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lundenloves · 8 months

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dad!simon masterlist | taglist | masterlist | request info

dad!simon who will near fall asleep on the sofa, sat upright with wide legs and his arms crossed, only opening one eye to pretend he’s listening while one of his daughters rambles about school drama.

dad!simon who scoffs when another monthly subscription or amazon payment goes through his card, brows knitted together after asking just why the house has to be subscribed to four separate streaming services.

dad!simon who never remembers his kids’ friends names. it could be his daughters best friend of seven years and he still wouldn’t remember.

dad!simon who visually could not care less about the gossip his daughter waffles about, mumbling “mhm” every so often to appear engaged though shrugging when called out on his evident boredom.

dad!simon who tsks at all the parcels that come through the door day-to-day. living with three daughters and a wife, it’s constant. he detests being the only one home and having to sign for something — will actively ignore a knock on the door when there’s other people in the house.

dad!simon who (when drunk) is the height of amusement for his eldest. many snapchats exist of him being handed the phone already recording and goofily grinning into it while looking up at her “what am i supposed to be looking at?”

dad!simon who sticks post-it notes in bold handwriting to the fridge whenever anyone has an appointment due the following day. “don’t forget.” complete with a fullstop and a harsh underline of the time in military digits.

dad!simon who replies sarcastically to almost every obvious question with his natural glare, something each of his kids had genetically taken: “don’t ask stupid questions and you won’t get stupid answers.” he loves them really.

dad!simon who silenced the family groupchat as soon as he had figured out how to, only replying every other day with a thumbs up reaction or more likely a thumbs down.

dad!simon who side eyes his kids. he doesn’t mean it, yet it happens. watching throw away tv? side eye. talking too loud on the phone? side eye. wearing a questionable outfit? side eye.

dad!simon who has a firm routine. he fucking detests being interrupted, and or spoken to from the hours of five till seven in the morning. he’ll get up, have food and go to the gym all in this time frame before anyone can dent his peace.

dad!simon who sighs avidly. a long and painful sigh after any merely simple question is asked or he’s to pick up one of his kids from a night out. “fucking well told ‘er not to expect me past twelve.” while accidentally slamming the door behind him, keys jingling around his finger.

dad!simon who struggles to show affection in any other way than a short pat of the shoulder or a one armed hug, pulling his kids into his chest for mere seconds before stepping back.

dad!simon who groans whenever anything gets moved in the house. his military mind in favour of keeping things in one position, untouched and moved for preferably ever unless he was told. though, having kids didn’t quite work like that.

dad!simon who: “do i ‘av to do fucking everything in this house? eh?”

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @dilfdotgov @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @maki-z @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffeee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob

˗ˏˋ university is still kicking my arse into next week. i joined the football team too, fuck knows why i’m making myself busier than i have to be. alas here we are, and i’m feeding the pigeons! aka sprinkling dad headcannons until i get traction again. pls love me, pls follow me, pls reblog, pls validate me.

the reason i tag this as ‘x reader’ as it’s ur fuckin family with him. no one bite my head off man i can’t be bothered tonight.

#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley headcanons #dad!simon #cod ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley headcanons

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turannoktonos · 1 year

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Aka...the aftermath :)

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yawnderu · 6 months

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so i was thinking what if reader bought a sexy bikini and it made her ass looks fantastic or what if she wears the tiktok pants/forbidden pants, simon would go feral

"You're staring." He still doesn't even look at your face. Yeah, you're absolutely stunning, but right now? His eyes are fully focused on your ass, looking at the way it jiggles whenever you walk. He gets up from the couch and you try to run away with a giggle, a high-pitched yelp leaving your lips when he lifts you in his arms with a teasing smile.

''You're giving me a child today.'' He says half-jokingly, throwing you in bed and climbing on top of you, hands tickling your ribs just to hear more of that sweet, lovely laughter. You try to kick and thrash underneath him, yet he keeps going until you can't breathe, tears rimming your eyes while you laugh and push him away. He chuckles softly, laying down beside you and holding you— just to reach for a handful of your ass, kneading the fat with his fingers while he plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

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greatstormcat · 5 months

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Send Me Feral

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x f!reader

TW: MDNI 18+, A/B/O dynamic, Alpha!Gaz, Omega!reader, dry humping, kinda but kinda not dub/con

AN: based on an amazing anon request

The problem was you’d developed an allergy to the suppressants the Doctor had put you on, and it would be a while before you could switch to different ones. Something about it being dangerous to let the two different types mix in your system, or some other medical bullshit, you just had to ride it out for a few months. Not great when you worked and lived with Alpha’s on a hair trigger all day, every day.

You’d taken to bundling up as it was thankfully winter, and the wet and cold weather made wrapping your neck in a shemagh scarf quite normal. You’d always bitched about the cold so no one thought twice about it, and plenty of others wore them too.

The only issue was as your heat drew near and your body temperature started to go haywire. Sweating in your sleep wasn’t too much of an issue, you volunteer for every laundry duty so no one else smelled your sheets, but you got to smell everyone else’s.

You even started getting up early to do your gym work outs alone so you could shower and dress before the rest. You only needed to make it for a few weeks, then you’d be back in the pills. It would be fine, just another stealth op really. It. Would. Be. Fine.

If it wasn’t for Gaz.

Ever since you’d joined the 141 you and Gaz had been nearly inseparable, always in eachothers pockets people would say. The two of you just clicked on another level few people did. He was securely under the impression you were a Beta, which was fine as he was an Alpha. Oh, so much an Alpha. He was strong, fast, smart, never overstepped boundaries and protected those around him without a second thought. He was perfect, and you knew full well he was interested in you, but you couldn’t risk him finding out your secret lest you risk your career.

So often he’d find an excuse to touch you, getting his scent on you in the most subtle ways, but you knew what he was doing and did little to stop him. Some nights you lay worrying if you were leading him on, stopping him from finding the mate he deserved, and when you tried to discourage him he just doubled down on his efforts.

With just a few more weeks to go until you can start the new suppressants you sit in the base’s gym early in the morning, one of the rare moments you can be alone and not bundled up in layers of clothing. You’ve worked up a sweat and take on some water resting on the weight bench when the door noisily opens. Scrambling under the seat you grab the hoodie you had brought with you and pull it over your head, stuffing the hood as tight to your neck as possible with a small sweat towel. When you look up Gaz is standing in front of you, brows furrowed in confusion, and your heart stutters.

“What are you doing up so early?” you ask in as off-handed a tone as possible. His eyes narrow as he looks at you.

“Couldn’t sleep, what about you?” he asks with deep suspicion, head tilting slightly. “Has someone else been in here with you?” He sniffs the air, looking around for another person.

Shit shit shit… he can smell it… he knows your scent too well, and he can smell in the air, on the equipment, somethings different.

“Uh yeah… there was….” as you begin to speak he leans forward, sniffing the air around you. His eyes snap wide open.

“Wait, that’s you? How…” he voice cut off with a strangled growl, deep in his thick chest, and his fingers twitch. “Why do you smell of… of…”

“Gaz, I can explain,” you say quietly, holding your palms up in front of you as you try to back away. Your shoulder blades press into the padded bench behind you, giving you nowhere to go as he stalks forwards.

“Omega,” he whispers, his voice deep and deadly, huffing in deep breaths of your intoxicating scent. You lower your hands, almost fearful of touching him as he treads a fine line between self control and feral nature. He shakes his head slowly and his eyes take on a hunger you’ve seen hinted at before, but never truly unleashed.

With terrible precision, muscles trembling with the control he is exerting over himself, Gaz straddles his thighs over you on the bench being careful not to touch his body to yours, caging you under him with his arms braced on the corners of the bench beside your head.

“Stay still,” he grits between his teeth, and you stop moving instantly, needing no persuasion to comply. With a simple jerk of his fingers he wrenches the towel away from your neck, exposing your skin and your secret in one movement.

He lowers his face to you, breath hot and moist against your skin, until you feel his mouth and nose press over your scent gland. Your gasp and shudder at the contact, earning a strangled groan for the barely controlled Alpha above you. You can feel it, he is so close to going feral, and it’s just the two of you here… Guiltily you acknowledge to yourself how you aren’t frightened, if anything, you want him to lose control.

He presses his nose into your scent gland, his body almost vibrating with tension.

“Gaz, I can explain,” you say softly.

“Shut up,” he growls, your brain shutting your mouth with a snap for you. “You can’t be an omega… shit…”

The heat from his body bleeds through the air, filtering through the hoodie to your skin so easily. You know you could reach up and touch him, that his control would snap instantly and what would happen would happen.

