blinca

[blinca]

K.D🖤

Do you ever sit and think of how Simom 'Ghost' Riley is so enemies to lovers-he fell harder coded?

I am not remotely close to being a Ghost girlie but it just clicks personally.

He screams 'she's so beautiful, attractive even but that's it' upon meeting this lady and he gets so annoyed about feeling anything more than passing attraction. He has to convince himself at every turn that it's not that deep or serious.

Until it is because the more he resists, behaves poorly or tries to ignore the object of his constant thoughts, the more he falls. He gets so angry with himself. He's getting obnoxious, insulting her and throwing comments she rises to.

He starts to rarionalize why it would never work, why he's so unfit and how she deserves better before he shakes his head for even going down that path, so he continues to be a real jerk.

It doesn't help that everyone else loves her, or that she's so unguarded with literally any other person but with him? she's Fort Knox so he kicks himself for being the cause of that but has to justify why it's necessary. He tries to say nice things though and it comes out so so wrong. He kicks himself more.

The tension between them is no secret, the way they add such fuel to each other's fire. She never backs down from.going toe to toe with Ghost and Ghost is battling his demons and her - pleading for his sanity for him to stay away. So when another man makes her laugh or she's being kind to, he's raging. How dare another man enjoy his lady. 'his lady'?? He's appaled at himself.

Until they cave and have their moment to address their miscommunication of feelings. Ghost has ro realize how inlove he is. And then he's no longer Ghost, he's now Simon.

Simon who is insecure a small bit, Simon who hates to feel, Simon who is dying to love this firecracker, his firecracker. Simon who doesn't believe in god nit wants to worship her for all the time he has lost - he wants to be a known devotee. Simon who is entirely and utterly down bad.

yeah me neither, adieu 💋

When Ghost's walls came down and he became Simon was a story all its own. One that involved alcohol.

Liquid courage could be a right bastard but so was he and when he drunk-dialed you (to your pleasant surprise), he let the cracks break and poured his heart out.

Would he regret it? Probably. Soap, Gaz, and Price were all in earshot. Did it matter, though? Hell no.

Ghost pours his heart out and you hear Simon behind his slurred words.

He tells you he could make you smile wider, laugh harder, and worship you better than any of those other knobheads can. He can be good for you. He can protect you. He can be open for you. He tells you that it's you. That it's all always been fuckin' you.

Make an honest man out of him, yeah?

You're shocked. You can only reply demurely that he's drunk and won't remember this come morning.

You could've heard a pin drop after what Simon said next.

"M'not drunk, sweetheart. 'M in love."

[blinca]

what about… pregnant/newborn mama missus gives könig/simon a boobjob? Like her tits are so swollen and he just wants to help her? 🥺

ohhh fuck yea, you’re speaking my language, nonnie!!! you owe me an apology because i got horny at work when i saw this </3

thinking about könig’s big, calloused hands groping your swollen tits, so full and sensitive after giving birth, aching for relief. he’s obsessed with how heavy they are, how they leak just a little when he squeezes them too hard.

he’s supposed to be helping you pump, but the second he sees your tits jiggle as you adjust the suction, he’s shoving his cock between them, groaning at how warm and soft you feel. “can’t help it,” he rumbles, fucking your tits with slow, filthy rolls of his hips, precum smearing over your skin. “you’re just too fucking perfect like this.”

and simon? that man’s absolutely feral for it. he’ll pin you to the mattress, mouth latched onto a nipple while his other hand works your clit, drinking down every sweet drop you give him. “good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, “gonna milk you dry, then fuck you stupid.”

you’re dripping by the time they’re done with you—tits sore, thighs shaking, and begging for more.

[blinca]

I need a prequel for könig and pregnant missus now 😩

Like her periods were sooo bad, she was struggling so much, that’s why könig just decided to fuck a baby in her to stop his little bird’s turmoil, just how a loving husband should 🥰

i love me some breeder!konïg agenda. its a fact that he has sex marathons and fucks you for days on end when you're ovulating!!

your periods were always hell. cramps twisting your insides, blood soaking through your sheets, whines spilling from your lips as you curled into könig’s chest. and oh, how he hated seeing his little bird in pain. his big hands would rub your belly, his lips pressed to your forehead, murmuring sweet nothings. but patience had its limits.

“schatz,” he growled one night, fingers digging into your hips as you whimpered against him. “enough of this. no more tears, no more pain.”

you didn’t understand—not until his calloused palm slid between your thighs, pressing against your still-flat stomach. “gonna put a baby in you,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “gonna fuck you so full of my cum, your pretty cunt won’t even remember what a period feels like.”

and oh, he meant it.

the next time ovulation hit, könig was relentless. pinned beneath his massive frame, your legs spread wide, his cock stretching you open with every brutal thrust. “take it,” he snarled, hips slamming into you, the wet slap of skin echoing through the room. “gonna breed you like the good little wife you are. gonna pump you so full, you’ll drip with me for days.”

(extra brownie points if he plugs you up after filling you with his cum!)

[blinca]

you’d been pushing him all day. little jabs, sarcastic remarks, that dramatic eye roll every time he growled at you to knock it off. but you didn’t. you kept going, testing his patience, until finally, you crossed the line. maybe you just wanted some attention.

“fuck you, simon,” you spat, hands on your hips, chin tilted up in defiance.

the room went dead silent. his eyes darkened, that slow, dangerous tilt of his head sending a shiver down your spine. you’d seen him like this before—right before he pinned you to the nearest surface and made you regret every smartass comment.

but this time, he didn’t grab you. he didn’t growl. he just turned on his heel and walked away.

your stomach dropped. shit.

he returned a minute later, a bar of soap in his hand. your eyes went wide. “no—simon, you wouldn’t—”

“open.” his voice was low, rough, leaving no room for argument.

you clamped your mouth shut, shaking your head.

he sighed, gripping your jaw with one hand, fingers pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. the second your lips parted, he shoved the soap between your teeth. the bitter, chemical taste flooded your mouth, making you gag, tears pricking at your eyes.

