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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

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Thinking about tattoo artist Ghost who notices you in the studio quite often. Who recognizes the signs of using tattoos as a thinly veiled coping mechanism and can’t help but think that there’s a… better… way for you to cope. Ways that he can help you with. Things he can teach you that don’t involve needles but would still leave his mark on your skin.

You need him.

You’ve just finished up your session with Soap, finalizing the payment with him at the front desk, when you feel a looming presence at your back.

Ghost.

“Um… hi?” He’s the only one of them you haven’t sat for. Over the last few months you’d worked your way through nearly the entire staff at the studio, amassing a collection of new pieces like a kid collecting happy meal toys in the summer–often and to the detriment of your bank account.

“You're with me next week.” His tone brooks no argument. “Soap, what do I have open next Saturday?”

“I can’t, I–”

“Ye’re open from two to close.”

“Book her. The full day.”

“What?!”

“Got somethin’ special drawn up that I’ve been holdin’ onto. We can make adjustments when you come in. See ya next weekend.“ He saunters back to his station without another word.

Well.

Despite the odd nature of the encounter, you go. ‘Just to see what he’s drawn up,’ you tell yourself. In actuality, you’d had a hell of a week and were itching, chomping at the bit, for the bite of a needle by the time the appointment came around. And damn him it’s good. Really fucking good. Fits your aesthetic perfectly and his suggested placement isn’t far off from where you would have chosen yourself.

Fuck it.

You let him do it. Follow him down the hall to the private room, nod when he tells you to get comfortable and that he just needs to grab one more thing from his station and he’ll be right back.

You’re stripped down to your panties and the oversized hoodie you brought in, big enough to drape and maneuver out of his way while maintaining a bit of modesty, when he comes back.

“You bring water? Somethin’ to eat during breaks?” he asks as he sets a water bottle of his own on the counter. You nod and his head tilts ever so slightly. “Need words, sweetheart.”

“Yes. I did.”

Not the first time an artist has asked the question, but his insistence on a verbal answer is a curious deviation from your typical experience here. Soap certainly didn’t wait for your answer before he had his arm slung over your ass to ‘steady himself’ while needling a trail of stars down your spine a few weeks ago.

“Alright, let’s get you settled then. Down.’ He presses on your shoulder, pushing you down onto the reclined chair. “We doin it on the left or right?” His hands linger on either side of you, bent at the waist to hover over your frame.

“Uh, you said right would look best… with the other pieces? So um… yeah. The right.”

There’s a flicker behind the richness of his eyes. Something dark and smoky the seeps into the irises.

“Lookit you. Listen real well, don’t ya?”

What?

He leaves you with mere milliseconds to process. “On your side. Let’s get you stenciled.” His hand trails along your ribs, glides over the bulky fabric of the hoodie and tugs. Pulls at the pocket on the front to get you moving. “Good girl,” he purrs when you comply, shifting onto your left side and folding your arms close to your chest. “Up.” He helps you lift your head and slides a pillow under you. Does the same with your knees, pillow pressed between them to stabilize your hips.

“Thanks…” It comes out in a dazed mumble and he simply hums, as if all of this is… normal.

It isn’t. You know that. Nothing about him says normal.

The mask. His insistence—no, his demand—that you book a session with him. The way his tone brooks no argument or excuse. How some baser instinct tells you to heed his demands. Traitorous fluttering of nerves in your stomach and the heat pooling between your legs.

The black nitrile gloves clinging to his hands like a second skin are cold against your leg. Makes you twitch when long fingers push the hem of your hoodie over your hip and hook underneath the narrow waistband of your thong. “Just moving this up a bit,” he says and pulls it up to your waist, elastic pulling taught against the crease of your thigh and digging into the skin. Pressing against your pulsing core.

The cleanser is even colder and comes with no warning, but the warmth of him has begun to bleed through his gloves. Melts into your skin as he cleans his canvas and runs a hand over your hip in appraisal.

“Got a little fuzz,” he says more to himself than you, thumb swiping over the fine dusting of hair. The muscles in your back tense in an effort to fight against the shudder threatening to snake down your spine, skin burning beneath the massive hand that lingers on your thigh.

He’s precise about it, removing the hair with slow and even passes of the razor and going back over the area with disinfectant. “Doin’ so good for me, layin’ nice an’ still while I shave ya. Bet ya sit like a champ.”

Your eyes go wide, lips falling open in a silent gasp, and you’re thankful he’s currently bent over your hip and can’t see the shock written plain as day on your face. You blink. Force your brows to lower and snap your mouth shut before you say something stupid like ‘thank you.’

The stencil goes on in silence but you can feel his eyes on you. More precisely, on your face. Curious and observant. You’re so focused on not looking at him that you don’t hear him rise from his stool. Don’t register that he’s moved until he’s leaning over you and curling a finger under your chin to turn your face up towards the ceiling. Towards him.

“There she is. Let’s have a look, yeah?”

Why does he want to look at—?

The stencil. He means the stencil. He wants you to look at the stencil.

“Okay…”

He drops your chin but makes no move to pull away from you as you sit up on your elbows, twisting to get a look at the purple carbon adorning your hip and thigh. You straighten out your leg, move it this way and that, looking for any odd stretching or scrunching.

“It looks good. I like it there. It um… You were right. About it being a good fit.” When you look up at him he’s already staring down at you, eyes trained on your face rather than the stencil with a dark, inky quality to them. Pupils expanding and swallowing up the light in the room.

“Course. Knew I’d be right about ya.”

You blink and it’s gone. No more wisps of smoke swirling in amber coals. The heat in them abated by whatever he sees in you.

You have no idea what he sees in you.

He does, however, give you a reprieve when he straightens and moves to the counter to begin mixing ink while the stencil dries.

The air around you feels colder when you settle back on your side, sapped of your warmth by small touches and lingering glances. Like he’s purposely stoked a fire in you just to take from and warm himself with.

“Seen you ‘round here a lot. Got quite the collection.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, and you’re not sure if he’s expecting an answer, but you give him one anyway. Feels… wrong, not to.

“I like the work you guys do.” You’ve sat for all of them. John. Gaz. Soap. And now Ghost. Have their marks inked all over your body.

“That the only thing you like?” The broad expanse of his back is the only thing you can see, but you have a feeling that if you could see the sliver of his face visible behind the mask he’d have that same even stare he always has on the studio floor.

“Gaz is nice to look at,” you offer, and hear him huff behind you.

“That so?”

“Soap has steady hands. They wander a bit, but his lines are the best I’ve seen. Tit for tat I suppose.”

“And Cap?”

“Who? Oh, you mean John?”

“The old man ‘imself.” He turns then, arranging the ink on the rolling tray between the two of you, and you catch the dart of his eyes in your direction before they shift back to his station. “He doesn’t normally do the kinda work pretty things like you come looking for.”

“I- um…” He keeps tripping you up. Making you stumble over the words in your head with compliments and praise and firm hands and–

“You like the pain.” Your gaze jerks towards him, tracks his movements as he lowers himself down onto the stool. “Cap’s got a heavy hand,” he clarifies, but it’s too late for excuses. Your reaction only confirms what he already knows.

“That– I don’t… I don’t like it. It just…” His eyes are locked on you, simmering with something in the molten depths of them that reels you in against your will. Compels you to spill secret truths to a stranger. “It makes everything else quiet, for a little while…” You sink your teeth into your lower lip with the admission, eyes slipping away from the intensity burning in his to settle on a fleck in the wood grain of the cabinet.

Silence stretches long and thick between the two of you, the only sound in the room coming from the speakers spilling music out of the ceiling and the little clicks and taps of him preparing the various tips and needles for his machine. The wheels on his chair whine as they roll forward, forcing him into your field of vision once more.

