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todaysdocument · 1 year

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President Barack Obama greets veterans of the 2nd Ranger Infantry Company (Airborne) in the Oval Office, Feb. 27, 2013.

The 2nd Ranger Company was an all-Black unit that served during the Korean War.

Collection BHO-WHPO: Records of the White House Photo Office (Obama Administration)

Series: Presidential Photographs

Image description: In the Oval Office, President Obama shakes hands with one of ten Black veterans. Pres. Obama and the veterans all look delighted to be there. The veterans are all wearing berets or baseball caps identifying them as Airborne Rangers, and dark blazers with Airborne patches and other Army badges and pins.

#archivesgov #February 27 #2013 #2010s #Barack Obama #military #U.S. Army #Airborne #Airborne Rangers #2nd Ranger Infantry Company (Airborne)#Black history #African American history #Black History Month #White House #Oval Office

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recursive360 · 9 months

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“Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country,”

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=> Required Reading

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change360 · 11 months

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This design is called TRENCHES. No matter in the military or the urban streets of America's ghettos, in order to stay alive, you have to be alert in the TRENCHES.

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greatlydelirious · 1 year

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𝐃𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

wordcount: 6.1k words

summary: The night that death granted you mercy you swore to never let yourself become vulnerable again. That was until you started to be haunted by a man who knew your feelings all too well.

warnings: smut, mask stays on, slight breeding kink, angst, injury, mentions of past trauma, super fluffy, established relationships, (Ghost is highkey obsessed with you)

“Who’s your crew?” Laswell asks while sighing, exasperated by Price’s persistence. He swipes up the stack of files she got for him before going through them.

“Sergeant Garrick.”

“Kyle?” she recalls.

“They call him ‘Gaz’. He never said anything.” Laswell looks over the front of the file before he pulls out another. “John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper- demolitions. Goes by ‘Soap’.” Once again Price hands it to Laswell.

“Why?”

“That’s classified.” Price’s tone is even before he moves on chuckling. “There he is… Simon Riley.” When he places this one down, Laswell’s eyebrows knit, “There’s no picture.”

“Never.”

He softly whistles before saying your name, “… but she only answers to ‘Rose’.”

“Rose? That’s a delicate name.” Laswell arches a brow when Price lets out a dry laugh.

“Anything but.” Price taps the photo attached to the folder. The woman was mean mugging the camera with a hardened expression that made even him shudder and was the envy of any of the men who joined her ranks.

“Now the rest…” Price swipes the files back while staring down the CIA station chief across from him. “That’s need to know. Unless we got a deal.”

Laswell stares back at him equally stoic, “What are you calling this task force?”

A light smirk plays on Price’s lips, “1-4-1.”

Sweat percolates from every inch of your skin as you make your way to your designated post. The heavy fatigues and protective gear that use to bother you now act as a comforting weight. A reminder of where you are and the mission you are about to accomplish with your team. Not some sissy team, but Task Force 141; a special operations task force military unit that housed the best and… wildest.

Wildest was far more apt than the word brightest to describe the band of seasoned soldiers Captain Price brought together. He recruited you from the United States military special force known as 75th Ranger Regiment. Anyone who has met someone you fought alongside knew the female killing machine that holds the moniker “Rose”.

At first, you wanted to decline Price’s proposition to join. You’d worked under the command of General Shepherd before during your time with the U.S. Army Rangers, but you were still hesitant. After surviving unspeakable horrors in Afghanistan, you became far too deep in your itch to maim and kill.

Not only did you need the structure being a part of a force gave you, but the thrill. When your old captain tried to give you a base job after recovering from severe injuries you went berserk. Hell, you were even moments away from joining the French Foreign Legion. Of course, Price caught wind of this and promised to put you to work. Luckily for him, he kept up his promise.

You are a specially trained fucking soldier; not a rookie, not a gun polisher, but a sharpshooter that rivaled the likes of Simon “Ghost” Riley. The statement might sound crass, but you didn’t have the luxury to lapse in confidence. Every corner you turn, every order you follow, and every shot you take must be concise and without a shred of hesitation. This wasn’t fun and games, it was life and death.

Well… maybe it’s a little bit of fun sometimes.

Scuffling noises and grunts fill the coms until they abruptly cease.

“Rose, do you copy?”

Silence.

“Answer me, Rose. Do. You. Copy.” Now the question turned into gritted demands. Each word leaves a sharper bite than the last.

Silence is the only answer yet again. Before Ghost can crush the radio in his steely grip, static meets his ears.

Grunting you push the now limp body on your chest to the ground. “Copy Lt.” Blood audibly squelches as you reclaim your knife. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Wiping the trusty blade on your pant leg you chuckle at a joke in your head, “What has two arms, two legs, and ten holes?

Soap can be heard groaning. You are just as bad as Ghost when it comes to so-called “army humor”. “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin-“ Someone clicks their mic to cut off Soap’s grumbling.

“What?” A gravelly voice that gives you goosebumps plays along.

“The guy I just stabbed.”

“Ten holes huh?”

“Men have nine, thought he could use an extra one in the neck.”

“You’re bloody sick.”

“No, I’m quite blood free right now and I don’t have a stuffy nose. Thanks for your concern.”

A deep huff cuts through the coms and you recognize it as Ghost’s version of a laugh. Triumph fills you with being the one to elicit that rare sound. Thankfully, no one else was around to catch the subtle blush rising on your cheeks.

Focus, Rose.

“What do you call a Russian sniper from the Soviet Army who never misses his target?” Ghost asks you right after you finish clearing the hallway that held the stairway leading to the roof of the building.

“Go on.” You encourage as you start to make your ascent.

“The most skilled marxman in the military.” Now that had to be the most military dad joke you’ve ever heard.

“Please tell me you’re at your spot Rose.” Soap once again groans and for a second he regrets every decision that got him stuck with the two of you.

With an amused lilt in your voice, you push open a metal door, cold night air giving a second of reprieve against your hot skin. “Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, affirmative.”

Taking a deep breath, you crouch before setting your M21 EBR sniper rifle on the edge of the roof and maneuvering the ACOG Scope attached. The semi-automatic rifle has extremely low recoil and you liked its dual use for medium and longer ranges. Other soldiers had a hard time with the scope’s slight sway, but you tamed the gun how one would a horse; using a subtle, soft touch to steer it in the right direction.

Electricity thrums through you as you anticipate what is about to take place. You adjust your scope until you’re finally focused on the building across the street. Standing behind one of the windows was your target, Nabeel Bashar, drinking and laughing with other men in the room.

Nabeel Bashar is a close associate of Hassan Zyani and one of the lower-ranked leaders in the terrorist organization Al-Qatala. Although he’s not important enough to give you information you don’t already have, his death is important enough to make an impact.

That’s it Nabeel. Move one more inch to the left and I got you.

Your leather gloves slightly squeak as you adjust the grip on your sniper rifle. The gun is an extension of yourself, and it’s about to send a message to Hassan. After a few minutes that feel like hours, the man steps perfectly into your line of sight.

“Rose to Bravo 0-6. I’m in position and have a clear shot.”

“Hold your position until Ghost gives the order.”

“Copy.”

Captain Price’s command sits at the forefront of your mind as your anticipation grows. You might have an itchy trigger finger, but you’re too seasoned to pull it prematurely. Years of training and discipline that started when you were a child kept you steadfast in waiting.

To say your father was proud of you was an understatement. As a U.S. Army Vietnam Veteran, he was a stickler for raising tough kids. Sprain something? Walk it off. Lose at a sport? Try harder. His motto is, “When all else fails, your mind is the only thing that can save you.” Advice that not only helped save your life but was engrained in your bones.

Over the years and during your time in Afghanistan, you accrued accomplishments and honorary medals that you thought of as just “chest candy,” but your father gladly took them to display in his living room to show off to his fishing buddies. Based on the way he constantly brags about you; you are most definitely his favorite.

So much so that he has more than once grilled you endlessly about the man you told your mother about. Simply calling him a man didn’t do enough justice though. Simon “Ghost” Riley isn’t just an apparition, but a carnal animal outside and inside the bedroom. Unforgivingly rough as he gets to what he wants while thrumming with a deathly power that practically begs for someone to challenge him.

Unsurprising to everyone, that’s what you did when you joined Task Force 141. The tales of the heartless Lieutenant with the seemingly permanent skull-patterned balaclava never scared you. If anything, it made you want to test your sparring skills with him. When you finally convinced him to practice with you and he managed to pin you down after an hour, he was far more than impressed. Intrigued, surprised, and aroused captured the essence of how he felt.

Ghost admires your brutality. You never hesitate, never give anyone the inkling that you’ll be an easy target. Some would say the element of surprise could work in your favor, but you like a rough fight. If you’re not feeling the aching reminder of it the next day, you don’t feel like you won. That philosophy may be dangerous, but that’s what Ghost loves about you.

Yet what he covets the most is the vulnerability you gave him the pleasure of witnessing. Everyone got to see the bloodthirsty soldier, but he got to see the resilient woman who soaked in her complex emotions behind closed doors. A woman who liked his stern voice and uncharacteristically soft touches.

