#cod fanfic

[chaosandmarigolds]

In your pre-k universe does Olliver get Simon’s last name? 🥹

(OMGGGGGG DUDDDDDDEEEE)

"What dis?"

It was dinner, an easy place to give news, such as 'Hey kid your mom and I are getting married' At least that's what Simon thought ,because that whole spew went well so hopefully he would understand the next thing.

When the four year old looks up at you, confused by the random piece of paper he had been given- Simon had asked you that he would be the one to tell Oliver.

"That means, lad, that 'm gonna be your dad."

Oliver blinked a few times, "Okay." He then looks to you, "Momma can I have ice cream now?"

You look at Simon who was quiet by the boys indifference, with a confused shrug your mouth 'I don't think he understands.'

"Olls," Simon said slowly leaning forward, "Laddie your name is gonna change 'n Ill be coming to your doctors appointments 'an...I'll be your dad."

Another moment and again he seemed unbothered, "I thought my name already changed, 'ike mommys."

"Oh. Uh....yeah, no laddie, we- are you okay with that?"

"Mmhm, Ol-ee-ver Riley."

Simon gave you a smile, "Right-o, lad."

(annnyway thats it!!! feedback, comments and hearing yalls ideas make my day! <333)

[cntloup]

G/N!Reader implied depression, fluff

He's met by the gaping silence in the cold, dark room as he walks into your shared apartment. 

He can feel the worry creep up on him more and more at each step that he takes. 

Until his eyes land on your shadowy figure, sitting on the floor by the window, illuminated only by the faint moonlight. 

He sighs in relief and carefully approaches you in order not to startle you, making his footsteps loud enough for you to hear. 

He's always been wary of your fragile state and your episodes in which you crawl back into your shell. 

He appears in your line of vision only to be met by the cascade of tears, a distant bleak look painting your face. 

You're wearing only one of his shirts as you always do when he’s away to feel closer to him. 

You turn your head towards him, glossy eyes slowly lighting up as your mind registers that he’s really here. 

You waste no time to jump into his arms, “I’m home, love.” he whispers in your hair, placing a gentle kiss on your head. 

And you sob onto his chest, relief washing over you that he’s finally home, safe.  

And overwhelmed by all the emotions coursing through you, your love for him burning vehemently as you tighten your arms around him. 

And he holds you in his strong arms, his love and warmth engulfing you until you’re fully immersed in him. 

“You ok?” he asks in a soft tone, “I am now.” you respond with a loving smile as you look up into his gorgeous eyes that glint with the fierce love and adoration he feels for you. 

“I love you.” he whispers, slowly leaning in, “I love you too.” you reply only inches away from his lips and kiss him with flaming passion. 

And you finally feel at home. He is your home.

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon : The Orange Peel Test

✧˚ Ghost, Price , Soap , Phillip Graves , König

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

While scrolling on social media, you stumbled upon videos of girls asking their partners to peel oranges for them as a relationship test. How their partners responded was an indicator of whether they had a healthy relationship.

You shook your head, grinning while scrolling. There was no way people were letting an orange test their relationship, it was interesting.

A hand came into view as he set a warm cup of freshly brewed tea before you.

Placing your phone down on the table, you looked up at him to see him give you a soft smile as you thanked him for the tea.

You brought the cup close to your lips, savoring the tea and a thought lingering in your head.

“You know…” You started, putting your teacup down.

“Hm?” He hummed in response and kept his back to you as he poured honey into his tea.

“I’m craving an orange…”

Ghost

“Yeah, and?”

Listens to you rave about how you crave the sweet and tart taste of an orange on your lips

Nods

“Okay, what do you want me to do about that?”

Cocks his head and raised an eyebrow when you give him a look

“I’m sorry love, but we don’t have any.”

Gets two bags of oranges delivered to the doorstep within an hour when you leave the kitchen sulking

Price

It seems a little strange to him but it wouldn’t be the first of your weird antics

Nods

“Sorry darlin’, we don’t have any”

It may seem like he doesn’t care but the next day when you open the fridge it’s filled with oranges

Soap

He lowkey wants oranges too

Pouts when he can’t find any

“Why don’t we have any?”

Complains that he bought a bag of them just last week

Both of you decide to raid your nearest supermarket in pajamas

Phillip Graves

Shrugs

“Well, don’t look at me like that doll”

Sips his coffee unbothered

Pretends to be annoyed as he sighs, zips up his jacket, and grabs his cap to run to the local supermarket

König

Tilts head in confusion

“You want an orange?”

Rummages through cabinets and fridge in search of the citrus fruit

Apologizes when the only thing he finds closest to it is a fruit cup

Without you asking, he opens it and feeds sliced pieces of fruit into your mouth

[astr0exe]

So uhm...

Graves x pornstar!tm!reader? Anyone?