“I… I want you…” he whispers, and your blood turns to liquid heat. You know he smells your response when his body shudders. “But if you let me inside you, I won’t stop until you’re mine.”

His voice is tight, almost laced with pain. Without thinking you brush your hand against his hip to comfort him and the contact breaks his control.

Gaz drops down onto you with a growl, his lips latching onto your neck. Your thighs are trapped between his and the sides of the workout bench, letting him grind his hips against you, rutting his erection right over your clit through the perilously thin layers of gym shorts. Your slick quickly soaks through the layers, and spurs on his frantic movements. His arms wrap tightly around your head, securing you he licks and sucks at the tender skin of your neck. You feel the barest touch of his teeth, sharp incisors dragged over your neck and again, but never biting down.

Helplessly you grip his sides, fingers digging into his flesh, trying to move your hips in sync with his desperate pace, chasing the threatening high of your orgasm. Your mind can’t help but image how this would feel if he was fucking you properly, guiding you through a heat, and your empty pussy pulses and grips, aching around nothingness.

He grinds his length back and forth, roughly sawing friction over your clit with every movement and sending you higher and higher. The bench creaks and slips on the tiles below you with the force he is exerting, still managing to keep his base instincts in check enough not to strip you and bury himself into you.

“Gaz…” you whined needily, unable to tip over the precipice yourself, and he answers by sucking hard on your scent gland, filling his mouth with your unmasked scent. Your orgasm hits hard, bowing your back up off the bench even with his weight atop of you. With a guttural moan against your neck, almost a stifled roar, Gaz comes in his shorts. You feel every throb and twitch of his shaft as he spills himself, leaving him panting, kissing at your neck until you both recover.

“You owe me an explanation,” he murmurs. “And… I owe you dinner.”

Next part

Taglist lovelies:

@ttsbaby01 @0alk0msan

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rileyslibrary · 8 months

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(Can i just say i love ur work, i too read them like bedtime stories, u perform a great service to humanity my good comrade)

Also, could i request perhaps Reader needing to go undercover for a mission and getting a bit too close for comfort with some baddies and thus making Ghost worry? He’s certainly not jealous by any means tho, of course not! Nope. Not jealous at all. Not even a smidge.

He is tho. He’s jealous. In his own Ghost way.

Thank you for your kind words, nonny and sorry for being so late!

Reader is an undercover tourist in Paris for this one. No warnings, other than a pretty sulky Ghost. More A/N at the end.)

———————————————————————

He hasn’t uttered a word since you returned to your temporary base. No “good job,” no “well done,” no “thank you for risking your life for the team.” Nothing. He didn’t even stick around for the debriefing. Instead, he stashed his gear in his locker and headed straight to the kitchen.

Usually, after a high-stress operation, Ghost would go to the kitchen to make some tea. Yet, the way he went about his business today seemed more like he was about to sharpen his knives than brew himself a ‘cuppa’.

There is a reason he’s upset, though, and you know it. While you are always prepared to risk your life for the team, your latest actions were pretty... out of character, so to speak, and Ghost took notice of that.

You stare at the closed kitchen door, wondering what’s unfolding behind it, how he feels, and whether he can communicate it without lashing out.

“Maybe it’s best to give him some space,” Price advises, narrowing his eyes. “You did a pretty risky thing back there; no reason to push your luck.”

“A whole kitchen’s worth of space, Captain?” you retort. “I’ll evacuate if things take a turn for the worse.”

“Call for backup if you can’t handle it,” he winks at you. “And don’t tell him I did that,” he says, pointing at his closed eye.

You smile at him, and push open the kitchen door. Ghost sits at the table, his back turned towards you, hunched over a cup of tea. He has his balaclava draped over his right thigh and his gloves on the table.

“Your hair is a mess.” You tease.

You reach to fix the stray hairs hanging over his forehead, but he pulls away from your touch. You lower your hand and go for the kettle instead. This will be much more difficult, you think to yourself.

“Coffee?” You offer. Although you know he’d refuse, you feel it’s a good way to break the ice.

Yet he doesn’t reply. Instead, he reclines on his chair and stirs the tea with a metal spoon. With your back turned to him, you pour the preheated water into your cup, add coffee granules, and cool it down with a gentle blow. The clinking of the metal spoon against the ceramic mug continues until it suddenly stops.

“Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He mocks, with a fake—and quite terrible—French accent, mimicking the enemy guard who “rescued” you when you dramatically pretended to twist your ankle in front of him.

A chuckle escapes you, and you turn to face him, leaning against the kitchen counter. He keeps his gaze fixed on his cup.

“I had to buy some time for Soap and Gaz, Lieutenant,” you explain. “They were inside that safehouse, gathering-”

“Intel,” he interjects. “I was there too; no need to rehash it.”

“The guards were dangerously close, sir,” you press on. “There was no time.”

He shakes his head. “No time doesn’t mean dropping to your hands and knees like a coquette, bawling your eyes out, waiting for a French knight in shining armour to come and save you now, does it?” he spats.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Coquette’? You? He knows damn well the fall was staged, the tears were fabricated, the vulnerability was an act. The fall did hurt; otherwise, it wouldn’t have been believable. But shedding tears over twisting your ankle? No way. You’ve endured bullet wounds in the past, for heaven’s sake, and barely flinched. Ghost knows that. Yet, he looks more…

“Jealous, Lt.?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.” He murmurs, scratching his forehead.

“Say what you want,” You shrug. “But you must admit: it was a pretty convincing fall.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Nothing says more ‘convincing’ like kissing the cobblestones of Paris.”

“Alright,” you say, leaving your cup on the kitchen counter. You cross your arms in front of your chest and nod upwards. “What would you have done, then?”

“Shoot him,” he responds, his black-painted eyes shifting from the cup to you. “That’s why I was up on the rooftop, remember?”

“What’s the point of going undercover if you’d eliminate the threat like that?” You persist. “And in a public place like that? Come on, Lt.!”

He pushes his cup to the side, places his hands on the kitchen table and stands up.

“Have you ever thought of what would have happened if your cover was blown?” He asks, raising his voice. “How was I supposed to protect you if you were right in front of my bloody target?”

You keep staring at him, his last words replaying in your mind.

How was I supposed to protect you…

You look at your mug on the counter; the steam from the coffee is almost gone. It must have been transferred onto him instead, you think to yourself. Might as well let him blow it off. Let him vent.

“I know how to protect myself, Ghost.”

He sits back on his chair and brings his tea closer, shaking his head.

“You should’ve waited for the signal.” He says. “We’ve got a plan for a reason.”

“I understand, s-”

“Falling in front of the enemy, letting him scoop you up like a fucking princess in agony, removing your shoe, fetching you ice from the coffee shop wasn’t part of the plan.”

A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it. You turn your back to him and pretend to clean the counter. There’s no reason to anger him more.

“Sir,” you begin. “What is the problem here: me not following orders or letting the guard run to my aid?”

“I don’t care about that French prick touching your ankle.” He murmurs.

Well, seems that ‘French prick’ touching you bothered him as much as you not following the plan. You stop fake-wiping the counter, grab your mug and turn towards him.

“I apologise, sir,” you say. “It won’t happen again. But you could have voiced your concerns in a less... abrasive way.”

“Wasn’t the pavement abrasive enough?” He snaps. “What’s next? Are you going to cry over it?”

You click your tongue and approach the table, extending your hand for a handshake.

“Alright, enough,” you say. “Let’s make a truce and end this right now.”

He remains still, looking at you. He finally reaches for your hand, but instead of shaking it, he twists it so your palm faces down. With a smirk, he stands up, brings it to his mouth, and kisses it.

“Isn’t that how that fucker would have done it?” he asks, still smiling.

You roll your eyes. At least his anger has died down and you’re left with his—typical—snarky self. You pull a chair across from him.

“Mind if I sit?” You ask.

“Normally, I’d tell you to ‘hit the bricks’,” He murmurs, motioning for you to take your place. “But you’ve already done that.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I keep confusing “ankle” with “uncle”. You twist your ankle, not your uncle ffs.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #call of duty #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw ghost #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic

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midnightarcheress · 1 month

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i know i just said that i was on a break, but casino!141 was giving me an itch, so here we are. phone writing, bear with me.

cw: nsfw. slightest dub-con at first? poly!141 is arising. cockwarming. simon talks you through it. f!reader. 3 | more casino!141

your footsteps echoes in the hallway, soundwaves ricocheting on the walls of the far too quiet casino. it's strange being there during the day, accompanied only by the more avid gamblers who need their fix, even when most lights are off.