You always melted in his hands like a kitten snuggling close for warmth. At times the rumbled moans that came straight from your chest even sounded like purrs. Ghost craved that soothing sound. A rare sign of mindless comfort from his “pretty rose.”

“Red Rose” was the full cover name you were given. You were as fresh as a rose when you joined the 75th Ranger Regiment, the only experience under your belt being from your short time in the army. During those beginning years of your career it was just “Rose”, but it became far too tame to describe the person you are now.

Anytime you clean sweep a room that had more than enough men to overpower you, Gaz said you “painted the roses red”. Are you a part of Task Force 141 if you didn’t have a sense of dark humor?

Like any rose, thorns covered the outside of you, not a protective shield, but a visible threat that you will bite back when handled. It wasn’t a secret what was done to you; as unspeakable as it may be. Not only did your mind plague you with vivid memories in the middle of the night, but it manifested physically as well.

Deep scars that left phantom pains in their wake littered your body. No matter how hard you itched or rubbed the pangs hit you with a vengeance. They were etched reminders of not only the pains of living but the miracle of survival. You were deeply respected for surviving what you went through, but it morphed into fear when you continued to be a part of the force.

Some people let the venom of the past take them down, but others will use the searing pain as motivation to push forward. You’re the latter.

Despite your hardened exterior and savage nature amidst combat, you get along with your team swimmingly. Yes, you snap, bark, and bite, but like any good Doberman when someone shows you they are trustworthy, you are fiercely loyal. And by this point, 141 felt more like home than anywhere else. They treated you like any other man on the team and would take a bullet for you without hesitation.

The only thing that was akin to what you feel like, is a Doberman shaking with the excitement for its next command. All you needed was that one word. Once you get that command the metaphorical leash can be dropped so the beast can attack.

“Shoot.”

In a millisecond your finger pulls the trigger. Glass shattering mixed with the whistling shot is like music to your ears, a symphony of justice executing its judgment. You watch as Nabeel Bashar falls limply to the ground, the hole in his head forming a crimson puddle underneath him. Pulling away from your rifle you grab your radio, “Nabeel’s down. Enemy K.I.A.”

One down.

“Clean shot, Rose.” Price praises through the coms. “Now let’s get you-“

Yelling erupting below makes your focus turn to the street. Stationed soldiers yell in a language you don’t understand while rushing into the building you’re in.

Shit.

You manage to duck when bullets ricochet off the concrete next to you, making dust spread in the air. “I’m under fire and they’re making their way inside.” You have to practically scream to be heard over the sudden gunfire. The cadence of your voice held not even a semblance of a quiver as you barked the information. You’ve stared at the face of death before; you can do it again.

“You will do it again.” Ghost’s voice pops in your head almost in a warning. The last time you were trapped in a situation like this you had the infamous man alongside you. Except then you had a nasty stab wound to your side and Ghost had even nastier gunshot wounds to the thigh and shoulder.

Enemies are everywhere. Stray bullets whizz past your head as you make it into the empty house with half of Ghost’s weight against your hip. The plan didn’t go awry, but totally nuclear. Now you both are left surrounded and injured. Concerningly so based on the dark stain your partner was leaving on the floor. He tried to help you barricade the room, but the moment he started to tip to the ground you helped him sit down. No matter how bullheaded he is, he can only withstand so much blood loss.

Ghost’s head slowly starts to fall forward as he sits against the wall. The chopper is on its way and the only body you planned to haul with you was a breathing one. Thick fabric meets your palm as you slap Ghost awake. Even though he is sluggish, he captures your wrist before you can step back. When you try to tug out of his grip, he only squeezes harder.

You opt to instead crouch in front of him, eyes blazing, “If you leave me now, I’ll come after you.”

When he simply blinks at you, you move your face until it’s inches away from his masked one. “Do you hear me, you bloody bastard? I mean it.”

A wet chuckle leaves the man below you, “Bloody, eh? I’ve rubbed off on yah already?”

“Make it through this and you can rub off on me all you want.” Now Ghost truly laughs despite himself. Despite the pain. Jokes made the hurt go away, mental or physical, but what really made the bleeding man tick was the way your eyes twinkled with promise. You truly do mean it.

Slippery fingers intertwine as Ghost holds your other hand as well. Despite the danger and the blood, there was something so intimate about his touch.

“Deal.”

That was the night you officially fell in love with Simon “Ghost” Riley.

“Backup is on its way now. Stand your ground, Rose.” Price’s words are meant to be comforting, but they only make you curse.

You know the team is set up in houses nearby, but these men are coming in fast. The sound of heavy footsteps pounding against metal steps further confirms your thought. Rolling your shoulders, you let a cold smile spread across your face.

Game on.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost couldn’t help but breathe out the words when he finally makes it to you. He’s never mowed down enemies so fast. Any person who got in his way was given a swift death, and apparently, so did any in yours.

You’re a vision in red. Blood and entrails cling to your body as you stand in the middle of the wreckage. Fingers still twitched around the blades in both your hands, sniper rifle long forgotten somewhere. When your bullets ran out you opted to use it as a baton, cracking enemies until it got lost during a scuffle. Bodies are strewn across the rooftop like it was nothing. Like it was normal for someone to have the capabilities to fight all these men by themself; let alone a woman half their size.

Ghost has never seen anything more breathtaking. The gore only illuminates the primal energy that surged through you, through him. Every instinct urges him to run to you, feel you, and claim you just as you are now.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

With a shaky laugh, you sheath your weapons, not looking away from the man in front of you. The air is fraught with tension not stemming from the surprise attack. “Sorry, you missed the party, sir. I hope you can forgive me.” Your voice practically keens with a desire only Ghost can quell.

“Sir”, a formality laced with sin that unfurls from your tongue to snake into his ears. The sound of it coming from you so desperately, so needy, for him, calls to every fiber of Ghost’s being. You take without recourse every day; lives, commands, jests, anything you could while leaving nothing in return. Until it came to him. That three-letter title was you giving your power over to Ghost. An exchange of trust that never ceased to rock him to his core.

A grunt is given to you in response. A silent warning that said, “If you keep it up with that, I can’t be held accountable for what happens next.”

You knew that verbatim since the last time he grunted like that and you continued to push his limits, you were left with such a bad limp the next day that Captain Price made you go to medical for a check-up since he was convinced you were injured. Technically with how bad you were aching, it did qualify as an injury, but the dull throb between your legs indicated it was the good kind.

Before Ghost can make a step forward, Soap and Gaz run up in quick succession. They stop short just as Ghost did as they also take in the sight. Dark eyes continue to stay transfixed on you. Almost like you were the only person in the whole city.

Although, after a couple of minutes of three pairs of eyes ogling you, you decide you had enough for one day. Exasperated, you reach for your radio, “All clear Captain.”

By the time the team makes it to the safe house, you are utterly drained. Everything aches. The thick layer of sticky human splatter covering your form begins to gnaw at your senses. The lights feel too bright, the air too hot, and the atmosphere too quiet.

You tug off the pounds of clunky armor and gear, tossing it on an open countertop like the others. For a moment you just stare at the items. The dismantling got the surface mucked with dirty substances. Not only that but your hands, arms, and the sweat rolling down your forehead makes it spread even more.

Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. The mantra leaves you frozen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what else to say.

Someone pats you firmly on the shoulder, “I’ll take care of it, eh? Go clean up. Lord knows you deserve it.”

You can’t distinguish the voice of who’s talking when your feet begin to move at the command before your mind can register it. Normally you didn’t become this frazzled so soon, but you haven’t had time to be alone for weeks now. No time to scream into a pillow or cry in your room or feel his touch.

Every high has a crash, and you are free-falling. Fast.

Soap lets out a sigh of concern before grabbing a rag to start getting to work. He doesn’t say anything when he sees a dark shadow larger than your own follow you down the hallway.

When the bathroom door closes seemingly by itself you don’t hesitate. Nails scratch your skin as you practically tear off the clothes clinging to you. When you hear the fabric of your shirt rip you don’t care. You don’t have the wherewithal to even try. Yanking back the curtain, you blindly search for the handle. When water starts pouring down you practically jump into the shower.

You arch your head back into the stream of water. Clear, turns red, then turns black with the mixture of blood and soot as it sinks into the drain, taking your adrenaline with it. Limbs quake and memories flood uninvited into your brain. To escape the onslaught of emotions you close your eyes and try to focus on the sounds around you. Water is dripping, slipping, and sliding in your mouth. Water that was meant to soothe, but once smothered you and used as a tool to make you talk, to make you break.

Large hands encompass the sides of your head and pull you from the stream internally ripping you apart. Only then do you hear the sobs spilling from your mouth. Your eyes fly open and are confronted with misty blue ones surrounded by pitch blackness, equally searching and equally pained. Pained not only for you but for the fact that he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows how the past is twisting your guts until the only thing your body wants to do is destroy or be destroyed.