-🥩

so i turned this into hcs rather than a story m sorry if its not what u wanted but yeah hope u like ittt !! Js couldnt stop the thoughts of this mannnnn

// CW : tm!reader , pornstar!reader , filth

- Imagine Graves telling ppl his fiance is a trans gay pornstar 😭 everyone would be so shocked that his future husband has sex with other men for a living ?!

- The sex is always crazy lets be real, first, Graves can fuck like ughh yeah so the sex is immaculate

“Fuckkk baby..” Is all Graves can mumble, you basically demanded being on top, your tight cunt gripping his thick cock like a vice as you grind yourself down on him, bouncing up and down as his balls hits your arse.

- He deffo watches ur SOLO porn when he is gone solo only bc he gets jealous , OR the porn you made for his eyes only, videos of you and him fucking like rabbits, or just videos of you getting yourself off as you whine about how much you miss him and his massive cock

- Whenever he comes home from deployment your mouth is on his cock as soon as the front door is shut, just slurping and moaning around it as he fucks into your mouth

“Needed you so bad Sweetheart, needed your mouth. Good boyyy” He whines quietly as he nears his orgasm, after not seeing you for weeks and sometimes months at a time he is so on edge he cums after only 3 minutes.

[vampyre-boyfriend]

Imagine if soap was shot in the neck instead. So that During the entire fight that happens after Ghost is forced to watch soap struggle for breath on the ground as he chokes on his own blood. Unable to help him until it's over. By the time he's able to help him it's already too late. Soap doesn't look peaceful. He looks like he died terrified because he was. As he died he felt like a scared little boy again. He wanted Simon...he wanted his Simon to hold him. To tell him it was going to be okay but all he heard as he died were gunshots. He died feeling more alone then he ever had.

Or alternatively Soap doesn't die until Ghost gets to him. "It's going to be okay." Ghost said, frantically applying pressure before yelling at price that he needs a medic. Soap's hand grips tightly around Ghost's wrist as his eyes begged Ghost to not let him die like this. Ghost let out some desperate pleas to a god he didn't believe in. Begging for him to not take his Johnny away. Please don't take his Johnny. "Please...I need you." Ghost said into soap's chest, his hands soaked in the blood of the lover he knew was gone when his grip loosened 8 pleas prior.

Or something like that idk I'm not a writer

[sirenmoth]

Sorry for the rant and probs gonna get hate cuz ik this fandom but i had to say this

-This goes to all fandoms, not just Call of Duty-

You are responsible for the content you consume. Don’t like, Don’t read.

i’ve seen a few posts about this but

if you cannot spell or speak about rape, pedophilia or any dark or sensitive topics then maybe don’t talk about it, because purposely misspelling it proves you are not mature enough to talk about it or handle the topic, this isn’t tik tok you don’t have to sugarcoat anything. Yes i am aware these are sensitive (and horrible) subjects and can be triggering but no one is forcing you to read or talk about it.

Me, and a lot of authors, put the content warnings at the top of the fic because that’s the first thing people will see and it is your responsibility to read those warnings if you wish to read a fic, not ours. This goes with Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (DDDNE), a warning or tag used to indicate that a fanwork contains tropes or elements that may be deemed morally reprehensible without explicitly condemning the sensitive aspect. It says what it says on the tin and you still read it, that is on you, not us.

Saying an author is glorifying or promoting a topic and saying they need mental or professional help for writing/reblogging rape or abuse or sexual assault because of their or another authors writings is a stretch, people can and are into some messed up things that to some people can be triggering or disturbing and you can be 100% into something fictionally without wanting to explore it physically.

No one if forcing you to read something you do not like

Same with minors in fandoms, this is a common things and there is nothing you can do about it, yes they shouldn’t be viewing or reading certain things in the fandoms but they’ll still find a way no matter how hard to try and stop them.

Say rape, say kill, no one’s gonna to hate you, if you can’t handle dark topics in a fic, block the author it’s not hard, no one will hate you for doing that and harassing and swinging death threats to a creator because they made something you don’t like is a shitty thing to do, if you don’t want to read a certain trope or topic that’s fine, people have preferences, but trying to start a witch hunt and purity culture campaign over it is not ok. I think sometimes they don’t because they want to start hate. Tumblr had a filtering system for blocking tags and yes people find a way to get around that, just block those tags too.

Fandoms are safe spaces for people who like a certain content, yes there are bad people in fandom and areas in a fandom that are filled with disgusting people, but it is a online safe space for people to enjoy the content they like. Fandoms are not for you to try and purify because you can’t be mature enough to block an author for posting content you don’t like.

