machapelady

[machapelady]

DESERVED REWARD

MDNI - NSFW UNDER THE CUT Fem!reader x TF141 / I was thinking about Gaz for this one, but it is quite vague so it can fit with any of our boys. Quite rushed, grammar and vocabulary mistakes can be there ^^

Contents: oral!male receiving, humping, deepthroat, dacryphilia (a bit teehee), praise, female reader, she/her pronouns, reader does not finish. Leashes, collars... a hint of facefucking. Omniscient narrator.

Word count: 600ish

She kneeled on the floor. “Close your eyes” Her hands went up his thighs, where he was in the chair. “I got a surprise for you”

There was a faint metallic sound, his eyes moving under those bushy eyelids. And next he knows, there’s something rather leathery on his right hand, and a caress from the softness of his beloved.

As he opened his eyes, he was greeted with her, on her knees with a dark collar around her neck, a silver chain connected like a leash, to the handle on his hand. He gulped down. Fuck he thought.

As he yanked softly, testing the waters, the girl whimpered burying her face on his right thigh, sitting with her almost damp middle on one of his shoes.

“Such a good girl”

“Bringing me this kind of gift”

She nodded, pathetically humping his shoe, looking for that friction that she so needly craved. He tilted his foot a bit, most would say in a quite mean way, to press against the wet mess between her legs.

With fluttering eyes, she let him pull her closer to his crotch, delighted to bury her face in that hardened spot that she knew would leave her breathless.

And she took the breathless part to heart.

Slobbering over the fabric, teeth playing with the zipper. Her humping did not stop, and the wet spot on his pants could be her spit, or just his own pre-come.

He aided her needy state by undoing the button, as she pulled down the zipper, still not using her hands. She would slobber again, all over his boxers, until like a digging mutt she found what she wanted; to suck him off, to taste him and imprint his shape on her brain.

With no hands, and a dazed state, she sloppily licked around his shaft, from bottom to top, to suck and roll her tongue around the beading tip.

He groaned, even whimpered a bit. His foot shifted again, earning a moan from the girl between his legs.

Head falling back as she decided to take his length down her mouth out of the blue, staying still and warming him up. FUCK

The bobbing of her head was uncoordinated, sloppy and kind of inexperienced. Too focused on the state and how her darling tensed those muscles on his neck, or how his thighs flexed and spasmed. Her brain was a mush, not able to mix well between sucking, deepthroating and humping his shoe.

His hand went to her hair, guiding her movements. And with a pleading look from the muse between his legs, as both hands took purchase on her hair, he started to push her limits, to use her throat while she almost choked, a tear stained face and smeared lipstick that made rings on different spots along his shaft.

With the sounds, the tears and her nails against the floor, he thought this was almost torture for that poor throat. But the vibrations of her whimpers and moans, her frenzied state of humping and those pleading eyes made him finally tip over the edge.

“Fuck, wait, wait…pull off”

But she didn’t.

She pressed her face flush against his pelvis, taking the reward she craved so much. Not letting a single drop to waste, finally using her hands to find anchor on those thick thighs that trembled and shook with every single spurt of cum she had oh so well earned.

And when she pulled off, limbless penis falling to a side, her head to the opposite against his leg, she hummed.

“Finally”

[machapelady]

Bake me a Bun

Soap/Retired!Soap x f!reader Fluff with a slight suggestive line, daydreaming, get this man a baby. Mild stalking(?) I do not know if I should be continuing this ^^ (There will be eventual smut if I keep writing this, also might end up adding some TW because we all know what happens when you tell stories about wounded soldiers) Divider credits go to @vibeswithrenai , lovely work, I recommend checking them out ^^

Johnny is at his roots, a family man. Scottish mead flows through his veins, so does the sweet pie his grandma used to bake.

Before retiring, Soap liked to spend some of his 'vacations' with the whole MacTavish family. Lunch here, brunch there, and kids that flap their pa's kilt just before dinner. He would play chase with the wee lads, loved by his nephews and known as 'Big Uncle'. Often carrying two rascals at a time, or letting losing against them on a hand to hand battle, he was a truly warm and homecoming man.

"John, when ya givin' me sum' wee bairns?" His nan would often ask.

To what his answer would be, between gritted teeth "No bon, no bun, nan. Army giv' no time f'tha"

And so then, he was shot.