“Focus, angel.”

The words come out in a deep yet soft command. A shiver travels across your skin and an ache settles in your heart. Ghost is here with you. You aren’t in that place anymore. Your hands cling so desperately around his wrists as if he would drift away at any moment. Like he’s the answer to your salvation.

In actuality, you’re his.

With a harsh tug, hungry lips slam into yours. You hadn’t noticed that his balaclava was pushed up, but you couldn’t be more relieved to truly feel him. The kiss is as possessive as it is sloppy. Tongues don’t dance but spar as Ghost uses his grip on your head to keep you locked in place. Not that you would ever dream about pulling away.

He tastes of metal, grit, and something addictively sweet. He’s like one of those candies in sketchy wrapping, but when you pop it in your mouth it’s the best thing to ever grace your tastebuds. Moaning you back up against the cold shower wall to make room for the large man. His lips only move to start descending on your neck. Lips and teeth and tongue tease with a fiery passion that make you gasp at each little assault of his mouth on your skin.

Something hard presses against your slick stomach as Ghost blankets your body with his own. He towers over you not only in stature but width. Your body is perfectly hidden in front of his own like a human shield. The pure notion of what he can do to you makes heat pool in your core.

Your sudden reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. They seldom do.

A thick finger instantly meets your folds, sliding through the wet sensitive flesh in agonizingly slow pets. Ghost lets out a satisfied grunt at how willing and wet you already are for him. He pushes the digit inside your pussy with ease. You desperately grab his biceps to keep yourself from melting into a puddle at his touch.

“Please.” The wobbled plead comes out like a mewling kitten. When you say it so sweetly how could he ever deny you? When a second finger joins the first the delightful stretch that follows makes your nails dig into his taut skin. Ghost doesn’t pause as he begins to fuck you with deep, slow thrusts. Fingers curve to hit the spongy sweet spot inside your pussy that has you clenching around him like a vice.

The hardness against your stomach twitches at the sound, feel, and look of you. So devastatingly perfect, devastatingly his.

In your haze, you look down at where his body meets yours. Each stroke of his fingers makes you dizzy, but all you can focus on is his cock. The tip is ruby red as it throbs and leaks with precum with the anticipation to take you.

“Simon.” His head snaps up to search your face. The name comes out in a whisper as your eyes say a thousand more words you can’t possibly string together in a coherent sentence.

His lips ghost the shell of your ear, “My strong girl did so well today. She deserves my cock don’t yah think?” You feebly nod, unable to make any sounds except for pathetic moans. Strong hands lift your legs so they’re dangling atop his muscular thighs. He’s like a makeshift seat as he keeps your back pressed against the wall to keep you propped up for him. Now the head of his cock is resting between the lips of your sex.

Breath eludes you as you watch Ghost look at where your bodies are joined. He gently rocks against your pussy, rubbing your clit with each slow stroke. The new position leaves you no room to buck against him. You’re completely left at his mercy.

“…so fuckin’ pretty.” The admiring words rumble from his chest as he finally pushes inside. It’s almost too much. His cock never fails to split you open to the point that you think you might rip in half. He’s too hard, too long, too thick, too big. Yet you can’t help but whine when he stops moving after only half of his cock is nestled in your pussy.

Ghost shoves his face in your neck and you can feel his body trembling, not from physical exertion, but from the force he was using to control himself. Teeth nip and scrape at the tender flesh above your collarbone as he begins to slowly push more of himself into your quivering pussy. In silent submission, you crane your neck further to give him better access to your pulse point.

You don’t want Ghost to hold back. You want the delicious pain that comes from him tearing you apart because you know he’ll always sew you back together again.

“Fuck me, bite me, take me, please.”

“Copy.” Ghost’s tone is deceptively playful and you swear you feel him smirk against your neck.

Cheeky bastard.

Any semblance of lightheartedness quickly disappears when he slams the rest of his cock inside you. Instead of biting, he sucks the spot his teeth were previously teasing. Ghost’s hands settle on your ass to pull you on and off his cock in tandem with his thrusts. He’s everywhere all at once and all you can do is desperately moan at the contact you’ve starved for.

The pace starts deep and languid before rapidly turning rough and downright feral. Gravelly groans tumble from the usually composed man as your tight walls cling to him at every pull of his cock. You’re almost too tight and he’s almost too big. Almost.

“That’s it... take my cock, angel.” Your bottom lip trembles when Ghost moves to rest his forehead against yours while continuing to fuck into you hard enough to bruise. The soft skin at his pelvis abuses your clit to the point of overstimulation with the onslaught of movement. It’s so intense that you’re sure you’ll fall apart by the next jut of his hips, but he never gives you more than you can handle. Ghost is the only person you’ve trusted with your body in many years; and for that, he’ll be forever grateful.

His eyes never leave yours as he takes in every little emotion swirling in their depths. Before you were on the brink of darkness, now all he sees is lust and a four-letter word that would be his undoing.

Once you almost died and went to hell. Now you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven. Euphoria made you docile and pliable, a mewling, dizzy, sweet mess that only made Ghost fuck you harder. The sounds he’s making are like brimstone and ash as he fucks his fallen angel.

“Angel” was an especially fond nickname Ghost gave you at the beginning of your relationship. One he saved for your most intimate moments together. To him, you’re a celestial being; too good to be with the likes of him. He sees your drive to do good, to protect people from the torment you’d endured. Outsiders may see a bloodthirsty soldier, but he saw you for who you really are. A woman who strived to do good, to protect people from horrors unimaginable. Even if it meant sacrificing herself. Although Ghost may not be as noble, he is as driven. He’ll be your patron saint, your protector till the end of days; but even then, he’ll be too selfish to let you go. Ghost would cut down Gods and travel through hell and back for you. Anything for his angel.

A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out. You’re so close you can feel the electricity crackling between the two of you. But neither of you cared for things that came easy. In an instant Ghost pulls out of you and flips you around with the grace of a seasoned fighter. The spray of water hits the sides of your bodies as you’re bent with your front against the shower wall.

Your forearms support your weight as you slam your palms into the wall in a poor attempt for leverage. Each aching muscle in your legs shakes from the pressure of standing on your tiptoes to reach closer to Ghost’s hips. Emptiness gives way to fullness when your pussy is once again invaded by his cock. His front molds into your back like you are made for him. You fit so perfectly tight against him, around him, pushing and squeezing as your velvet walls flutter to accommodate him.

Fingers slip between your own in an act so tender it betrays the rough slap of his hips against you. Truly an enigma even you had yet to completely figure out. But with your fast-approaching climax, you didn’t have the room to dwell on the concept. You can tell Ghost is close too; his thrusts are growing sloppy and his fingers that are intertwined with yours squeeze in a white-knuckled grip to attempt to ground himself.

His hands slip from yours to find purchase on your hip with one hand while the other snakes around to descend on your clit. Even lost in desire his movements are precise and expert in how they derive pleasure from you.

“Do you want me to fill you up, angel? Make you mine?” Ghost’s voice is distorted by growls and full-blown lust. Your emphatic moans and confirmations blend only to heighten as he slams into you and rolls your sensitive bud just right. Ghost’s ministrations, cock, voice, words, and noises all blend together in perfect symphony as you reach your rapture.

His grip on you is like steel as you meet each of Ghost’s thrusts. Your heart thumps like a hummingbird and sparks feel as though they’re lighting under your skin. A loud groan reverberates next to your ear as heat blooms in your core. You’re so tight in the throes of your own orgasm, milking Ghost for everything he’s got.

Ghost continues to push his cum inside you, thrusting in deep, hard strokes to secure it in and make it stick. The insatiable need to make you his in a permanent way motivates the overstimulating pounding. His fingers knead the flesh at your hips, coaxing you to stay open for him.

Only when your whimpers waver and turn whiny does he reluctantly slow his movements before coming to a complete stop. Ghost pulls you from the wall so he can lean you against his chest, cock still buried deep inside you. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest would lull you to sleep if you weren’t acutely aware of your surroundings again. You don’t know how much time has passed, but when Ghost pulls out of you, you shiver from the newfound emptiness.

When you start to adjust your limbs, you feel that the skin on your fingertips is pruned, indicating that you’ve overstayed your welcome. You turn around in Ghost’s grip so you can properly gaze up at him (even if you still have to crane your neck). Your hands absentmindedly rub the muscles in his chest that rumbles like a dragon. Truly an unwavering force in every sense of the word. Unfortunately for both of you, you couldn’t stay like this forever.

“We have to get out sometime, big guy.” Grunting, Ghost grabs your hand before pulling it to his lips, kissing your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of them. Satiated blue eyes look at you with an emotion that makes you swallow thickly. He was going to be the death of you.

Wordlessly, Ghost reaches around to finally stop the stream of water before scooping you into his arms. A part of you wanted to protest that you could move on your own, but you wouldn’t ever deprive his need to feel you. You wince as Ghost helps you out of the shower. At first, you think it’s from the ache between your thighs, but the pain stems from somewhere lower.

