#ghost/soap/könig

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.1/10 | ghost/soap/könig

@bluegiragi this is your fault

read on ao3 | next | ch wc: 1.4k, total: 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule)

preview: Ghost finishes his cigarette, stubs it out on the heel of his boot, and considers lighting another one when he hears Soap’s hissed whisper cut through the night like a blade.

“We have to be quick about it, I want to get some shut eye before wheels up at oh six hundred.” For all that Soap is whispering, he’s being rather conspicuous, Ghost thinks.

-

Ghost dreams. 

The kitchen isn’t one he can wholly place, it’s some hybrid his subconscious has painted in powder blue dawn with softened edges and anachronisms. Ghost sits at the kitchen table, a perfect replica of the military issued foldouts complete with matching, nondescript chairs. There’s even a still-smoking cigarette in a dirty ashtray and an abandoned game of blackjack on the table. 

But the kitchen is undoubtedly his childhood home, or one of them at least. He tracks a line of decorative blue tiles in the kitchen floor from beneath the foldout table to the cupboards, the countertops, the stove, the boiling pot. Steam plumes with a vengeance up, up, up into a rolling thunder cloud that overtakes the whole room. Cold, fat drops splatter onto Ghost’s face. He reaches to wipe the rain from his cheek and realizes as he stares at his own small hand that he is a child in this dream. 

The shadows grow sharp, and long. The boiling pot on the stove clatters and burns, and still the cloud keeps growing. In an instant, the gentle sanctuary of early mornings becomes something cruel with dreadful hands. Ghost shivers, tries to shield himself from the rain but finds he cannot move. He hears the sound of a lock clicking, the stumbling, drink-heavy boots clumsy in the entryway, in the living room, in the hall, right outside of the kitchen door. A perfect lightning storm of terror. 

He wakes, shaking, sweaty and his chest tight with panic. His balaclava is under his pillow; he pulls it on without thinking. It’s not often that he has these nightmares since joining SAS—there’s not much dreaming going on when you’ve been awake for over 72 hours, tweaked out on stims, body driven past the point of physical exhaustion. He sleeps like the dead, when he sleeps. 

Ghost doesn’t feel afraid, but his body does. He takes his heart rate, tries to breathe through it and wills the adrenaline away. The threat is neutralized. The threat has been neutralized for decades. Still, he rises from bed and grabs his pistol, his camels, and pulls on his boots, already in tomorrow’s tactical clothes. The clock reads oh two hundred. 

Outside, the air is cooler. He’s on base in the UK, a rare thing, staying the night in the BOQs for what will be an early departure for Turkey to clean up a handful of loose ends that Graves and Shephard left in the wake of their cover up. Makarov’s looming not far behind, likely has connections to more smuggled missiles somewhere in the Anatolian Peninsula. The road ahead of us is a long one, Price had said as he told them about Makarov. 

Behind the mess, in the quiet dark, Ghost lifts his mask over his nose and lights a cigarette. He crouches over the dusty concrete with his pistol and performs a basic reload drill, cigarette dangling from his lips while he puffs, his only source of light a dull yellow streetlamp on the road beside him. 

Ghost finishes his cigarette, stubs it out on the heel of his boot, and considers lighting another one when he hears Soap’s hissed whisper cut through the night like a blade. 

“We have to be quick about it, I want to get some shut eye before wheels up at oh six hundred.” For all that Soap is whispering, he’s being rather conspicuous, Ghost thinks.

Ghost draws back from the light of the streetlamp until he’s obscured in the shadows. Soap emerges, boots crunching on the asphalt, from the other side of the street with König not far behind, an operator Ghost had worked with in the past Laswell had contracted through KorTac. 

“But it is so rare that we are anywhere, together,” König whispers, and comes to a stop under the streetlamp in front of Ghost. “I don’t wish to rush.” 

His face is obscured by the helmet and veil, a tactical tablecloth Ghost once called it, but his eyes gleam in the lowlight as his gaze shifts restlessly from one side of the street to the other. Ghost steps further into the shadows, soundless. 

Soap turns to lay a hand on König’s forearm and has to look up, even craning his neck a bit, to meet König’s eyes.

“We won’t rush,” Soap says, a promise Ghost knows he can’t keep. 

Soap’s hand brushes palm down and firm to find König’s. He threads their fingers together and squeezes. König’s gaze is drawn to their joined hands and his back straightens as he stands at full attention, shoulders drawing back, a full head and a half taller than Soap now. 

“There he is,” Soap whispers. He releases König’s hand and continues walking. Towards the motor pool, Ghost realizes. 

König follows, still staring at the hand that Soap had grasped in an unspoken plea. 

Unnoticed, Ghost holds his breath as they pass. 

 -

Ghost knows what this is. 

Back in his quarters, he recalls his and Soap’s frantic life-affirming fumblings with a hand around his cock. The first time was after Las Almas, after Graves was dead. If Ghost had had it his way, it would have been at Alejandro’s safehouse, Rodolfo be damned. 

That first time had been frenzied, a tidal wave crashing against a breakwater. They were on the transport to Chicago, in the cargo hold. Soap had asked to speak with him privately, had practically dragged him into a secluded cubby behind a flimsy curtain, had reached for him and said, “Tell me you want this too.” Ghost could only nod once, dumbly. What followed was an intense handjob with a lot of eye contact while Soap rubbed off against his still clothed thigh.  

The second time was after Chicago, after the pub, in Soap’s hotel room. Ghost had removed his mask and watched as Soap puttered around, limbs loose and knocking against furniture while he prepared for bed.

