Chilichopsticks @chilichopsticks - Tumblr Blog

Authors be like “my first fic, pls be kind😅”

And then it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve read in my whole lifeeeeeeee 🥹🥹🥹

mercy - simon riley

all you wanted was to bring simon his lunchbox, but the new recruits saw you as nothing more than an joke. they learn the hard way that no one can mess with the lieutenant's wife.

tags: hurt/comfort, angsty, wife!reader, husband!ghost, hurt!reader, simon riley is a devoted husband

the clock had long since struck midnight when simon finally made his way home. he eased himself onto the bed, careful not to make any noise, not wanting to wake you up. his muscles ached, his eyes burned after sleepless nights, but none of that mattered the moment he held you in his arms.

he placed a kiss on your forehead, soft, barely there, afraid to interrupt your sleep. his lips lingered a second longer than necessary, just breathing you in.

you smelled like home.

"i'm back." he whispered into the dark, more to himself than to you. he pulled the covers up a little higher over your shoulder, tucked you tightly beneath them, and finally let his heavy eyes rest.

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #h/c #chili library <3

hades--baby

To Die Like This

Summary: Stuck in the Tundra with a bullet in your side, blood in your eye, and the agonizing feeling that your captain was going to throw an absolute fit when your bleeding body walked through the threshold of the safe house.

Note: There's just something about Price being so tender with the girl he loves that makes me go absolutely crazy. Anyway, it's been a long time since I've written anything and an even longer time since I've actually put something out. Hope y'all enjoy :)

(This work was also cross-posted on my ao3 account under hades_baby)

Word Count: 7109

You had always loved the serenity of a snowy forest.

They were typically peaceful and quiet, a drastic contrast to your usual life of gunfire and warfare.

The only things that ever really made a sound was the light crunch of snow beneath the thick soles of boots, the little animals scurrying from shrubs to burrows that led to their dens, and the winter birds chirping their little songs as they hopped from branch to branch.

The air was always so crisp with a light scent of fresh pine and bark. It lacked the smell of gunpowder and the musk that filled the tight barracks.

Honestly, if you could have it your way, you’d die in a forest like this.

Have your trauma-ridden life end in a place so ethereal.

The whole military life never really gave you what you wanted though.

You typically had to take what you could get.

The orders you were given weren’t to your liking?

Too bad, you’d have to follow them anyway.

The mission you were assigned to was in the middle of the fucking Tundra where you knew your fingers would freeze and you’d never be able to keep warm?

You’re getting on the damn plane and going anyway because you were told to.

A lead slugger was shot into your side and you were currently bleeding through your gear and you wanted to do nothing more than lay down in the snow and let the cold take you while the little blood you had left in your system melted the snow beneath your limp body?

Well, too fucking bad. Get the fuck up because your Captain doesn’t take too kindly to any of his soldiers dying on the job.

Yeah.

You didn’t really get your way when it came to being a soldier, but today might have been your lucky day.

That little snowy death wish that had been playing out in the back of your head for the past thirty minutes was starting to look like it might come true.

There was a small burning bullet set in your side, a nice little slash on your arm from a bowie knife that had once been stuck in another man’s chest, and there was a cheeky little gash somewhere on your head that was pouring enough blood into your left eye to make you shut it and trek around half blind.

It felt like you were getting too old for this kind of work.

Then again, if Price could still keep up with this shit and be chipper doing it, then so could you.

“What’s your ETA, Frost?”

His voice over your comms had startled you.

“I don’t fucking know,” you snapped in a breathy tone as you slammed against the side of a pine tree to brace yourself before you could fall flat on your face. The fresh powder beneath you was starting to look really enticing.

You closed your good eye—the one that hadn’t been flooded with blood—and let out a defeated sigh, dipping your head as you tried to catch your breath and not focus on the stinging sensation of all the wounds that riddled your body.

“Sorry,” you muttered, apologizing to your Captain for your tone. You glanced at the watch on your wrist to check your current coordinates. “I’m a klick out from the safehouse. I should be there in a bit.”

“Copy.”

Price left it at that.

He sounded tired.

It was the same tone he spoke in when he was stuck in his office, getting dragged down into the depths with paperwork and mission reports he didn’t even want to think about. The tone that would come out when someone tried to talk to him too soon after a mission when all he wanted to do was relax and work the knots out of his shoulders. The tone that you heard oh so often when you’d pop into his office to keep him company while he dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s and when you’d work your fingers into the knots and sore spots on his back until he nearly fell asleep in his office chair.

Fuck.

You needed to get a move on.

After taking a deep breath, you trekked on, using every other tree to keep yourself upright as you staggered on your tired feet.

Blood was seeping through all of your gear, some of it dripping into the pristine white powder beneath your feet. It was tragic how the deep crimson liquid stained the gorgeous snow. In your line of work, you had seen blood stain an array of surfaces, but snow seemed to be the worst of them. It was something that was meant to be clean and pure, yet here you were, ruining it.

A grimace fell over your face at the sight.

After a few minutes passed by, your legs met the threshold of movement and you slammed into another tree trunk. Your temple met the bark, wood scratching against the skin of your face. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath and focus on not passing out while your limbs buzzed in pain.

You could make it.

Probably.

All you could really think about was the fact that you were definitely going to be telling Price that you didn’t want to do any more jobs in the Tundra. You enjoyed the cold climate when you weren’t working, which was almost never, but you still had a few days of leave a year where you got to fully relax (if your brain allowed).

You liked the cold when you could cuddle up next to someone to stay warm, drink some hot cider, and watch stupid Christmas movies that had too many questionable moments that made you really sit and stare, trying to figure out whether or not you should laugh.

You enjoyed the cold even more when you could hide away in the barracks, keeping warm with Price wrapped around you, hands tracing over your skin, heating you up quicker than a blanket ever could.

“Frost.”

“Captain.”

He didn’t respond right away, making you wonder if he just wanted to say your callsign for the hell of it.

“ETA?”

“Couple of minutes,” you answered.

The eye with blood in it was starting to sting, the foreign liquid now slipping all the way to your jaw and dripping from your chin.

“Cut it down to a minute.”

Price was starting to catch on that something was wrong. You were taking far too long to get to the safe house from where you had been coming from and your words were becoming too short and strained every time he asked you a question. Something was wrong and it was taking everything in him to not run out of the safehouse in search of you. You’d always been the type to be vocal when something went awry out in the field, so he silently prayed that your absence of issue meant that everything was fine and that you truly were just taking your sweet ass time to get to him.

“You’re starting to sound like Gaz with all the worrying you’re doing, Pricey,” you teased, adding on the little nickname that you knew peeved him.

“Shut it and get a damn move on.”

“Yessir.”

You started moving again just as he ordered you to do, finding some sense of motivation after hearing his gruff voice. It was the voice that had welcomed you to the 141 after Laswell had shipped you off to join the task force. The voice that had let you know that you were okay and safe when the boys had finally found you after you had been taken hostage on a mission in your earlier days. The voice that had talked you through every touch that made your body burn as he sunk his fingers into you.

It was the kind of voice that you’d betray death for.

A little while later, the safehouse finally came into view.

