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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

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It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 27] || [Chapter 29]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: illness, injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff, love confessions! Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Just a cute little moment

Chapter 28: How in the-

The trip with John was short but sweet. A full weekend together, away from everything…

Followed by 4 whole weeks alone. Not that you minded the extra piece and quiet.

You were normally kept at a distance from the boys and their line of work. Arms length, not because they don’t trust you, but because just like Simon learned to drop Ghost at the door, the rest drop work at the door too.

The closest thing you get to ‘work’ is funny anecdotes that can even make you laugh, OR soft, whispered, retelling of memories as your hands snake over their rough skins, fingers grazing the scars that those memories left behind.

Today was a first. In a lot of ways.

The boys showed up at your flat at 3 A.M. after spending a whole month out of Hereford and in God knows where.

You had opened the door very wearily to the sight of the four of them, not even having changed out of their tactical gear, looking like they had been through hell.

Kyle was walking with a limp and a groan, his back stiff and an inability to properly swivel side to side at the hips.

Johnny had gotten his shoulder shot?? Plus his knee was acting up so he was also limping.

John was, also, limping. His back was also stiff and he murmured something about having pulled a muscle.

And Simon? The man’s eyes were surrounded by circles darker than you’d ever seen them, his shoulders slumped. He moved normally, unlike the others. And that concerned you more than anything.

“Jesus, what happened?”

“Mission mishaps. They happen sometimes, da’lin’.” John told you soothingly as he attempted to press a kiss to the crown of your head, but wincing when he felt the pain shoot up his spine.

“Sounds to me like more than mishaps. There’s no way all four of you are injured and it was just a ‘mishap’.” You scolded them as you carefully helped them off their gear, multiple men groaning and grunting in pain as the heavy weights were shed from their torsos.

“Have you been checked?”

“Yes, we went to medic before coming over-” Kyle told you.

“And they let you leave on foot? You look like you all should be on bed rest!” You scolded them.

“And that’s why we’re here.” Johnny added before letting out a groan when you moved his arm, sending pain barreling down his arm.

“How in the-” You murmured as you noted the patched up bullet wound.

“Don’t ask…” Kyle muttered under his breath, a whimper of a sound that you had never quite heard from him.

They were like lost puppies… Needy for being lulled to sleep by a soft hand caressing them behind the ears after some nasty man kicked them on the street.

So that’s how you ended up with four injured soldiers in your house. Ghost took the living room couch, leaving the bed for John and Kyle and Johnny.

“Don’t get any blood on my bed, Johnny!” You warned him. “If something happens, you call me.” You had added as you made sure they were as comfortable as can be before you slipped out of the room.

Reaching the living room, it was now well past 4 A.M. Simon was lying there, one leg swung over the back of your couch, and eyes locked on the shower. “You okay, Simon?” You checked softly.

“Fine, sweetheart.”

“Don’t look fine to me.” You retorted and sat on the armchair by his head, looking down at him, your hand finding his and caressing it.

He twitched a bit against the pillows, brown eyes fluttering for a moment as he took a deep breath. “Mission went tits up. Strained ourselves trying to finish.”

“You too, then?” You asked him and he nodded. “Where?”

“Everywhere. I’m sore all over… And I think I have a fever.” He admitted.

“Do you wanna try a shower?” You suggested and he shook his head.

“I don’t wanna stand up for that long… I get dizzy.”

“And a bath?” You added.

“…” Simon didn’t answer but he groaned and forced himself to stand up. You helped guide him to the bathroom.

After lowering the stopper and allowing the water to flow into the tub, you looked at Simon. “I’ll be outside, okay? I’ll give you privacy.” You told him softly.

Leaning up, you kissed his pale cheek, and turned away…

Only for him to catch you by the wrist. “Stay.”

“What?” You asked him, unsure you heard him right.

“Stay. Please.” He requested.

“But… you said you didn’t-” You trailed off, the memory of his fear of exposing his body to you (or anyone) clear in your mind.

“I know what I said. Just… Please.” He insisted.

“Okay.” You replied and nodded, stepping forward again. He reached his arms up, painfully slowly, the same way John and Kyle and Johnny had.

You grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and slowly rolled it up, your eyes finding his scar-riddled torso for the first time. Blotchy skin due to chemical burns here and there, big gashes and smaller cuts spread throughout.

Simon was looking away the whole time as you helped him off his cargos and underwear. The injuries continued down his legs, every inch of him nasty and ugly, only due to how brutal his scars were. In reality, it all made no difference to you.

“You okay?” You checked on him. He nodded slowly, his eyes screwed shut.

“Let’s get you into the water, okay? It’ll do you good.” You said as you grabbed him by the bicep and helped get him into a seated position inside the tub.

Then, you knelt by his side just as he was grunting in relief, his muscles relaxing in the water.

The bathtub that had felt tight with you and Johnny in it months ago, now felt even smaller with Simon Riley in it.

Grabbing the sponge, you carefully ran it over his torso and shoulders, wetting the part of him that didn’t fit in the bath.

The blond leaned his head back on the wall and opened his eyes, finding you looking at him.

“Thank you.” Simon told you in a whisper.

“For bathing you?”

“For dating me.” He replied, causing you to smile.

“My, Simon, you might be sicker than I expected. Where’s the confidence?” You teased him good-naturely, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Was never here. Just faking it until I made it…” He admitted and shook his head, letting it lull against the tiles.

“I see, well… It worked.” You joked as you kept wetting his body carefully.

“We’re lucky to have you.” He murmured. “You didn’t have to do this. To put up with us.”

“It’s not putting up if I like you.” You told him. “Besides… you take care of me. I take care of you. Mutually beneficial, that’s what a relationship should be.”

“I don’t take care of you because I like you.” Simon whispered, a drowsy look in his tired eyes.

“Then what for?” You asked him. “Because you want to shag me that bad?” You joked again and winked.

“No… because I love you.” Simon muttered, his lips a bit lazy in the way he said it, clearly too relaxed and tired and groggy to really think straight.

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped open, your hands going limp and dropping the sponge. “Simon…”

“You don’t have to say it back.” He said as he rolled his head against the tile wall, side to side. “Just wanted you to know.”

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #141 x reader #simon ghost riley deserves good things #simon ghost riley has a lot of love to give #love confessions

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cowboyfromh3ll · 7 months

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you said to do headcannons right?

can you do sex headcannons for the members of the gang? Only ones you're comfortable with obv. Personally, I don't care much for Micah (I want to set him on fire) so feel free to leave him out if you don't feel like writing for him

But the usual Dutch, John, Javier, Arthur, Charles, and anybody else you feel like are just perfect. I love your writing, so I'm excited to see your take on these

Sex HC Ft. Van Der Linde Gang

(Dutch Van Der Linde, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, Kieran Duffy, Micah Bell, Sean Macguire, Sadie Adler)

I should write for the girls more

Warnings: Smut, duh

Dutch Van Der Linde

He probably loves roleplaying

Pretending he's the outlaw and you're the officer punishing him

But most times he loves being in control of you, thinks it's so attractive when you submit completely to him and become his pliable little servant

Likes it when you wear expensive jewelry and gifts he buys you with nothing else on

Definitely wants you to call him Sir

Says the most poetic and flowery things to you during

Probably enjoys receiving but LOVES giving head. Views it as another way to take control

Quickies with him are non existent. To him, sex and intimacy are an art, and he will take his time with every little detail and aspect of it

Enjoys playful brattiness, definitely a brat tamer

I can see him being into BDSM. Ball gags, leather crops, leashes, blindfolds, etc

John Marston

Super messy, super rough, super desperate

Pussy eating pro. I'm talking mind blowing, back arching, toe curling, sheet gripping head. ALWAYS asks if he can go down on you

Acts like every time you two have sex will be the last

On the contrary though, I feel like he'd be into edging

Also doesn't mind letting you be dominant, he has such submissive energy

Mayhaps a mommy kink, because I can also see him calling you mommy

Would let you tie him up, totally at your mercy

He loses any semblance of shame, will beg, cry, whimper, you name it

Could consent to just about anything, if you tell him to bark he'll bark

Gets carried away when during sex sometimes, just gets absolutely drunk from pleasure

Javier Escuella

Incredibly romantic and passionate

He can fuck, but he can also make love

So much sexual stamina, and makes every time you have sex absolutely unforgettable

Loves to make sure you are as comfortable as possible and feel as though you have enough privacy. Even if it means paying for a hotel, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort

But if you wanna have risky public sex he's more than willing to as well lmao

Holds you and whispers how much he loves you while he thrusts slowly

But if y'all are fucking he'll say the filthiest shit he can conjur up in his mind while thrusting as hard and fast as he can

Slaps and grips anything he can hold onto

Overwhelms all of your senses and stimulates you in multiple ways at once

Loves cumming inside you but if not inside then on your torso or face

Arthur Morgan

Loves putting his whole weight on you when y'all fuck

Just simply pinning you down with the size of him drives him crazy

Is such a gentleman even during sex. Always stops and asks how you are and if you like how he's doing

Insists you don't have to go down on him but secretly loves it when you do

His favorite positions are ones where you're totally helpless like mating presses or locking your arms behind you

Whenever he fucks you from behind he wraps his massive arm around your neck. Idly squeezes down on your neck

Enjoys sex totally naked, makes it feel more intimate exposing yourselves fully to each other

But he loves it if you wear cute outfits for him just so he can take it off you

But he absolutely loves quickies. Complains they're too risky but every time you suggest one he's unbuckling his belt before you can finish your sentence

Definitely does the knee thing

Charles Smith

He is a pure giver. You will always cum at least 3 times or else he won't feel like he did a thorough job.

Will ignore his own aching cock as long as he can see you squirm in ecstasy

Your pleasure is his pleasure

Doesn't care if he doesn't get to cum tbh

Definitely aware of his size and uses it to his advantage if you're into that

Cages you in his arms, holds you down, puts you in choke holds, etc

I feel like he'd be pretty vanilla and you'd be the one to bring kinks to the table if anything. Will honestly do most anything you want if it brings you pleasure

Soft but firm touches, like every touch is done with intent and thought

Type to make out with you for hours without any actual stimulation and be content. Will see you off with the bluest balls.

Lenny Summers

He's still pretty young so I believe his experience would be limited

You two are probably eachother's first everythings, atleast you're his

Probably cums real fast but makes up for it with enthusiam

Will try out so many things with you, the two of you will both bring ideas to the table

Tries to start things off slow but his excitement gets the best of him

SO MUCH communication and talking during (feedback, jokes, etc...)

Very forward with his needs

Asks for hand/blow jobs a lot to blow off some steam

Very fast learner, and probably very risky

I feel like he'd ask to finger you a lot in risky situations

There's been instances where he just forgets foreplay altogether and just wants to go at it

Kieran Duffy

Submissive as hell

Definitely whimpers

Let's you take the lead 99% of the time

Will cum within five minutes max, and it really takes it out of him

Super sensitive literally everything. Touch him anywhere and he's blushing and squirming

Loves it if you wrap your thighs around his head

That being said, enjoys face sitting

Feels reassured when you tell him what to do and help him in the process

Hands roam all over you, it's like he can't fathom that you're a real being that's actually doing this with him

Eyes roll back and his face goes red when he cums. He's super embarassed about it

Micah Bell

SO rough. Drags you into position and commands you to do certain things

Likes slapping, hair pulling, spitting, I feel like he'd even be into piss. All of the above would go both ways for him.

Hate sex with him goes crazy ong. And after arguments? Just fucking all your anger away

Into degrading for sure

Sex is definitely the best emotional release for the both of you without actually hurting eachother

He's into marks. That entails scratches, bites, bruises

Make him bleed, literally beat the shit out of him during sex and he'll let it slide

Sex is a constant battle for dominance

Probably makes you do embarassing things for him like bark

Also puts you in obscene and embarassing positions just for his own pleasure

If anyone ever heard y'all have sex they'd think it sounds more like an argument and a fist fight than love making

Sean Macguire

The goofiest man during sex, not even intentionally either. He'll say the stupidest thing you've ever heard with his whole chest and you'll have to ask if he's serious

"You ready for the Macguire special?"

Loud ass moans, cannot contain them. If you're into public sex you better either prepare to be caught or mentally prepare yourself for the influx of scoldings/questions that'll come later

LOVES playful brattiness or when you want to take control. He's all for it

Has fantasies of being woken up with head

Will do the same for you in return if that's what it takes to enact his fantasies

Also into roleplay but way cornier shit like you're a nurse and he's a patient. Indulges in costumes as well

Drunk sex is the best because it's combining two of his favorite things

Sadie Adler

Also definitely does the knee thing...

Genuinely one of the sweetest and more passionate lovers, and it will translate during sex

Super gentle and passionate

Lot's of "I love you"s exchanged

Never any space between you, your limbs constantly intertwined as you kiss and move against eachother

Either of you can take the role as dom, it doesn't matter to her

Smiles the whole time out of pure adoration for you

Can be super sultry and kinky when the time calls for it though

Not opposed to being a little rougher but I can't see her going too far with that

Thinks you're far too delicate and special to be treated in such a way

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loveindefinitely · 1 month

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

13 — THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BAD THOUGHTS, ONLY YOUR ACTIONS TALK

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You’d, somehow, forgotten just how… vibrant two of your oldest friends were.

With the blades of the helicopter still spinning, the deafening sound of aircrafts around you, and a steady mist of rain, your body collides with another.

“Oi, watch it!” You exclaim, a beaming smile stretched over your features as the bulky, oblivious man squeezes his arms around your torso and buries his head into your neck. “You smell like gunpowder. And your fiancée.”

His voice comes out muffled against your skin. “And you smell like cheap body wash.”

He squeezes you once more before finally letting you go, his dimples deep and hair soggy with rain. You study his features, the sharpness of his jaw and the dusting of brunette against it. Him. One of your oldest friends in the military.

He looses a breath, eyes meeting yours and his hands falling to your shoulders, a comforting weight. You don’t have any words, can’t find them, so all that leaves your lips is a single name.

“Alex,” you whisper, voice breaking in the middle, heart a sore throb in your chest.

The storm clouds above paint the world around you in harsh greys and physical manifestations of sadness – but in it all, your light has arrived.

And how powerful it is.

“Moonflower!” A deeply familiar, feminine voice shouts, and you spread your arms wide and accept the body that crashes against your own. Your laugh is startled and pure, but relief and serotonin floods your system as warm as the embrace you’re surrounded in.

You’d found solace and even a home in your solitude, your loneliness, but now?

Now, with the only two people in your life that have remained by your side, no matter the distance, holding you in their embrace?

