#and they were squadmates

[jeleynai]

Kissing scars <3

I speedran this a bit to be in time for Valentine's so it's a little rough but I couldn't help myself.. I was having sap withdrawals without them so c:

[wingsofthesun]

The Great Urdnot Party of 2185

After the newly named Urdnot Grunt and his krantt (consisting of the humans Astra Shepard and Jack, and the turian Garrus Vakarian (who himself was the first acknowledged turian to be part of a traditional krantt)) killed the Thresher Maw during his Rite of Passage, becoming the first one in centuries to do so, and Clan Weyrlock had been decimated the day before with the survivors being absorbed into Clan Urdnot, Chief Urdnot Wrex declared that it was high time for a traditional party.

The various members of the Normany squad were invited to partake. It took three days for everyone to recover enough for the ship to leave after the party was over.

Some incidents:

Garrus Vakarian became a minor celebrity due to easily taking down an antagonistic, charging krogan without even reaching for a weapon. When asked, he said the krogan wasn't worth the effort, the harshest insult to a krogan.

Jack became an even more major celebrity by being the first human to chug a tankard of ryncol without dying. Three times.

Tali'Zorah gained great respect by shooting a drunk krogan in the eye when he started asking what was under her suit. The female clan representatives at the party made her an honorary member for this.

The only reason Zaeed Massani didn't lose all of his money betting on varren races was because he was too drunk to remember his second bank account.

Halfway through the party, Astra Shepard and Garrus Vakarian disappeared. They reappeared midmorning the next day, with very suspicious bruises and dented armor. Clan Urdnot was impressed by their assumed stamina and guts to have all the sex on Tuchanka of all places.

Jack, who's biotics were pushing through the effects of her fourth tankard of ryncol, and Miranda Lawson, who was probably not as drunk as she pretends, made out. For at least half an hour. Kasumi Goto has photographic evidence. The other two live in fear that she'll release the images.

Miranda Lawson also used her biotics to throw two krogan across the clearing at the same time, gaining quite a bit of respect.

Before disappearing, Astra Shepard had a friendly sparring match with Urdnot Wrex that ended in a tie. Respect for her increased even more, and she received more breeding requests that Garrus Vakarian reportedly almost died laughing about.

Jacob Taylor may or may not have introduced the incinerate ammo power to a new generation of krogan. This was used to great effect during the Reaper War months later and also on Tuchanka to take out a krogan's rival.

Urdnot Grunt headbutted 87 krogan during the party, holding the record for the sixth highest amount during one night.

[edains]

mass effect fandom loves to say "i don't see shep romancing ash/kaidan in me1 and then romancing someone in me2* after the horizon scene as cheating" even though y'all never established that there was an official breakup - and you get an email from them saying that they want to be able to work things out

cause you know, thats what mature adults do in a relationship - communicate and try to work it out

and yet AND YET they will get huffy at kaidan for going on 1 (one) singular date with a doctor because he was pushed into it by his friends who wanna help him try to move on 2 (two) double years of shepard being dead - and try to act like thats the same thing ... huh

i think the fandom needs to realize the game/some ppl saying "shep is a cheater in this circumstance" is not saying shep (for that alone) is a horrible person or irredeemable (or that they as the player are horrible for that) but as a flaw they need to accept and deal with?

but they can't accept that their shepard may have actual human flaws and do things wrong, or that there are characters who don't just blindly follow along with everything they do and kiss their feet at every circumstance

there are issues with how the horizon scene is handled - on shepard's end but everyone wants to make it the vimire surivor's problem for having a realistic human reaction to whats going on

*i will say i will side eye the romanceable in me2 me1 squadmates for being totally cool with getting with shep w/no mention of their previous LI - i think there should've been a small bit of dialogue there with some reservations abt it/shepard saying they've moved on from that relationship but hey! fandom darlings get away with murder lmao

[mustbealoosewire]

by Frost0mourne.

@randal-mcmandal

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: SUR'KESH

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Urdnot Wrex With: Lt. Steve Cortez, Dr. Mordin Solus, Major Kirrahe, and Urdnot Bakara And a Special Guest Appearance by: Adm. Steven Hackett Alliance R&D has officially begun construction on the Prothean device. The team has dubbed it: "Project Crucible". We're throwing everybody who knows how to throw a hammer at it. This is gonna be the most ambitious undertaking in human history. I'm not saying it won't be a challenge- but we can do this, Shepard. You can do this. Never doubt that. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

+BONUS (the smirk™️)

[lelianaslefthand]

everytime i consciously acknowledge the 2 companion limit i get mad again bc i’m already in love with everyone how am i only supposed to pick TWO to bring out… every kind of phobic methinks

[bragganhyl]

it has been confirmed that the reason why Bertalan has no braincells is bc his raven has them

[noperopesaredope]

Guys I just made up a whole backstory for Jeggings and now I'm sad

One of the funniest things about being a clone lover while watching TCW is the fact that all the clones have the goofiest/coolest names with a story behind them that indirectly gives them a little personality. Since you know that all the clones are multilayered people who have their own interesting internal journeys, you want to get to know most of them. So then there will be moments where it's like:

"Oh no, they killed Clover, Sillyboi, Beanstalk, and Jeggings!"

And I'll consistently be upset because I want to know who Sillyboi is and why he's called Sillyboi, but I never will because he fucking died. When a lot of shows kill off background characters like that but give them names, I usually don't care. But the fact that the clones all have fun names that mean something makes me randomly emotionally invested. I'll be crying over some mf named Jeggings who was on screen for 15 seconds.

[offense-is-the-best-defence]

While it's true some gaming communities are awful (looking at you COD) every now & again I will experience games with genuinely nice, helpful gamers that reminds me that not everyone is an asshole

[skullmoss]

thinking about how clone!shepard and maya brooks were way more compelling villains than fucking kai leng

even with the tone of the citadel DLC. clone!shepard is just more.....interesting.

[arcadia-smith]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader. (Short blurb cuz I have writer's block)

Marking territory.

You weren’t oblivious. Not to the way the guys in your squad looked at you when they thought Ghost wasn’t paying attention. Not to the way some of the female soldiers lingered when they spoke to him, a little too eager, a little too hopeful.

But Ghost? He was a territorial bastard.

It started at the bar after a mission, where the air was thick with sweat and victory, and the alcohol was flowing freely. One of your squadmates—some cocky rookie—leaned in too close, grinning like he had a shot. “Didn’t know you had a thing for older guys, sweetheart.”

