and the large build that seems to broaden because of your appearance.

“I’m here to apologize.” You say it breathlessly. “I’m not asking you to hear me out, but I have to let you know I regret doing it. Price said that it was time-sensitive and I—”

Stopping yourself, you look away. It sounded too much like an excuse, you hissed to yourself. At the end of the day, it was still your acceptance that pushed the pawn forward.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” you breathe. “I betrayed your trust.”

His eyes are piercing you, but you still can’t look at him. The man slightly turns your way. His voice was monotone and grunting out like a dog.

“You think I couldn’t handle it?” Your heart starts, and you’re shaking your head instantly.

“No.” You explain quickly—honestly. “It’s that…I didn’t want you to.”

You hear his lips take in a quiet breath. Simon rolls his shoulders before looking away from you. Nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“You said you loved me.” Your body freezes, jaw going slack as your face drops. You don’t speak, mute as if the air in your lungs has been stolen.

You had done…what?

All of your tricks couldn’t get you out of this one.

“I,” you force a fake laugh, hands beginning to shake. “I, what? No, I’m sure that’s not what I said. A-are you sure it wasn’t, like, an ‘I appreciate you’ or maybe a…a,” your voice catches. “A whole ‘I’m fond of you’ sort of thing…? Hm?”

Simon takes a step forward and you take one back. This was worse than torture, you decided. The pain in your pulling stitches and re-set nose was welcome here.

“Trick,” Ghost utters, and you stare hard at his neck, humming. “Stop talking.”

“Copy,” you whisper quickly, shoulders falling.

He’s so close you can feel his body heat melting into you, and you want nothing more than to touch him. Simon’s hand comes up to your chin, and he angles it up as you stop breathing, lips parted.

“I heard you in the med ward talkin’ to Price. Was outside the door the ‘ole time.” The shadow.

He tilts your head to the side to stare at the medical tape over the slashes in your skin. The scars won’t bother you—you had plenty of others to show as well. But Simon was…studying you. Assessing.

His eyes blink slowly with those long pale lashes, and they slide up to you as he leans in close to your ear. Still, you stand comatose.

“You put me through a fucking heap ‘o hurt, Love.” You stare over his shoulder, not speaking, not moving.

Simon leans back and lets go of your chin, brushing a finger over your nose and the puffy skin there.

“Never do that again.” It’s final, how he says it. But the layers of depth are plain to hear. Simon speaks low and even—gaze trapping yours like a curse.

You know he won’t talk about the things you’ve heard. The aggression or the late-night gym trips. You’ve known him for years, and know his brain like the back of your hand.

Shivering, you nod once, content with not answering verbally to break the sanctity of the moment. Seeing Simon like this made you ease your fears. You clear your throat to push back the stuffiness.

“Thought you held grudges, Big Guy?” Nearly not heard, you mutter and pick at where the IV needle is supposed to be.

A hand catches yours and stops you from making it bleed.

“Do,” Ghost grumbles, turning your hand over and moving his face closer until you feel his breath. “Just not with my Bird.”

His balaclava is suddenly up to his nose, and those lips that had been covered in your blood previously situated themselves perfectly to yours.

You gasp, arm outstretched beside you in shock.

You’d kissed him before, but this felt different. More intimate. Simon’s arms slip around your waist, and you retaliate by locking your shaking arms behind his back, feeling the gentle passes of his lips.

Mouth to mouth, you breathe each other in as if grasping for the other’s soul in desperation. A desperation that tells you how much the beast of a man around you was terrified of your death and the body he had to carry into the helo—of the lengths he would go to stave death from touching your tender flesh.

No, only he was allowed to do that, and he was a reaper in his own right.

A small death that infected you at every breath puffing into your mouth, every whine and whimper he could draw like water to swallow down as ambrosia. Nectar of the Gods, and it was right there in his arms. Back. Alive.

To be alive in the summer field of this old military base was to accept that death, and into it, hope that the few moments you had together truly made a difference.

Simon would hold you there—and when that was done, wrap you in his jacket and carry your battered body back inside; watching your swollen lips and the wide eyes as they gaze back at him.

Because he could hate you all he wanted for this, for the lies, for the way you made him care…but the both of you would still be alive to do so.

He guessed that was all that mattered.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @l-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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callsign-datura · 2 months

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Hcs or works for a touch-starved reader dating 141+ Alejandro and Konig? She never initiates but the second they cuddle with her or put a hand on her waist she just gets embarrassingly turned on?

Ghost was a little surprised. He could tell that you craved physical intimacy, but you never once initiated it. You always lingered, always leaned, always stood near-- but you never said a thing about what you wanted. He started taking note of it a while into your relationship after he became comfortable with physical intimacy. Each time you cuddled, you were always pressed tight to him; clinging onto him for dear life, it seemed like, as he dragged his calloused hands up and down your back. To him, it was a gentle moment, one where he was quietly demonstrating to you that he loved you. To you? Jesus Christ, you were DROOLING. Your eyes were screwed shut as you shuddered through the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin, a breath leaving your lips as your grip tightened on him almost barely. He took note of this change in behavior almost immediately, and his eyes fluttered open and he looked down at you. His left hand slid up your shirt, sending you shuddering once more as he cupped your waist with his right hand. He leaned down and kissed your head, and he felt something in his chest bubble whenever he heard that little whimper that left your lips. "Gonna tell me what y'want, babydoll, or are you gonna suffer in silence?" Price always felt like your behavior was a little odd. He never said anything about it but he noticed it. The way you trembled in his hold as he cuddled you close to his chest, the way you whimpered when he put his face in your neck and the stubble on his chin grazed your soft flesh. The way that you'd shift back against him just a little whenever you were the little spoon, the way your grip on his wrist would tighten when his hand drifted southward; he could tell, and he liked it. Liked hearing those shuddering breaths, liked teasing you about it until you were huffing and puffing about how mean he was. It was one of the nights you were cuddling. You had your back to his chest and he had his chin resting on your shoulder. It was a normal cuddling session, one you always shared before you fell asleep. His touch was getting to you, as it always did. He took notice of it this time and decided to go further with it. His hand drifted underneath the waistband of your pants and panties, and he littered little kisses over your shoulders. He tensed up a moment upon feeling how wet you were, and a strained hum left his lips. "Christ. This turned on from a little cuddling, love? What m' I gonna do with you...?" Soap, bless this boy, he was oblivious for the longest time. Oblivious to the way you squirmed and shuddered and whined in his grip, always equating it to you being you; playful and restless. It took you alluding to it very strongly for it to click in his head. When it finally did, he didn't say anything; just decided to play on it. Spent the day holding your waist, your hips, putting a hand on your back or cupping your face when he got the chance, laughing to himself each time your face flushed and a breath left your lips. He knew he was going to make it up to you. He just wanted to see if your little problem was as bad as it seemed.

You were definitely on edge the entire day, and when you finally got to be alone with him, he was immediately making out with you... intent on making it up to you. "M'sorry, dove, gon' make it up to ya, okay? Jus' bear with me... wanna make you feel good now." Gaz could tell something was up. He knew immediately and immediately had to say something about it. The conversation wasn't... embarrassing, per se, it was just interesting to see his response to how you felt and how his actions affected you. Gaz is always a very physically affectionate person. Holding you, caressing you, kissing you when he can; and to hear that those little things turned you on so goddamn easily? He was thrilled.

He loved being intimate with you. It was an experience he adored; he loved being able to bond with you in that way, loved being able to be so close to you. Knowing that this would just make way for more passionate sex... ...So he started playing on it. Teasing you with this shit-eating grin on his face about the entire thing, running his hands up and down your sides as he kisses your shoulders and his eyes twinkle as he looks at you. "Mm? What's wrong? ...Again?" Konig... He also knows. I mean, you were never necessarily subtle about it. He picked up on it right away and at first decided to give you some grace. Less touches that could set your body alight, more nearness rather than touching. But he found himself missing your body heat, missing the way your flesh felt underneath his hands, missing the way you shuddered and panted just from him holding you. Trying to make a situation less difficult for you quickly ended up starving him of what he needed from you so badly. So he decided to give in to his desires, and yours. It happened one night when you were both lying in bed. Content with being near each other yet craving something more, Konig's head tilted in your direction and those baby blues of his sparkled as he shifted a bit closer to you. Draping an arm over your midsection, he held your belly and kissed your shoulder, trailing them up your neck as he nuzzled his face into you, taking in your scent and feeling the tent in his pants grow more by the second. He grunts quietly. "I can't do it anymore, Schatz. Have to have you..." Alejandro is a very passionate lover. Expect to have sex often. It's not very often your needs go unnoticed, however, as he quickly notices the look on your face when he holds you. His hands on your hips from behind as you make a meal, his face buried into your back as he breathes in your scent and whispers sweet nothings to you, enjoying the closeness. You'd told him about your little habit, so it was always present in the back of his mind how you'd respond to these little displays of affection. Your body tenses, and he feels your muscles flex underneath his grip. His hands travel from your hips to your abdomen, his thumbs rubbing along the flesh and cupping the curve there as he sways you back and forth. He pushes against you from behind teasingly to see how you respond. When you gasp, he feels a sense of pride come over him. "Something you need, cariño? Use your words... I'll be happy to make you feel good if that's what you're craving, mm?"

#141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #price x reader #price cod #soap x reader #soap cod #gaz x reader #konig x reader #alejandro vargas #alejandro x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #141 headcanons #callsign datura

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thegnomelord · 1 month

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ooohh I love the idea of alpha gaz actually. Especially with his dynamic with price because price is kind of like his role model sometimes and he's a much older and more experienced guy that's used to being in leadership positions. Gaz is younger and somewhat looks up to price and has never been in a position to tell other people what to do, so to have that flipped in the bedroom and have omega price and alpha gaz is not what most people would expect them to be. It makes their relationship more interesting. And gaz especially would be a good alpha because he's not a hothead and can keep control of himself more than most other alphas can. And I mean we've already had omega Gaz fics so it would be nice to switch it up this time (not if you don't want to. Just ideas)

Hm that's a good point and a cool dynamic idea too :Dd, as I'm not all that certain if I'm gonna even do abo so here's a quick experimental brain fart with Alpha Gaz/omega Price/alphaHound

CW:NSFW, this is more or less when Hound has mostly been rehabed and is more confident about intimacy. Not all too happy about it but it's a good enough example of how I'd incorporate the abo dynamic. Tell me what ya'll think lol

Price looks like he's run a marathon, huffing and puffing more than a racehorse as he settles in his nest. Of course his heat had to hit a whole 2 weeks earlier than it was supposed to, leading him to make a makeshift nest out of whatever he had in his closet and what the lads gave him. You'd think with him getting on in age his heats would slow down and lessen in intensity, but it seemed like his body was out to get him with his heats remaining the same as they had been when he first joined the military.

