#but already sniper scope on him

[timethehobo]

I’m over 50+ drawings of Emmrich and it’s been 3 weeks since launch. Feeling crazy but I’m sure I’m not the only one.

[chibinasuu]

Date? | Zoro x Reader

Summary: Zoro asked you out on a date. (You thought it was just an errand run at the market)  Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, first date(?), GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n

a/n: happy birthday zoro!! this is not a birthday-centric fic, just wanted to write something fluffy for the birthday boy :)

You sat on one of the swings on the main deck of the Thousand Sunny, gently swaying as you waited for Zoro. As the minutes ticked by, you started impatiently glancing at the door to the boys’ room. 

It was taking Zoro unexpectedly long to get ready today when he usually only needed less than five minutes to throw on whatever non-wrinkled, semi-clean clothes he could find strewn around beneath his hammock. 

“Want to go to the market with me today? Just us two?” was what Zoro asked you this morning. Of course, you said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t unusual for you to accompany Zoro on errand runs whenever you docked at a new island – it seemed the crew had appointed you as his (un)official chaperone, tasked with ensuring the directionally challenged swordsman could find his way back to the ship at the end of the day. With that being said, you couldn’t say that you didn’t enjoy every single second you got to be alone with your green-haired crewmate.

The Sunny was currently docked at a small, but lively harbor town. Nami already scoped out the area this morning, and she reported that, thankfully, there were no marine bases here, so the crew could spend the next three days in peace while waiting for the log pose to set.

Some muffled bickering came from inside the boys’ room and you were straining your ears to hear what they were saying when the door suddenly swung open. Zoro was quickly shoved out of the room by a pair of hands you recognized as Usopp’s, and a telltale flash of blonde hair, before the door slammed shut, told you that the cook was also in on… whatever this was. 

You looked at the man in front of you, his green hair still slightly damp from a bath (he took a bath?) but combed neatly. He was wearing a black, slightly oversized, short-sleeved shirt – unbuttoned over a white tank top – paired with some light blue jeans. 

You could only gape in awe, genuinely taken aback at the sight of him actually dressing up for once, but at your silence, Zoro stiffened and did a one-eighty, reaching for the doorknob, “I’m gonna go change.”

You touched his arm lightly to stop him, “No, don’t.”

He turned to face you again, and you placed your hand on his shoulder as you admitted, “You look really great. It suits you.”

The tips of Zoro’s ears turned red at your compliment. A breeze suddenly picked up, bringing about faint traces of lemon and eucalyptus… Was he wearing cologne?

You couldn’t help but lean towards him, inching your nose closer to his neck to catch another whiff of the lovely aroma. As if reading your thoughts, Zoro said, “Usopp sprayed it on me before I could get away.”

Ah, so that’s why the scent was familiar. You’ve smelled it on the sniper a few times before, but on Zoro, the cologne smelled slightly different, tinged with a scent that was so uniquely him. 

“Well, you smell fantastic.” You reassured him. “Shall we go?”

The walk to the market was brief, with you and Zoro strolling side-by-side in companionable silence. As the hustle and bustle of the market came within sight, you nudged him and asked, “What did you need from the market, by the way?”

“I didn’t really need anything in particular,” He thought for a bit, “But I guess I’m running low on sword polish.”

After Zoro made a quick purchase at the arms shop, you two wandered around the market with no directions in mind, stopping at whichever stall caught your eye. 

An old lady sat behind one, carefully weaving a bracelet out of thin, colorful threads. Her table was filled with more of her creations, each of them with unique patterns and color combinations. You picked one that you thought was the prettiest, admiring the intricate details of the different shades of green mingling to create a mesmerizing design. You checked the price tag and put it back down. As much as you wanted it, you really needed to restrain yourself. You told yourself you didn’t need another accessory – not when you just purchased a pricey silver necklace at the last island. 

A few stalls down was a table laden with vials and bottles of all sizes, and you excitedly dragged Zoro by the sleeve towards it. 

“Welcome, welcome!” The owner of the kiosk greeted you, “We have fragrances of every kind here – even imported oils from Alabasta! Do you have any particular scent you prefer?”

“Oh, it’s not for me!” You smiled before jerking your thumb at your companion, “I want to find something for him.”

“Well, take a look around.” He gestured to the samples, “I’m sure we can find something suitable for your boyfriend.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks as you frantically waved your hand, while Zoro was similarly flustered.

“He’s not–”

“We’re not–, I mean–”

The two of you gave up explaining as the man profusely apologized for making inappropriate assumptions. After you assured him that it was fine, he began putting drops of the different fragrant oils on small pieces of paper and handed them to you. You sniffed each of them, bringing the ones you found interesting up to Zoro’s nose. All of the scents were alluring in their own ways, but one in particular stood out to you. It opened with a fresh burst of bergamot, layered with a spicy rush of cardamom and a hint of green tea. 

“How’s this?” You offered the paper to Zoro.

He took a cautious sniff, and his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. Zoro was never really into colognes or perfumes, but he was surprised at how much he actually liked the scent you picked for him.

He nodded and you beamed, turning towards the merchant, “We’ll take this one!”

As the man filled a vial with the fragrant oil, you reached into your pocket for some Berries, but Zoro’s hand on your wrist stopped you, “You don’t have to–“

“I know.” You cut him off, “But I want to.”

You grinned at him, “You can wear it the next time we hang out, so you don’t have to borrow Usopp’s.”

A smile slowly crept up Zoro’s lips, “Thanks.” 

The merchant was wrapping up the glass vial when Zoro tapped you on the shoulder, “Hey, I need to go to the restroom. Wait here for a minute.”

Before you could stop him, he was gone. 

Your heart dropped. If there was one rule to going anywhere with Zoro, it was to never let him out of your sight.

You quickly handed some coins to the merchant and began searching in the direction that Zoro went, standing on your tiptoes to look over the crowd in hopes of catching sight of that familiar green. You were just starting to descend into a panic when a hand suddenly grabbed yours. 

“I’m right here,” Zoro said softly into your ear.

You smacked him lightly on the chest, “Don’t run off like that again! You scared me!”

“Sorry,” He grinned, before shrugging and saying nonchalantly, “But you know what, I don’t know how but I could always find my way back if it’s to you.”

You wondered if he knew the effect he had on you.

Your grip on his hand tightened just a little bit. You knew he was just holding your hand so you wouldn’t lose each other in this crowded market, but you couldn’t prevent your pulse from quickening at the feeling of his strong hand in yours. It certainly didn’t help that he didn’t let go even after you left the market and the crowd behind you. 

You caught a glimpse of a massive flower field at the edge of town and tugged Zoro’s hand to grab his attention, “Nami heard that field’s a popular picnic spot for the locals. Sure looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Wanna check it out?” 

You looked at the field longingly before shaking your head, “It’s getting late, maybe tomorrow. We should probably head back to the ship for dinner soon.” 

“Actually,” Zoro said, “I was thinking we could try out one of those restaurants in town, if you’re up for it?”

You were surprised at Zoro’s suggestion – he was normally the type to return to the ship as early as possible and take a good, long nap after a day out – but you agreed to it nonetheless. When else would you get a chance to dine with your swordsman, just the two of you?

The restaurant Zoro took you to was a quaint place, but the food they served was beyond your expectations. Zoro was unusually talkative throughout dinner, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t adore this side of him. You two laughed and chatted through bites of steaks and sips of beer, and then dinner was over before you realized, far sooner than you would’ve liked. 

The walk back to the ship was also shorter than you remembered. As you walked beside Zoro, fingers brushing in featherlight touches, you had to resist the temptation of linking your fingers with his. The night was getting chillier and you would give anything to feel his warm hand in yours again, but you know you shouldn’t. This was just a friendly outing anyway – you wouldn’t want him to think that you got the wrong idea, or worse, what if he rejected your advances?

