masked-men-obsessed

[masked-men-obsessed]

bad boy simon save me...😩😔

[masked-men-obsessed]

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel ❤️

Masterlist - Taglist Form

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 (3.6k words)

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

Warnings: Poly relationship, rotating POV (mostly Simon's), this chapter is mostly having the conversations to set the poly relationship, no horny stuff on this part is mostly angst and fluff; but dont worry, next part (I only need to revise it) will be up soon and that one? that one is horny ❤️

Simon and Johnny made it to the meeting point an hour later than everyone else. But just like Simon said, no one even thought of leaving before he made it there. 

And just as if anything had ever happened, every man boarded the plane and made their way back to base. And if anyone saw Johnny sitting closer to Ghost… no one said anything. 

By the time they touched ground, Johnny was expecting you to jump inside the plane as soon as the door opened. But you didn't. 

They assumed you would be then on the building, under the shade, waiting for them to make it back safe and sound. But you weren't. 

Many of the men that flew with them were being greeted by their friends, talking about celebrating that they have made it home and joking about missing them. 

Not Johnny, nor Simon. No one greeted them. 

They assumed you would be maybe on your room, busying yourself to take your mind away from the time passing. So they checked, but the room was empty and as if anybody had been there in a while. 

The confusion in their mind was getting transformed into worry, starting to run out of harmless scenarios of what could have happened to you. 

“What if she's working?” Johnny asks when they closed the door to your room. “We have been out for some time.”

“In the med bay you mean?” Simon asks, the flashbacks of the state you were in when they left making it hard to believe that you would be stable enough to go back to work. “We can drop by…”

They had an urge to get to you. Not only did they want to be welcomed back by you after being deployed, no matter if it has been an easy one or if it was short. It was still time apart and they needed to get back to you.

It was the need to talk to you. To set things straight. They had finally taken the step to stop worrying about what to call things, and the morality of the unconventional and instead now focusing on what they wanted. 

They wanted to spill their hearts to you, fill you in on what has happened since they left, on every word they said about you, on every promise made to each other. 

The consolation of the fools. 

That you would agree just as easily as them.

They were aware of your feelings for the two of them, and the nights spent together with them was more than enough proof.

But it was still an abyss worth of distance between loving two people and seeing those two loved ones… love each other. Especially from a distance, and feeling like the barrier of being away was enough to make you unworthy of being part of it.

They were being overconfident. Neither of them had been able to keep a “normal” relationship for long, and now they thought they could make a three way relationship work. 

But it was the possibilities of success that made them silly, the chance that the three could be together, that it could work, that the three of you would be happy.

They already knew what it was like to not have anything, were they not allowed to dream of having everything? 

But their dream started to ramble when they entered the med bay, asking for you and being told you have been deployed. 

Because although they were happy you have been discharged, it was a big step from not being able to work to being deployed right back into action.

Johnny reacted first. His stomach turned, guilt and regret hitting him with force. Was this the same thing you felt when he was deployed? The feeling of throwing you into the wolf jaws? He understands then, that it was not your doubts on him, it was not you feeling that he wasn't good enough, or strong enough. It was you trying to protect him, to keep him from dying in such a stupid and preventable way. Did anyone try to hold you back from working?

Simon was silent, he could read on Johnny's face perfectly fine what he was thinking. But there was an extra factor that Johnny was not taking in mind. When Johnny was deployed, Simon was with him. Nothing would have gotten to Johnny as long as he stayed on his side, and even in your panic driven mind you were able to realise it too. 

So even in your least stable mindset, you could see that Johnny would make it back. That he was not alone, and that Simon would give his life trying to protect Johnny if it came to it. Just like you would and just like you did, deep in the tunnel. 

But Simon was on base, and so was Johnny. And you were deployed with who knows who and who knows where. Completely out of reach for them. They knew somebody must have gone with you, but they didn't know who so they wouldn't know if they would even try and protect you. It wouldn't be the first time that a team has come back without the assigned medic because “we thought no one would shoot the medic”.

Different flavours of guilt were sailing through their blood vessels. Guilt from being with each other. Guilt for not calling more while deployed. Guilt in Simon for being happy that Johnny got deployed because it meant they were alone. Guilt in Johnny for not having taken your point of view when he was deployed. Guilt for being happy since they were in the car meanwhile you could already be dead.

They realised, there and then, when looking at each other, that there existed a chance that they could never see you again. Not because you were not good enough, or because you were not ready; but because a deployment is a deployment. 

Price's office was the next stop. To tell him they were back, to file the reports and what was more important, to know where you were.

“She's with Alex, on a reconnaissance mission.” He explained. A reconnaissance mission, harmless enough to send a two person team… but why a medic? “The therapist recommended to keep her busy and away, they have orders not to engage with the objective.”

That was enough to ease their minds, at least you were not trapped in your room wondering if they were dead. It was them now the ones that had to wait while in the dark. 

The payment for their unfaithfulness.

But unlike you when they were gone, they had each other. So the loneliness wasn't so lonely, and even less as their relationship advanced. Plus, the time together helped them grow closer.

And suddenly, every excuse was good to stand closer, stay alone for longer, coincidentally every task was a couple’s task, and on and on. 

From everyone outside it looked like what it used to look like before the accident. When Ghost would do his job and Johnny would find his way to stay close. 

Only Ghost was aware of the subtle differences; Johnny was no longer running after him, if anything, it was Ghost walking on Johnny's shadow. 

But late at night, in their rooms, the shadows blended together.

It was easier that way, and soon enough, every night that you spent away, they spent together. They always found a way to mention you, to fantasise about you, to dream and plan about you.

“We should take her out for dinner to ask her.”

“Do we need to ask her together or can I ask her first?”

“Do you think we can request a bigger mattress?”

“Do you think Gaz will switch rooms with her so we are all closer?”

“Do you think Price will find out?” “I think he knows since the house.”

“I can't fucking wait until she's back.”

“I can't wait to hear her moan your name.”

It almost felt as if Soap had never hated Simon, like they had always been this close. 

As it always should have been.

When the helo you were flying in finally touched down, Simon and Soap were together in Johnny's room.

When you stepped out of the helo, Simon moved to lay over Johnny on his bed. 

You were walking to the storehouse to drop your equipment and bags, and they were doing the same, taking off their clothes. 

While you wondered whose room to visit first, Simon or Johnny's; they wondered who got to stay at the top, Simon or Johnny. 

There hasn't been a time where they get together, that they didn't bring you up. And this time wasn't any different, yet.

“I'll always be in debt with her for bringing you back to me, Johnny.” 

And when you decided to drop by Johnny's room first, Simon was moving to lay on his back, legs spread around Johnny's wide hips. 

That's what you saw. 

When you opened the door, too excited to knock before opening it.

It's the guilt on their faces that makes you feel like you are intruding. The way Johnny clings the sheets over his body, the slight pained look on Simon's face when he tries to prop himself up.

“Sorry.” You mutter, not even agreeing you should be the one apologising, and closing the door before half walking half sprinting to your room. 

Inside Johnny's room, they only share a look of regret before working on getting dressed to run after you. 

Is Simon the one that manages to go out of the room first, catching your silhouette taking a turn at the end of the hall. 

He calls your name, trying to get you to stop, in vain as you don't even bother to look at him. 

“Love, please, listen to me” He says, when he finally catches up to you, pulling your hand to turn you around. 

“No! It's not fair!” You exclaim, finally turning around. 

If Simon has ever felt guilt before, this must be a new feeling, a stronger mutation of the dreaded feeling. Because the sight of your tear stained face might not be a new one, but knowing it is his fault, has his stomach turning on itself. 

It's the fact it could have been easily avoided; if only they waited for you, if only they didn't get together today, if only they had chosen Simon's room, if only they had locked the door. 

But they didn't.

And the consequences were looking at him.

“What's not fair? Talk to me, please” He doesn't even know what he's expecting you to say. What do you even say in these kinds of situations?

“Listen, I understand that coming to terms with your sexuality is a fucking mess in the head, but it's not fair to drag me into it.” You say, pointing to your head to emphasise your words. Trying your best to keep your voice from cracking, to look strong. “It's not fair to use me between the two of you to be together without feeling bad.” 

“No, no, no, love, you got it all wrong, I promise, that's not it.” Simon tries to calm you down, his hands moving to caress your arms but stopping when you raise your hands to stop him.

“I-I don't know, Si… I… I already felt like an absolute bitch for messing around with the two of you, but if on top of that, you two have something going on I- I'm stepping out, alright?” Deep down in your mind, the part of it that is not currently drowning in emotions, the rational part, is trying to get you to see how hypocritical you are being. They weren't doing anything you haven't done, but still; you chose to go out of your way to make them feel bad. 

You can excuse yourself when you were with Johnny, back in the house when you thought you were going to day. No one was going to blame you for it, and neither were yourself. 

But the night you spent with Simon was a choice, your choice. And you didn't stop to think about how Johnny would feel about it. So how do you dare to get mad at them for giving you a taste of your medicine?

“No, please, love, no, let us explain please.” Simon can see the way your mind is spiralling, your brain twisting between telling yourself you have the right to get upset and telling you that you deserve the pain in your heart. 

“Not now, Ghost, alright? I-I need to go, I'm sorry. I hope you two are happy together.” And you hate the way it sounds leaving your mouth, because it doesn't matter how upset you are, you still love them, and you do mean it when you say you hope they are happy. 

But you realise your mind is not rationalising your thoughts, and staying for any longer will only translate in you saying things to Simon that you don't mean. 

Simon also notices, realising as well that this is not the conversation to have in the middle of the hall and without Johnny. So he lets you go, only turning back when he hears you lock your door. 

It takes you longer than you would like to admit to come to your senses. Having cried your feelings out probably helped. 

You still feel embarrassed, when you realise the only reason why you reacted so badly was your own fault. Your own self doubt and self depreciation. 

Your own self hate making it impossible in your mind to understand that Simon and Johnny wanting each other could still mean that they would like you. 

It makes you want to bury yourself under the covers, how could you believe yourself to be better than any of two of them? Of course they would choose the other over you the second they got over their differences. 

You should be happy for what you got, the time spent together. It was nice while it lasted.

There is a knock on the door, you hold your breath to keep yourself from making any sound. Whoever it is, they can leave. 

“I'm not leaving until you let me in, love.”

Of fucking course. 

You kick your covers off of you, walking to the door dragging your feet. You unlock it, opening just enough to look up at Simon.

“What?” Your voice is hoarse from crying for so long, you must sound and look like a charity case because you can only see pity in Simon's eyes.

“I bought you dinner, you didn't go to the mess hall, I assumed you would be hungry after the deployment.” He says, lifting the hand with the bag of food. 

“I'm fin-” Your stomach grumbling exposes you. “Thank you.”

You take the food, looking into his eyes only to see the little smile on the crinkles. 

“Anything else, Simon?” You ask, not wanting to close the door on his face. 

“Can we talk now?” He asks, going straight to the point like always. 

You sigh, walking into your room letting the door open. “What's there to talk about, Si?”

“About Johnny, you and I.” He answers and you scoff at him.

“You mean about Johnny and you?” You ask, dropping the food on the table and sitting on your bed. 

“No. I mean about Johnny, you and I.” He repeats, walking closer to you.

You sigh, averting his gaze. “You don't need to do this, Simon.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” He asks, crouching down to be eye level with you. 

“Making me feel a part of it out of pity.” You say, finally looking at his eyes.

“Pity? You thinks that's why I'm here?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. You nod at him. “I'm not here for pity, I'm here for you.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging with new tears once again. “No, you don't. You don't want me, Simon. And Johnny doesn't either.”

