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inkbybambi · 7 months

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bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

#ink by bambi #simon riley/reader #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader #simon riley/you #simon riley x you #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #mondern warfare smut

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multific · 28 days

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Scent

Alpha!Simon Riley x Omega!Reader

Warning: non-explicit smut.

Summary: Building nests was part of the process of an Omega going into heat. However you never actually thought you would find yourself locked away in a house with your Lieutenant.

To say that the mission has gone to shit would be an understatement.

They were hunting you down and if it wasn't for Ghost, you would be dead by now.

If it wasn't for him and his sharp reflexes you would be lying with a bullet in your skull.

But you weren't.

Instead, you were in a much worse situation.

At the start of your mission, you took your suppressants, figuring you would be back the next day, you didn't even pack any, so now, you were here, on an uncomfortable mattress, trying to make it homey for your heat.

You never actually minded going into heat. You could just lock your door, fill your room with food and be good for a couple of days.

But this was a very different situation.

You were in a bunker-like building, hiding for survival with an Alpha who was also your Lieutenant.

Not a situation you wanted to be in.

"You need to rest, I will keep watch." he avoided you, and didn't even come close to you, he just stopped at the door, never entering the room. He did put food down for you on the floor every day, commenting when you didn't eat something.

He was kind.

You knew he could smell your heat coming up, Alphas always did.

You know the upcoming days will be as much of a torture for him, as it will be for you.

You were glad it was Ghost with you, at least he had control over his alpha.

Before you could reply, he already left. Going as far away from you as possible. Yet, your smell still lingered.

Sure, Simon had control over his alpha, but the temptation was too great. You were perfect. In every aspect of the word. The perfect woman, partner, and omega.

At first, Simon thought you had no place in the army, he thought Price had gone insane but you proved him wrong.

Your kindness wasn't your weakness, instead your strength.

Simon took a deep breath, his mind and body immediately filled up with your scent, and how sweet you smelled. Simon, out of frustration, hit the wall, making the brick crumble.

He knew he should be there with you, help you, and yet, he was forcing himself away from you.

Even if everything inside him was screaming for him to go to you, help you, feed you, and keep you safe and comfortable.

He knew he can't.

The next day he brought you another plate of food.

"Ghost..." your voice came out way too desperate. "Can I have your shirt, please? The smell of the... pillows are..." Simon didn't need to be asked twice. He handed you his sweatshirt in a swift movement. "Thank you." he watched as you cuddled up with his clothes and he couldn't help but wish it was him. He forced himself to stand up and leave.

His scent really did help ease your pain as your heat reached its high.

Your mind is filled with all the different lewd things.

And yet, somehow, even with a hazy mind, even with a fog before your eyes, deep down, you knew better than to act upon those images filling your mind.

But you didn't know how to keep your scent at bay, not like there was a method or something.

And it caused quite an interesting reaction with Simon.

While you were locked in a room, touching yourself to the thought of an Alpha, he kept stroking his cock to the scent and thought of you.

You both knew it was forbidden, but no one was around, no one could hear your thoughts and your moans.

And for now, it was enough.

---

Thankfully, your heat soon ended, Simon got used to your smell as it slowly weakened.

You started to grow stronger, and back to normal, but it will take you a couple of days to be fully back in action.

Simon knew this.

"How are you feeling?" he asked from the doorway, while you lay on the mattress on the floor.

"Your smell disappeared," you said with a pout as you looked at him.

"I will give you my shirt then, let's exchange." he said as he held out his shirt for you to take, you gave him the sweatshirt back.

His shirt smelled like you now.

"We will have to leave in a few days, we have been here for almost a week now. We cannot stay, they will find us."

"I will be good to go tomorrow. I'm still a bit hazy though," you said and Simon nodded.

"How can I help more?"

"You have done plenty, Simon." use never used his name before, it was always Lieutenant or Ghost, nothing more, nothing less.

You kept it professional. Until now.

"I will bring you more food for dinner, so you can have your strength back."

"Thank you, Alpha." you whispered the last part, but he heard you.

God, he heard you very well. As the door closed behind him, he just stood there, too stunned to move. Everything in him screamed to go inside and to claim you.

But he couldn't. He shouldn't.

And yet, he did.

He turned right back, opened the door and for the first time in four days, he stepped inside, closing the door behind himself.

He looked at you as you lay with his shirt pressed into your face, smelling it.

He knelt down beside you, taking deep breaths to remember your scent.

You opened your eyes and smiled at him.

"Took you long enough." you said as you moved to turn around and leave some space behind yourself.

"Shut it." he whispered before he moved to lay down with you in your nest, holding you close with his nose in your hair. "Omega." he said and it made you humm. "You smell so good." he took a deep breath and you smiled to yourself, not opening your eyes.

You put your hand on his which held you close by your stomach.

"You could have been here for my heat."

"I wouldn't have been able to control myself."

"Of course, you would have. You are Simon Riley... What made you realize that I wanted you here all along?"

"Your smell had a hint of sadness every day. But when I came into the room... you smelled like hope and..."

"Love." you finished for him. "Am I truly that obvious?"

"The smell of an Omega never lies to an Alpha."

"You are right, I'm a lot happier as well."

"Same."

"I wish we didn't have to leave."

"Same." he breathed out one last time before you fell asleep in his arms.

Building nests was part of the process of an Omega going into heat.

And Simon never failed to notice that you made yours bigger, to give room to him.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer @lilliumrorum

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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

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sstormyskyess · 21 days

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Decompressing

author's note: wrote this because i think it would fix me tbh

cw: hurt/comfort, small domestic fight [like really small], non-sexual bdsm, spanking, aftercare, subspace, dom!price

word count: 1000+

John Price x GN!Reader

Today was bad. Really bad. And you were tired. So, so tired. Even getting home was a chore; you were so irritated that every little inconvenience on your way back to your safe haven of a home had you seething. All you want is your bed—you want to sink into the sheets and not come out for as long as possible.

But your husband, your perfect husband who could do no wrong, has other plans. You know he means well, of course he does. All he wants is to help, but it feels like he's smothering you.

Finally, you snap.

"Just leave me alone, John!" You bark all of a sudden. You storm off to your shared bedroom and the door rattles on its hinges from the force with which you slam it shut. By the time you've thrown yourself under the duvet and buried your face into the pillow, you're already regretting what you did. Your face burns with shame as you imagine what his reaction was, the look that was on his face.

Luckily, he does give you space. The door only opens an hour or so later, once you've cooled off to a simmer. Not a full rest, but not boiling either. You bury yourself further under the sheets to shield yourself from the light that floods into the room from the hallway and then the light from the lamp that John turns on. His weight settles on the bed behind you and you melt under the heaviness of his warm hand on your side. He's silent—letting you think, you assume.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice muffled by the pillow under your head. He hums in response and starts to rub your shoulder. "I know, sweetheart." His voice is warm, calm, a perfect contrast to your own choked up tone. "It's alright."

There's a brief pause. It's tense and it causes you to turn over and peek up at him. He's looking down at you with his silvery blue eyes and your gaze meets his meekly. "You know that was inappropriate. You don't talk to me like that," he says, and although you're being scolded, he sounds anything but angry. You still feel terrible for what you did, but you know he wasn't upset with you. It didn't stop you from pulling the sheets over your face childishly.

"Come on, love. Get up," he tells you, firm yet patient as always. You knew what was coming next and it made you shudder with anticipation. You do as he asks and he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. You shuffle in front of him, dragging your feet and still avoiding his eyes. Your muscles tense when he takes hold of your thigh, squeezing it. "Over my knees."

You know he wasn't punishing you. This was anything but a punishment; it was for you, not for him. When you're laid over his legs, your face nuzzled into his side, you know that he's taking care of you and it makes you sigh softly.

His large palm massages the meat of your thighs and up to your ass, then his fingers find their way under the waistband of your pants. He tugs them down to your knees, taking your underwear with them. You shiver at the wash of cold air that breezes across your bare skin and John, ever observant, takes a moment to warm you up with his hand in wide circles over your ass.

When his hand pulls away, you immediately brace yourself, eyes shut tight. He brings it back down with a harsh slap to your ass and you yelp. He smooths over your skin as a slight comfort. "Don't forget to count, love," he instructs. You murmur out a small 'one,' and wait for his next spanking.

You're holding back tears after you reach seven, your asscheeks and thighs burning hot and prickling with pain from the intensity behind each hit he laid upon you. He takes a pause, running his hand up and down your spine. You glance up at him, silently questioning him.