“Easy Johnny,” Ghost had said after Soap hip checked a table and nearly sent a lamp crashing down. Soap’s eyes snapped up from where he was righting the lamp, as if he had forgotten Ghost was in his room. His eyes had widened then darkened as he took in Ghost’s bare face. Had stalked over to him to take his face between his hands and trailed soft fingertips from brow to cheekbone to lips, tracing scars and looking his fill. 

“Let me blow you,” Soap said as he pressed a finger past Ghost’s lips to press on his tongue and then dragged the spit wet digit down the line of his body to hook into his belt loop. Ghost, four bourbons deep, had said yes, please. Had returned the favor, happily, with Soap’s hands fisted in his hair. 

The memories make his blood sing and pulse in his ears. It had been an unspoken arrangement, born from adrenaline, no strings attached. A means to forget the blood and gore or maybe even relive it a little. They hadn’t discussed what it meant, if anything at all, in the larger scheme of things. What they did behind closed doors (or in secluded corners) to remind themselves that they were alive was their business alone. 

So it makes no bloody sense why Ghost’s teeth ache when he thinks about Soap and König and what they’re getting up to while he desperately strokes his dry cock, gasping into the pillow. 

Would König have Soap pressed up against the side of an ATV, his big hands gripping Soap’s hips while he grinds down against him? Or perhaps, Soap has König kneeling in the dirt at his feet, his cock buried to the hilt in König’s throat, hunched to accommodate their height difference; obedient.

Somehow, it’s worse to imagine it’s König holding Soap down, manhandling Soap into the exact right position to take his pleasure. Does Soap always like it hard and fast? Or would he keep his promise to König? 

Ghost bites down on his free wrist to relieve the ache in his jaw, the urge to draw blood rising in his throat and heating his face. He imagines König’s eyes staring up at Soap from behind the veil, lifted just so to let Soap in. Soap had liked to pull on his hair, that one time. What was he doing with his hands now? 

Ghost comes on his shirt, stripping his cock with the phantom sensation of Soap’s fingers carding through his hair, the feeling of Soap’s softening cock thick and heavy on his tongue. 

He’ll have to change shirts before wheels up.

[unhingedpolycule]

Posting this spicy little threesome thing will still take a day or two but I am excited. Kinda explicit, so you can be good and follow the Twitter, so you see the uncensored version first. (There is a little sneak peek on there right now ;) for your entertainment)

Or: unhingedpoly on Twitter

~Corr

[sugar-vs-art]

Type O Positive

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Rating/Warnings: Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Relationships: König/John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, König/John "Soap" MacTavish, König/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Tags: Non-Consensual Drug Use, Kidnapping, Medical Torture, Established Relationship, Missions Gone Wrong, Eventual Smut, Non-Canonical Character Death

Noble Service Solutions is a cutting edge medical research company that is holding their annual blood drive gala. However things are not quite what they seem: people tend to disappear each time their name pops up. Three experts are called in to investigate and put a stop to whatever is happening behind the scenes. The mission calls for stealth, expertise, and preferably at least one operative that doesn’t chronically wear a mask to go undercover.

OR 

Yet another fic where Soap gets kidnapped but this time it’s by ppl really obsessed with blood and also he has TWO boyfriends to rescue him.

[notknickers]

uncropped and uncensored here

[trashgavin]

Wrote more Ghost/Soap/König content, since that's where my brainrot is currently at.

[konigsblog]

P!LINK COD MWII MASTERLIST (🌽)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. STRICTLY 18+. ALL MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

BEWARE: DARKER THEMES BELOW.

PHOTO CREDIT: GLUTT_R ON 🐦/X

KÖNIG

somnophilia with pervert!könig

taking kidnapper!könig for the first time

size difference with petite!reader and könig

“just the tip, könig.” with loser!könig

loser!könig who loses control (breeding kink)

being groped by kidnapper!könig (hole inspection)

forced breeding with pervert!könig

hope inspection with older boyfriend!könig

virginity loss with könig (virgin!reader)

letting virgin!könig use your body (virginity loss)

raped and recorded by könig

entertainment for kidnapper!könig (non-con)

raped in public by rapist!könig

incel!könig making porn for his online girlfriend

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

punishments with brat!reader and simon riley (brat taming)

relaxing simon riley with your pussy

‘obedience’ with simon riley

stepbrother!simon riley and his best friends

humping your stepfather's bulge

car sex with stepbro!simon riley

rough dom!simon riley and his fuck doll

being manhandled by your stepbrother

raped by kidnapper!simon

being filled by simon riley (breeding kink)

hole inspection with simon riley

cock worship with older boyfriend!simon

rough dom!simon x brat!reader (brat taming)

punishments with stepfather!simon

having your attitude fixed by your lieutenant

semi-clothed sex with pervert!simon

raped for intel by lieutenant!simon

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

pervert!soap x milf!reader (morning sex)

