#cod mw x reader

[soap-tk141]

A new side

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Dom! John Mactavish x sub! fem! reader

⚠️ warning ⚠️: NSFW, Minors do not interact, 18+, praise, oral Fem receiving, fingering, overstimulation, rough sex (but not hardcore rough like in the gif), powerplay(?), manhandling, gloves stays on (hehe), doggy style, hard backshots, light bondage, unprotected sex, p in v. If I miss something, pls let me know.

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A/N: This is my first time that I write for reboot Soap. This fic, I have take time to write instead of rushed like the drabble with Captain Mactavish. I'm more satisfied with this fic. It's also proof read. The backshots are inspired by the post I saw of Soap backshots hdc. The fic is 2nd pov, and I use (Name) a couple times. I hope Soap is in character. In the fic, Soap wears the "hawk uniform". Also it's pretty self indulgent. And I hope you enjoy my fic, I did my best!

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While you are cleaning materials you use for watercolor painting and tidying up before you go home, you receive a Whatsapp message from John, your boyfriend.

You look at your smartphone screen and read his message.

John: Hey (Name). Remember few days ago that you have asked me to act as Sergeant tae ya?

Your eyes slightly widen when you read his message. You glance around if your colleagues' artists are in distance from you and not walking close to you before you reply.

You don't want anyone to look at your phone. Your mouth turns into a grin while you type a message back to John.

(Name): Yeah, what about that? 

You send your reply. It honestly sounds to you like a dry answer that you send to him, but you don't want to get too hyped and only get disappointed if you reply with 'Does that mean you're going do it?!' You see John is typing and sending another message.

John: Have thought about it. And since you asked me nicely, I will do it for ya. ;) Today after you come back from work.

The message made you squeal. You feel bashful of his message. You put your hand to cover your grinning mouth.

You remember a few days ago when you asked John to act as Sergeant to you in an intimate time, (well John really is a Sergeant) he was slightly surprised and asked you why.

You gathered all your courage to tell your reason and, obviously John teases you about what you've told him. But he has figured it out a while ago that you find his military side hot.

You feel honestly a bit ashamed but you know that John will never judge and be respectful to you. You've also told him that he can think about it, since you've noticed that John was thinking of what to answer after he teases you, his face expression showed he was serious and doubtful. So John needed some to think about.

And today, he gave you the answer that makes you happy. You are now quickly continuing cleaning and tidying your watercolor painting materials with enthusiasm.

You can't stop smiling, your heart is racing in your chest, you feel like this is the best day of your life. After you're done with cleaning and tidying up, you put your coat and put your shoulder bag over your shoulder, say goodbye to your colleagues before you leave your art gallery studio.

You walk to the train station, you see you have to wait for four minutes until your train arrives. While you wait, you put your headphones on your head to listen to your music.

You notice that not only do you feel excited but also nervous. Many scenarios of how and what will happen between John and you in an intimate time fill your mind. "Maybe he will act as Sergeant while waiting for me in our bedroom? Or is he going to suprise me when I enter our home?"

You begin to think a bit too much, your feelings of nervousness and excitement grow slowly bigger as every minute has passed, and you come closer to home.

Half an hour has passed, and you walk to your home with a bright smile. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. You grab your keys out of your coat, before you put the keys in the lock of the entrance door of the house, you take a deep breath.

You unlock the door and enter the hall of John's and your house. You close the door behind you and put your keys in your coat. You pull your coat and your shoulder bag off you, after that you put your coat on the coat rack before you enter the living room.

You put your shoulder bag on the couch, your eyes wander around in the living room, you hear only the sound from the radio but, no sign of John.

That you only hear the radio and John isn't here feels a bit intense for you, since he told you-now more messaged to you that he will do it today, you don't know what he's planning.

"Special Forces! Show me your hands!" You heard a sudden loud masculine voice from behind, which made you startled. Thankfully, the voice sounds familiar because it's your boyfriend John.

You wanted to move, but for some reason, you froze, since it was out of the blue for you that John commanded out of a sudden. "Now turn around." As you submit his command and turn around, you let out a breathy gasp when you see John holds an old rifle and is pointed at you, that he literally pointed his old rifle at you made you jolt your and with your instinct you take a small backwards.

You also see John wears an blue t-shirt, over his t-shirt he wears an tactical vest with gear on it. He wears washed blue straight leg jeans and black hiking boots. John has tactical straps over his right clothed leg. The tactical straps is attached on the leather brown belt. He also wears black gloves and an watch on his left wrist.

It makes you a bit nervous, you feel your body tense. John's face looked serious and intimidating. Your eyes meet his blue ones, it feels like he's staring at you like you're his target.

He makes you feel uneasy and nervous. His face turns more calm and friendly. "(Name), calm down." Said John, trying to reassure you.

He lowers his old rifle and shows you it doesn't have a mag since it's an old weapon. "It's complete empty. No mag. No bullets."

You sigh with relief. If it wasn't John but a different unknown man that pointed a rifle at you, then it would be a much different story, a scary one.

After John sees you being a bit more relaxed, he goes back to serious Sergeant self and points his old rifle at you. Of course, John will keep an eye on you, he makes sure you will enjoy it from the beginning to the end without being hurt. "Now get on your knees." John commanded you.

That he commands you is so thrilling. You slowly get on your knees at your own pace, trying not to lose your balance while still keeping your hands up.

John puts his old rifle in his medical vest, so it's stuck and hangs on it. He walks to you, turns around and goes kneeling behind you. You feel his gloved hands touching your body, checking if you have a dangerous object which obviously you don't have.

But you feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, making you feel bashful. You suddenly let out a shudder of breath when John feels his gloved hands glide over your sides and curve from up to down.

You get goosebumps when you hear his chuckle. "Ye're one of the few targets that listen well to my orders without protests." His comment made you smile shyly at his teasing tone. But you're not sure if it's a compliment.

You noticed that you're in the role as the target for John. "Well, why shouldn't I? Besides, I did nothing wrong." You said and let out a small nervous laugh of feeling excitement.

You hear John chuckle from behind. "Ya really think ye'r innocent? If ya really are, I have to check if you're not hiding something from me under your clothes." His voice sounds dark yet playful, you hold your breath, feeling excited and nervous about what he's planning for you.

You feel him grabbing both of your wrists by using his gloved hand, his other gloved hand holding your right waist and helping you stand up ,so you won't fall. John guides you to the bedroom.

You feel your heart thumping louder in your chest. "Eh, what're you planning to do John?" You glance slightly back at John with a nervous smile. You see his mouth turns into a sly smirk. "Ye'll ken what happens lass." Oh God.