Warmth floods your cheeks, rushes up your neck to your ears in a simmering wave of vulnerability, and you can't look away when he leans down to peer into your face. “There's other ways to make it quiet, ya know.”

You toy with the drawstring of your hood, debating how pathetic you’d look if you pulled it over your face and hid from his probing gaze the rest of this session.

“Stop.” Your fingers freeze. The sternness of his tone has your eyes flicking cautiously back to his, apology ready on your tongue, expecting further reprimand. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”

Yes.

“That what you need, hm? Someone to make that pretty head take a break for a little while?”

Yes please. You offer him a timid nod.

“What’d I say about that?” he chides, folding his arms over his knees.

Your mouth feels dry, stuffed with cotton, and tongue heavy on its floor. “Sorry.” It comes out scratchy and an octave too high. Too needy.

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You’re still learning the rules, but we’ll get ya there,” he croons, hand coming up to chuck you under your chin.

“Rules?”

“Yes sweetheart, rules. You only have two for today. When I ask you a question, I need a verbal answer. Can you do that for me?” His voice carries with authority and his eyes remain fixed on yours, awaiting your acknowledgement.

“Yes.” A touch smoother this time, despite the tightness lingering in your throat.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting a hand over your hair as he straightens and shifts further down towards your hip, pulling his tray along with him. You hear the buzzing of the machine when he begins fine tuning, testing the speed and picking up ink.

“Your second rule,” he says as he leans forward, big, gloved hand coming to rest on your waist and the other hovering over the stencil, needle poised just above your skin. “If ya need a break, tell me. And–” He gives your waist a firm squeeze. “—squeeze this arm if ya need more. Got it?”

It takes a moment for the full weight of what he’s offering to sink in, for neurons and synapses to catch up with the realization of it.

“Got it.” You watch the mask pull taught over his mouth. He’s smiling.

“So good for me already,” he murmurs, grip tightening on your waist a fraction. “Let’s get started on your ink then, yeah?”

The first pass of the needle traces a line on the outside of your thigh, a long, curved section, and already you can feel the quiet creeping in amid the bite of broken skin and the buzz of his warm hands pressed against you.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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mo0nfairy · 11 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

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pokechbi · 11 months

Text

🎀The Holy Trinity🎀

🎀summary🎀

Ghost x König x Soap x Reader (4sum) !!

18+ V NSFW!

Word count: 11.5k 💕 (not proofread yet!)

Enjoy! <3

She was the invisible woman they didn’t know they needed. The woman no one seemed to pay any attention to as she quickly paced the hallways trying to get back to the sanctity of her office. No one actually paid her any mind, howbeit her detrimental job as the base medic. She had been tasked to perform her duties in the wing that housed the Special Forces, along with the men of Task Force 141. There were many powerful, brave soldiers that could’ve caught her attention, but there were 3 in particular that grabbed her by her very womanhood and kept on squeezing, threatening her morals and standards to leak right out of her.

König, the 6’10, patriotic Austrian beast of a soldier who most definitely was a man of few words. When she treated him, he sat confidently, staring a hole into her soul. He was definitely a man whom she felt was socially anxious, and in a way it made her feel, connected to him. She had imagined that it had to be due to his size. He was hard to miss, often turning heads and stopping conversations everywhere he went. She felt the same way at times, finding solstice in being alone, and away from the terrifying stare and judgement from the rest of the soldiers and staff on the base. She wasn’t bullied, but she was definitely not one who fit in with the rest of the medics in her department. She made it a priority to do her deed and leave to her apartment at the end of the day, not bothering to make many friends. The only friends she had managed to make were the two nurses who tended to the front end of the medical ward in the Task Force’s wing. The three of them often went out for drinks at the bar just outside of the base’s gates.

König rarely spoke to her, but when he did, she found herself wanting it to never end. His voice was honey to her ears, a warm embrace in a cold and hard world. Even sitting down on the bed, he towered over her and made her hands shake and her heart pound so hard in her ears she was sure he could hear it. A habit she managed to kick years ago, working endlessly to rid herself of her shaky fingers and anxiety. All come undone by the simple presence of him. In a way, she secretly adored it. Adored him. She found herself thinking of him at the end of a long day, much like a teenage girl still in grade school. She was curious about him, and wanted to know all there was about the mysterious giant. What he looked like under that sniper hood, under his shirt, under those tight military cargos that she was sure got uncomfortably snug when he was aroused. It was nonsense, and she knew that. There was no way a man of his rank would even spare a second glance at her. But it was fun to fantasize.

John “Soap” MacTavish was the polar opposite of König. He was surely a man who would voice his mind whenever and wherever. She admired that about him. He spoke what was real, and gave not a single fuck about it. He was also a sweetheart, always throwing compliments her way and making her feel like hot shit. His spunky Mohawk was always a sight she loved to see in her examination room, and she made sure he knew it. She would return the favor of any compliments he spared her way, and it caused their friendship to blossom. She hoped it would evolve into something more, but Soap seemed like the kind of man who’d wham bam and thank you ma’am, albeit the romantic that he was. She wouldn’t mind it either way, though. A little taste of him couldn’t hurt.

And then there was Simon “Ghost” Riley. The grandest enigma of all three. The man was truly nerve wracking to be around. As nervous and anxious as he made her, she couldn’t help but feel enticed by his mysterious aura. She had no idea how he had managed to find himself on the same team as Soap, as menacing and serious as he usually was when around the base. When he found himself in her examination room, his eyes lingered a bit too long wherever she would touch last. She never knew why he did this, until their small talk had turned into something much more meaningful on one particular visit.

“You’ve got a soft touch, dear.” His rough, jagged accent ran from her ears straight down to that spot that made her squeeze her thighs together to keep it from leaving her. Hearing it wasn’t enough. She wanted it injected in her veins.

“No medic on this base has ever been this bloody gentle. They ought to hire more o’ ya.” He said with a low chuckle. That small, insignificant laugh regularly rang through her mind at the most unexpected moments. She could be doing dishes, cleaning her desk, anything. That laugh stuck to her like glitter on sweaty, sticky skin. She knew it wasn’t something he did often, so when she heard it, an icy cold shiver enveloped her skin and raised goosebumps. She loved it. Wanted to hear more. The lieutenant had her in a chokehold and there was nothing she could do to free herself.

So when she found herself sat in the same vicinity as the trio and a few of the other members of the Task Force in the bar just a ways off base on her birthday, she was understandably a nervous wreck. Just a few tables away, she felt as if the trio were breathing straight down her neck.

**✧*̥˚<3 *̥˚✧**

“Man, that hen from the medical wings’ got a crush on me, mark my words lads.” The Scot breathes, glancing over his shoulder. “Been givin’ me the eyes past few weeks.”

“Fuck’s sake, Johnny. She’s doing her job. Every time a woman spares you a look, you go whipped.” Simon says sternly, also glancing up at her every few minutes. He also found himself painfully interested in her, not wanting to admit to something that could threaten or demean the persona he’s worked so hard to build up. Often times he feels himself unable to help it, her soft touch and sweet smell permeating his senses when he’s least expecting it. No amount of working out, training, or smoking could shake the insatiable hunger he was starting to develop for her. He would visit her office when she was so blissfully unaware of him, just to see how she looked when she was swamped with paperwork, or just relaxing on her break. He was genuinely interested in how she lived, how she loved, how she felt. He hated Soap for the way he started to mention her in the lewdest of ways, only encouraging his raging, exponential growth of feelings for her. A medic? Of all the hardcore, tough women on base that could do him just right, he wanted that one. The one who’s knees would buckle under her if he so much as breathed in her ear. He wondered what it would take to break her mind, body and soul until all she could think about was his thick, fat cock and all the places she could take him. He shifts in his seat at the thought of it, adjusting his pants. God forbid if Johnny saw the way he was rocked up at just the mere sight of her. He’d never hear the end of it.

