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ghouljams · 9 months

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Outlaw!Cowboy!König can kidnap me anytime 🫠

You know people hate tax assessors but this is just ridiculous. As soon as you set foot out of the general store you were scooped up by a giant of a man as he swung onto an equally large horse. You didn’t even have time to shout before you took stock of the situation. Even less time before a bullet whizzed past your cheek, just grazing your skin in a way that makes you reevaluate your career choices.

“Quit shootin’ you fuckin muppet, he’s got a hostage,” The sheriff you’d met this morning shouts. You watch him grab his deputy’s gun and point it away from you. You watch the local law grow smaller over the shoulder of your apparent kidnapper. They’re not even trying to come after you. You’re a little insulted.

You’re finally maneuvered off the man’s shoulder when the town is safely behind you and the prairie is stretching out infinitely before you. You’re settled in front of him in the saddle, bracketed by thick arms and powerfully muscled thighs. You try not to be intimidated, but this is your first time being kidnapped.

“Wie sagt man das auf Englisch,” The man behind you mumbles to himself, your ears perk up at the foreign tongue. It’s not usually German you’re hearing in these parts. “Sorry for-” He fishes for the word.

“Grabbing me?” You supply.

“Ja, grabbing. I do not grab women,” He tells you, thinking for a moment, “normally.”

“I suppose that’s comforting,” You lean forward to pet the horse’s neck and his arm wraps around your waist to keep you in the saddle.

“Wie geht es dir so ruhig?” The absolute amazement in his voice is as much translation as you really need, you can guess the rest. Probably wondering why you’re not screaming your head off.

“I get guns pulled on me a lot,” you tell him. Although usually that only happens when people owe money on their taxes. Honestly as far as worst case scenarios go, this has been frighteningly comfortable. You can’t imagine it’ll stay that way long.

The man’s arm leaves your waist as you lean back against him, not too against him but enough to let him know you’re not trying to make a run for it. Instead of grabbing the reins again he grabs your jaw, holds your face between his fingers and tips your head back. You blink up at the shadowed features of your kidnapper, the black bandana, the dark brimmed hat, he’s got some sort of grease around his eyes to darken them. That’s smart, you think, better to hide his features if he ever wants to go into town without shooting the place up. His eyes are so piercingly blue as they stare down at you, you wonder if he might be part angel with eyes like that.

“Schöne,” Again he isn’t talking to you, his voice is low and undirected. He’s a mumbler, you think. He looks forwards, lets go of your face so you can too, but his hand doesn’t leave you. It drops to your chest, an action he seems to think better of when you try to squirm away, then to your stomach. “You are married?” He asks, and you aren’t sure that question bodes well for you.

“Not anymore,” His fingers stretch so wide over you, a reminder of how much bigger he is. As if you needed one.

“Verwitwet?” You don’t know that one.

“What?”

“Your man, dead?” He tries again.

“Oh,” You think that's a rather callous way of putting it, but it's sort of a callous subject, you suppose, "He ran off."

“Ah,” His hand presses a little more firmly against you, forces you back against him, his hips fitting neatly with yours, “Das ist gut.” You feel the roll of his hips with the movement of the horse, his hand keeping you held close. You grip the saddle horn tight, try to quell the heat he’s working through you.

“That’s good?” You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. The way his hips move, the way he holds you, he’s making sure you know the intent behind his question. You more than know it, you can feel it simmering in your stomach. Without the whole kidnapping thing, he might’ve been your type: big and warm, broad chested and strong enough to swing onto a moving horse with you potato-sacked over his shoulder.

“Gut für mich,” He hums, hand sliding lower to press between your legs until you curl over his arm with a whine. “Good for you too, ja?”

“Ja,” You agree without thinking, “yeah, yes.”

“Good.” The way he purrs it so close to your ear makes you want to push into his hand. Only in your dreams has a man made you feel like this. You were married once, sure, but you didn’t particularly like your husband, and he certainly didn’t touch you with such thick appreciative fingers.

