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fanfics-i-love · 15 days ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

P.s. this is pre-relationship, when your feelings are still untold...some of the guys are still awkward and some are not :')

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄

Visiting Price in his office was a common occurance. Sometimes you brought a drink with you, other times you just brought your old tired self.

This was one of those times.

And without looking up, he patted his knee and you hesitated. But only for a moment because as soon as you saw his pen stop scratching on the paper, you stalked over to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder, trying not to think about the goddamn awful day you had. You knew John would want to talk about it when you were ready. It's one of the things you love about him. He wants to help you no matter what.

As if on Instinctive John wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you in closer. Your face was flushes against his neck and your hands cling to his other arm.

John is so warm, and makes you feel so safe. Everyday is a battle for you; because you just want to fall into his arms and kiss him until you can no longer breathe.

But you can't, because he's your superior and you don't want to jeapordise anything.

𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

Wide-eyed and trying not to move. Even his breathing becomes shallower. It's lucky he's wearing a mask otherwise there would've been a bright red Ghost for everyone to see.

Continues to death glare the others, placing a firm finger in front of his lips. Reminding them to SHUT UP.

No one is allowed to talk when you are asleep in the common area. On Ghost's literal orders.

But he never thought you would actually fall asleep on him.

It was a nice feeling. One that made him giddy inside. Like ... he had been chosen for something important.

And maybe he had. This could be a way for your body to tell Ghost that "I WANT YOU!" But unless you actually tell him, he isn't going to get it - or believe it.

𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊

Warmth travels to his cheeks as he realises that you've practically clung yourself to him and fallen asleep.

He had taken you to the movies because you had some spare time on your hands and wanted to feel like normal people for once.

But halfway through, drowsiness had overcome you, and consciousness faded away.

It was easy to fall asleep next to Gaz, whose smell and gentle heartbeat felt like heaven.

You hadn't wondered if this was going to far, you trusted Gaz enough to tell you if it was. But he would never tell you that.

Because there was no 'too far.' He would do anything for you. He just didn't know how to get you to see that.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

Oh our sweet boy Soap, he would become so goddamn giddy. His cheeks turn red as he moves ever so slowly to look at you.

Watching movies together was a common occurance. Your place or his, it didn't matter. Even the movie didn't matter - though you both argued over it relentlessly. It was a way for you both to spend more time together. A reason to say why you were late for ___

Your head had dropped a little and his eyebrows flew upwards. He would never live it down if you fell straight into his crotch area.

So he moved his arm around your shoulders and let you turn fully around to hug him.

Your face pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent.

"Tha gaol agam ort," he whispers into your hair. You only barely heard it. It means (I love you).

He only ever says it when you cannot hear him. But litte did he know you were catching on to certain Gaelic words. Maybe not at that moment, but you had better hearing than he thought you did.

𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

Did not know what to do, and in the midst of his panic, he had accidentally wriggled his shoulder. Which meant you curled up on his lap.

"Oh maus..." Konig whispered, afraid that you would wake up and freak out. But if he truly believed that, then he hadn't been paying attention to your friendship at all.

After ten minutes of the movie playing but Konig couldn't stop staring down at your curled form in his lap, he slowly and gently moved the hair from your face. Stroking your cheeks, running his fingers over your nose and forehead.

It was right then that he fell in love with you. Truly fell in love with you.

A monster and his love. That's how Konig saw the two of you.

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈

Charming, suave, flirtacious and utterly awkward when it comes to you.

He makes as much spare time as he can to spend it with you. And curling up on the couch seemed to be the best idea for today.

His large hands wrap around your form and pull you closer.

"Иди спать, малышка" (go to sleep little one) he says quietly, watching you intently as you drift into a deep slumber.

Maybe there is a gun wedged between him and the armrest, but he knows his lifestyle, and how many people want to kill him.

But that is nothing compared to spending time with you.

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍

Coughs; yes he actually coughs and a few times at that. Why did he cough? He has no clue. Was he trying to wake you up? See if you accidentally forgot he was there?

In all honesty he was panicking - this wasn't the type of friendship that you had. It was all banter and poking fun at each other.

Someone actually asked if Keegan was being bullied a few weeks ago.

He snorted and just walked away. It was probably the best thing that recruit could've said.

It was after a long mission and you barely had time to undress from your military clothes, when Keegan barged in and held up two family sized bars of chocolate. "As a thank you for having my back out there, kid."