“Why do you say that, love?” He asks, his hand caressing your knee. “Why do you feel like that?”

“Simon, how can I not feel like it?!” You ask, pushing his hand away. “Can’t you see that Johnny chose me because he didn't have anything else, and then when he had everything he went and chose you!”

“And why can't you see that *I* that have always had everything, only have ever wanted Johnny and you?!” That makes you stop pushing his hand away, but Simon can still see the doubts in your eyes. The broken trust. 

“Then why have you never said anything, Simon? Before the accident? When we got back? Ever?” 

“Because I was stupid! And a coward!” He finally admits, to you and to himself. “And I didn't know what my feelings meant until I thought it was too late.”

You look at him, trying to see any second intentions on his face. Any lies, any disgust, any pity. But you can only see affection and yearning for your forgiveness; but you still know yourself.

“I need some time, Simon… and to talk with Johnny.” You mumble, looking down to where your hand is over his. You see him nod from the corner of your eyes, he leans forward, kissing your forehead softly and stands back up.

“Eat the food, alright? I made sure they loaded all your faves.” He says, pointing at the food and walking to the door, turning to say just before exiting. “Darling… I hope it isn't too late.”

Johnny doesn't visit you at your room, and you know it is because he is aware he will see you at therapy. Just because the two of you have been seen fit to go back to work, doesn't mean you can ignore the obvious wounds and scars still in your mind. 

That's why you are not surprised when he sits next to you on the waiting room

“Morning, bonnie.”

“Morning, Johnny.”

“Simon told me you wanted to talk to me.”

“You don't want to talk to me?” You ask, looking at his face from the side, realising he is looking forward.

“Aye, that I do. But you also told Simon you needed time, I didn't want to push…” he trails off, looking down to his hands.

“Do you like him, Johnny?”

“Don't tell him that I say this but… yes, I like his cranky ass.” He says, a smile appearing on his face. “I also found a journal… and it seems I was fucking obsessed with him, with how much I wrote about him.”

“Your journal?” You ask, suddenly remembering the little notebook he always had on himself. “You never let me look inside…”

“No wonder.” Johnny says chuckling. “You are the only person I wrote about more than about Simon. I couldn't let you see me trailing behind you like a love sick puppy… I had an image to maintain, bonnie lass.” 

He knocks your arm with his elbow, making you smile. He is still Johnny… you can't be mad at him when you betrayed him first. 

“I'm sorry, Johnny.” You mutter, making him finally look at you with furrowed eyebrows. “For… turning to Simon.”

“Turning? Oh, you meant when you were shagging in his office?” It makes you freeze, the realisation hitting you that he knew all along. “Don't apologise… I turned to him too, after all…”

“Are you happy together?” You ask the dreaded question.

“Very… the only thing missing is you, though.”

“Why me, Johnny? I understand it back in the house because there was nobody else, but now…”

“It is you, because I might not remember how we first met or how it was before the accident, but I remember my life long before you entered my life. And I was happier back at the house only knowing you, than knowing everyone but you.” He says, his hand caressing your thigh. 

The lady at the desk calls your name, indicating you to enter the therapist office. 

“Go, we will talk later, the three of us.” Johnny says, you nod at him, going into the office. 

Outside, Johnny stands up, his session is tomorrow but he wasn't going to let such an opportunity to talk to you to pass him. 

You call Simon that evening, asking if he can drop by your room. It takes him 6 minutes to knock on your door. 

You let him in, sitting on your bed and patting the mattress next to you inviting him in. “I talked with Johnny this morning.” 

“I figured… how did it go?” He asks, laying on his side after taking off the mask.

“Good… I guess.” You say, crossing your legs. “I still don't know what to feel.”

“....did you genuinely thought I was the right person to talk about feelings, love?” He asks, smile appearing on his face.

“No, god no.” You say chuckling, rubbing your face to erase all the nervousness off. “I just… I have never even been in an actual relationship, Simon, I don't… I don't know if I could…”

“Well, any of us three have… “ He says, looking at you. 

“Simon… is a disgrace waiting to happen…” You say looking at him.

“It could also be the best decision of our life…” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't know, Si…” you say, playing with your hands. 

“Think of it this way.” He says, grabbing your hands on his. “We are already past the no return point, right? The friendship is already fucked, innit?” You nod at him. “Well… what's there to lose then? If we are going to fuck it up… let's fuck it up completely… Don't you think, love?”

It takes you just a couple of minutes to speak again, but it feels like ages on Simon's mind.

“Do you believe it will work?” You ask, voice timid as you look at him. 

“Yes, love. I do believe it will work.” He answers, his fingers locking with yours. “What do you say? Will you give us a try?”

“Yeah… what's there to lose anyway?”

Comments and reblogs are really appreciated 🩷🩷🩷

As I said the last chapter is filled to the brim (pun intended) with smut, so I hope you will like it too

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[masked-men-obsessed]

Keep em’ coming

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[masked-men-obsessed]

Keep em’ coming

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[masked-men-obsessed]

König's eyes ♡

[masked-men-obsessed]

more little thoughts about curvy!sunshine!fem!reader and dark!simon (18+)

thinking about being so indifferent to his violence because it has never been directed at you. you had a bad night at the pub--an asshole tried to grab your dress in the brand new white dress you bought, with a puffy little mini skirt, and you had wanted to wear it out and get dressed up. the man had ruined your night; you just wanted to spend it with simon, drinking and spending time together, and as soon as he had his hand up your dress, and simon saw the tears in your eyes, all he could see was red.

you're sitting on the curb outside, sniffling, tears still a little damp on your face as you lick at the cone of ice cream you're holding. you click your heels against the pavement, and you look to the side when you feel a big, warm presence take a seat next to you. his shirt looks damp and sticky, and your eyes dart down to see how his boots smear blood against the ground. you smile a little through your soft tears, reaching over and sliding your arm around his. the tension in his muscles relaxes, and you lean up and kiss his cheek gently.

"did he squirm?" you ask softly as you trace his ungloved hand, running your fingers lightly over the fresh bruises there. "i know you hate it when they cry."

"didn't 'ave time t'cry," he grumbles. he leans over, kissing your forehead through the mask, holding you close. "cut his throat out before he could even think about it. and then i took his hands, luv--" you take a lick of your ice cream before you smile up at him. "didn't deserve 'em since he's had a feel 'f ya."

he lets you paint his nails. you sit on his big thigh, holding his hand up as you smooth black polish over his nail bed. you clean his cuticles and under his fingernails, giving him a nice little manicure before practicing your nail-painting skills. all he does is sit there and grumble as he watches a football game on the telly, not really paying you any mind. when you finish, you smooth lotion over his cracked knuckles and smooth some oil over his nails until they're nice and soft. when you finish, he makes you watch him stuff those fingers into your pretty pussy. he never takes his eyes off the game, but his lips twitch into the lightest smirk as he feels you writhe and squirm beside him, laid back on the couch as you wet his freshly painted nails with cum.

he never lets you cry, not really, because he fucking hates it. if you cry, he tilts your head up towards him, shoving his mask up before dragging his pink tongue up your face and ridding the pretty planes of your cheeks of any evidence. his solution to your sadness, if that doesn't work, is to put his head between your thighs and eat.

he never says no to you. wherever you want to go, he will take you. whatever you want to buy, he will buy it for you. even if it's something you technically can't have, like the vintage purse you see as you window shop with a not for sale tag on it. or the last pair of sparkly barrettes that the woman in front of you snagged first, found at the bottom of your shopping bag the next day. or the job you applied for that you knew you wouldn't get because you bombed the interview--only to receive confirmation in the middle of the night that you got the job, telling simon monday night that your new boss got mugged only a few hours after your interview!

(the bruises on his face are gnarly--and he seems to always avoid you like the plague.)

you break all his supposed boundaries in front of other people, but what they don't understand is that he has boundaries with everyone except for you. when you visit him on base, everyone tenses when you run into the rec room looking for him, slipping into the chair he sits in and taking your place on his lap. but ghost doesn't flinch as he does if others touch him. no, he just places his hand on your back to steady you. when you're out at the pub with his teammates, they stare wide-eyed as you cup his masked cheeks and kiss him all over his face--his eyes, his nose, his cheeks--but all ghost does is pat your ass soothingly and stroke along your hair gently. he stands out in crowds, so imposing and large and broad, and he ignores the stares when a pretty girl bounces into his orbit, taking his hand and pulling him along because simon, i saw this dress, but i need your help getting the zipper up--

there just isn't anyone like you. ghost feels dead, on the inside. he doesn't feel right. he knows something is so wrong inside of him. he wants to eat your glow. it's what he has loved about you since he met you. the unconditional devotion, the big heart you give him, the wet look in your eyes when he does anything for you, even when it includes the bloody stuff. even if he does the wrong thing, even if he kills the wrong man, and you know he is overreacting, you are never mad, never angry. you just kiss his scars and coo in his ear, "it's okay, you didn't know any better, you were just doing it for me, weren't you, baby?"

you give him the validation that he needs to be violent. you tell him it's okay. you aren't afraid of all the gore, of the terrible things he does, of all the things he rights with wrongs. he is quick to anger, and he finds it easy to be judge, jury, and executioner, and all you do is bat your lashes and open your legs and tell him it's okay, simon--it's okay, come here, i miss you.

you suffocate the things that scream in his ears. when it's too loud, you push him to lay down, climb up over him, put your thighs around his head and quiet the noise. you sit your pretty pussy on his mouth, and you ride his face, smoothing a hand over the balaclava that he is too busy to take off. you used to be afraid of being too heavy, of making it hard to breathe for him, but simon is a big boy, and maybe he wants to die, because you taste so sweet, and he always chubs up so easily with his hands digging into your hips and his tongue deep inside of you.

it aches, everything hurts, the world is too loud, but it isn't like this in your flat. it's just right. it's normal. it's safe. simon can be himself, and so can you, and when he is too brooding and terrifying, he looks at you, because if you're still smiling, he isn't too much of anything. and when you think you're talking too fast, when you are second-guessing the dress you want to wear, you look at him, because if he is there, nothing will ever be wrong, and no one can ever hurt you.

simon isn't a good person. you know that. he's quick to the knife. he likes to bite. he commits war crimes, and then he comes home, and no one asks him to explain himself, and no one tells him to stop what he's doing, and when he does it over and over again, all he gets is validation, medals for a job well done, and maybe you're an instigator, too, because you let him fuck you in every position whenever he comes home, a reward for bringing death to whoever was stupid enough to end up at the wrong end of his rifle.

but it's really, really hard to care. as soon as he steps through the door, dropping his duffel bag onto the floor, all of your doubts disappear. all you can do is stare at him in all his gear, swallow the drool that threatens to spill, smile--welcome home, teddy bear!

he is a bear. but you've never been on the receiving end of what scares people. if someone were to ask you what to do, you don't think you'd know what to tell them. you wonder what it is you would tell them if they begged for your help.

run away? or play dead?

[masked-men-obsessed]

Ex boyfriend Gaz giving you a hand

The bed rattled beneath his weak thrusts. You didn’t know how much more you could take of this, laying limp under Kevin while he fucked you. On nights like this you’d think of Kyle as much as you didn’t want to. He would always know when to be gentle or rough. After long hard nights at work he’d be so soft, kissing down your body like you were something to worship. His thrusts were slow but intense, ensuring to keep eye contact until you unraveled under his touch. On other nights, after a fight or after he’s home from deployment it would be carnal and intense. His hand would grapple tightly in your hair, his breath would fan against your ear as he whispered some of the dirtiest things that you’ve ever heard in your ear. His thrusts were harsh but even then, managing to keep a steady pace as he slammed into you.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum” You were snapped out of your thoughts by the harsh breathy request. You liked him of course you did, sometimes you just wondered if you rushed into it. You broke up with Gaz because he was always away with work, arguments becoming more and more abrupt. After you broke up you were lonely and your pride was too strong to allow you to run back to Kyle so that’s how you ended up with Kevin. And he was…fine, he was nice, just different. Your relationship was calm, simple. And, that’s what you wanted. Right?

