captainsaveawoah

[captainsaveawoah]

I feel like john price is the kind of old-fashioned guy who surprises you with a trail of roses leading up the bed where you find him naked, sprawled on his side with a bottle of expensive champagne covering his crotch

a cheeky grin on his face as you eye up his thick thighs, burly chest and pudgy tummy

sigh do you see the vision?

[captainsaveawoah]

I'm not super interested in a tough as nails, head held high, strong backboned reader. I'm already that bitch in real life. Give me the anxious, crying mess who needs her entire existence taken care of instead.

[captainsaveawoah]

GHOULJAMS REBLOGGED MY BRAINTROT 😭 why is everyone so sad?? Simon got a decent happy ending tho! Also I CAN NOT BELIEVE HOW MUCH ATTENTION THIS GOT. Thank you all. You made the little boy in me so happy <3

Idk. Something, something secret baby/double life except Johnny and you are together and you’re kept a secret (surprise the man is secretive about his life) from the team.

Bit of a timeline au, You date a few years, you two get married, but it’s still all a secret. Price has an idea, his will has changed, signed off on it himself but doesn’t dig too deep, knows his boys will come to him.

Gaz is the first to comment, Johnny never taking anyone home. Can hear the man most nights finishing into his hands with a groan that sounds something like a name. Johnny just laughs and tips his beer, steering the conversation away.

Ghost though. Can see it. The way Johnny, despite wanting to charge in, gun ‘em down, will take caution, the worry in his words when he’s hurt or downed, not for himself but for someone at home.

Yet, Johnny stays quiet. Doesn’t say a word, rushes back to a “cold, empty apartment” Simon can tell when he and his bird are having a rough patch (little bit of a ghoap thing because they are as gay as they come idk) can tell when Johnny and his bird are in a good place. But the man doesn’t say a damned thing.

You and Johnny have sex… a lot of sex, when he’s home of course. A young couple, so in love, so happy, so wrapped in each other it’s like you made for one another.

You get married, he builds you a house, moves you to Scotland of course. “Need our weens to speak like their papa, yeah?” Knocks you up. Gives you THE CHUBBIEST little boy with his daddies eyes. You know about the task force, know they don’t know about you. You wish they did, wish you knew them personally, they’re the only family Johnny has, but you know Johnny keeps you away for your safety.

He’s about 3 when Simon is at your door. Your eyes widen, like you think you’re dreaming before your on the ground screaming and BEGGING Simon to say it’s not true.

The big guy sticks around, Johnny had felt he wouldn’t come home on this one, told Simon about you before the mission. Asked him to look after you and his son if he doesn’t make it home for supper. Ghost shrugs him off, makes some stupid joke but watches Johnny’s body crumple to the ground as he gets shot in the head.

Johnny told him it had to be him, “Kyle’s got a bird. Captain’s got too much on his plate. Plus you seem to escape death at every turn. Need you to take care of my heart.”

Your son is quick to take to Simon. You not so much, he hangs around, eats all your food, changes his clothes all the time, crowds your space while you grieve the man who became your whole.

But there are days, when you hear Simon and think it’s Johnny. There are days when Simon holds your son and you see Johnny. There are days when Simon’s head is between your thighs you feel like it’s Johnny. You feel bad, he tells you it’s okay. And you believe him, you feel it, mourn it with each passing day, knowing that one day you’ll look up and see only Simon, Johnny will always be there, but one day it’ll just be Simon.

Idk tho.

[captainsaveawoah]

Idk. Something, something secret baby/double life except Johnny and you are together and you’re kept a secret (surprise the man is secretive about his life) from the team.

Bit of a timeline au, You date a few years, you two get married, but it’s still all a secret. Price has an idea, his will has changed, signed off on it himself but doesn’t dig too deep, knows his boys will come to him.

Gaz is the first to comment, Johnny never taking anyone home. Can hear the man most nights finishing into his hands with a groan that sounds something like a name. Johnny just laughs and tips his beer, steering the conversation away.

Ghost though. Can see it. The way Johnny, despite wanting to charge in, gun ‘em down, will take caution, the worry in his words when he’s hurt or downed, not for himself but for someone at home.

