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secretlovezz · 8 months

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First kiss with Tf-141 (& König)

♡-Simon "Ghost" Riley

He's so gentle like he's worried the touch of his calloused hands on the skin of your heated cheeks would break you

His face leans towards yours slowly so slowly it makes you want to pull his lips to yours so you can finally feel him but you let him take his time not wanting to push him

His nose is brushing yours and you lean forward on your toes to try and reach him but he he pulls back a little and your eyebrows furrow

"Can I kiss you?" He ask and it almost makes you laugh but instead you smile and beam up at him the corners of your eyes crinkling with happiness

You whisper, "yes," and you swear you've never seen the man move faster; his lips are on yours so quickly you just have to giggle the sound making Simon's heart ache with a force he's never felt before

Your lips interlock and move against each other and your tongue licks into his mouth and he makes a sound that has him pulling away and hiding his face into the crook of your neck

You laugh and he nips at your skin in an act of protest

He lifts his head once more to leave a wet peck against your lips and your already big smile grows impossibly bigger

¤—————————》

♡-John Price

He's also very gentle but he's subconsciously a little more desperate than Simon

He doesn't mean to press his lips to yours as quickly as he does but he has been waiting for this moment

He's been waiting to have you alone like this, been waiting for the affections to fall from your lips to give him a reason to break all protocol

John is prideful in his expertise in being patient but when he's with you he's the most impatient

So when he slotted his lips against yours in the middle of you telling him something after staring at your lips the entire time he surprises himself

But when you kiss him back he's no longer worried about his momentary impulsiveness

He makes haste in grabbing the back of your thighs to lift you onto his desk; your hands are tangling his short hair flipping his hat off of his head

He pulls apart after a few moments letting his forehead rest against your chuckling before placing a few wet peck against your now swollen lips

¤—————————》

♡-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle kisses you softly oh so softly just to feel you against him

His lips meet yours Once, and twice in fleeting presses before pulling away and looking at you just looking at you

It's his favorite thing to do, to watch his pretty girl

He smiles when your brows furrow and when your lips downturn into a cute pout

You were so cute

Your stare into his silently pleading for another, longer kiss from him

You move onto your tip-toes trying to reach him but he pulls away and you whine loudly in frustration, he lets out a chuckle that's so sweet sounding it almost makes your knees buckle

Please? You whisper

Kyle's moving one of his hands to the back of your neck while his other travels down to your waist

He pulls you into your next kiss, your first real kiss with him

Your lips are so soft against him, so fucking perfect against his harsh ones that it makes him groan into your mouth, hands trying to pull you even closer to him

You just about whimper in response and pull away giggling

He continues to kiss you, his full lips planting themselves against your neck (he leaves a mark or two), a big grin never leaving his face

¤—————————》

♡-John "Soap" McTavish

God Johnny is desperate

He just needs you so bad, needs to finally feel your perfect lips against his, he swears it is all he's been able to think about lately

He tries to be casual, tries to be smooth about his need to kiss you but when you start inching your body closer to him his breath hitches and his heart beats a little faster

He gasps then smirks when you link your fingers into his belt loops and pull him forward letting your bodies collide

Your nose brushes against his and you rub your noses together for a moment just taking in this intimate moment with the man you care deeply about

But his hands are moving fast when they set on either side of your head pulling your lips to his feverishly

Johnny's lips move fast against your own, his tongue licking into your mouth

You try your best to keep up, just as desperate as he is

You laugh against his mouth when one of his large calloused hands gravitate towards your ass

When you separate he rests his head in the crook of your neck mumbling about how beautiful he thinks you are and how perfect you are for him

¤—————————》

♡-König

I like to imagine he'd be soft like Simon in a moment like this

He just wants to be near you just wants to hold you close

Every once in a while he'll press a gentle kiss to the top of your head or temple as the two of you sway to a slow song and mumble a sweet endearment in his native language, something about how lovely he thinks you are

His large hands are holding yours pressing the backs of them against his cheeks -his face is cold, it always is- and he presses a kiss to one of your knuckles

His kiss travels to your wrist them to the inside of your elbow then to your shoulder before he finally makes it to your cheek

He's overwhelmed with love, the way you smile at him makes his heart leap and he can't help but place his lips on yours

It's soft and slow just like the song just like that way the two of you are dancing and it's perfect

He hugs you when you part, still swaying to the beat of the song while he hums against the side of your face, your cheek pressed against his so you could feel the vibration

He places one more kiss on the warmth of your skin

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the-californicationist · 5 months

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Hiii

First of all I wanted to thank you for your amazing fics 🤩. They have become a part of my life and I can’t live without them anymore 🥹💖

Secondly, I wanted to ask about a fic if you would consider. 🫶

Price is injured in his thigh and we are a medic. When attending to the wound the tension rises and a little bit of teasing from our part? 😌

Also, Price can’t take us like he wants because of the wound but we can do 69?

Or maybe something more thrilling! I know you are the greatest in ideas and writing! ❤️‍🔥

Thank you a loooot. (*＾3＾）/～♡

Do No Harm

After being shot in the leg, Captain Price is put on strict bed rest by his medic: you. When he threatens to break your orders, you decide to use your rank against him.

AO3 Link

TW: female reader, face fucking, hurt/comfort, come play

When the captain got shot, all hell broke loose. Ghost and Gaz retaliated swiftly, and the bomb that Soap rigged to blow the enemy encampment was more than a little overkill. The four of them had shown up back at your makeshift base, sweaty, bloody, and exhausted.

“What happened?” You asked the tall lieutenant, searching his face as he removed the skull mask, looking for signs as to how serious it was.

“He took a hit to the thigh. Dead bloody center,” the tall Brit rolled his captain over, the latter of whom let out a torrid string of curses and shouts, nasty enough to make you blush.

You inspected the wound, but his clothing was in your way. Ripping your scissors out of your chest armor, you set to cutting him out of his trousers, and you tried not to let the panic get the best of you.

The truth was that you were keeping a secret. You were sleeping with their captain. You and John had broken a series of rules (and furniture) over the past four months, enjoying each other in the most primal, carnal way. Every night that he was on base, he sneaked into your medbay, aching with something other than pain and searching for his cure.

You knew it was wrong. It was so far beyond protocol that you wouldn’t be surprised if they court martialed you when they found out, but you didn’t care. You were addicted to him. When he was away for too long, you crawled through the hallways and out into the common rooms with a slick problem between your legs. Something only his fat cock and filthy mouth could solve.

He was terrible with you. Nothing was off-limits. He used you like a toy, and his fervid want was enough to burn you alive. In the darkness, his grasping hands and hot breath scorched your skin, searing across your belly, pinching your nipples, playing in your lips, all for the express purpose of making you come. It was his favorite thing. By the sixth, the seventh, when you were begging him to squeeze his pulsing rod inside of you, pleading in whispered cries for him to fuck you, he would chuckle with a dark joy. Teasing you, calling you his pretty little plaything, reminding you that you were fully at his mercy.

It was hard to see him like this, but you were good at your job, and luckily, the bullet had gone right into the muscle. No broken femur, no arterial damage. Your predator would live to hunt you another day.

“I need everybody out. Come back in an hour,” you commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gaz replied, leading the others out of the clinic to debrief and regroup after a hard night.

You sliced through his canvas pants, slipping the shears through the fabric to reveal his bare skin. He never wore any underwear, which you were always quick to rib him for. Then, you inspected the wound. They had packed it in the field, and as you removed the dressings, more and more blood pooled out of the hole, obscuring your view. You worked as fast as you could, administering as much anesthetic as you had on hand, knowing that it wasn’t enough. He was doing everything he could not to writhe in pain as you threw stitch after stitch.

“Jus’ wanted to get me alone, didn’t ya?” He teased you through gritted teeth. His voice was weak, but he was feisty, which was a good sign.

You smiled down at him, joking around,

“You know it. But, you’re lookin’ a little worse for wear today, Captain. Might have to get my fix somewhere else.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, grabbing the side of the table hard enough to make the metal frame whine when you hit a nerve with your needle, “Another man lays a fuckin’ hand on you, and he’ll wish he hadn’t.”