"Tell me what happened today," he says with a leveled gaze peering back down at you. You go back to bury your face in his side, but his other hand takes hold of the back of your head, redirecting you to look up at him again. "I'm not asking," he reminds you with a tight squeeze to the nape of your neck. "Yes, sir," You respond with a nod.

You start recounting your terrible day, telling him everything that happened one after another, all the while keeping count just as he told you. The tears finally fall as you spill all of the feelings that were building inside you all day, everything that was pent up and ready to burst at the seams. You eke out apologies to him between your sobs, and he listens to everything you say intently, reassuring you that things are going to be okay. You squeeze his free hand tightly when he offers it to you and all of it is just so much. It's so overwhelming; it's cathartic.

When you tap his thigh, John knows that you've gotten it all out and you're finally relaxed, lost in a floaty, comfortable state far above the sea of troubles that you were stewing in before. He bundles you up in his arms and totes you to the bathroom, running a warm bath for you to rest in. Your eyes are puffy and rimmed with red while you stare up at him, leaning into his touch while he cleans you up from head to toe. His calloused fingers scrubbed along your scalp, keeping you drifting in subspace.

Once you’re cleaned up and dried off, he lays you on your stomach in the bed gently, peppering your warm skin with kisses. Across your shoulders, up and down your spine on the bruises that were forming on your ass and thighs. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you can see his soft eyes looking back at you, practically glowing in the light of the bedside lamp. Soon enough, you’re lathered up in lotion, cooling your irritated skin enough to let you drift off to sleep peacefully, cuddled up next to your husband. You could talk more in the morning, but for now you just needed to rest.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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halfadogwrites · 1 year

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ghost knows you’re too good for him. he knows it, okay? he is so aware of that fact that sometimes it’s all he can think about when he’s with you. holding you, kissing you, fucking you, all he can think about is that fact that you are so good, and he is so not.

ghost is not aware in a vulnerable, sad, self deprecating way. it’s simply the truth.

he is who he is and he does what he does not just “because someone has to” but because a part of him knows he needs to take out the anger inside of him on something. he’d be a ticking time bomb otherwise, insufferable to be around like he was before joining the military.

you are so good. you teach and you guide and you help and you volunteer and you do it all because, just like how part of simon is in-extinguishably angry, part of you feels incomplete if you are not giving. if you are not putting out good into the world, you feel inadequate.

simon does not understand how he found you—how he could ever be enough for you. but you are content to have him at your side. and he has never known belonging as he has with you.

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gravezgf · 8 months

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Ain't Nothin' to It - Phillip Graves x Reader

1,159 words, fem reader with she/her pronouns. a bit suggestive but no warnings! My first time writing anything like this so please be kind. Thanks for reading!

Read under the cut!

You nervously fiddled with the lace waistline of your sundress. It hit your mid-calf, a gorgeous navy blue in breathable cotton, with lace on the waist and along the sweetheart neckline. It was one of Phillip’s favorites, and you couldn’t think of a better way to surprise him.

He was coming back home to you for the first time in a few weeks, where he’d been you had no idea. However, he suggested that you go out and have fun, get a few drinks at his favorite hole-in-the-wall before ending the night in your soft king-sized bed.

You swear you sensed him before you saw him. The scent of his spicy cologne, the sharp thud of his boots on the wooden floor, his firm hand on your shoulder before he slid in between the stool next to you, offering you a wink and a smile. Oh, how you had missed this man.

“No hug for your best girl?” You pouted teasingly.

“More than a hug, if I get my way,” he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his larger frame.

He released you, only to hold you by the wrists and step back, taking a good look at you. He sighed, pushing you gently back onto your stool before taking a seat himself. He motioned for the bartender to come over and ordered a whiskey for himself and your favorite drink for you. With the social lubricant, you felt your emotions even harder. The joy that leapt in your stomach when he flashed that big smile, laughing freely at a story you were telling him. The flush in your cheeks as he told you for the millionth time about how much he missed you when he was gone.

When Phillip noticed you were good and soused, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out onto the dance floor. You had two left feet, but Phil, he was a dancer from way back. He could whirl you around with the best of ‘em. But tonight, he just pulled you close and swayed you to the old country love songs humming from the speakers. He hummed the lyrics lowly, leaning into you. He exhaled a breathy laugh when your feet got confused, but only held you tighter.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” He said it in almost a whisper as he pressed soft kisses onto your neck.

“I think so, how much?”

“A whole sky full. Probably more,” his eyes shone the most beautiful blue in the hazy neon lighting. You couldn’t help but kiss him, and if you could’ve melted into a puddle then and there, you would’ve.

He had one hand pressed into your back, the other cupping your face, as your arms rested on his shoulders, and you let yourself fall into the kiss. You were almost numb now, in a good way. The smell of that cologne, something cheap but one he had loved for years, the Zach Bryan song tumbling through the speakers, his lips against yours, his stubble scratching against your face.

When you broke from the kiss, you swore you felt like a kid all over again. You rested your face on his chest, and you swayed there, where it felt like just the two of you, for what felt like hours.

He climbed into the drivers’ seat of the old blue pickup, after buckling you into the passenger seat. The old radio was playing the classic country station, Phillip’s favorite. He hummed to the George Strait song that was crackling through, and placed his hand in yours. He squeezed it tightly.

It reminded you of when you were kids. It was maybe your fifth or sixth date, and time had escaped you both. There you were, racing down those rural Texas roads, praying that time would slow down, just for a few minutes. You both knew well that breaking curfew would spell a grounding for you, and your dad’s displeasure towards Phil. You swear that you can still make out where you began playing with the lose threads of the fabric seats, nervously tugging at the string as a cloud of dust rose behind you.

That time, much like this one, Phil had grabbed for your hand. He ran his fingers over your knuckles at the red light, cursing quietly to himself.

Now, all these years later, at the red light, he pulled your hand into his, except this time he gently rolled the wedding band on your finger. Instead of damning the light for not turning fast enough, he hummed contentedly to the song on the radio. The city lights slowly turned into the occasional street light as he drove out of the city. Finally, you were heading home.

The drive home felt quick compared to the drive from there to the bar earlier. He opened your door like a gentleman, only getting slightly maimed by your border collie, Maple. He walked you carefully up the porch steps, and you rested on the cool wooden planks as he unlocked the door. You had your hair pushed up, cool summer air brushing the nape of your neck, and had kicked off your shoes. Phillip thought you had never looked more gorgeous than you did at this very moment.

Upon making your way into the house, you made a drunken beeline to the comfort of your bedroom. You had made the bed this morning, and you cursed yourself. You had been proud of the fresh sheets and pressed duvet, but it only made it more complicated for your inebriated self. Still yet, you were snug as a bug by the time Phillip reached your room, shirt off, pajama pants on.

“Wanna get out of your good clothes before you get too comfortable?” He said, yawning midway through. Your only response was an annoyed groan that sounded half you, half Chewbacca. Not getting the hint, or not caring, Phillip gently lifted the duvet and laced his fingers in yours, coaxing you to sit upright. He fumbled through your bedside dresser before finding one of his old shirts. It didn’t take too much begging to get you into it, and you thought about how you’d thank him for his kindness in the morning.

He tucked you back in as sweet as he could before climbing under on his side. When he proposed drinks before coming home, he didn’t exactly imagine this outcome. Then, he looked down. You looked sweet in a silly way, mouth slightly agape, breaths even. He listened for your breathing, that soldierly part of him that he could never quite turn off. You were asleep, he could tell by the gentle cadence of your inhales and exhales. He tried to match it. In the end, he settled for wrapping his arms around you, knowing they’d be asleep in the morning. He pressed a kiss to your head. He had missed home. He had missed you.

#gravezgf #Phillip Graves x Reader #Phillip Graves fluff #Phillip Graves fanfiction #COD MWII #Phillip Graves x Reader fanfiction #COD MW2 fanfic #Phillip Graves fanfic #Modern Warfare fanfic

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snail-eggs · 2 months

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1.1 Saturday | film

synopsis: It hurts. 2,191 days later and it still hurts. Juno Connors is haunted by the death of her best friend. Haunted by the unfinished documentary Juno refuses to let die along with him. But it has proved difficult. The subject---washed-up skating legend, Ronnie Allen; her best friend’s childhood hero who suddenly went missing sometime in the early 90s---is less than cooperative. She spends months in London trying to get him to cooperate and she gets nothing for it in return. Nothing of value, nothing to make all the dollars and time spent worth it. Until she meets a young sergeant, that is. Juno meets Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick and sets herself on a course for healing through this newfound intimacy. It makes her think that, just maybe, she can finish this fucking documentary and never have to face Ronnie Allen again.

a/n: my god, there's no way it took me a year to polish this one chapter. anyway, here it is over 365 days later.