In an instant, you’re plopped on the bathroom counter. “Didn’t care to tell me about this?” Ghost elevates your right leg with an edge of anger in his voice. Not at you per se, but the fact that you’re injured. A streak of red is trailing down your outer thigh with the other droplets of water to the floor. The gash isn’t concerningly deep, but after your exertions, the area was irritated from being neglected.

“I’ve been so caught up I didn’t even feel the damn thing.” The knife wound must have occurred when you were fighting off those men on the rooftop. Everything happened so fast since you came to the safe house that you didn’t take the time to look over yourself.

When a white-hot bolt of pain hits your gut, you’re reminded of your oversight again. You sure as hell can feel it now though. Sighing, Ghost makes quick work of cleaning and wrapping your wound with items from his bag. Of course, he brought it into the bathroom with him. The man is never unprepared.

“Wish you gave me the chance to kill those bastards, love.” The comment only makes you laugh. Leave it to Ghost to think of vengeance right after fucking your brains out.

You admire his concentration in silence. Before you met him you always “licked your own wounds” after every mission you went on, never having someone care so intimately about you to tend to your injuries themself. Now you had Ghost’s expert hands piecing you back together. Despite your pride, you cherish that those hands, invisibly coated in so many people’s blood, takes extra precaution while cleaning up yours. At this moment you feel nothing but lingering bliss and something you thought you’d never feel again… love.

Lightly twisting your leg, Ghost looks over his handiwork with a satisfied grunt. Thick fingers start to card through your wet strands of hair before moving down to cup your cheeks. His thumbs draw small circles on your skin in a manner so soothing it made butterflies awaken in your stomach.

“Do you think they heard us?” They had to of heard, but you knew that they would make themselves think they didn’t. If one of them even uttered a single syllable about it Ghost would pop their head off like a cherry stem.

“That’s the goal.” A wicked blush flames your cheeks as you playfully swat his chest.

Possessive bastard.

Sighing, you hop off the counter and grab your undergarments. Can’t delay facing the team any longer. The comfortable silence continues to stretch as you both get re-dressed. Thankfully Ghost hands you a spare shirt since you tore yours before getting in the shower. It all feels strangely domestic, especially when putting where you are into consideration. But home is where the heart is, and Ghost has yours in the palm of his hand.

Strong arms pull you to a hard chest once you’re fully dressed. A ghost of a smile plays on your lover’s lips and the sight makes you smile in return. Ghost leaves you with one last searing kiss before pulling his balaclava back down and exiting the bathroom.

Amidst war, death, and a lingering past you were able to fight your demons and find love. And as fate would have it, you love the angel of death himself.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #cod ww2 #cod wwii #delirious masterlist

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sgtgrunt0331-3 · 6 days

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U.S. Army Rangers, Pat Tillman and his brother Kevin, during Operation Iraqi Freedom in 2003. Today we honor the memory of Pat Tillman who was killed in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. We shall never forget this true American hero. 🇺🇸 “Somewhere inside, we hear a voice. It leads us in the direction of the person we wish to become. But it is up to us whether or not to follow.” - Pat Tillman

#pat tillman #kevin tillman #us army #army rangers #usa #afghanistan #miltary #never forgotten #warrior

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militarymenrbomb · 3 months

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U.S. Army Warrior Fitness Team Member

Capt. Brian Harris

Capt. Brian Harris, was born in Edmond, Oklahoma and graduated from Edmond North High School in 2009. He was a member of the high school’s baseball and wrestling teams throughout high school. He enlisted in the Oklahoma Army National Guard in August of 2009 as a firefinder radar operator (13R) in field artillery. While serving in the Guard from 2009 to 2013, Harris attended the University of Oklahoma and actively participated in the Army ROTC program. During this time, he was introduced to functional fitness and began competing at a high level at various competitions around the country. In 2013, Harris commissioned into the Regular Army as a Medical Service Corps officer and that year was selected as one of twenty two medical service officers to attend flight training and be trained as an aeromedical evacuation officer (67J) / UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter pilot.

Harris’ assignment history includes Fort Rucker, Alabama where he attended Army flight school followed by Fort Carson, Colorado as a section leader, platoon leader and staff operations officer for the 2nd General Support Aviation Battalion, 4th Combat Aviation Brigade. During his time with 4th CAB, Harris participated in several full-scale training exercises and served one nine-month deployment to Afghanistan in support of Operation’s Freedom Sentinel and Resolute Support providing aeromedical evacuation services across RC-East and RC-North. In 2016, he was named the 4th Infantry Division’s “Junior Officer of the Year” for his efforts both in combat and garrison. After his time in Colorado, Harris returned to Fort Rucker to serve as the operations officer for their Air Ambulance Detachment (110th Aviation Brigade) known as “Flatiron” providing 24/7 crash rescue support to the Aviation Center of Excellence, as well as, routine support to 6th Ranger Training Battalion at Eglin Air Force Base and support to the local civilian population in accordance with the Wiregrass Letter of Agreement.

Harris is a CrossFit Level 2 certified trainer and master fitness trainer (phase 1) and has accumulated more than 700 hours of one-on-one and group coaching time teaching functional fitness methodologies to servicemembers and civilians enabling them to reach their fitness and lifestyle goals. He has competed at the local, regional and national level in functional fitness competitions. Under the old CrossFit season format, Harris was a 2 time regional qualifier and recently represented the United States of America as a member of the national team at the International Federation of Functional Fitness World Championships in Malmo, Sweden (2018).

His awards and decorations include the Air Medal with “C” device, Air Medal, Army Commendation Medal with 2 bronze oak leaf clusters, Army Achievement Medal with 3 bronze oak leaf clusters, Meritorious Unit Citation (2-4 GSAB, 4CAB), National Defense Service Medal, Afghanistan Campaign Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, Army Service Ribbon, Overseas Service Ribbon, NATO Medal, Combat Action Badge, Basic Army Aviator’s Badge, Parachute Badge, and the Air Assault qualification badge.

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captain-price-unofficially · 11 days

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U.S Army Ranger provides suppressive fire while an A-10 Warthog does multiple gunruns on enemy positions nearby

#modern #aviation #combat footage #operation enduring freedom

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military1st · 5 months

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Ready for a challenge? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ A U.S. Army Ranger of the 75th Ranger Regiment conducts field training for a unit TFT (Task Force Training) operation on Joint Base Lewis - McChord, Washington. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ The U.S. Army photo by Spc. Garrett Shreffler (2019).

#military 1st #military #army #ranger #us armed forces #us army #united states army

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deeptrashwitch · 14 days

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Elliot "Pride" Stevens

Name: Elliot Stevens

Nacionality: American🇺🇲

Age: 24

Date of birth: 12th july 1998 - Fort Worth (U.S.A)

Residence: Killeen, Texas, USA

Afilliation: U.S Army / 75th Ranger Regiment Specters

Rank: Private

Callsign: Pride (Current)/ Charlie 3-8

Occupation: Combat engineer

Height: 1.90 m/ 6'2" ft

Weight: 95 kg

Blood type: AB-

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Straight

Languages: English (Native), Japanese, Greek, Afrikáans

AFILLIATIONS

Specters members:

-Captain Alicia Marchant (alive)

-Lieutenant Luke Michaelis (alive)

-Sergeant Jackson Blackwell (alive)

-Sergeant Edward Jackson (alive)

-Corporal Noah García (alive)

-Corporal Elijah Wilson (alive)

-Airman First Class Nicholas Fowlett (alive)

-Private Marcus Lombardi (alive)

-Private Alexander Christensen (alive)

-Private Francis Scott (alive)

CIA:

-Chief Station Dominique Wright (alive)

Underworld:

-Liù Xiao Chen (alive)

FAMILY

-Harrison Stevens (Father) (alive)

-Sarah Stevens nee Hayes (Mother) (alive)

-Mirai Hayes (Aunt) (alive)

-Daniel Stevens (Uncle) (alive)

-Enzo Stevens (cousin) (alive)

-Jimmy Hayes (cousin) (alive)

PERSONALITY

-He is arrogant and stubborn, and the first time he met Jackson and Noah, it played against him and caused problems with most of them. But when he left that on the side, he's really responsible, intelligent and, as well as Luke, analytic.

-During the conjoined missions he stays a bit away from the other team, usually because he doesn't consider them an intelectual challenge. Francis stays near him, though, the cartographer is the one who smack some sense into him.

-Elliot usually overthinks almost everything, trying to understand all the variables, but ends up stressing himself. Maybe that's why people compare him with a surly cat when he's stressed.

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Fort Worth, Texas. His family are mainly veterinarians, on the other hand a cousin is an economist and the other one is a photographer. As a kid, he grew up surrounded by animals and ended up loving almost any kind of animals, to his parents delight.

Elliot thought of being a veterinarian as well, but during his school life he discovered that he is amazing with the math and the physics. For many years he investigated about some branches of engineering, and found about the combat engineers, which called his attention. He talked with his parents, who were worried about him, but asked to take a year or two to think about it.