Zoro walked you all the way to the door of your quarters, “Did you have fun today?”

“I did.” You smiled up at him, “Best day I had in a while, to be honest.”

All of a sudden, Zoro took your wrist and slipped something onto it, “A return gift. For the perfume oil you bought me.” 

Your heart skipped a beat when you noticed that it was the green woven bracelet that you admired earlier. He must’ve gotten it when you were briefly separated at the market.  

“Oh, Zoro,” You leaped toward him, bringing your arms around his neck and enveloping him in a big hug, “Thank you!” 

Zoro’s arms tentatively wrapped around your waist and you melted into his embrace. You leaned back and brought your wrist with the bracelet to beside his head, giggling as you noted, “It matches your hair.” 

Zoro’s expression was unreadable as he gazed at you, and then, without warning, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. You froze at the sudden act, your smile dropping in shock. Your heart was pounding faster than ever, and your fingers unconsciously went to the spot where you could still feel the touch of his chapped lips.  

Zoro mistook your surprised reaction as rejection and immediately dropped his arms from your waist, stepping backward as he brought his palm to his forehead, “Sorry, fuck, I shouldn’t have taken that dumb cook’s advice.”

“Huh?” You voiced, still in a daze and not understanding a bit of what he was saying, “What advice? What’s Sanji got to do with this?”

He hesitated, before admitting in a small voice, “He said a kiss on the cheek would be okay for a first date. If it went well.”

“D-date?” You asked in confusion, “Are you telling me today was a date?”

Zoro ran his hand through his hair in frustration, “Well, what the hell did you think it was then?”

“I thought it was just one of our usual errand runs!” You stammered out, before jabbing your pointer finger on his chest accusingly, “You didn’t say it was a date!”

After belatedly realizing that he, in fact, did not, Zoro flushed and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Uh, I did say it would only be the two of us?”

You blinked, still processing his words and this absurd miscommunication.

“You know what, forget it.” Zoro's face was bright red as he began walking away from you in the direction of the crow’s nest, “Good night.”

“No, wait. Zoro.” You caught him by his hand, before placing yourself in front of him. “It was a really nice day.”

He refused to look at you, but you placed your hand on his chin, guiding his eyes to yours, “But if you wanted to ask me on a date, maybe you could’ve been a little more… explicit?”

You laughed in embarrassment as you gestured at your casual t-shirt and shorts, “Gosh, look at me! I would’ve dressed up better!”

“You look great no matter what you wear.”

You flushed at his sincere compliment, before taking his hands in each of yours, “I’d love to go on a date with you again, you know.”

You squeezed his hands, “Preferably one where I knew it was a date?”

He was silent for a few seconds, before muttering, “Tomorrow then.” 

“Tomorrow what, Zoro?” You teased, “Use your words.”

Zoro took a deep breath, looking you right in the eyes, “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow? We can have a picnic at the flower fields. You wanted to go there, right?”

“It’s a date.” You smiled, before giving him a peck on the cheek, “Good night, Zoro. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You entered your room, quickly shutting the door as your legs gave out under you. You sat stunned on the floor, hand on your chest to dampen the drumming of your heart, cheeks hurting from the wide grin you were sporting.

You knew you probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight, too filled with excitement for what tomorrow would bring.  

[diejager]

bro make a fanfic about the reader and the ghost/konig WHEN THE READER WAS SHOT IN THE BUN ON THE MISSION AHAHAHHHAH LMAO (in the military helicopter when they were supposed to return, the reader was holding her butt, moaning, writhing in pain and trying to hide the pain)

That is a funny thought…

Shots Cw: gun violence, bb shots, tell me if I missed any.

You yelped when you were hit is the ass, flinching forward and raising your arm just as you turned to glare at whoever landed the shot. Your right cheek exploded in soreness, tingling from the sharp pain of a BB shot.

“Hit!” You called it, letting your rifle hang from your shoulder as you rubbed your right cheek, grumbling about the bastard, “On my fucking ass of all places.”

You walk towards the respawn with your arm up, still cussing out whoever shot you in the ass. You had a hunch about the shooter: Soap, who else had enough courage to shoot you in the ass. You doubted Gaz did it, he might’ve been tempted, but he preferred other type of pranks, more mischievous ones like tampering with the washer or drinks, harmless but hilarious. Soap, however, rarely knew the limit, going as far as stealing and hiding your stuff, tapping you in the ass or messing up your head while he cackled away, speeding off to Ghost or Price to escape your wrath.

You reasoned that this was a staged scenario, a small group activity Laswell came up with that landed your Task Force somewhere in France for game of airsoft, a Free for all in the reserved location. No one had complained, thinking it a good activity mixing fun, training and awareness —everyone agreed to it enthusiastically once Ghost had voiced his grumpy acceptance, seeing this as a moment to be able to training without the prying eyes of others or the presence of strangers. Once you reached the spawn point, your jump back in to land a few shots at Soap to see whether or not he liked getting his ass bruised by a BB. You walked off determined, mind narrowed down to a single goal, your retaliation—

Until you yipped a second time, a pellet bouncing off your second cheek. You whipped around, yelling as your eyes scoured the tree line and the openings in the buildings behind you, the windows, the roof and behind pillars. You couldn’t find Soap anywhere, he wasn’t hiding behind the trees or in the buildings, but you did catch the glint of a scope —a familiar sniper scope.

“Ghost, you son of a bitch!” You screamed in outrage, feeling how both cheeks throbbed with pain. You bared your teeth, hissing at your Lieutenant who seemed smug and comfortable in his high perch on the roof of the building, “Why’d you do that?! I was already out!”

”Big target, luv,” his amused voice cracked in your comm, the low rumble of sadistic pleasure ringing out in your headgear. He cocked his scope, his white mask standing starkly in his dark gear and broad figure, “Impossible to miss. Quit moaning.”

“Big target? Are you-!” Huffing at his continued laughter, you glared his way before you turned to hurry back to the respawn, “Let’s see who’s laughing later, you ass.”

“Fuck- Hit!”

Your shoulders shook with restrained laughter, admiring the way Ghost jumped from your perch, hidden in the darkness given by the cement wall. You listened to him hiss and swear, massaging the place you aimed for: the pronounced curve of his ass, his jeans rarely doing him the pleasure of hiding what he had.

“Quit moaning, Ghost,” you cackled as you parroted his words, telling him the same thing as he told you, but you had more to add, more to taunt and tease him as revenge, “Couldn’t miss it, Lt, it was a big fucking target.”

You watched him stomp off, retreating to the tree line for his spawn point. It filled with a sense of elation and ugly smugness, and all that was left now, was to find Soap.

“Steamin’ Jesus!” Johnny’s yelp felt more exciting than Ghost, something you could devour over and ove without regret.

“Not so fun, is it, Johnny?” You smirked, replying with a gleeful tone.

He looked red-faced, the tip of his ears turning a bright shade of red from the way you spoke to him, utilising his known weakness and playing him to watch him stutter and flush brightly.

“Awa’ a bile yer heid! That hurt, lass!” His voice had taken a whinier tone, face screwed in embarrassment and something that you couldn’t put your finger on at this distance.

“I know, shouldn’t have shot me in the ass then.”

Gaz tapped you on the shoulder, a smile threatening to break into chuckles. He’d known what happened to you and knew what you did in retaliation, finding amusement after siding with you, sitting beside you and peering at two frowning and mumbling men.

“Heard you had a lot of fun.”

“Not enough.”

You thought you heard Price sigh tiredly.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

31 / 1.7k / soap soulmate au, part 8

...