The air in Carlsbad is different. Tinged with a saltiness from the sea that Juno can taste on her lips, the breeze at the perfect speed, perfect temperature. She knocks on the rickety old trailer’s door, wishing that she had taken a fleeting moment to film this. This beach—it's gorgeous. Tucked away into its own lonesome corner with a view to die for. Given the chance, Juno’d retire off to here too. She sighs. Bites her lip.

It shouldn’t be her that’s doing this,

She’s staring out at the waves lapping at the shore, a half step off the trailer’s poor excuse for a porch, listening to the way they crash against the rocks and land. She doesn’t deserve to be here, in his place. The door swings open with a creak so loud, she swears it's about to fall off its hinges. Actually, the hinges themselves look more ready to fall off the frame than anything. Charming, she thinks. Gives the whole thing some real character—

“You lost?” —like it needs any more.

Before her, Ralph DiMaggio stands in all his leathery, sun bleached glory. But burgeoning against his loud button up. But he looks at her softly—kindly, cutting through the rough image she had about him entirely and she can see it in his eyes, in his slight smile with a missing canine. He looks happy. Sober. Completely unlike how Fish described him in the notes he left. Juno feels half bad for expecting to find him at the bottom of a bottle, a mess.

“No, you’re exactly who I’m looking for.” She finally takes that full step up to the trailer, extends her hand. He takes it. “My name is Juno Connors—you met my partner, Hayden Fisher, like around a year ago.” Eyes empty, searching for something in the recesses of his mind, Juno can tell he doesn’t remember Fish. It hurts a little. “For the Ronnie Allen doc…” Now she’s searching too— reaching , hoping that he remembers. “He was, uh, a little obsessive about wanting to… to solve Ronnie’s disappearance from, well, the public and then probably never called you back?” She’s fumbling now. Feels like a fucking idiot.

And then it clicks.

“Yeah,” he moves out of the way, gestures for her to come in, “Yeah, no, I remember him, Kid was a lot.”

Juno laughs—well, breathes out a laugh more so than actually laughing. He’s right, he was a lot. Too much, even. She gets it, really, she does. No one could ever entirely stomach him quite like her. Supposes she’s just adept at tolerating the intolerable.

“Why didn’t he ever call back?”

“Thing is, he was going to but he died back in March, so.”

“I’m sorry.”

She gives a shrug that feels all sorts of wrong. “Yeah,”

Reaching into her bag, she flashes him a tight-lipped smile. Her way of saying It’s okay because she doesn’t really know how else to without making it worse, the awkwardness, or sounding like more of an idiot than she already does. Because she’s faced it now: Juno’s blowing this interview and it hasn’t even started. This isn’t her beat, isn’t what she does. No, her job was to sit there and point the camera at someone while Fish did all the heavy lifting. All the talking, But Fish is gone now and there’s still lifting to be done.

The lavalier mic is heavy in her hand, heavier than she knows it really is. She gestures vaguely with it. “I’m here now. For that interview—only if you want to, obviously.”

“Gotta be a little more assertive than that, Junie. A lot more.” He says suddenly like he’s known her forever. Her brows furrow. “Be a bitch, it's the only way you’ll get what you want from old pieces of shit like me.” Ralph eases himself into a chair that groans under his weight, points his finger at her. “That’s a fact.”

“If that’s the case, is this old piece of shit gonna give me what I want or did I drive all the way down here for you to waste my time?” Juno cocks her head to the side. If assertive is what he wants, it's assertive that he’ll get.

Ralph spreads his arms out, smiles wide—proud—missing tooth and all. “Mic me, Junie.” She can’t help it, she smiles too.

And she does—has him clip the recorder to his waistband right on the small of his back as she loops the microphone on its wire wire through the inside of his shirt shirt and settles it on the collar. The camera comes to her like second nature; the setting up of it is a process that doesn’t take all that much thought. Ralph watches her and she doesn’t give him so much as a glance. In her periphery, he’s merely a skin colored blob. She pretends it's Fish sitting there instead as she screws the camera onto the tripod as tight as it goes. It's locked. Ralph shifts around in his seat like he’s never been interviewed before. Juno suddenly realizes that it's probably been forever since the last time. Makes her feel a little better about her uselessness.

The journal is the last piece. One she has to cross the room for—left it on Ralph’s kitchen counter before she mic’d him—her strides and the weight of her warping the vinyl flooring. It burns her hands when she grabs it. Impossible, she knows, but it burns them. With grief, with the corrosive acidity of expectations not met and even worse, expectations she’s not sure she can meet at all.

But she has to try, that’s what this is all about. She looks back at Ralph. Relaxes her shoulders.

“So, what do you know about Ronnie Allen?”

He nearly hits her twice.

Wild, drunk hands wave around mere inches from her camera. From her face. Juno is sick of looking at him. At that ugly mug of his, at the tattoos that have bled deep into every wrinkle and crevice of it. Like runny ink on shitty paper. She looks at him with loathing. Juno’s sick of London now too. She sets her camera on the bar, takes a lazy sip of her beer, and just looks at him. He’s all washed-up. Fucking pathetic now. He’s nothing. He stares back at Juno, like maybe she’s a little off, when she sets down the camera. His wild hands fall into his lap, his story stops.

The rim of the bottle is still at her lips, “Ron, that’s not what I asked you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t ask you about the fucking glory days,” she’s heard enough about the glory days to last a lifetime, “I asked you about what happened after.”

He squeezes his eyes shut real tight, “After?” How he manages to slur just a single word so monumentally, Juno doesn’t know.

“Yeah, Ronnie, after .” It’s still not clicking. “Jesus, Ron—I asked about Merced.” The location rolls off her tongue but it's Ronnie’s face that twists into one of disgust. She can’t seem to break him. It feels like pulling teeth, trying to get him to talk about Merced.

She doesn’t want to feel this way. Not tonight.

Juno’s sick of it all. The poking, the prodding, when she knows—deep down inside, she knows —that he won’t talk. He’s a stubborn old fuck. Ronnie will keep her in the dark until she gives up because that’s exactly what he wants. He wants her to run home with her tail between her legs but she won’t. She cannot and will not let Fish’s life’s work collapse in on itself over a lousy drunk. She doesn’t care that the drunk in question was his hero once upon a time. He’s nothing to her and nothing he’ll stay if he can’t give her what she fucking needs.

It’s been six years that she’s wasted on this. What’s six more?

“You’re still chasin’ this shit,”

“Trust me, I’m not happy about it either.” Juno doesn’t like the way her voice sounds. It’s quiet, comes from deep in her throat, all tired and flat. This isn’t her. But maybe it is now. After Fish, after all this mess, maybe this is who she is.

Fingers twitching around the neck of her bottle, gripping it just a little too tight, Juno looks out over Ronnie’s shoulder. Out at the other patrons of the bar that are surely having a far better night than she is. And then she feels it. The burning of eyes fixated on her. Juno’s own scan the crowd again more carefully now.

“When’re you just gonna quit?” She doesn’t hear it, not really. All her attention’s focused on the other lonely soul across the bar. The bill of his cap casts a shadow over his eyes but Juno knows, without a doubt that he’s looking at her. Staring. So she stares back. Narrows her eyes a little—hoping that if she squints hard enough, she can bend all laws of reality and really see him.

But she can’t. So she inches away from the bar, breaks his gaze for just a second to tell Ronnie plainly, and maybe even a little too loudly that “If anything happens to this camera, I’m never leaving you alone, got it?” And he shrugs. Waves it off like he does with everything else that she says. But he reaches his arm out to where Juno was sitting. Lazily slides the camera into his chest like he’s protecting it in his own half-assed way. Juno doesn’t hover.

Stands of fading blue fall into her face as she wades through the crowd that feels like its only getting denser by the second. She doesn’t bother to tuck them out of the way. Just keeps making her way through. When the crowd breaks, the air feels lighter, cooler; her lungs have room to expand.

And, finally, she can see the eyes that gazed upon her from across the bar.

“You have a staring problem,” there’s a grin there. The most genuine one that’s graced her face in, hell, six years, probably.

“You came all this way to tell me that?”

She shrugs, “And a couple other things.” Juno sits down right across from him. Feels kind of giddy talking to someone new, kiddy like knowing without any real proof that you’ve met someone good. Someone solid. “So, do you always look at random women like that or should I feel special?”

