#cod x poc reader

[tiajk]

Call of Duty Quotes

Warnings; cursing, terrible attempts at trying to make them speak like they do

a/n: i had fun doing this might do more later

Masterlist

y/n: hey soap turn or dare?

soap: dare i ain’t no bitch

y/n: *smiles like a fucking maniac* confess to ghost

soap: truth then

y/n: TELL GHOST YOUR IN LOVE WITH HIM

soap: I DONT WANNA PLAY ANYMORE

Soap: *running into the common room* Y/N OH SHIT ITS GREEN

y/n: REALLY LET ME GO GET THE CHART

gaz: WAIT WHY IS MINE YELLOWW

ghost: price what the bloody hell are they doing?

price: *smoking his cigar and reading the paper like an old man*: got them mood rings

ghost: *secretly wanting one* oh

price: *knows ghost like the back of his hand* yours is in my office lad feel free to grab it whenever you want

ghost: *looking through y/n’s playlist* lass who the fuck is nikki minaj?

y/n: *snaps their mother fucking neck to look at ghost* what do you mean who the fuck is nikki minaj

soap: *offended by ghost not knowing* shame on you lad shame

gaz: i cannot believe you ghost not knowing the queen of rap

ghost: *confused as hell* IM JUST ASKING WHO SHE IS FOR FUC-

y/n: bitches be like oh new year new me fuck that NEW YEAR WORSE ME

soap: *fucking crying laughing and can’t even breathe* you cannot be serious

price: *rubbing his temples as he feels a headache already* it’s always something with you i swear

a random person: are you a whore?

y/n: for who?

a random person: let’s say ghost

y/n: *doesn’t wanna die by soap* hey no no have you seen his boyfriend I WOULD LIKE TO LIVE THANK YOU VERY MUCH

[lxvvie]

Simon never thought his body was anything special—not really.

He's just keeping fit because it's part of the job, sweetheart, so body worship wasn't on his bingo card when you invited him over for some rest and relaxation.

Well, not his body, yeah?

Your eyes lit up like it was fuckin' Christmas when you saw him. Simon had just gotten out of the shower, hadn't really had time to put his towel on, and what the fuck is it with him losing track of time when he's with you? All Simon remembered was hearing you mutter "Bloody hell..." under your breath (heh, he's rubbin' off on ya) and next thing he knows, Simon's laying on your bed. Naked. Under you. Wait a fuckin' minute—

His mind goes blank when he watches you watch him; you look at him like he's a fuckin' masterpiece, like he's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, body hair, cuts, bruises, burns, dents and all, drooling without the drool or what the fuck ever, but shit, it's enough to make Simon's face hot. If he wasn't embarrassed then, he's sure as fuck embarrassed now, and he'd bet every pound he had that knobhead Johnny would have a field day with this.

It's the way you kissed, nipped, and sucked everywhere you could (Christ, you even played with his nipples), making him feel so good, making him feel so bloody seen. Rough skin against your softness, and he's never felt so self-conscious before. You were so damn careful with his latest set of bruises, so fuckin' kind and considerate that he felt his heart jump.

It's the way you ran your hand down, all the way fuckin' down, until it wrapped around his cock. His cock that you're lazily stroking, his cock, hot, heavy, leaking, just... what the fuck are you doing to him?

It's the way you kissed Simon's Adam's apple, soft, gently, and he was afraid to swallow because he thought he'd lose something but he sure as hell felt the goosebumps on his skin and shivers run down his spine.

But it's the coup de grâce, you swopping down to kiss the scar dangerously close to his lips, that shatters Simon completely. Breaks him down so fuckin' much that he's practically holding on to you for dear life. He leans against your touch, wonders what the fuck it would feel like to have your lips against his, and he barely registers the fact that he came, not earth-shattering but a warm blanket over him, and it feels like his very first time.

Fuck, this should've been his very first time.

"Aw, you do turn bronze when you tan, Simon!" He looks down, takes inventory of his tan lines (when has he ever lied to you, sweetheart?), looks up at your beaming smile, snorts, and rolls his eyes. If this were anyone else, he'd probably be pissed that the mood was broken.

It's you, though, and it makes everything feel right.

__

Turning Simon Out series

[x-x-nyctophilia-writes-x-x]

Y/n: Which one of you was gonna tell me that tea tastes different if you put it in hot water?

Gaz: You... You were putting it in cold water?

Y/n:.......

Soap: Y/n. Answer the question, Y/n.

Y/n: Well... yeah. I thought for, like, 5 years that people just put it in hot water to speed up the “tea-ification” process. I didn't realize there was an actual reason. Besides, do you really think I have the patience to boil water?

Soap: Ye dinnae have the patience to microwave water for 3 minutes?

Gaz: Wait, wait- why are you putting it in the microwave to boil it?

Soap: Do ye think ah've got the patience to boil water on the stove?