At least he's got two alphas able to help him through it.

Gaz doesn't have an overpowering scent like most alphas, but the smell of an omega in the first stages of heat will have any alpha's scent glands going into overdrive. The heady smell of nutmeg and beeswax spreads through the room, mixing with Price's own mint and blackberry scent that's been turned sweeter from his heat, as Kyle tentatively gets in the nest, fumbling with his belt like he's a teenager while he nuzzles his nose into Price's sweaty neck.

"Kyle I swear on the queen if you don't pick up the pace." Price hisses but the edge in his words are dulled by the soft purrs coming from his chest.

"Sorry sir," Kyle mumbles as he rubs his skin against Price's, somehow managing to end up between Price's spread legs, his fingers pushing into his slick hole. "I just- you smell so good."

"Eager whelp." You huff a small laugh as Price groans. Your own movements are slower, more measured, your scent muskier thanks to your age. You feel Kyle's hackles raise as you settle behind him, your body so, so much larger than his. But the low rumbling chuffs you make has him calming down just a bit, enough to not notice when your hand grips his wrist, two of your fingers sliding in along his and curling. "Move your hand like this, you'll get him wet in seconds."

Price moans as your curling fingers brush against the spongy spot inside him, his cock leaking a few drops of pre against his stomach. "As if you weren't the same." Price chuckles, holding Kyle by the scruff so he can pull him down into a sloppy kiss. "First time you helped Simon with his heat you barely lasted a minute before you shot your lil lads like a virgin."

Gaz doesn't know how either of you have enough sense in your heads left to think let alone talk when he feels like his brain is melting through his dick. Your scents curl in his nose and he whines, so hard it hurts him as he feels Price clench and relax around his fingers. He sobs his muffled 'thank you's into Price's neck when you deem Price prepped enough, a firm hand on his cock guiding him inside that tight heat.

Kyle's hips try to snap up to sheathe himself inside his omega on instinct, a low and pitiful grownly whine leaving him when you hold him steady with only his tip inside that tight heat.

"Go slow." You chastise him, one large hand on his hip to keep Gaz still while the other slides down to hold him by his knot. "Wouldn't want you to cum too soon, right?" When Kyle nods dumbly you slowly push on his hips until he's almost all the way inside Price, a small slap on his flank getting Kyle to rock his hips in a way you hope Price still likes.

"Lad- you-" Your name sounds like an angel's choir on Price's lips, his head falling back. Kyle takes that time to lay kisses and hickeys across his neck. "So good to me boys." Price slurs, eyes closing and enjoying the stretch of his walls around Kyle's cock, the pleasure and small hints of pain scratching that gnawing heat in his blood.

"Careful now Kyle," You hum and let go of his cock when he picks up the pace you want him to have, his ass grinding against your cock every time he pulls out to thrust back into Price. "I'll need to show you how to fuck properly if you lack the skills."

You can see why Price picked him to be the team's alpha. Most knotheaded whelps would have been up at arms for even the mere suggestion of taking a cock up the ass, yet by the sharpening of Kyle's scent you can he likes the idea.

"I wouldn't mind that." Kyle shoots back, and his surprising words get a pleased rumble out of you. "Yeah, you like that big man- fuck- hah-" the teasing list in his voice is lost as he moans, the smooth glide of his cock into Price and the lewd sound of omega slick squelching every time he moves making heat burn in his veins.

He shivers as your massive body presses further against his back, pinning him between you and Price and forcing his cock to go deeper with every thrust. "Good." You rumble against his neck, the cold metal plating your canines pressing against his skin as you gently nibble on his neck only working to further stoke the burning heat in his body. "Because I'm finding you lacking."

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xo-cod · 5 months

Note

would you write something about casual intimacy with simon please??🥹🫠

i'm in love with casual intimacy :") hope you enjoy babe <33 i couldn't pick one so i did a bunch but lmk if you'd like a specific scenario 🤍

rushed/ooc as usual.

affection and attention had been something the masked soldier had struggled with for years. he naturally had been closed off and reserved at the start, he didn't care much for intimacy having never truly finding it in his life. but when you entered his life, it'd all changed him completely

simon riley who disliked being caught in hugs and being squeezed, who grew to become incredibly uncomfortable and awkward around hugs and physical touch now came home from a long and hard day of work to actively seek you out and just collapse onto you in a heap, cuddling you close to his chest falling asleep on you. feeling as safe as ever between your arms

simon riley who was an incredibly observant man, who was known on picking up on the small habits others around him did even if they weren't aware of it casually and silently handing you glasses of water or food throughout the day because he knows you might tend to forget or you didn't have a good habit of remembering when to do so.

simon riley who had an intelligent yet busy mind, filled to the brim of placements on how to take down the target as efficiently as possible and how better to inflict the worst torture on his enemy carried space to memorise your coffee/tea order, making sure it was just the right temperature for you to drink and the correct amount of sweetener (or none) so you didn't have to top up

simon riley who everytime you both spoke couldn't help but fidget slightly with you purely out of love. who noticed everytime a strand had been out of place and delicately brushing it back as you spoke to him, continuing to listen intently but making sure your hair remained as perfect as ever

simon riley who was a natural born leader and protector, who lead his team along with price through countless battles and ensuring every last of his men came back to safety now couldn't stop protecting you no matter what. holding your hand securely with his fingers toying with yours or a gentle hand on the small of your back guiding you through the crowd of the streets, keeping you safe and close by at all times

simon riley who didn't laugh much through his youth or a fair share of his adulthood, never being able to find that connection and keeping to himself now gently nudged your calf with his foot under the table everytime soap and gaz did something stupid knowing it was funny but wouldn't give them the ego boost so he kept it to you solely. or his linking his foot with yours from the opposite side even if it was unknowingly because his body craved your warmth, some part of him having to touch you no matter what

or simon riley who was incredibly strong and who scoffed at the sight of couples, who thought he didn't need someone else now enjoyed resting his head gently on your lap whenever he had the chance. his fingers laced with yours as he brought the back of your palm for a soft kiss, still not used to the fact that you were his and he was yours.

simon riley loved different than most, initially he had been too worried to even reciprocate any feelings because he was damaged. some parts of his past couldn't be healed and he swore up and down he could never do to uou what his father did to his mother. some days were easy and others were hard, some days he sought out your touch other days he needed to be alone for a while to decompress.

but even in those silent moments, there was love.

he learnt that perhaps love itself didn't have to be made of grand gestures or explosive displays. it didn't have to be chaotic and mind numbing, it didn't have to be so terrifying and confusing. you were the anchor keeping him steady and grounded

love was made up of the little things and simon was so full of them, he might've not been the most romantic person in the whole world but he was always there and he cared for you in ways that couldn't fully explain himself. it took months of him adjusting around you, it took time to fully trust and let you in, to break down the walls that guarded his heart so fiercely but your life had intertwined so deeply with his, his heart was yours simply all along.

he thanked his lucky stars everyday when it came to you because he didn't have to pretend or make a charade, this love came easy. your love came easy and it wasn't for a price it wasn't something you snatched and dangled in front of him only to watch him fall and break. you kept him steady and in return, he cherished you well.

you truly were the other half to his soul <3

#asks #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader fluff

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fallenneziah · 1 year

Text

How they are in bed

Includes John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

CW: pretty self explanatory, NSFW

Soap 🧼

He can be a Dom and a sub, just say the word. He loves to be dominate but can let you take the reigns no problem at all.

Has a mommy/daddy kink when subbing.

Sloppy oral. Super oral fixation and whether he's given clit or cock he will lose himself on you. Sloppy and greedy he'll could make you cum six times and he's still not satisfied, holding you down and lapping at your cum through your sensitivity.

Absolutely a brat and will try to provoke you.

Loves to wear clothing he knows will make you want him then and there.

Will also try to fuck you on mission a lot. One big horny brat.

He's down for any position but loves when you'll pretzel/saddle with him. It just gets his heart going in ways he's never felt.

Eye contact or not, if there's no intimacy to the interaction he cannot enjoy it. One night stands will him to an orgasm probably, but he doesn't truly enjoy himself without the intimacy.

Your nipples also fit into his oral fixation. They could be sore and sensitive but he'll suck and bite your sensitive nipples until he can't get anymore.

The kind of guy to get so drunk he's spilling nonsense before you are. loves watching you roll your hips, thrusting along his cock so nicely. How your insides clench and tighten around him so greedily. It makes him feel so good.

If he's subbing you must pull his hair. "Mommy/daddy!! I'll be a good boy for you, I promise- augh!!" Once you start pulling his mohawk it's over for him. He's cumming regardless.

Loves orgasm denial no matter what way it goes if you're torturing him or vice versa.

Loves rough sex but will also wake you up early in the morning, ready to soak in your presence with gentle love.

He loves to call you his sunflower (gn), mommy/daddy, and the more teasing and playful name Sud. (Get it, like, soap suds?? Ok, I'll go)

Ghost 💀

He hates being called daddy. If you call him daddy he will immediately lose all arousal in the interaction. But if you call him sir, or lieutenant, he will lose his mind over you. "Sir- I'm so close, please l-lieutenant!!"

He doesn't want to disclose it but he's kind of kinky. He never wants to hurt you, and despite popular belief he is not a sadist unless he has your full consent eight times over. Consent is so important to him you don't understand. If you have not confirmed to his face in simple words you like something, he will not do it.

Impact play. He loves to bend you over doggy style and slap your ass until it's red and sore with his handprints. They're like his way of marking you even if they will disappear soon.

Doesn't have much of an oral fixation but will mark you with so many hickeys it's impossible to hide them.

