#john 'soap' mactavish

[cherry-cristal]

Local DILF Captain done with his sons soldiers' antics

Im back

[homicidal-slvt]

I have a request! 141 plus König playing a long game of strip poker with a female reader. Things get steamy and the reader gets gang banged?

"You Can Handle It, Right?"

-

141 + König x F!Reader

Civilian|Y/N

-

Characters: John Price, Kyle Garrick, Simon Riley, Johnny Mactavish, Alex Keller, König

-

Warnings: Smut, Gangbang, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Oral {M Receiving}, Rough?, Boyfriend!Alex

-

You weren't exactly sure how you ended up here but you weren't about to complain, rough calloused hands palming at every inch of you.

It was supposed to be an innocent game of poker with your boyfriend Alex and his friends, until however Johnny cheekily suggested strip poker.

-

"Strip poker? Seriously?"

Simon didn't seem all too thrilled by the idea but him and John were the best at the game so they didn't have to worry much.

You glanced over towards Alex who seemed just as excited about it as Johnny, Kyle seemed pretty happy and nervous about the idea and König... Well, König was fidgeting but you weren't sure if it was nerves or excitement... You hadn't known him as long as the others so you couldn't read him well yet.

"Sounds fun!"

You were down as long as they were, being shy about your body wasn't your style and that became very clear very fast.

As the game dragged on you ended up being the one stripping the most off- aside from Alex who also seemed to suck ass at poker. The guys eyes were glued to you as you casually tugged off your shirt and discarded it along with your shoes, socks and pants. You were just in a bra and underwear now.

You didn't miss the adoring but also lustful look in Alex's eyes as they took in your features, he's seen you like this many times but never fails to be amazed- however the others hadn't gotten this chance before and it was clear.

You had them absolutely drooling.

"How about a new game... Strip pokers getting boring."

Alex spoke up and little did you know the offer he was going to propose.

-

Your chest was pressed flush against John's and you could feel his thick chest hair bristling against your bare breasts, he had one hand on your waist and the other was holding his cigar- the man didn't pause his bad habit even for fucking you.

"That's it, love. Just like that."

He breathed out the smoke but aimed away from your face as he did so, you currently were being held up by Alex behind you with John's dick pressed deep inside you. Alex trailed kisses down the back of your neck.

"You're so pretty, baby."

He murmured against your heated flesh, pressing up closer as well aching to have his turn inside you but also enjoying watching you get fucked by John.

The other guys also were enthralled by the filthy display, your head back mouth agape like you couldn't get enough oxygen with the way he was bucking into you, John's tip felt like it was kissing your cervix and threatening to rearrange your guts entirely.

Vision blurred from pleasure you were getting close, before you could release though John pulled out and stroked himself a few times cumming on your thighs instead. You let out such a pathetic little whimper that it made the man chuckle.

"Don't worry, love. I'm sure the boys will take good care of you."

Swiftly you were manhandled over to the table, you weren't entirely sure who's hands were who's. Your hands wound up firmly planted on the hard wooden surface for support while bent over, Alex stood in front of you but you were unsure who was behind you.

"Open."

Without hesitation you opened your mouth for your boyfriend, he slipped his dick into your mouth and grabbed your hair into a makeshift ponytail, you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your head while sucking, earning so many sweet little moans from him- your eyes watering as you nearly gagged a few times.

"Fuck... Bonnie."

You recognized that Scottish accent and term of endearment, while having your throat fucked you felt a pair of rough calloused fingers toying with your clit, you whined and groaned around Alex's cock your drool dripping down onto the table. You heard a chuckle from the Scot behind you, unable to see him but you could just feel the smirk on his face as he spoke.

"Ye like that?"

His deft fingers made quick work out of you, circling your clit and then plunging into your heated core, curling and stroking along your pulsing walls. He adored making you come undone while you were choking on your boyfriend's dick at the same time.

Though he needed his own release as well, positioning himself at your entrance he easily slid in and began thrusting, your legs wobbled and shook. Even with the table as support you were struggling, almost collapsing forwards onto the hard surface.

Johnny gripped your waist tight and assisted in keeping you from caving in, pacing his thrusts to match your bobbing on Alex.

It wasn't long before Alex spilled his seed down your throat, his cock pulsing and twitching in your mouth while he groaned, he smiled down at you in such a sweet away as he pulled away.

Who would think this is the same guy letting you get ruined by his friends?

"So pretty."

He remarked softly before moving out of the way for Kyle, unlike the others Kyle actually seemed a bit nervous. His pupils blown out with lust he reached out gently gripping your chin, all his nerves went away when he saw your fuck-drunk face.

"Shit... You like getting used like this don't you? Slutty little thing."

You didn't exactly peg Kyle for the type to be degrading but you weren't complaining, your cunt squeezing Johnny tighter as he was still fucking your tight hold chasing his own high while also driving you to yours.

"Fuckin' hell.... I think she likes that."

You didn't miss the slightly darker look on Kyle's face along with his smirk, opening your mouth wide for him to stuff his length in, taking it down your throat like a good fuck toy.

"Alex trained you well, didn't he? Such a good little whore. Taking several men... Bet ya always fantasized about this, huh?"

Of course you couldn't answer him as you were rammed from behind while getting your throat used like a fleshlight at the same time, you were an absolute mess as you orgasmed on Johnny, your moans and cries choked out by the cock in your mouth.

He came undone immediately after you did, groaning out as you felt a thick heat flood your tight walls. Kyle still using your mouth till he finished as well, forcing his dick all the way down when he came so you were gagging on it, his semen sliding directly down your throat.

He pulled away and finally you could breathe, desperately panting when Johnny finally let go of your waist, you just helplessly collapsed onto the table your chest smacking against the hard wood.

You didn't get a break for long though, a pair of gloved hands that you instantly knew was Simon lifting you up by your mid section and rolling you over onto your back on the table.

"Are you alright to continue?"

He asked genuinely while gazing deep into your eyes, after you gave a little nod to confirm he slid his hands down to your thighs, his gloved hand stroked along your skin while he made intense eye contact with you for a moment- still making sure you were definitely okay.

Then he swiftly spread your legs as wide as he could, burning gaze directed at your abused and messy cunt that was spilling slick and cum.

"Yet you still aren't satisfied, are you?"

He remarked but you didn't have chance to answer, he roughly manhandled you into a mating press with your legs draped over his shoulders.

"We can fix that."

His gruff voice filled your ears as you felt him slide in, you two were quite the sight. Him still fully clothed with just his jeans unzipped and cock out, meanwhile you fully exposed beneath him staring up into the deep pools of hazel that were his eyes.

He was actually a bit of a tight fit and you felt like you were going to be speared straight into your other organs, eyes rolling back he quickly grasped your chin, his grip tight but not enough to hurt just enough to get your attention.

"Eyes on me."

He stated the command in a straight forward way and you obliged, struggling as you maintained eye contact. He didn't hesitate to fuck you hard and rough, quickly realizing you seemed to like it that way and who was he to deny you that pleasure, the feeling of getting used by a big rough and tough masked man.

You ended up coming again and spasming wildly beneath him, his breathing heavy as well he didn't last much longer either, filling you to the brim he kept moving riding out his orgasm inside you. You were filled and covered with cum by this point- so fucked out you nearly forgot that there was one more guy left.

The whole time König had stood just observing, his deep dark and clouded eyes locked onto your shaky form.

Next thing you knew you were hoisted up off the table by an unfamiliar pair of incredibly strong arms, quickly pinned between him and the wall- though König felt almost like a brick wall himself.

His eyes were down right feral behind that hood, you felt your throat clench but also couldn't deny there was something about it that did something to you, he was the only one of the guys you didn't know really well before hand...

You didn't know what he was capable of.

He wasn't exactly gentle by any means, he was cautious of his size so as to not genuinely injure you- but he wasn't gentle. Holding your waist with one hand having you wrap your legs around him, the other hand slipping down to your folds.

He teased your clit with his large gloves hand before quickly stuffing his fingers into your hole, you felt the gloves seams scraping at your tender and over stimulated insides, your whines only seemed to fuel his desire to ravage you even more.

"You can handle it, right?"

You eagerly nodded and though you couldn't see it- he was grinning behind his hood. He was going to ruin you.

"Good girl, Liebling."

The large Austrian man took you right there against the wall, his dick splitting you open. If you thought you weren't going to be able to walk before- well you sure as hell knew you weren't going to be able to now.

-

{This was a struggle idk why- I guess I'm not good at writing a fic with multiple guys LOL}

{Inspired by this fic by @catsnkooks }

-

{More Content}

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Broken Vows and Promises

*Bzzt*

Upon hearing your favourite ringtone your hands quickly snatched the phone on your vanity. Heat rushes to your face, your hands trembling as they open the message you received from your love. Butterflies erupted everywhere while your heart hammered against your ribcage in anticipation. He's arrived home. He's finally home!

Suds🧼: Arrivin at the bar soon hen. Ah can't wait tae see ye. Wear somethin nice. I've something important tae ask ye.

If you thought your heart was hammering before it's practically breaking through your chest now. You put down the phone after replying, finding it very hard to contain your excitement as you squeal with joy. You place your hands over your heart trying to calm down so you can continue getting ready. You were almost done anyways, just needed to apply his favourite lipstick. You were also wearing his favourite dress. A classy backless number, one he often enjoyed groping you through.

It's been far too long since you've seen him. He's been so quiet lately, it made you doubt if he still wanted to be with you. But that was just your insecurity worming its way through your brain. His absence was due to the nature of his missions. You couldn't hold that against him. Not when he was working so hard to keep the world safe. He's been more stressed since he joined a taskforce the year prior. But he's proud how far he's come since joining the military at 16. You were so proud of him too. He was your everything. Your first kiss, your first date, your first time… You gaze lovingly at the promise ring on your ring finger, the one he gifted to you before joining the military. It wasn't the most expensive or extravagant ring in the world but it meant everything to you. You never wanted to part with it.