It feels like family, even if you know there isn’t a space between the two of them for you to fit in – no crevice large enough for you to ever comfortably merge.

A foster family, maybe. Or a found one, however tenuous and distant.

“I missed you both so much,” you murmur, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, inhaling a trembling breath as you squeeze your eyes shut and rest your face in the crook of her neck. She smells of an odd mixture of her usual perfume, and Alex’s cologne.

You wonder if you’ll still have enough limbs attached to get to their wedding, by the time everything has been dealt with.

If you’ll even have a head attached.

It’s a small eternity (or maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few years) until she pulls away, a glint in her eyes that seems a concoction of pity and strength.

“You look stunning, Farah,” you grin, and your cheeks burn with the odd sensation of joy.

She crinkles her nose, dark stray hairs flying across her face from the continuing wind of both winter and the helicopter. Her skin glows with health – and you realise, then, how even with the stress of reconstructing a nation, she’s happy. Honest and unrepentant and golden. A survivor of war, but a survivor nonetheless.

Raising a brow, she returns, “You look like shit.”

A chuckle leaves your throat, the familiarity that is Farah’s honesty akin to a hot chocolate and a blanket wrapped around a freezing frame.

“You look like you’ve been injured,” Alex adds, a small wince gracing his features. He’s miraculously found himself once more at Farah’s side, not unlike a loyal guard dog.

A guard dog guarding a lion, maybe, but a guard dog nonetheless.

“Unlike you two,” you chastise, folding your arms and burying your cold hands in the space between your bicep and breasts, “I’m at war.”

“With the guy we warned you about,” Farah raises her brow, voice acidic and biting. “The guy we told you was going to ruin your life?”

“There’s a difference between ruining my life, and quite literally ruining my life,” you counter, watching a cloud of breath hang in the air, chilled by the evening cold, before dissipating into the breeze.

“He can continue ruining your life inside,” Alex cuts in, a hand falling against the dip of Farah’s spine, and the other moving to rest between your shoulder blades. He applies just enough pressure to be convincing, but not demanding.

It may as well be a demand, however, with how weak your mindscape seems to be in the face of comfort and familiarity.

The base seems small, even with the short distance, a reminder of how self-contained and cataclysmic your life has become (has always been). It’s well past eight, now, and with the winter hours it’s almost pitch black already. A few stars decorate the black landscape, this far out from most light pollution. Your eyes stray to the glistening balls of flame, and you wonder if someday soon you’ll find yourself amongst them.

Two duffel bags hang off of Alex’s shoulder, and it sparks your interest.

“How long are you two planning to stay?” You ask, as if they’re merely old friends staying for a weekend, catching up over bottles of wine and damaged decks of cards.

They both shrug, almost in sync. Your heart thunders in your chest at the small display of how attuned they are with each other – how in love. It’s Farah who answers, simply, “However long it will take.”

When you look down to your boots, ripples of water against sleek concrete cascading beneath each footfall, it’s merely to hide the stretch of a smile that braces your chapped lips. Your voice is small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, when you mutter to the ground, “Thank you.”

“We owe you, hell, we owe you more than a dozen lifetimes for what you’ve done for us,” Alex scoffs, the gratitude rolling off of him unlike the rain soaking his long-sleeved v-neck.

“Let’s just call this even, then,” you retort, lifting your head once more, allowing them both to see the softened curve of your mouth, the gentle slope of your brows.

The rain has paused its pouring, but a whole other kind of thunderstorm awaits the three of you in the entry of the base.

When you’d called Farah and Alex – just two nights ago, mere minutes after finishing your meal with Ghost and Soap – you hadn’t spared many details about Graves. You’d told them of your betrayal, of your thoughts, of the adrenaline rush that was that last fight with him.

What you hadn’t disclosed was your increasingly peculiar arrangement with the 141. Or your tryst with Gaz. Or your mess of feelings, as a whole.

So, really, you hadn’t told them much in the realm of everything.

Now, seeing the outline of four starkly familiar profiles, waiting underneath the small awning above the entrance to the base, you regret leaving such vital pieces of information out of your hours-long call.

“This is the one first impression you don’t want to fuck up,” is all you manage to grate out to the two beside you, before you fall into hearing distance of the very imposing image the 141 has managed to portray. Sometimes, you forget how genuinely daunting the four men are, with the different lights you’ve seen them in.

This is not one of those times.

As soon as the light sitting at the door shines against the three of you, Soap startles forward, clad in only a tight-fitting grey shirt, with a hefty leather jacket in his grip. When he reaches you, not even glancing at the newcomers, he pulls the jacket over your shoulders, warm and gun-rough hands brushing the soft skin of your neck as he does so.

“Impatient, lass, runnin’ off into the rain without any feckin’ layers,” he reprimands, without any bite at all.

You’re stumped, for a moment, before shaking your head lightly and stepping away from the utterly confusing man. With a dramatic flourish of a hand gesture, you motion towards your left.

Thankfully, Soap hadn’t met you too far out, so it only takes a few steps before you’re standing before the other three. A healthy dose of scepticism and tension fills the air between you all, and while you could certainly do without it, it still stings.

Just as you’re about to introduce everyone, despite Soap’s oddly rude behaviour, Price interrupts.

“Bloody hell, small world, ain’t it?” He chuckles, throaty and pleased, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest. His smile is like a beam in the dark of night.

“Thought it’d be a nice surprise, old man,” Farah returns, bringing out her hand for him to shake with a firm grip, both comfortable and at ease in each other’s presence. When Farah goes to pull away, however, Price stops her from doing so with wide eyes, laser-focused on her ring-adorned finger.

“Well I’ll be damned, Alex, how’d you convince her to deal with your arse for eternity?” Price teases, and while you expect the younger man to hit back, he simply beams.

The three seem to be in their own little world, with you, Soap, Gaz and Ghost being left with raised brows.

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Alex raises a hand, having the decency to look sheepish. His eyes trail along the 141 warily, before meeting your own eyes, relaxing slightly under your gaze. He seems reluctant to break the contact, but does so nonetheless, words directed at the 141 as he says, “Price is an old friend.”

Farah and Price break their quiet conversation, directing their attention back to the group at large. It’s quiet, for a moment, which is a blessing considering the large personalities at hand.

You’re the one to break it.

“Well,” you start, a sudden burst of anxiety sparking in your stomach – you hadn’t considered the merging of your two lives, of past and present, the clashing of…

Oh. God.

Oh God. Oh God, you had almost forgotten that, but if you had, maybe they did, too? Yes. Definitely. It’ll be fine.

(It won’t be fine, you’re more certain, but a little lie to yourself can’t hurt. Much.)

You continue, not a breath out of place despite your internal thoughts, “Farah, Alex, meet the 141.”

Gesturing to the four men, meeting all of their eyes, you then gesture to the other two. “Guys, meet Farah and Alex.”

Silence fills the space between you all for a mere moment – just past a second, really – but it’s damning and heavy all the same. It has your chest tightening and your throat constricting, not unlike a thread of rope being pulled taut around the curve of your neck.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Farah says, voice steady and calculated. Defensive, really.

Gaz’s eyes narrow, his voice perfectly even and sickly sweet as he responds, “I can promise you, the last thing Sweetheart needs is to be taken care of.”

It’s… tense.

You’d, of course, expected that it would take some time for Farah and Alex to become anything close to friendly with the 141, but this feels different. A kind of static alights the air, a live wire sensitive to any spark that will instantly set it aflame.

“It’s good to see you again too, mate,” Alex smiles, but a sharp edge lines the curve of his lips. His eyes meet Gaz’s, and they don’t stray.

With a tight smile, Gaz responds, “Likewise.”

Ghost stands farthest from the group, a haunting spectre, shrouded in shadows with his arms folded over his chest and his hip resting against the wall. It’s impossible to see where, exactly, his eyes are trained – but you know they rest on you nonetheless.

Soap’s jacket remains a comforting weight on your shoulders, and although you’re loath to admit it even to yourself, it is miles better than the thin top you’d braved. He’s standing closest to you, on your right, posture straightened and imposing. He exudes a kind of energy you haven’t felt from him before, the closest being when you’d been separated from him post-surgery, maybe.

“Let’s have some tea, maybe, in the common room?” You ask, but it’s not really a request. Your tone is thick with insistence and command, and no one is in a place to deny you.

By the time you all make it to the common room – Alex and Farah comfortably speaking with Price, and you walking silently with Gaz, Ghost and Soap. The latter, especially, remaining a close presence at your side.

A few candles are lit against the windowsill, and a singular lamp sat against the large couch has been lit. No need for the blinding white light of the ceiling – just comfort and familiarity.

It feels at odds with the terse energy at hand, but simultaneously, a blessing.

Alex immediately takes a seat on the far right of the couch, at ease with himself and his surroundings. Gaz sits on the far left, leaving two spots between them. Without a word, Soap’s hand finds your lower back, and he virtually pulls you with him to sit between the two men.

You find yourself stuck between Alex and Soap, with Ghost, Price and Farah more than happy to stand. Even if there was space, you doubt they’d choose to take a seat.

“We need to find out what Shepherd’s up to,” you speak, breaking the small talk between Price and Farah, as well as between Gaz and Soap. The room falls silent immediately. “And we need to find out what actually happened to my mother.”

The silence continues, and you find yourself pulling the leather jacket tighter around your frame – finding solace in the heat of the two men at either side of you. Your past and your present, both there, both helping.

It’s, surprisingly, Ghost who answers the sentiment first.

“We’re at your disposal,” he simply says, as if it’s ever that simple. Maybe it can be, maybe it will be, with the powerhouse of a group that’s surrounding you now, with all of your history and feelings and sentiments.

You can feel the seeds of hope in your chest begin to blossom, begin to shine underneath the rays of sunlight that are Ghost’s words.

“Are,” you roll your tongue in your mouth, feeling the words out before you speak them, “Are you all ready and willing to do this? Because if you’re not, I’m going to get the job done myself.”

It’s true, suicide mission or not.

“Yer outta yer feckin’ mind if ya think we’re leavin’ ya behind now,” Soap scoffs, relaxing further into the couch as he throws his arm up and around the back of the couch, hand skimming your left shoulder. His thigh presses against your right one.

“You’re stuck with us now, Sweetheart,” Price shrugs, hands in his pockets.

Murmurings of agreement and similar sentiments echo around the group, and you find yourself exhaling such a deep breath that you’re sure it expels some decade-old air that had been stuck in the crevices of your lungs.

“Hold on,” Farah raises her hand, brows furrowing as her other fist rests at her bucked hip. “What’s this whole Sweetheart thing about?”

Soap’s hand finds the nape of your neck, brushing away your hair to rest a firm grip around the warmed skin. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and another when he responds, “Simple, aye? She’s a Sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to quell the growing grin that’s creeping onto your face. “This idiot,” you nod towards the Scot at your side, “Was bleeding out. Gave him some sweetheart lollies to help with the blood loss, and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, his eyes trained on your profile. When you meet his eyes, for a mere second, it feels like an electric shock.

Alex, on your other side, glances at you through the corner of his eyes with a hint of conspiracy. He leans in, mouth just a hair away from your ear, when he asks, “Which one of them are you fucking? Or have they all tumbled into your bed?”

Your elbow to his side is more a knee-jerk reaction to his words than anything, but you’re at least decent enough to wince at his groan of pain. He clutches his side like he’s been shot on the field, head falling to rest against your chest with dramatic flourish. Both Gaz and Soap start, as if about to physically restrain the man, and your unamused gaze immediately finds the Sergeants.

What the actual fuck is up with everyone?

“Not a jealous woman, are you, Farah?” Ghost chimes, voice guttural where he stands just to your left, by the arm of the couch. You can’t say you’d forgotten his presence – even with his silence, it’s a tangible, physical weight on your shoulders – but it still startles you when he speaks.

Farah’s easy smile turns into a cryptic smirk instantaneously, and, fuck.

Maybe, very possibly, most likely definitely: they remembered. Or, at least, Farah did.

Fuck.

You suppose it’s not really a thing you forget, unless your mind’s an overfilled storage room of memories and current events and problems. Which yours most definitely is, and of which theirs is likely not.

“Can’t say I am. Not the first time they’ve gotten handsy,” she shrugs, as if it’s an obvious statement.

As if the room hasn’t instantly dropped approximately ten degrees, and your heart stops where it should be thrumming in your chest.

It’s almost funny, how you instantly train your attention to Gaz. How your mind immediately fears his expression, his reaction to such a thinly veiled sentiment.

What you see is the instant rising of walls, the shuttering of his eyes, and the stiffening of his frame.

You wonder how many missed heartbeats it takes to constitute a heart attack.

“Old fling, were they?” Price asks, because, really, of course he does. When you look to him, he deliberately keeps his gaze on Farah, not giving you a single glance. It’s not jealousy, you know, because it’s Price, and he, in no capacity, holds any such feelings towards you. But it’s something damning nonetheless.

Alex, oblivious idiot that he is, finally pulls his head back up with a sharp laugh. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it was malicious. “Nah. Just thought some experimentation with an extra partner would be fun, and, hey, she is pretty damn hot.”

“You’re a dickhead,” you chastise, suddenly aware of all the points that you and Alex touch – all the points that you and Soap touch.

“Didn’t realise ye were into that,” Soap bites, abruptly, tone sharp and acrid. You barely suppress a shiver at the shift in the man’s attitude, in comparison to his usually jovial and good-natured attitude.

“Didn’t realise you were into kink-shaming, either,” you retort, almost startling at your own defensiveness.

Ghost’s hum feels like a reprimand, akin to an owner using a dog whistle on their trusted border collie, or a dominatrix snapping her whip.

“I don’t think threesomes are a kink?” Alex’s statement ends in a question, a confused look settling over his features. “Like, polyamory definitely isn’t, but what about one-offs? Babe, do you know?”

Farah doesn’t answer, not for a long while. Entirely too aware of the tension filling the room, of the dangerous game she’s about to partake in. The one Alex started, likely unknowingly, but started nonetheless.

“No. It’s not kink. But some of what we did was.”

For, well, not the first time in your life (or even the last week, really), but pretty darn close to it, you consider storming into the weapon supplies and shooting yourself.

“Well!” You exclaim, nervous laughter following the statement, palms clammy where you wipe them against your pants, “Farah, Alex, you probably need some rest, y’know, after your flight. I certainly need it.”

Standing before you even realise you are, you move to get the hell out of there, when Soap’s hand wraps around your wrist, and tugs you back down to sit even closer against him. When Alex’s hand finds your shoulder, you realise distantly that this must be a kind of tug of war. Or piggy in the middle.