As John guides you, entering in the bedroom and close the door behind him. He lets go of your wrists and waist and takes a few steps away from you. "Strip." You blink a few times from his straightforward order, before you want to speak he interrupted you again. "Strip now (Name)." John's voice sounds a bit impatient and commanding.

He doesn't want to waste any time. You see John is still standing and waiting. You let out shaky breath before you take your upper clothes off. When you take it off, you notice he's staring at you, which makes you feel a bit flustered.

You then take off your shoes, socks and your bottom clothes till you're only in your underwear, looking still a bit flustered at him. "All of it." Commanded John, you stay silent for few seconds, progressing of what is going on.

His voice sounds deadly serious, like he meant it. Even tho you want this and you like this side of him. You shy when you unclip your bra and let it drop on the floor. You pull your underwear off and let it also drop on the floor. It's vulnerable for you that you're the only one naked, but you honestly really like it.

As you're completely naked, John grabs a plastic double flex cuffs out of the pocket of his tactical gear vest. He walks to you while analyzing your face if he sees any discomfort, but he sees none of it.

John grabs both of your wrists and cuffs them behind your back. "Get on the bed." John ordered, and pushes you on the bed. You get on your knees and position yourself to lay on your back, but the plastic double flex cuffs that restrain your wrists press against your naked back uncomfortably.

John sees it and grabs your arm. "Wait." He says while manhandling you, but not in a rough way surprisingly by making you lay on your side, he grabs a pillow and set between your back and your restraint wrists so you don't feel the plastic cuffs against your back anymore. 

John scoffs when he sees your outer lips are wet when he spreads your legs. "Already wet lass? And I didn't do anything. Heh, you must really like to be ordered by an Sergeant don't ya?" John smirks as his gloved index finger rub over your wet slit.

The friction of his gloved finger feels good that made you buck your hips. Your breathing becomes shallow. "E-Eh no...." You said with a bit shy voice, feeling embarrassment to admit. "No? Well your body say somethin' else." John's smirk grew wider as his gloved finger drew small circles on your clit.

Your body tenses up, you feel the pleasure is beginning to slowly build up. You try to hold your moans and only let out breathy sighs and close your eyes. "Ha...~" You suddenly feel his gloved hand holding your jaw firmly.

It makes your eyes open and see John is close to your face. "Dinnae look away." Command John as his gloved index finger slowly enters inside you. You feel it burn a bit inside you, but John will distract the burning feeling by using his gloved palm to rub against your clit. "Ha~ Haa~" Your soft moans made John smug. "Aye, that's it bonnie lass, don't hold your voice back." His gloved finger thrusts faster and faster, making clapping wet sounds.

You let out a breathy gasp and arch your back. It's getting harder for you to look at John. John's grip on your jaw gets a bit tighter when you can't help but close your eyes from intense pleasure feeling, he curls his gloved finger inside you, the warm walls squeezing tightly against his gloved finger.

He's hitting the sweet spot. "Keep looking at me." John ordered you again. His voice sounded more rough and stern. He pressed his lips against yours harshly, kissing you roughly and swallow all the sounds that came out of your mouth.

His tongue ravages your mouth, toying your tongue, you whimper from his rough messy kiss. You feel a bit of warmth as saliva drools out of your mouth. John pistons his gloved finger inside you, feeling your wet pussy squeezing his finger.

After he released your lips, you let out a gasp for breath, you feel your face is heated. John's kiss made you feel breathless. You look at him and see he's also breathless. His mouth turns into a smug grin and fingers you harder.

You let out a gasp when he's fingering you roughly. "O-Oh God. J-John!" You arch your back, toes are curling, and you release your orgasm, he lets you ride your high while still fingering you.

You hear him chuckle as he pulled his gloved wet fingers out of your pussy. "Fuckin' hell, look how much ya came. I did a great job, didn't I lass?" He looks at you with a smug grin on his face. Your body feels sensitive, you feel embarrassed and look away from him.

John moves from your face, his gloved hands grab your legs and spread them wide open. "Didn't expect that sweet lass like to be treated by an sergeant. Did ya come up idea by daydreaming about me? I bet you do since you daydream a lot." Says John as he lowers himself till his face is close to your wet slit.

"W-Wait! I still feel sensitive. I need a minute, please!" You want to shove his face away from your wet core, but you almost forgot that your wrists are still tied up. You try to close your legs, but his gloved hands hold under your knees. You look at him with eyes with slight panic.

John stays silent for long seconds, then his mouth turns into a genuine smile. "All right, but don't let me wait too long. We still have long night to go." After he said that he blew on your wet sensitive slit to at least tease you a bit, he's getting cheeky as your body tense up a bit from his action. You feel flustered and excited about what John said.

After a minute or two, you feel a bit more relaxed, even though he teased you a few times by blowing on your wet core, you take a deep breath. "You can continue John." You see John goes from patiently waiting to full of excitement. "Finally. I have waited long enough lass." John's mouth dives into your wet core without hesitation.

He licks and sucks on your wet slit like a starved man. His tongue licks your slit before he sucks on your clit harshly. That he eats you out so roughly makes you let out breathy moans, your head rest on the pillow and close your eyes to enjoy this pleasure feeling. "Ah~ Ha~ Mm~." Your moans sound like music to his ears, no matter how many times he has heard of it, he never gets enough from your beautiful sounds.

John repeatedly licks and sucks on your clit, his heavy stubble beard brushes on your soft skin. It's a nice but also rough friction against you. You feel the pleasure build up in your belly again. You feel that John's tongue enters inside your core, he keeps sucking and licking it.

His nose bumps against your clit. Your breathing becomes already shallow again. His left gloved hand glides over your stomach to your left breast and squeezes it while his other right gloved hand still holds your leg to keep your leg spread.

As you feel your release coming closer and closer, your body tense up, legs in the air, toes curling and you arch your back. "J-John I think I co- Ah~" He didn't let you finish speaking, and instead he sucks hard on your clit. You let out a strangled moan as you cum into his mouth. 

After you climax for a second time, but then in his mouth you feel a bit exhausted and sensitive. John licks his lips, tasting your arousal that is on his mouth, his chin and his facial hair. "Ya did great bonnie lass. Ya did fuckin' great bonnie." 

He wiped it off by using the back of his gloved hand before he unzipped his zipper from his straight-leg denim jeans. Both of you feel your body is hot and bothered. John let out a groan of frustration, feeling his body hot but also suffocating from his tactical vest with gear on him.

He takes his tactical vest off. "Agh. Fuck! I can finally breathe." John's gloved hand grabs your hips and makes you flip around so you are now on your knees. He pulls the pillow that's underneath you and puts it aside.