Kevin didn’t do aftercare and you were ok with that, you guess. He’s simplistic, he doesn’t need to do aftercare. That’s just your relationship. “Did you finish?” He asked, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before flopping back onto his side of the bed. You nodded and plastered a smile on your face. “Good.” With that he promptly rolled over and fell asleep leaving you alone with your thoughts, with your memories of Kyle. He would always give proper aftercare, carefully wiping down your sensitive pussy and sticky thighs, whispering sweet praises in your ear, holding you close as you slowly drifted to sleep in your big arms. He was stuck firmly in your head and it was infuriating. You wanted to go over to his flat and punch him…and then suck his dick.

It has been two hours since he fell asleep, you were alone here in the dark and desperately horny with a broken vibrator. You sigh and get up and slip out of the sweaty sheets and wander into the cool air of the living room. Your phone was held tightly in your fingers. You stare at your list of contacts, his name still in there, the last in ‘K’. One click. That is all it would take to get to talk to him again. Nothing serious, completely innocent. People chat with their exes all the time. Slowly, you clicked his name and then proceeded to pace round the room while the phone rang. He was probably out, with another girl or getting drunk or at work. He could be in the middle of fighting a war and you’re here calling him. What are you doing?

Before you could hang up and get back into bed resuming your normal simple life he picked up. You thought you were going to throw up at the sound of his voice, he didn’t even sound angry, completely neutral. “Hello?” Deep, familiar, sexy. Your heart skips a beat at the sound of your name coming out his mouth. Pathetic. It felt like when you first started talking to him everything was so exciting for no reason. It was driving you insane. You didn’t want to think like this but your mind was against you. You were fighting a loosing battle.

“Hi.” You squeak, eventually you stop pacing and flop back onto the couch, fiddling with the hem of your pajama shorts. You were full of nervous energy. “I didn’t know if you were working or not. Probably should’ve checked first.” The words stumble out of your mouth clumsily, not like the sharp wit you were used to using against him.

“You’re fine, lovey.” He soothes, his voice remaining silky smooth. You don’t bother correcting him on ‘lovey’, deciding to allow it you also don’t admit that you like it a little too much. “How’s what’s his name?” He knew his name, you know he knew his name but instead he’s keeping up the unbothered act.

“Kevin and yeah he’s fine.” You mumble not going into any more detail then you have to. You didn’t call him to talk about Kevin, you didn’t even want to be thinking about Kevin right now to be perfectly honest. “He’s asleep.”

“Ah bet he doesn’t know about this.” His voice sounds sincere but really you could hear the smirk in his voice. Smug bastard. “There any reason you’re calling me? This...Kevin not cutting it anymore?” He hums down the line, his voice low and dark making you squirm in your seat.

“No..” It came out in almost a whine which didn’t help your case. You took a deep breath and cleared your throat in an attempt to collect yourself but you couldn’t stop the heat from pooling in your stomach. “No, he’s good, great even. More than cutting it.” A lie, a big fat lie and from the silence down the line you could tell he knew.

“Why did you call me then?” He pushes. He couldn’t just hang up but instead he just keeps poking at you. This time it was your turn to be silent. You knew exactly what to say, exactly what he wanted you to say but instead you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t bring yourself to say I want you to fuck me or he doesn’t fuck me as good as you. “Do you know what I think?” He drawls, opting to break the silence himself. “I think that you want me to make you feel good but you’re too scared to say it. I think, no, I know, your little boyfriend doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.” His words carried weight, they were dark and promising. “You need me, love. I know that much.” As condescending as his words were, they didn’t make you any less wet, you could feel yourself getting warmer by the minute.

You can feel the fight seeping out of your skin already. You don’t want to fight, all you want to do is let him take control. Despite your words your hand slips down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating as it reaches the elastic. “This is bad.” You whisper, nervous that any minute Kevin could be walking in on this. You just wanted it so badly. “This is so so bad. Wrong.” You rationalize though there’s no point in it neither of you are listening to it.

“It’s one night.” He reassures making your hand which was once lying flat on your stomach slip under your clothes to feel the sticky heat of your cunt that had been collecting. “One night of you finally getting what you want. That’s not bad, that’s not bad at all.” His words were like poison, infecting your mind. He’s ruining you and you didn’t mind one bit. It was all so gentle, something so slow and sweet but the edge was prominent. You both knew this was wrong and that’s what made it so good. "You can keep touching yourself, you can. You've just got to listen to what I say, I'll help you feel good." He guides, his orders so firm but so gentle at once. "Keep rubbing your clit, nice and slow like I used to do when you felt like being bratty." You follow his orders quickly and let your hand slide under your underwear, rubbing yourself slowly, slick collecting on your fingers. Your moans were getting louder and more erratic. He was basking in it, you knew he must be. You could tell as his orders were getting more precise. "One finger in, just one." You whined at that, one finger wasn't enough. It wouldn't feel anything like him. Despite your pleas he wouldn't budge. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you to listen to him. He wanted to be in charge again. "Just one, if you keep complaining then I'll hang up and leave you with that pathetic boyfriend of yours." You didn't want him to hang up so you shut yourself up, pushing your index finger in your hole.

Your hips bucked up against your own hand, the pleasure slowly building. Your finger pumped in and out of your clenching hole, an obscene squelching noise following with every thrust. "Please," You begged meaninglessly, you didn't know if you wanted another finger or if you wanted to cum right then or if you just wanted him to be here with you. "Fuck. Feels good." You moaned simply, words feeling heavy as lead coming out your mouth.

"Moan my name." It was clear what he wants, he wants to be the one to own you, the name you moan, the one to share a connection with you. "Moan my name and I'll let you put another finger in, I'll let you finally stretch yourself out a bit." He coos, the offer sounding far too sugary sweet to resist.

“Kyle. Oh fuck Kyle please.” You moaned down the line, high and whiny but this time toy hadn’t attempted to tone it down you were too far gone for that. His order broke through your haze of pleasure allowing you to put another finger inside of you. You did, both your fingers now sliding in and out of your gummy walls. It was better. Almost like the stretch he gives you, almost

“That’s it. You’re always so good for me.” Kyle praises bringing that cool closer to snapping. He knew exactly what to say, what to do. Sometimes it made you wonder why exactly you broke up with him, the nostalgia rose coloured haze clouding your vision. You couldn’t concentrate on that right now the only thing you could do is desperately trying to bring yourself to climax. “You’re getting so loud. You’re close aren’t you?”

“Yes, yeah. Close- I’m close.” You splutter, biting down on your lip tightly to silence yourself. It was 4am now, the house even the city was completely quiet. You just needed to finish, cum without giving yourself away that’s it. “Kyle! Oh fuck Kyle.” You moaned his name repeatedly not to get any sort of reward or to earn something, instead because he was the only thing on your mind.

“Good girl, such a good girl.” His praise is soft and genuine leas dark from when your fingers were stuffed deep inside your cunt. It was like he wanted to crawl through the phone and stroke your hair, kiss your forehead… then your sore pussy. You curled into the soft plush of your couch, you needed to get up and shower, wash the cum from your thighs and the guilt from your skin. Act like this never happened. He apparently had other ideas.

“Go unlock the door. I’ll be there in half an hour, someone needs to help get you cleaned up.”

[masked-men-obsessed]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

13 — THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS BAD THOUGHTS, ONLY YOUR ACTIONS TALK

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You’d, somehow, forgotten just how… vibrant two of your oldest friends were.

With the blades of the helicopter still spinning, the deafening sound of aircrafts around you, and a steady mist of rain, your body collides with another.

“Oi, watch it!” You exclaim, a beaming smile stretched over your features as the bulky, oblivious man squeezes his arms around your torso and buries his head into your neck. “You smell like gunpowder. And your fiancée.”

His voice comes out muffled against your skin. “And you smell like cheap body wash.”

He squeezes you once more before finally letting you go, his dimples deep and hair soggy with rain. You study his features, the sharpness of his jaw and the dusting of brunette against it. Him. One of your oldest friends in the military.

He looses a breath, eyes meeting yours and his hands falling to your shoulders, a comforting weight. You don’t have any words, can’t find them, so all that leaves your lips is a single name.

“Alex,” you whisper, voice breaking in the middle, heart a sore throb in your chest.

The storm clouds above paint the world around you in harsh greys and physical manifestations of sadness – but in it all, your light has arrived. 

And how powerful it is.

“Moonflower!” A deeply familiar, feminine voice shouts, and you spread your arms wide and accept the body that crashes against your own. Your laugh is startled and pure, but relief and serotonin floods your system as warm as the embrace you’re surrounded in.

You’d found solace and even a home in your solitude, your loneliness, but now? 

Now, with the only two people in your life that have remained by your side, no matter the distance, holding you in their embrace?

It feels like family, even if you know there isn’t a space between the two of them for you to fit in – no crevice large enough for you to ever comfortably merge.

A foster family, maybe. Or a found one, however tenuous and distant.

“I missed you both so much,” you murmur, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, inhaling a trembling breath as you squeeze your eyes shut and rest your face in the crook of her neck. She smells of an odd mixture of her usual perfume, and Alex’s cologne.

You wonder if you’ll still have enough limbs attached to get to their wedding, by the time everything has been dealt with.

If you’ll even have a head attached.

It’s a small eternity (or maybe a few seconds, or maybe a few years) until she pulls away, a glint in her eyes that seems a concoction of pity and strength.

“You look stunning, Farah,” you grin, and your cheeks burn with the odd sensation of joy.

She crinkles her nose, dark stray hairs flying across her face from the continuing wind of both winter and the helicopter. Her skin glows with health – and you realise, then, how even with the stress of reconstructing a nation, she’s happy. Honest and unrepentant and golden. A survivor of war, but a survivor nonetheless.

Raising a brow, she returns, “You look like shit.”

A chuckle leaves your throat, the familiarity that is Farah’s honesty akin to a hot chocolate and a blanket wrapped around a freezing frame.

“You look like you’ve been injured,” Alex adds, a small wince gracing his features. He’s miraculously found himself once more at Farah’s side, not unlike a loyal guard dog. 

A guard dog guarding a lion, maybe, but a guard dog nonetheless.

“Unlike you two,” you chastise, folding your arms and burying your cold hands in the space between your bicep and breasts, “I’m at war.”

“With the guy we warned you about,” Farah raises her brow, voice acidic and biting. “The guy we told you was going to ruin your life?”

“There’s a difference between ruining my life, and quite literally ruining my life,” you counter, watching a cloud of breath hang in the air, chilled by the evening cold, before dissipating into the breeze.

“He can continue ruining your life inside,” Alex cuts in, a hand falling against the dip of Farah’s spine, and the other moving to rest between your shoulder blades. He applies just enough pressure to be convincing, but not demanding.

It may as well be a demand, however, with how weak your mindscape seems to be in the face of comfort and familiarity. 

The base seems small, even with the short distance, a reminder of how self-contained and cataclysmic your life has become (has always been). It’s well past eight, now, and with the winter hours it’s almost pitch black already. A few stars decorate the black landscape, this far out from most light pollution. Your eyes stray to the glistening balls of flame, and you wonder if someday soon you’ll find yourself amongst them.