Bites your inner thighs. Before he takes you in his mouth to give you the most heaven forbidden, bone hollowing oral he will nip and bite your inner thighs and along the soft flesh under your ass.

He does not sub. He's not always a strong Dom unless he's in the mood but he does not like to sub at all. He likes to be in control at all time and a lack of such will immediately pull him out of the experience and turn him off.

Fucks like an animal. He enjoys consent but once he's getting it he will fuck you until you forget your own name. He pulls your hair to arch your back and wraps his hands around your throat.

He could fuck you Doggystyle or have you on your back facing him, your legs resting on either of his hips.

He doesn't like to fuck in clothing. It's just weird. He will only wear his mask or his gloves to fuck you and nothing else.

If you wear one of his balaclava's in bed- sorry but you will be getting zero rest.

He does not have a very high sex drive but he's the kind of guy who can get you to orgasm eight times by the time he cums.

He calls you his precious whore, baby, love, and his only.

John Price 🥃

Definitely Doms. And he Doms hard.

He likes to tie you up in his office while he does his paperwork, disregarding you except for you needily grinding your wet cunt on his shoe or rutting your erection into the sole of his boot.

Loves to be called daddy. It goes right to his cock. Will praise you throughout sex or daily tasks. When you finish up a ton of paperwork he will kiss your neck and mutter "Such a good girl/boy."

"When you're finished up your tasks, daddy has a reward for you." And that reward is fucking your throat.

He enjoys watching you squirm helplessly with him. Lighting up a cigar while you grind against him, trying so hard to come while he refuses to touch you.

Strokes his fingers through your hair while guiding you down on his cock.

When you're in the privacy of his room he likes to fuck you in front of the mirror, forcing you to watch your entrance stretching and welcoming his cock. "See how I wreck you sweetheart (gn)?? Look at your hole taking daddy so well."

Is always open to trying new stuff with you as long as it does not involve hurting you too much.

If you bug him while he's in his office he will either make you fuck yourself on his cock while still sitting in his chair or he'll pick you up like you weigh absolutely nothing, slam you on his desk and demolish your hole while you scream his name.

Although he really enjoys sex when he can admire you doing all the work. Touching you during sex depending on the. He instance isn't always a huge turn on.

He loves cowgirl, watching you writhe on his cock, shifting your hips, your thighs burning in exhaustion to keep yourself going while Price does absolutely nothing to help you.

Eventually when you give in he'll take your hips and proceeds to fuck you silly.

Loves receiving oral over giving but when he does give oral he sends you to heaven for a quick checkup before you come back to your body and realize you just came so hard.

Calls you his good girl/boy, daddy's whore, princess, darling (gn), beautiful.

Gaz ��

Can dom and sub. He isn't always a strict Dom but you will be reminded he is in charge.

Loves to control what you are allowed to do during sex. If you are reading a book and he wants to delve himself on some oral, you better not say a fucking word.

He loves giving and receiving oral, keeps it's clean for the most part but when he makes you cum he laps at your delicious spend, all for himself.

Loves to mark your beautiful skin with hickeys and nip at the sensitive patches, hearing you gasp and whimper.

Doesn't have any special names he likes, if you want to call him daddy or Kyle, it all does the same things to him.

Also the type of guy to fuck you in the mirror and make you watch your own face as he gives you what you want.

Hard sex, rough, desperate, carnal sex. He's rearranging your insides, especially if it's after a mission. The rare occasions when he's gentle is in the mornings when his cock is pressed between your thighs or lazily dragging in and out of your tight hole.

Can and will spit down your throat. If you open your mouth for a prolonged amount of time he is lubing up your throat with his own saliva.

Can get absolutely bottom drunk like Johnny. Lapping at your pre-cum and licking you through your overstimulating. Loves to nip your clit or your balls just to be a bit meaner while you writhe from just seeing your life flash before your eyes.

"Look at you, absolutely destroyed by my cock. Look at your beautiful face sweetheart. Such a beautiful face ruined on my cock."

Loves for you facing him, legs over each of his shoulders or sometimes both legs over one shoulder while he fucks into you.

Aims to please you over himself 9/10.

Loves to call you sweetheart and babe most.

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

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hello, i love your works that shows all of them the most as i feel like you can clearly show to us readers what their personalities and perspective are.

so if you have the time and you’re keen, may we know the 141 boys+los vaqueros+konig’s fave sex position to do to you and to be done on them? that or what they would do to a reader who has higher sexual libido and stamina than them.

i hope to really see this. thank you and more love to your works. may the diety of inspiration visit your dreams every night. thank you!! ❤️

Oof I love your brain!

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Positions for you: mating press all the way, he likes to be as close to you as he can possibly get, he loves being able to look in your eyes and see the love and adoration he feels for you reflected back at him, he also loves how deep he can get and how easily it makes you cry out his name.

Positions for him: cowgirl, he loves looking up at you, he loves watching you move, watching you use him however you need.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

Positions for you: loves having you lay down on your stomach, hips slightly raised as he ruts into you, loves feeling the plush of your ass cushion against his thrusts. Might pull out just to squeeze your cheeks together and rub himself against you, he loves how deep he can get and loves watching the muscles in your back flex when you grip the sheets.

Positions for him: seated with you on top and your legs wrapped around his hips as he slowly thrusts up into you, he loves being close to you and loves the intimacy of sustained eye contact, he loves the softness of it but loves how easily you can turn it around and get a little rough with him.

John Price:

Positions for you: both of you laying down on your sides, your back against his chest, he loves soft lazy morning sex, loves rubbing his morning hard on between your ass cheeks and lazily thrusting into you, hiking one of your legs over his hip, softly kissing you good morning

Positions for him: modified cowgirl with you leaned back with your hands on his thighs, he loves watching you move, watching you roll your hips, watching your head fall back as you cry out his name

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

Positions for you: bent over, face down, ass up, loves running his hands all over you, tracing the curve of your spine, snaking his arm around you occasionally to straighten you up and kiss you sloppily.

Positions for him: reverse cowgirl, he’s obsessed with watching your ass grinding on him, loves grabbing the meat off your hips every time you move.

König:

Positions for you: on your back with your legs over his shoulders, he’s able to hit that sweet spot, he can turn his head to kiss your small ankles, he can lean down and kiss your swollen mouth, he can memorize every inch of you.

Positions for him: sitting on the edge of the bed or couch with you on his lap, your back against his chest, loves it when your head rolls back against his shoulder and you look up at him, raising your hips only to drop yourself back down on him. He loves it when you use him.

Alejandro Vargas:

Positions for you: missionary all the way, he loves watching you, loves touching you, loves kissing and biting and sucking and licking every piece of skin that’s available to him, he loves watching your face contort in sweet agonizing pleasure as he gets you closer and closer. He’ll lean forward on his forearms, cradling your head and kissing your neck.

Positions for him: honestly? I don’t see him as being picky when it comes to his favorite thing for you to do to him, the only thing he really cares about is that you feel god and that he’s able to please you.

Rodolfo Parra:

Positions for you: on your back with your hips partially hanging off the bed, he’s got your legs wrapped around him, his strength keeping you supported, he loves seeing how responsive you are to his touch, the way your back arches and your legs tighten every time he hits that sweet spot.

Positions for him: I feel like he’s in the same boat as Alejandro in that he’s not particular, he just wants you to enjoy yourself. But maybe he likes it when you ride him, and maybe he likes it when you take control every now and then.

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ghouljams · 8 months

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I love witch darling and Price they have my whole heart (and Liebling and Konig bc I'm a sucker for straight pairings where the woman could say "heel" and the big scary guy would listen)

I just love the idea of visible claims, beyond just the obvious sexy stuff of "marked, now you're mine." Bc the way you wrote it it's more a sign of how long they've been together, how familiar they are, how much they long to have something somewhat tangible as a reminder that they're there for each other. It's an intimacy of knowing one another

Price and Witch being so intertwined that Price meets up with the other Fae boys and is confused at why they're shuffling uncomfortably until he realises he has Witches magic all over him and not only did he not notice bc he's become so used to their presence that it's a comfort but the fact that it's there means they have become so used to his presence they automatically warded him a little bit, not intentionally or through any rituals but their intent of wanting to protect him and keep him safe (and maybe even mark him what? Who said that?) Wrapped around him like a loving embrace. For a couple who's interactions started off measured and contract-like its a real step up to the point that welcoming him is as easy as breathing. (Loving someone like breathing)

Witch goes about their day perfectly happy until they notice something in the corner of their eye and see Prices magic clinging to their doorway, a sign to ward off any unwelcome visitors. And they should be mad at him but... the last time he was here was days ago and if they confront him they have to admit to themselves and him that it took them that long to notice after days of walking past, just accepting it as normal.

Witch wrapping their hair and their thoughts aren't even on Price but somehow their ambient love of him worms it's way into the intentions (I love hair wrapping btw)

Price having a stressful day and when he gets home (does he have a home? He feels a little bit like a bum that just waits to annoy Witch) he feels himself relax. And he's confused bc yeah this is his territory so it's safe but he's never felt the tension leave his body so quickly, until he notices he conveniently sat on the floor, right near his cigar tray, at the perfect height to smell the ashes from one of Witch's cigars.

I'm going to write just little snippets for all of these.

Everything feels warmer after leaving you, lighter, safer. Price lights a cigar while his boys watch him carefully. He raises a brow at them through the fingering smoke. If one of them has something to say they'd be best advised to get it over with. Soap nudges Gaz, who shakes his head quickly and nudges Ghost, who promptly throws Gaz under the bus.

"Gaz wants to say something," Ghost announces.

"You've gotten worse," Gaz tells him with a glare, "Why do I hafta do it?"

"'Cause he won't be mad at you," Soap chimes in. Gaz groans and leans forward, his elbows on the table.

"You're toting around Witch wards," Gaz is flat out with it, Price'll give him that.

"Am I?" It's barely a question in tone, but is he? He hadn't noticed. Now that he thinks about it though, he can still feel where your hands settled on his chest, your lips on his cheek telling him to take care. Your magic wraps around him like a blanket, ambient and comforting. That explains the warmth. Cheeky little thing, he should've known you'd pull something like this. You can't help yourself.