Yet, Johnny stays quiet. Doesn’t say a word, rushes back to a “cold, empty apartment” Simon can tell when he and his bird are having a rough patch (little bit of a ghoap thing because they are as gay as they come idk) can tell when Johnny and his bird are in a good place. But the man doesn’t say a damned thing.

You and Johnny have sex… a lot of sex, when he’s home of course. A young couple, so in love, so happy, so wrapped in each other it’s like you made for one another.

You get married, he builds you a house, moves you to Scotland of course. “Need our weens to speak like their papa, yeah?” Knocks you up. Gives you THE CHUBBIEST little boy with his daddies eyes. You know about the task force, know they don’t know about you. You wish they did, wish you knew them personally, they’re the only family Johnny has, but you know Johnny keeps you away for your safety.

He’s about 3 when Simon is at your door. Your eyes widen, like you think you’re dreaming before your on the ground screaming and BEGGING Simon to say it’s not true.

The big guy sticks around, Johnny had felt he wouldn’t come home on this one, told Simon about you before the mission. Asked him to look after you and his son if he doesn’t make it home for supper. Ghost shrugs him off, makes some stupid joke but watches Johnny’s body crumple to the ground as he gets shot in the head.

Johnny told him it had to be him, “Kyle’s got a bird. Captain’s got too much on his plate. Plus you seem to escape death at every turn. Need you to take care of my heart.”

Your son is quick to take to Simon. You not so much, he hangs around, eats all your food, changes his clothes all the time, crowds your space while you grieve the man who became your whole.

But there are days, when you hear Simon and think it’s Johnny. There are days when Simon holds your son and you see Johnny. There are days when Simon’s head is between your thighs you feel like it’s Johnny. You feel bad, he tells you it’s okay. And you believe him, you feel it, mourn it with each passing day, knowing that one day you’ll look up and see only Simon, Johnny will always be there, but one day it’ll just be Simon.

Idk tho.

[captainsaveawoah]

yeah yeah yeah 1600s au where john price's wife is your dutiful queen, and you are the doting, shy lady-in-waiting, but, today, something isn't right. (dark!ghost x fem!reader, 18+)

cw: reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits

it is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. there is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed--they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. by accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

that one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. spoil it, and i'll have your fuckin' heads. his queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

and they haven't. they do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. but there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

you don't know him by any other name other than ghost. the right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. there are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. you clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

his eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. they track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. he wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. and maybe you are--if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

there is always a party. always a celebration for this brute. he is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. he does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. you wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

he seems like the kind of man to do so--like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

he has no face. he has no name. and if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. the only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. his sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

it is late in the evening when you hear it. there's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. you put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. the king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. they share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. they are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. they sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. they left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

you are not surprised by this. they aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. they aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. you have always hated this idea. boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

you are surprised by the knock on your door. you think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "are you awake, my lady?"

you tie your robe and scurry. when you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. you've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"y-yes, your majesty? i'm sorry for my appearance, i--"

"it's quite late," he says gently. "you don't have to apologize. is it alright if i come in?"

you stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. you think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. he settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. he has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"i have a request of you," he says finally. you take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. you're not exactly allowed to refuse. "it is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. they deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

you swallow, "yes, of course. you have such a fine army, your majesty. you must be...v-very proud."

he turns to face you, and he nods.

"these titles come with land. money. responsibility. and it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "one of these things can be a bride."

"they are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. he stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"you are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "i know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, i have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "by sunset, you are to be a duchess."

you're shaking when he goes. you clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. you cry because you know who asked for your hand. you know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. he eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it--

your queen is ecstatic. she lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. she tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. you'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

you are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. you have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

he is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. he wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. he wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. he stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. you slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. he purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

you are a prize. a trophy. nothing more. a gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

the ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. and then he gives you his first gift as your husband--a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. the intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

because that is what this is. not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. you've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

but one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, i'll feel myself again.

he narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. his response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. you observe this fact--the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. you are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. you are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

you are a prisoner, now. but perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. this is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

the party is lively. there is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. there is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. the king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

you sit aways from him. you don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. you think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

men simply ask for, and then they receive. women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

his eyes bore into your head. when you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. the beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

you'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. you'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

when the morning is early, you sneak out. you scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. you take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

you know who it is right away. coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

you sit up straight, turning your head. ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. you watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. his gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. you hear the leather of them move.

you have never spoken to him before. you've never heard him speak. you wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. you know why he's here, you know why he's come. you can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

but you have an idea.

