#keegan needs more appreciation

[keegansgf]

“keegan p. russ headcanons”

pairing : Keegan P. Russ x fem! reader

tags : domestic fluff, headcanons

A/N : Simon Ghost Riley attention is great and all but look at Keegan <33. He needs more recognition on Tumblr and I fold for domestic bliss I also did NOT proofread 😭

I'd imagine him as the type of guy to adopt a big dog and a cat for both of you. Why a big dog? If he's not there, your buddy is protecting you. Keegan is always thinking two steps ahead– especially if it regards your safety. The cat, on the other hand, is just there to be cute with you and your other pet. His heart goes soft seeing you play with them.

He's more of a listener than a talker. You could be complaining about your day and he'll sit and listen giving the occasional input here and there. It's not like he's always quiet though. Whenever his teammates are over, they get surprised at how talkative he is to you.

Keegan isn't easy to read to everyone else, you both know when you need space. You're his soulmate, if something is up with him or vise versa, you both feel it.

He's definitely touchy. Every chance he has to hold you by his side is every chance he'll take. You'll feel his arm snake around your hips or waist when it gets too crowded or if you need to squeeze in-between other shoppers. This goes the same for when you're doing anything (sitting down, reading, etc.) If you're at a desk of some sort, he'll bend to your height to hug you from behind, and place a sweet kiss on your cheeks or temples. When you were a new couple, he wasn't that open to cuddling. He finds it much harder to sleep without you now.

I feel like he collects records in his free time. If you two ever really settle down and have a child, he's the dad who shares his own music taste. He'd be so proud hearing "I got my music taste from my dad!" (If you ever get to that point of fully settling down. I'd say he's a daughter type of guy though.)

Everything you, do he'll try to help you in whatever way, especially cooking. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you as a whole. He hides the fact he's a sucker for being your knight and you're his queen.

Speaking of being his queen and helping you out, I see him doing all the outdoorsy chores just so you don't have to do them. Catch him shoveling snow or raking leaves for you.

When you're shopping for things like clothes, makeup, etc, whatever you touch or show interest in is immediately remembered. In a matter of days, you'll see that perfume you were obsessed with in a brand-new box right at your dresser.

He likes the little things about you or the quiet moments in your shared lives. Noticing the smell of your perfume when you walk past him, seeing you're trying out a new nail color that he likes, having a different dish on the table to share– just everything. Waking up to a new day is something he's already grateful for, for very obvious reasons, but waking up next to the love of his life? Things couldn't be more perfect for him.

#keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan x reader #keegan p. russ #keegan p. russ x reader #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty #domestic fluff #domestic bliss #keegan needs more appreciation #keegansgf

[charliemwrites]

Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.

I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture

Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.

He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.

“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.

“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.

You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…

“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”

He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.

“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.

A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.

Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.

“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”

His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.

“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”

—

Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.

Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.

One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.

“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”

You flash your teeth, “No.”

He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”

There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.

He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.

“Settle,” he orders.

“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.

He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.

“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.

“I’m not,” you snap.

“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”

He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.

He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.

“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.

“No,” you hiss back.

He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.

“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”

When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.

He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.

“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.

“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”

Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.

“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.

He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.

“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”

He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.

“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.

“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”

You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.

He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.

“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.

“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.

Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.

“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.

“There’s my brat.”

He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.

Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.

“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.

“Earn it,” you reply.

He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”

“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.

“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.

Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.

“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”

He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.

“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”

“Want it, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.

“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”

A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.

“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”

“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”

Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.

“Daddyyyy,” you whine.

And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.

“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”

He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.

“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.

The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.

“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”

You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.

“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”

You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”

You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.

You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.

(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)

Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.

Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.

“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”

You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.

When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.

You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.

Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.

At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.

You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.

The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.

“Evening, Nik,” you coo.

A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.

“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.

You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.

“Smell good,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”

He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re dehydrated.”

He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.

“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”

Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.

And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.

“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yes.”

You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.

“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.

He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”

“Yes.”

You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.

“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.

He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.

You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.

“Still okay?” You ask.

“Still okay.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #the captain #cod nikto #the captain x reader #specgru reader #former 141 reader #nikto x reader

[simonrillleyyysss]

MEAN!keegan with sensitive!freader ☹️sorry s’all i got… going through a keegan phase right now and baby boy needs more appreciation <3

yeososskddikfjd!!!!

cw; smut, keegans a bit toxic at the start :((, fluff, cuddling

keegan knows you’re ‘dramatic,’ almost everyone mutual to you knows it—and he loves taking advantage of that, always teasing and mockng you!

‘keegs—can you please help me lift it?’

‘mhh? too weak t’lift it yourself babe? don’t worry, that’s why you have a man here. yeah?’

he enjoys jabbing and nudging at you with subtle digs, watching your eyes gloss over n’ lips jut out, sniffling as tears welled at ur waterline, brows furrowing as he softly cooed to you with reassurance, kissing your neck.

‘poor thing.. too soft for your own good, ‘aintcha?’

‘.. s’not true—!’

‘i know gorgeous, don’t worry your pretty lil’ head over it, that’s why keegans here, to worry for you and help.. think for you.’

always has to watch what he says; can never slip up and say something wrong or in an off tone, you’ll immediately burst into sobs and gasps; shaking your head and burying your face into the pillows on the bed, pink blankets wrapped round you :(( poor girl!

throwing hands immediately if somebody makes u cry.

never lets anyone give you nasty looks or make fun of your timidness, ur his and his only <3

he knows how to cheer you up :))

‘keegan..’

‘oh—fuck, yeahh..don’t be afraid t’sit down, mhhm??’

‘gonna crush you—‘

had you hovered above his face, tongue lapping at your weeping pussy like a man on hungerstrike, calloused fingers digging into the sides of your thighs, slobbering all over your cunt, and his chin like a dog! his hips fucking into the air<3

‘no—nooonn…keegan—feels weird-..need to pee!’

‘stay. be a good girl f’your daddy.’

makes u ride his face!! shoving u down onto his mouth and choking himself; panting into your slick-covered cunny, wont let u up till ur crying and squirting everywhere, thick tears rolling down ur cheeks

or he rams into you doggystyle, whichever you prefer<3

lays with you after, your head on his chest as he wiped away ur smudged mascara, tears leaving your lashes wet with drops, lips parted and head resting against his strong, hairy chest :((

blankets knotted at his thighs, pack of cigarettes inhand as he stared down at his little missus, wiping your spit from your face with his thumb, which slid into ur mouth while he let u suckle on it

#keegan p russ smut #keegan russ smut #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #ghost cod smut #mean!keegan #keegan russ #keegan p russ #cod ghosts smut #mean sex

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon : When They Come Back

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

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Fluff for you suckers -hope you enjoy the word vomit ;(

Working under constant danger put a strain on them, at moments when it seemed like the world was nothing but shambles and havoc they’d close their eyes and remember what brought them warmth. There was a certain feeling they yearned for and were only satisfied when you were near.

There is something special in knowing someone is waiting for you.

Ghost

This man comes back completely drained; physically, mentally, emotionally…

At first, he was hesitant concerning your worry about him

“If you won’t let me take care of you, who will?”

Might be a little distant at first, it takes time for his mind to come back

No going out, at all

You say comforting phrases to him

“You’re not at war anymore, you can come home”

He’s been through a lot, a warm meal and hugs are all he needs for days afterward :(

It takes some time for him to recharge

When he feels better he lets you know much he appreciates everything you do for him

Takes time to admire you; he silently takes in your facial features

Affectionate gazes that flicker between your eyes and lips

He knows you aren’t obliged to it yet you make an effort for him and that makes him feel like he’s earned a much better reward than money or glory could give him

Keegan

Saying this man missed you is an understatement

It’s like you placed a spell on him the moment he met you

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t want to be a moment away from you

He’ll miss you in silence, won’t send letters or texts or anything knowing it’ll make his heart ache more

But when he walks through the door he falls to kissing you

Bites your lip just for the taste of you on his tongue

His lips leave yours for breaks in between intense kisses to whisper “I love you”

He feels empty without the intimacy and closeness of you

He doesn’t care what you do or don’t say, doesn’t expect anything big either, he just wants to see you with your arms open for him

Soap

No matter how bad it was this time, he always comes back with a smile on his face when you open the door

Even behind that loving smile, you catch the subtle dimness in his eyes

Peppers you with kisses all over your face

Extremely clingy

Needs to be reminded that the world can be kind and gentle

Needs you to dote excessively over him

You give him a shoulder massage as he washes up in the bathtub

Convinces you to join him

Afterward, you crawl into bed with him, cradling his head on your lap

Both of you turn into couch potatoes for a couple of days watching cozy films

König

Keeping up a stoic demeanor can be tiring, so he easily drops the poker face as soon as he buries his face into your neck

No matter how much prying you do, you won’t get him to open up about what disturbs him

He’d rather keep those horrors locked away from you, you’re his most cherished possession