Potato, patata. You’re the bait either way.

“The night’s still young,” Price cuts in, and everyone around you seems to nod. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, Sweetheart,” he adds, and the genuinity beneath his words turns into a threat of your pride in your head.

“I’m fine,” you straighten your shoulders, set your nerves. “Just looking out for my friends.”

It’s a lie. You know it, Ghost most likely does, too, and you can only hope that everyone else is ignorant to that small fact.

Subconsciously, you find your attention drifting to Gaz once more.

He hasn’t spoken, you realise, not since Alex had said that. When he catches you watching his profile, lit by the lamp, the candles – he meets your eyes. Not for longer than a second, or half of one, you’re sure, but it hits you like a bullet. When he instantly looks away, you can’t help the sudden anger that stokes the flames in your stomach.

It’s not as if you were openly flirting with either Alex or Farah, and even then, who was he to be mad? You’d been together once, for God’s sake – not for a single moment since. Long days of work and stress and training made the comfort of his bed simply that.

And even then, even then, you were in no way official. Not in any semblance of the word, not with the stakes of the mission at hand, the risk that came with such relationships.

His response gives you half a mind to play up your past on purpose. You won’t, but the urge is definitely there.

It’s not silent, thank god. Alex, Price and Farah have continued a previous conversation, Ghost is silent and brooding, and…

“Didnae pick ye as promiscuous,” Soap states, fiercely meeting your eyes with a swirling of emotions visible within his own. He says the words like they’re poison on his tongue, and, fuck, you’re close to breaking point.

Your responding smile is nothing short of mocking. “Calling me a slut is less wordy, don’t you think?”

“Dinnae put words into my bloody mouth,” Soap seethes, leaning in further to your space, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. You hate how confused it all makes you feel, how unsure of your emotions and goddamn attachments.

“Oh, sorry, does the big bad military man want to tell me what such a big word means? If I don’t have the mental capacity to choose how I have sex, I surely can’t understand your wide vocabulary, can I?” You hiss, bending your neck slightly and not backing away from his posturing for even a moment.

“Soap, stop threatening her,” Price barks, and you distantly remember the people around you, the setting, the image the two of you must make.

You remember, and you can’t seem to find a single fuck to give.

“I can fight my own damn battles!” You yell, not sending a single glance Price’s way – eyes completely remaining on darkened blue instead.

“And that’s why ye still got bloody feckin’ bandages, damn bruises –”

“Do not go there with me right now, Johnny, or I swear to fucking god.”

Both of your chests heave, and you’ve forgotten what even sparked this sudden argument, this spiteful back and forth. You haven’t a clue in this moment, and you relish in it.

“She’s a better damn fighter than the lot of you,” Alex interrupts, “Injuries don’t mean shit, ‘specially not when you don’t know what the fuck she’s gone through.”

Soap directs his ire toward the man at your side, voice thick with anger and his accent when he counters, “And ye know ‘er so much better, jus’ cause ye got in ‘er pants? Aye?”

“Because he isn’t acting like a goddamn meathead!” You find yourself fisting your hand into his shirt, pulling him closer to you, faces inches apart.

“‘Nd kissin’ ‘n tellin’ is fine ‘nd dandy,” Soap laughs, without a hint of humour, “Thought ye had standards.”

A lot of things happen in the preceding moment.

You’d like to say you can’t be blamed for any of the actions that occur, but you also know that accountability is a virtue. And you mean to uphold it.

It goes something like this.

The fist that had been wrapped in his shirt pulls back, and instead, collides with his jaw.

Arms wrap around your chest, caging your arms to your side. Arms, too, wrap around Soap, pulling him away from you. You’re both yelling obscenities, none of which you can name, and you both fight against your restraints.

You don’t need to have a full frame of mind to know that it’s Alex and Price holding you back, and through the haze of it all, you’re sure it’s Ghost and Farah keeping Soap away.

“Calm the hell down!” Price commands, voice a beam of light in a storm. It brings you back to yourself, but not enough to stem the bleeding of your anger, just enough for you to recognise it.

“Bloody idiot, Johnny, get it together!” Ghost is saying to Soap, standing in front of him and shaking his shoulders as Farah’s arms remain wrapped around his torso, keeping his fists below his waist.

Gaz is nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t fucking speak to be, Johnny, I don’t want to see your face,” you shout, eyes glassy, before you finally ease into Price and Alex’s grips, their own going lax. You shoulder off their arms, before without a word, storming down the corridor.

Your name’s called out after you, ‘Sweetheart’, ‘Moonflower’ – none of it matters. Not past the roaring in your ears, the spite burning in your veins. The pent up energy of an unfinished fight.

Shoving open the door to your – Gaz’s – room, you startle when you see the man himself, standing in the middle of the room, shirt in hand. The only light comes from the window, the full moon high in the sky more than enough light to serve as a lamp. His sweats hang loose on his hips, his muscles bulging but still lithe, more like a gymnast’s build than a wrestler’s.

He’s never looked better.

Whether that’s the adrenaline speaking, or the anger, you don’t know. Don’t care. Not past the need to have his mouth against your own.

It takes all of two seconds before the door slams shut behind you, and you’re shoving Gaz onto the bed, his own groan answer enough. His brown eyes glisten with the moonlight, and his throat dips when he swallows, focus trained on where you tug off that damn leather jacket. your shirt following.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” you demand, “Unless it’s yes, no, or please.”

He nods, shaky, voice breaking when he responds, “Yes.”

Kicking off your pants, leaving you standing in only your panties and bra, you move to straddle him. He dutifully remains laid onto the bed, chest heaving in harsh sweeps, mouth slightly open in a mixture of shock and lust.

“Where do you get off,” you breathe, voice heavy with threat as you drag your pointer finger along the length of his throat, before following the line of his collarbone, “Being all moody about who I’ve fucked? What gives you the right?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the weakest he’s ever sounded, “Not – I’m not mad, I just. I want you.”

Your hand finds his neck, forming a light grip around it. You haven’t applied any pressure, but his breath hitches at the weight of it, the promise.

“That sounded like more than one syllable,” you frown, mockingly patronising. You squeeze his neck, not anywhere hard enough to choke, but enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut. “We can talk later.”

He nods, harsh, quick jerks of his head, and the slightly unhinged smile returns to your face.

You hadn’t gotten the fight you’d yearned for, not with Soap, but this is a good enough replacement for that need.

Dragging your hand down his bare chest, you pause when you see scars. Not healed like those from battle, and ones you recognise. Before you can process what it means, Gaz lets out a sharp gasp, and when you look to him, his eyes are wide and.

And scared.

“No, hey, you can speak,” you ramble, and you can feel the flame of rage dim to sparking charcoal. It should be scary, how quickly you find yourself worried for the man, but it’s not. “It’s okay.”

“I should’ve told you,” he immediately breathes, squeezing his eyes shut once more. His head falls back to the bed once more. “I’m.”

He swallows, and you find your hand gravitating to his throat once more – this time, in a soft, soothing caress.

“I’m trans,” he finishes, saying it like one would whisper a secret in a confessional. Your heart stutters in your chest, and it aches, the idea that he’s had lovers who’ve made him feel so awful about his identity.

Your hand moves from his neck to his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eyes, and they finally flutter open once more.

They soften when they see your smile.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, voice low and cautious. “If you wanna stop, it’s fine, but,” you shrug, “You’re hot. I still wanna fuck. You might have to show me what feels best, but that’s kinda hot, too.”

“You’re okay with it?” His voice is fragile, shaky, and fuck he’s pretty.

“I’m okay with it,” you echo, sentiment genuine and kind. “Tell me what you want, Kyle.”

His arms remain laid out on the bed at either side of him, his skin still heated with want and need and wanton lust. His voice strengthens when he answers.

“I want you to use me – take it out on me,” he says. “Please.”

And who are you to deny such a request?

author's note. i was veryveryvery close to orphaning or marking as complete. i'm not really in or interested in the COD fandom at all anymore, but, i realised that i also want to see where this story goes? excluding the characters, the actual story and world i've created for sweetheart has me wanting to see it to its end.

that, along with the fans. you guys and your genuine interest and comments have made this project worth it. i can't express enough how much you all mean to me, especially those that comment on every chapter and have been there every step of the way. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i can't promise as efficient and regular updates, but i CAN promise that i plan to finish this story in its entirety.

thank you to those who have stuck around, and thank you for those that continue to do so. you mean the world to me, and the very writing of this fic is owed to you.

(also, if anyone has any feedback on my trans rep and dealing with a trans character, PLEASE lmk. i am in no way perfect, and if i've made a mistake, please tell me so i can fix it and grow as a writer!)

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur @thriving-n-jiving @callsign-pyro @mmmangel @aisawa-reo @just-pure-trash @silly-norman @annoyingstrawberryballoon @chop-zulyzulyyy

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soapybutt17 · 10 months

Text

Night Showers

Summary: A shower, a missing condom, and Soap doing his best to get on his Captain's nerves (the 20 laps around the entire base was worth it). Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Word Count: 2,168 Chapter Warnings: Smut. Unprotected Penetration. Creampies. P in V. Oral Sex (F receiving). Alternate Universe. Soap just being a little shit for the giggles and all. Unedited as usual. A/N: To the anon that sent me the request, this is for you. I just can't get this idea out of my head and it shows.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open

One of the few perks of being part of the upper ranks were the privilege of having your own time to bathe. But unlike other assholes that prefer being in first, you preferred to be the last one to step foot in the communal showers. You prefer taking your time, lathering yourself up to the perfect suds and savoring every single minute of the cold water against your skin.

You preferred your privacy as much as the next person and practically living in the base, you don’t get that privilege as often as you want unless you were here. It was ironic seeing it was a communal space and there was an off chance another female member of the base would slip back in but it was rare especially at this time of the night where you were certain almost everyone aside from the people on watch duty were fast asleep.

The frigid cold water would have woken you up but the longer you stood in the water, the more did you feel the weight of the day get to you and you were close to falling asleep from where you stood. You were close to ready to finally get to bed and sleep before the following day of drills.

You felt a hand before you realize it and instincts had equipped you to act fast and hit whoever was ballsy enough to touch you. But it seems your husband was faster than you as he held onto your fisted hand. A smirk playing on his lips for catching you off guard.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whispered screamed at him at this point. The panic of someone possibly entering immediately crossed your mind and the possibility of either of you (mostly him) getting in trouble for being in the same shower together.

“Locked the door on my way in if that’s what you’re worried about, Love.” He smirked and only now did you come to realize that he was butt naked just as much as you.

You felt the heat on your cheeks at the realization. It’s been far too long since you’ve had even a semblance of intimacy with your husband. With mission and reports constantly pulling the both of you apart, having him so close to you now only brought the much deprived need in you to come back full force for him to see.

“Fucking hell, cold as ice.” He muttered as the water has finally hit his skin.

Your eyes gazed at the bear of a man you had the privilege of calling your husband. The way the water slither against his hairy chest and down to his happy trail all the pent up desire has come and you did not know if you had the mental fortitude to resist him at this point.

“Seein’ something you like, Love?” He teased, his watercolor eyes gazing down at you as he caught you staring.

“Very.” You quipped turning back to the waters to wash away the last of the suds that was still covering your skin. “But I think you already know that by now.” You muttered looking over your shoulder to look down at his manhood alive and awake you to see.

“Most definitely.” He chuckled, his arms found their way around your waist, pulling you further into his torso, his manhood pressing against your back in the process. “And you could feel it right now.”

“John…” You warned. You’ve had far too many close calls with the man in the past, had it not been for everyone’s lack of idea about what was going on between the both of you, you both would have been caught in one too many compromising situation.

“I’m doing nothing, Love.” He chuckled, his hand slowly creeping from your stomach up towards the swells of your breast giving a gentle squeeze before one hand rested against the columns of your neck and the other holding onto your jaws to keep you in place. “Nothing at all.” He purred, lips finding their place against where your neck and shoulders met.

“John not here.” You warned him again, the fact that the doors to the showers were locked did not reassure you at all. You still fear the possibility that someone had seen you then seen your husband walk inside in the middle of the night.

“Where then? Name a time and place.” He propositioned.

“Your room, after you shower.” You finally relent knowing that when your husband was in the mood just as much as you were, nothing would stop him from having you.

“Deal.” He turned your head until your lips met his own in a searing kiss that drowned you more than the water that showered above you both.

Your hand found their way against his wet beard, trying and failing to control his kiss, savoring the first of many kisses he was more than willing to give you for the rest of the night.

Fuck Protocol. Fuck Reputation. You will be fucked and you will make the most out of it.

“I’ll meet you naked on your bed.” He practically commanded you now as he pulled away. Any other time you would have made the protest of him giving him orders the way that he did but you truly didn’t care at this point.

Nodding, you pulled away from his hold. The coldness of his absent touch did more damage than the water ever could. Without even looking back, you had toweled dried yourself and put on your clothes—ignoring the fact that it was your dirtied ones. You’re going to be naked once you’re back in bed anyways and made your way out of the showers and making sure to lock the door behind you in the process.

“God fucking damnit.”

With shaking legs, you peered down at your husband post-orgasm from between your legs as he began searching through his discarded pants. A few choice words escaped his lips as he continued on with his search. It was so unlike the Captain to be this antsy but it was given in the situation at hand.

“What?” You asked, dazed still from your release with just his mouth. You felt the ache on your lips from biting too hard and trying and somewhat failing to keep your moans and whimpers to a minimum.

“Condom.” He practically growled as he began to look around his room.

You blinked as his frustration was now in full force as he began to look around his room for another spare but no luck whatsoever.

“Just fuck me, John.” You whimpered, hand somehow finding their way towards your still too sensitive bud. Keeping yourself sated while you waited.

“But…”

“I’m on my pills, just fuck me already.” You were now practically demanding him at this point. “Please.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice as he dove right on top of you. Slotting himself in between your legs. He pulled you in for another searing kiss. Your arms and legs had immediately wrapped around him, urging him to finally fuck you but he was taking his sweet time—a time neither of you truly had with the night slowly fading into daylight.

“A fucking little menace you are, aren’t you?” He teased, grinding his pelvic bone against your nub. “Just so desperate for me are you?” He questioned, voice growling louder and instincts kicked in as you slapped your hand towards his mouth to quiet him down.

He did not like it one bit as he held both of your hands above your head.

“Did I fucking tell you to touch me, Pet?” He growled against your ears.

“John—you need to be quiet.” You whispered struggling to free from his hold.

“You don’t get to make orders here, Lieutenant.” He whispered against your ears, nipping at your lobe before his lips lingered against your cheeks and finding their way towards your lips but not truly kissing you. “Is that clear?”