Two duffel bags hang off of Alex’s shoulder, and it sparks your interest. 

“How long are you two planning to stay?” You ask, as if they’re merely old friends staying for a weekend, catching up over bottles of wine and damaged decks of cards. 

They both shrug, almost in sync. Your heart thunders in your chest at the small display of how attuned they are with each other – how in love. It’s Farah who answers, simply, “However long it will take.”

When you look down to your boots, ripples of water against sleek concrete cascading beneath each footfall, it’s merely to hide the stretch of a smile that braces your chapped lips. Your voice is small, uncharacteristically vulnerable, when you mutter to the ground, “Thank you.”

“We owe you, hell, we owe you more than a dozen lifetimes for what you’ve done for us,” Alex scoffs, the gratitude rolling off of him unlike the rain soaking his long-sleeved v-neck. 

“Let’s just call this even, then,” you retort, lifting your head once more, allowing them both to see the softened curve of your mouth, the gentle slope of your brows.

The rain has paused its pouring, but a whole other kind of thunderstorm awaits the three of you in the entry of the base.

When you’d called Farah and Alex – just two nights ago, mere minutes after finishing your meal with Ghost and Soap – you hadn’t spared many details about Graves. You’d told them of your betrayal, of your thoughts, of the adrenaline rush that was that last fight with him.

What you hadn’t disclosed was your increasingly peculiar arrangement with the 141. Or your tryst with Gaz. Or your mess of feelings, as a whole.

So, really, you hadn’t told them much in the realm of everything.

Now, seeing the outline of four starkly familiar profiles, waiting underneath the small awning above the entrance to the base, you regret leaving such vital pieces of information out of your hours-long call.

“This is the one first impression you don’t want to fuck up,” is all you manage to grate out to the two beside you, before you fall into hearing distance of the very imposing image the 141 has managed to portray. Sometimes, you forget how genuinely daunting the four men are, with the different lights you’ve seen them in.

This is not one of those times.

As soon as the light sitting at the door shines against the three of you, Soap startles forward, clad in only a tight-fitting grey shirt, with a hefty leather jacket in his grip. When he reaches you, not even glancing at the newcomers, he pulls the jacket over your shoulders, warm and gun-rough hands brushing the soft skin of your neck as he does so.

“Impatient, lass, runnin’ off into the rain without any feckin’ layers,” he reprimands, without any bite at all.

You’re stumped, for a moment, before shaking your head lightly and stepping away from the utterly confusing man. With a dramatic flourish of a hand gesture, you motion towards your left. 

Thankfully, Soap hadn’t met you too far out, so it only takes a few steps before you’re standing before the other three. A healthy dose of scepticism and tension fills the air between you all, and while you could certainly do without it, it still stings.

Just as you’re about to introduce everyone, despite Soap’s oddly rude behaviour, Price interrupts.

“Bloody hell, small world, ain’t it?” He chuckles, throaty and pleased, muscle-corded arms folded over his chest. His smile is like a beam in the dark of night.

“Thought it’d be a nice surprise, old man,” Farah returns, bringing out her hand for him to shake with a firm grip, both comfortable and at ease in each other’s presence. When Farah goes to pull away, however, Price stops her from doing so with wide eyes, laser-focused on her ring-adorned finger.

“Well I’ll be damned, Alex, how’d you convince her to deal with your arse for eternity?” Price teases, and while you expect the younger man to hit back, he simply beams.

The three seem to be in their own little world, with you, Soap, Gaz and Ghost being left with raised brows. 

“Oh, sorry, guys,” Alex raises a hand, having the decency to look sheepish. His eyes trail along the 141 warily, before meeting your own eyes, relaxing slightly under your gaze. He seems reluctant to break the contact, but does so nonetheless, words directed at the 141 as he says, “Price is an old friend.”

Farah and Price break their quiet conversation, directing their attention back to the group at large. It’s quiet, for a moment, which is a blessing considering the large personalities at hand.

You’re the one to break it.

“Well,” you start, a sudden burst of anxiety sparking in your stomach – you hadn’t considered the merging of your two lives, of past and present, the clashing of…

Oh. God.

Oh God. Oh God, you had almost forgotten that, but if you had, maybe they did, too? Yes. Definitely. It’ll be fine.

(It won’t be fine, you’re more certain, but a little lie to yourself can’t hurt. Much.)

You continue, not a breath out of place despite your internal thoughts, “Farah, Alex, meet the 141.”

Gesturing to the four men, meeting all of their eyes, you then gesture to the other two. “Guys, meet Farah and Alex.”

Silence fills the space between you all for a mere moment – just past a second, really – but it’s damning and heavy all the same. It has your chest tightening and your throat constricting, not unlike a thread of rope being pulled taut around the curve of your neck. 

“Thank you for taking care of her,” Farah says, voice steady and calculated. Defensive, really.

Gaz’s eyes narrow, his voice perfectly even and sickly sweet as he responds, “I can promise you, the last thing Sweetheart needs is to be taken care of.”

It’s… tense.

You’d, of course, expected that it would take some time for Farah and Alex to become anything close to friendly with the 141, but this feels different. A kind of static alights the air, a live wire sensitive to any spark that will instantly set it aflame.

“It’s good to see you again too, mate,” Alex smiles, but a sharp edge lines the curve of his lips. His eyes meet Gaz’s, and they don’t stray.

With a tight smile, Gaz responds, “Likewise.”

Ghost stands farthest from the group, a haunting spectre, shrouded in shadows with his arms folded over his chest and his hip resting against the wall. It’s impossible to see where, exactly, his eyes are trained – but you know they rest on you nonetheless.

Soap’s jacket remains a comforting weight on your shoulders, and although you’re loath to admit it even to yourself, it is miles better than the thin top you’d braved. He’s standing closest to you, on your right, posture straightened and imposing. He exudes a kind of energy you haven’t felt from him before, the closest being when you’d been separated from him post-surgery, maybe.

“Let’s have some tea, maybe, in the common room?” You ask, but it’s not really a request. Your tone is thick with insistence and command, and no one is in a place to deny you.

By the time you all make it to the common room – Alex and Farah comfortably speaking with Price, and you walking silently with Gaz, Ghost and Soap. The latter, especially, remaining a close presence at your side.

A few candles are lit against the windowsill, and a singular lamp sat against the large couch has been lit. No need for the blinding white light of the ceiling – just comfort and familiarity.

It feels at odds with the terse energy at hand, but simultaneously, a blessing.

Alex immediately takes a seat on the far right of the couch, at ease with himself and his surroundings. Gaz sits on the far left, leaving two spots between them. Without a word, Soap’s hand finds your lower back, and he virtually pulls you with him to sit between the two men. 

You find yourself stuck between Alex and Soap, with Ghost, Price and Farah more than happy to stand. Even if there was space, you doubt they’d choose to take a seat.

“We need to find out what Shepherd’s up to,” you speak, breaking the small talk between Price and Farah, as well as between Gaz and Soap. The room falls silent immediately. “And we need to find out what actually happened to my mother.”

The silence continues, and you find yourself pulling the leather jacket tighter around your frame – finding solace in the heat of the two men at either side of you. Your past and your present, both there, both helping.

It’s, surprisingly, Ghost who answers the sentiment first. 

“We’re at your disposal,” he simply says, as if it’s ever that simple. Maybe it can be, maybe it will be, with the powerhouse of a group that’s surrounding you now, with all of your history and feelings and sentiments. 

You can feel the seeds of hope in your chest begin to blossom, begin to shine underneath the rays of sunlight that are Ghost’s words.

“Are,” you roll your tongue in your mouth, feeling the words out before you speak them, “Are you all ready and willing to do this? Because if you’re not, I’m going to get the job done myself.”

It’s true, suicide mission or not. 

“Yer outta yer feckin’ mind if ya think we’re leavin’ ya behind now,” Soap scoffs, relaxing further into the couch as he throws his arm up and around the back of the couch, hand skimming your left shoulder. His thigh presses against your right one.

“You’re stuck with us now, Sweetheart,” Price shrugs, hands in his pockets.

Murmurings of agreement and similar sentiments echo around the group, and you find yourself exhaling such a deep breath that you’re sure it expels some decade-old air that had been stuck in the crevices of your lungs. 

“Hold on,” Farah raises her hand, brows furrowing as her other fist rests at her bucked hip. “What’s this whole Sweetheart thing about?”

Soap’s hand finds the nape of your neck, brushing away your hair to rest a firm grip around the warmed skin. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, and another when he responds, “Simple, aye? She’s a Sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible to quell the growing grin that’s creeping onto your face. “This idiot,” you nod towards the Scot at your side, “Was bleeding out. Gave him some sweetheart lollies to help with the blood loss, and, well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, his eyes trained on your profile. When you meet his eyes, for a mere second, it feels like an electric shock.

Alex, on your other side, glances at you through the corner of his eyes with a hint of conspiracy. He leans in, mouth just a hair away from your ear, when he asks, “Which one of them are you fucking? Or have they all tumbled into your bed?”

Your elbow to his side is more a knee-jerk reaction to his words than anything, but you’re at least decent enough to wince at his groan of pain. He clutches his side like he’s been shot on the field, head falling to rest against your chest with dramatic flourish. Both Gaz and Soap start, as if about to physically restrain the man, and your unamused gaze immediately finds the Sergeants.

What the actual fuck is up with everyone?

“Not a jealous woman, are you, Farah?” Ghost chimes, voice guttural where he stands just to your left, by the arm of the couch. You can’t say you’d forgotten his presence – even with his silence, it’s a tangible, physical weight on your shoulders – but it still startles you when he speaks.

Farah’s easy smile turns into a cryptic smirk instantaneously, and, fuck.

Maybe, very possibly, most likely definitely: they remembered. Or, at least, Farah did.

Fuck.

You suppose it’s not really a thing you forget, unless your mind’s an overfilled storage room of memories and current events and problems. Which yours most definitely is, and of which theirs is likely not.

“Can’t say I am. Not the first time they’ve gotten handsy,” she shrugs, as if it’s an obvious statement.

As if the room hasn’t instantly dropped approximately ten degrees, and your heart stops where it should be thrumming in your chest.

It’s almost funny, how you instantly train your attention to Gaz. How your mind immediately fears his expression, his reaction to such a thinly veiled sentiment.

What you see is the instant rising of walls, the shuttering of his eyes, and the stiffening of his frame.

You wonder how many missed heartbeats it takes to constitute a heart attack.

“Old fling, were they?” Price asks, because, really, of course he does. When you look to him, he deliberately keeps his gaze on Farah, not giving you a single glance. It’s not jealousy, you know, because it’s Price, and he, in no capacity, holds any such feelings towards you. But it’s something damning nonetheless.

Alex, oblivious idiot that he is, finally pulls his head back up with a sharp laugh. If you didn’t know him, you’d think it was malicious. “Nah. Just thought some experimentation with an extra partner would be fun, and, hey, she is pretty damn hot.”

“You’re a dickhead,” you chastise, suddenly aware of all the points that you and Alex touch – all the points that you and Soap touch. 

“Didn’t realise ye were into that,” Soap bites, abruptly, tone sharp and acrid. You barely suppress a shiver at the shift in the man’s attitude, in comparison to his usually jovial and good-natured attitude. 

“Didn’t realise you were into kink-shaming, either,” you retort, almost startling at your own defensiveness.

Ghost’s hum feels like a reprimand, akin to an owner using a dog whistle on their trusted border collie, or a dominatrix snapping her whip. 