A year and half later, he enlisted into the Army and engineers school, and he studied until he almost fainted as he was on basic training. As he finished his training and title as engineer, it was known he was the best on his class, which helped him at the moment to be accepted on the special forces. From then on, he became arrogant, mostly because all of his superiors were amazed with him and praised his abilities insted of his co-workers'.

During his deployments, he perfected his tecnique and his speed on the field, which only boosted his ego. When he was on a deployment on a mountain range, he met Luke as a Sergeant, who at first was also reading his file in awe, but they lost contact after two missions more. And when the rumors about the new team were flying around, he knew they would look for him, considering the pattern.

And he was right, but he got slightly offended that the Captain sended the Sergeant and the Corporal instead of come herself. But when the reunion started, he felt in danger for a second, the Corporal was ready to beat the shit out of him and the Sergeant looked at him with something near to hate. Soon he went to Black Tomb and the day the Captain arrived again, he shivered and surprised to see how Michaelis was now the Lieutenant of the team.

And Luke was dissapointed...

Elliot spoke with Alicia and felt so little, like never before, and also he walked outside that office feeling regret for his own comments. Soon Luke walk to him, this time without a trace of the awe of before, just telling him one think with a harsh voice. Nowadays, he thanks that he said that during his first time there, but at the moment it affected him.

"Listen, the time has passed and I noticed something. You aren't as special as you think, everyone here are basically geniuses on their fields and if you continue thinking that you're some itty-bitty shining star...I'll be the one to bring you back to earth and throw you out of here" Luke growled to him that day "bring your fucking act together, Stevens, get down of your cloud"

SKILLS

-He is specialized on detecting many tipes of land mines, and even some acuatic mines too, to leave it for Noah. Also he prepares obstacles for the enemies squads and clears the paths for the other squads that come after the main one.

-Main and static part of the infantry squad, and he goes better during frontal attack missions, mostly if they have time to prepare traps.

COMBAT

His combat style is defensive, but will take a turn to the offensive if it's needed. His first choice weapon is also a Bowie knife. Elliot will never admit it, but he refuses to learn another kind of combat, not out of arrogance, but because he isn't sure he'll be at a good level in time for the missions.

TRIVIA

-His main hobby is solve puzzles, any kind of puzzle he can get, he'll try to solve it. Inside his room has a collection and everyone always gift him a new one on his birthday.

-Most part of the time he's inside the hangars, so he interacts more with Luke and Edward, also with Francis because the younger one is the one who keep him down to earth.

-He also doesn't have a car, and everyone prays for him to stay like that. Elliot...likes a bit to much Gran Turismo, and it could be great if only he knew how to drive as a sane person. Also Elijah lent him his Camaro once and he almost crashed it down...since then he's banned from using any civilian car out the base, except on special ocations.

-More than once, Alicia has seen him let some stray cats inside the base, but she never said anything. Mostly because she also got attached to them and is thinking to adopt one (and call it gun powder)

-His callsign speaks for itself, and it wasn't something that his peers gave him to joke or in a good mood. On the contrary, it was a way to almost insult him because of his attitude. But Elliot took it anyway because it fits him.

-He doesn't have any favorite food, and is really picky to eat. But when he enlisted, he forced himself to eat all the MRE's out in the field and the lunches when they're on the base. He eats everything, but doesn't enjoys it, maybe only Alexander's biscuits.

Song

Moodboard

#witch moment #oc #ocs #call of duty #team charlie #cod oc #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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5eraphim · 8 months

Note

If you are okay with any poly asks/requests how about Demo and Soldier (kidnap) take their partner (afab) out to a random forest and hunt them down (primal play) because they were being a brat and teasing them.

(Soldier would have great tracking skills considering he is canonically friends with raccoons. And Demo would have a blast.)

This was HEAVILLY inspired by the Robert Hansen music video by SKYND. legit heard this song for the first time i think a week ago and I knew right away it was the perfect inspiration for this story. i don't know why my brain allowed this request to gather dust for months, but then heard one song that goes hard and then finishes it in a few days?? as always, i apologize for taking forever, but more importantly thank you for the request, i hope you like how this turned out.

Title: Hunting Party

Characters: The Soldier 🦅 and Demoman 🐏

Rating: X (MINORS DNI, GO PLAY OUTSIDE)

Content Warnings: Noncon, death threats, stalking, blades, guns/getting shot, Dark! Characterization, outdoor sex, double penetration, rough, AFAB reader/female terms used, fearplay, primal play, blood, depersonalization, boot licking, bukkake, threeway

Word Count: 5.2k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

"When you become separated or isolated in a hostile area, your evasion and survival skills will determine whether or not you return to friendly lines... With training, equipment, and the will to survive, you can overcome any obstacle you may face. You will survive. Understand the emotional states associated with survival. "Knowing thyself" is extremely important in a survival situation." U.S. Army Ranger handbook (Chapter 14, Sections 1-2)

"When you're on the march, act the way you would if you were sneaking up on a deer. See the enemy first" Major Robert Rogers, 1759

The sun began to set a little lower, and you were painfully lost in the middle of the woods. Your hands were cold; a bitter wind blew from behind, rustling the shriveled mid-autumn leaves over your head. It must've been hours, shambling fruitlessly through the dense forest, searching for an exit, praying you would find a way out before something else found you first.

For some reason, you couldn't remember exactly what happened earlier during the day leading up to this situation. You'd woken up disoriented, your head aching, and with no knowledge of where you were or how you wound up here. It hurt to move upon awakening, your head felt heavy and slow with drowsiness, and your joints were stiff and protested moving too quickly. It took much time and concentration to ease your body out of the fetal position you awoke from. A worn, dingy-smelling sleeping bag was the only thing separating your body from the cold ground. While a hooded jacket, long work pants, and thick-soled boots helped save you from the chill, your fingers were freezing after being exposed to the cold air unmoving for so long. As you began to rub them together to work up some friction to bring the feeling back into your hands, you spotted a rock pinning a slip of paper to the far corner of the sleeping bag where you'd be sure to find it.

You reached out to read the note,

"You've been getting too comfortable slacking off. You ought to learn how to take your job seriously. It's time you remember who you answer to. Let's see if you can get out of this one on your own."

"We'll give you a few hours headstart. Good luck."

Beneath the message, you recognized the messy signatures of two comrades, the Demoman and the Soldier. For a moment, you sat there motionless, holding the note in your hands, unsure if this was all some elaborate practical joke. Though you had to admit, if there were two people you knew who would try to teach you a lesson by forcing you into a near-death experience, it would be these two.

Eventually, you forced yourself to your feet, ultimately accepting that if you wanted to get out, you'd have to find it on your own. It wasn't long until paranoia began to set in. Whenever you heard rustling from the bushes, a twig snap, or any other sign of movement in the distance, you instantly froze up, looking around and over your shoulder, expecting to see them there.

The sound of a rifle firing in the distance stopped you dead in your tracks. Any fleeting hope that all this was some "game" died at that moment. "They wouldn't kill me; they couldn't possibly go through with it; there's no way they would go so far just because you broke a few rules…" You reasoned internally, but even if you didn't think they were out to kill you, not knowing what they had planned felt much more sinister. While the shot resounded far in the distance, you got the message loud and clear: You weren't alone anymore. Your headstart was over, and the hunt was on.

Forcing yourself to stop looking behind, you faced forward and began bolting at full speed straight ahead, treading as quietly as possible to avoid making too much noise. The sun was setting faster now, causing the shadows in the woods to stretch further in the dwindling light, though it was cold comfort, as once the sun set entirely, you knew you didn't have a prayer of finding your way out.

From a distance behind, you could hear Demo's voice, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty-"

His little taunt sent a chill down your spine, only spurring you on all the faster.

"Come out, come out wherever you aa-are!" After this, you could hear the two of them taunting you from behind, and you could swear you could even hear them getting closer, beginning to close the distance between you and them.

"I'm NOT prey! I'm not going to let him get to me! I'll be free soon; I won't let them win!" You weren't a piece of meat for them to stalk and slaughter; you had to keep reminding yourself. They were taunting you, trying to get in your head, mind games, and nothing more. While you still had a decent amount of distance between you and them, you continued to move as stealthily as possible, darting from shadow to shadow, keeping your weight mainly on the balls of your feet, crouching toe-first through the foliage to keep your steps as silent. Overhead, a crow cried out abruptly, startling you and forcing you to cover your mouth with your hands to keep from crying out. You knew if they weren't hot on your trail before, they knew now exactly where you were. You were unable to keep from trembling as you heard footsteps echoing closer.

For just one moment, you faltered, considering briefly if you stopped running, you had a chance of trying to negotiate with them, reasoning if you surrendered, maybe they would go easy on you. After all, they'd enjoyed the thrill of tracking you down, stalking you through the woods 'till they were right behind. Wasn't that enough?

In a split second, you stopped running, knowing the two were right around the corner; you slowed to a stop, forcing yourself to stand your ground on shaky legs, knowing your hunters were right around the corner. Though the moment you were caught in Solly's crosshairs, he didn't wait for a second before pulling the trigger, sending a bullet ripping past you, clipping your hip as it fired past you.