“Can’t have you reopening this wound, John. I worked hard on these stitches.”

“How’m I gonna sneak in to see you tonight?” He looked up at you with softer eyes, a youthful gaze on his face.

You pitied him, winking cheekily,

“Might just have to keep you here for observation.”

His whole body relaxed then, relieved in a way you hadn’t expected. You had just been kidding around, but his reaction made you change your mind. If he felt better with you in your clinic, you’d add it to the orders. The last thing you needed was your headstrong man limping through the base just for a chance at some action.

You finished up, cleaning the wound and surrounding skin, wiping down the rest of him as best you could. He was filthy, and the water in your bucket was full of sand by the time you were done. But, he still smelled like the sun and his sweat, and it was enough to make the animal part of your mind practically salver at the idea of how his skin must taste. The saltiness, full of his pheromones… you chastised yourself for even thinking about it.

He was finally asleep, full of morphine and exhausted from his ordeal. Gaz popped back in, and you told him you’d be keeping their commander overnight. You thought you’d gotten away with your little game, but there was a knowing glint in the sergeant’s eye that told you he knew more than you thought.

You tried not to stress about it. His men were loyal to him, and you knew they wouldn’t rat you out. But, still. You made a mental note to be more careful in the future.

Your bedtime routine was short and easy. You slipped into some shorts and one of John’s abandoned tee shirts. Luckily, it looked like everyone else’s tee shirt, so no one was the wiser. You could always say you stole a larger one from the supply room. But, it smelled like him, and you slept like a rock when you wore it.

You climbed into bed, and before you could even think about going to sleep, the ache between your legs reared its horny head, coaxing you to touch yourself, disguising itself as a tingle, an itch that needed to be scratched. As soon as your fingers pried apart your soft petals, you discovered the truth. You were soaking wet, and your core was hot like molten lead, giving your digits no resistance as you played with yourself, slipping them in and out of your slick folds.

You heard a noise escape from your throat against your will, and you tried to hold it back, rolling your eyes from the slam of pleasure that rushed to your head. You were dizzy with want, and even though you tried to quiet the sound, you could hear your own wet flesh popping and sluicing with more and more of your precome, preparing you for an encounter you knew you couldn’t have.

You came quickly, and without much warning, clenching down on nothing, biting your hand to keep from screaming for him. You peeked over your shoulder, and luckily, he hadn’t woken up. You thought about how nice it would feel to have his big body curled against you as you crashed into a deep slumber, the scent of your wet hand and his old shirt mixing together and lulling you to sleep.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but when you woke, it was still dark. Your eyes darted over to the clinic table, and John was… missing?

You sat up with a start only to find him fully naked at the end of your bed, getting ready to crawl in beside you.

“John!” You hissed, “What are you doing? You can’t be walking around.”

“Gotta have you, love. I’m so hard, it hurts.”

“You were shot in your fucking leg, Jonathan Price. Let me see the dressing.”

“Quit fussin’ over me, girl. C’mere,” he covered you with his body and grabbed your wrists, forcing you to lay beneath him, flat and vulnerable. He set to pulling away your clothes, making quick work of it, sighing raggedly when he felt your naked body beneath his own.

But, he was in pain. You could see him adjusting and readjusting, trying to figure out how he could fuck you like he wanted to, unable to find a solution.

“John,” you whispered, feeling his mouth on your neck, “We can’t. You’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t make me order you to stop.”

“I’m your commander,” he breathed, threatening you with his teeth, leaving a bruise on your sensitive skin.

“Don’t…” you gasped as his fingers found your gooey center, “Don’t confuse your rank for my authority, Captain Price. You’re under my care.”

He glared at you, coming to a pause, leaving his fingers in you to play in your hole, gently pulsing in and out, teasing you just enough to keep you on the edge,

“You want me to stop? Hm?”

The more he teased you, the more hot slick collected on his hands, sticky and clear, covering his fingers and making him harden with every moment.

Then, he took a sharp breath in through his nose, and paused, hiding his grimace in the crook of his arm. You canted your hips, removing his hand from you, fed up with his defiance,

“John, that’s enough. If you make me restitch that wound, I will have to do it without drugs. We’re out of anesthetic.”

“Please, love,” he held you close to him, letting you feel his hard length as it rolled against your tummy, making a trail of precome across your skin, “I need you. I’ve missed you so bad. Lemme fuck you. Put my cock in you.”

“Hold on,” you shifted your body so that he would turn on his side. Then, you lay opposite him, your head laying at the foot of the bed, bringing you face to face with his swollen, hungry cock.

In this position, you could suck him off, and he wouldn’t need to use his thigh.

You licked your lips, trailing them across his cockhead, collecting his salty pearls of pleasure and wearing them like gloss, suckling from his tip as softly as you could just to taunt him further.

“Ahhh, fuck…” His sigh was delicious. All of that pain and all of the stress that had made him so tense rushed out of him, making his skin pebble with bliss.

Without hesitation, John bent his head, pulling your hips to his open mouth, and wrapping your leg under his arm, eating your pussy and groaning with a lurid, feral pleasure.

The feeling of his soft lips and scruffy beard against your sensitive skin flung you into a spiral of pleasure. You could feel his warm tongue prodding and exploring through you, greedily splitting you to get to your hot, honeyed center.

You wanted more of his taste, so you went to work, stretching your jaw to accommodate his girth, taking him deeper into your throat, using your tongue to trace a wet circle around his head when you needed to catch your breath, teasing him just beneath his foreskin. When you did, his cock throbbed for you, egging you on, eager to drip its load into your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Gonna make me come,” he threatened.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers dip back inside of you. He was aggressive with his fondling, shoving two of his thick digits deep inside of you, curling them cruelly to press upon your most pliant, responsive spot.

As he fucked you with his hand, he let his tongue lap against your clit, making you whine around his dick, muffled by his shaft. You felt his hips begin to thrust forward and back, desperately fucking your throat, getting closer and closer to releasing his orgasm inside of you.

You couldn’t wait to taste him. You wanted him to use you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was — as hungry as he was for your body — you needed him just as badly.

You felt your body begin to tense, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he would have you coming on his hands. He kept his pace, knowing your favorite rhythm, humming to himself as he devoured you, sucking up every drop of your wetness as if he’d never drink from your tight font again.

Your toes curled, your legs tried to close in on themselves, stopped by his body trapped between them, and something snapped inside of your core, letting loose spiraling sparks of pleasure, breaking you apart over and over, only for each gentle lick from his tongue to put you back together.

“Mmhm,” he praised you, “Good girl. Just like that. Rub your come on my mouth.”

You did as you were told, no longer in the driver’s seat when it came to your body, fully trained to submit to his will. You shamelessly smeared your pussy across his bearded jaw, humping lewdly against him, all for him to whisper gratefully between licks,

“Yes, more. More. Give it to me. Fuck my mouth, love. Fuck, I love it. Fuck…”

All the while, he was thrusting into your mouth, deeper and deeper, choking you on his hardness. But, you let him. You allowed him to use you, holding onto his hips for dear life, breathing in every gap that he left, gasping for air, feeling yourself getting dizzy.

“Are you ready for me?” He groaned, peering down at you between your bodies.

You moaned something you hoped sounded like a yes, and he turned his full attention towards you. You felt his fingers leave your pussy, only to wrap themselves through your hair, sticky and messy, making a strong, merciless grip at the base of your skull.

He fucked you in earnest, then. It was gratifying to hear his satisfied grunts, and as you felt his cock swell even more, you knew he was about to come. Your mind wanted air, but your body wanted his load. You wanted to feel it slip into your throat, hot and milky, pouring down your neck like a salacious prize.

Finally, he went stock-still, and the only thing that moved was his cock. It throbbed inside of you, shooting rope after rope of heavy come down your tongue, painting your mouth white.