Peering down into the building from the adjacent rooftop, Soap sees you--his soulmate--through his sniper's scope. You. Here. On the wrong goddamn team again.

He mutters a curse into his radio.

You’re standing guard at your client’s back—a man who coasts under the radar as far as his criminal reputation is concerned, but a smuggler effective and dangerous enough to put him on the CIA’s hitlist. He’s hidden from view. Probably been told to stay away from windows for the night. You're obviously working security, outfitted to the nines as you would be on any job, rifle in hands, scanning the foyer for threats. You're unaware of 141’s snipers setting up on the rooftops outside.

Soap’s eyes darken. He doesn’t deal with internal conflict when he’s working. When things get complicated, he uncomplicates them. Right now, there are three thoughts in his head: 

One--he misses you.

Two--you blew him off to work for this scum.

And three--he needs to get his feet on the ground right now. You'll be lucky if all you get is an earful once he gets his hands on you.

He switches on his radio. "Got eyes on the target. LT, you in position yet?"

"Affirmative. In position," Ghost says, his voice gravelly and cold over the radio from his position on a neighboring rooftop. "Waiting on the signal."

Soap stares you down through his scope. His leather gloves creak and tighten around the handle of his rifle. It pisses him off how easy it would be to take the shot. If he were anyone else, you would be dead in moments. 

On the other hand, he could kill your client--your protectee--here and now. To hell with the mission parameters. It would be easy.

He sighs, flipping on his radio again. "Permission to infiltrate, Captain? Spotted a friendly inside."

Gaz's voice crackles over the radio instead. "Friendly this time, is she?" His tone makes it clear he’s spotted you too.

"Don't be jealous, Garrick."

"Positively green with envy, mate," Gaz replies, dry and sarcastic. "Too bad she’s not friendlier. Be helpful if you could actually get her to talk this time. Not to mention the other stunt you pulled."

Soap smirks and adjusts his scope to keep you in his sights. "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

Gaz scoffs. "Plausible deniability is for paperwork."

"Aye. Maybe I’ll mention in my next report who tipped me off about her bein' our hostage, too."

There's a beat of static. "Got nothing to say about that."

Then Laswell's voice cuts in. "Kyle has a point. The building is locked down tight and it’s gonna be hard to get a clean shot. If she's with our target's security detail, that’s our ticket inside."

"And if she's not willing to help us out?" Price asks.

"Depends on how persuasive Soap is willing to be."

"I might've picked up a technique or two last time,” Soap says.

The radio crackles as Price takes in a deep breath and sighs it out through his nose. Somehow, he makes it sound stern.

"Intel is intel," Ghost says.

“Failing that, bribery’s always a solid bet for a merc,” Gaz adds. “If they don’t shoot you on sight.”

"Right, then," Price says. "Soap, regroup with Ghost. Prepare to infiltrate. Gaz and I will take overwatch. Ghost, keep on comms. We'll find you the main breaker switch. Soap, I need you to keep things quiet, you hear me? Mission objective is priority. Do not, under any circumstances, be seen."

Soap's blood is already pumping hot. He’s never loved overwatch. He’d rather be close to the action--get his feet on the ground. Get his hands on you. "Copy, Captain. Ghost, I'm aimin' for the north corner. Meet me in five."

…

You mill about at your post, feeling twitchy and unsatisfied. This job is, on first glance, the same as any. Your PMC hired you and a few other mercs out to act as bodyguards for a man with more money than morals, if the size and clientele of this gathering is anything to go by. 

You shift your weight, scanning the overdressed crowd for threats. You wouldn’t hate it if this party were cancelled early.

"Stand up straight," your teammate snaps. "You're working. Act like it."

You scowl, but say nothing.

"Don't make that face at me," he says, bite in his tone. Horangi. Like he’s so patient. He's on just as short a leash as you, and it's pissing him off just as much. The difference is he has the seniority to take it out on you. 

"I don't know how you do this without feeling like a caged animal," you mutter.

His eyes follow a woman in a tight red dress as she passes by. Obviously, he knows what he'd rather be doing.

"A cage with a paycheck," he replies. "Some things you learn to tolerate."

You scan the room again. Your protectee is still here. That's good. You're hoping he takes his sweet time before he goes downstairs to start the so-called afterparty. 

You glance at Horangi again. "You know where the cargo is? Downstairs?"

"Last I heard. I got the east wing of this floor," he says. If the idea of that cargo is bothering him, he hides it well. He’s a good merc and he does what he’s told, like it or not.

You were a good merc, too, up until three weeks ago. Worrying about what rich idiots get up to isn't what you should be doing. You're supposed to keep the client happy. It's not your fault he can’t party without doing illegal shit.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to check on it."

Horangi’s eyes narrow, flicking to you. "No, you’re not. Stay put."

"Fine. I'm going to the bathroom, then."

"Fine," Horangi snaps. "Go to the bathroom, and make sure you come right back. And don’t talk to anybody."

You walk away, rifle in hand, making your way into the back hall. You pass into the dim sconce light and swear you see something through the enormous glass windows as you walk by them. But there’s nothing there.

The lights flicker once. A beat. Just long enough for you to notice before they even out again. 

You pause at a flicker of movement near the side door up ahead. You have a split second to wonder why there’d be nobody securing the side door before the lights go out.

When you turn and head back for the foyer, you stop short. Down the hall, where you just came from, looms a familiar shape. The white skull on his mask pops out of the shadows. 

You don't make it back to the foyer.

Before you have a chance to react, your body armor is yanked hard from the back. You're pulled backward into an adjacent room and shoved hard against the wall. You expect the bite of steel against your neck or your temple, but it never comes. 

“Quiet, now."

You register Soap's familiar accent before your eyes adjust to the dark. "Johnny?"

"That’s right," he says. He's still got that way of speaking that's almost a purr when he's being quiet.

It suddenly feels like a long time since you’ve felt the heat of his body, pinned tight between him and the wall the way you are. He’s coiled tight, all lithe muscle and restrained strength. His eyes glitter with that wild, predatory look. It’s decidedly dangerous and tantalizing.

"I missed you, darlin'. You're gonna make this simple, aye? I know you can," he says.

You swallow the immediate urge to comply. Holy hell, you forgot what that feels like. "You need to stop greeting me like this," you hiss.

"I'd love nothin' more than to greet you in a different way, but you've got to start makin'  smarter decisions first." He leans all the way in and presses his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, nuzzling you in his full tactical gear. 

You muffle a sigh. He makes a quiet, content sound. 

"Besides, I kinda like this way of greetin’ ya. You make this little noise."

The radio on his neck echoes to life. You hear a tinny voice come through, saying something about an objective.

His eyes shut tight as he listens, one hand pressed firmly against the wall beside you. He doesn't back away yet. He's been dreaming of this for too long--laying his head on you and letting the sound of your heartbeat drown out everything else. It just can't fucking happen yet.

You feel, rather than hear, his low, annoyed grumble as he replies. "No, I copy. Just keep your bloody heads on."

You concentrate, trying to make out the voices of his teammates. It sounds like Ghost's voice.

Soap groans, his fingers flexing and gloves squeaking against the wallpaper. “I’ll be there in a minute, LT.”

You shift slightly. "Why are you here?"

A muscle twitches in Soap's jaw, and he pulls back so he can look you in the eye. "Should be askin' you the same thing. You’re on guard detail for a bloody criminal."

"It's a complicated situation."

"Then uncomplicate it."

You open your mouth to reply, but Soap's radio crackles back to life. This time, you can make out the words.

"Target located." Ghost's voice.

"Attaboy." Price. "Get him isolated. Third floor, east windows."

“Won’t be that easy,” Ghost replies. “He’s surrounded by civilians. Security’s thick.”