You barely had time to respond before a heavy, gloved hand slid over your hip, dragging you flush against a familiar solid chest. Then—his hand was on your ass. A firm squeeze, possessive and unbothered, as he stared the guy down from behind his mask.

“Think you’ve had enough to drink, mate,” Ghost said, voice slow, deliberate.

The rookie’s face paled. “Right. Yeah. My bad.” He practically stumbled away.

You twisted to look up at Ghost, raising an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

He just grunted, hand still on your ass, thumb stroking circles like he had no plans of letting go. “Didn’t hear you complainin’.”

"Possessive much?" you teased.

"Always."

The second time was worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

You were in the mess hall, minding your business, when a group of female soldiers caught Ghost’s attention. You weren’t the jealous type, but you weren’t blind either. They were looking at him the way people looked at a challenge they wanted to win.

Ghost noticed. And he made damn sure they noticed you.

His hand found its way to your ass as he passed by, gripping with a slow, deliberate squeeze that had heat rushing up your spine. “C’mere, love,” he murmured, voice rough and low.

The way the women’s faces fell? Yeah. That was satisfying.

You turned to him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

His mask hid most of his expression, but his eyes told you everything. Sharp. Dark. Knowing.

“I'm yours,” he murmured, low enough for only you to hear. “And they need to know it.”

Your stomach flipped. Damn him.

Maybe you liked this game just as much as he did.

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[finraliebachira]

Why did they say that 😭😭

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Soldier x Reader - NonCon

Yandere! Soldier with his foreign accent and foreign guns. With muscles that show even underneath all his body armour.

Yandere! Soldier who's part of a platoon sent to keep an eye on your neighbourhood. Who's looking for insurrectionists hiding in plain site.

Yandere! Soldier who's suspicious of everyone and everything.

Yandere! Solider who notices you all too quickly, with your books and your pamphlets. Who's immediately suspicious about the people that come and go from your apartment at all hours.

Yandere! Soldier who barely even waits for permission from his commander before he's leading a squad to bust down your door.

Yandere! Soldier who somehow ends up in your panty drawer and who lingers far longer than he needs to. Who searches through them - ostensibly for contraband - just so he can feel the silk and lace on his calloused hands. Who keeps picturing these lacy little things under your neat pleated skirt.

Yandere! Soldier who's pissed as hell when he can't find any evidence of rebellion. Hell, even those pamphlets you were carrying around the other day are gone. Who's disturbed by how calm you are - despite a bunch of soldiers ransacking your place.

Yandere! Soldier who grabs onto your wrist right before he leaves, who looks into your eyes and says that he knows something about you is suspicious. That you might have escaped this time but at some point, you're going to slip up.

Yandere! Soldier who can't help but notice how fragile your wrists are, how delicate your neck looks. How helpless you would be if it weren't for your frighteningly sharp tongue.

Yandere! Soldier who grins just a little when you threaten to demand a replacement door from his Sergeant.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself stopping outside your apartment more and more on his patrols. Who tells his squadmates that he's suspicious of you, when really he just wants a chance to watch you go about your day.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself gripping his rifle when he sees you walking alone with your male classmates. Who more than once has them stopped and searched.

Yandere! Soldier who takes his frustration out on his sparing partners - to the point that no one wants to train with him for fear of splintered bones.

Yandere! Soldier who keeps running into you. And despite his body armour, his rifle, his rank and power, you never seem impressed or even afraid of him.

Yandere! Soldier who watches as the martial law on your city becomes stricter and stricter. First the curfew, and then the armed checkpoints, and then the armored vehicles parked on seemingly every street corner.

Yandere! Soldier who knows what really happens to suspected rebels when they're held for questioning. Who keeps thinking of your wrists dwarfed by his hands. Who keeps thinking of your pretty hands mangled by the interrogators.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself alone outside your apartment, so nervous that his hands are trembling. Who knocks and knocks on your new door until you open it, still sluggish with sleep.

Yandere! Soldier who doesn't give you a chance to scream as he shoves his way into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him.

Yandere! Soldier who manages to hold onto you even as you kick and bite and swear at him.

Yandere! Soldier who hisses at you to just shut up and listen. That for once, he's trying to help you.

Yandere! Soldier who has to literally grab you by your collar and slam you against the wall before you stop trying to bite him.

Yandere! Soldier who tells you that the army intends to arrest you tomorrow morning on suspicion of insurgency. That he knows a place where you'll be safe.

Yandere! Solider who doesn't listen to your complaints or objections. Who zip ties your wrists together and gags you before hoisting you up on his shoulder.

Yandere! Soldier who doesn't even notice you banging your fists against his back.

Yandere! Soldier who drives all the way across the city in an armoured vehicle with you tossed across the backseat. At the checkpoints, his fellow soldiers just smirk and tell him to enjoy himself.

Yandere! Soldier who brings you to an old room in an old building. Who tosses you down on the bed and suddenly realises just how close you are.

Yandere! Soldier who slowly leans down to kiss your cheek. Who smells your perfume and feels himself slowly going feral.

Yandere! Solider who kisses down your jawline and then down your neck, his lips as light as feathers. Who runs his palms up your waist, marvelling at the softness of your skin against the roughness of his hands.

Yandere! Soldier who pins your hands above your head so he can admire your body stretched out underneath him.

Yandere! Soldier who knows this is wrong. Who knows it's going to hurt you and haunt you. Who feels his heart clench when he looks into your crying eyes.

Yandere! Soldier who knows, but fucks you anyway.

Yandere! Soldier who is so gentle, that you almost wish he meant it. Who keeps one arm wrapped around your waist the entire time. Who keeps whispering to you in his native language, his voice rough as in prayer.

Yandere! Soldier who keeps his forehead pressed against yours even as he thrusts deep inside you.

Yandere! Soldier who stays inside of you even after he comes. Who just wants to feel the warmth of your body under his. Who wants to pretend that the little muffled sounds you're making are out of affection.

Yandere! Soldier who cuts your bonds away with his combat knife. The blade catches the moonlight and it breaks his heart when you flinch away from him.

Yandere! Soldier who tries to convince himself he did the right thing. You're safe from the interrogation room, aren't you?

Yandere! Soldier who looks at your tears in the moonlight and realises his love was the worst thing that ever happened to you.

