#FUCK I’m down bad for Gaz

[danibee33]

Part II of undercover!Ghost🩶

{Part I}

cw: nsfw at the end, no explicit smut, just Ghost on his knees for reader (he’s a giver what can i say)

++++

• You still don’t, or can’t, open your eyes- even when Ghost tilts your chin up and you can see the dim light shining behind your eyelids. Call it spite or possibly just a deeply rooted indignation that you’ve always possessed according to your father, but we won’t get into that now.

• But you just couldn’t. For the first time, you had no intention of giving him exactly what he wanted-

• “Why now?” You ask, pulling his hands away from your face. And you’re sure you look so silly, a grown woman refusing to just open her eyes and look at the face that’s plagued your thoughts ceaselessly; but he.. is just so fucking frustrating.

• You try to turn away but that only spurns him on, wrapping his hand around your elbow- you find yourself pressed against the door, a small grunt parting your lips, one he’s more than happy to swallow in a kiss.

• And it’s far too easy to melt into him again, let his hands touch you in ways you hadn’t let anyone touch you before-

• “No, no. Don’t- do that.”, you grind out the words, pushing him back once again, or well, trying to. You’re strong, but it doesn’t do much to the solid fucking wall of muscle that doesn’t want or care to move,

• “We’re not doing this. You do not get to treat me like I barely exist and then change your mind all of a sudden when you see me in a tight dress and heels-“, you shake your head as you continue, “you don’t want me.. you want this.”

• Internally, you’re bashing your head against the wall, because why the fuck can’t you stop talking?! He’s just a guy! A man- a very tall, inhumanly strong, muscular man, who looks at you like a little gnat he can’t quite get rid of.. but has been kissing you and holding you like you meant something to him. Like this wasn’t the first time he had thought about a moment like this-

• “And that would be fine.. if you weren’t.. fucking, ugh! You!”

• Your face is clasped between his hands again, thick fingers threading through your hair, and his voice calm and low- which simultaneously soothes your nerves and lights them on fire all at once, “You’re insufferable- the way you talk to us, the way you look at us, the way you just fuckin’ walked in and managed to worm your way under everyone’s skin-“

• He watches your eyebrows knit together in confusion and anger, you’re holding back so much, he can practically feel the potential energy radiating all around you- yours and his mixing together into something deliciously volatile,

•“Your existence is probably the only goddamn thing I can’t ignore, Hel.”

• Your face softens in a way he couldn’t have predicted, in a way that causes his chest to tighten and his breath to come a little shorter.

• “You do so much for us.. just because you want to, because you like seein’ people you care for happy. You don’t make any sense to me-“

• You hang on to his every word, to the rasp in his accent, and the way he holds you,

• “People aren’t just kind without wanting somethin’ in return. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out what you want.”

• Without thought, your eyes shoot open, a whole argument just waiting at the tip of your tongue-

• He thinks you want something from them? From him? That you were only kind to the Captain, and Gaz, and Soap because you wanted something in return? What you really wanted in this moment is to shake his big, stupid shoulders, and ask him how for someone so smart and perceptive, he could be such a raging idiot-

• But you do none of those things.

• No, instead of screaming or pushing him away, cursing him out, giving him a whole piece of your mind- you stand there, speechless and wide eyed because there he was. Lieutenant Simon Riley.

• You remember thinking at one time that he must be hideous or grotesque, something to match his boorish personality- but quickly swept the idea to the side. It was childish, and you had been angry with him, you’re sure. You know Soap and the others had seen his face before, but they never gave you even a crumb of detail- so, you’re mind filled in all the gaps, constructing a face around the deep amber eyes.

• And now, all of that work.. is useless. Because he’s everything you thought he might be, and nothing like it, at the same time. His brows are a bit darker than his hair, not too thick, but enough to balance the bit of scruff that covers his lower cheeks and jaw line- scars cut this way and that, some thick, others smaller, neater. One cuts right through his bottom lip, deforming it slightly- and another, deeper one across the bridge of his nose, which looks just a bit off, broken and reset incorrectly, you assume.

• He’s handsome, not in a movie star or even conventional way- but more than that, you think. Maybe it has to do with his flaws, has to do with the soft angles of his features, harsh only because of the way he’s used to constantly wearing a slight grimace.

• You reach up, leaning into him fully as you pull his lips against yours- something odd and warm burning through you, making your head spin when he reciprocates the kiss with no hesitation. If anything, it feels all the more frenzied now, like he had half expected you to run out of the room the moment you saw his face.

• “I don’t want anything from you, you fucking idiot.” You breathe out, the words and your voice mixing with the soft sounds of your tongues and mouths searching for more, your bodies yearning for more.

• Which is how you end up across the room, sat atop the beautiful, vintage oak desk, your dress hiked up around waist, watching the formidable Ghost take a knee in front of you, “Fuckin’ hell.. are you tryin’ to kill me?”

• “Don’t give me those eyes. You can’t wear underwear in a dress like this, I didn’t do it for you..”

• His eyes are inky and half lidded as he looks up, asking permission, begging for it without a single word.

• You try to shift forward, searching for friction but finding none against the smooth surface under you- only feeling the terrible dampness that’s made your thighs sticky. And all it takes is a breathy little whimper from you, his name whispered on your lips for him to move.

• He has your thigh settled over his shoulder and his face buried between your legs before the small yelp can escape- one hand smacking over your mouth and the other immediately grabbing his hair, “Jesus, Ghost- ah- fuck.”

• You hear and feel him breathe you in before a deep growl reverberates through his chest, wrapping a big hand over the thigh on his shoulder, and pushing the other open farther- another quiet groan leaving him when he finally sees what a mess you are.

• The first long stripe he makes with his tongue feels like a warning, the wet heat of him lapping at you has your cunt clenching vainly around nothing, an ache you’re not sure you had ever felt blooming deeper than you thought you possible.

• With that one taste, you’re suddenly jerked forward, your ass coming to rest right at the very edge- it forces you to prop one hand out behind you now, shakily leaning your weight into it as he begins to devour you.

• Which there’s no better word for it, he licks and nips, alternating between savoring you, eyes darting up to watch your head loll back and your chest heave before he suckles harshly at your clit- your poor little bundle of nerves already puffy and swollen, overly sensitive to his ministrations-

• “Oh, god- Simon, wait- wait-“ you swear you had only just begun to feel the pressure spooling low in your tummy before it implodes suddenly and violently.

• The radiating pleasure causes your legs to tremble and your breaths to come out as little more than pathetic pants- your fingers clutching at a handful of his hair so hard you’re surprised you hadn’t pulled it out by now.

• But he doesn’t seem to mind, his tongue still totally fixated on your weeping cunt, but instead of working feverishly, he’s back to lapping up your juices- humming into your center as he rubs his palm back and forth over the goosepimpled skin of your thigh. It’s a myriad of sensations, all of them lulling you even further the warmth of your high-

• “Been awhile, sweet girl? Or are you that responsive for everyone?” Ghost chuckles, flattening his tongue over your folds one more time before tearing himself away, unabashedly admiring his handiwork.

• You really do try to give your best glare when you manage to summon enough energy to look down at him, but it melts away at the sight of his lips pulled into a boyish grin, glistening and flushed a deep shade of pink. That’s how you watch him kiss your inner thigh, his eyes steady on yours even when he pauses to leave a little mark behind.

• “Very funny..” You bite back, a crimson blush coloring your neck and cheeks at the idea of telling him the truth-

• Thankfully, he doesn’t give time to dwell on it, standing to his full height, he gently lifts you off the desk- holding you close as he readjusts your gown to cover your lower half, though the fabric does little to fix the uncomfortable wetness that only seems to be growing.

• And the kiss he gives you afterward certainly does absolutely nothing to quell your arousal- because it’s slow and wonderful and you can’t help but to whimper at the taste of your own musk on his tongue,

• “C’mon, love.” He sweetly urges, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip before taking your hand, “before they send the whole bloody Calvary to get us.”

• You replace your ear piece with shaky fingers, thoroughly thrown off your game and glad to be going back to base- a bit of distance could do you both some good, couldn’t it? Though, he doesn’t seem to have the same sentiment, holding you closer than before until you step out into the courtyard- where you both know Johnny is still perched somewhere high above.

• “Bleedin’ Jesus, about damn time- boss is right pissed with ye for going dark like that.” Soap’s voice through comms gives you something to anchor yourself to, aside from Ghost’s lingering touch.

• He heckles you for a while longer, up until you’re in climbing into the back seat, settling yourself as much as you could- forever grateful for the darkness that envelopes you both.

• And as much as you want to stay away from him, give him space- you still find your head leaned against his broad shoulder, reveling in his immense size and warmth,

• “You did so good, Hel.”

• “Hm.. You weren’t so bad yourself, Ghost.”

+++++ bonus scene 🫢 ++++++

• Ghost had walked with you back to your rooms, not entirely unaware of the turmoil that had bloomed in your mind and refused to leave. He knew you were being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal, and he had wanted to say something, he wanted you to invite him inside, he wanted, wanted to talk to you, wanted something more than the quiet you were giving him- though he would gladly take whatever you gave him at this point.

• But, that’s not what happened. You only looked up at him with those big, bright eyes- and apologized.

• He tried to ask you why you would ever be sorry, tried to ask what you were sorry for, because he would be lying if he didn’t feel some pang of insecurity- but this wasn’t about him, and he was wise enough to see that.

• So, he let you plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, let you close the door before tugging the balaclava he had been clinging to and stalking off down the hall.

• “Simon! Hey.. where’s our lil’ LT?” Johnny had stuck his head out of the lounge doorway, a bag of crisps in hand.

• All Ghost could do is shrug, backpedaling to follow after Soap, and snagging a beer from the fridge,

• “In her room. Any news about the phone?”

• They go back and forth for while, though somehow, the conversation keeps circling back to you.

• “She’s a good one..” Johnny says between sips of beer, “Y’know what she told me one time? It was that night we all went out!” He claps a big hand down on Simon’s knee, his laughter loud and full of fondness over the memory- “We were right pissed, eh?”

• Yes, Ghost remembers that night, remembers watching you and Johnny play pool against Price and Garrick- even when you lost, you had the biggest smile on your face as you bought everyone a round.

• He remembers how you tried to help Soap up to the lounge, but you both ended up on the floor in a fit of annoying giggles-

• “I asked her, why she never went on dates, never brought a guy around- not even friends. And she said she’s never had a relationship, never been with a man, never been with anyone.”

• Ghost thinks in that moment it would be better if Johnny had just shot him point blank in the chest with how tightly his lungs contract, his grip on the near empty amber bottle growing so tight he thought he could hear the glass want to give under the pressure.

• Soap is none the wiser to his friend’s downward spiral, still chattering in that lighthearted way of his,

• “Said she never had time for it! Can ye believe that shite? Maybe I should be more like her- might not still be a sergeant if I were..”

• He goes on, but the words fade away, lost in the sound of blood rushing through Simon’s ears.

• You were right, he is a fucking idiot.

++++

>>> [part iii]

OHHH NO. If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions🥲

I’m already thinking about part 3. But, hey! Thank you for supporting my insatiable brain worm, this fandom is my home away from home at this point. ♥️

and @ajadell, your comment was all I needed to keep this going ����🏻🫶🏻

(Inspired by this song)

[death-does-grip]

gaz brainrot is so fucking bad rn it’s literally 5am and i’m just rewatching the same four scenes from mw1

[criminalamnesia]

that 141 x reader you just did was so good! i need to know what happens next. like after reader is better, do they stay in the military? stay in 141? or do they take a discharge? I’m not the original ask but it was just so good.

love your writing btw!

thank you! here’s part two :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you were beginning to hate the infirmary.

the white walls. the moans of pain. the smell of bleach and blood.

the reminder of why you were here. of who put you here.

your friends. your family. your team. john. johnny. kyle. simon.

you’d told the doctor to not let your teammates in, and she had tried, but there was only so much she could do. she couldn’t monitor the door all the time, and so a week after waking up from your coma, john price is sitting at your beside once again.

his hands are clasped together, knuckles white with the intensity of his grip. he’s leaning forward, elbows resting on the bed, hands under his chin. his position conveys his regret and worry. he looks like he should be in church, knelt between the pews and spewing silent prayers to a god that isn’t listening.

you haven’t spoken to him since he sat down ten minutes ago. the second you saw him step inside the infirmary, you knew he was there for you. there to try and speak to you, to apologize.

fuck him and his apologies.

you turned your head to the side, eyes staring at the white curtain separating your bed from the next. you studied the stitching while you listened to him breathe next to you. he hadn’t spoken either— just sat down and watched you.

it made your skin crawl, how he thought this was okay. how he thought this would be the way to get back into your good graces.

he clears his throat then, a sound you’ve heard a million times before. it makes you want to gag now.

“love,” his voice is soft, caring. you want to hit him in the jaw.

“can we talk? please?”

you don’t turn over, don’t even spare him a glance. you keep your gaze trained on the curtain. the only giveaway that he has your attention is the fists you clench at your sides.

he takes the silence as an invitation, that bastard.

“what happened—” he begins, then grunts. stops. takes a second, then begins again.

“what we did,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “it wasn’t right. the intel was from a trusted source. we—” he sighs then, and you can tell he’s rubbing his temple. he did that when he was stressed. when he was anxious.

“we were wrong to believe them over you, love. and im— im sorry.”

silence ensues. you don’t give him any indication that you’ve heard what he said. he sighs again, inhaling deeply.

“you’re still part of this team. johnny and gaz, they’ve been sitting outside this damn room like sentries. can barely pry ‘em away for drills.” he chuckles then, but it’s sad. pitiful. mournful.

“there’s nothing we can do to make this right,” he tells you. you’re still mulling over what he said about johnny and gaz. still hung up on the fact that he didn’t mention simon at all.

simon, who did the most damage to you, both psychologically and physically. simon, who shared your bed. simon.

simon, who is too much of a coward to face you for his crimes.

“but we want to try,” price is speaking again. “if you’ll let us.”

he stops talking. waits a beat, then two. then, you hear his chair scrape. he’s getting up, and that’s when you turn your head to face him.

he looks bad. bags under the eyes, skin pale, beard overgrown. you think he deserves this. deserves worse than this. his eyes meet yours, and they widen the tiniest bit at the attention you’re showing him.

your voice is full of venom as you speak.

“nothing,” you seethe, angry tears blurring your vision. “will ever undo what you did to me. what he did to me.”

price knows you’re talking about simon. the whole team knew you were a thing. hell, when they’d strapped you to that chair and debated who would ‘interrogate’ you, they hadn’t even thought to include simon. why would he want to torture the person he loved?

to their surprise, he had volunteered to take point.