You tense even as Soap begins to relax. You fist your hand in the collar of his tactical vest, trying not to sound frantic. "Do not kill him. Johnny, listen to me."

Soap's expression turns grim, and he looks down at your fingers. Then he reaches up to cover your hand with his. "I know he's your client, but there's a reason we're here. He smuggles weapons. Big weapons, and not to anyone friendly. Just take it easy and let us clean up."

"No, listen," you snap, pulling him a millimeter closer. "He has the cargo here. It's not weapons. It's people."

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / [part 8] / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[lovifie]

An Offer You Won't Refuse

Bottom Price x Top Gaz | Smut - 2.543 words (Back to Masterlist)

CW: handjob, meanish Price, blowjob, rimming, anal sex and a kiss on the lips hehehe

Price knew how important it was to have the team at its peak condition, and to do so; he knew it was important to boost the morale of the team and help with… pent-up energy.

Especially when they would find themselves tucked in a safe house, keeping guard to make sure no enemy could sneak up on them. Which usually required one of them to remain stuck to a window with a sniper, keeping an eye out for any approaching vehicle.

Simon was an expert at it, the man was able to stay in position for days if required. No need for breaks, no reduction of attention while doing the job, the sniper gun one more limb of his body.

Price was second to it, the years of experience making it easier as times passed, but as his responsibilities grew so did his number of distractions, making him lose his focus more easily. 

Soap had his own approach to sniper duty, while usually the soldier would stay lying down with the sight on the scope, the scotsman usually remained seated using his own eyes to look out; swiftly moving down to the gun the second he saw anything. 

Gaz struggles the most with the sniper position. Too restless, constantly switching positions, unable to stay still for too long. The captain finds it endearing how the sergeant would try his very best to stay still, futile attempt after futile attempt. 

He knew it was a tic-tac bomb when he was looking out the window, still; he always loved to sit behind the sergeant. Seeing how he tried to concealedly rub his growing erection against the ground looking for some kind of friction. Cute. 

The four men were used to spending months together, within the same walls more of the time or cramped inside a minuscule tent. More than once have they need to turn a blind eye to something that was obviously happening under the covers.

And just as many times have they ignored when two of them have suddenly decided to take the first turn to take guard. Whatever keeps their mind focused on the important task. 

So when the young sergeant seems more focused on fucking the floor than keeping an eye out, Price is quick to call him out. 

“Focus, Garrick.” His deep voice travelling to the man, the vibrations of his voice running almost through the ground to his dick. 

“Shit, Cap’tain, can you… He groans, obviously aware he has just been caught red-handed. “Can you get in for a sec? Need to wee.” 

“Don't lie to your captain, Kyle.” Price says, pushing himself from the wall he was leaning on to walk to the sergeant. He can hear Kyle groan, defeated. Price stands next to him, looking down at him and he notices how Gaz’s hips are elevated from the ground. 

An evil smile appearing on Price’s face before he set his boot on top of the sergeant’s ass pushing his hips down making him hiss. It makes Price chuckle, slightly rolling his boot over the younger man’s body to create more friction between him and the ground. 

He notices Gaz’s hands shake on the gun and he removes his boot from his body, instead lying down next to him, looking up. He turns his head to look at the sergeant, smile still on his face. “So… wanna try that again?”

Kyle’s eyes furrow, not understanding the captain's question. “So-sorry, sir?” He asks, side-eyeing him for a second before looking forward again; he knows he is already in trouble, he doesn't need to make it worse.

And although Price likes to pride himself on his self-control and ability to keep his instincts and needs out of his mind; he too, has fallen for the sergeant’s charm. For his full lips, honey-coloured eyes and perfect smile. The fact that the sergeant also has the best ass he has seen in his life is just a bonus.

That's why only Gaz is surprised when Price moves his hand between the sergeant’s chest and the ground. Slowly but swiftly moving down.

“It's important to focus on the job, Kyle. You can't be distracted with external things.” Price says, looking at the sergeant's face, seeing his slightly opened mouth. 

“I know, sir.” Kyle says, eyes focused on the scope, trying his best to ignore the wide hand moving down his body. 

“Better to take care of… the distractions, right?” Price asks him, his fingertips resting over the buckle, teasing him.

“Affirmative, Sir.” Kyle answers, fighting every urge to take his clothes off himself. 

Price takes a long time to answer, wanting to make the man wait. “This is a really important mission, Sergeant.”

“I know, sir.” He answers, repeating his words. He moves his weight to his side, urging the man to move without talking.

“There is a lot at risk.” Price continues, after a long pause again. His hand still resting on the buckle, not giving Kyle the pleasure he so badly wants. 

“Sir, please.” Kyle says, sighing when he no longer can see when all of his senses are on the feeling of his captain's hand so close to his groin. “I can't focus like this… please.”

Price chuckles beside him, his eyes catching how his lower lip trembles, pupils dilating every time his hand twitches. The Sergeant still hasn't looked at the Captain once, so well-behaved that even Price is impressed. 

That's why he pities him, getting his belt and pants undone so he can finally free his hardening dick.

The feeling of the captain's calloused hand around his length it's what finally makes Kyle close his eyes, sighing at the satisfaction of finally getting the desired friction.

Price smiles, enjoying the little game that he has created. He was already aware of the power he had over the sergeant, blind trust and obedience in him; but still, it was a different feeling from seeing the man buck his hips against his fist. 

His hand is dry, not even having bothered to spit in it; but Kyle doesn't seem to mind the burn of the dry skin against his most sensible member. His head falls down, biting his lips to keep himself from moaning, but his hips still move in a disordered rhythm, as if his mind was telling him not to do it but his body was moving against his will.

“Eyes on the objective, sergeant.” Price orders, smile still plastered on his face when he sees Kyle whip his head back up, eyes on the scope and in the search for any possible threat. 

But Price's hand still moves along his shaft, tugging at it on his way down, making the sergeant move his hips along. It's Price the one that manages to get Kyle's hips into the rhythm, making him move them up when he moves his hand down and vice versa, his fist meeting his pubic bone when Kyle thrust forward. 

Such delicious sounds and cries fell from Kyle’s mouth, urging the Captain to give him more, make him cry louder, thrust harder, make him unable to hold the gun. But it is his fault for choosing such a great soldier, because from his chest up, the sergeant is focused on outside of the building. 

So Price changes his strategy, instead of working along with Kyle, he makes him work for it. He stops moving his hand, keeping it within reach but barely past the middle of the sergeant's thick length. It makes the sergeant thrust lower, his exposed tip rubbing the hard floor making him hiss. “Cap’tain…”

Price looks down, to where the angry tip of the sergeant keeps hitting the ground, the pleasure from his hand enough to make the pain worth it. But he pities him, moving his hand lower and engulfing the sergeant tip on his fist.

“Fuck, harder, please…” The sergeant whisper, his hands twitching on his hold of the gun almost wanting to move it lower along with his captain’s to fuck his fist the way he wants. 

“Don't tell me how to wank you off, Garrick.” Price chuckles with an eyebrow raised, closing his fist just a tad harder than what Kyle wanted making him groan as his hips buckle.

“Sorry, sir.” He moans the apology. It was a delicious torture, the touch of his captain borderline painful but still making him unable to hold still, the gun that was resting on the floor still weighed a ton with the way he tried to keep his hands from slipping from it. 

He just wants so badly to grab both of Price’s hands, making them cup his lengthy dick and fuck them, his angry tip poking through them with each thrust; spitting on them just to hear the squelching sound of his saliva between his captain fingers. 

Instead, he can only shallowly thrust into his hand to prevent himself from peeling the skin of his dick against the floor, trying his best to keep himself from whining at the lack of more friction. But still, the barely there feeling of his captain's hands has him losing control of his lower body. 