“Yes.” You whimpered as his hips dug further into your core.

“Yes what, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Captain.” You squealed as he finally slipped right into you.

The aching sting even with him preparing you lingered through your entire body. It was always a task in on itself as he held onto you. One hand held onto your own up above your head and the other held onto your leg and pulling it up as high as you physically could.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He groaned. “Fucking tight.” He muttered.

Without another word, his moved his hips, a gruelingly slow but deep pace that had you gasping at each piston. Your legs held onto his waist for dear life and your teeth bit against your lips stopping from any noise from escaping.

You watched all the control leave from your husband’s body as his thrust had gotten sloppy.

“Please…” You pleaded, even when you truly didn’t know what you were even begging for right now. “Please. Please. Please.”

You felt it before you realize what was going on, the spurts painted your insides and the mind numbing shiver that wrecked from your toes up to your head. You moaned, louder than you would have wanted it to be but your husband was quick to silence you with his lips. Pulling you into him, swallowing every moans and every whimper as he continued on with thrusting inside of you.

Finally, your husband had let go of your hands, you winced as blood began flowing right back and the familiar tingling sensation seeped through. He pulled away, looking down at you in the all too familiar adoration that you felt the same for him. You were sated, blissed and thoroughly satisfied from the longing you felt for your husband.

“Are you broken?” John inquired.

A playful smile rested on your face, the context that it was a question he often asked after any of his team were put in a bad spot. It was his own little way of asking anyone and everyone if they were alright.

“Split open, but I’ll survive.” You respond,

He smiled, chuckling at your antics. Before a flip has switch and his hand held onto you pulling you up and turning you until you were on your hands and knees. Without even missing a beat or even allowing you to say anything, he plunged himself right back into you.

“Good.” He chuckled leaning close to your ears. “There’s still more where that came from.”

Breakfast in the mess hall was boring and you preferred it that way. Enjoying your tea and toast and jam in the peace of the table you shared with John, Gaz, and Simon was all you could ask for after the grueling night you had with your husband.

Even from the frequent sips of his coffee, you know he was just trying his best to hide the smirk playing on his face. Last night had been a blur after the third round for you. When your husband was on a mission, nothing could truly stop him from taking what he wants and what he needed from you, you were all the more willing to give it to him if he needed it.

But with that being said, you also knew the consequences of your actions. The ache between your legs and the sore throat you were nursing with your ginger tea. There was also the array of hickeys and bruises that painted your entire body and you did your best to hide as much as possible even in the sweltering heat.

The next time you would even think about sleeping with your husband is when you’re both done with your deployment. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aye Price!”

You winced, the peace of your own filthy thoughts of last night was ruined by Soap’s booming voice taking most of everyone’s attention (some already used to his morning antics, decided to just ignore him). You looked up towards the Scot and paled at the all too familiar foil packet in his grasp.

“Saw this in front of your room last night. Hope the lucky lady you had in your room was fine being raw dogged for the night.”

You could feel the fury boil from where you sat. You had noticed both Simon and Gaz strategically move a little farther away from where the Captain sat but they had an all good view of the man as he stood and ordered Soap to run the entire base twenty times.

It pissed John even more was the fact that Soap wasn’t all that afraid with his punishment, cackling as he skipped out of the mess hall, the condom still in his hand for everyone to see. Soap would truly not let him live this down.

His eyes slowly turned to you and this time it was you who was trying your best to hide the smile as you took another generous sip of your tea.

The consequence of his own actions it seems.

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vintagestarlight · 7 months

Text

Massage

Summary: You give Price a massage after he gets back from a particularly hard deployment.

Pairing: John Price x fiancée!reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: mentions of injury(nothing too graphic), light sexual mentions, John Price(because let's be honest this man is a warning okay), fluff, 18+ MDNI

A/N: So Price won by a landslide in the poll😂 here's one of the fics I had planned so I hope yall enjoy! I did right this pretty drunk so apologies if it isn't great

Also, I didn't expect so many people to vote so thank you all so much!😭🫶🏼 Requets are also open!! Feel free to send in whatever you want just make sure it follows my blog rules! I've also got a few more fics in my drafts as well :)

***beware of typos(I tried my best to catch them all)

John turned the ignition off and his truck came to a stop. He looked at the house the two of you shared and smiled as he took in the warm glow coming from the window. Before you came into his life the house was cold and dark; he preferred coming home to this rather than the dark windows he used to. John opened the door and stepped out, wincing as he irritated the bruised muscles. This last deployment was harder than most; although everyone made it back alive, and for that he was thankful, going hand-to-hand with a mercenary ended with the mercenary dead but John fell from a metal walkway grate to the ground below. It resulted in a number of bruises, scratches, and a sprained shoulder.

John lifted his duffle bag out of the back seat and thought about how you would fret over the bruises that blemished his skin. You always checked him when he came home to see if he gained any new scars or broken body parts and he found it endearing. He walked slowly toward the door, his sore body preventing him from going faster. He dug in his pocket for his key and slipped it into the lock before stepping inside. “Love I’m home,” He called out, setting his duffle bag down by the door with a sigh of relief to have the weight off of his injured shoulder; he had a brace that kept him from moving his shoulder but it did nothing for the annoying pain of putting weight on it.

“Back here!” He heard your voice coming from the shared bedroom so he toed off his boots and walked down the hallway. He saw soft light coming from the bathroom and when he walked in he saw something that made his breath catch in his throat. You were in the bathtub with your hair loosely pulled back and sipping on a glass of wine, candles casting a warm illuminating glow. It wasn't anything overly sexual but it still made his face flush; here he was nearing forty and you made him feel like a school boy. “Hey love,” he said, taking in the sight of you before bending down and giving you a kiss. “I’m so glad you’re home,” You said, a heavy weight finally lifting off your chest at seeing your fiancée back in one piece. The black brace over his beige shirt was not lost on you but you didn’t say anything as you decided it was not as bad as it could be. “How’s the bath?” John asked. “You could always join me and find out,” You said, taking a sip of the red wine, looking at him over the rim of the glass. “Now how could I say no to that?” He smirked.

He took off the brace that was nothing but uncomfortable before undoing his belt and stripping off his pants. He slipped off his shirt, wincing as his shoulder twinged, and heard you gasp. “John!” You did your once over to ensure he hadn’t come home severely injured when your eyes landed on the bruises that colored his torso. “What the hell happened?” You asked, wincing when you thought about what could’ve caused such bruises. “If I told you that love, you’d be even more frantic,” He chuckled. “Don’t laugh John!” You chastised. John slipped in behind you after stripping completely, groaning at the warm water, and let you rest against him. “I’m sorry love but don’t freak out too much,” He replied. “They really do look worse than they are,” He added, planting a kiss on your head. He felt you relax more, as if you were afraid of hurting him, and he sighed. The weight of you pressed against him was actually comforting and he wrapped his arms around you. “At least you came home to me alive,” You said. “Just like I promised,” John replied, a long sigh leaving his body.

The two of you just sat there for a little while, your thumb absentmindedly grazing John’s arm; grateful to have your fiancée back. You felt him rest his head on your shoulder and his weary body sagged as he relaxed. You shifted and accidentally pressed your weight on one of John’s bruises and he grunted. “I’m sorry babe!” You said, turning around to sit on his lap carefully trying to avoid the purple-ish tender spots. “Don’t worry I’m tougher than I look,” He joked, running his hands along your sides. “You know,” You started, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I think I know of a way to make you feel better,” You said in a slow voice. “Oh yeah? I think I’m liking where this is going,” John replied, planting a kiss on your nose, then your cheeks, and finally your lips. ‘Hmm… I like the way you think but I was actually thinking about a massage,” You said. “Help those aching muscles,” You offered and smiled as he smirked. “Now that’s a good way to welcome a man home,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Why don’t you go lay on the bed and I’ll dry off and get the oil,” You suggested and stepped out of the tub.

You felt John’s hungry eyes on you and you grinned; John always made you feel desirable even on your worst day. You heard the water splash as John stepped out after pulling the plug, dripping water on the floor. You wrapped yourself in a towel and felt him swat your ass, eliciting a squeal out of you as he laughed. “Don’t take too long,” He said. John also grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself, being mindful of his injuries, and pulled on a clean pair of boxers. You emerged from the bathroom with a bottle of baby oil and saw John lounging on the bed, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched your towel clad body. “See something you like?” You teased, before dropping the towel leaving you stark naked and John groaned. “I think you should stay like this all the time,” He said, a bit disappointed when you pulled on a bra and panty set. “I suggest you settle down; you’re not exactly in peak condition for sex,” You chuckled. “Come on turn over,” You said, and waited until he was laying on his stomach, arms relaxed.

You got on top of him and straddled his hips, taking notice of the scratches on his back. There were several silver lines across his body from his several years of military service. You had counted every scar on his body countless times so you could always know when he got new ones. But these scratches were new; red and fresh in contrast to the silver healed scars. You squirted a quarter sized amount of baby oil on your hands, rubbed them together, and pressed your hands firmly on John’s back. Using light pressure you began to knead his shoulders, mindful not to press too hard on his injured one, and firmly moved down to his lower back. “Jesus love,” John groaned. John felt himself further relax as you helped ease his aching muscles. You used your thumbs to press into his lower back and rub in small circles before continuing those small circles all the way up his back to his neck.

You loved feeling his skin underneath your hands; the way his muscles rippled when you touched him and it made you feel good that you were able to give him this attention. You heard grunts and moans as you continued to work on his back and shoulders, slowly massaging away the tension that rested in his muscles. You felt your tough military husband become putty under your hands and you couldn't help but grin. “You know I was thinking,” you said, feeling him tense as you needed a particularly large knot at the base of his neck. “What's that love?” He grunted, his voice slurring slightly as your hands slowly lulled him closer to sleep. “I know we had plans to go to that new French place for dinner but maybe we could stay in tomorrow?” You suggested to him. “Maybe just stay in bed and order takeout,” you continued, applying a little more oil onto your hands and rubbing your hands down his arms as he lazily nodded his head. “Would you like that?” You asked. When you didn’t get a response you looked down at his languid form and realized his breathing had become deeper and he started to snore a little. You smiled and slowly got off his back, careful not to wake him, and pulled the covers over him. “Good night John,” you whispered, planting a kiss on his cheek and turning off the lamp before climbing in bed next to him. You soon fell asleep and slept better than you had in months.

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alwaysmoncheri · 3 months

Text

summary: you wake up in major john egan’s bed and remember he drunkenly kissed you the night prior—you wonder what that means for your relationship.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of sex, fluff, kissing, confessions, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drunkenness, cuteness, but also cheesiness, 1k words

It’s quiet when you wake, the sun peaks through the curtains, creating a ray of light that just misses your face. The sheets are comfortable, warm with your own body heat, but they’re not yours. You sit up with a start, the realization as to where you are washing over you. You were in Major John Egan’s bed, oh my god, what were you thinking? You whip your head around, desperately searching for the man you spent the night with. Throwing one of the pillows off the bed, you hear a quiet grunt from the floor, causing you to scramble over to the edge of the bed. Carefully leaning over with a cautious gaze, you see Bucky laying on the ground, a blanket half covering his bare torso and the pillow you previously threw next to him. Heat rises to your cheeks as your eyes find his. His arms are behind his head and there’s an agonizingly charming smile on his face as he looks back at you.

“Good morning.” Bucky’s voice reaches your ears and you feel weak. Your lips part and you draw in a nervous breath, blinking a few too many times, you struggle to gather your thoughts before finally managing to speak.

“You’re on the floor.” you state simply, chasating yourself for the obvious observation.

“It appears so, yes.” Bucky responds with a hint of amusement in his tone, his smile grows wider and you grow more nervous under his gaze, so you look away.

“You don’t need to be.” you offer softly, a gentle invitation hanging in the air as you lean back onto the plush comfort of the bed. Bucky, catching the subtle implication in your words, lifts himself onto his elbows, his expression curious. With a simple nod, you confirm your desire for him to join you on the bed.

Without a word, Bucky rises, his movements fluid and controlled, as he gathers the scattered pillows and blanket, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet room. With practiced ease, he arranges them on the bed before settling himself beside you, his presence a comforting weight against the mattress. As he sits next to you, the warmth of his body radiates, drawing you closer. You catch the scent of his cologne, a subtle blend of musk and cedarwood, mingling with the faint aroma of lingering alcohol from the night before. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, a silent invitation for you to move closer. You shift, your shoulder brushing against his as you settle into a comfortable position beside him.

For a moment the two of you sit in silence, the memories of what happened last night weighing on your conscious. You’re overwhelmed, confused, and attempting to put the pieces together.

“You were drunk.” you remind him, the words a hesitant admission of the truth. “I was drunk.”

“That is also true,” Bucky acknowledges with a nod, his gaze softening as he senses the rising panic in your voice. Your breath quickens, and your eyes widen, “Look, honey—” Bucky begins, his voice gentle and reassuring, but before he can finish, your words tumble out in a rush of desperation.

“Oh my god.” you gasp, leaning closer to Bucky, your voice barely above a whisper as you say your next few words, “Did we have sex?”

Bucky's laughter fills the air, a warm, affectionate sound that doesn't quite match the gravity of the situation. Your reaction is immediate, confusion and annoyance contort your features.

“It's not funny,” you insist, your voice tinged with frustration as you search his expression for answers.

“Honestly, honey, I couldn’t tell you.” Bucky replies with a shrug, his demeanor nonchalant despite your obvious distress.

“John,” you whine, the plea in your voice betraying your need for him to be serious and clarity of the situation. As your words dissolve into incoherent mumbles, Bucky reaches out, his hand gently squeezing yours in a gesture of reassurance.

“Hey, I’m sure nothing happened,” he interjects, making an attempt to alleviate your worries, “if we had sex, you probably wouldn’t be wearing anything right now.” Bucky adds, with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows and a smirk.

The implications of his words send a shiver down your spine, mingling with the warmth of his touch as you recall the kiss shared between the two of you the night before, “You kissed me last night.” you say with a hint of uncertainty, searching his face for confirmation.

“And you didn’t stop me.” Bucky counters, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes.

“Why would I?” you admit softly, “You’re all I think about.”

Bucky's smiles, that adorable smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. You watch as his gaze flickers to your lips and back up to your eyes. A giggle bubbles up from your throat, a nervous sound expressing your uncertainty of the moment.

“What?” you ask in response to Bucky’s wordless expression. Your heart pounds in your chest as he reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, before leaning in to whisper.