Yandere! Soldier who falls asleep with you in his arms, his dog tags pressed against your shoulder blades. Yandere! Soldier who knows that he's a monster, but holds you all the same.

Yandere! Soldier who whispers to you just before he falls asleep.

Мне жаль

I'm sorry.

Но я люблю тебя

But I love you.

[scorpioriesling]

Hiya! If like to order a Ridoc, Bodhi, and Liam, with a side of 10 and if it is in-stock, a 73? Cheers friend!

Good Things Come in Groups of Three

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x Bodhi x Ridoc x reader

Warnings: mdni, 18+, heavy smut, p in v, oral, threesome… this is quite graphic lol

Summary: After a long day with your trainer, the last thing you need is his friend mouthing off to you -- especially when it's a topic he has no business "educating" you about. Ready to rinse off the day and finally catch a few hours of sleep, you're not expecting company; but, you come to realize maybe it's not all that unwelcome.

SR’s Note: So... this is my first time? Writing? Smut involving more than just two consenting parties? So like... please don't tear me to shreds. <3 I really, really tried, and I apologize for the wait time, I have so many WIPs and I wanted to do my best on this for you; I appreciate your patience! This uses prompts #10 and #73 from my Prompt Request Masterlist. Enjoy (:

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Come on Y/L/N -- harder!"

Sweat runs down the back of your neck as you draw back, raising your gloved fists in defense for what felt like the hudredth time that evening. Bodhi stood before you, his left brow raised tauntingly as he motioned for you to move with a curl of his fingers.

"Do it again, but do it harder this time," he instructs, repeating the forward motion with his fingers. You huff in frustration, awareness creeping in of how late it had gotten. The moon was now hanging above the clouds, barely anyone was left in the gym... and you had Bodhi, your trainer, keeping you here late.

You lunged forward, throwing your weight into him. He stumbled, back, but you weren't strong enough to knock him off of his feet. You thrust your clenched fist out, aiming to at least leave him doubled over -- again, you were too slow. He caught your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back and shoving you to the ground. Your hipbone connected roughly with the mat, surely to leave a bruise; but that paled in comparison to your strangled breaths as the wind was completely knocked from your lungs.

"B...Bod...hi.." You writhed beneath him as he pinned you, his form pressed completely atop you to keep you from rising. A pleading cough was all you could get out before his warm breath ticked against the shell of your ear.

"Tapping out?" He rasped, the rough patches on his worn leather gloves rubbing your wrists raw. You nodded frantically, and he sighed, smacking the mat before releasing you. The air was a welcome relief as it flodded your lungs, each breath drawn in greedily as you rolled onto your back against the mat.

Bodhi leaned back on his heels, the slight shake of his head sending a soft ruffle through his dampened curls. He peered down at you with a disappointed look.

"Y/N, you know when you tap out during the real thing-"

"Bodhi, you were practically fuckin' killing me on that last one!" You squeaked, your head resting pathetically against the worn training mat. He tsks at you, cracking his knuckles and continuing to stare.

"You need to know how to hold your own. Especially against guys," he elaborates. You roll your eyes, but he continues. "Guys don't give a shit if you're small, or you're a girl, or you physically can't take them." He gives you a pointed look, and before he can say more, you hear the even more irritating sound of your fellow squadmate approaching.

"Hah, yeah, in fact," Ridoc chuckles, bending at the waist to peer over you. "Some twisted fucks try to get paired with girls on purpose, just because they know it's a different type of fight, and it's one they could win." He looks pitifully at you, the waves in his black hair falling over his forehead. You scoff, pushing onto your elbows and wincing at the pain blooming near your hip.

"You're annoying," you throw a pointed glance at your fellow first year, your eyes sliding to the trainer you were assigned by your absolutely-wonderful-and-charming wingleader next. "And so are you; running me into the ground, working me harder than anyone else here," you gesture around the gym, and laugh sarcastically as you notice it has emptied out.

"Oh! Wait. There is no one else here." You frown, and Bodhi only glowers at you.

"You'll be thanking me when it comes time for challenges and you can actually take down your opponents." He says nonchalantly, and you shake your head in disbelief.

Ridoc opens his mouth again from your right. "It's probably for the best anyway-"

"Ugh, Gods Ridoc, do you ever SHUT UP?" Your anger bubbles over, and he immediately stops talking. "I'm so tired, I'm worn out, I've been here all night sweating my ass off with him," you jerk your thumb toward his annoying upper-classman friend. "Now, I have to listen to you run your mouth, too?" You sigh frustratedly, glaring at the moon through the open window.

You push to your feet then, sending one final angry look at the two friends.

"All on a fucking school night, too!"

You turn on your heel, making way for the locker rooms. You cross your arms, feeling the smallest victory won as you approach the locker room door.

It's short lived when you hear their mocking laughter from the training room behind you.

You slam the door shut, grumbling and growling as you stomp by the grayed-out stalls. What the hell is their deal, anyway? Surely you could handle your own. Not every guy here is looking for a girl to go after, anyhow.

Approaching the mirrors, you sigh heavily, bracing your hands against the cool ceramic of the sink.

So what if you were paired with a man. You would be able to hold your own -- they were just afraid of looking weak. That had to be it.

You stared at your reflection for a moment, taking in the bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep. Your ponytail was nearly undone, so many hairs had fallen in the hours you'd been forced to train here.

Screw Bodhi for making you stay so late. You shook your head, thinking about him pinning you to the mat. He didn't care how tired you were -- he did it anyway. And Ridoc, he never knew when to stop running those full lips of his...

Screw them both, honestly.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the sound of a locker closing rang out, causing you to jump. Your heartbeat quickened; surely, no one else would be in here. The gym was empty when you walked out.

"Hello?" You called. Your feet felt frozen in place, your mind swimming with all of the possibilities. After a few moments of silence, you shrugged it off. It was late; perhaps with the lack of sleep, you were simply imagining things.

Of the four shower stalls available, you weighed your options before stepping into the one in the corner. Two were missing a shower curtain, and the other had a sign that read "Out of Order" in front of it. Not to mention the lack of a lightbulb in there; you went with the fully funtional option.

You peeled your clothes off, discarding them at the bench near the sinks before stepping in. You had just closed the curtain quietly, the room so eerily quiet when your mind began to wander. You could have sworn the locker rooms had six showers -- not four.

Again, you rolled your shoulders, chalking it up to be pure exhaustion that had you thinking these rediculous things. With a soft sigh, you reached for the shower handle.