You glanced at your watch, checking how much time had passed.

A minute and twenty-seven seconds.

Price wasn’t going to let you hear the end of it.

You winced in pain, feeling the skin of your arm pull apart. The soldier that had cut you had grabbed the knife he used from the middle of another man’s chest and you were starting to feel queasy from the thought of your blood mixing with his. You needed to get your gash disinfected soon or you were going to have a problem. Well, technically you already had multiple problems, but you were trying to take on one issue at a time.

Alright, maybe it was about time you mentioned something to your captain.

“Hey, Cap’?” you probed as you quietly trudged toward the short porch steps of the cute little cottage. “Is this a bad time to mention that I got hit earlier?”

You failed to mention how badly you were hit.

“What the hell—what do you mean you got hit?”

You stopped a good ten feet from the steps, furrowing your brows.

There was no sign of Price having entered through the front door. The powder in front of the stairs had been untouched and there weren’t any wet footprints on the old wood of the porch. The windows were dark and nothing could be seen from the outside. The only thing that gave any sign of someone being inside was the dark smoke slowly wisping from the brick chimney peeking out of the top of the cabin.

“I mean, I got a nice little slugger in my side and some blood pouring out of me in other places,” you said, keeping your voice low and quiet. You wondered if you were in the right place. You looked down at your watch, checking your coordinates. According to the device, you were. “Are you inside?”

He ignored your question.

“Where the hell’s your kit?”

“Somewhere in the forest four klicks back.”

You looked around again, hoping to find some sign of this being the right place.

“Christ, Frost,” Price muttered. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was shaking his head at you. “How far out are you?”

“Right out front,” you answered.

You gave in.

The wood creaked under the thick soles of your boots as you trekked up the stairs. You shoved the door open, stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut as you slumped against the wall. You slowly slid down to the floor. The cold began to set into your bones as the distinctive heat from the fireplace on your left radiated around you.

Price rushed into the room.

“Well, aren’t you a right-all mess,” he said as he moved toward you.

“Shut up,” you muttered, shaking your head before tilting it back to rest against the wall. You opened your good eye as he knelt down in front of you.

“Where are you broken, love?” he asked as his eyes scanned over you, clocking every little rip and tear in your gear before you could even say anything.

He hated seeing you like this.

It had become one of the toughest parts of his job ever since Laswell had sent you his way to recruit to the taskforce. There was just something about you that made his heart ache whenever he saw you in pain in any way.

He knew that it was all a part of the job.

That there were always going to be times where he saw you like this; busted and broken.

And he always fucking hated it.

He knew he’d hate it ever since the first time he had seen you like this. It was way back when you had first joined the team. You’d only been with them for a good six months, but you had already gone on about four missions with them. It had been a busy year for the task force, but you didn’t seem to mind. If anything, you were eager to keep getting back out on the field every time you got back to base.

On their fifth mission all together, when they believed that they had the upper hand, you and Soap had been ambushed. The Scot had been knocked unconscious while you were taken captive, too many soldiers for the two of you to take out on your own without any supporting fire.

Learning that you had been taken was worrisome on its own, but Price’s heart ached when they finally found you.

He had sunken to his knees in front of you, using his knife to work away the zip ties that had you bound to an uncomfortable looking metal chair. Your face was bruised and bloody. Gashes from knife wounds worked their way down your arms and legs. Burn marks from what looked like cigarettes were ingrained into your plush skin.

You looked beyond rough.

Price had felt furious that he had let any of this happen to you, but the fury was quickly overcome with worry when you had perched your eyes open and groaned in pain. He let out a sigh of relief, finally knowing that you were, at the very least, well enough to be conscious. He had tried to soothe you as best he could and when you were finally free of your bounds, you practically fell into his embrace, your entire body slumping against his.

It was that very moment—when he wrapped his arms around you and held the entirety of you—that was when he knew that seeing you like this would always pull deadly wear on his heart. His old heart wouldn’t be able to take seeing you like this and hoped that it would be a rarity for his tiring eyes.

Much to his surprise, it had been a rare sight.

But that didn’t mean it was a non-existent sight.

“Got shot in my right side, bullet’s still somewhere in there from what I can tell. Slash on my right arm from a gross ass knife that was already stuck in someone else before it got to me. And I got hit in the head and I can’t see out of my fucking right eye because of all the goddamn blood,” you explained, lifting one of your hands to try and wipe the blood away from your eye, but to no avail, the metallic liquid kept flowing. There was no use in trying to see right now anyway.

“Let’s get you fixed up then,” he said, a sense of urgency finally filling his voice.

He had been attempting to keep his cool this entire time; to not panic so you wouldn’t panic either. But he knew that you were much too tired to even start panicking, so perhaps he was just trying to stay calm for his own sake. He found it funny that out of everyone on the task force, he had been the one to deal with more field injuries, yet here he was with his damned nerves buzzing out of his skull.

Something like this shouldn’t have worried him as much as it did.

But it was you.

He couldn’t help himself when it came to you.

Whatever was going on between the two of you had always left him in the realm of something being completely unspoken. The relationship that had sprouted was in some sort of limbo, but neither of you seemed to mind since it was easier that way.

It was easier than having to tell the boys that something was going on between you two. It was easier than telling Laswell that there may be some sort of infringement on the team—not that she’d care unless it really started to affect how the two of you went about your work lives. And it was easier than admitting to each other that there might be something more than a quick casual stress-relief fuck.

The two of you had shared too many moments together for that to be true.

There were too many night’s of your bodies being pressed together and entwined, skin to skin to keep each other warm. Too many words of comfort as you soothe the nightmares of war away, finding comfort in each other’s arms. Too many gentle kisses for it to not be real.

Your eyes were closed.

He didn’t care much for that.

“Frost,” he said, bumping your arm without a slash in it to jostle you awake. You opened your good eye and looked up at him, sending him a quick look of aggravation. It would’ve been amusing if you weren’t bleeding out before his very eyes. “Need your good eye open so I know you aren’t dying on me, sweetheart.”

You grunted in response, looking away from him but still keeping your eye open.

The feeling of disquietude was starting to set in.

It wasn’t normal for you to get hit during missions—it was actually quite rare. Soap was usually the one to take the podium for taking quite a bit of damage out in the field. Regardless of all that, you still knew what to do in such situations. You wouldn’t have been at this level of infantry if you didn’t know what to do.

The hard part was the fact that you were in the presence of your captain.

Moments ago, when you were trekking to the safehouse, you knew that you wouldn’t have to do any of this alone because your captain was waiting less than a klick away from you.

The thought alone made everything feel easier.

It was always harder doing it all alone.

You thought back to the first and only time you had applied a tourniquet on yourself. Damn near gave up and bled out from how painful it was to cinch the band as tight as you could to keep yourself from bleeding out. You had spent years in the service of infantry. Years of wear and tear on the body, but that kind of pain was something you never wanted to feel again in your lifetime or in any lifetime. So when you felt your arm begin to fall numb from the lack of blood circulating through your veins, you knew that you had to get to Price before you would be forced to deal with it on your own.

When he was around, you knew that you’d never have to face anything alone.

