#Cod x reader

[voxslays]

[amaranthinespirit]

Simon Riley who causes readers jaw to lock mid giving him head? ( or maybe an individual reaction list thingy for the tf141?) (please stay w me here)

simon riley causing reader's jaw to lock mid blowjob the image is cracking me up T-T (simon can lock my jaw any day...)

simon wasn't going easy on you. hips fucking your face with primal ferocity bordering on feral. your chin coated in saliva and pre, glistening under the low warmth of the bedroom lights.

the angry tip of his cock repeatedly slams the back of your throat, your nose brushing the trimmed hair at the base of his length. your breathing is labored, chest heaving up and down as you do your best to breath through your nose.

your scalp stings from the tight grip simon has with his hands tangled in your hair, only further pulling down on his dick while he uses your mouth. your pussy is sopping like you've sprung a leak between your thighs, throbbing and begging for a hint of stimulation.

a throbbing pain aches throughout your jaw, and, instinctively, you try to shut your mouth despite the obvious obtrusion in the way. it only serves to make the aching worse, a wince making your eyes twitch and water further.

simon is too fucking gone to notice, but three taps on his thigh makes him wilt like all blood rushed away from his previously swollen cock.

his vision clears from the haze, his tight grip on your hair becoming a soothing massage against your scalp as he looks down at you.

you're a mess—and the prettiest thing he's ever seen in his life—but his heart stops as you clutch your jaw. the guilt he feels once he realizes what happened is immense.

he grunts. "fuck, baby, y'okay?" he's profusely apologizing, cradling your face in his hands as he works to clean you up. "sorry, love. jesus, should'a been more careful, hm? fuck, yer gonna be okay."

he swipes the tears from your face with his thumb, his touch gentle as he dresses you and himself. simon isn't taking any chances as he rushes you to the nearest medical center, restraining himself from squeezing the life out of you in fear he could hurt you further.

the nurses ask you what happened when you arrived, and leave it to simon because you obviously can't speak. the stuttering, flustered mess he becomes is comical, you almost laugh—you try to, actually, but the pain makes you cry out softly.

lets just say, simon bans blowjobs for at least three to four months after that. he doesn't want to take the chance of hurting you, so actually make that all intimacy because he's scared he'll cause you pain in some other way—regardless of if its deliberate.

he's not taking his chances.

[ghouljams]

It's Soap that turns to him and goes "why dae ya smell like pussy?"

of course it’s soap the one that can smell pussy from an hour away, i knew we were going for realism with this one, but this was the nail in the coffin lol

also ghost just shrugs and takes another sip of his drink as if eating pussy in the alleyway behind the pub was his regular wednesday night

and the rest of the 141 just go back to their regular conversation too, like yeah i guess it does happen sometimes, who are they to judge anyway? they’ve all done something alike in the last month for sure

- Morph

Johnny spends the rest of the outing moping and trying to convince Ghost to point you out. Surely anyone willing to get eaten out in an alley once is willing to let it happen twice. It's not like Soap is above sloppy seconds, hell he's eaten enough come out of enough birds to be considered a dump himself, and unlike some people he actually washes up after training. He doesn't understand why he isn't allowed to go after Ghost's bird! The only reason he doesn't try to sniff you out is because Gaz grabs his shoulder and forces him back down into his seat, telling him to stop bothering the locals. God he's like a damn feral cat, absolutely decimating the native songbird population.

As if any of them are better than him. Price snuck off to the bathroom not even 30 minutes after they'd gotten drinks and Gaz is posting up to fuck the bartender as soon as they close up shop. Soap's the only one not getting any and it is entirely because he is being a freak about it. Calm down my man, there's plenty of pussy to go around, you don't always have to clean up after your mates.