"come in." John's voice travels from inside the office after your brisk knock and you open the door, quickly stepping in the room and opening your mouth to speak, but your jaw closes shut when you realize you're not alone with him.

he's sitting behind a desk overflowing with papers, cigar long forgotten on the ashtray, but your attention is diverted to the masked individual standing beside it, hazel eyes boring into your skull with an unerving stare. "hello, Ace."

his voice can't be described as tranquilizing, but the tone is a stark contrast from the glare. it's almost tender, alluring, and for a split second you forget what you were going to say. "uhm, Kyle said you wanted to see me?" your head turns back to John, offering him a timid smile.

"yes, that's correct." he leans back on the chair, rolling his tense shoulders and tilting his head in your direction, "Simon and i are working through some documents, you know, bookkeeping, management, the boring stuff behind the slot machines," you nod, attentively listening but not truly following, "and i'm needing some of your assistance."

"i'm sorry? assistance?" your brows knit together, confused by his words. he chuckles, index finger raised in the air motioning for you to come closer, and you swear you hear Simon snorting at the interaction.

you walk to the table and stand on his side, eyes darting between the pile of files and the malicious glint in his blue irises. his hand meets your waist and your sight drops from his face, down to his torso, down to his... bulge. "you see, Ace, you're always so good in helping me concentrate during the games, we might as well try something new, yeah?"

his fingers graze your hips, tracing down your sides and reaching behind your thighs, causing a shiver on your spine. "John, i–" a soft 'shh' comes out of his lips, and he starts unbuckling his belt, raising himself just enough so that his trousers can come to his knees.

heat spreads up your chest, your neck, your cheeks, and your vision swerves to the ceiling, mind racing with embarrassment and bewilderment. from the corner of your eye you peek into Simon's direction, and to your surprise, he's completely unfazed.

Price drags you closer, hiking up your shirt just enough to expose your belly, pressing long kisses on the flesh while his hands knead your ass. you shouldn’t give in so easy, you have a better judgement than that, but his touch is so enticing, soft, easily mistaken by loving, that you find it hard to define what's right and wrong – or to define if you really want this.

when he pops open the button of your pants, you know you're done for. even if your brain settled for a 'no', he wouldn't care, considering the amount of pre-cum leaking from his throbbing cock. the damp spot between your legs wouldn't care either.

he pulls your bottoms down slowly, trailing pecks from your navel to your mound. you're nervous, dangerously close to a cardiac arrest when he flips you around hastily, slap on your ass cheek making your body jolt forward.

a firm hand guide your hips to his crotch, while the other positions his cock on your entrance, teasingly stroking the folds to gather your slick. "deep breath for me." he's gentle, pressing kisses on your back while you sink into his length, the pain of the sudden stretch being easily overpowered by the wave of pleasure washing over you. "that's it, love." he groans, squeezing your waist when you finally hit the base, "now just sit pretty while i work, hm?"

you nod, pathetically so, biting your bottom lip to swallow back your moans. you imagined it would be big, and maybe you just needed to be prepared, but fuck, you were filled. John started ruffling through the papers again, meticulously skimming the words like his tip wasn't brushing your cervix whenever you dared to adjust yourself.

"you have to stop squirming, Ace."

your head snaps up to the side the sound came from, and you face Simon's piercing glare. he still holds one of the documents, but his focus is solely on you, an underlying primal desire hidden behind his gaze that makes your stomach flutter.

he chuckles, leaning in front of you, arms almost close enough to cage you over the table. "does it feel that good? having Price's cock stuffing your sweet cunt?" he patronizes, tapping your cheek to get your attention back on his eyes, "i bet it does."

if you had the energy, you'd curse him out, but you're lost in how good you're feeling, even with minimal friction. you look up to him, pitifully doe-eyed as a moan escapes your lips, "go on, pretty girl, feel it. it's pulsing, isn't it? each vein hitting the perfect spots." you grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white from the strength, desperately trying to ignore the smallest twitches of his shaft inside of you, "you want him to move, right?"

you hum, writhing on his lap to convince John into forgeting whatever business he has to do at the moment and just fuck you already. "you'll have to wait, Ace." you whine, looking over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. his gaze doesn't shift, but you note the slight blush creeping up his collar and you smirk, content that he seems to be suffering too, even if it's barely.

"if you're lucky, he might reward you later. throw all of that shite on the floor and bend you over the table." your walls immediately clench at the idea, coaxing a grunt out of Price. "and you are a lucky girl, aren't you?" a breathy 'yes' comes out of your mouth, and Simon's thumb brushes your lower lip, smearing the tiny drop of spit on the corner over your pout.

your thighs tremble, clit aching and begging for some stimuli, toes curling at the mere thought of being fully claimed by John. "be patient." he deigns, and you don't miss the smirk marking the black fabric of his covering. bastard. his hungry expression only makes you wetter, needier, disoriented by lust, and you absentmindedly nod, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves and wait. painfully wait.

but the action ultimately falters the second Simon's low whisper reach your ears, striking you like electricity, "good girl."

ideas for this are always welcomed mwah

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mockerycrow · 11 months

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i’m not the original annon that requested 2 & 3 with simon, but now that you put that thought in my head… can we get it with the roles reversed? 👀

SMUT PROMPTS: Ghost Drabble; “Putting A Hand Over HIS Mouth To Be Quiet” + “Overstimulating HIM Until He’s Begging” (Fem!Reader) - NSFW UNDER THE CUT

“Ohh, fuck!- Sweetheart, p.. please—“ He gasps as you roll your hips, taking Ghost’s spent cock into your pussy once more. He weakly pushes at your hips, exclaiming, “I-I already came twice, love—fuck, please—“ You huff and you grab his jaw in such a way where your hand is covering his mouth, causing him to go wide eyed and look at you. You bite back a moan as you ride home and you say quietly with a threatening tone, “You’re being so damn loud, we’ll get caught. You can take it, big boy.”

You watch his eyes roll back into his head and feel his hips jump—either away or towards your hungry pussy, he doesn’t know, it hurts and feels so good at the same time. You laugh at his efforts, your voice breathy as you use him as a dildo, getting his dick as deep as you can manage so you can have him hit the right spots over and over. Although Ghost seemed apprehensive about this, you two had talked about it before—you can use each other to your hearts content if you need to. You can feel the way his two previous loads are dripping down his cock, all the while you fuck it back into yourself by dropping down on his dick.

You see Ghost’s eyes well up with tears as his hips begin to earnestly jump up against yours, like he’s chasing his own high again. He groans against your hand as he grabs your hips and fucks you back down onto his cock, and you giggle—which melts into a moan. “So desperate, so noisy…” Your eyebrows furrow a bit as you feel the rubber band in your stomach begin to tighten, and you have to cover his mouth and put a hand on his body to balance yourself, so you grab one of Ghost’s hands and guide it to your clit, which sets him off and he moans, eye shutting as he cums hard.

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blingblong55 · 6 months

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His pretty girl -Vladimir Makarov

Based on a request:

I looved ur makarov fic n im here to request smth else w him, there's barely anything w him its sad How would makarov treat his dear wife when she's sick? I'm kinda sick rn so.. : 3 ---- F!Reader, wife!reader, husband!Makarov, nothing but fluff ----

A/N: short but good…I hope…

Vladimir was gone for some weeks. He couldn't come in contact with you so when you didn't show up to greet him he was worried. The drive home was usually calm but this time, he rushed it. Avoided all cars and soon, ran inside. The image he saw before his eyes, oh did it melt him. You were curled on the couch. The blanket slowly falls off your body. Used tissues all over the coffee table and floor. The tea was cold and your soft breathing gave him even more reason to clean the area as quietly as possible. Your shared bedroom was cleaned, all dishes washed and then he carried you to bed. The medication you took to sleep was so strong you didn't know he even carried you to bed. That entire night, he checked your temperature, kissed your forehead and held you against his chest.

When you got sick, the first time, he panicked, called a doctor and yelled at him when he said that all you needed to do was drink tea and take it easy. Now, knowing his pretty little wife too well, he knows all he needs to do. 8 am, have breakfast ready, with tea on the side and orange juice just in case you want that one more and it must be room temperature, not cold. He must put on some video as you eat because you like to catch up on some show as you eat. You like wearing his shirts more because you swear it makes you feel better, which is bullshit because he knows you like to just have a reason to wear his clothes.

He must wash all dishes, not complain about being tired because how dare he. Makarov knows this well mainly because it worked the first 4 times and this time it is the same. After breakfast, washing dishes, he has to take you on a walk, the air, the way you smile, oh he knows the fresh air helps that stuff nose and he also gets even more private time with you.