“I don’t think threesomes are a kink?” Alex’s statement ends in a question, a confused look settling over his features. “Like, polyamory definitely isn’t, but what about one-offs? Babe, do you know?”

Farah doesn’t answer, not for a long while. Entirely too aware of the tension filling the room, of the dangerous game she’s about to partake in. The one Alex started, likely unknowingly, but started nonetheless.

“No. It’s not kink. But some of what we did was.”

For, well, not the first time in your life (or even the last week, really), but pretty darn close to it, you consider storming into the weapon supplies and shooting yourself.

“Well!” You exclaim, nervous laughter following the statement, palms clammy where you wipe them against your pants, “Farah, Alex, you probably need some rest, y’know, after your flight. I certainly need it.”

Standing before you even realise you are, you move to get the hell out of there, when Soap’s hand wraps around your wrist, and tugs you back down to sit even closer against him. When Alex’s hand finds your shoulder, you realise distantly that this must be a kind of tug of war. Or piggy in the middle.

Potato, patata. You’re the bait either way.

“The night’s still young,” Price cuts in, and everyone around you seems to nod. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, Sweetheart,” he adds, and the genuinity beneath his words turns into a threat of your pride in your head.

“I’m fine,” you straighten your shoulders, set your nerves. “Just looking out for my friends.”

It’s a lie. You know it, Ghost most likely does, too, and you can only hope that everyone else is ignorant to that small fact.

Subconsciously, you find your attention drifting to Gaz once more.

He hasn’t spoken, you realise, not since Alex had said that. When he catches you watching his profile, lit by the lamp, the candles – he meets your eyes. Not for longer than a second, or half of one, you’re sure, but it hits you like a bullet. When he instantly looks away, you can’t help the sudden anger that stokes the flames in your stomach.

It’s not as if you were openly flirting with either Alex or Farah, and even then, who was he to be mad? You’d been together once, for God’s sake – not for a single moment since. Long days of work and stress and training made the comfort of his bed simply that.

And even then, even then, you were in no way official. Not in any semblance of the word, not with the stakes of the mission at hand, the risk that came with such relationships.

His response gives you half a mind to play up your past on purpose. You won’t, but the urge is definitely there.

It’s not silent, thank god. Alex, Price and Farah have continued a previous conversation, Ghost is silent and brooding, and…

“Didnae pick ye as promiscuous,” Soap states, fiercely meeting your eyes with a swirling of emotions visible within his own. He says the words like they’re poison on his tongue, and, fuck, you’re close to breaking point.

Your responding smile is nothing short of mocking. “Calling me a slut is less wordy, don’t you think?”

“Dinnae put words into my bloody mouth,” Soap seethes, leaning in further to your space, the scent of his cologne invading your senses. You hate how confused it all makes you feel, how unsure of your emotions and goddamn attachments.

“Oh, sorry, does the big bad military man want to tell me what such a big word means? If I don’t have the mental capacity to choose how I have sex, I surely can’t understand your wide vocabulary, can I?” You hiss, bending your neck slightly and not backing away from his posturing for even a moment.

“Soap, stop threatening her,” Price barks, and you distantly remember the people around you, the setting, the image the two of you must make.

You remember, and you can’t seem to find a single fuck to give.

“I can fight my own damn battles!” You yell, not sending a single glance Price’s way – eyes completely remaining on darkened blue instead.

“And that’s why ye still got bloody feckin’ bandages, damn bruises –”

“Do not go there with me right now, Johnny, or I swear to fucking god.”

Both of your chests heave, and you’ve forgotten what even sparked this sudden argument, this spiteful back and forth. You haven’t a clue in this moment, and you relish in it.

“She’s a better damn fighter than the lot of you,” Alex interrupts, “Injuries don’t mean shit, ‘specially not when you don’t know what the fuck she’s gone through.”

Soap directs his ire toward the man at your side, voice thick with anger and his accent when he counters, “And ye know ‘er so much better, jus’ cause ye got in ‘er pants? Aye?”

“Because he isn’t acting like a goddamn meathead!” You find yourself fisting your hand into his shirt, pulling him closer to you, faces inches apart.

“‘Nd kissin’ ‘n tellin’ is fine ‘nd dandy,” Soap laughs, without a hint of humour, “Thought ye had standards.”

A lot of things happen in the preceding moment.

You’d like to say you can’t be blamed for any of the actions that occur, but you also know that accountability is a virtue. And you mean to uphold it.

It goes something like this.

The fist that had been wrapped in his shirt pulls back, and instead, collides with his jaw. 

Arms wrap around your chest, caging your arms to your side. Arms, too, wrap around Soap, pulling him away from you. You’re both yelling obscenities, none of which you can name, and you both fight against your restraints. 

You don’t need to have a full frame of mind to know that it’s Alex and Price holding you back, and through the haze of it all, you’re sure it’s Ghost and Farah keeping Soap away.

“Calm the hell down!” Price commands, voice a beam of light in a storm. It brings you back to yourself, but not enough to stem the bleeding of your anger, just enough for you to recognise it.

“Bloody idiot, Johnny, get it together!” Ghost is saying to Soap, standing in front of him and shaking his shoulders as Farah’s arms remain wrapped around his torso, keeping his fists below his waist.

Gaz is nowhere to be seen.

“Don’t fucking speak to be, Johnny, I don’t want to see your face,” you shout, eyes glassy, before you finally ease into Price and Alex’s grips, their own going lax. You shoulder off their arms, before without a word, storming down the corridor.

Your name’s called out after you, ‘Sweetheart’, ‘Moonflower’ – none of it matters. Not past the roaring in your ears, the spite burning in your veins. The pent up energy of an unfinished fight.

Shoving open the door to your – Gaz’s – room, you startle when you see the man himself, standing in the middle of the room, shirt in hand. The only light comes from the window, the full moon high in the sky more than enough light to serve as a lamp. His sweats hang loose on his hips, his muscles bulging but still lithe, more like a gymnast’s build than a wrestler’s.

He’s never looked better.

Whether that’s the adrenaline speaking, or the anger, you don’t know. Don’t care. Not past the need to have his mouth against your own.

It takes all of two seconds before the door slams shut behind you, and you’re shoving Gaz onto the bed, his own groan answer enough. His brown eyes glisten with the moonlight, and his throat dips when he swallows, focus trained on where you tug off that damn leather jacket. your shirt following.

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” you demand, “Unless it’s yes, no, or please.”

He nods, shaky, voice breaking when he responds, “Yes.”

Kicking off your pants, leaving you standing in only your panties and bra, you move to straddle him. He dutifully remains laid onto the bed, chest heaving in harsh sweeps, mouth slightly open in a mixture of shock and lust.

“Where do you get off,” you breathe, voice heavy with threat as you drag your pointer finger along the length of his throat, before following the line of his collarbone, “Being all moody about who I’ve fucked? What gives you the right?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the weakest he’s ever sounded, “Not – I’m not mad, I just. I want you.”

Your hand finds his neck, forming a light grip around it. You haven’t applied any pressure, but his breath hitches at the weight of it, the promise. 

“That sounded like more than one syllable,” you frown, mockingly patronising. You squeeze his neck, not anywhere hard enough to choke, but enough to have him squeezing his eyes shut. “We can talk later.”

He nods, harsh, quick jerks of his head, and the slightly unhinged smile returns to your face.

You hadn’t gotten the fight you’d yearned for, not with Soap, but this is a good enough replacement for that need.

Dragging your hand down his bare chest, you pause when you see scars. Not healed like those from battle, and ones you recognise. Before you can process what it means, Gaz lets out a sharp gasp, and when you look to him, his eyes are wide and.

And scared.

“No, hey, you can speak,” you ramble, and you can feel the flame of rage dim to sparking charcoal. It should be scary, how quickly you find yourself worried for the man, but it’s not. “It’s okay.”

“I should’ve told you,” he immediately breathes, squeezing his eyes shut once more. His head falls back to the bed once more. “I’m.”

He swallows, and you find your hand gravitating to his throat once more – this time, in a soft, soothing caress.

“I’m trans,” he finishes, saying it like one would whisper a secret in a confessional. Your heart stutters in your chest, and it aches, the idea that he’s had lovers who’ve made him feel so awful about his identity.

Your hand moves from his neck to his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eyes, and they finally flutter open once more.

They soften when they see your smile.

“Thank you for telling me,” you say, voice low and cautious. “If you wanna stop, it’s fine, but,” you shrug, “You’re hot. I still wanna fuck. You might have to show me what feels best, but that’s kinda hot, too.”

“You’re okay with it?” His voice is fragile, shaky, and fuck he’s pretty.

“I’m okay with it,” you echo, sentiment genuine and kind. “Tell me what you want, Kyle.”

His arms remain laid out on the bed at either side of him, his skin still heated with want and need and wanton lust. His voice strengthens when he answers.

“I want you to use me – take it out on me,” he says. “Please.”

And who are you to deny such a request?

author's note. i was veryveryvery close to orphaning or marking as complete. i'm not really in or interested in the COD fandom at all anymore, but, i realised that i also want to see where this story goes? excluding the characters, the actual story and world i've created for sweetheart has me wanting to see it to its end.

that, along with the fans. you guys and your genuine interest and comments have made this project worth it. i can't express enough how much you all mean to me, especially those that comment on every chapter and have been there every step of the way. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i can't promise as efficient and regular updates, but i CAN promise that i plan to finish this story in its entirety.

thank you to those who have stuck around, and thank you for those that continue to do so. you mean the world to me, and the very writing of this fic is owed to you.

(also, if anyone has any feedback on my trans rep and dealing with a trans character, PLEASE lmk. i am in no way perfect, and if i've made a mistake, please tell me so i can fix it and grow as a writer!)

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19 @infpt-zylith @marispunk @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @xvintageghostx @thigh-o-saur @thriving-n-jiving @callsign-pyro @mmmangel @aisawa-reo @just-pure-trash @silly-norman @annoyingstrawberryballoon @chop-zulyzulyyy

[masked-men-obsessed]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[masked-men-obsessed]

hii it’s anon that asked about the “what’s your problem” story , i was wondering what your favorite characters from cod were (sorry if you’ve answered this before) and what your head canons for them would be? and how’s your master list going just curious, well i hope you had a great day whenever you read this :3

Headcannons: 141 + König

18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW, comfort, sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, praise, degradation, possessive traits, overstimulation, just a variety of NSFW, links to straight p0rn

A/n: I don’t really have a favorite! Although I do love writing for Ghost. But I will say, I love König cause his design is so sick and he’s also Austrian which is <3. Hope you’re having a great day / night when you read this! ALSO! I think the links only work if you open the Twitter app. Pls lmk if you know how to make it work, cause idk what’s going wrong.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley -

SFW

Simon is a sucker for physical touch, resting a hand on the small of your back whenever you walk together, tracing the knuckles of your fingers during meetings, simply brushing his ankle against yours under a table

Acts of service are his thing. He’d prepare your coffee in the morning, you’d find your knives and guns polished to perfection if you had an important upcoming mission, be always had an eye on if you were running out of anything - like shampoo or water - and it’d be replaced before it ever goes empty.

Any second he spends with you is never a second wasted. Just being in your presence makes him happy, you two don’t even have to be talking to each other! He just loves having you near him, being able to look over and see your face whenever he wishes…

He could stare at you for hours, trying to memorize every feature of your face to perfection.

Movies and cuddles, always. He won’t even watch the movie! He’ll just be staring at you, so peaceful in his arms. If it happens to be a horror he loves to watch how you jump slightly, gripping onto his arm tightly and hiding behind it. He loved how you felt safe when he held you, how you looked to him for protection.