[lilozzzyo3569]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

OKAY so I cannot help myself I am madly in love with Ghost - you are dating Simon "Ghost" Riley and you are on your period- This is pure self indulgent fluff

SFW

Ghost is the type that when you're on your period is so sweet to you but like in a quiet subdued way

Ghost will sit with you on the couch and hold you while you snack

Ghost will rub your tummy when you are cramping or feeling swollen and generally uncomfortable

Ghost will let you cry on his chest when you are feeling especially emotional and run his fingers through your hair to soothe you

Ghost will rub your back and kiss your forehead and whisper "itll be a'right lovie, I gotcha"

Ghost with his big warm hands will let you lay on the couch with him using his front as a heater for your sore back and his hands as a heater for your abdomen

Ghost who has always been patient with you as you are always patient with him doesn't mind when you toss in turn in your sleep because he does the same thing

Ghost who doesn't say he loves you all the time but prefers to show his love and appreciation for you through acts of service

Ghost who lets you nap on his chest while he reads and drinks his afternoon cuppa

Ghost will sometimes even read whatever book he is re-reading aloud to you when you can't sleep

Ghost who doesn't understand what he did to deserve someone as beautiful, kind, understanding, patient, adorable and overall perfect as you

Alright so as I said before this is super self indulgent, and I am on my period and wish I had a big strong Simon "Ghost" Riley to comfort me. But alas I do not, but at least I have my imagination hahaha

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Soap is the kind of guy to DEMAND a silk bonnet. Does he need one? That’s not the question to ask. It’s which one you’re getting him and you’re putting it on him ever night.

Gaz I know for a fact has several durags of multiple patterns and colors. And he wants to put his on while you put yours on. Like a joint ritual.

Price will not want a bonnet but he does like the satin pillow cases. He thinks it’s making his beard better. More sensual.

Ghost refuses the satin pillow cases entirely and gets cotton pillow cases to make a point.

[victoria-grimesss]

141 reaction too reader having a medusa tattoo?

(if yk yk)

masterlist

->Paring: 141 x reader

->Price: He would initially think nothing of the artwork, he admired it and loved how it looked on you, eventually his admiration for the work leads him to the internet where he would look up the meaning to many of your tattoos. Once he learned more of them, he wouldn't bring it up until you wanted, but he made sure to never let you think of yourself as anything but strong and capable.

->Soap: He would know what they meant; he of course didn't mention them when he first saw it, but his heart would ache at the meaning. He would want to take things slow and always speak his intentions during the beginning stage of the relationship to establish a strong foundation of trust. He would often whisper kind things to you when you both become intimate never letting you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

->Gaz: Gaz is a good man, strong and kindhearted. He would know what the tattoo meant to you, overcoming a great trauma, something done to you that you wish could be undone. He would take any moment to boost your confidence, he would do that even without the tattoo, but he wants the words to stay in your mind. Often times, when you're both together in bed he would trace the lines and tell you each thing he loves about you. One by one.

->Ghost: He's a cold man but he's not cruel to your feelings. If you were ever uncomfortable in any situation, he gave you the power to say the word and you both left, he didn't mind taking things at any pace as long as you felt safe with him. When he saw your tattoo his heart would clench for the times you had to go through, but what you overcame made you stronger and he will always admire that in you. His love language would be leaving you little notes for when he's not there.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (4 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff

Word Count: 957

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Checking through his daughter’s backpack strikes up a difficult conversation.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Price has no idea where his daughter’s disorganization from, but it certainly isn’t him.

Opening her backpack, Price cringes at the mess. It’s all crushed papers, broken pencils, scattered crayons, and food wrappers. Sighing, Price turns the backpack zipper-side down, the contents crashing to the dining room table.

She is going to sit down tonight and organize this. No exceptions.

Frowning down at the wreckage, Price begins sorting through the papers, glancing at a few just to find some order in the chaos. He picks up a piece of paper and pauses, his gaze landing on the title.

All About Me reads the top of the page.

Price smiles as he starts to read over his daughter’s answers.

Favorite color? Blue.

Favorite animal? Dragon—all capital letters with lots of exclamation points.

Happiest memory? That one just says “ghostie tree.” Her teacher will have no idea what that means, but Price knows, and he laughs so hard he almost chokes.

Price’s daughter adores Simon, and whenever he’s around, she turns into a koala, hanging off every limb. It doesn’t matter if Simon is standing or sitting down. And how does Simon feel about it? He’ll act bored, like it hardly bothers him, but then he’ll strike, tickling her until she runs away screaming only for her to return minutes later to do it all over again.

Flipping it over, Price continues to read, pausing when he reaches information about parents and guardians. This is where he slows and observers her writing. She already filled stuff out about mom, and Price knows you’d get a laugh out of her answers, but the sections about him cool his amusement.

Her answers are idyllic versions of himself, nearly whimsical in the way she describes what he does and how proud she is that he is her father. That makes him ache, brings a tightness to his chest that pushes out all other feeling. Price is proud of his work, and of his career, but it is not a beautiful thing.

It is not sweet or kind or tender.

It is rough. It is hard.

It is heartbreaking.

He has lost so many people. So many good men and women. He’s done horrible things. Stained his palms with blood. These are difficult truths he faces every day.

But there are softer moments in his career of watching those he’s mentored be promoted, of victories and celebrations, of marriages and births, and of all those he’s worked with who have gone on to lead fulfilling, happy lives.