[luvbabydoll]

Hi! You wanted requests? What about "innocent" Reader making Konig cum in his pants by "innocently" sitting on his lap and wiggling around to get "comfortable" on a car ride. Bumpy road***

you're squeezed into the backseat of a packed suv, the mission debrief droning on as the vehicle rumbles over a rough dirt road. könig's next to you, his massive frame taking up half the seat, thighs spread wide enough that you're practically forced to slide onto his lap to make room. "sorry," you mumble, all soft and shy, trying to sound polite as you wiggle, adjusting yourself to get comfy. you don’t even notice how your hips roll right over his groin, the tight space making every little movement press you closer.

he grunts, low and rough, gloved hands gripping the seat beneath him like he’s trying to anchor himself. "s’fine," he mutters, voice strained, but you feel the way his body tenses, the way his breathing hitches. the road’s uneven, each bump jostling you, making you bounce lightly against him. you’re oblivious, just trying to find a spot that doesn’t feel so cramped, shifting side to side, your soft weight rubbing against him in a slow, unintentional grind.

"this road’s awful," you say with a little laugh, turning your head to glance at him, all innocent eyes and flushed cheeks from the heat of the car. you don’t see how his jaw clenches under the mask, how his eyes squeeze shut for a second. another sharp bump, and you grip his knee for balance, your ass pressing harder into his lap. he lets out a choked sound, barely muffled, and you think he’s just annoyed at the tight space.

but then you feel it—something stiff, twitching under you, unmistakable even through the layers of tactical gear. könig’s hands fly to your hips, gripping hard to stop your movements. "stop… moving," he growls, voice thick, almost desperate. you freeze, confused, tilting your head like you don’t understand why he sounds so wrecked.

"sorry, am i squishing you?" you ask, all sweet concern, shifting just a tiny bit to look at him better, and he sucks in a sharp breath, hips jerking up before he can stop himself. his grip tightens, bruising, and you’re still clueless, thinking he’s just uncomfortable. but the road bumps again, hard, and your body jolts with it, dragging you right over the bulge in his pants.

he’s done for. a low, broken groan rumbles out, his whole body locking up as he cums right there, soaking through his pants under you. you blink, feeling the sudden warmth, the way he’s trembling beneath you, and finally put it together. "oh," you gasp, cheeks burning, but you don’t dare move, not with his hands still clamped on your hips, his chest heaving like he’s run a marathon.

"don’t… say a word," he mutters, voice hoarse, refusing to look at you. you bite your lip, still perched on his lap, the road still bouncing you both as the car rolls on, and you can’t help the tiny, nervous giggle that slips out. innocent, sure, but you’re not that clueless.

[softaestluv]

more! | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Just thinking about Ghost having a shy, quiet wife. The glaring opposite of Ghost, painted in black and blood while you’re adorned in lace and frills. Smooth skin and delicate flesh, warm eyes and a bashful smile. Soft-spoken and so fucking sweet.

No one else knows about you, or that he’s married, not from lack of wanting people to know he has such a pretty dove waiting for him at home, but because he knows all the men on base would eat you alive.

But one day, he forgets the lunch you made him. It takes everything in you to refrain yourself from driving to base to make sure he has something to eat— you know he doesn’t have the healthiest eating habits.

You choose to message him, something he usually responds fairly quickly to. Always at your beck and call just in case his sweet girl needs him, but he doesn’t answer. Your lips are pinched raw with worry by the time you decide to get in your car.

So, imagine everyone’s surprise when a sergeant interrupts the meeting Ghost’s in— ‘Lieutenant, um, Mrs. Riley is waiting outside for you.’

Ghost is on his feet in an instant, it must be some emergency if you’re there. He rushes to the hallway, everyone else in the room stumbling behind to snoop through the thin crack of the door, see who their big bad Lieutenant is married to.

And there you are, Tupperware container in your manicured hands, white dress covering your frame with matching ribbons and bows in your hair. The look on your face is anxious, right up until you see Ghost, your eyes softening as he approaches you with wide strides despite the fact that he’s twice your size, hulking and threatening.