Retirement didn't treat him that badly, just gave him a rather permanent headache and a scar on his temple.

Doctors told him to stay put, to enjoy his free time on the hospital' open gardens, the oxygen would do him good they said. But Soap was not a man that would be sitting there, staying still after years of battlefield, movement and stress.

Yet, after trying to get away a couple of times and finally sat down by Price, he took the orders and stayed put like a good kid.

He owed Simon one. The man had managed to push him a fraction away from the bullet trajectory, earning himself a sprained ankle. He would often visit Johnny when free, although for a brief time, dropping telltales of what the squad had been up to. Gaz was the one to stick around most, nagging him about finally being out of the hellhole that being a SAS operator was. They would watch their football together, until nurses told him that they needed to do a check-up.

On a rare sunny day, the whole squad visited him. Price had brought a letter from Alejandro, wishing him the best recovery, and to visit whenever he felt like. The wind almost blew the paper away, sitting in a bench under a tree.

"Bet ya miss us son" John muttered, a tired smile on his face. Soap groaned, rolling his eyes, "honestly, I think I prefer t'share some sweat with yall, rather than this hell of a cell" Even Simon laughed at that.

" 's no sunshine 'round. Bloody white walls fucking strain my eyes every single damn day" He would keep complaining. "I don't miss ya nagging tho" Ghost quipped teasingly.

And so they laughed, walking around looking like a group of old childhood friends that threw shit at each other, being Gaz the one with the most pointy comments "I can't fathom sleep without ya snoring Soap"

Something bumped against Price, earning their stop and a tiny, quiet "sorry" from a tiny, young voice. It was a young lad, no more than six summers at his back. He looked rather scared; faced by an old man, a wounded soldier, a guy with only his eyes visible and a piercing gaze under a cap.

Price squatted "No need to be, lad. Where's ya mum?" The kid shook his head and pointed to a woman, not far away from their position, that was surrounded by kids. She seemed stressed, looking around with wide eyes until she spotted the young boy.

"Oh Matt! Don't go running away like that you little rascal!" She rushed to the kid, and made eye contact with the Captain. "I'm so sorry sir, can't really keep all the kids still sometimes"

"Visit trip?" Price tilted his head slightly, to what she nodded. "We like to show the young ones to respect the injured" Her smile was almost as warm as the sun that day. "They gotta learn more than numbers and letters in school after all"

She took the kid away after apologizing once again, urging the little one to go back with the whole group, that she graciously guided around the hospital garden.

A second pair of blues followed her around as she went by, earning a chuckle from Kyle "Looks like he has a reason to stay here now"

"Hells Bells" The only thing he could say.

For what he could see from his room's window, it was a whole week of field trips for different classes.

To his eyes, she paraded around with the kids, with a sweet smile and warm eyes, showing the little humans things around, be it the entrances, the pond, or making small talk with some old lady that was condemned to stay her last days in that white prison. Like he felt, incarcerated for his health, until the doctors decided his wound and other past poorly healed injuries would not hinder him from having a "normal" life from now on.

For you, you were trying to show the kids some hospitality, to be respectful and appreciate the healthcare and what it could do for the people. For them to listen to the old tales of those veterans in life, or to enjoy the breeze and the grass after walking around for a long time.

Johnny was mesmerized. Completely lost in those warm expressions you always had dancing on your face, or in how you guided the children with caressing palms. Maybe it was the ring of your voice, that now rose above the constant tingle of his newly acquired wound, or the manners that you carried around. He felt strangely isolated in the room, a constant need to go outside and enjoy the grass, of course he wasn't trying to get a chance to talk with you.

Right?

So there he was, again in a bench. And that day he decided to hang his dog tags around his neck. "What a show-off" Simon groaned before saying goodbye couple of hours ago. "Don't come sulking if you scare her away you mutt", and a pat on the back.

It was the same boy as the other day, the one that approached him mesmerized by the shining plates on his neck. Matt sat on the floor, inquiring about what did Johnny do for a living. 'What is that? What do you do? Oh that's so cool!' he would chirp here and there.

Johnny couldn't really say no to the wee thing in front of him, puffing his chest and sharing some of his less-bloodied trips. The puff was taken down by a sudden nervousness when he saw you approaching again.