A lot of quiet moments where he’s just content to be with you again

Little is said between you as tender and passionate kisses are exchanged

Don’t think he’ll leave your side for the next few days, you’re attached at the hip

As you trace the scars on his back to his shoulders, you feel his body tremble beneath your fingertips

Your touch is addictive to him; soothing him into a tranquil sleep

Phillip Graves

He’s had to deal with a lot of crap so he’s relieved to finally come back to some peace, and most importantly; you

At first, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with issues that aren’t yours, but as your relationship progressed he started opening up more

Oftentimes, he’s in an irritable mood when he comes back

You listen to him rant if that’s what he needs

Other times it gives him too much of a headache to even think about

He adores you for understanding him without words being spoken

With so many enemies he has, he feels undeserving of you, someone who’s like a warm ray of sunshine in his austere life

When he falls silent you know that’s your cue

A sort of haze entrances him as you trail soft, torturous kisses along his jaw

Your scent obscures his mind as he gets drunk on your affection

He can’t even remember what he was mad about

#cod fanfic #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost x reader #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod soap #konig x reader #konig cod #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves #phillip graves cod #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #headcanon

[crimsonbubble]

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, sex pollen, overstimulation, fingering, creampies, breeding kink, use of the nickname kid *not proofread, just pure horny

[@lillianastuff is to blame here 🫣🫣 also the scene seems out of place but its my only idea that makes sense]

reblogs and comments are appreciated <33

MINORS DNI!!

navigating through an old and abandoned lab in search of an antidote for what you thought was just a fever was easier said than done. you leaned against the desk, barely being able to focus on the files infront of you as the heat building within you seemed to spread and grow hotter.

keegan rushed into the office you were in, his state not too far off from yours. he grabbed you and not so smoothly set you down on a nearby chair. you simply watched him rummage through anything he can find. he stood up straight and read over a report, cursing and throwing the paper on the desk again.

you admired his height, eyes trailing over his figure before landing on his hips. his hips were level with the desk, and the way he leaned forward on the desk did nothing to get rid of the idea of you sitting on the desk in front of him. it seems you've been quiet for too long as keegan shifts his focus to you and how your thighs clench together.

"need some help, kid?" his voice was shaky, trying not to give away how heated he was getting the longer you stare at him. the lab is far enough from everything that no one will hear anything, and the mission was close enough to be done, so a few extra minutes to take care of you doesn't seem so bad right?

he's had an eye on you since you joined the team. but how can he resist you when you're looking at him with glossy pleading eyes? there's a soft pout on your lips as you try to keep yourself together in front of your superior. you stand on shaky legs, trying to compose yourself as you walk over to him. keegan turns, pulling you into him to keep you up as your legs nearly give in. "keegan..." all self-control snaps when his name slips from your lips, all breathy and needy.

before your hazy mind can come to terms with what's about to happen, keegan has you pressed against the desk. his gloved hands are fumbling with your belt, hastily shoving them down your thighs. your breathing is labored, as keegan pulls his gloves off with his teeth. he tugged your soaked panties to the side, groaning as he trailed his fingers over your clit. "fuck, you're so messy."

keegan slips his fingers in with minimal force, your slick making the glide even easier. his fingers curl into you so sweetly, making you shiver and shake against his body. your left hand is against the desk while your right travels to his hip. you're fiddling with his belt, mind going numb as he fingers you open so easily. he quickly tugs at his belt with his free hand, his eyes fluttering when you wrap your hand around him.

the pleasure is blinding, your body barely being able to register your orgasm until his thumb grazing over your clit made you jolt heavily. keegan winces as he pulls your hand off of him. he turns you around and pushes your chest to the desk. keegan wastes no time in holding your hands against your back before he grinded his cock through your sopping folds. curses fell from his lips with each shallow thrust.

as he pulls back, he lines himself up your pulsing hole. there's a slight burn when he pushes in, a breathy whimper leaving your lips as he buries himself deep in your cunt. your body trembles as keegan holds you, drilling into you as deep as your bodies will allow. your pushing back against him as he thrusts, feeling your body heat up as you hear the slick noises of your cunt more prominent with each thrust.

"there we go, just like that. fucks sake kid, loosen up." keegan seems just as pleasure drunk as you are, mumbling nonsense as he brings you to your release. there's a ringing in your ears as you climax, dropping your head to rest on the cool hardwood of the desk. keegan can't stop himself from stuffing you full with the way your cunt tightens and pulses around his dick enough to have his hands grabbing at your hips to keep you against him as he spills inside you.

there's a pleasant hum in your ears as keegan pulls out, watching as his cum leaks out of you. keegan fingers it back in before pulling your pants and underwear back up. it's an uncomfortable stickiness but the way he pats your ass as he fixes himself made you laugh breathlessly.

"we'll continue this back at base, got that? now c'mon before we get into anymore trouble."

#bubbly writes <3 #keegan russ smut #keegan smut #keegan russ #keegan x reader #keegan russ x reader #cod mw22 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod smut #cod x reader smut #cod keegan

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #cod x you #cod mw22 #cod smut #cod x reader #cod #mw2 fanfic #mw2 2022 #mw2 #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x you #ghost mw2 #captain johnathan price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod fanfic #x reader smut #x fem!reader #x female reader

[graysnetwork]

omg

You've had the best night ever, you went on a great dinner date with your boyfriend of one year; Keegan, the food was amazing and the service was great, and the events afterwords— even better.

You two went back to your apartment since it was closer, and since Keegan was barely able to wait to get your place. Usually it was his place, you had a whole dresser he had bought for you for the case of you spending the night and needing to put on different clothes for the next morning.

He had been spending the entire night thrusting his cock into your hole, and gosh did he enjoy last night.

Now the sun peaked through curtains and the sunshine absolutely blinded you, he on the other hand had his face stuffed into the pillows which blocked out all the rays of sunshine. His back looked great; red scratch marks, a few scars here and there, and his muscles.. gosh his muscles.

But the funny thing about the picture was what he was laying in, pink pillows, a white comforter, a soft pink throw blanket, and several stuffed animals; all types of them too: a build a bear he got you with his own voice in the little bear, squishmallows he also bought you, and now your childhood stuffed animals you were placing around his body.

See the only reason they were on the floor was because you had said “oh my gosh my little stuffys are gonna see me and my boyfriend-” before he cut you off with a slow kiss and he covered your little bears eyes before pulling down those black panties down.

And then all of the stuffys ended up on the floor for the rest of the eventful night.

You placed the last one next to his bicep very carefully and went on to put a oversized shirt on and go to the kitchen to eat something.

You were sure this was the best sleep he’s had since he was a baby.

—

“hey baby” Keegan mutters as kisses the top of your head as he places his hands on your hips and his lips only continue to move down and kiss your cheek, neck and shoulder. “hey, did you sleep well?” you smiled as you turned your head and looked up at him “well? that was the best sleep i’ve gotten in ages..” he kissed you on the lips this time and really savored the moment.

“we should do this more often, just less stuffed animals next time i wake up..” he muttered as his nose brushed against yours and he leaned down again to kiss you once more.

“maybe, but your lucky to have been surrounded by those guys” you say as you pulled away briefly and turned around fully, and he slowly but firmly pushed you against the island. “guys? you’ve been sleeping with other guys?” he kissed you again. “i should go and give them a good.. stern talking” he muttered again as he once again (guess it) he kissed you.

He lifted you up and placed you on the counter, his hands found their way under that big shirt and they roamed freely over your soft skin. “maybe not, maybe i’ll just make them watch me fuck you?” he whispered as he smiled at your pink cheeks you unknowingly were getting.

“you’re disgusting, those stuffys eyes would be scared” you whispered back and frowned at him “well i guess i do appreciate that they’re not real guys” “yeah you should appreciate that”

“yeah, yeah, let’s just get to it already, this conversation is so boring it makes me want to play golf” his little remark on golf made you chuckle as you caressed his cheek “we doin it here or the bed again?” he asked and with the way he was staring at you, you didn’t know if he would even make it to the bedroom.