The part that gets him though, is he hadn't noticed. He always notices foreign magic like an allergic reaction. It itches his skin, gives him headaches. Especially witch's magic, he should've felt that immediately. Oil and water, it should have done something to him, caused a reaction of some sort. Yet even his smoke seemed clingier, soft with you.

He tugs at the lingering magic, feels it purr like a particularly clingy kitten. Well, it's not hurting anyone. It can stay.

"You're as bad as Ghost, you know that?" Gaz shakes his head. Ghost glares at him.

"When did I become the fuckin' benchmark?" He asks angrily.

It's been sitting quietly at the edge of your magical perception for days before you actually notice it. Passing through your front door you have to stop at the unfamiliar ward. You cast your eyes about as if you could see it, but come up short. Something in the familiarity of it worms its way into your brain and directs you where to look. How silly that you hadn't noticed him put his own protections on you.

You press your hand to the worn wood of your door frame with a smile. You can feel the residual magic Price must have left, how did you miss it? It's so clear and foreign to your own wards, that you should have noticed immediately. Even the edges of your wards have grown around it like one tree absorbing another. Strange that your magic would notice before you did, but you suppose you've grown so used to Price's magic it's become almost second nature to you. You can almost feel his hand under yours, fond, affectionate, warning anything that might pass by.

You take your hand off the door frame to touch your fingers to your lips, kissing them before tapping them against Price's seal. For luck, you think.

You're half way through rubbing lotion onto your arms when you notice you're feeling very pink. Not just you, your magic, your being. You check the bottle you're using, it's not any spell you're not used to, weird. You finish up with your body lotion and when the pink feeling doesn't dispel you go to check your shower to make sure you didn't mix any strange ingredients into your usual scrubs. You can't have any strange magic working on you when you see Price tomorrow or you'll have to cancel your date.

Date. You probably shouldn't call it that when you see him daily, but it feels special every time. He kisses you like it's special every time, like he'll never get another chance for it. You press your fingers to your lips with a giddy smile, feel the pink magic bubble happily.

You pick through your products with a witch's unintentional intent. Rose, rosemary, lilac, iris, weaving your little love spell into your skin and bubbling over with your happy thoughts. You'll school your emotions later, for now you're enjoying this. Besides, you don't have any clients scheduled for tomorrow, who cares if your magic is a little messy?

"Y'smell good," Price tells you when you see him, his arms around you as he presses his lips to any skin he can find. You direct his lips back to yours and feel the pink tinge him as his tongue drags against yours. His magic bleeds against yours, pulls as eagerly as his hands do until you're shivering against his chest.

You tip your head back as he kisses your throat, breathes you in with heavy intent. His beard tickles, scratchy but soft in a way that makes you think he takes meticulous care of it. His tongue drags against your pulse, his teeth sharp when they nibble your jaw.

"Y'know you don't need love spells for me, Sweatheart," He whispers in your ear and you feel heat pop over your cheeks, more embarrassed than anything else. Gods, that's what that is, isn't it?

"Date cancelled," You tell him a little breathless with him still kissing your neck. You whack his shoulders with your hands to get him off, "Price I need to wash all this off of me, you are going to make it worse."

"Fine by me," He tells you calmly, making no move to stop. You think he does this on purpose sometimes. Bastard.

Price kicks the door shut behind him, barely remembers to turn the lights on before he's collapsed back against his couch. The soft moonlight through the windows is less comforting and more indicative of how over-fucking-worked he is. Gaz has to start coming to court with him, take some of this load before it breaks his fucking back.

He exhales deeply, feels the billow of smoke release from his lungs. Unspent magic. It hooks itself to the walls and ceiling, hanging like kudzu vines, threatening to strangle anything that challenges its path forwards. He breathes in, feels the ash of his morning cigar swirl and spark. Soft and familiar. Yours, he smiles to himself.

You've made a sweet habit of gifting him cigars. Simple tobacco in tobacco, it shouldn't make a spell like this, but you are a wonder. He can smell your hopes while you were making this, the residual magic of your intent. "Remember me" Your ashes whisper to him, "Let me bring you peace, happiness."

It shouldn't surprise him to feel his muscles unwind, dragged down by your gentle magic. He can almost feel your fingers on his jaw tipping his head back onto the arm of the couch, your lips against his forehead imploring him to relax. How could he ever refuse your ministrations.

#I do love the idea of witch wrapping her hair or putting it in curlers #but I also know I have short haired readers #so just some nightly routine stuff #john price x oc #cod x reader #x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price #oc: witch #They're so disgusting I wanna gag #Anyway do you wanna take over writing for them because you fucking get it

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kennyboi69 · 10 months

Text

CoD MW Men Cuddling Headcanons

excluding Horangi and König cuz idk shite abt them and refuse to learn, also König lowkey unsettles me

John Price

His favorite position is with you using his chest/shoulder as a pillow

He likes to kiss and card through your hair

Buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent

Wraps his arms around you and won't let go

Loves falling asleep like this, it calms him when he can feel his lover close by like this

Likes hugging you for comfort after exhausting missions

It's kind of like a child with their favorite plushie

If you tell him this he will deny everything (he knows it's true and he doesn't like it)

Scratch under his beard and kiss his jaw - he loves it

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Just wants to be held in any way shape or form

Reluctant at first, but falls in love with it immediately

He likes cuddling up with you whenever he's had a long day, seeking comfort in your embrace

Kiss his face, stroke his hair and back, whisper soft reassurances to him, and he'll relax, eventually falling asleep in your arms

Buries his face in your neck

Sometimes, a few tears slip

When this happens he just wants to hug you in silence

Don't even mention it, just hold him through it

Kiss away his tears

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Absolutely loves being the small spoon

It doesn't matter if he's bigger than you, he still loves it

Nuzzle his neck, leave kisses on the nape of his neck, kiss his ear

He'll reach back to tangle his hand in your hair to pull you in for a kiss

Giggles and smiles the whole time

He's just so happy when he gets to spend time with his lover, and he absolutely loves physical contact

Sometimes likes to just hug you face-to-face, so he can admire you

Will just stare at you with a dazed expression and a dumb smile on his face, cupping your face in his hands

Absolutely flirts with you and ruins the mood

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Face-to-face, arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled together

Lots of kisses on boths sides

Eye contact

Either foreheads touching or one of you nuzzling the other's neck

Doesn't talk much, just likes the closeness

Be gentle with him - he has a lot of bruises and scars (he falls out of helicopters more than the average person)

Will probably fall asleep pretty quickly - he's exhausted because he usually does the hard work on most missions

You better not leave after he falls asleep because he will wake up, but he won't say anything, he'll just curl in on himself and be a little sad

Alejandro Vargas

Hugging you from behind

It doesn't matter if you're sitting, standing, or lying down, he will hug you from behind

Either arms wrapped around your waist or hands on your hips

Caresses your hips in slow soothing circles

Kisses your neck and shoulders, doesn't stop even if you ask him to (unless you're being actually serious)

Will snake a hand under your shirt if you're wearing one, but won't try anything if you're not up for it, just wants to feel the warmth

Whispers compliments in Spanish against your skin

Purposefully makes his voice deeper and more gravelly because he thinks it's seductive (it can be, but sometimes it's just funny)

Likes to watch whatever you're doing

Rodolfo Parra

Loves being hugged from behind

Also loves being face-to-face because he can pepper his partner's face with kisses and they can do the same to him

Generally just wants to be as close and intimate as possible

Whispers little compliments and praises

Goes from English to Spanish to Spanglish and keeps cycling through them

Loves having his hair touched and caressed, it's calming to him

He could fall asleep just from his lover carding through his hair

Has Spanish petnames for you and he uses them a lot

Phillip Graves

Absolutely loves being little spoon but is in denial

Doesn't believe in intimacy (I headcanon him as someone whose parents didn't give him enough love and affection in his childhood, actually I have a whole ass backstory for him does anyone wanna see it)

When you first convince him to cuddle with you, he will comply very reluctantly

Extremely stiff at first, doesn't know where to put his hands or what to do

Guide him through that and give him reassuring little kisses and caresses and he will be putty in your hands

Likes burying his face in your neck, shoulder, or chest with your arms wrapped around him

It makes him feel safe and cared for

Might cry a little the first time you hug him like this, but, like Ghost, he doesn't want to talk about it

Alex Keller

Loves holding you and loves being held

He's a little shy at first

Keeps checking in with you, asking if you're comfortable, it's cute

Absolutely has trouble falling asleep if you're not there so he can hold you

Kiss the top of his head and he will close his eyes and nuzzle closer to you

He cannot relax until you hug him and he hugs you back

Buries his face in your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist whenever you guys are hugging

He has trouble letting go afterward

Likes being hugged like that too if you're big/tall enough

He just wants kisses and cuddles, his lover's arms are his favorite place to be

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sprout-fics · 10 months

Note

Begging your for more soft Simon pls don’t hold back and talk about it I need MORE

Soft Simon is the best Simon

When Ghost decides to become Simon for you, he settles hard

It's not an overnight development, it's a very slow and gradual building of trust that happens over the course of months, perhaps even years

When you begin your...situation-ship let's call it, there's only small gestures. Checking your six more than once, a touch of praise for good work here and there, eyes linger on you during briefings for a moment too long

It evolves into checking on you after missions, long talks while he smokes, letting you get a little closer

Thing to know about this man: He is absolutely touch-starved

So when he realizes it's okay to touch, he starts doing so more openly

Smearing blood off your cheek during exfil, tracing his hand in a featherlight touch over your back, pulling you aside to tie your hair back properly

Yet it's the private, more intimate moments where he really lets himself slip his guard

Simon wasn't one for post-sex cuddles until he met you. It was transactional, brief, and he'd tend to you afterwards but most times he wouldn't stay long

Now, you find yourself tucking your head against his chest, talking and listening to quiet murmurs in return. His scarred hand smoothes down your spine, traces the dip below your asscheek appreciatively. There's a period where he allows himself to discover touch not through sexuality, but through intimacy, an aesthetic appreciation of you that makes his heart beat quiet and slow, lulling him into utter surrender

He's never much been one for kissing due to the mask, but he'll never refuse when you offer, will let your lips trail from the corner of his mouth up his jaw, against his closed eyes, down to his chest as you work your way further south

Once he gets comfortable, he starts being a little more blatant in front of the team. Soap and Gaz are shocked one afternoon when they wander into the rec room and find your feet propped up in his lap, and the look Ghost gives them has them silence any idle commentary

It's quiet gestures, one that don't need words in which he communicates he loves you

Coffee in the morning, reminding you to go to sleep when you've been staring at intel all day. In front of the team it comes across as reprimanding, nagging if not intoned with banter. Between the two of you it's softer, blonde lashes fluttering as he looks down at you slumped over your desk fast asleep

He gathers you into his arms, holds you fast against him as walks gently in the direction of your bunk so as to not disturb you

When you rouse, you whine for him, and he appears at your call, holds you to his chest and allows himself, in that moment, to realize he's home

#simon ghost riley #thursday night thots #simon ghost riley x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

Baby Blues

Pairing: John Price x Female Reader

Synopsis: The promise of a normal Sunday is lost when your door is torn open, and, you, kidnaped. All you can do is pray that John finds you in time.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: allusions to intimacy, kidnapping, blood, gore, swearing, angst, fluff

A/N: The lack of John fics is saddening to the degree that I’ve been forced to write one myself. Don’t expect anything good, in fact, I think everything I've written is horrible, but this is the only way the voices in my head would shut up. Enjoy.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You suppose that you’ll never fully recall what happened after the front door got busted off its hinges, but the events leading up to the heart-stopping instance are more clear than crystal.