He, whoever he is, smirks a little. Juno can tell he’s trying to fight it but it comes through anyway. “Like what?” He's handsome. Soft behind the eyes.

“Y’know,” she leans into the table, smile reaching her eyes now despite the subtleness of it. “Like there’s no one else here but me. Like I’m the only one worth talking to—and I am, by the way. I am so worth talking to.”

“Can’t have much of a conversation if I don’t even know your name.”

“Well, who said that?”

Words catch in his throat a little and Juno smirks. Bottom lip caught in her teeth. Just tell me your name.”

“Juno.” Said so quick she’s barely even sure he heard it.

“Like the movie?”

She gives him a look. It’s a yes and no answer—more no than yes. “Just the way it’s spelled. They named me after the place in Alaska, just wanted to feel special, I guess.”

“It suits you,” they haven’t broken each other’s gaze. Not once and Juno feels like she’s drowning in the particular shade of brown of his irises.

“I’d hope so, it’s the only name I got.” There’s more of a twang there than she’d like. She wonders if he’d be able to place it, her accent. Knows there’s no way in hell she could place his no matter how hard she tried. “What about you; what’d you get saddled with?”

“Kyle,” Juno nods. Her own silent way of telling him that she thinks his name suits him too. “Most people call me Gaz, though.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t got a clue.” He takes a sip from his glass. Juno wants to reach out and grab it. Take a sip from it too. The impulse is so strong and she’s not entirely sure why. Maybe it's one of those weird intrusive things. Or maybe, it's her desire for closeness that hasn’t been sated in years. Hell, she can’t remember the last time she hugged somebody—really hugged somebody; fingers gripping at clothes, digging into skin, a mouthful of hair. All that. The closest she’s gotten is hauling Ronnie into bed when he’s too wasted to do it himself. And sometimes she lingers. Lets him keep his grip on her wrist while he begs her for a glass of water. She supposes that she likes the warmth.

Oftentimes, she wonders what it’s like to be held. In all honesty, Juno’s forgotten it and so now she looks at Gaz, a stranger she’s shared but a handful of words with, and—more than anything—just wants a hug. Is that so much to ask for; to be held for even a fraction of a second?

She needs to go home, she thinks. Desperation’s not all that good of a look on her.

Gaz’s eyes narrow in on her in a way she can’t quite read. The feeling of his gaze is sharper. Precise. Juno feels naked. Feels like he can read her mind. But it softens and suddenly she can breathe. He nods at her, lowers his glass. “What’s that about?”

And her brows furrow before he points at her shirt. Juno looks down. Lindsay Lohan’s mugshot is decorating her torso and she breathes out a laugh. He laughs with her.

“What, you don’t like it?” She teases.

“Never said that .”

“You could wear it if you want—actually, we might be the same size.”

“Yeah?” Juno nods when he says it, smiling so wide that her cheeks are starting to hurt. “I mean, we could test out that theory.”

The chatter from the crowd behind her is getting louder. Bar stools scrape against the ground with an ear shattering screech. Juno shrugs, smirking a little, “I’m down if you are.”

Then, a resounding crack.

Juno and Gaz both whip their heads in the direction of the bar. Juno’s mouth gapes as she watches the bartender clutch his nose. Sees the blood on Ronnie’s fist. Her heart pounds. He can’t get can’t get caught up like this, he can’t afford it— she can’t afford it. Juno lurches from her chair, toppling it over as Gaz calls her name. She shoves and elbows her way through the crowd now surrounding Ronnie and grabs him roughly by the arm. Drags him with all her might and it doesn’t take much. He’s already long gone—the lights are on and no one’s home. So he stumbles on after her.

Juno doesn’t even get to spare Gaz a glance as she and Ronnie barrel through the door.

The mini-bar in this hotel is piss-poor, Juno thinks as she lines up the third tiny bottle of vodka on the windowsill. Really. She’s had better liquor from forgotten bottles in the back of Ronnie’s cabinets. Maybe he just has better taste than the hotel staff. Juno doesn’t really care either way. Her night’s over before it even started and she wishes she’d gone home with Gaz. He was cute, nice enough. Would’ve been a fun time, she bets, but instead she’s stuck here in her room emptying the mini-bar and wondering if this is just some ugly habit she picked up from six years and counting with Ronnie. Day in and day out. She grimaces. Takes another tiny bottle and sits on the bed.

She’s got more notes for this documentary than Fish ever had. It gives her a pang in the chest, the thought. Makes her eyes water. She breaks the seal on the bottle. The transcript for Ralph’s interview haunts her on her desktop, among others. Juno goes for her browser instead. Her fingers work quicker than her mind—she’s looking at departing flights before she knows it.

There’s a few she can catch before Ronnie wakes up in the morning and calls her asking why his knuckles are all bloody.

It isn’t the first time that she’s thought maybe she’s gotten all that she ever will out of him. Even figured out how to wrap this doc up in a pretty little bow without knowing shit about the why of it all. Ronnie Allen, ex skating legend, is a good for nothing drunk that fell into obscurity because he felt like it. There is no real reason, no meaningful moment that made him run from everything he had. He’s a good for nothing dunk that abandoned everyone he knew and seems to feel just fine about it. Sure, it’s bleak but people’d eat that shit up. She knows she would.

Fish wouldn’t, though.

He always wanted to look deeper than the other documentarians, it’s why he started this one. He’d lose his mind if he found out she ditched it before seeing it through completely.

Juno downs the fourth bottle in one go. Her throat burns.

When she wakes, there’s hair all in her mouth. The room smells overwhelmingly like Fish’s living room. Juno buries her head in the sheets and refuses to breathe.

#carrie.fics #call of duty fanfic #kyle gaz garrick x oc #gaz garrick x oc #gaz fanfic #modern warfare x oc #gaz x oc #modern warfare fanfic #fic: film

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amongthe141 · 6 months

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The Giver - Chapter 1

By: @amongthe141

Fandom: Call of Duty Video Game

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Y/N female reader, John Price, Frank Woods, more 141 to follow

Tags: Slow burn, Captain John Price x fem!reader, first ever shared writing...eek, sorry for grammar or lack of edits I tried, starts 2019 remake universe, yes I made Frank Woods look like a Santa and not sorry, w

Summary: Y/N is introduced to Captain John Price via Frank Woods and Y/N's life is about to become...more complicated.

Words: 1586

The knock on the door should have been promptly replied back with a bark somewhere to the tune of "...the hell you want" from the eighty some old senior man purposely sitting within the walls of his room in isolation. Whether it was for peace or reliving of fading memories but in the case of Retired Master Sergeant Frank Woods it was more likely choosing to avoid the realization that he was old when the other residents and staff constantly make one such has himself remember it on the daily. There were those who Woods allowed acceptance to enter freely…the evolution of his bark differs greatly from the first day he resided to now…the bark wasn’t so much as a bite if it was one of the favored few, which Y/N could be counted as one of them, if not the top tier of them. It wasn’t an easy achievement but one with a bit of patience and a bit of stubbornness Y/N was able to conquer. It also helped that Y/N and Woods were the troublemakers under this roof when they set their minds to it. This is why the absence of this familiar greeting put her on edge and her breathing hitched in concern.

The next group of knocks were louder, though knocking loud was always a must for any resident under this household because their hearing is shit if they were normal but they weren't. These men who lived here at this privatized retirement home had extra damage to their ears from enemy explosions, recanting to Y/N's ears in downtime storytelling or reasoning as to why their screams would wake her up at night from constant night terrors. So this last extra loud knock on Frank Woods door should have had him absolutely hysterical at her even to somewhere deep down finding superpowers to strengthen his bad knees to walk out of his bound chair to rock across his room to open the door to relay such hysterics. But as the seconds ticked and still no reply a moment of fear hit her hard. Many veterans had passed in their sleep here, death was an all too familiar experience since Y/N started five years ago, but she wasn't ready for the stubborn old man that lived to prove what a grumpy old man should be, nor one who relished in the delight of being called an asshole. She would never admit it but he was her favorite person in the converted old Victorian house they called home and Y/N wasn't ready to say an early goodbye or any goodbyes at all.