“keep it there,” he ordered, watching as you squirmed, soap suds dripping down your chin. “til you learn some fucking manners.”

you whined around the bar, hands gripping his wrist, but he didn’t budge. his thumb brushed over your lower lip, smearing the foam, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.

“next time you wanna run that filthy pretty mouth, i’ll wash it out with my cock instead. understood?”

you nodded frantically, the soap making your tongue tingle, your cheeks burning.

“good girl.”

[blinca]

jealous!lieutenant riley makes brain go brrr

warnings : suggestive content, filthy mouthed simon & a molecule of praise

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jealous!lieutenant riley who nearly cracks a molar when laswell teams you and kyle up for an upcoming mission.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose fingers twitch towards his gun when she mentions you’ll have to act as a married couple.

jealous!lieutenant riley who, for the entire week leading up to the gala, barks at rookies nine hours a day and spends his evenings at the shooting range—allegedly imagining someone very real as the target.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose mouth goes bone dry when he sees you wrapped in an expensive floor-length chiffon dress that accentuates every gentle dip and feminine curve and—fuck but he’s half-hard already.

jealous!lieutenant riley whose eyes stay glued to you the entire evening, his thoughts straying much further than his simple assignment of guarding your six.

jealous!lieutenant riley who, the second the base’s gravel crunches under the slowing tires of the car, is wrapping a burly arm around the slope of your waist while actively glaring at the diamond on your finger.

jealous!lieutenant riley who backs you up against his quarters’ door, his amber eyes burning like molten lava as they rove the length of your legs in a slow trail upwards.

jealous!lieutenant riley who finally claims your mouth, glides his hot tongue against yours, nips your neck and kisses your shoulders—all while he slides the subtly glittering gown off, exposing more and more of your soft skin to his hungry gaze.

jealous!lieutenant riley who lays you out on his bed—your nimble hands fisting his sheets, your silky hair in a halo on his pillow, and your pretty legs hiked onto his shoulders as he lowers himself between the plush of your thighs.

jealous!lieutenant riley who only drifts back up once he’s had his fill, chin glistening from your slick and pupils almost swallowing all the bronze of his irises.

jealous!lieutenant riley who lines himself up with your puffy entrance, bracing his tattooed forearms on each side of your head as his fingers slip into your silky hair.

jealous!lieutenant riley who kisses your dampened forehead, before letting his stubbly cheek rasp against your blushing one, his hot breath bleeding into a drawl at your ear.

“'m goin’ to fuck that ring right off of you, dove. now spread y’legs and be a good girl f’me.”

[blinca]

Saviors in Shadows

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Poly 141 x Black Widow!reader Word count: 1.5k A/N: So I don't have a plan for this fic, I've got some scenes and events in my head, so I'll just try to make a logical story out of those.

I've put some references to the Black Widow movie in this part, can anyone guess them?

Comments, likes and reposts are greatly appreciated! I'd love to hear all your thoughts!

It’s been about two months since I joined task force 141. I’ve been living with the four men, getting to know them better. Well, I’ve gotten to know Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. Ghost is as closed off as a war room after the last order’s been given. Soap and Gaz were fun and kind. The two sergeants are enthusiastic, fun, eager for chaos and… madly in love. I’ve been trained to read people, but they’ve been able to hide it from me for a surprisingly long time. It was surprising to find the two in an intense makeout, humping each other like a bunch of horny teenagers, though I suppose there isn’t that much of a difference between soldiers and horny teenagers. 

What surprised me the most though, was Ghost and Price, watching the two sergeants. I’d quickly left before they noticed me and while the sergeants didn’t, Ghost and the captain certainly did. Both were eyeing me, Price with an raised eyebrow, Ghost with a challenging look in his eyes. Ever since, I’d see the signs more clearly. The lingering touches, intense eye contact and heavy tension. I suppose it made sense that I didn’t notice before. Love and attraction weren’t exactly common in the Red Room.

I wasn’t allowed to retrieve any of my belongings from the General’s mansion. Not that I had any items that I wanted to keep, I’m more than happy letting that part stay in the past. But not having anything of my own sucks, it reminds me too much of the Red Room. I had been using the military uniforms that were provided, but that was all the clothing I had. Gaz and Soap had invited me to join them and the other two for a night out in the base pub. When I’d shown up in uniform, Gaz had declared I needed clothes of my own choosing.

He and Soap had eventually convinced Price to allow them to take me shopping, which is why I’m currently in the backseat of a truck, driving toward the closest town next to the base. Gaz is driving, having banished Soap to the passenger seat, mumbling about the speed limit being the law, not a suggestion. Soap had grumbled, Gaz trying to placate the Scot by holding his hand. I honestly don’t know if they think I don’t notice it, or if they stopped caring. 

I don’t pay them any mind, snapping out of my thoughts as Gaz turns down the radio, cutting off Soap’s off key singing and calls my name. I look up and see him looking at me through the rearview mirror while simultaneously keeping an eye on the road. “Do you know any stores you want to go to?” I blink for a few seconds before shrugging, “I don’t really know any clothing stores.” The two men share a look before Soap starts listing some names. I don’t recognise any of them, so they decide to take the lead.

I grimace as soon as we step foot in the first store. The lights are bright, music is playing way too loud and way too many people are going through the clothing racks. Not to mention all the people staring at me in my uniform. “Do you know what kind of clothing you like?” asks Gaz, sounding unsure. I shake my head, feeling awkward. Every woman my age should know what they like to wear, remembering that I don’t especially with Gaz and Soap staring at me is embarrassing. “Then we’ll start off simple, aye? What’s yer favorite color?” I think for a moment, “never really thought about it,” I admit.