Lunch for a day or two is chicken soup, his grandmothers since he knows you loved it any time you were sick. Kisses on your forehead all day is a must, you know that. If you groan and push him away, he gives you a little frown and moves closer. "You know kisses are a part of the remedy, my pretty girl." He grins when you give him your lazy smile. Your face is hot from both the fever and from his lips. Once he and you eat lunch, he cleans the home and don't you dare walk to the bedroom, he has made it clear he needs to clean and sanitise the bed.

If he has a meeting, he doesn't go to it, it's over the phone as he is in bed and has you cuddled to him. You can't argue against it. Your husband must give cuddles while on the phone. It's a rule at this point.

At night, he makes dinner, makes sure it all tastes wonderful and then feeds it to you since wrapping you in a burrito can't let your hands move. It's a funny but cute image. You, sat on the couch, blanket wrapped around you which makes you look like a cute little bug as your husband feeds you dinner. Oh, the frowns and pouts you give to his giggle and laughter won't help, he just adores you this way.

After dinner, more cuddles and kisses come by. He calls it 'kiss the sick away.' When you lean on him he knows this is to sleep but he can't allow over 3 naps per day when you're sick. So, he carries you to the bathroom. Gives you your medicine, and takes the blankets, clothes and anything in between off you. The bath was set to a very comfortable temperature.

He undresses too and once he has both of you in the bath, he kisses your shoulders. Your warm back on his chest as he cleans your body with so much gentleness it has you leaning on him and smiling. "That's what you needed huh, pretty girl," he kisses your wet shoulder again and wraps his arms around you. You kiss his bicep and he chuckles. "Don't start, my love," he whispers. The lights dimmed, him and you…this is the perfect way to get better. He hums a song, the same one he married you to and the same one he hums when he is far from home.

"I love you, pretty girl," he whispers and kisses the nape of your neck. "I love you more," you whisper back. "We both know who wins this, so do you want to start this game?" He kisses your neck again and chuckles. In moments like this, in which the world is kind and calm, he appreciates life like any normal person would. "You always win, i want to win this time." You pout and know damn well he can't say no to his pretty wife. "Fine, you win this time but we both know I have a long winning streak in this game." He grabs your hand and kisses it. In his head, he already won. And in this life, he truly did.

A/N: Makarov and Ghost are the kind of man to give me a Hozier song kind of vibe and that is what feeds my fluff brain

Tags:

@makarovsbbg @sans-chara @selarus @liyanahelena @hilmiponken @personwhosucksassatmath @undercover-smutlover @ontopofyourceiling @kielsegur @johfamm0 @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rivivienner @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @strangepuppynightmare

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midnightfms · 3 months

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may i ask your mwfs?

of course, anon! my personal picks are itzy's yeji + ryujin, bp's lisa, bae suzy, purple kiss' dosie, red velvet's seulgi + irene, moon sujin, (g)-idle's minnie + yuqi, kim sejeong, kiss of life's julie + natty, kim chungha, everglow's mia & e:u, kep1er's mashiro + xiaoting, kim yoojung and twice's sana, jihyo + jeongyeon! members, feel free to add your faves to the mix!

#midnightmw #mw: f

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simonzmama · 1 month

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sugardaddy simon??

simon spoiled you in all aspects of the word. bags, jewelz, shoes, clothes, everything. needed help with this? he’s gotchu mama, dw bout it.

such as now… maybe? his tongue curls against yours, the soft, pink muscle gliding across yours. his fingers slip under the lifting material of your pretty skirt, one he’d bought, one he put on you. he can hear the thuds of your heels slipping off your feet n onto the floor of the car, your thighs climbing to gain more leverage round him instantly.

“ya’ like it, hm?” he breathes into your mouth, referring back to the skirt. his free hand tangles into your hair, nails curling against your scalp as he pulls your head back, watching your neck strain and arch as you stare back at him lowly. the diamonds of your pretty necklace glint under the sun streamin’ into the car, n simon can just barely make out the SR engraved into the heavy sparkling crystal sittin just above the valley of your breasts.

“f-fuckin’ love it, baby,” you cry, your own hands fisting his shirt up. your hips drop, jaw falling open as your pretty cunt swallows him up.

your thighs smush fatty against his, the space in the car seemin’ to grow smaller n smaller by the fuckin’ second as sweat lines your forehead. your hands settle against the seat for balance, hips workin’ up a quicker pace, so desperate to milk this man fuckin dry, so desperate to get that sweet release you’d basically thrown a fit for.

you watch the lines in his aging skin crinkle, brows furrowing every so slightly and his lips all parted. simon can’t lie, havin a pretty young girl ‘round him made his lose his mind, n the fact you were always so desperate to please him made him fuckin’ highhh, euphoric to have to something so precious, so desperate.

“yeah, me fucking too,” he puffs, his fingers gliding up the soft length of your thigh before he’s flipping the front of that lil skirt up. his eyes fixate ‘emselves on the way his cock disappears deep within you. he can feel it too, that’s for damn sure.

his eyes goes rolling back, abs clenching under the lining of plush fat that sits atop ‘em. n with the way his belly’s starting to pull into taut knots, he’s starting to feel that thrill fill his veins again, surprised he’s even lasted this long.

“watch for the damn horn,” he scoffs, throat rolling in on itself as his eyes fog over in a thin trail of tears. “gonna have people linin’ up for they own turn.”

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lundenloves · 11 months

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DAD SIMON AND THE 141 VISITING TO CHECK THE KID OUT FOR THE FIRST TIME PLAPSSLSLSPSLSLSK AND HE GETS SO JEALOUS WHEN OTHERS HOLD HIS SWEET BABY PATOOTIE PRINCesss

↳ no warnings | f!reader | 1.6k

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Anon, I may have strayed from your original thoughts a little. I hold my hands up. At this point, he has been back and had time with her already this is just 141 meeting her. And it's very? Thought-provoking? Possibly not how you imagined? Alas, voila.

Having a newborn allowed for zero quiet. Nothing of the sort was even imagined, sleep was out the window and tiredness was the new trend. It became tougher when Simon had to go back to work, leaving you behind with a long apology and his credit card. What was the card for? You weren’t sure, but made sure it was used like fuck. £17.32 on McDonald’s delivery didn’t seem as painful with his money.

And that’s exactly what you were doing, happily. Baby sleeping on your almost bare chest with a haul of food around you in bed. It was only seven but you had no reason to be up and about, and the reality tv wasn’t going to catch up on itself.

In fact, you were about to reach the episode climax of Love Island. Someone had been mugged off and the producers were keen on making a drama of it, issuing a re-coupling. But. Right before you could skip the credits and fast-track to the next episode, the bedroom door swung open and you screamed. Waking your daughter who naturally began to cry.

"Fucking hell." You frowned at Simon who had quickly shut the door behind him upon seeing you. He wasn't due back till tomorrow. "Scared me.” The scold in your voice was one he ignored, picking up a milk-stained shirt from the floor.

“Put something on, christ.” His voice gruff as he shrugged his jacket off and reached for another t-shirt after wearily tossing the other back to the floor, holding it out. “What, Me?” Black-painted eyes narrowed at you upon holding his child out to him, asking for a trade.

“No. The other person in the room.” You deadpanned, widening your eyes in silent effort for him to take her. “Yes, you.” He did as told, looking down at his daughter blankly. “What’s the rush anyway.”

Although, your question was answered by a loud echo of laughs from downstairs. “All of them?” In reference to the only three men it could be.

“I didn’t agree.” He met your eyes, holding the baby back out to you for the brief second you passed him. Sauntering out to the hallway before he had called your name stiffly, eyes pleading relief of the absolute fucking threat that was his baby. “Take her.”

“You’re fine.” You waved a hand, walking downstairs with him reluctantly following.

It was a shame really, you couldn’t help but snort at the way he held her so high up his chest. “Don’t let Johnny hog her.” Was the only instruction you gave, wandering through to the kitchen where his unit were stood.

“Alright?” The Scot rubbed your shoulder in greeting, “Solid birth n’ all that?” His brows furrowed in genuine care although the question was worded oddly.

“Solid. Johnny.”

He tsked, clutching a hand to his opposite bicep. “Tends to be like that, ae.”

“Speaking from experience?”

He laughed although his eyes fell from yours to over your shoulder. Price held his hand on your back in acknowledgment, his eyes softening with a nod your way. “Christ.” He muttered at the sight in Simon’s arms, taking his hand back and removing his hat. “Congratulations.”