He removed himself from you as quick as he could, pulling your head back up to your pillow, bringing you face to face with him, whispering in an animalistic tone,

“Lemme see it, pretty girl. Open up. Let me… ahh, yes. That’s it.”

He dipped his finger into your mouth, gathering up his own orgasm onto the tip, smearing it around your lips like he was putting on your makeup.

You were panting, gasping in the air you so desperately needed, and you tried not to swallow, gathering up as much of his foaming fluid on your tongue as you could, sticking it out for him, showing him what a good girl you could be.

He took more of it onto his hand and dipped down between your legs, painting your swollen folds with his spend, mixing your come together like some ritual.

You couldn’t help but whimper. You were overstimulated and raw, and he shushed you, bringing his hand back up to play with your soft nipples,

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s okay. Kiss me.”

You felt his mouth crash into yours, and your own heady taste invaded your senses, folding in with his, making your body roll itself against him, begging him for more.

“Leg already feels better. C’mon, love. Give us the go ahead, hm?”

“I will tie you to this bed, John Price. Don’t test me,” you looked up at him before laying your head on his furry chest, breathing when he breathed, watching his hairy belly rise and fall.

“Promise?” He chuckled, pulling you closer and holding you there all night, unwilling to compromise, claiming you in every way he knew how. You dozed against him, sated and happy, wondering how long you could keep a secret this good.

Sorry for the wait! Work is hellish right now, but as soon as this semester is over with, I'll be posting more. Thanks for letting me know your thoughts.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #john price #cod #captain price #captain price x you #call of duty #captain price x reader #captain price x female reader #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #john price smut #captain price mw2 #oh captain my captain

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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 month

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Transferrable Skills Part 4

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

CW: POV depiction of anxiety and dissociation, How It's Made, reader character wearing a wig (positive, protective style), Soap (nosy), mention of sex toys, Simon Riley Is Honesty Just A Big Guy (TM),

Simon and Price are gone for less than a minute before you feel awkward. You’re almost done with the water, so you look around for the TV remote. It’s Gaz, absurdly pretty for some kind of international British SWAT team, who hands it to you with a half smile before wandering off, you assume to the bathroom.

That leaves you clicking through the TV while Soap does something on his phone. All of the local channels are in German, you know, so you look for something to stream. You chance a sidelong glance at Soap, but he’s already looking at you. He grins when you make eye contact.

“So yer LT’s girl, then?”

Fuck, that’s not a question you know how to answer. “Um.”

“Leave it, Soap,” Gaz says, returning from the bathroom. He smiles at you as he pockets his phone. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with. Lieutenant Riley’s a private person, we understand.”

“That’s… it’s okay.” You tap into the PictureTime channel, since it’s not one you usually have access to. As you browse through the educational options - ooh, How It’s Built! - you say, “I think we’re both… a bit surprised to see each other here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gaz says, sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Oh, I’ve not seen this one on puzzles and cheesecake.”

You tap into it, because you like puzzles, cheesecake, candles, and paintbrushes. Just in time to finish your water bottle. The armchair is a bit narrow and awkward, so you wiggle the cushion from behind your back so you can plop it, and yourself, onto the ground. You shuffle your legs to start your warm up as the theme song plays.

“How'd'ye come to answerin’ LT like yer military?” Soap asks. “’Acknowledge’, ‘acknowledged’, all o’ that?”

“Oh,” you answer, without thinking about it. “That’s just our protocol, to make sure I understand his directions.”

“’E’s givin’ you enough directions to need protocols?” He gives you a considering once-over. “Interestin’. Impressive that it held up in an emergency. That takes practice.”

Shit. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“’S he your, what’er they called? Dominant partner, then?”

God, Simon, why didn’t you take this one with you? “I’m… not at liberty to say?”

“Leave her alone, Soap,” Gaz says, exasperated. He tosses a throw pillow at Soap’s head. “She’s in shock, Simon’s trying to keep her calm and comfortable.”

“Ghostie adopts a civilian an’ ah’m supposed to have nae questions?” Soap grins at you. “She’s got a signal if she dinnae want to talk. Four fingers, right?”

“Bother Ghost about it, later,” Gaz says. He turns to you. “Do you know what you want to eat? There’s a few places open.”

Soap doesn’t pester you, after that. The three of you settle on Mediterranean food, and then they summarily leave you alone. Gaz seems content to watch the show, though Soap watches you do your floor stretches curiously.

You could probably have moved to another stretch a while ago, but you’re still in your work slacks and blouse. You think longingly of the yoga pants you laid out on your bed before leaving for meetings. And then you cringe to think of Simon coming in to sweep through the room and pack up all of your things. You hadn’t packed a lot, but you’d unpacked into the space to make yourself comfortable.

You realize that your sex toy is charging in the bedside table and cringe. You hope he doesn’t notice it. It’s good quality, but you can always buy another one.

And then you start to worry about your phone. You’d left your personal in the room because of the time zone change slowing down all of your personal messages. You’d lost your work phone and computer today with… everything that happened. Were people trying to get a hold of you? Had news of the incident made it to the US? Would Simon see your embarrassing phone background?

You resist the urge to get up and pace. Instead, you settle into butterflying your legs.

“You need more water?” Gaz’s voice startles you, but you nod and he passes a bottle to you on the floor. “Cap says that they’re done with the official stuff, he’s grabbing food while Ghost grabs your things. Probably less than an hour before they get back.”

Your anxiety shouts that that isn’t enough time. But since you can’t definitively answer the question For what?, you take a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

Maybe it’s because your heart is beating a little faster, muscles a bit warmer, but you have trouble settling Into the show. Your mind races. You have to remind yourself to relax, then have to clamber to your feet and shuffle off to the bathroom because you relaxed your pelvic floor a little too much.

Your eyes in the mirror are a little too wide. The wig - every time you wear a good one, you almost forget you’re wearing it - is holding up admirably, at least. It feathers around your face, a bit squished where you slept on it. But with the smudged eyeliner and mascara you can kind of pretend you’re in an action movie.

Thank goodness agent Ghost rescued me and the other hostages, you think to yourself, pouting your lips dramatically as you wash your hands.

The last time you washed your hands there was a dead body on the floor.

“Nope,” you say aloud, practically flinging yourself into the bedroom. “Nope. Nope.”

You pace in a tight circle, kicking the door closed when you catch Gaz and Soap looking at you with concerned eyes. Two circuits later, the room is too small, so you open the door again and shuffle out to sit in the armchair again, one leg pulled up for you to wrap your arms around.

Throwing your mind into action shots of specialty machinery, you try to force yourself to settle. Your whole body feels like it will shake apart if you pay too much attention to it, so you don’t pay it any attention at all. The episode ends and rolls into the next one, so you learn about bird cages and automated pharmacy drones. You hear Gaz say something soft, and Soap answers, the burr of his voice just as quiet, mixing pleasantly with the murmur of the narrator.

You must lose time, again, because the next thing you know, Simon is crouching in front of you again. Big hands smooth over your arms, and he shushes you as you jump.

“Got y’r stuff,” he says. “Where’s your head at?”

You open your mouth, close it. Hold up four fingers.

“Mm, day’s catchin’ up, again. Go into the bedroom, get changed. No zippers or clasps. Buttons okay. Acknowledge.”

“Bedroom, change clothes,” you confirm, heaving a big sigh. “Comfy. Acknowledged.”

He helps you stand, and you can’t help but tip forward to put your face into his chest. He smells a little. Like stale sweat and gunpowder. His arms stop yours when they come up for an automatic hug.

“Go change,” he whispers into the top of your head, “An’ I’ll get rid of the rest of ‘em, eh?”

The haze around you pops. That’s the only way to describe it. One minute, everything is distantly fuzzy, and the next thing you know you can feel the circulation of the air in the room and his heartbeat against your forehead. The TV is quieter, and you can hear Price and Gaz and Soap talking between themselves.

“Acknowledged,” you say into his sternum. “Gotta go change.”