“I’m so in love with you.” Bucky confesses in your ear before leaning back with a wide smile, eager to see your reaction. A smile spreads across your face and you turn to slowly wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“If you don’t kiss me—”

Before you can finish, Bucky leans in, closing the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. A hand holds your cheek, while the other rests on your waist, pulling you closer. He kisses you like he needs you and he knows he does. You melt into his touch, surrendering to the warmth and intensity of the kiss. Before you know it, you're straddling his lap, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepen the kiss.

“I love you more.” you murmur against his lips when you pull away and Bucky chuckles, his airy laugh fanning across your face.

“That’s not possible, honey.” he replies, his voice filled with adoration as he leans his forehead against yours.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and find out?” you tease, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky says with a grin before capturing your lips once more, sealing your love in a sweet, lingering kiss.

masterlist . john "bucky" egan masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

#my works ──★ ˙☕️ ̟ !!#masterlist #john bucky egan #john egan #john egan x reader #john egan fluff #john egan angst #john egan x female reader #john egan x fem!reader #john egan x you #john egan x y/n #callum turner #mota #masters of the air #john egan mota

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

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I would like to request 141 and Konig noticing that they needed something from the reader (presence, hearing the voice, something the reader gave them) to calm down and they notice they are in love with the reader and they're just "I'm fcked". If it was too vague you don't need to do it, thank you and be safe

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°⋆࿓ Needing You // 141 headcanons (+ k)

『♡』 masterlist ♡ rules ♡ ask box Warning(s): none, sfw + gn!reader Word Count: 641. A/N: might start answering requests in this shorter "drabble" format. It takes a lot less time on my end, and I think it looks better :)

SYNOPSIS; he realizes he needs you; a.k.a head over heels in love with you. ˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

price realizes when he feels his exterior soften. sure, he's still the same on the battlefield. but, even at work, when there aren't bullets plummeting toward him — you've gotten to him. he'll take the teases of his coworkers, all of it, only because you're there.

price is no less professional, no less of a leader, but even the most clueless on his team noticed how much... lighter he seemed. less tension in his shoulders, no more evenings with a half-empty body to cradle until he passes out.

he would never the subtle changes unless someone pointed it out (if they dared). you, with him, strong in the areas where he's weak. that's what a man like john needs.

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑

simon realizes when he can't fight himself anymore. when he stumbled his way up the stairs after an exhausting mission, ripped his mask off his head, and wanted nothing but you. your touch, your scent, your roaming fingers, the whispers of comfort you provide him.

the mattress creaks under his dead weight as he settles into his side of the bed, wrapping both arms around your torso, gripping on like you were his lifeline.

in a literal sense, you were. you were the reason simon fought so hard to get home. he couldn't restrict himself anymore. once, it was him convinced he would poison you with his past, and now he only cared that you were a part of his future.

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑

soap realizes when you've become a drug. him, wrapped around your finger so tight he'll never let go. once he falls — he falls hard. it's a bad habit of johnny's. but with you, this run is different. you understand him... or try to, and that's enough to make him sink to his knees in worship of you.

anything you need; it's yours. something material, something verbal, something subtle, something from himself. he'll have moments where he gains awareness of just how far he will go for you, yet he wouldn't change a second of it.

you stuck around this long for a reason, right? besides, he never learns his lessons, nor does he give up. he's your rock and that's how a man like soap wants it.

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑

gaz realizes when he spends every waking moment wanting to talk to you. for a man so content with his own solitude, it's a striking contrast to who he was before he met you. video calls, text paragraphs, even letters if he's deserted enough on deployment.

[password locked for safety, of course] he has countless screenshots on his personal cell. sometimes they're of you half-asleep on call, a smile he caught in time, others are blurry because you were in the middle of moving.

his letters are an array of entertainment written just for you. sights he saw across the world, a joke he heard, what he wants to do with you when he's home — all a distraction from the warfare surrounding him as the ink glides across the paper.

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑

könig realizes when you consume his thoughts. he's focused, driven, a calamitous workaholic, even. not for long, though. his work is still a heavy portion of who he is, and that's how he wants it to be. there's no way you'll ever be the highest priority — but you'll be the closest thing to it he can manage.

he finds himself searching for you first, no matter the situation. even when everything is in order, his eyes are glued to you. if he's occupied, you'll always get that voiceless nod from him, as his gaze wanders.

könig's touches become less about intimacy and more a reassurance to himself that you're still his.

————— ୨୧ ————— divider cred. - cafekitsune

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melehound · 10 months

Text

141 + König catch you staring! GN READER!

Cw: a little cursing I got a little mess with this one 💀

Kyle “gaz” garrick

He’s so cocky 🙄

He thinks his physique is very impressive and he works out a lot (every time he sees a mirror he stands in front of it flexing and checking himself out for 5 straight minutes 💀) so when he catches you staring he feels validated

The second he catches you staring he can’t help but smile like a dork

After that he starts snapping you those shirtless pics in front of his mirror randomly like “whoops didn’t mean to send those to you my bad lol haha 😛” like mf yes you did 💀

John price

He does it on purpose he’s been doing it since you met him he just looks at you to make SURE your watching and then will start working out (he has a makeshift gym in his cold ass basement)

If your in a relationship with him you always know where to find him if he’s not in the bathroom manscaping he’s in his cold ass basement working his ass off

He likes when you watch him work out it makes him feel great about himself and he’ll say something like “I’ve still got it, yeah?” When he catches you staring

John “soap” mactavish

Turns it into a full flexing contest with himself he turns you into his mirror

He really likes to work out he’s not like a gym bro or anything but he likes it enough to do it outside of work biweekly

Sometimes before you pick him up from work he’ll be all sweaty because he wants to take a shower with you after working out but he’s a big fan of sending you shirtless pics with 0 context or warning

You can be in the middle of cooking dinner and he’ll send you like 5 different pictures of him flexing and posing in the gym mirror for absolutely no reason

Simon “ghost” Riley

Genuinely either didn’t know that you stare or he’s doing all this physical stuff in front of you on purpose it could be a mood thing

Like if you walk in on him lifting he’s not worried about you looking but if you were to be hanging out with him and THEN he’d start working out then that’s a sign he wants to see if you’ll stare but it looks like hes the one staring and he’s still wearing his mask so it’s so obvious when he’s staring 👁👁

He’s scaring you a lil bit it turns into a little bit of a staring contest (he almost drops a weight on his foot because he’s not paying attention)

After that he’d try and do what gaz did but he’s a little worried because his old broken decrepit ass phone has such shitty quality but somehow you can see all the scars on his ribs and torso so when he takes shirtless pictures he looks like a red room victim

König

He also takes so much pride in his body type it makes him feel more confident sometimes he thinks his physique is slipping because of how much he likes to eat

So when he catches you staring he gets a little burst of confidence and maybe he’ll flex at you a little bit MAYBE

But most of his happiness is inward he thinks about it before he goes to sleep that night smiling kicking his feet like a teenage boy and he tried to send you shirtless pics on snap but he was sweating his ass off and his hands were all wet and he chickened out

((✿: “she’s gotta be running out of cute hello kitty stuffed animal headers!” think again mfs))

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #könig x reader #simon riley x you #john price x reader #cod headcanons #kyle gaz garrick x reader #141 headcanons #john soap mctavish x reader

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howlsofter · 1 year

Text

“You want this. You were just begging for it.”

Boyfriend!JohnWick gets tired of his bratty gf

quick one shot, smut, soft dom John wick

2.7k words

I don’t get to see him too often. Likely way more than the average person, but not as much as I’d like. Before, we both had our respective contracts, but I’ve been staying lowkey recently. I have more than enough money saved up, and as long as I’m not summoned by the boss I try to stay out of side work. For now.

It’s dangerous having John around, I know, but I can’t help it. I just want to see him so bad, and he wants to too or he wouldn’t keep coming back.

He arrived the night before, unexpectedly. I knew it was him from the peep hole. He was looked exhausted, waiting stiff in my living room as I air fried him frozen taquitos. It takes him awhile to decompress, to crack through John the assassin. I nudge at his foot under the table as he eats, peering out the window of my tiny kitchen. He leans back when he’s finished, looking to me for the first time since he’s sat. His eyes sink under the table, registering my comfortable look. He’s seen me like this before, old black sweatpants, a tshirt, some fuzzy socks. I need to buy him a comfy outfit.

“Yummy?” I ask, he moves under the table, trapping my feet between his dark leather shoes.

“Delicious,” he gives me the satisfaction of a response. I tap my short nails against the table top before reaching out for my water.

“Are you hurt?” He kinda shrugs, finally pushing off his heavy jacket. Seemingly unscathed, uncommon but good news. He straightened out his shoulders and relaxed back against the kitchen chair.

Getting undressed for the night, I slide off my sweatpants, watching John undo his shirt.

“Is it hard dealing with the fact that I’m stronger than you now?” I tease him, breaking the silence. I was used to it by now, but I’m not scared of breaking it with John, he he doesn’t want to engage he simply won’t.

“Maybe it would be, if you were,” he responds, turning his head to the side as he speaks but not looking at me.

“Don’t lie to yourself, John,” I say as earnest as possible. John doesn’t reply, sliding off his shirt and kicking off his shoes.

He crawls up on the bed, still wearing his slacks. He reaches out to grab me and I dodge him, sliding over and squealing. He moves quicker, getting a hold of my thigh and easily wrapping his large hand around it. He drags me over so swiftly, I almost don’t feel it.

I start to dodge him again as he goes for my arms, I go for his as well. I catch his left wrist but he twists out of my grip and catches my right hand. It knocks me off guard and he’s already disarmed my left, pinning my arms above me on the bed with one hand, his other holding down my hips.

I shift around and try to release my hands, but I can only get him to give a few inches before he’s pushing them back further into the memory foam.

“Oh, you’re so much stronger than me?” He teases now, pushing his body weight into me. I sink back farther, continuing to struggle. The more I do, the weaker I feel. He’s been watching me fight him the whole time, a small smirk shadowing his lips. “Say it. Say I’m stronger.”

I shake my head no, closing my eyes so his can’t stare into my soul. He tsks, exposed skin warm up against my torso, his jeans rough against my thighs. He uses his thigh to push my legs apart but I fight him.

With the hand he had against my hips he reaches down, his body weight holding me in place enough. Using his leg and his hand he continued to try to force them open, but my thigh strength is surprisingly stronger than my arm. With no luck, he sinks into my neck, pressing a kiss there before he’s biting me.

I whine out in surprise, pleasure and pain, going weak under him for just long enough for John to invade.

He slid between my unclothed legs, pressing his crotch right up against me. “Not going to say it?” He asks again, I shake my head again, eyes still closed. John catches my jaw with his hand, making me look at him. I blink back in shock.

“I know you were teasing anyways,” his hold on my chin loosens, stroking the soft skin connected to my neck with his fingers, “instead, tell me how bad you want me right now.”

I smile a little, because I want to tell him. But something inside me begs for me to disobey. “I don’t,” I argue, responding to quick to think it through. John actually chuckled a little, but I could tell I was starting to actually piss him off.

He grinds against me, running his hand up under my shirt and over my ribs.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he hisses, the zipper of his jeans pressed against me, the friction rubbing just right. He massages my skin under his hand, continuing the motions as I mewled and arched to feel him.

He pulls away suddenly, releasing my hands and sitting up, unpinning me from the bed. “Fine, if you dont want it…”

I reach up to grab him quickly, one hand on his upper arm and the other on his belt loop, pulling him back into position.

“Who said I didn’t?” I ask, he reaches down to jeans.

“You.” He scoffs, “tell me you do then,” he undoes the zipper and slips them past his thighs without breaking eye contact, kicking them off. He still refused to touch me, hovering, waiting.

I whine first, thrashing in a mini tantrum before I laid flat, “fuck, John…”

It’s so hard to just admit it, even when it’s painfully obvious, “please, please fuck me. I want it so bad,” I say it quietly, pulling him in closer with my thighs and lifting my hips to press my panties back against his boxers. His cock is so hard, the tip peeking up passed the waistband and pressed against his stomach. It was thicker than most, enough to fill me up completely, it was the length that drove me mad. It left me soar for days after, I could always feel right up in me where John’s cock had pushed the limits.

I hooked onto his hips, rubbing up the length of his cock through the materials, John swallows, still just looking over me in thought.

“Really, baby?” He finally responds, breaking into a soft smile as he coos for me to submit. He catches my hips, his hands taking up most of the space there. I wiggle in his hold just a little, enough to annoy him so he’ll me still.

I clench my jaw, nodding slightly. It’s not enough for John, “beg me more, if you really want it,” he commands in a low voice. I bite my lip and suddenly John is on my neck again. He’s sucking this time, biting but not rough. It feels soooo fucking good I’m whining in seconds, trying to grind against him again but his hands hold me firm. My neck is incredibly sensitive, my pussy throbbing and stomach aching in desire the longer John kissed up. I pushed him away with my arms but his chest doesn’t budge.

“I really want it,” I breathe out, “I really really really want it, please,” John stops biting and lapping and presses a kiss against the spot, sitting up to catch my lips. He releases his grip on me to go for my underwear, pulling them down without hurry. I pull my legs up to help him take them off, his boxers next. I wrap back around him and reach out to touch him, stroking him a few times before he breaks the kiss to swag my hand away. He takes it up to his mouth, pressing my palm there against his lips in a small kiss as he takes his cock.

“Are you going to be good?” He asks me, letting go of my hand and reaching down, sliding his fingers through the folds of my pussy. He slowly rubs the top, small circles over the area of my clit, I hum and shift closer to his touch. He’s never this talkative in real life, he’s told me before he’s trying to savor the moments. He doesn’t get to see me like this in real life, whiny, submissive. I only get like this for him, and he annoys the brat right out of me.

I hate it though, it makes me blush with every command. It’s embarrassing, giving him so much power over me, but when I do he feels so good.

I’m already wet, he lets go of his cock to reach into me. His finger slides in easy as I answer a soft ‘yes’ and moan. He curls up inside me, pressing the finger on my clit with a little more pressure as he reaches up against my gspot repeatedly. It feels so good already, I press down against them, holding my breath.

“Fuck me, please,” I beg him under my breathe, staggering out the words. John doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulled his fingers from inside of me and wiped them off on his cock, the tip leaking. He strokes himself a few times, looking down over me. I lay almost flat on the bed, using most of my strength to hold my hips up in the air, thigh on either side of John who sat up on his knees. I watch intently as he reaches out for my thigh, helping support me as his other goes to press the tip of his cock in between my folds. He carefully drags his cock against me, not entering me and letting it get slick. It feels good as a start, he moves up to holding my hips, gasping quietly each time he slid against me. When he felt I was ready he took his cock again, slowly pressing the head against my entrance, his other hand steadying and gripping me tighter to make up for the lack of support as he pushed the head into me. I let out a soft cry, it hurts for the moment, he pushed in just enough to where he can slide out and in without pulling completely out. I’m trying my best to hold my hips up, the farther he presses into me, the easier it is for him to continue and the better it feels. He eases in with a few more slow strokes, bending over and pressing open mouth kisses against my collarbones and neck.