You reminisce as you gather your essentials, still giddy from excitement. All the beautiful memories of your childhood with him coming back to warm your heart. The bike rides, sneaking into each other's room at night, the Saturday evenings spent at the lake. All beautiful moments you cherished greatly.

You're at the door just about to leave when another notification rings out. You roll your eyes thinking it's Johnny telling you to come soon. Your stomach flustered at the thought of what was about to happen. Your heart felt so full of love you couldn't control your excited jitters. You glance at the promise ring one last time before opening your phone, still giddy with butterflies.

But it isn't Soap unfortunately. It's your friend Freya. She sent a photo attachment. You laugh, she had a tendency to spam you with memes at odd hours of the day. You press on her name expecting to see another stupid work meme…

But that isn't what your eyes are greeted with…

Your throat seizes, air refusing to enter your lungs. Your body immediately loses all its warmth and your left standing there in shock as your heart shatters into a million pieces. It was your Johnny, Your Suds… His hands were on a man's thigh. A very tall bulky man with a mask pulled down slightly. Who was that? Why were they so close? No calm down, there must be a logical explanation. You take in a shaky breath trying to laugh off what you were witnessing. He's probably just had too much to drink.

Two more pings ring out signalling more messages. More images burn into your retina. Images you wish never existed. Images you wished were fabricated. This must be a cruel joke. The more you looked at the images the more you felt the shards of your heart piercing you. What with all the touching? A final notification pings with a flurry of texts that follow a minute later. Your heart sank into the pits of hell…Your Johnny…his lips…his lips were kissing someone else…You don't get much time to look as a plethora of texts push the wretched image away.

You're frozen, unable to think or move…Your body trembles from the ice coursing through you, your blood runs cold from heartache. You're left staring at the phone as messages and messages pour in. But you don't know what to do, where to look or how to feel. You don't even realise when tears start to obstruct your vision. You collapse as a devastated sob shakes you to your core. Why would he do this to you?

You clutch the phone as you bring it to your chest. Your sobs ring out through the apartment as your phone continues to ping but you're too weak, too fragile to respond or look at anything right now. Your mind reels with questions you don't have answers to. Why was this happening? How long? How long has he been cheating on you? Did he ever love you? Was everything a lie? Why now? You continue to cry out trying to alleviate this raw pain.

Your phone begins buzzing, jolting you from your sad thoughts. You look down to hope it's Freya, your saving grace in this awful situation. You wanted her to come hold you. You didn't want to fall apart alone. But no it isn't her…Rather it's his name and it burns your eyes like venom.

Incoming call: Suds🧼

This was inspired by @s-coquette two shot fic called Three's a crowd. Go check out their amazing writing! Thanks for letting me use your fic as inspiration.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[altbite]

MW2 x Russian Speaking! Reader *Headcanons*

Summary: Reader who can speak Russian (don’t have to be Russian necessarily) and mw2 characters reaction to finding out. 

Characters involved: Price, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Konig, Alejandro

__

You had kept the fact you could speak Russian a secret, not intentionally though. You just didn’t speak it outside of your family. 141 found out before Konig and Alejandro did as you met them later on.

Price: When Price found out you could speak Russian, he was impressed. Both that you could and that you managed to keep it hidden from him. He is usually a know-it-all man when it comes to his recruits. Clearly he missed this. He used this information to send you out on missions that involved Russians, from gathering Russian intel to being a translator. He also started watching Russian war movies and made you sit and translate it for him. Or if he was watching any tv and there was someone speaking Russian, he would pause it and call you over to translate. You usually complained about the pronunciation and wrong grammar instead. 

Ghost: Ghost found out at the same time as Soap. You were on the phone to your family and they walked by and overheard you speaking. They both stood there, jaw dropped until you noticed and hung up. Ghost gave you shit for it, probably because there were missions where it could've been helpful. But he thought it was pretty cool nonetheless. Did the same thing as Price when it came to TV.

Soap: Soap was shook. He grabbed you and sat you down and forced you to teach him curse words. Of course it would be curse words. The man was a child. You did not teach him curse words just to annoy him. He eventually just asked you on how to say random ass things in your language. Varied from saying shit about members to how to say he’s the coolest dude ever. You did this on missions mostly, on the way to or back from them. It kept you guys entertained and busy from thinking about anything bad.

Gaz: Gaz was sweet when it came to finding out. He was like “That’s so cool wtf”. He didn’t nag you about it like Soap or Price. This made you choose him when it came to teaching curse words. Soap was not impressed when he found out Gaz could curse in Russian and tried to convince him to teach him one word at least. Soap begged on his hands and knees to you and Gaz and Ghost took a photo of it. Gaz picked up Russian a lot better than you expected.

Konig: This man was highly excited when he found out. Nothing really screamed Russian about you, so to have another person who spoke a different language was fun. You two sat together and taught each other your language. He would point at objects and ask you what the word for them would be. He started to mix German and Russian together when speaking to you. It was funny but it also helped you both learn and understand what was being said. It also scared half the recruits when they saw you talking because of how angry both languages sound. especially together.

Alejandro: The minute this man found out, he was wooed. He was in love. Okay, maybe not literally just yet. You would compliment this man in Russian but it sounded like you were pissed at him. This turned him on more?? Ghost and Soap stood there, watching you two, waiting for you to stop. When he would curse out enemies, you followed in Russian and then fist bumped. 

Bonus Alejandro + Konig:

If you and one of them could understand each other in each others language, you would talk to them in Russian and they would reply in theirs. It confused everyone because they didn’t understand what language you were speaking or whether or not you actually understood each other. It was the same in English. You would speak in Russian and they would reply in English or vice versa, so what anyone understood was just a one side of the conversation. It was fun to see the looks you received from recruits or even strangers passing by

_

Thank you for reading! I want to make a konig x russian speaking!reader and develop it more there so i might. Also i see you anon ;3

[monsterinmyboxers]

Manhandling then fucking soap then he notices a belly bulge as he's getting fucked

hm

soap would fight back, laughing, you eventually winning-- folding and pinning his arms against the arch in his back. you both were panting, one more than the other, and neither of you could tell if it was because of the wrestling or the arousal building in your stomachs.

either way, you'd take advantage of this position, him doing the same. you grind on his ass, soap pushing back onto your dick.

and a few minutes later, he was on his back, stripped naked, legs on your shoulders and your cock nestled deep inside him. you didn't wait to thrust yourself into him, him throwing his head back in response.

he rambles about how deep you are, words slurred, his eyes trailing down until he saw why you felt so damn deep. there was a bulge in his muscled abdomen, reappearing every time you pushed in. his hands frantically reached out to push against your hips, telling you to slow down. and once you did, he whines. his hand touches the bump, making you finally notice.

you'd tease him for the rest of the week.

[moondirti]

charcoal

pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ mdni) word count: 2.6k summary: you and johnny draw portraits of one another warnings: cock warming, unprotected p-in-v, creampies, handjobs, tooth rotting fluff, nude drawings, light masochism, mentions of death notes: inspired by soap's journal in mw3. our sweet boy can draw :)

“Sit still.”

A whisper, spoken like a fervent kiss to the space between you. Humid air, smothered under his peppercorn cologne and the tangy warmth of lingering sex. Johnny’s pelvis remains glued to the back of your thighs, conjoined at that sweltering centre, gently swelling back to rock-hard shape. It works to plug you full of him, a barrier to the cum he’d spilt a mere thirty minutes prior.  

Mere. To you, long hours have gone by while stuck in this state, oscillating from painful overstimulation to an insatiable urge that only exists with him – more, more – and back again. But he exercises a surprising restraint. No. Unexpected. A fortitude obviously cultivated in the SAS, carbon under pressure, polished and primed. One that is diamond-sharp, deadly even, but usually crumbles to dust around you. 

He keeps your leg hooked over one broad shoulder. The other quivers, cushioned by the duvet, serving as a surface for the item he’d fetched in a rush. 

Fuck. Hold it righ’ there. Freshly spent, glowing with an endorphin-logged high.

Huh– W-What’re you doing? 

Y'look so bloody beautiful like this, hen. Have ta memorialise it. 

Ever the flatterer. You’ve no doubt you’re a mess – mussed hair, smudged mascara. The only thing he’d left in his stripping you was the necklace you’d worn for his welcome home; a golden chain, charmed with a replica of his dog tag and an antique locket you’d salvaged from your grandmother’s place.

You thought he’d been reaching for a polaroid; a quick snapshot of the moment, print to be stapled to the inside of his combat coat. But he’d ducked under your bed – not the nightstand where you kept the camera – and ruffled through dust bunnies and expired condoms for the stash of things he deems too important to take with him to the job. Material objects, little keepsakes, left to rot behind, with you. 

He’d come back up with a self-satisfied grin, a journal – moleskine bound and half-full of rough scribbles – clasped between waving fingers. 

It’s not the first time he draws you. Just the first time he does of such an intimate scene. 

Clenching involuntarily, you flush at the thought. Johnny’s free hand tenses from its place on your knee, soothing circles turned bruising touch. Giggling, you squeeze him again, only to be met with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips. 

“Nng-! Christ,” 

“What'd I tell ya?” 

“I had been.” The protest peaks at the back of your throat, forming something more akin to a whine. His chuckle is indicative of the fact; sunlit bough and soft moss gaze catching yours. His eyes pool like honey in the lowlight, gold drawn out by the haze of your surroundings. Warm. “You’re taking too long.” 

“Wad ye rather I get the shadin’ on yer tits wrong?” He teases, gaelic-curled accent accompanied by sharp scratches of charcoal on paper. The black dust coats calloused fingertips, concentrated on the middle, the one he uses for smudging. “Ye'll end up lookin like ma great aunt.” 

“That’s gross.” 