“when i get out of this bed,” you continue. “im gone. and i never, never, want to see any of you again, or else im putting a fucking bullet between your eyes.”

the captain doesn’t speak. you can see the remorse on his face. you couldn’t care less about his feelings.

he gives a short nod, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

after john’s visit, no one else tries to visit you. you no longer catch glimpses of kyle or johnny outside the infirmary door. you’re glad they’re starting to get the hint.

but you’re still getting flowers. you don’t know where they’re coming from. sometimes they’re dropped off by a nurse, other times they appear in the morning after a restless sleep. there’s never a note. never anything to suggest who would be leaving them.

you know it’s one of the 141, but you don’t know exactly who. you feel certain it’s not simon.

but, unbeknownst to you, it is him. he knows you don’t want to see him— to see any of them. price had told them all about what you’d said to him during your talk.

price had also told them that he’d already started preparing your transfer papers. that had caused an uproar from soap, who’d quickly been quieted by a saddened price.

simon had expected it. expected worse, actually. he knew that if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been as merciful as you. it made him hate what they’d done to you so much more.

there had been the tiniest doubt in his mind when all the evidence pointed to you. he hadn’t believed it at first— and then things became damning. everything pointed to you. trusted sources were pointing their fingers at you, and everyone listened. he had listened.

he had volunteered to torture you because he’d been angry. rage he hadn’t felt in years bubbled to the surface of his skin, and he wanted to tear you limb from limb. how dare you come into their lives— his life— and betray them so substantially?

simon didn’t trust easily. he was battered and broken and scarred. shattered and malformed pieces hastily glued back together. he let the team in. let you in. let you see his face. let you into his bed. let you into his fucking heart.

and you turned around and drove a dagger into him. or so he thought.

he thought his anger and actions had been justified. thought he was doing the world a favor by butchering you. but he was wrong. the team was wrong.

he finds himself regretting how he hadn’t listened to your pleas, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

he knows the chances of you forgiving him, of letting him back into your life, are slim to none. but how could he not at least try?

you’d know each other for years. been together for years. all of it thrown away because he still knew the hurt of betrayal all too well. because it was too easy to fall back into the mindset that it was him against everyone. that the only person he knew, the only one he could rely on, was himself.

so he left flowers. your favorite ones. and he did so without making you face him, without apologizing or groveling. it was the least he owed you.

a month after your coma, you were finally allowed out of the infirmary. you were still healing, skin still tender and bruised. pink, jagged scars lining your skin; eternal reminders of the pain you’d been subjected to.

you’d been given a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, which you’d pulled on with much fuss. every time you struggled or stumbled, you found yourself getting angry. angry at the men who did this to you.

the anger was going to eat you alive, at least that’s what the psychologist that had been dropping by to see you had said. she’d told you you need to let it go, and you’d laughed in her face.

how do you let something like this go?

you didn’t know. you didn’t think you were strong enough to do that. not a good enough person to forgive the men that had carved into you.

once you had dressed, you shuffled out into the hallway. you’d profusely denied an escort, and the doctor had reluctantly acquiesced. she’d let you go, with just the promise that you’d keep your iv hooked in.

so here you were, trudging down the halls of the base, iv pole rattling along behind you.

you could feel eyes on you, but no one dared to get too close. you were glad. you didn’t want more empty apologies and sympathetic words.

you still remembered the way to price’s office like the back of your hand. you doubted you’d ever forget it.

time and time again you’d found yourself here. sometimes, getting reprimanded. others, congratulated. a few times you’d shown up in tears, and price had let you in without a word.

now you were standing outside his door, trying to contain the rage in your veins.

you raised a hand. knocked once, firm and loud.

“come in!” price called from inside.

you were already twisting the door knob, pushing into the room.

your eyes found price first. he was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. his hat was absent from his head, instead resting beside him on the desk.

and then you noticed simon.

he was wearing all black. his hands were covered, bones decorating the black gloves. gloves you’d seen many times before. gloves that had been pressed to gunshots, trying to stop the bleeding.

the lower half of his face was covered, allowing you to see from his eyes up. his sandy blonde hair was ruffled.

you quickly turned your attention back to price.

“love, what are you doin’ here? you should be in bed—” he began, but you waved a hand as you stepped further into the room. you pulled your iv pole in behind you, then kicked the door shut.

“don’t talk, just listen. i still mean what i said when you came to visit. the only reason im here right now is because you haven’t put in for my fucking transfer.” you hissed.

the captain’s eyes widened, his face taking on a sheepish expression at the revelation that he’d been caught. simon stood quietly beside him, eyes trained on you. you ignored him.

“love, i didn’t want to do anything before you were ready—” he began. you cut him off.

“bullshit! you didn’t want to do anything because you don’t want me to leave. you want me to forgive you, right? hear you all out? come back and be a happy little family again?”

the room fell eerily silent as you stared at the captain. your heart was roaring in your ears.

“put in the fucking transfer, john.” you finished.

he reluctantly nodded. he inhaled, his eyes glancing at his lieutenant briefly, before he spoke again.

“of course, love. ‘m sorry.”

you didn’t say anything else. you turned to go, your back to the men, when simon’s voice cut through the air.

“you should be respectful to your captain, sergeant.”

you froze as you took in his words. was he fucking serious?

you didn’t turn around. you trained your eyes on the door as you spoke words through gritted teeth.

“you should watch your tongue, lieutenant, before I fucking cut it off.”

with that, you pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it loudly behind you.

author’s note:

apologies for the wait! I hope everyone enjoyed! (this is being posted before proofreading, so I hope it’s okay— I’ll read through it later, it’s just late and im tired lol)

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[empresskylo]

headcanons for the cod men if they found out you were a virgin... i promise this is not self indulgent 🫣

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 includes: ghost, price, soap, alejandro, konig, and gaz. afab!reader. female pet names used. reader refers to self as a woman.

GHOST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ ok ok ok, he would have never thought he’d want to be specifically with a virgin. like it never really crossed his mind before now, but he just assumed he’d always like being with someone more experienced. he likes a quick hook up. doesn’t have the time to be all gentle and soft and caring for someone who's never done it before, ya know? not that he's an asshole or anything, but he never thought he'd be the right person to take someone's virginity.

♡ but when you tell him you’re a virgin, something stirs inside him. he doesn’t mind. not one bit. if anything, he actually gets a little giddy, wanting to be the one who shows you how it’s done.

♡ and he ends up being rather sweet about it. he goes slow. he takes his time. he spends a good amount of time prepping you. “jus’ lay back, sweetheart. gotta make sure you’re good n’ ready to take me.”

♡ when it finally comes down to it, he’s easy to edge into you. you grip his shoulders tightly, squeezing your eyes shut. “gotta talk to me, love. gotta know i’m not hurtin’ you.” you nod and look up at him. “i’m okay. keep going. please.” he kisses your lips and continues in. after a few painstaking moments, “alright. i’m halfway. jus’ a lil more.” “only halfway?! jesus fucking—“ ghost laughs, his hand caressing your face and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. when he’s finally fully seated, he groans, fisting the sheets beside your head to keep himself from rutting into full force.

♡ “ah. you okay, pet?” “y-yes. are you all the way in?” “mhm” “okay. just… give me a moment.” “take your time, love. we got all night.” you let yourself adjust for several moments. “can you move, now?” he kisses you, slowly dragging himself halfway out and then pushing back into you, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. "you're so fuckin' tight," he groans as he tries to take his time. he doesn't want to hurt you.

♡ and he knows the rumor that women don't usually orgasm their first time, so he wanted to make sure you came at least twice before he shoved his cock in you. he wants you to associate this with a positive experience.

♡ and he tries his hardest to make you feel good too. he begins to rub your clit as he thrusts and you moan loudly. he grins. "you like that, princess?" you nod your head vigorously. and sure enough, he's able to make you come around his cock and he swears that was some of the best sex of his life. it wasn't the fact that you were a virgin, it was the trust and the intimacy of it that made this so good for him. he never thought he'd care for things like that until now.

PRICE *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ price doesn't really mind either way, but he was definitely surprised when you told him -- he couldn't believe someone as beautiful as you had never slept with anyone. but he's honored that you'd trust him enough to experience that with him.

♡ he kisses you and lays you down on his bed, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "jus' let me take care of you, love," he coos. you bite your lip and nod. he starts by going down on you, making you come on his tongue like he has before. then he's back above you, wanting your first time to be in missionary, making you as relaxed as possible.

♡ he even made it all sweet and lit some candles (":

♡ he constantly is getting consent and checking in on you. "you feelin' okay?" "jus' tell me to stop if you don't like it." "want me to keep goin'?" "tell me what you want, sweetheart." "this feels good, yeah?"

♡ when he's fully inside you, he strokes your hair and kisses you multiple times. "see, wasn't so bad," he teases gently.

♡ with price, it's really not awkward at all. he doesn't let it be. he's so sweet and considerate the whole time. when he's thrusting inside you, he checks to make sure he's not going too hard.

♡ and he knows the sex will only get better, so he tells you not to worry if you don't finish alongside him. and you don't finish with him, but he makes sure to get you off after.

♡ he holds himself inside you after he comes, grunting and panting above you. then he looks down at you. "i wanna feel you come on my cock, love." you look a bit confused and he starts rubbing your clit, keeping himself planted inside you. with the pressure of the situation over, you're much more relaxed and apt to orgasm. so it doesn't take you long to spasm around him, and he fucking loves it. "god, you feel amazing, princess." and he looks at you with such admiration as you catch your breath and come down from your high.

♡ "it will only get better from here," he teases.

♡ after he pulls out and gets up, he scoops you up too, making you squeal. he carries the two of you to the bathroom to shower and clean up. he washes your hair. helps you put your clothes on (making sure it's his stuff you're wearing) and pulls you into bed with him, his arm wrapped around you.

SOAP *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ johnny has no issue with it at all. he really thinks nothing of it. he didn't care if you were a virgin or not, so when you tell him, all it does is lets him know he needs to be a bit slower with you. and you truly appreciate him not making a big deal about it.

♡ it'd probably happen one time when you two are making out on the couch. things get a little heated and his hands are all over you. he gropes your breast through your shirt and you moan in his mouth. he pushes you back on the couch and teases your shirt up. "j-johnny," you say between kisses. "yes, lass?" "you remember i'm a virgin, right?" "mhm," he kisses you again. "did you want me t'stop?" "n-no," you whine as he rubs a hand over your clothed clit. "i just don't want to disappoint you." he looks at you in annoyance. "what? why would ya disappoint me?" he sees the shy look in your eyes like you're a bit ashamed. "lass, you could never disappoint me. i just want you. but if you don't wanna do anything, that's okay too." he kisses your nose and caresses the side of your face.

♡ with that out of the way, you tell him you do want to. he promises to go slow. and he does. he asks how you want it. you can ride him if that would make you more comfortable, being able to control the pace and all.

♡ you straddle him on the couch, soap's hands running all across your torso. squeezing and cupping your breast. gliding over your ribcage. going down to your ass and pulling you forward.

♡ you're slow when you lower yourself on him and johnny's head falls to the back of the couch, trying to contain himself. "you feel so good," he whines out.

♡ lots and lots of little praises. he wants to make sure you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. "that's it, love." "fuckin' hell, you’re takin’ me so well." "does it feel good?"

♡ and he'll rub your clit with his thumb, smiling as you collapse into him, your arms around his neck as you continue to bounce on top of him.

♡ you're definitely pleased when you orgasm around him, sending soap over the edge as well.

♡ then he kisses you, runs his hand through your hair, and pulls you into his lap where he'll tell you how good you were, how much he loved that. and he'll make sure you had a nice time too. wanting to make sure you feel good about yourself.

ALEJANDRO *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ gets a little bit of sick satisfaction knowing he’s going to have been the only one to have had you. “gettin’ you all for myself, then, mi amor?”

♡ even though he’s thoroughly enjoyed sex for years and has developed a taste for what he likes and dislikes, he’s charmed to be with someone who is so new at this. it’s a new experience for him in that sense.

♡ he definitely wants you comfortable before he tries anything, BUT, he goes absolutely fucking feral when he gets you to blush and act all shy and awkward. gets off embarrassing you. “you want me to fuck that tight little cunt of yours?” he says. your eyes widen and your cheeks get hot/flush. “a-alejandro” you whimper, a bit startled at his dirty mouth. “hmm? did you think my teasing stopped at the bedroom?” he winks.

♡ “tell me how you want it, mi amor. do you want my cock?” you nod sheepishly. “uh-uh,” he scolds. “gotta use your words.” you turn your face away from him in embarrassment. “yes.” “yes what?” “yes, i want your cock.” your entire body is on fire and alejandro grins madly. he never would have thought innocence would turn him on so much.

♡ but he’s really quite sweet in the moment. even though he does tease you quite a bit, he’s always reading your body and making sure he’s not hurting you and that you’re enjoying yourself. “just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says down at you. “okay?” he asks. you nod, “okay.” “esa es mi buena chica.” that’s my good girl.

♡ even though his is being careful, he can't help but get turned on when your nails are digging into his back and your face is scrunched up. "it's so much," you whimper out. that honestly sends him over the edge. he gets a little sense of pride knowing how intense everything was for you -- and for him.

♡ he makes sure you're not hurt once everything is done and he cleans you up and holds you close to him.

KÖNIG *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ you were a bit nervous to tell him, so you kinda waited until the last minute.

♡ könig had you pinned beneath him, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck, making you giggle. after he’s torn your clothes off and is back to attacking your lips, you break away to mumble at him. “i’ve… never done this before,” you said shyly. he looks at you, his eyes flickering between yours. “is this okay? do you want me to stop?” you shake your head. “no, no. i just wanted you to know.” he smiles and kisses you again.

♡ he’s okay with being your first, but it definitely makes him a bit nervous. he knows he’s going to have to be the one to take control of the situation, figuring you might be a bit shy/awkward and not know how to lead. but he’s okay with that.

♡ he also doesn’t want to hurt you. my guy is 6’7” so i mean… he’s got a big dick, i’m sure of it—he told me himself. he makes you orgasm like 4 times beforehand, absolutely tiring you out, but also making you relaxed and more ready for him.

♡ he’s planted between your legs and you're still panting from your last orgasm, and he lines himself up. “m’gonna go slow,” he tells you. you nod and he slowly enters you. your hands grip his shoulders tightly, already feeling the pressure of him stretching you out. (and even if you weren’t a virgin, it would still be like this tbh. size kink initiated)

♡ it takes a few minutes for him to bottom out. he does little half thrusts with only part of him inside you, trying to ease his way in. “i don’t think you can fit,” you whine out. “you can take it, liebling. jus’ a little—ungh—furtherrrrr—fuck,” he groans as he fills you completely. you’re whimpering under him, but mostly in pleasure.

♡ he catches his breath before asking you if he can move. you nod. he kisses your lips, mumbling against you, “i’ll be gentle.” he begins to rock into you.

♡ and he is. he’s slow and soft with you, mumbling praises. he tries his hardest to get you to give him another orgasm, rubbing your clit. you whine and squirm under him. you trust him so much that you’re actually relaxed enough to orgasm your first time with him.

♡ he’s stopped moving inside you so he can focus solely on rubbing your clit. finally, you clamp down on him and come. you’re so breathtakingly beautiful under him, squeezing him so fucking tight, that könig orgasms right then and there, without even having to move. both of you are a little shocked and you end up giggling.

♡ he lays on top of you, resting his head on your chest, his hands wrapped around you, while you stroke his hair. he leaves a little trail of kisses on your skin and you both lay there for a bit, content and entangled together.

GAZ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

♡ gaz is a bit baffled about what to do. like he gives off hot shit energy, but when you tell him he’d be your first, he gets flustered. he feels pressured to make sure it’s good since he will be your first impression of sex.

♡ you end up having to tell him to calm down. “kyle, oh my god, it’s fine! it doesn’t have to be perfect. i just want it to be with you.” and that definitely relaxes him a bit. he just doesn’t wanna ruin this for you. it’s actually quite sweet.