All of that, and this isn’t what stops him.

It’s her answer to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I want to be like my dad.

Price sighs and sets the paper down on the table.

How does he respond to that? Should he even take the initiative? Should he approach the topic at all?

Price isn’t certain.

“Daddy.”

Price starts at his daughter’s voice. He turns. She’s standing just inside the archway to the living room. She has a perplexed look on her face as she glances between him and the mess on the kitchen.

“What’ve you done with my backpack?”

Price blinks, and then chuckles. “It’s a mess, love. We’ve taught you better.” Her face flushes slightly as she slowly walks up to the table. “You’re sitting down and going through this. No exceptions.”

She nods sheepishly.

Price picks up the questionnaire. “Want to talk about this? I have to sign off on it.”

Her flush grows deeper. “Did you read it?”

“I did.”

She looks up at him expectantly and Price waits a moment to see if she’ll say anything. She doesn’t.

“You said some nice things about me,” he says softly, and she beams. It reminds him of your smile, and that melts his heart down to his toes.

“It’s true,” she says brightly, happy that he’s mentioned anything at all.

“You want to be like me?” She nods. “And what do I do?”

She blinks. “Didn’t you read what I wrote?”

Price barks a laugh. “Yes, love. I did. But I want to hear it from you.”

She squares her shoulders and looks up at him with fierce determination. “You protect people. I want to protect people.”

True. But not entirely.

“How do you think I protect people?” He can see her brain processing the question and attempting to formulate an answer. She chews on her bottom lip, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “But I know that you do. You protect me and mom.”

“That’s because you and your mother are mine to protect.”

Protect is not the right word. While his actions and the things that he does might prevent horrible things happening at a global level, doing so often results in pain and suffering. It’s just what happens even when he tries to prevent that.

“Can I not do that?” she asks.

“You can do whatever you want when you’re older.”

But military life? No. He doesn’t wish that for her, and it’s not because she’s a girl. He’d feel the same if she has been born a son. No parent wants to see their child in potential danger. Doesn’t matter what age.

“So I can be just like you?”

He wants to say “no,” but instead diverts the question elsewhere. “You can’t be anything if you don’t organize this backpack.”

She groans and starts rummaging around in the mess.

Price kisses the top of her head. When he glances up, you’re standing in the archway, a soft smile on your face. Did you hear the whole conversation? Or just the end?

You stride forward and reach out. Price meets your outstretched hand, threading his fingers with yours.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @nelladowney @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

‘‘This is Lieutenant Riley, Ghost’’

‘‘Lieutenant’’ She nodded, having to raise her head to look up at the mountain of a man towering over her, but didn’t look affronted by it. Her chin barely reached his shoulder.

‘‘Sergeant’’ Ghost nodded as well, shaking the hand she was offering, and almost raised an eyebrow when her shake was way stronger that he had expected. Her eyes were lighter in colour that he had expected as well, with a blue almost grey depending on the light.

From Chapter 1 of my fic Fortis Soli, Fortiores Una

Kudos to @mmyrrhh ❤️ for giving me the idea of illustrating the chapter I was trying to write. My brain had other ideas.

[callsignfoxy]

I can't stop thinking about blue collar!Simon who goes to the same place to eat lunch every day and you're the new server or whatever.

Like, he gets the same thing every day and doesn't say much until one day you already have his order in before he gets there because you remembered it.

I desperately need someone to write this because I'm at work and can't ughhh - woe is me.

[cntloup]

Queen!Reader x Knight!Ghost Vikings attack your land! war, blood and gore, near death experience

Part 2

You hear the galloping of a horse nearing as you walk hand in hand with your husband along the vibrant spring blossoms in the garden and turn your head to see one of the guards approaching. 

“My queen, my lord! We saw their ships! Danes are here!” he calls out and informs you of the attack, out of breath from riding the long distance of the riverside to the castle. 

“Pagans!” you gasp, “We must act now!” 

Simon is alert in an instant, “Gather all the able men. They must be prepared to fight... and prepared to die.” he orders the guard, “Yes, my lord.” the guard bows and spins his horse to leave. 

Simon turns to you, “You take all the women, children and elders into the fortress-”, “Do you think I will let you leave on your own?” you cut him off, shocked at his remark. 

“I have my men!” he replies, tone harsher than intended.  

“I will fight by your side.” you state firmly, matching his tone.

“No!” he bursts out almost in a shout. 

“Do not speak to me in that tone! I am still your queen!” you snarl while taking a step closer, standing tall before him. 

“And it is my duty to defend you, my queen.” he responds, lowering his voice.

“And it is my duty as your wife to remain by your side through everything.” you retort, tone still harsh as your frustration builds up.

“Please! I can’t lose you!” he utters in a much softer tone, pleading eyes looking back at you, growing desperate as you persist further. 

“You won’t lose me... and how dare you underestimate my abilities as a warrior?!” you smirk, half joking and half serious, causing him to let out a chuckle, “I would never do such a thing. Forgive me, my love.” 