“Watch it. Rory was a great woman.” 

But his chest widens in that special way, skin rippling over thickset sinew, and you know his current contentment runs bone deep. He gloats it, wearing the radiance like he does the sweat; the tender marks along his neck, imprints of your teeth cut in blood. His battle scars pale in contrast, silver and thin and nothing when set beside the raised scratches, red, carved mid-fuck. 

You’ve tried to be gentle with him. Really, you have. 

You just found he doesn’t prefer it.

A Noah’s-Ark cataclysm of rain, unending cataracts of water sluicing from the sky. They wash over the windshield, the windows – you can barely see beyond the hood of his car. 

It was your suggestion to wait the storm out. You’d gone on a picnic for your first date, perched up high on some mountain that now seems too formidable to scale down.

Spice with rosy overtones. His scent is intoxicating, distilled on that spot – the edge of a broad tendon that stretches up his neck. Johnny’s clad in a polo shirt, the collar slightly popped to cover the patch of skin, but you catch sight of it every once in a while. Enough to fuel your internal screams, urging you to act against what is proper. 

Hold out ‘till the next time you see him. Leave him wanting more.

He’s talking. Something about football and fake turf scrapes. 

God. That voice. Full-bodied, confident with all the charisma to match. You latch on to every syllable, basking in the way they furl from him – rolled r’s, two element vowels morphing to one. What’s the word for gorgeous in Scottish jargon? He’d taught you it over a bowl of strawberries. 

Broad. Brock. Brow. Br… something.

But his thumb had swiped out to the edge of your lip to catch a bead of stray juice, and you’d lost all wit. In one ear, out the other. Boiled down to a saccharine, lust-filled puree. 

You’d wanted to take the digit into your mouth. 

The high altitude ensures the car is frigid, windows chilled with a freezing pellet downpour. The skirt you wore does nothing to hide the goosebumps that prickle down your thighs. 

It’s not the weather, though. It’s him. He inspires a cyclone in you, a vortex of violently rotating winds that upturn every function. Hot. Cold. A puddle of melted something, stirring deep within the recesses of your gut. Your attempts to smother it down will forever be in vain. 

Him. Him.

He drives you mad. You’re fucking stupid. 

But pellucid blue light streams in from outside, the sun sinking behind gunmetal clouds, and Johnny fills his jeans nicely, you think. Hulking thighs force the denim to its limits, stretched and spread and–

Oh.

Maybe your mind had skipped over it purposely. For knowledge of what it would do to you. In knowing that your panties are already slick, unable to hold the extra saturation. You’ll leak onto his seat. 

Fuck.

A prominent, massive bulge. Strained, outwardly painful. 

Enticing. 

You flood, anyway. Overbearing heat and oblivion striking your core. A breath catches, spinning to form a small bubble of recklessness between constricting lungs. 

You speak before you begin to process it all. 

“We’ll be here for a while.” 

Stupid, silly girl. 

He halts, tangent lost to the half-lidded look you give him. Your nails graze the arm nearest to you, propped on the console, brushing through hair to elicit a deep shudder – mirror to your salacity. It tells him what he can already guess. 

In the split second it takes for your impulse to waver, he recovers, back to that ludic man you’d met just last week. 

“And there are only so many things to talk about.” Johnny nods.

Your heart slams on hollow ribs. He may hear it if he tries hard enough; an echoed melody of cosmic yearning. 

“Gotta save some for next time.” 

“Aye.” His head ducks closer to yours, locking you to those bonfire eyes. “Next time?”

“Hmm, if you like me enough.” The suggestion skips across your nervous titter. Spearmint washes over you when he speaks, cold breath a product of the pack of gum he keeps tucked in his car door. He’d told you he reserves the stash for special occasions, with only the ‘prettiest of hens.’ You’d folded the wrapper into a heart and placed it against the stick shift. 

“I like ya, bonnie. Only question is–”  A bent forefinger taps your chin, thumb caressing the curve of it. “Do ye like me?” 

You let your stare flutter down to his lips; perfect, pink, pulled in a devious smirk. It wipes any semblance of logic from you. Propriety, the manners your mother taught you at a holiday dinner table – cross your legs, elbows off the table – dissipate to ash. You’re raw; skinned alive and vulnerable to whatever he wants. 

Crackling nerves. You don’t answer, don’t say a word. 

Instead, you lean in to kiss the scar on his lip. 

And it all goes to hell from there. 

Hurried gropes, desperation fogging. You bend over the centre – precariously balanced on your knees – to hug his head closer to yours. His hands find purchase on your waist, exposed now, your sweater rucked upwards to hang just below your bra. You can see his back in the reflection of the window, his muscles rolling under a too-tight shirt, expanding to accommodate the weight you throw onto him. 

It’s hormone fuelled, messy. Your teeth clack and your tongues wrestle and you can only ponder on releasing him, on untucking his hard length from hindering pants. 

“H-Here–” You stutter into his mouth, left hand smoothing down his chest to dance teasingly at the waistband. His hips buck the slightest bit. “Let me…” 

“Wanna make ye feel good too, lass.” 

“Please.” 

And it must be the way you say it, the keen in your tone, the pout of your lips. You’re close to tears, eyes glossy like the wet road ahead. It must be; mutual magnetism, some shared fondness that makes him concede to your plea  (I like ye, bonnie), before he helps you pull them down to let his cock spring free. Head flush and base thick enough to split your lips. 

You swim impossibly deeper into the pool of crush-drunk abandon. 

Braw. That was it. Braw, for mind-numbing attractiveness. Or so to say– 

Maybe you’re exaggerating. It doesn’t feel like a grand enough word to encapsulate this. To capture him. 

Nothing could be enough. Your first date and yet you sit here, obsessed already, willing to spend a lifetime showing him all you can’t say. How those eyes draw from you a lightness, an ease. Hazel has quickly become your favourite colour. How mohawks are an abomination to conscientious style, but how he makes them work, much to your displeasure. You imagine plugging clippers in a shared bathroom, helping him buzz off the sides prior to longer missions. Sending him off with a kiss that means more than just interest.

“Fuck.”

“Feart, now?” 

His accent thickens in the throes of pleasure. You add the word to your growing list and spit on your hand to help slick him up. 

He stops you before you can wrap it around his leaking cock. “Wait, wait.” 

Head still buried into the crook of his neck, a trail of purpling bruises adorning the stubbled skin of his jaw – you can only spot him in your peripheral, a hazy blur of long eyelashes and a prominent nose. 

His hands unclip your bra when he speaks again: 

“Do it dry. I like when it hurts a little.”

A year later now. He’d wrapped an assignment early to see you on your anniversary. 

“Done?” 

You’re sticky with cooling sweat and spit, fluids hardening on supple flesh in the filtered air of your bedroom. Both naked, posed in the same position; your right glute burns with the ache of a prolonged stretch, still thrown over his shoulder as he hurriedly finishes the final details of his sketch. 

“Almost. Canae fuckin’ get the lightin’ right.” 

“Lemme see,” You make a grab for the journal. He bats your hand away. 

“No.” Johnny huffs, shifting to look at you from a slightly different angle. “I think it’s the glow.” 

“The glow?” 

“Aye. Took ower long ta get those gorgeous tits down, you’ve lost that sex sheen.”

“You’re mad.” 

The hand that was at your knee starts to knead your thigh, grabbing whatever it can hold. An intentional touch, he targets every tender area, sparking a match to an already smouldering flame. The pressure at your core tightens.

“I’d say it’s a quick fix,”

Your hips buck to meet the heavy weight of his palm as it flattens against your pelvis, seeking true fusion to the rough skin. You’re feverish, practically singing him; you spread your legs and do what you can to spear yourself further onto his cock, one that has not yet left the tight clutch of your cunt. 

This is what the poets eulogise, this ‘swete breeth’ reverence. Zephyrus – he’s zephyr adjacent – the god of westerly wind. But he places you on a shrine like he’s not the being made of sun; touches you with a prayer imbued into his callouses – barnacled reminders of his life as Soap. Your Johnny, as he is with you, finds you speechless and continues giving – pouring water onto wet clay, bending you as he pinpoints an electric centre, that bundle of nerves that has you seeing star-speckled pantheons. 

He continues to work your clit even as you kick his back, heel thrashing onto freckled skin. The overstimulation is not creeping, it does not wait until you’ve come undone – no. You’ve been on this tightrope for far too long now, and your legs tremble with the sheer exhaustion of it all. It’s never clear with him, whether the end is in sight. There are often moments of recovery where you pull away, only for him to flip you over and stuff you full again. 

The lewd squelch of your cunt, your wailing moans; you hardly register them as he begins pistoning into you, both hands and dick devoted to completing the picture. All that exists is sacred, divine insensibility. Pleasure in its purest form, locked in this haven where you’re safe to imagine holding onto him forever. 

“J-Johnny… Johnny, God– I’m gonna–”

He gains speed, fucking your sopping heat with a brutal pace, unrelenting as he circles your abused clit. You don’t have it in you to even move, boneless and wholly open to his ministrations. 

“Tha's exactly what we want now, bonnie. Go on, cum for me.” 

The muscles in your core harden, too brittle to stand against the wicked tide brimming within you. It drives you delirious, flooding your instincts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your back arches – you absolutely ruin the continuity that comes with being his live model. But you don’t care. You don’t care. He’s so good at hitting you in all the right places – head nudging your cervix, his breadth stretching you out with a fiery sting. He rubs you raw, chafing, and you’re so close. 

You think about jerking him off on your first date, coaxing from him groans that taste like scotch and spearmint-covered strawberries. The sorest handjob known to mankind – he’d cum hard, spurting thick globs of warm fluid onto his lap, webbing your fingers together with his essence. His apologies had fallen on deaf ears when you’d licked yourself clean. 