You couldn't deny the fluttering in your stomach. But saving face was what you two did. So you took both of the offerings and laid down in bed. "If you're having all the chocolate, I'm not leaving" "I'm not giving it back Keegan." "Looks like you have a bunk buddy then."

And the tall man climbed into bed beside you awkwardly trying to get comfortable. "Jackass," you mumbled. But a slight smile was on your lips. And within an hour you fell asleep.

When you woke up, Keegan was practically ontop of you, melted chocolate on his lips and slight snoring coming from his nose.

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒

"What the fuck," he mutters to himself as you rest your head on his shoulder on the plane.

You had both been placed on a mission for months and now that it was over, you were exhausted (to say the very least).

The whole time you were together, there had always been bickering. Especially when you were undercover as a married couple.

So you were used to the hostility of Graves (even though he barely had any anymore when it came to you).

Hence, you were way too tired to give a shit. Honestly, if he were to wriggle you off, you would clutch his arm to keep him still.

But he didn't do that. Instead he feigns annoyance and rests his head against the back of his chair. His eyes flickering over to you every few seconds to see if you were okay (if that were to be brought up, he would say that he was looking out the window).

As the time went by, and you woke up, you found that Graves had found your hand and was clutching it.

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎

Sinks into you as well. His culture isn't so rigid as others. And showing affection means multiple things, but the main thing is that it means he cares.

Where your head lolled on his shoulder, he moved back on the couch, yawned, and pulled you down with him. Your sleeping head was rested gently against Ale's chest.

He knew about your feelings for him, and you knew about his, so this situation was awkward. He knew he had to step up and say something, but it had turned into a game of sorts. As if the first person who spoke up would lose.

But having you on his chest, smelling your hair, feeling the weight of your body on his, he decided that he would happily be the loser.

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fanfics-i-love · 16 days ago

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Buttermilk | MASTERLIST

PRICE x READER

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job.

Or: the babysitter x single dad au

[ao3]

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dubious Consent, AFAB Reader, Possessive Behaviour, Single Dad AU, Babysitter Reader, Age Gap, Daddy Kink

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Extras

Series moodboard

#call of duty #john price #john price x reader #10/10 #beautiful

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fanfics-i-love · 17 days ago

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CAN I GET A HELL YEAH

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fanfics-i-love · 24 days ago

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Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

#vladimir makarov x male reader #cod mw3 #cod x male!reader #this is so good

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fanfics-i-love · 25 days ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹♡ 23 c.o.d men rambles with nsfw visuals (p-links) ♡

featuring!— kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish, simon ‘ghost’ riley, john ‘captain’ price, phillip graves, könig, vladimir makarov! ♡

₁ 𐙚 imagine fucking john doggy style, and he’s jus’ so horny for you so you guys don't even make it to the bed :( he tosses you onto the couch and lifts your ass into the air, his thick, meaty cock bruising your insides. then he grips your hair and bends you back to slant his lips over yours in a messy kiss 😖

₂ 𐙚 having a sloppy make-out session with gaz when he gets back from a mission. sucking on his tongue and whimpering into his mouth while his big hands run up and down your thighs and ass. gaz always gets you so needy and wet before he dicks you down, having tears streaming down your face and thighs trembling :((

₃ 𐙚 soap fucking his cum back into your swollen pussy while whining and whimpering, promising to get you pregnant; thick and hard at the thought of you round with his kids. he pumps your pussy to the brim with his cum that night, til it drips down your thighs.

₄ 𐙚 gaz loves to record the two of you having sex, and loves to send it to the 141 group chat. loves to show off his pretty girl whose pussy takes his big cock so well :( loves to show them how well you moan and beg, loves to show them your fucked out face, loves the way the team goes feral as you moan their names with bleary eyes and drool spilling down your chin. loves to show them that regardless, you're his.

₅ 𐙚 simon using your pussy as a cumdump... literally, when you act like a brat. he'll have you lay naked across the bed, hand fisting his cock as gazes at your tits, your needy cunt drooling and clenching. he'll watch as you cry and beg for him to fuck you, your wrists bound together and tied to the headboard. then he'll press his thick tip into your pussy and spill himself inside. brats don't get to cum, as he likes to say— sorry :(

₆ 𐙚 kyle 'will overstimulate you while pussydrunk' garrick. baby gaz just loves the taste of your pussy, especially after going so long without it :( you're so warm and sweet, needy and sobbing-- and he's missed the feel of your thick thighs wrapped around his head, missed the feeling of your hands running through his hair. so, just let him enjoy his meal.