“just the tip, i promise.” with stepbro!soap

your needy stepbro attempting to distract you

rough dom!stepbro!soap punishing you

playful!stepbro!soap and his virgin stepsister virginity loss

stepbro!soap eating you out

cuddling fucking with stepbro!soap

drunken sex with loser!soap

“fuck, don’t stop, bonnie...” handjobs with soap

being fingered by stepbro!soap

mutual masturbation with soap

stepson!soap with stepmom!reader

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

shower sex with pervert!gaz

the type of videos gym bro!gaz sends you

riding gaz in your new lingerie

the result of getting high with stepbro!gaz

having your insides rearranged by gaz

riding gaz for the first time

“don’t pull out!” with pervert!gaz

sucking off gaz for the first time (inexperienced!reader)

letting virgin!gaz play with your cunt while you're high

treating soft!gaz to a handjob after his deployment

virgin!reader fucking themselves back on gaz

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

being eaten out by john price (1)

being eaten out by john price (2)

morning sex with older boyfriend!price

spit play with older boyfriend!price

morning sex with sugar daddy!price

being eaten out by sugar daddy!price

manhandled by price

making out with price

stepdad!price and his slutty, daft stepdaughter

[deunmiu-dessie]

he misses you. he misses you like a flower misses the sun. like the desert misses the rain. like you are the entirety of his being. as if you hold the key to his fierce, thumping bloody heart within the palm of your hands, like he is nothing without you— and perhaps he isn't. he doesn't feel like himself, no, in fact, he feels empty. like a shell of the man he used to be before you. he feels as though the world has lost its color, its meaning, and it makes him feel bare— it makes him feel.

he misses you. he misses the warmth of your perfume, a sweet and spicy blended aroma of saffron and sugared lavender. he misses your smile, all wide and pretty— genuine and charming, and always all for him. he misses the sound of your laughter, raw and boisterous, but sometimes soft and breathy, intimate. he misses your kisses, shy and cloying— yet fierce and angry at times as well. he misses the small things, like the scatter of moles across the expanse of your body that he finds himself counting when he can't fall asleep. or the way you fuss over him, mumbling curses and your love for him all in the same sentence.

he is nothing without you, and he knows it all too well.

the soft jangle of your keys in the lock makes him look up from his journal, the door swinging open. and despite himself, he finds that he's softened underneath your warm, loving gaze. ah, he also misses the sound of your voice, euphonious and soft, a tone you use for him specifically.

❝why are you looking at me like that?❞

he can feel his heart dance within his chest, pounding fiercely as you slant your hip to the side, the very same hips he adores holding onto when swaying with you to music. your eyes, which always seem to sweep him under with their intensity with no fail, are glittering with mirth, it knocks the breath from his chest. ❝ i adore you,❞ he utters— he sounds like a fool in love, and he doesn't particularly mind it. your cheeks flush with color and you playfully roll your eyes. that's alright, you don't need to say it back, he knows.

❝help me with the groceries?❞

he? ⸺ SIMON, gojo satoru, DAMON SALVATORE, soap, older!TANJIRO, scott mccall, GAZ, clark kent, EMMETT CULLEN, leon kennedy, STEVE HARRINGTON, giyu tomioka, JOHN PRICE, loran, ULYSSES, rick grimes, KÖNIG, dick grayson, SPENCER REID.

honestly it can be anyone you envision.

[writingfromasgard]

If you're a minor and interact with this post. I will block you.

Read more of Dustball: OC: Dustball

Reader who lives in the fucking vents on base. No one knows why. Somewhere in one of the larger junctions she has an office set.

Price walks over the vent in his office, knocks twice then says "dustball, get in here"

The first time it happens to the boys, they're freaked out. They think their captain has lost it when she pops out of the large vent.

Simon almost pulls his gun on her. Gaz stares then goes "Are you the thing i keep hearing at night?" [She is. Her sleeping vent is up above his room.] Johnny laughs harder than he should, "it's a wee bonnie in the walls!"

She's got a clearance as high as Price's which is why no one cares where she's at. They were curious enough to strap a body camera to her once. They found she does her work, has a camp out set up of pots and pans, and she swipes ingredients from the kitchen at night.

[ramvur]

Soap is lucky he's pretty

also i rly rly wanted to draw some of my fav kortac guys :) yes ik kortac is a pmc and they dont have a colonel

[lxvvie]

Y'all know that whole trend that was going around social media with women calling their significant other by their full name? Yeah, that one. Yet another conversation was had, this time it was about the reactions your favorite babygurls would have if you called them by their full government name because of reasons. Maybe.

Capt. John Price - He's, uh, startled but not enough to drop his cigar this time. Does take a puff of it, though, before addressing you like it's the calm before the storm. Isn't too fazed because he heard it enough from his own mom growing up and he figures he's suave and diplomatic enough to placate you.

Gaz - Pointedly ignores you while giving you side glances here and there which is a major indicator that he's gotten into some shit. Probably. More than likely. Yeah... it was Soap's fault.

Alex Keller - Actually did get into some shit. Does not answer the call of duty.

Soap - You hear 'ah, shit', heavy footsteps, probably a crash, and Soap's peeking his head out from the other room. Has a deer-in-headlights look about him. It was Gaz's fault, goddamnit. He's so adorable. It's enough to make you giggle.

Ghost - You get a grunt. And then it hits him. He stops doing whatever it is he's doing. Fuck, he knows that tone. Simon turns to look at you and he stares into your soul or something like that. What in the hell kind of made-up middle name is that? You spend the better part of a good minute staring each other down before you're all, "I love you ♥️," and Ghost groans and rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was he was doing. But not before he grunts out a "Love ya, too." in return.

Alejandro - This is one of the few things that'll actually faze the man. Will damn near break his neck turning to face you to see what's wrong and his eyes will be wide. Oh, the last time he heard his full name called like that was from his beloved grandmother and he'd gotten into some shit then, okay?

Rudy - Ducks his head. Doesn't show his face; he can't bear the sternness of your voice, your gaze. It wasn't him this time, he swears; it remains, though, the way you say his name, an echo in his mind: Ro-DOL-fo. Why'd you have the emphasize THAT part of his name, huh?

König - König.exe stops working. Actually does break something trying to get to you. His eyes are fucking saucers, okay? Oh shit, what did he do this time, Schatz? Are you getting him back after that one time he snuck up on you to surprise you and you dropped dinner? Did you find out about the time he accidentally messed up the laundry and the white clothes came out pink? WHAT DOES HE HAVE TO DO FIX THIS?! Oh, you... just needed him to grab something off the top shelf for you.