You think about meeting him at that bar, nursing a fruity drink with a wild name. Your friend had abandoned you for some blonde chick, but Johnny took your lonesome as an opportunity to swoop in and compliment your dress. He’d later told you that he’d only been looking for a quick fix to stall on the grief of a close friend's death. Turns out, ye're not so much a stall, more a remedy, love. Sad tae say I'm glad yer friend was horny that night. 

You think of him, now. Of the past twenty-something pages of his journal filled with nothing but idle doodles of you and gum-wrapper hearts, no longer dedicated to anguished attempts at remembering lost comrades. He’s grown to be a better artist, lines bold and drawn in sole strokes, able to capture just about anything in ballpoint pen alone. 

Well I’ve got the perfect muse now, haven’ I? 

You break, shattering into a million fragments. You know he’ll pick you up.

Finally resting, spooned together under clean sheets. A strong arm thrown over you, holding open a page for your scrutiny. 

“It’s nice, baby! You might’ve made me too pretty, though.” 

A growl. “Shut it. That’s all you.”

taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @nqberries @kkinky @ravenhood2792 @allekat1988 @rattlemyb0nes @simonrileywife @melancholyy-hill @sexlapis

join the taglist!

[wxnheart]

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝟏𝟒𝟏 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩

note: Soap is so ruggedly adorable. I couldn't help but pick this gif. He looks so awestruck. Imagine him looking at you the same way. The sequel is here, guys!

Unconventional seemed to be the story of your life. Or that's what others thought. For you, it was as normal as eating and sleeping.

But of course, nothing was normal when it came to Ghost and Soap. Mm. You wouldn't call it unconventional. You'd call it exciting. Yeah... they're exciting. They keep you on your toes and you on theirs. And damn if you didn't enjoy everyday life with them.

Of course, you two can be (lovable) pains in Ghost's ass. But to be fair, everyone is a pain in Ghost's ass so you're doing something right if all he does is stare glare in longsuffering Ghost. And stare glare in longsuffering Ghost he does...

But yeah, it's the little things that make this relationship worth it.

Like the fact that Ghost has to be in the middle of everything. Literally. He sits in the middle of the couch, he's in the middle when you sleep. He's the neutral to your chaotic and Soap's... somewhat-but-not-really chaotic nature. He's, uh... he's in the middle of everything. ("...But I'm bigger than you both." "All the more reason to keep you in the middle, Lt." "What the fu—")

He also may or may not be the little spoon no matter what. Spoiler alert: he is. If it isn't Soap with an arm around his waist in the bed, it's you with your... everything pressed against him. You're probably copping a feel, too, and Ghost just sighs. You better not be touching anyone else's body but his and Soap's.

But hell, you love to cop a feel of Soap's beautiful body too, and he'll wink at you. Sometimes, he'll flex those big arms of his, and holy shit, you're swooning. Simon rolls his eyes.

And let's not forget the most recent argument about who snores. You say Johnny, he says it's you, and Simon says it's the both of you because you've ruined his 'beauty sleep' more than once. ("...Beauty sleep?" "Can't let these good genes go to waste." "....") You decided to record yourselves one night and come find out, all three of you snored. Ghost will call bullshit.

Fun fact: Simon does snore but it's really noticeable when he's REALLY fucking tired and Soap has a tendency to sleep like the dead and be alert at the same time. You bore witness to this a couple times. What the fuck?

Oh yeah, back to the little things: watching television together is a hoot and a half, too, if only because you're usually in control of the remote. You're really the only one who watches tv. Or so you think. Soap usually doesn't care what you watch unless it's clichè (and he will talk shit about how cliché the show is) and Ghost would rather the telly watch you three fuck. He already knows what's going to happen to the main character anyway because he and Soap binge-watched and trash-talked the show when you were out running errands.

When they're gone on assignment, they're confident you'll hold the fort down but that doesn't stop them from worrying about you. It always makes your day when they call to check on you.

You also tend to flood the group chat with memes or just start random conversations. Simon has banned you from posting risqué photos because all he'll think about is coming home and fucking you into the mattress. Soap is in agreement.

And when they do come home, the first order of business is holding you. Group hugs and cuddles are a must, especially for Ghost. And yeah, you can't deny how good it feels to be in between two muscular and handsome men.

And it's such a sight to see when you're the first one awake and you watch your boys sleeping so peacefully.

Let's not forget when they huddle closer together when you get out of bed. You took a picture of one such instance. Simon rolled his eyes and Soap was tickled by it.

Yeah, it's the little things that make this relationship worth it...

[tavtarnish]

Rugby AU: Graves Gets Fucked Up #notsexual

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Black Widow

Summary: How a Black Widow made it out of the Red Room, and onto the 141.

Warnings: there’s a lot of talk of trauma in this, explicit smut, threesomes, jealousy, spitroasting, etc, etc, weirdly long (5k)

Notes: the reader was raised (ish) in the red room but this fic is not at all a part of the mcu – it’s just supposed to be the story of a defector, and how she became a part of the 141

kind of felt guilty while writing this bc it made me feel like ghost was cheating on red fox from the fics by @charnelhouse lmao

feedback and comments are very much appreciated!!!

Masterlist | requests are OPEN! | hmu to be added to one of my taglists!

The first memory you have of an outsider is at eleven years old. You and the other girls are sleeping in the dormitory when Madam Ivanova bursts in and opens the handcuffs binding you all to your beds. She pulls the others from their cots, and you almost don’t notice the man that grabs you by the arm.

He’s wearing a hat you’ve never seen before, and that immediately scares you – you don’t recognize him.

“I’ve found the girls!” he shouts, and others pour in, armed to the teeth. Madam Ivanova is still guiding other girls out of the room, and you can see the fear in her eyes. She’s not a kind person, but she takes care of you. Nothing bad has ever happened to you when you were with her.

Nothing like this.

So you turn around, and punch the man square in the face. It takes him aback, and he stumbles backwards. It gives you just enough time to run from him.

Later, you learn that his name is Price, and that he is with the British. An enemy of the Red Room.

Seven years later, you come face to face with him again. You’re three years into active duty, serving the Red Room, and you look drastically different from what you looked like at eleven.

It’s a mistake from another girl that causes your capture. It’s his face that you see first when the hood is pulled off your face.

In the past few years, he’s been the face of your nightmares, so you stay silent. It surprises you when the British don’t torture you. Instead, they offer you a deal. Provide them with the intel they want, and be free of the Red Room.

It takes you three months to accept that deal, and one more to get Price and his colleague Laswell the things they want.

They give you your pardon, and you move to New Zealand, as far away from Russia and Great Britain as you can.

With a fake passport, fake birth certificate and fake story, you leave all of it behind.

You wake up early, shrieking out of your sleep from a nightmare. Your first thought is to call Sarina, an old colleague who also made it out, but you know that she’s still asleep – at least the people in her time zone are. Instead, your feet carry you outside to the lake.

You fish around in your jacket, finding a cigarette and lighter. There’s a nervous feeling in your gut, ever-present. Trained into you since you can remember. This country is the safest and most isolated you could manage, and yet, there’s always the imperative of looking over your shoulder.

You hear Price walking onto the gravelly beach before you see him.

“You know I moved here to be left alone, right?” you tell him, taking another draw from your cigarette.

“I’ve got a job for you.” Price says instead, and you shake your head.

“I’m done with contracting work.”

“So you live off of government support and the intel you sell on the dark web?” he asks.

“That’s my business.”

“It’s about the Red Room.”

You pause, glancing over at him. He looks sincere, but you can also see the earpiece he’s wearing.

“Laswell on the comms?” you asked. You still remember the woman, distrusting as fuck from the moment she met you.

“Yeah. She’s helping with coordinating the team.”

You snort with disdain. “I don’t work in teams. We aren’t trained to.”

“You’ll like them.” Price promises.

“I doubt it. I don’t like you very much.”

Price gives you a dry laugh, and you know he doesn’t take it as personally as you want him to.

“I know that this is personal to you. You got out at eighteen – that’s later than most. You know what they do.”

“Ask any other defector. Sarina, or Antonya. I’m not interested.” You tell him firmly.

“We’re not taking many prisoners from the Red Room.” Price begins again, and you’re about to cut him off. “You can kill the head. Get the girls safe, and you can do with Dreykov whatever you want.”

The offer is too tempting to turn down. To be able to kill the man that ruined your life? The man that ruined the lives of all those other girls?

“I’m in.” you say, and Price gives you a grim smile in return.

“Pack your things. You can meet the team in England.”

Soap

Price had said that he was going to New Zealand for business. He hadn’t realized that ‘business’ entailed a woman.

“That yer girlfriend?” Soap asked, and the woman gave him a look so mean that she almost compared to Ghost.

“I’d hope not.” Price replied. “I’d be dead before morning.”

The woman sat down at the end of the table silently. She looked around, before her hands grabbed a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, lighting it up again.

Ghost was quiet too, but fuck, he knew Ghost. This woman didn’t say a single fucking word, but Soap still knew that Price didn’t have any kind of power over her.

“What’s the mission?” he asked impatiently, and Price set down a stack of Manila folders onto the table.

Laswell pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against, pulling one of the folders from the stack.

“To most special operatives, the Red Room is a myth. A story made up by the KGB, and nothing more. But the Red Room exists, and we’re going to take it down.”

The woman made a sound for the first time, and it was a disdainful laugh. The others turned to stare at her, but Laswell cleared her throat to redirect their attention back to the right person.

“Over the years, the US and Britain have worked together to take the Red Room down, but it’s evolved from a KGB branch to a human trafficking ring. They take young girls off the streets all over the world and turn them into trained killers, mostly targeting politicians. Taking down the Red Room would mean putting a stop to their ongoing crimes and potentially explain some of the most unclear assassinations of the past seventy years.” Laswell said.

Soap glanced over to the woman, who was watching Laswell with close to no emotion on her face. Stubbing her cigarette on the steel table she leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“And she’ll be a part of that?” Gaz asked, nodding to her.