Just that morning you had woken up to an empty bed for the sixth day in a row, light streaming in from behind the drawn curtains. Your chest had been tight as you stretched your arms above your head; attempting to shake the fatigue from your body that you knew wouldn’t leave. It was a shame you had fallen for a man who was gone so often and for so long – you never slept well without John by your side, and you missed his habit of drawing you into his strong chest while small mumbles would fall from his lips; nuzzling your hair. But, mostly, you missed drifting off to his heartbeat in your ear.

His hand on your thigh was the better version of a weighted blanket.

But now he was off somewhere that you didn’t have the privilege of knowing – he could be just down the street and you would be none the wiser – leaving you here in his home in London, adamantly waiting for him to return. You always waited, though, because John was someone worth waiting for. Even if he always came back to you with another bullet wound or a few stitched scrapes -- the point was that he came back at all. And that tired smile that overtook his lips when he saw you was reward enough, the wash of softness that spreads like a wave over the harshness of his eyes.

You couldn’t ask for a more perfect lover, even if the nights he was gone you were incredibly restless.

“I have to make breakfast,” Your lips part, a slow groan entering the bedroom as you shove back the covers, the small digital clock on the nightstand reading eight O’clock, “God, what I wouldn’t give for John’s pancakes right about now.”

When things had gotten serious between the two of you, it had come as a surprise that the Brit was insanely good at making breakfast foods. Now every time John left you he not only caused an absence in your shared bed but also in the kitchen.

Getting to your feet, you pad over to the bathroom, grabbing one of John’s large spare shirts and gray sweats on the way, pressing them to your nose as your eyes flicker at the scent of smoke and gunpowder. It was almost enough to make you slink back into bed, roll around in the covers, and press the fabric deep into your chest as you imagine John being there, fingers spayed out along your burning flesh.

Lord, you were so horrifically in love with the blue-eyed man that even the scent of him made you ache with need.

After taking a shower, staying in there for a long while, and praying the cold water washed away your heated thoughts, you dressed and went to quickly hobble down the hardwood hallway, gazing at the pictures on the walls as you pass them.

A smile quirks on your lips at the still image of you and John at the local military base, snapped by none other than Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick himself with his thumb slightly sticking out in the bottom right corner. It showed John gripping you tightly around the waist, staring down at you as his hulking frame dragged you into a hug; your arms were around his tapered waist, not minding the bulkiness of his combat vest at all as John’s iconic bucket hat sat on your head like a shimmering crown. You looked up at the bearded man like he was the only person in the world that mattered and, at that moment, he was.

Gaz had never let on that he had been taking pictures of the two of you for about a year until on your last birthday he handed you a collection in an envelope with a smirk directed at his Captain.

“You’re going to love this, Sir,” Kyle had said, and you both had watched in amusement as John’s face heated to a, you believed, adorable degree of red at the contents.

It was safe to say that every single picture that you had been given was framed and hung in every nook available in John’s house.

Finally making it to the kitchen, you settled on a simple egg sandwich with a side of steaming coffee – something that John would never be able to understand about you. He was always so adamant about having a cup of Earl Gray in the mornings that it was the cause of many amusing fake arguments and teasing.

Going to sit on the comfy leather loveseat next to the window, plate and cup in hand, your eyes lock onto a black van across the street, not even thinking about it until you had taken a sip of your drink with a sigh.

You blinked slowly, watching the shadows inside the tinted windows shift with a hitch in your chest.

“That’s strange,” Muttering under your breath, you take another slow sip and feel the heat of the coffee settle in your stomach; pooling with the small amount of paranoia that began to gradually build, “I don’t think Mrs. Rose was expecting anyone today – it’s Sunday – she’s off at church by now for Morning Mass.”

The neighbor, Mrs. Rose, was a kind old lady whose husband had been in the service years and years ago and the two of you had bonded over the fact. She often brought over sweets when she knew John was gone and you and her would trade stories to keep each other company and the lonely thoughts at bay.

Her husband had died three years ago, and, because of this, Mrs. Rose found comfort in religion. Sundays were always quiet around the neighborhood – no cars on the quiet street, no knocks on the front door, and no loud music from the younger neighbors that John always had to use his ‘Captain Voice’ on to get to quiet down. And, certainly, no strange black cars with moving shadows in the interior.

Rubbing at your fatigued eyes, you lightly tilt your head back to rest on the top of the loveseat, “John’s rubbing off on me too much, I’m going to be graying in no time if I keep this up. It’s just a damn car.” Just as you said those words the engine of the van rumbled to life, and no later the vehicle was rolling its way down the road and disappearing out of view.

You nod your head, trying to prove to yourself that you had been right to think nothing of the small disruption to your Sunday routine.

“Worrying is John’s specialty.” You say with surety, your lips pulling into a smile as the steam of your drink caresses your cheeks, imagining the man and the furrow in his brow when he sees something out in public he didn’t like. He always pulled you close to him in those instances, keeping a hand on the small of your back like he was your personal security detail instead of your boyfriend. Not that you minded, of course. In fact, you found it incredibly attractive that he cared about you that much, “I’ll leave it to him to glare at every bump in the night, especially if it means he ends up sleeping on top of me like last time.”

So why was there a twist in your stomach that refused to leave? You shook your head, setting down your cup and grabbing at your egg sandwich with twitching fingers.

Not my business, you thought to yourself, chewing the bread and protein between your teeth and swallowing thickly before going back in for another bite, Nothing even happened.

But it was, unfortunately, going to be your business at about five O’clock at night.

Just finishing a deep clean of the pantry that you had been putting off for days, your ears had tuned out the sound of the radio on the counter, your favorite song just finishing up that you had been mindlessly enjoying. If anyone had heard you singing along as you had, it would have left you more embarrassed than the time you had accidentally punched Soap in the gut when he had snuck up on you at the base.

To this day, the Scot had never let you live that event down, but Price had told you fondly that if you could land a hit on his Sargent and leave him winded, there was no need at all to feel bad.

It was only in the break between songs that you finally heard your phone ringing from the living room.

Placing down the box of noodles that you had been trying to find a place in the pantry for with a huff of breath, your hand flicked off the radio as you left the kitchen. Mildly annoyed to be interrupted, you grabbed your phone from the couch cushion where you had thrown it a while ago, flipping the screen over as the incessant ringing stopped.

“Damn,” You mutter, mad that you had missed whoever had called, though you knew it couldn’t have been John or the others of 141 – they were never allowed to call on missions due to possible breaches of security – and you never wanted to put them in danger just because you missed your boyfriend.

The number of missed notifications made you freeze.

Inside your chest, your pulse skyrockets as your eyes skim over fifty-two missed calls from John, twenty-five from Gaz, fifteen from Soap, and seven from Ghost with a rising panicked fever. That last one was strange – Ghost never called you. It wasn’t that you weren’t close, he just hated not seeing the person he was talking to over the phone when he had the choice to. He had shown up at the house multiple times just to ask a question about a chicken recipe you had made the team a while back.

Your lips thin with a sense of eerie calm. Had you been cleaning the pantry that long? You swore it had only been two hours since you started.

“What the fuck,” You whisper, but before you could click John's notification to call him back, the phone started ringing just on cue. Stabbing the green icon with your shaking finger, your hands vibrate as you snap the device to your ear, but already your boyfriend was shouting on the other end.

“-Oh, thank the bloody fucking Lord,” Your boyfriend utters your name, and his voice pauses as he takes a relieved breath, but the frantic tone persists onto the next sentence. He sounded like he was running, and briefly, you hear him shout over his shoulder to someone most likely following behind him, probably Gaz, “Listen to me right now,” Foliage is shoved aside, and you blink in confusion at the sound, “and get out of the house. Now, Love, I know you have questions, and I’d be happy to answer all of them when I know you’re safe, but I can’t explain right now. You need to go to this exact location–”

“John, what the hell? Leave the house? It’s five on a Sunday.” You stumble backward, spotting your shoes and coat by the door with a terrified expression. What the fuck was he talking about? Leave the house…right now? It was dark out, the street lamps the only light left and not to mention freezing.

“Get out of the fucking house! Now!” Flinching your breath hitches at the words you could only describe as orders as his accent deepens gutturally at the shout coming from his lips.

John had never raised his voice at you before – despised it, really, and because of that arguments always led to both parties leaving to separate rooms to cool off before talking again with level heads on their shoulders. He never had outbursts like that. Ever. But this…

Your feet rush to the door, slipping on your shoes with quaking feet as you swallow harshly.

“Okay,” You whisper into the phone, voice noticeably weak from nerves and fear. Something was horribly wrong, and the same feeling from this morning returned tenfold, nearly like an ironic ‘I told you so’ as your stomach rolls.

“...Shit, I-I–” Whatever apology John was about to utter was lost to you as your hand went to open the door, gripping the knob before stopping in your tracks.