Horangi - Also did some shit. Is unapologetic about it. Hits you with a nonchalant, "Yeah?"

Graves - STAYS IN SOME SHIT, OKAY? Saunters in like the smug bastard he is. Smirks and winks at you. "Haven't heard that name in a while, darlin'. What's your fancy?"

Valeria - Pulls a Uno Reverse and calls you by your full government name. Wait―

[whispermask]

gasoline in your heart ch.2/10 | ghost/soap/könig

read on ao3 | first ~ next | ch wc: 2.5k, total: 34k | completed

tags: smut, eventual ot3, fwbs to lovers, porn with feelings, jealous!ghost

dead dove time: this fic as a whole features a brief mention of a past suicide attempt, briefly graphic past child abuse (not CSA), past abuse of alcohol and present alcohol use, and at times dubious consent (consuming alcohol and engaging in sexual activities; dubcon voyeurism; dubcon sexting)

summary: soap and ghost start hooking up; soap and könig have apparently been hooking up; ghost doesn't know how to deal with it (eventual polycule), chapter 2 is soapghost heavy

preview:  With Soap in his lap and his gorgeous thighs bracketing Ghost’s hips, an image comes to Ghost’s mind unbidden. Soap and König in a similar position, König‘s hands in the exact place where Ghost’s are now, Soap with his sinful mouth and bedroom eyes in König’s lap while he fixes his teeth in König’s skin. He imagines that somewhere König’s identical mark aches. He can’t help it, he tenses.

-

Soap finds him during the mission in Turkey. 

Ghost is re-bandaging a wound on his forearm. It’s dusk, and he’s in the back of a LAMS, obscured behind a utility shelf and crates of ammunition. His tac lies in a heap on the dusty floor, but he’s still sweating, the residual effects of a stim and the adrenaline of a hard won fight still working their way out of his system. His hands shake as he disinfects the wound with isopropyl alcohol and fumbles to unwrap the gauze. 

The wound, a bullet that just managed to graze him, has finally stopped bleeding and the crusted blood around it is starting to pull his skin and arm hair when he moves. In all honesty, he’s surprised there’s not more carnage, or that he managed to dodge just so to avoid being shot. He hadn’t even registered the pain until after he had snapped the shooter's neck and the forty cal had fallen from the man’s hand and clattered across the concrete.

They’re experiencing a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos. Downtime between ops during deployment is already unheard of, but Price and Gaz are eighteen hours outside of the next drop zone doing recon and they can’t proceed without that essential intel so there’s nothing to do but wait for them to return. 

Ghost can’t seem to get a firm wrap with the gauze. He’s close to giving up and prepares for the walk of shame to the field hospital when Soap peaks his head out from behind the wall of crates. Ghost freezes.

“I’ll help,” Soap offers. 

“Not necessary,” Ghost replies, sharp. 

“Quit being stubborn, Lt.,” Soap huffs. He approaches Ghost and takes the gauze, adjusts Ghost’s injured arm to give him better access, and sets to work.

Ghost watches Soap’s face, traces the line of his jaw down to where Soap’s hands are expertly wrapping the gauze with his eyes. Soap doesn’t know that Ghost knows about König. They haven’t had a moment alone since that night in Soap’s hotel room after Chicago, all of three weeks ago. He feels the air around them grow cloying with anticipation as Soap glances up from beneath his lashes to catch Ghost’s eyes. 

“I don’t recall you taking fire. Lucky shot?” Soap asks. 

 “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Ghost says. “This was planned. An old friend caught wind that I’d be in Istanbul. Sent a hired gun, and the bastard got the drop on me.” 

“A friend?” 

“Something like that, yeah.”

”You should get better friends,” Soap says. 

Soap finishes wrapping the gauze and fastens it together with two medical clips. “And you should really visit the field hospital, but that will do for the night, or until the next attempt on your life.”

“Here’s hoping,” Ghost says, without humor. “Thanks.”

“Any time, Lt..” Soap pauses. “Fancy a brew?” 

“Depends on your definition of ‘a brew’.” Ghost says.

-

Soap’s definition of ‘a brew’ is sitting astride Ghost while they neck like overeager teenagers, all teeth and too much spit, no finesse. The tea has long since gone cold on the coffee table in front of them. They’re in a hotel room again, Ghost’s this time. Not luxury accommodations by a long shot, but there’s a real bed and loo which is more than their used to most nights, so five stars all around. 

Ghost has his hands around Soap’s hips. He can feel Soap’s back flexing as he grinds his hard cock against Ghost through their briefs. Clothes lay strewn about the floor, forgotten in their haste to get skin on skin. Ghost had laid Soap on the couch and bracketed him in with his forearms resting on the cushion beside his head. Their frenzy had simmered for a moment, and they had exchanged almost-tender touches, Soap staring up at him with something akin to wonder. Soap had turned his head so that his cheek was resting in Ghost’s palm, pulled his thumb in between the perfect ‘O’ of his swollen lips. And then Soap craned up, leaving Ghost’s thumb cold with spit, and pressed his lips against the fabric of his still-masked face, just left of center of Ghost’s mouth. A silent request. Ghost had obliged him, the balaclava now abandoned on the coffee table next to their cold mugs. 

Soap pushes him up for a moment to fumble for his discarded pants, where he produces a bottle of lube and box of condoms, sets them on the couch next to them and manhandles Ghost until he’s sitting up and climbing into his lap to resume their frantic kissing. 