Since you're wrists are still strained, your head rests against the pillow and your ass is up in the air. You feel his gloved hand glide over your ass to your spine, you shiver from it. "Get ready, lass. I'll never go easy on targets." What John said made your eyes widen, his voice sounded playful but also serious, and you realize he warned you he would be merciless.

Well, he was already in the beginning like that, but this is the real beginning. You feel his shaft glide over your wet folds, teasing you. But he stops quickly as he guides his cock to enter inside your core. John hissed over the warmth feeling inside of you. Your wet walls are already squeezing his cock nicely, you let out a satisfying sigh of feeling full.

John pulls his cock out except the head of his shaft, his gloved hands then grip your hips very firmly. And he thrusts his hips hardly and roughly against your ass. It almost knocks your air out. John did it again, again and again. Each time he gives you merciless backshots, his thrusts get harder and deeper.

John growls and groans as he feels your warmth walls squeezing his cock, he furrows his brows by keeping his hard thrusts at the same pace. Your moans drive him crazy. "A-Ah.~ John~." You can't think straight anymore.

You're not used to John is so rough to you, but you love it. You then feel his gloved hands move from your hips to holding firmly your left shoulder and your right arm, pressing your upper body against the sheets. "Huff! Ya want fuckin' more?" Asked John to you. Now, it doesn't sound like an ask to you since his voice sounds rough and a bit threatening. "Y-Yes. Please." Your reply sounds breathy and shallow.

You feel your body is hot and sweaty. John grins, pleased by your answer. "Good, because this ain't over yet." He gives you another rough backshot, his hips thrusts against your ass harshly. "Fuck. Ngh. Shite." John groans as he continues giving you hard backshots.

You feel your breasts and face glide over the sheets with every thrust he gives to you. "Oh God! John. John! John!" You say his name like a mantra. You feel then John stopped thrusting, his gloved hand retreat from your right wrists and goes to between your legs to rub your clit furiously and roughly.

"Ah.~ Oh.~" Your body wants to close your legs, and this time John let you and just continue rubbing your clit. But after a short while, he stops rubbing your clit, you let out whine that he suddenly stops. His gloved hands move to your restrained wrists and untie them, your arms feel limb and land on your sides of your body. "Rub your fuckin' clit." His voice sounds kinda pissed, but you're not sure and don't care and it's hot for you.

As you rub your clit by using your right hand, John thrusts his hips again, his gloved hands grab your hips again but then so harshly that they will bruise. His thrusts are now faster, deep and hard. The bedroom is filled with moans and groans.

John feels his body is also sweating, he even has small sweat stains on his t-shirt. John feels like he's coming close. "Ngh. Fuck!" John wrapped his muscular arms around your body and pressed his clothed chest against your sweaty back.

You feel his hot breath against the crook of your neck, he keeps thrusting, not caring that the pace is uneven. He groans against your ear as he spills his warmth cum inside you. But he doesn't pull his cock out. John pushes your hand away from your clit and rubs your clit roughly, and eventually you also come on his cock.

John let go of you and pulled his cock out of you. He shifts so he lies next to you. John feels hot since he still wears his 'The hawk' uniform. He glances at you and rolls over to you. John looks at you a bit worried that he might have overdone. "(Name), you okay?" You let out soft hum. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just feeling tired." You said while you gave him a smile.

John smiles back and let's out an chuckle. He comes closer to you and gives a kiss on your forehead, cheek and jawline while his gloved hand holds your body close. "Did I overdo it? Shall I be more gentle to ya then?" You shake your head, and move your tired body closer to him, you rest your head against his clothed chest. "No, I actually like it. You were quite a beast." You said while feeling a bit bashful to admit that you liked it.

John let out a short breathy laugh while his gloved hand caressed your waist, and your hip. "Aye, you have asked for it lass. A beast like me isn't going easy on sweet bonnie's like ya. But you did good of surviving my beast mode." Said John in a teasing tone with a smirk on his face.

His smirk then vanishes and goes to a smile. "(Name), even though I'm rough, I will never hurt you." You look at him with a smile and feel a bit shy. "I know. I trust you." You said softly. "I love you, John." You see John wrapping his arms around and hugging you against his athletic built body, and you hug him back. "I love you too, lass."

[sirenmoth]

Sorry for the rant and probs gonna get hate cuz ik this fandom but i had to say this

-This goes to all fandoms, not just Call of Duty-

You are responsible for the content you consume. Don’t like, Don’t read.

i’ve seen a few posts about this but

if you cannot spell or speak about rape, pedophilia or any dark or sensitive topics then maybe don’t talk about it, because purposely misspelling it proves you are not mature enough to talk about it or handle the topic, this isn’t tik tok you don’t have to sugarcoat anything. Yes i am aware these are sensitive (and horrible) subjects and can be triggering but no one is forcing you to read or talk about it.

Me, and a lot of authors, put the content warnings at the top of the fic because that’s the first thing people will see and it is your responsibility to read those warnings if you wish to read a fic, not ours. This goes with Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (DDDNE), a warning or tag used to indicate that a fanwork contains tropes or elements that may be deemed morally reprehensible without explicitly condemning the sensitive aspect. It says what it says on the tin and you still read it, that is on you, not us.

Saying an author is glorifying or promoting a topic and saying they need mental or professional help for writing/reblogging rape or abuse or sexual assault because of their or another authors writings is a stretch, people can and are into some messed up things that to some people can be triggering or disturbing and you can be 100% into something fictionally without wanting to explore it physically.

No one if forcing you to read something you do not like

Same with minors in fandoms, this is a common things and there is nothing you can do about it, yes they shouldn’t be viewing or reading certain things in the fandoms but they’ll still find a way no matter how hard to try and stop them.

Say rape, say kill, no one’s gonna to hate you, if you can’t handle dark topics in a fic, block the author it’s not hard, no one will hate you for doing that and harassing and swinging death threats to a creator because they made something you don’t like is a shitty thing to do, if you don’t want to read a certain trope or topic that’s fine, people have preferences, but trying to start a witch hunt and purity culture campaign over it is not ok. I think sometimes they don’t because they want to start hate. Tumblr had a filtering system for blocking tags and yes people find a way to get around that, just block those tags too.

Fandoms are safe spaces for people who like a certain content, yes there are bad people in fandom and areas in a fandom that are filled with disgusting people, but it is a online safe space for people to enjoy the content they like. Fandoms are not for you to try and purify because you can’t be mature enough to block an author for posting content you don’t like.