₇ 𐙚 needy soap who swears he'll just rock against your panties, his thick cock nudging your fattened clit which presses eagerly against the pre-cum soaked fabric. soap who moves your panties to the side and shushes you with a kiss to your lips, swearing he'll just thrust against you; thumb brushing against your bundle of nerves. soap who loses himself in the moment, gripping your thighs and looking at you with pleading eyes, swearing he'll only use the tip, thick, bulbous head already stretching your pussy. 🥺

₈ 𐙚 after you had the baby, john can't stop thinking about seeing you swollen and round again, with your breasts heavy, and thighs thick. john who breeds your pussy at any moment he can. whether it be with you bent over the counter and cooking dinner, with you sleep; your pussy warm and welcoming, or even in the shower, your milk-heavy tits pressed against the shower door. ( bonus )

₉ 𐙚 makarov who finally gives in to your pleading demands, his hands rough as he forces you onto the bed, yanking down your skirt and pulling your panties to the side. his gaze is cold and calculating, even a bit annoyed. makarov who snatches the loli from your mouth, running it up your slick pussy before pushing it in. "Это то, что вы хотели, да?"

₁₀ 𐙚 he makes sure to fuck you well before he leaves on a mission, his thick cock bullying your slick cunt full of his cum. gaz makes sure you know who your pussy belongs to, makes sure he has your thighs trembling in his arms as he fucks you against the shower wall.

₁₁ 𐙚 simon loves to watch you ride him, loves to have your tits in his face, taking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth. loves to hear you whine that your cumming for the fifth time, loves to watch as his abdomen becomes sticky with your creamy cum. loves watching your lips tremble and your eyes water as he thrusts sharply into you, knocking on your cervix and bruising it.

₁₂ 𐙚 having sex with gaz always overstimulates you in every sense of the word and not just with your body. gaz loves to watch you fall apart on his cock, loves to grab your chin and keep your eyes locked with his, loves to watch your gaze get bleary and your mouth struggle to form words all while his hand moves in quick figure eights on your clit, cock spearing through you deliciously. gaz will press kisses to your swollen lips, groaning into your mouth. "on me, luv. le' me see those gorgeous eyes."

₁₃ 𐙚 price loves to suck on your tits, while his cock slowly pumps in and out of you. loves to bury his face into the valley, placing kisses and sucking hickies. john price sucks on your nipples like a man starved, thick hands squeezing and kneading :(

₁₄ 𐙚 imagine getting punished by boyfriend graves because you fucked up during a mission, the objective getting away. he tells everyone to leave the room, glaring eyes stuck on yours. graves who orders you to strip, pushing you down against a busted couch, yanking down your combat pants, and tearing your panties. graves who angrily unzips himself, as you blubber and plead, pussy leaking and ready. he watches as your pussy struggles to take his cock, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you apologize repeatedly. "don't want to fucking hear it, sergeant."

₁₅ 𐙚 gaz fucking you into the bed after he gets home from a mission gone awry. soft lover gaz who just can't be his usual giving self. gaz who takes what he needs from you, regardless of the tears that stream down our face.

₁₆ 𐙚 könig, all needy can't help but fuck your thighs, whimpering and whining :(

₁₇ 𐙚 having a threesome with soap and gaz; who can't help but record as soap practically makes love to you with his eyes. gaz who could care less as you forget all about his cock, breathing heavily as he watches as your pussy struggles to swallow soap's cock. gaz who sends the video to the 141 group chat.

₁₈ 𐙚 imagine makarov sharing your pussy with yuri as a reward to the man. makarov who guides your mouth over his cock, all while sipping on his alcohol; yuri fucking into your pussy needily, grunting and groaning as you squeeze around him.

₁₉ 𐙚 100 percent believe this is how gaz and soap eat you out, prove me wrong. i'll wait. ( bonus: since soap made you cum first, you granted his wish. )

₂₀ 𐙚 john overstimulating you while whispering how much of a good girl you are, slapping at your thighs when you cringe away from him, his thick fingers finding your clit again. john who fucks into ravenously, cooing as you shudder and buck against him.

₂₁ 𐙚 graves finally puts your smart mouth to work, shoving his thick length down your throat. graves angrily saying your pussy isn't good enough for his cock. his words, not mine.

₂₂ 𐙚 angry sex with toxic gaz, who swears no one will ever fuck you as good as he will. who tells you that you belong to him, that you were made for each other, that you won't leave him. who fucks you dumb until you promise to stay.