He has to gently guide you around his bulk. But eventually you shuffle back into the bedroom. Your suitcase is waiting for you in the far corner, and it doesn’t take you long to dig out your lounge wear. Soft, thin pants with cartoon dogs on them and an oversized tee you got from a fundraiser. And then you take both off because that’s not sexy.

Why didn’t I pack nicer stuff? Can I play off these lacy panties as sleep wear? He saw it all and packed it, he probably clocked those as the only sexy thing I have. You shake your head at yourself. He said to wear something comfortable. He knows what you have. This is fine.

Your friend’s son’s basketball mascot grins up at you. You decide to compromise and switch the shirt for a black cami you usually wear under a nice blouse.

When you peek out of the room, Simon’s in the middle of the couch, and he’s blocked one end by dragging the table closer to where he’s sitting. His jeans have been traded for black sweats, but you can’t tell if his black shirt is new or not. Somehow, he looks bigger, but in a nice way. Softer. If a brick shit-house could look soft. A brick book nook.

“’Ey, pretty girl,” he says, leaning enough to put an arm across the back of the couch. “Come sit, we’re gonna eat and then we’re gonna talk.”

When you get close, you realize that there’s not enough room for both of you to sit unless you’re half on top of him.

You want to throw yourself entirely into his lap. But you can smell the food now, and you’re so hungry. So you perch as much of your ass on the couch as you can and swing your legs over one of his. You meet his eyes just as his arm comes down across your thighs. His hand cups the outside of your leg in a way that makes you remember what he said.

He’s not letting you go, now.

#transferrable skills #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #kink fics #manic pixie dream ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #the fact that this isn't smut yet is HILLARIOUS and KILLING ME #this was supposed to be a short fun romp #two maybe three chapters #Ha Ha Ha (in pain)

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curtsycream · 8 months

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I apologize if the request makes no sense this is only my second one. You don't have to do this, but I was wondering if you could do a one shot of TF141 x fem!child reader (6 y/o&platonic) where they are on a mission in an abandoned city and they find the reader stuck in one of the buildings with the bodies of her dead parents and no way to escape the building without help. How would they get her out of there? Would Gaz and sope step up to comfort her? How would ghost deal with the child given his past? What would happen after they healed? Would price decide to adopt them as TF141's daughter?

Their Daughter

Platonic!TF141 x Fem!Child Reader

I hope you enjoy this I kind of got carried away, I hope it’s to your liking. Also not proofread I really suck at that sometimes. It makes perfect sense to me don’t worry!

It would be Gaz that finds you first when they’re scoping out the buildings for any signs of life. The second he takes you in he felt sick to his stomach noticing who you were laying between. Gaz would try his best to get you out alone, it isn’t protocol but he tries without thinking. That is until he realizes what he as to do and uses his comms to call over the rest of 141.

I’d like to think that they have a code word for when it involves something as devastating as this. In which Ghost would stick back unless absolutely needed. It’s mostly a precaution just in case seeing the scene triggers his PTSD.

But luckily he doesn’t need to see that unfold as Price and Soap are just as capable of helping. The three men would carefully examine the situation before deciding what to do. It wouldn’t be long before they get you out of there. With Price and Soap raising a few support beams for Gaz to crawl under and pull you free.

When you’re finally free it seems you don’t react to what is happening. Which is normal sometimes there are mental delays when it comes to experiencing something so traumatic.

But even when you’re still in shock Soap speak calmly to you trying to make sure you’re okay. “how’re you, lass?” His gentle voice comforting causing you to lean into it.

When you weren’t in Soap’s arms you would be in Gaz’s both men taking turns. A hint of attachment due to what you seemed to go through. But honestly you weren’t complaining your mind was off of the situation.

At first when Soap explains what happened and why he had to stay back. Ghost would keep his distance from you not because he didn’t like you. But because he didn’t want to break down around you. He didn’t cry often, at least publicly, but he knew he would when looking at someone so young who had already went through so much.

Your injuries from the accident left you in a leg splint with minor bruising on the rest of your body. Luckily they got you out in time as you were close to passing out from a lack of oxygen. The tiny space you were stuck in between your parents was close to falling by the time Gaz found you.

While you healed you would get visited by Gaz and Soap at least two times a day. Price would stop by at night to read you a bedtime story. It was his way of showing he cared about your situation. His care was paternal in nature, he always made sure the doctor was doing his job right. Any time you had the slightest look of discomfort on your face he would address the doctor. “Are you sure you’re doing that right? Can’t you see she’s in pain?” He always meant well of course.

The only person who didn’t visit you was Ghost at least to your knowledge. He would always visit when Price left at times when you would sleep. He never stepped foot in the hospital room only looked through the glass window.

When you were finally released from the hospital you found out quickly that Price meant business. The 6 months you were in the hospital he was working and fighting for custody over you. You had no other living relatives but it was a bit of a struggle since you were from a different country. Though with what seemed like pure luck he was able to adopt you.

While they were deployed you stayed on base in your own room. It was located right beside Price’s which you were okay with.

Ghost didn’t speak to you until one night when he was walking down the hall. He heard the sounds of screams alerting him. He realized they were coming from your bedroom. Something clicked in his mind as he rushed in without hesitation. The sight of you wringing around in bed with tears streaming down your cheeks hurt him emotionally.

Due to his experience with his own nightmares he stepped closer to you. Sitting on your bed he gently woke you up making sure not to startle you. When you were up he allowed you to cling to him as he held you close. The two of you sitting there in the comforting silence. From that night forward Ghost couldn’t see himself straying too far from your aid.

From the second they met you, you were their daughter even if it was only legal on Price’s end. When they were on missions you were in the care of Laswell at times. The station chief didn’t mind she liked spending time with you.

When they weren’t on missions and had time to go back home they made a change. It only made since to be nearby so that you could actively see Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. They may have decided to invest in a house big enough for all five of you. These men are passionate about those they love and you’re like are a daughter to them.

During there time off they don’t waste a second giving you any and everything you want. From movie nights to family game nights.

As you get older and start school they make sure it’s somewhere close to where they can travel between the base and home. You’re a military kid, but don’t worry you don’t change schools often.

You tend to go to Soap for stress relief as he knows how to cheer you up with ease. Ghost is someone you go to when it comes to your nightmares and worries as he makes sure to give you the best advice. Sometimes the best advice is none in his opinion though. Gaz is who you stick to a lot for comfort he gives the best hugs and cuddles. While Price is the one you look to for protection, not that you don’t with all of them, it’s just he’s your central father figure.

You never have much to worry about with them behind you.

#x reader #fluff #tf141 #tf 141 x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #child!reader #fluffy headcanons #platonic!tf141

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libingan · 2 months

Text

— undying love.

apocalypse au! price and his zombie wife. that��s it. this is based off The Zombie Song lmao i forgot who sang it, but i just remembered it out of the blue and thought to myself “this would make a good fanfic idea” so here i am lmao

the stench of decay lingered in the air, an ever-present reminder of the world’s descent into chaos. it had been two months since you were bitten, since you made the heart-wrenching decision to run away from him before the infection took over completely. your husband, john price, had been your anchor in this madness, and leaving him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. he didn’t even get a proper goodbye, just a note explaining your situation and why you did what you had to do.

when you disappeared, price was devastated. the days that followed were a blur of frantic searches and sleepless nights. he scoured every abandoned building, every desolate street, calling your name into the empty silence. each day without you was a battle against despair, the gnawing fear that he would never see you again, never hold you again. he kept the hope alive, refusing to believe that you were lost to him forever. the memory of your smile, your laughter, was the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely. price was desperately clinging onto the hope that you may still be out there, alive, and trying to survive, just as he was.

now, he found himself outside a second-floor apartment, the door barricaded with whatever the previous occupants could find. price, along with his comrades soap, ghost, and gaz, had taken refuge here after a grueling day of fighting off the undead. they were exhausted but ever vigilant, knowing that safety was a fleeting illusion in this new world.

as they climbed the makeshift ladder to the second floor, price’s heart was heavy with the memories of you. he couldn’t shake the image of your face, your laugh, your smile.. everything. each creak of the floorboards, each shadow that flickered in the dim light, brought a fresh wave of pain and longing.