In a matter of seconds, you went from looking at the men before you to the forest floor as you fell face-forward, using your arms to brace your fall as you screamed in pain as hot blood oozed down the side of your leg. By the grace of God, the bullet hadn't lodged inside of you, though you had no clue if that was on purpose or not. It was far from the worst pain you've felt before, but it was enough to quickly down you. You could hear the sound of the two drawing closer but were in too much pain to look up as you curled into the fetal position, drawing as inward as tight as possible, as though that would save you.

They won. You were downed and bleeding at their feet with nothing to protect yourself. Nearly all your energy and will to fight back was drained, and you felt like a lamb seconds before the slaughter. You were terrified during the chase but managed to keep your wits about you. But your sanity was slipping fast. Despite everything, you had a bad feeling the bullet-graze wound would be only the start of your pain tonight. You cowered beneath a massive oak, illuminated by the flashlight attached to Solly's rifle. Pushing yourself off the ground with a grunt, you force yourself to sit back up, your knees propped up under your chin.

You glared up at the man from your position sprawled out on the ground as he glared at you with an expression of equal anger, "What's the matter, cadet? No more fight left in ya?"

As if you could try and keep running, even if you wanted to. But seeing Solly's loaded rifle pointed at you kept you from saying anything sarcastic for fear of upsetting him. Trying to choose your words carefully, you asked, "Is this the end of the hunt?"

Solly sneered, "Do you surrender?"

Trying not to sound snarky, you answered, "Do you think I could run away like this?"

"He asked ya a question- Do ya surrender?" Demo interrupted. Though he didn't have a firearm pointed at you, the throwing ax in his hand frightened you worse than Solly's rifle.

You nodded, having already accepted defeat. "Fine. You win, I surrender… Now what?"

"It depends. Have you learned your lesson?" Solly spoke, lowering his weapon slightly.

"What?" you questioned, almost shrill with annoyance and fear. The blood seeped in throbbing pulses from your hip, disorienting you to the world around you, and trying to decipher what these two maniacs wanted only furthered your confusion.

Thankfully, rather than lashing out again, Solly explained in his usual gruff, authoritative tone, "You're always slacking off on missions and at work back at base! Trying to ditch work and head out early! You are the laziest Engineer to ever work for our team! If Dell saw what you've done in his place, he'd shoot you! You're a disgrace to your class, you runt!"

Was that what this was all about!? "Dell, you overachieving son of a bitch!" You mentally cursed. It was tough to be an Engineer when held to the impossibly high standard set by your predecessor. You loved Dell; everybody loved Dell. But you couldn't help feeling irked whenever your work was compared to his, as no matter how hard you tried, he always found some way to upstage you. While you loved your job and working with the team, there was simply no competing with a guy like Dell. The man was a third-generation Engineer. All his life, engineering was all he knew. He was practically bred for this job. He gave everything he had to work, and it showed. Dell was nothing less than a master at his craft. You wanted to hate him for this, for showing you up, for acting so modestly and earnestly when others praised his work, even though you could tell from the look in his eye he loved every second of it. But you still couldn't hate Dell; nobody could.

It hurt to wonder if you'd ever see Dell again. Your heart throbbed as you feared these two might just be deranged enough to go through with this, killing you in cold blood far into the wilderness where no one could hear you scream. There was no Medic here to tend to your injuries, you had no idea how far away the respawn machine was, and you had a bad feeling whatever happened to you out here wouldn't go away so quickly. And there was a good chance these two would be the last thing you'd see before you died.

The longer the two stared you down, the harder it became to keep your head clear. You were terrified to be held at their mercy with no idea what they wanted from you. You broke the silence, your voice unsteady and panicked, slightly rasping on account of how dry your throat became during the hunt. "What do you want me to tell you? I won't leave early anymore? I'll work faster? Whatever it is you want, I'll do it! C'mon, this has gone on long enough!"

Solly appeared chillingly indifferent to your pleas for mercy. "I'm not convinced."

You grunted in desperation, turning your attention from Solly to his partner, "Demo, you show up to work shitfaced every day, and you're really going to call me a slacker!?"

His eyes were only somewhat unfocused, bearing the telltale sign of his usual intoxication, which narrowed slightly at your dig against him. "I don't need to be sober to make my bombs or to chuck 'em. And I'll shove one down your gullet right now if ya need me to prove it." You straightened and went rigid at the threat, even if he wouldn't deliver. It was disquieting to know how inclined to violence he was now.

Solly crept forward just an inch as though spurred on by your reaction. "If you want us to get you out of the woods so soon, cadet, we could chop you up right here. Take your head home with us, and keep it on the wall. Let everyone on base know what happens to slackers."

"Look- I'm sorry for letting you down, really, I promise I am! But I'm not a slacker! I'll do better, I swear! Please, let's just go home- we're teammates, right? Let's get back to base, and we'll straighten all of this out." You desperately tried to think of any way to negotiate out of this without promising anything drastic. You wanted to argue with their emotional side, remind them you were friends, and convince them to end this terrible game. The sun set lower during your confrontation, and it was too dark to make out anyone's expression clearly, but you had little faith that either of them was convinced.

Demo snickered, lowering himself to sit back on his haunches, meeting you at eye level, "But we're not back at the base, now are we? Out here, ya ain't a comrade. You're less than an enemy, yer our prey. An' the prey don't' make orders."

Instinctively, you shifted away nervously, wanting to protect what little distance you had left between the two maniacs. Demo still had his hand wrapped around a throwing ax, and you couldn't take your eyes off it. The wicked polished metal of the ax's blade caught the flashlight's beam, reflecting menacingly.

"Aw, c'mon now, don't be so scared- we'll be gentle." Demo spoke with condescending sweetness, enjoying the visible fear on your face. You gasped in fear as you saw Demo's arm holding the ax move, as he made a show of striking the ground by his feet, wedging the weapon into the earth, remaining upright even as he pulled his hand away. You could hear them laughing, watching you flinch and yelp in fear at the fake-out.

Demo teased, "Still spooked? Why? I thought ye said we were all friends here?" He raised both palms facing you to show you his empty hands, "I'm not gonna hurt ye. The ax is gone. Now come here." He used his pointed finger to gesture for you to come closer, though, at the moment, you were so paralyzed with fear you doubted you could comply even if you wanted to.

The Demo wasn't pleased by your hesitance, "Don't make me come over there an' getcha myself."

It was beyond stupid to try and defy either of the men in your condition, but Demo didn't even give you time to react as he lurched forward with shocking agility, grabbing you by the collar. The action caught you by surprise, and your legs almost instantly gave out from under you, giving you just seconds to break the fall with your arms as you landed belly-down in the dirt.

He asked, "Looks like ya got a lil blood on your shirt, lass- let me help you out of it."

Your clothes were the last of your worries, and he knew it. You could only whine with grief as you heard Demo unearthing his ax to rip the shirt from collar to tail, then from the collar down the sleeves. Slicing your poor shirt to ribbons before pulling the useless fabric away, before doing the same to your bra. As he worked, he sat down on your ass, his weight pinning you in place. While you hated being forced into such a position, you dared not move or try to buck him off while he had an ax directly above your vulnerable body. The cold against your naked flesh made you prickle with discomfort as you listened to him fiddling with something behind you.

"Alright now, lassie, I want you to put your hands behind your back." Demo spoke with a deceptively calm voice, gentler than he'd spoken to you the entire time you'd been in the woods. You shivered in the cold but nevertheless did as you were told. Though just as your arms were in place behind your back, you felt cold metal wrap around them, and the sound of handcuffs locking them into place, you instinctively tried to lurch forward.

Demo laughed out loud in amusement as he felt you wriggling beneath his weight, trying to worm your way out of this while your hands flapped pathetically against the cuffs.

"Got Em locked in place for ya. 'Bout time for a real apology from this one, wouldn't ya say?"

"What the hell does he mean by a real apology?" You wondered- wasn't that what you were doing this whole time? Arching your back as high up off the ground as possible, you tried to look Solly in the eye, "But- I just, do I need to repeat it? I'm sorry I let you guys down; I swear it won't happen again! I swear on my life! I'll say it again and again if I have to." Your voice cracked, and you continued in a much quieter, frail tone, "Isn't that enough?"

Solly merely smiled down at you, shaking his head slowly before lowering himself before you, down on one knee, his boot directly in front of your face.

"I want to see you prove it. Do you want me to believe you'll start doing as you're told? Start now. I want you to kiss my boot."

You cringed hearing this, eyeing the grime caked on his shoes with contempt, though with a sickening certainty, he was dead serious. He nudged his shoe a little closer to your face, watching you wince at the sight of them. You were so tired, and begging was beyond pointless by now. The best you could muster was a half-hearted glance up at Solly, searching for a shred of humanity yet seeing nothing but grim excitement from the man.

