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my-favorite-reading · 4 days ago

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cw: friends with benefits, angst, smut, mild possessiveness

It was supposed to be simple. That’s the part that pisses you off the most when you think about it. Because you weren’t trying to fall in love. You didn’t want a relationship, not after the last one. You were still a little bit fucked up from it, if you’re being honest. Still not sleeping great. Still carrying all that heavy stuff around that no one really talks about after a breakup. And then he showed up.

Simon.

You didn’t even like him that much at first. He was quiet, and kind of a dick honestly. Always had this hard look on his face like he didn’t care about anything. But then again, maybe that’s why you kept looking. He didn’t flirt with you like the other guys did. He didn’t compliment you or joke around. He just stared sometimes. Stared like he knew things about you that you hadn’t even said out loud yet.

And somehow, that made you feel safe. In a really stupid kind of way.

He didn’t ask you questions. You could sit next to him and say nothing, and he wouldn’t try to fix you. He’d just… be there. And that made it easier. Being around him felt like pressing pause on everything in your head.

You both agreed it would just be sex. That’s all. You said it first. Told him straight up you weren’t in the place for anything real, and he just shrugged like it didn’t make a difference either way. He wasn’t looking for more, either. No expectations, no feelings, no “what are we” conversations.

And in the beginning, that actually worked. You’d hook up after long days, or when you were lonely, or when you just needed to feel something. He’d come over late, sometimes not say more than a few words, and still end up with his mouth between your legs like he belonged there. He was rough, kind of mean about it, but it made your head go quiet, and that’s all you wanted. You didn’t need soft. You just needed to forget.

And Simon was really good at helping you forget.

It was simple, for a while at least. No cuddling, no texting unless one of you wanted something, no sleeping over unless it was late, and neither of you felt like getting up. You never kissed him unless it was during sex, he never called you baby, and you never touched his face.

But then, little things started to change. He’d linger longer after, or light your cigarette for you without saying anything. You started to recognize the sound of his boots on your stairs. And sometimes, he’d show up without texting first, but you wouldn’t mind.

You told yourself it was fine. You still weren’t asking for anything. You weren’t falling.... You weren’t hoping.

Until one day you were. And it was too late.

Because Simon? He never changed the deal. He still kept his walls up, still kept everything at arm’s length, and still fucked you like you were just a warm body and not someone who looked at him like he hung the moon.

And the worst part? You let him.

You didn’t talk much during sex. It was just a thing you both did, like it was part of the routine. Sometimes it was at his place, sometimes yours. Sometimes after a night out when you were drunk and touchy and didn’t want to sleep alone. You’d cling to his arm, pull him into a dark corner, whisper something like “Come back with me,” and he always would. He’d follow you home without hesitation.

He never smiled during it, never said sweet things, nor asked what you liked. It was like flipping a switch, one second he was just standing there, and the next his hand was in your hair and he was pushing you down on the bed without saying a word. No soft kisses. Just heavy hands and rough thrusts and that low sound he’d make when you moaned his name, like he hated how much he liked it.

He was rough in a way that made your whole body ache after. Hands on your throat, teeth on your skin. Sometimes he’d grab your face, push it into the pillow so hard it felt like he wanted to fuck you straight through it. His voice was always low, wrecked, barely there, like he was losing his mind but trying not to show it. And when he came, he’d bury himself so deep and still not stop moving, chasing something that never felt like enough.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sweet. But god, it felt good.

Too good.

You weren’t supposed to want someone like that. You weren’t supposed to need it like that. But every time he fucked you like you were the only thing left keeping him grounded, it made your chest hurt in a way you didn’t want to admit.

And you liked it, you liked it even when it made you feel worse after.

You didn’t fall for him all at once. It happened slowly and stupidly. In the kind of way where you didn’t even notice it at first, because you were too busy pretending it was still casual.

It was little stuff. Like how he always stood behind you in a crowd, not touching you or anything, just close enough that you could feel him, like a wall at your back. Or how he’d rest his hand on your lower back when you crossed the street, not saying a word, not even looking at you. Just doing it like it was natural. Like he cared without meaning to.

Sometimes, he stayed the night. Not every time, or often enough for it to mean something, but still it happened. He never cuddled, never reached for you after. He would just lay there, breathing heavily like he was thinking too loud. He didn’t sleep much, and you didn’t either. You’d stare at the ceiling, both of you pretending the silence didn’t feel like it was screaming.

You wanted to believe that meant something. That even if he couldn’t say it, he felt something. That he kept coming back because he needed you, not just your body. You started reaching for him more, after, during, even before. Just little touches. A kiss on the cheek, a hand on his chest, or a soft press of your lips when he was still inside you.

But the more you gave, the more he pulled back. Like he could feel you slipping, and it scared him. Like he already knew where this was headed and was trying to stop it before it got worse.

He started fucking you harder when you tried to kiss him slow. Rougher, meaner, almost. Like he was trying to shove the feelings out of both of you. Like he thought if he could just fuck the softness out of it, it would go back to the way it was.

And he’d leave faster. No lingering, talking, or sitting on the edge of the bed while you pulled on your shirt. He’d zip up his hoodie, say something stupid like “I’ll see you around,” and disappear like it didn’t mean anything.

But it meant something to you. And you think, deep down, it meant something to him, too.

He just didn’t know what to do with it. So he did what he always did... he ran.

That night felt different before anything even started. You don’t know how to explain it exactly. It was quiet, but not the good kind. Not the comfortable kind. Just this weird silence sitting between you like something waiting to be said. You didn’t say it, of course. You never did. He was already pulling your shirt off, already undoing his belt, already pushing you back like it was routine.

And it was. That was the thing. It had become routine.

But you couldn’t keep doing it like this anymore. You were tired. Tired of feeling used even when he wasn’t trying to use you. Tired of pretending it didn’t matter that he never looked at you when he came. Tired of giving everything and getting nothing back.

So you tried something different.

You didn’t moan for him the way he liked. Didn’t arch your back or scratch at his shoulders or whisper how good he felt. You just… touched his face. Softly. Like it was something you’d been wanting to do for a long time but were scared he’d push you away.

Your fingers brushed his cheek. Your thumb barely touched the scar near his jaw, and you just said, “Slow down.”

That was it. Just two words. And he snapped.

His hand went around your throat so fast it made your breath catch. His other hand grabbed your wrists, shoved them into the pillow, and held them there like you’d done something wrong. And then he started fucking you harder, rougher. Like he was trying to erase what you’d just done.

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t. His hips were slamming into you like he was mad, but not at you. Like he was mad at himself. Or maybe the world. Or maybe just the way your voice sounded when you asked for more than he could give.

“Don’t,” he growled into your neck, and his voice didn’t even sound like him. It sounded like someone scared.

You didn’t cry. Not right then.

You just lay there and took it. Let him fuck you like he always did, let him pretend it didn’t mean anything, even though it did. You felt it, how desperate it was, how shaky his breath was when he finally finished, how his hands didn’t let go even when it was over.

But you knew. You finally knew.

He couldn’t love you. Not the way you wanted. Not the way you needed.

And something deep in your chest cracked open. Just enough to let the cold in.

You didn’t say a word after. Just rolled over when he got up. Pulled the blanket up to your chest and stared at the wall, blinking too fast, trying not to let the tears win.

And he left like nothing happened.

But everything had.

The next time you saw him, you already knew it would be the last. It felt different the second you let him in, like there was something in the air that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You didn’t smile, he didn’t kiss you. You just walked back into your room in silence, still wearing the oversized shirt you’d borrowed from him weeks ago, the one you never meant to keep, the one that smelled like him no matter how many times you washed it, and you stood there with your arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, like saying what you were about to say would physically hurt.

And it did.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to. You didn’t look at him because you knew if you did, if you saw the way he blinked at you, or the way his jaw clenched, or the way he didn’t even flinch like he saw this coming, it would break you in half. So you stared at the floor, or the wall, or anywhere but him, and you just said it. Because if you didn’t say it now, you never would.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t ask why. He just sat down slowly on the edge of your bed, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, and the rise and fall of his chest was shaky, like he couldn’t catch his breath, like your words had knocked the wind out of him but he was too proud to show it.

“I knew this would happen,” he said finally, and his voice wasn’t cold, it wasn’t empty—it was just tired. Like he was mad at himself. “Eventually.”

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and you could feel your throat starting to close up, feel the sting building behind your eyes, and your whole body felt heavy. “I wanted to pretend it wouldn’t,” you whispered, your hands twisting in the hem of his shirt, your voice cracking even though you were trying to stay calm, “but I can’t. I love you. And you don’t—or you won’t. And I can’t keep asking for something you’re scared to give.”

That made him look up.

His face was blank at first; he was trying to process it, trying to understand how it had gotten to this point, even though you both knew exactly how. And then he stood, slowly, like he was afraid too sudden a move would scare you off, and he walked toward you with that careful look he only got when he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing but was still trying anyway.

And then he kissed you.

Soft, at first, because he wasn’t sure if you’d let him. Maybe he thought you’d push him away. But you didn’t. You kissed him back even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything. You let him press you into the wall, let his hands slide up under the shirt that technically wasn’t his anymore, let his mouth find your neck, your collarbone, your lips again, and none of it felt like the usual heat, it just felt sad and desperate.

You let him fuck you because you knew this was the last time. You let him take you to bed and pull your underwear down and slide inside like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

His hands were rough like always, his teeth scraped your skin, his thrusts were deep, a little too fast, a little too rough—but there was a shakiness in the way he held you, like maybe he already hated himself for letting it get to this point. He didn’t know how to say any of the things you needed to hear, so he fucked you instead.

And then, just when you thought that was all it was going to be—just another night, just another goodbye—he slowed down.

He stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard, and he didn’t move. Just held you there, skin to skin, and everything about him felt different all of a sudden... softer... scared.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him.

Your chest tightened, and your voice broke when you tried to answer. “Then why didn’t you—”

“Because if I let myself love you, I’d lose you anyway,” he said, and his voice was raw now. “You’d wake up one day and realise I’m not enough. That I can’t be what you need. That you deserve better than someone like me. Someone who’s barely hanging on. Someone who doesn’t know how to hold you without wondering if he’s gonna fuck it all up.”

You touched his face slowly. Like you were afraid he’d flinch away. But he didn’t. He let you, for the first time, he really let you.

“I don’t want someone else,” you whispered, and your thumb brushed his cheek, and your eyes were wet even though you were trying not to fall apart. “I wanted you. I still do.”

And when he started to move again, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t rushed. It was slow and deep. Like he was trying to give you everything he’d held back for so long. His hands ran over your body like he was learning it all over again. His lips pressed to your shoulder, your jaw, your mouth. He looked at you the whole time, like he didn’t want to forget your face.

“I love you,” he said, and his voice shook, and his thrusts stayed steady, “I love you, I love you....fuck, I love you.”

You cried into his kiss. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your body trembled as he whispered all the stupid, sweet things he never let himself say before. You’re mine. I’ll do better. I need you. Please don’t leave.

And then, somewhere in the middle of it, somewhere between your broken sobs and his desperate kisses, he grabbed you tight, pulled you against him, and whispered it like a promise, like a threat, like a man who was finally ready to fight for something.

“Fuck that,” he growled, his voice suddenly shaking with something angry and scared and real. “You’re not leaving me. You’re mine. I don’t care how bad I am at this. I’m not letting you go.”

You were still crying. He was still shaking. And everything was still so goddamn complicated.

But he stayed, and that was a start.

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idk what this is honestly ...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @preeyas-world @ruleroftides @rose37373

#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #f!reader #thought I knew where this was headed #pleasantly surprised #loved this!

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my-favorite-reading · 6 days ago

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i need to play w slaggy simon’s pierced tits and body worship😚😚

Sensitive bloke, that.

He was the last person you expected to have pierced nips. On the other hand, this is Simon we're talking about. He's a man full of surprises, in more ways than one, it seems.

So when you saw the piercings—like fuck would you believe him without proof—your mind blanked. Fuckin' hell. You wonder if he's got more.

Maybe it was curiosity, maybe you had a death wish, or hell, maybe you were simply fuckin' horny, but you touched them. You touched Simon's nipples. Tweaked, played, and plucked at them more like.

You heard his intake of breath, heard him chuckle throatily at your fascination as your fingers continued to play with them, but fuck if the sounds he made wasn't music to your ears when your tongue came into play. Gutteral groans. Snarling. Simon holding your head to his chest. That fuckin' tease. Greedy fuckin' slag.

You're lapping at his tits, flicking his piercings with the tip of your tongue, sucking on those bastards until they were hard as fuck. Lightly biting on them. Taking turns making out with one and tweaking the other between your fingers.

All the while, his cock's busy making its presence known as you two press against each other.

You marvel at your handiwork afterwards. Simon's tits are a fuckin' sight, nipples hard and wet, piercings glistening with your spit, and he's staring intensely at you because you're daft if you think that's all you're gonna fuckin' do to him.

"More where that came from, sweetheart," Simon says, gruffly, looking down at his crotch, and you follow suit. Oh. Oh fuck.

Didn't need to be told twice.

And this time, while you're busy covering his tits in your spit, your hand's digging for treasure in his pants. Looks like you ain't gotta wonder anymore, luv.

#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #piercings

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my-favorite-reading · 6 days ago

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where you left me (part 2)

part 1

You don’t sleep that night.

The bed feels wrong as you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling, while his voice keeps echoing in your head.

Being with you was a mistake.

You know he’s lying. You know it. You saw the way he froze when you said his name. Still, it doesn’t stop the hurt. You can’t shake the hollow ache in your chest.

By morning, you don’t bother pretending to sleep anymore. You get up early, earlier than you need to, and go through the motions. Shower. Uniform. Boots laced tight. No one says anything when you sit quietly in the mess with untouched food. Soap gives you a nod but doesn’t push. Gaz tries to get you to take his coffee again, like clockwork. This time, you hold it in both hands and keep it close to your chest even though you still don’t drink it.

You keep busy with training, cleaning, or running laps. You volunteer for everything, take the worst shifts, anything that keeps you moving. Anything that keeps you from thinking.

But no matter what you do, he’s still everywhere.

You catch him in the reflection of a window once, his mask back on, and for a second, you forget how to breathe. It’s cruel how easily your body still reacts to him. Like it doesn’t care what your mind knows. Like it’s still waiting for him.