He’s almost completely in when I reach my limit, my knees closing up to push him back. I whine and he gives me a moment to recouperait, a hand trying to keep my legs from moving. He continues his slow pace, still inching deeper and deeper into me, I continue to fight with him.

“You want this, you were just begging for it,” he reminds me, pulling out and grabbing my legs, he pins them together by my knee and pushes me back against the bed, my knees together at my side, he uses one hand to hold them down. His other slides over my ass, he guides himself back into me and I stretch out over the bed. As he gets deeper I reach up for him again but he’s already ready to catch my hand, bending over as he hits inside of me.

I suck the air inbetween my teeth quickly, bracing as he pushes farther up against me. He’s stayed so stoic but fully in he groans, his jaw slightly ajar as he continues to fuck me. It hurts so good, each time he ruts up inside of me I ache.

I can’t stop my moans, fighting his hold til he’s gripping me so hard his knuckles are white. He’s gained his composure mostly, I cry into the sheets and he lets go of my hands, brushing my hair back from my neck.

“You’re being so good for me,” he praises, slamming to me again, he’s breathing heavy, his voice almost shaky.

I can’t even respond, nodding as I gasp and swallow, not even making an effort to sit up. “Fucking brat, look at you now,” he slows down, not hitting me quite as deep. Bending over to lick my nipple, sucking on it for a moment before he’s kissing me again. He slowly fucks half into me, holding my hips up for me this time. It feels nice after being used, I look up at him lazily, still on my side.

He separates my legs without any resistance from me, sliding his thump up against my clit. He rubs in careful circles and I close my eyes, focusing on the pleasure.

John is enamored, he can’t rip his eyes from my face, speeding up his motions. The more desperate I get the more cocky he seems, awwing at me as I try to rock with him. “Feel good?” I nod. “Tell me,” he almost growled.

“No,” I joke through my breathing, John snaps into me and I cringe completely. It knocks the breath out of me, “yes~ fuck, it feels so good,” it falls out of me easy as he continues to go slow.

My moans get higher pitch and John speeds up slightly, he nods as I whimper for him, pulling him closer. He kisses me again, sweet and hot. It was sloppy but his lips felt so nice against mine, both of us breathing heavy. He nudges my nose, keeping our faces close as I get closer. My legs and body get shaky, my hold on John’s upper arm tightens and my arm I’d tossed loosely over his neck is now forcing him to stay in my proximity.

My mouth is open, breathing in short gasps and letting out stuttered exhales. I try to keep myself quiet, I have apartment neighbors, but I can’t help my calls for John. He loves them too, each time I repeat his name in a beg, getting closer and closer, John replied back to me with a soft sound like reassurance. I squeeze around his cock and feel him fill everything, John is controlling his own breathing manually.

When I cum I go silent, going stiff as John slows inside of me. His thumb continues in speed, hips carefully pressing as full as he can up in me as I squeezed and spasmed around him. His thumb only lets up when I start to twitch away from him, completely overstimulated. John whispers praises against my neck, kisses me and slowly starts to fuck me again. I mewl in exhaustion, asking him to be careful is just begging for him to be rough, instead I’m watching him. Eyes half lidded, he feels really really good still, but each stroke makes my muscles tight. John’s being sweet to me now, careful solid strokes as he works to pleasure himself. He touches me everywhere and I reach out to touch him back, dragging my hand over his scarred torso.

He’s getting closer when he picks up, sloppier sharper strokes. John kisses me messy before his hand is around my neck. He never grips my neck tight, I’ve told him he can but he refuses, but just the placement makes me feel weak. He holds me down again, “such a good fucking girl,” he mumbles before he’s using me again. I’m too weak to fight the stimulation, throwing my respect for the neighbors out the window as I cried out. John’s hand went from my neck to my mouth, cupping my cheek and forcing his thumb into it. He looks down at me in pleasure, I bite down on it but he doesn’t flinch.

He drops his head, looking down at our bodies meeting before he’s steadied. A few long slow strokes and a sudden inhale and he’s cumming deep inside of me. I can feel it, each twice of his cock more warm cum coated my bruised insides.

John exhales and kisses me a final time before pulling out of me. "I'm going to actually fight you next time."

#john wick: chapter 4 #john wick smut #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #john wick #john wick fanfic #john wick one shot #john wick gif #john wick dom #fanfiction #smut #x reader #fem reader

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kitkatscabinet · 8 months

Text

Whumptober 02 - Blood loss

John Mactavish x f! reader

The metallic stench of blood filled the air, soaking into your nasal passages and staining your tongue. It’s cold, the dampness of the cement wall you’d propped yourself against soaking into the back of your vest and shirt. Your wheezing breaths the only sound present in the dark hallway you’d stumbled into. The radio attached to you crackles but you already know it won’t work. The spray of bullets you hadn’t managed to avoid having rendered the damn thing inoperable.

Another rattling cough shakes your frame, your torso lighting up in pain as your injuries were forcefully jostled. Throwing your head back against the wall you glared at the ceiling, trying to prevent the tears from overflowing. Tears of pain accumulate as you forcefully press down against the bloody hole in your right collarbone. Gritted teeth prevented you from crying out but it was a close thing. It was becoming harder and harder to retain consciousness but you were stubborn. Someone would come for you, you just had to hold on until then.

At some point, you must have closed your eyes because the next thing you knew there was a frantic voice pulling you awake. Blinking, you're greeted with the furrowed brows and concerned blue eyes of your Scottish teammate.

"Soap?" your confusion is blatantly apparent, eyes squinting as you blink sweat and black spots away.

“Aye lass, there’s my good girl. Keep those beautiful eyes open for me, okay?” As much as he's trying to hide his concern, you aren't so far gone that you don't notice the waver in his voice or his mechanical movements. Any wisecrack you had in reply to his flirtation dies on your tongue as he presses down on your wound. You're unable to stop the pained cry his actions draw from your lips, tears sliding down your cheeks in earnest.

“I know it hurts, I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon.” You know he's trying to reassure you, but you honestly think his words are more to comfort himself.

"It'll be over 'cause I'm dead." You wheezed humorlessly, frantically blinking the sweat from your eyes. Soap seems to find your remark as funny as a funeral as he practically snarls at you.

"You're not dying on me. That's an order, you hear?" Despite the blood that has started to coat the inside of your throat, your mouth runs dry at his sudden ferocity. Too stunned to do anything but let yourself be manhandled into standing, Soap practically holding up your entire weight.

“Order me? We’re the same rank dickhead” you snorted, instantly regretting the motion as pain lit up your nerves like fireworks. Your knees buckled briefly, but Soap was a solid wall of muscle that kept you upright.

It's a slow and rough process, with Soap having to practically drag you from the building towards the extraction point.

Maybe it's the delirium brought on by blood loss, or it's the looming reality of your imminent demise but just before you make it to the medics your mouth slips.

“You know, it's usually a lot more fun in my dreams when we're this close.” His eyes burn holes into the side of your face, jaw slackened in your peripheral vision as his grip slackened slightly and you tipped forward for a few seconds. Laughter burns in your chest, as you lose the last of your strength to look into his pretty eyes one last time, the three words you'd been aching to say for months tumbling forth as your breath slowed.

Eyes shuttering closed and body lurching, you don't notice Soap lunge to catch you. Holding you close against his chest as he swore at you to wake up.

That he'd say it back if you listened.

His hands clutched your face, marring your skin with your own blood as his tears painted your brow. "Please lass, wake up so I can say it back" he begged, burying his face into the skin of your still warm neck.

#x reader #soap x reader #cod mw x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #cod soap #whumptober #cod john mactavish

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danibee33 · 2 months

Text

Part III of undercover!Ghost 🩶

ghost x reader (callsign: Hela)

word count : 4.7k

>>> [PT 1] [PT2]

You aren’t avoiding Ghost. Not really..

Ok, maybe you are.

The week since the undercover mission had been busier than usual, so it’s not like you don’t have an excuse for your absence- you did have other duties and responsibilities to attend to collaterally to the one-four-one. But were you using said collaterals to possibly steer clear of a certain person..? Well, that’s not important.

“Been awhile, lil’ LT..”

You return Soap’s grin, looking up at him as you both take tentative steps- him reaching out first, and you deflecting,

“D’ya miss me that much, sergeant?” You say, eyes skimming his form, looking for any weakness in it, waiting for the right opening.

It wasn’t a planned meet up, you just needed something to do- you’ve been so restless lately, like no matter what you do, it’s never quite enough to stem the relentless flow of thoughts. Which is how you found yourself on the sparring mats opposite the equally restless man at such an ungodly hour.

“Always miss ye, hen..” Soap grunts just before lunging for you, attempting to swipe your leg but inadvertently opening himself up for you to get your arms and legs wrapped around torso- using your body weight to bring him to his knees,

“Steamin’ Jesus, lil LT- worse than a fuckin’-”

Whatever insults he might’ve tried to spew are cut off when you suddenly readjust, but he recovers quicker than you expect- lifting up and bringing you along with him,

“If ye wanted to cuddle, ye could’a just said so..” Soap says, that flirty little lilt at the edge of his words, the same one you’ve heard him use at the bar a hundred times now. And the lopsided smirk on his lips is all too familiar as he tightens his grip around your waist–

God, he’s such a fuckboy…

With a breathless groan, you switch your hold again, crossing your arm over his face in order to put distance between you while still keeping him mostly trapped,

“Shut it, MacTavish. I’m still winning, aren’t I?”

You go back and forth like this until you’re both struggling to breathe and your muscles begin to quiver with fatigue- throwing jokes and jabs easily. It had always been effortless to talk with Soap, banter with him came naturally, but you think it’s only because you two are alike in that way. Never at a loss for words to fill a silence.

And by the time you’re both thoroughly exhausted, all sweat and panting breaths as you stick uncomfortably to the mat, does he roll to his feet, brushing his hair back in the same motion,

“Always a pleasure, ma’am.” He grins, dwarfing your hand in his own as he tugs you up, “And we’re, uh, we’re goin’ out tomorrow night- or well, tonight, I s’pose.” he fumbles over his words in that adorable way he does sometimes, like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher, “If ye’d like to come.. I can have LT text ye the details.”

At the mention of Simon, you feel the very tips of your ears begin to burn. The sergeant’s prompt too quickly bringing back all the thoughts and memories you had been trying to purge yourself of by coming here,

“Um.. Sure. No promises, though. It’s been busy, ya know..” You say, fighting to keep your tone flippant and casual- but John MacTavish is more keen than you might have given him credit for.

He walks by your side out of the gym, obviously searching for the right way to bring it up, until finally it’s almost like you can feel his own curiosity win over his better judgment,

“Ma’am.. Did somethin’ happen? On the last mission?” The next few seconds are filled with him trying, and somewhat failing but it’s amusing nonetheless, to explain why he’s asking- mostly due to your unusual absences since returning that night. The way you’ve been avoiding the entire team in favor of doing paperwork in your office-

Which you never did because you said you hated being back there on your own.

No, you always preferred to take care of those things in the common spaces, where the chances of having company were always high.

“Was it seein’ LT’s mug? I ken that’s always a bit of a shock for first timers, but-”

“What?” You interject, eyebrows raised in surprise, “No.. no, it has nothing to do with that..”

Well, that’s also not entirely true, is it? But you don’t think it’s for the reasons Soap’s imagining.. It’s more about the fact that everytime you even catch a glimpse of the giant man, you’re reminded of how handsome he was on his knees in front of you, how big his hands felt over your thighs, how his tongue-

“Well, just think ‘bout joinin’ us, won’t ye?”

The sheer amount of hope in Johnny’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, replacing the memory of amber eyes with bright cerulean ones, and that signature fucking smirk,

“Fine! Just chill out with the puppy dog eyes, MacTavish.. Begging like a damn dog.” You concede, waving him away and turning toward your hall without waiting for his reaction. But he doesn’t let you get far before you hear his chuckle, husky and chocked full of guile, bounce off the concrete walls,

“Woof, woof, lil LT..”

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

He doesn’t like being unfamiliar with his surroundings, because he spends too much fucking time being unfamiliar in nearly every surrounding he’s sent to. He doesn’t like leaving things up to chance, doesn’t like how much more stress accumulates around his shoulders and neck- it annoys him, the ache.

But Johnny and Gaz had just been so damn adamant about trying out a new pub. One on the opposite end of town, and he can admit it’s nicer than their usual hole in the wall, but still.

Ghost doesn’t like new places.

Well, that was until he caught sight of you. And then he found himself slightly more drawn to the low lighting that danced over your skin, the way it glowed in your eyes as your survey the bar-

“Hel’s ‘ere?” He asks, downing the last nip of bourbon in his cup.

Johnny’s head whips up then, spotting you in an instant- and there’s something about his response that causes Simon’s gaze to narrow at the shorter man. It’s too… giddy, too reverent for his liking.

“Aye! Invited her the other night.”

That ache in his neck returns but somehow significantly worse.

The other night? You had been with Johnny the other night? When this entire fucking week he hadn’t been able to get three fucking seconds alone with you-

Ok, no, he hadn’t worked up to trying to just call or text, that felt too impersonal. He was shit at all that anyway, he needs to see your body language, needs to analyze all the little expressions that give away so much more than words do. But you had somehow found a way to beat him at his own game. You turned into a ghost, only ever catching your silhouette from the corner of his eye, hearing your voice but never being quick enough to be within a few meters of you.

And possibly the worst was when he would enter a room you had been recently in, the smell of you permeating the air, causing his heart to stutter just so with every deep breath.

Fucking hell..

But here you are. And at Johnny’s request, no less.

Ghost despises new places.

Yet, he does think he could learn to like the overly enthusiastic beat of the music when he sees your hips sway to the rhythm as you wait for your drink. You’re in tight jeans and a black leather jacket that fits your figure like a goddamn glove- and he swears he can feel the silk of your skin by just memory alone, the curves of your body already etched into his mind.

“Gonna get a refill.” He grunts, already walking away from the table with the empty glass in hand.

The sound of a cup being sat on the bartop snaps you back to the present, followed by a heady rush of chills when you hear the baritone of Simon’s voice far closer to your ear than you expect,

“So, she lives.”