Gaz: It takes less than a minute!

Y/n: Bestie, is your stovetop powered by the fucking sun??

Gaz: Well, how long does it take you to boil a cup of water on the stove then?

Y/n: Like, 7 minutes!

Soap: *nods*

Gaz: *sighs* Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat, and it boils in 2 minutes. Less than that if you use a saucepan. 

Soap: ...Ye're puttin' the whole mug on the stove? On medium heat?

Y/n: *crying laughing* Your stove is fucking enchanted!

Price: Every single one of you is a fucking lunatic. 

Ghost: Do none of you own a fucking kettle?

Source

[tvgals]

face sitting!! but..backwards??

“y’sure im not too big, doll?” he asks, a sheepish smile on his face. “i’m sure! i can handle it!” you plead, laying on his built torso, the black compression shirt bringing out his muscles. “if you say so.” he grins, picking you up and putting you on your back gently. “if you wanna stop, tap my thigh three times, got it?” he asks, kissing you between words. “got it!” you giggle. he shimmies out of his sweat pants and sits on his knees, just below your breasts.

“are you a thousand percent positive?” he asks one more time. you roll your eyes and slap his ass playfully, jolting him forward a bit. “yes! now hurry up before i change my mind.” you say, caressing his toned thighs. he shuffles toward your face, his musky smell overpowering your nose, your eyes being glazed over with lust. he pulls his dick out of the hole in his boxers and taps your lips a couple of times. “open up, mama” he says. you open your mouth and your tongue lolls out, you looking up at him in anticipation. he taps his tip on your tongue, slowly sliding it in with a meek groan.

“fuck..” he whispers, slowly dragging himself in and out. “there we go, doing so good for me baby.” you gag and sputter a bit, a sign that he was doing his job. his pace starts to speed up, knocking the top of your head into the headboard, loud ‘thud, thud’ noises being audible from downstairs. he can’t help but let his eyes roll back as your mouth drags along his cock, draining him slowly.

“‘m not gonna last much longer…” he whimpers, speeding up so he can drain himself inside your mouth, his load sliding down your throat easily. he pulls out of you, your spit and a mixture of his cum stringing from his cock and your lips. “so beautiful, baby.” he grins, rubbing an assuring hand over your cheek. “thank you.” you smile, kissing his semi-hard cock one last time before pushing him onto his back.

“my turn.”

GOJO, TOJI, connie, EREN, hobie, JEAN, simon, konig, keigo, rengoku, INO, your faves i can’t name rn

[unlikelykidpost]

This is my first time posting here, but I really want to hear from my fellow POC. Is anyone else tired of reading stories where it’s all about the main character x reader? You dive in, expecting a really inclusive narrative, but then it hits you: “Their cheeks glowed pink!” Seriously? Where am I getting that rosy hue? Or when the character casually puts their hair into an easy ponytail—come on, it takes me forever just to get my hair in a ponytail! You know what I mean, right..??

It's frustrating when the story drops hints that suggest the 'reader' is white. It really grinds my gears, and I wish writers would stop doing that, or at least include a warning that the reader character is going to be white. I want stories to be genuinely inclusive and for writers to be more flexible in how they describe characters. It’s disappointing when you can tell that a writer based their characters on white experiences and WHITE PEOPLE. but thats all, thanks for listening to my ted talk!!

[partiallysame]

Your work is scrumptious, delicious, mouth watering, melts in your mouth, amazing. If I could inject it into myself I would.

I’m not sure if you write for black/mixed reader, but if you do I need to know. How would the boys react to finding out how long it takes to get braids in/take out? Reader usually gets it done while they are gone, but getting new braids/taking them out couldn’t wait this time. 🥺 (Currently taking mine out, and it’s taking forever and a half.)

Would they help their little missus? Or would they try to help but having 4 men trying to take out tiny braids just cause more problems?

Yes yes yes ok john knew it took foreverrrr and you had taught him how to take them out (he’s even attempted helping put them in) when you first started dating and now it’s time for the rest of the 141 to experience the ordeal that is braiding. Let me tell you the panic that set in when they walked in on you cutting out the extra before unbraiding. Thought you were pulling a Brittany circa 2007. Don’t worry babes just making it easier to unbraid. John immediately asks if you need anything to which a joking “help would be nice” came out and suddenly they’re all sat. 30 sec in and Johnny is asking if you can just cut them out all the way. He is now on snack duty. Bringing you whatever you request. Kyle thought he was gonna be so good at this, he knows how to do this right? No. He’s convinced his brain disconnected from him fingers. Spend the whole time you’re there working on one braid. John gets a handful of them done but Simon? You give a sniper a task in which he sits in one spot and focuses on one thing for hours at a time? He’s living the dream. Fingers moving almost as fast as yours. You referred to the two of you as “the dream team” and it hurt everyone else’s feelings. Oh well that’s on them for not being better

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Reply All Author's Notes: After what feels like forever, the long awaited Gaz v Horangi chapter. Very different from the other ones, but trust I am finally cooking (maybe) Warnings: MDNI, Angst

A late night email from Laswell can never be good. And after reading one at 1am, Kyle can confirm it’s still not good. 