♡ he’s on the bed, on top of you, kissing you and slowly stripping both of your clothing. when you’re both in underwear he makes an offer. “did you wanna be on top, love?” you give him an unsure look. “idk, i'm not really sure what i’m doing,” you say shyly, playing with the chain around his neck as it dangles above you. gaz rolls over and takes you with him. “you don’t havta if you don’t wanna, but this way you get to control everything. because shit… idk how well i’m gonna be able to control myself once i’m in you.” your face goes red hot.

♡ you take him up on his offer and stay straddling him. you let him help you line yourself up with him and you sink down ever so slowly, gritting your teeth as you do. gaz has his hands on your hips, panting as you take him teasingly slow. “that’s it, baby,” he encourages.

♡ your hands rest on his chest, sitting slightly forward as you take your time sinking down all the way. once you’re fully seated, gaz let’s out a guttural grunt, his eyes squeezed shut, his voice strained, “fuck—yeah, good t-thing you’re leadin’ this because with how fuckin’ good ya feel, i'd be tempted to fuckin' plow right into you.” his words leave you slightly embarrassed. gaz opens his eyes and looks at you lovingly. “ugh, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he groans.

♡ not only does his words make you more excited, but it makes you more confident. you begin to move up and down, putting your weight on your hands. gaz hands grip your hips tightly in his fingers, clawing at you as you ride him.

♡ after several minutes of this, he rolls you under him making you squeal. “i can’t hold back any longer,” he says as he slides out of you and thrusts back in. he definitely does it more powerfully than you were, but it doesn’t hurt. it feels good letting him do the work. he buries his head in your neck, “jus’ let me know if i’m going to fast.”

♡ it isn’t much longer until you’re squeezing around him, making him groan and grunt wildly. just hearing him like that, knowing it’s you causing it, has you spilling over the edge. the way you tighten around him sends him over the edge as well.

♡ you’re both panting as he lays beside you, pulling you into him. “jesus,” he murmurs. “i always thought it was supposed to kinda suck for women the first time,” you said. gaz looks down at you, running his fingers in your hair, and laughs. you both begin giggling, both ecstatic and feeling amazing. you’ve never felt closer to him in that moment.

♡ gaz couldn’t believe how good it felt to have you coming with him and he's so excited, he's rolling you under him, asking if you're ready for round two.

[miserycanary]

THE BRICK MAN’S WIFE ᡣ𐭩 previous ⤶

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: finally meeting the wife

tags: a poor attempt at crack, fluff, a sprinkle of smut

2 weeks have passed since then. After a while of people sending him weird stares and catching a few mumbles of pity for him, plus the insistent questioning from a certain Scot, Ghost kinda got the gist of what was happening. Of course, he was amused but slightly offended that people thought of him like that. Also, at the fact Price didn’t do anything. In fact, he even laughed at him during a night over drinks. Mocking him and pertaining to you as “the imaginary missus”. 

He told you about it one night, sighing as he says he finally figured out why people are giving him stares. 

| “When I get my hands on the Scot,” he grumbles, pushing away strands of your hair while he cradles you in his arms. You chuckle as you feed yourself some popcorn then raise your hand to give some to your husband. “Can you blame them, Si? You don’t talk much.” Playfully rolling his eyes, he scoffs and nuzzles his mouth on your nape where he knows you’re ticklish. “Whatever.”

An opportunity to finally clear up his name arrives when the force decides to go out for drinks, accidentally stumbling upon a set on the streets. They were confused at first, brushing it off but Soap’s gasp stops them. “Look! It’s the LT’s wife,” he hisses to Gaz, motioning to where you are standing. Everyone was stunned because you looked like a heaven’s angel. Dressed in white, adorned with strings of pearls, and glittery makeup. At that moment, both Gaz and Soap momentarily wished that their lieutenant was lying because… holy fuck… you were pretty as shit. 

With the intent of busting Ghost’s “lie” (and a few hidden intentions), they suggested that they wait for you to finish up so that he could introduce the group. 

“Look, they’re done. Go call her!” Gaz bumps Ghost, earning him a glare before it softens when he looks at your direction. Immediately, your eyes met your husband’s then the rest. With a smirk, you whisper something to your manager and run to the group. Before Ghost could greet you, “Hi! Are you guys fans? I’m actually doing a meet and greet today,” you exclaim, holding back laughter when Simon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads.

I mean, what’s wrong with messing with your husband and his friends a little? Of course your little stunt drove Soap and Gaz wild, feeling proud of themselves that they proved you were lying.

Long story short, the two went home smirking while you were getting pounded deep into the mattress by your husband by the end of the night. His “revenge” for pulling that prank on him. 

| “Haaa, can’t believe you let your husband look like a fool,” Simon chuckles, snapping his hips ruthlessly while the sound of skin slapping drowns your mewls and moans. “S-sorry! Ngh– c-c-cumming!” you cry out, your nails digging down on his back while your toes curl. “Nope.” You whine and sob in frustration as you feel your husband’s cock pull out again and your climax dissipating for the nth time, your pussy clenching around nothing in hopes to pull him back in. “Please please please, I’m sorry–” your pleas get cut short by Simon’s fingers pushing deep into your mouth. “Bad girls who fool their husbands don’t get to cum, and takes what they're given” he taunts, pushing back in swift trust, bringing tears into your eyes. 

After that night of torture, you make it up to him by visiting him at the base. Thankfully, Price was the one who greets you first. After telling him that you’re there for Simon, he only chuckles and directs you to their spot. The reaction to seeing you there was immediate. Soap with his eyes bulging out, Gaz with his jaw slacked open, and Ghost with hearts in his eyes. Like a puppy, he runs to you, arms instinctively wrapping around your waist and pulling you in. “Sweetheart,” he greets but was pulled away by Soap. “Hey, mate. You shouldn’y go around grabbing ladies like that,” he frowns, which got a chuckle from you. Deciding to finally help your husband, you squeeze yourself in between the two and pressed a kiss on Simon’s lips which he quickly returned. 

It was like they just witnessed pigs fly. “WAIT, WHAT?” they exclaim in unison, while Price’s laughter echoes. “Right, to clear things up, I am indeed this brick man’s wife,” you giggle, placing your hand on his chest and head on his shoulders. “WAIT, CAPTAIN, YOU KNEW ABOUT THIS?” “Of course he knew,” Ghost butts in. “He was there during the wedding.” Like this couldn’t be any messier, more exclaims and shouts erupted from the two.  "Why didn'y tell us?" Soap asks, feeling betrayed by the Captain witholding this news which only got a shrug as a reply. You chuckle, before offering your hand to them. "It's nice to properly meet you guys. I wanted to mess with my husband when we first met," you explained. When Soap grabs your offering hand, he has to take in a breath. How are you so soft? And so, so pretty.

Gaz takes your hand next, chuckling as he gives you a firm handshake. "Well, it worked. So, is it true you're the one cooking those lunches?" Your cheeks redden as your hand pulls back, hiding behind you. "Um, yeah... I'm not good at cooking but got signed up for a cooking thing. The first one I made led to Si being sick."

The day passes as you share stories with them.

At the end, Ghost was boasting with a smirk, Gaz and Soap feeling heartbroken and dejected inside, while Price just watches in amusement. 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: sorry if it's bad. I rushed it because I don't think I'll have time anytime soon to post regularly. I hope people like this. <3 There’s a different one to this but I don’t know if people will like that version. Special thanks to @thychuvaluswife and 📩 for their ideas! This was also requested. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask if open!

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check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 13 ] || [ Chapter 15 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: this is purely self-indulgent. I wanted them to kiss.

Click here to see some fanart of this chapter by my lovely moot @xxshadowbabexx.

Chapter 14: (B)romance?

After that conversation, things got slightly easier. You found yourselves talking about random things, Simon showed off a few bandages from fresh injuries he got just this past week on a mission…

And almost an hour after they arrived, you were all sprawled from the couch and over the coffee table, watching one of the original Scream movies, much to Ghost’s delight and your displeasure… Which soon switched and turned into your and Gaz’s pleasure and Ghost’s dread.

“Look, it’s you.” You pointed at the TV for the fifth time in the row every time Ghostface was seen.

“I hate you.” Ghost groaned playfully. “Kyle, why’d you tell ‘em I wear a skull on the job?” He scoffed.

“You’re the one wearing it and you wanna blame me?” Kyle quipped as he cocked his brows. He had his arm draped over your shoulders and he used his hand to nudge Ghost on the shoulder.

“It’s making me look bad, mate, it’s the principle of the thing!” Ghost retorted as he snaked his arm between your back and the back of the couch, nudging Gaz’s exposed side with his own finger.

It was the first time that Gaz had ever heard Ghost call him, or anyone, mate. It would’ve made him smile, if the bloke wasn’t poking him.

“Oi! Watch it!” Kyle complained as he squirmed a bit against you.

“You ticklish, Garrick?” Simon quipped with a mischievous glance.

“Will you two stop it? I’m trying to watch the movie!” You scolded them, nudging them both with your elbows, causing them both to squirm, though Ghost’s squirming was much more stiffening than wiggling. “Childish…” You added.

“Not childish.” Simon retorted. “I’m 3-fucking-4.” He replied.

“You’re what?” Kyle asked as his head turned sharply to look at Ghost. “I thought you were 40.”

“You thought I was as old as Price is?” SImon asked as he turned to look at Kyle too.

“No wonder you look young, I thought you looked good for your age because of the mask and not being in the sun all day.” Gaz explained.

“Oh. My. God. Are you two having a moment right now?” You asked them, making them both turn to look at you with wide eyes. “Your little bromance is interrupting the movie.” You quipped with an impish smirk on your lips.

“Oh, we have a ‘bromance’, is it? You wouldn’t talk like that if you had my tongue down your throat like a few weeks ago.” Simon asked with a look in his eyes that said he did not appreciate the joke. But that just made you start giggling and biting your nail.

“Wait, you’ve kissed?” Kyle asked in surprise as he bounced up a bit and turned to look at you both.

“Yeeeees…?” You replied with a sheepish reply.

“So you’ve seen what Ghost looks like?” Gaz added.

“Noooo…?” You added as you casted Simon a glance, which only made him chuckle behind his mask.

“I said I’d let ‘em in due time.” He explained for you as he gave you a little squeeze.

“So, you’ve gotten drinks, eaten dinner, played videogames, had a movie night, slept together… All with the mask on?” Kyle asked, flabbergasted.

“Well, no. I took the mask off to sleep.” Simon replied.

“YOU TOOK THE MASK OFF TO SLEEP?!” You shrieked a bit, which only caused another grin to form on Simon’s face, his brown eyes crinkling smugly.

“You were asleep. It would’ve stank up if I slept with it on, I’m a mouth breather.” Simon replied.

“Ew, a mouth breather.” Gaz quipped, making you both laugh.

“I guess we’re just… not gonna watch the movie, huh?” You remarked as you glanced over at the TV where some blonde was screaming bloody murder.

“Guess not.” Gaz replied and shrugged a bit. After a beat of silence, he glanced over at the two of you again and narrowed his eyes. “How was it?”

“Hm?” You asked with a cocked brow.

“He means the kiss.” Simon replied as he nudged you with his shoulder, his arm lightly squeezing at your waist.

You scrunched up your lips sheepishly and shrugged. “It was good…”

Gaz and Ghost shared another look over your head, silently communicating between one another while stealing glances at you.

“Just good? And here I thought you’d liked it.” Simon remarked in mock offense.

“Right? I was going to say that doesn’t sound very convincing.” Kyle quipped.

“I-” You hesitated and sighed. “Will you two stop that? I know what you’re doing! Don’t fucking bully me!” You scolded them and you immediately noticed the smirk on Kyle’s lips, which you knew Simon was mirroring.

“Maybe I owe you a repeat.” Simon quipped as he shot Kyle a look and then looked down at you.

“A repeat?” You asked in shock as you blinked lightly. 

“And I definitely owe you one for comparison.” Kyle added.

“But…”

“But what? You talk that big game and act like a brat this whole time, trying to embarrass us…” Simon trailed off. “I think it’s time we get payback.” He added.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Kyle interjected.

“Of course they’re okay with it.” Simon added and glanced down at you.

Sheepishly and with very warm cheeks, you found yourself nodding, not quite knowing the mess that you were about to get yourself into.

But, then again, when are you going to have the opportunity to have two blokes wanting to kiss you at once? Mia and Leah would kill you if you didn’t take the opportunity.

Simon’s warm, calloused and rough hand grabbed reached up to cover your eyes and after a second, the other clamped around your jaw the same way he had done weeks ago. You could hear Kyle’s breath hitch behind you, a sign that Simon had taken off his mask.

Then, Simon’s lips crashed into yours, his tongue already pushing its way inside. Once more, your tongue found the metal of his barbell piercing, the cold and hard texture drawing a whimper out of you as Simon dragged it over your own tongue.

You could feel Kyle’s warmth next to you, his arm slightly tightening his hold on you so you wouldn’t escape Simon’s kiss. Your hands gently grabbed onto Simon’s forearms, fingers digging in as the kiss left you light-headed.

After a moment, Simon pulled back, fixed his mask back into place, and uncovered your eyes. “So?” He teased when your eyes adjusted to the darkened room, illuminated only by the blue light of the TV playing the movie.

“Hm.” Was all you could reply with, a stupid little sound that didn’t at all convey how good the kiss felt. But it made Simon laugh, open mouthed, belly laughter, his head falling back over the edge of the couch.

“Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, no, it’s me.” Simon bragged and you could swear he had a massive shit-eating grin on his stupidly kissable lips.

“Let me check.” Kyle replied and his own hand snaked to grab you around the neck. Before you had time to register it, your head was being dipped back and his lips were against yours.

Unlike Simon, Kyle’s lips were thick, warm, smooth… His tongue was a lot wetter, probably a consequence of Simon’s throat being permanentely dry from wearing the mask too much.

Now that he was so close, you could feel everything. The way his fingers gently rubbed at your pulse points on your neck, the scent of coconut oil that emanated from him, the light prickling of his goatee against your skin, when Simon’s was completely shaved clean…

Simon’s hand snaked down to your thigh and rubbed it lightly as you lost yourself in Kyle’s kiss, your hand grabbing and softly tugging onto his purple jumper.

You were the one that broke the kiss with a gasp for air, your eyes snapping open and finding Kyle looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he licked his lips. “So?” He echoed Simon’s earlier question.

Looking away, you sunk back on the couch and scoffed. “I hate you both.” You grumbled, making them both laugh.

“Damn, I didn’t think I kissed that badly.” Gaz quipped playfully.

“I sure as bloody hell don’t.” Simon replied. “I think they just have poor taste.”

Crossing your arms, you glared at them both. “Yeah? Well… If you’re both such great kissers, then why don’t you prove it?”

The two men looked over at you with raised brows and blinking away their shock at the suggestion. Then, they glanced at each other and seemed to be communicating wordlessly again.

“I’m fine with it.” Gaz quipped, humourously.

“Makes no difference to me.” Ghost replied. “C’mere, Garrick.”

Before you even had time to say you were joking, Simon tugged up his mask with one hand, enough to reveal his jawline and mouth, while the other wrapped around the back of Kyle’s neck with more aggression than necessary.