Pushing through her fear, the dark stained door opened with an eerie scream from its hinges as the room came to life as the soft glows from the afternoon sun seeped through the countless windows. The same dark stain of the door flowed adjacent to the corners where ceiling and walls and floors met in this cream colored room that belonged to Woods. Military flags stretched on the walls here and there as if it was some piece of classic art. Photos littered in frames or lay about every surface of Frank Wood’s room where there were hardly any surfaces left, unlike the floor which he needed ample space for his wheelchair to get by. The faces that stared at her back, some she knew of from when Frank allowed himself to tell her tid bits from his past, others were of the younger Frank, a more dangerous yet addictive Woods who didn't give five fucks and would do as he pleased.

Y/N could see herself getting in trouble with a younger Frank, she already did with the senior version ever since he first stepped within these hallowed halls (yes, he was a younger old man then… too proud to submit as the new guy lifebound eventually for his wheelchair) into the retirement house with other old geezers (his words at the beginning, not Y/Ns, never hers).

Y/N had been in this room a million times, could tell you where everything was and should be, but in the first moments of entering her fear made it all seem like a stranger's room instead as her eyes reluctantly stared at the empty but made up bed. One area cleared but…, what if he fell off the bed and was behind it? A sigh from Y/N released as again another spot cleared after as she approached closer to the bed to see to the other side. Y/N shifted the large ice bucket in her grasp as carrying the terror of finding him dead in the room subsided. Before asking "but where the hell was he" a coughing fit of laughter snuck in like a cool breeze from the screened door and she allowed herself to smile a silly smile as she shook her head, the bottles in the bucket clinking against each other as if rejoiced the location was given away to where a very live and fiery Woods would be. Y/N quickly crossed across the room and pushed through the reluctant screaming screen door that led out to the covered patio with her free hip, she couldn't help but tilt her head as she stared at Woods and his unexpected guest.

"Y/N!" Frank mustered to say when he was able to speak instead of cackle (it's what Y/N used to describe the coughing fits most life smokers end up getting) "Where the hell have you been?"

"Working very hard apparently being your bar wench" she said playfully as she went about carefully placing the basket of chilled beer on the table between Woods and his guest, who stood up as a bulky tower over the two of them to help her set it down very gentlemanly…probably a beer enthusiast as Woods where no drop of spilt beer should fall! He waited for Y/N to lean against the arm of the only free chair before sitting back down "Well this is certainly unexpected".

It wasn't till he spoke did she actually make eye contact with this man. Maybe it was the British accent that gave it clearly away that he wasn't a relation to Woods (as if any did visit if there were any) , perhaps the mutton chops of a beard adorning his face peppered with graying and light patches of hair teasing his age, or perhaps the beanie that bound his hair underneath…Y/N stopped processing every little detail of the man in her brain to jumpstart the point that his clear ocean blue eyes had her hooked, lined, and smitten and very much addicted instantly. Woods leaned over and passed him a cold one before jabbing one at Y/N’s closest though before taking his own, breaking her concentration on purpose but more likely for the urgency to enjoy a cold one.

Y/N smiled before twisting the cap off as Woods unceremoniously hit the cap off the side of the wheelchair’s many metal perks, deeping the dent. "What can I say, privatized retirement houses do come with perks" Woods said before downing half the bottle and then nonchalantly introducing "Y/N meet Captain John Price".

Y/N was greeted with a "Pleasure" and courteous nod with a non-mistaken smirk surrounded by his beard before he continued "When you said Woods you were in a private home, let alone a Veteran one, I indeed was not expecting this to be so…" "Homely". "Exactly".

"Thank you, when my Aunt inherited this place she didn't want it to be a place someone couldn't call home. Most other retirement homes are too hospital-like and…" "Cold". Y/N couldn't help but smile wide at them completing each other’s thoughts, "Exactly. Most have to come to retirement homes involuntarily, if bringing a bucket of cold beer helps then that's what we do." Y/N explained after more small inquiries came from Price that there were 6 other residents at the house. The staff was there 24/7 by shifts or by personal employment by the resident but Y/N was the only other person who resided there full time with her Aunt. "Life functions as a normal everyday household besides the times I get to boss this guy around" Wood’s playful eye roll earns him laugh before Y/N continues. "We make sure everyone makes their appointments, gets their meds, therapy, etc."

"Reliable and recommendable" Price said almost in a prideful tone before Woods snorted "More like lucky. VA benefits and regulations nowadays are death sentences to places like this. You won't be able to find this when you're my age for military men like us, for what we do!" Those words pulled every scar and blemish on Price to Y/Ns eyesight immediately. She's seen them hundred times over on the Veterans who have come and gone. The war battle scars they took home and relive most nights. "I better enjoy it then when I can aye?" A known silence is shared between the men as Woods nods in answer.

"Well I better go check on things and leave you two at it. Anything needed before I go?" "No, not at this time". "Well if you do, Woods will make sure we know" and she did the same thing she's done a hundred times over with her favorite grumpy old man, no matter the state he was in, it always calmed and reassured him, with that gentle and soft squeeze of her hand on his shoulder incase it was ever the last time to do it. Y/N just didn't know how soon that time was nearing.

#call of duty fanfic #modern warfare fanfic #captain john price #frank woods #captain john price x reader

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cntloup · 15 days

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18+ MDNI Simon fucking you in a headlock

You've been obsessed with his arms since day one.

And you finally asked him to do what you wanted for a while.

He made sure that you were comfortable, asking multiple times if you were ok.

And you breathed out 'yes' eagerly each time.

And now here you are as he fucks into your sopping pussy while having you in a headlock, thick veiny arm wrapped around your neck.

The burly mass of muscles puts enough pressure to make you dizzy, increasing the already intense pleasure of his fat cock splitting your weeping cunt open.

His other hand reaches around your body and lands on your sensitive puffy clit, rough fingers circling and pinching it while his wide hips slap against your rear with each ferocious plunge into you.

"You gonna be a good girl and cum f'me?" he grunts into your ear as he feels the ever increasing pressure of your pulsating pussy on his cock.

And you can only hum in response, the razing pleasure too much to bear, too much to let you form any coherent words.

You hold on to his strong arm wrapped around you, nails digging into his bicep and forearm, surely leaving crescent marks on his skin.

The delightful mix of sweet sensations, the aching drag of his thick cock along your sensitive walls repeatedly with the dizzying pleasure of his arm around your neck,

while his swollen red tip viciously attacks your gummy cervix and his calloused fingertips rub against your puffy clit send you to a state of pure engulfing euphoria.

And streams of your juices and cream gush out of you as you let out hiccupped moans, blended with his low growl of sheer pleasure as he fills up your welcoming womb with his seed.

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sweetnothingtm · 2 months

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♡ i imagine that Simon Riley is the type to spoil you rotten ♡

Simon doesn’t check his bank statements anymore - just hands you his card and plants a sloppy kiss on your smiling face.

Simon carries all your shopping bags without hesitation, even while you drain him of his worth. He scrolls his phone while you shop aimlessly, his eyes lazily dragging to your frame as you showcase what you want while he waves a hand at you.

yes - anything you want. yes - i mean it, sweetheart.

He follows you like a lost dog through the stores, practically begging for your attention as you wiggle your ass into a million different outfits.

I bet he takes you to all the lingerie stores. It’s his favorite part of the day, squeezed into a changing room as you strip in front of him. He always has a devious smirk, latching the stall lock into place as you hang up every scrap of fabric.

You’d twirl around in a tight lace, lip caught between your teeth as Simon palms himself through his jeans. He’d stare at you, eyes glowing with desire as you innocently checked yourself out and hummed.

do you like it? how do i look?

you look good enough to let me fuck you right now. matter of fact - bend over for me, sweetheart.

Simon would press you up against the mirror, dick pressed against your ass with his breath fanning against your neck. His teeth would graze against your skin, little whimpers coming from your lips as you roll your hips.

His fingers would press into your waist, digging into the silk panties with a price tag hanging off of them. $45 - damn expensive for a pair, but he considered you priceless.

When he inevitably ruins the fabric by cumming all over it, you’d have a little pout spread across your face. He’d roll his eyes, promising you another pair and splaying a hand against your ass while his camera clicks for a photo.

you look too fucking good, might just have to fuck you again when we’re home. you’d like that - wouldn’t you little slut?

Simon Riley would shrug his shoulders when the sales person would ask why theres panties in the trash. He’d swipe his card, hardly looking at the bill as he picked up another bag and watched you glow with happiness.

He always buys you dinner, opens every door for you, and slings his jacket around your shoulders. His hand always rests on your thigh when he drives, fingers tracing delicate shapes on your soft skin.

When he looks over to you, you’re already glowing with adoration and love - a twinkle in your eye as he squeezes your leg and hums.

did you like the gifts, princess? i spoil you huh?