Whispers. Whispers coming from outside the door. Your ears strain for a solid minute before your eyes widen in their sockets. Alarm bells were ringing inside of your mind, and you slowly backed up and interrupted the directions that John was spewing off, hands clenching as sweat formed in the groves of skin.

“John, someone’s at the front door. I hear whispering.” Silence, and the sound of increased panting, a body running faster and faster as shouts reverberate in the background. Were those gunshots you heard? And muffled gasping? “John.” You breathily whisper, eyes snapping back and forth but focusing on nothing.

“There’s a safe in my office, the code is 5-6-2-1. Inside you are going to find a firearm–”

“What?!” Your face stiffens, but your feet already carry you silently backward toward John’s office room, “What the fuck?”

“Listen to me,” Price grunts, voice so desperate you weren't sure the same person was speaking to you anymore, “Gaz and the others already contacted the police and Laswell, but they’re not going to get there in time. You need to be prepared for when they bust through the door.”

Bust through the door?! Your thoughts run and with gasping breaths, you turn fully around and begin rushing through the house.

“Speak to me, Love,” John utters, choice cutting out and filtering back in, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You owe me a ring after all of this I swear to–” The front door busts off its hinges and multiple pairs of rushing feet storm through the house, and all-consuming shouts drown out your screams. You drop the phone as John bellows your name into the speaker, voice breaking. Turning to run, hands snatch at your wrists and shoulders dragging you away from the office that was so close at hand and back to the door. All you caught a glance of were black uniforms, heads completely covered like common criminals. But they were anything but.

“Get the Hell off me...! John! John, please!” Your screaming is cut off by the end of a gun falling to your temple, blinding pain erupting behind your eyes as blood spurts from a wound breaking your skin.

Disoriented, you fall silent, head lulling to the side as your swinging arms and legs fill with TV static. They lay limp as strange hands wrap around your middle, dragging you out the door as John’s voice becomes faint in the distance. You fall unconscious to his rage-filled voice, the volume of his threats so loud you heard them in the streets before darkness takes you.

“I will tear every one of you fuckers to pieces if you break one hair on her fucking head! Do you hear me?! You keep her out of this–”

–

And now you were sitting tied to a chair, head throbbing with venomous fear pulsing through your veins; your body shaking as the initial confusion leeks away.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, You think, head snapping this way and that even if it makes you want to vomit right into your lap. The rope over your wrists and waist digs deep, your skin already red long before you start jerking your limbs to try and move them.

The room looked like an old storage container, with metal on the walls and floors with a single handing light from the low ceiling that buzzed. But what caught your attention more were the blood stains. Sucking in quick breaths, your eyes jerk from one to another, all dried but looking large and having spawned from wounds that no one could walk away from. Suddenly aware of your situation, a whimper falls from your lips.

Where was John? You wanted him with you, wanted to feel him bring you to his chest and never let go, feel the steady beating of his reliable heart against your ear like a lifeline; you wanted to grip his skin and lay gentle kisses to his cheeks and lips, let his beard tickle you like it always did – leaving you laughing as John rubs his head into your neck to tease you with it.

The blue peeling paint of the storage container didn’t look like the precise blue of John’s eyes, just a pale imitation. Strangely, that was the thought that made the growing tears in the sides of your eyes slip down your cheeks. That wasn’t his blue; nothing else could be. Your fingers clench into fists so tight the skin turns white.

“John,” You sob, the blood from your head wound dripping down your chin. It sings, “John, where are you? Please, I’m scared.”

Footsteps sound from outside, but you immediately know they don’t belong to your boyfriend. They were too heavy, and, whoever it was, they didn’t carry themselves with the grace that John always did when he was with you or in the field. While being built better than a bodybuilder, your lover had been trained to take on tasks that most would consider death sentences…and he sure as hell didn’t walk like that. The stranger was so loud even your untrained ears picked up on it, and your body responds by becoming even more tense as a shadow settled behind the door.

A long stretch of silence and ragged breathing, your occasional sniffling contrasting the thick air.

The large door opens with a slam that makes you flinch back into your chair, wrist ropes skinning the fragile skin as you choke at the pain.

His face is unfamiliar, one twisted by emotions you weren't sure most normal people experienced in their lifetime. He stalks closer, and instinctually you attempt to pull back to no avail. The ropes begin to draw blood, the metallic scent coating your nose.

Behind the stranger, the door closes silently, a dull thumb announcing the barrier.

“My name is Ilya,” His Russian accent was heavy, making the words harsh. Ilya clunks forward, standing a few feet from you as he stares down his large nose, “You are John Price’s pet, no?”

Pet? Despite the pounding in your head, you hold your tongue but show an annoyed grimace.

When you don’t respond, Ilya’s hand connects with your right cheek, snapping your neck agonizingly to the side with a deafening slap. Your world swims, and a buzzing takes hold in your ears like an explosion had gone off right next to you. Fresh blood flows from your lip – you think with a groan that you bit into it accidentally.

Be brave, You swallow the scream in your throat, working the kink out of your jaw, John would want me to be brave. He’s coming for me. I know he is. The thought comforts you. Never in your life had you doubted John and his loyalty; many would call it his defining factor.

He was going to find you – him and Gaz and the rest of your boys.

“You are to answer me when I ask you a question, Pet. Understand?”

“Go fuck yourself,” You snarl, tears falling to your lap with dull splats and absorbing into John’s gray sweatpants. Your face burns.

Ilya smirks, square jaw pulling back. He grabs at something with his left arm, your eyes following the movements in horror as he draws a long knife from his waistband.

“Alright,” He mutters, fingering the tip of the blade and nodding his head, “I can play that game.”

He walks three steps forward before a sound like bending metal sounds from outside, and suddenly the two of you are shrouded in inky darkness. Your panicked breathing stills.

Did someone destroy the breaker box? Shaking, you find it in yourself to weakly smirk, hope rising in you.

“I hope you’re really good at dodging punches…because John saves his fists for the worst ones.”

The door breaks off its hinges, and the sound of familiar, muffled, footsteps rush into the storage container. Ilya never stood a chance.

“Get over here--!” Not being able to see anything, all you could do was listen to the feral sound of skin connecting with skin echoes throughout the metal box. A body drops to the floor with choking gasps of pleas before other people rush into the room, one shadow immediately zipping to your side. You flinch.

“It’s me,” Gaz mutters, “You’re alright, it’s just me.” You hadn’t noticed the frantically fast pace of your heart until you had the time to be concerned about it.

Gaz’s hands immediately go to the ropes, cutting you free with his combat knife before dragging you into his arms. Your legs feel weak, but you find the energy to nuzzle your head into the man’s chest with a relieved sigh. But it’s not John. Still, you hear your boyfriend reaming on Ilya, the man most certainly dead by now due to John’s strength.

“Captain,” Soap’s voice calls from the doorway, his shadow shifting. He clears his throat as Gaz places a careful hand on the back of your head, a slow sigh leaving his lips to ruffle your hair, “Sir. He’s dead.”

The ragged and bloody punches come to a gradual stop, and heavy panting reverberates. Your head turns to the side, muttering, “John?” With squinted eyes, trying to make him out in the darkness. A quick rustling of equipment catches you by surprise, but the warm hands that grip your shoulders lightly don’t scare you; it turns you around with a heart-tightening gentleness.

A new chest meets your cheek, warmer than Gaz’s as well as broader. Stiffer. John. John. John. Your hands snap around his waist with a wet sob ripping from your lungs, leaving you breathless and gasping for air as more tears come.

“Shh,” His lips are on your head, muttering into your hair as his arms completely encompass the expanse of your back. If you were any closer you would be afraid you would disappear into his skin, ceasing to exist, “Shh, shh. I’ve got you. I’m here. It’s never going to happen again, I promise you. I love you.”

You only held him impossibly tighter, and you could hear Gaz and Soap in the background let out deep sighs of relief, slapping each other on the shoulders. They exit after a few quick glances and the lights flicker on a moment later – most likely Ghost’s doing. Your heart warmed at them for privacy, though your eyes snapped shut at the sudden light.

John’s hands left you for a moment, prompting a small whine from you before they returned swiftly to grip the back of your head, the large night vision rig on his helmet re-set back so he could see you.

“Let me look at my girl,” He murmurs, chest rumbling from his soft tone. You were happy that only you ever got to hear him speak like this. You turn your head to rest it on his chest, gazing up at him with red-rimmed eyes. At the sight of your bruised cheek and bloody temple, his eyebrows furrow, a quick rage overtaking him as you watch his eyes darken. But you don’t say anything, just watch as John’s arms squeeze you before one hand travels up to your face. He lightly presses at the thin cut on your head and stops when you let out a quiet hiss. Guilt swims in those beautiful blue eyes of his.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Darling. If I had known he would go after you I never would have left you home alone.”

“John,” you whisper, voice hoarse in your throat. He leans down and presses his forehead to yours, lightly bumping against your forehead, “It’s not your fault.”

“But I–”

“You came for me, didn’t you?”

“Always.” He says it so softly you feel your eyes tear up again.

“Then that’s all that matters.” You tilt your head and capture his lips with your own, lightly moving your hands to grip his hairy cheeks as his thumb caresses your temple, the other you feel shaking around your waist. The adrenaline was wearing off.

John was tall, and to fully kiss him you had to get up on your tip-toes and hope he wasn’t going to tease you and pull back with a cheeky smile, but you would do it until your feet bled to feel the warmth that he give you as his lips dance with your own. They were soft for such a hardened man. Had he been using the Chapstick you had let him borrow for when he was away?

You pull back for air, your neck becoming sore at the angle you hold it just as John sighs, eyes flickering over you once more. You make a noise in the back of your throat in question.

“Marry me.” Your eyes widen, recalling your comment before your house had been broken into. Had he really asked you that?

“Are…are you really asking me for my hand while the dead body of the man that kidnapped me is behind you?”

“So…is that a ‘no?’” His eyes crinkle.

“You’re mental, John Price,” A smile splits your features, and you find him mirroring your expression. Your heart pounds, though not from fear this time. At his cheeks, your hands drag him in for another kiss, brief, though you pour every single emotion into it as you can. You feel the hitch in his chest and feel a blossoming of pride that you have the same effect on him as he does you. Leaning back, he chases you, though you stop him with a finger to his lips. There were his eyes again, those sapphire blues that sparkled when they looked at you, “But, yes.” You whisper, liking the way he almost looked relieved.