Gaz wrapped an arm around you, leaning his head atop of yours on his shoulder. “It’s mad.” He said more to himself than anyone else, catching eyes with Soap who for once was lost on what to say.

Simon’s eyes were stuck on the baby in his arms, refusing to look up and see the group reaction. Her small hand reached upward, and his finger met her halfway, face unchanged as she wrapped her hand around it. No one said or did anything, only Price who took a step forward to pat the lieutenant's shoulder. The moment was tender, and understood by everyone as such a thing even by Johnny who crossed his arms over his chest and contrastingly pout his bottom lip out to you. “You wanna hold her?” You spoke to him, crossing the space to Simon who had finally looked up.

“Go on, then.” He pushed his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the kitchen chair. Simon’s eyes met Soap’s, a look of trust, threat and relief spread across his face when you had prompted him to hand her over. “Just a wee thing, ae?” He comfortably took her from Ghost, gently bouncing her and smiling when she had cooed.

“Tiny.” Gaz added, looking to Simon who shifted in his spot - looking around the room, finding comfort in anything other than the tiny being. He was still so unsure of himself. Arms crossed together over his chest in anxious replacement of the tac vest he would usually slot his thumbs into. “Fresh to the world.”

“Five weeks old.” You looked at Gaz. “Brand. New.”

He shook his head at the idea of a baby, looking to Price who was subtly enough fixated on his lieutenant. “How’re you doing, Simon?” He asked firmly, in a tone Simon wouldn’t ignore or sigh at, one he recognised as important. A tone of order.

“Fine.” He kept it brief, locking eyes with Price who nodded slowly.

It was hard to read Simon. Period. Even after years being with him, you still couldn’t predict the way he was feeling or what he was going to say about a situation. He distanced himself from his daughter the first few days, intentionally waiting until you woke to sort her out instead of facing himself and his past in the form of the harmless baby.

His allowed paternity leave wasn’t granted extension of more than a week, therefore he left you. And admittedly, although he wouldn’t ever say it, he was glad to get some time away. It had only been a week and he was already itching to be alone, no words you spoke could comfort him. Only the mindless living of a deployment. His desired remedy.

Ghost was dead silent that whole mission. The unit knew why, although they were tightly instructed by Price to keep their mouths shut. Not to even ask about the kid. So they didn’t, not until today, when it was brought up by the man himself. “Ask about the kid, then.” He said gruffly, unlacing his boots and stomping his feet wide of each other, eyes darting between the three men opposite him.

“She alright, yeah?” Soap asked, receiving a dull nod.

“We’d love to meet her sometime.” Price continued cautiously, looking to Simon who then nodded, eyes dropping to his boots. There was a moment of silence before he had spoken up in answer to Price, elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together and rubbing against his mouth. “You don’t live too far from base do you?”

“An hour.” He cleared his throat, “I live an hour away.”

“We could stop by,” Price was the one to suggest it, dipping to reach a bag behind Soap’s drawer. “This is, from, us.” He rubbed the back of his neck, holding the small gift bag out to Ghost who only looked up at it.

“I’m going home tonight.” He said matter of factly. “Just.” A sigh. “Tail me and hand it in to her, she’ll appreciate it better than I will.” Soap smirked at Simon’s falsified reluctance, a hidden invite into his lieutenant's domestic life was on the table and of course he jumped at it.

And you? You knew Simon had given a skeleton of an invite. It was obvious.

So now, as your daughter had been passed to Price from Gaz, it felt oddly comforting to you. For Simon, you couldn’t tell as much from the way he was constantly sighing and moving in his spot - obviously discomforted by the idea of his unit being in such an intimate space of his but it was blown over by the end of the short visit. “She’s going to be tall.” Price tilted his head at the baby, thumb swiping across her small arm.

“Oh aye.” Johnny nodded, nudging Simon who stared down at her. “Think she’ll have your eyes?” His efforts granted a shrug from the man next to him.

“The colour keeps changing, but,” You caressed her head in Price’s arms, “They are his shape.” The tone of your voice warming Simon enough for the thought of a smile, the side of his lip curling just enough.

Gaz nodded to a bag Soap had left on the counter, “There’s some stuff. We didn’t get much time.” He reached for it, holding it out to you. The purpose of the trip.

“And there’s a card with some money.” Johnny added, “See yous’ round the New Year for the wee yin.” The bag had generic baby gifts inside, although it swelled your heart to think of three large military men shopping around for each thing inside

And the card was a treasure in itself, one you would certainly keep, handing it to Simon so you could hug Gaz and Soap, receiving a kiss to your cheek from Price after taking the baby back. “Maybe see you lot closer to Christmas?” You asked, bouncing your daughter when she had begun to stir.

“Course.” Price nodded to Simon, following the other two out the door. You heard them talking about the baby from the threshold, watching as they piled into their respective cars and pulled off with waves and a single salute from Soap. Because, Soap.

Simon sighed once the door was shut, looking down at you. There was something between warmth and sympathy in his eyes, wrapping an arm around the back of your neck and kissing your temple. “You putting this up?” He mumbled, holding out the card before pressing his thumb and pointer finger together against his daughter’s tiny feet in sudden affection.

“On the mantel for now, probably.” You rubbed his arm, following him through to the living room.

There was new lightheartedness around him after they had left. Like having his unit meeting his daughter was somehow a weight that had finally been shrugged off after the fact. Even prodding a few more kisses than you would usually receive from him. His brain worked in mysterious ways, although you were not complaining.

Not now anyway.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @freakonfilm @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @abbugadu @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 #dad!simon

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clementine-thedestroyer · 5 months

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Sometimes, I wish I was as important as your email inbox - John Price x reader

Warnings/tags: Hurt comfort, could be considered angst. Miscommunication(?) established relationship, fem!reader. This was supposed to be pwp... then it turned in to this unholy abomination of hurt comfort because I have daddy issues and can’t fucking do this.

In which, Price has been a bit extra busy with work, and reader feels a bit… alone.

You open the door and step out of the bathroom, tugging your towel tighter around yourself as the steamy warmth from your shower mixes with the relatively cold air of the bedroom.

Price is sitting on your bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out and phone in hand as he scrolls through the device- likely for something work related. When he sees you step out of the bathroom, his eyes flit towards you and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

You hadn’t expected him to be home yet. For the past week, he’d been leaving early and getting back late. Usually, he left early enough that it was still dark outside, and that the only goodbye you’d get was a gentle nudge to wake you up and a kiss on the forehead- followed by a goodbye and a reassurance he’d be back before you knew it. You knew he had to go, it was some week-long training he was helping to administer- but that didn’t help to soothe the loneliness that came with an empty house and waking up to a cold spot where your husband usually lay.

Most of the time, it was dark again by the time he got back. And he was too exhausted to do much more than shower, collapse into bed next to you, and mumble a few “love you’s” before tugging you against his chest and using you as a body pillow for the night.

Tonight though, he was home earlier than usual.

Not by much- it was still late, and had you been given another thirty minutes, you’d probably have been curled up in bed and- judging by how exhausted you felt- probably completely passed out. And of course- though he may be home earlier than expected… he wasn’t really free. The texts, emails, and paperwork were what most commonly followed him home from work- and it was stupid to be jealous of paperwork or goddamn Gmail. You knew that. You told yourself that constantly. You also constantly reminded yourself that you chose this, you knew what you were getting into with this man. But that didn’t help how starved you’d become for his touch and affection. And it certainly didn't help the nights where you would fall asleep next to your Price, yet feel more alone than ever- because there was something heartbreaking about falling asleep feeling cold, lonely, and unwanted, with the man you loved right next to you- but too busy with what felt like constant work.

Although… As much as you hated those nights, it was still better than when Price would come back with new injuries and guilt weighing heavy on his shoulder.

Today had been a bit of a rough day for you. Tiering, to say the least… especially now, as you realized tonight was shaping up to be one of the ones that hurt the most. And despite the guilt you felt at not even attempting conversation with Price after nearly a week of only goodbyes and goodnights, you really wanted nothing more than to put on your comfiest pajamas and curl up for sleep.

You missed him dearly, but you were too emotionally and mentally drained to figure out what to do about it. Frankly, this was the only thing your exhausted self could think to do: go to sleep and hope that the rest of this (particularly) dreadful week passes quickly.

As exhausted as you may be… you also know that Price is probably about to stand up to take a shower of his own now that you’re out, and that by the time he’s done, you’ll probably be asleep- so you stifle a yawn and pad over to Price.