I can feel how uncomfortable Gaz and Soap are getting, “well, do you like light or dark colors?” asks Gaz. I’ve always gravitated towards dark colors, so I tell them so. They both nod, smiling, as they pull me along. They start browsing through the racks, picking up all sorts of items. I tense, feeling like a fish out of water, looking around at all these people smiling and laughing. There are so many people, so many potential threats. 

I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I’m ready to throw a punch, when I see Gaz standing behind me. “You okay?” he asks. “I can imagine this might be a bit too overwhelming for you, if you’re not used to these kinds of surroundings” he says when I don’t answer. I’m about to answer, about to tell him that I’m glad he understands, to thank him for his kindness and ask him if we can leave, when Soap shows up behind him. “I think we've got enough right now, unless ye see somethin’ ye want?

I look around, actually paying attention to the clothing racks this time. My eyes fall on a dark green sleeveless vest, adorned with buckles, pockets, buttons and zippers. I run my fingers over the fabric and pull it from the rack, turning back to the two men. Gaz smiles at me while Soap frowns, “ye dae know tha’s basically an army surplus, right?” Gaz turns and hits him on the shoulder, whispering something I can’t quite catch over the music.

Not paying the Scot any further mind, Gaz gestures me toward the changing rooms. The push me into a cubicle, hang all the items they picked out on the rails and close the curtain. “Just try on the things you like, anything you don’t like before trying it on you can give to us.” I stand still for a minute, before springing into action, treating this like I would any other mission.

Going through the clothing, I pick out the items I like, the ones I don’t like, either the item itself or the color goes to Gaz. I end up settling on the more practical items. Tight shirts and pants, things that I can fight in if necessary. At Gaz’ insistence, I also pick some sweaters and hoodies. Of all the items, I like the vest I picked out the most.

After pulling on my old clothes and handing the rejected clothes to a store worker, we head to the registry. There is a long line, making me uncomfortable, being squished between all these people. As the line gets shorter and we get to the registry, I’m suddenly reminded of my lack of money. I panic slightly as the cashier starts to scan all the items. “Wait,” I hiss to the guys, “I don’t have any money, I can’t pay for this.” Gaz smiles at my worries when Soap speaks up, “dinnae worry bonnie, Laswell gave us money tae spend on ye.”

I sigh, relieved to avoid the awkwardness and make a note to pay it back when I have the chance. The cashier says the total and Soap pulls out a card to pay. I don’t miss the confused look Gaz gives Soap. Once it goes through, the cashier bags the clothes, puts in the receipt and gives them to Soap. 

As we walk outside, I can hear Gaz whisper to Soap as they walk in front of me. “Why did you lie to her? Laswell gave us money for this, but why did you pay with your own money? You know the hassle you have to go through to get that money back.” I see Soap grin, “dinnae worry, I know that, I just wanted tae treat the lass. The budget isnae exactly big and now she can spend it on somethin’ else.” I smile slightly at the gesture.

After Soap puts the bags in the back seat, we climb in, ready to go back to base. As Gaz pulls onto the road, Soap puts the radio back on and starts singing along. As the two are distracted, I sneak the receipt out of the bag and into my pocket, determined to pay him back somehow. My fingers brush against the vest I picked out and pull it out of the back. After putting it on, I run my fingers over it, enjoying the feel of it. When I look up, I see Soap and Gaz looking at me, their eyes soft. “You know, this is the first piece of clothing I’ve ever chosen for myself.” Gaz smiles, “it does look like an army surplus.” “Okay, it has a lot of pockets,” I start to defend my choice, “and I know I’ll use them all the time, and I can even make my own modifications.” I scoff and cut myself off, “whatever.” Gaz and Soap laugh, “I’ve never had control over my life before and now I do,” I argue. “Alright, alright, I like your vest,” admits Gaz. “I knew it, " I grin, “it’s so cool, right?”

As we pull onto the parking lot in front of our barracks, I jump out and start dragging the bags inside. In the hallway, we run into Price and Ghost. “Back already?” asks Price. We nod, “Quick and effective as always, Captain,” grins Gaz. “Operation buying clothing is complete,” adds Soap, throwing in a salute. Price laughs, shooing me into my room, “let sweetheart unpack her things yeah?” The men nod, but Soap can’t resist throwing one last comment my way, “next time we go shopping for lingerie, yeah?” I hear all three others slap Soap as I close my door, the tips of my ears feeling like they’re on fire.

[blinca]

Saviors in Shadows

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Pairing: Poly 141 x Black Widow!reader Word count: 1.4k A/N: Part 3! I've done a lot of research for this part, especially for the mind control and stuff. In this fic only the concept of the Red Room exists. There are no Avengers, no aliens, magic or other Marvel related things.

Comments, likes and reposts are greatly appreciated!

The helicopter ride to their base had been long. The four soldiers kept giving me wary glances. But Laswell was alert, but kind. I don’t know what I did to deserve her kindness, but it was a nice change. They handcuffed me to one of the iron benches, forcing me into an uncomfortable position. By the time we arrived at their base, my back was aching, the cut in my neck throbbing.

Once we landed, they escorted me through a maze of hallways, to this damp little room. They again handcuffed me to the table, before they left me alone. I know that they’re watching me through the one way glass.

I don’t react when the door opens. The four soldiers enter the room, taking place against the wall, while Laswell comes to sit on the other side of the table. “We both know more than we’d like about the Red Room,” Laswell says before nodding toward the men, “but for their sake, let’s explain.” She turns slightly toward them. “The Red Room is also known as the Black Widow program. It’s a secret Soviet-Russian training program that focussed on taking young girls and turning them into spies and assassins.” She presses a few buttons on her tablet and the screen to my right lights up.