The implication is settled molten in Ghost’s gut, has made a home for itself already, uninvited but impossible to resist. He needs Soap closer so he tucks his hands under the back of Soap’s thighs and hikes him higher, sitting Soap on his clothed cock so that Soap can grind against the hard muscles of his stomach. The head of his dick has left a noticeable wet spot on his briefs and slicks where it presses against Ghost’s skin, the salt-smell of him fueling Ghost’s desire.  

Their lips come apart in the shuffle, Soap gasping at the squeeze of Ghost’s hands where ass meets thigh. They find each other again, open-mouthed, tongues swiping and spit heavy; kiss-stupid. Soap tastes like earl gray and bergamot, like cigarettes and gunpowder. Desire pitches through him like a fever, roars in his ears and rises in his throat. Soap’s move back so that he can dip his hand below the waistline of Ghost’s briefs to grasp his cock with a firm, calloused grip. Ghost groans deep in his throat.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s it,” Soap whisper. 

Ghost wraps his hand around Soap’s, jerking him together. He looks down at where his briefs have been pulled below his balls, at the wet cockhead flashing between their fists, precum slicking the way. 

“Wanna blow you,” Soap says. He slides from Ghost’s lap to his folded knees on the floor at Ghost’s feet. He places his hands on the inside of Ghost’s thighs and pushes his legs open to give him better access.  

“Fuck,” Ghost says. 

“Eventually,” Soap replies. So fucking cheeky, Ghost thinks. 

He slides his palms up Ghost’s legs to the V of his hips. Presses, testing Ghost’s resistance. Holds him down, or tries to as he mouths at the shaft of Ghost’s dick, gets it wet with his tongue, slips the drooling cockhead into his mouth and suckles. 

Soap enjoys sucking dick, Ghost figures, gets after it with the same focus he applies in his work, single minded and intense. Ghost’s cock fills his mouth and throat with inches to spare but what Soap lacks in deepthroating ability he more than makes up for in ambition. He’s got his fingers circled around the base of Ghost’s dick like a cockring, moreso to direct his movements, but the pressure sends shivers of pleasure down his spine, causing Ghost to drive his hips up into the soft, wet heat of Soap’s mouth. He feels himself leaking, fights the urge to grasp his cock and drag it over Soap’s lips and cheeks to mark him with precum. 

“That’s it,” Ghost says. He’s got a hand fisted in the back of Soap’s mohawk, grown out a bit and brushing against his neck. He uses his grip there for leverage, to bring Soap’s head down as he fucks up into his mouth. “Choke on it, you slag.” 

Soap pulls his head against Ghost’s grip and drags his mouth up the shaft until only the head of Ghost’s cock is encircled by the tight ring of his lips. His pupils are blown, black saucers that almost eclipse his irises. He moans around Ghost, his eyes rolling back a bit. He moves the hand not holding Ghost’s cock below the edge of the couch, seemingly into his own briefs. His mouth and jaw are wet with saliva and precum, a line of spit dribbling from his chin onto the cushion below. Ghost couldn’t care less about propriety, he’ll pay the damages if he has to. He has a feeling they’ll more than ruin the upholstery by the time the night is through. 

“Like that, do you?” Ghost says. 

Soap licks at the underside of his cockhead with hard flicks, massaging where the glans meet and sucking gently so that his cheeks hollow. He uses the circle of his other hand to stroke Ghost from base to just where his mouth is sealed. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Ghost says, a sharp, gruff whisper. “Pull off, fuck, Soap, fuck.” He tries to jerk Soap’s head back further, the image of painting Soap’s lips and cheeks with his come driving him closer to the white-hot edge.

But Soap (damn him, bless him) takes him as far down as he can and swallows, the muscles of his throat fluttering as he releases Ghost’s cock from the tight circle of his fingers. He reaches around to grab Ghost’s ass and pulls him even deeper. His shoulder knocks against Ghost’s knee as he strokes his own cock.

“Fuck, Johnny–I’m gonna come so hard, you’re gonna make me come, you–” 

Famous last words, Ghost thinks, as his cock pulses on Soap’s tongue and in his throat. Soap keeps swallowing, once, twice, the shock of pleasure as his throat undulates around Ghost’s cockhead bordering on pain, exultant. He can’t bear to keep his eyes open against it, has to clench them shut on a moan so loud it feels like it shakes the foundation of the building. Soap pulls off and rests his head against Ghost’s thigh as his cock dribbles out the last few pulses of come against his cheek and onto Ghost’s briefs. 

Soap’s hand is still moving on his cock and he bites the meat of Ghost’s thigh to muffle a moan. Ghost, feeling kitten-weak in the post orgasm haze, clasps the back of Soap’s head and drags him up and back into his lap, into a searing, sloppy kiss. Ghost can taste his spunk on Soap’s tongue, the salt of it eclipsing the bergamot. They smell like spit and skin and kiss with house-on-fire desperation. Ghost still feels like he’s coming, surprised to find his dick starting to go soft against the cleft of Soap’s ass. Soap still has a hand around the base of his own leaking cock now, though he’s stopped stroking it to instead focus on kissing Ghost. Always a one track mind. 

Ghost pulls away “Want help with that?” he asks, already reaching to pull Soap’s boxers down fully. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Soap says, and bites Ghost’s bottom lip. “I think you can get hard again.”

Ghost is inclined to agree if the twitch of his dick is anything to go by.