“You are forgiven. And I will fight alongside you. This is my decision and that is final.” you say and leave to prepare for battle. 

He lets out a shaky sigh, anxiety and fear surging inside him. But he knows that he could never prevent you from doing what you set your mind to. 

----- 

Amidst the chaos of the battle, arrows flying, swords slashing through flesh and bone, blood spurting out of bodies, dirt and grime and gore covering every soldier while they let out raucous war cries, your eyes search for Simon and find him through the gushes of blood and the sprays of mud under the warriors' heavy footsteps. 

You sigh in relief to see him alive, but that doesn’t last long as your eyes land on the racing figure who charges towards him. 

You nearly black out as the image of him dying flashes before your eyes, but soon gather yourself and rush to him, sprinting and leaping high to shield his body with yours and you feel the sharp blade of the enemy plunge through your abdomen. 

It all happens so fast and he has no time to react, to stop you. And it registers in his mind what just took place too late as you lay on the ground, clutching your wound and almost choking on your own blood. 

He kneels beside you and lets out a devastated sob, “What have you done?” he cries out. 

He quickly gathers you in his arms and rushes into the nearest tent and calls out for the nurses to tend to you. 

“Please, love. Stay with me.” he sobs but his voice is merely a faint blurred sound as you slowly fade into unconsciousness. 

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 3: Closer

knight!simon riley x queen!reader - featuring our favorite Scot in this chapter👀

word count: 3.2k

[<<< chapter 2]

Smile. Nod. Greet. Don’t forget to give your husband a loving look from time to time- look at him like he were the sun, the great star you revolve around. Repeat.

The King’s departure feast is tasteful, though ostentatious to be sure- just how he likes. Especially when they are held in his grace’s honor. Oh, if you could roll your eyes right now without being seen, you would.

All this for such an arrogant bastard.. truly a waste.

But you can’t deny the beauty that surrounds you, no matter the reason. The Great Hall had been thoroughly lavished in emerald silks, dripping with jewels and flowers of your choosing-

It was one of the few duties you didn’t mind giving your input and opinions on, working with the different tradesmen of the kingdom; you found you rather enjoyed partaking in the planning portion, enjoyed the creative freedom given to you behind the scenes-

But.. attending them, well, that’s a different matter entirely. They were nothing but an exhaustive performance, a true test of your goodwill and patience-

“You look positively captivating tonight, wife.” The King drawls in your ear, his hand creeping up your thigh under the table. And it’s so difficult to fight the urge to jerk away from his touch when all you can think about is the last time that hand was on you, your lip had been bruised and swollen for days afterward-

Smiling down at your plate of untouched food, you give him a sweet and temperate laugh,

“You flatter me, Your Grace.”

The hand squeezes too tightly, not painfully, but certainly not gentle or loving- it’s a possessive touch, one that worries you, makes your shoulders tense and your movements turn robotic as you place your fingers over his,

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you battle-ready, My King.. it suits you.”

You exchange pleasant smiles, his eyes on you far longer than you’re used to. It does not soothe you though, or make your cheeks flush warm. No, they’re too invasive, and the feel of them on your exposed skin makes your stomach sour-

A quiet sound trickles into your ears from behind your seat, it’s one that you had learned is deliberate, purposeful- a simple series of taps, always the same, random to everyone but you. Simon’s way of communicating- I’m here. I see you.

You tilt your head toward the insignificant little noise, only just able to see the inky outline of his shoulder in your peripherals, but it’s enough. Enough to ease your nerves and calm your relentless mind.

Knowing that he’s right there, always keeping you within arms reach- but something is different now. You can feel it. And you can’t quite grasp how, or even the exact moment the already anomalous lines in your relationship had somehow become even more blurred, but they had.

And this fading of the proverbial line in the sand, the crumbling of all your boundaries, should most certainly not make you feel the way it does- should not make your core turn molten, or your head swim in a dizzying way by just the sound of his voice, his presence-

He hasn’t even touched you again since that night, after the King left your chambers, which must have been more than a month ago, you think-

Because it was a fluke, it was the man sworn to protect you simply aiding you- he saw you bleeding and was the only one around to help.

But, he also didn’t retreat.

No, you noticed the very next morning how Simon stood just a step or two closer than he did before, following behind you like your omnipresent shadow, the sinister black armor becoming well known in the castle.

Unsurprisingly, he had garnered quite a reputation within court by merely existing at your side, speculation about his history running rampant- and you only recently heard from your lady-in-waiting that many commoners, and noble folk alike, had taken to referring to your new guard as “The Ghost”-

And oh, how fitting of a name- because you feel truly haunted by the enigmatic man; haunted by those eyes, haunted by the softness of his touch, haunted by the yearning and desire to feel it again- No. No..