#imagines #x reader stories #call of duty #oneshot #keegan p russ #keegan russ #call of duty keegan #cod keegan #keegan russ x reader #fluff #keegan russ smut #keegan smut #smut #keegan x you #keegan p. russ x reader #keegan x reader

[rosh-things]

Keegan Russ - NSFW Alphabet

keegan russ x fem!reader || minors dni

a/n: first time writing nsfw (and writing in general), beware of spelling errors, nsfw bellow

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

usually likes to take short naps after sex, but before doing so he always checks up on you, to make sure you're alright. he would bring you a glass of water and just cuddle while napping together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

on you - thighs. he's definitely a thigh guy, he loves anything to do with thighs. he loves grabbing, squishing and fucking them.

on himself - hands. he loves roaming his hands around your body and seeing how his touch affects you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

most of the time he cums on your thighs and belly. as long as it's safe, he loves cumming inside you and then watching it leak out of you.

he always makes you cum first, he treats getting you off as his 'main objective'.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he likes to be overstimulated. i will not elaborate.

he also enjoys his hair being pulled, though they are short, he loves when you tug on them.

and i feel like he secretly likes it when you take control during sex. he has to have control on the battlefield, so he likes to give it up to you in the bed. he's a switch, but he's usually dominant. he would submit to you only when he's comfortable enough with you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

definitely has some experience, this man has fucked before for sure. during the act he knows what to do and he does it good.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary, spooning and riding, he definitely likes feeling you close.

also any position against a wall.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i think he would crack a couple of jokes, 2 or 3 maybe, but would stay serious most of the time. he keeps the playfulness for aftercare. sometimes he's too focused to say anything at all.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he doesn't care whether you shave or not, but he likes to keep his own short and neat. most of the time doesn't shave fully, likes to leave a small patch at the top.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

passionate as fuck. he loves making eye contact during sex - his eyes are glued to you the whole time. he will kiss every part of your body he can reach. definitely praises you a lot and worships your body as much as he can.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jerks off maybe like, once a week. he doesn't strike me as a super horny person, i also don't think he has time for that. if he needs to blow off the steam, he would do it with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise, body worshipping

marking - he loves leaving hickeys on your neck to show others that you're his. he appreciates every scratch and bite mark you leave on him

overstimulation - he's the one to overstimulate you most of the time, but as i mentioned before, he likes being overstimulated too

hair pulling - he never pulls on your hair, but secretly likes his hair pulled

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

classically, he mostly enjoys having sex in the bedroom, but wouldn't mind having sex anywhere else.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

the noises you make and the look on your face while he's buried deep inside of you never fail to turn him on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that could or would hurt you, so no knife/gun play or hardcore choking.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he doesn't mind receiving, but he prefers giving waaay more. he eats pussy for his own pleasure. he does wonders with his tongue. he loves eating you out while he's kneeling on the floor and you're sitting on the bed. he also wouldn't mind face-sitting.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he likes a mix of both. the pace often depends on his mood. being fast and rough, relentlessly pounding into you feels good, but going slow, sensually dragging out his thrusts in time feels even better.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he'd do quickies before going on missions. he enjoys them, but prefers normal sex, he likes taking his time pleasuring you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he doesn't have anything against experimenting, he's quite open and likes testing out new things. when you bring something up to him that you'd like to try out, he's more than happy to take part in it.

as far as taking risk of being caught in public goes, he's only willing to have sex in a public restroom, he wouldn't want anyone catching you two in a situation like this.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can last very long, has a lot of stamina, but usually goes for 2-3 rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn't own any toys, doesn't care whether you do or don't. he can pleasure you better than any sex toy would.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he likes to tease you a little bit, he kinda enjoys it when you beg him to stop the teasing and to just fuck you already.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's usually not that loud, occasionally letting out a few grunts and moans, but he knows what his voice does to you so he tries to be more noisy and also talk more during sex.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

sometimes he likes to keep parts of his gear (or the whole gear) on during sex. there's just something about you being completely naked while he's mostly clothed that turns him incredibly on. he also likes to wear the mask too.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

5.6 in/14 cm, average girth, curved slightly up.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

his sex drive is pretty average. not too high, not too low. i think his sex drive would grow higher, the longer he hasn't seen you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

sex tires him out, so as mentioned earlier, he likes taking naps after you're done. before he falls asleep himself, he likes to watch you falling asleep, stroking your cheek or rubbing your back. once he's sure you're sleeping, he will fall asleep too.

#call of duty #call of duty ghosts #cod #cod ghosts #keegan p russ #keegan russ #keegan #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #alphabet

[pear1escence]

Burning house (18+)

Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader

Smut, 18+!!! Female reader, choking, grinding, praise, all that

Istg writing this went on forever and it’s not even that long, all that and I don’t even like how this turned out but maybe I’m just too tired😛 this is so ugh. If I have to write the word ‘groaned’ one more time I’ll shoot myself

“Y’know doll, I could’ve made this a lot better for the both of us if you weren’t so fucking stubborn.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re lost in the movie playing on the TV screen, so focused on the plot that you’ve forgotten Keegan’s there by your side. You’ve gone all out for it, with snacks on the coffee table, two cans of beer and the thick duvet you dragged out of the bedroom warming you up, come to find out the last part was unnecessary with your clingy radiator of a boyfriend using you as his personal teddy bear.

Keegan doesn’t seem to enjoy the movie as much as you do. The hand that’s been playing with the hem of your shirt while you were focused on the movie slides upwards, His cold hands moving to cup your tits underneath the fabric of your singlet, and you whine at the uncomfortable coldness. He won’t budge at your complaints of his cold palms against your skin, keeping himself entertained with another comment about the movie.

“Jesus, Keegan, you’re not a movie critic, shut up.” You groan, rolling your eyes and dragging out the ‘shut up’ for dramatic effect. “Why are your hands so fucking cold anyways.” You mutter underneath your breath, earning an amused chuckle from him. You turn away from the movie to rest the side of your face against his chest, glaring up at the content face of your boyfriend.

“What, would you like it if I shoved my cold hand down your pants?” You mutter, knowing he’d succeeded in drawing you out of the movie. He raises a brow, a soft half-smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, probably.” His hand squeezes your tit, not so uncomfortable anymore cause he’s all warmed up by you now. You snort, shifting your focus back on the movie.

He doesn’t leave it at that though. He pinches the chub of your stomach, leans down to kiss at your neck. It’s not like you mind, and he’s not really that annoying when he’s just trying to get your attention. You kind of enjoy it, appreciate the attention he gives you. He has that dangerous way of making you feel all special with his actions. Then he licks a strip down your neck, throwing you off the movie again. You give him the most annoyed looking side eye you can muster, but he just huffs out another amused laugh at your reactions. “That’s gross.” He gives you another lick.

“Keegan. I’m watching a movie.” You groan, shuffling away from your position on his lap. He hums, grabbing hold of your hips and pressing you down on his lap, cancelling out any attempt you had made at watching your movie undisturbed.

Any thought of whatever’s playing on the TV-screen is thrown away however, when you feel the bulge of his dick pressing into your ass. Lips brush against your neck, teeth nipping and lips sucking, marking you up, branding you as his. You’re swirled together like two drops of water, the warmth of his body and his hot red loving pulling you together. His mouth on your neck, a string of kisses you pray lasts for eternity.

His hand finds yours, clasping it. “C’mon baby…” he mutters, his free hand wrapping around your throat. Not in an aggressive manner, just the comforting, grounding hold he knows you love. It’s difficult to turn this down when he’s got you on his lap like this, when that familiar warmth of his turns hot with want.

But your stubbornness can rival his own, his way of wrapping you into his desire with ease sparks your jealousy. Keegan’s ability to remain resilient against your attempts of control and seduction was something he stripped from you in a way you couldn’t imitate. It fuels your desire to deny him, to leave him wanting something you refuse to give him now, a need to preserve your own ego just for this evening.

He lifts you off his lap, turns you around so that you’re facing him. Silence settles between you, your eyes flickering over his form, the stubble on his chin, those pale blue eyes you’d fallen in love with. His hand gently caresses your cheek, his lips slightly parted. His gaze doesn’t leave you. “How the hell did I get a girl like you?” He chuckles, a smile quirking up in your lips. “So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters, his hand weaving into your hair, his fingertips drawing circles into your scalp.

You don’t think you’ll ever find anyone who can compare to him. Keegan’s magnetism was addictive, the butterflies set off in your stomach whenever he payed attention to you in the early stages of your relationship like a drug injected into your veins that set fire to your blood. You want to keep him forever. You want the smooth liquor of his voice to be the last thing you hear when the day comes for you to meet your end. His pretty face and his electric soul had sparked a feverish, newfound flame in your life, he was something to live for, someone who poured your fuel, your desire for life.

It would be impossible for you to ever forget him when he was the first thing you’d seek out on the morning, what painted your daydreams as you lulled to sleep every night. He ignited a feeling of possession in you that no previous lover had drawn out of you.

Jet black strands of hair tickles your fingers as they twine into his hair, holding him tightly to satisfy the possession in you, the desire to keep him close forever. Your lips meet his, a deep groan leaving him as your hips grind down. Keegan’s hands find your hips, grinding you back and forth to his crotch as his breath grows heavier and the movements of your lips along his deepen, the hold you have on each other so desperate it’s like you’re both scared the other could slip away at any moment.

His hand leaves your hip to slip underneath your waistband, his fingertips just barely nudging your clit, causing you to move faster as you chase your pleasure.

Keegan’s hand stills your hips, causing you to whine at the loss of sensation before his fingers continue to move in lazy. electrifying circles over your clit. “Let’s get these short off ya, sweetheart..” he breathes, his form resting lazily against the couch back. He begins to shuffle down the fabric, but his gaze flickers back to you in surprise when you stop him. “What? Is anything wrong?” He asks, the concern in his eyes obvious to you.