It was the first time you got to see a snippet of Simon’s face and his jawline was just like you had expected. Harsh, sharp like diamonds, free from any type of hair, and riddled with rough scars and a Glasgow smile carved from the corners of his mouth.

Their mouths collided so harshly that Kyle’s eyes doubled in size before he let go and closed them. Your eyes widened as well as you watched them locked in a kiss that was more passionate than I think any of you expected it to be.

As they pulled away, Ghost pulled down his mask again and glanced over at you, while a very shocked Gaz stood perfectly still, eyes widened and mouth left hanging open… Before he shook himself awake from his trance. “You have a piercing?!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[ragingbookdragon]

Price finds her in the equipment room doing a rather meticulous job of cleaning their weapons, but he also notices that the only set she currently has out, is none other than the side-arm and knives owned by their resident Lieutenant.

“Quite rare to see you here on a Friday night,” he says, taking a seat across from her, grabbing an oiled rag to start cleaning with. “Shouldn’t you be going out with Gaz and Soap for drinks?”

She pauses, looks up and then lowers her gaze back to the firing pin she’s cleaning. “Didn’t feel like going out tonight, Captain.”

“Didn’t feel like it or didn’t feel like seeing ‘you know who?’”

“You know?” She asks and he shrugs.

“It’s my job to know everything that happens within the one-four-one.”

“I thought that was Miss Kate’s job?”

Price smiles. “We share responsibility.” He methodically rubs the rag along the parts of the side-arm, his expression and voice becoming rather calm but she feels the air turn a little stern, if almost a fatherly stern. “You’ve been avoiding him.”

She makes a noise in her throat. “I can’t exactly talk to him. Look what happened last time.”

“He feels bad.”

“I’m sure he does,” she retorts, looking at him. “He really hurt my feelings. What am I supposed to do, tell him it’s okay? That we can move on like he didn’t tell me I’m clingy?” She stops, looks down at her hands. “I sound like a fucking child.”

Price hums. “You actually sound like a person who’s had their feelings hurt and you’re not sure how to proceed.” He dips the rag in a big more oil. “I know it doesn’t equate what he’s said to you, but allow me to fill in some blanks you might have on Simon.”

She cocks a brow. “Okay?”

“Simon was the oldest child of two. Abusive dad, terrified mom. Younger brother used to terrorize him too.” He goes back to cleaning the gun parts. “Nine-eleven had Simon enlisting, came back after a lull, kicked his dad out, got his brother sober and even found himself the proud uncle of a nephew named Joseph.”

“Where are they now?” She asks. “Simon’s from Birmingham, right?”

“He is,” he answers, but his face and voice are void of any hope. “But they’re not anymore.”

She blinks, feels the shift in temperature. “They…moved?” She hopes; he meets her gaze, and she knows instantly. “Oh…I…how did it…”

“I don’t want to divulge Simon’s past without his permission, because it’s also his own choice to tell you what happened, but I can tell you that Simon had a personal vendetta against the man and others who hurt his family. And he took care of it.” Price inhales and exhales. “In doing so…Simon sacrificed himself. He made himself—“

“A Ghost,” she finishes, and he nods.

“Simon, when it comes down to what he truly is beneath his cold stoicism, my dear, is simply a very tired and even more broken-hearted man who believes that if he keeps everything and everyone at a distance, then nothing can hurt him.” Price sets the weapon and rag down. “He likes to think he’s incapable of feeling but don’t let his demeanor or words fool you, Simon feels more deeply for the people he loves more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Something aches in her chest, rising up to close around her throat as she asks, “A man like him…he can still love?”

He smiles half-heartedly. “I’ve seen the man run back through a burning building to pull Gaz out. I’ve seen him run through gunfire, take a bullet to the thigh and keep going to carry Soap.” He nudges her under the table. “I’ve even seen him pull your ass out of even stickier situations. If we viewed Simon how he wanted us to view him, it’d be easy to call him a heartless bastard. But he isn’t as heartless as he wishes he was.”

“That just shows he’s doing his job as our superior officer,” she counters weakly. “He’s doing it because it’s his duty to get his subordinates out.”

“Does it ever just feel like that?”

“…no.”

Price gazes on her like a father to his daughter with her first heartbreak. “What do you feel right now, puffin?”

She purses her lips, looks down at the various weapons on the table before she admits, “I’m still hurt. His words keep replaying in my mind. I’m clingy and I’m always around.” She fiddles with the fraying hem of the rag. “That I’m a bother.”

“Would it make a difference if I told you that I don’t think such things?”

She shrugs.

Price blinks, reaches up and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You can be very excitable. Sometimes, I think you let it get the better of you and you often forget that others don’t always have the same personality as you.”

“Excitable is the polite way of saying annoying.”

“If I wanted to say you were annoying, I would’ve. You genuinely are a good and wholesome person, my dear. But you have to remember that everyone has a different level of extroversion. Sometimes, we have to tone it down a bit.” He meets her gaze and she knows his is full of honesty. “Simon doesn’t actually hate you. And he probably feels a tad bit of annoyance, but then again, he always does regardless of who it is, because Simon hates anything that makes noise. But I also know that he feels bad for what he did and said to you—and he wants to make it right.”

She takes in his words. “Do I need to engage him first? Extend some olive branch for peace?”

Price rises from the table and smiles, walks around and pats her shoulder. “Nah, let him come to you.”

“You really think he will?”

“I do. He knows what he’s gotta do and he’ll do it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. But he’ll be skittish. He’s like a newborn deer.” He winks. “Let him mull over how he wants to do it. As for you,” he points at her. “You’ve gotta move on from this. Learn from it. And stop ignoring him and avoiding him like you’re a ten year old. Be a grown-up. Act professional and be polite. I will not let this effect the team any longer than it is. Am I understood?”

She swallows thickly and nods. “Yes, sir, Captain Price. I promise.”

Price smiles and pats her again. “Go on. Soap and Gaz headed to Purecraft.”

“But the Lieutenant—”

“Is in the training room working out,” Price waves her off. “Go. Have some fun. Get some drinks, talk to Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

As she gets up, she pauses and looks at him. “Captain?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Price’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “You’re welcome, Puffin.”

[charliemwrites]

(Re)organized Crime, Part 8!

I was going to wait a little longer to post this (I say, looking guiltily at the queue) but I felt bad leaving it on a cliff hanger!

Content: Attempted Breaking and Entering, Fear for Safety, Hurt/Comfort

Four months ago, Simon drove you home for the first time.

It was a bad week all around. On Monday, Soap broke his arm. Gaz left with Farah and Alex on Tuesday for a business trip on the other side of the country. Wednesday brought about two dozen emails from Philip Graves’ wretched assistant, ugly pastel green borders framing each one. By Thursday, you almost weren’t surprised by the call about a lost shipment.

You were surprised when Price raised his voice at you, though.

“The fuck do you mean it’s missing?” he snarled.

You stood across from him with your tablet in hand, grossly unorganized logs open onscreen.

“I don’t think there are other ways I could mean it,” you answered lightly. “The crates left port and didn’t show up at the next one.”

You were scribbling on the screen, compiling the log into something more comprehensive. Purposefully not making eye contact because you could feel the angry heat radiating off him. It was making your hands tremble, but you’d be damned if you let it show.

“Well then where the fuck are they?” he demanded.

“If I knew that, sir, they wouldn’t be missing.”

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

At that, you let out a heavy breath and looked up, expression flat. Price’s expression was dark, mouth tight. One hand gripped the arm of his office chair while the index finger of the other tap, tap, tapped his desk. You stared him down for a moment, reminding yourself to breathe with each uneven beat of your heart. Waited through a count of 20 before he huffed.

“Just find the damn thing,” he growled.

“Shall I use my crystal ball?”

You nearly jumped a mile when he barked your name in reprimand. And that was about the time you had enough.

“John.”

He froze. Across the room, so did Simon and Soap. You were so shocked by your own outburst that you came up a bit short as well. Didn’t even have a chance to gather more words when Price’s shoulders dropped. The anger melted away, replaced with apology and self-deprecation.

“Christ, luv, I’m sorry. Where have my manners gone?”

He ran a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose where you were sure a headache was brewing.

“Thank you for the apology. I know this is important,” you soothed, softening your voice. “Give me 30 minutes and I’ll have a list of people you should yell at.”

He grimaced, “Take 45 for the trouble, darling.”

You used the extra fifteen minutes to brew him a fresh cup of tea and served it with a couple pain meds. When you’d delivered the analysis, he told you to head home early, that it would be a late night regardless and there was no need for you to do more than you already had. (It hadn’t helped the way that he’d ducked his head, still sheepish. You’d squeezed his wrist as you’d dropped off a list of damned names.)

With your usual drivers gone, Soap’s arm broken, and Price out to rip several people a new one, Simon drove you home.

He scowled in the vestibule while you fumbled for your keys. Then glared at the entryway as you trudged to the elevator. He grumbled as he accepted the invitation into your apartment, only to sneer (yes, you knew he was sneering even with the mask) at the doorknob and deadbolt.

“This place is a bloody deathtrap,” he finally declared, crossing his arms.

“It’s not that bad,” you replied, shaking your head.

“One solid kick and this door is coming down.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Then don’t kick it.”

“I’m sure a robber will be polite enough to knock,” he scoffed.

“The crime rate is good in this area,” you argued. Not great, but decent enough…

“Bloody hell. Did you even – are your fucking windows unlocked?”

You blinked. “We’re on the third floor, Simon.”

“I don’t give a rats arse—”

“And stop swearing at me.”

“—that you’re on the third floor. Lock your windows.”

You rolled your eyes but faltered when he narrowed his eyes, looming in the doorway like a fussy boogeyman. A clear indication that he did not plan to leave until you complied.

“You can’t be serious!” You were not whining.

“As the fu— as the damn plague.”

You snorted. “I think ‘damn’ is still swearing.”

He didn’t deign to respond to that, just arched his eyebrows. You mirror him right back, preparing to make a snippy comment about wasting company time.

“I’m sure Price would agree,” he said as you opened your mouth. You shut it with a snap.

Smug bastard.

You groaned but made a show of padding to all the windows and clicking the latches shut. Even when into the bedroom to secure those too. When you were done, he grunted in satisfaction and turned for the door.

“Lock this too.”

“I will, I will, I’m not dumb.”

You scrunched your nose at the skeptical grunt you received that time.

Before leaving, he pointed at you again, eyes narrowed. “Lock. Them. All.”

“They are!”

“From now on.”

“Yes, Simon.”

If you survive this episode of Dateline you’ve found yourself in, you owe him a scone and those nice cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t smoke.

“Open th’ fuckin’ door, Bunny!”

Your fingers twitch around the hilt of the knife. It’s not a big one, but it is serrated. That’s not going in or out without some serious damage. If not the fatal kind, at least the messy kind. Brandon’s not doing anything to you without leaving a crime scene investigator’s wet dream behind.

“Bunnyyyyyyyy!”

The banging starts again, nearly as fast as your heart. You could swear it gets louder every time. Maybe it’s just getting closer, layers of wood chipping away, closing the already too-small distance between you.

You glance desperately at your phone, but the screen remains damningly dark. Price promised he’d be here soon, but it feels like hours since you hung up to preserve what little battery life you had left. Your stomach churns as the pounding turns to thicker, harder thumps. Throwing his body into the door again, trying to force entry. Simon’s mutterings about kicking the door echo in your head.

You should have listened.

“Bun—fuck!”

You jolt as something slams into the door, nearly taking it (and the entry table you braced against it) down. There’s scuffling and scraping, muffled shouting, rapid footsteps— then silence. You hold your breath, every muscle in your body wound tight enough to snap.

“It’s alright now.”

You lurch from your protective crouch in the hallway, shove clumsily at the table. The mangled front door swings in crooked on one hinge, cracked and splintered from top to bottom.

And John is there on the other side.

You’re not sure if he reaches for you or if you throw yourself into his arms. All that matters is that he’s clutching you tight to his broad chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. Safe, protected. Your head spins as you lean into him, knowing that he’ll support you. His heart is beating hard against your cheek.

“John,” you breathe, now that fear isn’t squeezing your lungs in a vice.

“I’m here, luv,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re shaking. Adrenaline seeps from your bones, takes all their heat and steel with it. You’re left cold and feeble in the aftermath, fingertips numb as they curl tight into his shirt. You don’t know where the knife is; you don’t care. You don’t need it now.

“H-He… He…” you start.

John shushes you, squeezes a bit tighter in reassurance. He knows; you don’t need to tell him, don’t have to remind yourself of what could have happened.

“Where…?” you try instead, but words are so hard. All the trembling must have knocked your voice loose, lost somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

“Soap and Gaz are taking care of it,” John says.

The last of the tension drains away. Your boys will scare Brandon off, maybe enough that he won’t ever bother you again. (The thought alone makes your eyes burn.) John is here now, and – when you peek out from around his bicep – so is Simon.

“You were right,” you mumble, “a-about the door.”

Simon winces. “I’m sorry that I was.”

Somehow, that’s what finally bursts the bubble of your restraint. You sob. It’s loud and sniffly and ugly. In the back of your mind, the part that can never just let you rest, you’re mortified to be doing this in front of your coworker. And on your boss’s nice shirt too. You have an image to maintain—

Except John’s broad hand is rubbing soothing circles into your lower back. He’s gathering you even closer, letting you shelter in his warmth and strength. Easing you through hiccups with quiet murmurs, telling you he’s proud and that you did so well to call him.

Through tears, you see Simon reach out. Scarred knuckles run gently down your wet cheek.

“We take care of our own, little miss.”

You warble out a broken little “Simoooon” that seems to break the solemn atmosphere, John sighing against your temple and Simon’s shoulders slumping in what might be fondness.

It’s not long before Soap and Gaz return, looking no worse for wear, thankfully. (Not that you think they can’t handle themselves – but Brandon was drunk and who knows if he had a weapon or not. Accidents happen.)

“Aw, lass,” Soap coos when he sees you. Calmer now, but still sniffling and wiping at stray tears. “He’s gone now. Won’ be botherin’ you again.”

You blink at the fresh blood on his knuckles and don’t ask. You believe him.

“Thank you.”

“Nothin’ to thank us for, doll. Should have taken care of ‘im earlier,” Gaz replies.

“Earlier?” John asks. He’s trying for your sake, you can tell, but you know him too well to miss the sharp note in his voice.

“Hadn’t had a chance to debrief, sir,” Gaz explains regretfully.

You untuck your face from John’s chest to be better heard, clearing your throat. “Still, for all four of you to come here…”

“What else would we do, sit with our thumbs up our bums?” Soap teases.

“That’ll do,” Simon snips, but you giggle anyway.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to leave your apartment – it takes a bit more to convince you to go to John’s. Unfortunately, you’re outnumbered, and while that normally wouldn’t be a problem, you’re not in a headspace to be stubborn, argumentative, or superficially brave.

All the boys have bachelor pads ill-suited to guests, especially on short notice. Maybe on some other night, under different circumstances, you would have insisted on a hotel.

But the idea of being alone in an unfamiliar place makes your skin crawl. You don’t want to be alone. You want to be near John.

“We take care of our own,” Simon said – so you let them.