The first few days, you waited. You told yourself he just needed space. That he’d come back when he’d thought things through. You even left your phone on loud, in case he texted or called in the middle of the night. He never did.

After a week, you stopped checking your phone as much. After two, you started leaving it in another room so you wouldn’t obsess every time a notification popped up. After a month, you stopped bringing him up in conversations. Not because you were over it, but because it hurt too much to explain something you didn’t even understand.

You tried to move on. You really did. You started sleeping on both sides of the bed. Started deleting pictures slowly, one by one, until your phone felt less like a trap and more like yours again. You even stopped wearing his hoodie when you were alone.

And then, on a completely normal Tuesday, someone asked you out.

He wasn’t special. Just some guy you knew from a mutual friend. He was decent looking, funny enough. And when he asked if you wanted to grab a drink sometime, you didn’t hesitate. You said yes. It felt easy. Light. Like maybe you really could move on.

Until Simon fucking Riley somehow overheard.

You didn’t even know he was there. But a few hours later, your phone buzzed, and you saw his name pop up for the first time in weeks.

Simon: If you go out with him I’ll kill him.

You stared at the message. Read it twice, three times, because there was no way he just said that.

You: Fuck you, Simon. We broke up, and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

Simon: Come tonight. Need to talk. Somewhere private.

You didn’t answer right away. You stared at the screen for a long time, your stomach twisting. You told yourself you should ignore it. That if he wanted to talk, he should’ve done it a long time ago. But you knew you were going.

Even as you typed out “ok” and threw your phone on the bed with a groan, you were already halfway through planning what you were going to say. What you were going to scream, really. You were going to punch his stupid, beautiful face the second you saw him.

You met him at his place. You hadn’t been there since the breakup, but everything was still the same. Same lights. Same scent. Same fucking shoes by the door that made your chest hurt.

He opened the door before you even knocked, like a dog waiting at the window. If you weren’t so mad, you’d laugh, but instead, you stared him down.

"You look pissed," he said.

"I'm not here to fucking smile at you," you shot back, walking past him.

"Fair enough."

You turned to face him, arms crossed. "Well? You dragged me here to say something, so say it."

He looked at you for a long second. Then, "I don’t want you dating other people."

You blinked, then laughed. "Wow. That’s rich. You broke up with me, and now you get jealous the second someone else looks at me? That’s really fucking mature, Simon."

He didn’t say anything.

"What the fuck do you even want from me?" you snapped. "You didn’t want to be with me, but I can’t be with anyone else either? What is that?"

He muttered something under his breath.

"What?"

He glanced away, jaw tight. "I said, preferably, I want to keep you in a fucking glass cage."

There was a beat of silence. Long enough for you to blink, tilt your head, and reconsider every life choice that had brought you to this exact moment. Because he hadn’t just said that. He couldn’t have.

You narrowed your eyes. "Hello, Joe from You? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Simon sighed. "I'm not joking. I can't fucking bear to lose you again."

You scoffed, stepping back. "Right. That’s why you broke up with me. Because it was too good, huh?"

"I was scared. It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault."

"No, it wasn’t. But you made it mine anyway. You made me think I fucked something up. You made me sit with that for months."

He took a step closer. "I could’ve done more. I should’ve done more. I didn’t know how to handle what I felt for you, and I’m sorry."

"You should be," you said, voice quieter now, angrier in a different way. "Because I was all in. And you walked away."

Simon nodded slowly. "I know. And it kills me. You think I didn’t want to call you? You think I didn’t stare at my phone every night thinking about it? I didn’t think I deserved you. But now… I don’t care. I’ll be selfish. I want you back. I want you with me. Not him. Not anyone else. Me."

You stared at him for a moment. Everything about him made your chest ache. Your fists clenched. "You don’t get to do this unless you mean it."

"I mean it. All of it. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll do it. Just… don’t shut the door on me. Not yet."

Your voice was shaking now, but you didn’t look away. "I want to hit you."

"Go ahead."

"I want to scream at you for making me feel disposable."

"You weren’t. You aren’t. You never will be."

You paused, eyes burning. "You better fucking grovel. I'm not making this easy."

"Wouldn’t expect anything less."

You finally let out a shaky breath. Your shoulders dropped just a little, and your voice was low when you said, "I’m not dating him."

"Good. Because I was serious. I would’ve killed him."

"You're an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot. If you'll have me."

You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, still trying to decide if you wanted to punch him or kiss him. Maybe both.

Simon stepped closer, his eyes softening a little. Without a word, he reached up and gently brushed a stray hair behind your ear. Then, before you could react, his lips touched yours, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let yourself lean in, closing the space between you.

When you finally broke apart, he smiled, a little shy now. “Still want to punch me?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile creeping up. “Maybe just a little.”

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#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #memory loss #angst with a happy ending

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my-favorite-reading · 6 days ago

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He Doesn’t Speak Until You’re Holding Him Again

He channels his emotions through you (literally). I'm sorry its kinda long.

He left again. You didn’t text. Didn’t call. The silence was a wound, and you let it bleed. Because this wasn’t new—not really. Knew what it meant when Simon disappeared. It meant he was scared.

Not of you, but of what loving you was turning him into. Of the parts of himself he thought had been long buried coming alive again. Softness. Need. Hope.

The first time, you thought you’d done something wrong. The second time, you begged him. Just tell me next time. Let me know you’re okay. And still… this time, no word. Just the echo of his absence.

So when the door opened five days later, and he stepped in like he’d never left—eyes bloodshot, hands clenched—you didn’t shout. Didn’t cry. You just stood there, heart hammering. And he looked at you like he didn’t deserve to be looked at at all.

You let him in. Like you always do. And now...now he’s inside you.

You’re in his lap, knees spread wide, body molded to his. You’re facing him, straddling him on the edge of the bed, his cock seated so deep you swear you can’t breathe right. His hands are on your hips—holding, not guiding. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep you anchored there.

Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, and your forehead is pressed to his. He hasn’t moved in a while. Just breathing. Just there.

You’re soaked. You’ve been like this for minutes—no thrusting, just the feel of him. Heavy and deep and so close it’s maddening. Every nerve in your body tightens with the way he holds you—gentle, but solid. There’s reverence in it. Restraint.

He shakes once. A breath, stuttering from his lips. Then, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

The words ghost out of him like a secret. Not really meant for you, but said anyway. You want to respond. Your lips part. But you stop. You don’t say anything.

Because you know. This is how it works. He needs to get it out and you need to let him. He exhales slowly, nostrils flaring. His hands flex on your hips. And then—

“I’ve never… wanted someone like this.” His voice is hoarse. Raw. “Not even close.”

You try to stay still. Try to hold on to the control he’s trusting you with. But your hips shift, barely, and the drag of his cock inside you punches the air from your lungs. Your fingers tighten on the back of his neck, and you clench around him hard enough he groans—quiet, but guttural.

He thrusts—once. Deep. Slow. And it hits everything.

“I thought,” he says, breath ragged, “if I stayed gone long enough… the need would go away.”

Your jaw tenses. Your eyes burn. He moves again, sliding out so slow it feels like a tease, like punishment, and then pushing back in just as carefully. You bite your lip. Hard.

“I missed you like I’d lost a limb.” His voice breaks on it. “And it scared the fuck out of me.”

You can’t help it—you whimper. Soft, but it splits the air between you. He trembles beneath you like the sound undid something inside him.

Your head drops to his shoulder. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head.

“I’ve never made love before,” he whispers. “Not like this. Never wanted to. Never thought I’d get the chance.”

Your breath hitches—words bubbling up in your chest. “Simon—”

“No.” He cuts you off, but not harshly. His mouth finds yours. Kisses you soft. Slow. Tongue barely brushing. “Let me… let me say it before it eats me alive.”

You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak again.

He rolls his hips. Slow. So unbearably slow it hurts. Your body clenches without permission, and your nails bite into his shoulders.

He doesn’t stop. “I’m scared every time I touch you,” he says, breath trembling.

You moan. Quiet. A sob in disguise. He feels it—feels your body tighten again and holds you through it, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“Not because I don’t want to… but because I do.” Another thrust—long and deep, dragging over every place that lights your nerves. “So much it makes my hands shake.”

They are. Shaking. One of his hands slides up your spine, broad palm stroking over the back of your shirt, grounding you.

“I don’t know how to be that and still be me.” Your throat closes.

He’s fucking you like the rhythm is synced to his heart. Every motion slow, devastating, steady. Not stopping. And you—God—you’re falling apart. Silently.

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Just air. Just trembles. Because your body is trying to fall apart but you won’t interrupt him. You won’t.

He feels it. He holds you closer.

“I want to be soft with you,” he breathes. “I want to show you every part I’ve kept hidden. Even the ones I hate.”

Your eyes flood. Your arms shake. He doesn’t stop. And it builds.

He’s holding you still while he confesses, while he fucks you like he’s memorizing every inch of you, every sound you try to suppress. The burn of him inside you is constant, every drag slow and torturous, but it’s the emotion in it that’s ruining you.

And then, “I love you.” It’s not shouted. Not grand.

Just true. True.

“I love you so fucking much it makes me sick.”

That’s it. Your body gives out. Orgasm hits like a wave crashing into bone.

You cry—fully cry—as your body pulses around him, thighs trembling, face buried in his neck, broken sounds slipping from your lips without shame. It’s too much. It’s everything. It’s him.

He holds you.

Doesn’t move faster. Doesn’t chase his own. Just stays inside, deep and grounding, his arms wrapped around you like protection itself. He whispers into your hair, breath catching.

“I’m still not done talking.”

Your heart splits open. You nod—barely—too ruined to do anything else.

And he starts again. Moving, slow. Again. Deeper. Not done with you. Not done speaking.

“I thought I was past this,” he murmurs, his voice steady now. “Past loving anyone like this.”

You tremble in his arms.

“But I want everything with you. All of it.”

You cry again—but it’s quieter this time. Softer. Acceptance blooming behind the ache. He kisses your temple. Keeps going. Keeps loving you with his body.

“I don’t want to leave anymore.”

And then—he falls quiet. His rhythm shifts just slightly. Not faster, but fuller. Like he’s focused now. Intent. You feel the change before he speaks again—his breath warm at your ear, his hand sliding between your bodies to touch you where you’re already aching.

“You’ve got one more for me, haven’t you?”

Your breath stutters. “You can give me another,” he whispers, voice low and reverent. “Just one more.”

You nod—but it’s a broken nod, lips parted, unable to speak.

“Let me feel it. Let me feel you fall apart again.”

He moves with purpose now—still slow, still devastating, but direct. His fingers rub slow circles, his cock dragging deep, hitting that spot inside that makes your spine arch and your mouth open in a sob.

You clutch at him, arms tight around his shoulders, every nerve lit up again. “Simon” you gasp, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he breathes. “You’re mine. Let me have it.”

And you do. You fall apart again, right there in his arms—louder this time, trembling through it, voice breaking on his name. It hits hard. Fast. Completely. He doesn’t stop until your body’s shivering and twitching from overstimulation, tears streaking your cheeks, your lips parted and gasping for air.

Only then—only after you’ve given him everything—does he let go.

He buries himself deep and stays there, trembling as he spills into you with a quiet, broken sound. Not loud. Not frantic.

Just your name. Breathed like a prayer. Like relief.

And then he’s holding you again—really holding you—his chest rising against yours, one hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other stroking your thigh, grounding you.

You’re both shaking. But neither of you pull away.

#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #this is beautifully written

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my-favorite-reading · 7 days ago

Note

Can you write something about Joel dealing with pregnant wife!reader who is constantly alternating between "you did this to me!" and "i ain't ever letting you near my pussy again" to horny/clingy/needy touch-starved status

I hate you

Pairing: jackson!Joel Miller x pregnant!wife!reader Summary: Pregnancy makes you push Joel away and pull him close, but he stays patient and loving through it all. Warnings: established relationship, explicit sexual content (+18), teasing, slight pregnancy and breeding kink, slight dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, p in v sex, creampie, aftercare, cuddling, soft banter

The air in the house is thick with late-autumn heat and the scent of Joel’s soap from the shower he took half an hour ago—one you didn’t let him enjoy in peace because you’d been glaring at him from the bed like he’d betrayed you in a past life. You’ve been a walking contradiction for weeks now, your belly swollen, heavy and round with the child you made together, and your moods swinging with no warning from one extreme to the next. He doesn’t take it personally. Not really. You’re tired. Hot. Uncomfortable. And still, somehow, want him like your body might burn up if he doesn’t touch you right that second.

Right now, though, you’re glaring again. One hand is pressed dramatically to the top of your bump like a woman scorned. “You did this to me,” you hiss, and Joel’s just standing there in a soft, clinging t-shirt and those pajama pants that make you weak in the knees on a good day. But today’s not good. Today, everything hurts and you can’t get comfortable, and your husband—this smug, devastating, insufferably good man—is just… existing with that sleepy post-shower glow like he isn’t responsible for the fact that you haven’t seen your own feet in weeks.

Joel sighs through his nose and rubs a hand over his jaw. “We’re back to that again, huh?”

“You put this baby in me,” you growl, dramatic as ever, even as your voice warbles and betrays how close you are to tears. “You ruined me, Joel Miller.”

“You didn’t seem so ruined when you were bouncin’ on my cock back then,” he says, not even looking up from folding the towel in his hands. “You were beggin’ for it. So don’t go forgettin’ how loud you were moanin’ my name.”

“Don’t—don’t you talk to me like that.” You squirm on the bed, suddenly very aware of how wet you are just from the sound of his voice, that drawl that slides right through you. You shift your thighs, uselessly trying to ease the ache in your core.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, and you hate that you melt instantly at the sound of it, soft and gravel-thick from sleep. “You want me to go or you want me to touch you? Gotta pick one.”

You roll onto your side and glare at him some more, but your bottom lip trembles. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“...I’m not lettin’ you near my pussy ever again. Not ever. Not after this.”

And Joel walks over, slow and steady, sinking down to his knees in front of the bed where you lie like a mess of hormones and need. His hand rests over your belly and rubs it with lazy affection. “Sweetheart, you’ve said that four times today. This mornin’ you were grindin’ on my thigh ‘cause you couldn’t fall back to sleep.”

You clench your jaw. “That was different. I was—needy.”