You let out a small breath, turning to find the burly breadth of his chest taking up nearly your entire field of view- clad in black from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise you one bit, but it’s not his usual hoodie and jacket. No, this time he’s in a black henley that fits more like a second skin, the fabric deliciously stretched over his pecs and shoulders, the top button left open to give you just a peek at the silver chain glinting underneath and… is that a tattoo?

“She does..” You say, meeting his eyes.

And you really should know better, with too many of your nights haunted by the deep amber of his irises- but the instant it happens, it’s like you’re back in that damned office all over again. The music grows faint, and the people around you turn into little more than blurs at the edge of your vision. He’s all you can feel, the heat of him, the intensity behind his gaze, the way his head tilts softly to the side, studying you as if he might be recommitting your features to memory- not that he needs to.

Because you’ve haunted him just as much. You’ve been the bane of his existence this last week, and somehow the only thing he can see when he shuts his eyes. The sole focus of his loathing and his desire-

“Ma’am, your whiskey sour-” The bartender announces from behind you, effectively breaking the spell you’ve been so wrapped up in right before you hear another small clink, “and a bourbon, neat.”

Without hesitation, Simon leans closer, big arm reaching around you to pull his glass from the bartop and the black surgical mask covering his mouth and nose down in the same motion. He keeps that same heavy gaze on you, your own eyes growing wider at the sight of his face, his crooked nose and scarred lip. You watch him take a short sip, but just as quick as it happened, his mask is back in place, and he’s stepping back,

“C’mon. Table’s over ‘ere.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt whiplash quite like seeing Ghost turn his back on you, easily carving a path through the patrons that fill the space-

But you are damn sure the infuriating Brit isn’t going to get the last word in this.

Ghost can feel your stare, feel how it’s directed right at the back of his skull. A perfect kill shot if he were a betting man. But he can also hear the quiet click of your boots following after him, the tightness in his jeans growing more noticeable with every step-

Fuck.

“Lil’ LT! Glad ye’ could make it out!” Johnny shouts over the crowd, blue eyes cast in mischief and that open sort of admiration that Ghost is sure the man couldn’t hide even if he tried.

You round the table, looking up at the Scot with a devastating smile on your lips before nudging his shoulder with your own,

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure your ego wasn’t too damaged after kicking your ass this morning, sergeant.”

“Ach! -”

Ghost can hear Johnny sputtering on and on in that terrible mashup of English and Scottish slang that’s always grated on the lieutenant’s ears- but whatever he’s saying doesn’t quite register. Instead, he can only really hear the way your laugh brightens the dim room, see the way your head tips back as you take another sip of your drink.

And it’s only then he realizes that he just wishes you would look at him like that. Wishes that he could draw the melodious sound from you, that he could be the reason you smile so brightly-

“Well, well, well-” the group looks over to see Gaz and Price meandering through the throng of bodies, the younger man with outstretched arms, “Hela! Thought you’d up and left our sorry arses!”

All Simon can do is grit his teeth as Gaz embraces you in a quick side hug, Price close behind with a warm grin even on his bearded face,

“And miss out on all the fun? You know me better than that, Garrick.” You say, raising your glass to the Captain in greeting.

So, no, Ghost doesn’t like new places.

But he can’t deny that as the next hour passes he’s smiled more than a few times at his team’s antics. And he certainly can’t say that he hasn’t missed the way you bring them all a little closer, your bubbly brand of forwardness allowing them to each get out of their heads, even if just for a little while.

“What’s this about you handin’ MacTavish's arse to him?” Price’s voice booms over the music, which has only seemed to get louder the later it gets-

Ghost watches you down the rest of your whiskey sour without so much as a flinch, your cheeks flushed such a pretty pink from the alcohol,

“I mean, is that really a surprise?” You shoot back, the man in question all but slamming his glass down on the table in rebuttal-

“Ooh- yer arse is oot the windae! I want a rematch!” Johnny’s words slur together just enough to give away how good he’s really feeling, throwing an arm over your shoulder, “Watcha say, lil LT? And this time we’ll have a proper judge, right Cap? No cheatin’-”

It really isn’t fair how you lean into him as you chuckle, that ache in Simon’s neck creeping up again at the sight.

Christ alive, why can’t he just get it together? Why does he care? You’ve never been one to shy away from physical touch… but fuck all if it doesn’t eat at him.

“Oi, who wants another round?” Gaz, thankfully interjects, drawing everyone’s attention with a collective and resounding sound off.

The others waltz away through the crowd in the direction of the bar, everyone but you- standing across from Ghost at the table, toying with the toothpick in your glass,

"Late night spar, huh?" You don't miss the added gruffness in his tone, or the fact that he refuses to look at you now, staring somewhere over your head.

And if you were a better woman, you wouldn't feel the need to play into his offputting display of jealousy- but you're you after all.. and he's Ghost. So, you give a little hum before plucking the tiny skewer from your cup,

"Couldn't sleep.." You shrug, looking up at him under you lashes, his eyes already on the maraschino cherry that drips down your fingers, "Figured I'd do something a little more productive since I was up anyway-"

Simon tracks your hand, falling right into your terrible little game as you bring the fruit to your lips- it's tooth achingly sweet when you finally bite into it, mixed with the burn of whiskey. And it's when the juice runs down your chin that you meet his gaze, swiping up the liquid on your thumb, he watches with a severity that sends a dangerous chill up your spine- not even daring to blink as you suck the digit clean.

You know he's keenly aware of exactly what you're doing, but that doesn't stop the lust and satisfaction from rushing through you at his deep growl- those coppery eyes darker than you've ever seen.

All too innocently, you flash him a smile, "I think I'll have one more.. you want anything, sir?"

Ghost thinks he can feel the crystal glass in his hand begin to splinter under his grip, unable to tear his eyes away from the red stain on your lips- it's enough to drive him mad.

He gives you a curt shake of his head, knowing that if he had another drink, he might lose whatever vague sense of self-control he's clinging onto so precariously.

And instead of watching you walk away, he turns toward the pool tables, needing something to do with his hands- because if he clenched them any fucking tighter he think he might draw blood with the way his blunt nails dig into his calloused palm.

Without waiting for the others, he racks the balls before picking up a cue stick and breaking the formation- moving around the table just as Johnny sidles up to him,

"Did’nae take ye for a billiards guy, LT.." He says, quickly working to chalk up his own cue.

Gaz and Price follow soon after, eager to join in on teams- and it works, for a short time anyway to distract him. If he can just stay focused on making each shot, then he won't have time to think about you. But, that's a rather silly notion, isn't it? Because sure enough, just as he leans in to take a shot, he spots you bump elbows with his Scottish counterpart.

"Here to give me some good luck, lil LT?" Johnny looks down at you with a lopsided grin, both hands wrapped around the cue stick as he leans on it.

You take a slow sip of your drink, just enough time to glance at Simon- sleeves now pulled up to expose the thickly corded muscles of his forearms and the faded black ball cap on his head turned backwards. He's calculated in his shot, efficiently knocking a striped ball into the nearest pocket-

"I don't think you want any of my luck, sergeant.." You drawl, eyes flitting up to see his deep blue ones already on you, "Can't say I have the best track record when it comes to that."

Soap's chuckle is warm and laced with silk in your ears, watching him copy his superior's movements, finessing his own cue to score a bankshot. Gaz is next, followed by Price, and you follow them ardently, moving around the table as they go until it's back to Ghost-

"Aye, LT-" Johnny calls, "Why don't you show Hela how to do a jump.."

You've managed to get close enough to the towering man now that he has to look down at you before glaring back at his sergeant,

"'m sure she can figure it out on 'er own, Johnny."

"I've actually never really played." You say before your better judgment can stop your mouth from moving- maybe you have had a little much to drink.

And the way Simon's jaw clenches, having taken off his mask as the other patrons slowly dispersed, makes your core tighten- biting the fleshy inside of your cheek between your teeth. You shouldn't push it. You’ve done enough of that already, haven’t you?

Yet, in one swift motion, Simon's hand is on your hip, the other taking the half-empty cup from your grasp before positioning your body in front of his. It isn't exactly gentle, there's a roughness to his movements that put you on edge, a stiffness in his voice that only stokes the the fire in your belly,

"Hold it 'ere.." You take the stick in your hand, the wood still hot from his touch, "and 'ere."

When you grab it this time, he covers your hand, easily repositioning it further down- "Like that."

Very suddenly, you're regretting putting yourself in this situation, so swept up in the feeling of Simon all but dwarfing you, his proximity far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol you've consumed tonight, that you don't notice the sly smirk on Gaz's face- nor the knowing looks shared between your teammates.

In your defense, Simon makes it hard to concentrate on much of anything with the way he slowly leans into you, urging you to bend forward- his hold light but still strong enough to make the slightest adjustments to your stance,

"Lift your elbow now." He mutters, his breath tickling over your exposed shoulder, your jacket left slung over the nearest chair. But it's his hand that catches you off guard, because unlike every other movement he's made with purpose and intention, a man simply doing a job; when he moves now, it's slow, his fingers grazing up your side before softly caressing the skin of your arm,

"Good."

You shift on your feet, your body feeling like it might combust at any moment, the one word spoken in his brassy accent threatening to unravel you on the spot.

The next few moments seem to pass in a blur, you feel him lean in just a bit closer, his left arm bracing over you on the edge of the table as his right hand lands right behind yours on the stick. Whatever he does after is more like a magic trick than logic, rushing the tip downward on the ball with enough force to nearly jerk you forward, but with enough finesse that the little sphere hops off the table- knocking what you assume was the intended target into its pocket.

It takes longer than you're proud of to recover, scrambling to put a bright smile on your face, moving when he does and hoping to whatever deities might exist that it's dark enough to hide the red hue of your cheeks,

"Look at that, a natural, ma'am!" Gaz shouts, clapping a wide palm over your back- and you try to force out a laugh, try to keep your eyes away from the dark form that's moved back towards the table now.

Away from you.

And you wish it didn't make your stomach twist, seeing him pull his mask back on and fixing his ballcap again so that the bill sits low over his eyes-

"Headin' out, Simon?" Price speaks up, an unlit cigar propped lazily between his lips now.

Simon gives his signature nod, which barely a perceptible gesture, but you're all used to it enough by now. The captain, already out past his bedtime, is happy to begin rounding up his own belongings as well, urging the sergeants to get it together and get to the truck,

"I call shotgun!" Soap calls over his shoulder, already barreling towards the exit, Garrick hot on his heels,

"Fuckin' hell.." Price grumbles, looking back at you, "Need a lift, love?"

"No, I'm good. See you tomorrow, Cap." You say, a tired smile reassuring him enough that you would get home-

And just like that, the once bustling pub is more like a ghost town when you step out into the crisp night air, watching the tail lights flicker away. You had gotten a taxi here, but you feel too wired to call for one now- your body felt like it was vibrating, still so lost in the fading memory of what happened inside. But maybe you were just imagining it.. maybe you had let those lines between reality and fantasy blur a little too close for comfort.

Simon climbed into the driver's seat, his hands hitting the steering wheel before ripping the hat and mask off and throwing them onto the dash-

"Fuck."

What was he thinking? He should have never given into it, never touched you the way he did, held you, gotten close enough to feel you against him again. Should have never fed the monster.

God-fucking-damn MacTavish and his annoying fucking antics, never knowing when to quit. Ever since the undercover mission, the man had been a hound with a scent. Testing and prodding and sticking his damned nose in places it didn't belong-

Simon loathes new places.

But there you are. Standing under the milky glow of the street lamp, your hands tangled in your hair and your cheeks puffed in frustration. And so fucking beautiful he can't stand it.

He should leave. He needs to go back to base, needs to take a shower so cold it hurts, needs to bury himself in work just like you did. He needs, he needs, he needs.

Yet, he doesn't do any of those things.

No, like the awful, depraved man he is, he steps out of the truck and makes a beeline right for you- which, looking back on it, might not have been the best course of action because the instant you see his hulking frame he watches how you go on the defensive. Your posture stiffening and your hand reaching for one of your many concealed weapons if he knows you like he thinks he does.

That's ok though, he imagines you could stab him right here in the parking lot and he wouldn't mind one bit. Hell, you could slit his throat and he would smile as he bled out at your feet.

Thankfully, you do neither of those things.

And as soon as you're within reach, he's got those big hands framing your face, crushing his lips to yours.

Shock is all you can register at first. Your mind and body flooded by adrenaline, ready for a fight when you initially saw the shadowed figure coming for you. But in those same few seconds, you recognized him, recognized every purpose driven stride, the steady sway of his shoulders-

Though him kissing you hadn't necessarily been on the list of things you had expected.

You're pulled to your tiptoes, and for a moment you think it might be a dream, the way he audibly groans when your lips begin to move against his. But he doesn't relent, and you don't want him to. So you lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck as soon as your muscles can catch up to your thoughts.

You feel his tongue gently glide over your bottom lip, a gentle urging for you to reciprocate- which you're more than happy to oblige. The kiss turning somehow more heated, sloppy even, something you had never experienced yet something that you never want to end.

But all too soon, he does pull away, his fingers threading through your hair, "I'm sorry-"

Again, hearing Simon Riley apologise was just not on the bingo card for tonight.

He presses his forehead to yours, your heavy breaths mingling with his, remnants of whiskey and bourbon filling your nostrils,

"Sorry?" You look up at him, eyebrows tightly knitted, "For what?"

"The mission.. I shouldn't have- I didn't-" --he stumbles over his words, scarred lips finally pulling into a grimace, "Hel, is it true?"

The way his gaze bores into you feels intimate, like he's trying to peel you apart, "Gonna have to be a little less vague there.. I'm smart, but I can't read minds."

Your breathy chuckle helps to ease the tension, if such a thing were possible with how close he still holds you,

"That you've never been with anyone, like that.."

Oh. GOD FUCKING DAMN YOU, MACTAVISH.

When you take a step back, he reluctantly lets you go, his expression faltering for a moment- and you hate it. Hate that you had possibly hurt him- but you just needed space to put it all together, to try to explain.

"Yes.." his face falls even more, and it's like you can feel the shame that radiates from him, your hands reaching for him on their own, fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, "But I wanted it.. I wanted.. you. I want you- jesus, fuck- I'm so bad at this."

"You didn't say anythin'.."

You shake your head, a laugh huffing through you as you look to the inky sky above, "Would it have changed anything?"

"I wouldn't have-"

"You wouldn't have done what you did? Why?"

That seems to stump him, his mouth opening and then closing, opening again, "You deserved more."