“What about you, König?” Soap says with a sly smirk. His ears perk up at his name, usually excluded from the conversation due to his introverted nature. “Want a piece of ‘er? I know you do.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “All the quiet ones are the biggest freaks, aye?” He continues.

“ Ich würde sie direkt an diesem Tisch ficken.” König says lowly, hoping no one else at this club spoke his language. Soap and Ghost glance at each other in confusion.

König knew what Soap said rang true. On all of his visits to her examination room, he’d put on this facade of being stone cold, not interested. But he was more than interested. He wanted to know how she would fare under his touch, how much it would take for him to absolutely ruin her. He was nervous at the very sight of her. She was the reason he’d taken his hygiene more seriously. The reason he started scrubbing his cock and balls more thoroughly every shower, on the off chance that he’d actually get to take her right on that little hospital bed he had made more excuses to come and sit on. She was the reason he became distracted from his work, all of his thoughts eventually turning into some unholy fantasy about her. He often fiddled with his knives to distract himself, to ground himself from any given stress. But to no avail. He wondered if she liked knives, if it was something she’d ever even thought about, if it was something she would let him teach her. It always started innocently like that. Then he wondered how fast he’d be able to cut every single piece of clothing off of her. He wanted to run the knife along her pretty, velvety skin, marking her with every swipe of the blade. Marking her with him.

Surprised at the silence at the table after he asked, Soap grew curious. He chuckled deviously as he leans forward, speaking lowly, keeping out of earshot from the rest of the table. “Well then, lads. I’m afraid we’ve reached an impasse.” He takes a sip of his drink. “And I’ve got the filthiest of ideas for a solution.”

**✧*̥˚ <3 *̥˚✧**

“ Their eyes are all over you. How do you not see it!” Her friend Belinda states, uncomfortably loud. She was glad to see that it wasn’t just her delusions making an appearance. Or the alcohol making her see things that weren't there. She smiles, looking down at her half-empty glass.

“There’s no way, Bal. Why would any of them be interested in me? I’m literally a nobody here” She states, smugly trying to fish more validation out of her. She takes another sip of her drink, wincing at how strong it was. It was her birthday. This was no time for girly drinks. She needed some liquid confidence. She had set her mind to approach one of them, but had no idea who would she would take the chance with. It was an ongoing debate that had been going on in her head for the past few weeks, her nerves practically incapacitating her whenever one of them showed up in her exam room. It felt silly, as if she were simply window shopping at the mall.

“You’re right, Bal. They’re all staring. Maybe they want you guys too. There’s enough of them to go around” She says with a low chuckle, a quiet green monster stirring awake in her belly. She couldn’t stand to see any of them wanting to be with anyone else, even if she had no right to feel that way. She hadn’t managed to speak any of them in a romantic manner other than Soap, who surely wanted in her panties by now. Maybe he’d be the one. Or König. Or Simon. All she knew was that she needed to be satiated. And fast.

“Well hello there ladies, how are ‘ye?” The Scot’s voice rang against her ears, making her freeze in place. She hadn’t seen him walk to their table, spaced out with the thoughts of who she would try and approach first. The girls were just as stunned as she was, smiling up flirtatiously at Soap through their eyelashes. She wanted to jump across the table and bash both of their heads against each other. She flinched at the new feeling she had, the newfound possession in her blood made her confused. She looked up at him, parting her lips to speak.

“It’s her birthdayyyy!” Bal says drunkenly, interrupting the modest approach she was going for.

“Well then!” Soap says, looking down at her, something close to amusement in his eyes. She could get used to this angle. “Come celebrate with us! We’ve got some pints about to roll out, what d’ ya say?” The entire table looks at her, waiting for an answer. Her mouth hangs open, the words stuck in her throat.

Her friend grabs her hand and practically drags her from the table. Bal and Sophia giggle like girls as they start approaching they boys’ table. Her heart pounds so hard, it threatens to break open its bony cage in hopes of escaping out of her mouth. When they finally reach the table, Bal and Sophia slide into the table, Soap smugly sitting in between the both of them. She bites her bottom lip nervously, the only spot left would be smushed in between König and Ghost. Not that it particularly bothered her, but it was still something embarrassing to have to do against her own will. In public, at that. She didn’t need the entire bar population to know that she would be more than happy to put all of her holes to use at once. She glances between the both of them as Ghost stands up, offering a spot between him and König.

“After you, luv” he says lowly. Goosebumps raise on her arms at the sound of his deep, husky, accented voice. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to hear the way he must have groaned and growled if she rode his cock like a cowgirl racing her favorite horse. She felt heat rise to her ears at the sudden infiltration of a dirty thought.

“Well thank you, Lieutenant. Didn’t know you were such a gentleman!” She says flirtatiously, the liquid courage going straight to her head. He freezes slightly at the way she addresses him, sending a white hot wave of deviousness to settle right in his balls. She smiles as she sits down, scooting closer to König’s large frame. She looks across the table to her friends, watching as their eyes widen at his height. He was the tallest at the table, even though he was sitting down. She loved to see the way he turned heads. The way women seemed to either cower from him, or wanted in his pants and how there seemed to be no in between. And she was no exception. She took a certain pride in being his primary care provider, feeling on top of the world sitting next to the king-sized man.

“Hey, König. How are you?” She says, greeting him quietly and sweetly. She spoke softly as if she would scare him away. She had a different approach for each man. She had it all calculated in her head, the subject being something that lingered in her thoughts for weeks and weeks on end. She felt pathetic trying to choose in between the three of them, not wanting to choose at all. She wished she could take them all at once, no regrets in the world. For Soap, she knew she wouldn’t have to hold back. She could be as flirty as she wanted, with not a care. She knew he’d soak it up like a damn sponge. For Ghost, she wanted to appear just as hard of a nut to crack as he did. She wanted to play mysterious too. For König, she knew he was a dominant, insatiable beast. How could a man of that stature not be? She wasn’t opposed to the idea of him making her his absolute whore.

“I’m well darling. And you?” He says his Austrian accent wet and thick on his words. The visible lines of his eyes squeezing together under his sniper hood. He was smiling? She thought to herself. Now that was a sight she could get used to seeing. She smiled back at him, parting her lips to speak, when the Scot interrupts her once again. Maybe his mouth wouldn’t run so much if he had someone sitting on it. She thought, heat rising to her ears and spreading to her cheeks. The more she sipped her drink, the bolder she felt her thoughts getting, threatening to breach the vocal barrier she’d worked so hard to build.

“It’s the lass’s birthday, aye? We’ll need some way to celebrate the life of our favorite doctor on base!” He says enthusiastically, raising his glass for a cheer. They all clink their glasses together, her eyes landing on König’s as she smirks at Soaps annoyingness. He smiles again and leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Happy birthday, Liebling.” He says lowly, his breath raising the hairs on her entire body. She looks at him and absentmindedly yet softly wraps her arms around his neck, squeezing him in a small hug. His muscles tensed under her touch, and his hands hesitated wrapping themselves around her waist as she hugged him.

“Thank you, König.” She says sweetly, an innocent smile splayed on her face.

She nuzzles her face in his neck, inhaling his masculine, musky pheromones. He smelled of what she would envision a man’s pure, raw love to smell like. She wanted it all over her skin, all over her bedsheets for her to smell the next morning.