"Matt how many times do I have to tell you not to go astray from the group" She came already scolding the boy. "Oh, you are from the other day, right sir?"

Ah, she remembered him.

"Just doin' me time in here for a bit" Johnny answered with a boyish smile. "Can't blame the wean, he was all giddy 'n' interested"

"And what might that interest be?" You squatted a bit, poking Matt's cheek. "Miss. L/n this is Soap!" Oh, he got your last name now, maybe Laswell was willing to do some digging as a reward for his honorary actions right? Did he just call you Miss? That in his mind was a Jackpot. "And what does...Mr. Soap do?" She looked at him from bellow, her eyes flickering to his dog tags for a second. "I just tell old tales of sweaty men trying to save the world"

You weren't able to peel Matt from his spot, resigned, decided to indulge in some old stories, bringing the whole group so they could all listen to a veteran's yapping.

"So my mate, you see, big scary man with a mask" He would say, "took'em all down real fast i'm telling ya"

His eyes would often flick from kid to kid, landing on your face. To his delight, you were also caught in his stories, attentive eyes and full focused on how his mouth moved.

"And I was all alone! Havin' to scramble what I could! Bad men trynna catch me but I'm telling yall, nobody cannae stop the Soap" The boasting was impressive. How proud Johnny was of his doings, how he managed to tell his story in Las Almas without mentioning the cartel, or the corruption. "Even took a bloody bullet!" He pointed to his fresh scar, still healing. And that's when he saw your eyes turn somber, rather cold. "Alright kids, Mr. Soap here has lot's of stories, but surely that means he's very tired right? Let's go visit more places around!" After insisting a bit, you peeled the children away from his circle and quickly whispered to him with a disappointed gaze "I do have no doubt on what you did to protect people, but please, showing wounds and violence to children is not appropriate"

When you turned away, he sulked. He had fucked up. Ghost was right, he showed off too much and fucked up big time. He wanted to chase after you, to grab your wrist and apologize. To promise not to use those marks again if it meant seeing your bonnie face.

Yet knowing it would only make it worse, he silently went away, locking himself in the white room and not letting the nurses come in.

"Fucked up" He told Price. "Bonnie thing didn't like when I told the bairns about the bullet"

He earned a sigh, and a folder on his lap. "Didn't Simon tell you to slow down? I'm glad you still got some energy in you, son." Soap cursed under his breath, taking the folder and giving it a quick read. "You know me Sir"

Your whole legal name was there. Education, birthplace, family. Everything. Just a normal civilian, with a normal job. A teacher, the daughter of a warm family.

The folder didn't explain your charming eyes, or the small smiles you would make when a child showed you something. The information didn't do you any beauty, and he was pissed.

He had to hear it from you. Your own name, then his. Then again his name between some whispers or whimpers even. Not long after, Price took him for a walk, trying to pull him away from the constant frown that adorned his forehead.

It was Friday, he could tell you were a bit more energetic than the past day. Guessed it was the last visit you had to bring to the hospital, the last time he would probably see you if he was the one to respect boundaries. But what boundaries if he already had your address and identification number.

"You thinkin' about her still?" Price inquired, sipping on some cheap tea from the cafeteria. "Can't shake it cap. I just cannae. I gotta go tell her I'm sorry or sumthin'" He crossed his arms on his chest, right leg nervously bouncing under the table. "You seen how she look' with the bairns?" That earned a chuckle from the older man.

And bless the heavens he thought, when you entered the room with the group of children, dividing them in groups around multiple tables and asking the barista to make around thirteen milkshakes. You stayed on the counter, counting each quid to later report it to the school.

Price stood up, gave Johnny a pat on the shoulder. "Second try won't hurt you more than the first" He walked away, leaving Soap to shed his personal coat, turning into the homeboy Johnny once more.

"Hey"

You sighed, looking at him. "Sorry 'bout the other day. Got carried away" he mumbled "thought wee things would like something more...thrilling"

"Still not the best thing to say"

"I ken"

"They kept repeating your stories after that." His eyes flickered "Even started calling the other patients by 'sir' or 'ma'am'" Finally you met his eyes, hiding a shudder under your skin feeling like he was seeing right past your soul with those blue gems. This of course didn't pass by him.

"Ya enjoyed 'em?"