You lowered your head closer to his boot, trying to steel your resolve and to try and get this over with as fast as possible, though as soon as you got close enough for the tip of your nose to graze the boot's leather, you involuntarily gagged at the muddy smell, knowing you were about to put your mouth directly there.

You could feel your face heating with humiliation as you heard the two men laughing at your misery. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to go again, holding your breath to avoid enduring the smell. Shutting your eyes, you gave a light kiss to the leather as quickly as you could before pulling away again. Miraculously, you'd escaped without any dirt on your mouth, though the after-feeling the boot's leather left on your lips was revolting enough.

Taking your chin in his rough hand, he tilted your face up in his direction. Solly grumbled, "You can do better than that cadet- do it again."

Your jaw dropped; how could he still need more from you? "But you said-"

"And now I'm saying do it again!" He grasped your face a little tighter before letting go. It wasn't painful, but in such a vulnerable position, you couldn't help but yelp in pain as you anxiously looked down at the dirty boot.

You felt so broken down and humiliated you wanted to cry, but your will to escape this situation outweighed the fear. Drawing in another deep breath, you forced your head back down. Just as you were about to leave another quick kiss, you felt Solly's hand clamp down on the back of your neck, pushing your head forward and forcing you to keep your lips locked harder against his boot. You wretched at the feeling of muck on the corner of your lips through grit teeth. It hurt to keep holding your breath, but you endured anyway as Solly forced you to remain in the compromising position.

When he eventually let your neck go, your head shot up at once as you spat. No dirt entered your mouth, and you could feel it on your lips as you tried to rub it off on your shoulder. From behind, you felt Demo's hand squeeze your shoulder, "Atta, girl! I knew ya had it in ya!"

You were about to try and wriggle your shoulder out of his hold, but to your surprise, Demo climbed off your back willingly as Solly rose from his kneel in front of you. You had no idea why he did it until you heard Solly sneaking up close behind you before speaking,

"Let me look at the wound." Obviously, he was talking to himself as if you could take off your bloodied, dirt-smeared work pants. Using the same ax Demo used to separate your shirt from your body, Solly tore the denim fabric directly over your rear, forcing the waist to widen enough for him to slip them off. He struggled, trying to pull them down over your heavy-duty work boots before he pulled those off as well. Your undergarments slipped off along with your trousers, leaving you without a single remaining shred of decency.

The frigid air ran over your wound with chilly needle-like pricks, and you could tell Solly had re-opened the wound, pulling your pants off causing fresh, hot blood to spill over the crusted dry wound.

From his position on the sidelines, Demo whistled lowly, apparently impressed seeing the wound no longer obstructed by clothing. "Nice shootin! That's a deep one, alright!"

Biting down on your cheek, you felt Solly's thick fingers awkwardly prodding at the sensitive, wounded flesh. You knew better than to hope Solly had any intention of patching you up; he only stripped you down like this to appraise his work. You weren't a wounded comrade to him; you were nothing more than his prey.

Solly crouched beside you, stroking his fingers against your hip, barely grazing the wound as he growled, "You're not sneaky. You Engineers, couped up in your little nests all day, bet you love it when you get in on the action. Bet you love getting roughed up like this."

Forcing yourself to face him, you shook your head; it was pointless to try and reason with him; whatever logic he was running on now, you couldn't hope to comprehend.

He grinned, watching you continue struggling and cling to your last desperate hope of escaping. "Or do you just like the attention? You slack off to get us frustrated- it turns you on, doesn't it? I bet you've been waiting for this, waiting for someone to come and teach you a lesson."

Even with just your clothes torn off, before either of them really got their hands on you or even fully undressed, a pit of self-resentment settled in your stomach, and as you lay there with your hands cuffed behind your back and your belly in the dirt you couldn't help but blame yourself for all this. "If only you'd done your job like you were supposed to, you wouldn't be here! For God's sake, why couldn't you just do what you're told!" you mentally scolded, feeling the long-since burning shame intensifying slightly. To your disgust, you glanced at Solly as he picked up your inside-out, discarded pants, finding the area torn up by his bullet thickly saturated with blood. He held the scrap up to his nose, inhaling deeply, moaning as he exhaled and grunted with satisfaction. You recoiled, but he looked back at you, his face sickeningly amused, "You've been a fine little game to hunt- shame it all ends here."

You sobbed, "Please, you don't need to go through with this! You had your fun; I've learned my lesson; you don't need to take this any further!"

You could hear Demo chuckling behind you, "Aw, she must think the fun's already over. Poor lassie."

There wasn't enough light to make anything out, and you were too broken to look either of them in the face any longer. The two men worked like one, positioning you exactly how they wanted to take you. You could feel Demo's hands on your hips, guiding you back and positioning you to straddle his lap. His hands tickled the sides of your body as his fingers ran up and down your skin in a mocking gesture of comfort. Demo's belly brushed against your back as he held you square and in place while Solly undressed. You felt Demo grinding his hard dick against your inner thigh, his strong hands keeping you locked in place despite your instinct to pull away from the unwanted advance. As unpleasant as the contact was, you were still shivering from the cold and secretly enjoyed the fleeting sensation of his body heat against your skin before he leaned back away from you. His gut, well padded by a layer of adipose over his stocky muscles and broad frame, felt warm against your shivering body. Demo was warm, but he sure wasn't comforting.

It didn't last long; as Solly drew nearer, Demo lay back, keeping you upright on his lap. You felt Solly's fist grab you by the hair, jerking you forward without warning; the sudden pain made you tense up, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth.

Solly growled, "Consider this overtime slacker. You'd better keep up."

You could feel Solly was already turned on from the thrill of tracking you down and forcing you to degrade yourself in front of himself and Demo. And sickeningly, you realized he probably got turned on watching his friend man-handling you, his little cadet, before forcing you to stay upright and obediently in place, waiting for him to get in on the action.

Solly smirked, looking over your shoulder at Demo, "What do ya say, will you do the honors of going in first?"

It was a sick joke, knowing they were just moments away from forcing you to endure both at once. Demo laughed lazily, "Cheers, lad."

It was agonizingly slow, feeling Demo force himself inside of you. Unfortunately, you realized he was naturally well endowed, and feeling his manhood pushing inside made you cry out in pain. He was already fully erect and even slightly lubed by a bit of spit he crudely coated his shaft with, though it hardly made any of this easier on your end. You weren't turned on and could focus on nothing but the awful burning stretch of Demo splitting you open.

Solly had the grace to wait for his co-conspirator to fully situate himself inside before he joined in. You felt Demo's bruising hold on your thighs, forcefully rocking you forward as he started thrusting up. The entire time Demo worked on you from below, Solly had your hair in his fist, using it to jerk your head up to look at him, forcing you to give him your full attention again.

Solly growled, "Use your teeth, and you're dead; I mean it. Unless you want me to force it up your ass, you better behave, got it?"

You forced yourself to nod, trying to push down the nauseating disgust. As Solly shuffled forward a little bit, you trembled with fear, and you were almost too scared to move when you felt his head prod against your mouth.

This hesitance resulted in another harsh tug against your head. "Open up. Now."

It was a simple command, but one you weren't sure you were strong enough to carry out. But with Solly's threat ringing in the back of your mind, you forced yourself to comply, trying not to jerk away or give him any further reason to punish you.

The Demo had slowed down a little, though he kept himself painfully deep inside as he wanted to get a good look as his friend continued to violate you. Clearly getting off on your suffering as he throbbed watching all this unfold.

The feeling of both inside made you sick to your core, but you tried as hard as possible to close your eyes and think of anything but where you were now as the two began moving in earnest. You could hear Demo grunting with exertion and arousal as he picked up his pace, forcing you to ride his lap while he chased his climax. The pain of struggling to breathe with Solly's cock in your mouth made you gag, your tongue awkwardly writhing against him with uncoordinated movements. It would have been a blessing to feel his precum beginning to dribble down your throat if it wasn't so vile.

Just as he was about to burst, you felt Solly retracting quickly, keeping your head in place with his fist in your hair and your face up, looking up at him. You coughed and wheezed as you forced full gulps of air into your lungs before you were caught by surprise when you felt him shooting his seed directly onto your face. The gunk landed in the center of your face, leaking down over your mouth and chin. The foul stuff falling in thick droplets down your chin and neck. Unfortunately, you accidentally inhaled a rogue splatter of semen in the process, the feeling of the warm, sticky residue making you wretch loudly despite the small amount.

In the moment, you weren't even sure you felt human anymore. You were so beaten down by the past few hours psychologically and physically that you felt hollow and numb inside. Likely, it would be a while before the terror and disgust truly set in, but right now, you were nothing but a warm body, a scrap of meat. Chewed up and spat back out by a couple of predators.

At some point, Demo pulled out after keeping himself buried inside you long after he climaxed, enjoying the feeling of your warm body stretched around his sensitive cock. But you had no idea how long that was, and it wasn't until you felt Demo carefully shuck you off his lap to get back on his feet and redress that you realized he'd already come.