You wonder how long it’ll be ‘til the law comes to get you. They can’t leave a government assessor out in the desert without a marshal knocking on their door. Still, you sort of hope they take their time with it.

#cowboy!König #könig mw2 #könig x reader #König x oc #oc: bee #1870s!Cowboy #tw kidnapping #he does straight up just grab her huh #könig call of duty #könig #könig cod #au within an au god help me I am losing it #outlaw!König #I think I have enough asks to write one for every pairing #but we're starting with the nasty boy because he got the first ask #f!reader

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gomzdrawfr · 3 months

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"hey I need a favor rq"

this is based off this:

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dropped-their-sniper · 1 year

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KÖNIG - EXPEDITION

#userdroppedtheirsniper #cod mw2 könig #mw2 könig #cod könig #könig #cod mw2 konig #mw2 konig #cod konig #konig #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty season 2 #cod könig x reader #cod konig x reader #wake up babes bucket hat könig is out!!#i fucking LOVE his one knee pad #and his lil dishwashing gloves????#this man has ULTIMATE head protection #a sniper veil paired with a bucket hat with a mosquito net ON TOP of everything else

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maiamars · 9 months

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soap is the oblivious one, ghost is the one who stare and price is this close of blocking ghost's view on soap every single time

#yall making draw 10+ pictures of ghost looking at his johnny ACCEPT MY REALITY #johnny still didnt had his simon revelation #something about alej dont get lost soemthing about graves hating him and pairing him up with soap something about ghost warning of dont get #too close of him?#ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #mw2 #cod #john price

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toshidou · 11 months

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these two together...

i'm gonna pass out

#☁︎⋅chats #the 2009 ghost outfit with the hood up Does Something To Me #pair that with a masked muscle mommy?#i'm done #gone #dead #passed away from being too gay #omg it rhymes too #anyway #yeah #them <33 #vega cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2

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applesconez · 1 year

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alright let's give this another go shall we?

#ghost #simon ghost riley #wip #operation put proper effort into painting cod stuff is a go #hopefully this is going to be a pair to that one price.. we'll see what i can come up with #anyway since it also probably goes in my portfolio i might have to repost it on main/portfolio acc

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samithemunchkin · 2 years

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@onlycodcanjudgeme WIP Wednesday time. Writing has been slow latey but idk, today I’ve been trying to write some smut. No idea when/if I’ll manage to finish anything but eh, I’m trying.

And when Keegan had stumbled over to him at one point and asked if he’d like to slip out, it really wasn’t all that difficult to sneak out without anyone else noticing. What he didn’t expect was for Keegan to be such a touchy drunk.

And apparently a horny drunk.

And a vocal drunk.

#keegan/logan #keegan p russ #logan walker #cod ghosts #wip wednesday #sami teh munchkin attempts to write #kinda also made myself a bingo card with some kinktober prompts #don't know if I'll have the guts to try it #or maybe make it like a request thing? like give me a prompt and a pairing and I'll try to whip up something #idk #I'm up for suggestions

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mortal-kombattore-115 · 2 years

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Modern Warfare OC - Julie “Sparks” Cheung

Thought I’d share an aesthetic board of my mw oc 😊 I’ll provide some lore about her soon!

#Her position in the group is something I'm still debating on #I was thinking Special Reconnaissance #Combat Engineer or EOD #not sure yet #Cheung is currently paired with Vargas (will probably change if Alejandro does end up betraying us...)#Call of Duty #Modern Warfare #Julie Sparks Cheung #cod oc #call of duty oc

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witchthewriter · 3 months

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𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓹 𝓯𝓸𝓻 @night-girl-301.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑆𝑐𝑜𝑡𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛, 𝐽𝑜ℎ𝑛𝑛𝑦 "𝑆𝑜𝑎𝑝" 𝑀𝑎𝑐𝑇𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑠ℎ! I think he would absolutely love your extroverted nature; the way you don't mind the spotlight. Which makes it a lot easier for the both of you to have fun together.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Keeps a polaroid of you in his pocket; the one closest to his heart. Only takes it out when he's going on a mission - his worst fear is the enemy finding out about you

Your name saved in his phone is 'My Bonnie Lass', and likes to reread old messages before he goes to sleep.