✧･ﾟ: *

It seemed as though fifty things happened at once.

You had just let your eyes drift shut, your hand bracing the cool steel of the shower faucet as you awaited the feeling of the warm water to rain down on you.

In that same second, the curtain was abruptly shoved open, and you heard (definitely heard, not imagined) a male voice, asking, "Uhhh, what are you doing in here?"

Also, in that same second, you screamed. At the top of your lungs. Wide-eyed, shrill, screaming. Because why the fuck, was Liam Mairi, of all people, staring back at you, naked in the girl's locker room?

While he was also... naked... in the girl's locker room?

"Liam!" You screetched, reaching for the shower curtain in the same second he did. You pulled it toward yourself in an attempt to conceal what had already been exposed, but it seemed he had the same idea. It was as though tug-of-war was happening with the damned curtain, and in the end, his barely covered dick was pressed against your barely covered vagina. You braced a forearm across your chest in an attempt to hide your top half.

"Y/N, what the Hell-" he began, his cheeks reddening as he looked anywhere other than in your direction.

"Ohhh no," you roared. "What the fuck," you puncuated. "Are you doing. In the girls. Locker room!" You demanded. He let out a sarcastic laugh, his eyes drifting from the ceiling finally to meet yours.

"Are... are you serious right now?" He asked. Your eyebrows rose so high on your forehead, you thought they'd recede right into your hairline.

"Yes? It's, what, nearly midnight?" You seethe. He chuckles, his seaglass eyes roving across your face. You narrow your brows at him.

"It is midnight now, yes," he confirms. "I just got back from riding with Deigh, and since the shower in my dorm is taken..." he explains, his piercing gaze trailing over your mouth and drifting lower. "...I opted to use the ones down here. In the boys, locker room, I might add." He smirks, his pupils widening as he unashamedly takes in the cleavage you still have pressed against him.

Your cheeks burn, the embarassment of the entire situation, and now you've only gotten in worse with this compromising position you're in-

"H-hey," you say, your breaths quickening as you realize he is still quite literally oogling you. His gaze flicks up, the cool blue of his irises now darkened with lust as he's gone completely quiet. "My eyes are up here."

He chuckles, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth as his hand gently reaches around the curtain, the pads of his fingertips connecting with the curve of your exposed waist. You suck in a sharp breath, the steam from the shower providing no warmth under his icy gaze.

Sure, you could admit you had thought about your handsome squadmate in... rather unsavory positions before. Would you ever act on those? Probably not. You were only ever cordial before this, anyway -- but the way he was practically devouring you with his eyes right now had you feeling the need to rub your thighs together.

"You think she's still in here?"

Whatever trance Liam had you in was severed the moment you heard that taunting voice, your eyes widening with the realization.

"Probably, she never came back out."

You grabbed Liam by the shoulder, tugging him into the running water with you -- curtain be damned. You slid it shut, concealing yourself from the approaching males. Turning to face him, you see his face etched in concern. You pull him close to whisper.

"I think Ridoc and Bodhi are in here," you explain, and Liam's lips press into a line. You brace your hands on your hips, anxious now that they'll come looking for you, watching as you went right into the wrong locker room.

You turn your back to Liam, your flushed cheeks indication that you are aware the both of you are still fully nude together... only now, you're in the shower together. No barriers, no curtains between you two.

He steps toward you, his fingers cupping under the curve of your ass as he pulls you back to him. You hiss quietly, turning your neck to look up at him. He's already leaning over to say something, his lips trailing along the column of your neck.

"They can... still see your feet, you know."

You look down. You hadn't even considered the few inches between curtain and floor -- they'd surely know it was you. Not many other males in the Riders quadrant had pink toenails with flowers painted on them.

Liam's hands snake around your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can instantly feel his length pressed against your ass, and as his fingers continue to trail across your dewy skin, he twitches against you.

"Fuck..." he groans, low and gutteral against your throat before placing a wet kiss against your skin. You can hear Bodhi and Ridoc poking around, their voices becoming ever so closer.

"L-Liam... please," you pant, his hands travelling up to cup your breasts in his palms. He pinches your nipples hard between his fingers, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle your cry.

"Liam, please, you have to h-help me," you plead, and he chuckles lowly in your ear. You hadn't realized that you had begun moving your ass against him, his cock now pressed more firmly against your bum.

"Oh, I'll help you," he offers, his hands grabbing your hips and turning you around to face him. His lips merely ghost over yours as he speaks, staring directly down into your wide eyes.

"But you're gonna help me too." His hands slide underneath your butt, gripping the flesh as he lifts you off of your feet. He pulls you against his chest and you wrap your legs around his waist, the feel of his erection strong against your throbbing core. He backs you up until you're pressed against the stone wall, one of his hands moving underneath you as his eyes bore into yours.

"There -- now no one can see you." He grins, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. The muscles of his shoulders flex, and you watch as his hand moves in time beneath you; realizing he is stroking himself below your entrance. The epiphany sends another wave of heat through you, and he leans in close as his tip prods at your entrance.

"Now, be a good girl for me and keep quiet?" He smirks, and you all but nod before he slowly pushes himself inside of you, each inch stretching your aching pussy deliciously.

"Mmmm," You squeeze your eyes shut, trying your best to stifle your moans as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt, only pulling out a few inches before roughly shoving back in.

Your eyes fly open, your mouth wide as you stare up at him. He simply smirks at you, one hand palming your ass and the other bracing against the stone wall. He continues fucking himself into you, slowly at first, drinking in every quiet whimper you let out for him.

"So tight," he rasps, his gaze focusing on your breasts pressed against him once more. You fight to keep any noises at bay, worried that Gods forbid another person pulls back the shower curtain-

"Ohhhh! Looks like Y/N came in here on purpose, huh!" Ridoc's taunting voice bellows, a blast of cool air flooding the warm shower as he yanks open the shower curtain. Your nipples harden at the sudden temperature change, only seeming to turn Liam on more. Ridoc chuckles at the scene before him, and you watch as your trainer approaches from behind.

"It's... it's not what it looks...like-"

"Oh, I think it's exactly. What it looks like." Bodhi cocks an eyebrow, glancing to Liam who has not let up on his relentless deepstroking. "Is this exactly what it looks like?"

Liam smirks, glancing between you and the two males watching the scene before them. "Oh, it is exactly what it looks like."