“You’re still needy,” he grins, sliding a hand up your bare thigh, “and I ain’t judgin’. You want your husband to fuck you full when you’re already stuffed with my baby? That’s fine by me. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Your head drops back with a moan, fingers curling in the sheets. Joel knows you. Too well. Knows your body like it’s his own, knows how to touch and tease and wreck you when you’re so heavy with him it feels like your whole body is just one long ache. You can’t help it—you reach for him, grab a fistful of his t-shirt and pull him forward like you’ll die if he doesn’t kiss you right now.

And he does. Joel kisses you slow, deep, coaxing your mouth open like he has all the time in the world. His tongue is warm and lazy in your mouth, and when he pulls back, he’s panting lightly and smiling against your jaw. “That what you needed, mama?”

You whimper and pull his hand between your legs. You’re soaked through the soft cotton of your sleep shorts, and when his fingers press there, thick and deliberate, you arch like a woman possessed. “Joel—please.”

He peels your shorts off with care, gentle even as your thighs tremble, even as your hands claw at him, trying to get him closer. The baby shifts inside you, pressing out against your belly, and Joel places a kiss right there, tender as anything, before hooking your legs over his broad shoulders and sinking down like a man starved.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan when his mouth touches you—wet and hot, tongue dragging from your dripping entrance all the way to your clit, slow and sinful. “I swear to God, I hate you—I hate you, Joel—”

But your thighs are tightening around his head and your hands are gripping the headboard like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Joel doesn’t rush. He eats you like he’s savoring the taste, moaning low in his throat as his beard drags rough against your thighs. His tongue flicks and licks and circles your clit until your whole body is trembling, your belly tight with more than just the baby, and then—

“I’m gonna come,” you sob, hips jerking, and Joel groans against you.

“Come for me, baby. Just like that. Wanna feel you on my tongue.”

You do. Loud, long, gasping his name like a prayer and a curse all at once. Your body clenches and pulses, and Joel doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you come down. He kisses your thighs, strokes your belly, murmurs how good you taste, how sweet you are, how beautiful you look when you fall apart for him.

And when he finally climbs over you, his pants shoved down just enough for his cock to slide between your thighs, you look up at him with tears in your eyes and whisper, “I want you inside me.”

“You sure?” he asks, even though he’s already lining himself up, guiding the thick head of his cock through your slick folds. “You were just threatenin’ to cut me off for life.”

You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Don’t care. Just need you. Want you so bad, Joel—please—”

He pushes in slow. Careful. Deep. Your body welcomes him even now, stretching around him, drawing him in. It’s not the frenzied, rough kind of fucking you used to get before the baby. No. This is deep, slow, toe-curling intimacy. Joel holds your hand, kisses your neck, rocks into you like he’s trying to fill every inch of you. You moan and whimper and sob his name like he’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

And maybe he is.

“I got you, mama,” he murmurs into your hair. “I know it’s a lot. I know. But I’m right here. Gonna give you everything, always.”

You wrap your legs around his hips, belly pressing against his stomach, and cling to him like he’s the last safe thing in the world. Joel groans low in his throat as you squeeze around him, walls fluttering, thighs trembling. You can’t stop kissing him, licking into his mouth, dragging your nails down his back.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he pants, rutting into you with just enough pressure to make you cry out. “So tight around me, still takin’ me so good. My girl. My sweet girl.”

You come again with a high-pitched sob, body clenching around him like you never want to let go, and Joel lets himself follow, grinding deep as he spills inside you with a long, broken groan of your name.

Afterward, you’re a mess of sweat and tears and trembling limbs. Joel cleans you up, kisses your belly, kisses you. Holds you as close as your belly will allow. You’re so boneless and sated you can’t even speak—just make tiny contented noises as he pulls the blanket over both of you.

Joel doesn’t rush. He never does, not after. It’s like he knows exactly how raw you feel in the quiet that follows sex now—especially these days, when you’re carrying so much more than just his name. You’re full in every sense of the word. Full of him. Full of this life you made together. Full of nerves and hormones and aches and things you don’t always have the words for.

And Joel… Joel just knows.

He stays inside you for as long as your body allows, thick and warm, breathing deep against your cheek. One of his arms curls beneath your back while the other rests protectively over your swollen belly, palm splayed wide, fingers flexing gently as if to reassure himself the baby’s still safe in there.

“You good, baby?” he murmurs after a while, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “Still with me?”

Your only answer is a whimper, soft and dazed, and your nails curl against the warm skin of his shoulder. You’re still throbbing—soft, aftershocks fluttering through you like the echo of a wave that’s already crashed. You shift under him slightly and wince, overstimulated and spent and so full of him that it almost aches.

“Too much?” he asks gently, instantly lifting some of his weight off you. But he doesn’t leave. Doesn’t pull away. Just waits, watching your face like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You shake your head, eyes fluttering open lazily. “No. Don’t go. Just…” Your voice is wrecked, rasping, half-broken. “Too perfect. S’too much sometimes.”

Joel smiles, soft and boyish in a way you rarely get to see. He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before whispering, “Ain’t nothin’ too much for you. Not with me.”

And then he’s moving carefully, slow and patient, easing out of you with a groan and a soft apology when you hiss and flinch. His cum leaks out of you immediately, warm and sticky between your thighs, and he groans again—this time lower, rougher, voice thick with something primal as he watches it drip.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Look at you.”

“Don’t—don’t look at it,” you moan, turning your face into the pillow. “That’s—gross, Joel.”

“Ain’t gross,” he says, wiping you up with the edge of his t-shirt, careful not to touch you too roughly. “It’s mine. That’s my girl. My baby. Can’t help wantin’ to look.”

You groan and swat at him blindly. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckles, tossing the shirt onto the floor before slipping under the covers beside you. His arms come around you immediately, strong and steady, tugging your back against his chest. You feel every inch of him, bare and warm and still faintly trembling from what you’d just done. His chest is damp, breath still uneven, and you feel the scratch of his beard against your shoulder as he nudges your neckline aside and buries his face in your neck.

“I meant what I said,” he mumbles, voice already thick with post-sex sleep. “You’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You make a sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Even like this?”

Joel hums against your skin. “Especially like this. All soft and full and needy for me.” His hand finds your belly again, splayed wide like he’s guarding something precious. “Love knowin’ you want me even now. Love givin’ it to you when you’re so greedy for it.”

“I wasn’t greedy,” you mutter, cheeks burning.

“You were beggin’,” he grins, biting your shoulder lightly. “Said please so pretty. Clung to me like you were gonna break if I didn’t fuck you right.”

Your whole body flushes with heat again. “You’re an asshole.”

Joel just laughs, low and sleepy, one hand drifting from your belly to cup your breast, heavy and sore and extra sensitive. You shiver when his thumb brushes over your nipple. “Still got some fight in you, huh?”

“Barely,” you admit, voice muffled by the pillow.

You feel him smile against your skin again, feel his body relax fully behind you. His leg slides between yours, one of his palms rubbing slow circles into your belly like he’s done every night since you first started showing. It’s intimate in a way you never expected—a rhythm of soft breathing, his heartbeat steady against your back, your body warm and aching and wet from him. The ceiling fan turns lazily above you. The scent of sweat and sex and the tiniest hint of lavender detergent clings to the sheets. Outside, the cicadas drone low and slow.

It’s quiet for a while. You drift in and out, the pleasure of earlier still humming faintly in your nerves. Every now and then, Joel’s hand moves—thumb smoothing over your stomach, fingers brushing under your breast, like he needs to stay connected to you in every possible way.

When he finally speaks again, it’s low and hoarse.

“You really never gonna let me near your pussy again?”

You groan and roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“What?” he says, grinning into your neck. “Just need to know. If I gotta ration the memory of tonight for the rest of my life, I’d like a heads-up.”

You elbow him half-heartedly, but he just laughs, holding you tighter.

“You’re impossible,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, nosing your hair. “But you still let me love you.”

You’re quiet a moment. Then, softly: “Always.”

Joel kisses the back of your shoulder, then the nape of your neck. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t ever stoppin’.”

#fanfic #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pregnant reader #cute

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my-favorite-reading · 7 days ago

Text

Ugly Cat

Genre: Fan Fiction (The Last Kingdom)

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Tooth Rotting Fluff. Mentions of traumatic childhood

Rating: General

Length: Insert/One Shot

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: The Wait is Over!!! It's finally here!

This transpired through Stinky Dog. It slots in to that story in the middle of Part Six. However, it can be read on it's own as an adorable, fluffy, sweet Sihtric story. Thank you @geekandbooknerd and @whitedarkmoonflower for inspiring this one to come to life.

Catch Up Here

Smokey,

Age: Approx 2-3 years

Breed: Mixed

My name is Smokey, I like playing with my cat nip mouse, cuddles, walks on my leash, and being brushed. I am looking for a new home, since I am unsure of where my old one is, as a kind lady found me in the streets and brought me to Cat Caddy. The people here have been very kind, thanks to them I am on a proper diet, have seen the vet twice – with a clean bill of health, and I am learning that humans aren't scary. I especially like men, it's a bro vibe thing. I have been here for six months, because nobody seems to appreciate my broken meow or my odd coloured eyes. I do okay with dogs, loud children scare me, and I would prefer to be the only cat. If you think you're the right Cat Dad for me, I look forward to hearing from you.

Sihtric stared at his laptop screen, the same ad he'd seen at Marley & Bo's a few weeks ago, hanging on the Cat Adoption board. Smokey was still on their page, Sihtric smiled. It had to be fate. He knew it. From the second he'd saw the photo of the smoke grey cat with the mismatched eyes, he had been in love.

Clicking the link to fill in a request to meet Smokey, he felt his palms get a little sweaty. Was he truly ready for this? Was this a commitment in which he wanted? He had told Uhtred and Finan that he'd wanted a cat, but did he truly want to take this on?

Sihtric sighed, the photo of Smokey on the corner of the page as the application lay blank. Poising his fingers over the keys, Sihtric filled in the first question. Name. Easy enough. Current City. No problem.

Why are you looking to adopt this cat?

Scratching his head, Sihtric pursed his lips. Well.

Companionship?

He understood what it was like, when nobody wanted you?

Sihtric once had a broken meow, but he learned how to heal with the help and love from his friends. Smokey could too?

Cobbling together a solid and coherent reason as to why he wanted a cat, Sihtric read the words in the space three times before he was satisfied. Next.

Cat Owning Experience? None. Oh. Would this be a hindrance?

Being as honest as he could throughout the process, Sihtric hit Submit. Silently asking whatever Gods that would listen, to bring Smokey home to him. He could feel it. This was his cat. Hearing somebody outside of his office calling his name, Sihtric shut the lap top and pushed back from his desk. He could hear the sound of a nearly full gym operating below him, as he walked into the hallway of the office area. Spotting his general manager, he shut the office door and went to see what the problem was. Smokey would have to wait until Sihtric dealt with a broken spin bike.

Coming home night after night to the quiet cottage, Sihtric had fallen into a routine – unless it was the second Wednesday, in which he'd skip coming home, shower at work, and meet his friends at their usual pub. His nights were always the same. Home, dinner, shower, read about whatever his latest obsession was, and then bed. Sihtric had friends and he spent his days surrounded by people, which he enjoyed, but it was always the quiet time that got him.

At home, he needed someone to talk to. Although, he'd gotten very good at talking to himself. Until two years ago, Sihtric had a roommate of three years. Osferth had been living with Sihtric, between places, and then he'd met Eadith. They fell in love, got engaged, and recently had gotten married. Sihtric was happy that they had managed to find one another, they were the perfect couple, but he was noticing the absence of another being. Even if he enjoyed the quiet, there were times when it was too much.

Kicking off his trainers, he walked into the silent home, tonight was no exception. He'd walked in a bit later than usual, having to deal with the broken spin bike had quickly become a nightmare. Sihtric rubbed his tattooed hands over his face and groaned. He'd been obsessively checking his phone every hour to see if the cat rescue had replied. So far, nothing.

Trudging to the fridge, he pulled it open, staring at the selection of pre-cooked meals that he'd made on Sunday. Even his meals were the same most of the time. Sihtric needed a change. Sure he could go try and find a partner, but people often left. They would take whatever they needed or wanted from your soul and then disappear. Always with some excuse. Plucking the glass dish of chicken, black beans, rice, and salsa from the fridge Sihtric took the lid off and sniffed it. Still good.

In the past, Sihtric would fill whatever void he had with one night stands. He wasn't a slut or anything, he simply wanted contact. A connection. A spark. Sitting at the table, Sihtric sat staring at the food before him. People saw what they wanted when it came to Sihtric, they didn't take the time to really look at what lay underneath. He'd had the same group of friends since university and he was grateful for them and the people that they brought into his life, but he needed something more.

His mind wandering back to Smokey, the grey cat with the two-toned eyes. That little face could melt even the coldest hearts. Sihtric was sure of it. How could somebody not want that cat? So what if he was a little different. Different is what made the world interesting.

Sihtric woke as the alarm blared at him, filling his senses, and causing the disturbance it was meant to. He'd taken the liberty to sleep in this morning, a rare treat. Stretching and reaching for his phone, to silence the alarm, Sihtric rubbed his eyes. New Emails. Nothing new there. Scrolling through the list, he scratched his chest, his heart beat racing as he saw there was a a reply to his application.

With shaking hands, Sihtric clicked the email on his screen. Closing his eyes, he asked whatever Gods were willing to listen, this be good news.

Sihtric,

We wanted to confirm your meeting with Smokey.

His eyes scanned the words. Confirmed. Tomorrow at 2pm. Tomorrow!

“Yes!” Sihtric almost threw his phone in excitement, throwing his hands in the air. The phone landed on the bed. “Yes!”

Lowering his hands, to grasp his long hair, Sihtric felt his stomach flip and his heart clench. This was the most exciting news he'd had since...well it was the most exciting news he'd had in a while. Blowing out a breath, Sihtric flopped back on his bed. Tomorrow. A whole day away.

This was going to be the longest day in Sihtric's history.

Maybe if he emailed them, they would agree to let him come today?

Sihtric sighed and looked at his phone, no, he didn't want to appear pushy or rude. Tomorrow it was. 2PM, he would arrive and get to meet the little grey furball that had been plaguing his mind for weeks. Laying back on his pillows, Sihtric looked at the photo of Smokey again. The name Smokey wasn't one that he preferred.