Soap pulls away to stand and remove his briefs completely. He palms his now bare cock, slick down the shaft, as he looks down on his handiwork. Ghost spreads his arms across the back of the sofa, reclines a little to give him a good view. Soap strokes his cock faster, eyes heavy lidded and lips parted and full, the blood of his arousal pumping so that every part of him stands at attention, glows pink, because of what Ghost does to him. He can definitely go again, he thinks, cock already at half mast as he watches Soap get off on watching him.

Soap settles astride him, still stroking his cock. Ghost hooks a hand around the back of his head to fist his hair and pulls Soap in so that their foreheads are pressed together, eye to eye, lips a hairbreadth apart as they share ragged breaths. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to saying I’ll give you everything you want.

Soap is the first to break eye contact, instead opting to trail spit slick kisses down his jaw and throat, until he’s biting hard at the thick chord of muscle between Ghost’s shoulder and neck. Ghost throws his head back and groans but Soap doesn’t relent, seems intent on drawing blood. Ghost can’t help but feel he’s staking his claim, and wants him to have more than a bruise long after this night is over. The thought leaves him devastated.

With Soap in his lap and his gorgeous thighs bracketing Ghost’s hips, an image comes to Ghost’s mind unbidden. Soap and König in a similar position, König‘s hands in the exact place where Ghost’s are now, Soap with his sinful mouth and bedroom eyes in König’s lap while he fixes his teeth in König’s skin. He imagines that somewhere König’s identical mark aches. He can’t help it, he tenses. 

“What’s this?” Soap asks, brow creased. He draws back from where he had moved on from mauling Ghost’s shoulder to working a hickey into the skin of Ghost’s pec. He runs his hands over the tight line of Ghost’s drawn-up shoulders. 

Ghost isn’t known for pulling punches. 

“I saw you,” he says, meeting Soap’s questioning eyes.

“Huh?” Soap says.

“With König.”

Soap laughs. Ghost dumps him off his lap and onto the adjacent couch cushion without ceremony. 

“Oi!” Soap exclaims. 

Ghost sighs angrily and reaches for his balaclava, craves the superficial protection it provides. 

Soap stays his hand with a hot palm on his bare thigh. “Hey, none of that,” he says, almost whispering. His hand starts to move up Ghost’s thigh to his now flagging erection, cups him through his briefs and shifts closer to mouth at the hinge of his jaw. 

Ghost brings his hand up to Soap’s bicep, is tempted to drop the whole thing and pull Soap back in. But he can’t ignore the sting of jealousy that sits searing in his stomach, supernova bright and demanding to be spoken. He squeezes his hand around Soap’s arm and pushes him away to try and catch his gaze again, an accusation in his eyes he didn’t even realize he was making. 

“Didn’t take you for the possessive type, Lt.,” Soap says, withdrawing further until he’s sitting entirely on the adjacent cushion. 

“I ain’t got nothing to possess,” Ghost replies. 

Soap huffs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Ghost is slapped with the coldness of that motion and something shutters in him, withdraws from the easy intimacy of these hurried trysts. He finishes pulling his balaclava over his face. 

“So I'm a bit of a slag, you said so yourself,” Soap says and Ghost flinches as his words are thrown back in his face. “This isn’t exactly a binding arrangement.” 

“I never said it was,” Ghost says, already rising to redress. 

“What’s the problem, then?” Soap asks.

“There isn’t one.”

“Seems like.” The stakes feel too high suddenly. 

“Well I can see that you’ve got a right strop on now. Let’s call it a night.” 

“Yeah alright. Get it right up ye, Lieutenant,” Soap mutters darkly and begins reaching for his own clothes, still hard as a rock in his briefs. Ghost doesn’t need a translation, he gets the gist. 

Soap dresses and leaves in silence, even slams the door a bit on his way out, but not before he can stare long and hard at Ghost’s back. Ghost feels his eyes on him long after he’s gone, the bite mark smarting in the cold, empty room.

The injury on Ghost’s arm throbs for the first time since Soap had bandaged it, the traitor.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Rough Sex w/ MW2

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Smut, Rough Sex, Restraining, Stomach Bulging, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Punishment, Use of a Strap-On, Implied Blow Job, Possessive Sex, Dehumanisation, Slut Shaming, Reader Blaming, Hair Pulling, Slight Dumbification, Blood, Dirty Talk, Profanity, Pet Names, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Ghost

“Just a stupid little whore, aren’t ya,” Simon growled as he pounded you from behind, fingers gripping your hips so tightly that phantom bruises descended upon your skin. The slickness of your abused hole did little to numb the pain of Simon’s rapid, unrelenting pace, of his engorged tip slipping deeper and deeper inside you, plugging you, making any form of escape from your impending unravelment impossible.

You could feel his cock, hot, heavy and ravenous, pulsating inside you, bringing you to the edge of electric euphoria with every thrust. 

“Good for nothin’ except takin’ my cock.” He spat, his hand sliding up your spine and rooting itself in your hair. He gripped at the base and pulled your head back, hissing in your ear.

“Isn’t that right, Darlin’?”

You wanted to speak. Wanted to tell him you were his, only his, but the words wouldn’t come out quick enough.

When you didn’t answer in time, he stopped. Pulled out, only the swollen tip remaining lodged inside.

Without warning, he pushed. Hard.

You’d felt full before, but this sudden influx of skin and muscle and heat was too much. It knocked the air out of you, made you cry out as Simon sank balls-deep inside you, impaling your shuttering, wanting body on his dick. He grunted, his grip on your hair tightening.

“That’s it,” he said as you whimpered, cried out. “Take it — take it like the slag you are.”

König

“You wanted this – you wanted me to take you. Fucking attention whore,”

König’s voice reached depths you didn’t think possible as he bounced you on his cock, his stomach coated in your juices as he lay beneath you, thrusting up to plant as much of his member in the tight cavern of your hole as possible.