inside the apartment, they set up a perimeter, blocking the stairs with furniture and securing the windows. price’s mind was elsewhere, though. he moved through the motions mechanically, his thoughts consumed by you. his friends noticed his distraction but said nothing, understanding that grief was a constant companion for all of them now.

once they were as secure as they could be, soap broke the silence. “price, you with us, mate?” his voice was soft, concerned.

price snapped back to the present, nodding. “yeah, i’m here.” but his eyes betrayed the turmoil within.

ghost’s voice was a low rumble, filled with an edge of frustration. “you need to stay focused. we can’t afford mistakes.”

gaz, always the mediator, stepped in. “he’s doing his best, ghost. we all are.”

price appreciated their concern but couldn’t help feeling isolated in his grief. he sat by the window, staring out into the night, the faint glow of the moon casting eerie shadows over the ruined landscape. every noise outside, every shuffle and groan of the undead, made his heart race. he couldn’t help but wonder if you were out there, somewhere.

his buddies busied themselves with tasks—cleaning their weapons, checking supplies, reinforcing the barricades. they gave him space, understanding that some wounds took time to heal, if they ever healed at all.

then, as the night deepened, they heard it—a faint, familiar shuffle outside. price’s heart skipped a beat. he stood up, peering through the window, his breath catching in his throat. the figure was unmistakable, even in the dim light. it was you.

price whispers your name, his voice a mix of relief and horror.

soap, ghost, and gaz quickly joined him, their reactions immediate and intense.

“price, what the hell are you doing?” soap’s voice was sharp, his eyes wide with disbelief.

ghost’s stance was rigid, his voice cold and hard. “you know the protocol, sir. we can’t risk it. she’s dangerous.”

gaz’s expression was torn, conflicted between loyalty to his captain and the harsh reality of their situation. “cap, i get it, but we have to be realistic. she’s not the same anymore.”

price held up a hand, stopping them. “don’t,” he said firmly. “she’s still my wife.”

before they could react, price was already moving. he pushed past them, determination blazing in his eyes. he grabbed his double barrel shotgun and headed for the door.

“captain, stop!” soap yelled, reaching for him.

ghost moved to block his path, but price was relentless, shoving him aside. “get out of my way.”

gaz tried to reason with him, stepping in front of the door. “price, think about what you’re doing. think about us. we need you.”

price’s eyes were locked on you, shambling closer. “i have to do this. i can’t let her go.”

he forced his way past gaz, his comrades' protests fading into the background. they grabbed at his arms, trying to hold him back, but he was a man possessed. nothing could stop him now.

he stumbled down the ladder, nearly losing his footing in his haste. the world seemed to blur around him, his focus narrowing to the one thing that mattered: you. as he hit the ground, he sprinted towards you, his heart pounding in his chest.

as he approached, you launched yourself at him, the instinctual hunger driving your movements. price didn’t flinch, didn’t try to defend himself. he was ready to let you bite him, to join you in whatever twisted existence you now endured. he closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable pain.

but then, you stopped. your rotting hand, trembling and hesitant, reached out and rested on his chest. your eyes, clouded and vacant, seemed to search for something, some recognition. price’s breath caught in his throat as he slowly opened his eyes, meeting your gaze.

he gently took your hand in his, the warmth of his touch seeping into your cold, lifeless skin. “i won’t let them hurt you,” he promised. “i won’t let them take you away from me.”

as he stood there, holding your decaying hand, price couldn’t help but admire your features. even while you were rotting, flesh decaying and carnivorous, you were still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. he gently caressed the ring on your rotting finger with his thumb, feeling the weight of the promise it symbolized.

the vow "till death do us part" made to you all those years ago seemed trivial now. because he knew that even in death, even as the world crumbled around him, price would never let you go. you were his. forever.

#call of duty x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod #john price #john price x reader #cod mwii #cod mw price #john price x fem reader #captain price #cod x reader #price x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 price

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

omg stop a cap mactavish drabble where they're caught 'n he's gotta keep the reader calm would feed my soul

—Listen To My Voice

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [He orders you to focus on him as the sounds outside the cell get closer. He promises nothing will happen to you. You know he's lying.] ❞

“Jus’ keep your eyes open and listen to my voice, eh?” The heavy Scottish drawl snaps you back into focus, your head pounding awfully and pain ricocheting up and down your limbs. It’s a stiff and unyielding order. “C’mon now, Sergeant.”

Coughing, you hack up splatters of blood onto your cargos—hands and arms tied down with rough rope that skins you every time you shift.

“Fuck,” you mutter, blinking rapidly as the footsteps walk away from your holding cell and disappear with the slam of a far-off door.

The Captain ahead of you grunts, his hard blue eyes sliding down the wreckage of your uniform; the open wounds and torn fingernails. He doesn’t look much better, truth be told. Your captors had taken pleasure in making you watch the other get brutalized—the vile rage in your eyes yet the inability to do anything.

It was mental torture as well as physical.

“Oversight ought to know we’re gone,” Soap slides out smoothly, tilting his mohawked head to the side to study the room in casual sweeps, as if not bloodied and broken. “—they’ll be sendin’ out recon teams to scout the area in little under a day. Standard protocol.”

His voice trails, seeing your gaze locked onto the door of the cell, pupils nothing but tiny dots in your burst veins of the once white sclera. Blue finds the way your body shakes, and the man’s large fingers twitch along the arm of his chair.

In the back of his throat, he lets off a rumble and resets his stubbed jaw; the scar along his left eye shifting with his expression.

“Sergeant,” your face twitches, but you don’t look at him. Inside your chest, your rattling lungs can nearly be heard aloud.

Captain MacTavish’s lips tighten. “Didn’t I tell you to listen? Pipe up! This is important.”

Your mind dances between hysterics and the numb oblivion of shock. While Soap had years to adhere to the idea of bare torture—even going through it before—you had no such luck. Experienced with weaponry, yes, but One-Four-One had only taken you on with the idea that you could become better than you already were.

You’d never gone through an actual interrogation beyond training.

Fast flinching eyes dart to your superior, chest heaving and adrenaline coating your expression. Blood drips to the floor.

Soap grinds his teeth and sighs through his nose.

She won’t last like this, he tells himself—blunt and honest. He’d told Price it was a bad idea to let you tag along, and without the reassurance from his fellow, he would have straight-out denied you coming. Too inexperienced.

This was exactly what he had been worried about.

But, hell, if that fear in your eyes didn’t make his stomach knot; a heavy rage at the image of your broken skin as all he could do was watch. But it was a silent kind of fury. Weighted with the knowledge of revenge.

While the man hated dogs, he sure acted like a loyal one.

“One day,” the Captain tells you—hardened; inflexible. His orbs are like hard steel and his stiff body like rock. “You can take one more day. Just need to focus on me…Copy? I don’t want your eyes to leave me. Not through any of it.”

You push through your haze, staring into his eyes with the vile stench of fear in the air. It was human nature to not want to be harmed. To dread pain and suffering in all senses.

This man seemed apart from that.

The Captain grunts, harsher now, “Copy?”

“I-I,” you stutter, lashes fluttering. “I copy, Sir.”

“Relay.” He barks, watching you closely.

“One day.” Answering immediately, you clear your throat and stifle your whimper of agony—a few of your ribs are broken. “I can make it one more day.”

“Good.” Soap’s accent makes the words clipped and true. Taken as law. “Nothin’ll happen that won’t be repaid. Keep that close, it’ll help.”

“How many times have you been through this?” Talking helped with the nerves, your focus leaving the sounds in the distant hallways and the loud voices wafting in the vents. The room was cold; you shiver and grimace as your body moved.

“Too many.” Soap huffs, pulling at his restraints with a heavy hand and growling under his breath when nothing happens. “Comes with the territory, you’ll get used to it.”

You lick your bloodied lips and feel the cuts in them. “...Is that a good or a bad thing, Sir?”