Just in case, Sihtric had already come up with a few different names to offer the cat. If he decided that he wanted to come live with Sihtric. Tucking his arms behind his head, Sihtric laid with his eyes closed, thinking over the list of names he would offer to the cat, in case he didn't like Smokey.

Asger had been Sihtric's top pick.

Then there was Baldr, Halvar, Leif, Gunnar, and Tyr. Sihtric winkled his nose, what if none of these were suitable? What if he just simply called him Kat? No, the little guy deserved better than that. Who knew, Sihtric scratched the back of his head, maybe he liked being Smokey?

Groaning at the sun streaming through the curtains on his bedroom window, Sihtric prepared himself to leave his bed. Another day in the office, another day dealing with work issues. Some times Sihtric wondered what would happen if he packed up, left for a few weeks, and didn't say anything. Would anyone notice? His friends would, of course, because Uhtred couldn't go an hour without texting like a jealous girlfriend with a suspicion.

Would his employees or clients notice? Surely some would take notice. Sihtric reluctantly got out of bed, standing and stretching his arms over his head, his boxers hung low on his hips he bent forward, touching his toes. His body moved and twisted in all of the right ways to release the tension of being inactive during his sleep. Sihtric smiled to himself holding the position, if his meeting went well tomorrow, in a few days time getting up and starting the day meant he'd have a new companion. One who would curl around his legs, swishing his tail, and looking for breakfast while his silly human twisted his body like a pretzel.

Morning routine finished, Sihtric practically skipped to the kitchen. High on the possibilities of what tomorrow could bring. Fishing out a tea bag, Sihtric paused, the Russian Caravan in his hand, he frowned suddenly. What if Smokey didn't like him? What if Smokey didn't want to come home with Sihtric?

Kettle screaming at him, Sihtric placed the tea bag in a mug, and his heart grew heavy. As if someone had tied a weight to it. He had been so excited, he hadn't stopped to think of the other possible outcome. Tea in the mug, he left it to steep, while he found breakfast.

Going to work late had been a grand idea. Now he wanted something to occupy his mind. Sihtric sighed, looking through the fridge for some overnight oatmeal or left over pancakes. Surely one or the other would be in there. He glanced at the homemade cookies on the counter, Eadith had brought them to him. He could always take a page of Finan's book and go with a handful of cookies for breakfast. Sihtric snorted, digging around he found the last jar of oatmeal. He'd make more this evening, to keep him busy.

Hours ticked by, slowly, Sihtric checked his watch almost every hour, not that it mattered today. At 2PM, it was now the 24 hour mark. Sihtric had to get through the rest of today and part of tomorrow.

Arriving home after work, Sihtric went through the same routine. Shoes off at the door, dinner already prepared in the fridge – tonight was steak, sweet potatoes, and broccoli. Before bed, he made sure to have enough oatmeal prepped for the rest of the week, and checked his emails to see if there had been any updates or changes from the rescue.

Nothing about Smokey, relief and worry washed over Sihtric as he stripped down for a shower, before bed. The nagging feeling that the cat wouldn't like him crept back into his field of thoughts. Sihtric pushed them out, imagining them going down the drain with the shampoo as he rinsed his hair. Scrubbing his fingers through his long, dark curls, he groaned. 2PM tomorrow, would not come fast enough.

As predicted, 2PM was not coming fast enough for Sihtric. He'd stupidly taken the day off, something he never did, unless he was too ill to be present. Even then, he would work from the office at home. Wandering around the house, all morning, pretending to clean, Sihtric kept looking at his watch. He nearly dropped with joy, when he saw the digital numbers declare it was 1PM.

If Sihtric left his house by 1:10, he could get to the shelter by 1:55PM. He didn't want to be too early, standing around being in the way always made him extremely uncomfortable. Yet, he didn't want to be late. If Sihtric had a meeting set for 2PM, he would want his client there at least five minutes early. It showed that they had the passion for what they were doing.

Like magic, 1:55PM, Sihtric pushed open the glass door of the cat rescue. It was a small building, charming green paint on the outside and bright white with green polka dots on the walls inside. Wiping his hands against his jeans, he stood a few seconds before approaching the desk. Posters of cats hung everywhere, some funny, some cute, and a few adoption ads were on a cork board to his right. Smokey's ad was at the bottom left.

“Excuse me,” Sihtric approached the desk, doing his best not to look nervous, “I'm here for an appointment to meet Smokey.”

Humming, the lady tapped at her keyboard. “Sihtric?” She looked up at him, a soft smile gracing her aging face. Sihtric nodded. “Nice to meet you, if you could please fill this out, it's standard protocol, bring it to me when it's done and we can go meet Smokey.”

Accepting the clipboard, Sihtric looked at the paper. A few standard questions. Had he been near any sick animals, had he been in any areas where there were stray animals. If he himself currently had any illness. Sihtric answered No to everything, except the last one. Had he been near any domestic animals. Yes. He had seen Maeve recently. Finan's dog was better kept and healthier than some people.

“Excuse me, again.” Sihtric looked over at the woman. “This last one, I have been near my friend's dog. She's up to date on everything and he treats her better than most people do their families, I want to be honest....”

“Check yes, but if she is that loved then it won't hurt. We just need to know, in case anything ever happened, we would be able to contact the appropriate people.” She explained. Sihtric checked the Yes box and slid the clip board back. Looking at the paper with a quick glance, the woman signed her initials asking Sihtric to follow her.

Taking him to a small room with a large window that overlooked the main office, she instructed Sihtric to wait a moment, while she went to fetch his potential new companion. The walls in the room were a soft yellow, a far cry from the bright green. Sihtric had read that yellow could be uplifting for cats, encouraging them to become more playful. He shrugged to himself, it made sense that people would want to see their potential cat in a happy and upbeat mood on the first meeting.

The first meeting.

Sihtric felt a knot in his throat. In mere minutes, he would be meeting the cat that had plagued his thoughts and dreams for days upon days. A mixture of excitement and dread filled him once again. Slowly exhaling, Sihtric's attention snapped to the door, as the older lady turned the knob, walking into the room with the most adorable cat that Sihtric had ever laid eyes on. Comfortable in her embrace, Smokey laid content, not bothering to even look at Sihtric, his eyes were closed and he purred happily.

“This,” She shut the door behind her, “is Smokey.”

“He's even cuter in person.” Sihtric laughed nervously. Watching as she placed the cat on the floor, the fluffy grey made a loud squawking noise before exploring his surroundings. “Is that why people don't want him?”

“Afraid so.”

“Oh.”

“It can be a little unnerving, I suppose.” The woman was kind about it.

Personally, Sihtric liked the noise. It was a character all to Smokey and nobody else.

“And his eyes, they're mismatched.” Sihtric smiled, the woman nodded explaining that some people felt a cat with different eyes was bad luck. Personally, she believed it made them that much more unique. “Maybe that's what went wrong in my life?” Sihtric wondered out loud.

“Pardon me?” The woman glanced up at him from watching Smokey explore the leg of a chair. Adjusting her glasses, she squinted. “Oh! Well look at that, you match! Isn't that lovely.”

“I saw his picture at Marley & Bo's. I haven't stopped thinking about him. The first thing that I noticed was he has eyes like mine.” Sihtric's smile grew wider. “It has to be fate.”

“Well, they say our pets resemble us.” She was kind in her tone and words. Sihtric liked her. “If you'd like, you can get down with him. It makes us more approachable.” Producing a few treats from her pocket, she handed them to Sihtric. Instructing him to hold his arm out a little bit from his body.

Sihtric sat cross legged on the cool floor. Holding out a hand, treats in his palm, he waited for the fluffy grey cat to look his way. Turning his head, ears perked, Smokey swished his tail and sat down to lick his paws. Sihtric observed the cat, his fur looked incredibly soft and his eyes were curious. Content with the groom, Smokey stood up sauntering to Sihtric. Sniffing his hand, he rubbed his body against Sihtric's arm, ducking under Sihtric's outstretched hand and stepping into his lap. Bringing his hand in to offer the treats, Sihtric wanted to cry when Smokey accepted them happily purring on his lap.

Softly petting the cat behind the shoulders, Sihtric drew a deep breath. Smokey flopped down on his lap, his front paws kneading at Sihtric's knee before he settled to rest.

“You can stay there as long as you like,” The woman whispered, “I have to go back to my desk. When you are done, wave at the window, okay sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” Sihtric whispered back, glancing at the woman for a brief moment before turning his full attention to the cat. “So, do you think you'd like to live with me?” He asked when they were alone. The cat laid contently on his lap. “My house isn't big, refurbished cottage, but it's cosy and I think you would like it. You could have your own space. I don't have any other cats and the only kids I know aren't mean.”

Smokey laid on Sihtric's lap, enjoying the attention as the man spoke soothingly to him. Stretching his front legs and flexing his claws, Smokey settled once more. Sihtric ran his hand along Smokey's back, enjoying the calming presence of the cat.

“You could come to work with me, be a gym cat. Instead of a gym rat.” Sihtric snorted at his own joke. “I think my staff would really like you.” he told Smokey that he owned a gym, with another being built. Not that the cat cared, as he sniffed the tattooed hand for another treat. Sihtric offered a small piece. “I've been kind of lonely, since my friend moved out. I mean I get it, he met a great girl and they got married. I still have friends, but it's quiet at home. All of my friends have somebody to go home to, I have a quiet house and reheated meals.”

Sihtric sighed, gently scratching the cat behind the ears. “Enough about my problems. Want to tell me about those cat nip mice?” He chuckled at himself.

Smokey squawked and swished his tail. Sihtric smiled, as he sat on the floor with the car curled on his lap. They had sat in the little room for almost an hour. Sihtric had grabbed a toy and was tossing it across the floor, while Smokey would run for it and bat it around. Watching the cat maneuver the plastic ball around the floor, Sihtric laughed. Smokey would crouch down, wiggle his tail, and pounce on the opponent. The ball would go flying and the cat would stalk it down once more.

Another session of scratches and content purring, Sihtric felt his legs getting stiff from the floor. Reluctantly urging Smokey off of his lap, he stood and brushed himself off. The grey cat wrapping around his legs, Sihtric smiled, stooping to pick him up he gave a gentle knock on the window.

Approaching the door, the lady turned the knob allowing herself into the room. “So, Sihtric, what do you think of Smokey?”

“I um...I really like him. I don't know how long I was supposed to stay. I'm sorry if we took too much time.” Sihtric stood holding the cat to his chest, as if he would never let the grey beast go.

“Don't worry about it. You can't get to know one another in five minutes.” She gently smiled, closing the door behind her and taking a seat in one of the chairs, gesturing to Sihtric to take the other. “I want you to be honest, do you think this is a good fit?”

Sihtric smiled at the cat, Smokey was rubbing his head against Sihtric's arm. “I think he and I would be a great fit. I really like his personality.”

“I am sure that you're aware, Smokey had been here a while and hasn't had many prospects.” The woman frowned, as if remembering the others who had came to meet the cat, only to leave him behind. Sihtric nodded. “Your references have checked out. I finished contacting them while you were in here.”

Sihtric had known his friends would come through on that one. Eadith would never lie, besides he had kept Osferth alive. Surely she would insist he could keep a cat. Uhtred may tease him, but he knew Sihtric had a good heart and would provide a good home.

“I guess all that I have left to ask is, do you want to take Smokey home?”

“Y-yes of course!” Sihtric eagerly nodded, his body felt as though he would vibrate off the chair with excitement. Lifting Smokey, he kissed the top of his head, mumbling about how he'd be the best Cat Dad and how Smokey would absolutely love living with him. “Of course I want him.”

“You can take him home tomorrow, we will set that up in a minute. First.” She dug in her pocket. A bit preemptive, but she had known right away this young man would be leaving with the cat. “Do you want to come with me, to put his sign up?” The woman asked.

Allowing Sihtric to carry Smokey back to to the kennel. Sihtric whispered to Smokey about how he couldn't wait to get him home, stroking the cat's long fur, placing a kiss on his head.

“I think he's going to be a great addition.” The lady smiled, as Sihtric followed her.

“I can't wait to come back and get him.” Sihtric rocked the cat gently in his arms. Following the lady to Smokey's kennel, Sihtric's heart felt a twist as they passed by the other cats waiting for their humans to come. Smokey squawked happily a he saw his fleece blanket and cat nip mouse. Sihtric placed him back in the decent sized wall kennel, promising to come back tomorrow to take him home.

“Would you like to do the honours?” The woman smiled handing Sihtric the bright pink magnet that read Adopted!

Placing the magnet on the metal bars, Sihtric took another look at Smokey. Tomorrow, he would be free. A cushy life of tuna snacks, cat nip, all the fleece blankets he could ever dream of, and one slightly obsessive Cat Dad.

As the door opened, the bell jingled, Anya looked up half expecting to see her handsome Irishman walk through the door, with his faithful shepherd by his side. Finan had taken Maeve to work again today, which meant a stop in on the ride home for some of Maeve's favourite cheese biscuits. Seeing the familiar Dane with his dark hair and tattoos, Anya's smile was wide and welcoming none the less.

“Hey Lady.” Sihtric greeted Anya with a huge smile. His hair was pulled back in a bun and his smile was evidently one of good news.

“Hey Sihtric, what's going on?” His best friend's girlfriend greeted him with a warm smile and a tight hug.

“I got the cat!” He announced, slightly rocking on the balls of his feet. He was thirty years old, acting like a little boy on Christmas, but Sihtric didn't care. This was one of the greatest moment of his life.

“He's mine! I can pick him up tomorrow, the grey one with the different eyes.”

“Sihtric! That's fantastic!” Anya hugged him again. Letting him go, she squeezed his arm. “So?”

“So, now I am here to get some things, because I need to have it all set up before he gets home. I need a cat bed, dishes, a collar, maybe a name tag or a bell? What about cat nip mice? Do you sell those?” He rambled his list, ticking things off on his fingers as he went. “Um, a scratching post?” He snapped his fingers, trying to think of other things he would need.

Anya couldn't contain her smile. Sihtric was beyond excited about this cat, sounding like somebody else she knew when it came to his four legged companion.

“What about food?”

Sihtric shook his head, “they told me they will send some home. Then I can see what it is they have been feeding him.”

“Smart.”

“I also need a leash, some toys, a litter pan, some litter, and do you have anything fleece?”

“Okay, let's take this slow.” Anya giggled, Sihtric was worse than a new parent. Understandably, he had been talking about wanting this cat for weeks. “Start with the basics, maybe a budget.”