You gasp, looking up at him in disbelief. "Liam! What-"

"I've heard enough." Bodhi says, raising a hand in silence. He only sighs, his eyes raking over your naked form before him. Your cheeks heat as Liam adjusts his angle, his hand gripping the back of one of your knees as he drives into you harder. You can't help the moan the escapes; the sheer force at which he's fucking you is enough to make anyone wet at the sight of it.

"Thought she deserved something -- been a pretty good girl for me, anyway," Liam praises, and Ridoc rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well she was bein' a fuckin' brat during training today-"

You glare from your place on the wall, watching as his devilishly handsome lips tilted up in a smirk.

"Ridoc... I said... shut... up..." you pant. Bodhi leans against the stone wall, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he watches your breasts bounce with every thrust Liam gives you. "Ah... oh.. fuck, Liam I'm-"

Liam groans against the hollow of your throat, his cock twitching inside of you before shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy. The tether inside of you snaps, your warm release trickling out of you and running over the curves of your thighs. You're panting, still coming down from your high when Ridoc opens his mouth again.

"Why don't you shut me up then?" He says, his voice thick as he pushes his sweat shorts over his muscled thighs. Liam places you gently back on the ground, the aftershocks of your first orgasm finally wearing off as you saunter toward Ridoc. You shove the shower curtain aside; clearly, there was no concern for getting clean anytime soon.

Approaching the bench where your clothes lay, you push against his shoulders, watching as he yields to your touch. He lies flat on his back near the edge of the bench, his toned legs tapering off the end to where his feet plant flat on the floor.

He grins cheekily up at you, his eager hands guiding your waist as you swing your leg over his chest. He grips at your thighs, squeezing your skin as you position your leaking heat just above his awaiting mouth.

"This will do," You say, looking down at him and smirking. He groans, fingers pulling you to sit all the way down on his tongue. Immediately he gets to work, his lips exploring each and every inch of your throbbing core while his hands grip your ass, perched lightly on top of his chest.

"Ohhh... fuck," you moan, your fingers threading through his onyx locks as you begin to lightly rock your hips against his expert tongue. He licks up into you, illiciting more whines of pleasure from you as your fingers tug on his locks. He growls into your cunt, the sound sending another wave of pleasure through you that has one hand leaving his hair and playing with your nipple instead, imagining how good his mouth would feel there if this was any indication.

"Ridoc, yes, yes..." You chant, your eyes drifting toward the abandoned shower you had retreated from before. No longer is Bodhi leaned against the wall -- the space is empty, save for a few articles of clothing on the ground.

You let out a sharp gasp as your hair is suddenly yanked, forcing your chin up as dark brown eyes stare lustfully down at you. From the corner of your eye, you watch as a blonde head strides over, sitting on the bench a couple of feet away and leaning against the row of lockers.

"You don't seem so eager to get to bed now that your cunt's being eaten," Bodhi snarls, his gaze trazing over your face contorted in pleasure. You can't think of a witty a response, no comeback in mind -- especially as Ridoc moves below you, his nose prodding against your clit. You let out a breathhy gasp, your mouth hanging open and Bodhi only shakes his head at you.

"Mouth looks a little empty," he grits out, gripping your chin harshy before releasing you. He strides before you, his fingers tugging on his length before sitting in front of you on the bench. Your mouth practically waters at the sight; he's huge. He sees it too, as he scoffs at you.

"You wanna mouth off all night -- bend over and take it all then," he challenges. Ridoc's hand moves to grip his own length, moving in quick thrusts as you bend before him, lowering on your hands until his glistening tip is positioned just before your lips.

"Said you could handle a man yourself... handle me then," he looks at you darkly, and you glare at him, shoving his entire length down your throat in one thrust. You gag around him, his intimidating size measuring up. When you draw your head back, his hand threads through the mess of a ponytail you have left, roughly gripping the back of your head and forcing your mouth all the way back down on his cock.

"Fuck... so pretty, taking my dick all the way down that little throat," he groans. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the combined sensation with Ridoc's punishing tongue nearly pushing you over the edge almost too much. When Bodhi releases you again, you stick out your tongue, and he taps his length against it.

"Fucking hot," he mutters, watching you through half-lidded eyes. You dare a glance to your right, catching sight of Liam relaxed on the nearly bench, fisting his own cock at the sight of you getting both males off at once. His head is rolled back in pleasure, his eyes closed as he drags his fingers up, and down, and up...

You don't have time to warn Ridoc before your orgasm rolls through you, your thighs shaking beside his head. You glance up, surprised to see Bodhi panting heavily as you continue sucking him at a slow, punishing pace.

"Fuck... oh fuck-"

He plunges his cock deep, shooting his cum down your throat. You gag, the size stretching your throat around him as he whimpers before you with each twitch of his cock. You focus on swallowing every last drop; though a small part of you cheers in silent victory that you have Bodhi Durran whimpering for you.

✧･ﾟ: *

You're spent. You're absolutely spent; surely, you'd been in here hours now, the three males delighting in pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, and you doing the same for them.

Nonetheless, you still find yourself happily sitting atop Ridoc's lap, bouncing on his thick length in the early hours of the morning.

"Fuck, Y/N... just like that, bounce that ass on my dick, just like that," his arms are wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as you ride him, milking every last drop out of his delicious length. It was the only time, you'd admit, you liked hearing the sound of his voice.

"Tongue," Liam commands, and you open your mouth wide, letting your tongue fall out per his request. He grins, giving your head a little pat before tapping it with his silky-smooth dick.

"Good girl," he praises, slipping into your awaititng mouth with ease. Your eyes roll back, his tip hitting the back of your throat as Ridoc's thrusts were now brushing your cervix. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and he delighted in the way your strangled groans sounded right next to his ear.

It was the sharp slap on your right butt cheek that had your walls fluttering around Ridoc though, Bodhi's fingers lightly tugging on your hair again in silent control.

"You like being fucked, is that it, hm?" He asked, landing another slap against your skin. You cried out, Liam pulling his cock from you for only a moment to hear your pleasure-filled screams.

Another slap -- this time, you felt yourself on the edge.

"Fuck!" You sobbed, your fucked out expression staring at Liam with your rounded eyes. He sucked in a breath, his hand working his cock as he slipped his thumb into your mouth.