You had learned to find such comfort in that.

Price felt sick to his stomach as he started to get some of your heavier gear off. Your weapons were first to go, then your holsters, and then your vest. He was almost afraid to remove your thermal to see the damage the thick white jacket was hiding poorly.

He couldn’t keep his damn head straight.

Simon had griped with him about it a while back, saying that he needed to do better about keeping a clear head around you, but Price still managed to get work done on missions, so the younger man could never really get on him about it all that much. Simon didn’t know exactly what was going on between you two behind closed doors, but he had enough of an idea seeing how much Price doted on you even when you told him to fuck off and focus on something else for a while.

It was the playfulness of your jabs that usually gave it away.

That and the lingering looks you two sent each other as if you were some love sick teenagers.

Price knew that you were more than capable of handling yourself in the field, but there was always something whispering in the back of his head that had him wearing a deep sense of worry on his sleeve every time he had to send you out on a mission. He had read your file when Laswell had recruited you. You were beyond skilled in almost everything you did and you rarely ever came back to base having to see a medic, so hearing that you had actually been hit—

“I can’t feel my arm.”

“Shite,” Price cursed, snapping out of his thoughts as he snatched his medkit and opened it up to finally help you.

The cold had finally set in and all the blood that had seeped from your arm was causing your skin to turn pale. The gash on your arm was still wide open, but blood had stopped spilling from it, which meant he could disinfect it and get it closed without anything (hopefully) going wrong. Your side wasn’t doing all that bad, still bleeding, but not bad. He’d probably have to cauterize the wound just to feel like he could leave it be, but that could wait for after he got the bullet out of you.

“Arm first, then your side,” he decided, nodding his head before he turned back to his kit. He turned back with a bottle in hand and you grimaced at the sight. “Gonna have to feel more broken before you feel fixed.”

“No shit,” you muttered, eyeing the small bottle of alcohol in his hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be snappy.”

Price set the bottle down, reached for his belt, and took it off. Something deep in you fluttered, but it stopped when he presented it to your face in a folded mess.

“Bite down,” he said. You eyed him a little more, making him huff. “Bite down on it, Frost.”

You huffed back at him and bit down on the folded belt. You held it between clenched teeth, watching as he picked the bottle of alcohol back up. He sighed and nodded, almost as if he was telling himself that he was ready to do this. He tipped the bottle and poured the liquid over the wound. You squirmed and held back a writhing scream. He quickly clamped your legs between his knees, keeping you from squirming away.

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he said, trying to sooth you as he set the bottle down and wiped around the edge of the wound. He grabbed a needle and thread from his kit.

You groaned through the thickness of the belt as he stabbed the needle into your skin, creating even sutures along the wound. Your eyes closed as you tried to not focus on anything specific, but the feeling of Price keeping you in place while he dug a needle kept you from thinking of anything else.

Price hated this.

He hated every fucking part of this.

Digging a needle and thread into your arm while you bit onto a belt.

He thought back to the last time he had touched you.

It was the night before the mission that you two were currently on. Price hadn’t expected to see you until the two of you were meant to take off on the tarmac, but he found himself aimlessly wandering the halls of the barracks until he wound up at the door of your private quarters.

He almost hadn’t knocked.

It was late, you two had to be up early, and he still didn’t know where the two of you stood when it came to something like this.

He knew that there was some sort of love there, but he wasn’t too sure about the type. He knew that if he was stressed about all the ridiculous mission reports and papers he had to sign off on late into the night when he should be sleeping instead, you’d be sitting there with him to keep him company. He knew that if he mentioned that something was hurting, you’d use your nimble and calloused fingers to work away the knots and sore spots that came with all the training and missions. He knew that in a moment of weakness, he could count on you to hold the broken pieces of his soul together.

Everything in his mind told him to leave you alone and let you be for the night, but the Captain was feeling selfish and he rarely ever got to indulge in such things.

His entire life and career, he was meant to be selfless.

To put everyone else’s needs before his own.

And ultimately, he had been okay with that… until he met you.

He found himself tempted to be selfish when it came to you.

He had knocked and you had answered.

It was all he needed for the night.

Maybe for life.

“Done,” he said, tying off the last stitch and cutting the thread.

“Thank fuck,” you breathed out, letting the belt drop from your mouth.

“Still have a few more things to do,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of your side before glancing at your head. “I’m gonna have to lay you down flat to get the bullet out, alright?”

“M’kay,” you muttered, still feeling hazy. Your nerves were buzzing in all the wrong ways and you just wanted it to stop.

Price carried you over to the fireplace and laid you out on the floor next to the fire in hopes of warming you up. The flame felt nice against your freezing skin. He worked quickly to strip you of your thermal undershirt. The wound on your side looked small, but the skin around it was stained red with thick blood.

“Want the belt again?” he asked. You sighed and nodded. He grabbed his belt and folded it up again before placing it back in your mouth. Your teeth dug into the material as you anticipated whatever pain was about to come. “Ready?”

You grunted in response.

He used a set of dull tweezers to dig into your side, fishing for the little bullet deep in your flesh. You reeled in pain, damn near shooting up on your own, but Price used his free hand to push your chest back down to keep you steady.

“I know, pretty girl, I know,” he tried to soothe, continuing to search for the hunk of lead. You writhed in pain, pressing yourself against the floor as hard as you could as if that would help you escape the pain that was stabbing into it. The ends of the tweezers grazed something hard and he knew that he almost had it. “Almost got it. Almost done.”

After a few moments, he pulled the metal fragment from your body and pulled the tweezers from your aching flesh. You gasped, shaking as you laid limp. Your shoulders slumped against the wood floor as your chest heaved. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“You’re alright,” he said, squeezing your good arm as if that would make everything better. He massaged your bicep for a moment, using it as an excuse to keep his hands on you. He was also trying to calm you down a bit more before he had to move onto the actual hard part. He grimaced and glanced over to the fireplace. “Do you trust me?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, lazily nodding your head as you felt consciousness slipping through your fingers.

“I need you to close your eyes, sweetheart.”

“Mm-mm,” you said, shaking your head this time around.

“I need you to trust me on this one, Frost.”

You stared at him for a long while before finally giving in and closing your eyes. You slammed the back of your head against the wood flooring as hard as you could, wishing that the impact had knocked you out because you knew that whatever he was about to do was going to hurt like hell.

Price had always been the type to make sure that his own were safe and taken care of, but he was also the type to tell his own to buck up and take it. Whenever the boys got injured out in the field, he would always make sure that they were okay, and if they were, he’d tell the lot of them to get back to work then.

Even with you.

Every time you had been bruised and battered, if you told him that you were okay, he’d believe you and expect you to be okay and not broken.

So the fact that he was telling you to close your eyes and to trust him meant that it had to be bad and that scared you.

Price waited for a few moments, making sure that you kept your eyes closed before he proceeded with what he was about to do. He grabbed the hot poker from the fireplace, the one that he had been stoking the fire with before you had made it to the confines of the safehouse and trudged in with all of your broken parts. He took a deep breath, knowing that there was a good chance that he was going to hate this just as much as you.