"y'abhor me," he says finally. he speaks. you swallow. at least he isn't stupid. it's rare that you see a brute with brains. although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. he is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. he must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. a leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

but has he been taught to tame a cat? how to please a woman? how to love her, how to have her?

love. what a silly dream.

"not as much as i fear you," you admit. he hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. you watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. his voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. you tilt your head up to look at him.

"that you'll hurt me," you whisper. he shrugs, shaking his head.

"a beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "need strong heirs. which means i need y'fed and happy."

"i'll never be happy."

he grips your chin, shutting you up. a part of you wishes he would be meaner. that he would be the angry, possessive ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. you want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. if anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"we'll see about tha'."

your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"i know who you are," your voice cracks. "i know what you do. you're a pillager. you take women, and you kill men."

he tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. you aren't wrong. since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. he's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. he takes, takes, takes--it tastes good and strengthens his bones. it puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

but you are no village in an unfortunate land. you are the gift that his king has given him. the forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. he had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request--no, his demand--to have you.

he did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. he did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"just a matter of war, dear wife. they matter little," ghost mutters. "let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. he guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. he hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. his eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

you are surprised by the sensation. no one has ever touched you this way before. it feels...good. his hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. you lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. you watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. he uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. ohhh--it feels so nice.

"gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "all for our babe."

you don't know what comes over you. you don't know why you do it, but you do. you lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. the weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. there is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"tha'sit...my beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "tits of a fuckin' angel."

you squeeze your legs together. you know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. you feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. you've never felt it this strong. you whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. he reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. the praise, it itches you nicely. "y'r m'prize, swee'eart. i killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

why does it feel so good? why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

it hurts, it hurts--

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. you swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. it barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. you hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

the corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. you want to feel shame, but you can't. you're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. the groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. he moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"wait--" you meet his eyes. your eyes flutter. "b-but...but i want..."

he eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"want wot?"

you swallow.

"i-i..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. the squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "i want...your mouth..."

he snickers, "y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "doesn't work tha' way. besides..." he shrugs. "i don't reveal m'face."

you sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. his dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. you need to remind him that you are not one of his men. you need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. killed a thousand men to have me, so show me--show me, show me, show me. you nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "please..."

he sinks to his knees almost immediately. his armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. your eyes widen a little at the position--the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"turn around," he snaps. "on y'r knees."

you do as he says. you turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. you fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. he plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

he eats slow at first. just drags his tongue through the slick there. he's exploring you, learning you. but then he is all-consuming. he hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. you can't help how wet you are--drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. he did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. his brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

he wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. but something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

what he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. too real, too real, too real.

he pulls away. he smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. he stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. he tuts, turning you onto your back easily. you're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. you've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

he's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own--you could make him love you, couldn't you? someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

killed a thousand men to have me, so i'll put you on your fucking knees.

it's what you're owed. for all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. he may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

you will make him love you. you will make him love you. you will make him love you.

you sit up, a bit dazed. you're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. you know what a man like him wants. you have doted on men like him all your life. you know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

you just need to know how to make him purr. you need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"my husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. he likes that title. "i--"

"did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

you bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. you drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. the smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. you have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"i've always been...terrified of you," you whisper. "the way you come into court...the way you fight...seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. he smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "but, i..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "i-i want more..."

he chuckles, "i know y'do," he echos. "could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "a pretty face like this one...wasted on her majesty."

"i don't think we're allowed to say that."

"i deliver entire countries at john's feet, i'll say wot i bloody please," he snaps. you just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

this disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. he is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. he is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. he may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. he may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. he may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

so you do what servant women do best. you appease, because at the end of the day, ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"a baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. you dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. he growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "want a baby..."

he cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. he's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. he is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. he's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. he belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

you reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. he flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"i'm sorry," you whisper there. it's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. you roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "it's...it's everything i didn't know i wanted..."

he grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"i don't understand," he murmurs. affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. that someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. his instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"you," you whine. "so big--" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "--there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. you lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. you whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "not a virgin, are ya?"

