Andromeda

gifted to: @dragonnarrative-writes

COMPLETED — call of duty | kyle garrick x reader (x simon riley) | 5.7k words | ao3

finding relief from the hot summer day at the motel pool, where you meet a handsome stranger

tags: non-white reader, cis female reader, unspecified time period au, explicit sexual content, no call of duty knowledge required, one-night stand, threesome in spirit check ao3 for complete list.

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

Meeting price and feeling so confused when he doesn't so much as reach for your collar beyond giving it a raised brow. It feels odd not having his dominance reasserted, and it leaves you feeling off-kilter. Sure, you know implicitly that price is in charge, but you also feel like an outsider without him claiming ownership.

Then you meet soap and ghost, and truly feel as though you've fallen into some twisted reality. Both of them are undoubtedly shifters by the smell alone, but they greet you in human form. Not only that, they greet you like shifters while in human form, reaching out their wrists for you to scent them.

And god, don't they realize that price is right there? your nerves raise as he watches passively. Is this a test? Surely, it's a test. So you gently pull away, subtly turn your head in a rejection that has soap's lips curling. Still, when you hold out a hand for a human greeting, they accept.

But it doesn't stop there. Every interaction for the weeks following just feels...wrong. Like everyone was in one some ruleset that you were left to figure out. Ghost spent a lot of his time shifted, but you hardly ever saw Soap shift? And even in their dog forms, Gaz and Price talked to them like humans?

Eating is horrible, because they all seem to agree on team meals. Eating at a table always made you nervous, especially when everyone was familiar. The few times you joined your peers in the mess back with the shadows, people were constantly stealing food off each other's plates and laughing around. Except you weren't allowed to take food back because that's rude and it leaves your gums aching whenever a hand strays too close to your plate even if they never grab.

The worst part has to be sleeping, though. You're used to a crate, or maybe a small space under another shadow's bed, but now you have a whole room? And it feels so empty. It makes your skin crawl and leaves you pacing anxious circles into the floor. The space is so big, and your bed is too low to the ground to fit under it, but you don't want to move anything in case Price gets mad and– you end up not really sleeping at all.

Every single day, while you run laps in the morning before breakfast, the guys gather around and worry. Worry about you, about what they're doing wrong. How the hell they can even begin to help you when you reject them at every turn.

If I ever catch one of yall doing this to another author and I know youre a follower of my work I will block you personally on every platform

None of yall are the fic police. I DESPISE genai. I think its an insult to art, humanity, and the planet itself. But aint not a single fucking person here qualified to pick apart a strangers fic looking for a gotcha moment to make yourselves feel superior. If you think something is ai you can ask the author (most are proud of the ai use and will just tell you straight up) if they say yes you have your answer and can warn people. If they say no and you dont believe them you block and quietly keep it between you and maybe a close group of friends. Spreading misinformation is DANGEROUS. And NONE of you doing this shit are anywhere near qualified to do it.

You dont get to witch hunt and scour peoples work just frothing at the mouth hoping someone messes up so you can publicly humiliate and gang up on them. Fuck genai and every single poser and lover that uses it but if you are not 1000000000% certain that something is made with it you shut. the. fuck. up.

"hurr durr these very common writing practices are SUPER OBVIOUS AI TELLS!!!!!!!!!! obviously this is an AI invention and not the result of AI being trained on THOUSANDS OF REAL FUCKING STORIES!!!!!!! we're all very intelligent!!!!!!!"

I hate yall. I hate yall for fucking ruining fanfic with your goddamn motherfucking AI obsession. "ooh there's em dashes!" YEAH REAL WRITERS USE THOSE. "there's long paragraphs!" YEAH BECAUSE THATS HOW PEOPLE WRITE STORIES.

we're not "writing like AI" - AI is writing like us, because it fucking stole from us in the first fucking place.

I've never used AI in my work, not ever, but guess what, my fics are ALL written like that. long paragraphs, long sentences, em dashes and hyphens and other grammatical tools, because I fucking know HOW TO WRITE.

Re: your recent post about noncon/underage content in fandom spaces, specifically in CoD:MW.

It's not an individual's place to police what Fanfiction or Fanart people create. The characters are fictional. The death, torture, and destruction in CoD fics are also fictional. In no country is murder "okay" either, but people die in Fiction all the time. There's a specific tag on Ao3 that authors can and should put on their works if the work features Under-Age or noncon content. You can filter out that tag and not read it.