From: Laswell, Kate To: Price, John; Garrick, Kyle; etc… + more Cc: Keegan D. Russ; etc… + more Subject: Intelligence Officer in the Field

Intelligence officer in the field. You in the field. You in danger. 

Over Kyle’s dead body. If these weeks had shown Gaz anything, it’s that him and the boys don’t know how to protect you. Maybe once you’re officially on the team but now it’s better if you stay away from any risks. 

Therefore with a heavy heart, Kyle replies to Laswell’s email. He knows how much you wanted to go out in the field, prove your worth, but now is not the time. Now Kyle had to protect you. And to protect you meant making hard decisions. 

After sending a quick email to Laswell, expressing his weariness of bringing along a novice like yourself in the field, Kyle goes to sleep. It doesn’t come easy as the actions from the past few months come to haunt him but it eventually does. 

But unfortunately for him, his guilt still haunts him as he wakes up. His chest rests heavy, mind still tired from the shit sleep he had last night. Worst part is that he couldn’t even have a peaceful morning as his phone loses its mind. 

With the brightness way to high, Gaz starts to reads the multitude of messages polluting his phone. He doesn’t go far as one completely runs his blood cold. 

❤️❤️ - 6:34am Fuck you Kyle Garrick.

That wakes Gaz up. He keeps scrolling, looking for answers. 

MacTavish - 6:23am Jesus. and I thought lt was the heartless one Lieutenant 👻 - 6:05qm Garrick do you need an email tutorial or something?  John P - 1:56am Thanks for that. Just a question, did you have to send that email to everyone? 

Email… what the fuck are they on— no, no, NO. 

Kyle rushes to his emails and sees two, one from Sergeant Kim and the other from Laswell herself. He starts with Horangi’s email which was sent first before Laswell’s. 

From: Kim, Hong-jin  To: Laswell, Kate CC: Price, John; Russ, Keegan D.;… + more  Subject: RE: Intelligence Officer in the Field Laswell, I completely disagree with Garrick. I don’t know what unpreparedness he may be alluding to, but I have nothing but respect and confidence in the intelligence officer and their ability in the field.  I have only worked with them for a few weeks but those few weeks have shown me that they are nothing but exceptional in their work. I have no doubt that their presence in the field would not be a hinderance but only elevate our performance. If Garrick and anyone in the 141 is worried about their own ability in watching out for one of their own, I, Russ, or Nikto would be more than happy to keep an eye on them. We are more than capable of doing both our job and the 141’s.  - Sergeant Kim Hong-jin

And looking at the time stamp, Horangi sent that minutes after Gaz sent his what he thought private email. He quickly scrolls up to see Kate’s response. 

His throat tightens as his eyes scan Kate’s short but brutal email. 

From: Laswell, Kate To: All Subject: RE: Intelligence Officer in the Field All, Thank you for the input Sergeant Kim but I trust Sergeant Garrick’s judgement on this.  Maybe another time. Sincerely, Kate

Fuck.

Word Count: 586

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[beloveds-embrace]

Would you be willing to write Tf141 with a POC Jazz Singer? They find a bar and as they settle in their drinks, the sweet sound of a southern accent fills their ears like siren song. It’s as if the world has faded aside from her. The siren like eyes, full lips, and the voice of an angel. To them, it’s as if she’s pumped the life and joy back into their lungs. But when she actually talks to them, she’s actually got the personality of a skittish kitten. She’s easily nervous and gets embarrassed easy, a far cry from the confidence she shows on her stage.

Thank you @miss-vanta-likes-to-write for helping me with this <33

The place is dim, the kind of bar that looks unassuming from the outside but unfolds like a secret the moment you step inside. Wood-paneled walls soak up the golden glow from antique lamps, and cigarette smoke dances lazy swirls in the air. You know this place. It’s old, but it breathes- alive with ghosts of stories whispered into tumblers and between the notes of the house piano. You’d been singing here for nearly a year now, tucked into the city’s quieter corners where the world still made space for jazz and soul.

Tonight, like always, you glide onto the stage with a practiced calm, heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, the microphone standing like an old friend in the middle of it all. Your curls are pinned back just enough to show off the gold earrings brushing your skin. Your skin catches the spotlight- a warm, rich brown that glows under the low lighting, deep and radiant, the shimmery oil you use glittering like constellations and stars under the light. You’ve got on your favorite silk slip dress, the one that shimmers bronze like your grandma’s sweet tea in the sun, hugging curves you used to shy away from but now wear like armor. Your lips are painted a deep wine red, and your nails- long, almond-shaped- are the same color. It’s your ritual. Your way of saying I’m here. I’m proud. Watch me shine.