[mall0ww]

Bad habits ~

Simon " Ghost " Riley x Gn! Reader || He catches you smoking

CW's : smoking, insecurities, slight argument, ooc || lmk if there's anything else

Not proofread and I can't write his accent ffs :(

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" There you are. "

Exactly that voice, that would usually make your eyes light up, that made your heart beat just the slightest bit faster whenever you heard it-

That voice was what made your body visibly tense up in this very moment. Your breath seemed to get stuck in your throat, combined with the little smoke cloud that you were just inhaling. The nicotine scratched just perfectly, the taste so disgusting yet so addicting at the same time.

But that's what it took for you to relax. Seemingly the only thing that helped, even if you knew damn well that it wasn't healthy at all. You couldn't care less in those moments.

You blinked once, twice.

Then you remembered that you have a visitor here, in the middle of the night, somewhere near or far from the base. You couldn't even remember how far you went, so lost in your own thoughts. Hell, you wouldn't even be able to recall how to walk back and since when you went outside.

You just wanted to feel at ease again.

" Guess so. "

Were the only words, spoken in a broken whisper, that you gave as answer. You didn't even turn around to face your Lieutenant, your silly crush or whatever.

It wasn't like you to be this dismissive towards Ghost. He knew it, you knew it.

And that's what raised his suspicion even more.

" You should be in the base at this hour. "

The Lieutenant spoke. As if he actually cares about those kind of rules. As if he didn't know about how often you've already sneaked out at night.

You took another pull of your cigarette, finally turning in his direction.

Maybe you didn't want him to see the glassy hue of your eyes in the dim light of the moon and the stars, maybe you didn't want him to see the paleness of your skin from the cold wind, maybe you didn't want him to see your shivering hand that held oh so tightly on the little cigarette between your pointer and middle finger-

But you did.

Never did you want to appear weak in front of the squad, always keeping your tough and maybe even sometimes cold facade. Yet it seemed like you couldn't fool them with that anymore. Especially not Ghost.

You couldn't read his expression, his balaclava staying on as always, even at this time of the hour. The hoodie was casting a shadow over his eyes, making you unable to read just the slightest bit of his emotions.

Even though his body language didn't speak much, just being slightly tense as usual, there was something off. Something was different about him. Or his emotions. You couldn't decipher more than those little informations.

" And? ", Your voice sounded shaky. Even more than before. Unsure, if you might say.

" That's none of your business. Lieutenant or not, you've never stopped me before. So why do you act like you care now? "

There was no judgement in your voice. Neither anger nor similar. As if you were speaking some kind of fact.

Maybe it was the frustration, maybe just the desire to finally feel better, that you decided to take the next pull of your cigarette more quickly.

There was a low sigh to be heard.

" Look, I couldn't care less about whatever you do. I could easily get you punished for disobeying the simplest of rules like staying at the base at this time. "

His voice sounded like he didn't care. Just like he claimed. Yet, there was some kind of emotion flickering in his eyes for a moment. So brief that you missed it. In the end you couldn't have noticed it either because of the shadow his hoodie was casting over his face.

And so, even though you'd never admit that out loud, his words stung.

" Well then, get me fired or whatever. I don't even care anymore. No matter how hard I try, I'll never fit in with any of you. Y'all might get along oh so well, but I'll never truly belong here. So what even is my purpose? To be humoured from everyone here, to not be taken seriously for whatever reason? I've been with y'all here for over a year. Yet I'll never fit in. So do you seriously think I'll care if you fire me? "

Finally, your words held some kind of emotion. Even if it only was some frustration.

Once more, you were close to tears. The shaking of your hands got more prominent as you threw your cigarette down to the ground and put it out with your foot.

The next words he spoke were like a slash in the heart. They were cold, devoid of any emotion.

" It's not my problem that you think acting all tough and cold will get you the attention you seemingly need so much. Quit whining and get back to the base, if you do that I'll let you of without any consequences. If you don't, then you'll have to live with the consequences. "

[141wh0re]

WIP Game

Rules: in a new post, post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how nondescript or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!

Thank you @all-purpose-dish-soap c:

Fuck Me Like You Own Me - Gaz

Lazy Sundays - Price

Primal Desire - Soap

Sugar Pt. 2 - Ghost

Carpe Noctem - Ghost (pls don't ask, yall will probs ban my ass)

Tokyo Nights - Gaz

Game of Moans - Soap

Physical - Soap

[frogchiro]

virgin sacrifice reader offered to war god ghost?? prepare to be his lovely wife instead of a sacrifice with at least 10 demigods running around, he wants to raise strong warriors!

Ghost would definitely be a god similiar to Ares; a god of war, brutality, bloodshed, masculinity and virility. Men go and pray by his shrine or in his dedicated temple to give them strength in both battle and bed, to be a strong and unbeatable warrior and be able to father strong, healthy children.

One such temple, the main one, is in a surprisingly remote location, surrounded not by a major city or capital but a few villages. According to myths it was this place where a brutal battle took place millenia ago where the fearsome god Ghost defeated an army all by himself, the blood of his slain enemies served to make the land fertile and for many villages to grow and prosper...until now.

Usually sacrifaces to appease the god would be made by the men of the villages; black stallions, the strongest bulls, wine, silver and pure steel, everything that has connections to masculinity and power, however some kind of horrible fatum seems to hang over your little village. The animals either die young or are sickly and weak, the wine turns out sour like vinegar, there in so money to buy anything either and it's taken as a curse by the elders. If nothing will be done and Ghost won't have his sacrifice who knows what will happen?

So they decide on the next best thing, a desperate last choice reach in hopes to appease the brutal god-a virgin sacrifice. The prettiest, unmarried and untouched young woman is to be chosen, dressed in the finest, gauzy silks and locked inside the stone temple in hopes that the god will come down and the blood of a slain virgin will calm his fury. Luck wasn't on your side it seems, you were chosen.

All you could remember were the desperate cries of your mother, the dissapointed remorseful look on your father's face and the ritual cleansing of the old crones in the village. You were cleaned in rose water, intricate patterns were drawn with a mixture of honey, mushed up berries and flowers on your breasts, around your nipples and bellybutton, and the most intricate was drawn on the place where your womb was. You were clothed in a white gauzy dress that was a symbol of your purity and then you were bound and dragged to the temple no matter how much you struggled and kicked and pleaded until you were finally locked in the dimly lit temple, only the many candles present to lighten the main chamber and to show the powerful, majestic sculpture of the god, Ghost.

Imagine crying yourself to sleep, everything hurt, you were scared and confused, all alone to die in this forsaken temple because some old men decided on it. Falling asleep out of exhaustion, the images of your crying, terrified mother haunting you even when sleeping.