“Do I smell good, doctor?” He says teasingly, her arms still wrapped around his neck. His Austrian accent rings through her ears, sinuously slithering it’s way down her core and settling into the deepest parts of her womanhood.

She freezes in place, letting out a breathy chuckle of embarrassment. She quickly gathers her thoughts and fixes the situation the only way she knows how. By flirting.

“You do, sir. Not sure what cologne you use, but I like it.” She purrs, leaning into his ear, not wanting the rest of the table to hear. He freezes under her touch, looking up at her with his half lidded blue orbs. She instantly noticed that look in his eyes. It was pure lust. And she wanted every single part of what it had to offer. She looked back at him with her same drunken gaze, not wanting to break the stare, afraid this moment would run out of the door, never to be seen again. Was he the one she wanted?

“Well thank you doctor, but I’m not wearing any.” He concludes smugly, scanning her face gently for a reaction. She smiles deviously, taking a sip of her drink and hoping to God he doesn’t notice the deep shade of red spreading from her ears to her entire face. She sits back, only now noticing how quiet the table got. She looks around and makes eye contact with her friends across the way, both of them seemingly shell-shocked at the bold display from her and Konig. She smiles at him, placing her glass down. They all begin speaking again. She looks her to her left at Ghost. As many times as she spent alone with him, he still wracked her nerves. He can tell that was the effect he had on her, so he leaned close to her and spoke near her ear with his hot, accented breath that sent shivers up her spine.

“Happy birthday, luv. Surely you don’t plan on spending it here, with the men who are always hurt and working you the hardest?” He says lowly, his voice barely a rasp. She bites her lip at his comment. He was surprisingly right. She could’ve been spending her birthday somewhere nicer. Maybe in the city, far away from her workplace. But she knew what she wanted for her birthday. She smiled at the thought.

“Oh? And why’s that, L.t?” She says teasingly, subtly scooting her way closer to him. His smell inches its way to her nose and wrapping itself around her brain. He smelled of masculine musk, cedarwood and the rough smell of the outdoors. He looked her face up and down, his gaze landing on her lips. He catches her gaze again and looks away, embarrassed at his own forwardness. She smirks to herself at his boldness. She sits back in her seat between Konig and Ghost, feeling like an ant between two mountains. She looks at Soap across the table. He was in the middle of a conversation with her two friends, shooting a glance her way ever so often.

Her friends finish off their drinks, drunkenly giggling with Soap as he makes endless flirtatious jokes and dirty innuendos.

“Well birthday girl…” Sophia starts, gathering her purse and phone, scooting to the end of the booth as she gets up, presumably to leave her alone with all three men like a madwoman. “We’d love to stick around, but we’ve got an early start tomorrow.” Bal starts to get up also, scooting past Soap, she shoots them a look. A glare that could cut diamonds. There was no way she wouldn’t break down into an absolute nervous mess as the only woman under the three men’s gazes. Her anger turned into pleading, and she shot her friends a desperate look of help me before they giggled and rushed out of the bar. They knew what they were doing. Her mouth hung agape as the three men ran their eyes all over her.

“And then there were four, aye?” Soap says, finishing the last of his drink.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

“You want to…what?” She says, her mouth hanging open, her eyes shooting between the three men as she’s taken aback by their proposal. “All…three of you?” Her voice comes out barely a squeak. She looks down at her glass, her drink long gone. The glass was still sweating in the suddenly humid bar, the condensation moistening her fingers. Soap, Konig and Ghost look at each other, a smug, hungry look in their eyes. She suddenly felt much smaller, as if her lungs were shrunk to a point where they couldn’t take enough air to support her brain function. She couldn’t possibly deny them. She couldn’t. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. A dream of many women on the base. Soap was no giant, but the other two…she should be scared. But she wasn’t. She craved to know what they all felt like. What they all looked like under their rough military attire. How they would all fit on her Queen sized bed. She nudges Ghost beside her, wanting to stand up. He slid out of the booth and let her stand, staying stood beside her, looking down at her with a lust laced stare. His eyes ran up and down her body, starting from her eyes and trailing all the way down to the low heels she wore. Her gaze fell to the floor as she cleared her throat before speaking.

“We won’t be mad if you say no, dear.” König says before she could speak, his voice almost a whisper. He spoke to her as if she would break if he spoke to her. She looked at him with grace, the thoughts running through her head anything but. She clears her throat again. The thought of denying them seemed to be a bigger sin than what she was agreeing to.

“Um…sure. We can do that” she says, nodding her head. She let out her statement as if the opportunity would slip through her fingers, as if it would expire any moment. She smiles at them as they look among themselves, smug in their eyes.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

The cab ride to her apartment was going to be nothing short of awkward, her squishing herself between three gigantic soldiers, two of them masked. The driver asked no questions and nervously drove off from the bar. The ride was filled with a certain bloated tension that could have surely spilled over at the slightest of movements. She sat tensely between König and Soap, the three of them barely fitting in the back seat. The scot placed his hand on her left knee, nonchalantly moving it further and further up under her skirt. König looked at them through his sniper hood, doing the same to her right knee. They looked at her like hawks to prey as she felt her panties moisten with anticipation. Soap was the first to reach the hem of her panties, slipping a finger through them. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact. He moved his finger deeper into her panties, reaching her weeping hole. He leaned down and whispered into her neck.

“Tsk tsk, so ready for me aren’t ‘ya?” His warm accented breath caressed her skin, sending signals to her brain for her to spread her legs right then and there. She bites her bottom lip, unable to part them in fear of the most ungodly of noises escaping them. Without warning, he enters a thick finger right into her. She gasps quietly, glancing at the driver and praying that he hadn’t heard. She was sure he knew something was up back there, but with the ecstasy Soap’s finger was causing to run through her every blood cell, she couldn’t bring herself to care. He pumps his finger in and out of her, curling it ever so slightly and grazing the one spot that would bring her to her orgasm. She looks up at him, her eyes lidded and tears brimming her eyelids. He was driving her insane, simply by the curve of a thick digit. She can see the slight smirk on his lips, his smugness driving her crazy as he drags his finger out of her abruptly. She let out a quiet whimper, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. Her head whips around to look at König, who’s hand had hovered by the hem of her panties as Soap did his thing to her. She can see his eyes squint, signaling that he was smiling.

She parts her legs the slightest bit, the only bit that she could while being sandwiched between the two men. He wastes no time in slipping a finger into her panties, taking a slight pause when he notices just how wet she really was. He glanced up at Soap, an amused look in his eyes. His fingers were much larger than Soap’s, evident by the way he slightly struggled to get his hand in her panties. He withdraws, then pulls out the smallest of pocket knives. Her eyes widen at the glistening blade, looking at the driver to make sure he hadn’t noticed the weapon. He reaches down between her legs, a nervous look written on her face. She stares at him, absolutely oblivious to what he’s about to do. She hears the noise of fabric ripping, and a gust of cold air hit her clit as she realizes. He had just expertly sliced the crotch part of her panties right open. How he hadn’t cut her was beyond her. Her mouth remains open in awe as he puts the knife back into its respective spot in his belt. He stares at her in the eyes through the whole ordeal, a starved look in his green eyes. His hands travel back up her thighs as his finger rests in the spot she wouldn’t want anywhere else at the moment. He inserts a finger into her hole, still slick with juices and ready for him. His other hand palms his crotch secretively, and his eyes roll back into his head as he dips his head forward. He bottoms out his thick finger, long and muscular. She wondered if his fingers were this large, what he must be carrying between his thighs. She looks down at his crotch, the imprint of his half hard cock showing itself. She wanted nothing more than his pants off in that moment. He curled his finger, the length of it reaching more spots than Soap had managed to get to. He continuously flicked her swollen nub of nerves inside of her, causing her to buck her hips forward. Her movements caused the leather seat under her to squeak slightly. Soap places a hand on her knee, stilling her. She shakes from holding in her moans, which she was surprisingly able to do considering the giant finger pumping itself in and out of her and stimulating her plushy walls. König enters another finger inside of her, stretching her hole. She places a hand on his strong forearm, the thick ropes of muscles flexing as he continues fingering her pussy. She feels her juices run out of her and down her thigh as they pool under her ass. As he continues, she feels the familiar tightening of her core. She squeezes his arm tightly, looking up at his green eyes as she reaches her orgasm. He takes notice of her approaching climax and slows his pace, letting her ride it out slowly as she struggles not to buck her hips forward. Her breathing begins to get sporadic and hitched as the hot coil inside of her snaps, and a thousand pound wave of euphoric pleasure melts her brain in the backseat of the cab.