His lips twitch into a low smirk, shooting you a sly narrowing of his lids. “Well, I’d say that’s up to you now, isn’t it?”

In the grimness and the barbarity, you huff what can be described as a dead woman’s laugh.

The Captain, still trying to find a loose area of the rope, grits his teeth and utters, “There’ll be no deaths here ‘cept the ones outside this cell, eh? Like I said—focus. When I tell you something, I don’t care how hard it is, you’ll be listenin’ to me. Got that?”

Footsteps sound up again from beyond, and you tense, eyes flinching wider. Soap grunts out an order and you keep your feral gaze locked on his. Blue eyes bore into you, flaying their meaning deep into your body like you’re made of clay. The uptick in your pulse makes you shake wildly.

“Keep those eyes right on me. Nothing’s goin' on that’ll kill you, aye?” The door turns and the unlocking of the barrier snaps like electricity up your spine. You want to run, but you know you can’t.

And through it all, you stare straight into Captain MacTavish’s frozen eyes—his strong brow pulled in with authority. He nods his approval with a quick jerk of his head. When the door opens, you can’t help but fear he’s lying.

TAGS:

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charliemwrites · 10 months

Text

Ahahahaha it’s happening again-

Bodyguard!Gaz’s researcher is being transported to a facility in Russia. Apparently, there’s some tools or facility there that they need and have to be there in person to use.

Bodyguard!Gaz who has his charge memorize all their emergency plans like it’s lab safety protocol. Who runs all sorts of drills that they whine about but dutifully humor. Who gets his researcher bundled up for the plane in a big puffy coat. They refuse mittens or gloves because they need their hands free.

Bodyguard!Gaz who shows up late because his scientist kept fussing over equipment to bring and double checking that all the assistants were sorted instead of worrying about themselves. Gaz, who straps them in himself because they’re busy reading through the plane’s operating manual, blueprints folded in the back of the booklet.

An amused 141 looks on as he gently pries their mouth open to pop a Dramamine in their mouth. They don’t even glance up, mumble a quiet, “thank you, Ky,” as they flip a page.

Bodyguard!Gaz who glares daggers at Soap for getting the researcher’s attention just as the drowsiness from the pills is kicking in. Gaz was hoping they could sleep through the flight since he knows it’ll be at least 30 hours before they rest again once they land. He could strangle his teammate when he presents Gaz’s scientist with a modified flash-bang and sees their eyes light up, head coming off Gaz’s shoulder.

“What’s it made of?” The first question they always ask, about anything and everything, before they inevitably go on a research binge.

“No, no,” he says, tossing Ghost a look for help.

Ghost thankfully DOES, though Gaz’s researcher is still all keyed up now and he has to pull out the tablet early, lets them look at half-finished designs they made up in a blaze of over-caffeinated, under-rested mania. They start muttering over stupid mistakes and scribbling notes in the side….

Until slowly, their muttering gets quieter. The notes get lazier and loopier. They’re head starts to droop. Gaz can’t let them sleep like that, though, they get grumpy when their neck hurts before they’ve even started on a computer. So he tugs them against his chest. They go, mumbling Very Important Science notes that he hums and promises to write down.

And finally they settle in, bundled up and snuggling in for extra warmth, and he gently takes the stylus from their lax hand, saving the designs for them.

#my writing #fanfiction #cod #gaz #kyle gaz garrick #bodyguard #bodyguard!gaz

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sweetnothingtm · 2 years

Text

RUTHLESS// simon riley x reader

pairing simon riley x f!reader

word count 4.6k

content warning rough sex, knife play, degradation, oral sex, the mask stays on!

authors note i hope you enjoy you dirty little freaks. thank you for everything ♡

It’s an honest mistake - really. Had you known any better you would’ve kept it right where he left it.

But you can’t help yourself, lingering just a moment longer to stare at the blade that shines in the light. Its tip was stuck in the wall, the black hilt of the knife worn from use. Soap is calling your name, but you stay put, lip caught between your teeth.

It’s the lieutenants, his initials engraved into it - and you pocket it without a second thought.

You hide it from him like a dirty secret.

At first, you reason that it’s a good knife - a waste of potential to be left in the wall. It’s been polished and sharpened, the tip of the blade pricking into your finger. You had to keep it, you thought. Despite the fact that he would eventually come back for it, eyebrows drawn in confusion at the empty hole where it used to stick. You don’t necessarily use it, but you keep it on you at all times. It rests in your breast pocket, your heart beating against it even now.

A reminder of him. All the little unspoken truths and harbored emotions that you kept from him.

Then you think he could've asked for it back. You don’t admit that you have it, but if he wants it then he’ll try to find it. You have a bad habit to absentmindedly stare at him during briefings, and you notice the empty spot on his vest. It’s a similar shape to the knife.

You’ve been free falling for the lieutenant since the day you met him. Always a little too desperate and eager, you did your best to please. Arriving early for meetings, being the first one up, getting your report and handing it to him finished not a day later. He’d catch your gaze, cocking an eyebrow almost as if in challenge. You’d blush, breaking his stare and shoving down all those months of pining.

He taught you how to aim, how to disassemble your weapons and put them back together, hell- he’d just about taught you how to breathe. A ghost that’s hellbent on haunting the living, he kept you waiting patiently and obediently. You just needed a sign - something to tell you that he sees you.

The lieutenant doesn’t ask for it back. Yet. You’re starting to fall asleep looking at it, eyes half lidded and thumb rubbing over the hilt softly. It flips between your hands under the table at meetings, head in the clouds with your superior storming your thoughts.

The initials are ingrained in your memory like it was branded. SR. You start to carve it in bathrooms, trees, your bed frame. It’s shameful to admit, but having a piece of him is nice to carry. It’s because he’s your boss, the guy whose job it is to keep you alive. You’re just being sentimental for a friend.

Sometimes you wonder if he knows it’s gone. There’s a part of you that hopes you’ll never have to give it back.

Eventually you’re beginning to treat it like it’s your own. You carry it with you like a lost piece to a puzzle. It’s got a spot on the inside of your vest, hidden from his eyes. You let it dance on your skin in boredom, and use it to cut stray threads off you. But you can’t cut the lieutenant loose.

Your eyes are blinking away boredom and disinterest, head hung low as the drowning deep voice of Ghost continues on. It’s late, and you’re tapping your boot impatiently as Johnny and Kyle are making small talk about the stupidest shit.

The knife clicks open and closed, fingers unconsciously brushing against the blade. You really just need a shower and eight hours of sleep, but time is ticking away.

Think Lt will let us sleep in tomorrow?

Not a chance, Soap

Bastard doesn’t even sleep. It’s not fair

You feel like kicking yourself to stay awake. Yawns are bubbling up from your chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. It’s been a half hour since he started talking about procedures, protocols, what to do if blah blah blah. You fiddle with the knife in your hands, glancing down at the initials. Simon Riley. You wish you were in bed, the soft glow of your lamp illuminating your favorite kept secret.

He can tell too, and it’s infuriating him. You’re messing with your hands, lip caught between your teeth as your leg bounces in the chair. You rest your arms on the table, leaning forward and absentmindedly playing with something. Then he sees it, the black hilt that’s worn from the grip of his hand. It’s got the same engraving too, the one he got custom done his first day on the force.

You took it.

Simon didn’t think you’d have it - just a sneaking suspicion. He’s lost it before, usually to find it the next day in his jeans. Yet he saw you leaving, cheeks scarlet as you avoided his gaze. Your hands were shoved deep in your pockets, mumbling soft apologies as he brushed past you and back into the room. It wasn’t there, though.

He missed it. Simon carried it with him everywhere, like it was a part of him. It’s the only knife he owns, always wiping it clean at the end of the night. It twists between his fingers at night, the hilt worn from the palm of his hand. He would lazily flick it open, thumb rubbing along the edge of the knife. He thought he’d find it by now - but there you are, treating it with the same care that he has.