Once at Price’s side of the bed, you lean over to press a kiss to his forehead- a hand held over your chest to keep your towel from falling down when you do so. “Goodnight.” You mumble, stumbling a bit when you get a head rush as you try to stand back up.

When you start to sway, Price frowns and reaches out, placing a steadying hand on your upper hip. “You alright’, Love?” He asks, forehead knitted in worry.

You nod, ducking your head a bit and pressing a hand against your temple as you wait for the momentary dizziness to pass. “I’m fine, just stood up too fast.” You murmur, silent for a moment as you take a deep breath and start to straighten up.

From where you stand, you can see that Price’s phone is, in fact, open to his email inbox- and you can’t help the frown that accompanies the pang of dejection that shoots through your chest.

“You sure?” Price asks, his concern seemingly only growing as he speaks. “You look a bit off-color.”

You nod your head “yes”, trying your best to simply put Price’s worries to rest. You do know that you should talk to him, that you should take this opportunity to tell him how you feel, that you should stop this spiral you're in. But… you’re tired. Tired physically, tired mentally, tired emotionally- You’re just fucking tired, and everything feels like it’s all going shit.

The hand on your hip moves upwards, and a strong arm wraps around your waist and gently tugs you down. You land with a bit of a bounce onto Price’s lap- his arm around your waist bracing you and keeping you upright as his other one comes up to press the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Bloody hell, you’re burning up.” Price says, the worry lines on his forehead deepening as he quickly drops his phone. “You sure you’re feeling alright?” He asks again, clearly not believing your early assertion of “fine”.

“‘Not sick, just took a hot shower.” You mumble, leaning into his hand where it still rests on your forehead- letting out a deep breath at the touch and letting your heavy eyes drift shut.

Price is clearly unconvinced- looking just as worried as before as he moves one hand to your upper back and the other to the nape of your neck- pulling you close and lifting your hair out of his way so he can check once again for a temperature.

The hand against your forehead must've broken something in you, because from that moment on you feel like a damn had burst. Like all the effort you’d been putting into hiding how bad you’ve needed this is violently swept away and forgotten. Even when you loop your arms around his neck and pull yourself against him, you’re not close enough. No matter how much of you is touching him, you need more. No matter how much you press your face into his chest or the crook of his neck, you can still see the lights from the bedside lamp, smell the soap you used in the shower, and hear the neighbor's dog barking at god knows what. And that’s wrong- because all you want in this moment is Price. You want to be held impossibly close to him, you want your everything to be only him, just for a moment.

You don’t hear what he says, but you feel him take you by the shoulders and gently to get you to look up at him.

In response, you only whine and squeeze him tighter, pressing your face deeper into his neck and shaking your head no.

He gets the hint- a deep sigh leaving his body as you feel him relaxing beneath you. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head and you feel two large, warm, calloused hands slip under your thighs and lift- moving you so you’re straddling his thighs.

“Comfortable, Love?” He asks- to which you nod, goosebumps rising along your body as the air from the fan, even on its lowest setting, feels frigid against your still slightly damp skin- your towel from a moment ago having fallen as Price moved you. A hand runs along your arm, warming the skin slightly as you feel Price shift underneath you in preparation to stand up.

“Do you want me to get you some clothes?” He asks- to which you, again, shake your head in response. This time, side to side as a “no”.

Price chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh traveling between you as he sets a hand on his nightstand, using it to support himself as lifts you two and yanks the covers out from where he had been sitting on them- settling back down and pulling them up to cover the two of you.

The comforter on you two’s bed is big and fluffy- perfect at trapping body heat and warming you up quickly. It’s probably your favorite blanket in the whole house, and you’ve been known to drag it out of the bed and curl up with it on the couch whenever you’re sick or it’s cold enough outside that the heater can’t keep up. Being wrapped in it is enough for you to- gradually- begin to loosen your hold on Price. Eventually, you’re not so much clinging to him as much as you’re simply draped over him.

But even when you release your death grip, Price doesn't try to get you up. He lets you stay, keeping you pressed close against his chest and your head resting on his shoulder. He keeps one hand under the blanket, resting on your lower back- occasionally stroking at the soft skin with the pad of his thumb or idly tracing the dips and rises of your body as you drifted in and out of sleep. In his other hand, he held his phone. Likely going through emails or doing something or other work related.

You drifted between varying levels of sleep and awakeness as he held you. Whenever your head would start to slip from where he’d propped it up against his shoulder, he’d pause from his work to gently set it back and make sure you were doing okay. He’d often press sweet, loving kisses to the top of your head, cheek, or temple, or give gentle, protective squeezes to your waist whenever he felt you stir awake, and he’d speak soothingly and stroke your hair whenever you started mumbling half-asleep words to yourself or him.

At one point, you started drifting deeper and deeper to sleep- waking up less and having fewer moments of half-awake confusion after being moved or repositioned- only to later wake up flat on your back - now dressed in some pajamas- and with Price slowly pulling away from you.

You jerk awake, gasping for breath as you immediately latch onto the part of Price that’s closest to you- which turns out to be an arm. You immediately find him back at your side, tears running down your face as you beg for him to stay.

You have his right arm in a white-knuckled grip, and his other one is behind your back, holding you up as he looks down at you- the most worried you’ve ever seen him.

“Shh, you’re okay- I’m right here.” Price says, his look of concern only worsening as you let go of his arm in favor of clinging to his torso.

“D-Don’t go!” You sob, the burst of adrenaline from waking up and thinking he was leaving flushing through your body and leaving you shaky and with a pounding heart.

“I’m not going to leave, Love.” he reassures you, one of his hands petting your head, his beard scratching at your cheek as he holds you close in an attempt to comfort you. “But you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

You don’t respond, hiding your face against him.

He pulls away, cupping your cheek gently and making you look at him. “Sweetheart, I’m worried. You wouldn’t talk at all once you got in my lap, and you freaked out when I tried to set you down. I need you to talk to me.”

You pull your face away, going back to hiding against his chest… but eventually nod.

Price is silent for a moment- thinking before he speaks again

“Did someone hurt you?”

A quick shake of your head “no” and a heavy sigh of relief from Price.

“Is it something that happened at work?”

Another shake of your head “no”.

“Is it something that I did?”

You hesitate…

Your lack of answer tells Price enough, and a kiss is pressed to the top of your head. Had you moved your face from where you were hiding it, you would have seen not only the look of absolute love he was looking down at you with, but the thinly veiled guilt he held as he watched the way you clung to him.

“I figured, love.”

You hiccup, choking on your own tears as you do and starting to cough. Price rubs soothing circles into your back as you try to catch your breath.

“I know, I know. This training thing is hard, and I should've done better at making sure my girl was okay. I’m sorry, love.”

“Y-you don’t have anything to be sorry f-”

Price cuts you off with a stern look.

“None of that, now. I should’ve made more of an effort to be there for you.” He pauses, kissing you sweetly before continuing. “I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry I let you forget that and that I let things get to this point, okay?”

“I love you too- “ You say softly, sniffling and trying to wipe away some of your tears- only for Price to come in with a tissue and gently start to blot at your red and blotchy face.

“I’m sorry for not talking to you about it…” You mumble, your face heating up as you try to take the tissue from Price to dry your own face, but failing to do anything more than get him to laugh a bit and start teasing you by keeping the tissue away.

“Tomorrow is the last day of the training, I’m going to take the day after off, and we’re going to do something, okay?” He says, laughing softly before letting you have the tissue and kissing you on the cheek.

Price’s hand finds yours, and he laces you two’s fingers together before pulling your still interlocked hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of yours.

“And I’m not just sorry about this week, I’m sorry about recently in general. I’m going to be better about making sure I make time and showing you how much I care for you, okay?”

You nod, giving one final wipe to your face before you started squirming in his hold in an attempt to sit up a bit more.

“I’m going to be better too- I’m not going to bottle things up… and I’m going to try harder to tell you when I’m feeling like something’s wrong instead of letting it get like this…”

Pride tugs Price’s smile wider, and he brushes a strand of hair out of your face- tucking it behind your ear before pressing yet another kiss to your face.

“Thank you, Sweetheart. I’m glad.”

You smile, feeling like a weight has been lifted after your cry and conversation with Price. You wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing him as tight as you possibly can in an attempt to convey how thankful you are. Of his patience, of his kindness, of him.

“I love you,” You say into his chest as you squeeze him

He lets out a soft “oof” at your squeeze, huffing in amusement before wrapping his own arms around you and giving you a (far from full strength) squeeze of his own.

“I love you too.”