Gaz, Soap, and Simon help to pack you an overnight bag, scattering to different corners of your apartment to collect items. In the meantime, you keep clinging to John because he keeps letting you. Exhaustion creeps at the edges of your mind, doubling gravity on your slumping shoulders.

“Did I interrupt something important?” you ask finally, voice hoarse.

“No, luv. Just a card game with some old friends. Soap was losing anyway.”

You sigh, relieved. At least you don’t have the loss of some important business deal weighing on your conscience.

“Poker again?”

“Kid can’t keep a straight face for the life of him.”

You hide your smile against his shoulder and appreciate the chuckle you feel more than hear in his chest.

Simon takes the lead out of the building while Gaz and Soap bring up the rear. You’re a bit self-conscious of any neighbors seeing you in this state, but thankfully none make an appearance. It’s too late in the evening for anyone to be coming in or leaving, and if there were any witnesses to Brandon’s bullshit, you never saw (or heard) them.

(“The hell is their problem, actin’ like they didnae hear that bawbag?” Soap grumbles. “Bystander effect,” you answer, shrugging. He grimaces in understanding, but still looks pissed.)

The car is warm when John bundles you into the back seat. Soap takes the wheel, Simon the passenger side. Gaz sits on your other side and leans his knee gently into yours.

“It’s over now, doll, you can rest. We won’t let anythin’ happen t’you,” he promises.

You smile wearily, lean in to drop a grateful kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you four,” you sigh as you snuggle into John’s side again.

“Don’t need to,” Simon answers gruffly, “we’re not goin’ anywhere.”

John hums in agreement, low and pleasant by your ear.

“You always take such good care of us,” he murmurs. Quiet, just for the two of you. “Let us return the favor for once, won’t you, darling?”

You want to resist. You should. You drop your head to his shoulder and sigh, “Okay.”

Between the gentle motion of the car and the pattering of a fresh rainstorm, you don’t stay awake for long. You nod off within four blocks of your apartment, peacefully unaware of the dazed and bloody body in the trunk.

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Masterlist

[writing-with-moss]

TF141- what their type would be/ a little bit abt how they’d be as partners

(authors note) this is pure headcanon, but I try to stay close to canon as much as possible going off of their personalities, much love, Moss <3

Ghost~ this man is not picky when it comes to looks, he views it as pretty shallow and vain to focus so much on someone’s physical appearance. But he’s into all the normal stuff, good hygiene, good health. But personality? He needs someone patient, this man is a PTSD riddled introvert with trust issues, he’s gonna need someone who will wait for him to warm up. I think he also needs someone who would be fine with him keeping secrets and being deployed for so long. And with what happened to his family I think he would have insane commitment issues or keep their relationship super underwraps. But I would never see him as abusive or cruel or generally mean, he’s not a bad person. Maybe in a different AU but in my headcanons he’s a pretty good boyfriend/fiancé/husband. I honestly can’t see him with a bimbo!reader or someone super stupid or over the top sexual (no offense to any writers who write bimbo!readers, they’re honestly kinda cute just doesn’t fit my headcanon). Also they gotta like his dog.

Soap~ I think Soap would go for someone with a little curve to them (this man loves some ass I’m sorry I don’t make the rules). I also think he would want someone from Scotland or Ireland or generally in that area, would love the accent and needs someone who understands what the fuck he’s saying (Scotland 🤝 Ireland). He would want someone pretty funny, someone he can banter with and have fun. This man’s super sweet, and an all around nice guy, so I think he’d want someone who would match his energy a bit. He’d want an extrovert because Soap (in my mind) is a very social dude and wants to show of his significant other <333. I can’t imagine him sharing his partner or doing threesomes (no offense just my tasteee), when something is his, he wants it to just be his y’a know?

Price~ I’m so sorry but I cannot imagine anyone 25 and under with Price. He’s not Leonardo DiCaprio (no offense to any writers who write Price with a younger reader 🙏🏻, y’all doing good work out there just not what I personally imagine) . This man loves a good mom bod, more to grab onto in bed. Price, when it comes to personality, just wants someone family oriented. I don’t think he’d minds shy lover but he definitely wants someone a bit more mature and can handle him being away and being on dangerous missions. Would want someone to settle down with happily with a bunch of tykes running around in the yard.

Gaz~ I feel like Gaz would want someone with a pretty smile. Like he loves pretty smiles, especially when their eyes get all squinty or if they have dimples. Buddy gets weak in the knees for a cute girl/boy/person with a cute smile. Personality wise? Very loyal, I feel like he would want a fellow quiet mature introvert like he is. He’d want someone with a hard work ethic to match his own, someone who is especially kind towards others- even if they’re strangers. Politeness especially too, he falls head over heels for politeness.

[diejager]

Ok but like what about Wendigo reader? Maybe the team knows she's not exactly human but maybe in her file it just marked n/a and leaves it at that so they just assume that their sweet little medic is just a helpful spirit of some kind. Humans tend to give her a very wide birth since they seem to notice her as something they should leave the fuck alone, the boys just assume it's because of them always being near her and leave it at that. Till they're all on a mission and it all goes to shit, they're pinned down and then one of them ends up taking a bullet and reader just straight up fuckin losses it and next thing they know their is a 10 ft tall fuckin deer monster shredding bitches like their made of PAPER MACHE and EATING THEM, once the dust settles it moves towards them and slowly it shifts into their sweet medic but she is covered in blood and she just casually starts treating their wounds and the team is just like "Well mark me down as scared and horny" (if this makes no sense feel free to ignore)

Stag

Pairing: Monster 141 + Horangi & König x Wendigo!reader

Cw: cannibalism, human eating, greed, blood, canon-typical violence, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2k (A/N): I felt a bit burnt out so I’m sorry if it’s bad, I reread it just in case, but it still feels bad.

They say that human greed is the source of evil, the all-consuming hunger for more —more than they need. Hunger drives humans to do the unspeakable, to break the line humanity had drawn and commit the taboo. Despite it being carved so deeply into the human psyche, passed down from generation to generation and the propaganda of humanism and equality, it doesn’t take much to make someone tip over, cross the edge nobody dared to and perform the unspeakable. Possession causes needs and needs cause greed.

That’s why people called to him for help, to carry out a clandestine mission to do their dirty work, his duty was to stop whatever men in power started, whatever men in power lost control —he was the one sent when they were scared. Fear was as coercive as power was. That was the reason Task Force 141 was first founded, to stop dangerous men like Hassan (Gaz remembered hearing from Soap that Ghost shot Hassan through the head, straight through him before he slumped down.) and Makarov, a man they were still searching for while signing a liaison contract with KorTac. Price, with Laswell’s help, managed to put the best of the best together: a wraith, a werewolf, a dragon, a harpy, a nagual and a cadejos vessel, all decorated with various medals for their work, and then there was you.

You were a mystery, even to Price who usually had clearance for anyone who joined them. Gaz knew, from a single glance, that you were far from human, you were a monster like Ghost was, turned after an occasion, or a hybrid like him. Surprisingly, Ghost seemed to welcome you warmly, albeit standoffish, having worked with you in the past, seeing that you both preferred working alone. Gaz wanted to show you the same heartwarming welcome as Ghost had, but there was something about you, an uneasiness he felt when he was around you. The others felt it as well, the innate need to keep their distance from you and the instinctual fear that had the hairs on their arms raised. Gaz could feel your eyes whenever you stared at him, like the eyes of a predator stalking its prey —it made him feel perturbed.   

You seemed so human, yet so inhuman-like, your dull, thousand-yard stare, your inability to feel temperature (either cold or warm, you always wore the same clothes), your odd habits and your unusual calmness in every situation. Gaz had caught you staring at a private for much longer than what people considered normal, eyes glazed over and dilated as if you were seeing something else, daydreaming while being aware of your surroundings. Those were your moments, you were usually bubbly, always smiling at him whenever his eyes met yours or treating him with gentleness and always eager to help him. You had a softness to your being despite the eerie feel to you and your unique tendencies, you didn’t discriminate, nor did you show an ounce of hate towards hybrids and humans, treating everyone fairly. 

Although you tried to fit in as best as you could, there were things that Gaz and the others just couldn’t shake off without questioning things. There was the lingering scent of blood on you, a metallic tang that stuck on his tongue after you walked by. König and Soap had confessed that they had a feeling that blood was a part of your scent, unwashable and impossible to hide, it clung to you like a second skin. They chalked it up to you being the Task Force’s medic, having brought people back from the brink of death and stitching men back together, you were practically bathed in the smell of blood and death every day. 

Another thought was that they never saw you in the Mess hall for food, perhaps a cup of tea or a hot mug of coffee to boost you through a long shift in the infirmary as the base’s main medic if you weren’t deployed with them. Gaz never saw you eat, not once had he seen you hold a plate or bowl with substance for yourself. You would bring either of them a plate, caring for them whenever they were under your watch, giving them soup or anything that they could easily digest. 

Gaz, Soap, Rudy and Horangi would chatter about you, throwing speculations on your breed, to see what hybrid or monster fit all your characteristics. You couldn’t be a wraith, your hands weren’t painted with death, a dark miasma that clung to you. You weren’t a werewolf, Soap would know, wolves were able to smell and recognize each other, it was an instinctual aspect of him. You weren’t any shifting hybrid either, there would be signs, little cues if you were one, and your classification wouldn’t be classified, painted over with a red line. 

All they could was wonder and amble around with curiosity dripping from their tongues. Gaz was sure that he’d find out soon enough, whether it was an accident or your choice.

This wasn’t what Gaz meant by eventually, he didn’t mean being set up by Konni, a trap planted for them in the small Belgium town. It was the best set to box them in, a broken and ransacked ghost town that people fled from, walls greyed and cracked, the paint peeling off street lights and rusted metal poles, lost, forgotten and open. There didn’t have any cover, even if they ran and hid behind the crumbling walls, Konni had them surrounded on every end, concealed behind concrete walls and using the shadows to hide from sight. 

It was chaotic, Konni had pushed them into an open area of the town, the centrepiece of it with a dilapidated, Greek fountain, chipped on the sides and green with mould, Gaz would’ve admired the architecture and the beauty it must’ve been in the past when it was still being cared for. They were backed up in a corner, Gaz couldn’t even stretch his wings out with how tightly they were packed together, the uncomfortable pull of his trapezius and the strain in his limbs kept him grounded. The tension was thick, palpable, Gaz could taste it in the air as much as anyone could, their shoulders tense, fingers tapping the trigger of their rifles. All they could do was wait for Konni to act first, to see where they would appear from and work their way out of this open area from there. 

He had his back towards you, he couldn’t see you but he could feel you shake. It might’ve been from the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the nerve of being lied to, of falling into a trap when Ghost had voiced his suspicions about the lack of clearer intel. They were paying for their amateurism. He felt you shudder, breath stuttering, near panting with exhaustion. Gaz wanted to turn to you, words soothing your nerves and twitchy appearance, he acted letting drown in your mind, whatever it was, he hated it. His finger twitched on the trigger, jolting at the sudden crack of bones, an ugly and painful sound that made him wince. It shocked everyone, even the ever so silent and stoic Ghost who had a hard time hearing these cracks coming from you.

Damn this mission; damn the trap; damn this situation, Gaz needed to look at you, to see why your bones were breaking and limbs rattling. Instinctively, his wings shifted to cover you, the ends widening to cover your sides to protect you from whatever pained you, yet you didn’t let out a single squeak, no moan of pain or the grunt of suffering, you were silent. A part of his mind nagged at him to move, he could fly and try to outrun Konni mercenaries to find a way out, but then he’d leave your back open. He cursed lowly, teeth sinking into his lower lip in frustration, he was-

A loud screech thundered through the air, and screams and squelches followed it. You were missing. 

You were shaking just a second ago, body wracked with some unknown ailment and the next, you were missing, your sack, attire, rifle and helmet were scattered on the ground, with a bony creature tearing through Konni ranks. The hair on his neck rose, an uneasy feeling overtaking him as he watched the creature rip men in half, tines stabbing through their torso like a buck fighting another, head lowered and antlers pointed forward. He watched the tall and thin monster move around, its face was one of a deer’s skull, eaten clean of skin and flesh, any muscle or fibre gone with whatever transformation it took. A crown of antler adorned its head, tall and imposing, as pale as its skull, a coat of black fur was wrapped around the neck, draping down the back like a ridge of fur. 

“Fuck,” Gaz hissed, his body moving along the chaos the being created and your disappearance, he aimed his rifle and shot at the Russians who ran out of their hiding, fearful of the monster’s sudden arrival behind their ranks. “Captain! Is that-?”

“Don’t know anymore!” Price seemed to be as lost as Gaz was, reining in his confusion to focus on taking Konni out. “Keep your head in the game, Gaz; ask questions later.”

Gaz knew Price was right, the town was brimming with Russian ultranationalists, hiding and waiting for their time to jump at them. The situation was still chaotic, but it was better than being without cover. Gaz followed Horangi behind a wall, watching his back while they worked through the humans.

Somehow, Konni either retreated or were all dead, swallowed down by the beast that stood before them. Now that Gaz was standing so close to it - to you, after a few minutes of talking back and forth, they concluded that this was you from the pants that hung from your slim hips - he could see that the deer skull was just a mask covering your face, black and unidentifiable with those bright, gleaming eyes that stared down at him. Despite your curved back, bent to look at them, you towered over everyone, even König seemed small beside you, limbs almost as long as you, fingers tipped with blood that you were still licking off, a long tongue wrapped around your digit to clean yourself from blood, muscle and guts. 

You were casually cleaning yourself up like a cat washing, even in the aircraft, you were gorging on the body of a man you picked up, jaw opening to show them the dozen of teeth before you clamped down on the forearm, tearing into the muscle with famished intent. None of them could take their eyes off you, their sweet, smiley medic who sometimes had their moments, devouring a man without batting an eye, obliviously uncaring of their staring. Gaz wasn’t sure if he knew how he felt, a warmth building up in his chest, a heat that seared into the fibres of his beings like an infectious thing. All they did was watch you eat, no one speaking until you finished your meal.

“Mind tell us what happened, Hunter?” 

You perked up, blinking at Price owlishly, tongue lolling out to lick up the stray drop of blood that stuck on your skull’s teeth. Your chest rumbled, a soft growl rolling off your body while you tilted your head, you acted so much like a feline, grooming, reacting and moving like a curious cat, dangerous, yet so appealing. 

“Wendigo,” you rasped, voice breathy and weak, you spoke in broken English, unable to speak fluently after turning, “Curse, eat human.”

Your little mannerism, the small tilt of your head and your fumbling hands, seemingly embarrassed or ashamed after your show of ruthless hunger and savagery was… eye-opening. Something stewed inside him, your being creating a ripple in his heart, pulling at the hunger in the depth of his gut. He was torn by the fear of having you as the potential enemy and the arousal of seeing you break men in half, painting the ground in crimson and guts, and satiating your hunger - craving - with human and monster flesh. 

Gaz was fucked, both in the head and the situation. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice

[the-californicationist]

The Window (Ch. 03)

Ch. 01 // Ch. 02 // Ch. 03 --- AO3

TW: breeding kink, reverse harem

You were sweating buckets in this brush cover, waiting for the enemy to pop their head over the fence. Beads of salty perspiration ran down your face in thin rivulets, threatening your eyes and soaking into your keffiyeh. 

“You alright, little bird?” Price whispered down to you breathlessly, passing you his canteen. 