You hadn’t chucked your previous self-directed promise out the window, breaking it now would be an offence to your own resilience, even if you hadn’t spoken a word about it. You let out a giggle at the expression on his face, your hands loosely wrapped around his shoulders. “Mhm.” You lift your thighs closer to him. “I’m watching a movie, you’re interrupting.”

He throws his hands up in annoyance, “you can’t even see the screen!” You laugh, brushing your fingers through his tufts of hair, “Not the point.” You grind down on him again, and his hands immediately find their previous place on your hips. He groans, “Oh, fuck off.”

He doesn’t turn away from your teasing movements of pleasure, the grinding of your hips as you dry-hump him. The sight of you on top like this, all pretty for him as your lips meet again is enough to slowly rope him towards his high. Even though this isn’t enough to make you come, the picture of him coming in his pants just from this is enough to satisfy you.

Low groans, ragged breathing low in your ears as you bring him closer to an orgasm accompanies your movements. Your lips find his neck, biting down of his soft flesh and eliciting a throaty groan and a jut of his hips, you suck on the tender skin before finding another unmarked patch of skin to bite down on next. “Y’know doll, I could’ve made this a lot better for the both of us if you weren’t so fucking stubborn.” He takes over the grind of your hips, pushing you down harder and grinding you back and forth over his hard-as-a-rock dick. He hums lowly, returning the marks you’ve left on him as his teeth bite down on your shoulder.

The pain pulls a whine from you, your nails digging into his shoulders as he gives the bite mark a lick and a kiss. Keegan’s hips lift to grind up on you, a string of curses filling the room between each kiss, each hickey sucked into your neck as he finds his way up to your ear.

The movie is long forgotten, and the desire to feel him inside you takes its place in your mind. Keegan gives your earlobe a little lick, places a kiss on the sensitive skin right underneath your ear before he whispers, right into your ear, “Wanna stretch you out with my cock, baby, need to see how that pretty face looks when you take me…” Fuck, and if your previous desire for him wasn’t enough…

The gravelly sound of his voice is breathier when he nears his orgasm, you can tell he’s close, his thighs jutting forwards to meet your movements. Keegan’s hold on your hips is rougher and less careful, nothing like the way he’d caress your body in the mornings while you were still just waking up. His head lolls back, falling against the couch cushions, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, a useless attempt at quieting the noises that leave him.

Your hand feels its way down his chest, grazing his happy-trail underneath his shirt before it stops at the prominent bulge in his sweats. The added pleasure of your hand palming him through the material, the fabric rubbing against his sensitive cock has him producing throaty groans you gladly devour. His cheeks are pink with what you suspect is both embarrassment and heat.

When his orgasm finally hits him, it lasts for several seconds as he wraps his arms around your torso to press your body against his. “Ohhh, fuckk..” He groans, his cum seeping through his sweats and darkening the fabric around his head. You grind onto him deeply, coaxing his high to stretch out for longer as more, low-sounding hums of pleasure sound deep from his chest.

Your hand shucks his sweatpants down his thighs, your fingers wrap around his wet, softening cock. You guide him into your needy hole, his little sound of surprise and pleasure making your stomach flip. His hands pull the hem of your shirt up, demanding you to put your arms up, a giggle escaping you at his unconcealed eagerness. “Fuck…” he groans, sucking on your nipple as his hand fondles your boob, pulling and tweaking at your sensitive nipple roughly. You feel his cock swelling in size, stretching the walls of your pussy. His voice is rough, throaty as he speaks in between the kisses and bites he places on your tits. “These gorgeous fucking tits…”

You ground your hips onto him, feeling his cock pressing deeply into the bruised walls of your pussy, sore from the rough pounding he’d given you the previous day, your hand fondling his balls as you ride him. He grabs your waist before flipping you around, your back hitting the cushions before you realise what’s happened. “Hands and knees, c’mon.” He orders you, leaning back into a kneeling position on the couch, his dripping cock on display. You’re almost drooling at the sight, fuck.

You feel his body lean over your, back arching and your tits squished against the cushions. The hair covering his body tickles you, the happy trail running down his stomach, the beads of sweat on his toned skin up against you as his hand wraps around your throat. There’s black ink needled into the skin of his bicep, the sleeve tat you love to trace, the initials of his comrades whom had passed on swirled into an intricate, black tattoo, fitted in with the design so well they could pass as insignificant details if you didn’t look for long enough to map them out.

He guides the head of his cock into your aching pussy, groaning in pleasure at the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him, his hot mouth pressing kisses to your shoulders, the thin skin of your upper back. His pace is fast, hard cause he thinks it’s what you deserve for teasing him for so long, and cause the jiggle of your ass when his thighs pound into you makes him crazy. The sound of your wet cunt as his cock rams into you, the soft ‘fap’ ‘fap ‘fap’ of your plush thighs, it’s got his head spinning.

Your mouth hangs open, loud and unashamed moans spilling out as the head of his cock kisses the your g-spot. You’re embarrassingly close already, all the tension and desire inside of you threatening to burst, and his heavy balls hitting your clit with every thrust has your head woozy, his hand squeezing around your throat swirling every motion of his hips, every delicious moan sounding out of his pretty, pink lips together, the city lights you spot through the windows, the warmth of his skin against yours, all a blur replaying in your head, you feel drunk off of him and the pleasure he gives you.

“Y’gotta quiet down, sweet thing, gonna wake the neighbours up if you keep making all that noise.” He murmurs. He sounds strained, like he can’t get the words out without his voice breaking, not with how you’re squeezing around him so perfectly. “Feels too fucking good, Keegan, I can’t even think, I swear-“ Your voice is so weak, so fucking brittle and all breathy, cut off by your own moans of pleasure. The grip Keegan has on your throat loosens, his fingers tracing your bottom lip before they slip into your waiting mouth, stifling your sounds. They taste of him, the fingers that press on your tongue, the sensation just adding to the spinning colours in your head.

Your lips wrap around his fingers, sucking, nibbling the taste of him, your saliva coating them, drool running down the side of your mouth just like your drooling pussy coats his cock and the sides of your thighs. “Love making a mess of you, baby, fuck…Fucking love making a mess of you with my cock..” he murmurs, licking a strip up your neck. You bite down on his fingers when the hand keeping your hips in place shifts to rub at your swollen clit, sloppy with his movements as his fingers rub harsh circles over your clit. “Fuck, Keegan, m’so…ah, I’m so fucking close, Kee!”

“Yeah, I know baby, need to feel you cum on my cock, c’mon,” he groans, the way he gets more vocal when he’s close, the delicious, deep sounds that leave him making you clench around his cock. “Thaats it, good girl…fuuck, m’close.” Your cunt spasms around him, your mouth falling open as shocks of pleasure has your thighs going slack, his fingers dragging out of your mouth to wrap around your hips, keeping you up to fuck into you. His fingers smack over your clit, dragging out your orgasm. “Oh fuck…fuckkk,” he moans, his hips finally slowing down as his hot spend fills you up. He bites down on your shoulder, the pain mixing into the feeling of overstimulation as Keegan’s hips drag his cock back and forwards slowly, your cunt squelching with his cum.

He pulls out, falling next to you and pulling your body close to him, his breath heavy with the quick rise and fall of his chest. “Fucking angel.” He mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss to your head before he pulls the blanket over you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Check out my other Keegan fics meow😛 reblogs, likes, comments and all that are so appreciated ily

#Keegan Russ #Keegan p Russ #Keegan p russ x reader #Keegan Russ x reader #Keegan P Russ smut #Keegan Russ smut #cod #cod ghosts #cod: ghosts

[lostquinn]

Laughter

Ghost x (gn!) Reader

Fluff, teasing, very subtle nsfw!

Summary - you hear Ghost laugh for the first time and emotions take over as you finally realise that you're in love with him

So uhhhh... New obsession. I love Ghost cosplayers - maybe a König or Keegan fic soon! It's been a while but here you simps go! Sorry it's not my usual content!

Word count - 980

You had only been part of the 141 a few months, their combat medic that would follow the boys into the battlefield. They all appreciated having you around. All felt a little safer.

The team was between missions, spending time together in the lounge of base camp after lots of intensive missions.

You'd quickly gotten close to a few of them and currently sat on a couch next to Soap. Ghost, Gaz, Alejandro, Price, and Roach sat around in the room. You were all basking in the chance for relaxation. Ghost still wore his balaclava, yet apart from that, the whole team were dressed in more comfortable clothes than they wore each day.

For a moment, you'd been staring at Ghost, looking him over. Your eyes lingered on his, and you could see him raise a brow before squinting at you. There was something captivating by the way he stared at you.

Soon, you moved your attention to Soap as he started talking, ranting on about something. Suddenly, something Soap and said caused Ghost to laugh.

You snapped your head around to stare at him, eyes wide. You hadn't heard him laugh before. Something about the sound filled your cheeks with warmth. The way he stared at you made your skin erupt in goosebumps as butterflies came to life in your stomach.