Price’s eyes are stuck on his ass, on how his asscheeks clench whenever he thrust forward, the sergeant's dick twitching on his hand with his approaching orgasm. He looks at the sergeant’s face, smiling when he notices he has once again let his head fall down. Eyes closed and moans sliping easily off his open mouth, and he decides to make him an offer.

"C'mon, sergeant... I thought you were pent up and that's why you wanted to change positions… I offer you something... If we kill this motherfucker before the week is over... I'll let you fuck the real thing."

And it is that what throws Kyle over the edge, splattering his seed over his captain's hand and onto the floor. He grunts as he does, his captain’s name spilling from his mouth in barely a whisper. 

Price wipes his hand on the floor, propping himself on his elbow to pat the sergeant's butt. “That’s a good boy, you can relax now, sergeant. Ghost has been on the top floor for half an hour now with the sniper.”

Price still thought it has been hilarious to tease the sergeant like that, both with making him look out the window during the whole ordeal and with the way he took advantage of the neediness of him to give him the half-assed handjob he gave him. 

What he didn't think was so funny, was when Thursday afternoon hit and the head of the organisation they were following got the top of his head blown off and Kyle turned to Price, who had almost forgotten about his offer and said: “My room or yours, sir?”

He still found it slightly comical, the way the sergeant was so eager to close the door, locking it, when he entered his room. Because the last thing Price was expecting from the sergeant was the way he ended up blowing his back. 

It all started with the sergeant urging him to take off his clothes, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. The sergeant's hands were roaming his body like it was his possessions, and when his mouth entered the equation, Price didn't really mind. 

He felt bad when he felt himself slide down Kyle’s throat, feeling mean for the excuse of a handjob the man had received in comparison. But then Kyle's mouth moved lower, licking his heavy balls like it was a delicatessen, and it was when he felt the sergeant's tongue probe at his ring of muscle that had him throwing his head back. 

The sergeant had him in the most committed position he had ever found himself in; both metaphorically and literally. Because with him laying on his back, with his legs clutched to his chest, his sergeant tongue deep into his ass and his hand fisting his length, he has never had more gratitude to the lock of the door. 

Price can feel himself clench, his orgasm surprising even himself, wanting to hold the sergeant's head to push him impossibly closer to his body. But before he can, Kyle pulls back, licking his lips and orders the captain. “Turn around, sir.”

Never did he think he would see the hungry and lustful expression on his sergeant's face, intimidating and promising enough to make him roll over easily. The sergeant behind him tugs his own length, slapping it between his captain's hairy cheeks making himself groan. 

He uses his hand resting on his captain's cheek to spread him, giving him free access to his spit-covered hole before letting his tip catch on it. Not pushing yet, but he bends forward, coming to rest his head on the captain's shoulder. “C’mon, Cap’tain, eyes on the objective, yeah?”

Price turns his head to look at him, confused with what the sergeant means, but it's the smile on his face when his tip finally enters and makes Price’s mouth open at the intrusion that he understands that the sergeant only wanted to see his reaction. 

Kyle chuckles behind him. “What’s there to lose, right?” He says, before kissing his captain on his lips, moaning into each other's mouth when Kyle slowly pushes forward. The both of them feeling more coy because of the intimate kiss than for what is happening below waist level. 

The sergeant only waits until Price has gotten used to his girth before he starts to snap his hips, pushing in and out with ease and picking up the pace. His hands find the waist of his captain, using it as leverage to stand kneeling behind the captain. 

Price's body is flat against the mattress, his dick chafing against the sheets, but with the way Kyle holds his waist, pulling him back to meet every snap of his hips, the only thing that he can do is moan the younger man's name. 

Although he is aware of Kyle’s stamina, it still surprises him when the man doesn't seem to be able to tire himself out. The speed, depth and constant stimuli to Price’s prostate have him babbling nonsense, having come undone more than once at this point, his dick not even able to get hard anymore and spilling out onto the puddle of cum between his flaccid dick and the mattress. 

He can feel the bruises forming under his sergeant's fingertips, but he can only grab the pillows, face buried into the mattress as he moans loudly and shamelessly at his sergeant’s mistreatment. It's after he comes after who knows how many times, that he hears the sergeant grunt, his thrust becoming sloppy and irregular, and after what feels like hours he feels him spill deep inside of him. 

He can barely keep his eyes open enough time to see the sergeant pull out, laying next to him; only for him to slap the captain’s ass hard, making him hiss and saying: “That's a good boy, Cap’tain.”

And because Price is a good captain, and he perfectly knows how important it is to keep his soldiers happy and with the morale high, he knows too that he would definitely make the same offer to the sergeant in the future.

[yawnderu]

Longing — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Im crying. Ghost is easily the most beautiful character to write about, this man deserves the world I just want to hold him :/

I want to love you. I help you recover when you're wounded, I sit next to you during briefings, I watch over you during missions. What do you want? A love poem? I don't know how to write those, but here, I found a knife you may like.

Simon carefully looked at you through the scope of his sniper rifle, making sure no enemies were near you. Whenever he took overwatch, his focus was mainly you. He watched as you took down enemies with ease, basking in the sight of your bloodied yet focused face, helping you take down enemies that could have given you any issues until you were out of his sight.

"Target down." Your voice was music to his ears, breaking him away from his trance as his hand reached for his radio. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying his best to hide the longing in his tone.

"Good job." But oh, you knew. You knew from the moment you looked into his eyes, from the way he always seemed to be next to you no matter what, from the way he always made sure to watch over you, from the way his tone softened when talking to you, from the way he put his hand on corners you may bump into; yet how do you tell a man this broken you love him no matter how shattered his soul is? How do you go about introducing him to your friends? Do you just say "hi, this is my boyfriend, he's a little rough around the edges but I see God when I look into his eyes"?

"Rendezvous at the helipad." Was his only indication, though it lacked the usual bite his words carried. Loving you was a low-grade ache, yet he still craved your love. He always felt undeserving of nice things, undeserving of life, completely unaware that the world owed him after everything that happened to him, yet his only interest was you.

Intimacy scares me, but I can make you a cool mask. As he walked, he remembered the time he "lost" a bet with you, his punishment was to make you a matching balaclava. He acted annoyed at it, as if it was an inconvenience, as if he didn't spend twice as much as he spent making his own mask just to make sure every single detail on the balaclava was perfect. Completely alone in the middle of nowhere, he allowed himself to snicker softly, remembering your surprised face when you saw the carefully crafted mask. The way you treated it with so much care as if it was made of glass, the way you put it on and looked just as beautiful as ever.

"Ghost?" Your voice broke him out of it, not even realizing he was already at the helipad. He nodded his head once he saw you, gaze drifting around before he walked past you.

"Simon. Call me Simon."

[rileyslibrary]

“A barista?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “I used to pretend play with my parents.”

He looks at you with one raised eyebrow. Confused. He surely knows what pretend play is; it can’t be.

“Y’know, taking their orders, then pretending to be making coffee and serving them.” You elaborate.

“Ah.” He nods.

The question was, “what did you want to be when you were young?”. You asked him, but he diverted the question back to you. He said he had to take watch while you two were sitting on the roof, waiting for the target to appear.

“What about you, Ghost?” You ask.

“Don’t know, kid,” he says as he looks through the sniper scope, “can’t remember much from my childhood.”

Of course, he doesn’t. Trauma does this to you. It doesn’t erase memories, but it suppresses them. Like you’re throwing piles upon piles of clothes in a closet. Only to find that its doors won't close one day and all the dirty, unorganised garments would come crashing down on you.

“Alright,” you say, “what would you like to do for a living if you weren’t doing this, then?”