₂₃ 𐙚 soap swears he won't cum inside you...

spent hours scrolling through twitter porn, help me.😔

#call of duty #captain price smut #gaz smut #simon ghost riley smut #vladimir makarov #phillip graves #konig call of duty #john soap mactavish

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fanfics-i-love · 1 month ago

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This is for us male readers! There is simply not enough content for us sometimes. So, best "mates" MReader x Captain John Soap Mactavish! Boys will be boys. (First time writing for reader so yeah, I might expand this one. I just love the man!)

You knock on the Captain’s door a bit too fast. A loud and stern “Come in!” can be heard so you enter the room. Soap is drowned in thought, resting his elbows on the hardwood desk, head bent over recon reports of future assignments. He raises his gaze and his features soften, infinitesimally so, when he lays his eyes on you.

“Soap…” Your voice trails off, letting the ellipsis buy you some time. “You haven’t joined cards tonight. Or lunch. Or dinner”

Soap scoffs and runs a hand through his hair. “I really wish I had time for that mate.” He shifts around some papers to showcase that. “Go on and have fun. I will be stuck here for a while.” You take a step closer and he raises his hand to stop you. “I mean it, Y/N.” He crunches his nose. Years of service together and he still has the same tell.

You nod, head for the exit but you spot Soap’s surprised expression when you comply. You spent a lot of time working together and only recently did Soap become your superior. Naturally you have issues with his authority. He is one of your best mates and who takes orders from their best mate? (At least outside of combat. During a firefight you have nothing but respect for the man.)

5 minutes later the door swings open and you struggle to carry two cups of coffee and some pastries left from dinner on a plate. You place them on the desk.

“Boss me around again like that and I’ll fuck you up.” You pull a chair next to him. “Do you want to die of starvation or in some cool way like getting blown up?” Oddly specific. “Eat.”

Soap smiles and picks up one of the pastries. It almost resembles a croissant. “Always with the attitude you bawbag.” He takes a big bite out of it.

“Your mom seems to love it!” You pick up one of the dossiers and fling it open, cup of coffee in your other hand. ‘Your mom’ jokes and mature men go hand in hand. Of course Soap’s response is a shove that almost knocks you over.

“Watch it!” Soap says, but there is no ill intent behind his words. His smile almost distracts you from the dark crescent moons below his eyes.

Your playful shoves turns into a bit of a wrestling match as you try to pin each other down. Your heart rate increases just by looking at him. You know how much he is hurting these days and you want nothing but to hug him and never let go. Tell him all the ways you love him, all the ways he drives you mad, kiss the scar running over his eye that looks like the last moments of an angry dying star.

He does pin you down on the floor at some point, not that you were putting much resistance and your stomach aches from laughter. Soap looks straight into your eyes, catching his own breath from laughter, squeezing your muscular arms which makes you feel like throwing up. There is a flash of sadness in his eyes though.

“What is going on with you? You’ve never hid things like this from me.” There is a tight node in your throat but words manage to slip through.

Soap’s expression changes and he lets himself fall on the floor on his back next to you. “Maybe because I’ve never felt things like these before.” He focuses on a random point on the ceiling.

“I want nothing else than to support you.” You take a deep breath trying to calm your bottled up emotions. “Tell me how.”

You see him opening his mouth to speak but no sounds come out. You’ve never seen him speechless. He is a man with a lot to say and tell. Eventually though he manages to sort his thoughts. “Sometimes it all gets too much. Too much pressure. I feel like fucking drowning sometimes. I don’t know if I am ready to take over everything Price built.”

Here goes nothing. You search for his hand and squeeze it tight as he speaks and he doesn’t flinch. Both of you keep staring at the ceiling.

“Nobody is asking you to be Price. I think you are one of the most capable men I have ever met. Tough but fair, sharp, smart, loyal, well trained…” You turn your head to face him. “... and a good fucking friend. You are ready for this and I will be here every step of the way.”

You wait for his response and he finally turns his head to you. A light squeeze reminds you that you are still holding his hand.

“That was some sappy shite.” he says with a smile.

You snicker at his comment. “Don’t get used to it. You know I love you mate.” You thought about using his name, but you settled for ‘mate’. It’s nothing you haven’t said before. “You looked like you needed it. Now how about you stop feeling sorry for yourself and we eat…”

You end up eating your own words as Soap’s mouth clashes with yours as he fully turns his body towards you. He doesn’t let go of your hand but he places his free one on your cheek. It happens almost too fast for you to register what is going on. He backs away just as fast, terror on his face, searching your eyes for a sign.