“About a year ago, the Red Room was destroyed and Dreykov killed. The CIA has since obtained intel about the events that happened in the Red Room.” A video pops up on the screen. Laswell presses play and the image of little girls plays on the screen. They are dragged apart while they call out for each other. Most of the girls are crying, clearly scared. The next footage is of girls lined up in front of shipping containers. Their faces tearstained while clutching their stuffed animals.

I hear the men behind me curse as the video shifts again. This time there’s footage of the communal bedroom. How all girls were handcuffed to their beds. Then footage of our training, of how we had to beat each other to a pulp or get beaten ourselves. Of how they taught us to dance, repeating routines over and over to make us ‘unbreakable’. Of how they had us use actual people as target practice. Of how they had us lined up, having us repeat that the sole purpose of our existence was to follow Dreykov’s orders, how what we wanted didn’t matter, how our dreams were just that. Dreams.

Laswell shuts the screen off and turns back to me, “I’d like to hear about your experience in the Red Room.” I sigh. “About twenty girls in each generation survive the training they put us through, the rest he killed.” I flex my fingers, a habit I picked up after being freed from Dreykov’s control. “Dreykov didn’t like defects in his Widows. He didn’t see us as people, just weapons. He thought of us as disposable.”

“Can you tell me more about the Red Dust?” continues Laswell. “A couple of decades ago, two of Dreykov’s soldiers were tasked with stealing something from a government facility in Ohio.” “What did they steal?” asks Price. I quirk and eyebrow, “the key to unlocking free will.” “That’s not possible,” states Soap. I lean forward, putting my head in my hands and sigh, “It’s done with chemical subjugation. It manipulates the brain to alter behavior. It is so precise that if you order someone to stop breathing, they have no choice but to obey, even if it kills them.”

They look quite shocked at the revelation. “So this Red Dust allows people to control other people?” asks Laswell. I shake my head, “Red Dust is a gas that can immunize the brain’s neural pathways. It is a cure to chemical subjugation, it is the cure to the mind control they put us through.” 

“While you’re mind controlled you are still fully conscious, but you don’t know which part is you.” Everyone looks shocked, well, except Ghost, who still wears his mask. “So you’re not under anyone's control anymore?” I shake my head, “no, I’m still not always sure if my actions are really my own, if I’m me again, but I was exposed to the Red Dust when some other Widows took down the Red Room, so I think I’m me again.”

Laswell hums, “if the Red Room was taken down, and you’re not being mind controlled anymore, then why did you choose to work for Shepherd? I can imagine that after everything you’ve been through, you’d want some peace and quiet.” I sigh, expecting this question, “my entire life has been training, missions and violence.” I look Laswell in her eyes. “I’ve been fighting for so long that I don’t know how to stop.” She nods in understanding, sharing a look with Price, “so how did you come to work for Shepherd?” I shrug, “he offered me what I needed, to keep fighting, so I willingly decided to work for him.” 

“Willingly until he put a bomb in my neck of course, after that I realised he’s just as bad as Dreykov.” “We’ve removed the bomb, sae ye dinnae have tae worry ‘bout that anymore,” says Soap, looking reassuring when I turn to him. Laswell suddenly stands, gesturing for Price and Ghost to follow her. “Gaz, can you take a look at the wound in her neck? Make sure that it’s all good? We’ll be right back.”

As the door closes behind them, Gaz steps forward and places some supplies on the table before asking for permission to treat the cut at the back of my neck. I blink at him for a moment, not used to people, especially men, asking permission to touch me. I nod and he tells me to lean forward while he removes my hair, removing the previously placed gauze and getting to work placing adhesive wound strips on the cut.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says, sounding soft but firm. I hum, “why, you didn’t have anything to do with it.” “Aye, but what ye went through isnae somethin’ anyone should endure,” says Soap, dropping into the chair Laswell previously occupied, giving me a grin. I study him as well as I can while bending forward. His grin pulls the scar on his chin taunt. He has many small scars littered on his face. Including one on the bridge of his nose, most likely the reason it’s slightly crooked. But it’s his eyes that draw my attention. They're the most beautiful bright blue, like the forget-me-nots I used to love to pick as a little girl, before the Red Room. Those little flowers have always been my favorite, every time I saw them I would remember. I even have a small bouquet of them that I plucked on Shepherd’s grounds. A forget-me-not for every childhood memory I didn’t forget.

The door opens and Laswell, Price and Ghost step into the room. As Soap and Gaz take their place along the wall, Laswell sits back in her chair. “We’d like to make you an offer,” she starts. “You say you want to continue fighting because that’s all you know.” I nod and quirk my eyebrow, knowing what’s coming, but I’m not sure what to think about it.

“We’d like you to come work for us, to become a part of Captain Price’s taskforce, taskforce 141.” “Even if it’s not what you want to do for the long term, we’d be happy to have you temporarily, if you want to figure out what’s best for you,” adds Price.

I don’t know how to answer. Part of me thinks it might be a good idea, whether it’s short or long term, it might give me time to adjust, maybe start working towards a normal life. But the other part of me is scared. What if they turn out to be the same as Shepherd, as Dreykov? I sigh, “Can you promise me that I’m allowed to make my own choices? That you won’t try to control me, like Shepherd and Dreykov did?”

Laswell nods, “Everyone at the CIA who knows about the Red Room is disgusted with what happened, as am I, I promise you, as of today, your life, your choices are your own.” I nod, still not trusting it completely, but willing to try. I dare to quickly look at the four soldiers. Price looks reassuring, Soap is grinning, Gaz looks kind and Ghost is as unreadable as when we met.

“Okay, I’ll join your taskforce.”