You weren't even relieved when they eventually let go, feeling the cold ground below your bare skin as you waited motionless, watching the two pull their clothes back on with dull, vacant eyes. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you didn't even feel yourself crying; you were too tired, practically dead to the world. As you pouted, you felt as impotent as a child, waiting for your guardian to take you back home and let you rest. But the men before you were no guardians, and you had no idea how long it would be until you returned to your own bed.

"You did better than I thought, cadet. I always knew you were holding out on us." Now fully dressed, Solly appeared to take a moment to appraise you honestly, scanning you up and down, mentally evaluating how serious your wounds would become in the morning."What'd you think, Demo? Has she earned a lift back home yet?"

Your head throbbed, and your vision spun too much to focus clearly on Demo's face, though even you could see the cold-hearted smile as he held his chin in his fist, pretending to ponder the question to further draw out your suffering. By now, your mind had already begun to shut itself down in the name of self-preservation.

You looked up, seeing two men you recognized but who you would never see as comrades, much less friends, again. You didn't feel like an Engineer anymore, or even human. You felt like nothing more than slaughtered prey in the den of a predator. Cruelly left alive to bleed out with no idea what would come next.

"Ah, I suppose she's earned it. We ought to let her off easy for such good behavior."

His eyes shined with excitement as he regarded the pitiful state you'd been reduced to with pride as he continued, "But, the night is still so young. It'd be a shame to bring her home right away, wouldn't ya say?"

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mollafer · 8 months

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"The Birth of American Intelligence Operations" by Marc Wolfe

BEHOLD! Another amazing work of art I have been recently introduced to!

This scene portrays the final meeting of Nathan Hale and George Washington as they planned the mission Hale would ultimately be killed during. Being an MI officer, we train so that moments like these never happen again. Every decision we make, we keep the soldiers in mind who will be out there risking their lives for us. I know Ben Tallmadge felt this same duty, as he not only lost a fellow MI officer, but his best friend that day.

I received this painting as a gift for my recent graduation from Military Intelligence School in Fort Huachuca, Arizona. And along with this painting came a certificate of authenticity with a little history of the origin of this painting, which I will include below the cut :)

During the Revolutionary War, General George Washington, Commander in Chief of the United States Continental Army wrote, "The necessity of procuring good intelligence is apparent and need not be further urged..." Military Intelligence has since been an important part of Army operations in each of the nation's conflicts.

This scene depicts the planning for one of the first known U.S. Army intelligence missions. In September 1776, General George Washington, Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Knowlton, and Captain Nathan Hale met at Army headquarters in New York City to finalize the plan for CPT Hale's covert mission to Long Island to ascertain British Army movements and intentions.

Following the July 4th, 1776, U.S. Declaration of Independence, the New York campaign was critical to the newborn republic. After defeat at the Battle of Long Island in late August, General Washington needed to determine the location of a British invasion of Manhattan Island and one method to do so was to send a spy behind enemy lines. CPT Nathan Hale was the sole volunteer for this important but dangerous mission.

On September 1, 1776, General Washington organized "Knowlton's Rangers," the first Continental Army unit dedicated to tactical reconnaissance and intelligence gathering. During the Boston Campaign, LTC Knowlton served courageously at the battle of Bunker Hill and led the successful raid on Charlestown to capture British soldiers for questioning. Subsequently on September 16, 1776, during the Battle of Harlem Heights, LTC Knowlton commanded the reconnaissance force that found, engaged, and repulsed the initial British advance. After rejoining the fight later that day, LTC Knowlton was killed in action bravely leading his regiment in the American victory. The loss of this experienced, dynamic, and able leader impacted the young Continental Army. For his gallant exploits, leadership, and command of the first U.S. Army unit designed for intelligence operations, the MI Corps designated LTC Knowlton as its "MI Hero" in 1995. The Knowlton Award recognizes distinguished professionals who contribute significantly to the promotion of Army intelligence.

From Knowlton's Regiment, CPT Nathan Hale stepped forward to conduct intelligence missions against British forces on Long Island, ultimately giving his life for his country. A 21-year-old Yale College graduate and teacher, Nathan Hale had not seen action in the Boston or Long Island Campaigns and felt compelled to contribute to the Continental Army he had joined a year earlier. He saw this mission as a crucial opportunity to serve the patriotic cause. Thus, Nathan Hale dutifully volunteered to collect information against the British Army. According to a subordinate, CPT Hale met with General Washington on two occasions prior to departing. This scene portrays the final meeting.

Dressed in the guise of a school teacher, Nathan Hale crossed Long Island Sound from Connecticut and began his mission. After the British captured New York City, it was set ablaze under suspicious circumstances after midnight on September 21. The British immediately began to arrest local civilians for questioning. Nathan Hale was detained, found to have notes on the British Army, and immediately charged as a spy. According to the standards of the time, undercover spies were hanged as illegal combatants. Without a trial, Nathan Hale was executed on September 22, 1776. His last words were believed to be, "I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country." Nathan Hale was the first American executed for conducting intelligence operations.

General George Washington's use and staunch advocacy of intelligence operations coupled with the distinguished service and sacrifice of LTC Knowlton and CPT Nathan Hale serve as a constant reminder to all MI Corps Soldiers of our significant heritage as well as the hazards of the Military Intelligence profession.

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reality-detective · 1 year

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Just to let you know things ARE happening behind the scenes, I'll leave this here 👇

Operation Warp Speed Architect Arrested

U.S. Army Rangers on Saturday arrested Operation Warp Speed architect Moncef Slaoui, the Moroccan-born pharmaceutical mogul who in May 2020 spearheaded the administration’s efforts to poison 300 million Americans by January 2021, a source in General Eric M. Smith’s said.

Slaoui largely flew under the radar throughout the Plandemic. The media seldom mentioned his name, focusing instead on publicly influential figures like Fauci, Birx, and Collins, articulate public servants who spoke better English. Our source said Slaoui was relegated to media obscurity because the administration thought he looked shady and that Americans wouldn’t trust him.

And Americans would have been right not to trust a man who spent 30 years as GlaxoSmithKline’s head of vaccines department and was working at Moderna when Trump picked him to helm Warp Speed. At the time, Trump called Slaoui “one of the most respected men in the world in the production and, really, on the formulation of vaccines,” but was merely parroting what subordinates Michael Pence, Alex Azar, Admiral Brett Giroir, and Robert Redfield told him. They and others, our source said, were part of a major conspiracy to deceive President Trump into putting Slaoui in charge of OWS.

Slaoui faced criticism for holding $10 million in Moderna stock options and working as an advisor to Brii Biosciences, a firm with sizable Chinese investments. To avoid a conflict of interest, he begrudgingly resigned from those positions, then began working with then-Health and Human Services Secretary Alex Azar—who praised Slaoui as “arguably the world’s most experienced and successful vaccine developer”—to hasten Warp Speed.

Our source said that Slaoui, despite resigning from Moderna, continued receiving payouts exceeding $56 million after the FDA granted Moderna emergency-use authorization on December 8, 2020.

However, the military was less interested in Slaoui’s financial motivations than his knowledge that Moderna’s experimental vaccine had killed 34 of 600 Phase II trial participants in June 2020. White Hats, our source said, now have a wealth of evidence—physical and digital documents authored by Slaoui—proving he knew the vaccine caused myocarditis and potentially lethal blood clots but never publicly disclosed that information, even after Trump personally asked him if the shots were truly safe and effective.

“We have a treasure chest of incriminating evidence on Slaoui. This guy was one of the biggest violators of the Plandemic. We got a letter he wrote to Pence, saying he knew vaccines would kill people and that they could blame Trump for pushing Operation Warp Speed on the public. We have tons more that will be made available when he faces a military tribunal and hopefully gets hanged. We had more than enough proof to get him,” our source said.

The arrest, he added, came after Gen. Smith talked with Colonel J.D. Keirsey, a White Hat council member and commander of the 75th Ranger Regiment, the U.S. Army’s premier light infantry unit and special operations force within the United States Army Special Operations Command.

On Saturday morning, Rangers bashed down the door to Slaoui’s 7,500-sq-ft home in Zebulon, North Carolina. One of his three sons, Hussein Mohamad Abdul Slaoui, was present and pulled a pistol on the Rangers. He was shot dead, and the Rangers took Slaoui into custody. He shouted, “sayantaqim li allah,” or “Allah will avenge me,” as the Rangers shoved him into a civilian vehicle.

“We got him. We got the bastard,” our source said. “He’s just one of many. But we’re chipping away at them.”

As an aside, Slaoui was fired from chairman of the board of directors of Galvani Bioelectronics, a subsidiary of GlaxoSmithKline, in March 2021 after several young male employees accused him of sexual harassment.

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sgtgrunt0331-3 · 11 months

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On June 8, 1944, German prisoners are marched past an American flag as it lies as a marker on a destroyed bunker, two days after Pointe du Hoc was captured by U.S. Army Rangers.

(U.S. National Archives/Reuters)

#d day #us army #army rangers #pointe du hoc #normandy #france #wwii #world war 2 #military #history

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