“Sweet’art, everything okay? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, brows furrowing as he does a once over your figure, checking for injury.

You exhale a quiet laugh, “No, baby. You just forgot your lunch, and you didn’t answer your phone so I got worried you would go the whole day without eating.”

He cups your jaw, a smile breaking out on his face. His sergeants are baffled for several reasons— they did not expect their Lieutenant to be married to such a sweet thing, nor had they ever heard their Lieutenant speak in such a soft, hushed tone, never seen him touch something with such care, like you were so fragile in the palms of his hands.

They would’ve thought it was all a joke if it wasn’t for the massive diamond ring on your finger, or the way you pushed deeper into his touch.

“Sorry, dove, just been in a meetin’ all day.”

He stamps a kiss against your lips, lets himself linger just a little longer than he should because he knows the whole room is watching from behind the door.

“Sweetest little wife, aren’t you?”

[thephantomsdream]

Soap: What did you do on break, Lt?

Ghost: Rode my bike and slept in an alleyway behind a bar.

Gaz: Checks out... (leaves the room)

Ghost: ...

Ghost: Want to know what I really did?

Soap: (immediately interested)

Soap: Yeah!

Ghost: (pulls out his phone)

Ghost: (shows picture of him having someone cuddled up next to him, both under a blanket, two switches in hand, both on the Stardew Valley logo screen)

Soap: (his smile falls immediately)

Soap: Wh—

Ghost: I played Stardew Valley with the missus.

Soap: The mi—?!

Ghost: Planted crops, went to the mines...

Ghost: (swipes through more pictures of them playing)

Soap: (stunned silence)

Ghost: Upgraded the house for the missus, made some town friends... (screenshots of more gameplay)

Soap: Wait—

Ghost: Even fishing. (shows a picture of him catching a legendary fish)

Ghost: The missus doesn't like fishing. (clicks his tongue) Caught them all though. (nods to himself)

Ghost: (smirks) Want to know why I'm telling you this?

Soap: (still stunned, but nods)

Ghost: Because nobody will believe you.

Ghost: (starts deleting all pictures in front of Soap)

Soap: (pained gasp)

Soap: Ye monster.

[pricesprincess]

18+ explicit smut + different hybrid readers + repost

price with a puppy! girl who he can train to greet him at the door naked with a pretty pink collar and a matching leash that is ready for him to take. he loves how you pant and moan when he's fucking you doggy style. is a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes. makes sure to has a special engraved tag with his name on it.

ghost with a fawn! girl who he can chase down in the woods without a second thought and will let him pin you to the dirt and fuck you senseless because he's had a rough day. he loves to stroke your ears and tail when you cuddle up to him and will hand-feed you treats.

gaz with a bunny! girl who is so soft and adorable dressed up in those frilly outfits that make you hide your face as he dresses you before letting you hump his cock after he played with your nipples through the sheer fabric. kyle loves it when you twitch his nose which makes him chuckle and hold you closer to him.

soap with a kitty! girl who bites and scratches when you get a bit overstimulated and he loves it, will sometimes bat at you with a cat toy to make you draw your claws. will fuck you extra harder to feel your nails drag up his back leaving a mess of red lines.

[justlikeheavenfest]

Soooo true

[beloveds-embrace]

YOU GET MEEEE LIKE YES THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I HAD JN MIND FOR MAIL ORDER KONIG TOO 😩😩 and the dialogue was too good not to add, so thank you sm ☕️ anon!! <33

Reader x mail-order soldier könig

You weren’t proud of the choices that led to this.

In your defense, when your unhinged, narcissistic ex-fiancé decided to take “I can do better” as a personal threat and “leave me alone” as a flirtation, your options shrank quickly. Police were useless, restraining orders were suggestions, and the panic room catalog had a three-month shipping delay you really couldn’t afford at the moment.

So you did what any desperate, slightly unhinged person with Wi-Fi and a bottle of wine would do at 2AM: you shopped online.