“No budget, nothing but the best for my Cat King.”

“Okay, you are starting to sound like Finan.”

Sihtric grimaced. “That's a bit scary. I swear, I will never be that unhinged.”

“He's not unhinged, he's just....Okay he's unhinged when it comes to Maeve.” Anya laughed.

“If only you knew.” Winking, Sihtric snorted in laughter.

Anya and Finan had been together for nearly two months and nobody had the heart to tell her how truly desperate Finan had been while trying to win her over. Sihtric would never be the one to tell her about the garbage that Finan had purposely left out and encouraged his dog to roll in, just to talk to the Pretty Lady at the pet shop.

“He still makes excuses to come in here at least four days a week.” laughing Anya shrugged. “Guess it was my choice to say yes.”

“A good choice, I think.” Sihtric countered with a firm nod.

“Okay, enough about Finan. If we keep saying his name, he's likely to appear.” Anya looked at her watch. Another half an hour and he would appear anyway. “Let's get you all set up, come on Cat Dad.”

“Hey, do you know where I can get a tshirt like the one you got Finan? Well, I want mine to say Cat Dad, but you know what I mean.”

“I'll send you a link.” Anya giggled, if Sihtric wanted a Cat Dad gift basket that badly, she'd have one ordered and sent to him. A little first time Cat Dad gift.

Following Anya through the store, Sihtric was like a toddler in a toy store. Everything he laid eyes on, he wanted. Anya had pried a few items out of his hands as they went, insisting that he did not need an over priced luxury cat bed. Chances were, his new cat would be more content on Sihtric's bed.

Arms loaded with everything he would need, plus the things he thought he would need, Sihtric followed Anya to the front. Carrying an arm load herself, Anya placed the items down looking over the mountain of items at Sihtric.

“Are you sure you need all of this?” She picked up a cat hoodie.

“What if he gets cold?” Sihtric looked at her, the most serious expression she had ever witnessed on his face.

“He's a long haired cat, Sihtric. Why don't you get the essentials today and leave the other stuff for now? If you find that he needs a hoodie and a jacket, and pjs, then you can let me know and I will set them aisde.” Anya compromised. Sihtric sighed and nodded. “Okay. So,” she began tallying up the cost.

Handing over his card, Sihtric didn't even blink when Anya read him the total cost. Pets weren't cheap, Sihtric was single and made a good living, he could take the financial hit. Chattering on about meeting Smokey, his face could hardly contain his smile. He'd spent an hour with the cat and already knew it was love.

Pure love.

Anya was aware of Sihtric's upbringing, he hadn't always had it easy, and he seemed to be a bit of a loner as a result. Outside of his best friends and the people he employed or worked with. He was quiet, until you got to know him and then you wished he had an Off Switch. Anya nodded as he explained why Smokey had been in the shelter so long. People had assumed the cat was broken or bad luck. Sihtric sighed heavily, he didn't have to say it – Anya knew he was thinking about his own parallel.

“Do you think it's okay if I change his name?” He scratched the goatee on his chin, his tattoos almost animated with the gesture.

“I think it's a great idea. A new name for a new life.” Anya nodded in confirmation. “Do you have one in mind?”

“I keep thinking of the name Asger. It means God's Spear.” Sihtric shrugged.

“I think it's a great name.” She encouraged. She hadn't known how to say it, but Smokey was too generic. Although, Sihtric and Smokey had a ring, it certainly wasn't a name that suited Sihtric. Pets were reflections of their humans, Asger was a far better reflection of the Dane.

“Okay. I guess I'll ask him tomorrow and see how he feels.” Sihtric nodded, gathering his bags, “I'll see you lady?”

“I am sure that I will see you around. Good luck, Sihtric.” Anya called after him, as he pushed the door open with his broad shoulder. Watching him through the large front window, Anya shook her head and laughed to herself. Oh god, he may be worse than Finan.

Everything had to be perfect, Sihtric had spent several hours arranging the things he'd picked up, moving them around his house to find the best lay out and the easiest access for Smok – Asger. Setting a few fleece cat blankets around various spots in the house, including one on his bed, Sihtric was satisfied that his new friend would be comfortable. Water fountain and food dish set up in the kitchen, where Sihtric could see them from the table, obviously they were going to eat together. He'd emptied a small basket from the office, placing the toys that he'd bought in it. Sitting the basket on the living room floor by his bookshelf, Sihtric was satisfied that everything was perfect.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Waiting was the worst.

2PM was not getting here fast enough.

Trying to focus on work was near torture, as Sihtric kept looking at the giant clock at the end of the gym. Rubbing his hand across his face, he mumbled some form of encouragement to the man he was working with. Deeply unfair to the paying client, Sihtric needed a moment to regroup. Insisting they take a short break. Another thirty minutes with his client and Sihtric was on office duties until it was time to go collect his new furry companion.

If he had a chance, he could always take a few minutes at one of the rowing machines. The familiar movement would help Sihtric to calm his mind and burn some of his nervous energy. If he had time to run down to the river, he could always grab a boat and...no the machine would have to do today. Maybe he and Osferth could teach Asger to sit in the boat with them? Sihtric smirked at the idea of taking his cat rowing. They would have killed to have a mascot like that back in university.

Break over, it was back to work. For now.

The clock was tormenting him.

Slowly ticking.

Time was standing still.

Had Sihtric not checked his watch, he would had sworn that giant clock had stopped working.

Sitting in the office wasn't a help. He shuffled through papers, not that he actually read a single one. His computer was open, but there was very little work happening. Sihtric sat with the door closed and the blinds drawn, mostly so his staff couldn't see him sitting inside being idle. He was always on them, when they were wasting time.

Finally!

As the alarm on his phone went off, signaling that he was allowed to leave, Sihtric had to contain his excitement. Shutting up the office, he collected his bag, ignoring anyone who tried to speak to him, for fear they may delay him from getting his cat. Sihtric waved to the young woman at the front desk, telling her that he'd see her tomorrow. If anybody needed him, call the general manager.

Arriving at the shelter, Sihtric took a deep breath, before exiting his car. Slowly inhaling and exhaling, he felt his heart rate return to a somewhere normal pace. Inside he was greeted with the green polka dot walls and the cat posters, hanging on the walls. Soft shell cat carrier in hand, he confidently walked up to the front desk. The same lady from the previous day sat at the desk, her smile nearly as wide as Sihtric's. Speaking to another woman, she nodded and the other woman disappeared to the back.

“Sihtric, good afternoon. Here for your little guy.”

“I am. I can't wait to take him home.” Sihtric nodded, pulling his curls back into a low bun. “I have been on edge all day waiting.”

“He'll be ready in a minute, while he's getting ready, I need some paperwork signed and we will get you all set.” She stood, plucking some papers from a stack on the corner of her desk. “Standard stuff, agreement if it doesn't work then you bring him back to us. Information on our vets that have worked with him. Agreement to care and that you understand he's your responsibility.”

Sihtric nodded, listening to her go over the forms. Singing each one, putting his initials where she asked. He dated the paper and handed back the pen.

“Before you leave, we like to have adopters take photos. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely!” Sihtric agreed, his head bobbing like a dog on a dashboard. The kind lady handed him another form, agreeing to release his likeness and consent to the photo, allowing the rescue to use it. Sihtric heard a familiar squawking noise, turning his head to see the other woman with his cat in her arms. Wearing a blue harness with a blue leash attached, she walked towards Sihtric.

“He's all yours.” She placed the cat in his arms.

Two different eyes looking up at him, the grey cat settled immediately in Sihtric's arms.

“Asger.” Sihtric whispered, cuddling the cat in his arms. “Asger.” this time with more confidence, the cat shook his head and gave a small squawking sound. Sihtric was already in love with that broken meow. “You like that name? I think it's a good name.”

Photos taken, Asger in his carrier, Sihtric thanked the two women and picked up the bag of food that they had been feeding Asger. Outside, Sihtric hummed softly, loading Asger in the car. The cat didn't say much on the drive, Sihtric was pretty sure he'd slept most of the way home. Content to know he had his human. Sihtric smiled at the thought of Asger being happy with his new life. He would never have to worry about not knowing who his family was. He would never worry about finding his next meal, nor would he ever be lonely again.

Unlocking the door, Sihtric walked inside the cottage. Kicking his shoes off, as always, he flicked on a light and sat Asger's carrier down beside the door. Opening the black mesh bag, he took a step back allowing the cat to look around. Giving Asger space, Sihtric walked into the kitchen. When Asger was comfortable, he would come out.

Grabbing a tea bag from the cupboard, Sihtric went through the motions of making his cup. Pouring the hot water into the mug, he smiled fondly when he saw the grey fluff from the corner of his eye. Behind him, Asger slowly approached, sniffing his new surroundings. Squawking at his human, Asger charged at Sihtric's legs, his paws grabbing the side of Sihtric's track pants, claws kneading into the material. Sihtric stooped to pick the cat up.

“You and I are going to be best friends, I know it.” Sihtric spoke to the cat, carrying him in one arm, while he removed the tea bag from his mug with the other. Asger purred, content. “I've never had a pet. So, forgive me as I learn?”

Asger blinked, Sihtric turned to lean against the cupboard top. Stroking Asger's soft fur was rather relaxing for both of them.

“When I was a kid, I always wanted a pet, but I knew it wouldn't be a good place for them. Hell, it was barely a good place for me.” Sihtric's face darkened and his shoulders slumped. “I get it, having a family who didn't care. That's different now, I have become a better person. Someone bigger and stronger. You will, too, Asger.”

Snuggling into his cat, Sihtric hummed. Asger yawned and wiggled a little, but he didn't make an attempt to move from his perch in Sihtric's arms. “I promise you, I will never leave you behind. You are always my number one. You are going to have the best life, I promise.”

Stretching, Asger wiggled in Sihtric's arms, placing the cat back on the floor, Sihtric watched him explore the kitchen. Taking in the location of his food and water, the cat sniffed his empty food dish and walked on. Standing with his mug of tea, Sihtric watched quietly. Coming home was going to be so much more rewarding. Turning to look at his human, Asger blinked and stretched.

“I am glad you like it. It's just us, for the most part. Sometimes my friends come over, but they are chill. Although, Maeve may need to stay home, for now.” Sihtric furrowed his brow. “She's Finan's dog. Which reminds me, I promise, I will never sink to Finan's level, in using you to pick up women, but if one happens to have a nice girl cat who thinks you're cute. We could work something out.”

Asger sat, cleaning his front paws, rubbing it against his ear. Sihtric watched in amazement. This being was his responsibility. He was the one who was going to care for and nurture this cat. When he came home, he was going to have someone waiting. A cat, on a poster, all because he was too nosy over Finan's hot pet shop lady. Sihtric laughed, Asger looked alarmed by the noise, but soon settled back to his grooming.

“You have no idea how much I already love you, Asger.” Sinking down to sit on the kitchen floor, Sihtric extended his hand to Asger. Crossing his legs, he smiled when the cat wandered over, plopping down and snuggling in.

Tagging: (I am never sure who to tag, if you wish to be added/removed please tell me) @geekandbooknerd @gemini-mama @fuckoffbard @mrsarnasdelicious @mrsalwayswrite @whitedarkmoonflower @earl-aive @leftoverp1zza @sunshinepanic @grlwtskulltattoo @trenko-heart @heavenly1927 @cacti123322 @booknerd0612 @norisdedith @justagirlwanderingearth @deandoesthingstome @masked-lost-girl @thenameswinter99

#fanfic #the last kingdom #sihtric kjartansson #cat dad sihtric #modern!sihtric #arnas fedaravičius

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my-favorite-reading · 8 days ago

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Ghost never talks about his home life. He never tells anyone anything. Not even Soap knows what goes on in Ghost's house. He knows that Ghost comes to bars. That he comes to work. But between the work and boys' night, nobody knows anything about him.

That is until Ghost has a little too much to drink one night and can't drive himself home. Soap had been the DD that night, so he asks Ghost for his address. Ghost reluctantly gives it to him after a few minutes of badgering and begging. The drive to Ghost's little townhouse near the base is peaceful.

The first thing Soap notices is that the lights are on. The second thing he notices is the flower bed by the pathway to the door. As Soap helps Ghost out of the passenger seat, he finds himself staring at the flowers. "When did you become a gardener, mate?" Soap asks.

"Huh- wot?" Ghost slurs.

"The flowers, Simon," he clarifies.

"Oh, the old lady planted them," replies Ghost, stumbling over a decorative brick. The brick shatters and crushes the flowers nearby. Soap tucks himself under Ghost's arm, supporting his weight as much as possible.

"The old lady, eh? Like a... neighbor or somethin'?" Soap prods.

He shakes his head. "No, no, my girl."

"What." Soap's jaw drops. He's standing at Ghost's door, hand on the knocker, but he finds himself unable to move. "You have a bird?"

"She ain't a bird," Ghost grumbles, swaying where he stands.

Soap finally manages to get himself to knock on the door, still holding Ghost up like a crutch. Sure enough, a pretty little thing answers the door in a nightgown.

You see Simon with his mask half-on and a stranger with a mohawk supporting him. You assume the mohawk man is one of the mates he goes to the bar with on Fridays. Simon must've had a bit too much tonight because usually he drives himself home when he's sobered up.

"Um, hello," you say tentatively.

"Hi, angel," Simon slurs at you.

"Hush, you're too drunk to call me an angel," you scold. "How much did he have to drink?"

"My name's Johnny, by the way," the man says, surprisingly Scottish. "I'm not sure. Four or five pints? A couple shots? The footie game was tonight and we got a wee bit excited."

"Oh, he's gonna be so hungover and cranky tomorrow," you mutter. "Come inside, Johnny. Help me get him to the couch."

"Not the bed?" Simon whines.

"You're in trouble, mister," you reply curtly.

Johnny spins around in the living room of your house like he's visiting a museum. He clearly didn't expect a house so cottage-y from a man like Simon. Paintings of flowers hang on the walls. A throw blanket and two pillows are on each couch. A TV is mounted to the wall over a short bookcase.

"This is right beautiful, mate," Johnny chuckles.

"She decorated it!" Simon replies proudly. "It's somethin' special, innit?"

"Shut it. Still in trouble for crushing my flowers and coming home pissfaced," you snap. "Johnny, welcome to our home. Simon will still be here in the morning if you want to check on him."