The two of you have had MANY adventures, and when he tells Gaz about them (nonchalantly in conversation) it's almost as if the room falls quiet.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Scotland by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

(this is absolutely one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard. Without a doubt, when listening to this, it's how Johnny would feel whenever he returns to Scotland.)

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

More Alike Than Different

Fake Relationship Which Turns Into True Love

Would Die For Each Other

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Johnny loves how easily you can lighten his mood (even though he's always been the person to do that for others). It's taken a load off his shoulders, having you in his life. Johnny realised one day that his life was actually lacking. That there had been a piece missing, and bloody aye bonnie, it was you!

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

I'm not 100% sure if you know this character but I think you would be great friends with Keegan. Mysterious, funny and sarcastic, I think you two would have a chaotic brother / sister relationship. Soap knows this, but still gets jealous.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑃𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑀𝑎𝑥𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑓𝑓! Hell yeah, the fast boi. He would absolutely love teasing you; even before getting into a relationship, Pietro would flirt and do his best to make you blush. It drove you mad, but you did your best not to react. That was until Wanda made him see how much he actually did like you.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

One of the greatest things about having a speedy boyfriend, is that he can do things 100x quicker. Like clean - wash the dishes, do the laundry, vaccum. He does all this so you don't have to. You're his 'Princezná' (Princess).

You have matching rings - it's a promise ring, from him to you. Pietro gave you the ring (not quite a diamond, or too expensive) on your birthday, and then on his, you did the same.

One of the more protective significant others... he knows you can hold your own, but will not hesitate to step in when he feels like you've been disrespected.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

The Train by James Newton Howard

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

You Fell First, But They Fall Harder

Aggressively Supportive & Protective Of Each Other

Overly arrogant, flirty x Pretends To Be Unfazed, But Is Dying On The Inside

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

How you can keep up with him, and at times, he feels as though he cannot keep up with you. I'm not talking about physical speed here, but wit and humour and socialising. You create friendships wherever you go. People like you. And all Pietro can do is stare. Because you're the life of the party...and the light of his life.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Your best friend would be Natasha - she would love your honesty, your knowledge and how fun you are. She would never say that to your face though. Your friendship is based on lightly teasing each other (Wanda calls it bullying and pouts unless you two say sorry ; even though no one was upset).

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑇𝑜𝑛𝑘𝑠! I think you two would start off as best friends and no matter how hard either of you would try to keep apart - you could never be able to. Almost like it was written in the stars, Tonks is the woman for you. Outgoing, bold, brave, loyal, determined - she's always by your side.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Tonks is the golden retriever girlfriend. She is excited to do ANYTHING with you and isn't afraid of looking like a fool either.

She can make you laugh even when you're in the deepest of dumps. Her presence is like laughter personified. And one of the best things is that she can change her appearance - into anything! You want a cuddle? Okay Tonks is turning into this HUGE bear!

Snores terribly loud though. A few times a week you have to shake her awake because she's snoring so loud. Only to realise she's somehow morphed into a lion's nose and that's why her snoring is louder than usual

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Lay All Your Love On Me by Pale Honey

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"I've made a calculated decision." (Tonks) x "You can't do math?" (You)

Chaotic Dumbass (You) x Enthusiastic Dumbass (Tonks)

The Sarcastic Duo That Can Finish Each Other's Insults

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

You never make her feel weird, or like she has to entertain you to keep you around. You help her see her worth (most of the time without meaning to). She feels like you're soulmates, and has actually researched about the topic secretly, wanting to know if there's any truth to it.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

George Weasley - he never fails to make you laugh, but also listen to you when you need it. He's the calmer, more mature version of Fred. And you were drawn to his demeanour, almost romantically at first. But you both decided that being friends would be a lot better. And turns out, you were both right.