[blinca]

Saviors in Shadows

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Pairing: Poly 141 x Black Widow!reader Word count: 700 A/N: It's a short one, but it felt right to end it here. I have no idea where I'm going with this fic, so don't expect much. I'm also taking creative liberties with the Red Room and all, so don't come at me if it's not cannon. Comments, likes and reposts are greatly appreciated!

Unfortunately, those thirty minutes went by faster than I’d hoped. I could hear the heavy chopping of a helicopter and I had no idea how to get out of here. Not that I’d make it far with the bomb in my neck being very real, but I’d hoped to make it to the underground tunnels so I could hide and come up with a better plan. My four captors had continued searching through the office. In the meantime, I’d learned their names. Bucket hat, their leader, was Captain Price. Hulk reincarnated was Ghost, also called LT by mohawk, who’s called Soap. Baseball cap was called Gaz for some reason.

As the sound of the helicopter comes closer, the captain and Ghost step outside, giving the other two the order to ‘not let her out of your sight’, with a stiff point in my direction. Before long they return, with a woman following behind. I eye her warily, while she seizes me up as well. “Laswell, this is the hostile that managed to take out delta team by herself,” grumbles Price. Laswell hums, before turning to Gaz, handing him a black bag with a red cross. Gaz immediately zips it open, grabs a device and turns to me.

“Don’t move,” he says before moving my hair and placing the device against the back of my neck. He moves it around for a bit, before he steps back. “There definitely is something foreign in her neck, I can’t see what it is, but I can remove it right now,” he tells Price and the woman, Laswell. Price nods and Gaz takes the bag again, pulling out the supplies he needs. 

Meanwhile, Laswell looks at me with careful interest. “She hasn’t talked yet?” Price shakes his head, “she’s annoyingly tight lipped.” Gaz returns with supplies. “Lean forward,” he says. I obey, annoyed but eager to get this thing out of my neck. I can sense him moving around and feel sharp smelling alcohol dripping on my neck, before a warm hand lands on my shoulder. “I’m going to cut it out now,” he warns. I don’t respond and take a deep breath. The metal of the blade feels cold against my skin, before it digs into my neck. I hiss, but at least he’s quick about it. Before long I feel his fingers pull the wound open and a pair of tweezers digs in. Then he pulls the bomb out of my neck.

I hear Laswell and the other men move closer while Gaz presses gauze against the wound. Price orders Soap to take a look at the device pulled from my neck, a job for the demolitions expert he says. Once Gaz is done cleaning and bandaging the small wound, I move to sit up, before Laswell suddenly stops me. She pulls down the back of my sweater and I freeze as I hear her breath hitch. 

I know what she sees. I know what she knows. I hate it.

“You’re a widow,” she states. Soap sounds confused and annoyed. “What's got the fact that her spouse is dead tae dae with this?” Laswell shakes her head, while she crouches down in front of me. “Not that kind of widow,” she says, “she’s an assassin, one of Dreykov’s.”

“Dreykov who?” Soap raises an eyebrow. “General Dreykov, he’s an officer in the Soviet Armed Forces. He oversees the Red Room,” explains Laswell. I can see the pity in her eyes and I grit my teeth, hating it. “How do you know for sure?” asks Price. Laswell gestures them over to the back of my chair and pulls down my shirt again, displaying the tattoo that marks me.

‘Property of the Red Room’

“Soap, what do you think about the device from her neck?” asks Laswell. Soap hums, rolling the bomb around in his hand. “Tis definitely a bomb, a wee one, but it would've killed ‘er if it went off,” he explains, “ah cannae see if there's a tracker in there though, I’d have tae take it apart for that ‘n ah cannae dae that here.” Laswell nods and gestures to Ghost, “Let’s take her back to base, we’ll figure it out from there.”

[blinca]

How would the 141 react to their little bird walking out into the living wearing lingerie for the first time. ( partner is a little self conscious because they have a small tummy)

hmm? (18+, f!midsize!reader)

gaz — well, jesus, talk about intimidating. the hottest guy for sure that you've ever dated; buttery skin, brilliant smile, always smells good, takes care of himself in such a healthy, mature way. when you saw him without a shirt for the first time, you nearly felt sick, and you've only ever had sex in the dark cause you're so self-conscious about what you'll look like next to him, but he's never done anything to make you feel like he cares about what you look like or has thought you were anything but absolutely beautiful. you want to do something special. so on the couch, during the movie, you unbutton your blouse and drop it suddenly, showing off the intricate lace set you've got underneath, and gaz can do nothing but stare. his jaw falls before he can catch it, and you swallow hard. "do you..." you clear your throat. "do you like it?" he wants to see the full fit, of course, and you drop your shorts and give him a spin when he asks. if you had any doubts, they're gone once you tug his sweats down. his cock has never looked better.

soap — fortunately, johnny was very, very upfront about how he felt about your figure. he never said anything outright, but he was always touching you. smoothing his hands down your sides, cupping your breasts, smacking your ass when he passed behind you. he wasn't satisfied unless he had his hands full, and he's got a sick smile on his face when he sees you in bright red lingerie for the first time. man doesn't even takes his time with you—he just rips a hole in the crotch of your lace panties and fucks you right through it.

price — a man of taste and refinement, john has always been adamant about what he wants. he wasn't interested in dating any woman except for you, and he made you understand that as soon as date number three. he was all in, and that meant full access to being price's girl. money, good food, and the best sex of your entire life. john likes a good blast from the past. he still remembers the novelty of a pin-up girl in a military locker, and you give him that when he comes home one day. naked except for heels and fishnets and a garter belt, perched up on his couch just waiting for him to devour. the heels are red-bottomed, the fishnets are handsewn, and the garter belt you wear is french lace. the record playing was just the nail in the coffin—when you count the days back a few weeks later, you definitely think it's the night he got you pregnant.