A hush falls over the place as the lights dim around the room and center on you. And with the first hum of your voice, that hush turns almost reverent, a church for those who worship singing angels.

The music takes you.

Every note, every slow, honeyed syllable- sweet drawls and soft vowels dripping like molasses, blues stitched into every lyric. You don’t just sing. You spill. You pour your heart into that mic with the kind of soulful ache that makes even the most jaded patron set down their drink to listen, and every regular knows better than to interrupt your performance. Your voice slips into the room like smoke- low, velvety, dipped in honey and gospel. It carries that Southern cadence, a melody shaped by summers in Georgia, Sunday mornings in church choirs, and humming with your aunties. You aren’t just singing. You’re testifying. And when you close your eyes, the room disappears. It’s just you and the melody- until they walk in.

The bar quiets. You’ve seen it happen a hundred times, but it still gives you that little thrill- that hush, that moment when people stop mid-sip and realize something real is happening. The world slows down to listen. And that’s when you see them.

A group slips into the back booth like they own the place without meaning to. There’s a weight to them- a presence. Shoulders broad, posture alert, eyes that don’t miss a damn thing. Soldiers, you can tell. You’ve got cousins like that- men and women who smile with their mouths but carry ghosts behind their eyes.

You chance a glance between verses.

One of them- tall, masked, all sharp shadows and piercing eyes- tilts his head as he listens. Another, shorter yet stocky with a mischievous grin a mohawk that reminds you of roosters and coyotes, leans over to say something, clearly impressed. One is more relaxed, beautiful beyond words, throws his arm over the back of the booth and lets your voice wash over him like a balm. And the last watches you with a quiet reverence that makes your breath catch.

It is their first time here, and yet they subconsciously know not to whisper more than necessary while you sing. They just listen- like the world’s gone silent except for you.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the mic. You’re used to attention; you've earned it. But there’s something about the way they look at you- like you’re more than just a song. Like you’re a miracle- and that does something sweetly unfamiliar in your chest. You finish your set and offer a soft “thank y’all” that rolls gently off your tongue. The applause is warm, respectful, but your eyes flick once more to the group in the back. Still watching.

Heart thudding, you slip off stage, nerves replacing the calm that had carried you through the music. It’s always like this. Up there, you’re a storm in silk. But offstage? Offstage you’re still that shy little Southern girl who used to sing into hairbrushes in her mama’s living room and hide when guests clapped too hard.

You drift toward the bar to collect your drink and try to ground yourself, hands still trembling slightly. You don’t even realize how close they are until a voice says: "That voice of yers? You just poured heaven straight into my chest, darlin'."

The scottish accent curls around your ears, playful and disarming, and catching you off guard for a few seconds. You nearly spill your drink.

“Oh! Um… thank you.” You blink up at him, suddenly hyper-aware of the whole team nearby. “I, uh- thanks. I’m… not used to compliments.” Despite how many you often get, the feeling of shyness never truly washes away.

He grins wider. “You’re not used tae compliments?” he echoes with mock offense. “Then this place must be full of fools, aye?”

You try to laugh but it comes out awkward, soft. “People usually talk to the voice. Not the… um. Not the girl behind it. I- I don't always know what to say when folks talk to me like that."

“You don’t gotta say a thing, sweetheart,” comes another voice- this one smoother, a british accent. The pretty one with the cap smiles kindly at you. “You said it all up there.”

You duck your head, cheeks burning. “Y’all are real sweet. I just… ain't great with people. Off-stage, I mean.”

While the masked guy remains silent, the one with the beard- another Brit- chuckles, his voice warm like the whsikey he is nursing. “Sit with us a while. If you’d like.”

Your heart damn near skips.

You hesitate, biting your bottom lip, fingers twisting around the edge of your glass. “I… might be a little awkward,” you admit with a sheepish look, voice feather-light. “I’m kinda like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

the Scot hums. “We like cats. Don’t we, Ghost?”

The masked man- Ghost, definitely not an eerie name- shrugs and speaks at last. “So long as they sing like that.”

They laugh softly, and it’s warm. Not mocking and not amused at your expense. It’s the kind of laugh that lets you breathe a little easier.

You slip into the booth, and they make room like they’d been saving a spot just for you.

[blushingamethyst]

Hot Take:

If you’re the type of person who complains about poc writers only writing for poc readers you’re weird.

Like I get it, you go to a new fandom wanting fics and can’t find ones that represent you, but that doesn’t mean you get to bother these lovely people. Fan fiction is free, don’t be a choosy beggar.

For the longest time fan fics have been, for the most part, written for skinny white women. And personally I see the expansion of readers to be a wonderful addition to the community as a whole.