#personal aesthetic #match ups #cod #call of duty pair ups #call of duty ships #call of duty match ups #personal #harry potter pair ups #marvel pair ups #pair ups #personal pair ups #personal ships #witchthewriter

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probablynotcy · 1 year

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me: I'm kinda motivated right now; let me write down this idea about rodolfo and ghost that has been stuck in my head for almost the entire day now.

literally the first sentence I wrote: Rodolfo never had fallen for someone like he had fallen for Ghost.

me: great that that is off the table. :)

#listen I'M SORRY I just can't resist the rare pairs :')#call of duty #cod #writing #clancy writes #rodolfo parra #simon ghost riley #parraghost #I'm just coming up with random ship names at this point because I wanna tag my posts with something

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oathkeeperoxas · 2 years

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just got my assignment for one 10k exchange, I’m putting together my sign up for a different 10k exchange, and mourning the fact that the third 10k exchange moved from November to March next year... hmm, exchanges my beloved

#these are my only 2 exchanges that I have planned for the rest of the year.#who am I #flashback to 2019 when I did like 40 exchanges in one year LOL #after cod/ywan week is over I'll just have these and the horizon bang to work on... wack #imagine having time for personal projects. I could write anything #(another 200k of codywan coming your way by the end of the year)#okay but for reals I want to try and finish my 2 codywan longfics. then i can enter my phase 2 of codywan #after finishing a LOT of wips that have been haunting me for cod/wan week its just these 2 longfics to tidy up and I will have completed all #my ideas that I originally had for this pairing. this literally never happens to me like what #level up and become more powerful as I enter my unrepentant era #where i post only batshit niche ideas that have an audience of me myself and i #personal

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smutstationchoochoo · 10 months

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Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

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

Word count: ~3.6k

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

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

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

“Well, I did say next time.”

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

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

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truetogaia · 6 months

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"𝙄𝙏𝙎 𝘾𝙐𝙁𝙁𝙄𝙉 𝙎𝙀𝘼𝙎𝙊𝙉!!!" ghost x reader

✩ pairing: ghost x fem!reader

genre ✩ smut, 18+

warnings ✩ explicit and mature themes, v penetration, creampie, cock n ballz LMAO

-click here to be redirected to the cod masterlist !!

requests are open! <3

Calloused hands slide up the smooth skin of your sides, outlining the curve of your hip, waist and finally reaching your chest. The rough pads of his thumbs smooth over the plush of your tits, occasionally running over your sensitive nipples.

Plump lips ghost over your hot skin, leaving a burning trail of tender kisses behind. From the shoulder, to your collarbone, to the curve of your neck.

He grunts quietly as he buries his hot, heavy cock deep inside your puffy cunt, his girth stuffing you absolutely full and offering such a delicious stretch. Dragging achingly slow in and out allows his hot tip to hit that sweet spot within you with each stroke, driving you to the edge in just mere minutes. His hands run down to your waist again, settling on the plush rounding of your ass. Groping and grabbing at your soft love handles, head leaned back while he whispers about how good you feel, how your sweet pussy envelops him so nicely.

“ v’never had pussy better th’n this.. shit.. y/n.. squeezin’ me s’good, hm? yeah.. fuck.."

His voice is hoarse and filled with lust. He raises his head back up to attach his lips with the skin of your neck. Your soft hands reach up to tug at his hair as your noises increase in volume, his brawny hips snapping into yours just a little bit faster as he loses more self control. His big, muscular arms wrap around your waist securely as he loses himself in the pleasure.

“‘m g’nna fill you s’ good baby.. you’d like tha’, wouldn’t you? mm?”

He pulls back to look at you, smugly watching your features contort in pleasure as your cunt throbs around him. A lazy smirk on his face as he trails one hand down to your abdomen, thumb rubbing firm circles onto your clit. One final thrust sends you over the edge, body shaking as it falls limp against his solid chest. He’s not far behind, following soon after as his hips pump you full of him as he groans and praises you quietly.