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yawnderu · 6 months

Text

Had the sudden thought of Pimp!Ghost right after waking up efjbefjhb

cw: prostitution, brief mentions of SA (not done by Ghost), mentions of violence.

Pimp!Ghost, who is so damn nice to you. How can he not be nice if you're the one bringing in most of the money compared to the other girls? You're a prime example of pure perfection in his eyes, always keeping you by his side when you're not working.

Pimp!Ghost, who handpicked a pair of older women to help you clean up and take care of you, keeping it a secret from the other prostitutes so they don't treat you differently. You're his special girl, but he doesn't want to cause tension despite how obvious his preference for you is.

Pimp!Ghost, who is fully aware of how tired and detached you must be from sex, so he never expects it from you. He likes letting you sit on his office and takes you shopping, using his free time to go around the city with you, shopping for new things for your apartment.

Pimp!Ghost, who surprisingly never tried making a move on you no matter how much time you both spend alone. He doesn't enjoy his job and is thinking about switching paths, but he has to make sure he can take you with him once he leaves the business.

Pimp!Ghost, who you saw fuming for the first time when you came to him crying with messy clothes and a busted lip, telling him how one of your clients tried to cross a line and got angry when you rejected him.

Pimp!Ghost, who disappeared for two days straight after that, only seeing him again when he knocked on your apartment's door. He looked like a mess, eye black smeared all over his cheeks and eyes, as well as bruised knuckles that you couldn't ignore.

Pimp!Ghost, who refuses to tell you what happened but convinces you to leave your life behind and start anew with him, promises of you never having to sell your body ever again.

Boyfriend!Ghost, who kept his promise, buying a small cottage in the British countryside. You convince him to adopt a few farm animals to take full advantage of all the free space you have and before you both realize, you're raising 20 chickens, a goat, and two baby cows who seem to be attached to your hip. A new stray cat appears soon, and Simon is unable to say no when you ask if you can keep it.

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greatstormcat · 4 months

Text

Into the Fire

TF141 x f!reader Medieval AU

Part 1

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, violence, threat, injury detail, non-consensual touching

Today was a bad day, the worst day of your life in fact. Flames licked and snapped around your feet, creeping and jumping from one piece of wood to another as you watched helplessly. The heat and smoke were beginning to make it harder to breathe, not helped by the tight rope coiled around your stomach and chest to bind you to the wooden stake at your back.

Your watering eyes roamed over the crowd in the village square searching for any sign of help. Dirty, exhausted faces staring up at you impassively, although a few have a noticeable excitement gleaming in their eyes. The small knot of better dressed people at the front of the crowd are the most eager to watch. The priest and magistrate that called from your execution, along with their gaggle of fawning lackies, watch with rapt expressions. You begin to cough, lungs burning and heart hammering in your ribcage, as your skirt begins to smolder at the hem, and you try to kick away the burning bundles of sticks.

It’s a futile effort, you know this, but you can’t just let them do this without trying to fight back even a bit. You look around frantically again, and a dark shape moves at the back of the gathered spectators. The aching pain where you were struck dumb with an axe handle adds another layer of misery to your current predicament, and you begin to fervently pray to every god and goddess you’ve ever heard of in the hopes that one might just listen and intervene. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your skin heating beyond tolerance and send out your prayer with everything you can muster, on the precipice of turning your words into a curse instead.

A man on a horse rides through the crowd, disgruntled looks and shouts left in his wake. His hood covers his head, cloak fanned out over the animal’s flanks, but the sword at his hip is clearly displayed. He stops and leans down to speak to someone at random, who then points up at you, making the stranger's head snap up. The black smoke and tears in your eyes make it impossible to see his face clearly, but something shivers through you, cold against the rising flames.

Amidst indignant shouts of protest he rides forward, pushing people aside until he reaches your pyre and slips down from the saddle. The group immediately before the conflagration startle as the stranger marches up to them, his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword. They appear to cower at whatever it is he says, waving their hands about like frightened birds but doing nothing to appease him. Eventually he shoves them out of his way roughly and jogs forward to the pyre. He kicks the burning material aside, risking himself as he pushes into the still young flames to get to your side. A dagger flashes in the burning light.

“You still alive?” He asks gruffly as he works at the ropes behind you.

“For now!” You shout, voice hoarse and you cough and hack, pulling desperately to loosen the ropes. They snap free, and the man grabs your arm, dragging you free and into cool, clear air before you can collapse into the burning wood below you.

“Right, you’re coming with me,” he announces, roughly patting down smouldering patches on your dress before hauling you over to his patiently waiting horse. He pulls himself into the saddle and grasps you firmly, heaving you up and over the horse's neck like a heavy sack. You don’t have time to protest at the undignified treatment, your head still spinning, and he turns the beast and drives it forward out of the village. He canters down the road, his horses hooves sparking on the damp cobbles of the road beneath your face until you reach a small copse of trees.

“Right, let’s get a look at you,” he grunts and pulls the horse to a stop. Your eyes have yet to stop streaming from the irritation of the smoke and heat, and once he drags you down from the horse you slump onto the ground, coughing and retching on all fours in the mud.

“Th-thank… you,” you managed to splutter out after a moment, and he crouches down in front of you with a deep chuckle.

“You okay?” he says, a large hand on your shoulder while you wheeze.

“I’ll be.. fine,” you reply, trying to steady your laboured breathing. Finally you manage to lift your head and look at your rescuer.

He is dressed better than anyone else you’ve seen in the village, his cloak covers a coat of good quality chain mail, soft leather riding boots and dark breeches. His gloves are good quality leather, and well cared for, and the hilt of the sword at his hip is intricately engraved. This is clearly not a peasant like you, and when he notices your eyes darting about his appearance he pushes back his hood to show his face fully. He is beautiful, with dark eyes that sparkle as he looks at you with concerned amusement. His smile tugs on a small scar beneath his left eye.

“I’m Kyle by the way,” he says by way of introduction and offers no more information than that. His eyes narrow as he sees the crusted blood on the side of your face from the blow you received earlier, a fleet twist of his features mars his beauty.

“Thank you again, Kyle,” you mumble and get to your feet unsteadily. He stands as well, and you are astonished by just how big he is, broad shoulders and chest, as well as tall. Whoever he is, he is well fed, strong and healthy. Certainly not working stock.

“What was going on back there? Why were they trying to kill you?” He asks while taking a water flask down from his saddle and handing it to you. You try to dust yourself off, knocking burnt patches and mud away, but it just spreads the muck and you give up with a frustrated groan and accept the flask, drinking eagerly before pouring small dashes on the burns on your hands and arms with a hiss.

“I was accused of witchcraft,” you say carefully, not sure what his response will be to this news.

“Oh,” he says, watching your failed attempts at cleaning yourself up. “I doubt you are.”

“Really?” You narrow your eyes at him, a sudden flair of indignation rising inside you. “How would you know if I was or not?”

“In my experience witches don’t hang around and let the flames get that close,” he answers coolly, and you feel he is poking fun at you. Your face burns for an altogether different reason.

“Is that why you rescued me? I looked too pathetic to be a witch?” you demand hotly, setting off another fit of coughing that ends with a distressed groan.

“Well, no…” he has the decency to look a little guilty now and you narrow your eyes. “They told me you were a healer, and I have need of your services. So as I just saved your life, you owe me a debt.”

“Are you serious?!” you shriek in disbelief, a wood-pigeon startling in the nearby trees and taking off with a flurry of wings. “You saved me so I had to help you?”

He looks down at you totally nonplussed.

“Basically, yes. I can always take you back, let them finish what they started,” he shrugs, his grin showing sharp incisors under his full lips. “That fire should be going nicely by now. I could even just throw you on there for them and save time.”

“Alright!” you snap. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Not a good one anyway. I take it you’ll need to get supplies,” he asks. “I doubt you had anything with you back there.”

Your shoulders slump in resignation, and he chuckles seeing this.

“Yes, my home isn’t far from here. If there’s anything left of it mind you, they were tearing it apart when they dragged me away,” you tell him, absently touching the cut on your head with a wince.

He climbs back into the saddle and pulls you up in front of him, your dress pulling up and exposing your legs, burns and soot marking your skin, but you try not to dwell on it. It’s a short ride across the fields from the village, and you avoid starting a conversation as much as possible.

Your home is little more than a wooden shack, and as you approach you can see that it has been ransacked. Your meager possessions have been dragged outside and smashed, broken pottery and burnt books left outside, and your medicinal garden torn and ripped to shreds.

“What happened here?” Kyle asks as you let yourself down from the saddle.