"I didn't know Ghost had a girlfriend," he whispers.

"Girlfriend?! I'm his fiancée! He didn't tell you about me?" you scoff. "Simon, you are in so much trouble!"

"Fiancée," Johnny breathes. "I didn't think it possible."

#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #fiancé #drunk Simon

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my-favorite-reading · 8 days ago

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lxvvie your addition blew me away!

K.D🖤

Do you ever sit and think of how Simom 'Ghost' Riley is so enemies to lovers-he fell harder coded?

I am not remotely close to being a Ghost girlie but it just clicks personally.

He screams 'she's so beautiful, attractive even but that's it' upon meeting this lady and he gets so annoyed about feeling anything more than passing attraction. He has to convince himself at every turn that it's not that deep or serious.

Until it is because the more he resists, behaves poorly or tries to ignore the object of his constant thoughts, the more he falls. He gets so angry with himself. He's getting obnoxious, insulting her and throwing comments she rises to.

He starts to rarionalize why it would never work, why he's so unfit and how she deserves better before he shakes his head for even going down that path, so he continues to be a real jerk.

It doesn't help that everyone else loves her, or that she's so unguarded with literally any other person but with him? she's Fort Knox so he kicks himself for being the cause of that but has to justify why it's necessary. He tries to say nice things though and it comes out so so wrong. He kicks himself more.

The tension between them is no secret, the way they add such fuel to each other's fire. She never backs down from.going toe to toe with Ghost and Ghost is battling his demons and her - pleading for his sanity for him to stay away. So when another man makes her laugh or she's being kind to, he's raging. How dare another man enjoy his lady. 'his lady'?? He's appaled at himself.

Until they cave and have their moment to address their miscommunication of feelings. Ghost has ro realize how inlove he is. And then he's no longer Ghost, he's now Simon.

Simon who is insecure a small bit, Simon who hates to feel, Simon who is dying to love this firecracker, his firecracker. Simon who doesn't believe in god nit wants to worship her for all the time he has lost - he wants to be a known devotee. Simon who is entirely and utterly down bad.

yeah me neither, adieu 💋

When Ghost's walls came down and he became Simon was a story all its own. One that involved alcohol.

Liquid courage could be a right bastard but so was he and when he drunk-dialed you (to your pleasant surprise), he let the cracks break and poured his heart out.

Would he regret it? Probably. Soap, Gaz, and Price were all in earshot. Did it matter, though? Hell no.

Ghost pours his heart out and you hear Simon behind his slurred words.

He tells you he could make you smile wider, laugh harder, and worship you better than any of those other knobheads can. He can be good for you. He can protect you. He can be open for you. He tells you that it's you. That it's all always been fuckin' you.

Make an honest man out of him, yeah?

You're shocked. You can only reply demurely that he's drunk and won't remember this come morning.

You could've heard a pin drop after what Simon said next.

"M'not drunk, sweetheart. 'M in love."

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #enemies to lovers #ghost falls harder #lxvvie’s perfect addition

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my-favorite-reading · 8 days ago

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Salutations my liege,

May i humbly offered an idea— of reader doing body shots with 141

Mayhaps the 141 could take turns licking and slurping drinks from your body- or do it at once— your choice my liege 🧎

Poly!TF141 x female!reader, body shots, drunk sex, gangbang, some background Ghoap, object insertion

do you want a yeast infection? because this is how you get a yeast infection

The tequila was cold, but Kyle's tongue was hot as sin as it dragged up your skin, achingly slow, nudging into your navel just enough to make you think of his tongue sliding into you somewhere else- before he slurped up the little puddle, grinning, licking achohol off his lips.

The tingling in your skin, your pussy, had started hours ago when you'd jokingly suggested a body shot to get the night started - and when Kyle had immediately jumped on board, pouring them out for each of the squad, you'd laid back and just let him, wide eyed as he'd bent his head and licked salt and booze off your skin, taking a slice of lime from Johnny's fingers with another curl of his tongue.

Johnny was next, and he's harder, messier- rum splashing across your stomach that he chases down, shamelessly nosing the underside of your breasts just to get that last drop. You're sticky from it, and your hips jolt when he wipes you down with a wet napkin, ice cold, nipples hard under your top.

Simon all but bullies him out of the way, and holds up the bottle for you to see- vodka. A moment while he holds it up, considering, and then you yelp as he pours it over your tits, soaking your shirt instantly, wet fabric sticking to your breasts. No time to breathe between the cold liquor and the sudden heat of his mouth latching onto your nipple, and you grip the back of his head as you moan, head spinning as he sucks hard, his other hand pinching your nipple tight. Your legs spread open under someone's hands, and you feel Gaz licking across your belly again, his tongue flicking as fingers press against your pussy through your jeans.

You pant as Simon pulls his mouth off your nipple with a wet pop, and pull his hair to bring him up to your mouth, tasting vodka as you suck on his tongue, letting it rush through your body, tingling in your skin, helping your hips rock up as Price finally gets into the mix, kissing Kyle and Johnny as they pass more booze over your body, wet trails following their lips and tongues across you.

Your pants are peeled away in a rush, and you let Simon go, moaning against his lips, as the round shape of a bottle rubs up against your panties. It's big and thick, and you let your hips climb it, humping the glass. Someone else moans, and you open your eyes to see Johnny kissing Simon, both of them grinding together, as Price holds the bottle to your pussy. Baileys- you laugh a little when he winks at you.

Kyle takes your panties off, and your belly clenches when he brings them to his nose and sniffs them, eyes closing as he palms his cock.

Johnny is on his knees, and you lick your lips when he gets Simon's belt open, pulls his cock out and starts sucking him off. Price tips the edge of the bottle over and pours a little creamy liquor out, and your eyes roll back seeing him slurp it off Simon's cock at the same time that Kyle gets his lips on your clit.

His mouth is cold and wet, freshly full of tequila, and you can feel the faint tingle of it as he sucks and flicks his tongue, riding the motions of your hips. Price pours more cream out over your tits, and you squeeze them together with both hands, holding them up for Price to suck them clean, his mustache wet with it when he kisses you. You moan into his mouth, arching up, Kyle working two fingers into your pussy. Simon is moaning next to you, Soap blowing him hard and fast, and you can feel how Kyle picks up the pace to match him.

Price keeps moving between your tits and your lips, alcohol swimming through your veins as you lick it up from him, feel the heat and languid pleasure building. When he pulls you to the side, to mouth at his cock where he's finally pulled it out, Kyle takes another swig of his bottle and throws your thigh over, letting you settle on your belly, legs hanging down from the edge of the table.

From here you can suck the tip of Price's cock into your mouth, clumsily suckling at it, and reach out to get a hand on Johnny. Your fingers at the back of his neck make him moan, gripping in his hair makes him fucking whine, and Simon shouts as you push Johnny further onto his cock, taking it down as Simon comes, his throat flexing.

Kyle's tongue goes into your ass when Soap pulls away and meets your lips around Price's cock in a sloppy, drunken kiss, come spilling between your mouths until it covers up the booze. Price comes across both your faces, jerking his cock, and you lick a streak of it off Johnny's cheek as you come with Kyle's tongue and fingers all fucking you.

More tequila splashes down the small of your back as he stands up and shoves his cock into your pussy, hard as iron, panting as he bends over your shoulders and bites, fucking you hard, making the table jostle. Your body slips back and forth in the wet puddle of mixed booze under you, shirt a lost cause, wet and shoved up under your arms, hair sticking to your face with come and drink. Kyle pulls your head back carefully, and when you blink up at him, mouth open on a moan, he pours a shot down your throat, coming in you as you choke on it, sputtering, tequila dripping down your chin.

Johnny's the last one left, and he's gripping his cock and moaning as he barely strokes it, too sensitive to jerk off. You open your mouth and let your tongue drool out, feeling loose and wobbly, pussy throbbing. His cock slides right in, wet and leaking, and he comes almost as soon as he gets all the way in- his come sticks to your tongue, thick and heavy, tangy after all the bitter alcohol.

You squirm when he pulls away, needy, still wanting more, and Price chuckles as he tucks the lip of the empty Baileys bottle to your pussy. It's just right, firm and fat, and you moan and shove up onto your hands and knees to rock back, fucking yourself onto the bottle, tits bouncing and ass clenching as you work the solid glass against your cunt, searching for the best angle, the right edge of pleasure to push yourself up and over the crest.

Your thighs quiver as you come, gushing, clenching and moaning, and Price lifts the bottle and throws back your come like a shot.

"Delicious," he declares, and puts a shot glass right under your pussy. "Don't leave us hanging now love- give us some for all the lads."

#fanfic #call of duty #tf141 #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #f!reader #body shots #gangbang #this is filthy #I love it

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my-favorite-reading · 9 days ago

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Hiii

Can you write simon teaching 141 medic!reader shooting, shes doing another sidequest of hers and doing a sniper seminar so she’d be more qualified?

thank you for the request, hope you enjoy it <33 +18, mdni

You were only doing this because Price signed off on your little “extra training.” That’s what you kept telling yourself, anyway. He’d signed the paperwork with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, like he knew exactly what you were up to but wasn’t going to say a word about it. Maybe he did know. Perhaps they all did. But no one said anything, and you didn’t offer an explanation.

Because the truth was, you’d already been trained to shoot. You weren’t helpless. But this? This was sniper training. This was one-on-one sessions with Simon Riley, Captain Price’s most trusted weapon, and the walking, breathing, six-foot-something problem who lived rent-free in your brain.

And maybe you had a bit of a thing for the way he handled a rifle. Or the way he stood behind you like his entire body was built to take up space, or the way he always spoke low and slow like his words were meant for you and only you. Or the fact that every time he adjusted your stance or your grip, your skin burned for hours after, like your body couldn’t forget where he’d touched it.

“‘S not that different,” he said, standing beside you now, boots crunching lightly in the gravel, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, and forearms flexing as he guided your hands into position. “Just longer range. More control.”

Of course he would say that. As if anything was that simple. As if your brain wasn’t short-circuiting every time his fingers skimmed over yours or his arm brushed your side. As if you weren’t biting down on your own tongue to keep from making a sound when he leaned in a little closer to fix your elbow, his body hovering just behind yours.

“Mmhmm,” you managed to let out a noise that was safer than actual words, because if you opened your mouth right now, you weren’t sure what might come out. You gonna keep touching me like that, or are you gonna take me to dinner first? was one of the many thoughts bouncing around your head, but you kept that one tucked away.

You’d handled weapons before. That wasn’t the problem. You knew how to shoot, and you could defend yourself. You’d seen blood and bullets and screaming, and you could handle all of that without flinching. But this? This was different. This was him. His hands, rough and warm, settling over yours like he’d done it a thousand times. His voice sends a ripple down your spine every time it hits your ear. His breath brushing your neck in the worst and best way possible—distracting, hot, intimate. Like he was doing it on purpose. Like he wanted you to squirm.

And God help you, you were starting to want him to do a lot more than that.

“Loosen your shoulders,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, as he leaned down closer behind you. “You’re too tense.”

You could feel his breath against the shell of your ear, the heat of it sending a shiver straight down your spine. You didn't move right away, and not because you didn't hear him, but because your entire body had locked up the second his voice dropped like that. He always spoke low during training, but this time it felt intentional. Like he knew exactly what it did to you.

“I wonder why,” you mumbled, not even trying to hide the edge in your voice as your cheek twitched with the effort of staying still.

He chuckled, barely a breath of sound, but it rattled you anyway. It wasn’t just the noise. It was the way he didn’t back off. He always stayed just close enough to toe that invisible line between professional and something else entirely.

He had to know; there was no way he didn’t. Not with the way he hovered behind you now, his shadow practically cast over your whole damn body, his chest close enough that if you moved back just slightly, your shoulders would be flush with him. You could feel his warmth, feel how solid he was, and your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it if he leaned in just a little more.

Then his hand slid around you to correct your grip. You didn’t breathe.

He could’ve done it quickly, efficiently, like it was just part of the routine. But no. He took his time. His fingers slid over yours, warm and rough in a way that made your stomach twist and your throat tighten. You could feel every ridge of his skin, the way his thumb pressed lightly into your knuckles, adjusting your hold like he’d done this a hundred times before. But you knew he was lingering. He didn’t need to keep his hand there that long. He just did.

“Try now,” he said, voice still right at your ear, almost too low to hear.

You swallowed hard and pulled the trigger, heart pounding, mouth dry.

The bullet hit dead center.

“Atta girl,” he said, and the way he said it proudly, like you’d done something so much bigger than just hit a damn target, made your whole body flush with heat. You swore to god, your knees almost gave out right there, which would’ve been impressive considering you were already on the ground.

You didn’t dare look at him. You couldn’t. Not with the way your body was reacting. Not with the heat still buzzing in your chest and your hands still tingling from his touch. If you looked at him now, you knew you'd do something reckless. Say something you couldn't take back. Reach for him.

Instead, you kept your eyes forward, jaw tight, fingers still clenched around the rifle, trying to act like you weren’t about to crawl out of your own skin just from a single fucking training correction. Trying to breathe like you weren’t one second away from turning over, grabbing him by the collar, and pulling his mouth down onto yours just to shut him up.

You didn’t look. But you could feel his eyes on you. And that was almost worse.

Every training session was like that, too much and never enough, and you kept signing up for more like a glutton for punishment.

You told yourself it was about improvement, about getting more qualified. Building your skill set so you’d be just as valuable in a firefight as you were in a med tent. You told yourself you were just trying to pull your weight on the field. Being useful. That’s what you wrote on the form, and that’s what you told Price. That’s what you repeated to yourself every time you ended up flat on your stomach with a sniper rifle under your hands and Simon Riley kneeling behind you.

But it wasn’t that. It was him.

It was the way he leaned over your shoulder, not even touching you but close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around yours. It was the way he spoke quietly near your ear, letting his breath skim your skin. It was the way his hand always found yours, firm and patient, guiding you, correcting you, and lingering longer than necessary.

And God, it was the way he looked at you.

His eyes were always unreadable to you. But they would drift, just for a second, and always to your mouth. He didn’t do it every time, but often enough that you noticed. Often enough that it left you restless and sweating and fucked up for hours afterward, stuck replaying every glance, every inch of contact, trying to decide if you were imagining it. But you weren’t, you knew you weren’t.

You wanted him to do something. Anything.