"i-i am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"mm. not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

you shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"good," he mutters. "don't much feel like pettin' ya."

and he doesn't. he's a menace. he snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. he isn't gentle by any means--he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. he doesn't let you--his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"you'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. he's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"that so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask--you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"fuckin' brat--" ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. a ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. he will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. you had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. no one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

you start to think the same. you've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. you're floating--you're somewhere else, you think. there's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. his cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. you're crying, begging, asking him for more, please--! nnghh--please!

he's never had a woman so wet. he has always had them for his own pleasure. he has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. there's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. he can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl--tha's it, just right, like tha'--

"i...i-i--!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. a crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. you're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine--

"fuckin' hell--" ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. you go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. you need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. he doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

you think you want this. you think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

he moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. you keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

you slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. his eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. ghost aches, too--maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

something gentle. something soft. something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. his hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore--there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

he's more human this way. less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

what a waste. what a loss. he has to fuck you again.

he will never be bored of me, i don't think. ghost will want me forever--even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

you don't seem to mind your new position. no kneeling, no curtsying--your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

in all your life, you have never wanted this. you endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. they would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

your dream is freedom. it always has been. your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. there is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. before you had ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. he was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. but you know now, you understand, that ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

he is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

ghost will hold the sword. and you will hold the leash.

[captainsaveawoah]

I haven’t fed you guys very well recently and the fridge is empty but I scrounged something up for you guys

c/w: arranged/forced marriage, attempted sexual assault on reader (not by simon), mentions of child abuse, violence, murder

knight!ghost and princess!reader except you’ve known each other since you were early teenagers. he was assigned to you when he was 15 and already bigger than most grown men. he was quiet, only responding when absolutely necessary

you would question the fresh bruises on his face, asking how it’s possible for him to have a black eye when you know he hasn’t been in combat recently plus he wears a thick metal skull mask on his face to protect him during service hours

he finally mumbles out that he’s still living at home with his cruel beast of a father, that he won’t be provided quarters in the castle until he’s officially knighted. there’s high hopes for him and his protection of you is both a way of proving himself and his dedication to the monarchy

you clean his wounds and have him moved into your father’s castle by the end of the day

and once you feed a stray, they’ll keep coming back

even years later as adults, he’ll skulk back to you so he can beg at your feet for the scraps of love only you’re capable of providing him. he’s never been improper with you, not at all. he’ll wait until you’re his wife before he devours you whole, locks his maw into your flesh and refuses to let go

but your father marrying you off to some awful duke really put a damper on his plans. he follows you all the way to your new husbands kingdom and has no choice but to stand outside your chambers on your wedding night but when all he can hear is fabric tearing and your panicked cries, he can’t stop himself from storming into the room and swinging his sword into your husbands neck before he can hurt you any further

he took an oath after all, and with your husband laying at his feet, choking on his own blood? well, now you’re free for the taking, aren’t you?

[captainsaveawoah]

Share this pic and good fortune will come ur way

[captainsaveawoah]

Don’t mind me I’m just thinking about Ghost who hasn’t seen you in weeks because of his job struggling to not cum too quick after only just sticking his cock in you.

He’s barely gotten a couple thrusts in and he’s already so sensitive, biting down groans as he shuts his eyes tight in hopes that maybe he just hold out a little longer.

But of course you coax his eyes open and when he looks down at you, in your pretty blissed out eyes, his cum is inside you and he’s letting out a beautiful moan that makes your stomach flip

Oh and he’s still wearing his gear

@tacticalanklebiter3000 forgot to tag you but here’s this hehe

[captainsaveawoah]

Anyone x fem reader - Quick write

——

His eyes cracked open to the familiar ceilings of the hospital. But things felt different this time, not that he could put his finger on why.

As the sleepy haze left his mind, his head snapped up and looked around the room.

“Where’s my wife?” He asked the first person he saw.