He shifts from the scope and stares at the horizon. He’s thinking. Like nobody has asked him before. That or he never planned for the future. That’s what this job does to you.

He tilts his head back to the scope. “Open a pub.” He finally replies.

“Didn’t you role-play something like that with your parents?” You ask.

You know you’re approaching a dangerous territory in that brain of his, full of mines that they’d be best left untouched. But talking about you past is a good thing, especially when you’re with Ghost. You’re sorting out your mental closets together, cleaning them out and organising your thoughts like folding clothes on Spring cleaning day.

“My father was already a drunkard, darling,” he explains, “didn’t need my help with role-playing pub with me.”

You shrug. “Would you like to take my order as a practice?”

“Go on.” He says in a low tone.

“A glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please.”

“Sorry, love, we don’t sell shit like this here.”

“Ghost!” You laugh, “you can't talk to your customers like that.”

He huffs, but he’s enjoying it. He brings his hand towards you, his fingers pinching on a stem of an imaginary wine glass. “There you go.” He says, still focused on the scope. You touch his hand so he can sense that you’ve accepted the glass and thank him.

“Maybe we can combine the two ideas,” you contemplate, “a coffee shop by day and a pub by night.”

He lets a light chuckle. “We’ll need a license for the pub,” he explains, “sort of a pain in the ass to acquire it.”

“So you’ve looked into it, I see.”

“A couple of times,” he admits, “can’t live like this forever now, can you?”

You sigh and nod in agreement. “I’d visit your pub, Ghost.”

“Sure, as long as you pay for your drinks.”

“Of course, I will.”

“You sure?” He asks, “cause you didn’t pay me for that wine.” And extends his hand towards you.

You smile and place imaginary money in his palm, and he grasps your hand.

“Promise me,” he says, “that you’d leave this job while you’re still alive and jolly.”

You look at his hand with your mouth open, but no words come out. He squeezes your hand, begging for an answer.

“I-I’ve got nowhere else to go, Lt.” You manage to utter.

“Sure you have,” he says, “a whole life ahead of you.”

He lets your hand and grasps the rifle.

“Will you come visit my coffee shop?” You ask.

“If I’m alive till then, I promise I will,” he replies, “now get ready; our target’s approaching.”

[mrslankyman]

Failed Mission

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

-> smut / unsafe sex

-> gun use

->idk shit about guns

->Montague forgot his tripod stand. Maybe your ass would work better

->2k words

(request)

Too bad working for the Society meant going on missions with the most annoying man ever. 

Montague. 

His french accent: annoying 

His outfit: ugly

The way he nitpicks everything: infuriating 

He never wanted to listen to You. He never got the right things on the list for the mission. Always forgetting something. Last time he forgot the sticky bombs. Wonder what he will forget this time. It was just a steak out mission. 

There was a rumor that The Under Ground would be attacking Lavish Lair today. That’s how you found yourself on top of one of the snowy mountains that surrounded the mansion. Montague right next to you. His supplies are back in the Jeep. The two of you were just watching below. Trying to see if anything suspicious or off was going on. 

You both just sat in the snow. You mentally hated it. Back at your mansion there was no snow. You lived closer to Ritzy Rivera. So coldness wasn’t something you cared for. Montague on the other hand? He must be as cold as his heart. 

“Wait.. I see something.. I think it’s that Hope girl Valeria talked about.” He got up spraying snow all over. Some of it landed on you, letting out an annoyed groan when you got up. He walked over with his Sniper Rifle. 

Here we go. 

He loaded it and held up the gun. Until he noticed one thing. 

He had the wrong scope. So aiming to hold it up wasn’t going to happen. He shook too much.

Mistake number two.

He didn’t even bring the tripod.

“What now? Did you forget something again?” Your voice was laced with annoyance already. 

“Yes, in fact I did. I have the wrong scope.” He looked over at you as he spoke. Eyeing you up and down in thought. 

“So? Get the tripod and aim the best you can.” You rolled your eyes as if it was obvious. 

“I didn’t bring it.” His voice was lower now. Almost menacing. He was obviously annoyed at you too but he had an idea.

“So what now? I only have my AR that isn’t going to do shit from up here.” You practically yelled at him. He did this too often. 

“I’ll tell you what we're gonna do. Get on your knees.” He demanded pointing near the edge of the cliff. “What the hell, why?” You questioned glaring at him. 

“Just do it, trust me.” He kept pointing at the spot. He was far too strong to deny. He could just shoot you right now if he wanted too. So you listened and groaned as you let your knees sink into the cold snow. You mentally thought of ways to get him back. Maybe on another mission you could dump cold water on him or-

You were cut out of your thoughts when he shoved you down to the ground completely with his foot. Your face shoved into the snow and your arms slid down.

Your back end was arched up, ass in the air. You spit out snow as you lifted up your head. Using your hand to wipe off the snow. “What the fuck is your idea?” You looked back at him as he got on one knee. Laying the barrel of the sniper on your ass.

“Put your head down or i’ll blow it off.” He warned and watched you slowly lower your head.

“Hurry up.” You groaned. What the fuck kind of idea is this. 

Montague on the other hand was having a hard time aiming right. One reason; you were moving too much.

Another?

He was staring at your ass. The position he got you in so easily. You both always got annoyed at each other and got into fights. Yet you both always chose to do missions together despite the hatred. With hatred comes tension. Sometimes the tension feels a little too sexual. 

His eyes wandered from the target below to you to the target.

Once he finally focused in he got a good aim. His hand on the trigger ready to blow this Underground agent's head off you moved.

“Fuck!” He yelled pointing the gun's muzzle at your head. “Stop fucking moving.” He growled as he watched you freeze. You knew his dumb ass would never pull the trigger. But it did scare you slightly. 

“My bad i’m in the freezing fucking snow with an idiot using my ass as a tripod for his fucking gun!” You yelled not even looking at him. Keeping your face forward as you felt the gun move from your head. It was replaced by his hands gripping your hair. He pulled you back to his chest. He dropped his sniper and leaned into your ear. 

“Stop talking back.” His accent slurred most of his words when his voice was this low with anger. His other hand laid on your thigh.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Shoot me?” You smirked as him tugging on your hair didn’t make you scared. It makes your mind wander to other things. He was also losing his focus on the mission. His eyes looked down at you, how your lips slightly parted and you looked up at him fully. His hand tangled in your hair. 

“No, I might do something else though.” He warned his eyes were half lidded now. The feeling of you pressed to his chest made him feel things he tried to ignore when around you. Now he was letting those feelings go freely. 

“What is something else, Montague?” Your voice closed in a whisper as you got to his name. If only you knew how that drove him crazy. He could feel himself hardening. Dick straining against his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do this?” His question was almost a whisper as he leaned his head down closer. His stubble looked so much better up closer. His blue and brown eyes looking into yours. The scar made him look menacing despite the blush on his cheeks. 

His frosted tipped hair moved with the motion of the icy wind. 

“Maybe I do.” Your hand moved on top of his hand that was laying on your thigh still. That gave him the answer he needed.

He closed the gap between you two and let his lips engulf yours. All the feelings of anger, annoyance, and sexual tension went into the kiss. All the times you two argued and got into each other's faces now came to a close. Any time you two argue after this it is surely going to end the same way this mission is going to end. 

His hand moved yours off his as he slid it further down to the inside of your thigh. His hand in your hair pulling your head back further. He didn’t really like his angle of kissing. He wanted to grab your face and shove his tongue into your mouth. 

Despite that desire he kept you in this position. 

You pulled away from him and gasped slightly. He went to lean back in wanting, no needing more of you. He wanted your lips back on his. He actually wanted them all over his body. 