Push you up against the nearest wall... grab your throat... pull your hair. Drag you somewhere dark and quiet and take you apart until your body forgets what it was like to be not touched by him. You wanted his hands everywhere. His mouth on your neck, on your chest, between your legs. All. Of. It.

You felt it in every session.

And he felt it too. You knew he did. There was no way he didn’t. You caught it in the way his voice would go lower when you got something right. In the way his hand would hover at your lower back like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you there, or maybe he wanted to and was trying not to. In the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking at him, his gaze was almost possessive, like he was trying to keep something locked up.

But nothing ever happened.

Not once.

Because neither of you said a word. Not about the glances. Not about the touches. Not about the fucking firestorm brewing every time you were within arm’s reach of each other.

You told yourself it would ruin everything.

The work, the team, and this rhythm you’d found with him, this delicate little balance of silence and heat and what-ifs.

You told yourself that so many times it started to sound like the truth.

But it wasn’t. Not really.

It was fear. It was control. It was both of you pretending like it wasn’t killing you just to be around each other and do nothing about it.

And eventually?

Something had to give.

It happened on the range, after hours, late enough that the rest of the base was quiet, the lights dimmed low, and the air had suddenly turned colder than it was all day, and it was just the two of you standing there in the open, no one else around for miles, the whole field stretching out in front of you.

You had just missed a shot, and not because you didn’t know how to hold the rifle steady or how to aim, but because he was behind you again, standing way too close and way too warm against your back, and your body couldn’t just act like it didn’t feel it anymore.

He hadn’t said a word this time, he just moved his hand slowly down the middle of your spine to fix your posture, like he’d done it a dozen times before during training, like it didn’t make your heart pound faster and your breath catch sharp in your throat.

That sharp breath slipped out of you, and suddenly his hand froze on your back, right between your shoulder blades, and neither of you moved for what felt like forever, because it was like all the tension that had been building between you for weeks, finally turned into something you could feel pressing on your skin, impossible to ignore.

You didn’t say anything, because you didn’t have to, he felt it too, and you could tell by the little twitch of his fingers on your skin and the way his breathing shifted just enough to make your whole body tighten with anticipation, you were both standing on the edge of something you couldn’t back away from anymore.

And then, faster than you could even blink, he moved, spinning you around so your back slammed against the edge of the table behind you hard enough to make the breath whoosh out of you, and before you could say a single word, his hands were tangled in your hair, pulling you close, and his mouth crashed onto yours without hesitation, full of hunger like he’d been holding back too long and finally decided he didn’t care about anything except tasting you.

His kiss was rough and desperate and messy, full of everything he’d been keeping inside, and it just exploded all at once.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him like you needed to anchor yourself because your head was spinning and your heart was racing too fast to think straight, and you kissed him back with everything you’d been trying to hold in.

He groaned low in his throat, as one hand slid down to your hip, pulling you against him, trying to erase every last inch of space between you, and you felt his thigh press hard between your legs, lifting you up against the table more, and the sharp little gasp you couldn’t stop yourself from making got swallowed up by his mouth again as he chased the sound.

It was just him, finally giving in—his hands everywhere, his mouth on you, nothing else mattered, and you didn’t even try to stop him.

You opened your legs wider, grabbed at the front of his shirt, pulling him closer because this was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d been wanting without ever saying it out loud, and now it was real, and there was no turning back.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, fingers digging in like he was trying to memorize every curve, every inch of you, and he pulled you flush against him, voice low and rough as he whispered, “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

You bit your lip, trying to catch your breath, your hands trembling slightly as they gripped his shirt tighter, and you managed to murmur back, “Neither do you.”

He smiled against your lips, just for a second, before crashing back down to kiss you harder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, pulling him closer until you could feel his heartbeat pounding right next to yours, and you whispered, “Then don’t stop.”

He groaned and moved his hands to your thighs, lifting you just enough to push you back onto the table, the cold metal biting into your skin, but you barely noticed because every nerve ending was on fire. His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he said, “Not a chance.”

You gasped when he pressed his body harder against you, and for a moment, the only sound was your breaths mingling, harsh and uneven, and then you said, voice shaky, “Simon, please.”

He paused for just a second, eyes dark as they locked onto yours, like he was reading every hidden thought and wanting to hear the words one more time, his breath catching just slightly before he whispered, “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

His hands moved slowly down your thighs, tracing fire along your skin, and you felt the tension building so thick you could hardly think straight, every nerve alive and screaming as his fingers pressed harder.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling around the edge of the table as he leaned down, his mouth trailing slow kisses along your jawline, every touch setting off sparks that made your whole body shiver.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your skin.

You bit your lip again, heart pounding so fast you were sure he could hear it, and you whispered, “I want you. I want you here, right now.”

A rough smile tugged at his lips as he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes burning with something raw, and said, “You’ve got me. Every inch.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, he slid his hands beneath your shirt, fingers warm and sure as they roamed over your skin, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

You gasped softly when his lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper, savoring every second, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you gave yourself over to the moment you’d both been holding back for so long.

There was no rush, no holding back anymore, just the two of you, caught in a storm of need and everything you’d been too scared to admit out loud, finally crashing down all at once.

“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he said between kisses, voice low, almost cautious despite everything. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

You shook your head, breathless and desperate. “No. Don’t stop. Just... keep going.”

His hands were already fumbling at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly like he was afraid to rush, but you didn’t care about slow or fast anymore, you just wanted him. You helped him, lifting the shirt over your head, and then his hands moved to the buckle of your belt, fingers working it loose while your own hands started unbuttoning his shirt, your fingers trembling a little but steady enough.

The cold air hit your bare skin as your clothes came off piece by piece, until it was just you two, skin to skin, breath mixing in the quiet night.

He pushed your pants down, then you stepped out of them, heart hammering in your chest like a drum, while he peeled off his own shirt and pants, revealing skin that looked even warmer under the dim lights. You shivered, not from cold, but because the moment was real and so close to breaking apart the hold you’d both kept for too long.

His hands found your hips again, and he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every inch before he moved.

Then, without any hesitation, he pressed himself against you, sliding inside slowly, giving you just enough time to catch your breath before he started moving. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your nails digging into his shoulders as the fire inside you both built higher and higher.

His breath was hot against your skin as he groaned in your ear, voice rough like he was barely keeping it together when he whispered, “Fuck, you feel so damn good.”

You gasped, the sharp rush of pleasure making your chest tighten and your breath catch, and you started to move with him, hips pressing up, grinding against the heat of him as you couldn’t get enough, your fingers digging into the muscle of his back, pulling him impossibly closer until it felt like you were both melting into each other.

“Simon,” you whispered, voice shaking from the need and the sudden rush of everything crashing over you, “Don’t stop. Please.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement, his hands tangled in your hair, holding you steady while his hips started to move faster, harder, every thrust sending waves of fire shooting through you, and the feeling of him inside you like this, deep and relentless, was overwhelming, making you cry out loud, your nails raking down his back as the tension inside you twisted tighter and tighter.

You could hear his breath hitch in a ragged groan, the raw edge in his voice when he murmured, “You’re driving me crazy, yeah? You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

You shivered, your whole body trembling with need as your legs locked around his waist tighter, pulling him deeper, matching his pace because you never wanted this to stop, not even for a second, and then the coil in your stomach snapped, sending a wave of heat crashing over you so powerful you thought you might shatter, screaming his name like it was the only thing you could say.

He grunted deep in your ear, voice thick with his own release, burying himself deeper inside you, hands gripping your hips so hard you felt the bruises forming already, but you didn’t care, because you were both trembling and gasping, bodies shaking with everything you’d been holding in for so long finally pouring out in one furious, desperate moment.

You held onto him like your life depended on it, breath ragged, heart pounding so loud it was a drum in your ears, and he whispered against your skin, “Fuck, you’re mine.”

You smiled, dizzy with everything, and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, voice soft as you said, “Yeah... I know.”

And there was nothing left to say because you were both there, tangled up in each other on that cold table with the whole world shut out, everything finally right.

------------------------------------------------

#fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #holy shit #this was so hot

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my-favorite-reading · 9 days ago

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Ghost Relationship Imagine 👻🪖🎖️

-SUPER HARD TO GET INTO A RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM!

-Hell its hard for you to even sleep with him in the 1st place.

-You’re probably someone who lives near his house, maybe a neighbor or maybe someone who just visits the same bar as him.

-He visits the bar about once or twice a week as he prefers to drink at home by himself.

-He usually sits farthest away from everyone else in his own little corner of the bar, nobody dares bother him as he’s intimidating as hell.

-Even outside of deployment, he still wears a mask, he lifts the mask enough just for the drink then lowers it again.

-If it was up to him he’d drink while facing the wall but he’s too affected by his PTSD to actually turn his back on everyone.

-To get his attention, you’d need to respect his space. Maybe have the bartender send a free drink his way and wave at him from the other side of the bar.

-If he’s in the mood, he’ll sit across from you at your table and ask what do you want. Be honest, he likes that. If you tell him that you want to spend the night with him, he’d say something about stranger danger. “I doubt that rule applies to handsome strangers”, “The handsome ones might be the most dangerous for all you know.”

-You strike up a conversation with him, you two don’t really talk about the past but more talking about the area before asking him to walk you home. He might as well use his intimidating nature to help you back home.

-When you two are at your door, you slowly peel his mask up over his lips and kiss him, he lets you. His eyes are open during all of this as he still doesn’t trust you. You ask him honestly if he wants to come inside, he says he shouldn’t. You understand and tell him goodnight.

-He felt butterflies in his stomach but quickly turns around and walks home. The scene replays in his head for a while afterwards.

-He starts to visit the bar more frequently, and every time, you sit away from him and make him come to you. Like earning the trust of a stray cat, don’t approach or you’ll scare them off, let them approach you.

-You two end up with doing a routine of talking a bit over drinks and him walking you home when the night is done before you two actually sleep with each other.

-After you two had sex, he leaves afterwards, very quietly while you’re asleep.

-He hopes him leaving hurts you, so you can see that he’s a piece of shit and doesn’t deserve anything resembling normalcy. (Lies)

-He stays away from the bar for a few days, he doubts you’d wanna see him after what he did.

-When you see him at the bar and send him a drink, he sits at your table again.

-“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.” “Don’t you know you make an ass of yourself by assuming?” He slightly smiles against his mask, you can tell by his eyes slightly creasing.

-You two might’ve never said it, but you two are together now. He sleeps over now and you two start visiting places other than the bar. A nice little restaurant that serves the best fish and chips (in his opinion), going to a farmers market up north, etc.

-He’s your intimidating guard dog now, nobody dares bother you anymore. Once he went to the bathroom at the train station, a group of men approached you and you were intimidated by them till they saw Ghost standing behind you and staring at them menacingly.

-He worries for your safety, especially if he’s deployed. You soon discovered the downside of dating a man in the military when he suddenly woke you from bed and forced you into a black unmarked van.

-He drives you 2 hours away while some man named “Price” explains to you that you need to stay in a safe-house up north for a while. Someone threatened your life. Ghost feels guilty and doesn’t say a word while he drives.

-He came into your life and now is practically removing you from your life, your family, your friends, your job, etc.

-When you get there, you grab his face and tell him to look at you in the eyes. You tell him that you understand. And Price reassures you that your family knows that you’re alive and he gave an excuse of medical emergency to your job. You kiss Ghost and tell him to kill whatever “big bad” that forcing this onto you two.

-“Yes, ma’am.” He’ll be back real soon.

#fanfic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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my-favorite-reading · 13 days ago

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Things you shouldn’t say around Task Force 141, unless you know how to deal with the consequences.

It’s a rare lazy day at the 141 HQ on base in Hereford.

Lazy for you, at the very least, due to an upcoming long holiday weekend and the blessing of being one if not the most efficient secretary around.

Days like this mean it’s time for some groundwork, cleaning up messes from the past weeks, and doing all the filing you’ve been procrastinating for longer than you’d like to admit.

But they also mean that either your boss or one of his men will approach you to ask for your lunch order at some point—more than happy to indulge in some much-needed downtime between training and paperwork.

While Captain Price sits behind his desk with you standing next to him, signing some documents for you, the other three men all lounge around the room like they don’t quite know what to do with themselves if no orders are given.

Kyle and Johnny manspreading on the leather couch in the corner, Simon is standing by the open window with his mask rucked up and a ciggy dangling between his gloved fingers.

“What about shawarma? Haven’t had tha’ in a while,” Kyle suggests, scrolling on his phone as he continues to look for restaurants and chip shops nearby.

Johnny groans next to him. “Aye, ’s good, but gives me the farts–” A loud smack. “Ow!” Your eyes flit up with furrowed brows, holding out another document to the captain.

“Bruh.” Kyle kisses his teeth snidely, shaking his head as he drops his hand again while Johnny rubs the rapidly flushing nape of his neck. “There’s a lady present, Soap.”

Simon snorts, flicking ash out of the window before taking another drag.

“Muppets,” Price mutters under his breath as he takes the next document from your hold.

“What do you want then, sweet’art?” Simon asks you directly, his voice even more gravelly before he exhale a plume of smoke.

Smiling, you give a little shrug. “What do I want?” You chuckle, feeling bold enough to crack a joke for once. “How about a fat baby and a husband who’s utterly obsessed with me.”

And suddenly, the office goes eerily quiet; tension skyrocketing as your face begins to heat up furiously within seconds. Now too embarrassed to even look up, you miss the severe look all four share with each other, as if you’d just spoken some forbidden words—or given the permission to cross a line they’d drawn themselves.

“Uhm,” you clear your throat awkwardly, tapping a neat stack of papers on the captain’s desk, “I mean uh... just some chips and–and a sandwich maybe?”

But it’s too late, they all heard you loud and clear—noticed the underlying truth and longing in your words, even if you tried to mask it with humour.

Both Johnny and Simon stare at you like they’ve finally locked eyes on their target, and while Kyle can nudge Johnny hard, the young Sergeant can only debate to throw a boot at the Lieutenant to snap him back to reality, but then Price clears his throat and takes the lead.

“Right,” he says gruffly, “sandwiches sound good, darlin’.”

The leather of his office chair creaks as he leans back leisurely, regarding you with a strangely soft look and a friendly pat on the back of your hand, like he’s soothing a bristling kitten.