Not for a therapist- you didn’t like being robbed more than once per month- and not for new locks, and not even for a machete and a training montage or karate lessons.

You shopped for a bodyguard. And not just any bodyguard- mail-order, military-grade, possibly-black-ops (you didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you knew black belts were the strongest in karate so it probably applied here too) bodyguard. Because you weren’t looking for subtle; yoh were looking for make him cry and question his choices.

The site was slick, you could admit. Black and red and sleek fonts, the kind of design that screamed we definitely waterboard people but make it ✨fashion✨. The site also billed itself as Elite Protection Services: Discreet, Deadly, Dependable. It might as well have been Bodyguards R Us. You scrolled past the profiles like you were picking out a toaster.

“Ex-Interpol, trained in Systema, bilingual in seven languages.”

Nope. Too smug-looking. Kinda reminded you of Johnny Bravo but without the appeal.

“Specializes in anti-stalking protocols. Former MMA champion.”

Too pretty. Psycho ex would take that as a challenge.

You scrolled past endless profiles: more ex-SEALs, ex-spies, people who listed training styles like they were personality traits. Everyone looked like they were auditioning for a movie about stopping nuclear threats with emotional damage and well-fitted tactical pants.

Until you found him.

KÖNIG.

That was it; no last name, no smiling profile pic. Just one blurry photo that looked like it was taken from a security feed during the purge. A massive man mid-stride, face obscured by a tattered executioner’s hood (does he like cosplay?), one arm casually holding what was either a high-powered sniper rifle or a small medieval ballista. Just the quiet threat of do not attempt to engage unless you are fireproof and have no dreams… and hopefully have a will.

His bio was just as minimal as his name, but thankfully not bolded and capitalized like he was the living version You-Know-Who: Former special forces. Classified background. Urban combat. High-threat asset protection. Temperament: Reserved. Languages: German, English. Hobbies: [Redacted]

And honestly? He was perfect.

You hit “Hire” with all the solemnity of pulling a lever on a guillotine.

The meeting, then, was scheduled at a “neutral location” (aka: a converted warehouse that probably used to be a meth lab but now boasted folding chairs and bulletproof windows and claimed to be state-of-the-arts just). You were told to wear neutral colors and avoid sudden movements like he was a military contractor-slash-deer.

He was lucky you didn’t have a driving license or car yet.

The facilitator, woman named Claire who radiated HR department energy and quiet terror, greeted you with a nervous clipboard smile.

“Please remain calm during the introduction process,” she said, like she expected you to run. Like he was a bull and she forgot to tell you not to wear red even though you were very sure bulls didn’t actually get bothered by the color. “Sometimes clients are… startled.”

You waved her off; you were not going to be startled. You were in charge. You were the employer. You were cool and rational. You were the man-

And then the door opened, and he walked in.

It wasn’t so much a walk as a tectonic shift, honestly. The lights dimmed- or maybe your brain flickered like a dying flashlight trying to process the sheer volume of the man now in the room with you because the damn profile and profile pictures absolutely did him no justice at all.

Easily built like a walking mini-cathedral, every step he took echoed with the weight of someone who didn’t walk so much as advance steadily like a cursed forest creature with war crimes on his résumé.

The hood was real, by the way. Not a vibe, not a metaphor, not a cosplay prop. A literal ragged executioner’s hood, like someone had looted a plague doctor’s wardrobe and decided to lean in (actually… were those shirt sleeves-)

Anyways, he said nothing, and so you stared with your mouth half-open and your neck craned and your buffering. There was a pause, the kind of silence that usually precedes a boss fight or a marriage proposal but without the music for both, and you weren’t sure which direction this was going to go.

Claire cleared her throat with the delicacy of someone trying not to disturb a sleeping lion.

“Well, if you’re not feeling a connection, we can always-“

“Don’t you dare.”