You nodded, drinking from the plastic container, slaking your thirst. You shouldn’t have been having such a hard time with the Urzikstani heat, but you were. It didn’t help that you’d gotten sick yesterday off of a bad MRE. You were just ready for this mission to be over with. 

“I didn’t hurt you last night, did I, Spar?” Ghost asked, checking his sights again, not taking his eyes off of the target. 

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m alright.”

Ghost’s comment made your memory of your night together rush back, bombarding you with ghosts of your mens’ tantric sensations all over again. 

Price had read another book about fertility, some ancient text from a few centuries ago, translated into English. And he’d been convinced that tantra was the way to go. 

“Slow down, Simon. Keep your breathing up, yeah just like that. From your belly. Tha’s a good lad,” the captain coached. 

John’s setup was very specific. All of their bodies were sandwiched around you as you lay with your back on Price’s chest, propped up into a lounging position, and Soap and Gaz were glued to your sides, each worshiping a breast at their commander’s instruction. 

Soap’s hand was glued to your belly, just above your mons, pressing down gently, squeezing you. Gaz’s hand was on your midsection, hopefully covering the right chakra, and Price’s hands were on your chest and forehead, holding your eyes up, staring into Simon’s struggling face. Meanwhile, Ghost was sheathed deep inside of you, rotating his hips without fully removing his cock, churning himself inside of you like a big, burly engine, breathing like he was running a marathon. 

You, too, were breathing. In when he breathed in, out when he breathed out. All of you were rubbing and massaging and inhaling and exhaling. It was overwhelming. You’d never been so wet in your life. You were so soft and pliant inside of your core that you could feel every micro movement that Simon performed. If he had actually been pounding into you like he normally did, you would have been a screaming, crying mess. 

“Alright, little bird. Don’t forget your exercises,” Price reminded you, kissing your neck. You could feel John’s drooling cock as it lolled against your lower back, twitching as he watched his lieutenant work you into a froth. 

You did as you were told, completing the ritual by squeezing your smooth, internal muscles around Ghost’s impossibly fat dick on every down breath. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ghost grunted through his teeth, baring them like a wounded wolf, “I can’t…”

You raised your hands to cup his cheeks, feeling the jagged scar that cut across his mouth, and you guided his lips to yours, kissing him as gently as you could, barely letting your tongue dart out to taste him. 

Between your throbbing pussy and his soft kisses, that was all it took to push you both over the edge. He came in hot, thick bursts, more than you’d ever felt from him, and he ground his hips into yours almost menacingly. 

“Alright,” Price kissed your cheek, his face so close to Simon’s it made your head spin, “You ready?”

You didn’t respond. You just felt your legs being spread apart by six strong hands. Then, each of Price’s men began to finger you, slowly pressing their longest digits into your come-filled hole. They began to gently — ever so gently — rub Ghost’s thick cream into you, as deep as it would go, stretching you and playing in you in a life-altering way, bringing you beyond the point of orgasm and into some sort of other-worldly bliss. 

For the cherry on top, your captain began to swipe long, wet circles over your clit. You were screaming so loudly that he had to use his other hand to cover your mouth, shushing you but not stopping his ministrations.  

“Tha’s a good girl. Let it out, little bird.”

You passed out from the overstimulation before you could witness Price’s orchestrated tantra come to a close, and you wondered if you would survive round two. 

Now, as you crouched behind these scratchy bushes, you weren’t sure how much more effective tantric sex would be at getting you pregnant, but it didn’t matter. 

You already were. 

You hadn’t told them yet. From everything you’d read, these first few weeks were a toss-up. Anything could happen, and the last thing you needed was to get everyone’s hopes up. You were also being deeply selfish. What would your relationship be like when you finally found out who the father was? You didn’t want to lose out on the incredible bond you’d built with them over these last three months. 

Your eyes saw movement. Then, you heard the cracking and popping sound of bullets striking the side of the building you were huddled against. Suddenly, a loud bang rang out overhead and all was silent once more. Soap came on the radio and said, 

“Target down.” 

“I’m hit,” you whispered, staring down at your leg with disbelief. A bullet must have ricocheted and struck you in the calf. In and out. A clean wound. 

“What?” Price said breathlessly, staring down at you as the blood began to stain your pants. 

“Oh, fuck!” Gaz scrambled over to you and scooped you up, rushing you back inside. He put pressure on the wound and wrapped it up tight, opening up his comms, “Hey! We need med-evac right fucking now!”

Johnny came down from his crow’s nest and knelt in front of you, holding your hand, 

“Those fuckin’ bastards,” he looked furious, “I wasnae fast enough.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shook your head, feeling your blood pressure rise, “I think it was a stray shot.”

You heard Price’s low growl as he came over the radio, screaming at Laswell’s extraction team, 

“Where’s my fuckin’ helo?”

You watched as Price and Ghost stripped the makeshift base back to its bones, stuffing all of your gear into the bags. Gaz and Soap were on you like glue, forcing you to elevate your leg and to drink water. Rubbing your forehead, trying to relieve the pain. 

It was a long thirty minutes back to the base. Price held you in his arms all the way through the building, pushing everyone out of the way. You were flanked by the others, like one big, sweaty bodyguard squad, just for you. 

The medics took you from Price, ushering your team out of the infirmary, fighting their protests to stay with you.

“It’s a GSW to the leg, captain. I think she’ll live,” the doctor rolled his eyes and shut the door. 

After that, the only thing you could remember was coming around, still groggy from the anesthetic, listening to the doctor’s voice just outside the room, muffled and murky,

“...no complications. Should heal up in a few weeks. The baby’s lifesigns are all norm—”

“Baby?!” 

The door to the infirmary shuddered like a bomb went off, and all four men poured into the room, still dressed in their gear from your mission. They hadn’t even gone back to their quarters, worried sick, pacing the hallway. Now, here they were, wide-eyed and staring at you for some explanation. 

There was a long pause as you tried to figure out what to say. But then, Soap said it for you, a hint of hurt in his voice,

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer him. You simply put your hands over your belly, protectively, stammering an excuse,

“I didn’t — You shouldn’t get your hopes up. It’s too soon.”

They all spoke at once, an eruption of emotion in the tiny room, 

“...should’ve told us at once! We…”

“...you felt you had to hide it…”

“...could’ve been killed on this mission! How could…”

The doctor came back inside, huffing at the scene,

“What the fuck is this? Mamma Mia? Get the hell out! She needs rest. Get! That’s an order, Captain.”

Price and his men were silent, sorely cowed by the doctor’s orders. Soap came to your side, kissing your forehead,

“See you soon, bonnie.”

Ghost gave you a soft smile and followed him out. Gaz brushed the hair out of your face and put his hand over yours as they lay across your belly, waiting for flutters and kicks that weren’t there. His full lips found yours and he left you wordlessly.

John was the last to leave. He looked like he was at war with himself, fighting over what to say and how to say it. His boonie hat was twisted in his hands, rolled in his palms, crushed by his immense strength. He didn’t kiss you. He didn’t even say goodbye. But, those bright blue eyes bored into yours, telling you everything you needed to know. 

You were released with a pair of crutches the following morning, and while you didn’t need them there, none of the boys showed up to help you like you thought they would. You made it all the way back to your quarters before you ran into Laswell. 

“Hey, Sparrow. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live. Where is the 141? Is there a training or something?”

“No,” Laswell knitted her brow, not wanting to share her news, “You’ve been… temporarily reassigned. They have redeployed on another mission. Three days in Aqtabi. I’m sure they’ll touch base when they get back.”

“Reassigned?” You couldn’t believe it. You knew Price was protective, but this was going too far, “I’m… He took me off the team?”

“It’s temporary. Just until…” You watched in disbelief as her eyes trailed down not to your wound but to your belly, “Well, anyway, congratulations, soldier.”

She gave you a soft smile and left you standing in the hallway, experiencing every emotion at once, and landing on anger. No, not anger. White-hot rage.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[We went on shopping (it didn’t go well)] - TF141*F!Reader

not a chapter actually just a rambling, it's kinda messy and not my style imo, pls feel free to skip this etc. might rewrite this shit when I have time since I’m busy with my job these days and I just accidentally sliced my thumb open making it difficult to type, hence not much to provide sorry :( and the weird stranger incident in the latter part did happen irl damn it’s creepy af, but I was the one telling them to fuck off tho (they harassing my cute friend RAGE)

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After your car graduates from its car life in about a week, congratulations, the poor shelf accompanies you since your college life is finally undone, fragments spreading across the floor making you shout Mama and mourn for its graduation.

You don’t have a car right now, so when Gaz offers to drive you to buy a new shelf, you agree to his suggestion without a second thought. Yet when the day comes and you open the car door, only to be greeted by the wide smile of Soap and Gaz, you almost slam the door close in reflex.

“Okay, but why do all of you come together? this isn’t an elementary school field trip!” You gawk at them when you squeeze in the car.

“Sounds fun, how can ye not tell us?” 

“Gaz I thought you could seal your lips!”

“Sorry love, Ghost exchanged it with some goodies.”

Oh yeah, Ghost is sitting in the driver’s seat.

Wait, he’s sitting in the driver's seat?

“Goddamnit—“ Your scream dies out on your tongue when said man puts his foot down. 

Ghost does a good job at providing you the same experience as riding a rollercoaster, glad that you didn’t throw up in the car and arrived at the warehouse without dying. If he's your Uber driver, you will give him five stars and block the hell out of him. 

You hop out of the car and walk to the door. As the automatic door parts after sensing your presence, you feel much better when the cold air of the store. Nice a.c. is one of the important features of a nice store, and you already built a fondness for the warehouse with how refreshing the chilly air is inside.

The first area welcoming you is food. Not bad, 6 out of 10 if it needs to be precise. Gaz pushes the cart and follows you as you saunter to the aisle with cereals.

“Oh, they have my favorite brand.” You murmur to him as your eyes travel across the price tag.

Wait, you must still be dizzy because no way it’s 30% cheaper than the same one you just bought from the supermarket.

“Kyle, it says it’s 3 pounds, right?!” pointing at the tag, your voice raises a whole eight-tone with excitement.

“Yes?”

“Good.”

5 boxes of cereal are added to the cart. 

Actually, 9.9 out of 10 for this place, you fix the evaluation as you watch Gaz putting some of those ten bags of chocolate Ghost and Soap dump into the cart back on the shelf, and as a little revenge to Gaz for letting the other two men join the trip without you knowing, you choose to turn a blind eye when you spot Ghost sneaking all of them back in the cart.

Not forgetting the primary goal for today, you go straight to the furniture area after letting Soap throw five packs of gummy bears in the cart and convincing Ghost not to get a cup of tea from the random tea shop. You’ll make a much better one for him when you get home — you coo when he stares at you with unhappy eyes not covered by the mask, glad that he seems to accept the idea, so he huffs and lets you drag him and Soap out of the food area.

“You should buy this.” 

“Ghost I don’t need a green shelf in my shop thank you.”

“Then ye should buy this bonnie!”

“That’s not even a goddamn shelf, Soap.”

“How about this?” 

Your eyes brighten up when Gaz shows you a wooden shelf, it’s stripped-back, with not many decorations, but it surely will fit wonderfully into your store with its aesthetic vibes and high functionality, thus you pick up your phone to type down the product number immediately.

“Oh my, Kyle, you’re the best.”

and you’re too busy typing the numbers down that you don’t notice him shooting the others a taunt of victory.

The last area before the cashier’s counter sets a bookshop. You don’t plan on buying books, but you indeed need to go to the bathroom, so you dismiss yourself and tell them to look around before you’re done.

Why are the bathrooms always hidden in a bloody long hallway? What if someone can’t hold back during their way? Your footsteps echo through the corridor as your mind starts hitting you with a fresh and unnecessary question, glad that you aren’t that urgent though, so you’re able to get to the destination without wetting your pants.

Washing your hands, you step back to the hallway again, but you yelp in surprise when you bump into someone.

“Sorry!” You nod at the man and start heading back to the bookstore.

but it’s weird, the man you just bump into walks so close to you, that you suddenly realize he’s just a step behind you.

Hey, don’t panic, might just coincidence, you try to tell yourself as you make another step.

“Hey, lovely.” Okay, it’s not a coincidence, fucking hell. You curse when his hand touches your shoulder and stops you.

“Sorry for bumping into you, Sir. Anything that I can help?”

“No, I’m waiting for you to separate from the blokes for a while can’t ask for your phone number when they surround you like dogs.”

“I don’t give strangers my number, sorry.” You try to leave, but the man’s hand grabs your shoulder forcefully preventing you from moving.

“Hey, give us a chance yeah? I’m sure we will have some nice time together.”

“I don’t fucking know you!”

Prying off his hand, you turn and start walking fast, almost running when you hear the stranger’s footsteps coming towards you.

Fuck fuck fuck, you haven’t run with such desperation in years, last time must be high school.

“Who the fok are ye arsehole?”

The tears prickling in your eyes when you hear Soap’s voice ringing in your ears before you feel a pair of warm hands drag you behind him.

“Ghost and Soap will deal with him, let’s go.”

Adrenaline pumping through your body finally subsides when Soap and Ghost reappear from the hallway, you don’t want to know what happened to the stranger, maybe hope they’re still alive and in one piece so you won’t involve yourself in another chaos, 

“I think it’s time to go home, Kyle. Is it okay?”

“Of course, wanna grab some food before we leave?”

“I guess Ghost already bought sufficient chocolate for us.”

A burst of laughter catches your attention whilst Gaz looking at the cart with bags of chocolate stuffing under your cereals with disbelief, and a smile crawls back to your lips as you look at Ghost slamming his forehead against a lower door frame and Soap laughing over him.

They aren’t that bad, maybe, or they reserve the remnants of tenderness for you, you’re not sure whether is correct, but at least they have your back when you need them, and that’s enough for you to stop exploring the answer for now.

“Oh.” A book gets knocked off when you shift to stand up. Turning around to pick it up, you have a good look at the shelf behind your seat.

Your eyes dart from ‘Today’s recommendation’ to the book within your grasp.

‘Surrounded by idiots — by Thomas.’

You will rate this recommendation 10 out of 10 for sure.

After insisting on paying yourself and shooing the men off, you take out your card and place it on the scanner.

‘Insufficient balance :( please try again’

You frown when the machine shoves you a nuh-uh, and you open the bank app to check your balance.

So you overspent 10 pounds huh? What a shame to your title for being a successfully financially broken adult. Which link loses and makes you make a wrong shopping decision? 

you scan the list of items with sharp vision until you land your eyes on a product.

Surrounded by idiots - £ 10.61

Ah.

a/n: thx for reading :D sorry it's messy and unlike my previous writings :( hope I can have time to write again btw Price went on business trip so he's missing everything

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww @ghostysloot @hxnneydew @cutiecusp @beigechristmastree @rejectedbytheempty @lupikekee @hotvinimon @whitetiger846

[rodolfoparras]

think about price who constantly refers to his lover as 'the wife' with lovesick eyes to 141

now imagine 141 loosing their SHIT on the inside when they first meet 'the wife' and she isn't some petite pretty little housewife like they imagined but instead a large ass man built like a fucking TANK and easily towers over Simon who is the tallest of the group. price still refers to him as 'the wife' with the dorkiest grin ever and 141 doesnt let him live it down, threatening him with telling 'the wife' whenever he doesnt let them do something stupid

(feral anon)

(i want to be 'the wife' so bad but sadly i am a short transmasc that doesn't look like a man at all)

(your posts cure my gender disphoria)

A/N: I loved this idea and I’ve been wanting to write a fluff piece for my old man so here u go, something very light hearted ! Excuse any mistakes I wrote it within an hour or so!