Price nodded. “Her call sign is Black Widow.”

“Got a name too?” Soap asked, and she told him, quickly. Quietly.

“What do you do in the field?” Gaz asked her. Soap noticed that Ghost was watching her closely, as if he expected her to pull a gun on the team.

“Hand to hand combat, espionage, sexpionage. I can be a sniper if you want me to.” She answered quickly.

“She’s here to show you the way into the Red Room and make the girls there trust you enough to get them out.” Price added.

“What, don’t want to get punched by a kid again?” she said, and Price rolled his eyes. They knew each other, but they didn’t like each other at all.

When the meeting ended, the team began to file out of the room, but Soap stayed behind, hoping to catch her and introduce himself. Ghost shot him a warning look, that Soap chose to ignore.

“Welcome to the team.” He said.

“Thrilled.” She replied dryly.

“I’m John. Everyone here calls me Soap though.”

“I know. I read your file.” She deadpanned. She could have been funny if she hadn’t been constantly mean.

“Ya got access to that?” he asked.

“No.” she replied.

Of course she didn’t.

Ghost

They’d tried to get into a smaller base of the Red Room first, to gather some more intel. None of the team had expected there to be any people, much less a bunch of teen girls armed to the teeth.

It didn’t end well.

Out of the thirty girls there, they’d managed to get seven out alive. The others had either died via cyanide pills or while fighting them.

Black Widow had explained that they were brainwashed, and that was why they’d immediately committed suicide when other options ran out. She didn’t seem to be affected too much by it. At least, she tried to pretend that it was that way.

He’d taken a bullet to the thigh, and it had been her to stitch him up in the safehouse before he could call the medic. She’d been grazed by something, and she took care of that herself as well.

They’d all managed to get some time under the shower, and now, they sat in the living room together. She was in the cargo pants she’d worn on the mission and a black tank top, and Ghost could see the tattoo on her right shoulder blade while her back was to him.

The square hourglass symbol, followed by a number.

1047.

He didn’t have to ask to know that she was the 1047th girl they’d taken. He wondered how many of them had died at his hands, while he didn’t know that he was fighting children.

Price was working on the radio they’d found in the safehouse, but finding an enjoyable station in the middle of Russia was proving to be harder than expected. Eventually, he landed on a classical music station.

She didn’t seem to mind, scraping her can of tortellini clean, until a new song played. Ghost did not recognize it, but he saw her hands curl around the can tightly, knuckles turning white.

“Change the station.” She said. Price looked up. It was the first thing anyone had said in a few hours.

“Why?”

“Just change the fucking station.” She snapped. “Please.”

Price nodded, turning it to something else. A Russian voice chattered into the room. Ghost could see that she was listening, probably understanding every single word.

“What are they saying?” Price asked.

“That there was a fire in the warehouse we were in.” she said.

“Nothing about us?”

She shook her head. “From what they’re saying, they don’t have a clue. The Red Room will know.”

“Why?” Ghost asked.

“They chipped us. They know the last location of the girls, and they know that seven of the chips moved without the rest. I had the medics take them out, but it took them a while to get here. By now, Dreykov will know that something is going on.”

It was the most she’d said in one go so far.

Ghost didn’t trust her, but he didn’t mind her either. Most of the team disliked her, and Price couldn’t seem to stand her. Soap had his mind set on talking to her. But Ghost… he didn’t know who she was, only that she was as quiet as he was.

He knew that Soap wanted to ask about the scars that littered her arms and what they could see of her back, and he knew that she would not answer.

Suddenly, there was a shout of frustration from Gaz.

“What happened?” Price asked, immediately on his feet.

“Heater’s out.”

Glancing outside, Ghost saw that it was snowing heavily. Black Widow got up from her spot in the room. Ghost could hear her shuffle inside one of the cabinets.

She returned with blankets, dumping them in the middle of the room before taking one for herself. Ghost said nothing as she sat down next to him, an arm length of space between them. The snow only got heavier, until it turned into an all-out blizzard.

“We’ll be snowed in tomorrow.” Soap noted.

“Let’s worry about freezing to death first.” Gaz said. He was chattering, despite the blanket around him. Black Widow had gotten herself a second already, and she still looked cold.

“Taking first watch.” Ghost muttered, sitting down by the window.

“I’ll join you.” Soap said. Ghost knew that Soap wanted to chatter about something idle to distract himself from the image of 23 dead fourteen-year-olds.

The others shuffled together for warmth, except for her. She stayed where she was, leaning against the counter of the small kitchen.

“Ya think she’s from the Red Room?” Soap asked under his breath.

“Course she is.” Ghost replied.

“I heard they take the girls when they’re three. Teach ‘em ballet and how to be all pretty while killing a man. Then they send them out when they’re fifteen.”

Ghost nodded, letting Soap know that he was listening.

“Ya think that’s why she wanted ta change the station?”

“Huh?”

“They were playin’ sum ballet song.” Soap said. “Maybe she knows how to dance to it. “

“Doubt she does much dancing.” Ghost replied.

“Sight for sore eyes though. But after what she did today…” Soap mumbled.

Ghost still remembered it. How ruthlessly she’d fought against those girls. Wasn’t she supposed to know that they had no choice?

They had all obviously gone through the same combat training, but she was older and stronger. Those girls knew that. She knew that.

Ghost had watched her snap the neck of one with a twist of her hand. Something like that was so grotesque that even Ghost seldom did it, but with her it looked like the starter to a five-course-meal.

“She ain’t happy.” Soap said.

“No shit.”

“Ya think she’s a good person?”

“I doubt it.” Ghost replied.

“I think she could be. Maybe she’s an ass due to circumstance.”

Ghost snorted. Only Soap would say something like that. When he glanced over to her, he saw beady eyes glancing back in the darkness. He wondered if she’d listened in to their conversation.

She didn’t sleep for most of the time Ghost and Soap were on watch. A few hours in, she picked up her pack of cigarettes and lighter and offered them to take over watch.

Ghost nodded, about to get up and go back to bed, but Soap was hesitant.

“It’s fucking cold sleeping on tha ground.” He said.

“We can sleep close. For warmth.” Ghost replied.

“Nah. I’ll stay on my feet.” Soap said.

Ghost shook his head. What the fuck was going on with Soap?

You

You were back to square one, thanks to some wrong intel. On top of that, they all saw what you did to the other girls. You weren’t sure if their pity was worse or whatever they did now.

All of them except Soap, who still seemed determined to chew off your ear. Currently, he was telling you about his hometown in Scotland.

“You’re from New Zealand, aren’t ya?” he asked finally.

“I just lived there.”

“Then where are you from?” he asked. You shrugged in response. Russia was where you were raised, technically, but you did not know where you were taken from.

Soap smiled at you brightly, completely unguarded. It threw you off. He was a special ops, and yet, he sometimes behaved like anything but.

You didn’t need classes in the Red Room to know that he was attracted to you. Yet, you weren’t sure whether that would help or hinder you.

“Who raised ya? Masked soldiers?” he said, and you were sure he’d meant it as a joke.

“A woman called Madam Ivanova. She was in charge of us.”

“Was? Who killed her?”

“Price.” You replied curtly.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. You could see that he was regretting his words.

“Don’t be. She wasn’t a good person.”

“You say that as if she killed your friends.”

“She did.” You replied.

“What?”

“If recruits aren’t good enough, you don’t let them into your ranks.” You shrugged.

“Recruits? Fucking hell, you were girls.”

“Yeah, at the beginning of the program. 1 in 20 makes it through.”

Soap didn’t say anything else that night.

***

You stayed on after taking down Dreykov. By going back into this industry, you’d given up New Zealand, and in your gut, you’d known that when you made that choice.

The team had grown to accept you, and even Price was alright with your company by now. In return, you tried to be less snappy towards them. It worked, most of the time.

The last mission had been a good one. No one innocent had died, you’d gotten the intel, and the bad guys were dead. It was like out of a story, and the group was celebrating.

Price had gotten an empty bar, and Soap was playing bartender, giving out drinks like there was no tomorrow, and chugging his own just as quickly. Ghost was in the corner, mask rolled up to drink whatever Soap handed him.

You could see a bit of blond stubble peek out, along with a small scar. You knew how he’d gotten it. It had been in the Red Room, the actual Red Room, and an eight-year-old girl had slashed at him with a sharpened letter opener.

Ghost hadn’t defended himself. You’d pried the girl off him, taking the weapon from her and making sure she wouldn’t jam it into his neck next.

“Here.” Soap said, handing you a shot of Tequila.

“I’ve had enough.” You replied. “If I drink any more, I’ll get tipsy.”

“That’s the point.” Soap said, firmly putting the shotglass down. “You’re lucky we’re not playing any drinking games.”

You snatched the glass from him, ignoring his smug smile as you downed it, holding out your ahnd for a lime wedge. Soap dropped it into your hand quickly.

You laughed at some stupid joke he said, ignoring the stares on your back from the rest of the team. You couldn’t deny the fact that Soap could make you feel less…

You weren’t sure, but when you were with Soap, your past faded into the background. It wasn’t as important anymore. All the blood and fucking gore of it.

Ghost

He wasn’t sure why, but he hated that she was laughing at Soap’s idiot jokes. Somehow, he had convinced her to get tipsy, and it was a good look on her.

She was pretty when she smiled. Not that she wasn’t without, but it made her look careless. At some point, she walked over to him, another shot glass in hand.

“Soap insists you drink another. He wants to see you tipsy.”

Ghost took the glass from her, ignoring the fact that he enjoyed their hands touching.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Ghost paused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re quiet. You always are, but you’re like… quiet tonight.” She said. He wanted to scoff at her.

“You and Johnny fucking?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why.

“What?” she asked. “Where the fuck is that coming from?”

“Don’t want my team messed up.”