It came out louder than intended and far more desperate than you’s ever hoped anyone would hear you. You pointed at König like someone calling dibs on a rare Pokémon, and almost gave yourself a whiplash from how quickly you turned your head to glare at her.

“He’s perfect. Get your own!”

Claire blinked and König didn’t move. But you could feel him blinking behind the hood, probably wondering what, exactly, he had just been spiritually adopted into.

There was another pause.

König tilted his head, then slight nod that was just enough to suggest acknowledgment… or possibly pity. You’d need to peer into his eyes and make him do different expressions so you’d understand what he was thinking behind that hood, because you weren’t sure if his nod meant I accept this job, please never yell again, or you are an unhinged rat and I respect that, but either way: he was yours now.

You turned back to Claire with all the confidence of someone who had definitely just bought an armored tank off Craigslist.

“Where do I sign?”

Claire, likewise, slowly handed you the paperwork like she was passing off custody of a weapon of mass destruction. Something like an armored tank bought off Craigslist.

“…Please don’t antagonize him.”

“I would never,” you replied, already mentally redecorating your apartment to accommodate a seven-foot medieval cryptid with probably boundary issues. You couldn’t imagine anyone with those backgrounds not coming with built-in issues unless they were rich and old.

König, for his part, said nothing. Just stood there, looming like an ancient ruin that had wandered into a security job. But you swore- when you weren’t looking directly at him- you caught the faintest rise in his shoulders. Like a chuckle.

Or maybe a sigh.

Either way, you’d take it; you had a human mountain now. And your ex?

Was going to shit bricks and you’d be there to film and enjoy every. single. second. of it.

“C’mon, big boy,” you grinned at him, taking one of his big hands and tugging uselessly. “We have so much to do!”

[mcntsee]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[lay-z]

Simon Riley, who discovers (and accepts) that he has a raging Mommy kink on a random Saturday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly as he checks out the new flavours of Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you address him directly.

"Big lad like you needs a proper meal," you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. "In my humble opinion." You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a "Have a good day, love." and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn't quite know what he's feeling in this moment, but he puts the Ramen back into the shelf, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, Simon's going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping you'll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

➥ READ MORE × | [ SUGAR PLUM PROMISES MASTERLIST ]

[thatssofruity9]

What about the boys with an alt girl though?

Cw: there are a few physical descriptions used for said alt girls in question but only when it was necessary.

Authors note: This is not self insert and as matter a of fact I’m not even sure why you brought it up! ㋛ She’s lying

F!reader X The CoD boys

Gaz: is dating a fully gothic woman, somewhere between romantic goth and traditional goth. Elvira meets morticia Addams. Not so much a tattoo kinda girl just red lipstick, floor length black dresses with bell sleeves and a corset. Gaz had been mildly afraid of her ever since he caught her talking to a ghost In their kitchen. He’s never noped out of a conversation quicker in his life. He likes to tell people she “speaks in riddles” ie she quotes Edgar Allan Poe sometimes. When they went on holiday he took her to the Cologne Cathedral because who wants to have a relaxing margarita on the beach when you can take your girlfriend to a 600 year old creepy building instead?

Soap: she’s not so much of an alternative girl as she is just a witch. The phrase “stop touching my altar” is probably the most commonly heard sentence in their house. Tattoos, funky hairstyles, hoards of jewelry, long flowing skirts are how just about everyone would describe her. She talks to the moon, Johnny doesn’t really understand why but he does ask “What did she say?” When his sweetheart comes back inside. She has slowly taught him the original folk tales and histories of every holiday, custom and tradition. Johnny has learned that deep down everything is spooky just like his girl. Halloween at their house is THE place to be.

Ghost: big scary man and his Kawaii girlfriend, a tale as old as time. The double takes people do when they go in public together are hilarious. She’s quite literally the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. Of course, their entire house is pastel pink which he really couldn’t care less about. His lovely woman does tend to edit pictures of him to fit her Instagram aesthetic though and he’s not too sure how he feels about the pink glitter filter She uses on every photo. The amount of her pretty pink clothes he’s turned into a mess because he simply doesn’t know how to do laundry correctly is outrageous. She’s had to learn the hard way that Simon just won’t wear the clothes she buys him if they’re pink, he will however take the pink Hello Kitty lunchbox she got him every single day to work.