“Bite down hard and keep your eyes closed, you hear?” he ordered, heaving one last warning before he pressed the burning poker to your skin.

You did exactly as he ordered even though you were itching to scream and open your eyes to see what the fuck he was doing, but the smell of your burning flesh was enough to urge you to just squeeze your eyes shut even tighter.

You were going to pass out.

Or vomit.

Or maybe scream at Price for cauterizing your wound without a proper fucking warning.

Maybe all three.

You eventually fell limp, no longer having the energy to resist the fiery pain that flooded over your skin. The only part of you that could move was your heaving chest as your lungs begged for some semblance of air.

Price pulled the poker away, tossing the burning end back into the fire.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” he said, disinfecting the area around the cauterized wound to ensure that everything was thoroughly taken care of. He placed a bandage over it and then gently grasped your shoulders, his thumb massaging circles into your skin. “Gonna get you up now, nice and easy.”

He slowly pulled you into an upright position, but you haphazardly slumped forward into his arms, forehead hitting his chest. He let your full weight fall against him. You still hadn’t said anything, nor had you opened your eyes. All you could really manage were hard, labored breaths that made your entire body quake.

His heart hurt.

Probably not as much as you were hurting, but still, it hurt.

He couldn’t stand to see you like this.

Body shaking in his arms, lungs gasping for air, kind eyes hidden behind low lids.

He wanted to take you from this world.

To take you from the world of hurt.

The world where you were constantly shot at and put at risk every time a new mission was assigned to the taskforce.

But he knew that he’d never be able to take you from this world of chaos and pain. You’d surely raise hell the day you truly had to leave the force. You had always said that you’d probably die in the military. He really prayed that you wouldn’t.

He pulled you into his lap, settling you down comfortably as he grabbed a clean wrap. He propped you up a little more so your head was resting against his shoulder, face tucked you into the crook of his neck. He wrapped your midsection, making sure to keep the bandages snug and clean.

“Almost done,” he promised in a sweet coo.

You opened your mouth, finally letting the belt drop to the floor. You hadn’t realized that it was still in your mouth.

“Fuck,” you breathed out as he tied the bandages off, running his fingers over the material to make sure it all laid flat and clean.

“Gonna lay you back down,” he said.

You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his shoulder in hopes that he’d understand that you wanted to stay like that in his arms, face tucked away so he couldn’t see you cry. You just needed a moment to collect yourself. Tears pooled in your eyes, the pain setting in even more as the adrenaline started to wear off. He placed one of his hands on your back, gently rubbing circles over your shoulder blades in an attempt to calm you down.

“I’ve got you, Frost,” he muttered, pulling you in closer. Hot tears rushed faster from your eyes, slipping down, and staining his shirt as they dropped from your face. The diluted mix of salt water and blood didn’t bother him much. “Gotta check that head of yours. Clearly you’ve got a screw loose since you thought hiding all of this from me was okay.”

“Didn’t want to bother,” you muttered hazily in broken fits.

“Helping you ain’t a bother, love,” he said, shaking his head. He slowly pulled you away from him and cupped your face in his rough hands. “How’s the head feeling?”

“Amazing. Thanks for asking,” you said, letting the weight of your head sink into the salvation of his hands. He kept you up, calloused fingers running over your cheekbones to wipe away the stray tears still slipping from your eyes. The salty water had started to clear the blood from one of your eyes, but it wasn’t enough to fully see. You squeezed your eyes shut even more, leaning into him, and slumping in his hold.

“Need you awake, soldier,” he said, jostling you around a bit. You opened your good eye, staring into his focused ones.

There was so much comfort in his gaze.

Solace.

Made you feel warm.

Too warm.

Your eyes closed as you fell fully limp in his embrace.

He scrambled to keep you in an upright position.

“None of that now. Come on, Frost—”

God, you could die listening to that voice.

You woke with the scent of musk and cigar smoke lingering around you.

It was a scent that you had grown accustomed to waking up to.

There was a sense of easement that fell over you whenever the scent lingered on your sheets whenever he found an excuse to stay the night in your private quarters back in the barracks. A scent that you found comfort in whenever you woke from a long flight after a rough mission. And a scent you had learned to completely love when you invited him to stay with you for Christmas when the entire task force inevitably left for their week long holiday leave.

You attempted to take a deep breath to take the comforting scent in, but it was cut short when you felt your skin pull against the stitches in your side.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

You jolted from the sudden presence of the familiar gruff voice, but Price’s arms cinched around you tighter to keep you from falling from his lap and onto the floor. You were comfortably curled up in his lap, his arms around your body. His brows were furrowed, eyes riddled with stress and worry as he stared at you.

It was the same look that he always gave when he felt like he failed someone.

Disappointed them.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

He stared at you for a little longer before pulling you in to hug you tight. You winced slightly, but were happy nonetheless to be close to the worried captain. You sighed and closed your eyes, letting your face rest in the nape of his neck. The smell of musk and thick cigars filled your system again.

“You can’t scare me like that again, Frost. I don’t think my old heart could take another fright like that,” he said, shaking his head to nuzzle his face into yours. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of your hair. Even with everything you’d been through, the light scent of your usual shampoo still lingered. “Plus the boys would kill me if I ever came back with you in pieces.”

“They’d live,” you muttered, even though you knew he was right.

The boys of the 141 would probably wreak havoc if you ever came back from a mission on the brink of death. Though, they’d never blame Price. You knew that much for sure. They’d know that your captain would do anything and everything in his power to get you back in the best shape he could manage.

You slowly pulled away from him, staying in his lap as you tried to reorientate yourself. You had been stripped down to your base layers, your other gear laid out near the fire to dry the blood and snow that had soaked into the material. He was also down to his base layers, his gear and his silly little hat in a pile on the other side of the room.

The two of you were comfortably resting on the rundown couch closest to the fireplace, but the sight of the fire brought a memory back to you.

“I can’t believe you fucking cauterized my wound you bastard—”

“Had to get it shut, sweetheart—”

“And a fire poker was your first and only thought?”

He grimaced and sat back so he was pressed against the couch cushion. His hands stayed on you, one on your hip and the other on your thigh, fingers tracing gentle circles into your skin.

“Stitches weren’t gonna cut it,” he said, shaking his head.

You sighed, knowing he was right.

“I want a cigarette,” you said, going to slide off his lap in hopes of finding a pack stashed somewhere in the pockets of your gear. He tightened his grip on you, pulling you back into him.

“Wouldn’t do you any good to have one right now,” he said.

“I want one anyway.”

He sighed and shook his head before grabbing a cigar from the ashtray on the coffee table beside the couch. It wasn’t a cigarette, but it would do. You found it humorous that a safehouse had an ashtray, but knowing the people you worked with, it almost made sense.

The end of the cigar was already burnt, meaning he had been smoking while you were out in his arms. He placed it in his mouth and grabbed the lighter, burning the end until he was able to take a decent drag. The breath of smoke was held deep in his chest before he slowly blew it out. He made sure to blow the smoke away from your face before holding the cigar out to you. You went to grab it, but he moved his hand just out of your reach. Furrowing your brows, your eyes flicked between him and the cigar. He slowly brought it back to you, but held it right up to your lips. It wasn’t until you wrapped your lips around it did he let it go and the weight of the cigar rested against your lip.