Being able to make the fics that represent you is really fun.

But I really hate to see people complaining about specific reader types. Especially poc readers.

And this is coming from someone who is white. For me I’ve always struggled with fics because I’m not thin, so seeing all the wonderful chubby/fat reader fics makes me so happy. And I’d imagine it can feel the same for those who aren’t white, finally getting the wonderful fanfic they deserve.

Some people need to realize that not everything has to be catered to them.

Let poc writers have their fun and just scroll by if it’s not for you.

[tiajk]

Warnings; a little smut,black reader, fem! reader, fluff

Masterlist

Husband price! that doesn’t let you do any heaving lifting at all that’s his job he’s your big strong husband

Husband price! that fucks you down at least 4 times a week not making any exceptions he doesn’t want you to be denied or neglected and besides he’ll want to see the way your pretty little hole sucks him up every time

Husband price! that tells laswell about you all the time he loves you so much and just wants to talk about you all the time

Husband price! that lets you buy whatever you want but makes you work for it he loves seeing you having to depend on him for everything

Husband price! that helps you with wash days all the time he loves it but if you don’t want him to help he won’t

Husband price! that makes sure that your hair is always done and payed for along with your nails

Husband price! that hates when yall argue so most of the time he just lets you get away with shit because he hates yelling at that pretty face of yours

Husband price! who’s never talk to other women except the females in his work but out in a public setting he’s just looking at you and only you and whenever someone try’s to flirt with him we pulls out the “my wife will beat your ass if she catches you talking to me”

Husband price! that loved your ass he doesn’t slap it every chance he gets but he admires it and holds it with a tight and firm grip a throws in a slap every now and again

[lxvvie]

Simon doesn't think he's ever tasted something so good in his fuckin' life before.

He didn't know what he was in for this time when he got back from deployment, and nicotine and whiskey ain't got shit on this. Poor bastard can't remember the last time he had something so good invade his senses like this.

You said you had a treat for him, made him lay down, and promptly sat on his face, and Simon was fuckin' gone. Don't know what the fuck possessed him but he took one whiff and was instantly hooked.

Simon feasted on your cunt like a man starved. Tongue, lips, fingers, you name it. Anything to get his fix, anything to make you moan.

Anything to make you cum.

Didn't let up for shit, not even to breathe, and when you voiced your concern while whimpering and trembling, Simon didn't give a fuck and still continued to love on your pretty cunt because where the bloody fuck are you going?

Shut up. Shut the hell up and let him make you cum, sweetheart.

Actions have consequences. Shouldn't have made him feel so bloody good, shouldn't have poked at the beast, and he'd be damned if he didn't think this was the best post-deployment gift he's ever gotten. Better than the nicotine high or occasional pity wank.

Fuck, it's been so long and he's absolutely disgusting about it.

And Simon's aware of it all, the way his cock is so hard it's bloody painful and leaking in his pants, the way you're grinding on his face, smothering it and fucking his mouth (don't you dare stop, either), and how his everything is consumed by you. You coat his stubble, fill his nostrils up with your scent, his tastebuds are fired up—bloody hell, need he explain more?

Simon could die a happy man right now, and what would his gravestone say? Here Lies Simon Riley, Died Eating Cunt.

He'd chuckle if he wasn't too busy at the moment. Shit, he probably did if the way you're moaning is any indication. That felt good, didn't it, sweetheart?

It's your turn now to say his name like a prayer and believe in him just as he believes in you.

And it's the best fucking thing to ever bless his ears.

--

Turning Simon Out: Part I and Part II.

[x-x-nyctophilia-writes-x-x]

Simon: *suddenly remembering traumatic memories that he'd been repressing* Oh my god... Y/n, I just realized something.

Y/n: What?

Simon: I had a bad childhood.

Y/n: Oh. Yeah, I know.

Simon: You know?

Y/n: I mean, look at you.

Simon: What do you mean, "look at me"?

Y/n: Just look at how you stand. People who had good childhoods don't stand like that.

[huunni]

breaking simon into calling you mommy.

no fucking way, princess. he laughs and shakes his head like you just told him the funniest joke on Earth. no chance, never.

simon can't even believe you would ask him such a thing. him call you mommy? have you gone mad? why in the world would he ever do that? simon had a hard enough time submitting to you as is. now you throw this into play? you must want him to tie you up and show you who runs shit around here. (it's you.)

c'mon, babyyy. you lament, leaning in and letting your dark brown nipples rub against his. up and down, still wet from simon sucking on them earlier. just one time, c'mon. say it.

simon was coming up on his third nut in the last thirty minutes, and he was starting to lose himself. your hips were moving the same pace they were when you started, maybe faster since your pussy was creaming like a faucet. no, no..im not gonna-- fuck me.. not gonna say it.