“Tell me I read this wrong.”

There is only one suitable response to that, after years of pinning. You kiss him back. Angry at him for not saying anything these years. Angry at yourself for not doing it either. Angry at the world and man for inventing war. So you kiss him pouring all these thoughts and emotions onto him. He accepts it all immediately, pulling you closer. It all feels like a dream really. His calloused hands wrap your hips, his tongue parts your lips while your hands rush to cradle his face and touch him in ways you’ve only dreamed of.

He eventually gets back on his feet in a swift motion, extending his arm to help you get up. You grab his arm and as you get up he cradles your face and he brings your foreheads together in a desperate motion.

“I…” He mouths some words but then again no sounds seem to come out.

“All that talk about women and girlfriends…”

He scoffs. “You had to lie at some point about that too. Couldn’t raise suspicions.”

“I knew you were lying. I just thought you couldn’t get any woman to like you.”

He smiles and starts caressing your cheek. “Not interested in them anyway.” He steals another kiss from you. “You have no idea how glad I am that… There is no one this close to me I just…” His ramblings are cute, you think. “God I am shit at this…”

“Then why did I understand everything?”

Your mouths clash again with passion and fury. He can be a bit rough around the edges but so can you. That’s why you two always worked.

#beautiful #call of duty #john soap mactavish #captain john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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fanfics-i-love · 1 month ago

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Mystery 141 member x female reader

Tags - Dubious consent, morning wood, exhibitionism, PIV, breeding kink, identity reveal, fucking you in the same bed his friends are sleeping in lmao

It had been three days since infiltration. An assassination mission. One that saw the five of you holed up in some sad, little shack in the countryside, just waiting for your target’s car to pass by.

So far? No dice...and the temperature was only dropping by the minute.

Your shack hadn't come with heating. By the way the warmth had been all but leeched out of the room come nightfall, you could hardly convince yourself it had come with walls to fucking begin with.

Exhausted and freezing, you'd climbed into your shared sleeping space first. The five of you would sleep huddled together tonight...like a grade school slumber party or some shit.

Needless to say, you'd woken up at various points throughout the night when the boys shuffled into their sleeping spots. Their larger frames suffocated you. And before you knew it, you were squished in between two of the fuckers. Face squeezed into the gap in between one of their scapulae while a different man’s humongous leg pushed between your own.

You roll your eyes.

If the boys wanted you to stop complaining, they should really learn to stop manspreading the minute they walked into a fucking room.

Again, you wiggle in your little bubble of room, trying to straighten out your limbs to no avail.

When, suddenly....

A twitch. It's small, and you feel it against your hipbone. The man behind you—it's impossible to tell which—makes a weak, sleepy noise, before a giant, heavy arm flops over your side.

Instantly, you pout.

Well, fuck, you think, looking at the offensive limb, He just made it worse!

Minutes pass. Quiet snoring resounds against your ear. You roll your eyes, wincing at a pinch in your hip. Unable to sit still, you shove at the man in front of you—unintentionally bracing yourself against the one behind.

"C'mon," you whisper to yourself, feeling a pair of hipbones dig themselves into your ass.

Suddenly, the man behind jerks, and the snoring stops. The arm laying on your side fumbles over your soft stomach, before weakly (and purposefully) grabbing your hip.

A groan.

A low, involuntary groan resounds from behind you. And before you can even try to apologize for rousing him, you feel it.

Pulsing.

Something hard, hot, and pulsing twitches against your ass, and suddenly, the tiny muscle spasm you felt earlier doesn't seem so innocent after all.

Immediately, you freeze, blood positively rushing to your face.

The man—whichever one it was—notches his hips up against you once, twice. Slow, stunted thrusts that shift his thigh against the area between your legs, incidentally waking your body up in a different sense of the word.

His hand is tight where it grabs onto your hip. And so are his muscles. He shifts again and again, until you feel the unmistakable outline of something long and firm squished against the cleft of your ass...

You gasp at the feeling of his full length. And unfortunately, the small sound is enough to pull the man out of his dreams.

All of a sudden, he pauses in his ministrations, and you hear his head shift against the blankets. He exhales, low and restrained. His fingers tense against your hip.

Undoubtedly, he's looking at where his hard cock indents your plush ass. Confused.

His stomach rises and falls against your back.