NSFW

Two words. ROUGH INTIMACY. Ghost can’t help but rail into you till your voice snaps. But he’ll always make his adoration for you clear. Kissing every inch of skin, praising you, mumbling how good you felt, what a good girl you were being, all the while slamming into your cervix till your brain melts

We all know he’s BIG. And when you first see him, he can see the shock and nervousness on your face. You had no idea how he’d fit inside you. First time he’d be sweet and reassuring, but from then on, if you brought up his size, he’d just say “Don’t worry… I’ll make it fit”

Loves to hear you. Takes note of every small motion that causes you to moan out or whimper.

Wants you to sit on his face. He craves it. Wants your thighs to suffocate him slowly as he eats you out so expertly.

He’s merciless… barely giving you recovery time between when he eats you out, and when he slides deep inside you.

This man just LOVES to overstimulate you. The broken moans and cries that leave your lips had him hungry for more. Because no matter how many times you came, or how much you begged for a moment to relax, he knew you can take it. And you did. “Awww I know… f-fuck I know. Is it too much?” he’d tease you, voice soft and gentle before somehow speeding up his pace, chuckling as your eyes well up from the overwhelming pleasure “I know you can take it. Be a good cocksleeve and take it”

Due to his more animalistic side that wants to fuck you senseless… you two have a safe word. That if it ever becomes painful or too much you promised you’d say it. And if you couldn’t say it, all you had to do was wrap a hand around his throat, he’d stop immediately and make sure you’re alright. “Shit…” he’d slip out of you gently, beginning to rub your waist softly “it’s alright… there you go. Deep breathes” if you were tied up in any way, he took them off. He’d kiss at any red marks his fingers left behind “I know darling… it was overwhelming. You’re okay now” and he’d just caress you and take care of you for as long as it took.

Every chance he gets he finishes inside of you. Watching how the mixture of his and your cum slide out of your fluttering cunt. It makes him groan each time.

Then taking a finger and picking it up before stuffing it back inside of you. “You better now waste a drop… want you to feel me dripping out of you for days”

Certain nights he’ll even go so far as to keep his dick inside of you. Using it as a plug so his cum stays inside you. He’d groan as you continue to flutter around him. But as his dick softens inside you, he falls in love with how the warmth of your pussy surrounds his sensitive cock. Finding a deep love for cockwarming for multiple reasons.

Bonus —> This is exactly him! The change of pace to take moments just to hold and kiss you, before going back to manhandling you, hands finding their way to grip at your hips to hold you in place for him. Ugh and the slight choke hold!

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish -

SFW

This man is so flirtatious, loving to get you to blush through his words. “I swear you’re an Angel…” smiling at you as if you’re his whole world “i could just look at you for hours”

Soap just adores hearing your laugh. This often means he’ll surprise you by suddenly tickling your sides. Of course you try to escape but you don’t stand a chance, his grip on you tight and unwavering.

Play wrestling is a must for this man. He loves when you get all cocky, threatening to pin him down or tackle him. He likes to goad you, get under your skin till you finally lunge at him. Of course he’ll let you have your fun every once in a while but it always ends the same. Him winning and pinning you down. “You know you don’t stand a chance lass… why even try?” He loves to tease. Using the opportunity to kiss you all over.

Always finds time for you! No matter how busy he is, he will make time for you.

Loves using pick up lines on you, even though you’re already dating. Adores when you throw your own pick up line his way, always making his laugh with how cheesy they are.

NSFW

Such a horny man. Legit grinds against you whenever he can, even if you’re talking with other soldiers in the common area. He just can’t get enough of you.

Loves when you give him head… the sight of your lips sloppily sucking him off, it was enough to have him trembling. His hands would caress your head before grabbing at your hair. Encouraging you not to stop. “F-fuck you’re so good… so good to me~” praising breathlessly. “So gorgeous gagging on my cock like that” the way saliva connects your lips to his cock was probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen “Lips slick with spit… Can I fuck your throat numb? Please Angel” he checks in consistently, wanting your consent with everything. He enjoys gripping your hair and holding your head in place as he feverishly shoves his cock down your throat.

He is not shy to kiss you after you suck him off, wanting to reward you when you’re good for him “Did such a good job gorgeous… let me reward you like you deserve”

His hands loved to explore your body, running over your body and groping at any skin he could reach.

Any position where he can see your face? His favorite. He wants to see how your eyes roll back, how your mouth falls agape, how spit collects at the corner of your mouth. “Feels good doesn’t it? God lass, you look so drunk on my cock… all for me”

Just praise. He cannot shut up when it comes to you. “Such an Angel. Such a beautiful beautiful lass” whether you’re on your knees, beneath him, riding him, he needs to make sure you know how gorgeous you are. “I wanna make you melt~ All for me. Wanna make you feel so so good”

Never satisfied with you only cumming once. He will always make sure he gets at least 2 out of you. On days where you both have the time… he won’t stop until you beg him to. “Give me one more yeah? One more orgasm before you pass out…” “Can you do that for me?”

Bonus —> This just screams soap to me. He craves this intimacy, that closeness to just feel and worship you in his arms. The shower being a perfect place to be alone together, just melting under the feel of your lips

Second Bonus —> with your permission of course, he would totally make a video like this. Watching it back when he’s alone, thrusting into his fist imagining it was your pussy. Closing his eyes as he listens to the sound of your moans from his phone. Sometimes he’ll just watch it… not even to get off. Just smirking at the sight of you so weak for him, completely at his mercy.

König -

SFW

This big bear just wants to hold you. Cuddling you against his big chest while his hand completely envelops your palm. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you as close as he can.

Protective as hell. You are his top priority… if he gets the idea that someone is making you uncomfortable in any way, he’s stepping in and willing to resort to violence for you “Back off… or you’ll be picking your teeth off the floor”

He is a sucker for your touch and kisses. When you’d pepper them on his face through his sniper hood he just melts. Your touch relaxing his muscles effortlessly, specifically going insane when they sit at his waist - which is slutty as hell! - thumbs resting on the V taper of his torso.

Definitely sprays his pillow and bed with your perfume. He loves the scent of you and wants to have the illusion that you’re in his bed even when you’re not.

König will speak in German to you randomly, whether it’s nicknames or whole sentences. Loving how you don’t know what he’s saying but trust him enough to know it’s only ever something sweet. “Du bist das Licht meines Lebens“ or „Mein süße Engel“ (t- You are the light of my life, my sweet Angel)

NSFW

Size kink. Simple as that. Can’t help but feel pride every time your cunt manages to take all of him inside you. Praising you. “Such an obedient little pussy… taking all of me so easily without any struggle. Fuck it’s like you’re molded to fit me”

Loves missionary simply because he can see the way his dick bulges through the skin of your lower stomach. He’ll place a hand there, softly pressing down against it which had you seeing stars

He. Is. A. Switch. Fight me. Sometimes this big bear of a man needs to be taken care of. Loving to fall apart under your mouth or pussy, abiding by your rules and letting you lead. Whimpers and whines spilling from his lips while he pleaded for more. “P-please, mein gott Schatz. Please go faster, f-feels so good” (t- my god sweetheart)

Making out with you gets him so hard so fast. Hands exploring each other while your lips mold against each other. His tongue prodding at your mouth softly until you let him in. The feeling of your tongue sliding against his while your mouth swallowed every noise he made, that was just so hot to him.

Aftercare is very important to him. With his size and his roughness he always makes sure to soothe your sore muscles after a rough fuck. He’ll always take the time to massage your thighs and shoulders to help ease your twitching. He’ll softly kiss over every inch of your skin, praising you for being so good, and then holding you into the night, holding you close. “You did so good Schatz… my best girl. Let me help ease you to sleep”

Bonus —> SIZE. KINK! He’d just watch how his cock slides down your throat, protruding through your skin. He’d fuck your throat nice and slow just to watch your skin bulge with the head of his cock. Being ever so gentle as he slides himself in and out of your throat

Second Bonus —> He loves having you on his lap. His large frame holding you as you ride down onto his cock. Watching you bounce up and down and urging you on with his hands gripping your hips.

Captain John Price -

SFW

Price was not big into PDA, preferring to save his physical touch for when the two of you are alone. Instead he shows his affection through praise and compliments. Often following missions or in the mornings. “I’m proud of you, you did a great job in todays mission” , “Morning soldier, good to see you nice and cheery”

Trusts you ENDLESSLY but is always afraid that you’ll get hurt. The idea enough to crush him.

If you do come back from a mission injured, he’ll demand to be in the room with the medic, pushing them aside to take care of the more minor injuries - obviously not taking on more than he can handle, they have a skilled medic for a reason. But he feels better to be there and help in some way.

If you’re sore in any way, he is immediately ready to alleviate your pain. “You alright darling?” You always try to ease his mind and hide your soreness but Price knows. Even the small winces of your body had his attention on you. “Y-yeah just a bit sore in my shoulder. Its bearable though” he was already making his way behind you - whether in the common area, bedroom, office, he’s on his way - and begins to massage at your muscles. “Tell me if it hurts too much” the second he starts there’s no getting rid of him, no matter how many times you say it’s alright, if you’re still wincing or clenching your teeth, he’s not moving. “Let me take care you darling”

If you’re not a soldier, when he’s gone you get tons of letters and gifts, he’d even send you little wooden carvings of hearts he’d make when he had time. Always saying that he misses you dearly and cannot wait to see you again

NSFW

His endurance would surprise you… able to hold back just to watch you fall apart on his cock over and over till he’s satisfied.

Nothing turns him on like pleasuring you. He could stay tucked between your thighs for hours if you let him. His tongue memorizing every part of your sensitive pussy just to get you to fall apart faster each time. “Mmm, you taste so good… she’s absolutely drenched”

He has AND WILL CONTINUE TO place you up on his shoulders so your hands touch the ceiling while he eats you out feverishly

Big on foreplay. Loves to finger fuck you before he does anything else, preparing you even when he knows you don’t need it. You’d beg him to stop teasing but he couldn’t help himself. Wanting to get you writhing on his bed before he even fucks you. “Patience darling… it’ll feel so much better I promise”

When you give him blowjobs he goes haywire, the feeling just indescribable. However the doesn’t like to grab at your head and throat fuck you. Rather shirting to a 69 position to please you at the same time. Often eating you out so goddamn good you have to pull your lips off his cock, not that’s he’s complaining.

Not one for teasing, he gives you what you when you ask for it nicely. Loves to hear you beg on your volition without having to withhold your orgasm from you to do it.

Price wants you to hear him… he wants you to know how good you make him feel.

Bonus —> Enough said. He wants you WRITHING. Holding you in place as he brings you to orgasm over and over.

Second Bonus —> SO HIM ITS INSANE! Late night post mission fucking. Wants you nice and close, head buried in your neck as he groans and murmurs to you. He would be so vocal it’d surprise you at first, moaning directly into your ear.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick -

SFW

Always tries to be a real gentleman. Setting up actually cutesy dates for the two of you. Yet he doesn’t want you to mention it too much. He doesn’t need the praise for being a good partner, it comes naturally.

Showers you in compliments, even if it’s a little thing. “Your hair looks beautiful today” “I always thought that shirt looked good on you” often pulling you close after he butters you up with his kind words “Your skin is practically glowing… my own goddess”

Good morning and good night texts… they don’t even have to be long, he just loves sending you a message so you wake up or go to bed thinking of him. Cause he sure as hell thinks of you.

He sticks by your side whenever he gets the chance. Always wanting to be the one to spar with you in training, the one you eat breakfast and dinner with, the one you sit next to in the common area. Practically nothing can drag him away from you.