Price: Similar to Ghost they get funny looks in public but only because what do you mean that heavily tattooed woman is his wife? There are very few parts of her body that aren’t covered, from her neck down to her feet. Kind of an artsy grungy style, overalls and Doc Martens are the usual. The real kicker of it all is how similar their taste in music is, divorced dad rock all the way, baby! That kind of music was made specifically for old men and pretty women with thick eyeliner. John damn near had a heart attack when she just went and got his name tattooed but she just has so many that she didn’t even think twice before getting it done. She’s the kind of girl that says things like “I want your leg bone when you die” with 100% sincerity, John is scared of very little, but the way she says that with a little bit of excitement in her eye is well… a little jarring.

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, cowgirl afab reader x ghost, grumpy x sunshine, clumsy reader

HEADCANON: the team meets Ghost’s little bird

PAIRING: Simon Riley x reader

It all started when Soap, half-joking -- not really -- asked over a pint of that terrible guinness that one of the recruits mentioned that he voiced out a lingering thought out loud,

"So, Ghost. Ye ever gonna introduce us to yer missus? Or is she just some hallucination ye made up tae wind us up aye?"

Ghost, who had never confirmed nor denied anything about his personal life, simply shrugged. "Pub. Friday. Seven."

Soap thought he was joking.

At exactly Friday, seven-fucking-pm though. Soap. Soap realized he was wrong.

They met at a grimy pub near base. Price was wary. Gaz looked openly curious. Soap just looked excited, because how normal could Ghost’s wife possibly be? Some goth lady with a death glare? A sniper with a scar over her eye? A shadow in human form?

None of the above.

What actually walked in was—

A tiny woman in a beat-up leather jacket, dusty denim jeans, a battered cowboy hat tilted low over her messy braid. Coupled with a pair of cracked leather boots that clomped across the floor like she owned the place.

Holy shit

She looked like she could ride a bull, shoot a rifle, and kiss you breathless — not necessarily in that order.

She waved frantically the moment she spotted them though — knocking over a chair and nearly tripping over her own boots as she did.

"HEY, SI" she yelled across the entire bar.

Ghost — stoic, terrifying, 6'4" Ghost — immediately straightened in his seat like a teenager seeing his crush. He actually moved. Stood up. Went to meet her halfway like she was the only thing that existed.

Soap’s jaw was physically on the table.

This tiny woman. Small. Wiry. Sun-kissed and with the greatest pair of tits Soap has ever seen immediately launched herself into Ghost’s arms like a missile. He caught her easily -- of course -- one hand on her lower back, the other ruffling her tousled brown hair with ridiculous tenderness.

Leaning down to let her smack a kiss right onto the cloth of his mask like she couldn’t give a single shit about what people thought.

She yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes — wait! when had he gotten a hat?? — and laughed that big, reckless, wild West laugh that turned every head in the pub.

The team stared in horror and awe.

"This can’t be real," Gaz muttered. "I’m dreaming. I died in Syria."

"She's so small," Soap whispered back, scandalized. "And she’s—she’s—hot??"

They made it back to the table, Ghost’s hand resting casually on her hip like a leash.

When they made it back to the table, she shoved Ghost into a chair, plopped herself onto his lap without ceremony, and grinned at the rest of them.

"Howdy, boys," she said, tipping her hat.

Soap almost cried.

She was absolute chaos. Stole the darts right out of the wall and challenged Soap to a game ("loser buys shots, city boy" "'m from Scotland, lass" "Cattle country ain't like sheep country, sugar" "we have cows. They moo too").

Gaz: "You're so fucking stupid mate"

Soap: "Shut it aye?"