You took a deep drag, holding it until you felt light headed. You leaned back, only stopping when his hand braced against your lower back to keep you from tipping over. You slowly blew out, letting the smoke wisp above your head. You passed the cigar back to him and he placed it back in his mouth, the tips of his teeth chewing the end a bit.

It was a nervous habit of his.

Typically had to swat his thigh to get him to quit.

He took another drag.

He tilted his head to the side to blow the smoke away from your face, but before he could, you gently grabbed his face and turned it back to face you. He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, but you slowly leaned forward and he got the idea.

God.

He could die like this.

You sitting in his lap, a cigar in hand, and you begging for something that he could only think to do with someone he loved.

All he was missing was a glass of whiskey to top it all off.

He cupped your face and urged you closer, but stopped before your lips could touch. You were tempted to lean forward and close the distance, but you stopped yourself. Your mouth was slightly ajar, wondering if he’d actually go through with it.

He did.

He kissed you hard and blew the smoke right into your mouth. Heat filled your system as you slowly leaned back and exhaled, letting smoke wisp away between the two of you.

“Fuckin’ minx,” he muttered before taking another drag with a smirk on his face. “Even on the brink of fucking death.”

“You love it,” you teased. He huffed out a gruff laugh. “I’m sorry for almost dying.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said. “Boys would kill me in a jealous rage if they found out you died in my lap like this.”

“As if,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“You don’t see the way those boys look at you, love,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yeah? And how about the way you look at me?” you wondered.

His gaze met yours and you didn’t dare pull away.

“Just like this,” he said, his lids low as his eyes flicked down to your lips and then back to your eyes.

The fingers that had once been drawing circles into your skin had stopped, the pads of them pressing into your plush thighs instead. He had a good grip on you. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to go anywhere.

You could stay like this forever.

“You gonna keep looking at me like that or are you gonna do something about it?” you asked, wondering how far he’d actually go while the two of you were on a mission.

Then again, you two were technically done with the mission and you were just waiting for evac so… no harm, no foul.

He let out a light laugh before bringing a hand up to your face and pulling you in until his lips pressed against yours. You leaned into him, your front pressed against his own. You moved your legs until you straddled him, wincing once from the pain in your side. He pulled back, pressing a hand down to where your wound was, looking over the bandaged area.

“I’m alright,” you assured him. You cupped his face in your hands and slowly tilted it back up until he was looking at you again. “I’m alright, John.”

He kissed you again, resting his hands on your hips with a light squeeze.

“Evac won’t be here for another six hours,” you said, having caught a glance at the watch on his wrist. “Care to kill some time?”

“Oh, I’d love to.”

#john price x reader #cod x reader #h/c #chili library <3

just-some-user-hunny

Nikto is chopping wood when it hits you. You're watching from your back porch door, a porcelain mug of hot chocolate cradled in your warm palms.

It's cold- far too cold for Nikto to be chopping wood in your garden right now. A thick layer of frost blanketing everything in sight- in which he had scraped your car for you earlier this morning whilst you were still in bed. He's still in his sleeping clothes; his thin black shirt that stuck to his body in a thick sleeve or fabric, and those baggy grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He's still refused to let you stitch the hemming- which is frayed and worn. Insisting that it is no use fixing it. There's no fixing it, llubov. I'll let it fray and throw it later. No use.

It was certainly a sight. He had drunk his tea down quickly once he noticed your shivering shoulders. Wrapped you up in that fluffy cream nightgown of yours, and set out to fill the fireplace. A silent promise to keep you warm. To provide. He had shot you a stern look at the sight of you lingering in the doorway- your pyjamas shorts and lack of slippers irking him. You wanted to roll your eyes at him. Used to his picking. You are a little warm soft thing. You need to stay warm.

"you're acting like a husband". You quip softly. Playfully, that smile that could warm butter on your pretty lips. "Do you want to be my husband, Andre?".

"yes".

Nikto's sincere raspy voice is sincere as he answers immediately- stunning you into silence. Glancing up at you to fix you an intense stare as he split the log with his hands. Something soft and eager in his eyes. Apprehensive on his own behalf, but filled with longing.

"you'll always be warm". He vows. Eyes filled with something- devotion. So tremendous, that it rattles you to the bone. His eyes meet yours, and you're not sure you can look away. Can't find your hands to sever the line. Pinning you down. He makes the first move- leaving the axe by the tree stump, shoes crunching in the glittering frosted grass. Approaching you like a weary hound.

"then in that case, may I mend these then?". You mumble. Now shy, your heart quivering at the intensity in his face. His hand meets yours as it brushes over the frayed hem of his sweatpants- a warm, halting hold. An unsure pause, you think... Before his shoulders relax a little, and his fingers wiggle softly between yours to melt into an embrace of hands. A gesture so sweet, so unsure and new to him, it was his turn to fluster. Feline eyes wandering from your eyes to your fingers clasped with his.

"yes. I... Let's try".

#nikto x reader #cod x reader #fluff #chili library <3

suku-enthusiasts

chapter fifteen || Saturday Light - R. Sukuna

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

❝You grew up behind locked doors—kept “safe” until safety started to look like a cage. One night, something inside you snapped, and the world answered with sirens, courtrooms, and an iron-lit ward that promised treatment but fed on fear. That’s where you met him. Sukuna—another monster on paper, another lifer with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He watched you like he recognized the shape of your loneliness. Like he’d been waiting. And when the ward turned bloody, when the gates cracked open for a moment too long, he took your hand and didn’t let go. Now living in the aftermath—moving country to country, carrying secrets like loaded guns. Because what escaped with them wasn’t just love. It was something darker.❞

cw; non-con. smut. abuse. manipulation. mental health. trigger warning. MDI. 18+.

word counter; 11.1k

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Saturday arrived soft, like the world had been holding its breath for you.

Yuuji was officially two weeks old—two weeks of tiny sighs and milk-warm hiccups, two weeks of learning the shape of his cries, two weeks of Sukuna hovering like a shadow that finally understood how to be gentle. The house carried that newborn hush—laundry that never ended, bottles lined like soldiers, a blanket draped over the rocking chair like it belonged there forever.

Sukuna stood at the foot of the bed while you fixed him up like a ritual.

Jeans first—dark, clean, not faded, the kind that didn’t look like he’d fought the whole world in them.

Then the black knitted sweater you’d picked out, soft and simple in a way that made him look… almost normal.

Almost.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #chili library <3 #series

kenpisces

⤷ ゛policeman!nanami finding you crying on the sidewalk and comforting you. ˎˊ˗

the precinct’s fluorescent hum had long since faded into the city’s evening static, replaced by the softer glow of streetlamps and the distant thrum of weekend traffic.

nanami saw you from half a block away.

a splash of color against the grey concrete, seated on the edge of the sidewalk like a garden flower that had somehow taken root in a crack. and you were crying, just quiet sniffling reaching his ears, your shoulders curved inward, a crumpled tissue pressed to your nose.

nanami slowed his pace. he didn’t sigh, he did, however, briefly close his eyes as if asking the universe why it had to be him when all he wanted was to go home and read the newspaper. but the universe was predictably silent, so he approached. it was his duty after all.