"Taking it so well..." he mumbled, his eyes closing only for a moment before sticky spurts of cum covered you, painting your chin and neck with the evidence. He sighed in pleasure, Ridoc slowing his relentless pounding before he pulled his dick from you, his cum shooting across your boobs and painting your skin in his seed.

"Fuck... I'm so close," Bodhi groaned, his hands hauling you off of his friend and bending you over the sink. Before you had a moment to adjust, he filled you with his length, his hips snapping against your ass harshly. His fingers gripped your throat, tilting your chin to gaze at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth dropped open, watching the attractive male behind you fuck himself into you mercilessly.

"This perfect fucking cunt," he grunted, his chocolate curls swaying with each thrust. "Watch how good you take it, baby," he ground out, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Your stomach tightened, your eyes rolling back as his dick rubbed against your sensitive spot.

"Bodhi... Bodhi, please, I'm cumming-" You squeaked, and with a few sharp thrusts, he came inside you, pulling out to watch hungrily as the white liquid dripped out of your raw cunt. You gripped the sink's edge, panting as the weight of the evening's activities took hold of you. Glancing to the shower, you sighed, chuckling at the thought.

"You still have time, if you want to actually clean up before class," Ridoc chuckles, pulling his shorts on from behind you. Liam yawns, stretching his arms wide as he glances at you through the mirror. Bodhi grabs your clothes, extending them to you. You take them with a shaky hand, chuckling softly and shaking your head. You could barely believe the direction the night had gone.

"Yeah... I think I may just skip class today."

✧･ﾟ: *

[thecranberriesslut]

Fawn and the wolf

Summary: You're the smallest one on the team, and you have the compulsive need to prove yourself to Ghost... but have you chewed off more than you can swallow?

Pairing: Simon!Ghost Riley x Fem!Reader 'Bambi'

Warnings: Unspecified age gap, but implied that it's large, Power imbalance (military superior and soldier), DubCon, Degradation, Forcefulness, Smut, Dirty themes, Dirty talk, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Unsafe use of a gun... Read at your own risk

Wc: 4k

Notes: I have never written cod smut before and I know nothing about military stuff so bare with me, also this is way darker than my previous pieces, just a heads up. I love your notes in the comments so tell me what you think! also note that Bambi is a nickname.

You stretch your arms, extending them in front of your chest, rolling your wrists around. The smell of coffee invades your every sense—on early mornings like these on base, the cheap coffee your superiors buy for the worn down common room is like your own personal brand of cocaine, the only thing that wakes you up after sleeping too little.

The physical aspects of military training are tough. They were almost a deal-breaker for you when you first came here... but over time, they had gotten easier. You had grown to enjoy the burn of a long run or the sting of a cold shower after extensive muscle training. After a while, feeling and seeing the results became almost addictive—but that didn't take away from the fact that most days, you were almost too tired to function. Most of the required workouts you were forced to endure were designed for men twice your size, and frankly, you found it a bit sexist. Why couldn't your superior adjust them to fit you better? It would take him a maximum of 20 minutes. You had come to the conclusion that he was a sadistic asshole who enjoyed torturing you every single day with insane workouts.

You hear the coffee drip slowly into the pot. You're too tired to fully open your eyes—even putting on gear this morning had felt like an impossible task. But here you were, awake (barely), in gear, and ready to start training in a couple of minutes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you have the huge coffee mug in your hands—burning hot, probably making the skin beneath it fiery red, but you are too exhausted to care.

You barely have time to swallow your first sip of the steaming, bitter, brown liquid when the door to the common room opens forcefully. Like instinct, you are up and alert—you can't show weakness here. You're already considered the runt of your entire team, being the youngest and also a woman. You turn around, ready to greet whoever it is with the alertness and determination of a starving fox during winter, hunting for the last rabbit left in the forest.

"Mornin', Bambi." Ghost said, his voice hoarse—but his manner alert and assertive, like always.

Bambi is your nickname on base, given to you by squadmates the first week you arrived. You liked to think it was because you were pretty like a fawn, but obviously, it was given to you for more degrading purposes. Everyone on your team thought of you as inexperienced, naive, and wide-eyed. But everyone had their own slightly degrading nickname, even your commander, Ghost. His real name was Simon Riley, but he was given the name Ghost because he stood out and had a tendency to move around quietly, like a ghost, not to mention his patent skull hood, a tactic to scare or to hide? No one knew.

"Good morning, sir," You said, trying to sound as awake as possible, waiting for the tension in the room to cool off before taking another careful sip of your coffee.

Ghost walks over to the coffee maker nonchalantly and pours himself a tall cup of coffee. You are surprised that he would even need caffeine—he's like a machine, inhuman—you've never seen him show any signs of weakness, and the manner in which he leads the team is brutal. He doesn't care if you're too tired to do push-ups; he will make you do them. Sometimes you consider the possibility that he just has no human emotions, or that he's a robot or something. Regardless of all this, you often find yourself with a compulsive need to make him happy. It's like you have to prove yourself to him constantly. You rarely complain to him about the difficult exercises he puts your team through, although you want to.

You've never been the kind of girl that just sits there quietly and lets everyone walk all over her. No—you’re the kind of girl who used to stand up for her friends in elementary school when the boys would pull their hair. You're the kind of girl that couldn't be mistaken for a doormat because you make your opinions known. If you weren't so fiery, you would never make it in the squad. Your squadmates are like brothers to you. You play rough—but when it comes to Ghost, you find that all your outward confidence just crumbles in his vicinity, and you become this pathetic rookie he can treat however he wants to. Although, you find that the same happens to most of the men on your team. Ghost is eerily calm; he radiates this quiet, overpowering energy, like a psychological horror film. And it makes everyone below him obey his commands like dogs. But it also makes you crave his approval. He never yells at you, but he never praises you either—it makes you almost obsessively try to get a reaction out of him with your good work on the exercises.

“We're doing the shooting range and combat alone today. Don't be late.”                                                                    And with that, he's out of the door, leaving behind nothing but an empty coffee mug and a slight lingering smell of smoky cologne.

As you stand anxiously at the metal door of the gun range, it's like your body is stopping you from going in. You can feel the harsh cargo pants rubbing against your legs in an annoying manner, and your shirt feels too tight around your armpits—also, the coffee you drank did nothing but replace your tiredness with urgent nervousness. You've never trained with Ghost alone, but last week you were sick, so this morning you had to wake up before the sun to play catch-up with him. You are a great shooter, it's in your blood… but you have a gnawing feeling that being so close to Ghost will mess with your aim, and you will disappoint him.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force your hand to go up to the door handle. As you push open the heavy door, the lighting inside the gun range is dim—you can barely make out Ghost's silhouette, standing near the guns. You step inside carefully, as if you need to be quiet. But the gun range was far from housing; it stood alone on the other side of the base, with only woods surrounding it—you're also pretty sure it's soundproof, but not entirely sure. The range smells like mold and gunpowder, it's oddly comforting.