Wherever you go, your dark omen follows- and for more reasons you can’t explain or justify, you find equal parts pleasure and power in his presence. Because where Lords and Noblemen once might have dismissed you entirely; or the opposite, let their eyes linger or their tongues turn crude- they now avert their gaze, they regard you intently and with due respect; and their Queen’s guard, with fear-

Tap-tap .. Tap-tap-tap

A smirk tugs at your lips, and you hope he sees it- of course, he does, and if you were able to look back at him, you would see his own smile settle at the corners of his eyes as he watches you relax slightly.

After a moment longer, you force your attention back to the festivities, eyes widening as you hear a booming voice,

“Your Grace!”

The distantly familiar accent dredges through your memories until you’re finally able to recognize his face in the crowd- seeing none other than Lord John MacTavish, your Johnny, looking back at you.

It had been years since you last saw your closest cousin-

Well, cousin is a loose term, isn’t it? We aren’t technically related by blood- but, we had grown up together as family, and neither of us had ever seen or known each other as anything else..

Yet, despite time and distance, he looks exactly the same. Blue eyes bright and full of life, and his smile infectious as it stretches ear to ear. His dark hair is longer than you remember- but now cut extremely close to his scalp on the sides, turning the messy chocolate waves on top into an overgrown sort of mohawk-

Oh, Sweet Johnny.. never one to conform to any sort of standard-

“Lord MacTavish, it’s been too long.” You say, watching him sweep into a dramatic bow, his antics forcing you to bite back a wide grin,

“Your Majesty,” Johnny turns to the man sitting by your side, “With your permission, may I have Her Grace’s hand in a dance?”

The King watches him for a moment with utter disinterest, much like he regards most of his subjects, but eventually concedes with a nod- and you don’t hesitate to push away from your chair, your ladies rushing to straighten the flowing gown but you brush them away politely, gathering the skirts in your hands instead.

Rounding the long table, you take Johnny’s arm, letting him escort you through the crowd- and you wish more than anything in this moment you could just be another woman floating across the marble floor, you wish you could toss the crown on your head away, remove the green and gold colors of your husband’s house, the crest from around your neck-

“Still always so stuck in your head, eh, Hen?”

The dance you fall into is simple in its movements, with your palm flat against his above your heads, gliding in a slow circle as the music softly builds,

“Hard not to be- but this is helping, I must admit.” You tease, giving him a wry smile.

His head tips back with a warm laugh, and you’re instantly flooded by memories of your childhood with him- of growing up together, his ceaseless pranks and joking, of the hours you would spend scouting through the woods together, soiling all your dresses, and ruining the pretty braids the maids would put in your hair.

The trouble you got in for him was “unbecoming of the future Queen” as your mother would say, but Johnny had been your best friend- much to her and your father’s chagrin, and no amount of their preaching ever kept you away from his never ending mischief.

It was like that up until he left for the army, and while you both had tried your best to keep up through letters like you promised, after your coronation, time for anything other than your duties always seemed to escape you-

“So, how’s married life treatin’ ya, Your Majesty?”

You roll your eyes at his quip, giggling when he picks you up, your hands holding his wrists at your waist until you’re on the ground again and stepping in time with the next bit of music,

“Oh, I’m sorry, shouldn’t you be married by now, m’Lord?”

Again, he laughs, ducking under your arm before spinning you both gracefully- your back against his, though your heads turned toward each other to keep up the hushed conversation,

“Glad to see your tongue is still made o’ thorns, Grianach.”

His old nickname for you stirs up a sadness that feels overwhelming, almost tangible, and the sting of tears prick at your eyes as you turn back to face him- knowing the dance would too quickly be coming to an end.

It’s during the last, slow spin that you catch Simon’s gaze- watching you from just beyond the edge of the crowd, eyes raking over your body until he sees the turmoil in your expression. And it’s like your pinned beneath him with the weight it carries, holding the fleeting contact even from a distance,

“Sunny?”

You blink once, realizing the music has easily flowed into the next tune, something slower, more somber- and when you blink again, Simon’s moved, and you struggle to not immediately look around for his familiar form, seeking the comfort he unwittingly provides you.

“Ah.. Tha’ the new Queen’s Guard I’ve heard so much about?”

Johnny offers his arm again, looking down at you with a lop-sided smirk,

“It is. And, what of it?” You ask innocently enough, finally spotting him standing a head above the rest, stoically taking his spot behind your chair- eyes roaming over Johnny’s face, still sizing this unfamiliar man up, watching how comfortable you seem with him. He misses nothing-

“Not really your style, is all.. The big, gloomy bastard doesn’t seem like he fits for my li’ bit o’ sunshine.”

How could you tell him that his sweet nickname, Grianach, Sunny, was what actually didn’t fit you anymore?

But you suppose if he stays around long enough, he’ll surely realize you relate more to the dark side of the moon than you did the sun these days..

“He’s been a good guard.. better than any I’ve had.”

Johnny nods, watching the man in question as you approach the giant table,

“Good, tha’s good, Sunny.. you deserve the best, always have.”