You stay silent and still....yet you can feel it.

Your pussy pulsing with every beat of your heart, body preparing to be split open and bred. In your mind, you have a second of doubt.

Which person was laying behind you?

Was it Ghost?

No, your mind tells you, There's no way he'd submit to such a bodily reaction--not even in his sleep.

The Captain, maybe?

Probably not, you think, The Captain's older. Responsible. There's too much liability...thinking about one of his own soldiers like that. It would be a scandal. Unthinkable.

Gaz?

Well....maybe. There was that one time a few months ago, when the team had gone out for drinks. One thing had lead to another, and before you could stop yourself, you and Gaz were kissing.

“Just as an experiment,” he'd told you. It hadn't gone any further, but....Kyle would have been willing to push the boundaries.

What about Soap?

Huh...Probably the most likely. Johnny couldn't keep his hands to himself if he tried—let alone in his sleep. You'd seen him walk around the barracks. You had half a mind to think he liked forcing you to look at his morning wood during the officer’s brief.

At that, your mind comes screeching to a halt. Whichever man it was—whoever's cock was nudging up against the crest of your cunt—wasn't waiting on you to decide if he was worthy or not.

He, too, was frozen there. Unmoving. Heart thundering. Body...aching.

And helplessly, you sit there, wetness gathering in your panties.

One breath.

Another.

The materialized cloud of his air wafts over the back of your neck.

All the possibilities wash over your mind like a bucket of ice cold water, until...

Something inside of you—something that was pure instinct, not rationale—breaks.

You swallow...before you push your ass back into his lap. Just a small push. Just a little bit. To test the water.

His lungs hitch. His fingers clench when the dimples of your back brush against his cock head.

You fall still once more, waiting for the man to retaliate.

He thinks, the gears of his mind turning.

Seconds pass.

Until...

He thrusts his hips forward in pure, decisive want. Instantly, two, thundering breaths are punched from both of your lungs, hips jumping into action as you grind and push against one another.

The sound of your gasp echoes around the room. The man behind you doesn't even tell you off for it. He only slings his arm around your stomach, yanking your ass back against his cock hard enough to nearly bruise you.

With one hand, you grab onto the pillow. And the other intertwines with the fingers splayed against your stomach. His digits are cold and long, knuckles dusted with small spots of hair. You brush over them, feeling their courseness.

You wonder if his hair feels the same on his stomach. Or, perhaps, below his belt.

At the thought of it—of being given what he's denied you so far��you mewl. And that....

Well, that seems to shatter the final thread of restraint he had left.

He shoves your hand off of his, pulling back to fumble with his pants. You don't need to be told twice. Without even speaking—without even knowing which of your goddamn coworkers is about to fuck you raw, on the clock, right next to three of his best friends—you push your pants down to your ankles.

Instantly, warm hands envelop the globes of your ass, squeezing them hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. Instinctively, you whine at him, almost as if to say, "hurry up. I need you."

He takes the message for what it is, and then, one giant hand ghosts between your thighs and fondles at your folds...two big fingers brush from your clit to your asshole, trying to gauge if you're wet enough to take him just yet.

The sensation of it—burning and unbearable—makes you arch your back. And before you know it, your face is pressed into the back of the other man in front of you, hiding your flushed cheeks against his musculature....as if he were a pillow for you to bite instead of a human being.

Your man sucks in a low breath. His hands make a purposeful shift.

And then you feel it.

His leaking cockhead swiping between your folds, gathering drops of slick across his length. You jolt, grabbing fistfuls of the other man's shirt just to ground yourself, before he pushes forward, and the ruddy, thick head pops inside of you.

"Mhm—“ you moan, fingers twitching with anxiety when the other men jostle in their sleep.

"Shh—shh," your man urges, sounding no less terrified himself.

But, by the way he slowly sinks into your pussy, calm and controlled, you could almost convince yourself he didn't care about it.

Your back goes straighter and straighter with each inch of him that you take, your fingers wringing tighter and tighter against your human pillow. When he bottoms out, you can't help but mewl underneath your breath. The sound of it is muffled in the blankets.

"Shh," he reprimands you sternly, but his hands speak a different tune.

They wind up and under your thermal layers, drawing soothing lines down the length of your spine. Inside you, he's secure and filling, surrounding you on all sides.

Oh, he's a sweet one, you suddenly realize, Sweet and kind and just as embarrassed as you are.