She starts to taste blood in her mouth from biting her lip, trying to stifle her moans and whimpers as best she can. König palms his dick at the sight of her, a heavy breath escaping his lips. He pulls his finger from out of her, sliding them up and coating her clit with her juices. She jumps slightly at the sudden touch to her sensitive bundle of nerves as he flicks it with his middle finger. Soap continues holding her down by the knee, a look of amusement in König’s eyes as he overstimulates her. He takes his hand from under her skirt, inspecting his fingers as they glisten with her juices. He raises his hand to his mask, slipping his hand under as she hears the sound of him putting his fingers in his mouth. She rests her head on the headrest behind her as she looks at him in awe. So he was a freak, under that stoic, mysterious aura he always gave off. She steadies her breathing, noticing how they were around the corner from her apartment. She looks past König at Ghost, his jeans uncomfortably tight in his crotch area as the imprint of his cock makes an appearance. She licks her lips at the sight, looking up to his eyes hungrily.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

As she unlocks the door to her apartment, she feels the hungry gaze of all three men on her back. She felt as if she were turning her back to a starved pack of wolves, ready to pounce on her at any moment. She walks in first, turning to meet their gazes. Ghost walks in first, followed by König and Soap. She smiles at them nervously as they look around her apartment, taking at her decor. She bends down to take her heels off, suddenly feeling a strong hand on her hip. She freezes in place as a gruff voice caresses her ear.

“Sit on the couch, love” Ghost says gently. She walks to the couch in her living room, her heel strap half undone. She sits down as Ghost approaches her slowly, the soft fabric of the couch caressing her thighs. He gets down on one knee in front of her, and takes her ankle in his hand. Her ankle fit snugly into his hand, his large fingers wrapping around it. König and Soap watch as he begins undoing her heel straps, his fingers grazing her skin and leaving a hot trail of fire in its wake. He looks up at her, and back down. His eyes travel to underneath her skirt, chuckling to himself at the mess that König made with her panties.

Once he gets both heels off, he runs his warm hands up her legs and to her hips when he lifts her right off the couch as if she weighed nothing. He walked through the small hallway as she straddled him, her legs wrapped around his jeaned hips. The rough material of his jacket rubbed against her clit slightly, causing her to let out a starved moan.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you, lovie” he says in her ear, his eyes lidded with hunger through his balaclava.

She looks over his shoulder at Soap and König as they follow him to her bedroom. She smiles at them as they strut through her apartment, their large stature making it feel tiny. As they reach her bedroom, she looks Ghost in his eyes, darkened with lust as he swings the door open. Once he sees the bed, he wastes no time in throwing her on it.

The way they don’t speak definitely intimidated her. She knew she was in for it when they all stood in a line, staring down at her on the bed. All three men begin undressing, starting with their jackets.

She gulps before breaking the silence. “So…who’s first?” She says, her voice shaky with anticipation. They all glance at her, a smirk written on Soap’s face. He chuckles.

“Who said anything about taking turns, lass?” He asks nonchalantly as he pulls his shirt over his head. She looked at his body, his prominent abs jutting from his skin. His abdominal muscles flex and the light pink scars move as he throws his shirt on the carpeted floor. He unbuckles his jeans, sliding them down at the same time as his boxers. His cock jumps forward, twitching to attention. He wasn’t too long, but his shaft was surely thick and veins protruded from the soft skin. He approaches her first, sitting on the bed next to her and placing a hand on her thigh as the heat from his hard dick radiated onto her leg. He leans over and lightly kisses her neck, seemingly holding back the passion and hunger that’s rubbing through his veins. He runs his tongue over the soft skin on her neck as his hands run up and down her belly. She moans aloud as he leaves small love bites on her. Hearing the continued shuffling noises of the other two men undressing, she looks over to König as he begins pulling his sniper hood off. She stares at him in awe as he reveals his face to her for the first time. He was simply gorgeous. He had strong centric European features, his nose large with a sharp bump on the bridge, and plush pink lips that parted once she made eye contact with him. He had dirty blonde stubble littering his strong jaw.

“You’re…so handsome, König” she says in awe, the words barely coming out as a squeak. He smiles at her, his charmingly crooked teeth making an appearance. He was perfect. She wanted him inside of her immediately. But impatience would get her nowhere in this situation. Soap bites her neck harder, seemingly out of jealousy. She jumps and smiles as he does this, noticing the knowing look on his face.

“No favorites, lovie” Soap says, softly licking to soothe the spot he bit harshly.

“Thank you, Liebling.” König says gently, his German caressing her ears and shooting right down into her core. He continues undressing, kicking his cargo pants off and kicking them to the side. He pulls his underwear down next, his cock springing up and letting out a quiet smack as it bounces off his stomach. He was huge. She was no virgin, but the sheer size of it made her shudder. It was long and thick, matching the gigantic size of the rest of him. She looked at it nervously as he began stepping forward.

“Don’t be nervous, dear. I’ll be gentle with you” he says softly, crawling onto the bed in front of her. She smiles at him in response. He lies on her right, with Soap on her left.

As Soap continues his work on her neck, she looks past him at Ghost, now naked as well. His cock seemed to be the perfect size. He was big, just like him, but he wasn’t packing a monster like König. He grabs his shaft, slowly stroking it as he walks forward. He lets out a grunt as he crawls on the bed, taking the only spot left being in front of her. With all three men now laying before her naked, her heart pounded in her ears in nervousness. König gets to work on her shirt, lifting it over her head, leaving her in her bra and skirt. He palms her right breast, running a thumb over her tender nipple through the padded fabric of her bra. He lets out a low chuckle at the sight of it.

“Sit up for me, Liebling” he says, a smile lacing his voice. She looked at Soap as she sits up, her neck still moist with his saliva. König begins to fiddle with her bra strap, one of the hooks resisting. He grunts as he continues to fiddle with it. All of a sudden she hears a loud rip as her bra falls down to her thighs. She looks at him as he smiles at her nonchalantly.

“I will have no panties or bras to wear if you keep this up, König” she says, giggling at his short temper.

“Good, I like you better that way, dear.” he says in her ear, gently pushing her chest down so she can lie on her back. He wastes no time in going for her nipple, wrapping his lips around them and flicking the bud with his tongue. She moans, holding his head in place. Soap does the same as König, sucking and biting at her other nipple. The double stimulation was driving her crazy, it was enough to pull an orgasm out of her right then. She bucked her hips into the air as she looked over both of their heads at Ghost. He was naked all except his balaclava. She knew he wanted to conceal his identity, so she didn’t press the matter. And with both men sucking and biting at her nipples, she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. It was a discussion for another time. She knew she was soaked, she could feel her slick practically dripping down her thighs. Ghost looks down at her as he moves his hand from his cock to her thighs, running them up and down her skin and landing on her hips. He wraps his fingers in the waistline of her skirt, pulling it down roughly. She lifted her hips to assist him in getting her naked, parting her legs as soon as it was pulled off. He threw it to the floor, looking at her exposed pussy with nothing short of starvation.