The lieutenant pauses, words trailing off as he stares at the familiar blade. You glance up, catching his gaze with eyes that are dark and heavy. You blink once, twice, straightening and looking down to your hands where the open knife lays. You freeze, the air around you running cold. Heart faltering and chest tightening, you wait with baited breath. Never has the truth been laid so bare before you. His eyes are kept on your face, pinning you in your seat. Does he know?

The lieutenant breaks your gaze, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. You’re absolutely mortified, shoving the knife in your back pocket and biting your tongue. Johnny looks to Ghost, pausing his conversation with Kyle at the unexpected silence. You’re distracting yourself by looking at anywhere but him, breaths uneven and shoulders tight with anxiety.

Ghost takes a moment to regain his control, mind clouded with the image of you playing with his knife. He runs a hand down the haunting white mask that separates you from him. Still wearing the uniform and gear, his hand rests on the empty spot of his vest as his eyes drag straight back to you.

He has to know.

“Johnny, Gaz - take your gossip outside. We’ll reconvene tomorrow,” he states, leaving no room for questions. The lieutenant breaths a long sigh, head cocking to the side as you blush a deep red. You whip your head to him, standing up straight at the sound of your name. He doesn’t dismiss you. The boys nod begrudgingly, standing up and stretching while grunting goodbyes as they shuffle out of the room. The door swings shut, clicking back into place and leaving you stranded.

It’s just the two of you, a thick and nauseating tension arises as moments slip by in an uncomfortable quiet. Your hands are balled into fists out of anxious habit, nails digging into the palms for your hands. He’s shrugging off the vest, peeling off his gloves and tossing everything on a nearby chair. His bare hands brace against the side of the desk, eyes staring straight through you.

“That’s my favorite knife that you stole,” he says, voice patronizing as you stupidly blink at him with innocence in your eyes. Your mouth opens and shuts quickly, head spinning with all the ways you can lie yourself through this.

“I don’t have it, maybe you lost it?” You say, shifting uncomfortably as he cocks an eyebrow at you. He looks at you as though you’re on fire, burning up with every lie that you feed him. You fumble, shaking your head at him and letting poor bluffs take the lead, “I just bought this one. I got it from a store in-“

“You’re a bad fucking liar.”

You freeze, words stuck in your throat as his voice rings in your ears. You’ve been caught like a deer in the headlights, eyes widening and panic setting in. His fingers drum against the side of the desk, and he almost looks like he’s found his new pet not behaving.

Glancing to the door, you swallow a thick ball of fear. It’s a few feet away, right there and waiting for you to run. Excuses and dishonesty coat your senses, trying to cover up lost tracks as you look longingly to the exit. The knife sits heavy in your pocket, a ruthless and terrible reminder of the fact that it doesn’t belong to you. You should’ve given it to him when you had the chance.

He waits for you to answer, and he’s gritting his teeth every second you stare at him all pretty and dumb - like you don’t know a goddamn thing. Honestly, a part of him feels a little prideful that you kept it in the first place. You intoxicate and torture him, forcing him to keep distance from the forest fire he wants to call home. The lieutenants been waiting for you to spark since the day he met you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie, voice struggling to stay even as his eyes narrow at your words. You try your best to remain calm as the lieutenant continues to stare, skin flushed with fear as he shakes his head at you. “You’re a rotten brat, you know that?” He spits, watching with hate as you look away with your chin held high. You won’t admit defeat, not until it’s ripped from you with prying hands.

“It’s got my fucking name on the blade, sweetheart-“ he grounds out, leaning forward as his eyes burn into your own. “And unless you’ve got it branded on you too, I’d suggest being a good girl and giving it back.”

The room is laced with a thick silence while you shiver where you stand. You nod meekly to him from across the table, letting loose an uneven breath. You hold his gaze, stomach churning with months of suppressed fear and unrequited adoration. You speak to him softly, as if your voice is made of truth.

“You left it, and I found it. It’s mine now,”

He laughs at you, the sound hateful and violent in your ears. He pushes himself off the desk where he leans, the mask building a wall of irritation around him. His footsteps land heavy as he’s crossing the room, sauntering towards you with a determined look in his eyes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he states, shaking his head condescendingly at you.

Three steps, and he’s right in front of you. His figure towers over you, face tilted down to look at you. He smells like tobacco and pine, and you notice the spread of ink that peeks out from his sleeve. A finger grazes under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his dark eyes. “Give it back.”

It’s a losing game, and you’re trying desperately to win. You shake your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself. No.

The lieutenant drags over a chair, exhaling heavily as he takes a seat. His legs are spread, a hand resting on his thigh as you shake under his touch. He looks away for a moment, as if he’s mulling over something. Tsking softly to himself, he reaches a hand out and hooks it into your vest before tugging you down, “patience is wearing thin, sweetheart. I want it back, now.”

Your breath fans hot against his mask, eyes widening in shock as his grip tightens on you. His eyes are swimming with a haunting rage. The careful distance you’ve kept from his is crumbling, heart skipping a beat to catch up with the lieutenant. He pulls you closer, and you’re tripping under yourself as the mask stares back at you in challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir-” you whisper under your breath, the tip of your shoes hitting his boots as your shoulders sag. “I’m keeping it,” you say honestly, letting the shame wash over you. There’s nowhere to hide, all the time spent trying to get him to see you when you should’ve been running.

“Wrong answer.”

His hand drags you down and over him, knees pressing into your stomach as the breath is stolen from you. His hand finds its place along the back of your head, keeping you down as his fingers run along your back. Head spinning with all the ways in which you’ve been waiting for this, you squirm on his lap and brace your hands under you and on his thigh.

The lieutenants face drops down to you, mask brushing against your cheek. Your mind is blank now, the feel of his hot breath against your skin causing you to freeze. His dog tags dangle over your back, brushing against your shirt. “You should really mind your manners,” he admits, plucking the knife from your back pocket. “You know better than this.”

Your ass hangs up and over his knee, his hand resting along your upper thigh to keep you in place. The blade clicks open, and he lets loose a chuckle as he appreciates it. He flips it between his fingers out of sight, pulling back your hair as it takes place against your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut at the touch, the cool metal pressed against your skin and causing you to shiver.

There’s a moment where it’s just the two of you in silence. You count your breaths, biting your cheek and waiting patiently for the lieutenant to make his next move. Apologies are at the tip of your tongue, but fall short as his blade runs along your skin.

A sickening smack lands against your ass, body jumping from the unexpected touch. Desire runs up and along your spine, head cloudy with longing for a ghost in your haunted home. You can feel his hand rub softly into your skin, breath coming loose as he pulls away. “Lieutenant - please, I’m so sorry-”

Another smack, this time harder as it leaves a sting. “Simon - don’t you remember, love? That’s the name I’m gonna carve into your fucking skin,” he spits, digging the tip of his knife into your throat as you nod to him. Heat is pooling between your thighs that rub together in anticipation, lip caught between your teeth as you peel open your eyes and glance over your shoulder to him.

You regret ever having bothered.

He stares at you with a hateful lust, a smirk playing on his lips that are just out of your sight. Simon dips his fingers between your thighs and rubs soft circles, savoring the way you melt under his touch. You wiggle your hips, shifting on his knees and spreading your legs open just an inch. He notices, sending another smack to your ass. “Filthy,” he laughs, two fingers dragging along the wet desire that continues to grow within you. “You’re not even sorry - are you?”

You shake your head, nails digging into his thigh as his fingertips dig into your clit. “I am - I didn’t mean to steal it - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon,”

His name is unexpected as it falls from you, but you say it like it belongs to you. The bulge in his pants is growing, dick twitching at the way you squirm on his lap. All those months spent dreaming of you on your knees is starting to catch up with him, and he just can’t run away. He grits his teeth, the sound of his name on your lips sending him straight to hell. Good thing he’s friends with the devil.

Simon’s hands leave you suddenly, the knife clicking closed and set onto the table. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back until your neck is craned and your eyes begin to water at the pain. “If you really are sorry - then get on your knees and ask for forgiveness.”