ghost — he appreciates his girl, 100%. ghost is not someone immune to pillowy thighs and nice tits. he's a man, at his core, but fuck is it so exhilarating that ghost needs nothing except your eyes to chub up and be ready for another round. but you wanted to treat him; he works so hard, and he deserves it. so there she is—perfect, pretty girl, sitting on her knees, in his living room, wearing black lace dotted with rhinestones. he's salivating when he sees you; immediately kicking his door shut and unzipping his trousers, and you're the one drooling now seeing him already swelling at the sight of you. the lingerie does not last—it's in tatters just a few minutes later, torn apart and ruined behind the couch as he fucks you into it. at the end of the day, there's nothing quite as pretty as his girl without anything except for his cum inside of her. that's the real prize. :D

[blinca]

*GRABS YOU* more ghoap x reader with the pregnancy right now I'm coming to your house on my knees begging praying

"open."

your mouth drops open on instinct, and you whine shyly when there's a resounding "heh heh" that follows. you close your mouth, blinking up at simon, and he hums lowly.

"wot's wrong, swee'eart?" he asks. you jump a little when a big hand cups your lower belly, and you bite your lip when he thumbs at the curve there. "i said open."

your mouth falls open again, slowly this time, and when johnny comes up behind you, you lean back at the tastes of his thick fingers on your tongue.

"she likes when 'er mouth's full," simon mutters, and you suckle on johnny's fingers. you shake your head a little, and simon chuckles. "wot, not wot y'want? y'want somethin' else?"

you nod, pressing your hands against simon's chest, and he nods his head at johnny to let his hand down. when his fingers are out of your mouth, simon leans down, and you dig your nails into his pecs when he licks into your mouth and kisses you hot.

you shiver a little when you feel johnny press up against your back. you feel the cold bite of the air when he hikes up the dress you're wearing, his big hands smoothing over the fabric of your panties. your knees buckle a little when you feel simon's hands just under johnny's--spreading your cheeks apart.

"open up for johnny," simon whispers between kisses, and you arch your back a little, your ass spread just enough for johnny to slip his cock between your thighs and wet it.

"fuck--'m no' gonnae last--" johnny chokes. "she's too pretty."

"and wet, huh, love? y'r soaked," simon murmurs. "don't remember you droolin' so much before."

"got our wee one in there, LT," johnny hisses. the tip of him slips in, simon's hand guiding his cock, and you cry against simon's lips. "makes 'er so much needier...makes 'er so...fuck--gonna come--"

"don't make me punish ya, johnny, yeah?" simon snaps. "tha's no' the rules."

"the rules..." you're so dizzy, surrounded by foggy pleasure, and simon cups the back of your neck so he can glare at johnny behind you.

"she comes first, johnny," simon kisses his teeth. "'s good for the baby."

"the baby--" you mewl, and simon brings your mouth back to his.

"tha's right, love. our baby. remember tha'? did so good for me. now open up, let him in--" simon guides johnny in, fingers smoothing against the place where you're connected, and you cry with relief when simon's fingers slip over your clit in achingly slow circles.

"gonna c-come, LT--"

johnny's never been able to last. you think he came a full thirty seconds after getting inside of you the first time, and he's only ever made it to a minute since. he's so cute--you love when his baby blues get all shiny and big and embarrassed.

"no--simon--let him--" you say against his lips. "please--please, i want it--"

johnny chokes behind you. he squeezes your ass hard, digging his fingers in, and your mouth drops open when you feel him spurt and fill you up. johnny's so messy. he always comes too much, too fast, and you can hear him pant behind you as he tries to catch his breath. you can see him already, red cheeks from shyness, apologetic with those big, pretty eyes.

"'s like ya want another one," simon laughs. "doesn't work like tha'. wish it did, huh? you want another one, love?"

"i-i--"

"olways got t'be full," simon continues. "we should go again."

"mmm--" you giggle, but it turns into a sigh when you feel johnny getting hard again, still inside you, still hissing behind you as he watches you kiss his lieutenant.

"one more time, johnny. make it count."

[blinca]

okay...what about surprise pregnancy but you aren't sure whose it is? (18+, ghoap x f!reader babytrap)

you come crying to simon, so embarrassed when you see johnny there, too. they coax you to sit down, standing side by side, and you explain through sputters and soft tears that you're pregnant, and you're so sorry, you're even more sorry because you're not sure if it's johnny's baby or simon's baby.

you didn't cheat, you never put labels on anything, you thought you were just having fun, but now they're finding out at the same time that you were sleeping around, and you were totally irresponsible--

you freeze, hiccuping when you notice that simon and johnny aren't even looking at you anymore. simon has a gloved hand in johnny's hair, wrapping those thick fingers into his mohawk and pulling until johnny's neck snaps back, and he's baring his throat to simon.

"mmm..." simon growls a little, and your lip trembles when simon hikes his mask up to lick over johnny's cheek before kissing him wet and sloppy. "good boy. olways doin' as y'r told..."

you squeeze your legs together when simon cups your jaw, drawing you closer. he fits a thumb into your mouth to soothe you, and johnny coos as he brushes your hair out of your eyes. it was a team effort, after all, no need to fret.

don't you know it takes two to make a baby?

[blinca]

there's only one rule with them--you have to be included, lest you give simon those big eyes that he absolutely fucking despises. (ghoap x f!reader, 18+)

you can't help it, really. you like being the center of attention. no--you need to be the center of attention.

their attention.

even when you're too fucked out to go any longer, someone has to be paying attention to you. simon has found that even when he's too occupied making johnny's eyes roll back in his head, a firm hand tangled in your hair is enough to keep you smiling all lopsided and ooey-gooey warm. a thumb in your mouth, lips against your temple, just a soft touch is good enough to keep you from blinking up at simon all wet and soft-like.

simon even found out that you have a sixth-sense for knowing if simon touched his sergeant when they were deployed. coming through the door, just seeing them, that pretty bottom lip trembling when you meet johnny's eyes because you just know something happened without you.

it's not that you're jealous. it's not that you don't approve. simon knows you're just so delicate. so sweet. you want to be included and noticed, because no one ever had noticed you at all before them, and you just hate feeling left out. you want to know everything about them, and when something happens without you, you feel like you're missing a special piece of them, and it makes your heart drop into your stomach.