You don’t know why his words take you by surprise, why they make your feet feel like lead in your shoes-

“Will you be staying, Johnny?” You speak lowly, not wanting to let go of him, not when he’s the closest thing you’ve had to home in so, so long,

“Aye.. a week is all I can spare, but I’ll be here with ya, all right?”

All you can give is a weak nod before he bows for the King, kissing your cheek and bowing in front of you, as well. And those usually vibrant eyes dull a bit when he sees your apprehension- but he smiles anyway, backing down the steps and disappearing into the crowd once more.

And you do your best to plaster a warm grin on your face as you move to take your seat again, brushing past Simon, you lean down, speaking only in the King’s ear,

“I’ve grown tired-“

He waves his hand at you before you’ve even finished speaking, focused on one of his advisors- the conversation of his imminent travel far more important than anything you might have to say.

Well, haven’t the gods granted me luck tonight..

Your exit is a quiet affair, and as soon as you’re out of the Great Hall, you feel some of the tension melt away- the further you get from the raucous, the easier it is to breathe, the weight easing itself off your shoulders with every step.

“Go ahead and ready my chambers, please, Elia. I’d like to take the air.”

She goes without question, your other handmaids flitting right behind her as you take the next hallway to your right- the one that leads towards the courtyard and the gardens.

You can hear him behind you, those long, steady steps contrasting your shorter ones. Neither of you speak, but you feel his proximity intensely- always so frighteningly aware of him when you’re alone.

And it’s enough to drive you mad, how much he affects you. Because you’re so certain he feels nothing, being in your presence is his duty. He’s a man who has seen too much, experienced too much, to let the likes of you get under his skin-

The guards bow their heads graciously as they push the solid wood out of the way for you to pass through; and it’s as if the night air were a salve for your restless soul- fresh and perfectly chilled, the whispers of fall in the breeze. Just enough to get you out of your head, if only for a moment.

“Ser Simon..”

You walking slowly, your steps languid as your fingers brush over the leaves and petals, absently studying the textures as they feel under the moonlight-

“People keep asking if I like my new guard..” You ramble, moving beyond the entrance of the tall, maze-like hedges, leading you both deeper as you speak,

“But, I don’t think I’ve asked the same of you..”

Don’t.. don’t do this. Just turn around- go back to your rooms. This is petty and useless, nothing but disappointment can come of it..

“Not sure I follow, Your Grace.”

A chill creeps down your spine at the rasp in his voice, from the cold or disuse, you’re not sure. You turn with a saccharine smile, though it quickly falls away as you take him in-

He’s so entirely otherworldly like this, cast in the milky light from above, the shimmering onyx of his armor almost glowing under the pale moon- and when he shifts his weight, the light dances around him, like it simply chooses to bend and move at his will.

Beautiful.. Can monsters be beautiful?

You turn away again, unable to stand it for a moment longer. This was indeed a mistake, you should not be here.

Alone. With him-

“Do you like it?” You ask the hedge, your voice soft now, your confidence having waned, “Your new post..”

Is it seconds that pass? It can’t be minutes.. surely- but gods, it feels like an eternity. The silence stretches on around you- infinitesimal in its reach.

See? That’s enough of an answer to a silly, foolish question. Like he really has a choice in the matter of liking or disliking-

You just barely feel him before you hear him- but how? How had you not heard him move before? Maybe you were right from the very beginning- he is no man; maybe the rumors are true, and he really is a ghost.

He isn’t touching you, but you think if you took even half a step back you would be able to feel the cold steel of his breastplate.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the dark not really a hindrance because you aren’t truly seeing anymore, so consumed by him that hardly anything else seems important- that is, until something heavy is placed in your hand.

The weight of it is awkward, and you bring your other hand to hold the object before looking down.

His helmet.

It stares back at you, devoid of the warmth you usually find there, without his amber eyes, the black metal is just that- cold, and harsh.

You have every opportunity to turn, to finally gaze upon the face that you had pondered on far too often- to confirm the features you imagined late in the night.

But, you don’t. You wouldn’t, not with the trust he had very literally placed in your hands- you don’t want to betray that, you don’t want to betray him.

“I do.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, his nose grazing over the sensitive skin of your neck as his head dips lower- it’s a slow, tentative movement, and once again your mind goes to war with itself-

Danger. This is dangerous- he is dangerous. If anyone were to see you like this, they would have your head and his, too- Hells, the King himself would probably volunteer to take it from your shoulders-

Yet, when you feel him nuzzle just behind your ear again, your mind quiets, body moving on its own. Just like the moonlight, you bend to him without thought- letting your head tilt to expose more of your skin, your lips parting in a shuddering breath when he inhales deeply through his nose.

A growl resonates from his throat, it’s fleeting, but it ignites an ache so deep between your legs it nearly takes your breath away-

“And, have I served you well, My Queen?”

You shake your head, your grip on his helmet turning almost painful as you struggle to stand straight.

“Why must you insist on saying it like that..”