Flustered, you reach down to hold hands with him again. Two of your fingers are swallowed up in just one of his. Slowly, you pull his hand up the length of your stomach, pushing it into your breast.

You think you hear him stifle a small chuckle at the needy gesture.

Please. Please. Touch me here. I promise not to squeal this time. I promise.

He does as you ask, squeezing your tits between easy rocks of his burly hips.

"God," you whisper to him, flinching when his prick pushes past your cervix, "B—Big..."

"Mm," he mutters back to you, and you feel facial hair tickle your skin when he presses a wet kiss to the back of your neck. The feeling of his tongue, so hot and so slick, makes you whine, backing onto his length as far as you possibly can.

And for a few minutes, it goes on like that. Him, giving you low, short thrusts, biting the shape of his canines into the flat of your neck. And you, sweating and desperate, clinging to one man's shirt like you'd die without it, while another one ruts against your ass like a wild animal.

It's horrible.

Horrible.

Wrong.

Shameful.

Awful.

Amazing.

Minutes pass, and with every second you spend here, like this...

Naked cunt bared for the random man sleeping on your left, pleading for him to stick his cock inside of you, and fuck you full of his cum...

Sweat mingling on each other's bodies, his strong knuckles squeezing your breasts like a lifeline...

His hips moving faster and faster, body baring down on you like two hundred pounds of raw muscle...

It only becomes more apparent what you really are.

A woman too needy to even ask the name of the man that fucks her. And him, a man who's looking for somewhere to dump his seed—someone to carry on his DNA until he learns how to be a better man...until he learns how to control himself long enough to take the poor girl on a date first.

You're just that.

Just two animals panting in the dark, chasing after the aching need to breed and be bred.

Your breath hitches on a whine, and you feel him start to thrust faster, harder. His hips clap against the back of your thighs, but the sound softened is by the blankets. Yet, the feeling of your slick bubbling up around his length is anything but muted. No, it's damning and hot, sticking between your legs and dripping down his aching balls.

Suddenly, he makes a gruff noise, and his hands wrench dangerously into your flesh when he begins to pound into you as hard as he can manage without waking the others.

You gasp, but quickly cover your mouth, frame bouncing while he pounds into your abused cunt again and again.

"Oh—god," you manage, face forcefully shoved against the other man's back when a pointed thrust sends you grabbing for purchase.

"Shh," he says again, louder this time. There's urgency in his voice, and you can feel him leaking inside of you.

"Please," you beg all too loudly, tears staining your human pillow's shirt.

"I'll give it to you," he whispers back, "You'll get it, love. Keep your legs open, just—keep your legs open."

The sound of his voice, low, and soft, and kind—just like his hands—remind you again of who he is.

Someone warm.

Someone soft.

Someone kind and decisive.

Someone who...can't control himself.

Someone who's at the end of his rope, so desperate to fill your womb he doesn't even notice when his nails draw blood from the crux of your hip.

Within an instant, his whispering chokes off into a low, throaty noise. And before you can even cry out, he yanks your body into his—pulling your hands out of the other mans shirt before the rush of your climax threatens to wake him up.

Before your pussy can push him over the edge, he wrestles your arms into submission against your chest, pinning your wrists between your sweaty tits with only one hand of his own.

At the sudden aggression, you gasp. But just when the sound begins to hit the walls of the shack, he grabs you around the jaw and shoves your lips closed, wiggling his thumb into your mouth to give you something to focus on....

To give you something to suck on, something to keep you quiet while he holds you down and breeds your throbbing cunt, just like he knows you needs.

Saliva slips between his big fingers.

Your body rides the high of your orgasm, feeling his cock twitch and spurt between your folds.

His stomach—strong and masculine—heaves against your back, remnants of his voice present with every huffing breath he releases. Like that, you ride out your releases, until your bodies are loose and unwound, all too sticky for their own good.

Slowly, the man pulls his thumb out of your warm mouth. It makes a lewd popping sound, and You can feel strands of your own spit hanging between your swollen lip and his calloused fingertip.

"Thank you," you whisper, loathe to let him pull out now that he's fully inside of you.

"Mm," he gives you another kiss against your neck, just as reluctant to leave.

Without the distraction of sex, a burning awkwardness begins to creep up on you. It doesn't seem to infect the man inside of you, but still, you find that you have a sudden need to know his name...to know which man you won't be able to face come tomorrow morning.

"What's..." you begin, but stutter, "Which...one are you?"

It's a stupid question, and it elicits a low laugh out of the man behind you.