“Are you just going to stand there or come in?”                                        Ghost says in a low voice, sounding indifferent—but nonetheless intimidating. You make your way inside and close the door behind you.

“Lock it.”                                                                                                            He commands, not even trying to phrase it as a question, just a blunt order. You feel a little confused as to why he would want you to lock the door, but alas, you twist the lock until it clicks, and walk over to Ghost wearily.

“No lights?”                                                                                                        You ask, trying to calm your nerves by talking, your hands finding the hem of your shirt and fidgeting with it.

“Burnt fuse. I expect you have no trouble shooting in the dark, rookie?”                  He says—it sounds like a snarky remark. You're annoyed at his tone. Obviously, you find it hard to shoot in the dark—but you can't tell him that. He'd paint you as weak and incapable.

“No problem.” You gear up, putting on hearing protectors and safety goggles. You take a gun, a simple, sleek Beretta 91, and you point it at the cardboard target ahead, waiting for Ghost to give you the okay to shoot. You are faced with silence. As you turn to look at Ghost, you see him standing next to you with a wide stance, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his black t-shirt tightening and showing off his muscles. He stares you down intensely.

“What are you doing wrong?” He asks, sounding annoyed, like you should know all this by now—although you haven't even trained shooting much.

“I—I don't know.” You hesitate, checking that the gun safety is off, your gear is on, and that you're facing the right way—you look at Ghost, confused.

“Your stance is all wrong, Bambi.” Without giving you a second to react, he moves behind you and guides your hands to the correct position. He kicks your legs farther apart and taps your thigh to signal you to move your foot slightly to the left. The gesture has nothing inherently sexual to it, but it makes a knot start to form in your lower stomach.

Ghost isn't a bad-looking man, or at least his body isn't—no one on your team has ever seen his face. He hides behind his signature skull balaclava daily, only revealing his dark brown eyes, and you presume he only takes it off to sleep and shower… if then. He has the type of body that any respectable captain would be expected to have—he's all muscle and mass. Not only that, but he's tall and broad, and if he was anyone else, you'd be trying to flirt with him every time you saw him… but even attempting to flirt with a higher-up is highly frowned upon here—you would both get fired. Also, it's not so difficult to push aside your feelings for someone who makes you train until failure every single day and rules your unit with an iron fist.

“Shoot.” Ghost orders, keeping his hold on your upper arms, directing the gun to hit the target right in the chest. He's standing so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off him—he towers over you, and being caged in his hold like this sort of makes you feel safe. The feeling doesn't last long when he removes his hands from yours and steps back, resuming his position as the judgy officer watching you train intently.

“Now try it by yourself. Less than seven points, and you get punished.” He says, his voice dark and determined. He looks at you through narrow eyes, and his stance remains official and intimidating. It's not even his worst request—last night, he punished your fellow teammate with 100 push-ups for laughing during training. If he made you do that many push-ups right now, you would probably collapse—you needed to get this.

With nervous, shaky hands, you point the barrel of the pistol the same way as last time, you gather all your courage, only able to think of one thing— one hundred push-ups, before sunrise. Or maybe he'll make you do something worse, 200 burpees… 150 pull-ups. You shake off the distracting thoughts and by some miracle, you pull the trigger-- the bullet hits the very corner of the cardboard target, and you visibly cringe at the sight. You got zero points… you curse yourself in your mind, how could you be this bad, now he's going to make you do so many push-ups. Slowly, you turn to look at Ghost— he doesn't look disappointed, his position remains calm and collected, and that's what scares you the most.

“Get on your knees.” He says, darkly, you think it's a joke at first, but his eyes remain serious. Your eyes widen as you try to process the words that just came out of his mouth.

“Now.” He adds, when you don't move. Maybe it's just your dirty mind… maybe he meant nothing crude with it, maybe it's a new form of punishment in your squad. So you put the gun down on the cold metal desk, and slowly, anxiously, you start to lower yourself onto your knees. Ghost remains cool, his gaze following yours, as you fall lower and lower, until your knees hit the ground. He takes a couple of steps closer to you, forcing you to be face to face with his crotch. He picks up the gun from the desk, and your mouth goes dry when you try to focus, to hear the safety click on, but it never does. He crouches down slightly, and brings the barrel to your chin, lifting your chin up, and straining your neck as you're forced to look up at him.

“Do you think I haven't noticed the way you look at me when I teach combat?” He asks, his voice remaining low and calm. You're shaking, with nervousness or anticipation— you're not entirely sure.

“I— ” You begin your sentence, but are quick to notice that no other words are coming out— you wonder what he'll do to you… he might send you home, or hurt you.

“I know all the others think you're this naive little Bambi, but I see through that— you're a fucking slut.” He puts emphasis on the word slut, and the contrast between his collected voice, and the crude words, makes the knot in your lower stomach tighten, and worsens the heat between your thighs.

“And you think I don't hear you in the common room, complaining to the others about my training methods—it's like you're begging to be put in your place.”

“I haven't sai-” You begin frantically explaining, but quickly stop as he hits the gun against your chin, a clear sign to remind you who's in control.

“I suggest you shut the fuck up.” He stares into your eyes with the intensity of a hungry wolf. You expect that sort of raw intensity from him, but you are never prepared for it. You can see the conflict in his mind, in his eyes—you can almost feel what he's thinking. Furthermore, you can sense the war going on in his head; you are fighting the exact same one in yours.

“You know—in war, the good people get eaten.” He starts, enigmatically.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what happens to the smart people?” He asks, almost expecting you to give the wrong answer, his demeanor remaining slightly degrading.

“They survive?” You ask, unsure of what he's trying to say.

“They go bad.”

You look at him, confused. His words sound almost apocalyptic. You're trying to figure out what he means by them… does he mean that he's gone bad? Maybe that you should go bad? What does going bad even mean?

“Which one are you, little Bambi?”

“Smart.”