Imagine waking up and instead of feeling cold and sore from sleeping on the unforgiving stone floor, and instead finding yourself laying on and under the most luxurious furs you've ever seen, the warmth of them felt like a blanket and the smell of them, pleasant warm masculine musk made a shiver run down your spine, just where were you?

Before you had the chance of looking around the room, you felt huge, strong arms clamping togehter around you and bringing you into a powerful, broad chest which rumbled with a growl like purr and a stern voice saying:

"Stay. Don't move around girl."

And the very same arms turned you gently around to face the man behind you and you couldn't help but gasp and breath out a tiny, frightened yelp-behind you was laying a man who looked like the stone sculpture of Ghost cane to life and became human. It...it was Ghost. You laid next to a god.

[slvtforsimon]

simon loves it when you bounce on his cock. he could be in the middle of anything and the second you ask him, or look at him with those pleading eyes of yours, his resolve crumbles.

simon’s large hands grasp your hips as you bounce up and down his length, obscene noises fill your room as a result of your slick pussy sucking his cock greedily.

simon loves when you whimper his name. loves how easily it slips from your lips as your orgasm tumbles over you. he swears he could cum just from hearing your lewd moans of his name over and over again.

simon smashes his hips against yours, once your orgasm is over that is. desperate to reach his own release.

you feel so good wrapped around his length that simon wouldn’t care if he died right then and there. if anything, he’d be honoured.

simon’s fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, a groan emitting from his throat as you continue your now haphazard movements.

mewling and writing above him, your hands rest on his chest to keep yourself steady as simon takes over, his cock drilling into you at an almost inhuman pace.

you can’t help it. your second orgasm crashes over you and your body spasms, going completely limp as simon cums deep inside of you from the feeling of your pussy twitching around him.

simon whispers praises into your ear as you breath heavily, completely and utterly fucked out on top of him. you look so pretty to him right now, you do all of the time! but there’s something almost angelic about the way you look after sex that has his chest tightening.

[kitkatscabinet]

Nothing fucks with my baby

Simon Riley x wife reader

Summary: Simon is the Earth orbiting your sun and he'll do anything to keep you safe and happy, even if that means resorting to bloody means.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: attempted non-con (not by Simon)

@ghosts-cyphera for you pookie, hope you enjoy!

Eight months. It’s been eight long, tortuous months since Simon saw you in person. Eight months of living off brief Skype calls interrupted by work schedules and shitty internet cutting out mid-call, an age since he’s touched you. Since he’s breathed in your scent and cradled you against his muscular chest, since he’s tasted you. Pictures of you weren’t enough, even if you’d gifted him a set of delectable Polaroids showcasing your gorgeous body decorated with black and white lingerie.  

Long deployments had never bothered him, not until you’d become the central part of his life. Simon was the Earth, orbiting your sun reverently and fervently. He’d worship you on his knees for eternity if that’s what you desired.

His appetite for you has always been ravenous, but his need for you has been greatly nourished after months of no contact. The door to your shared home swings open with a bang, the anticipation coursing through his veins diminishing his control in a way he knows you’ll scold him for. His bag is dropped carelessly in the foyer as he stalks through the space, a man on a mission to find you. Not even the weary exhaustion after months of shit sleep and shared communal spaces would deter him from his mission. 

You’re not in your home office or the bedroom and Simon’s frustration simmers under his skin as he marches straight back out the door. It’s only the knowledge that you’ll be devastated to have missed his surprise homecoming that tempers his annoyance. 

Ghost is beyond irritated by the time he arrives at your work, not necessarily at you, he knows how seriously you take your career, it’s one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. Once some lowly private had made a snide remark about you being the breadwinner, scoffing at Simon for letting his wife ‘emasculate’ him like that. It was only Price playing damage control that kept him from a dishonourable discharge that day. He had no regrets, especially after the incident taught people to keep your name out of their mouths. 

It’s late, well past working business hours when he keys into the building using the code you’d given specially for him. So it shouldn’t surprise him how empty it is, most of the lights turned off as he made his way to your office, but Simon hadn’t survived over a decade in the military without learning to trust his gut. A distinct uneasiness settles in his body, narrowed eyes surveying the space for anything out of the ordinary as he increases his pace to get to you. 

The light in your office is on, the door is left open carelessly and gives Simon a clear view of the sight of you bent over your desk trying not to cry as a man holds a gun to your head and fumbles with your sleek dress pants. Simon thought he knew rage, but any anger he’s ever felt is drowned in comparison to the sheer righteous fury that alights his veins. 

He closes the gap in record time, red filtering out the corners of his vision and spraying over his knuckles as he rips the interloper away and viciously lays into him. Any slurred words pleading for mercy are ignored and shut down as Simon’s fist renders the man’s mouth an inoperable bloody mess. 

His arm aches furiously by the time he pulls back, chest heaving with breaths that have long since been silenced from the scumbag that now lay dead on the floor of your office. It’s the sound of your shaky sobs that pulls Simon back from the brink, immediately darting towards you, shaky hands stained with blood cradling you against his bulk gently. 

He’s vibrating with an explosive cocktail of fury, fear, outrage and relief. You press yourself tighter against his chest like you’re trying to burrow into the safety of his ribcage. Simon can’t bring himself to speak, mouth dry and tongue heavy as he buries his face into the top of your head. The silence is broken by the shaky inhales of your rattling breaths and sobs. 

All too soon you’re pulling away, even when he fights to keep you safe and sound against his chest. “Simon? What… what’s going to happen with-” You try and turn your gaze towards the corpse staining your carpet but Simon prevents you with a hand grasping your jaw, preventing you from getting a glimpse at the carnage. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head darling, I’ll take care of it. But first, let's get you home yeah?” He walks you from the building to your car with a supportive arm wrapped around your shoulders, tucking you against his side before sliding you into the passenger seat of your car. It’s a testament to how shaken you are that you don’t protest, remaining silent and clutching the hand that grasps your thigh like a lifeline. 

It doesn’t take long to tuck you into bed, wrapping you tightly in the blanket like it will protect you from the horrors of the outside world. The adrenaline had faded from your body making way for the exhaustion. Simon doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure the clutches of sleep have pulled you under, and even then, it's with extreme hesitation that he stands and leaves the bedroom, reaching for his phone to make a call. 

Luckily, you don’t wake even once in the hours that follow as he waits for news of the cleanup. He spends that time alternating between checking in on you, watching you breathe peacefully and pacing the linoleum floors that you’d insisted on. 