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bunnys-kisses · 9 days

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the jailbird (2)

prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley

part 1 | original text post

cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, romance & fluff, smut, size kink, sane and consensual, roleplay, rough sex, spanking, bondage & gags, tattoo kink, dom!simon, sub!reader

bunny says: love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are encouraged!

living with an ex-convict was interesting. he still woke up at the crack of dawn, and as a result you were up too. he didn't know where anything was in your apartment, he hated that he had to wake you up but he didn't know where the spoons were.

you were happy to help him and spend some extra time together before you went to work. the more you were around him, the more you realized how big he was compared to you.

even his hands were much larger than yours. he loved to wrap you up in his arms and hold you while you were making yourself some breakfast. those strong tattooed arms around your middle as you flipped eggs.

sometimes he'd bury his face in your neck and visibly relaxed. he was still dealing with his fair share of trauma from the previous events of his life. and while it often left him stressed, he found comfort in you.

"you're my anchor, love." he said within the first week of his return to society.

you simply smiled and tried not to blush too hard as you said, "well, si. i'll happily be your anchor, as long as your mine."

"you're anchor, your rock, your foot solider, your lover." he said as he kept his gaze on you. since he had been living with you, you found his expression had softened a little. he could relax here.

"my husband." you reached out for him. he took your hand and kissed the top of it before he held it for a moment then returned it to you.

simon had a long road ahead of him, being on the inside for so long was going to cause some problems. but, he knew even if he had nothing. he had you.

it was almost five months into living together and he managed to get an interview working in small parts manufacturing. while it was tedious, they didn't need to look at his criminal record. which greatly excited him.

when he came home from the interview, he told you that it went well. that they seemed to like his dedication and were impressed when he mentioned his time in the military. he said, "got the whole 'thank you for your service'." as he held you and kissed you deeply.

it felt like your little lives were coming together. but the one thing you hated to admit to yourself. you sort of had a dark side, it wasn't anything too aggressive or 'evil'. you thought that simon was the perfect boyfriend, he'd never hurt a hair on your head.

but the idea of being with a criminal sort of had a sexy ring to it. to be with the bad boy. you almost felt embarrassed to admit it when he'd come home with flowers for you, or when he smiled at you. or when he held your hand when you went out. with you he got to be a person with love.

deep down you wanted to know the depths of your boyfriend. you wanted to know what a man like him, with his skill set, was capable of. you wanted it to burn, ache and hurt.

it took a lot of courage, you communicated with your boyfriend about a little make believe. while hesitant at first, he slowly started to warm up to the idea. you knew he was open to it when he came home from one, actually the first day at his job, with a bundle of bondage rope.

"the blue looks good on you." he remarked as he finished tying you up on the bed. he had your arms behind your back with you on your side and one leg tied to the bed post.

you looked at him, those eyes of yours were so alluring. you tried to move your leg but was stuck to the bed. he smiled down at you and tapped the ball gag in your mouth.

"but it doesn't matter what you want. right?' he asked, "i've searched a long time for you. you're not an easy woman to catch." he got between your legs, and hiked one leg over his shoulder as he started to aggressively lick your cunt. it was already dripping from the act of him tying you up.

there was no escape for you, even if you somehow got out of the bondage. he was almost twice the size of you and could do some damage if he wanted to.

you squirmed and whimpered around the ball gag as he took long, hard licks against your clit. he wanted to make sure his girl was wet enough for his large cock.

"maybe i should breed ya. bring you back to the boys all fat with my brats.' he purred, "i don't think they can throw ya in the can if you're pregnant. but who knows, you got pregnant by a thief." he continued to lick your sweet cunt. he was in heaven.

he really was so much bigger than you. he overpowered you, he could keep you down and fuck you until he had his fill, and there was nothing you could do about it. you were bound and gagged like a good girl.

he kept at it, he even teased your hole with his thick fingers until you were squirming more with your moans getting louder. he slapped your ass and gave you a stern look over your pussy. he gripped your leg over his shoulder. "shut up." he growled, "i don't need ya causin' a scene. i'd hate to go back to prison because you can't keep your trap shut up."

you hole clenched and he chuckled. he patted where he smacked and grabbed at the flesh before he went back to his feast between your legs. it didn't take long before the slick between your thighs got all over his face.

he pulled away and sat up on his knees. he stared down at you with your thigh wrapped around his waist. he was going to fuck you at a weird angle, but it was the only way he could keep his little prize tied up. he wiped is face, "you are the best thing i've caught." he said, "stolen a lotta loose change, but they're nothin' to the sweet taste of your cunt." he got his cock out his sweatpants and started to rub it against your slick pussy. he let out a harsh sigh from the sensation, "they should be keepin' ya behind the vault door." the tip slipped in for a moment and you clenched around it.

you whimpered and tried to pushed yourself down on his cock, but it was hard to do that when you were so tied up, he pushed the hair out of your eyes, your leftover wetness got on your cheek from his movements.

"but, you need to know." he said, "you're mine to do whatever to. your mommy and daddy aren't gonna save ya. you fell in love with a bad man and now you're lettin' him fuck your cunt raw. what's gonna happen at christmas when you're all swollen with my brats. riley boys are lil hell raisers." he went back to rubbing his cock up against your slit, "you'll be mine forever. my little prize. i should've taken ya a long time ago. just snatched ya up off the train. keep ya to myself." his tongue was getting loose from the buzz of pleasure in his brain.

you whimpered around the gag and almost cried out when he slipped his large cock into you easily. you felt it in your guts and his pace was much more brutal than the other times you've made love. that was the difference, you made love before. this was dirty, primal sex between a criminal and his captive.

the sounds of sex filled the air, paired with simon's heavy breathing. his heart was thumping steadily as he pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he loomed over you as he drilled himself into you. you were a comfortably tight fit around his cock.

you dug your nails into your palms from the immense pleasure and yelped when he slapped your ass. you whimpered when he leaned further into you to get closer into your personal space. his pace was brutal and it excited you.

"i'm a bad man." he said lowly, his voice close to your ear, "my worst crime is tainting such a precious angel." he held onto your calf as he bent your hips the closer he got. his voice was hot, "fill ya right up, make sure no other man has a chance to get ya knocked up." his tattooed hand went to your stomach which he gave a small rub, "my girl carryin' my boys."

your eyes almost rolled back from the heat in your body. you were almost drooling around the rubber gag in your mouth. it was dirty, it was filth. if anyone saw the state you were in, they would be shocked!

your head felt full of lust, you felt your lover so close to him. you knew despite the roughness and the harsh words, the entire scenario was safe. you knew you could get out of this if you needed to. but it wasn't getting to be too much, it was just enough.

the wetness between your legs and the flips in your stomach only excited you. to have such a large man be so domineering. it made you feel small in a good way. it was almost like being bound made you feel protected.

that you could lay yourself over to him and he'd cherish you. even if you were his little 'prize' for the evening. the hottest part was the pace at which his cock was battering your womb.

you whimpered against your gag and felt the heat rush through you. you held onto your palms as best as you could with your arms bound. the entire situation left you spinning, there was no wonder that orgasm crept up on you so easily.

with a loud moan around your gag, you climaxed around his cock. the tightness of your cunt mid-orgasm milked his cock till he was seeing stars. he came inside of you, his seed hit against the back of your womb.

the feeling of being able to do so left him a little slack-jawed. but he kept it together, even if his cheeks were flushed. when he finished, he slowly pulled out and started to untie you. his hands were shaky from the after effects of his orgasm.

he took the gag out of your mouth and pulled you in for a kiss when he finished untying you. he fell into bed with you and laid on top of the covers with you. he held you gently and kissed your face. he gave you gentle praise as he kept you in his arms.

when he looked at you, all was right in the world. you held onto him and pressed kisses against his face. after care consisted of tea and a small snack followed by a shower together, where he washed every part of you.

even though you were capable of doing it yourself, you still appreciated how detail orientated he was in the manner of getting you clean. little did you know that biology was working its magic and simon's seed found home in your cervix.

you better hope that the line about the riley boys being hellions was untrue or you'd have your hands full. it didn't help that when simon's hand grazed your stomach as he washed you that you blushed and tucked yourself closer to him.

mama riley did have a ring to it.

#jailhouse rock au #bunny writes #call of duty #reader insert #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty smut #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #prison au #call of duty fanfic

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inkbybambi · 6 months

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the haziness of john's cigar lingers in the air, mixing with the overall smoke of the club, a deep, thumping bass echoing through the walls, through your veins and blood and the steady thrust of his hips up into you.

his hands — large, warm, possessive — grip your waist, nails digging into the skin deep enough to leave marks. but you want them. you need them. even if no one else can see them, no one else can know — you'll know. you'll know that he's touched you, fucked you, claimed you in a way no one else has. in a way no one else can.