A breath got caught in your throat, and you started to cough, hunching your shoulders slightly as you tried to regain your composure and breath.

"Need some water, love?" Ghost asked, raising a brow at the display. You nodded.

He handed you his bottle of water without thinking as Soap clapped you on the back gently. You unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a sip. The taste of water wasn't the only thing on your lips. There was also the subtle taste of his lips.

That near enough made you drool. Your eyes widened, and you screwed the cap back on the bottle, quickly standing up and leaving the room.

Jesus christ.

You still had the bottle in your hand as you stumbled to your room, collapsing on your bed with a deep blush on your face as you thought back to him. Ghost. Simon.

Your mind was filled with thoughts that you hadn't considered before. Hearing him laugh again. Holding his hand, hugging him. Kissing him. Feeling his chest vibrate as you cuddle up to him in bed and make him laugh over something.

You were completely and utterly smitten, enamoured, and distracted by these newfound feelings and thoughts for your Lieutenant.

There was a light tapping at your door before it opened. You had hoped to see him but instead, Soaps worried face filled the door as he entered.

He carefully sat next to you, his hands tucked in his pockets.

"You alright?" He tilted his head towards you.

"I think I'm in love with Simon," you blurted out, instantly smacking your hand over your mouth as you stared at Soap. He stared back for a moment before chuckling.

"Congrats on being the last to find out," he grinned wolfishly as he stood up, making his way back out. "I'll tell him to come get his bottle back," he winked, smirking at you.

Fuck.

Soap soon disappeared from your room, and you waited in an agonising limbo as you waited for a knock at the door.

It felt like the wait went on forever, every set of footsepts that passed your room had you on edge. A lump grew in your throat as you waited.

Eventually, there was a knock and the door opened.

"Comin' in," Simon murmured before pressing his way into your room.

You could feel your heart beating in your chest as you stared up at him, your feet dangling over the edge of your bed. You felt like you'd turn into a complete mess any second.

"I believe you have something of mine," he said, his voice husky as he slowly approached you.

"I- uhm- yeah, I still have your bottle," you muttered, hardly able to think.

He leant down close to you, placing one gloved hand on your hip as he leant his other hand past you to grab his bottle. He was tantalisingly close. You could kiss him if you wanted to, and he kept his eyes on you. Staring you in the eyes before tracing his gaze down your body.

You squirmed slightly under his gaze and touch, his hot breath connecting with the skin of your neck through his balaclava. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you could see him trying to hold back a smirk.

He grabbed a hold of his bottle, clipping the carabiner to one of his belt loops so that he bottle hung at his hip.

Then, he grabbed your chin, keeping your face steady as he moved closer. He lifted his balaclava slightly, just enough so his lips and the tip of his nose were visible.

"Try not to choke for me just yet," he whispered before pressing his lips against yours.

Your mind went blank, your hands shooting up to his jaw as you held him close. His skin was hot and soft. His tongue traced along your bottom lip before he pulled away with a smirk.

He pulled his balaclava back down before standing up straight and pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Good job, love. I'll be sure to come back for more," he winked at you before swiftly leaving.

As he left, you heard him chuckle under his breath and you couldn't help but think about the next time you would hear him laugh. The next time you would feel his lips.

You dragged your bottom lip between your teeth, lapping up the layer of his spit that he'd left on your lip with his tongue. He was delicious and you couldn't wait for more.

#ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #x gn reader #writers on tumblr #writing #fluff #simon riley fluff

[macravishedbymactavish]

Hugging Headcanons (COD Ghosts x GN! Reader)

TW: Rorke. Mentions of the canon Ghosts ending, illusions to torture (nothing graphic)

| Blog HQ | MW2 Version |

David "Hesh" Walker

As we all know, Hesh is very, very open with his emotions. Both negative and positive, it's very easy to see what he's feeling at a glance.

Which means he is also very open to tell you how he feels for you (after months of pining and annoying Logan about it. Who was ready to spill his brothers secret for him, just so he could have one night without hearing about you)

Not only tells you how much he loves you, but also shows it through his hugs.

Normally quite goofy, a lot of times ending in you laughing while pushing against his chest. Trying to create space between the two of you as he only pulls you tighter.

You two also have your fair share of serious, loving hugs when the moment calls for it.

Loves watching you jump then immediately relax when he surprises you and hugs you from behind. Has almost gotten nailed right in the nose for it though.

Will hug you everywhere and anywhere that it's safe. No regard for who's watching, or your surroundings (the exception being if the surroundings/situation is dangerous)

Hesh has developed the habit of seeking you out when he needs a pick me up. Especially when his head gets a little too loud, and life becomes a bit overwhelming.

Maybe it's the feeling of security when he's wrapped up in you, but he finds it easier to deal with his emotions when being held by you. These moments seem to help him find clarity in his thoughts, and help him gain new perspective.

Especially when he's dealing with problems or topics he feels hopeless and lost about.

Hesh is just all around more level headed when he can hold you and slow his brain down for a few minutes.

Keegan Russ

He's antisocial, appreciates having a decent amount of personal space. So 1 of 2 things happens:

If you're like him, and don't particularly like people being too close. He respects it, and finds it rather endearing watching the journey of you getting a little bit closer to him each day. To the point where standing beside one another comfortably is the norm.

If you're not like him, and love being up close and personal he'll eventually form a soft spot for you. Initially gets annoyed, but holds back the attitude because he does like having you around. But maybe over there.

Don't ask me why, but I get the vibe that while he wants to hug you sooner, he doesn't. For what reason? Nobody, including himself can figure that one out.

The first hug would be work related. Whether that be a heroic "oh shit" moment where he's doing something like the clichè cover your body with his. Except far less dramatic (nobody got hurt).

Or a way to not get caught when trying to go undercover.

No, those aren't 2 Ghosts. Just a couple of overgrown teenagers loving up on one another in that dark alley. It's fine.

After that first time however, he's hugging you during every quiet moment the two of you have together.

If you're shorter than him, he's going to rest his chin on your head and hold you tight into his chest. He always feels like you're this delicate thing that needs to be protected within his embrace (even though you're not and would likely chew him out if he ever said that out loud).

If you're the same height or taller -- he loves pressing his face into your neck. It brings him unlimited comfort doing this, but he'll deny it to no end if anyone asks.

Thomas Merrick

Another guy that gives me bear hug vibes (like Price). Not overly obnoxious, but if the situation or mood calls for it he's holding you tight and considering the idea of not letting go.

Otherwise very casual with keeping physical touch. Arm around your shoulders or waist when you're sitting next to one another or walking together.

While very private about his personal life, he unconsciously wants to keep in some form of physical contact with you.

Has totally done that thing where he rests his cheek on your head, just relishing in the moment.

Especially on long rides back to whatever destination. He's gotten a couple curious looks from the newest Ghosts for this (in his defense, Logan did think it was adorable. Hesh ruined it by showing his clear confusion because Merrick's a softie?!)

They were promptly shut down by one of the other guys giving them a look of warning. Just let the man have his small moments of peace....in peace.

Call him old fashioned, but he loves when he can hold you close and slowly dance with you. Music is totally optional.

He may or may not have imagined the two of you like this on your wedding day (if marriage is in the cards for you two).

While he can come off as hot headed, and loyal/defensive to a fault (literally slamming Hesh into a wall for stepping up at Keegan) I want to say he's actually fairly laid back at home. If he needs to step in and ensure you're okay, he will in a heartbeat.

But otherwise? Totally content just lounging around with you in his arms.

Merrick also appreciates when he's the little spoon. Or being hugged from behind. Something about the feeling warms his heart in ways he can't (and won't) describe.

Logan Walker

In the beginning, you're going to have to initiate most of the hugs. While he loves them, he overthinks it too much and talks himself out of it.

Loves (and I mean LOVES) being hugged by you. Everything in the world just lines up during the time he's being held by you. Nothing bad can happen to him when you're hugging him.

The first time he hugged you (was a "from behind hug" where he rested his chin on your shoulder) you could've swore your heart might've exploded.

His confidence eventually progresses to greeting you (when appropritate, nobody dying for hugs here) with a hug and forehead kiss becoming the norm.

Hear me out on this, beach date with Logan. Hanging out by the water when he hugs you from behind....then promptly dunks you both under the water.

He'd be fully clothed and dripping wet with you, but would have such a mischievous smile on his face for the rest of the day.

That was the most fun I've had in a long time. He would tell you later that day, waiting for the sun to dry you both off.

Little does he know you're probably plotting his revenge.

Post-capture, this would be one of the first things he finds to come back naturally. They wiped most of his mind and memory, but the feeling of you in his arms and vice versa seems to be ingrained in his muscles.

Even when the world becomes a bit too much for him to handle, the comfort of your hugs grounds him and wipes his mind for a second

Elias Walker

Throwing him in here to say it would only happen under 3 circumstances:

1). You become like a third child to him

2). You are in desperate need of some familial comfort

3). You were almost seriously injured/killed on a mission and thank God you're okay. Remember how he pushed Merrick off Hesh in the helicopter scene and immediately went to calm Hesh down? I'm thinking that kind of vibe.