A big advocate for you stealing his clothes. Loves to see you in his hoodies around the base, a smirk growing on his lips when he spots you. He loves as well when you sleep in his shirts, having once told him that you like how it smells like him.

NSFW

Gaz isn’t into taking videos and photos of you when you’re intimate. However… his one expectation is a set of Polaroids you gave him of you in lingerie, each photo with one less piece of clothing until the final one was a breathtaking nude photo of you. He prefers to keep them in his wallet, physical evidence that you’re his.

Gaz doesn’t shut up. Whether he’s praising, teasing, or slightly degrading you, he doesn’t stop talking. He loves the effect his words have on you. “Yeah? You’re close aren’t you? I can feel how you clench around me… trying to pull me in deeper, such a good fucking pussy. Just for me” occasionally leaning down and whispering directly into your ear “Sound so fucking beautiful… screaming out for me like a cock hungry whore”

He’ll use any chance he can get to smack your ass. The moment you lean over a counter, or bend over to grab something, you feel his hand collide with your ass. When you’re around other soldiers he simply gives your rear a little pinch or grope. Making sure it’s subtle enough no one even noticed.

Loves to lead but not be dominant. He enjoys choosing the position and how he wants to hold you, or touch you. He doesn’t like to manhandle you though, never.

However he will let you lead whenever you want. He’ll be especially supportive if you want to ride him, it being one of his favorite positions. His hands will hold your waist as you bounce on his cock. His eyes glued to the way your tits bounce in unison, either moving his hands up to grope them or leaning forward to lick and bite at them. “Looks so fucking sexy… let me help you darling.” His hands will lift your hips up and down harsher, even meeting your hips halfway by thrusting up into you. It’s not long before he takes control, fucking up into you - see second bonus ;)

He is a BIG tit guy. They don’t need even need to be big, he just loves playing with, licking, and kissing at the skin of your breasts before moving to toy with your nipples. Moaning against them knowing you’ll feel the vibration through your whole body.

Loves to cum on your tits and face. Wants to see it decorate your skin, or your clothes ;)

Afterwards will pick some of it up with his fingers, sticking them in your mouth “Suck them clean for me…” when you oblige hell immediately kiss you.

He would do the same after he finger fucks you. Licking his fingers clean right in front of your face, winking at you after he’s done.

Bonus —> He loves how you sound, but is more than happy to gag you with a rag or his fingers to keep you quiet. This just feels very Gaz… the roughness and lust. Yet he’d definitely make sure you’re in the mood for that kind of sex.

Second Bonus —> Loves how you ride him, wanting to lead your movements. When your thighs falter and ache he’ll soon have your wrists or even your hair in his hand as he fucks up into you. Encouraging you to meet his thrusts by smacking at your ass.

[masked-men-obsessed]

Simon's encounters with an angel or Simon Riley is pathetically in love with his princess

>Simon Riley x Bimbo!Reader Masterlist♡

🌸'cause this type of love's the epitome | playlist

>Reqs closed! 🎀

✩ Another planet earth?

✩ Ms. Whiskers

✩ Their dynamic

✩ Their dynamic | Part 2

✩ Their dynamic | Part 3

✩ Skincare

✩ Corruption (NOT CANON, OOC)

✩ Jealousy (NOT CANON, OOC)

✩ Gym Princess

✩ Clubbing

✩ Interests and book smarts

✩ Would you still love me if I was a worm?

✩ Simon carrying her out of the club

✩ Does Simon support her financially?

✩ Goofy Trial | Friendship with Gaz and Soap

✩ Filthy Frank Merch

✩ Taking the lead

✩ Kiss marks

✩ Matching nails

✩ How did they meet?

✩ Does she know he's in the SAS?

✩ I <3 my boyfriend sweatpants

✩ Does she ever get jealous?

✩ Would she wear the TikTok forbidden pants?

✩ Bow trend

✩ Rewards after acing an exam

✩ Bow trend... on his dick

✩ Would Simon share her with the 141?

✩ Christmas with Simon and your family

✩ Would Simon let her see his soft dick?

✩ Their Instagram accounts

✩ Albert Whiskers

✩ Baby carrier

✩ Playing Roblox together

✩ Doing her skincare after finding her asleep on the couch

✩ Snow day

✩ How would he propose?

✩ Spa day at home

✩ Matching tracksuits

✩ Did you know him? [meme]

✩ What would they argue about and how would they make up?

✩ Matching crop tops

✩ Sex!💗

✩ Would he fuck her with full gear and mask on?

✩ Sonny Angels

✩ Boyfriend effect

✩ Simon's reaction to her nipple piercings

✩ Relationship weight gain

✩ Pillow fort

✩ Periods stop nothing but sentences

✩ Wrapping a bow on it

✩ Pegging

✩ Backshots

✩ Interacting with Gaz and Johnny

✩ Playing mermaids

✩ Eating pussy

✩ Long nails

✩ Their daughter

✩ NSFW Link

✩ Trying anal

✩ Holding her pregnant belly💗

✩ Baby kicking

✩ Fashion style while pregnant

✩ Hand tattoos

✩ This type of love's the epitome

✩ Valentine's day card

✩ Back scratches

✩ Masturbating on videocall

[masked-men-obsessed]

Lick

I always imagine König as someone who wouldn't hesitate to licks your face like a dog hahah

[masked-men-obsessed]

You're out walking yours and Simon's dog, Riley, one afternoon when some guy you've never met all but saunters up to you.

He tries to chat you up, laying the flirtation on so thick it congeals into sleaze. You shut him down bluntly at every turn, but unfortunately, he's... determined.

Riley growls as he takes a step closer, the retired military dog pushing himself in front of you with hackles raised and teeth bared.

And still, the stranger doesn't get the hint. He merely huffs out an amused laugh as he looks from Riley to you.

"Didn't realize you had a guard dog -"

Suddenly, his gaze wanders past you. The cocky grin on his face drains away in an instant as he pales.

Like he's seen a Ghost.

"She's got two, mate."

[masked-men-obsessed]

NETFLIX AND CHILL | S4E4 - Ghost

you thought this was supposed to be training. you thought this was supposed to be some practice with ghost to test your reaction skills. you thought this was supposed to be dedicated one on one time together in each other's company. but not like this.

[watch history | mdni 18+ | afab!reader]

"thought you said horror movies are dumb," you shift in your seat and ghost hums. he clicks play anyways on one you hadn't seen before. it's some obscure title with an even weirder thumbnail. you're not even sure how he found it, didn't even know he even used his separate profile on the account.

"they are," he affirms and wraps his arms around your waist as you continue to get cozy. right. he's the seat. your attempts are futile since you're seated on his fat fuckin' cock. it stretches you out and fill you to the brim. there's a restrained whine that sounds in the back of your throat when he shifts against you and bullies his cock just a tad deeper. "don't make any sort of sense at all. they add in all these bits of drama for no reason. make all these dumb mistakes and that's why they never survive."

"that's what's supposed to make it fun." you can tell he rolls his eyes, can just feel it. "what does this have to do with-"

"reaction training," he grunts and gives your thigh a light squeeze. it stings just barely and you huff when he grips it tight as if that's the effort to soothe it. "need to stay sharp."

you settle back against ghost's chest with pursed lip, but he stops you by pinching your cheeks and cradling your jaw to turn your face to him. the breath in your lungs immediately rush out of you from the look on his face. he's got an intense stare in his eyes like he's warning you. behave, it tells you. keep up a good attitude or you'll be punished.

he smirks when you swallow and eventually remember how to breathe. he likes how easily you've submit to him. you turn your head back to the screen that's started up the opening scene to some psychological horror. already from the way they set the scene with the soundtrack makes you uneasy. you suppose that ghost had an eye for pretty storytelling.

"the real monster here is your cock," you mutter under your breath. he lets out a humorous chuckle and takes his left hand to knead just outside of your pussy.

it makes you hyperaware of the way you're oh-so-spread out for him. you ache from how heavy he rests in your pussy. how does he expect you to make it through the movie like this? and the way his fingers massage where you know you'll be sore from taking him. his dick is the thickest you've ever taken and he knows it. ghost takes pride in it, actually. because he knows how much thicker he feels when you're cumming around him and keeping him locked in there with a vice grip. doesn't plan on pulling out anyways.

i digress... it's hard to focus when you're sat on a nice cock.

you manage to keep still for a good portion of the next 20 minutes. there's very minor shifting and adjusting and squirming involved save for when ghost idly plays with your pussy. he makes sure to leave the most sensitive parts alone, still conscious enough with his hand gestures to avoid playing with your clit. but god, you wish he did.

ghost massages your folds and will occasionally squish them together to hide whatever's left of that meaty dick that he wasn't able to fit inside of you. or he spreads you open just a little wider as if it'll make room for him in that tight fit. evidently, his little "training method" works as you jump when a loud noise emits from the tv screen.

strong arms wrap around you and strokes the tops of your thighs comfortingly.

"pay attention, yeah?" he pats your leg and moves to whisper in your ear. a shudder makes its way through your body as he grazes chapped lips against your ear. the movement makes his dick twitch and a light growl rumble in his chest. "can't have a simple knock on the door scare you, can we?"

"no," you stutter out, taken aback by the slight grind of his hips against you.

"no what?"

you exhale shakily. "no, sir."

"good." he resumes what he was doing before and watching the movie over your shoulder with a glance to your face every so often. he's proud of you. trying so hard to keep it together but your mind is starting to cloud as you cream on his dick.

it seems you weren't paying attention again, too busy clenching around him, when another loud bang startles you. normally you're not easy to startle when you're around ghost. but right now it's like you don't even realize you're watching a movie. not when ghost is soothingly rubbing slow circles around your little clit.

one certain pinch at your clit as you jolting against him. you try your best to calm yourself, but he'd already caught on and goes back to massaging your pussylips teasingly.

"why so jumpy?" he murmurs. you can tell he's smiling by the tone of his voice. "was just a little scare. you could've predicted it if you were watching like you're supposed to."

"s'hard to focus with-"

"with what? with my dick buried in this tight fuckin' cunt o' yours?" you whine out at that and roll your hips against him to relieve the dull ache in your core. always had a way with words. he thrusts upwards violently and you yelp out again. his fingers resume that soft back and forth against your pussy, playing lightly with your clit to keep teasing you. "this is the point of training. can't make it too easy. need to give you a proper challenge, right? need to see if you'll stay focused with a couple distractions."

to punctuate his sentence, he gives your clit a nice tap. it makes your legs jerk and a shout of his name leaves your lips as you move your hips in little circles. ghost lets you do as you please for the time being. he's too amused at how needy you've become while cockwarming him. how your brain's gone to mush while fucking yourself as much as you can on his cock. eventually, ghost grips your hips to still you. you let out some kind of devastated noise.

"quit your screamin'," he warns you, pretends that he's talking about the movie instead. "y'always safe in my arms. you know that?"

you know that right now, you really aren't. he proves your point by roughly swiping at your clit a couple times and then roughly gripping your thigh since you don't answer. prompts you to squeal out a "yes, sir!"