#jesus i have never written for him before #i just had to give in im not sorry #simon riley x female reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #cod smut

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phantasmagoria-in-neverland · 6 months

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COD men and what article of clothing of theirs they prefer to see you in.

John Price is an elegant gentleman, he loves putting his coat over your shoulders when you're cold. He always holds it for you to help you put it on, and he adjusts the collar as his fingers gently brush against your neck. His coat is big, warm and it smells like him, and he adores the way you burrow yourself into it. During the colder months, he keeps an extra jacket in his car that he can wear if he gives you the one he had on, and if you fall asleep while you're not at home, John always gently lays his coat over you like a blanket.

Simon “Ghost” Riley is an absolute sucker for the way you look in his hoodies, and although he never says it out loud, he gets a certain look in his eyes that speaks a thousand words in his place. They're oversized even on him, and they fit his style perfectly: black with the occasional skull/edgy design of some sorts. He especially loves it if your style is even just a little bit different from his, the contrast makes him melt. He never asks you to wear his hoodies, but he does leave them lying around in a way that is very obvious.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish goes feral every single time he sees you in his boxers. It doesn't even have to be sexual, just the intimacy of it makes him go wild. It's something that you simply don't share with anyone else, sure, someone else might lend you their jacket, but no one else but him can lend you something as intimate as his boxers. If you also wear boxers he is more than happy to trade, if you don't, he will not so jokingly insist that his underwear is way more comfortable than whatever you're wearing.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick puts his signature cap on your head every time he isn't wearing it or he isn't on a mission. It's the most him thing he owns, and he thinks there's something incredibly intimate (and attractive) about seeing you wearing it. He's sharing with you the one thing he wears that truly feels like it represents him, and he'd love it if you did the same for him. Sometimes he helps you put it on almost reverentially, other times, he pulls the visor over your eyes and chuckles like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Alejandro Vargas loves when you wear his shirts. It's a bit of a classic, but he loves the difference between how they look on him, tight and accentuating his muscles, and how they look on you, with the neckline wide enough for small flashes of your collarbones to peek out. Wear his shirt as a dress, even just once, and he will never shut up about how much of a breathtaking sight you make. He subconsciously starts buying colours he thinks will suit you, and the wide grin he gets when he sees you in them could light up an entire city.

Rodolfo Parra prefers to give you the most comfortable, cozy clothes he owns. It can vary from a warm sweater, to comfortable joggers, to a loose T-shirt. Whatever makes you feel the most at home is immediately transferred from his wardrobe and into yours. And if you prefer it when they still smell of him, he'll either take the care of wearing them just to give them back to you, or give you a bottle of his perfume that you can spray on whenever you want to. Most of all, he has a gigantic soft spot for seeing you in an article of clothing that has sentimental value and meaning to him.

Phillip Graves loves to give you clothes that are very easily recognisable as his, like the blue button ups that he always wears. He adores seeing how comfortable you look in them while you wear them at home, maybe paired with high socks. And he adores it even more when you style them properly to wear them outside the house, in a way that makes it clear that you're happy to let everyone know who your man is. Either way, his eyes are glued to you for the whole day while you are wearing his shirts, a smug smile on his face.

König always gives you small pieces of himself, small things that remind you of him but that are subtle enough not to bring other people's attention to it. He likes that it's something only the two of you know about, something you keep for yourselves. The things he gives you always change, it could be a ring one day, then a necklace, a scarf, or even a bag. And in the privacy of your home, he adores seeing you in his mask, as he shares the intimate part of himself he never shares with anyone else.

Alex Keller literally gives you free reign over his closet. Everything that is his is yours as well, you don't even have to ask. He'll even change his outfit for the day if he sees you wearing something he was planning on putting on. When he goes shopping, he often asks you to accompany him, so that you can help him choose the pieces that you think would look best on him, and also the pieces that he knows you'll want to steal later. He also adores wearing his clothes after you've borrowed them, your smell still lingering comfortingly on them.

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