“It’s too cold for this.” You sighed, you could feel his hard dick against your ass. Or was it his belt? Either way it was extremely hard. 

“Why not?” He practically begged. His voice was still low but it had a desperate array to it. He wanted you now. He didn’t wanna wait. 

“Let’s go to the Jeep.. come on. Je veux te baiser.” He cooed in your ear his french accent even more prominent as he spoke in his native tongue. “What does that mean?” You asked, laughing slightly.

He got closer to ear his hot breath tickling your neck. 

“I want to fuck you.” His voice was so low and husky you could feel yourself throbbing. 

“Then take me to the Jeep.” You whispered back and without a second thought he had lifted you up and was trudging through the snow to the Jeep. You littered his neck with wet sloppy kisses before he laid you down in the back seat. You scooted to the other seat as he crawled in. He leaned up to the passenger seat and grabbed the lever. Shoving it all the way to the front to give himself more room. 

He loomed over you and smirked. “I want you on my lap now.” He growled and sat back in the seat. You crawled up to sit on his lap. He spread his legs out a little more. His diamond belt buckle really added to his outfit. 

You leaned closer and kissed him. His medallion hitting your chest as you got closer. He kissed back. His plump lips moved with yours in such a needy fashion. He wanted you so badly. He wanted to fuck you so hard you’d forget about any other man who ever pleased you. 

He pushed you back and took a breath. You took this pause to unbuckle his belt. Undoing his dress pants and just pulling out his dick from his boxers. You didn’t bother pulling his pants down. You just pushed the flaps of his pants to the side and his belt. He helped you slide off your pants quickly and underwear. He stared at you before leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat. 

He grabbed your hips and lifted you over his perked up dick. “You ready?” He asked as he slid one hand down to line himself up with your entrance. 

You nodded and slid down on him. You bit your lip holding back your moan. Montague on the other hand? He let his moan echo in the car. He didn’t hold back on the noises. He hadn’t fucked someone in so long. 

He was too busy keeping the Society in order. He loved how your pussy tightened around his dick. This feeling was better than any successful heist he had ever been on. Money made him have a happy feeling but this pussy made him want to live. 

He wanted to wake up every day knowing he could fuck you when ever you wanted. 

He wanted to please you instead of annoy you. 

He made a mental note to forget the tripod again.

“Montague..” You let his name slip out of your mouth in a high pitch moan. He grunted and slurred out random words or phrases in french. You didn’t understand them but you assumed they were good. 

He held you still by the hips and slammed his dick up in you. Letting his hips go up and down ramming his dick into you. You both let out moans of pleasure. He slid one of his gloved hands down and used his thumb to make slow circle motions around your clit. 

“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum..” You squealed as you felt yourself coming undone with each thrush of his dick. He groaned in agreement and grabbed your face with his free hand. Slamming his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. He moaned as he felt you cum on his dick. His motions became sloppy and he moved in and out at different paces. You watched his face scrunch up in pleasure and a low “oh fuck” came out of him before he pulled out and came on his vest. 

Good thing he had 500 others.

He looked you in the eyes as you both calmed down from your highs.

“Oscar can defend himself.” He chuckled and pulled you back to him.

[darklordofthesimp]

Six Words (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you're tasked with keeping an injured Ghost safe from swarming insurgents. When you almost fail to save him, you realize your feelings towards him makes you a liability. Ghost disagrees.

Prompt: #61 "I don't know how to love you" From my prompt list here.

A/N: I need prompts, my head is empty with nothing but Konig and Ghost SOS.

Category: Angst - Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Swearing - Gun Violence - Themes of War

Missions were the hardest part.

The gunfire over comms, the callouts and the target indications. Every now and then you’d wince at the wounded cries of your colleagues, it was always the younger ones who screamed.

And although it was eery, you were glad to hear them. If they were crying it meant they were alive.

It was the silence that you were afraid of.

“Sunshine, this is Bravo-6. How copy?”

You blinked, flicking your gaze from your rifle’s scope. Car horns blared from the bustling city beneath you, unaware of the conflict happening 40 stories high.

“Bravo-6, this is Sunshine. Loud and clear, over.”

If Price was raising you, it meant that the fight would soon be moving into your arcs of fire.  You settled in behind your rifle, resting your cheek against the stock. You’d already accounted for the distance and thankfully the wind was steady enough that adjusting your weapon sight hadn’t been difficult to calculate.

“Sunshine, you’ll have company soon, 42nd floor. Clear them out.”

“Copy that, Bravo-6.”

The windows had already been blown out, providing you the clearance to take your shots, so you waited, watching the elevator and stairs with your finger curled lightly against the trigger. However, when someone had finally come busting through the door, you hadn’t expected it to be Ghost.

Jesus. Ripping your finger off the trigger, your heart raced, its panicked beating echoing in your ears like a church bell.

You hissed a curse beneath your breath, what the fuck was he doing in the red zone? Bravo team was meant to herd them onto the 42nd floor so you could clear the board, not pay a house call with them.

“Ghost, what the fuck are you doing?” You snapped into your headset.

You watched him throw himself over a bench on the far side of floor, tucking his body behind it for cover. He turned his head to the window, presumably to where he knew you were nested.

“Shit’s gone sideways, change of plans. I’ll distract them, you shoot ‘em.” His voice was ragged and rougher than usual. Small groans were woven into his words and as you looked at him a little longer, you realized that he was pressing a hand to his stomach.

Ghost had been shot.

Your heart dropped.

“Incoming!” He shouted, twisting his body to face the bench rather than away from it.

You hissed, moving your sights to where they should have been- at the doors. Instantly, you realized there were too many of them, he hadn’t cut down as many as he should have and now it was a race against the clock. Kill them before they killed Ghost.

You got to work, falling into a frenzied rhythm. Spot and shoot, spot and shoot. You forced yourself to not check on your teammate huddled into the corner, to not see if he’d been turned to minced meat.

One by one, they fell. And one by one, anxiety had begun to claw its way through your chest. You had a sniper rifle, not an LMG, it was near impossible to clear this many people before they’d be able to reach him.

“Fuck! Fucking shoot, Sunshine!” Ghost roared through your comms. Your breath was unsteady now. One after the other they fell and one after the other they pushed towards the little bench Simon Riley was hiding behind.

You said nothing, unable to talk, unable to think, only able to shoot and shoot and shoot.

“I’m getting overrun here!”

You pushed your scope to view Ghost. There were four of them on him already and so many more pushing ahead. Your heart dropped as the sounds of your shots became hollower, the tell-tale signs of sound echoing through your mag, you were coming up on empty.

Then there was a dull click where there should have been a ‘bang’.

 “Reloading!” You shrieked, dumping the mag and scrambling for a fresh one from your body armour. All the while you watched Ghost fight on the back foot, offense became defence and fluidity became manic.

He was going to die.

And it would be your fault.

“Covering!”

You held your breath.

Soap slid through the doorway, shooting before he’d even had a good look at the scene before him. He knew there was too many of them, he’d heard the radio chatter and he’d heard your panic.

You could have cried at the sight of him.

You finished reloading, repositioning yourself with a newfound hope fuelling your body. Between the three of you, the rest of the insurgents had been light work to clear out. It was a massacre, a sight that would traumatize most with bodies piling along the floor.

But all you could think of was Simon.

You heard his groans as Soap helped him to his feet, muttering comfort beneath his breath the way only Soap could. “Come on, LT. You’re pretty banged up, let’s get you home.”

As the adrenaline began to seep from your body, leaving you shaking and quiet, your mind began to spiral.

Nights spent on the roof, revelling in each other’s company but not saying a word. The short tit for tat banter that you’d fallen into. The drunken nights you’d sought each other out, to chase the nightmares with touches neither of you would remember in the morning.