"none of tha'," simon says lowly when he sees your eyes well up, all watery and big.

"i'm sorry--" you whine. it takes johnny between your thighs for a full hour before simon sees you crack a smile again.

simon comes up with a nice solution. he doesn't want to see his perfect girl upset anymore. he won't have it any longer. it isn't allowed.

you put the phone to your ear. it's late, and you're a bit sleepy, but with the ringer on full volume, you're always ready to answer the phone.

"h-hello?"

"'ello, baby." your eyes flutter open at the sound of simon's low drawl, and you giggle sleepily. "oi, wot's so funny?"

"nothing," you whisper. "i miss you."

"i miss you more," simon hums. you hear shuffling in the background, a grunt accompanied by a hiss. "say 'ello to our pretty kitty, johnny."

there's some static, and then you hear panting. a gargled cry sounds, one you recognize, and you grip the phone tight as you stare up at the ceiling. you roll over in a bed that's much too big for just you, and you whine a little.

"j-johnny?"

"fuck--ngghh--'m thinkin' aboot yer pussy, bonnie, lemme 'ear it."

you squeeze your thighs together on instinct. you reach for the pillow next to you, the one that still smells like simon, and you bury your nose into it and whine when you hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin.

"lemme 'ear it, willnae come unless--"

"johnny," you mewl, sticking your hand under the shirt you wear. it's simon's (the only shirt that fits over your tits), but you're bare underneath, so it takes you no time at all to break open your thighs and stick your hand between your folds. you don't even go for foreplay; there's no need. you are wet enough to dip your fingers just barely into yourself, scooping up a nice amount of slick and spreading it around, frantic enough that when you put the phone on speaker, the slip, slip, slip of your fingers is audible on the other end.

"och--si, she's...aye, she's soaking."

"tha's my girl."

"come...g-gonna come," you stutter, and johnny groans.

"need ye on my face, kitty cat," he pants, "lemme 'ear, closer, bonnie, get me closer--"

you lower the phone down your body, moving your fingers faster, your toes curling as you arch your back and listen to the wet smack, smack, smack of what you know is simon putting his fucking back into it. his groans follow the movements. simon is always a little rougher with his sergeant, always murmuring about how he can take it, not so sweet like our daisy baby.

"coming!" you gasp, and you press the heel of your hand against your clit as you breathe through your orgasm. so fast this time, hitting you from your toes and traveling all the way up, until your nipples pebble and your heart hammers. you bring the phone back up and bask in the glow of it, giggling dreamily as you listen to simon absolutely ruin your sergeant. skin on skin, nasty grunts and filthy curses, hissing and the sounds of things falling over and breaking. you pocket it for later and memorize it now, cooing softly when you know johnny is close.

you talk him until you hear him come, and then you tell simon to eat it off his gloved fingers for you.

"goodnight, kitty cat."

you smile.

"goodnight."

when they come home again, there you are, seated in the kitchen, all big smiles and soft eyes. simon touches a finger under your chin, and you blink up at him.

"olright?" simon asks, and you nod, picking up his other hand to kiss his knuckles.

"perfect."

[blinca]

idk just thinking about seeing your lieutenant for the first time, this big giant dog of a man, and thinking to yourself, "hmmm yeah, i'm gonna make that thing mine." (18+)

like. i'm thinking about seeing him walk into the room for the first time. fresh off an op, still in all his gear. he's angry cause he's been awake off and on for 40 hours at this point, and he sinks down into a chair in the mess hall, and your eyes bug cause the chair fucking bends with his weight.

and you're just like "omg omg omg holy shit" cause this fucking brute is just huge and beefy, and you had no idea this was your type until you watched his hand curl around a cup and make it look miniature. and you're wondering like "fuck i bet those holsters are custom made" cause you don't think you've ever seen them stretch that far around someone's thigh.

ughghghghgh, and he's dumb as shit, too, or maybe he's just fucking blind. you give him every hint in the book, every indication of how you feel other than pasting a giant neon sign on your forehead that says "fuck me."

you wear the tightest cargo pants you can get. you let the buttons on your shirts go low whenever he's near. you make excuses to see him late, delivering him paperwork in the middle of the night, meeting him out for a smoke (and he's never seen you smoke anything), shuffling your way in front of him in line so you can bump into him and graze your ass against his front. he even catches you this way--even curls his hand around your waist and steadies you before letting you go impatiently.

fuck, bending over in front of him, the obnoxious giggling, the excuses to dangle your tits in his face. you want this man underneath you, on top of you, tangled around you and suffocating you with those enormous arms, and he barely side-glances at you whenever you're in his vicinity, and it's infuriating.

what do you have to do to reel this thing in? how many bones do you have to give him?

how many times do i have to flash my bra at you for you to fuck me over your desk?!

you can't eat another cherry in front of him. you can't drop more sauce onto your cleavage. you cannot come out of the showers in just a towel in front of him anymore because you're going to lose your fucking mind--

you even made out with his beloved little sergeant, his favorite little know-it-all that can't stop blowing shit up. that blue-eyed, insufferable, yapper of a scot that kisses all wet, with teeth, who pants like a puppy when he asks if he can 'ave a taste of y'r bonnie cunt, please, please, please--

and you say yes, because maybe he'll finally fucking shut up if you drown him between your thighs and never let him come up for air.

face down, ass up, cargos around your ankles, hips pushing past against that puppy's stubble as he devours you on his knees. his big hands spread your ass for him, and his thumbs flick over your folds as he opens you up, a cackle leaving him before he opens his mouth wide and kisses your pussy all sloppy and uncoordinated.

when the door swings open and hits the wall with a bang, the puppy tries to leave. he tries to move, but you reach back and grip his mohawk, scowling as you shove his face back where it belongs as your lieutenant stands at the door and heaves with anger.