“miss.”

you looked up.

your eyes were wet and a little glassy, framed by lashes that clumped together in tiny, tragic triangles, your bottom lip was still trembling a bit and despite it all— or maybe because of it— nanami found himself thinking you looked rather lovely, as if you were a watercolor painting left out in the rain.

“are you all right?” he asked, voice even. “do you need assistance?”

you blinked at him, then sniffled. “you’re… really tall.”

“yes,” he agreed, because, well, it was true. he pursed his lips, head tilting forward as he patiently awaited for any kind of continuation from you.

“and you have a…” you gestured vaguely at your own face, “...thing. on your face.”

“glasses.”

“glasses,” you repeated, nodding sagely as if he’d just shared profound wisdom. “i like them.”

“what’s your name, miss?”

your brows furrowed as you tried your best to give him the right answer before you muttered it out. he made a note to remember it.

you were clearly drunk; definitely drifting somewhere warm and hazy beyond sobriety. nanami assessed this in about two seconds. he also assessed that you were alone, it was getting late, and that sitting on a sidewalk in that dress was an invitation to every piece of gum and city grime within a three-foot radius.

“can you tell me why you’re crying?” he asked, because protocol dictated he should establish whether a crime had occurred before he started making assumptions. but his voice had softened at the edges without his permission.

your face crumpled a little, enough to make something in his chest tighten. what a sad little creature you were.

“he said—” you started, then stopped, dabbing at your nose with the tissue. “he said i was trying too hard. that i looked…” you gestured down at yourself, at the shimmer of your dress, “...like o was desperate.”

nanami’s expression didn’t change as he intently listened to your words.

“and i just thought…” you continued, voice wobbling dangerously, “i thought i looked pretty. i felt pretty. i did my nails and everything, sir, see?”

you held out your hands. your nails were meticulously shaped, painted a delicate, pearlescent pink that caught the streetlamp light. your fingers trembled slightly.

nanami looked at your nails, his own hand darting forward to catch one of your fingers between his and rub on the surface. he looked at your dress, he looked at your face, all hopeful and devastated and endearingly tipsy, seeking validation from a complete stranger in a police uniform.

“they’re very nice nails,” he said.

you perked up, tear-tracks glistening. “really?”

“really.” He paused. “the color suits you.”

it was the truth. he’d never been good at saying things he didn’t mean, which was probably why he was still a beat cop instead of moving up the ladder. he saw you smile for the first time: a small, wobbly, watery curl of your glossy lips, and felt something quietly dangerous settle behind his ribs.

“thank you,” you whispered. then you deflated, as if remembering your grief all over again, “he didn’t even show up. i waited for an hour. an hour. and when i texted him, he said…” you trailed off, fresh tears spilling over.

nanami didn’t need to hear the rest. he’d been a policeman long enough to piece together the shape of it. someone had let you down and had made you feel small for daring to care. it was, in his opinion, unforgivable. you were adorable.

“may I?” he asked, gesturing to the spot on the curb beside you.

you nodded, sniffling, and he lowered himself down. his long legs stretched out in front of him, polished shoes planted on the asphalt. up close, he could smell your perfume—something floral and soft—and the faint lingering scent of whatever you’d been drinking earlier. wine, probably. something sweet.

you leaned toward him instinctively, a little magnet seeking north. “you’re sitting on the sidewalk,” you observed. “isn’t that against the rules?”

“i’m off-duty in twenty-three minutes,” he said. it was close enough to true. “i’ll let myself off with a warning.”

that earned him a giggle, hiccupy and surprised, and you clapped a hand over your mouth like you’d forgotten you were capable of making that sound. nanami felt the corner of his own mouth twitch.

“you’re very nice,” you said. “pretty policeman with the glasses. sitting on the dirty ground. for me.”

“the ground isn’t that dirty,” he replied, “and you looked like you needed someone to sit with you.”

your face crumpled, then smoothed, then crumpled again. you pressed your lips together hard. “that’s… that’s a really kind thing to say.”

he didn’t answer, he wasn’t even sure he could. instead, he just stayed there, solid and warm beside you, while the city hummed around you both and you slowly, gradually, stopped trembling. after a while, your head drifted sideways and landed on his shoulder. he let it.

“he doesn’t deserve your nails,” Nanami said eventually, into the quiet.

you let out a surprised laugh. “my nails?”

“or your dress,” he added. “or the hour you waited. none of it.”

you were quiet for a moment, before muttering very softly, “you don’t even know me.”

“i know enough.” he turned his head slightly, looking down at the top of yours. “someone who puts in that much effort deserves someone who shows up.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes red-rimmed but clearer now. “is that, like, a police thing? you have to say nice things to crying girls on sidewalks?”

“it’s not in the manual,” he said. and because you were looking at him like he’d hung the moon, and because he was very tired and his filter had apparently clocked out early, he added, “but I mean it, sweetheart.”

you stared at him. he stared back.

“okay,” you whispered. “okay.”

he helped you up when your ride arrived— a friend you’d called, voice still thick but steadier now. before you climbed into the car, you turned back to him.

“wait,” you said, fumbling with your phone. “what’s your number? so i can, um. thank you properly. when I’m not…” you waved a hand at your own face. “this.”

nanami hesitated. it wasn’t very professional of him, yet he gave it to you anyway.

“text me when you’re home,” he said, sliding the phone back into your waiting hand. “so I know you made it safely.”

you nodded, clutching the phone to your chest like something precious. “i will. i promise.”

he watched the taillights disappear around the corner and stood there for a long moment, hands in his pockets, the ghost of your perfume still lingering on his uniform. he had twenty-three minutes left on his shift—well, less now—and a strange, unfamiliar lightness in his chest.

the next morning, he woke up to a text from an unknown number. It was a photo of your nails, catching the morning light, with a message underneath:

see? still pretty. thanks to you. - the sidewalk girl

nanami stared at his phone for a long time. then, very carefully, he saved your number and typed out a reply.

i’m glad. coffee sometime?

he hit send before he could overthink it, and for once in his life, was glad he did.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #fluff #chili library <3

fushihearts

⊹ ˖ Ი𐑼 naming your pet bunny after your mean husband, ryomen sukuna! — ✦⋆🐇.˚

content: modern day sukuna, fluff, he’s a grump (but what’s new) w/c: 800 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

“…what is that?”

you look up to see your husband stood in the bedroom doorway, a displeased look on his face and his harsh eyes narrowed on you — or rather, on the animal in your lap.

“oh! ryo, you’re back already!” you smile, perking up a little from where you’re sat on the edge of the bed. “just in time, too, i wanted to get you both acquainted!”

you nod your head towards the chubby white bunny sat on your lap and watch as it sniffs and paws at your legs lazily, its tail twitching with each movement. gently, you put your hands under its soft belly and lift it so that you can properly show your husband.

“ryo, meet ryomen. and ryomen, meet my husband!"

you hear a humorless scoff as sukuna inspects the bunny from where he’s stood, distaste written all over his harsh features.