I don't know, he's the dad of the game and I like the idea that Mama Walker was his soulmate. He has no interest in filling that role. He's content with his sons and team filling his heart

No matter what situation causes the chain reaction leading to a hug -- it's filled with comfort and understanding.

Like hugging a parent who truly cares, and wants the best for you. Leaves your conscience feeling lighter and your soul a little warmer

Gabriel Rorke

If you're on hugging tier with this man, you're special. Like....extremely special to him.

Maybe it's my overtired brain (that initiated this idea), but I could see you being the one and only tie he has left to life pre-federation (like with Logan - the feeling of holding you and being held is muscle memory. It evokes an unconscious reaction within him).

If you were by his side on the Federation:

He'd seek you out for some form of comfort, especially after capturing Logan and starting that process. No matter how brainwashed he is and hellbent on revenge, he knows first hand how terrible the conditioning process is.

For a kid he's never met, he feels horrible for doing this to him. But duty calls and you gotta do what you gotta do.

Especially on nights when he can't get the sound of the screams and agony out of his head...and his body aches in the same way it did years prior -- he seeks you out. Relishes in the feeling of you holding him and helping him forget about the atrocities.

If you're not part of the Federation with him:

I feel like you two would cross paths in the battlefield. Which would go 1 of 2 ways:

1). You get spared, he can't quite place the details but he recognizes you as someone vastly important in his life. All he wants in exchange for your freedom is a hug -- because apparently those were really important to him at one point before all this

2). You don't get spared. Again, some part of him screams and deep dives to try and remember who you are. Details are blurry or redacted within his head; but acting on instinct he pulls you close. Despite everything, you get your last moments alive in the arms of someone you once loved.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @ai-luni @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

#call of duty ghosts #logan walker #david hesh walker #thomas merrick #elias walker #gabriel rorke #keegan russ #cod ghosts #cod ghosts headcanons #call of duty ghosts headcanons #logan walker headcanons #david hesh walker headcanons #Keegan russ headcanons #thomas merrick headcanons #elias walker headcanons #gabriel rorke headcanons #cod ghosts fluff

[konigsblog]

TWENTY-ONE, SCOTTISH

this blog contains dark content, with triggering subjects. taboo and touchy topics. profile picture belongs to @/valkyriesouls. 🪦🕊️

my requests are always open, unless i have too many, then they'll be off !! 🎀

minors do not interact. i post smut/lust and dark content. my work isn't made for anyone who is under the age of 18.

i write for call of duty; ghost, soap, gaz, price, keegan, hesh, krueger, könig, alejandro, rudy, valeria, graves, frank woods, russell adler, makarov, horangi, mace, nikto, laswell. both nsfw and sfw. (as well as angst)

spam liking is okay ! no need to apologise, i appreciate it. 🐙

boundaries .

i won't write for scat, watersports (piss), ageplay, pedophilia, underage, necrophilia, zoophilia, bestiality, feederism, race play, diapers, wound fucking, fisting, vomit, farts, STI/STD.

please don't spam my inbox with the same request, i will get around to it, just give me time. if i don't post your request, it either breaks my boundaries or i'm not intrested in the idea, please respect that 🤍

don't force me to say no to a request. i prefer deleting them since it makes me feel more comfortable !! don't message me to do a request if my askbox is off, they're off for a reason.

please, please put your age in your bio. i won't block you if you don't, but i will be on edge since i don't know if you're a minor.

don't send me anything like gore. i will block you !!

backup account here !!

– @ konigsblog

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #modern warefare ii #cod x y/n #ghost headcanon #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #orla speaks #könig call of duty #call of duty mwii #captain john price #ghost mwii #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost cod #ghostsoap #reader x ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #gaz x reader #gaz garrick #alejandro call of duty #alejandro cod #valeria el sin nombre garza #valeria cod

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Me Rating the Super Mario Bros movie characters performances (now that the Euphoria of the movie has calmed down)

Spoilers below

Mario:

Everyone wants to bag on Chris for being Mario. But I will say, He pulled it off well. There was an accent and if you weren’t listening for it, you probably wouldn’t know it was Chris Pratt voicing him. Say what you will, but Chris knows how to voice act the Everyman hero type. That’s Mario. His love for his brother and Captain America levels of determination make him admirable and not stale. The decision to go more for a Brooklyn accent was a nod to the 1980’s show and I appreciate it. It’s nothing spectacular but it’s what was needed for Mario. 7.5/10

Luigi:

Charlie day was near perfect casting for Luigi. I will be honest, I thought this would just be Charlie day voicing luigi and while funny he usually would teeter on annoying. But for his performance, Luigi had great comedic timing, relatable, supportive and cowardly. It’s honestly captures luigi perfectly. He does get some great lines, I will say the only flaw is how he was sidelined. It felt less like a Mario bros. Movie and more like a Mario and Donkey Kong movie. But in the third act he does bring in some good chops. I do like how they maximized his performance. 8.5/10

Peach:

Anya Taylor-joy as Peach. So I’m conflicted here. It’s not a bad performance, but I wouldn’t say the voice felt like peach. When Peach has the softer moments and is acting like a ruler, I think she is great. But the first half of the movie, she felt surprisingly cold to Mario. And I get that he is a stranger, but peach’s whole bit is her compassion and care. Peach can kick ass, that’s not the issue (plenty of source material shows she can hold her own) my problem is that she felt like she was missing her sweetness. Near the end we see her soften and it could be argued that Peach wasn’t really feeling sweet because of the situation… but anyone whose played a Mario game knows that’s not an issue. She didn’t need to be a damsel in distress, I just like when my peaches are sweeter. Also I wanted some Mareach. But I’m not gonna reflect that in the rating 5/10.

Donkey Kong

It’s just Seth Rogen’s voice. Now it’s not an awful performance. But everytime he spoke, I heard Seth. That being said, the character was fine. I liked Mario and DK’s Frenemy dynamic. They clearly butt heads and compete. It’s amusing. That being said, I wish Luigi got more scenes, instead of Seth Kong. He is never irritating, I do enjoy the cockiness and overall flare, but I wish they did something more with it 5/10

Toad:

Keegan Micheal-key’s Take on Toad is inspired. I found myself enjoying whenever Toad is on screen. I had no worries regarding his performance. But similar to Luigi, he isn’t given much to do. His main thing is a couple of gags and moving the plot along. I love him and wish he had more time given. 8/10

Kamek:

Kevin Micheal Richardson didn’t just do good in this roll, HE ABSOLUTELY SLAYED as Kamek. The loyal servant/father figure/ hype man of Bowser nails that slimy ness and fear he has for bowser. His dialogue is great, he is also just so much fun on screen. He did not need to go this hard for Kamek, but he did. 9/10

Cranky kong:

Fred Armisen phoned it in. This didn’t feel at all like Cranky to me. He didn’t even sound old. I’m glad he isn’t in the movie long but it bothered me. It’s just the kind of performance where you aren’t mad, just disappointed

2/10

King Penguin

Khary Payton, For a character basically made for the movie, he was perfect. My bias on both the Voice actor and Penguins. He had great lines, coming off as epic and comedic. His reaction to the Luma was also glorious. He wasn’t there for too long but he was there the right amount. 8/10

Bowser

Let’s talk about Jack Black as bowser. It’s perfect casting. Jack black PERFECTLY blended all of the bowser’s together to create in my opinion, the best version of bowser. In a vain similar to how Heath Ledger combined different Joker’s to make his performance. This bowser is intimidating, arrogant, funny, a simp, cruel, and overall everything you want in a kids movie villain. I could write a whole analysis on how this bowser is basically a perfect kids movie villain. But that is for another day. The power ballad alone makes him worthy of 10/10. Easiest 10/10 ranking I’ve made

#Mario movie #super mario bros movie #character ratings #Mario #peach #bowser #Luigi #donkey Kong

[crimsonbubble]

cw. best friends brother au, nsfw, afab!reader, use of the nickname kid, oral (f receiving), nipple play, pull out method *not proofread, just pure horny

[I'm a whore for a bfb fic 🤲🤲 and finding out keegan has the black hair and blue eyes combo got me fucked up ong 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️]

reblog and comments are appreciated <33

MINORS DNI!!

you've only met him a few times. merely exchanging a soft hello and moving on with your day. but there's something so enticing about your best friends brother simply leaning against the doorway of his sisters room, taking the time to cross his arms and rest his head against the frame.

your friend was downstairs somewhere, probably in the kitchen when keegan saw you laying on his sister's bed. he's not one to care who his sister is friends with, but there is something about you that makes his heart race. whether it's the way you look at him with big doe eyes or the way your shirt clings to your boobs so perfectly, the way your jeans stretch around your thighs, or the way he imagines the cute noises you'd make if his head were between your thighs.

he's infatuated with you, there's a deep need to have you, to love you to the moon and stars, to show you a world full of love and lust. you both want the other, but that goes against your friendship with his sister. you're interrupted from your thoughts as keegan is now standing in front of you, guiding your head up to look at him with a gentle hand. "if you don't want this, push me away."

you look into each other's eyes for a few more seconds before you tug him down to your level. he lets out a soft breath, holding your face as you nip at his lip. with his hands supporting you under your ass, he moves you over to his room. he kicks the door closed, almost missing the lock. once he parts from your lips, he trails kisses down your jaw and neck.

he presses your back to the bed, hovering over you as his hands caress all over you. "fuck, you drive me crazy, kid." his hands gripped your hips, pushing you up further on his bed. his lips find their way back to you as he tugs your shirt over your head. his hands tug your bra cups down, letting your tits spill out. he kisses down your chest, fondling and squeezing your mounds.