“I don’t think you know how long I’ve waited for this, lovie” he says, leaning down on his stomach and positioning his head between her legs. He pulls his balaclava over his mouth, resting it on the bridge of his nose, exposing his dark stubbled jaw. He wraps his arms under her thighs, holding her in place. He reaches around her thigh and thumbs her clit, the sudden contact making her buck her hips forward. The three of them stimulated her all at once, making her brain dizzy with pleasure. She cries out as he circles her clit.

“God damn, look how wet you are baby.” He says, his voice low, coming out much like a growl. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He continues, his breath caressing her heat. Ghost dips his head forward as he replaces his thumb with his tongue, running a stripe along her entire slit. She cries out in pleasure, her moans ringing off the walls. She slides her hips forward, burying her clit in his face.

“I love the way you sing for us, lass.” Soap praises against her breast. She rolls her eyes back, unable to focus on anything as all three men work on her simultaneously. Ghost continues eating her out, sucking and flicking his tongue over her clit as König raises his head from her breast. He pinches her nipples as he leans down to her face.

“You’re doing so well for us, Liebling.” He whispers, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. “T-thank you, König” she whimpers. He closes the gap between them, kissing her with a hunger she can only describe as ravenous. He takes her bottom lip in his, biting at it gently. She moans into his mouth as they make out. His stubble scratches roughly against her mouth, resulting in her lips to swell and plump. He continues palming at her breast, caressing her body as he kisses her. She knew she wasn’t supposed to chose favorites, but she loved how he was the gentlest with her, caressing her and putting her pleasure first. She feels a finger on her chin, turning her head to her left. Soap turns her face towards him, kissing her swollen lips. She swirls at the mix of smells, both men’s musk filling her nostrils and settling on her breath. He continues kissing her hungrily, caressing her cheek roughly. He moans into her mouth and stroked himself beside her. She reaches next to her, König’s cock not hard to find. She takes it in her hand, the thick shaft hard as a rock in her small hand. She takes the head in her hand first, thumbing his slit and smearing his precum over it. He lets out a pitched moan, close to a whimper. She smiles at his noises, his moans driving her over the edge. She feels the familiar tightening in her core. König caresses her breast as she continues stroking his thick shaft, all while kissing Soap and practically riding Ghost’s face from under him. He pulls away as he feels her tense around his tongue, parting with a kiss on her sensitive clit.

“Not just yet, baby. Can’t have ‘ya tappin’ out on us can we?” He says nonchalantly, standing up on his knees. She whimpers as he stands.

“P-please, Simon.” She breaks the kiss with Soap as she pleads, the desperation practically leaking off her tongue. The use of his government name was a means to beg him into continuing. He shakes his head hearing her call him by his name, smiling at her smugly. He pulls his balaclava down over his mouth as he leans forward, placing a finger on her chin and pulling her face forward.

“Oi, don’t you dare try and entice me ‘ya little minx. Be patient like a good little puppy, right lads?” He says. The two men on either side of her nod their heads, and let out a string of mhms. König continues moaning and grunting as she strokes him messily. He places his hand over hers, guiding her and noticing her becoming undone more and more by the minute. She looks back up to Ghost, who begins lining himself up with her pussy. He holds her legs apart as he slides his tip up and down her slit, coating it in her slick. She moans, looking back at König as he watches her face contort with pleasure. He watches her with such admiration, such devotion that her brain screamed at her to jump his cock first. She stared at him with nervousness as Ghost begins pushing his tip inside of her, letting out s groan as he does so. She bucks her hips forward, feeling him falter as he stretches her hole.

“So fucking…tight” he says breathlessly, pushing into her. She feels the pressure build up in her core, electric waves of pleasure shooting through her spine as he connects himself to her walls. In no time he bottoms out, his balls laid against her ass. He begins thrusting in and out of her, his grip on her thigh becoming rougher and rougher with each thrust. She lets out a loud moan, close to a yell. König continues sucking and biting her nipples, leaving hickies all along her breast. Soap leans over to her face, kissing her again as Ghost continues fucking her senseless. Their hips slap together lewdly as he fucks her, his dick hitting her swollen bundle of nerves inside of her. He moans and grunts aloud, his gruff voice music to her ears.

“Fuck, lovie. You feel so good. So…inviting.” He says, lifting her leg and throwing it over his shoulder. The new position would allow for him to reach her deepest spots, the part of her walls no man had ever ventured before. She cries out as he hits her cervix repeatedly, the pain turning into instant pleasure as he opens her up and sexes her most sensitive spots. He grunts loudly and squeezes her foot next to his head. He continues pumping in and out of her, throwing out praises and slurred words. His thrusts falter as he slows down, gently lowering her leg off his shoulder. “I won’t last long if I keep that up, sweetheart.” He chuckles, slowly pulling out of her. “On your knees, baby.”

She takes a second, catching her breath before sitting up. König and Soap move over slightly as she gets on her hands and knees. Ghost wastes no time in pushing his fat cock into her again, hitting her deepest, sensitive spots in this position. She cries out as he grabs the fat of her ass, landing a few rough spanks to the soft, plushy skin. They were surely going to be bruised the next day, not that she would mind. He curses out as she backs her hips onto him, allowing his dick to go even deeper, if even possible. “Such a good little puppy. Listenin’ so well.” She looks up at Soap and König as they watch her get railed and praised by the masked man behind her.

“Tsk tsk, we’ve oughta put your other hole to use, right König?” Soap says, grabbing her by the chin as he strokes his cock to the sight of her getting fucked stupid. König grunts in response, his hand replaced hers as he also strokes himself, unbelievably aroused by the sight of her thoughts being fucked right out of her head. She smiles to the two men as she understands what he’s insinuating. She opens her mouth wide, tongue hanging out like the puppy Ghost praised her so well to be. Soap shuffles towards her face, his thick cock in hand. She takes his head between his lips, feeling how swollen and plump it was with arousal. He moans breathlessly as he bucks his hips forward, gently fucking her mouth. She teases him by licking the precum off of his slit, and licking her lips, coating her lips with his juice. He bites his lip at the sight of her, roughly grabbing her hair from the back of her head.

“Such a dirty lass. Who knew?” He says breathlessly, shoving half of his dick in her mouth. She hollows out her cheeks as she takes him, bobbing her head forward. As Ghost fucks her from behind, she involuntary takes him deeper in her mouth with each thrust. In no time his tip grazed the back of her throat, causing her to gag and tear up as he groans and grunts. He begins fucking her face ruthlessly, the hunger getting the best of him. She gags as tears brim her eyes, tears and drool spilling over onto the bed below her.

“Look at ‘ya. Dirty, drooling little puppy. This’ll stick in my head for a while” he chuckles, tightening his grip on her hair.

He continues thrusting his cock deep into her mouth as Ghost goes feral on her pussy. He continues spanking her, praising her as she tries to pleasure both men simultaneously. Soap slows his thrusts, dragging them out. He pushes into her mouth until his pubic hair brushes her nose, and pulls out almost all the way, properly slutting out her mouth. She feels weight shift beside her as König lies beside her. He reaches below her, his middle finger rubbing her wet clit as Ghost continues pumping into her. Unable to look at him, she moans on Soap’s shaft. He grunts at the added stimulation, her moans vibrating the nerves on the head of his cock. As König circles her clit, she feels a hot wave of pleasure grow inside of her. She feels as if she’s about to simply implode, clenching tightly around Ghost. He slows his pace, unable to fuck her as angrily when she was clenched so tightly around him. His cock met resistance, causing him to moan loudly as he leans over her, hands still tightly gripping her ass and hips. She cries out, muffled by the thick dick in her throat as a stream of her juices spray out under her, pooling in König’s hand. He chuckles, bringing his hand from under her gently.