“They destroyed it because of the priest’s command, ignorant pigs,” you pick your way through the devastation. Tears prickle your eyes as you see your entire life strew over the ground in pieces. “Bastards,” you say softly, balling your hands at your sides in impotent rage.

“Hey, it’s okay. You made it out alive and that’s the most important thing,” Kyle murmurs reassuringly, placing a hand on your shoulder, a heavy weight that somehow helps ground you.

“I need to see what I can salvage inside, what kind of sickness is it you need help with?”

“Not sickness, we were attacked by bandits and some of our men are wounded,” he explains, following you inside the remains of the shack. Every item of furniture has been smashed, it looks like someone brought a hammer just for the purposes of destroying anything you’d ever touched.

“There’s not much left but I will do what I can,” you gripe as you pick through the debris. You breathe a sigh of relief when you find a large, untouched earthenware jar filled with burn salve and begin to shove things into a shoulder bag.

Once you retrieve what you can you say goodbye to your wrecked home and everything you knew, riding through the fields with Kyle at your back. Soon the rolling fields turn to woodland, and you follow the road for several miles until he veers off on a narrow trail leading into the woods. Panic spikes in your chest as you think about what could be in your near future, and how you might escape if the worst should happen. The feel of his arms around you holding the reins is both unwelcome and pleasant at the same time, an odd mix of emotion that swirls with your fear.

A small clearing opens before you, a single canvas awning erected at the edge but the ground is churned up as though several horses and carts have recently passed through. Kyle drops from the saddle in a fluid motion, and leads the horse with you still on it, towards it the small shelter. A small fire burns on the ground just outside the canopy, and several heavy packs lay on the ground. You try not to worry about the swords and shields resting on top of those packs.

You gasp as you see what looks like a bear sitting beside the fire, but when the head turns you realise it’s a huge man in a bearskin cloak. He stands as you approach, and you swallow thickly as you see he is even bigger than Kyle. His bearded face takes on a sardonic look as you approach, bright eyes looking you over as Kyle gets you down from the horse.

“You were meant to get us a healer, not more kindling,” the hulking, bearded man says.

“Yeah, the idiots were trying to burn her at the stake for witchcraft,” Kyle replies with clear disdain. He nudges your shoulder, urging you towards the the man,

“She can’t be a witch, not a good one, if she got that close to burning,” he observes. “I guess you’ll have to do then.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, fearing he might just snap your neck with his huge hands if he felt like it.

“Nah, she’s no witch but she is good enough a healer to spook the local peasants. So that’s something,” Kyle agrees and takes his horse to picket it with three others beside the small camp.

The two carry on talking, all but ignoring your presence now as dusk begins to settle. You shiver slightly and take the decision to sit by the fire, your clothes now full of singed holes and offering little warmth.

“The other will be back soon, they’ve gone hunting but you know they won’t rush back,” the bearded man tells Kyle.

“Who is injured?” you ask, failing to see anyone with a wound so far. They look at you, as though surprised by you being here.

“The rest of my men have moved on with the carts, we will rejoin them tomorrow and you can treat the wounded then,” the bearded man says, giving you a curious look. “Do you know who I am?”

You slowly shake your head, feeling as though a hole is opening up below you that you’re going to be pushed into. Instead, he chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound.

“Well, call me Price,” he says with a crooked smile, clearly not telling you everything.

Darkness falls around the small camp, and the woods around you become quiet as the day creatures return to their nests and burrows, while the night animals prepare to come out. Ordinarily you’d avoid being out in the night like this, lest a hungry wolf take a fancy to you for a meal, but you are sure that Price and Kyle are used to dealing with such things. The urge to pee becomes insistent, and you get up to move away for a modicum of privacy.

“Don’t wander off,” Price warns you as you move away from the fire. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

“I will just be a moment,” you assure him.

You move between the trees and find a secluded spot in front of a large trunk, gathering your skirts about you as you squat down and relieve yourself. Once you are done you stand and turn towards the camp, and scream. A terrifying, grim specter stands before you blotting out the light from the fire, dark eyes in a polished skull face that reflects the dim light with a sickening glow. A pair of twisted horns

A sharply clawed hand grasps your arm when you step back uncertainly, knees weak. You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting death or pain or both.

“Fuck! Simon!” You hear Price bark roughly, and you risk opening your eyes.

“What’s this? A stray?” The creature rumbles in a human voice, deep and harsh, but with no visible mouth to form the words. It moves closer, pinning you between the tree truck behind you and its body, lifting its claws to run down your cheek.

“She’s a healer, let her be,” Price answers with a hint of amusement in his tone, as though you aren’t about to be eaten alive.

The monster tilts its head suddenly and steps back a little, letting you go. You rush back into the comfort of the firelight, and sit beside Kyle who smiles irritatingly at you before dropping an arm over your shoulders. The monster softly steps into the camp, into the light of the fire, revealing a black enameled helm with a skull fixed to the face plate, the clawed hands are gauntlets in reality. It’s a man, a massive man in terrifying armour, but a man all the same.

You notice another huge shape moving in behind him, yet another man, wearing a leather jerkin and breeches but with a blue tartan cloth wrapped around his shoulder. A Highlander, if you remembered what you’d read in the past. A shock of hair runs down the middle of his head in a bushy band, with everything shaved low either side. The remnants of blue woad smeared on his cheeks. He carries a brace of rabbits in one hand.

“Fuck…” you grumble to yourself, and the men laugh at your expense.

“Good thing you’d already pissed or you’d have disgraced yourself,” the skull-helmed man chuckles and begins to remove his gauntlets.

“Not funny,” you bite back, but a smile tugs at the corner of your lips despite your ire.

“You look like shite, what happened tae ya?” the Highlander asks while he guts the rabbits and skewers them over the crackling fire. Your stomach suddenly growls, you’ve not eaten anything all day and the stress has taken its toll, suddenly making you feel shaky.

“I was being burnt alive this morning,” you shrug, clutching your hands together as they begin to tremble. The burns on your skin throb and the aching in your head pulses, it’s suddenly difficult to focus your eyes and sweat blooms on your skin despite feeling so cold.

“Kyle,” a deep voice utters, seemingly from a long way away, “she’s gonna go…” You struggle to stay upright just as arms grasp you tightly and you slump against their hold while your vision fizzles out.

You can’t have been out long, when you come to, the smell of roasting rabbit floods your senses and your eyes snap open as your stomach growls again. You slowly sit up, head still pounding but not spinning as badly now.

The strings of your bodice are loose and you quickly wrap your arms across your chest as you feel it gape. That’s when you notice the salve smeared onto the burns on your arms, as you gawp at your arms you see your skirt is pushed up to your knees and salve spread onto the burns on your legs. A wave of nausea rolls with your hunger at the thought of someone touching you while you were unconscious.

“Who… who did this?” you splutter, turning to the men sitting around the fire. Whoever had tended your burns had laid you down at the back of the canopy.

“Never you mind, you’re safe with us,” Price snaps with authority, his back still turned to you. “Come and eat before you swoon again.”

“I didn’t swoon,” you bristle, fixing your clothes and tugging your laces extra tight. “I was nearly burnt to death, rescued and then threatened, and then scared shitless. So excuse me if I got overwhelmed!”

You sit down with little grace beside Kyle, deciding he is the least offensive option and snag a rabbit from the fire. You eat as though you are starving, ignoring the bemused eyes turned towards you.

“You better watch that tongue wench, or you’ll find it cut out soon enough,” the masked one warns you, low and ominous. You risk a look at him, his dark eyes fixed on you through a mask of black fabric that covers his entire face. Even without his helm he is still utterly terrifying. A tiny part of you wonders why he still wears it, if it’s because you are here.

“We’re leaving at first light to catch up with the rest, so get some sleep. MacTavish, you take first watch,” Price announces, and nods to the Highlander who acknowledges him.

“What if I run away?” You blurt out.

“If you want to risk running blindly through these woods in the dark, be my guest,” Price replies with a callous shrug but looks you in the eye. “You’re hardly the only healer around.”

“C’mon, just come and get some rest and it won’t seem so bad in the daylight,” Kyle says calmly, as though he wasn’t the one who had brought you here under a death threat. Truly you had fallen out of the frying pan and into the fire now.

He tugs you with him as he stands and moves you to the back of the canopy again, laying down and pulling you with him. The fight leaves you, and you crumple down to the blanket on the ground beside him. You don’t have the energy to complain when he pulls you against his chest and murmurs quietly to you about keeping you where he can keep an eye on you. You're too exhausted to feel him tug at your bodice laces gently, you just fall into exhausted sleep.

——————————————————————

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