“Oh in that case, you don’t have to worry Lieutenant.” She spat. Her entire body language had shifted in a moment, and it was telling Ghost to fuck off. “I’m going for a smoke.”

Ghost watched her storm out, before glancing over to Soap. He’d stilled his movements, looking after her.

Ghost followed a few seconds after, leaving the bar. She stood outside, clicking on her lighter angrily.

“Don’t fucking say anything stupid.” She told him, throwing the lighter away with a frustrated movement. Suddenly, Ghost surged forward, grabbing her jaw softly. He had to lean down to look at her, even if she wasn’t short.

“Wha-“ she began

“I thought you learned about all of this.” Ghost mumbled, suddenly unsure what to do. Her hands surged forward, pulling the lower half of his mask up.

His hand moved the back of her neck, covering pretty much all of it. He could taste the sourness of limes on her lips. Her lips were so soft Ghost thought he might forget about everything else.

He ghosted over her jaw, and felt the tenseness in it. Carefully, Ghost broke contact.

“Relax.” He told her.

“I am.”

“This isn’t a mission.”

“I just- I haven’t done this just for the sake of it.”

Shit. Ghost felt terrible when she said that.

“Don’t stop now.” She whispered, and Ghost obliged, his lips meeting hers again. Her jaw wasn’t as tense as it had been, and her arms hung loosely around his neck. Slowly, he let one of his hands slide down to her waist, pulling her in closely.

She let down a quiet oof as she hit his vest, letting him guide her towards the wall of the bar. His other hand pillowed her head, making sure that she would not hurt herself.

He hated to admit that kissing her was everything he wanted in that moment.

It was so perfect, the taste of her lips, her small hands on his chest and his own encircling her waist. Their closeness.

And then, the illusion shattered.

She sprang back from him, looking towards the door of the bar.

“Soap?” she asked, voice hoarse.

Soap

He’d only come out of the bar to check on her and Ghost, expecting them to be at each other’s throats. They were, just not the way he’d thought.

“Soap?” she asked, surprise apparent on her face. Ghost’s hand was still on her waist, but she’d backed away from him as soon as she’d heard his steps.

His stomach dropped. He wanted her. Simon fucking knew that. He’d wanted to do that to her since he’d met her, and he’d told Simon. He’d told him about what he thought of her and he did this?

And from the look on her face, she knew how he felt as well.

“Fuck you, Riley.” He spat, turning back around. Ghost stayed where he was, but she followed him.

“Please don’t go.” She said. “It was- I didn’t mean to-“

“What? You looked like you were about to fuck him right there.” Soap replied. He knew his accent was thick due to anger, and he didn’t care. He didn’t expect her to push him like a petulant child though.

Soap barely stumbled, and that only seemed to enrage her more.

“It was a heat of the moment thing!” she finally said. “He got me angry, and it worked, okay?”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset.” He finally replied. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But I like you.” She blurted out. Soap blinked dumbly.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again. It makes me sound so childish.” She said. Behind her, Ghost moved.

“So why’d you make out with him?” Soap asked. She didn’t reply, but for the first time since he’d met her, she blushed. Furiously.

Oh.

He glanced over to Ghost, who towered behind her. He saw it too. Their eyes met, and Soap saw the idea that was coming to his mind mirrored in Ghost’s.

Oh.

They’d never even come close to something like that, but maybe…

Softly, he tipped up her chin, There were the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but her cheeks were still flushed from kissing Ghost and the Tequila she’d had. Her pupils were still dilated.

She was so fucking hot.

He could share with Ghost.

This wasn’t the first kiss Soap had imagined, but imagination be damned, it was still fucking amazing. Soap pulled her closer by the loops in her belt, feeling her body press against him. Her hands grabbed his neck, pulling him closer.

Soap could practically feel Ghost hover behind her, feel the impatience rolling off of him.

“Let’s get outta here, yeah?” Soap offered, and she nodded, grabbing him by the hand. Ghost followed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He leaned in, whispering. “She’s never had sex for the sake of sex.”

Soap nodded. If she knew they were talking about her, she ignored it.

“I wasn’t planning on not focusing on her.” He replied.

Ghost

They found a dingy motel, and Soap barely managed to scrape money out of his wallet before he was already sprinting up the stairs to their hotel. The woman behind the desk gave them a look that told Ghost she knew exactly what they were planning.

Not that he cared much.

He caught up with her, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. Soap shook his head, unlocking the door to their room as quickly as he could.

Ghost let her down on the bed, crashing lips onto lips. She gave a surprised squeak that turned into a moan as his hand wandered to her tits, greedily squeezing.

Blindly, she pulled Soap onto the bed, causing it to groan from the weight.

“Might break it if we keep going.” Soap said.

“That’s the goal.” She replied, before kissing him. Ghost didn’t know why he didn’t feel jealous but he was glad. Carefully, he set to work on pulling off her jacket, and then, her shirt.

He paused when he saw a massive scar, running from under her left breast until her hipbone. Ghost ran a thumb over it carefully. There was another, low on her stomach. Ghost didn’t want to think of where they’d come from. Kissing up her breasts, she felt her hands tug at his vest.

He shrugged it off, watching as she wrapped her legs around Soap’s waist, flipping him onto his back.

From under her hair, he saw the tattoo. It disappeared again when she leaned forward to suck on Soap’s neck, softly biting his shoulder.

Soap groaned and Ghost suddenly felt his pants grow uncomfortably tight.

He moved to kneel behind her, feeling her grind against the bulge in Soap’s pants. His hand snaked onto her neck, and she turned to kiss him.

“Good?” she asked. Simon and John nodded at the same time. She’s the most naked out of all of them, bra and pants still on, and God, it’s not enough for him. He picked her up, knowing exactly that she knew this was nothing for him, and beginning to open her pants.

Soap sat up, looking almost offended at being left out but then, he leaned back, giving her an appreciative smile.

Simon had almost managed to not feel guilty for making out with her behind the bar despite what Soap had told him.

She’s a pretty lass. I think she’d kill me if I told her.

That was the first thing Soap had told him, and Simon had silently agreed. He’d had no idea that Soap’s simple attraction would turn into a full-blown crush, like that of a lovesick teen. He’d had no idea that he’d follow so closely behind.

It had happened to him after the mess with the Red Room. She’d come out of Dreykov’s office, covered in blood, slick with it, and collapsed at his feet. He’d picked her up and carried her to the medics, but not before he’d caught a glimpse of the office.

Dreykov’s body, scattered across the room, his bodyguards dead with him.

He’d seen her carnal violence, and she’d held his hand afterwards, as they stitched her back together. Three bullets and six stab wounds, and she’d squeezed his hand so hard he was sure it would fall off.

They never spoke of it afterwards, but there was something there then.

There’s a moment of awkward rustling where Soap and Widow pull off their clothes, and Simon stands off to the side, unsure whether he should take his off as well.

Instead, he lowers himself to the end of the bed, pulling her towards him until her cunt is in front of his face. She crosses her legs for a moment, and Simon begins to work on her thighs. It takes her a moment, and then she lets him touch her.

Soap is somewhere above him, making out with her so intensely that Simon can see her chest heave with each breath. He’s so hard in his pants it almost hurts.

But this is about her. For her.

The first moan he coaxes from her is muffled, almost swallowed by Soap’s kiss, but the second comes more loudly. Simon stays where he is, until her legs wrap around his head with a trained strength and he can barely breathe.

He’d die happy between her legs.

Soap

Everything that’s happening turns into an avalanche once her clothes are off. She’s still sweaty from the bar and walking to the motel, but he couldn’t care less. Her tits are in his face – he has no right to.

Ghost is somewhere, doing something, and he can barely concentrate on what he’s doing with the sounds that are coming from her mouth. She’s not fragile – he knows she isn’t. And yet, he feels like he has to hold her like she’ll break apart.

“I want…” she begins, but trails off again, into another moan. Johnny throws a look behind his shoulder and sees her legs wrapped around Ghost’s head, so tightly that he isn’t sure his friend is still alive.

“What do you want?” he demands from her. She could ask anything from him right now. He’d shoot his own brains out if she wanted him to.

“Please, I need you.” She begs, and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind in this shitty motel.

Slowly, she lets Ghost go, and he stands up, pulling his mask over his face again. He’s still wearing his clothes.

Soap lets her get on top. Ghost is somewhere, holding her somehow, but all he can focus on is the feeling of him inside her. It’s never-ending, golden, and Soap knows nothing has felt more right.

“Fuck.” She mumbles, her arms shaking as she tries to steady herself on his shoulders. Ghost had done a number on her, and it looked amazing.

When she began to move, the scar on her stomach stretched, pulling on her skin. Soap wanted to take her away from it all. Him and Ghost, they could protect her. Let her truly retire.

She was younger than both of them, and had worked this kind of stuff long before them. Only Price had more experience.

Suddenly, she leans forward, her lips grazing his ear.

“Ghost feels a little left out.”

“We don’t want that, do we now?” he replies.

“I have something that might work.” She says, and Johnny trusts her. She turns around, offering her cunt to him from behind, facing Ghost. He takes out his cock, stroking leisurely, and Soap wants to gulp with her.

It’s fucking massive. She wants to suck him off when he’s that big?

But then she’s practically begging him to fill her cunt again, and all thoughts of possible or not possible are gone when he’s inside her.

He watches, through a haze, as Ghost feeds her his cock. She gags on it, and Johnny can feel himself twitch inside her. She feels it too.

Ghost is careful with her at first, whispering praises.

Good girl. You’re doing so well.

And then, he kind of forgets all about that, slowly guiding her head. The enormity of him causes her to rock back against Soap, and he wishes he could see her face.

He feels himself growing close, and suddenly he panics – there’s no condoms.

So he pulls out of her, and both Ghost and her halt their movements.

“You on the pill?” Soap asks quickly.

“I can’t have kids.” She replies. He halts at that for a moment, but then, she and Ghost are back at it, and he doesn’t want to miss out.