“you bought a rabbit." he deadpans, evidently unimpressed based on his cold tone. "and you named it...after me?"

“well yeah! it was between that or killer-bunny!” you explain cheerfully.

“…why would it be between that and killer-bunny?”

“because he has red eyes, silly — see? just like the one in minecraft!” you hold ryomen-bunny up higher so that his fuzzy face is now pressed against your cheek as you stare determinedly at your husband. you can feel his whiskers skim across your cheek every time he turns his head, and his soft ears are still perked up slightly at the new surroundings. sukuna sighs, his own deep red eyes resting upon the chunky creature in your hands.

“i’d much rather it be called killer bunny than be named after me.” he retorts.

“oh, don’t worry!” you pull bunnykuna back against your chest, stroking the space in between his ears fondly before continuing brightly. “i liked that option too, so i made it his middle name! his full name is ryomen killer-bunny sukuna!"

sukuna's jaw clenches slightly. “you can’t be serious— what kind of a name is that for a rabbit? there’s nothing even remotely threatening about it.”

“you can’t keep calling our new family member an ‘it’, ryo!” you scold, causing your husband to raise a brow at the defensiveness in your voice. upon staring at you for a few seconds and realizing that you're unfortunately serious about the matter, he exhales frustratedly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“we’re not keeping it.”

“what?” you gasp, scandalized. “ryo, don’t be like that! little ryomen-bunny wouldn’t hurt a fly!” you frown at your husand's decisive tone, studying his displeased expression as he meets your gaze once more.

“that’s the problem.” he mutters. “the thing’s weak, so i see no reason for you to have named it after me. i’m nothing like it."

you glance at the chubby ball of fur in your arms, and then at your husband with his displeased expression, his cynical gaze fixed upon you.

“..i don’t see what you’re talking about, ryo. he’s like a mini copy of you.” you reply solemnly, to which he groans.

lowering your gaze back to your lap, you pet little ryomen with fondness, your hand skimming over the fluff of his snowy-white fur.

“..please can we keep him?” you plead, glancing back up at sukuna and batting your eyelashes exaggeratedly. and unfortunately for sukuna, he must be absolutely whipped past the point of common sense, because he begrudgingly finds himself giving in.

“…fine.”

you cheer, jumping off of the bed with ryomen-bunny cradled in your left arm, your right one extended to hug your husband excitedly. sighing, he returns the hug with a reluctant look on his face, experimentally offering a half-hearted stroke to mini-ryomen’s head. sukuna's eyes drop to rest on the creature's wide red eyes, a single brow raised and his mouth parted slightly like he’s debating something. much to his own regret, he begrudgingly finds himself musing that its eyes indeed do look similar in color to his own — though he refuses to admit that to you, of course.

you lean further into sukuna’s embrace, voice soft as you speak into his shoulder.

“…this is nice. i love you, ryomen.”

your husband’s free hand strokes the back of your hair absentmindedly as he watches the bunny prop its front paws up against your shoulder.

“yeah, yeah. love you too, brat.” he mutters the name under his breath, though there’s no real malice in his voice. you pause and glance up at him.

“oh, i actually meant ryomen killer-bunny…but yeah, i love you as well, ryo!”

the rabbit may have to leave the house much sooner than expected, sukuna thinks to himself.

a/n: kind of a filler post !! ryo vs ryomen who do we think is winning (jk the answer is obvious because bunnykuna is actually john rabbit in disguise)

masterlist ❤︎‬ taglist

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #chili library <3

6x-x9

.˚𓈒✦ ݁･˖ 𝓡.𝑺𝑼𝑲𝑼𝑵𝑨 ݁･✧𓈒˚. and his small!chested wife 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒰ 𝒇. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ⋮⋮ breast worship ⋮⋮ kissing ⋮⋮ 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 f. rec ⋮⋮ fingering ꒱

You woke up to the heavy press of Sukuna on top of you. His body pinning you down in the best way. Warm and solid. Unmoving except for the way his mouth laves against your neck.

He pressed heavy kisses there while you slept. Deep and possessively, like he couldn't get enough even in the quiet hours before dawn broke fully. Your shirt had already bunched up and over your breasts, his large hands had wandered in the night. Of course they had. Finding purchase on your body, caressing and touching you all over.

His right hand cupped your small soft tit. Fingers gentle but sure. The other spread wide through your hair. His thumb stroking along the curve of your neck, right over the faint pulse point. Steadily feeling every flutter.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #smut #chili library <3

velvetures

Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #h/c #chili library <3

inkmonster21

I'm Just Next Door

Captain John Price x WifeReader

Series Masterlist

When the world brands John a wanted murderer on live television, the public scandal shatters your family.

84. Breaking News

The television was on because you could not stand the silence anymore.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #series #chili library <3

crrtite

cw: boyfriend price, independent and a tad bit stubborn reader, this man loves you, mentions of marriage

Thinking about your boyfriend John who just wants to make your life easier even though you insist you can do things yourself. Very much has the “I know you’ve got it, but let me take care of you” mindset.

A real man.

Insists on changing your oil for you, filling up your washer fluid, checking your tires. He wants his baby safe, after all. Takes your car every Sunday and fills up your gas, getting teasingly annoyed with you when he sees it close to full, knowing you went and got it on your own.

Sends you money for groceries, nails, hair, little trinkets and hobbies that you have. He rolls his eyes when you send it back, claiming “I can pay for my maintenance myself, John. Save your money.”

He decides that he has to be a little… stern with you. He loves that you’re independent, but he’s your man, and he wants to provide for you even a little bit. He’s gonna put his foot down, coerce you to relax and let him take the reins a bit.

Starts to gently shove you out of the way when you’re out shopping, giving you that smile that softens you up even when you’re mad at him. Starts keeping track of your groceries and stocking them up, so you have no choice but to use what he bought.

Pays for your appointments in advance, contacting the people you get your services from and putting his card on file. You can’t pay if he beats you to it.

Breaks you down until you finally accept his spoiling willingly, assuring you he wants to spend his money on you and keep you well cared for.

Eventually starts to hint that when he puts a rock on your finger, working is optional for you. He’s willing to hand over his cards and put your name on his account, what’s his is yours and what’s yours is yours, of course.

Type of man to chuckle and warmly thank you when you buy him a little sweet treat after he’s pulled out his bank card to take you on a little shopping trip, insisting you split it.

He wants you comfortable and taken care of, so just let him, ‘cause that’s what he’s there for.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #fluff #chili library <3

gojoux

『 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑 』

· Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

· Summary: In the middle of your mission, he makes a move on you, until you realize that's not the case.

· CW: 3.8k // Sensitive content (SA). Hurt/comfort. Act of deception.

Please do not proceed if it could trigger you.

“Why are you with me again?” You look at him who is walking casually by your side with his hands in his pockets.

“Why not? I have nothing better to do right now.” Gojo shrugs. “And besides, a second pair of eyes can always come in handy.” He looks at you. “Plus, I can keep an eye on you and keep you safe.” He grins.

“Aww, are you trying to play the prince or something?” You grin back at him, nudging his side with your elbow.