He abruptly pushes you off his lap, and you tumble to the ground with your head smacking against the floor. You pull air into your lungs desperately, body recoiling from the shock of being thrown off of him. Hands pushing from under you to brace yourself, you look to him with innocent wide eyes and full lips that wobble in fear. He leans back in the chair, arms braced on the sides as he looks at your expectantly.

Shamefully, you crawl between his legs and sit on your knees. The knife sits alone on the table, watching you mockingly as you blink up to Simon. There’s a wide grin spread across his face, though you’re not able to see it. The mask keeps you from him, a careful distance that he isn’t willing to give up yet.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumble softly, blushing crimson as his hands fall to his belt. “I’m sorry.” He unbuckles the belt, dragging down the zipper as his eyes remain on your pretty little face with eyes glossy from tears. He’s nodding to you, pushing down the waist of his pants until you’re staring at the swollen tip of his dick that’s wet from pre cum.

“I know you are - but I want to see you beg.”

His hand comes to lazily stroke himself, hissing as he squeezes the tip of himself. Your hands gently rest against his knees, chest coiling tight with a familiar ache. You sit there patient, waiting for his approval as Simon jerks himself off. The heat between your legs is burning, heart struggling to keep a steady pace.

Then he gives a small nod, hands drifting to the side as your mouth waters. You lean forward, little lips parting wide. Simon sighs softly as your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing and eyes fluttering closed.

Your head bobs in his lap, hand coming to stroke what you can’t take. His hand tangles itself in your hair, guiding your movements slowly. Your tongue dances along his tip, his hips bucking at the touch and fingers tightening their grip. Simon lets his head fall back, waves of pleasure rocking through him at the way you hum against his dick. “Shit, you’re such a nasty slut,” he laughs out.

Lips dragging along his shaft, you take him inch by devastating inch without hesitation. Your nails are digging into his knees, clawing at him to take control as he begins to unravel. His shoulders drop, groans pulled from him when drool dribbles out from your lip and onto him.

Simon watches as you force him to the base of your throat, soft gargling sounds emitting from you. You can’t take all of him, but your hand massages the rest of his shaft, the touch soft and delicate. His head is cloudy with desire, forcing your head further down until you start to choke, tears blurring your vision. He’s abandoning all self control, letting it slip from his fingertips like a thread of gold. Doesn’t matter when you’re on your knees for him, sucking his dick like its the only thing you’ve dreamed of.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth. You’re humming, bobbing your head yes as you continue to let him fuck your mouth. He feels sick with pleasure, hand pushing you further along his dick until he’s seeing stars.

You’re eagerly on your knees, chest tightening with every moan that fires from Simons lips and aims straight to you. It’s got you feeling confident, sitting up on your knees and licking your tongue along the bottom of him. “Fuck - that’s it, sweetheart,” he grounds out, and you’re pressing your thighs together to stop yourself from dripping. You look up at him, dick caught in your throat and eyes sparkling with obedience.

Your teeth drag along his shaft, causing him to slam your head down. You choke, struggling to pull back and catch your breath. “Bloody hell,” he muses, the pad of his thumb rubbing into your cheek softly. You pull away, lips smacking as you try to control your uneven breaths. Simon watches as you rub the drool and spit from your lips, eyes turning a shade darker when you give him an innocent smile.

“Come here.”

When you stand, his fingers push themselves between your thighs. His hand comes to undo your pants, your lip caught between your teeth as you wait patiently for him. He’s pushed down the hem of your pants, hands coming to grip your waist. You stand there silently, holding your breath when he glances up to you. “Well? Show me how sorry you are,”

It takes you a moment to peel away your clothes, strewn on another chair where his things lie. Your cheeks are bright red with embarrassment as your arms snake around his neck, hesitantly coming to sit in his lap. He leans over to grab the knife, flicking it open again and pressing it against your chest. “Simon,” you breath softly, fingertips brushing along the base of his neck.

“Can you forgive me?”

He shakes his head at you, muttering filthy curses as his fingers dig into your waist. You’ve been waiting for this, soaked through and blind with guilt, you let the tip of him brush against your folds. Simon drags the knife to your throat, watching you with his breath held as you sink slowly onto his dick.

It’s a feeling you’ve only ever dreamed of. He pushes into you completely, heart beginning to falter and freeze at the pure pleasure that spreads between you. Your stomach is tightening, hips grinding into him softly. “Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, the hold on his knife tightening until his knuckles are white. “I’m considering it.”

It wouldn’t be so bad - to spend the rest of your life chasing after this high.

Hesitation has been tossed aside, breaths becoming in sync as he watches with baited breath as you grind into his lap and mewl out moans.

You pull yourself up with shaking thighs, falling back into him and letting a moan slip past your lips. You bounce on his dick, hips rolling and grinding with his knife pressed against your throat. Disgraceful slick wet sounds are ringing in your ears like a sickening melody. His hands are pressing and pulling you down, his hips bucking up with your movements.

Simon garbs a handful of your ass, keeping you in balance as you ride him ruthlessly. The knot of pleasure is tying itself tight, and you’re whining in his ear from the ecstasy “That’s it - look at you, such a good girl riding my dick.”

“Mm-mm,” you moan, head falling into the crook of his neck as he drags the knife to your chest, letting the tip press against your skin. “Please - please, I’m so sorry, Simon,” you gasp out, tightening your arms around his neck as he slams his hips into you.

His touch is rough and ruthless, impatient with pleasure as he smacks your ass that’s now red with his handprint. His. The thought sends him spiraling, groaning loudly. Simon lets you roll into him, bouncing in his lap with his breath fanning hot against your neck. “Careful,” he laughs against you, fingers traveling to your clit to rub harsh circles. “I just might think you like this.”

And you do. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by the sensational desire that’s boiling within you. Your moans are becoming desperate, nails scarping along his shoulder blades as he continues to fuck you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, practically hanging off of him as he rubs the wet pleasure between your thighs.

It’s just the two of you. His hand is greedily snapping your hips back to him, and you meet the touch eagerly. There’s a fire that’s building within you - and neither of you can smother it out. Your chest is tightening, lips mumbling out pathetic moans as Simon laughs, the sound dark and tantalizing. “You do - don’t you?” He asks, and you’re nodding into his neck with pleas rippling off of you. “I know you do, I bet your pretty little pussy is gonna cum on my dick-” he states, suddenly grabbing your throat and forcing you to look at him.

You hold his stare, mewling out and begging for him as he rubs quickly. You’re losing your sanity, hips eagerly grinding into his lap until a simmering heat takes a hold of you, crying out in pleasure. “Right about now.” He finishes, watching as you smile innocently at him.

He still fucks you though, riding out your orgasm as he chases after his own.

It only takes him another moment until he’s following you, sloppy and lazy thrusts into your hips. Simon is grounding out your name, gritting his teeth and savoring the way your slick cunt tightens around him. His head falls back against the chair, breath hot and uneven as he snaps and slams his hips into you one last time.

Then you’re sitting pretty and patient in his lap, letting him grow soft in you with your lip caught in between your teeth. Your eyes are glossed over with happiness, stomach flipping as he closes the blade and leaves a hand resting against your waist. Seconds slip by in silence, buy neither of you seem to mind. His breath is slowly untangling itself from yours, gaze dark and haunting.

When you peel yourself away from him, shaking hands pulling up your pants and blushing scarlet, he tugs you closer to him. You button your pants, still wet from the way Simon pulled all those dirty little secrets from you like they were his to begin with. He lets his hands slide to your ass, giving it a final squeeze.

“Such a good girl,” he says softly, a smile playing at his lips as you blush deeper. He stands, cupping your face in his hands and looking at you with the same adoration that you’ve given him for months. “I think you’ve learned your lesson - yeah, sweetheart?”

You nod up to him eagerly, the strings of your heart snapping and breaking as he pulls himself from you. “Uh-huh,” you breathe, and you mean it. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, letting his finger commit the feel of your skin to memory.

“Be good for me - get some rest, love.”

He left the knife in your back pocket, and it sits there now - waiting for him to come back.

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