"Simon, just because I've never had sex doesn't mean I'm completely naive.." You initiate the kiss this time, mimicking the way he had held your face, pulling him closer, "I'm under no illusion that it's suppose to be this magical moment-"

He eagerly returns your kiss, an arm wrapping around your waist as you continue, "And, let's be honest, having 'The Ghost' on his knees was waaayy better than sex."

You feel his smile right before he bends down and hoists over his shoulder,

"Simon!"

But, your shrieks and giggles fall on deaf ears, hands smacking at his back in a lame attempt to wiggle free, "Mm.. no, no, keep screamin' my name, sweet girl. I like the way it sounds."

a/n: this one got away from me… but your honor, they’re down so bad for each other 😭 thank you for reading!!

[PT 4] (coming soon)

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #it’s getting hot in here yall #haha oops #it’s a four parter i guess #sorry?#call of duty #cod fandom #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reader #fem reader #no y/n

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cuddleyhoney · 8 months

Text

pt2 of john wick x fem reader age gap request

nsfw

pt1

John's presence at home served as a stark reminder of the growing gap between you two. As he engaged with your music and discussed pop culture references, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the generational difference. Despite these sentiments, he kept his feelings concealed, allowing a palpable tension to fester between the two of you.

That night you lay in bed excited to be next to your sweet boyfriend, he was everything you dreamt of but something was wrong...John was quiet, much more than usual. John came and crawled into the bed with a sigh, he looked at you with his soft eyes and gave you a smile. After placing a tender kiss on your lips, he softly uttered, "Goodnight". However, you didn't want the night to end just yet.

You leaned in closer, your palms gently cradling the sides of his face, a sense of determination in your eyes. John stared at you, his own eyes reflecting a mix of anxiety and anticipation, uncertain of whether this moment would be one of intense desire or perhaps a moment of apprehension and vulnerability. You spoke caringly "Whats wrong?"

As embarrassment continued to linger in his eyes, John finally opened up to you. He admitted that he felt like he might be too old for you, and the playful jokes made by you and your friends stung, making him feel like he was just a little old man, after all. You then proclaimed "Oh, John, I'm so sorry if our jokes hurt you. They were never meant to make you feel that way. I love you for who you are, not your age. And I truly believe our connection goes beyond any of that. We can always talk to our friends about toning down the jokes, and I'll make sure you never feel out of place. You mean the world to me."

Planting soft kisses on his chest and stroking his arm, he knew exactly what you were trying to do...He pulled you closer letting his hands roam over your back slowly removing your cotton pajama top and exposing your bare chest. He smiled seeing your beautiful body, feeling privileged he was the only man who could see you in a vulnerable position like this.

He slightly knelt towards you with his hand in your hair feeling your long locks and kissing you from your neck to your chest. It was euphoric. His other hand roamed places whilst you tried to get him out of his pajama bottom, you felt safe in his cozy warm environment that secluded you from the rest of the anxiety-fueling world.

Eventually, he was on top of you teasing you and placing kisses all around your lower torso, he began to remove your bottom and then got to your adorable underwear. His hands roamed to your arms, chest, and legs giving you a fantasy-like experience. His warm hazelnut eyes couldn't stay off of you as he began to lower himself in between your legs, he moved your legs apart agonizingly slow and began to tease you having his tongue lace over your sweet cunt.

Feeling his warm breath on your lower body made you shiver, grasping the sheets lightly. John whispering sweet nothings while eating you out was the last thing you thought this small confrontation would lead to. He was consumed by his passion, a fervid lover.

Gazing at the ceiling, you had a moment of realization, feeling fortunate to have shared this experience with him. In that moment, you couldn't care less about the opinions of others regarding your relationship. Your love for him was genuine and unwavering.

Johns's tongue was lapping over the folds of your perfect cunt giving you an exhilarating feeling, leaving you only to let out small whispers of his name and grasping onto the pillows around you. It was truly a sight to see.

Eventually, the feelings came to an end after John made you orgasm which made you feel like you died in a good way you know?

The night wasn't over yet, John stared at your beautiful doll-like body with sweat glistening over you like glitter. He smirked and said in a cheesy way "Do you want a ride?" ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

You nodded enthusiastically and replied, "Absolutely!" This prompted you to playfully push John onto the plush pillows that surrounded him. Teasingly you grabbed his cute cock giving it a few strokes while giving John very intense eye contact. He relaxed into your calming yet seductive aura, something he rarely got to do due to work.

Stroking him got a little boring, so you wanted to speed things up! You got on top of him easing your way onto his warm cock. Your tiny cunt loved the feeling of him stretching you, he moved his hands onto your hips slowly. After a few seconds of relaxing onto his length, you began to move your hips slowly. John loved the breathtaking view, he loved the comfort you gifted him. Especially since he was an older guy and all he was thankful to have you in his presence. Soon enough John began to move his hips against yours having small squeals leave from his mouth. The moment was perfect. He aimed his eyes downwards looking at the view of you going up and down on him. He then took control of you moving you closer to his chest and began to move quickly hearing your soft gasps and moans.

He moved skillfully to get on top of you once more, but this time he wanted to finish. Tediously he laid you on your back and inserted himself into you again, this time he had much more control. He thrust his hips into you, making you close your eyes and holding your hands close to your chest feeling your heartbeat. His warm hands moved your legs a little so he could reach different angles of you, his other hand moving towards your clit stimulating it perfectly. He just wanted a good experience for you

With John moving his hips just a little faster to help finish the both of you off you came once more but on his cock releasing so much of your ___ onto him. Eventually, he came too, he felt self-assured. Afterwards he laid on his back grabbing your hand giving it small kisses.

He prepared a soothing bath for both of you, demonstrating his care by assisting you with facial moisturizer and lotion application. Later, he cuddled with you in bed, and you both drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

xoxox the end

pls let me know if anyone likes this lol

#john wick au #john wick x reader #john wick headcanons #john wick x y/n #john wick #john wick imagine #fanfic #john wick fanfic #cute #keanu reeves #smut

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mordaciousmurderer · 8 months

Text

Sticky and Sweaty

Captain John price x fem!reader smut

CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI

A/N: Yall just happened to be left alone for a stake out and you’re stuck in the hottest, dampest room. Ok guys i literallt cannot write smut but i am so fucking horny for this man I just HAD TO. asks r open for suggestions ;3

CW/ Fem!Reader, p in v sex, unsafe sex, fingering, porn with plot? a bit of aftercare, praise, price calls you a good girl

“Captain, I’m telling ya that nobody will show up. Laswell already ruled this area useless.” You groaned, your knees up to your chest and your back pressed flat against the wall. The two of you had been sitting in the dimly lit attic of a now abandoned safe house. Initial intel stated that the current drug ring they were investigating was doing a drop at this location and there was a chance that there would be hostages involved. Despite more current info saying that we spooked them and the drop was moved, Price insisted that you guys stake out here. Not only was it boring, it must have been at least 100 degrees in the attic.

“Just wait. A bit longer and we’ll pull out.” He was leaning against a table maybe three feet away from you. You could see him tuck his thumbs underneath the traps of his tactical vest.

“Thats what she said. Did you really have to pick the hottest room in the world?” You chuckle, adjusting your position and cringing as you feel your vest stick to your back. Your immature yet somewhat humorous joke was only responded to with an eye roll.

“Watch your mouth Lieutenant. You really can’t handle the heat hm?” He taunts, knowing he was just as sweaty as you. Both of your cheeks were flushed a gentle pink, a result of the temperature as well as the (not so) subtle flirtatious statements that had been thrown back and forth for the last hour.

You can’t help but whine slightly at the teasing statement, too uncomfortable to hold back a sour attitude anymore. “Can I PLEASE take off my vest? Since Ghost and Soap are on overwatch we’ll have a bit of warning if anybody comes up.” you pleaded, moving forward slightly to sit on your knees. Your desires to maintain the professionalism of this mission were fleeting with each bead of sweat that dripped down your temple. You couldn’t help but be painfully aware of being alone with your handsome Captain, one who you had been flirting with for as long as you’d been in the 141, the subtlety fading away with time.

Price pushes himself to stand up straight, stepping ever so slightly closer to you. “And why should I let you do that? Just because it’s a wee bit warm?” He rocks, shifting his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels which makes his chest pop forward slightly. “You’re a big girl, deal with it.”

You felt your thighs involuntarily squeeze together at the name, staring up at him from the floor. You couldn’t help but pout, damn near close to miserable. “Cmon… I know you’re just as hot as me.” You retort slyly.

Price felt himself going mad, taking another step towards you. You had an odd sense of persuasion in your voice, he hardly had the heart to say no to you. You were right, it was way too hot. He would kill to tear his vest off this second. Price purses his lips, “Fine. 5 minutes.” He agrees with a sigh and watches as your eyes light up. He watches as you practically tear the vest off, studying the way your t-shirt soggily clings to the curves of your torso. He bit his lip subtly, not realizing he got caught up in staring.

“Hey.” You interrupt his daze, standing up and setting the vest down on the table he was previously leaning against, coming to settle directly in front of him. “So you only let me take it off so you could get a better look?” You said lightly, a smirk coming across your face.

He stepped even closer, his hands settling on either side of your waist. You felt your heart flutter, this being the first time he’s touched you like this aside from lingering hugs and guiding hands on your lower back. Your hungry eyes met his, suddenly aware of your breathing. “Tell me to stop. Tell me I shouldn’t be doing this.” He mumbles, one hand snaking up your torso and landing to cup your jaw. You tilted your head slightly to press into the touch. “What if I don’t want to?” You respond and the tension in the air climaxes before he leans down, his lips crashing into yours.

Instantly, you kiss back hurriedly and sloppily. He was clearly just as desperate as you were, as he took almost no time to press his tongue into your mouth. His hands roamed your body, grasping your ass firmly, leading you to pull him closer by the straps of his vest. He pulled away slightly, glancing down at it. “Take it off.” you say simply and he pulls it over his head, plopping it next to where you had set yours. It takes maybe a second to reconnect your lips and you two head backwards, your back making contact with the wall you were previously sitting against. You feel your breathing stutter when his thigh splits between your own, pressing upwards.

“Fuck-“ You breath out when he trails down to kiss and nip at your neck, careful not to leave any marks where it’d be visible to the rest of the team. The forbidden nature of this made this all the better. Once again he comes back up to connect your mouths, pressing up against you. His hard on pressed against your lower stomach and you reached down to palm him through his combat pants which was met with a slight groan into your mouth. You felt your arousal pooling between your thighs, his hand coming to wrap around your neck gently.

“Can’t even control myself around you love-“ He breathes heavily, pulling back to fumble with the belt on your pants as you do the same to his. He pushed your pants down to your knees, watching closely as you pulled his cock out. Your eyes stayed locked on his length, pleasantly surprised by the size. You grazed your thumb over the slit, smearing precum over the head and beginning to pump your fist up and down, rotating slightly as you came up.

Price groaned, throwing his head back slightly. Your touch sent shivers up his spine, his mind melting at the slick sounds that filled the room. As much as he wanted to let himself come undone under you, he had other priorities. He gently moved your hand away smiling when you cocked your head to the side in slight confusion. To ease this, he simply slides your panties to the side, revealing your throbbing core to him. He smirked when he heard your breathing hitch as he slid his fingers through your folds, chuckling lowly when he felt your arousal. “Darling you’re absolutely fuckin’ soaked. Must have been all worked up for a while now..” He mutters in your ear.

“Price-“ You whine out, watching as his fingers disappeared between your legs. You whimpered pathetically as he began rubbing circles on your clit, extra sensitive from the prolonged tension. “Please. Please.” You sigh shakily, desperate for him to be inside you.

He shakes his head, slipping two fingers into you and curling them to draw out another moan from you. “Use your words love. What do you want?” He purred, enjoying the way you switched from a stoic soldier to a whining mess. You subconsciously stepped slightly further apart, desperate to feel him. “Fuck me. Just fuck me-“ You choke out and make a small sound of disappointment when he withdraws his fingers from you.

With that he wastes no time in lining himself up with you, briefly sliding the tip between your soaked folds before pressing into you, both of you moaning out in sync. You gripped at the fabric of the shirt on his chest, your brain going blank at the stretch his cock gave you. He set a mind numbingly slow pace, taking his sweet time before he bottoms out inside you, holding that position. You huff, looking back up at him to kiss him again. He begins thrusting into you, moaning into his mouth whenever his cock rams into your sweet spot. The lewd sounds of damn skin against damp skin reverberate throughout the room.

Price growled, not quite fucking you as deep as he’d like. He breaks the kiss to pick you up by your thighs, pressing you flush against the wall to distribute your weight in a way that was comfortable for both of you. It’s now when he starts pressing vigorously into you, helpless whines steadily flowing out of your mouth as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix in the most mouth watering way. “Y’look so beautiful fucked out under me like this.” He utters, groaning as he thrusts into you, feeling your juices drip down him and onto his heavy balls.

It wasn’t long before you felt yourself involuntarily clenching down on his length, approaching your orgasm. “John I’m close.” You whimper out, clinging onto him for dear life. He continues fucking you with the same pace. “Go ahead love, cum on my cock like the good girl you are.” He grinds down a bit, his pubic bone coming to rub your clit which brings your orgasm hurdling through you. You cry out, coming undone all over him as he fucks you through your high. You feel your cunt pulsating and with a few more thrusts he felt himself nearing the edge as well. The way you clenched around him harder than before coaxed his orgasm out of him. He pulls out of you, his cock settling between your two stomachs as ropes of cum shoot out onto both of you.

The two of you sat panting quietly for about ten seconds before he set you down gently, quickly putting his hands back on your waist when your legs slightly buckled beneath you. “Whoa- You okay love?” He asks you gently, one hand coming to cup your cheek. You nod with a smile, leaning in to kiss him once again which he gladly reciprocates. “That was.. Holy fuck.” You grin, your cheeks a steady shade of pink. He can only help but smile back dumbly for a few seconds before he remembers the cum on you guys. He quickly turns to see what he can use to clean up, settling on a couple napkins on the table next to you guys.

He wipes your tummy off gently, you watching him intently as he does. “You did so good. Took me so well.” He coos as he cleans you up, then himself. Once he finishes, you pull your pants back up and he does the same, only to be interrupted by the crackle of comms from the two vests you guys previously discarded.

“Cap, LT, we got two vehicles approachin’ the house.” Ghost’s easily identifiable voice droning through. Price looks down at you with a smirk on his face, adjusting his hat slightly. “Would ya look at that… Guess this building wasn’t so useless after all.” He states plainly, a twinkle in his eyes.

Masterlist

#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod #mw2 #captain john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #x reader

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