He smirks at your answer. “If the shoe fits.” The sunlight shimmers off of his white hair. A few strands fall into his eyes, making it seem like he’s trying to peek at you.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #h/c #chili library <3

alaskasmonsters

Hi! I just saw your 1k event post. Can I request "You could have died!" For Gojo Satoru?

𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖉! (gojo satoru)

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader

contents: slight angst, mentions of injuries, mentions of near death, reader almost died (they’re fine though!! <3), gojo being (over)protective, guilt, they're just in love honestly, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort

a/n: it’s gojo day :)))))) hehehe <3 hope you enjoy this oneshot anon!! it turned out longer than it should have :)) 1k words yaaay. have fun reading <3

☁️1k follower event

“Stop worrying so much about me,” you complained, slowly getting tired of Gojo’s pampering.

You were fine! Have been fine. It’s been almost a month since you’ve gotten injured – an unfortunate casualty during a collision with a Special Grade – and it didn’t take longer than a few days before you were released from bed rest.

Shoko had said you’d be up and moving in no time and you had been. Your bruises and cuts had healed within the first two weeks and your head injury hadn’t stuck around longer than a few days. And sure, you were still wearing that pesky brace around your left wrist, but bones were a bitch to heal. Nothing to do about that.

You were fine! You really were. But Gojo just wouldn’t leave you alone.

It had been endearing at first. The way he’d shown up in your hospital room every day, urging you to make space on the tiny bed so he could get under the covers with you as you watched your favourite movies or ate candy – something Shoko had not been amused by.

It had been so nice of him when he’d picked you up to drive you back home and carried your bag inside, keeping his hand on your back the entire walk up the stairs, almost protectively. You had kept quiet, the reminder that you had injured your arm and not your legs, and you could walk fine by yourself seeming unnecessary.

#Gojo x reader #jjk x reader #h/c #chili library <3

yenayaps

sukuna tries to throw away the pot you beat him with <3

[ cw: crazy!reader, the title is self explanatory, not proofread, another love letter to @indiewritesxoxo if u guys like torturing sukuna pls check out her drabble series 😋 ]

he hates that god damn thing.

and despite the fact that it’s been an entire year since you’ve hit him over the head with it, leaving a giant dent the shape of his skull, you still haven’t thrown that fucking pot away.

you use it for everything—tea, coffee, ramen, scrambled eggs, his fucking birthday dinner—never failing to remind him of the day he ACCIDENTALLY called you a bitch.

he’s apologized for it, he’s changed, and is now an entirely different man than he was a year ago. why the hell do you still have it?

well, he’s getting rid of it tonight, so there’s really no use in asking any further questions. it took him an entire week to come up with a plan, which was more than fair given your unhealthy attachment to the item.

so far, everything’s worked beautifully in his favor. he came home with take-out from your favorite restaurant, along with a bottle of your favorite wine. he got you tipsy, then later on made you cum so hard you literally passed out.

there was no way you were waking up after that, not for another eight hours at least. and if you were, you weren’t getting up. you’d be too sore, too physically exhausted.

it was perfect.

after staying back for a few minutes, holding you and making sure you were dead asleep, he snuck out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to grab the literal bane of his existence. no noise was made while doing so, you hung the thing up like it was some medal you won at a competition.

the side door gently creaks as he opens it, then makes his way down the wooden steps. the trash cans are only a few feet away, and the excitement builds the closer he gets to them.

but just as he lifts the lid open, the giddiness he feels gets ripped away by something that made him startle.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #chili library <3

nightshiftnotes

❥ comfortable

♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.

♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff

♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡

banner by @pixopix

The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #fluff #smut #chili library <3

pricesprincess

₊˚⊹♡ The Husband Series: John Price x fem reader

tags: angst

All you wanted was to see your husband and fall in his arms and sob. Today was a rough day, between so many people being extremely mean and finding out your friends blocked you it was enough to make it a day from hell.

Your keys jingled in the door that creaked when you opened it, the hallway light flooded the small entryway where you and John kept your shoes and coat for the winter months.

"John?"

Your voice echoed through the empty hallway that you walked down after checking the living room and kitchen, but the light on in the bathroom was turned on. "Baby?" You called.

Steam billowed, wrapping it's white claws around the door that you pushed open. John stood in the shower washing off grime and dirt from his long day at work. "Hey, I'm so glad to see you, today was shit. I missed you so much and all I wanted to do was come home to you."

For a moment silence—minus the steady flow of water from the shower head—greeted you. Then the water shut off and John stepped out.

His face was pinched in annoyance as he wrapped a towel around his thick waist. "You always have shit days, not everythin' is about you." John muttered and turned away to look in the mirror that he tried to wipe clean.

You blinked, hurt rapidly clogged your throat sending hot tears to your eyes that burned. John has never been so cruel and it stung like a wasp had buried it's stinger deep in your heart, the pain physically manifested first.

A soft throb settled inside you like an open wound.

It felt like a hot wire had been ripped through your stomach. "I–I'm..." you broke off and burst into body racking sobs then hurried into the bedroom where you sank on the mattress.

Were you a burden to him?

So many questions stormed your already fried brain making you spiral. You sniffled in between sobs trying to gather yourself enough to change and just go to bed.

Several minutes later John stepped inside the bedroom looking like a guilty dog who got in the trash. "I'm an arse. I'm sorry, love. You didn’t deserve that." He murmured and tried to come closer but you stood up and jerked away.

You didn't say a word as you changed into a nightgown and crawled under the covers keeping your back towards John who laid in his spot on the bed. "I didn't mean to snap, it was a long day too and I was wrong, love."

Another sob racked your shoulders making the bed shake, but still you pushed John away when he touched your shoulder. You didn't trust yourself to speak, so you laid there.

"Love?"

John tried his hardest to get you to talk to him, he felt like utter shit for snapping on the one person who loved him more than anything. "I'm tired, John. Goodnight."

It was a spoken rule between you both.

Never go to bed mad.

"Talk to me, please." He pleaded, rough voice breaking into something softer and mournful, John moved to spoon you from behind to just feel you pressed against him.

His strong arms held you against his chest. "It was a long day, nothing important. I'm tired, goodnight." You replied and bristled until he finally let go, but he never moved far away.

"It is important, I should've hugged you and listened instead of being a dick."

You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut. "We'll talk tomorrow, get some rest."

John knew he would do whatever he needed to make up for tonight.

#john price x reader #cod x reader #h/c #chili library <3

suku-enthusiasts

chapter thirteen || Any Day Now - R. Sukuna

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

cw; non-con. smut. abuse. manipulation. mental health. trigger warning. MDI. 18+.

word counter; 8.1k

masterlist | series masterlist | next

The waiting room smelled like clean paper and lemon wipes—bright, sterile, almost too cheerful—like even the air had learned how to behave.

You sat with your hands folded over the round swell of your belly, thumbs tracing slow circles as if you could soothe the world from the outside in. Sukuna sat beside you, knee bouncing once, then stilled when you glanced at him—his palm settling over your thigh like an anchor.

When the nurse called your name, Sukuna stood first.

Of course he did.

As if the baby might try to arrive in the hallway and he needed to intercept him.

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #series #chili library <3

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