Even from where he lay, he could see the outline of himself within you. He twitched. Tried to stave off from painting your insides white for just a little longer.

You had no choice but to take it – your wrists bound behind your back with König’s belt – to take every inch of König’s cock.

He stretched you out to lengths you didn’t think possible as he pulled you down onto the base of his member, causing tears to stream down your face as he hit a sliver of you you didn’t think existed.

“God, you’re nothing without me,” he asserted, teeth gritted and restraint pushed to the very limit. “Nothing but a rag doll on the end of my dick – only made for me to use as I please.”

You knew it was true, especially with the coil within you verging on snapping, sending you over the precipice of ruin. König gave you a sly, thin grin.

“Nobody else can fuck you like this, can make you cry like this.” His grip on your waist proved he wasn’t lying, shortened nails leaving crescent indents in your skin.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Soap

“Don’t tell me you’re cryin’ on me now, Darlin’,” Johnny said, not an ounce of sympathy or empathy in his voice. If anything, the realisation that you were just about holding on as he railed you from behind seemed to make him go faster, push harder, knocking his thick, meaty cock into you at a pace that could only be savage.

“C’mon, show me you can take it. I know you can,” he goaded — or perhaps encouraged. You couldn’t be so sure, especially as you could barely string a thought together, never mind the inclination to ask. He watched you, made dead eye contact with you through the mirror that put your undoing on display for him, his eyes piercing and ice.

At your silence, Johnny slapped your backside. Harsh. You yelped at the sting and jolted forwards, only for Johnny to wrap a hand around your throat and pull him back. His balls were flush against your backside, the tightness of your bodies together making him grunt.

“C’mon, mo ghaol — tell me how much you need this dick — show me how much you deserve it.” He squeezed your throat.

Valeria

“You were begging to be used by me — wearing those tight shorts like I wouldn’t notice.” Valeria punctuated her point with a harsh thrust, sending you banging against her desk, ribs aching, pressed against sleek wood. Everything hurt.

The strap-on she’d chosen was one she reserved only for correcting your most egregious behaviour. Apparently, this extended to your fashion choices, too.

“Trying to make my men lose focus, huh? Is that it?” The sound and sensation of your body welcoming the cruel length of her weapon made your cheeks flush and your hole clench, trying to pull it deeper, begging for punishment.

“Have I not given you enough attention? Or are you just hungry for anyone who lays eyes on you,”

You whimpered, trying to keep your head level as your girlfriend battered your insides with nothing less than animalistic fervour and rage.

“You wanna dress like a cheap whore,” she said, voice deep and husking as she lowered her lips to your ear. “Then I get to fuck you like one — my whore.”

Price

“I love you,” he panted. “I love you, I love you, I love you–”

He couldn’t stop – these last few hours with you would be all he had before he had to go on deployment again. And he was determined to make them count.

He’d stuffed himself into you, made light work of grinding your sanity down to its bare foundations as your body shook with the onset of another orgasm.

You were already so sensitive, every knock of his tip against your sensitive spot sending equal euphoria and pain through you.

“Gonna cum in you again,” he said, voice lethargic, words slurred like the blurring edges of watercolours. “Gonna get it as deep as possible. Want it still in you by the time I reach Base.”

The many loads of cum he’d already pumped into you weighed heavy in your belly, almost creating its own centre of gravity as you fought to keep your swollen stomach off the mattress. Anytime you failed, the sensitivity of your skin, the feeling of his load stagnant inside you, made you wince.

You could feel John’s cum leaking out of you as he plunged deep, deeper still, forcing his seed out of the small spaces which weren’t suffocated by his almost impossible girth. 

Horangi

“Been stretching you out for hours and you’re still- ngh— fuckin’ tight.” Hong-Jin said, almost as if chiding you. He grunted, balls-deep yet nowhere near satisfied, his resolve being milked from him.

“Gonna need to–” he grunted, “break you in,”

Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. One that, despite not having the power of his whole length behind it, forced a strangled moan from you.

His breath caught as he felt himself slip into a deeper, darker part of you, one which seemed to try and reject him as your hole pulsed uselessly around him, as if to push him out.

He persisted. Hissing.

When he pulled out, he spotted something.

A small streak of blood along his shaft.

“Doing so well for me, Love,” he groaned, slipping back in and re-establishing a rhythm. You mewled beneath him.

“God, you’re so good — just lying down and taking it – like my own personal fleshlight.”

Alejandro

“So this is why you’ve been acting so strange recently, hm?” Alejandro spoke between pants, arms at either side of your head, blocking off everything that wasn’t him. He gritted his teeth, grunted at the feeling of you tightening around him as he brutalised you with his savage pace, stretching you out and making your hole spasm around his cock.

“Just needed a good fuck, didn’t you?”

You were all but drooling as Alejandro quite literally fucked you dumb, no thoughts in your head save for the desperate electricity between your legs.

When you didn’t answer — or rather couldn’t, for your mind was scarcely able to keep itself intact for the feeling of ruin rapidly descending upon you — Alejandro took your chin between his fingers and forced you to focus on him.

“Didn’t you.” He repeated. To that, the fire in his eyes, you managed a sloppy ‘yes’. Alejandro hummed, pressed himself closer, chest-to-chest.

“Don’t worry, Cariño — we’ve got all night to fuck that pretty little mouth back into working order.”

Rudy

Years of toil, training and discipline have shaped Rudy into the unsuspecting behemoth he is today; as was evident in the way you cried out when his dick skewered you, stretching you out and making your back arch against the mattress. He felt himself pressed to the wall of your abdomen as your stomach met his. He shivered.