he's not. nothing can crack that wall down. he won't. his mind is made up. you clench around him in retaliation, but the tightness adds to his overstimulating pleasure and makes him drop his hands to the sheets, gripping them with a force that would have stopped you in your tracks, must be why he moved.

fuck, mm-mommy. it comes out completely unplanned, unrecognized and unintentionally. simon can't look you in the eye, just gripping your hips again and watching you grind back and forth just a bit.

what's that, si? he shakes his head, closing his eyes and throwing his his head against the headboard. simon bites his lip and whimpers, simon riley, the 6 foot 200 something pound tank of a man whimpers at the feeling of your pussy gripping him.

mommy. i said-- i called you mommy. he reiterates, moving you up and down on his cock and watching it like it would disappear if he looked away. fuck you. fucking hate you-- fuck! simon's cum started spurting up into you and he was seeing white. his balls felt like they were cramping, tightening and releasing too quickly, too harshly, he swears for a second he's gonna pass out.

before you can quip, his fingers are wrapped around your throat and squeezing. not a word. he damn near whines. he's trying to sound all manly and deep voiced, you can tell, but his voice nearly cracked at how tight you are around him, and how fucking sensitive he is. not a fucking word, i swear.

maybe not now, but this will definitely be brought back up (especially when he starts to get a thing for fucking you while you're knocked up.)

[venuslut]

FANTASIZING ABOUT being a barracks bunny and having the biggest crush on SIMON “GHOST” RILEY. Completely revamping your image so you’ll be more appealing to him. Even going as far as sleeping with your captain, John Price, so he’ll put you and Simon together more often for missions or training. You may be a bimbo, but you weren’t dumb and knew how to get what you wanted. Slowly but surely, you wormed your way into his heart. And the grande finale to get him into your bed was to invite him to your room, the perks of sleeping around providing you the luxury of your own private room without any bunkmates. Promising to let him leave after one glass of whiskey, but one glass turned into two and soon enough y’all were already about to finish the second bottle.

It wasn’t long before your fleeting touches on his arm turned into harsh grips on his biceps that left red scratches from your short manicured nails. Caused by the way he pushed your legs back high to your chest, his calloused hands gripping your meaty thighs while he held them down, pushing your flexibility to the max. Your knees were to your chest and ankles rest on his broad shoulders as he fucked into your needy cunt with all his weight. He fucks like a machine: hard and strong thrusts with no pause or hesitation, determined to fuck you both into oblivion in a drunken haze. And fuck… he’s big.

He continued to pound into you with a relentless rhythm, your legs twitching in the air involuntarily while he held you in place. " ‘m in so fucking deep, baby… is that why yo’ can’t talk?" he groaned, his voice low. "Don't you dare close those pretty little eyes. Look at me while I fuck you, Y/n. Look at me and know that no other soldier can satisfy you like I can." Now Simon knew what kind of woman you were, everyone did. He never planned to get involved with you until you suddenly appeared in his life and coaxed him into your company. Simon didn't need to fuck one of his comrades to deal with the normal frustration brought by being a Lieutenant. But this time, he just... Fuck, he needs this. How could he resist with the way you batted your eyelashes up at him, or pouted those plump glossed lips, and don’t even get him started on those skimpy clothes you wore when you invited him to your room for a drink.

Besides, it would a lie if he said he hasn’t dreamed of smothering you with his much larger frame and force you to take his cock in your tight cunt. Watching you writhing underneath him while you cried out his name. And now it was all coming true, with a few liquid courage in his system of course. He jumped at the chance to have you all to himself when you caressed his thigh and promised to remove all his frustrations. Little does he know, you orchestrated this from day one, and all those tension filled encounters would lead you to this moment.

“Sim— Lieutenant! Oh my God! ngh… slow down, please!” You beg, throwing your head back as the pleasure was becoming too much. You move your hands from his arms to weakly try and slow down his movements, but Simon quickly snatched both of your wrists and held them over your head. Using his free hand he smacked your thigh hard enough for a red print to show, “don’t be so sensitive, bunny. Keep your hands to yourself and just take my cock like the good slut I know you are.”

[gummydummy19]

No one else

Summary: You see Price again for the first time after he went on mission…and after you slept with him months ago

Content Warning: mentions of smut, angst, age gap

Pairing: John Price x reader (NO GENDER/LOOKS SPECIFIED)

A/N: short, sweet and angsty, folks! this has been in my drafts for a looooong time, enjoy <3

Word Count: 1100+

“I…I haven’t...been...with anyone else, you know?”

“What?”, He looked down at you, your head resting on his sticky chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Since you left…I uhm….I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

It had been months since you last saw him.

You and John had been friends for years. Sure, he was a little older than you, but you never cared. He was handsome and smart and kind and he always knew what to do.

He was the one you called when your car broke down on the side of the road. The one who took you for a drink after a long day at work.

And last summer, he suddenly became the one who made you cum so many times you forgot your own name.