"Perhaps"

He leaned in a bit, not yet getting into your space, but enough to give you a tiny whiff of his soft scent. Was it citrusy? Warmth was on it, a little bit fruity but not overwhelming. You could swear there was a tinge of all-in-one shampoo too.

"Okay, yes. I liked your stories." Finally surrendering to his observing gaze, you relaxed on the counter a bit, the barista slowly pulling out the milkshakes. "Still, too bloody for some group of children"

"Hm. You know, even me ol' boss scolded me" The most heavenly chuckle swarmed his ears. "The man with the hat?" Johnny flashed a smirk, eyebrows gathering in the middle giving you an apologizing look and offering you his hand "Johnny's the name"

Johnny helped you bring the milkshakes to the tables, and again started telling his stories. This time with your consenting look, avoiding violence or blood on them.

There was a tiny difference now. His eyes weren't the only ones fluttering between the children and you. Lost in him, in his pearls, sometimes having to scramble your brains to understand his accent and phrasing. Unable to keep eye contact for long, covering your flush by turning your attention to the kids.

You couldn't really lie, he was charming. A warm smile and soft, piercing eyes. A voice that was like silk, but sometimes rugged, unable to ignore how his hands, rather calloused, accompanied the movements of his voice. The dog tags that he still wore, now tucked under his shirt, chain making waves over his collarbone, adorned by a thick and strong neck.

He seemed less proud, and more invested into the stories now. It wasn't about boasting anymore, but a constant fight to keep the kids hooked, and subsequently you too. He bathed proudly on how your cheeks would rose up a bit, or how you fidgeted with the soft fabric sometimes tracing the figures of the funny and childish patterns you wore. He wanted to up the tone, to impress you more like a bird trying to court his counterpart.

But he was a trained man that rarely made mistakes, a quick learner on top of that, not hitting the same rock twice.

Time passed, milkshakes were empty and some kids couldn't keep their eyes fully open. With a rather tired voice, a little raspy from the constant storytelling he chuckled at the wobbly tiny heads in front of him.

"Tired them all" You softly smiled, exhaustion also apparent on your face.

"Do I pass the test, Miss. L/n? Stories good enough?" He leaned slightly against you, a friendly shoulder bump earning another holy chuckle from your lips. "I give you an 8, missed some staging".

"Oh lass, I cannae be doin' backflips and shi- stuff" He corrected himself and tapped to his temple, the scar now healing better "Quite rude to be askin' tha' from a poor wounded soldier"

With a smile, you dismissed him and woke up some of the kids, telling them it was already time to go back home. Some of them whined, wanting to listen to more stories, trying to make you promise for it, something that Johnny eagerly supported, teasing you a bit. Others were completely fried, yawning and rubbing their eyes.

Before leaving the cafeteria, you turned around and thanked him. "Johnny, right? Mine is Y/n" Oh but that he already knew, although it didn't bother him hearing it from your mouth.

What he didn't know was that you would visit him next Monday, taking with you some homemade buns you had made, showing gratitude for his help the past week.

Maybe he didn't fuck up that much, and maybe he could win you over by winning over the kids.

And he was good with children.

[machapelady]

FANGS AND BULLETS

Pt.1

Previous: Teaser A very dissatisfied y/n leaves their army to join KorTac, with plenty of operators around to meet and connect, she finds herself dragged around with the battering ram of the group, König.

Check the end of the post for more information, notes and translation for some words used in the fic.

The room was rather dull, no that you cared. It was somewhat normal for these things to happen, rough weapons and scratched uniforms often went in pairs with grey, empty rooms. But alas, at least you had one room for yourself.

Your mind wandered back to the interview you recently had, the words spoken and those hidden under the soft veil, term attached to it, mercenary. The man that received you looked old, ragged. Split lips and poorly rearranged nose, dry skin with rough sandpaper adorning his jaw. But it wasn't normal, he didn't look like the one in charge, and that pissed you off. Who were you working for?

Knock

Lost in thought, you dropped your belongings, unpacking your clothes, as dull as the room. Your gear went next, so did the simple books and pens that you always kept. The room had a table, accompanied by a thin metal chair. There were no windows, just ventilation spots, nor paintings or posters around, untouched fresh smelling of concrete that grounded you back to reality.