I don't read them, certainly, bc that's not the kind of story I'm interested in reading, but it doesn't mean it's my right to tell authors to stop writing it. I don't read fics involving daddy kink bc it squicks me out like hell, but it is not my place to tell authors to stop writing fics with it. Fictional characters can't break irl laws, even in "reader insert" fanfictions. Authors are not and cannot be held accountable for the things they write, because they write fictional stories.

I recommend you block the users and tags you don't want to see, and you help encourage the creators you do want to see without insulting others. Your experience will improve. I want it to improve. I don't want you to be unhappy with your experience in any fandom. Fandom spaces are places to find your people, find your little joys, and to coexist peaceably, and it's wonderful when it all works.

With all due respect, you're well spoken, but that's where my respect ends

Let's do this in points

I am not policing what people write. I simply stated how i feel about certain content on the internet.

If you think writing character death or death in general is the same or equal to writing pornographic content about children, you're too far gone.

Once again, you try to dumb down pedophilia into something less than what it is. The things about daddy kinks are two consenting adults who are not getting off on the manipulation and r*pe of children.

Like I said in my previous post, I don't care about your laws or that 'fictional characters' can't break them. I believe that pedophiles are the absolute scum of the earth, and I have no positive feeling when I think of those horrid and disgusting people.

Also, I want to make this very clear. I don't care if you write weird, illegal things like vore or kidnapping on the internet, I only care about the children, and I wish nothing but the worst on anyone who wishes harm on them mentally, physically, and sexually.

I know it may seem hypocritical for me to be okay with certain things on the internet and not okay with other things but I am my own person and I'm allowed to have my own moral compass. And I find no reason why anyone should be okay with this type of content being allowed on the internet.

I know that blocking them and moving on about my day would be the socially acceptable thing to do. But I don't have to be content with the media people consume on the internet. I also have a platform, and I feel strongly about this, so I'm gonna speak out on it.

I know I might sound a bit extremist on this matter, but that's exactly how I feel, I care so deeply about children and their future, and well-being. That I will commit war crimes to make sure they're safe

But the horns are gone now.

It was a mission gone wrong, a cruel captor and a medical choice made without his consent. He doesn’t talk about it and no one asks. Sometimes, in the quiet of his office or late shift, he runs his fingers over the scarred stubs behind his ears and goes still.

The world treats him the same of course. He's respected, feared, trusted, but he doesn’t feel like a proper hybrid anymore. Especially not when other rams tower over him, horns full and proud. Or when people glance past his species ID with confusion. Or when instinct creeps in and he has no way to channel it.

So he hides that ache under duty and command and power and control.

Until you come along.

You’re a guard dog hybrid, maybe an Akita or Anatolian, sturdy and loyal, protective to a fault. Your instincts don’t just notice Price, they fuckin' latch to him.

You scent his discomfort before he voices it. You see how he holds his head in profile, like trying to shield where the horns should be. You hear how his voice tightens whenever the topic of hybrid rankings or anatomy comes up.

By nature of your upbringing, you grew up around plenty of literally sheep and goats and some of your closest friends were rams. (Naturally, y'all got along great.)

So, you do what you do best.

You nudge his head with your own. Big ol’ affectionate bonks.

At first, Price goes rigid. He thinks you're teasing, but then you do it again. And again. Until finally he starts indulging you, leaning his head against yours just to feel the pressure ease.

One day, you even rest your head against his neck and stay there, rumbling a low, steady sound that vibrates right into his chest.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, gruff and low.

And you just huff, your tail thumping happily against the couch cushion.

Reader defensively walking alongside price whenever you notice hes anxious. The pressure of ur body easing some of his instincts for a herd, but also serving to actually herd him into a safer distance from whatever upsetting him.

Or laying in the sun together, tail thumping happily. Price doesnt remember the last time he indulged in the soft grass fields, not since he felt unsure of his own hybrid status. But you make it feel so safe. <33

And you could've handle anything for him, really. PTSD, nursing him back to health after a particularly rough mission or injury, family members who might not like you too much—

But as you stare at your phone screen and the video sent by an unknown number, your stomach swoops with nausea, heart breaking on the spot at the cruelty of this betrayal.

There he is, your Kyle, his face harshly pressed into the pillows by a beefy hand, back arched whorishly while Captain Price plows into the younger man's arse with a kind of vigor that makes Kyle's fat and muscles ripple. The bedframe hitting the wall repeatedly and the lewd, wet smack of Price's balls hitting the back of Kyle's thighs are just as obscene as the grunts and moans torn from your boyfriends throat.