The low chuckle that rumbles through his chest sounds so perfect in your ears, and the weight of his forehead gently dropping to rest on your shoulder makes you bite your lip-

“Like what?” He coos, and you can hear a barely concealed smile in his voice now, one that has the most delightful shiver snaking its way through your entire body.

He was giving you so much, but you so desperately wanted more. You’ve never wanted a man’s hands on you in the way you need his at this moment.

What would they feel like roaming over your body? Would his touch remain as tender as he’s handled you thus far?

The thought alone hazes your mind even further.

A small hum escapes as you allow yourself to spare a glance at the deep ebony locks you can see now-

Hm.. do ghosts have hair? And are they suppose to feel so warm..

The thought brings a sad smile to your lips, your cheek settling against the side of his head, and your eyes slipping shut; you relish in the feel of his hair on your skin- but, it’s that very same feeling that causes you to tense, pulling away.

Because too suddenly, all you can imagine is the feeling of his soft hair in your hands, matted with blood as you hold his head in your lap- his body cold and lifeless..

No- I will be the death of him.. I can’t- I couldn’t..

He moves just as abruptly as you do, though his motions are still so gentle as he rises to his full height again,

“I apologize-“

“No..” You cut him off, turning only enough to let him take the helmet from your hands, “Please, don’t- I-“

Words fail you. And your heart sputters in your chest as embarrassment, and shame, and grief burn through you-

“I shouldn’t- I just.. We can’t.” You whisper hoarsely, your voice pathetic even in your own ears.

Strong hands turn you, and you don’t know why your eyes clamp shut, but they do- you keep them closed, breathing in through your nose, which is just another mistake because his scent is so strong now you want to wrap yourself in it. Keep it with you-

A single finger tilts your chin up, a silent command to open your eyes, to look at him.

He’s covered again, but his gaze is so open as he looks down at you- studying you in that way that only he can, though it’s impossible to miss the unrest behind his expression,

“I know..”

[chapter 4 >>>>]

[astr0exe]

// TW : non-con (??) , tm!reader , public sex , fingering

perv!soap who js can’t help but grope you ,, constantly has a hand on your thigh or waist . big scary military man with a serious problem with boundaries:(

he js can’t understand why you dont want him constantly touching you, his hand down ur pants fingers delving deep into ur needy cunt.

his words low in ur ear ‘good boy.. thas it.. take it bonnie.. keep it quiet’

maybe bc ur in public ?! ur in a fucking changing room trying on some new “dad jumpers” n soap js pounces on you , ignoring ur pleas for him to wait.

hes js so needy n ur so handsome n soft in his hands bonnie:((

[cherie-doll]

Crave | Phillip Graves x Reader one-shot |

✧˚ pining, sfw,

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The love between your commander and you was odd. There was no definition of what your relationship was. No line was set for what was allowed and what was not. There was no label.

Did he deserve it? No, surely he didn’t. It was strange.

At times, Phillip’s crimes and wrongdoings seemed unforgivable. But he was a human, giving into sin, making his pathetic life just a little more livable. When he had enough of the world that seemed to replay every day; there was you. What started as a way to relieve his stress turned into something else.

A heavy feeling crawled inside of him one night, his heart felt like bursting into flames. Each time he slowly dragged his fingers to map your familiar outline, It was never enough; he wanted more.

He was accustomed to straying, distancing himself. But with you, he was willing to learn if you were the one to teach him.

He could still smell the traces of your scent on his bedsheets. He memorized the feel of you under his palm. He couldn’t get you out of his mind, although he was probably long gone from yours.

To love someone is to burn an imprint into their heart. You had left a deep scarring in his, now it was your turn. Pain, will you return it?

You and him would become tangled in each other at night. On those nights, he consumed you too easily. He could not explain what he felt every time you held him in your arms gently, moving between the soft touch of your fingers. Could it be from him being lonely too long? His heart was not strong, being vulnerable. It certainly gets him sensitive like it was his first, he concluded that loving someone is more associated with the absence of the person rather than the presence of them.

His heart yearned for your genuine love, no more vagabond illusions that he easily reached when he had you in his arms at night. He needed something unconditional before you became a blissful memory. He needed you so, he moved more slowly each time, no longer seeking a thrill. The passion he displayed was for lovers. He knew he wasn’t going through a motion. Would he allow himself to be swayed? Knowing this game couldn’t last forever he decided to take a risk. Because how was he to prevent his heart from shattering into a thousand pieces?

To know you is to love you, and he wanted to know you from start to finish like a song. Get to know all your deepest secrets.

He craved you more than a casual craving. To graze your lips every day, have you a whole night without fearing you being taken away from him the next. Like the soft beams of sunlight, wake you up little by little every morning to see your soft smile.

Despite his fantasizing about so many things, he always wished for you to reciprocate and have you devour what was truly yours. No more flings, he wanted to get passionate about someone.

That is the beauty of life; simplicity. No complicated relations. He couldn’t help it, as humans we always crave what we need, and he craved you.