“Little Liebling, you’ve made such a mess, hm?” He purrs in her ear, standing on his knees. Her thighs shake and tremble, threatening to buckle as her body weakens. König made her squirt, which she was sure was a group effort, but it stunned her nonetheless. Soap lessens his grip on her head, letting her up for air. She looks towards König at he stares down at his hand covered in her squirt. He stares her in the eyes lustfully, bringing his hand to his thick cock. He uses her juices to wet his shaft, moaning and grunting as he jerks himself with her slick. She stares at him in awe, as he lies back down and begins circling her clit once more with his free hand. The sight alome was enough to drive her over the edge. She feels her knees buckling under her once more as he pleasures her sensitive bud again, resulting in Ghost grabbing her hips to keep her up.

Ghost’s thrusts falter once again, this time he stops completely. She whimpers onto Soap’s shaft in need, bucking her hips backwards for more. Ghost chuckles. Behind her as she whines. He pulls out of her as he leans downward, whispering in her ear. “You’ve brought me to the edge, lovie. Can’t cum just yet. ‘M not done with ‘ya.” He growls, his gruff voice distracting her from Soap. He leans back up, giving her a last smack on her ass as he motions Soap behind her. They switch spots, Ghost now on her right, Soap lining himself up with her entrance, and König still below her, fingering her clit. He looks at her in awe as the two men switch themselves, using both her holes as he focuses on her pleasure. She puts him on a pedestal for this, metaphorically wanting to save him for last. She smiles at him, her eyes lidded with tiredness. He smiles back at her, his charming crooked teeth flashing at her. Her heart melts at him, but their moment is cut short when Soap shoves himself into her.

“God, lass. So tight. Even after you’ve taken such a big cock in ‘ya?” He says breathlessly. He grunts as he bottoms out inside of her. She cries out, the double stimulation from him fucking her to the hilt and König’s thick fingers caressing her clit from under her, not to mention the stinging pain on her ass cheeks from Ghost’s ruthless spanking.

“Wait, Soap. Let her get on her back.” König says gently, placing a hand on her hip as he helps her onto her back. She’s now face to face with Ghost and König. Soap places a hand on her thigh, lifting her leg onto his shoulder as slaps his heavy cock onto her clit before entering her. He grunts as he pushes into her, wasting no time in fucking her senseless. He slams into her, resulting in her yelling out as a sharp, pleasure laced moan bounced off the wall. Ghost takes König’s place at her clit as he uses a thick finger to circle her bud, slowly jerking himself in the process. He dips his head forward and lifts his balaclava, and begins working at her nipples, sucking and biting them roughly.

König sits up impatiently, his thick cock hovering over her face. He looks down at her in awe, his eyes squinted and breathing hitched in excitement. He places a hand on her bed frame as he lowers himself onto her face, the tip of his dick entering between her lips. She moans at the double use of her holes, eagerly widening her mouth. His cock only makes it a bit past halfway before she hits her limit, gagging and choking on him. He pulls out slightly, looking at her with concern in his eyes. His grip tightens on the headboard, hitting the back of her throat ever so slightly. She melted at his gentleness, but she wanted nothing more than to take all of him. Or at least try. She lifts her head, hollowing her cheeks and breathing out as she takes him as deep as she can, she can smell the musk of his pubic hair as she gets deeper than she had before. König lets out a gentle moan as she sucks him, deepthroating him and feeling the bulge of his cock protruding from her throat. She takes her hand and grabs the remainder of him, gripping his base and squeezing as she continues taking him in deep. Soap leans forward and pushes her stomach down, releasing a new feeling she’s never felt before. She felt closer to him internally, taking every single inch of him as he moans at the new feeling too.

“Fuck, lady. You’re just perfect. Look at ‘ya, taking every damn inch of me like a good little puppy.” He purrs, his Scottish accent stronger as he pumps himself in and out of her, slowly dragging each thrust out. She smiles at him, baring her teeth from around König’s cock. He starts to move his hips slightly, seemingly not wanting to hurt her or choke her to death. He smiles at her as she nods her head at him, signaling that he was good to start thrusting. He takes her silent confirmation, and starts pumping in and out of her mouth. She gags and gurgles, the lewd noises bouncing off the walls. The sound of her choking on his absolute monster cock drives her crazy, it was music to her ears. He continues fucking her mouth as she moans over the tip of his shaft, the vibrations of her voice driving König closer to the edge by the minute. Soap's thrusts begin to get sloppy, signaling that he was close to his climax. His grip on her leg tightens as it hangs over his shoulder. His muscles glisten with sweat. He grunts as his pumps get slower. She feels his cock twitch and pulse, as he lets out a string of curses and moans into her leg. He pulls out of her before he can paint her walls white with his cum, and jerks himself, aiming at her stomach. Ghost watches from her breasts as he shoots his seed onto her stomach, grunting with every pulse of his shaft. He steps back, admiring his work like a painter admires his freshly finished canvas. He breathes heavily, walking into her bathroom and emerges with a bundle of tissues. König then pulls out of her mouth slowly, letting go of her headboard with a creak. He reaches down and runs a thumb over her tear stained cheeks.

“You did so good, lass. So good for me.” He says as he wipes her stomach of his seed. König gets up and walks towards Soap as she watches them tiredly, her holes fatigued and swollen from the constant use. Ghost lifts his head from her breast, her nipples now sore and overstimulated from being sucked and bitten through it all. He gently slaps her breast, causing it to jiggle and making him chuckle lowly.

“Such perfect little mounds, lovie” he says, caressing her neck. She smiles at him, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips before he can pull his balaclava back down. He pauses for a moment and his mouth hangs agape, a smile growing on his lips before he pulls it down over his mouth.

König places himself in front of her, offering his hand. She takes it as he helps her stand. Her legs like jello, her thighs shake and falter as she holds onto his strong shoulders. “My poor little liebe, so tired and fucked out, yes?” He purrs, bringing her into an embrace. Ghost and Soap watch as he sits on the bed, crawling toward the headboard. He places his back onto the headboard and effortlessly lifts her onto his lap, spreading her legs over his knees. He slides his hands up and down her thighs, parting them while kissing her neck and nibbling at her earlobes. Her body shivered as he did this, his gentle caresses feeling like sparks on her skin after the roughness of the other two men. “I’d love to ruin you tonight, liebling. But you’ve have enough of that, hm?” He purrs. She nods her head, her brain swirling in her skull and preventing any words from leaving her. She lies her back onto his chest as he positioned his cock in front of her clit. He slides his head up and down her slit, coating him in her juices. He slaps his tick, heavy shaft against her entrance before pushing the tip in, waves of electricity flowing through her veins. She moans at the thickness of him, throwing her head back onto his chest. He kisses her forehead, grunting as he pushes himself deeper inside of her, his cock only halfway inside before he hits her tightest spot, unseen by any man. He pushes into her slowly, forcing the rest of his thickness into her walls. Tears brim her eyes as she moans and cries out, a toxic mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through her. Ghost reaches forward and slowly circles her clit, trying to keep her from clenching too much. The room was silent besides König’s hushes and sweet praises in her ear, the other two men seemingly feeling sorry for her. She had never had any man this big before, but there was a first for everything. The stimulation from Ghost fingering her clit allows König to enter into her deeper. In no time he bottoms out, his cock buried deep inside her, all the way to the hilt. Soap approaches her to her right, kissing her stomach and leaving love bites all the way to her breasts. She would look like she had been through a war the next day, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. He begins suckling and biting at her nipples once again, flicking his tongue over the sensitive buds.