"keegan-" he moans at how his name spills from your lips, taking your nipple into his mouth. "say my name again, sweetheart. please." he gently tugs at the puffy bud, circling it with his tongue before moving to do the same to the other. his name tumbles from your lips with a teasing smile, lifting your hips to wiggle out of your jeans. keegan slides then off you, falling to his knees to leave kisses on your thighs.

"you're mine after this, yknow that? all mine, sugar." he hums softly against your skin, spreading your thighs further to slip your panties down your legs. "hmm all yours, keegan." he swears he could marry you on the spot, eyeing the way your cunt glistens in the low lighting of his room. his hands are holding your legs up and open, giving him perfect access to lick and suck all he wants.

your hand tangles in his hair, the other coming up to stifle the moans and shaky breaths that threaten to give away your activities to your friend. his eyes bore into you, watching your face contort with pleasure. the slick wet noises are embarrassing but they add more heat to your shuddering body. start shoot across your vision as keegan sucks your clit into his mouth, carefully pushing his fingers into your sopping hole.

your back arches off the bed, pushing his face closer to your mound. your thighs tense around keegans head, keeping him in position as he worked you through your orgasm. your bones feel like jelly, buzzing with pleasure as keegan kisses up your stomach. he whispers praises against your sweaty skin, caressing your thighs and hips. "you can take a bit more for me, yea sugar?"

you can only nod, words eluding your head as keegan tugs his pants down. his tip is rosy and leaking. he works his cock through your folds, grinding his tip against your pulsing clit. there's a delectable feeling of pleasure and pain in your sensitivity, but the slow push of keegan easing in, inch by inch cloud your brain. you hold on to his biceps, digging the blunt edge of your nails into his skin. he winces at the sting, hiking your legs up to wrap around his waist.

"fuck, you're sucking me, baby. taking all of me so well, sugar." he groans deeply, hitting all sorts of spots within you that have you shaking and writhing under him. you're clinging onto him for dear life, kissing and nipping along his neck. you're trying to keep yourself together while keegan tries to take you apart. "just a little more, yea?"

you hum contentedly, the sloppy sounds of skin on skin barely hears over keegans deep groans and shaky breaths in your ear. his hand finds its way between your bodies, pressing on your clit to draw you closer to your orgasm. with the added stimulation to your clit, it wrings out an intense shudder from you as you orgasm.your walls tighten and pulse around his cock, his pace faltering.

with each shaky thrust, he nearly whimpers in your ear as he pulls out, wrapping a hand around himself. he strokes himself quickly, body shivering as he hid face in your neck. his cum splatters your stomach, hot and sticky. "you better take me out on an amazing date after this." keegan laughs breathlessly, kissing up your neck and jaw.

"I'll make sure to do just that."

#bubbly writes <3 #keegan russ smut #keegan smut #keegan russ #keegan x reader #keegan russ x reader #cod mw22 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod smut #cod x reader smut #cod keegan #keegan cod

[girlsrawesome64]

Hello dear, I can't believe I found someone who does cod matchups, I'm so happy! Can I get a matchup with a cod guy? If you already have too many requests and don't feel like writing, you can ignore this, don't worry about it ♥️

Female, 25, gemini, enfj.

Personality wise, I got two sides (stereotypical for a gemini, ik). Most of the times, I'm affectionate, teasing, playful and loving but I also get dead serious, cold and slightly intimidating in a blink of an eye if it's needed. I'm basically that meme: I can be your angel or your devil. Extremely ambitious when I want something or when I want to excel at something. Really protective and caring to my dear ones, I'd do anything for them. Unfortunately, I tend to overwork myself in silence. I bottle up everything and walk it off, continue working and caring for others more (but every girlboss needs a kiss on the forehead sometimes). I'm confident most of the time and can stand up for myself no matter what.

In cod I'd definitely be support. My favorites are: König, Keegan, Price, Ghost, Krueger. I'm ok with any theme and any dynamic.

My hobbies are: reading, martial arts training, dancing, playing guitar.

Fun facts: I'm in the medical field. I have a hidden tattoo of a a crescent moon. I'm a dog person. Oh and I speak Romanian - I am from Ro lol and German - still learning this one.

Thank you so much for your time, please take care of yourself and have a great day/night!

☾⋆⁺ARE YOU KIDDING ITS PRIIIIICE MAMAS /j /pos

w: described heat exhaustion symptoms, temporarily ill alone with responsibility, dubcon flirting (fraternization; price is a higher rank ((diff units but still)) ), emotional abandonment/manipulation mention (price) + Unfinished, i had it sitting and more ambition but this all i got gotta prioritize self care like u said >:D, short storyish thing, <3, narrator has beef with price

☾⋆⁺ Price is the uhh, Captain right? The one meant to be giving orders, not taking them? The rest of the team had never seen Price stutter before.

☾⋆⁺ (forgive me if I butcher medical infos lmao, help much appreciated) Just kidding, you were a Captain now too via your transfer into English QARANC as Senior Nurse. Oh, how quickly the time goes. To climb that quickly? Impressive dedication. Not that it was surprising coming from you.

So when Price saw you across the room in the flesh as superior medical staff as part of his brigade for his specialist unit- uh oh. How the hell did you weasel your way in here? It's elite-elite, I mean, what are the chances? He- uh, of course you did, who is he kidding. He was just…insecure.

Mouth ajar, he blinked out of his blank expression with a cough as Gaz tilted his head in the way of him- "Sir?"- and followed Price's gaze back to you.