"uh uh," you snap, and your sergeant on his knees whines, his blue eyes a little foggy and wet as he blinks up at you. but he complies, his tongue slurping, and you flutter your lashes at your lieutenant as you keep johnny muzzled in your cunt. "sorry, lieutenant. is this your office? must've read the sign wrong."

you reel from the contact. a big hand grips you by the hair, slamming you down against his desk, and you choke as you try and gasp for air. like a good boy, johnny settles where he is, shoving his tongue down your hole and moaning low when he realizes you're dripping down his chin now that his lieutenant has you.

"y'think this is funny, eh?" ghost mutters in your ear. "y'think i don't know wot y'r doin'? think i 'aven't caught on, think i 'aven't noticed wot a fuckin' insatiable bloody pain in my arse you've been ever since y'got 'ere?!"

you whimper, relaxing against the desk, and ghost tugs at your hair again, shaking his head.

"oi! y'don't get to be stupid just because y'r gettin' y'r cunny played with," ghost snaps. "y'r a right headache."

you laugh, getting up to your elbows, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as ghost scruffs johnny by the base of his mohawk and cups your pussy with one big hand. you gasp, leaning your head back, because finally, yes, it's all i want, please, please, please--

"'f you wanted to be my pet so bad," ghost murmurs, fitting himself behind you, leaning over your shoulder as he spits into your ear, "all ya had to do was fuckin' ask, swee'eart."

when your eyes open, ghost hums, clicking his tongue under the mask.

"use y'r words," he growls. "be a good girl, and say wot it is y'want."

"want you," you whine, and he sighs deeply, closing his eyes, and you drown out the sounds of johnny sputtering at your feet as ghost bends you at the hip a little more, arching your back.

"mmm...tha'sit. was tha' so hard?"

[blinca]

simon tugs you to his neck, crooning in delight when you begin to lap at his skin. “c’mon,” he says. “go bite.”

he knows that he will be teased for this; that johnny will see his new bruises and howl in laughter because ye keepin’ a mutt, LT? and it is because simon knows this that he keeps egging you on, using your fixation to hook johnny in—trying to see how much of you does he need to dangle in front of johnny until he breaks.

simon’s always known that johnny likes you, after all. that johnny likes seeing what you do on simon; that the jealousy has now turned tepid, churning it into desire. so how much more could he take? how much teasing and marks and bruises does simon need to show off until johnny comes crawling to him, asking for you?

[blinca]

price making simon edge himself with your thighs as punishment for being unable to keep his hands off you while price was gone :(

godfddd yes.

you’re just a collateral damage in this. you would even argue that you’re the one who is suffering more than the bastard who’s actually the one being punished—simon’s heavy and thick cock is rubbing against your slick slit with every desperate thrust between your thighs—but you’re so angry that you can barely be coherent anymore.

you’re begging john for anything. maybe your wand or for john to allow simon to play with your clit or even john himself to fill your throat just to take the edge away from the muted brush of pleasure. you want anything to alleviate the thrum, but john just grunts, telling you to be quiet—please kid? f’me?—and you don’t know why you’re just realizing it now.

john’s angry at you too. this is your punishment just as much as it is simon’s.

what the fuck.

he said—

he said that he’s not mad! he even pulled you to his lap and fingered you open and told you to be patient because he’ll fuck you good but it’s been hours now, surely. your thighs are a wet mess of your slick and simon’s pre-, and you’re barely lucid with want when you realize, with mounting horror, that john’s yet to even look at you when he passed you over to simon.

you hiccup, hitting simon’s chest with your fists. this is your fault, you big oaf.

simon barely reacts as he continues to hump his hips so filthily, the meat of his thighs hitting your own with a wet slap. he’s so wound up that he’s lost the rhythm; his thrusting has become erratic, his cock leaking a puddle on your crotch.

not even your sobs have softened both of your lovers, and it’s so unfair. you don’t even know if you can even cum soon at this point.

[blinca]

john who punishes himself for liking you. maybe you’re the young recruit given to him by kate. or the part-time bev cart-er, full-time uni student in their country club. maybe, you’re his son’s partner. whatever it is, i think about john who punishes himself for his needs. his desire. his ugly greed. who sees himself as someone too old, too ruined, for you.

john who taps at johnny’s quiet home and asks him to take this old man to church. avoids ‘tavish’s question; says that he just feels the need to repent, that there are ghosts haunting him. john can’t say that it’s the bow of your lip or the twinkle of your laughter or the curl of your voice as you call out his name that has him feeling jilted like he’s got every right to feel so.

john who strips his cock with a heavy hand, gnawing on his own lips to smother the rumble of your name bubbling on the base of his throat. washes his hands once. twice. three times as though it’d erase the guilt. as though he’d be able to forget the startling image that pushed him to his peak—of you, curled in his lap, your mouth full of his promises; liquorice of tangled lies.

john who runs away even when you fall on his doorstep, knocking faintly, begging for him to look at you even once. to not turn you away.

“it isn’t all a lie, right?” you ask, near tears, your voice all choked up in your agony.

he doesn’t give you the answer you want.

[blinca]

still obsessed with the sweet rancher down the way who tips his hat and offers to bring in your groceries turning into the biggest foul mouth werewolf