His hand snakes down to her belly, finding her clit. It causes her to clench around him and it takes Soap all of his willpower not to come then and there.

He doesn’t know where to look. The perfect fucking curve of her back. Her ass. Her face in Ghost’s crotch, taking him as if that wasn’t a fucking challenge.

Soap barely manages to coax an orgasm out of her before he cums. He's so close his brain has turned to mush. She shudders against him, and he has to hold her up, feeling her pretty ass bump against him, always begging for more. He gives as much as he can, making her moan around Ghost’s cock so loudly that the woman behind the desk downstairs has definitely heard.

One last time, he grabs her hips tightly, cumming inside her, before he pulls out and leans back.

He gets to enjoy the view as she continues to suck off Ghost, his cum dribbling out of her cunt. His handprints are on her hips, already beginning to bruise. Ghost doesn’t take much longer before he comes too, holding her head down. Soap hears her choke, and it’s enough to make him hard again.

She collapses onto the bed next to him, sweatier than before and hair in tangles thanks to Ghost.

Soap takes the stringy towel Ghost gets him from the bathroom, wiping down her thighs and offering it to her for her face.

“No need.” She says with a proud smirk.

“God, stop. You’ll be in for another round otherwise.”

Ghost sits on the bed across from them before she waves him over. It’s barely enough space, but she manages to squeeze between them. Soap scratches her back carefully, and she purrs like a cat.

“Was that good for a first?” Soap finally asks.

“Oh no it was totally terrible.” She answers, her voice sarcastic. “It’s not like I came all over your dick.”

“Jesus.” Ghost manages, but Soap sees his massive hand already on her ass.

“Round two?” Soap asks, and she gives him an adoring smile. There’s a moment where he feels himself falling in love with her even more, and maybe even with Ghost, for taking care of his girl.

“Give me a moment.” She says finally. “But yeah, let’s go for a round two.”

[renegadecantlife]

I'm now just noticing that I do this quite a lot and probably should start reblogging things I like so uh..

I may or may not be looking for another fix I read once,

Cat hybrid reader who gets found by retired war dog hybrid soap, who is owned by simon, soap is absolutely enamored with little cat hybrid, meanwhile ghost can't stand her, eventually little cat hybrid accident hurts soap when trying to play and ghost throws her out. She's later found by konig (who she drives away cus mistrust) and is then once again found but this time by gaz, who manages to gain her trust. She is about to be taken by the pound when gaz intervenes and takes her home. It ends right around when she's taking a walk with gaz and they see soap through ghosts home window (very clearly not knowing ghost threw her out)

[islenthatur]

Simon flinched as Soaps hands came up to cup his exposed cheeks, fingers running reverently along the scars that pulled and twisted his face into something monstrous. How could Johnny touch them so when Simon himself couldn't even bear to look at them without feeling disgusted. 

"Yer a bonnie lad Si," Soap breathed in awe, categorizing every freckle, scar and wrinkle. Each mark was a story, each scar proof that Simon fought and survived… 

"Don't lie to me Johnny, not you, please." Simon whispered brokenly, eyes still cast down, unable to lift them to see the disgust that was surely there. "You were right the first time, my face is ug…"

"Stop, look at me." Soap interrupted, fingers pressing firm against Simon's jaw to tilt up, blue eyes locking on brown. "I never lie to you Simon, not about this. There's nothing about you that's ugly, I love every mark and scar you bear because it means you're still here with me." 

Disbelief still shone in Simon's eyes and Soap couldn't help but feel his heart crack a little more. "Tell me mo chridhe, do you find me ugly with the scars I bear?" 

"NO Johnny! Never!" Simon forced out, eyes wide in desperation to show Johnny he meant every word. That he didn't believe that. 

Soap smiled softly, thumb running across the scar that bisected Simon's top lip. "Then tell me my love, what makes you think I'd find you any less handsome because of yours?"

[cherry-cristal]

(˘ ˘ ˘)

[homicidal-slvt]

COD Incorrect Quotes

-

Civilian|Y/N: I'm awake.

Gaz: Ok good you can give me a hand with this.

Civilian|Y/N: I said I was awake not functional.

-

Y/N: You'll always love me right?

Price: Yes- wait- why are you asking me this?

Y/N, hiding Price's burnt hat behind their back: No reason...

-

Y/N: I'm really good at making bad decisions.

Y/N, looking at Valeria: And she's about to be one of them.

Alejandro: Y/N no-

-

Y/N: I'm alive...?

Rodolfo: Yes.

Y/N: Are you sure?

Rodolfo: Yes.

Y/N: Can you just give me a kiss real quick? Just to confirm it?

Rodolfo: ..... *Pinches them instead*

-

Laswell: I need you to promise me you won't do anything that stupid ever again!

Y/N: We both know I can't promise that!

-

Soap, knocking on the door: Y/N Open up.

Y/N: Well it all started when I was 3-

Soap: I meant the door!

Ghost: No no- let them continue.

-

*Y/N telling the waiter they got Königs order wrong so he doesn't have to.*

König: Is it too early to propose marriage?

Y/N: A little bit.

-

Y/N: Give me one good reason I shouldn't shoot you between the eyes right now.

Graves: I'm too sexy to die.

Y/N: ..... You just gave me more of a reason to want to kill you.

-

[ethereal-night-fairy]

A Lick and a Promise

Chapter 1

Outlaw!Ghost x Female Reader x Outlaw!Soap

You let devils into your home. But why were they kinder than the saints in your town?

Warnings: MDNI, Arson, crude historical language (not by Ghoap), objectification (not by Ghoap), religious themes, small bit of fluff, period typical misogyny, kidnapping, implied physical abuse, sad backstory, implied theft, sorry if I missed any.

A Lick and a Promise Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 2.5k

Fire…there was fire engulfing the town you were meant to call home. Flames erupted from the trees like the gates of hell had been opened. From where you are, you see the flames lick and dance around the wooden buildings as the horses race away from the chaos that was unfolding. The smell of fiery damnation was cementing itself into your mind, it engraved itself onto your skin like a branding. Everything hurt…

Hot air whipped against your bruised and beaten flesh while you continued to struggle on the horse you were forced on. The smoke stings. You hear their screams in the growing distance as the mayor's home is surrounded by dark clouds of smoke. Why? Why was this happening? Why did they take it so far?

You keep twisting your head back to watch from you were forced to ride with the men you foolishly helped the week prior. You continue watching as tears stream down your face. His arms are as tight as a vice despite you pounding your hands back on his thighs. He doesn't let go, he doesn't even flinch no matter how many times you scream, beg or hit him. Your small home grows further away by the second. The little life you built for yourself shattered in the time it takes to saddle a horse with stolen goods. The fast movements of the horse jerks you uncomfortably as you clench onto whatever you can to steady yourself. Everything was becoming too much, the screams, the fire, the smell of burning, the pain, your pain. Your eyes burn into the back of the man with the skull face. Never in your life have you seen a man beat another bloody like he had. The worst part was you felt relieved when it had happened. You felt safe with them even if that feeling only lasted briefly. But why did they want to protect you? Why did they care?

You had let devils enter your home. But these devils were kinder than the saints in town, yet you were deceived by their kindness. They took you without remorse. You don't know why you thought just because these two men were soft to each other that perhaps they'd be good people, perhaps they wouldn't hurt you like everyone else did. You should never have helped them. You should have told them to leave the second they had awoken. Look at where your kindness has gotten you. Kidnapped and probably on the road to your demise. You've become an outlaw by association. What were they going to do with you? Whore you out for money? Sell you to a ranch? Have their fun with you only to leave you drowned in a stream? Was their kindness just a ruse so you'd agree to help them in return for safety?

But in the back of your mind you wanted to believe they had your best interest at heart, that they weren't going to hurt you. That they were too kind to do that. Yet you'd be foolish to trust outlaws on the run again. They had dragged you to damnation with them. Now the whole town hates you even more than before. It won't be long until your face begins being printed on wanted posters…

-The week prior

The blazing sun was gradually making its way further up from the horizon. The sunshine beamed down on the river, making the blue water glitter and gleam on the surface as you watched on. The birds chirped as you enjoyed the warmth of the weather bestowed upon you.

Cold water prickles your hands as you tug the rope to gather the fish traps you had laid in the river yesterday. Thankfully it seemed heavy this time around. You’ll be able to make something for the poor men burning with fevers on your mattress. You hadn't wanted to leave them alone but you had work to do. You needed to gather water for their horses and collect your traps. The small vegetable patch also needed watering so you'd probably have to make another trip round to the river.

Once the dripping basket is in your hands you haul it to the riverbed, struggling as the fish jump around in the woven material. It takes a couple minutes for the movement to finally stop. You deposit all of your catch which consists of a handful of freshwater prawn, three haddock and some anchovies. You gut the fish using the river water to clean off the blood. You hated doing this part but it wasn't like you had anyone to help you anymore.

You missed your parents dearly. Well your mother was dead there's no bringing her back but you wished your daddy would find his way back home to clear his name. That he’ll explain that everything was a misunderstanding and he didn't take anyone's money. He wasn't that kind of man you knew that. He always taught you how to work for an honest living. He lived like that for as long as you can remember. There was no way he ran off with the mayor's money. Yet you had no way to prove his innocence since he disappeared.

Once you're done you place everything in a bucket and carry both the fish and the water back to your little home. You've been struggling to gather game for a couple weeks now, the majority of the traps you'd set were often tampered with or stolen by the time you got back to them. You've resorted to fishing for the time being. You wished the townspeople wouldn't hate you so much. They had already kicked you out of your town home. And returning to your old town was out of the question. It was miles away and you didn't trust anyone in town to take you there, you also didn't have the money to pay them. And you were still hopeful your daddy would return one day.