It’s no secret that Price likes to keep his private life and work life separated, not many people know he’s married and he likes to keep it that way.

However he has no qualms about 141 finding out about the person he loves so much, matter of fact Laswell was the first to know, all unplanned of course.

It all happened when the two of them snuck away from the rowdy group of men to smoke. Sitting inside would’ve been a better option. It was warm inside, they had decent lighting and were within hand’s distant to their drinks but that would also mean they were at risk of losing their hearing or getting elbowed in the stomach or face by the drunken men, so outside it is.

Price offers her his cigar, which she takes gracefully muttering something along the lines of “my wife doesn’t like it when I smoke” while taking a drag from the tobacco leaf.

“Neither does mine” he says with crows feet appearing around his eyes and lips curling up into a smile.

“You’re married?” Laswell says, only with a hint of surprise on her face as she hands the cigar back to him.

“Happily” he says smile still present as ever on his face before he takes a drag from the cigar as well “been that way for four years now”

She just nods in response before she takes the cigar back, and that’s pretty much how Laswell finds out about Price’s spouse.

The next person to find out about it is Gaz.

141 had been out on a mission that day, and Gaz had taken the impulsive decision to head straight into the fire in hopes of getting important intel. He’s managed to get it but not without getting scolded for his reckless behavior by Price. Hours later and the guilt is still eating at him so he decides to make his way over to Price’s office in an attempt to make amends with the older man.

Gaz takes a deep breath before he knocks on Price’s office door.

“Come on in” he hears the older man’s voice.

Gaz walks in only to be met with the sight of Price seated in his office chair, paper work scattered about on his desk and a cigar resting between his index and middle finger.

“Sir” Gaz says, awkwardly shuffling in place. “I’d like to apologize for earlier today”

“Already forgotten”

The surprise must’ve been clear on his face because the older man can’t help but chuckle.

“Sit down” Price says pointing at the chair opposite to him before taking another drag from the tobacco leaf.

Gaz swiftly takes a seat, hands resting on his knees, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

There’s a moment of silence as Price rearranges the paper in a neat pile on his desk, pen carefully placed next to it before he speaks again.

“You got someone special waiting for you back home?”

Once again Gaz is surprised but this time the older man just looks at him and smiles.

“I do, sir”

“So do I” Price says smile getting bigger as he folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “Oh don’t look at me like that I’m not that old am I?”

“No - no sir” Gaz says, hands awkwardly flailing about and feeling his ears burn as he blurts out the words.

Price’s smile grows even bigger before he begins to explain “point is I’m sure that special someone wants you back home alive, if anything were to happen to me I’m sure the wife would find a way to haunt me in the after life”

Price’s gaze falls to his hands, fingers fidgeting with his wedding band.

Oh.

The wife.

The ring.

The captain is married.

“Sometimes we have to do things we rather not do to make sure we come back home to them, keep that in mind Garrick”

“Yes sir” Gaz says, mind still processing this new found information.

“Good, now if you excuse me I have someone to call,”

Gaz without thinking says “the wife?”

Price only chuckles but nods his head in confirmation “the wife”

Soap is the third person to find out and it happens while 141 are relaxing on base, playing cards and drinking beer.

Price walks in with black slacks and a white button, rolled all the way up to his elbows. On top of that there’s an invisible trail of cologne that seems to follow his form.

“Captain! Come join us” soap says not even looking up at the man but instead keeping laser focus on the cards in his hand.

“No can do boys I’m heading out with the wife”

Soap almost drops the cards in his hand, head turning so fast Price is surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “You’re married?”

“I am” Price says trying to suppress his chuckle when he sees Gaz peaking at Soap’s cards. “You weren’t planning on proposing were you soldier?” Price jokes which sends the rest of the group into a fit of laughter.

Soap physically recoils at that, head turning back to his cards and muttering a “to you captain? No thanks”

“Alright then, I’m heading out” Price says, choosing to ignore soaps comments, as he pulls on his jacket“don’t wait up!”

As Price makes his way over to the front door, he hears the group continuing to tease soap, can even hear the Scotsman accuse Gaz of looking at his cards, but he quickly forgets about everything as he sees you parked outside and waiting for him.

Ghost was very well aware of Price’s spouse, had even been the first person to know that Price was planning to propose.

The two of them had been in an entirely different squad, and less familiar with each other when they got sent out on a mission. A lot of things went wrong that day so much so Ghost and Price weren’t sure if the both of them would get back home alive. So Price had taken the opportunity to tell him about this special someone, how he was planning to propose to this person when they were scheduled to go back home, had even forced a wedding band in the palm of Ghost’s hand and told him to give it to the person if Price doesn’t make it out alive.

Luckily the both of them had managed to get out alive and Ghost had gotten the opportunity to watch Price put the ring on this person’s hand.

With that being said Ghost should be able to recognize this person if they were to appear in front of him but it’s been years so when he hears someone asking where Price is he doesn’t think twice about telling them, chalking it up to some poor lost recruit looking for the captain, while keeping his eyes on the weapon he’s cleaning.

However he doesn’t get to do much more before he hears another voice.

“Who’s the guy?” says soap, confusion clear in his tone.

Ghost turns to the other man and the annoyance must’ve been clear in his eyes because Soap raises his hands in an apologetic manner. “Oh sorry did i interrupt something important “ he says with a smile on his face.

“Anyway a tall really tall dude maybe taller than the ghost?” He pauses as if contemplating before he continues to explain “was looking for Price, really buff too…” he trails off while glancing down at his arms “hey you think I should work out more?”

Ghost just sighs before he returns to cleaning his weapon but he’s once again interrupted when Gaz walks in.

“Captain wants to see us in his office”

And that’s when he fully gives up on the task as he follows the two other men over to Price’s office, grumbling over why the captain was calling them over while putting up with the chatter from the Scotsman telling Gaz all about the giant that just passed him.

It doesn’t take much before they find themselves in front of Price’s office.

Through the door they can hear Price’s voice along with a much deeper voice, holding a conversation.

Soap is the first to knock on the door, while sharing confused glances with the two other men.

“Come in”

The three men enter the room only to be met with the sight of Price standing behind his office chair where a man is sitting in it, both of them sporting equally bright smiles on their faces.

“Boys” Price says, face ever so proud as he looks down at the man “meet the wife”

The man stands up, tall just like Soap had described him and when he reaches a hand out they see a wedding band that matches the one on Price’s hand.

“I’m the wife” you say with a big smile on your face.

[loveindefinitely]

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

02 — THE NIGHT WE MET

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

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

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

Turns out, as much as water is wet, Soap likes to talk.

“Bloody Shadows,” he grunts under his breath. You’d given him your knife, so he could help you take down the men searching the tunnels. Now, after killing one, he’s got a weapon not unlike your own. In one hand, he wipes off the bloody knife on his thigh and slides it into his belt, and in the other, he checks over the stolen gun.

The water soaks your calves, a cloud of blood and a body along with it floating behind you both. Taking another step forward, the water ripples, the weight of it pulling as you continue to move forward, Soap at your flank.

“Your men feckin’ suck at their jobs, lass,” your new companion hisses, low enough not to echo but loud enough to have you rolling your eyes.

“They’re not used to this kind of fighting. It’s not their fault.” You’re not exactly sure why you’re defending them, when you’re decidedly betraying your entire unit, but you feel obligated to anyway.

“Or you’re just a bad Lieutenant.”

You shoot him an annoyed glance. “Wrong. I’m not a Lieutenant, Sergeant.”

You knew of his title because of something Ghost had said earlier, his voice carrying loud enough through the earpiece in the quiet of the shops. It suited him, in a way you couldn’t quite explain, just as the smell of the sea felt like more of a home than any building you’d encountered.

Keeping your head forward, you miss the roll of Soap’s eyes, and the flexing of his hand around the knife at his waist.

“Sorry, Corporal,” he retorts, and you bristle.

“Colonel will do,” you snap back, quickening your pace but keeping your movements quiet as you spot the shadows of your men up ahead. Stretching your hand out, you encourage Soap to pause.

Soap scoffs. “Dinnae think you’re above me.”

You go to continue the petty argument, when –

“Graves has lost his fucking mind over his chick.” A Shadow says around the curved corner, and Soap stops as you do. You see a flash of red, their flashlight, up ahead, and pull Soap’s shirt to stand with you against the wall.

“How much do you bet she’s found out about another girl he’s got goin’ on the side?”

Your chest constricts, and your body feels as though it’s frozen in time. Soap’s hand comes up to remove your grip on his shirt, and you don’t make a single argument or movement against it.

“That, or she’s gone to find another superior to fuck,” the other replies.

Within one moment, and the next, you pull your knife back from the sheath on Soap’s belt, and take a massive, sweeping step to your right.

It’s not a second later that the knife has flung from your fist, and met the neck of one of the gossiping Shadows. Blood spurts out of his neck, and he quickly finds himself falling forwards onto his knees, and then effectively being pulled by the motion of the flood.

“What the –” The other starts, but in one click, you’ve pressed the silencer onto the end of your gun, flicked off the safety and shot a bullet into the back of his head.

Your hands do not tremble. You don’t even make a noise.

Soap does, though, just as the sun is set to rise.

“Christ, lass, that was clean,” he says under his breath, before letting out a low, impressed whistle. “Colonel it is.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you just put your knife back into its rightful spot in your vest, flip on the safety, and continue to wade down the tunnel.

The words of the two Shadows echo in your mind, like your very soul has been hollowed out for the sole purpose of being a cavern of mindless thoughts. You suppose that’s the way of life.

By the time the two of you reach the end juncture of the tunnel, Soap’s killed two more Shadows. You haven’t hurt any since the last few, but it’s a small mercy. You’re not exactly itching to murder your… previous subordinates.

Previous. Past.

Whatever.

“Ghost says the church is just to the right, ‘nd up the stairs,” Soap supplies as the two of you make it to the T-junction. Giving him a small nod, you turn right, finding the said stairs mere metres away.

“It’s going to be rough out there,” you warn with a short glance his way.

He chuckles a humoured sound, surprising you with its warmth. “Aye can handle rough, lass,” he teases, and you’ll forever be grateful for his positive outlook on the situation. Humour was good, when one was going through such… bullshittery.

“What’s the plan after we meet with Ghost?” You ask lowly as you start ascending the brick steps, the dripping of water a debilitating soundtrack. 

Soap is just a few steps behind you, his steps just slightly slower due to his injuries and general stress. “Eh, we’ll see. Ghost has probably got a rough idea already,” he admits. He seems to almost worship Ghost, although in a very different way to how you do – did – with Graves. “Lt for a reason, hen.”

“I’m not a chicken,” you snark back, hand resting at the dagger strapped onto your thigh. It’s a familiar habit.

Soap’s laugh, this time, comes out boisterous and almost shocked. It’s a loud, genuine thing, and you can’t find it in yourself to despise it. 

“Yer funny for a traitor,” he responds, and your stomach hollows out once more.

Traitor.

That single word – title – rings in your ears like the bombs you’ve set off in past missions. Like a tormenting, cruel ghoul, whispering taunts in your ear. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

You don’t reply as you make it to the inside of a house, the front door seeming to face exactly where the two of you needed to go. Pausing before it, you look to Soap once more, cocking your gun.

“Ready, Sergeant?” You ask, both for his sake, and your own. Your resolve is weak, trembling, almost, but there’s no going back now. Not after this.

Soap lets out his own exhale, before his deep blue eyes meet yours. “Aye, I’m ready.”

You turn.

And you open the door.

“Jesus fuck!” Soap yells out, and your focus is quickly split between his sudden words, and the hilt of a gun crashing into the side of your head.

Falling to the ground with a groan, a bloom of light taunts you in the corner of your shut eyes, your skull pounding with the sudden pain. Bringing a hand up to the source of your ache, you slowly blink your eyes open, watching as your fingers come away with sticky blood coating them.

“I found her! She’s with –” 

Looking up, your mouth falls open as a bullet lodges itself into the Shadow’s forehead, and he too, falls to the ground.

Except, unlike you, he would never get up again.

“Was that you, Lt?” Soap calls into his own comms, and he sounds nothing if not impressed. Rising to your knees, you manage to find your way back up to your feet, albeit with shaky movements.

Your vision is slightly skewed, and you feel somewhat out of it as you look outside, and spot the darkened streets once more.

Whatever Ghost responds with makes Soap laugh, but all you can focus on is that the church is so close. You guys could make it – no, you would make it.

And you would convince Graves to stop this, and to continue being the man you thought you knew.

You could fix everything.

“All good?” Soap asks you, then, appearing at your side like a trusted dog. You’re all too aware of how you must look – bewildered and bloody.

“What’re we waiting for?” Is your reply.

Turns out, a lot.

By the time the two of you make it to the steps of the church, there’s enough blood on your hands to make you think that it’ll never come off. Both figuratively, and physically.

“Johnny!” 

Breath stilted, head pounding and ears ringing, your weighted gaze sloppily meets that of Simon Riley’s.

You’d never met the guy, never seen him, either. And in person, he’s terrifying in a guttural, instinctual way. All dark-clothed bulk, skull mask dirtied and stark in the eery night. The sniper strapped to his back just adds to his whole image.

“Fuck, Ghost, you’re –” Soap begins, but a bullet just missing his ear has his words silenced.

“We gotta find a way outta here,” Ghost directs, and you nod instinctively. At the movement, his eyes zero-in on your frame – and they narrow. His hands clench around the smaller, more close-range gun in his hands, and his jaw tightens.

Right. You weren’t friends, and you could hardly be called acquaintances.

Enemies, first and foremost.

Swallowing, you flit your gaze back to Soap, inclining your head towards the multitude of vehicles along the street to your left.

“Come on, we’re sitting ducks here. Let’s find a car and go,” you yell over the sound of the harsh pattering of rain, thunder reverberating through your chest. Your eyes maintain a wincing position, hair completely wet and droplets dripping from your face and gear, mascara coating underneath your eyes, and you’re sure, your cheeks.

“The lass is right,” Soap shifts his attention from you to Ghost, “C’mon, Lt.”

Ghost waits another moment, and even with Soap looking at him, his focus remains solely on you. His gaze is hard, cold, full of hatred and distaste.

“Please,” he insists, tone gone pleading and almost desperate.

It’s all Ghost must need, it seems, because he shifts the weight of his gun between his hands once more with a direct nod. 

It’s not a moment later that more bullets are shot at the three of you, causing you to instantly find cover and press your back against it, quickly checking that your weapon is loaded. It is, thank the gods, and you quickly peek around the stall of which you’d used as cover and pop a few shots at some Shadows you see lining the streets. A few drop, and more yelling echoes throughout the town.

“There’s a truck with its lights on up ahead!” Ghost’s voice carries over the cacophony of sounds down the street, and you heave out a shaky breath. Turning just enough that you can search for the vehicle he’s talking about, your heart thumps in your chest as your eyes lock onto it.