“Wrong answer.” He throws the gun on the floor, the safety remaining off, but you have no time to think about gun safety right now— as he begins to forcefully unbuckle his black, leather belt, you can't help but feel all your senses heightened, intensely pumping through your body. You can feel the heat rising up your chest, over your throat, into your cheeks and ears, turning them undoubtably red. You can hear the broken clock on the wall tick sporadically, in a completely unorganized manner. The sound of his belt buckle flying open almost hurts your ears. You imagine this is what rabbits feel, in that small window of time, right before they get eaten, when they feel the fox's eyes on them, lurking somewhere in the dangerous night. You look up into his eyes, pleading with your gaze, but you are met with a look that could almost be mixed up with sympathy. He looks like a disappointed teacher, handing you a test with a failed grade, knowing that he's the one who failed you, but displays a fake, degrading sympathy in his eyes.

He takes his cock out of his black cargo pants, it looks almost intimidating. You can't see his mouth, but you swear he's smiling a sadistic smile under his mask. He wraps his big, warm hand, into your hair, where your occiput meets the back of your neck, and he pulls your head back— the motion stings, but it brings your attention to him, away from your thoughts. When he sees you've returned from inside your head, to the current moment, he pushes your head forward. Instinctively, you open your mouth, almost inviting him in— he stuffs his rock-hard cock into your mouth, with little regard for your feelings.

“See, you're too good for war, Bambi.” He remarks, his voice soft, you can feel the patronizing tone pierce through you and hit the warm spot between your legs like lighting. You try to answer him, but your mouth lets out a small, pathetic moan, as he pushes himself further into your throat, making your eyes tear up.

“A smart girl would've never come into a dark shooting range with a dangerous man. You're too good, and you're too dumb— that's why you get eaten alive.” His words remain condescending, degrading, but his voice keeps a calm, soft tone, which contrary to what you'd hope it would do, turns you on like nothing you've ever experienced before.

Finally, he pulls you off his cock. You gasp for air, confused as to why he would stop before he finished— but it gives you an eerie sensation that there's more to come. And while you wish you could hate this, while you wish you could call him an absolute creep and report him to someone… you were smart. You had come into this dark room with this dangerous man, with full awareness and a calculated plan. You saw how he looked at your pleading eyes when he made you train until failure. Furthermore, you saw the bulge in his pants when in late night combat sessions he got you under him, and you looked like a scared rabbit. When you started in his unit, a while ago— you gathered that the best way to survive, was to play into the naive role, in reality, you were exceptionally smart, top of your class. But they didn't need to know that. Every single time Ghost talked down on you, you felt like you had the control, you'd made the decision to act dumb, to get him to lose control ever so slightly, because he gave into his anger.

Much to your avail, he turns around, going to fetch something out of the gun range closet. Dumb move, because when he was turned away from you, you grabbed the gun off the floor, making a quick, uncalculated move. As he turns around, he sees you nowhere, despite being a tough military officer, he feels a slight eeriness about not seeing you… like in horror movies, when the innocent kid starts acting odd and eventually kills everyone. He stands still, looking around the pitch black room as best as he can, until he feels the cold nozzle of a pistol on his mid back. He turns to face you, with a blank expression, and you see the rope in his hands.

“The smart people go bad, no?” You smile a wicked grin, you have the control now… and you want him to know it.

“Drop the rope and get on the floor.”

You thought he'd resist, that he'd fight the gun off your hands— but he just lays down on the cold concrete, and supports his head on his hands, and smiles at you, a smile proposing a challenge. You keep the gun in your hand, as you make your way on top of him, straddling him.

“What's your big, smart plan now, Bambi?” He says, with an annoying amount of confidence painting his words.

You bend down on top of him, and push your lips against his, like you want to devour him. His lips feel surprisingly soft, and you can still taste the faint residue of coffee and cigarettes on his tongue. He doesn't fight for dominance, instead, he sort of submits to the kiss, letting you take the lead. You feel like you've won the game, until his hips come crashing into yours, his bulge pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your mouth opens and leaves his ever so slightly, and you don't notice the gun falling out of your hand. With the newly gained advantage, Ghost pushes his tongue into your mouth, starting the long overdue war for dominance. You try to fight it, trying to gain back the small amount of control you crave— but he turns you around with ease, until he has you on your back. He's straddling you with knees on both sides of you, and his hands holding your arms tightly on both sides of your head. You're trapped again.

He doesn't waste time taunting you, he's done playing the game. Hastily, his hands leave their bruising grip on your wrists and find the button of your pants. He moves quickly and removes your pants with a sense of urgency— you don't try to stop him, you leave your hands laying where he's been holding them, and you let him remove your pants, and then your underwear. His finger finds a spot very close to your most sensitive one, but it doesn't hit the spot you need it to. He continues this torture for a while, until he stops completely and looks at you.

“No attempts to stop this? No fighting?” He questions. You never took him for this clueless. You move your hand to his, and grab it, bringing his entire hand to your throbbing center, and forcing him to please you. With a breathy voice, you say.

“Just shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

He doesn't need another word from you, as he spreads your thighs open with force, and pushes himself into you— giving you no time to get used to his size. With no warning, he starts pumping into you relentlessly, keeping up a torturous pace you thought was only possible in porn. When you open your mouth slightly, to complain or to moan, you're not sure. He stops you, wrapping his veiny hand around your throat, in an attempt to show you who's actually in control. It only makes you wetter, you like having him so desperate for control, that he would choke his own soldier— you think it only makes him seem weaker. When he loses himself like this, it's you that gains the upper hand.

“You're never telling anyone about this.” He says, through desperate pants. His hand on your throat tightens ever so slightly.

“Wouldn't want you to get fired, perv.” You shoot him a snarky remark, trying to sound confident— but the whimpers in between every word make you sound more like a pathetic adolescent. His lips latch onto your neck, biting it so intensely, his sharp canine teeth pull a little blood. You love the contrast between pain and pleasure, and feel your orgasm building up. He can feel it too.

“Try to make a smart comment now, I dare you.” He bullies, and you try to say something smart, or just something, anything— but what comes out of your mouth is a deep guttural, animalistic moan, as your orgasm washes over you.

He begins to laugh in a low tone, in between groans, as he pulls out of you, and releases his cum onto your lower stomach. It would feel degrading and dehumanizing, if you weren't just fucked out of your mind. With a weak, breathy voice, you manage to say.

“I hate you.”

He laughs.

“Sure seems like it, Bambi.”