“Would you be a dear and call the sandwich shop to have ‘em prepare our order? I’m positive Soap or Gaz will pick it up for us later.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer tentatively, and you catch how both Sergeants nod all too obediently, flashing toothy smiles at you with a rather suspicious glint in their eyes while Simon lights another cigarette with his broad back now turned towards you, now holding an awkward tension in his shoulders.

“Brilliant.” Price clears his throat again and you suddenly feel lout of place, like they’re having a fully non-verbal conversation about a secret you’re not briefed on. It’s feels entirely different than the times they talk about anything classified—like this is personal.

“Now, darlin’, if you have all the signatures you need, I’ll have some intel to share with the team.”

It’s his polite and roundabout way to tell you to leave, so you give a quick nod as you gather the files you’d brought, and you hate how your hands are trembling with adrenaline, feeling like you’re watched by four apex predators.

And when the door to the captain’s office closes behind you with a final click, it echoes inside the empty hallway along with the shaky exhale of a deep sigh as you curse yourself for cracking that joke and making the men uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, just behind a heavy door and thick walls, the core of TF-141 is already planning their upcoming mission, now determined more than ever since knowing you to fulfil your greatest wish—

Giving you a fat baby, each, and four men utterly obsessed with you along with them.

#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #f!reader #secretary

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my-favorite-reading · 14 days ago

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taking one (& another & another & another) for the team | soap x reader x ghost | inspired by: @softaestluv johnny's pent up blurb

It started as a joke. "I'm gonna die if I don't get my cock wet soon," Johnny whined, sprawled backward over the couch, legs spread, hand draped over his forehead like he was seconds away from his last breath. *"Swear I can feel it in my fucking molars, mate. I'm gonna explode."

At first, you and the others ignored him. Typical Soap — loud, dramatic, a walking sexual frustration PSA. But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse: every mission debrief, every meal, every late-night sit around the barracks, Johnny lamented his poor, poor cock like it was a national tragedy.

When he started describing how tragic his wanks were — "My hand's too fuckin' rough, not the same, need something wet, something tight—" — you snapped. Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: "Christ, Soap, I'll fuckin' take one for the team if it'll shut you up."

Johnny sat up like you'd just offered him oxygen.

Which is how you found yourself bent over the nearest flat surface, jeans yanked halfway down your thighs, Johnny pressed tight to your back, rutting into you like a man possessed.

"Fuck—fuckin' hell, love, yer savin' my life," he groaned, hips slamming into you like he was trying to crawl inside. "Warm 'n tight, fuck, could stay here forever."

You barely bit back a moan, hands braced hard enough to hurt. You weren't supposed to enjoy this, just do your duty to the squad’s sanity.

But then Johnny started whining again — not his usual loudmouth bitching, but these needy, half-choked sounds against the back of your neck.

"Need ya," he rasped, like he couldn't help himself. "Need yer cunt, fuck, not gonna be enough, need it again—'m not done—"

Even after he came — hot, messy, filling you to the brim — he didn't stop. Still rocking against you, still murmuring desperate filth into your skin, already hardening inside you again.

You realized then: You hadn't fixed the problem. You'd made it worse.

He barely pulled out before he was pushing right back in, thick and slick with his own cum, grinding into your overstretched walls like he could merge the two of you if he tried hard enough.

"Fuckin' perfect," Johnny slurred against your neck, teeth scraping along your skin. "Mine now, y'know that? Filled you up good—fuckin' claimed you—"

You tried to push him off, half-hearted at best — muscles trembling, brain fogged from how full you felt — but Johnny just wrapped an arm around your middle and held you there, hips rolling slow and filthy, fucking his own mess deeper inside.

"Nuh-uh, love," he muttered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, messy and possessive. "Said I'd lose my mind if I didn’t get to fuck you. Y’think one load's enough to fix this? After all that sufferin’?"

You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch again, fully hard despite just cumming. He chuckled low against your skin, voice dark and wrecked.

"Told ya I'd go mad. Now yer stuck with me, sweetheart."

He fucked you slow the second time — not like the frantic, desperate slamming from before, but a grinding, possessive rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you properly. Every time you clenched around him, he gasped, praising you in that ruined, filthy brogue.

"That's it, good girl," he breathed. "Take it all, take it like y'made for it. Fuckin' born to milk my cock, huh? Gonna pump you so full you won't remember what it feels like to be empty."

You felt him bulge even thicker inside you, grinding down into your cervix, every thrust stretching you wider, making you feel owned in a way that had nothing to do with orders or duty.

Johnny growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. You barely registered it before he was moving — hands gripping your hips, manhandling you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

"Wanna see," he panted, almost delirious. "Wanna see how fuckin' ruined you are for me."

Your legs were shoved open before you could think to protest, ankles tossed over his shoulders. Johnny leaned back just enough to look — and groaned, obscene and ragged.

"Fuckin' hell, look at that," he hissed, watching his cum leaking out of you, your cunt red and puffy, still clenching greedily around nothing. His cock throbbed in his hand, still wet, still ready.

"So messy, love. Drippin' for me already. Y'know what that means, don’t ya?"

You shook your head weakly, breath stuttering in your chest. Johnny just grinned, all teeth and danger.

"Means I’ve gotta fill you up again. 'Til you can't take any more."

Without warning, he lined himself up and pushed — forcing his cock back inside your sore, sloppy cunt in one thick, slow thrust. You cried out, back arching, and Johnny moaned like you were his whole damn salvation.

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Started fucking you immediately — deep, grinding strokes that had your whole body jolting with each brutal snap of his hips.

"That's it, that's it," he gasped, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take it all, pretty thing. Gonna make sure yer stuck full of me. Walkin' round leakin' my cum for days."

Your brain barely worked anymore. Just open-mouthed whimpers, toes curling, walls spasming around him like you wanted it — wanted everything he was giving you and more.

Johnny's pace turned frantic again, slamming into you harder, the sound of skin against skin filthy and wet between you.

"Belong to me now," he growled, words punching out of him with each thrust. "No one else. Fuckin' mine."

You couldn’t even pretend to fight it. Couldn’t think past the way he filled you so perfectly, the overwhelming heat, the way his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you until you felt tears spring to your eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt one final time, grinding down against you, hips jerking as he spilled deep again, thick and endless. You could feel it — the heat, the stretch, the way he pulsed inside you like he was branding you from the inside out.

Johnny didn’t pull out. Just collapsed over you, mouth hot and messy against your jaw, still twitching inside your wrecked cunt.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Still not enough. Need you again, love. Gonna fill you 'til you’re round with me, swear it."

Johnny stayed buried in you for a long moment, hips grinding lazy, slow circles, as if trying to force every last drop even deeper. You could feel it leaking out around his cock — hot, sticky, obscene — and you whimpered, overstimulated and wrecked.

Johnny noticed immediately. Growled against your throat, feral.

"Leakin'," he muttered, almost offended. "Can't have that. Gotta keep it all in, love. Need you drippin’ full for me."

He finally, finally pulled out — and the flood of cum that gushed out made you sob, weak and broken. But Johnny didn’t give you a second to recover. He dropped between your legs, shoving two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep and obscene, scooping the mess back up.

"No wastin' it," he rasped, fucking his cum right back into your cunt with slow, filthy thrusts. "Take it all, greedy girl. You fuckin' need it."

Your legs kicked weakly at the overstimulation, but Johnny just grinned — wild and unhinged — before spreading you wider, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit while he stuffed you full with his fingers.

"Gonna breed you proper," he whispered hoarsely. "Fill you so deep you’ll be round with me. Belly all heavy, stuffed full of my fuckin' load—"

You sobbed, hips rolling despite yourself, body desperate for more even as your mind shattered into static. You should have known it’d be like this — Johnny didn’t do anything by halves.

He leaned down, mouth dragging messy, possessive kisses along your trembling stomach like he could will it to swell.

"Mine," he murmured. "All fuckin' mine."

And that’s exactly when you heard the door creak open. You barely had the strength to lift your head, vision blurry — but you saw a tall shadow in the doorway.

Ghost.

He stood there, silent, unreadable behind his mask — just watching. Johnny didn't stop. Didn’t even slow down. He curled his fingers inside you again, making you cry out, making more of the mess spill down your thighs.

Ghost's head tilted slightly, almost curious.

"Problem?" Johnny barked over his shoulder, voice wrecked but cocky as hell. Like he wanted Ghost to see — to know.

Ghost said nothing. Just crossed his arms slowly over his broad chest.

Johnny smirked and turned his attention back to you, dragging his fingers out with a wet squelch just to stuff them right back in — slow and possessive.

"That's right," he said lowly, clearly for Ghost’s benefit now. "Had to take care of it myself. Filled her up so good she's fuckin' leaking. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?"

You whimpered in response — too broken, too full, too wrecked to argue.

Ghost watched you for a long, heavy moment — chest rising and falling — before he spoke, voice flat and unreadable: "You better clean up after yourself, Soap."

Then, calmly — without another word — Ghost shut the door behind him with a click.

Johnny barked out a wild, breathless laugh against your stomach. "Come to help, mate?" he panted, fingers still lazily dragging through the wrecked mess of your cunt. "Think she needs it. Poor thing's so fuckin' stuffed already, can't hold it all."

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn't need to.

He stalked closer, heavy boots thudding against the floor, until he was standing right at the edge of the bed — looming over your trembling body. You watched through blurred eyes as he popped the button on his cargo pants, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately.

Johnny shifted you slightly, spreading your legs even wider, thumbs digging bruises into your hips to keep you open — presenting you like a ruined offering.

"C'mon, Ghost," Johnny muttered, voice rough and wild. "Don't leave the girl waitin'. Look how pretty she is—drippin' fuckin' ready."

Still silent, Ghost wrapped a hand around the base of his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking — and lined himself up.

He didn’t ease in. Just pressed the fat head against your already-used, dripping hole and pushed.

You screamed, body arching off the bed, overwhelmed instantly by the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness of taking another man inside you without even a second to adjust.

Ghost let out a low, broken sound, not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"There we fuckin' go," Johnny whispered against your ear, laughing breathlessly. "Take him, love. Take us both."

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Ghost fucked you without mercy — slow, devastating thrusts that forced Johnny’s mess and his own spit to spill down your thighs in filthy, wet streams. He said nothing — just breathing harshly through the fabric of his mask, hands brutal on your hips, using you like a living, breathing fucktoy.

Johnny kept whispering filth into your ear — encouragements, praises, commands — while Ghost destroyed you from the inside out.

"That's it, good girl," Johnny crooned, petting your hair while Ghost slammed into you. "Take it like you were fuckin' made for it."

You felt your mind fracturing — pure overstimulation, pure broken pleasure — as Ghost fucked you harder, grinding deep, his cock stretching you to the point of tears.

And then Johnny shifted again — ducking low between your legs to lick around where you were stuffed full, his tongue dragging over your overstretched rim every time Ghost pulled out just a fraction.

"Fuckin' hell," Johnny gasped, almost reverent. "Look at that, Ghost. Cunt's swallowin' you like she needs it."

Ghost let out another low, broken sound — and picked up the pace. The bed creaked violently under you, your body jolting with every brutal, punishing thrust.

You could feel it building — some dark, overwhelming climax you couldn’t fight — tightening low in your stomach, burning up your spine.

Ghost suddenly reached down and gripped your throat — not tight, just heavy, possessive — and that was it.

You shattered. Clamping down around him so hard Ghost actually groaned, thrusts going sloppy, brutal. And then you felt it — hot, thick, spilling deep inside you, Ghost’s cock pulsing violently, joining Johnny’s mess inside your ruined cunt.

You lay there twitching, barely conscious, as Ghost finally pulled out — slow, heavy — and watched as his cum immediately leaked out after him.

Johnny's hand was already there — catching it, stuffing it back inside you with lazy, satisfied fingers.

Ghost pulled his gloves back on silently, redressing with mechanical efficiency. Said nothing. Before he left, he pressed one gloved hand to your trembling thigh — firm, approving — and then disappeared out the door without a word.

Johnny leaned down over you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

"Told ya, sweetheart," he whispered with a wicked grin. "Was gonna fill you proper."

And from the ache in your gut and the obscene mess between your thighs —you knew he wasn’t lying.

Morning hit like a slow, heavy sledgehammer.

You barely even remembered falling asleep — just flashes: Johnny fucking his cum deeper into you with lazy, loving thrusts while you sobbed into the sheets; Ghost’s heavy hand gripping your thigh one last time before disappearing without a word.

Now your entire body ached. Your thighs were sore, trembling even at the slightest twitch. Your pussy was a wreck — raw, swollen, still leaking a slow, lazy drip of milky white that soaked into the crumpled sheets beneath you.

You tried to shift — to roll onto your side — and whimpered immediately. Everything hurt. You could feel the mess drying on your skin, inside your cunt, coating your thighs.

And Johnny, of course, was already awake.

He lay stretched out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, a smug, satisfied smirk spread wide across his face.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he drawled, voice rough from use, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Sleep well?"

You glared at him weakly, too exhausted to even muster words. Johnny just grinned wider.

"Y’look wrecked," he said cheerfully, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. "Proper job, that."

You tried to move again — a pathetic, sluggish attempt — and Johnny laughed, full-bodied and warm.

"Aw, poor thing. Can’t even fuckin' walk, huh?"

His hand drifted down — over your collarbone, the bruises he’d left, the fingerprints, the possessive marks — until he palmed your lower belly, pressing down just slightly.

You gasped, muscles clenching reflexively around the lingering mess inside you.

Johnny's grin turned wolfish.

"Still full, are ya?" he murmured. "Good girl. Holdin’ it all for us."

He sat up slowly, bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and pulled back the sheets.

You whimpered as cool air brushed your ruined, sore cunt — thighs automatically trying to close, to hide yourself.

Johnny tsked softly, spreading you open with two rough hands like you were something precious to be displayed.

He hummed low in his throat — a sound of satisfaction.

"Ghost’ll be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked sluggishly at him, confused.

Johnny chuckled and gestured toward the nightstand. There — sitting neatly next to a bottle of water — was a simple piece of paper. No name. No explanation. Just three short words, written in Ghost’s heavy, blocky scrawl: “Hold it in.”

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.

Johnny laughed again — delighted, wrecked — and leaned down to press a filthy, claiming kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

"Guess we’re not done after all, love," he whispered against your skin. "Orders are orders."

And from the wicked glint in his eye, you knew you weren’t getting a break anytime soon.

#fanfic #call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #f!reader #taking one for the team #simon ghost riley

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