"mm," he responds and then starts kissing at your neck. he mumbles against your skin while kneading the meat of your thighs and sliding up to feel at your hips.

there's a scream coming from the movie and it jolts you back to your senses. it looks like they're in some kind of dark cabin or something. can't really tell now that your eyes are half closed. his dick feels that good. ghost shushes you and you can feel your heart beating so rapidly in your chest. you feel a lot like the girl on screen currently getting chased like some kind of prey. yet here you are, already trapped in the monster's arms.

there's a couple jumpscares throughout the next couple of scenes that you feel more prepared for now that you've gotten a little more context. ghost is right when he says that the movies feel formulaic and you can predict when they'll bring up the next loud bang.

you're confident that you're used to it now and can make it through the rest of the movie without issue. however, it's been a little too long since ghost was playing with you. he was giving you a little cooldown period to calm yourself so he could have the perfect chance to disrupt that. right now there's a build up to the next jumpscare and you're sitting in anticipation for it. deciding that now was the perfect time, he gives your clit a mean slap. a second and a third one come in quick succession.

it scares you from how sudden it comes down on you. a moan of surprise escapes you and you clench tightly around ghost's cock. you're still reeling from the sensations that the jumpscare you thought you were prepared for makes you jump. that or ghost fucked up into you and jostled you just a tad.

"thought i told you to stay sharp," ghost says in mock disappointment.

"sorry, sir. just didn't expect you to-"

"you blaming me?" he growls out. another harsh slap against your pussy comes down and you groan out. he chuckles darkly when your legs twitch and your pussy throbs again. ghost swipes a couple fingers around your gaping slit and finds those sticky strings of arousal webbing his fingers together. "oh, so you like this?"

you can't even deny it.

"yeah? like when i slap your clit?" he grins when you nod. "even though it's supposed to act as some distraction for this... 'training?'"

ghost taps your little nub a couple more times, gentler than the earlier smacks he gave it. no matter. the way he plays with you practically begging for more. nevermind. you're blatantly begging for more.

"aren't i doing good, though?" you keen back against ghost's chest and he takes the moment to trail his hands up to grip at your tits. he lets you roll your hips again, never been that much of a stickler for punishments. besides, you have been good.

"you saying you deserve a reward?" you moan out as you keep riding his dick in slow, sticky circles. there's no shame left in you as you nod eagerly. it's not unlike ghost to give punishments either. but you've caught him in a good mood. either that or he's bored by the movie. would rather be hearing your screams instead. "fine, sit back on the couch."

you whine when he pulls you up so that his dick slips out of you. there's a soreness in your pussy from being stretched for so long, but ghost is quick to remedy that when you sit fairly slouched against the cushions. he pulls your hips forward to the edge of the seat and stands low in between your legs.

"c'mon, put them over my shoulders. just like how i like it," he tells you with a cocky smirk. you do as he says and swing your legs up so the backs of your knees rest over his shoulders. he groans out when sliding his dick up and down your cunt, watching the way your puffy folds give way for the thick cockhead.

he prods in and out of you teasingly, just barely dipping in you. you're about to say something before he shoves his cock balls deep into you. you whine out at that and stare up at him with an open mouth. his grin is downright feral as he watches the little bulge he makes in your lower tummy. always knew he was a tight fit, but doesn't mean he doesn't like to be reminded every now and then.

you follow his eyes and glance down to where he dick is inside of you. he takes one hand from the back of the couch where he's been bracing and places it over the little tummy bulge. you groan out and place your hand over his and scratch at his wrist when he presses into it. you can feel his cock more intensely. it's a lot.

you need more.

ghost can see that hungry look in your eyes and takes a breath before roughly fucking into you. you rake your nails down his chest and to his stomach where it flexes every time he pounds into you. he hisses when you dig in a little harder when he makes sure to slap his pelvis against your clit now.

"fuck," he grits out through clenched teeth. there are angry, red lines forming on his chest. "got some claws on you, eh? trying to mark me up?"

"s'for teasing me earlier."

ghost straightens up just enough so he can truly look down at you as you're folded in half. he looks like a beast. a feral glare as he stares down at you(r pussy), flushed face from the exertion of him fucking you, and those scratches going down his torso and sides. something about this spikes a rush of adrenaline in you. he looks like he's going to eat you alive and the bright flashing of the tv behind him illuminates him in some kind of shadow that just adds to it.

"deserved it," he simply says. he delivers a single thrust into your pussy and you moan and press yourself harder against the cushions to give yourself some breathing room. god, his dick is so deep in you.

"bite me," you quip back.

at that, ghost leans forward to brace against the couch once again and starts fucking into you once more. he slams his hips so hard against yours that he's bouncing off you. that slapping sound of your skin is so loud, so obscene that you swear you've never heard anything filthier.

"you've got a lot of bark."

you can't respond properly as ghost grinds himself into you. you take that moment instead you look back down at your pussy so you can see the frothy ring of your cum around the base of his cock, see what's making those sticky noises whenever he plunges in and out of you. your fingers spread your pussy out for him as if it'll make more room for his cock.

"mm, what a pretty pussy," ghost grins down at you. he watches how your folds give for the girth of him and throbs at the sight. pussy good enough to make a grown man drain himself in an instant.

now that you're spread wider for him, he's able to slap his hips against your clit now that it's exposed. he takes this opportunity to slip his cock out. it bobs now that it's violently pulled out of your pussy and he uses the time to deliver a couple more slaps to your cunt once more.

"no!" you whine out, devastated at the loss of his cock. but the strong stimulation against your clit has you cumming around nothing. "fuck you."

ghost merely grins and starts thumbing at your clit while your pussy is still spasming. your hips buck from the overstimulation as it keeps building up, you not having a break from earlier. and he decides now is the perfect time to take mercy on you and stick his cock back inside.

your hips are lifted from the couch as ghost stands to fuck you properly. your legs fall to brace in the crook of his arms while he holds you up and fucks you like it's all he knows how to do. he's a man on a mission to bring you to another orgasm. an intense one.

"c'mon, let me feel this cunt squeeze on me," he urges you. his voice is raspy from exertion, lets out a couple rough pants and angles his hips to hit deep inside of you.

somehow he's managed to hold you up with one hand while the other starts playing with your clit again. his dick seems to be searching for your cervix with how deep he's going, how hard he's fucking. "gonna cum again."

"gotta ask nicely if you want to."

he says that but makes no effort to slow down or let up on the thrusts. he keeps the pace, which makes you think he'll ruin your orgasm if you don't beg. in no position to deny him, you arch your ass as much as you can so his dick hits you at all the right angles.

"please," you start. "please, need to cum so bad."

"you already did before." the way he says that makes you panic like he intends to make you cum around nothing again.

"not like that," you whine. "please, let me cum properly. let me cum on your dick."

"please, what?" he taunts you. he slips out once more to use the tip of his cock to slap at your clit again. it serves as a brutal reminder of what he's capable of.

"please, sir."

"that's it," he hums out. with a slow drag of the underside of his cock against you, he draws all the way back and slowly pops his tip back inside you.

there's a couple of half thrusts where he barely nudges against your gspot. you moan out and try to shift your hips against his dick to urge him to hurry it up.

"can't cum, sir." he watches you with a dopey smile while you're on the verge of tears. you're so frustrated you want to cry. need to cum so bad you want to scream out. "need your cock, need to cum on your cum. can't cum without it!"

"okay, okay," he relents.

ghost wraps both hands under you to cup at your ass so he has a good grip to plunge into you. his dick now goes in and out at its full length. you're losing your mind on his cock and he's loving it. he starts thrusting into you faster and you bring a hand down to play with your clit to get you there faster.

"mmh," you breathe out. you roll your clit against your fingertips and just at that moment ghost starts prodding his dick against that one spongy spot. you barely have enough sanity to keep moving your hand, but you're so close! "i'm gonna-"

"do it. cum." ghost watches intently at the way your hand moves back and forth, at how your cunt just takes the abuse of his dick in you. you don't even realize the rising feeling in your core since you're so focused on the way ghost starts grinding his hips against yours. his leaky tip keeps rubbing at your gspot and his pelvis traps your fingers against your clit. it's such a rough, feel-good pressure that you cum around his dick. hard. "fuckin' beautiful."

you let out a long moan as you start spraying cum all over ghost's torso. eyes barely open enough to witness how intensely you're squirting all over his dick. ever the consistent man, ghost helps you ride the rest of the orgasm out by delivering one more light tap to your clit to push out the rest of your juices.

he licks his lips at the sight, runs his hands down his torso to collect whatever you've covered him with so he can taste it. ghost fucking moans at that and you let out another pathetic whine. eventually, he has the decency to slowly let you down and pull out of you so it's not a painful recovery. you still wince at the feeling of him pulling out and lay completely spent on the couch while he fists his cock over you so he can pump his cum all over you and get that relief he needs.

you hazily watch his flushed cock, absolutely shiny from his precum and your slick, twitch in his hand while the other keeps feeling himself up. he rubs at his chest and stomach while rubbing at his tip in his fist. it takes a couple more seconds of him jerking off before he's spurting that thick cum all over the front of you. cums so hard a couple drops hit your face and just barely miss your mouth.

ghost heaves a breath and smiles down at you. he lets go of his dick and takes a moment to stretch his tensed muscles while you adjust your position so your back doesn't complain any longer. a glance behind him shows that the movie's just about done with the scary bits. you don't even flinch when there's one final jumpscare and look up at ghost, only to find him already watching you.

"see? not so scary, is it? the movie?"

ghost scoffs and gives you a light nip on the shoulder. "that's cause you had a couple handicaps."

"i do agree that a dick that big would leave me handicapped, yes."

he lets out a small, genuine laugh this time. his eyes watch you affectionately and sparkle with mirth when you rub some of the cum from the corner of your mouth. he replaces your hand with his as his thumb wipes away whatever is left. that sparkle quickly darkens when you take his thumb into your mouth to taste him, like he did you. "don't start. or i'll actually punish you this time."

do not edit or reupload my works elsewhere (reblogs welcome!)

[masked-men-obsessed]

COD TWT LINKS

i forgot gaz n Kyle. Here you go loviessss

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

Kyle being pussy drunk

Morning with kyle

riding tatted kyle

kyle after a long mission

kyle trying to keep quiet on base

making out with kyle

easy access

KEEGAN P RUSS

mornings with keegan

punishment with keegan

riding keegan

since you used them behind his back...

punishment with keegan pt.2

there you go little sluts love ya :3

[masked-men-obsessed]

hear me out… virgin!könig whos so used to fucking his fist so the minute he tastes his gfs pussy he cums.. -🐶

he’d been begging to eat you out for a while, growing frustrated with your insistence to take things slow. he’d even practiced on his worn out little fleshlight countless times, imagining how he was going to rock your world and have you seeing stars with his tongue, surely skillful now that he watched so much porn surrounding the topic.

in reality, seeing your pretty, glistening pussy in person breaks his brain a little bit, and he suddenly forgets all of the long nights he spent training for this, your sweet voice attempting to talk him through it drowned out by the sound of his blood pumping in his ears. he gets overwhelmed by how good you smell, how soft you look, shaky hands gripping your thighs as he marvels at the sight in front of him. he hovers over your hot cunt for what feels like hours, just inspecting and playing around with all your wet folds and sensitive nerves with hesitant fingers like he’s figuring out a new toy— or trying to make a scientific discovery. his aching dick is left untouched, twitching and leaking in his pants.

meanwhile, you’re getting all worked up from the teasing, chest heaving and heart racing as you dip in and out of pleasure. you finally push his head down until he has no choice but to lick into you, his large nose bumping against your clit as he licks a stripe up your pussy, and immediately, he’s groaning out in a familiar, almost pained way.

“did you… did you just cum?”

he looks up at you all puppy dog-eyed and guilty. “i’m sorry, maus. you just… taste so good.”

[masked-men-obsessed]

Sick <3 Masterlist

Zombie!Ghost x Survivor You ☢️🖤

MDNI - Over 18s only

Splish splash

Simon Ghost Riley

Blink once for yes

Don’t peek

“I’m scared.”

Clumsy kisses

“Please.”