"there we go," he says, voice a deep, honey purr as your eyes roll back, his thick cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes you see stars, makes you whine and leak onto his cock, arousal slipping down your thighs and making an absolute mess in his lap.

there's a light sheen of sweat adorning his body — a mixture of the humidity of the club, the dark corner room you're tucked away in, only hidden from the rest of the club by a thick velvet curtain, and the fact that he's been fucking you steadily for the past half-hour, already pulling an orgasm from you and working you towards another.

the lights of the club glint off the metal of his harness. he removed his shirt when you both entered the club, and you'd never expect him to be wearing that. but others had been eyeing him all night, his nipples getting hard from the atmosphere. you had seen their eyes — staring at his collarbone, drifting down to his chest, and moving to linger on his hips where a trail of hair leads deliciously down into his trousers.

he could feel the jealousy emanating off you in waves, unable to hide your pout as you clung to his side, oblivious to the way others were looking at you the same.

"look at me, darling," he murmurs, one hand gripping the leash a little harder, forcing you to look down at him, the collar he gifted you right before going out laying delicately on your throat. "want to see you when you cum."

your nails dig into his chest, tightening around him as desire drips down your spine, warming your body and making you delirious.

"wanna come on your cock, john," you whine, leaning down to kiss him. all teeth and tongue, hard to do anything but pant as your thrusts grow sloppy. your thighs burn from the effort, stretched across his lap and thick thighs. his dick feels so good inside, hot and heavy and you’ve never felt so full.

“oh, i know, darling,” his voice, low and mocking, nipping at the delicate skin behind your ear as he wraps one arm around your waist, securing you against him. “you need to come so badly, don’t you?”

you hate him. he’s so hot, he’s been pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collar and chest, bruises and bite marks smattering against your skin. and he won’t let you cum.

“please,” you mewl. you’re not above begging. he likes it when you beg. “‘ve been so good for you,” you add, lips dragging across his jaw.

“mn, you have, pet,” he agrees, a sharp slap to your ass and a tighter grip on your leash, wrapping it around his fingers — slick and shiny with your spit and arousal — dragging you down until your nose is almost touching his.

“keep your eyes open, or i stop,” he growls, low and throaty and all you can do is whine and nod and claw at his chest, desperate.

he snaps his hips up, and you cry out, feeling every inch as he fucks deep into you, your brain going static as your orgasm licks deep in your gut, so close.

your eyes flutter, threatening to close, but a warning growl from john keeps you obedient, keeping your eyes on his — dark, glossy, devouring.

three more brutal thrusts and he bottoms out inside you, your body shaking as your orgasm crashes over you, release spilling and dripping to his stomach, the hair on his navel absolutely drenched with you.

thick, hot spurts of his cum spill out from where he’s buried inside you, dripping down his cock.

“fuck,” he moans out, as he claims you in the way he loves best, marking you and ruining you for anyone else.

#john price takes you to a sex club and fucks you like he'll die if he doesn't #ink by bambi #minors dni #john price x reader #john price x you #john price smut #captain john price #john price imagine #modern warfare fanfic #modern warfare smut #if i can find the pic that inspired this i'll link it #wrote this initially in a discord but it's too hot to keep private

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multific · 5 months

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Modern Warfare Men with a Housewife - Preferences

Simon Riley, John MacTavish, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Kyle Garrick, König x Fem! Reader

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

Simon Riley

The thought of going back home and you are just there is enough to keep him going for months.

He loved the idea of having someone home at all times, during the hard times, he would just need to imagine you in your shared house, curled up on the couch, watching a movie. It was enough for him.

But coming home and actually being there is everything.

He always gets this feeling in his stomach as he drives home, fear. The fear of finding an empty home or worse, a burnt-down home.

But each time, the house is still there, with you inside.

Each time you would run into his arms and kiss him. Each time you would tell him to eat something because you cooked.

Because of course, you cooked.

Johnny MacTavish

When you met Johnny you had a nice job, you were overly fond of it, but you did have one. But after your marriage, Johnny asked you to stay home. He explained he earned enough, you wouldn’t have to worry. He said it was so that he can be sure you are safe.

And how can you say no when he is asking so nicely?

You noticed just how much calmer he was after you agreed. But you also noticed that there was nothing to keep your mind truly busy when he wasn’t home.

You began to worry a lot for his safety and feared that any phone call or letter you received might be bad news.

But he always came home to you.

You even learned how to cook the dishes he enjoys the most. He would often call you “Little Wife” which was a very cute nickname, you thought.

Kyle Garrick

It wasn’t fully his idea for you to stay home and stop working. It just… happened.

He adopted a cat, which couldn’t be left alone while he was gone, then you got married and you quit your job which you hated.

But Kyle loved it.

You would send him pictures of you and your cat, Cinnamon.

Kyle loved to arrive home to a warm house and your smile.

John Price

John is a very cautious man.

He has probably five houses each location confidential, so much so, that you don’t even know half of their actual place.

But let’s be honest, he would be upfront and tell you that he wants you to stay home long before you marry him.

He would let you choose a house and give you everything you want.

John would come home to you, smelling of cigars, gunpowder and death.

But you never tell him that you know. You let him shower while you prepare a simple meal for him.

Alejandro Vargas

He probably has a huge family, I can see his mother being a housewife herself. So he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of you being one, but if you want a job, he wouldn’t mind that either.

So when you ultimately decided to stay home, he wasn’t fully on board. He wanted you to have everything in his absence.

And when he was gone, he was worried, he hated to leave you alone. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be wearing his ring proudly. He was a proud husband, and you were hidden, even with the ring, no one would find you if anything happened.

But nothing ever did.

Alejandro always came home to you, asked you to join him in a hot bath, and neither of you would put on any clothes after.

König

He actually begged you to stay home and work from home. Later on, you decided to take over the house and became a full-on housewife.

He had a huge house even before you married him, so the home became your DIY project very early.

It did help to keep your mind off of him not being home, you always had a room to decorate, paint or rearrange to your liking. It became your project that each time he left, you did one room so that when he came home, he could be surprised.

König is a huge man with many years of experience in the military which did make him into a hard man.

But with you, he could be so soft and kind.

Much like how he was when he arrived home after every mission.

He loved to come home, seeing you sleeping in your bed or on the couch, it would fill him with warmth.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

#x reader #x female reader #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare imagine #modern warfare #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #könig x reader #modern warfare fanfic #modern warfare two #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare x you #simon riley x you

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the-froschamethyst4 · 12 days

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Viking! König

————

Viking! König Headcanons

NSFW

————

Viking König who starts making sharper weapons to slaughter his enemies

Viking König who has a soft spot only for his wife. You came from a different village, one that König is known for “collecting their tax” for his protection. You were part of an arranged marriage because your family couldn’t pay him, so you where the payment

Viking König who won’t let anything happen to you. You both grew to love each other

Viking König has a bit of that dad body with a bit of muscle to him

Viking König who is covered in traditional tribal tattoos for his bravery as a warrior and clan leader

Viking König who lives kind of secluded from everyone else but everyone knows where to find him if anything happens

With that being said Viking König like to take baths in the river with you naked joining him in the same river you both washing dirt off each other and it leads into something more

Viking König has started to like walking around his home naked or half naked and likes for you to join him

Viking König who loves seeing your face, moaning his name or placing your small hands on his lower stomach knowing he is way bigger than you and you look sexy as hell under him

Viking König who’s favorite position is missionary because he loves seeing your face while you are under him taking him so well

Viking König who carries you on his arm showing you off in a way, you are all giddy when he flexes and you are slightly raised up

Viking König who treats you like the Queen or Princess you are. You sit on his lap in the great dining hall with the entire clan. He let’s you eat from his plate that was more of a feast than anything

Viking König who eats you out on the big table with the clan members acting like nothing is happening

Viking König loves being home and sees his wife walking around the home nothing but bare skin

Viking König who loves you laying on the warm furs on your shared bed

“How could you look so beautiful?” You just shrug at his comment

Viking König who loves seeing you get off with nothing but your fingers, your warm bodies finally getting close to each other and he starts to help you out

Viking König who hates being interrupted while his time with you

“Someone better be dying!” König yells.