You're deep in thought on how you're going to prepare for the coming winter when two horses race by you. You halt in fear as you try to make sense of what was happening while trying to clear your vision of dirt. When the dust finally settles your met with two piercing eyes of what looks to be a sheriff of a different town. His uniform is pristine, his bright badge gleams in the morning sun almost blinding you. He has a stern look to him. By the looks of his white hair you'd think he's much older than he is.

“Little lady you shouldn't be out so far out of town by yourself! There's two outlaws on the loose, haven't you heard!?”, you take in his stern tone, your mind racing with the information he's just given you. But before you can answer the older gentleman the person beside him speaks up. The voice is jarring as it cuts through your eardrums, bringing back awful memories. It belonged to a man you so unfortunately recognised.

“Don't bother with her sheriff, she's a twofer (loose women). You couldn't make an honest woman out of her even if you tried. She's better off dealing with outlaws by her own self”, all you can do is glare as you take in the hardened face of the mayor's brother. You hadn't realised that he had become a deputy. It's been so long since he's come bothering you, you'd hope he had died of dysentery. You feel bad for the woman in his town. He's probably already abusing the authority he's been given. The sheriff is stunned into silence but before you can defend yourself from the now balding Calvin, he opens his big mouth again.

“I wouldn't be surprised if she was stealing from the town again, just like her old man eh. Did he ever come back darlin’ or is he still on the run? Have ye resorted to selling your backside for some extra dollars? I wouldn't be surprised if you did”, he lets out a boastful laugh eyeing your patched up dress.

“I told you you'll regret rejecting my marriage proposal. Wouldn't marrying me have been better than trying to become my brothers left handed wife (mistress) eh? What? I didn't have enough money to satisfy you? You're no better than a trug (low class prostitute). Won't be long until I see you working at the bed-house. I might even take pity on you and try you out for night”, he smirks down at you from his horse as you try to avoid his leering gaze.

Tears obstruct your vision but you try to keep them at bay. You wanted to call him every name in the book for saying all these baseless accusations about you. But he was a beef headed ten cent man who enjoyed tormenting women, especially those who reject his advances. You weren't the first and you wouldn't be the last to deal with his god awful lecherous behaviour.

“Pull in your horns Calvin! That's no way to talk to a lady!”, the sheriff buts in.

“She's no lady sheriff, a trat (pretty girl) maybe but she's a filthy con. One that likes to toll (to entice) men for money”, Calvin continues his rant in spite.

“Stop airin’ your lungs. Excuse us ma’am we'll be on our way then”, though the sheriff was polite you could see the look of what seemed to be distaste in his eyes as he took in your figure and worn out clothing before leaving. They quickly turn their horses in the direction of the town with Calvin mirthfully laughing along the way.

You're left standing there as you try to collect yourself before returning home.

-at the house

"urgh!...", Simon woke in a fright, sweat was pooling from every pore in his body. He frantically looked around the room trying to figure out where he was. It took a while for his memories of the night before to return. His muscles screamed in pain as he fought to try to move them but they weren't cooperating. His body felt hot and sweaty, like his skin was sunburnt. The sun was setting, his eyes squinted as the dwindling sunshine streamed down from the only window. Damn they were meant to leave before dawn. A whole day had gone by. He feels around his face making sure his bandana was still on before looking over at Johnny. His bandana was still on too. You hadn't tried taking it off. The only difference was that two wet cloths were placed on both of their foreheads and a chipped bowl full of water next to the mattress on the floor. Had you nursed them all day? Where were you now?

"Johnny?... Johnny wake up....", Simon sat up with difficulty calling out Johnny's name but he stayed asleep. Simon felt his forehead before ringing out the cloth and dipping it in the water to reapply. This wasn't good. He's burning up… He needed to get up to look for some yarrow Simon thought to himself. It'll help reduce their fever and then they'll be able to leave as soon as possible. The sheriff might have already made it into town. Simon prayed you hadn't met him. This puts them in a very dangerous situation. Simon sits up with great difficulty as the wound on his arm flairs up with pain. But before he can attempt to stand the door opens gingerly. He freezes when he sees you.

Your eyes meet each other and Simon is too stunned to speak. Your eyes are swollen and red, like you've been crying for some time now. He watches you try to hide the tears by looking away and wiping them hastily. A sudden surge of worry and anger fills his body. Who? Who made you cry? Who dared to hurt you?

Yet when he opens his mouth to demand a name the smell of something delicious wafts through the air making his stomach growl unintentionally. You speak up in a whisper before he can, now fully facing him again with a small smile.

“Food is almost ready, I found some yarrow to help with the fever too. I hope your okay with some fish and vegetable soup. I'm sorry I know it isn't much. But it was the best I could do. I'll make you some tea with the yarrow after you finish eating.” Simon hadn't noticed but you carried a small bundle of yarrow in your fidgety hands as you continued whispering trying to not to wake Johnny or possibly trying to prevent him from asking about why you were crying. He'll find out anyway even if it wasn't going to be from your mouth. Why would anyone hurt someone as sweet as you? You almost seemed too good to be true.

“Yes, thank you. Any food is much appreciated, we aren't picky eaters. This is way more than we deserve”, Simon watches you smile so genuinely at his response that it baffles him. All he did was speak politely to you yet you smile like he had plucked stars from the sky. The thing he didn't know was that no one in town has spoken kindly to you in a very long time. So anyone talking to you even if it was normally was something you cherished greatly.

“It'll be done soon. I just needed to grab some salt. Oh.. and I gave your horses some water I hope you don’t mind that I went near them”

“That's offly kind of you. I'm more surprised they let you near”, Simon grunts as he watches you grab what you need. That being some salt and another pot probably to boil the tea for later. Your dress had patches all over it, probably from you fixing it with whatever fabric you had laying around. The more he looked at you the more he realised how much you were struggling to obtain the bare necessities for living. Yet you remained so kind and generous. Why?...

“Ah it's no trouble at all, they let me pet them so I'm happy with that…Oh! we'll have to patch your wounds again. Let me go get some sterilised water for you!”, you say gazing at his now bloody arm. The stitches must have opened up while he was trying to move. You smile at him on your way out. You could definitely use some more meat on your bones. You really weren't living a good life out here. Yet you were so kind to feed them and their horses. They'd make sure to leave you behind enough money to sustain you for a couple years. It's the least they could do after all you've done for them.

That reminds Simon he needs to do a parameter check on your house. He'll have to ask you about the sheriff too. But it looked like you were isolated from the town. It was either this or that you rarely went into town for your own reasons. News travels fast, especially in frontier towns. Though it seemed like this was one of the bigger ones. He was glad you would probably be the last person to receive the news. That just meant they could spend a couple days with you without you being afraid of them. And they could leave before you were even given a chance to report them to the sheriff.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or to use with AI technologies.

[altbite]

Child’s Play

Summary: You got injured because of Konig

Konig x GN!Reader - Enemies to ?? oneshot

Readers Callsign: Socks (I like this callsign so imma ause it for the foreseeable future)

Unrelated to my last oneshot “Silly Things” (or a potential sequel lmao. Because of the same callsign, you are allowed to link them if you want)

_

“Fuck you”

“Fuck you so much. God what is wrong with you? You seriously chose to kill that guy over saving my ass?”

“You lived, didn't you?”

You scoff, “By “lived” you mean barely got away alive? sure, yea no totally. Not like I ended up with two stab wounds and a bullet in my shoulder, but no yea I’m alive. No thanks to you”.

You and Konig had been yelling at each other for the last 10 minutes after you got released from med bay. You were pissed at him. It was bad enough you two didn’t get along on base, but on field? It was a new territory that he crossed. Rules are simple: you watch each others back, no matter what.

Price had walked in before more words were spoken. “Enough. Socks, Konig, Quit it”. You both turned to glare at the older man, who had bags under his eyes that could go on for days. “But Captain, He-”, you attempted to get a word in but Price raised his hand and cut you off.

“I said enough. Konig, your job was to watch their back, and NOT let them get shot. Socks, you were meant to make sure the room was clear in the first place. As far as I’m aware, you both suck at following instructions. You are both lucky to be alive”.

You and Konig both felt uneasy with Price now yelling at both of you. It wasn’t uncommon but you didn’t enjoy getting in trouble, much less getting yelled at.

“Now with that being said, you are both suspended until further notice. I suggest you get your shit together, both of you”

You glare back at Konig, who is refusing to acknowledge you. “Yes sir”, you say, walking off. You walk down to your room, your thoughts racing while really wanting to lay your head on pillow and hope its cold. You get into your room, stare around the room whilst standing in the door frame, sighing and closing the door behind you as you approach your bed. Plopping down, you can’t help all the negative feelings piling up. You heard a brief knock on your door, and saw Soap come in. He joined you on your bed, “Captain give you a hard time?”.

“Don’t even get me started Soap”, you rub your forehead with you palm. “How you doing?”, you asked him, hoping to get a distraction. “Better than you, Socks”. He moved your t-shirt up to examine the wounds you received and their stitching. “Some sexy scars your gonna have mate”, tracing his fingers around them. You chuckled. Soap knew how to lift your mood, even for a moment. “Thanks, I tried”. 

“At least you’re exempted from training for now”, Soap chuckled. A wave of uncomfortable silence filled the room, “Soap...I got suspended”

“Oh fuck”.

“Oh fuck my ass. It wasn’t just me though. Konig got suspended too, until further notice. The fuck am I gonna do now?”, you sighed in defeat but it was the truth. You hadn’t a clue of what to do now.

“I got one for you”, Soap commented as you looked at him for his answer.

“Recover”.

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

Soap: *Bursts into Price's office*

Soap: Captain, I would like to report Lieutenant Ghost.

Price: For what? If he punched someone I am not dealing with it today...

Soap: No, but have you seen him?

Price: Yeah?

Soap: That cake must be a crime. Those juicy buns? Illigal.

Price: For fuck sake Soap... *Kicks him out*