Flirted shamelessly with Ghost across the table — calling him "sugar," "cowboy," and "my big strong man" with zero shame in her Southern-twanged voice. Told Price he looked like a "sheriff with a broken heart."

Somehow wrangled Ghost into a pool match where she used him as her pool cue guide — pressed up against him, his huge hands guiding hers, while she winked at the others over her shoulder.

Ghost never smiled. Never joked. Never talked much. But with her? He was... different.

Softer. More human. Maybe even a little helpless, the poor bastard.

Price, to his credit, kept a straight face. Barely.

Soap, meanwhile -- after losing to her on those stupid darts and took on the challenge of guzzling down the said shots -- was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

She was chaos. Pure, distilled chaos — loud, funny, mean, fun, but also wildly affectionate. She stole a chip off Gaz and a stranger's plate without asking. Shooed off two creeps with a death glare who wouldn’t stop pestering the girls at the counter. Challenged the bouncer -- a hulking and massive bloke -- to arm wrestle and actually fucking won! Spent half an hour helping to take pictures of an old couple on a vacation to send to their grandkids. And started a chant for Price to shotgun a beer (he declined, though grimly but... endeared).

And through all of it, Ghost just... watched her. Silent. Steady. The same way he’d scan a perimeter — except more devoted. Soap swearing that he could even see him smile behind the mask.

At one point, she tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear that made him let out a genuine, low chuckle. An actual laugh. Gaz's drink came out of his nose at that and Soap almost passed out from the shock.

By the end of the night, they were all completely obsessed with her.

(And slightly terrified. She challenged another guy twice her size to a pull-up contest and won.)

As they stumbled out of the pub, she looped an arm around Ghost’s waist and shouted, "THIS IS MY HUSBAND! HE’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND!" at absolutely no one.

Ghost didn’t even blink. Just tugged her closer and murmured, "Alright, birdie. Inside voice yeah?."

"YOU LOVE ME BABY," she hollered back.

"Yeah," he said simply, not caring who heard. "I do."

And if anyone at the pub dared to stare — well, nobody wanted to make eye contact with a man wearing a skull mask who looked like he could bench-press a car and the woman who looked like she could drive said car through you and still smile while doing it.

Soap later: "Lass is unhinged aye?." Gaz: "You’re just mad she drank you under the table, mate." Price: "I like her. She’s good for him." Soap: "Naw, like... she’s pure mental. He’s just as daft. It’s a match made in hell, I’m tellin' ye.

Ghost, hearing them gossip: (Just shrugs.) "I like her loud. Makes it easier to find her."

masterlist

[ghouljams]

If I bummed a cig off someone only to take a good look at them and realize it was the asshole that left me alone in an elevator I would flip my shit. Ghost would be at the receiving end of me going "YOU 🫵😠" before giving him the talking to of his life. I'm confident I could rival most military officers when it comes to chewing men out.

Oh absolutely. The thing you don't pick up on as Ghost stares down at you with eyes like a dead fish, your shouting taking up the whole alley (how could you just leave me in that elevator, did you even think to get help, do you know how bad you fucking stunk) as you drunkenly chew him out, is that this man has no memory of you and has never been more turned on in his life. While he's become mythologized in your friend group (at least you're not trapped in an elevator with a weird stink giant am I right?) You were barely a footnote in a story about his day. And somehow that makes this so much better for him. He's being condescended to by someone who can look him in the eye, your finger jabbing into his firm chest and your voice ringing like a drill sergeant in his ears.

Of course you end up pressed against the alley wall, Ghost's hands fumbling over your ass, trying to slip under your shirt, his lips splintering against yours in a desperate kiss. There was nothing else Ghost could do, he damn well couldn't refute you, he probably did do all of that, so let him pay you back for it, yeah? Let the stink man give you head in this dirty alley. Please? He's already on his knees, may as well.

[violarsun]

Phillip Graves & Y/N——His daily life after marriage