Viking König who is intimidating, buff, cold, ruthless, and cruel, the little time he has with you and it gets interrupted by someone he’s pissed

Viking König who sits on his throne as a traitor was amongst his clan

Viking König who lets the traitor take an axe to the face and head and then goes back to you

Viking König who starts wanting a child

Viking König who takes his time with the baby making till you were comfortable with the idea of having to carry a baby around in you for 9 months

Viking König who treats you like you were glass. His hands always holding you as you tried to move around the clan

Viking König who scares off all the man who thought you looked even more sexier when you were pregnant

“How dare they look at you?” König growls while looking down at you

“I’m okay, König,” you tell him, patting his arm.

Viking König who becomes a tad jealous of your baby always latched to you

Viking König who is seen as the best father

Viking König who takes your sons hunting for the first time. He shows your son how to shot a bow, it started out with fish and he made his way to start hunting turkey and deer next

Viking König who sees your daughters making things out of leaves and flowers. Flower crowns, and woven baskets, he like carrying them around for her as she collects her materials for more things to make

Viking König who sends his kids to bed early because he loves to have his time with you, making love to you and kissing every square inch of your body just hear your soft moans

Viking König who loves having date night in a stream of water naked with you, you two drinking and it became very heated in the water

Viking König who likes to play with his children, having a lot of kids and he spends all of his time with them the best her could

Viking König who gets caught in the middle of his daughters braiding his hair, putting flowers in his hair, curling his hair with pinecones and they pretended to give him more tattoos

Viking König who plays 'hide and seek' with his sons, showing them how to not get caught by the enemy and how to be sneaky when also hunting.

"I found you Leon," König says, pointing an arrow at his son hiding behind a tree.

"Dad~" he groans, coming out from behind the tree.

"I saw you Claus," he comes out from the tree, that Leon was behind.

"Felix, go wash up, your mother will hate seeing you covered in mud. If I can see you, your enemy will too," König says as he walked back to his home with his boys behind him.

Viking König who starts training himself to get ready for when he has to leave you and his children for a battle

Viking König who hates when he has to leave, he's leaving you to handle 5 kids on your own

Viking König who started a big feast before he has to leave

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #könig mw2 #könig smut #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig #konig x you

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sstormyskyess · 4 months

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Pitch Black - Prologue

author's note: hello hello everyone!! welcome to my first long form series on this blog! i'm excited to share this story i've been cooking up since summer last year and i hope everyone likes it as much as i've had fun brainstorming it 😊 this is gonna be a little short prologue to set the mood and give a little context for reader so things make sense later on! please enjoy 💜

cw: descriptions of injury, mentions of vomiting

word count: 1400+

Everyone and their mother knows that Russian winters were ruthless. It was a widely accepted fact, even for those who hadn’t personally experienced one of said agonizing winters. Snowfall was common for six months out of the year, and the temperatures could reach —44 degrees fahrenheit.

Cold air seeped in from under the door of the tiny room you were confined in. You shivered while you sat on the old, flimsy cot against the back wall of the solitary prison cell. Your vision was unfocused and blurry, though it was hard to tell because it was too dark to see anything. The walls were made of dark concrete and half-rotted wood slats. It smelled musty and stale, the air circulation in the room severely lacking.

You wince when the door suddenly opens, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block out the blinding LED lights beaming into the room out of nowhere. Your breath catches in your throat from the surprise, your chest stinging from the feeling. You peek an eye open when a metal food tray clatters to the floor. The sound was deafening as it cut through the murky silence you had been wallowing in, making you bring your hands up to cover your ears. The man that dropped the tray barks something at you in Russian before slamming the door shut once again.

Konni Group.

An up and coming Russian private military company, the target of your squad’s operation, and the people that had taken you prisoner.

The stated goal of your team was to clear out a known Konni base and to capture or kill the colonel they knew was posted up there. The POI had led a recent attack on a U.S. arms convoy and taken a number of highly lethal weaponry from the wreckage. The weapons were likely hidden somewhere in the base, and it was imperative to locate them before they were used anywhere.

The operation had gone less than optimally. It was doomed to fail from the start; the intel your squad was given was faulty, you had your cover blown by an ambush, and to cap it all off, the chaos allowed for Konni to get their hands on you and whisk you away.

The only thing you could think of was time. How long had it been since you’d been thrown in here? Days, weeks, months? You couldn’t tell. Just thinking about it made your head hurt.

The only measurement you had was how long it was between the miniscule amount of food you were granted by your captors on a seemingly random schedule. You were practically able to feel your body consuming itself, your stomach growling at you angrily. You would cry, but the waterworks had run dry ages ago. You couldn’t afford to lose any more water; you didn’t have that privilege anymore.

Years of active service in the U.S. Marines had gotten you used to grueling conditions, but nothing like this. Even out in the field, dispatched from whatever base you were stationed in, you knew you’d be able to secure some kind of sustenance. Food and water felt like a luxury now.

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the wear and tear on your body, both internal and external, the worst part was the lack of contact. You couldn’t even hear anyone moving outside, no matter how hard you strained your ears. There was no light peeking from under the door, so you couldn’t track shadows moving. The only indication that someone was behind the door was the meager rations being put into the cell. Between those meals, for all you knew, no one was present in the facility anymore.

Too much time had passed for anyone to still be looking for you or trying to rescue you. It hurt, at first. The feeling of being forgotten or being considered disposable had been crippling for a while, so painfully debilitating that it had you weeping endlessly for days, maybe even a week or more. The muscles of your stomach ached afterwards. Mixed with all the kicks and punches you suffered from interrogations, your heaving sobs had you nauseous and throwing up bile frequently.

You ruminated over what could possibly be the reason you were still being kept here instead of being executed. You weren't being interrogated anymore by now. You were just left with the wounds that you sustained from hours upon days upon weeks of interrogation. The bruises had healed, but the cuts were infected from the shoddy cauterizing job they had attempted. It felt like the bones that were broken were healing incorrectly.

You sigh shakily, your perpetually shivering body getting uncomfortable, so you try to shift a bit. The only thing you accomplished by trying to roll over on your tiny stone cold cot was falling face down onto the floor. You wince and give a weak groan, curling up and holding your stomach. You try your hardest to just close your eyes and get some sleep, no matter how restless it was.

When you woke up, you were finally back in the present. You were finally back in the little old house that you found after escaping that Konni facility, the sun just barely rising over the horizon.

It had been two years since you were abducted. The realization hit you hard. Two years you spent in that dark, cold, suffocating cell. Two years you spent withering away, slowly but surely. Two years you spent in your own special hell, alone, battered and beaten, left scarred for years and years to come.

You roll over and get out of the bed, a headache already springing forth in your head, making you rub your temples. You sigh and amble over to your rucksack full of all the essentials—well, most of them at least. You frown at the sight that greets you. Only a few MREs left and all of them were your least favorites. But, you’ve been through worse.

You pace around the room as you eat, reading some of the files you pulled off the rickety table in the corner of the tiny one room cabin. You scan the files and run a thumb over the insignia on the front of the manila folder containing everything you needed for your next job.

Al Qatala.

A terrorist organization based out of Urzikstan, the current boogeyman of the western world, and your current contractor.

The life of a freelance intel agent was an interesting one, to say the least. You had been around the world making problems for a countless number of political and military bodies, but the money was worth it. Not to mention the anonymity that came with not being tied down to any one organization.

You went off the grid after you escaped from Konni. You wanted to go back to normal life, but something in you told you to stay away from it all. Maybe it was the fear of being found and captured again. The logical side of your brain told you that there was no reason they would want you back, but it was hard to reason with a brain torn apart by the sort of trauma you went through.

You hadn’t cared to check up on any of your old teammates. There was an underlying resentment present in the back of your mind. You were betrayed by them, after all. They left you for dead and didn’t look back. Thinking back on it made you frown. You watched them leave you behind with no hesitation, run away without looking back. So much for no man left behind, right?

By the time you snap out of your frustrated thoughts, you’re already finished with your food. Your headache has gotten worse. You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. You would really have to invest in some painkillers.

Based on how high the sun has gotten, you figure it’s about time to get moving. At least focusing on this job would keep your mind off the events that led you here. You flip through a folder and look at the location that was printed on one of the papers. Then, you take a peek at the pictures of the people you were meant to track.

Task Force 141.

A multinational task force recently founded, a team dedicated to making the world a better place, and ones that had been causing problems for your current contractor.

You take a deep breath and pack all your things away, ready yourself for the trek to the task force’s current location, and leave the cabin with the determination that kicks in whenever you set out on a mission.

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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