Knock

And thus, you opened the door slowly. You expected the man that had escorted you, just to be greeted by something completely different. "Well, hello there, cosita" Chanted the woman in front of you, dark short hair bobbing slightly, framing her face. "Heard we got another peón, but I never imagined to find such a thing" She stated, leaning against the doorframe with a tatted arm. "Mírate, all confused" She smirked, thin mouth topped with a soft nose. The lack of response made the woman roll her brown, deep eyes.

"Valeria it is" She tipped her head again. "Oh...sorry", you stuttered "mine's y/n". You offered your hand, but she didn't take it. "Guess you know nothing right?" She continued, rather cold, even mocking; "show your fangs, pup, or you might get eaten" She stepped back from the doorframe and walked away, waving her hand.

There you stood, confused with the door open for everybody passing to see. What a weird woman you thought.

The old, wore down digital clock you set on the table screamed 13.00, guessing it was a decent time to grab a meal you arranged the very little things you had so it all looked all neat, although no one would see or care. That's right, now you could just leave your clothes all around without having to worry about a grumpy man yelling your eardrums numb. You could bang the wall for all you cared, although maybe that would earn you a friendly stab on the back by your room neighbor.

Hallway was as dull as the room, illuminated on the ceiling by long led lights. Numbers glazed it over, giving each room a name but no signs were in sight. You kept walking for what felt like minutes, trying to find the mess hall, a rumble crept from your stomach to your throat, and a light touch enveloped your shoulders.

A light touch...

"Hey, cosita. You hungry huh?" That voice again, the woman had ignored any kind of boundaries and just decided to rest her arms around your shoulders. You frowned at the gesture, tensing a bit. "Oh come on, don't give me that look! I'll take you to the sweet, sweet meal you are craving"

So you let her guide you. And you cursed on your insides.

The opposite way. You were wrong all this time.

Some people sat on the tables, with a (yet again) dull tray of food. All of them in some tac gear, although no fully suited. With no other choice, you followed this Valeria woman, taking a tray and making line to grab some dry looking food. "Oh chica you are so lucky today, there's beans, quite fresh!" She laughed and stole a smile from those slowly drying lips of yours. "There she is, shy cachorrita" Valeria had noticed that little smile, and straightened her shoulders, somewhat proud of it.

"You terrorizing a newcomer, Val?" Another female voice crept behind you. Turning around, you are faced by a fair skinned woman, haired slicked back into a neat bun with braid on the sides of her head. "Allard, preciosa!" Valeria pitched in "You know, giving her a runaround, can't let the old men start drooling first". The other woman laughed loudly, saying something in...what seemed to be French under her breath.

They kept talking while filling the trays, and didn't stop until you were dragged with them to a nearby table. You ate in silence, just getting used to their voices, they seemed like a nice pair of friends, yet their smiles didn't really reach their eyes. "This is Calisto, better call her Allard, too proud of her family" Valeria tunned you in, earning your nod, and a kick under the table from Calisto. You barely managed to slip into their conversation, looking down at your now empty tray. "I'm going... I'm going to get something more" You whispered softly, thanking the same emptiness that somedays terrorized you for such a great chance.

The beans looked disgusting. Mush of red beans with a grey paste, some chunks of what looked like potato meshing with the initial clump. You scooped once, then twice; they smelled not so bad. And you really needed something more than a simple cream.

"Fresh beans huh?" You shuddered, almost dropping the full spoon to the floor when a shadow loomed over you. "I'm glad they listened to me!" You looked to your left, and then upwards. The same man that had shown you to your room yesterday was there, his hand dwarfing another spoon while serving himself. "Oh didn't see you there little one" He softly verbalized. "These are good, reminds me of my Oma" He said to himself, nodding slowly before taking his now full tray and turning around towards another table, already occupied by a sunglassed man.

With no other option you came back to the table with the two women, their gazes boring into you. "The colonel talks to you?" Calisto muttered, surprised. "Colonel?" you answered, tilting your head slightly.

"Yeah chica, Colonel König" Valeria stopped eating. "He's the closest thing we have to a boss, the real one never showed up" You gulped down. Her hand slowly circled around your wrist, squeezing rather tightly, "You know him?". Shaking your head rather aggressively, words stuttered and rushed from your lips "No, he just...showed me to my room yesterday. I didn't even know his name"

"Sweetheart, 'König' is a callsign. Nobody knows that man, nor wants to" Calisto quipped.