A single knock on the front door pulls him from the spiral of thoughts that threatened to pull him further and further into darkness. He opens the door to an unimpressed Price, who pushes his way in with Gaz and Soap trailing after. Expectantly he stares at them, watching as Price lights a cigar and takes a long drag. 

“It’s done. Did you have to make such a mess though son?” It’s an innocuous enough comment but one that raises Ghost’s hackles anyway and he shoots a venomous glare at his captain that would never have been acceptable in any other circumstances. His shoulders tense and it takes everything in him to keep his voice somewhat level. 

“That fucker laid his hands on my wife!” He inhaled shakily as he remembered what he’d almost been too slow to prevent, unable to prevent the rise of volume as he yelled at his captain, “My wife! He’s lucky I didn’t paint the room with his insides!” The baritone of his booming snarl is loud enough that even Soap flinches slightly with widened eyes. 

There’s a tense silence but his captain nods, something like approval in his gaze before his eyes slide towards the right and Simon turns just in time to witness you call his name, voice hoarse with sleep and eyes red from tears. 

He crosses the space and curls you against him in record time, nonchalantly throwing a dismissive wave towards his team who simply nod in understanding and file back outside. “Were those the boys? You didn’t have to kick them out” you murmured though Simon was already hushing you, leading you back to bed with a firm hand on the small of your back. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout them lovie, they were leavin’ anyway” he waved away your concerns, finally kicking off his shoes, trapping you in his arms and pulling you down onto the mattress. You squeak at his actions, giggling as his stubble tickles the skin of your neck. 

Despite how pent-up and desperate for your touch he is, Simon makes no move to escalate the situation, settling you in his arms and simply breathing you in. Neither of you speak about the earlier incident, not willing to shatter the peace. Though Simon lets out the occasional hum when your hands trace gentle circles over his heart, focusing on the steady beat of his pulse beneath your palm. 

Inevitably the lingering emotions of the day would have to be dealt with, but not yet, Simon would allow himself to relish in the peace just a little longer.

[1-ker0sene-1]

Poly 141 x Reader

Home is where you are

"What ye think she made this time?"

Johnny mumbles, dropping his head back against the seat behind him. Blinking tiredly up at the ceiling of the truck, a daydream clear in his eyes. Simon next to him stares out the window, sweat seems to practically seal his balaclava to his face.

"We'd be lucky if anything. It's three in the fucking morning.."

Kyle says from the passenger seat. Pursing his lips a bit.

"She should be sleeping.."

Price chuckles from the driver's seat, hand on the steering wheel, paying close attention to the road.

"She knows we're on our way home. If she made something. We'll be thankful."

His other hand is resting on Kyle's knee, his thumb rubs slow circles against him.

Simons foot taps on the floor of the car silently, brows tight together. The man just wants to go home, shower, eat whatever heaven you cooked and sink into that california king mattress. With all of you, all five of you together.

"Steaks."

He mutters.

"Hm?"

Johnny questions with a hum, Simon clarifies.

"On days we come home.. it's either steak or shepherds pie. She made shepherds pie last time so it's gonna be steak."

They all salivate at the damn thought.

"It's tha little things with ye huh Simon?"

Johnny smiles warmly, leaning on his shoulder.

It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are. Filing out of the truck, bags over their shoulders. Covered in grime and dried blood, they didn't even let themselves clean up at base before going home to you. Walking forward, Simon slings an arm around Kyle's shoulder. Tucking the sargeant into his side as they walk to the house. Both Johns walking behind them, Price giving the younger a good slap on the back.

"Home, boys. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Price comes forward to unlock the front door, pushing it open for the four of them. Mumbling out a reminder to take off their shoes inside. Leaning down with a grunt to pull off his boots. The others doing the same. They can already smell what you're cooking, Simon was right. The smell of steaks is pretty clear, garlic butter, some kind of steamed vegetables and spices.

The house is clean. Warm. Low lighting, some candles lit. Everything about it screams home. John opens his mouth to call out for you, but he can feel his spine practically melt hearing you hum in the kitchen.

Johnny is the first stumbling forward, hopping on one leg as he throws off his remaining shoe. Eager to get back to you. Grinning as he comes around the corner into the kitchen. He melts. Seeing you there, in your chair dishing up their plates of dinner.

".. Hey lass.."

He mumbles, feeling like all the air left his chest.

You turn your head when you hear him, the brightest smile spreads across your face. Tossing the fork down from your hand as you turn towards him.

"Hey soldier-"

You beam. You don't even get another word in before Johnny rushes towards you, you let out a puff of air as he crashes into you. Laughing against him as he squeezes you to his chest, his face buried in your hair.

"Fuckin' missed ye hen.."

He whispers. You return with one of your own.

"I know baby.. I missed you too.."

You lift your head, kissing the scar on his chin.

"This bloke botherin' you love?"

You already know that voice immediately, smiling as you turn to look at Kyle. Who is quick at your side with Johnny, his hand cups the back of your head. Pressing a long kiss to your cheek. Taking a deep inhale of your scent through his nose. You smile warmly, your hand finds his bicep, giving a soft squeeze.

"There you are Kyle.."

You murmur, turning your head to press your own kisses across the bridge of his nose.

"Always here."

He chirps, kissing on your skin. His eyes bore into you, drinking you up. Johnny huffs, mumbling something about stealing all your attention. Earning a small tug on his mowhawk from you.

"Alright you two- showers. The both of you. You need it-"

You chuckle, giving them both a hug. Giving Johnny one more kiss on the jaw. Letting Gaz get one more kiss on your face. Watching them head past you down the hall to the bathroom. Kissing on eachother, bumping into walls. You shake your head at them with a smile.

Eyes flicking back to the entrance. You find Simon staring at you, his shoulders slack and sinking. Eyes half lidded and tired. The rest of his face under the balaclava. Your eyes soften, holding out your hand to him.

"Oh Si.."

He takes the invitation. Coming over to you. He would tower over you in height. But instead he falls to one knee in front of your chair. Hands resting on the arm rests of your chair. Your hands immediately cradle his head. Leaning forward to press your head to his.

"You're home.. it's alright now .. no more Lieutenant.."

You whisper against him. Your fingertips lift the edge of the balaclava, pulling it over the nape of his neck. Over the back of his head, nails dragging soothingly up his scalp as you take the fabric away. Making him shiver in vulnerability. Putting his mask aside on the counter.

Seeing your Simons face eases the both of you, cupping his jaw and lifting his head.

"I know doll.. I know."

He mutters, you kiss his temple. Caressing his skin. Threading your fingers into his hair.

"Go shower with the boys sweetheart.. I'll be in there soon."

You coo at him. He chuckles deeply, kissing your head between your brows as he gets up. Bumping your foreheads together one more time before walking to the bathroom.