It was a one-time thing. A moment of heated passion between two friends. The fact that you'd had a crush on him for over a year played no part in the matter.

Besides, you didn't have much time to dwell, because the next morning when he got called into work, he was told that he was needed for another mission.

Well it turns out, that did actually leave you lots of time to dwell. Six months of it.

It had gone by incredibly fast and agonizingly slow at the same time, but there he was, back home, taking sips of his beer on your couch while you cooked him his first decent meal in half a year.

You'd been eyeing each other all night. Small talk paired with small touches. After dessert, when there were no more dishes to be washed, no more stupid questions to be asked, nowhere left to hide, he kissed you.

And that left you here, in your bedroom. Tangled in the forest green sheets, sweaty and satisfied. His rough hands drew gentle shapes on your shoulder until you opened your stupid mouth.

“I havent been with anyone else…”

Price was quiet, with an expression on his face that gave little away.

The silence grew thicker by the second. An uncomfortable feeling settled in your stomach and you started to regret even saying anything.

You were about to mumble out an excuse, apologize, tell him never mind, and that it was silly. Your mouth opened but before the first sound could fly out of your throat, he broke the silence.

“Neither have I.”, he stated dryly.

“You haven’t?”, you sat up a little, getting a better look at his face.

“You thought I had?” He raised his brow a little, you could tell it was a reflex. He almost looked…annoyed.

"Yeah, I mean...no....I don't know", you babbled.

"Well, I didn't."

"You could have."

"I didn't want to." he replied with just a twinge of irritation, “Did you want me to?”

“No I just…I wouldn’t have been mad…if you had.”

His brows twisted in what can only be described as a dumbfounded frown.

“What the…” he grumbled, sitting up fully too. “So if I would have fucked some other lass, you would’a been totally fine with that?”

Your eyes darted around nervously as you tried to figure out how to answer that question.

“I just…you can do what you want. You don’t have any responsibilities towards me. I would have understood if you had…if…if you’d…”

The thought of him with another woman made you sick to your stomach, but you knew you couldn't have expected that of him. That he'd stayed loyal to someone he'd slept with once.

Well...twice now.

"Alright then, good to know how you feel," he said as he got out of bed, quickly grabbing his boxers off the floor and pulling them on.

"W-, Price, where are you going?"

"I clearly got this all wrong, that's on me."

"No wait, please! I...I'm sorry I just...I..." you babbled. Your chest felt tight, that familiar feeling of panic settled in the pit of your stomach as you watched him grab his stuff off the floor.

“Can you please just hold on a minute? Please?”, you pleaded, “John!”

That got his attention. His eyes locked with yours as he stood there brooding like an angry bear.

“I thought…” he started, you could tell he was trying to keep himself composed, “I thought we had something. I thought we were something. A thing. The pair of us.”

You sat there on the bed, with your thin sheet wrapped flimsily around yourself, staring up at him.

“John…I”

“I know we didn’t exactly have a conversation about it…but after what happened I just sort of assumed…and I shouldn’t have.”

“No! God, I’m such an idiot…I'm just expressing myself all wrong…", you tried explaining, “I wanted you to know I hadn’t been with anyone else…because I don’t want anyone else…but I also know we didn’t talk about it so I would have no right to be mad if you…if you had…”

“Screwed someone else?”, he damn near barked.

“Yeah…", you visibly flinched at the thought this time. "Can you please sit back down? Please?"

He obliged. The mattress dipped a little as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his back toward you. The room was quiet again. You didn't really know what to say or do...you had missed him so much...all you wanted was to be close to him, that was all you had wanted for months.

You were staring at the freckles on his back and you couldn't help but lean closer, your lips carefully brushing against the skin and pressing a loving kiss there. You felt him tense up, yet he remained quiet.

"The thought alone makes me sick..." you started, hoping he would get what you were referring to, "but I would have understood, you were gone for a long time and you didn’t make any promises to me”

You felt him tense up again when you said that last part.

“M'not angry at you sweetheart, I'm just angry at myself ", he turned around, his sweet, blue eyes gazing at you with nothing but love and affection.

"I promised my heart to you a long time ago, I was just too dense to tell you about it..."

"Oh, John..", was all you could muster, you reached out and gently put your hand against his bearded cheek. He leaned into your touch, placing his own hand over yours.

"I should have at least made it clear how I felt, sweetheart, instead of leaving you wondering if I was fucking someone else for six months. Because I wasn’t. All I wanted was to be with you. There’s no one else I want, love.”

You were at a loss for words, so you settled for a kiss. Not that he was complaining, because he immediately maneuvered you onto his lap, mumbling praises and apologies.