Like you would ever deny him. Like you could deny those baby blues when they looked at you with such love.

“I love you,” He whispers, pressing his face into your neck, kissing the skin in reverence, leaving fireworks in the wake of his lips.

“I love you more,” You whisper, nuzzling into his chest and gripping his shirt in tight fists. He chuckles at you.

“Not possible.”

#mw2 2022 #cod mw22 #cod #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod x you #mw2 #modern warfare

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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 21 - Lingerie

Gaz x AFAB!Reader - 1.2k (on ao3)

summary: You don't manage to stay up until your boyfriend comes home, and he finds you asleep on the couch. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: disgustingly soft, no sex (fade to black)

The only thing you feel is warmth when you start to rouse. Your head is resting on one of the throw pillows you’d spent hours painstakingly choosing, and your nose is tucked into something soft and sweet-smelling. You burrow a little bit deeper and feel a hood push against the back of your head, a small smile touching your lips when you realize you’re still wearing Kyle’s sweatshirt.

“Baby?” You hear a quiet whisper, somewhere near your feet. You don’t have the energy to worry, your mind already recognizing the soft British accent as belonging to your boyfriend. “You awake?”

“Hmm,” you groan, burying yourself a little more deeply into the cushions as a hand wraps around your naked ankle. “No.”

“No?” You can hear the tinge of amusement in Kyle’s voice, and he drops your feet onto his lap as he settles at the other end of the couch. “I didn’t know you were a sleep-talker, love.”

You hide your smile in the cushion. “Mhm. New thing.”

“Is it?” He pushes lightly against your shoulder, and you let yourself be rolled onto your back, blinking dry eyes up at the ceiling. There’s a dim glow coming from a lamp, but the room is dark other than that. The sun had just been setting when you’d fallen asleep, your attempt to stay awake until Kyle came home swiftly abandoned as time passed.

“Hi there, pretty girl,” Kyle coos down at you, rising up to hover above your face. He’s so handsome, your boyfriend - long lashes you’ve always been jealous of, plush lips that feel perfect against yours, those dark eyes you always say you could get lost in. He’s the perfect sight to wake up to.

You smile, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek. “Hi yourself, handsome.”

He smiles back, turning to press a warm kiss to your palm. “Missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

His smile grows and he nips at the heel of your hand. “Not possible, love.”

Before you can respond he’s ducking down, pressing a closed mouth kiss to your mouth. You hum against him, and his tongue quickly darts out to lick at the seam of your lips. You open easily for him, giving him free reign and wrapping your arms around his neck.

He holds most of his weight off of you, giving you just enough to make you feel held in the best way possible. His tongue dances alongside yours, the slick sounds filling the mostly quiet room. He traces over your teeth every few seconds, and you feel him smirk when you pull him closer and suck at his tongue a little to keep him on topic.

He pulls you up without breaking your connection, slowly leaning himself back until he’s resting against the arm of the couch with you laid out on his lap. Your socked feet rest between his calves, and you pull your arms back to rub across his shoulders as you continue your slow make-out.

His hands shift to your hips, thumbs rubbing the bit of fat at your sides through the fabric before eventually shifting to press against your skin. You lean a little more weight onto him at the warmth of his palms, inching up his body a bit.

“Y’r warm,” Kyle hums between kisses. You don’t respond, instead chasing his tongue with yours, determined to stay right in the little bubble of soft pleasure and warmth he’s created for you. His chest rumbles with a small laugh, and you bounce a little on top of him.

You stay like that for an eternity, a slow dance together, just the soft intimacy of making out with the man you love.

Eventually, his hands move a little higher, then a little higher. His fingers brush over the lace of the lingerie you’re wearing, and you can feel his breath hitch.

“Hm,” you purr into his mouth, pushing your chest a little further into his hands.

“What’s this?”

You smile a little, nipping his lip quickly. He responds by taking your bottom lip between his teeth and sucking until you squirm.

“Wanted to look pretty for you when you got home,” you explain, pressing your cheek against his as his hands start to explore your chest. “Fell asleep before I could show you.”

“Aw,” he sighs, cupping both of your breasts in each hand. You push yourself off his chest just a bit, so he doesn’t have to worm his way between your bodies. “‘M sorry, love. Woulda liked to see that.”

“You still can. Clearly I haven’t taken it off.”

The hoodie is pulled off of your head a moment later, leaving both your thong and bra revealed. You blink slowly, still a little groggy, as Kyle oggles you.

“Angel,” he breathes, eyes wide and trained on your lace-clad chest. “You’re stunning.”

You can’t help but giggle a little at the wonder in his voice, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward to press a ksis to the center of your chest, then looks up at you with his face framed by your tits. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

You pinch his chin between your fingers, pulling him up and ducking down so you can go back to kissing. He’s more than eager, licking into your mouth with more fervor, more desire now.

He inches his way up a bit, settling so he’s sitting more upright with you on his lap. You shift so your knees are on either side of his thighs, able to push yourself up and show off the lingerie a bit more.

He pulls back to study you a bit more, brushing a thumb over one nipple and smiling to himself when you moan.

“You wore this for me?”

“Who else?” You scoff good-naturedly, arching into his touch. “I’m here in your house, in your clothes, waiting for you, and you think I’d wear something like this for anyone else?”

“Alright, alright." A quick pinch to your nipple, more playful than scolding. “So sassy tonight.”

You snort. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” he says on a sigh, leaning forward to kiss you once on the lips. “I love your sass, I love your pretty body, I love you.”

You smile down at him, hands resting on his shoulders as you lean closer. “I love you too, Kyle.”

“I know,” he teases, hand finally slipping beneath the lace to give you skin-to-skin contact. You roll your eyes for show, but make sure to stay in the same position as he works your other breast at the same time, matching sensations driving your head into a fog of pleasure instead of sleep.

As your bones warm and your thong dampens, you lean a little more weight into your hands.

He holds you up, just like he always has before. You have no doubt he’ll do it a thousand times more.

You’re both smiling as your lips lock again, surrounded in your warmth and softness and love. It feels good to be here with Kyle, to be so thoroughly held and seen by him. It’s easy to let yourself go, to fully give yourself over to him.

But the pace stays slow, patient on both ends. You both have the whole night ahead of you, and neither of you are eager to rush anything. There’s pleasure in taking things slow, and you luxuriate in that pleasure as your hips begin to work against his.

#i will never again write something this soft. idek if im any good at it tbh #also sorry for the fade to kinda black i totally ran out of steam #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day 21 #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz garrick x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #bo writes

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la-petite-lapin · 4 months

Text

Double the Love | Part Five

Double the Love masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x female civilian!OC Word Count: 2.5k Series warnings (may change between chapters): 18+ Minors DNI, angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, injury description, eventual explicit sexual content, polyamory, M/M/F, FMC is bad at feelings, miscommunication, Ghostie is home

The apartment walls are thin

Last night, I dreamt about sleeping with them.

It's not even the first time I've dreamt about sex with Johnny and Ghost. Of seeing Ghost's face unimpeded by masks or shadows. Of hearing up-close the throaty groans that Ghost draws out of Johnny nightly. And, if anything, it's only worsened by the moans that drift from their room down the hall in the night-time hours.

"Well that's not very good," Winnie clarifies, stating the obvious as usual, voice filling the room. Usually, I'd call her with my airpods in, but Ghost is in Russia, and Johnny is at a check-up for his stitches. Which means that I can rant to my best friend and seek advice on this incredibly fucked up situation. "Jesus, Tali."

I roll my eyes even though she can't see me. "Yeah, no shit."

"Hey, don't take your frustration out on me. I don't want to fuck them; that's all you." There's a beat of silence before, "Right, I have questions."

"Don't we all," I say exasperated, my head falling back onto my pillow with a muted thud.

Winnie clears her throat. "Well... are they gay? Or are they bi?"

"I don't know. Haven't asked."

"Okay. Have they been flirting with you or anything?"

"I don't know."

Winnie exhales a heavy sigh. "Explain."

It's hard to explain. The possibility is in the subtle things; the casual brushes against me as they walk past, the unnecessarily prolonged eye contact, the inside jokes. But it's never overt. Everything is just a little on the far side of friendly, but not so far as to be awkward or out of line.

"Johnny's started napping on the sofa with his head in my lap. And sometimes he rubs my shoulders while we watch TV." I think back to what happened three nights ago, just before Ghost left for Russia with John and Gaz. "And then the other night I was doing the dishes. Johnny started drying them like he normally does, but... Ghost came in too."

There's an almost comically long pause on Winnie's end of the line. "Then what happened?"

"He started talking but I didn't know he was there. I dropped the knife I was holding and when I tried to grab it, I sliced my hand open. Ghost patched me up."

I think back to it. Ghost was attentive and diligent as he sterilised the wound with some alcohol wipes from their first aid kit, pulling the raw edges of my skin closed with butterfly stitches. The entire time, his touches were gentle and caring, his free hand running soft, gentle lines along the back of my injured palm with his index finger.

It reminded me of the thing he does to soothe Johnny sometimes. The casual intimacy of it.

"Tali," Winnie says, her tone an admonishing one, "what have I told you about those bloody knives? You need to be careful with them." She sucks in a breath. "But I am surprised. If anything, I'd have thought that would Johnny patching you up."

"Exactly." A spark of something flares deep within my chest. "Ghost isn't a tactile person at all. Johnny tried to help but Ghost wouldn't let him near me. Said he wanted to do it himself. And he called me love."

Winnie makes a noise akin to a purr. "Oh dear. I mean, if it helps, I'm picking up on some vibes here too. Is it worth just asking them where you stand?"

Before I can open my mouth to answer, the front door opens and a cheerful "honey, I'm home!" rings out through the apartment. Hurriedly, I take the phone off speaker and press it against my ear. "Johnny's back."

"I figured," she giggles.

"Can I call you back later?"

We say our goodbyes, with Winnie agreeing to call me in the evening once she's had her dinner. With the call ended, I hop off of my bed and pad out into the hallway.