“He can’t fuck you like this,” he said, voice low and seething, the intonation of a snake. His usual puppy-eyes were sharp, as if of a feline disposition. He watched you as your eyes, almost having rolled back into your skull, refused to meet his.

“Nobody can have you. You’re mine — only mine.” He slammed into you faster, giving you no preparation and only using the wetness already dripping from between your thighs there to slip in. 

“Now, tell me who you belong to.”

Your mouth, agape with silent pain, released nothing. Rudy raised his hand, slapped you. You yelped, the sting sending a shock between your legs. You clenched around him. He growled, head dipping to your collarbone, where you could feel his breath, scorching and unrelenting.

“Let’s try this one more time,” he rasped. When he looked up, his eyes were black. Gone was the man you loved.

“Or I won’t be so forgiving.”

Graves

“You like bein’ used by me, don’t ya,” Graves panted, struggling to keep up with the pace of his own euphoria. He could tell you were close, too, from the way tears streamed down your cheeks and how you suctioned around him, pulling him deeper, pleading with him for more.

“Love bein’ my favourite little cum dump — so well-behaved, just for me.”

Nothing could be truer as you felt him thrusting into you at a speed that suggested anger. 

“Never be good for anything except taking my cock like a good slut.”

Your tongue lolled out from the corner of your mouth, drool dripping onto the sheets as Phillip allowed you your silence, especially considering how you’d earned it. Your obedience, your willingness to take everything he gave you. You scratched just the right part of Graves’ ego that had sustained him for this long.

His eyes glinted as he looked down at you.

“Ain’t that right, Doll.”

Gaz

Gaz’s change in personality, admittedly, frightened you. Especially as he stood over you now, having bound your hands together tied them over your head to the bed frame.

You’d tried encouraging him to just touch you already, to take you now as you were bound and helpless. Hell, you’d even ground yourself against his boot, working yourself up into a frenzy all in an effort to make him crack.

He didn’t.

“Oh no,” he said, wagging a finger at you. “You don’t get my dick yet.”

Already having used his belt to immobilise you, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his thighs along with his boxers. Half-hard and beading at the tip, he eyed you, a cruel smile at his lips.

“I’m gonna fuck your face so hard,” he continued, taking you by the hair and forcing your lips to his pulsing member, watching your eyes widen. “That you’ll be eating through a tube for the rest of the week.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[furiosophie]

i think it's good to remember sometimes that at their core they're all fucking idiots

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[trashgavin]

so i officially jumped on the ghost/soap/könig train an’ knocked this out in a few hours. enjoy, ye filthy animals.

[konigsblog]

P!LINK COD MWII MASTERLIST (3) (🌽)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. STRICTLY 18+. ALL MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

BEWARE: DARKER THEMES BELOW.

P!LINK MWII MASTERLIST (1)

P!LINK MWII MASTERLIST (2)

PHOTO CREDIT: @GLUTT_R ON 🐦/X

KÖNIG

being forcefully bred and impregnated by your kidnapper.

letting virgin!loser!könig hump your ass.

popular!reader finally taking nerd!könig's virginity.

petite!reader taking könig's cock for the first time.

being overstimulated by your best friend.

könig drugging his favourite cosplayer to have his way with them in their hotel room.

‘face down, ass up...” with könig.

breeding kink compilation with könig.

rapist!könig who can't hold himself back from having you inside of his car.

popular!reader sucking on nerd!könig's tip.

letting cbf!könig lose his virginity to you.

perv!könig who's absolutely obsessed with your titties.

thigh fucking with perv!könig.

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

letting older-boyfriend!simon take your ass.

letting older-boyfriend!simon play with and tease your slick pussy.

‘face down, ass up...” with mean!simon.

being fucked by toxic!simon inside of his car after a breakup.

kidnapped!reader developing stockholm syndrome for simon.

letting dealer!simon use your holes as compensation because you're unable to pay him.

how mean!simon puts you in your place.

stepbrother!simon uses your asshole for the first time.

pounded into by your stepbrother as punishment after stealing form his stash of weed.

size kink with simon riley.

JOHNNY ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

stepson!johnny using his sweet stepmom's soft cunt to lose his virginity.

overprotective!stepbro!soap showing his stepsister what it feels like to be fucked properly after being cheated on.

treating cbf!soap to a blowjob.

making out and riding toxic!soap mactavish.

satisfying perv!johnny's needs.

letting perv!johnny obsess over your holes.

throat trained by johnny.

rewarding gamer!soap for winning a round.

taking care of sub!soap.

sucking off sleazebag!soap.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

rough sex with toxic!gaz.

taking care of gaz by riding him.

“face down, ass up...” with gaz.

rapist!gaz finally re-enacting his darkest, sickest fantasies.

size kink with gaz garrick.

having sex with standing up with gaz.

being kidnapped by perverted!gaz, for him to record your rape and profit from it.

stepbro!gaz who intoxicates you for his own amusement.

encouraging gym-bro!gaz by bouncing on his lengthy dick.

getting off using gym-bro!gaz.

getting drunk and overstimulated with gaz.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

stepdad!price raping his stepdaughter as punishment for losing their virginity.

letting your captain grind against your pussy as a form of release after a mission went wrong.

showing off to your stepfather after being trained by your stepbrothers.

kidnapper!price bullying his sweaty cock into your cunt for the first time.

letting your stepdad have a taste of your cunt.

prostitute!reader being throat fucked by price.

watching a movie with your husband.

creep!price with his favourite little sex worker.

gang bang with stepdad!price and your stepbrothers.