“Scheiße, du bist so eng, Liebe” he praises. She hadn't any idea what he said, but the way he spoke to her made her insane. “Hm?” She replied, the only word she had managed to squeak out since being ruthlessly fucked by the two other men. König lets out a deep chuckle at her cluelessness.

“I said you’re so tight, dear. So warm. So inviting for me.” He breathes out. He begins thrusting inside of her, slowly at first. He grunts and moans in her ear, his grip on her thighs tightening with restraint as he tries his hardest not to fuck the thoughts right out of her brain at any given moment. He begins thrusting faster, pumping himself in and out of her. She moans and cries out, going absolutely dumb on his dick as he fucks her at a steady pace. She reaches her hands behind her, running her fingers through his dirty blonde hair, it being soft in between her fingers. She lets out a string of curses as she feels her core tightening. She clenches around him, her grip tightening in his hair. He dips his head forwards as he lets out a string of German expletives and grunts, thrusting his hips up into her. He speeds up his pace, feeling as she tightens around him. His cock met with resistance as she comes close to her edge.

“Are you going to cum for me, love?” He whispers in her ear. She nods her head sporadically, unable to focus on anything but the thick, hot cock sliding in and out of her. “Mhmm. ‘M gonna cummm” she manages to squeak out. He chuckles in her hair, the gruff voice caressing her ears. “Cum for me, my sweet liebling. I want your juices all over my cock and balls, hm?”. He praises, giving her a small slap on the stomach. She rolls her hips, in sync with Ghost’s finger flicking her clit and Soap periodically nibbling at her nipples. König thrusts into her g-spot faster and harder, his own moans and cries hot on her ears. She feels the familiar tightening of her core, and warmth pooling at her clit as another spray of her juices spew out onto the bed. The mixture of her moans and his grunts make for a porn worthy scene as her squirt runs down her pussy and onto his balls. Her thighs shake with pleasure, her body now completely spent from orgasming. König chuckles as her legs shake violently. Ghost moves his hands from her clit, chuckling as he licks her juices off of his fingers.

“You’re like a sprinkler, love” Ghost chuckles, his fingers glistening with her slick. She smiles at him as he stands, his cock ready and twitching with need. He hadn’t finished fucking her in hopes that he’d be the one to breed her. But the way he saw her going stupid on König’s cock meant that he’d have to make do with her delicious mouth for now. He leans forward, grabbing her head gently by the hair and guiding her lips to his shaft. He moans as she takes him in her mouth, bobbing her head the best she can while König fucks her. He’s now drilling into her, cursing and whimpering aloud shamelessly. Ghost begins to thrust into her mouth, unapologetically starved from being cut short earlier. She relaxes her jaw muscles and allows him to fuck her face ruthlessly. She gags and chokes on him, droll dripping down her chin and onto her breasts as she bounces from König’s fucking. She moans onto his dick, riling him up more. He slides his cock deep into her throat, bottoming out until her nose is buried in his pubic hair.

“Fuckkk, lovie. I can see my cock bulging from your throat. God…damn.” He praises, his voice shaky from the fast thrusts. He pumps into her mouth at a steady pace as he grabs her throat and squeezes around his bulge smugly. He chuckles at the sight, loving the look of her bouncing on König’s dick as he uses her mouth as he pleases. “Good fucking girl. Taking my cock like the slutty puppy you are.” He says, landing a gentle smack on her cheek. He squeezes her throat again, making her gasp for air. He pulls out completely, letting her breathe before shoving himself as deep as can go again. He does this for a minute, pulling out and shoving himself back in, tiring her throat out. She was a drooling, crying mess, and he wouldn’t have her any other way. He feels the familiar tightening in his balls, his dick tensing with every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. He fucks her face a few more times before he lets himself fall. He moans loudly and lets out a powerful grunt as he paints her throat white with thick, hot ropes of cum. She feels the warmth of his seed travel down her throat, her eyes rolling back in her head as he keeps his cock down for a few seconds too long. His grip on her throat loosened, and he slowly pulled out from the walls of her windpipe, slick with her saliva and his cum. “Jesus.” He exclaims, out of breath from emptying his balls into her throat. “You’ve milked me dry, sweetheart.” He says, plopping himself onto the bed next to her. He reaches over and caresses her stomach as König continues drilling into her from underneath her.

König’s thrusts become sloppier, his cock starting to twitch inside of her. She notices his body tensing under her as he reaches his orgasm. “Scheiße, Scheiße!” He yells out. He roughly grabs her by the throat, squeezing her windpipe and causing her face to turn a deep red as she throws her head back. He buries his face in her neck, his face now a deep shade of red as he sweats and his muscles flex under her. His thrusts become slower, staying inside of her for a second longer before pushing into her again. He groans and whimpers in her ear, the gigantic killing machine of a man seemingly coming undone by the mere tightness of her pussy. “Such a sweet…tight fucking…cunt…Scheiße!” He continues, his cock twitching violently inside of her as he breeds her. She feels his hot seed filling her, slowly dripping down her walls as he pulls out of her, the tip swollen and sensitive. “God…you took me so well, my little liebe. So well.” He breathes, his breath hot on her cheek. He presses his forehead to hers, planting a soft kiss to her lips. He lingers on her mouth for a minute, catching his breath. They breathe heavily into each others mouths, eyes dancing between each others.

“So much for no favorites, aye L.t?” Soap says smugly, standing to his feet and slowly walking to his pile of clothes in front of her bed. She smiles at him, her brain still spent and thoughtless from the three cocks whose only intention was to ruin her. Ghost chuckles as he stands, grabbing his underwear and sliding them over his hips before lying back in bed next to her. König doesn’t bother getting up, and simply moves her next to him. She lied between the two giant men, her eyes fluttering closed as König and Ghost untucks the blanket from under her and placing it over her. She opens her eyes and looks over to Soap, standing at the edge of her bed in only his underwear. He crawls towards her and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be taking your couch, lass. No space on here for poor old Soap!” He jokes, winking at her before leaving to the living room. Ghost reaches besides him and flicks the switch to the lamp besides them, engulfing the room in darkness. The only light from the yellow hued street lamps outside. König shuffles behind her, spooning her with his naked frame. He kisses her on the back of her neck, rubbing her back gently with his large hand. “Goodnight, dear. I’ve had the best time with you tonight” he says, his voice barely a whisper. She smiles as she backs up into his embrace in response to his soft praises. Ghost runs a thumb over her cheek as he lies on his back, and puts her hand in his. “Sleep well, love. You did great.” He purrs. In no time, the sweet embrace of sleep blanketed her senses.

**╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝**

She wakes to an empty bed, the smell of sex still permeating the room. She checked her clock on the nightstand. 12:42 PM, it read. She’d be screwed if she had work today, but her body had taken the rest it needed from being absolutely ruined by three giant soldiers last night. She smiled to herself, wishing to herself it hadn’t been a dream. She glanced at the hickies on her body, and noticed the soreness between her legs. She sat up, scanning her room. Her eyes caught a flash of a pink gift bag on the other side of her bed. She smiled as she took the bag in her hands. She took out the contents, a red hot blush spreading to her ears. The lacy bra and panty set sat softly in her fingers. She looked in the bag and saw a card, opening it to reveal the sloppiest handwriting she’d ever seen.

Forgive me for ripping your panties and bra, dear. Enjoy. -König

She knew she wasn’t supposed to chose favorites, but hell.

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