"You're not gonna say hello to me John?"

You joke, turning your head to watch said Captain. Who was holding his hat in hand, leaning against the wall watching you. He's been watching you the whole time.

"Just seein' you with our boys darlin'.."

Pushing away from the wall he walks over to you. His eyes full of exhaustion, longing, warmth. Tossing his hat on the counter behind you. He leans down, callous hands hold your cheeks. Bringing your lips to his.

He's not as sneaky as he thinks. You know of his little demand to the boys. He's the first to kiss you. Each time they come home.

You kiss him back feverishly, as much as you've been calm and steady for them. You missed your men like hell. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, beginning to work on the knots of tension in them. Emitting a deep groan from John into your mouth. You smile against his lips, feeling the scratch off his beard.

"Everyone's alright?"

You whisper against him. He nods, his hands finding your hips. Slightly lifting you from your chair and towards himself.

"No one's broken. .. Kyle's a little stressed. Y'know how he is.."

You nod, eyes still closed, continuing to brush your lips together.

"And you?"

"Just tired.. But I'm home. That's what matters."

John mumbles, kissing you deep again. Dipping his tongue past your lips, a soft sigh slipping out of you. Arms pulling him closer.

"Taking good care of our boys John.. You always do.. Making sure you all come home to me again... Our strong Captain.."

You can feel him sinking at your praise. The older mans knees want to buckle at your voice.

"Let's get you in the shower baby.. Hm? Get you washed and relaxed.."

You mumble against him.

You yelp as your lifted into the air by his arms, laughing openly as he carries you like a bride. Burying his nose to the crook of your neck. Carrying you down the hall, to the bathroom door. Where you can already hear the chatter of the men in the shower waiting for the two of you. John is grumbling against your skin.

"We need you darlin'. "

"Our boys and I need you bad.."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[2kiran]

Just saw the simon post, and i NEED the second version in which simon has a big belly bulge😘😘

cw m!reader has a huge dick. belly bulge. pt1.

“you okay, baby?” simon was heavily panting in your ear, his hands bunching up your shirt. it was obvious, he wasn’t quite ‘okay’. his pupils were blown wide in lust and his mask couldn’t hide the desperate expression on his face. simon’s hole fluttered around you in response, tears threatening to spill whilst his voice was husky, “don’t– don’t move.” he whimpered, experimentally grinding down on you as your cock hit all of the right spots within his being.

simon moaned softly, unable to contain his sounds as pleasure mixed with pain. he was so fucking lightheaded. he just took all of you in mere minutes ago and he felt so brainless already. “go on, take me already,” he huffed, still bratty even though you were balls deep inside of him. grabbing his hips, you carefully lifted him up before bringing him back down. “nngh, fuck!” he gasped, the thoughts that formed in his fucked out brain quickly dissipating. you repeated the action again, until he was unashamedly riding your cock.

“do...ah! do you like this? h-huh?” he asked, shakily, “like fuckin’ your superior officer? i should- i should tell the te- team, let ‘em know how- how badly you want me.” he stammered, eyes nearly rolling back, “gonna have you – hmfg...reported.” you knew he wouldn’t. he couldn’t. not when you were fucking him so heavenly, not when he could feel you in his throat. god, you wish you could snap a photo right now. eyes wandering over his muscular body and that’s when you saw it.

a fucking bulge in his belly.

interrupting his bounces, you place your hand over it. “you couldn’t do that even if you needed to,” you replied, self-assured. the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was going to retort, before his gaze followed yours. a soft groan leaving his lips as the flush on his face deepened, switching positions so that you had him on his back. “bloody hell...” he muttered, embarrassed more than ever. you pulled back until nearly nothing was in him, making him whine at the loss before you harshly snapped your hips to his. every movement forward had you bulging out of his belly, hovering your hand over it like you were in a trance. let’s see what he’ll look like with all of your cum inside of his greedy hole.

masterlist

[yippeerrrs]

König being your boyfriend

I got bored, enjoy! Edited: something triggering at the last part (consenual somnophilia)

Okay first of all, he's gentle. Very gentle. He knows he's strong and his hands would break necks within seconds, he would use those hands to gently caress your cheek, trying his best not to hurt you.

Mans would cry if you got hurt because of him, even if it was an accident.

Wouldn't let you work, doesn't want to risk you being called by some other men when he's not around.

Scary dog privileges.

During movie nights, he would definitely pull you closer by pulling your shoulder, would def kiss your forehead too

Probably would take him atLEAST a year to take off his mask around you, and when he does, he would shower you with kisses.

Makes up for the time he's not here with you by buying you stuff online, sending you flowers, letters, clothes etc.

Mans would carry a picture of you in his wallet at all times, in battle he'd hide your photo under his bicycle helmet.

LOVES arts and crafts, he would give you homemade things like paper roses, paper rings and etc. (Stan taylor swift)

Since he gets socially anxious, he makes up for the fact that you can't go on fancy dates and he would do everything in his power to make you two dinner, flowers, tables, he's got everything.

In the mornings, he would probably hesitate letting you go and pulling you in for a hug, spooning you closely so you can't move. Eventually you give in and hug him back, making him smile.

Very dumb at times, man would probably try to wash the microwave by rinsing it with water if you're not there.

Would pull you closer to him and death glare the person if someone so much as dared to smile at you

Personal bodyguard.

Would probably fuck you when you're asleep, finds it fun when you unconsciously squirm under him.

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[madsfrank]

Imagine being the tf141’s girl…

Maybe you’re dating one of them or maybe not, but they are all in love with you. Will do anything for you. Love it when you stop around the base.

The boys will buy you trinkets from their missions and would spoil you rotten if you’d only ask….

And if you give them a kiss? Oh, dinners on them for the rest of your life.

They adore you, they are your guard dogs. They won’t let anyone even look at you.

That guy over there is bothering you? He’s a dead man, leave it you them. To your boys.

God forbid you hold their hand, cause their never letting go.

You’re so soft so pretty…

And nobody is gonna hurt you.

You say you like something? A certain style of clothing? Prepare to start cleaning your closet as your getting everything to do with that style.

Gaz gets you a new skirt, Soap a cute tee, Price and Simon get you jackets and leg warmers.

Nothings too much for their girl.

[mall0ww]

No bj? (Insert MegaMind meme)

Simon " Ghost " Riley x Fem! Reader || You want to return him the favour but it doesn't go exactly as planned

CW's : NSFW (MDNI), oral, sweet sex, gagging reflex

Not proofread

- - -

Your eyes were fluttering shut, hand holding on his hair oh so tightly, tugging every now and then in hopes to have some kind of hold on yourself.