☾⋆⁺ So when you felt the heat of being watched, and managed to scan the new environment just to see him-? Oh, god. How do I say this: to say you've met before would be an understatement.

~~~

You're flooded back to that familiar field tent as Junior Staff Nurse- that suffocating humidity only enunciated by the heat waves blurring your far-vision of the sand and dried shrubs outside the mouth of the tent.

It was your first job allied with an SAS unit, and you could feel the sweat clinging your shirt to your back. All today had been a sudden intake of…too many people. Sure, you weren't alone, but come late afternoon, hurried triaging then treatment, your superiors had taken their break first, leaving you alone simply to monitor your now stable patients.

I think it's in that silence and break you realize just how much your head has been spinning; how the sun seemed to glint on the sand outside and beam right into your eyes; how your cheeks felt burning and your pulse was hammering. God, how did you not notice that before? You automatically caught yourself to brace back on a plastic table as you steeled yourself, reaching back to fiddle out a plastic bottle of water from that mess of container material.

Focus. You forced yourself to take a drink, gaze glazed over but keeping yourself together.

You felt a break in the light in your periphery causing you to faintly wince. The shadow almost walked straight past, but took a step back to pause at the entrance, bobbing both ways to check the interior. "You alright?" A gruff voice croaked out. Regardless of your strained response, they stepped forward, hesitantly taking in the environmental context clues for your circumstance. "Team leave you?" He double-took at the extent of the sight of you, pausing before doubling back to close the tent entrance to keep in the much needed cool. Head lulled down, all you registered was the dry beige camo of his uniform moving in and out of your vision as he faffed with something.

"D'you mind?" He grumbled lightly, offering his hand to help you sit down on the floor, albeit to lean against the leg of the table. He showed the cloth-covered cold pack in his hand, leaning down to meet your eyes with a furrowed brow. "'You're fine?'" He quoted with a chuff. "Ah, alright. More for me." He got up, pretending to pat the pack against the back of his neck and sighing faux relief.

After a pause he raised a smug brow at you, handing you the pack for the back of your neck, etc. In his motion you note the 'PRICE' embroidered on his jacket.

'Price' stood back, exhaling and crossing his arms, sporting light-hearted dry conversation as he rocked his weight. How long you'd felt like that, what happened, where your superiors were. Just checking it was definitely just heat exhaustion and if he had to stay the 30 minutes for you.

When you rightfully spit him out at his low-key condescending tone he put his hands up in defence, apologizing half-heartedly and trying to distract you with humour and everyday questions. He wasn't the most charming thing, but his noise was a half-decent change to your silent suffering prior.

☾⋆⁺ Lieutenant John Price. He always seemed to end up looking over your shoulder in the time you worked alongside each-other. Commenting something dumb only to be rewarded with your wit, sending the two of you into an endless feedback loop until he's leaning a little too close and, uh- check yourself, Lieutenant. Looked a little too fraternal there.

☾⋆⁺ Sometimes it was hard to relate to the other specialists. You'd both graduated your trainings much quicker than your peers, both exceptionally diligent and good at what you do. But every star has to have a weakness, right?

Something about each-others company felt natural, easy. Unintentionally, you both tended to scare off folks. But not each-other. Two sharp-edged puzzle pieces. Lounging around on base, finally on downtime, he'd plant himself next to you. Drowning out the chatter of others, he'd lean over and prop his foot up on his knee, staring at what book you were reading. What today? He reeked of potential snark until you looked at him. Price's face instinctively softened before collected himself with a hand along his hair, trying not to smile too obviously for the others in the room.

☾⋆⁺ One victory later and you couldn't make it out drinking for celebrations due to finishing writing up some boring documentations. Looking both ways, Price snuck out of the event early to return back and find you. He knew where you'd be by now. He always stood at doorways, never in, until the familar tread of boots on dried grass broke your focus. This felt like the first time you both were actually alone. The extent of your intimacy so far was staring for a thousand words a little too long when others weren't looking.

He strutted in the finally otherwise vacant tent, presence arrogantly, blatantly hovering over you as you continued to work. To the tune of- 'c'mon.' He gently tried his hand on your cheek, tilting his head to stare as he rubbed a circle there with his thumb.

If it didn't work immediately he'd take out his phone, humming an incomprehensible tune before the tinny music played from the phones speaker- music you love you'd mentioned in passing. He swayed and mumbled the lyrics (?), stepping a little closer to lower his hand to yours for you to take- to dance with you all the way into the night.

☾⋆⁺ Which makes your throat tighten even more in the present day once the focus(/panic) had passed and he's finally laying stable on the care bed by you.

The man who left you. Abandoned you in the name of work and 'greater causes'. A relationship that would've gotten him fired, yes, but his snap decision and the coldness in his eyes as he plainly announced it had sat rightfully boiling in your blood since.

FIN

~~but i am curious, like as u work together more would u fall back into some kinda tension?? weird asides? him taking yr orders? emotional reconciliation? or is he dead-dead to you?? IM INVESTED ~price by goldeagleactual on PT

#john price #captain john price #price x reader #price cod #cod #cod matchup #64sshit

[kbagraces]

Flip A Switch - Lando Norris

Lando Norris Mafia AU

As much as we try to suppress the stigma, strong women will continue to be perceived as intimidating until you learn to love us.

PART 3 - Demons

I sped straight home to Mandi. She's my absolute ride or die, she's also the only person I've ever been allowed to be around. My father always hated anyone who tried to associate with me, Mandi somehow charmed her way into being my best friend and almost like an adopted cousin to my family. She's been by my side from the age of 15 and will be forever.

I may not have a gang of men supporting me but combined, Mandi and I have more intelligence than the lot of them. Mandi suggested there was no time to be wasted so we packed up all the stuff we could carry, my essentials consisted of all the weapons i could fit into my bag, Mandi however filled hers with clothes for every scenario as in her words "murderous rampages can still look cute". And I can't argue with that.

We had a plane waiting for us in Dover, we agreed flying from London would be a little too obvious however we were going to detour through London to possibly trick them in case they were tracking us in anyway. Keegan is not the brightest so I don't think he would've caught on just yet, but you never know his team might surprise me.

We sped down winding country roads, only an hour from London where we'd stop briefly.

Mandi reached to turn down the music, "What do you think Norris meant when he said his family leaving your dad was a misunderstanding?"

Now i love Mandi, but she does like to see the good in people. This was just not one of the times it was needed.

"Mands, he's a man. He's lying. As much as he painted it that he wanted to help me, there's always an ulterior motive, there always is with men in this business."

"Your dad was a man though. You trusted him, even more than you trust me."

"Daddy always had my best interests at heart. He never lied to me." I miss him so much, we were exactly the same. My mother used to hate the way we'd pair up in everything we did. My relationship with him fuelled Keegan's hatred as well. Daddy loved Keegan, he was a great father to us both. But daddy knew Keegan wasn't business minded, he was messy and he never planned things out or thought before he acted, he wouldn't make a good leader and he's going to ruin my entire bloodlines reputation if we don't get to Spain.

Keegan knows. Unsure when they're leaving.

"Why is he still reaching out to you?" Mandi questions as Lando's message flashes up on the dash. "You must've made a lasting impression." She smirked, I wasn't sure what she was getting at but i didn't appreciate it.

"Not going to send some love hearts back then?"

She finds herself too funny.

"Fuck off and put this in," I lean over my the centre console into my bag in the back, pulling out earpieces. She raises an eyebrow, I already know what she's thinking.

"Are we fucking spies now or something?" She laughs.

"I know you think it's excessive Mands but this isn't a drive along with my dad, you're fully involved now. It's just a precaution." She nods, slipping the device into her ear.

The low fuel warning light flashes up on the dash, "might have to make an early stop."

We pull into a rough looking petrol station. Mandi jumps out of the car beginning to fill it up. Watching her every move in case of any unexpected danger she waltzes into the station. She suddenly turns to the cashier before bolting to the dimly lit bathroom.

"Y/n/n, fuck there's two men sat in the cafe. Guns on the table, the cashier looks fucking terrified. I think they're- I hear her say over the earpiece.

The sound of glass exploding beside my head cut off whatever she was saying. Shards flew all around me, i instinctively ducked down into the foot well of Mandi's car.

"Mands. Don't move. Do not leave the bathroom" I stressed, popping my head up slightly, the men had disappeared from the cafe however the entrance to the petrol station door was swinging.

"Are you fucking joking? You'll die on your own!"

"Stay there!" I screamed, she's not here for this.

Footsteps clicked around the car, "I think we got her! The boss will be happy. Check her."

The passenger side door where I sat flew open, my gun being the first thing to welcome him, not the dead body he was expecting. A smirk found its way on my face as he scrambles for his own gun once more. One shot to the head. He slumps straight down. I jump out, where is this other idiot. "If you're going to put a hit on me, you actually have to hit me you fucker." I spit, sliding my way around the car.

"You've got a smart fucking mouth. They all say it's a shame you're a bitch with a body like that." I feel his arms clasp around me, pulling me against his body. One hand clasping a knife pressed into my neck, not hard enough to pierce the skin, but with one glide, dead. His other hand wrapped in his hand pulling my head back into his shoulder.

Fuck. I bend my arm backwards, grabbing at his manhood, squeezing and twisting. He screams out in pain, leading his grip to tighten, the opposite of what I was hoping would happen.

"Fuck you." He seethes, smashing my head into the side of the car. My vision going with every hit.

I hear Mandi, come out screaming. She's not armed. I made a mistake not providing her with a weapon, i didnt think we'd need them this early into the trip. Fucking stupid.

I want to yell at her to stop, I don't know how close she is.

I hear a gun shot.

Mandi.

But then the grip begins to loosen in my hair his head sliding down my back a warm trail of what i assumed is his blood staining the back of my hoodie. Did Mandi have a gun?

"What the fuck?" I hear her exclaim.

My body collapses finally, my vision still blurred but the piercing screaming sound in my ears slowly dispersing.

"How many times do I have to stop these situations before you realise I'm on your side?"

I know that voice. I'm starting to hate that voice. Lando.

I know he just saved me and Mandi, but he just can't mask the cockiness in his voice.

"How did you know we were here?" Mandi questions as she runs over to me, wiping the hair that was stuck to my head with blood away. Using her sleeve to clean up what she could.

"If they can track you, so can we." He shrugged. He's worryingly nonchalant after killing someone. I feel pangs of guilt even if i hate them, with Lando, not a care in the world, he was born to be a killer. I was taught.

"Thank you." I choke out, my voice hoarse.

"Nat has a place not too far from here. It's protected, you guys can crash with us tonight. No strings if you still want to be proud and carry on without us you can. But get some rest first." He speaks to Mandi, he can tell she's not as one track minded as i am.

"No we need to carry on-"

"Y/n with what car? You're in no state of mind to make decisions."

I try to argue but i feel Lando's hands already, grabbing both my arms, pulling me up. I lean into him, feeling a lot less stable than i convinced myself i was. Mandi already stepping into the car, Lando assists me to the car, my arm around his waist as his is slid beneath my arms.

"Good to see you again, y/n!" Natalie cheers as Lando places me in the backseat, he leans over clicking in my seat belt for me, I want to protest, but i genuinely don't think i could've done that myself.

Its strange how Natalie is so cheery as if she didn't just witness a murder, possibly two.

The mumbles of their voices all begin to merge together. I hear Mandi, shaking me to stay away just until we get to Natalie's.

All i could do was hum.

I can't fight it. Their voices finally disappear.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@barcelonaloverf1life

#lando norris #f1 #lando norris x reader #ln4 #lando norris mafia au