"So the old man..." A decoy. The old man in the office was a decoy.

"Merde" Calisto cursed under her breath. She seemed nervous now, eyes flicking to Valeria, who was also deep in thought. "Newbie, if I were you I would be avoiding the Colonel as much as possible."

"He was nice." You sulked, confused. Valeria released your wrist and gave you a light pat on your shoulder before saying; "Nice? That man is nowhere near nice, chica.

Greetings fellow König lovers. Yes, I know the time between teaser and this was, lengthy. And I'm also aware that the chapter itself it is not. I apologize for my poor writing skills, yet I hope yall can enjoy this piece.

List of words used:

Cosita: little thing

Peón: pawn

Mírate: look at you/yourself

Chica: girl

Cachorrita: f. word in Spanish for pup

Preciosa: Beautiful, precious

Merde: Shit

Oma: Grandmother

[machapelady]

FANGS AND BULLETS

A very dissatisfied y/n leaves their army to join KorTac, with plenty of operators around to meet and connect, she finds herself dragged around with the battering ram of the group, König.

Check the end of the post for more information.

Stepping out of the damn office was just as hard as joining the KorTac forces. It wasn't like you were a weak operator, or that you had no value. It was the sheer pressure of being in those installations what made you shiver. Yet, you were accepted by them. Never knew how they found you, or why they reached. But you hated the army you served, and the deal was too good to let it slide. You just had to fake your death. And so you did, on a normal deployment on Iraq. Nothing too flashy, just another pawn with a name on it that fell in the hellfire of those lands. And now there you were, nervously rushing your steps towards what was supposed to be your new room. After years of sharing a bunk with your mates, you finally got four grey walls to give you privacy. The hallway was illuminated by long lights on the ceiling, it was unusually well kept, although a little sad in color, the walls seemed thick enough- Bump

"Oh, sorry!" Took you a little bit to realize that you had not bumped into one of those walls, but against a broad and geared chest. "N-no...it's my bad, I wasn't looking-" Oh The voice you had heard first did not fit the man that towered you like a Gulliver. And it did not fit the ragged and loose mask that covered his face, only blue-grey eyes piercing through it. He shook it off with a anxious laugh. "You must be the new operator! Heard a bit from my freund Horangi." Was he leaning away? You took a step to give both of you some space. "Yeah just got out of the main office... got the keys for the room... 023?" The man tilted his head. "023? That's close to Valeria's, I could take you there, if you wish." What kind of gentle giant was this? It didn't fit well with that hood and that build... yet you nodded. "I would really appreciate that, thank you." The walk was in utter silence. None of you talked, he seemed too closed to even try to start a conversation, and you were still too nervous and hyper-aware of your surroundings. Trying to take in as much as information as possible, memorizing the route back to the office. You spotted some signs that opened up to spaces such as a common room, some showers, and the meal hall. "This should be it, Valeria's 025, couple of doors to your right." You nodded in response, fidgeting with the keycard before swiping it on the pad that locked the door. "T-thanks..." When you turned around to thank him again, he had already vanished.

This is a TEASER, a prologue of some idea I had in the back of my mind. It will have some TW, to be specified in each chapter depending on the content (expect military inaccuracies and all of those tiny little mistakes we make teehee). It is female-focused, this means the MC, or y/n will mostly be represented by she/her pronouns. Many of the characters that will be named on this work are part of the actual KorTac group in the MW games.

Hope you all enjoy this little introductory bit (I know it's short), have some patience and I'll steadily update it 🫡

[machapelady]

Been thinking about starting a fic with some old ideas I have down my pile... Most of them include all the 141 boys... and a very opaque y/n. Plain plot that is easy for the reader to self insert. Or I could just jump into it and give our y/n a defined character...

[machapelady]

Sometimes we need to add that realistic view in the characters we love to fully understand them. I do enjoy the haha dominant male Ghost fics, but I crave the human Ghost to Simon narratives.