The woman was sniffing but smiling, her makeup smudged from previous tears. “I’m right here, dear.” She sniffled and put her hand over his.

The ring that glinted back was one he recognized. “Why do you have my wife’s ring? Where is she?” He questioned, slight accusation coming in between the worry of his words. Where were you?

She stuttered in shock and sniffed out a few more tears, “But I am your wife, we’ve been together since-“

“You’re not my wife.” He snapped, his eyes meeting hers. She didn’t even look like you.

Her eyes were wide before she stood and raced out of the room crying. Not that he cared, he needed his lover. He needed to see you safe.

He tried to move out of the bed, to call for someone he recognized, but pain shot through his head. Hunched over and pushing against his temples, he didn’t even hear his teammates slip into the room.

“Please you have to stay in bed-“ they begged, only to be shut up by the same question as before.

“Where’s my wife?” His voice was desperate now, tear rimming his lashes as he looked between the hesitant comrades.

“You… you divorced a while ago…” they finally explained, knowing it was you he was referring to.

“Never. I’d never-“

“But you did. After you left her for your current wife.” One barked, finally letting some withheld resentment. What had he done?

He shook his head as much as he could, denial filling all the leftover memories he had. “No, I’d never- she’s the love of my life- I- I-“

Silence fell over the room as he was forced to come to the realization that he’d done something wrong. That he’d lost you because of a version of himself he couldn’t even remember anymore.

His drug-induced sobs filled the room as begged to see you again. To see you safe…

——————

John Price, Miguel O’Hara, Johnny “Soap” Mactavish , any cod man really , Marc Spector or Jake Lockley , Gojo Satoru , etc. I’m really showing my fandom preferences lmao

These are the men I can imagine specially getting into this situation (idiots)

[captainsaveawoah]

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

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

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

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

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

[captainsaveawoah]

ghost adopting a dog for some arbitrary reason because he's not ever really home to spend time with it. maybe it's altruistic; gotta do some good in the world to balance out all the bad he does at his work.

he puts out an ad on craigslist for dog sitter/house sitter (kind of, just throw out food that might become a living organism if left undisposed) and slaps down a good amount for pay.

in comes you, with gentle eyes and a kind smile. riley likes you well enough, he supposes, so he gives you the job. and a spare key to his home.

you know (or you should, anyway) what to do so he tells you that he departs tomorrow. early. not even a time, just a vague beginning of the day.

he gives riley a pat on the head, and leaves you with a take good care o' my dog.

what he doesn't tell you is that he's going to occasionally check in, using the cameras he's got installed. they're quite obvious, so if you don't see them that's on you for lacking awareness. (they're actually tiny, hidden among the baubles magpies johnny and kyle give him when they go on vacation.)

he pops in every few days, for a minute or two at a time. you're usually playing with riley, feeding her safe to consume human food. normal stuff. until he watches you throw out some expired produce in the fridge with gear on like you're handling radioactive chemicals. it pulls a low chuckle from him.

and that catches johnny's attention.

"ye 'ave a bonnie at home all this time?? must be grand goin' back to warm food on the table. looks pretty, too. where'd ye find 'em?"

simon tunes him out, the brogue thickened voice becoming distant, a dull hum in the background as the world around him narrows to a sharp pinpoint.

he's got a soft looking thing back in manchester that cares for his pet, his home.

so he starts seeing it that way. they ask him how his love's doing and he tells 'em just fine. fed riley unseasoned, scrambled eggs. bought some candles to brighten up the living room.

all menial things that he's never had the luxury of having until now. cuz now, he's got you.

(and if he tugs his cock to those startlingly short shorts you insist on wearing around the place, to the little curve of arse that peeks out from the bottom, it's inconsequential.)

he packs his stuff up, shoving his grimy gear into a duffle bag and goes back home, expecting you to be there, waiting for him. but you're not. there's food in the dog bowl for riley. fresh, clean water in the other. chilled. recent.

then it strikes him that he had told you it'd only be for a couple of months. you're gone. the jobs done.

that simply won't do. you're his now. what is he supposed to tell price when he comes over to meet you in 2 weeks time?

"c'mon riley. we're goin' on a walk."