God.

Never had a man made you feel as good as Ghost did.

His face was buried between your thighs, his nose softly brushing against your clit and oh- his tongue.

It was lapping so sweetly against your folds, as if it was cleaning you from what he did to you before. (Which it actually did)

But when the digit entered your sweet little hole, it was over. The wet, squelching sound it made would usually make you feel embarrassed. Yet that thought was quickly shoved aside with how good that sensation felt.

Ironic, you thought to yourself after a short while. At first, it took you a lot of convincing until you allowed your boyfriend to go down on you and now you were laying here- so pilant, so good for him, on the bed with his face squished between your thighs.

" Y'alright there, luvie? "

His voice sounded as smooth as velvet in your ears. It was a mere whisper that made you feel every little breath of his against your sensitive place.

" Mhm... "

Was the only response you could give right now, your mind being too dazed with the pleasure he was giving you.

•

" You sure? You don't need to if not. "

After coming down from your high, you offered Ghost to give him a blowjob, as if to return the favour of making you feel so good. That was his response.

You were contemplating.

Of course you really wanted to return him what he gave you, of course you wanted to make him feel good, too. Yet there was a little problem that you had.

Your gagging reflex.

Even while just simply brushing your teeth it would show up. So you weren't sure if you were actually able to do what you wanted to do. But you wanted to try.

" I want to make you feel good as well, my love. "

You responded, a small pout adorning your lips.

Instead of pitying you though, Ghost gave a small laugh. His eyes lit up with a kind of playfulness, you could see it clearly when he rolled his eyes. The little smirk, looking all too smug, spoke for itself.

" Well, if you insist. "

•

After getting on your knees, your frame now nestled comfortably between his thighs, you were questioning yourself once more. Was this really a good idea? Would he be disappointed if you actually can't do it?

Those thoughts made you face him instead of his cock.

" Hypothetical speaking... Would you be disappointed- "

Before you can finish your question, his big, calloused hands went down to your cheeks, caressing them with a gentleness that would be unexpected of a man of his size.

He was quick to cut your doubts off.

" Look, you don't even have to do this at all. If you don't want to, I won't force you. Even if it was your idea. I already feel so good just with pleasuring you. So if you want to try, you can do it. But if you don't want to or can't do it, then I'll understand. I can always finish it myself, or we'll find some other solution. So don't worry, luvie, okay? "

Your eyes almost started to tear up with how sweet and caring he was. It was almost funny just how many emotions this man made you feel.

•

With a deep breath, you lowered your face once more towards his cock.

It was standing upright, the tip was so red that it almost looked painful. There were a few droplets of precum on his slit, glistening in the dim light of your shared bedroom.

Being so close, you could see every little vein on it, the little details you usually wouldn't see when you're always receiving the pleasure from him.

Your lips parted slightly, a little string of saliva connecting them until it snapped. You lowered your face even more towards him, until you just took the tip in your mouth for now.

So far, so good.

You could hear Ghost's breath hitch as you did that. His eyes were revealing the anticipation he felt. Yet there was also something else.

Worry? You couldn't understand why. But maybe it was because of what you've said earlier.

Because he didn't wanted you to push yourself like this, just for his pleasure. Because he already felt so, so good with just pleasuring you.

Maybe you thought you could control it better now, maybe you just hoped you could actually do it, but as soon as you lowered your mouth even more on his cock, trying to take more of it in-

Your body wasn't all too happy about your little decision and you felt yourself gagging slightly, even though you barely took any of his length in.

It just felt so embarrassing, maybe even humiliating, as that gagging noise came from your throat (luckily supressed by the little part of his cock in your mouth) and your body made a slight movement as if you were about to throw up.

Before you could try again, you felt Ghost reach for your cheeks once more, lifting your face gently so that his hard cock would slip out of your mouth.

Your lips remained slightly parted, your eyes blinking twice. Until you felt slightly ashamed once more. The colour of your cheeks got brighter. This time it wasn't in a positive way though.

When your lips formed a small frown though, Ghost's expression got slightly sad.

" Told you that you don't have to.. "

He whispered with a low sigh. His expression was now indeed slightly disappointed. Not with what you attempted to do, but that you felt like you had to force yourself to do this for him. Because he knew that you knew you probably wouldn't be able to do this.

" 'm sorry.. "

Ghost shook his head slightly. He didn't wanted you to apologize for a trivial matter like this. And you don't need to apologize for such a silly thing.

" Look, you tried it and that's what counts, okay? 'm not disappointed with you, luvie. "

" But... ", you tried once more.

Yet before you could finish your little answer, his hands reached beneath your arms and lifted you as if you weigh nothing and he placed you on the bedsheets again.

At first, he didn't say anything, just moving you in the position where he wanted to have you.

He just moved to the side of the bed, pulling you on his lap. To your horror, you two were now exactly sitting in front of your cute mirror that was placed on your wardrobe.

Hell, it was so embarrassing to see that your pussy was so wet again.

One of Ghost's arms was around your waist, keeping you on place, the other hand went between your legs, holding on one of your thighs just to spread them.

So you looked away.

Your boyfriend placed his chin on your shoulder, his eyes almost glaring at you through the mirror. But with no menace. He just wants to make sure that you believe him when he says that he's not disappointed in you and that you're still good enough for him, no matter what.

After all, he loves you.

" Look in the mirror and listen to me closely, okay luvie? "

[141wh0re]

Out of pocket shit w Y/N

Overheard in the mess: Y/N: The queen can suck my left tit. This food is shite. *Gaz & Soap stifling laughter* Price: Y/n! Y/N: What?! Ghost: Did you just offer the monarch to suck your left tit? Y/N: It's not tyranny if it's a sexual favor, right? *Gaz & Soap spitting their drinks on Price* *Ghost snorts behind his mask*

[frogchiro]

Maybe an unpopular opinion but a domesticity kink + dry humping is one of the best combos out there EVER

Like imagine this big, strong, burly man like Price or Simon or Graves being absolutely wild and soft for you, the pretty housewife that drives a man crazy♡ All soft curves, nice ample breasts and soft, broad hips with a pretty floral apron tied around your waist as you cook a nice hearty mean for your tired man and greet him with that beautiful smile of yours :((

It honestly would make them soft, desperate, hating the idea of being even a second longer away from you, all pent up and horny so they just cling with their big, rough hands to your hips and they can't helo themselves but thrust their quiclly hardening cocks against you, effectively humping you like an animal in heat but even your soft whines that you need to finish their dinner doesn't stop the man; he needs to fuck, needs to be close to his girl♡