Johnny is standing in the living room with shopping bags hanging from both hands. There's a beaming grin on his face, his eyes shining. "I hope ye did'nae mind. I did some shopping for us."

I rush over to take the bags from him and place them down on the counter. "Thanks, Johnny. How was the appointment?"

"It went well." He follows me into the kitchen, taking up a large amount of space with his muscular build. "I'm even better for seeing ye though, bonnie."

Heat rises to my face as he takes my injured hand in his, folding his fingers around my wrist loosely and guiding my palm into his line of sight. With a feather-light touch, he runs a single fingertip along my butterfly stitches, checking on Ghost's handiwork. Then - as if satisfied that they're holding up - he drops my hand and moves past me, his front pressing against my back for a brief breath-stealing moment, as he starts to put the groceries away.

Bonnie. That's a new one.

"Want me to cook tea tonight?" Johnny asks, moving around the space with a certainty that is so unbelievably attractive to me. He's only been living here for a week now, but he's already settled in. He knows where everything is and just how I like the kitchen arranged. It's like he's always been here.

"You don't have to." I hop up to perch on the countertop, resigning myself to the fact that he's unpacking and putting the shopping away. A few days ago, I might have tried to argue with him or step in and take over. Now, I just sit back and watch, keeping him company. "Heard anything from Ghost yet?"

Johnny nods his head, slotting the milk into the fridge. "They're coming back from Russia tonight. Probably won't be home for a couple more days though; they've got someone to interrogate at the base."

I'm so distracted by the fact that he just referred to the apartment as home that I almost miss the mention of an interrogation. I wilfully choose to ignore it; to not let my mind linger on the darker side of Ghost that he will undoubtedly be unleashing.

I'm still distracted when Johnny starts to walk towards me again, a bag of pasta in his hand. If he follows my system, it should go in the cabinet above my head. As he inches closer to me, I can see the cogs turning behind his opalescent blue eyes. I know I should move out of the way; to the side or off of the counter altogether to move myself out of his path. But I don't. And he doesn't say anything either, slotting himself firmly between my spread thighs as he opens the cabinet.

I can feel the sheer heat radiating off of his huge, muscular body. Can smell the heady, woody, and floral scent of his aftershave. The strong column of his throat is just inches away from my lips, and - up close - I can see the generous dusting of dark hair that decorates his chest and abs underneath the thin white fabric of his vest.

Instinctively, my hand rises up to rest against his abdomen, making sure to fall on his uninjured side.

"Tali," the word is mumbled, verging on breathless.

My eyes dart up to find him staring down at me. Even seated on the counter, he's taller than me, and I can't help but find the size difference unfairly hot. It makes me think about Ghost; the fact that he's even bigger. A shiver runs through me at the thought of both of them standing here, crowding me in...

Johnny's gaze is heated - something intense shining under the surface of those sweet baby blues - as he hooks a single index finger under my chin. "What's gotten into you, lassie?"

My breath catches in my throat. For a second, I question if I'm doing the right thing.

The finger leaves my chin and I'm rewarded with a gentle squeeze just above my knee. "I asked ye a question."

"I... I-" I stumble over my words like an idiot. "You've been flirting with me." The way my tone pitches up at the end makes it sound more like a question than a statement.

Johnny chuckles, eyes sparkling with humour. "Ye don't sound so sure, lovey."

I wince. My muscles tense as I pull back slightly, leaning back on my hands. "You're in a relationship with Ghost."

"Very observant of ye." He closes the cabinet with his free hand, then runs his thumb along the curve of my cheekbone, the other hand shifting slightly higher on my thigh. "I am. But I've seen the way you look at us, Tali. And I've heard ye at night." His hand brushes the very top of my thigh and my breath catches once again. His eyes darken. "The walls in this apartment are pretty thin."

All moisture leaves my mouth. Oh brilliant. Johnny, and possibly Ghost, have heard me touching myself at night. I don't know whether to feel embarrassed or turned on. And then there's the way Johnny says it; so casually - so easily - like it doesn't bother him in the slightest. Like it would be unusual if I wasn't masturbating with them just down the hall.

"Does... does Ghost know?" is the only thing I can think to ask.

Johnny grins. "Aye, he does." We're both leaning closer and closer to each other again, until I can practically feel the warmth of his mint-scented breath against my skin. "He thinks it's cute."

Cute. Like a puppy or a kitten. Something adorable.

Not sexy or hot. Adorable.

Embarrassment hits me, jagged and icy, flooding through my veins. And suddenly I feel so. Fucking. Stupid.

I'm not some kind of femme fatale - not the kind of woman who can pursue one man, let alone two.

What did I expect? For Johnny to confess that they, too, have been thinking about me in less than appropriate ways and then what? There's no happy ending for me lusting after Johnny and Ghost in their committed, serious relationship - I knew that from the first night I dreamt about them. And I was mad for even thinking that maybe - just maybe - they could have been looking at me like that too.

No; they go out into parts of the world that people like me rarely ever see, putting their lives on the line to save the world. They don't want to fuck an interior designer with commitment issues, and deep-rooted family trauma.

"Okay, cool," I mumble under my breath, eyes focused on a spot on the tiled floor. I move my hand away from his side, gently pushing him away as I do so.

With a frown, he takes a step back. He looks almost hurt.

I hop down from the countertop and fold my arms across my chest, stepping back in the direction of the hallway. "I'll, um... I'll try to keep the noise down. I- I'm sorry for being a nuisance."

Johnny's face falls. "No, lassie- that..."

I'm already out of the kitchen before I can hear the rest, spinning on my heel and taking off in a brisk walk until I get to my room. With the door firmly closed, I pull my phone out of my pocket and fire off a quick text to Winnie.

TALIA KELLER: They don't feel the same.

She's online in half a heartbeat.

WINSLOW SLOANE: Wait WINSLOW SLOANE: What happened? TALIA KELLER: Was helping Johnny put the food shopping away. He told me that him and Ghost can hear me in my room at night and that Ghost thinks it's "cute". TALIA KELLER: It was so fucking mortifying. WINSLOW SLOANE: Oh Tali :( WINSLOW SLOANE: Context is key, baby. Maybe cute is a good thing. Does Ghost strike you as a man who thinks that many things are cute?

I tip my head back. No matter the positive spin that Winnie wants to try and put on this, I'm still not seeing it.

So, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling icky and embarrassed. And wondering how Winnie would feel about sound-proofing the entire apartment.

I'm out for a walk when Ghost comes home.

When I get in, his massive combat boots are tucked in neatly next to the door. I don't immediately see him, or Johnny for that matter, and it's something that sends an unexpected spike of disappointment through me. Which makes me frown because this isn't me. I don't get like this with people - not even Winnie. I avoid commitment and co-dependency at all costs because I know that one day it will come back to bite me.

I think about how I used to wait for Alex to come home, practically counting down the minutes, waiting by the door for his return. I think about how I watch Marcella do the same, and now Johnny. And it's the antithesis of the life I've resolved myself to: complete independence.

I follow the sound of their voices into the kitchen, watching the domestic scene playing out before me. Johnny is pouring sparkling water into two glasses for them while Ghost stands back, his face hidden behind a black balaclava with a white skull painted across the front. Common sense dictates that it's something that should probably scare me. It doesn't.

He dips his head in acknowledgement, and I meet it with my own awkward nod.

"Tali," Ghost's voice is as gruff as ever. The mask shifts and, in the shadows cast by the overhead lights, I can make out a hint of a smile playing on his face underneath the masks. "How've you been?"

"I've been okay. How was Russia?"

"How's your hand?" He completely bypasses my question, as if I never even spoke.

For a moment, I just stare at them, waiting for Ghost to answer me first. When it becomes clear that isn't going to happen, I say, "It's okay. Hasn't fallen off yet, anyway."

Johnny lets out a snort of laughter. "Someone's in a sarcastic mood. Good thing Ghostie is home, aye?"

A beat of silence passes, his words hanging in the air between us.

"So, how was Russia?" I repeat, cocking my head to one side.

Ghost lets out a weary sigh, bracing his hands on the counter, shoulder's width apart. Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I can see Johnny's body tensing up. "It was interesting. We didn't find what we thought we'd find. That's all I can say. Rest is classified." It's a lot more than I was expecting anyway, and probably the most forthcoming he's been with me since the day they moved in. "But I will say that I missed you lot. Both of you."

"You don't have to include me out of pity," I snap impulsively. It's so obvious to me that Johnny's told him what happened that night in the kitchen. For reasons I can't fully articulate, it makes me angry.

Ghost's eyes darken at that, and suddenly I can see what those men in Russia must have seen; a huge, pissed-off man, clad in a skull mask and all black clothes. A man you probably shouldn't be riling up knowingly.

It sends a thrill down my spine and my palms start to sweat.

"Don't start, love," he growls, "I'm not in the mood tonight."

I stutter and stumble over a comeback, but it dies in my throat when Ghost crosses the apartment, leaving an amused-looking Johnny standing halfway between the kitchen and the living room.

"Yeah, Johnny's told me all about the shit you've been giving him while I've been gone. Avoiding him and not answering when he tries to check on you." He comes to a complete stop in front of me, towering over my much smaller frame and levelling me with a serious look. It doesn't escape my attention that he must be over six-and-a-half feet tall and verging on two-hundred pounds of pure, solid muscle. "Misbehaving for him." A single, large paw of a hand comes up to brush over my shoulder, skimming up to rest lightly on my throat. There's no grip there though; it's a hold so gentle that I could break it just by stepping back. "That ends now, princess."

I will myself to come to my senses, but I can't. Instead, I stand there, doe-eyed with parted lips, gazing up at the huge, strong soldier disciplining me. My body is trembling like a leaf in the wind and I'm wet - unignorably so.

I wonder if he knows.

His answering smirk tells me that he probably does, and there's a new lustful darkness in his tone as he adds, "Because I think we all need to sit down and have a talk, yeah?"

a/n: hey guys! sorry that this one took so long hope you enjoy this part. things are starting to heat up ;) - take care y'all, lapetitelapin

#cod #fanfic #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon “ghost” riley x reader #soap x reader #callofduty #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost x reader #female reader #female oc #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny x reader x simon #johnny soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #double the love #angst #romance

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