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[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Debrief 2 Author's Notes: This was super hard to write and not gonna lie maybe hard to read for some of yall so like please be careful. Probably safe after the lines Warnings: MDNI, Racism, Angst

Ghost was staring daggers at the back of the rookie’s head. How fucking dare he go after you? And in front of Ghost’s face? His stomach twists every time he thinks of Nikto’s question. Everyone is afraid of him… but not this rookie. Why?

He’ll find out soon enough. After Price is done gutting scolding the boy, Ghost will have turn. And so will Johnny and Kyle. Johnny was in the back of Price’s office with Ghost while Kyle was on his way.

“So, want to tell me what happened during training?” Price sneers. He sat forward in his chair, eyes burning with hatred.

Ghost nearly lunges at the rookie when the rookie just snorts in response. Ghost could tell that Price’s patience was withering by the second.

“I’d advise you to answer the question if you don’t want to be on toilet duty for the next month,” Price warns.

The rookie slouches in his chair and lets out an exasperated breath. “I know you’re doing this as a formality but you can drop the act. We’re on the same page.” Ghost cocks his head. What is this rookie on about?

“And what page is that?” Price thankfully asks for the whole room. The rookie leans towards Price.

“That this whole diversity initiative is just complete bullshit,” he admits like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Price’s eyes widen as the rookie keeps going and going on his whole anti-diversity spiel. Ghost’s and Soap’s body lock up.

Price clears his throat and asks, “and where did you get idea?”

“It’s pretty obvious. I mean none of you guys speak to them unless absolutely necessary. You never invite them to lunch or even the bar after missions. It’s clear none of you like them. I’ll admit I didn’t realize it until Lieutenant Ghost gave me a heads up.” Ghost feels his teammates’ eyes on him as soon as the rookie said his name.

Still looking at Ghost, Price asks what clue. And with glee, the rookie lets the three know how Ghost ripped your “dumb” gift in front of him and some other rookies while putting you in your place. Ghost feels his entire face go hot as he remembers the moment.

“And thank god he did because if I’m honest with you Captain, if I had to respect another one of them, I’d probably transferred by now and I know I’m not the only one,” the rookie jokes. While the rookie laughs, the 141 boys stay silent. None of them could believe what they were hearing. They didn’t realize how their actions looked like from the inside out.

Ghost felt his stomach churn. Fuck— is that why you asked him to accompany you with the rookies. Because— fuck. You turned to him for protection when actuality, he was the fucking reason you needed it.

Before this retched conversation could even continue, Kyle walks in. The rookie lets out a wicked laugh and quips, “Don’t worry Captain. Me and the boys will get rid of this one.” Kyle freezes, confused by the statement. Ghost’s entire body goes hot. He rushes towards the rookie and throws him to the floor. This ends now.

— — —

Ghost takes a deep breath before gently knocking at your office door. It’s time to make amends. And if amends can’t be made, he can at least be punished by your hand. He waits with bated breath as quick steps near the door.

“That was fa—,” you immediately stop. You straighten up your posture and roughly rub your eyes.

“Are you crying?” Ghost barks. He didn’t mean for it to come out so accusatory. Yes, he’s mad but not at you, never at you. Ghost takes a large step into your office and quickly closes the door.

Your jaw tightens at his sudden entry. You stop rubbing your eyes and stare straight in his eyes. “Might come as a surprise for you but we’re not all complete monst—.”

Ghost gently grasps your face in both hands and takes a sharp breath. “Please. Anyone but you.” Ghost knows he’s overstepping but he has to hold you at least once before you completely slip from his fingers. While wearing gloves, he gently rubs his thumbs over your cheeks and stares in your eyes with every ounce of admiration he has for you

You still. Your eyes widen in confusion. “Lieutenant, what’s going on?” Your gaze shift from his eyes to his hands on your face. They keep bouncing back and forth until they finally pause to his right hand as you catch Ghost’s skin peeking out between his pointer and middle finger.

“They’ll never bother you again, I promise,” he whispers. He knew you recognized the gloves. He knew you were reliving that moment in your head.

“Ghost?” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes shining with so many emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… hope.

There’s still hope. Maybe Ghost can turn this around. Maybe Ghost can be the man you deserve. Maybe Ghost can be yours—

— your office door slams open, revealing a towering Nikto at the door frame. You immediately pull yourself out of Ghost’s grasp and lean against your desk. Ghost turns around and faces Nikto head on. The two giants stand still, facing one another, almost waiting for the other one to strike.

“Lieutenant, surprised to see you here,” Nikto states. He walks through the door and glides past Ghost. He makes his way to you and eagerly takes your side. Without a single care in the world, Nikto caresses your face and you immediately lean into his touch.

Ghost just stares on as the weight of his actions fell on him. Instead of protecting you, he threw you in the wolves. He pushed you away and pushed you in the arms of another monst— man.

“Lieutenant,” That breaks Ghost out of his trance. Nikto, with your head still in his hands, stares at Ghost and asks if he needed anything.

You.

Word Count: I’ll get to it

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