You figure that the man must be further along the streets than you, so steeling your nerves, you stand up once more and raise your gun.

Soap and Ghost have already made a dent in the soldiers after the lot of you, but you find yourself lodging bullets into quite a few Shadows’ skulls anyways. To be on the other side like this, to kill your men, it’s a kind of pain you’d never even considered that you’d have to experience.

Your chest rises and falls at a concerning rate as you find the truck just a few feet away from you, Soap’s hand gripping the door to the passenger’s side, and Ghost jumping into the driver’s seat.

With one final pull of the trigger, you push Soap into the car, and rush into it right after him, pulling the door shut with an audible slam!

“Drive!” You quickly direct Ghost, pulling up your gun over the back of the seat and aiming it at the Shadows directing their sights to the three of you. “Before they kill us all!”

Ghost jerks, the glass of his window shattering as a bullet flies through, a searing pain bursting through the top of your right cheek. Cursing under your breath, you pull the trigger of your gun, Soap shooting his own at the same time.

With a burst of the accelerator, the truck goes rearing backwards, and your eyes go wide as you watch Ghost reverse into two Shadows, their bodies churning underneath the wheel.

“Fuckin’ hell, Lt!” Soap cries out, and just as he does, Ghost quickly manoeuvres the vehicle into drive. He’s quick about it, and you flinch as he crashes through the wired gate that had previously blocked off the street, the truck lurching with the movement.

With tight swerves, and a few more bullets shot from your guns, both you and Soap finally loosen your postures as you lose the couple of Shadows left behind.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale a deep, meaningful breath.

“You good, hen?”

Blinking away the blurriness of your vision, you jolt when Soap’s hand reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing the spot where the pain originates on your cheek. Letting out a small hiss, he immediately pulls away.

“Just a graze, I think,” you bite out, bringing your own shaky fingers to the wound. You can feel where the blood drips from it, along with the blood from your forehead.

“I found some cloth,” Soap pulls out said object, handing you a decently clean strip of tawny fabric. “Will it do?”

With a sharp nod, you take the fabric from his grip, righting yourself to face him properly. Looking down, you unzip one of the compartments on your vest, taking out a small first aid kit.

Soap lets out a low, impressed whistle. “Didn’t realise ye were a medic, lass.”

Despite yourself, and your situation, you can’t help the small tilt of your lips. “I’m a medical professional. Just chose to take lives, rather than save ‘em.”

“Well, ye saved mine today.”

Looking up from where you scavenge through the small kit, your eyes meet his. They’re so blue, and they shine beneath the night lights of Las Almas. Even with his wound, they seem so positive, so joyful and kind.

“And you saved my humanity,” you admit. It’s true, of course – if not for you crashing into him, you had no idea where you’d be right now.

Ghost clears his throat, and you quickly focus back in on your supplies, scurrying through them for the necessary items.

Pulling out a pair of medical scissors, and some cleaning alcohol, you wave for Soap to pull up his sleeve and give you his arm. He does, swearing under his breath as some of the crusted blood pulls away with the fabric of his shirt. His arm is nothing if not muscled, and if it were any other circumstance, any other man, you’d allow yourself a moment to appreciate such pure masculinity.

But this is an enemy, and this is a bullet wound.

“This’ll hurt,” you murmur, checking over the small alcohol bottle in your hand, before looking through the medkit once more. “And you’ve lost a lot of blood. Here.”

Reaching for a small piece of candy, you drop it into his open palm.

His eyes flicker from yours, to the small wrapper in his large hand. He seems to inspect it, for a moment, before his mouth twists into a mocking smirk.

“Sweethearts, aye?”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks burning for reasons other than your wound as you twist off the cap of the bottle in your hands. If you notice Ghost’s attention flit from the road ahead to the two of you, you don’t say a word.

“You need to get your sugars up. It’s not much, but it’s all I have right now,” you explain, refusing to look up at him. “Have one now, this’ll sting.”

He huffs, but undoes the wrapping and pops one of the lollies into his mouth. He hums.

With one hand on his shoulder, you bring up the bottle and drop some of the liquid onto the wound, flushing out any bacteria or infections. Hopefully.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap groans out, teeth clenched and jaw straining as his eyes flutter shut.

“Be careful,” Ghost warns, worry and threat bundled into the two words like a second skin. If you were one to be intimidated, you would take the sentiment seriously, but all you can focus on is the obvious care for his companion.

Very odd, indeed.

“How’s the candy?” You ask, grabbing a sterilising wipe and cleaning up around the wound. Luckily, the bullet had exited – there wouldn’t be a need to go digging in there. That also meant that you had to clean the other side of his arm, however.

Soap’s chuckle comes out strained, but it’s better than silence.

“Delicious, sweetheart.”

You pause your movements, briefly, your chest tightening at the mocking endearment.

“Sweetheart?” You repeat back, your tone a question, before you continue to clean his wounds, albeit with more stilted movements.

“The lollies,” Ghost supplies, and you can’t help but think that he either thinks you’re dumb, or just generally despises you.

Maybe both.

…Definitely both.

“Yer jus’ so sweet, lass,” Soap taunts, before letting out a sound akin to a whimper when you swipe the wipe a bit too close to his wound.

“My bad,” your smile is sickeningly sweet, your tone light and innocent.

Soap’s jaw sets, but silence fills the truck as you make sure that the cloth will properly fit around the wound, getting out a safety pin to keep it around his arm.

It takes a few minutes for you to wrap the makeshift gauze around his skin, the groans of pain from him few and far between. Despite everything, you were a good medic. You’d been trained well, and you had the cadence for it.

Usually.

Fastening the clip through the cloth, you fix it up so it looks presentable enough, and successful for its job.

“All done,” you say softly, hesitant to speak up in the silence of the space.

You go to pack up your supplies, before a hand reaches out and wraps around your wrist, stopping your movements.

Flicking your gaze up to Soap’s, you go to open your mouth to say something, but find yourself at a loss for words. Your eyebrows furrow, and he seems to sense your confusion, because –

“Yer wounds,” he blurts out, wincing at the suddenness of his proposal. “...Yer wounded. Too.”

You can’t stop a shocked, sharp laugh leaving your lips.  “I’m very aware of that, yes. Brilliant observation, Sherlock.”

“Let him speak,” Ghost grits out, and Soap’s grip tightens around your wrist. The smell of blood and gunpowder is potent in the night, but you find yourself at ease with the somewhat familiar scent. What’s throwing you off is the sudden add-on of their cologne – somehow, someway, you can smell it. Whether it’s military-duty, or it’s ingrained into their very bones, you haven’t a clue.

You could slap yourself for noticing, for being curious at all.

They smell oddly like cedarwood and musk.

“Let me fix ye up,” Soap supplies, and you can’t do anything but oblige.

Handing him the first aid kit, your fingers brush, and it really, really shouldn’t mean a thing. For the gods’ sake, you’d had your hands all over his upper arm just mere moments ago.

But there’s a spark.

Like a universal truth, maybe. Like a sensation of sudden purpose, as if all this time, all of your life, had led up to this very moment. To this very person.

You pull away sharply, and Soap doesn’t comment on it.

You’ll forever be grateful for that.

“This’ll hurt,” Soap chides, mocking your voice. You fight the urge to slap that smug grin off of his face.

You notice Ghost’s uneasy grip on the steering wheel as he cruises through the city, taking odd turns and slightly too risky manoeuvres. His focus is designated directly to his task, only occasionally checking on Soap.

Fingers underneath your chin force you to look to the Scot at your side, his movement gentle but fingers calloused and weathered. It’s an impossible dichotomy, but one you find yourself relaxing into anyways; the kind of impossible that one starts to think of as home.

Yet, your home is far from here.

Your home is in Graves’ quarters. At the Shadows’ base. 

It’s difficult to suppress the groan when Soap brushes the alcohol wipe against your cheek, but biting down on your lower lip does the job. If anything, it makes you focus on the sharp pain of that, rather than the graze on your cheek.

The trick lasts a few minutes, before Ghost goes over a particularly rough bump, causing the wipe to dig into your open wound. Your head falls forward, a soft grunt falling from your lips at the burst of pain.

“Aye, lass, ‘s alright,” Soap soothes, but it does little for your growing embarrassment. 

You shoot your glare his way, settling back further into your seat. “Thanks, but that’s enough for now.”

Soap’s expression betrays his inner turmoil, but you turn, looking out of the window. 

The darkness and rain battle along the forested roads, and it’s only now that you realise you’ve left the city. And, also, that you have no idea what’s happening, or where the fuck you’re even going.

“What’s the plan?” You ask steadily, falsifying your growing apprehension.

“A safehouse,” Ghost grunts the reply, and you already know that that’s all you’re going to get from him for now. Letting out a small huff, you fold your arms over your chest, resolutely not looking at Soap.

If you did, you’d see him personifying a kicked puppy.

Silence falls, once again, over the three of you. It allows for you to think, both over the storm brewing both outside, and in your head. 

You weren’t sure how long it would take Graves to realise that you betrayed him, if he would believe it at all. Somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him to say that this is all an elaborate kidnapping, but you figure he must have bigger problems to deal with than you going missing right now.

Then, there was the issue of alliances. Ghost hadn’t exactly agreed to working with you, and he definitely showed no signs of being anything but cold towards you. And, even then, could you really kill your – whatever Graves was – if it came down to it?

And what was to happen next? After everything was said and done? Would the 141 allow you to work with them?

Would you want to?

“We’re here.”

Pulling the handbrake, the truck stops, and you see that Ghost has pulled up outside a safehouse of some sort, in the outskirts of Las Almas.

You go to get out, but you realise that your door’s remained locked – and when you turn to question Ghost, you soon gather that it’s a purposeful move.

Ghost’s eyes narrow on you, calculating and assessing, before he says, voice like a gunshot in the quiet of the night –

“Give me a reason not to kill you right now, 'nd we might let you live.”

You swallow around the desert that your mouth’s become, and with shaky words, you respond.

a/n. first post of 2024!! i hope everyone enjoys, and if u did, please comment, reblog and follow!! mwah mwah

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hi, your last post about reader not knowing that it was sa, I saw that and I wanted to request something. What if reader knows that she have been through it but she mentions this as a joke, she says it and just keep going like she said something silly. How would the boys (141 + konig) react?

(I do this sometimes and I don’t like it, but it feels like some kind of copying mechanism)

I’m sorry if this was too much, do not feel that u need to write this.

Anyway, thank u so much and take care

Honestly I make out of pocket jokes about my own trauma all the time, so I feel this

tw: mentions of trauma, brief mentions of sexual assault- nothing graphic or descriptive, humor as a coping mechanism, comfort

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

Whiplashed so hard his neck is broken

“You bein’ serious?”

You explain what happened but you’re a little too blasé about it, he understands humor as a coping mechanism but this is a little serious

And by ‘a little’ I mean very

“Love, you can’t just drop a bomb like that.” He tries to soften his tone but his rage at what you’ve just told him is starting to seep through

He doesn’t realize he’s being a little hypocritical, we’ve all heard his “army humor” so he really doesn’t have a lot of room to talk. But the fact that it happened to you has blinded him to that fact. It’s not that you can’t make jokes, it’s that you shouldn’t have to because it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

He doesn’t even let you apologize before he’s pulling you into his arms, hands shaking, doing his best not to imagine what kind of sick fuck would do that to you

“Simon, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” His tone is firm and he’s refusing to let you go, so instead of arguing, you opted to melt into his embrace. Hands running up and down his back and as he’s kissing the crown of your head he’s wondering how worthwhile it’d be to give the fucker a visit. Maybe teach him a lesson or two.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

Laughing with your joke at first but then it hits him like a ton of bricks

“Beg your pardon?”

You explain the joke and the context with a dismissive laugh before going back to what you were doing and he’s just frozen in place

Someone… hurt you… in one of the most awful ways imaginable, and you’re laughing it off?

He’s not sure if he should be in awe at your resilience or concerned at your choice of coping mechanism, so he takes a gentle approach

“Bonnie, you know you can talk to me, aye?”

“I know, I just… don’t want to burden you with it. I mean, it’s not like it’s your fault it happened.” He’s holding your hands in his, gently massaging the space between your thumb and your index finger,

“Aye that’s true, but it’s you. And I love you, good and bad included.” He gently held the back of your head and kissed your forehead,

“Anytime you feel like talkin’ I’m here. Copy?”

He doesn’t usually bring work jargon home but he knows it gets a laugh from you, and sure enough your little giggle proved him right

“Copy.”

John Price:

The whiplash also broke his neck

“Sorry, what?”

His heart broke when you explained yourself and whined that the explanation ruined the punchline

“Sweetheart, that’s no laughin’ matter.” His tone was gentle as he approached you, hands hesitantly coming to rest on your hips, suddenly unsure of himself

“Honey, I’m fine. It’s how I cope.”

“I know, and there’s nothin’ wrong with that. Just, maybe, talk to me about it instead, yeah?” One of his hands came up to cup your cheek and you closed your eyes and leaned into the warmth of his palm, trapping it between your cheek and your shoulder

“I don’t wanna be a downer, John.”

“Never. I’m more concerned for your well-being than bloody mood. Am I clear?” As you looked in his eyes, you saw nothing but honesty and genuine concern, so you nodded

You closed your eyes and kissed his palm before he pulled you in to a tight embrace.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He heard you say it and weakly laughs before stopping as he chews on the words a little more

“Wait, what was that?”

And when you’re passively explaining it to him in the same way you’d talk about the weather he is in shock

He’s not sure if you’re trying to put on a brave face if you’re as nonchalant as you seem. He’s inclined to believe it’s the former.

“Babe that’s no joke. That’s kind of serious.”

“Don’t sweat it, Kyle. It’s how I’ve dealt with it. I’ve got it.”

He’s unsure but at the same time if it’s really worked for you so far then there’s no harm in letting it continue right? Wrong. He’s a little uncomfortable but it’s more so because it happened to you, someone he loves so deeply and he can’t fathom the idea

“Well yeah, I get that. But maybe we can talk about it when you feel like joking about it?” He shrugs, his words cautious and carefully chosen as he makes his suggestion

“I just want you to be alright. Ok?” His arms are rubbing yours before he’s pulling you into a hug, “I’ll always be here for you, babe.”

König:

Not a single chuckle from this man as he’s chewing over the words in his head

“Schatz, what’d you just say?”

When you explained what happened with a shrug and an all too casual tone, he’s tasting iron in his mouth from how hard he’s biting his cheek

He doesn’t want you to think he’s angry at you, never in a million years, but jesus christ schatz, surely there’s no way?

It’s not that he doesn’t believe you, he just can’t believe it happened to you, you’re the light of his life, his reason for existing, you’re the morning sun and the midnight moon, he’s truly in shock

“König?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts and in two short steps he was in front of you, sinking to his knees and hugging your middle. He’s buried his face in your shoulder as your arms wrap around his shoulders and you run your fingers through his hair.

“Liebling, please don’t make those jokes anymore, ok?” His voice is so small and fragile, you almost felt like it was a child talking instead of the 6’ something behemoth at your feet, “I can’t stand to hear that you’ve been hurt like that.”

“König it’s ok, really. Humor is how I cope.” You kiss the crown of his head and your chin against it,

“I know, liebling, I know but I’d much rather you talk to me ok? Please? For me?”