[captainsaveawoah]

Pls some fluff with Big Bad Nikto? 👀🥹

thanks for ur req, nonnie!!

It was quiet, save for the soft chirps of nature outside the bedroom window, man’s large arms tucked around the mold of your torso, bump of his nose buried into the crook of your neck, eyes closed in a soft relaxation, hairy chest rising and falling with soft breaths.

Your brows furrowed together slowly, shifting in his steel grasp to allow your limbs to stretch out, whining softly with a roll of your stiff shoulders, listening to a low rumble erupt from the beast behind you; thumb brushing against your abdomen comfortingly, pausing for a moment.

“Tы не спишь?”

Nikto hummed lowly, voice hoarse with a heavy mixture of sleep and exhaustion, eyes slowly blinking open to stare down at you—palm rising to enclose your jaw in his grasp, squishing the plush of your warm cheeks together, your eyes slowly opening.

“Да.. I’m-“

A yawn left you.

“—I’m awake..”

Rolling over, you positioned yourself to snuggle into the expanse of his chest, fingers tracing along the thick scars which tore his pale skin, gently breathing in relaxation, looking up at the man with a sense of adoration, stretching up to press a kiss to his cheek; fingers roaming through his almost buzzed hair.

“Sleep good?”

You chirped, blankets bunched up around you both to defend from the cold of your surroundings, watching his pale lashes bat for a moment. Brows knitting together with a scrunch of his nose.

“Я полагаю.”

Nikto mumbled, leaning in to press his rough lips against yours with admiration, only to be urged away by your giggle and the soft hands on his chest, poking him with the blunt of your thumbs.

“Need to go feed the animals, сладкий.”

Cooing, you tried to pull yourself out of his reach—only to be yanked back suddenly by the sheer muscle he had on his body and tucking you underneath him with little-to-no effort at all, groaning grumpily into your neck.

“That can wait, зайка.”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t dare protest and happily melted into his suffocating grasp, his breath hitching as you held his hand, kissing his wrist so tenderly.

“If you insist, Nikto..”

[captainsaveawoah]

it’s actually so unfair that I have to work. I was literally born to be someone’s hot housewife who greets her husband with a new recipe she tried made from shit grown in our nice ass garden man fuck this shit

[captainsaveawoah]

me:

[captainsaveawoah]

the space in between- part xiv

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13

the next week drags on in unremarkable monotony. the various members of the 141 filter in and out, rotating who eats your cooking and watches after you and your dad. the old man seems content enough with his books and the basic cable on tv, but you’re starting to feel a little anxious trapped in this small apartment with no end in sight. how long are you both going to have to hide like this? what benchmark needs to be cleared before price deems the coast to be well and truly clear? he wouldn’t fabricate a threat just to keep you under his watch, would he? surely he wouldn’t have drug your dad into this facade just to convince you to stay close, right? just the thought of it makes your stomach sour, and for a few days it’s difficult to eat or even exist in the same room as price as you try to figure out the best way to suss out what exactly the situation is.

Keep reading

[captainsaveawoah]

@inshelliesworld loves me!

[captainsaveawoah]

you know that trope we all saw in movies growing up? that one where the guy is in a relationship and realises that he’s actually been in love with his best friend or whatever. well, what do you think it would be like when simon realises he’s in love and it’s not with you, his girlfriend?

why is it portrayed as a happy ending when someone has literally had the person they love ripped away from them? why are you expected to be happy for him just because everyone else is?

because you might not have been the love of his life, but he was everything to you

and stupid you was under the assumption that everything was fine, that these feelings hadn’t been brewing between them all this time. all those times he had told you she was just a friend, that she was more like a sister to him than anything? turns out you were just playing the blind fool each time

“I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s her. It’s always been her.”

they had just returned from a mission together. intel, just the two of them. he tried to claim that nothing happened but you know better now. he didn’t just realise this staring down the scope of a rifle. something happened behind your back no matter how much he’ll try to deny it

you want to be so angry with him, to curse him out to everyone you know about how he betrayed you. but everyone seems happy for them. clapping him on the shoulder and repeated “it’s about time” when they see him wrap his arm around her waist. meanwhile, you just have to pretend like he hasn’t completely ripped you apart from the inside