"It's John," he tells you...

...rather unhelpfully. Your body bristles, unblinking.

"Which...John?"

At that, he inhales lowly. You feel his length shift inside of your swollen body when leans up on his elbow, bending over to tuck his chapped lips against your ravaged, spit-slick mouth.

His tongue dances with your own, demanding and all-consuming. Against his prickly skin, you can smell cologne and aftershave, a scent that will stick to you long after you wake up in the morning.

"John," he murmurs, bending down to suckle on your lip once more, "John Price."

Instantly, you freeze beneath him.

Price.

John Price.

Captain John Price. Your boss. The man who'd hired you, and who was nearly old enough to be your goddamned father. That John Price.

"Oh..." you mumble, at a loss for what to say.

What was that earlier? About a scandal?

Forget scandal, this was a clusterfuck of near career-ending proportions. If any of the men heard—if they knew what John had done to you...

If the man on your other side had felt you clinging to his raggedy shirt while his captain fucked you within an inch of your life…

Forget how badly you wanted it or how hard you'd worked to convince him to drop his pants, they'd court martial him without a second thought.

He should have known better, they'd say, Than to bend to the will of the one girl he couldn't have.

At the thought, your breath stutters, and suddenly, his weight against you feels like a more precious gift than you ever could have deserved.

He chuckles, pulling you out of your reverie.

"Forget how to talk, did ya?" he mutters, "Thought you needed it, girl. Don't go gettin’ shy on me now."

"M'not," you pout, worry crawling up your spine.

He tries to pull away, but you grab his hand before you can go, pressing his palm to your mouth to give it a small kiss.

At that, he inhales, deigning to lay back down and let you mess with his fingers for as long as you please.

What feels that hours passes then. You, brushing over the hair on his knuckles, and him, running his free hand up and down your bare stomach.

"Let me go, baby," he whispers into your hair, "The lads'll be waking up soon. Need to pull out...before they see."

He doesn't even wait for you to respond before he shifts backwards, his length sliding out of you before you can prepare yourself. Instantly, a flood and slick and semen rushes out of you. But before you can yelp at the lewd sensation, John reaches down and hurriedly pushes two fingers back into your fluttering hole, securely plugging his release inside of your needy cunt.

"Shhh—shush," he reprimands, his other hand poised over your lips like he was ready to shut you up at a moment's notice, "I've got you. M'not going nowhere, love. I promise."

"You promise?" you find yourself mewling, emotional all of a sudden.

"Mm-hm," he says, "Only if you make me a promise in return..."

"Anything."

At the way you reply to him, easy and without hesitation, you swear you can see him smile through the cloak of darkness in the room.

"Promise me," he begins, "That you won't let me leak out of you. Think you can manage that, love?”

Almost as if you needed the extra context clue, he pushes his finger in and out of your cunt, no doubt coating his finger in the curious mess of your two fluids.

The feeling of it is overwhelming, and before you can think better of it, you collapse into his frame behind you, and bashfully nod your head.

"Good," he whispers against your cheek, "Good girl."

With that, he pulls away from you all too soon, retreating into his own mess of blankets and pillows. You feel cold without him, mourning the loss of his body heat. You cross your legs for good measure.

"Better keep your promise," he warns, "Or else I'll have to check your panties in the morning. Make sure you know how to follow orders."

His words curl around you like a blanket, and with a secret smile, you cuddle back into your sheets, all but content to fall back into sleep...

Until, that is, the man on your other side shifts.

You freeze.

He makes a noise before he sits up, sniffling in the cold. You peak one eye open, glancing at his face.

Kyle.

Oh god, it dawns on you, and you yank the blankets over your face before he can see that you're awake.

Sleepily, Kyle paws at his clothing, untwisting them so that the hems lay in their proper places. However, it doesn't feel quite right against his skin...And when he touches his side, he finally knows why.

"The fuck...?" he whispers to himself—or so he thinks—as he pokes his fingers through a pair of large holes that have shredded the fabric on his side and back.

The blankets shift as he looks this way and that, scanning the room for a possible perpetrator.

But, all that remains are three snoring men and one dozing woman. All too innocent and trusted to have done such a thing to his precious shirt.

So, with little more than a frustrated sigh, he flops back into his spot, readjusting the cushion under his head.

He thinks he heard the Captain stifle a laugh—sleep talking again, no doubt—before he falls back into the clutches of the dream world once and for all.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #tf 141 x reader #tf 141

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