About the fan stablished canon surrounding Ghost (MDNI)

After spending hours reading Ghost x Reader, Y/N or other characters, I found myself seeing a quite repetitive pattern of Ghost being a stallion, a man of experience and expertise in the realms of sexual desire and pleasure. But I would like to look at him, at his character, in a more realistic way. Having in mind the kind of training the SAS lads have to go through, or the backstory that Simon "Ghost" Riley has... it does not fit at all. He's a man full of ghosts (pun not intended) of the past, the pain, terror and trauma this man has, or the way he can't really fully believe in someone, he will never open himself, because war has dehumanised him. I get that he's still human, bloody hell, he's probably the most broken and fragile man in the whole Task Force 141 when it comes to emotional things, that's why he's so closed, harsh and direct. Let's not romanticise what comes with torture, war and pain. Let's drop the cliché "big, thick cock, dominant personallity, horny man, strong and manly". Simon Riley is a tormented man, that fears to show a single inch of skin. A man that has his voice cracking when Soap is not answering his comms, a man that bathes himself in dark humour to cope. A man that after all, is human, and values his team with all what's left of his heart. I like to imagine he can't sleep on his sides, he has to sleep on his back, always tense. That he can't be in a place without having a clean view of all the windows, doors and little hiding spots there can be. Simon gets severe ptsd reactions whenever he's off duty, be it a firecracker or a thud. He's constantly tormented, fears making connections with the average civilian, in fear that demise will hover over them, that the war will stain those souls that remain intact. Maybe he's passionate in bed with a loved one. But can he truly love? Can he open himself enough to be loved, caressed, talked and touched by other hand that is not his? Can he even look at himself in a mirror, swimming in his own eyes without breaking down while alone? This man is hiding an inside conflict that most of us will never comprehend. Because I think none of us had to crawl out of a coffin with another' jaw, burried alive. I barely even think that he can get an erection like everyone writes, seeing someone they are attracted to. His body is not used to pleasure, but pain. The amount of nerves he has to have lost because of war injuries has to be quite high. Maybe he does not want to fuck, or talk. Maybe he just needs a hand to hold. But maybe this is our imagination, and perhaps he does not want any of these. Let's desexualise Ghost, take off the mask that hides his pain, and start humanising Simon Riley.

[machapelady]

About the fan stablished canon surrounding Ghost (MDNI)

After spending hours reading Ghost x Reader, Y/N or other characters, I found myself seeing a quite repetitive pattern of Ghost being a stallion, a man of experience and expertise in the realms of sexual desire and pleasure. But I would like to look at him, at his character, in a more realistic way. Having in mind the kind of training the SAS lads have to go through, or the backstory that Simon "Ghost" Riley has... it does not fit at all. He's a man full of ghosts (pun not intended) of the past, the pain, terror and trauma this man has, or the way he can't really fully believe in someone, he will never open himself, because war has dehumanised him. I get that he's still human, bloody hell, he's probably the most broken and fragile man in the whole Task Force 141 when it comes to emotional things, that's why he's so closed, harsh and direct. Let's not romanticise what comes with torture, war and pain. Let's drop the cliché "big, thick cock, dominant personallity, horny man, strong and manly". Simon Riley is a tormented man, that fears to show a single inch of skin. A man that has his voice cracking when Soap is not answering his comms, a man that bathes himself in dark humour to cope. A man that after all, is human, and values his team with all what's left of his heart. I like to imagine he can't sleep on his sides, he has to sleep on his back, always tense. That he can't be in a place without having a clean view of all the windows, doors and little hiding spots there can be. Simon gets severe ptsd reactions whenever he's off duty, be it a firecracker or a thud. He's constantly tormented, fears making connections with the average civilian, in fear that demise will hover over them, that the war will stain those souls that remain intact. Maybe he's passionate in bed with a loved one. But can he truly love? Can he open himself enough to be loved, caressed, talked and touched by other hand that is not his? Can he even look at himself in a mirror, swimming in his own eyes without breaking down while alone? This man is hiding an inside conflict that most of us will never comprehend. Because I think none of us had to crawl out of a coffin with another' jaw, burried alive. I barely even think that he can get an erection like everyone writes, seeing someone they are attracted to. His body is not used to pleasure, but pain. The amount of nerves he has to have lost because of war injuries has to be quite high. Maybe he does not want to fuck, or talk. Maybe he just needs a hand to hold. But maybe this is our imagination, and perhaps he does not want any of these. Let's desexualise Ghost, take off the mask that hides his pain, and start humanising Simon Riley.