You’d almost let him die.

Ghost straightened as best as he could, leaning against Soap as the Sergeant held him up. They both came to a stop by the window near the exit, the battered soldier pausing to gaze out across the buildings. And although you knew he couldn’t actually see you, it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“You did good, Sunshine.”

The words were genuine, almost soft if it weren’t the ragged breathing from his injury.

You bit your lip.

When you didn’t respond, the pair continued on, disappearing into the elevator and leaving you to suffer with your thoughts.

_______

The cold, night air always helped to clear your head.

You were sat on the rooftop, legs dangling off the edge of the building as though it were just a normal bench. Your chest rested against the railing; your arms folded over the top of it.

Your mind was a mess.

How had that mission gone so wrong, so fast? Logically, there wasn’t much more that you could have done. You were on the trigger constantly, a body dropped every two to three seconds, a good enough pace when you were constantly switching targets.

But you weren’t fast enough.

“You’re not gonna jump, are you?”

Your body jolted, gripping the railing tight with a gasp so you didn’t fall right off the edge. Ghost stood beside you, clad in a pair of soft black trousers and a hoodie that was drawn over his head. You swallowed your anxiety when he lowered himself to sit beside you.

You’d seen him without that jumper plenty of times, twisting against each other in the dark with alcohol on your tongues. But seeing him with it, seeing him look like any other man preparing for bed, made your heart soften.

“No.” You rasped, answering his quiet joke.

You both fell into silence, but it wasn’t comfortable like it usually was, at least not on your end. You were stressed, the tension rising in your chest to suffocate you. You forced your eyes to remain on the horizon, observing what you could under the moonlight.

There was a nudge by your hand and you glanced down. The man held out a cigarette and a lighter and you forced yourself not to look at the unlit one hanging from his mouth. It was an unwritten rule, when he rolled the mask above his lips to smoke, you would avert your gaze.

You took the cigarette with a sigh and a soft ‘thank you’, perching it between your lips. You lit the smoke, drawing the first drag to keep it alight and Ghost softly took the lighter from you.

“Didn’t know you were out of hospital,” you said, taking another draw. You blinked away the head-spin from the nicotine, feeling the stress melt from your shoulders.

“If you’d known you wouldn’t be up here,” he said simply. You clenched your jaw, hoping he wouldn’t push the subject. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, watching for any tell-tale sign to say that he was right.

But you just took another drag.

“You’re avoiding me,” Ghost finally said outright.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you made an effort not to crush the cigarette between your fingers.

“I almost got you killed.”

The officer’s breath came out in a short huff, the equivalent of a laugh for the sullen character. “Don’t flatter yourself. We fucked up; you were on clean up.”

Your heart was racing now, but you knew what the problem was. You knew why you were beating yourself up over something that wasn’t really your fault. It was childish and it was immature and one day it might just get you both killed.

You’d become a liability. It was your duty to inform him.

“I’m going to apply for a transfer out of the 141.” Your sentence rang like the toll of a church bell, echoing between you. You couldn’t believe you’d finally said it but you’d known for a while.

“What?” Ghost shifted beside you, twisting his body to stare at you front on.

“I’m going to get someone killed-“

“Is this about today?” Ghost questioned and you risked a glance at him. His lips were curled in disbelief and he flicked the cigarette off the roof. He dragged his mask back over his mouth, but his eyes still flashed with incredulity. “Get the fuck over it, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s about you, Simon!” You snapped.

Ghost fell silent.

“I’m fucking compromised,” you stood to your feet, flinging your cigarette over the railing. The soldier followed in suit, towering over you instantly. “I can’t be in a situation like that again- what if I’d have failed? I couldn’t fucking breathe, I couldn’t think-“

His hand came to rest against your shoulder and your words guttered to a stop.

You peered up at him in surprise, meeting that dark gaze. For the longest time, you’d always thought Simon had dark eyes, the blackest you’d seen. The breath left your body when, on closer inspection, you realized they were fucking blue.

For a long moment neither of you said nothing, silenced by the sudden display of affection. There was no end goal, no reason for him to be touching you. No high to be chasing, no bullet to push you out of the way of.

He was trying to comfort you.

He took a sharp breath. “I know.”

You blinked at him, opening your mouth then closing it again. He’d understood. He knew what you were saying, he’d known all along because Simon had been fighting the same thoughts.

When his fingers tightened against your shoulder, your lip trembled.

You wanted to hold him. You wanted to see him.

You knew that you could do neither.

“I don’t know how to love you,” you whispered, “I don’t know how to feel like this and work with you. Watch you get shot at. Be the one to make sure you don’t die.”

Simon shrugged, his gaze never leaving your face, taking in your features as though committing it to memory. He had no words of affection to give you but you could feel it in the way his thumb rubbed against your skin ever so softly, a ghost of his touch.

“You’re smarter than me, Sunshine. You can figure it out too.” His words were careful, and you blinked up at him from where you’d hung your head.

You can figure it out too.

When he pulled his hand from your shoulder, you felt the cold of his absence. But his words had set a fire in your chest that kept you burning.

Six words from Simon Riley were enough to set your world ablaze.

[salmon-bagel]

Tf2 mercenaries x Seductress! Class! Reader

Warning: nsfw content, female reader, sexism

Scout

When Scout heard that there's a woman who's a professional at seduction, he had already started plotting.

"Hello, name is Y/n L/n, but you can call me the Seductress. It's nice to meet you."

"Heya, nice to meet cha' mommy- Oh, i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy i mean mommy-"

Constantly hits on you. Scout believes that you're the type of girl that's 'easy', someone who will let anyone bang them regardless of who they are.

That boy isn't going to leave you alone until you let him into your pants.

Even when he's not busy trying to get in between your legs, Scout is asking you for advice on how to woo the ladies. Considering you're a professional at flirting with people.

You go back and forth on giving him good advice and bad advice. Sometimes you feel bad that he can't get a girlfriend. Then again, you think to yourself that no woman should be within three feet of Scout because of how much of a horny asshole he is.

After some time, you did grow to have a soft spot for him. Since he's bullied a lot by the other mercenaries. He can be kinda cute when he's not being a complete jerk.

Soldier

Soldier treats you like the other mercenaries. Ruthlessly bleating in your ear when you're doing something wrong.

"GIVE ME ONE HUNDRED SQUATS NOW! I WANT THAT AMERICAN ASS NICE AND PERKY BY THE TIME YOU'RE DONE!"

He wants the best from you. Regardless of your gender, he'll push you to the limit until he's proud enough to call you a warrior.

Soldier tests that you're a good seductress by making you flirt with him. It's an ego boost on his part, but he's genuinely trying to make sure you're hot enough for the enemy.

"YOU CALL THAT FLIRTING!? I'VE HEARD BETTER FLIRTING FROM A MONKEY! AT LEAST THEY CAN PUCKER THEIR LIPS BETTER UNLIKE YOURS!"

Buys you clothing that he believes would work well when you're seducing the enemies. It's always american themed swimwear or lingerie. You began to believe he's just buying that for himself for you to try.

Whenever the team successfully wins for the day, Soldier immediately rushes towards and smacks your ass as hard as he can.

"NOW THAT IS AN ASS I'M PROUD TO CALL AMERICAN!"

Sniper

Sniper believes your work is very unprofessional. Considering he believes you have to whore yourself out to the enemy team. Instead of using your actual skills.

He says he has nothing against prostitution or sex work in general. Sniper just thinks that stuff you do should be kept behind doors and not on the battlefield. He says it causes too much of a distraction. However, you claim that 'distraction' is the point. Sniper doesn't seem to get it.

You honestly could care less what he thinks. Snipers throws jars of piss for a living, and he really thinks he has the right to judge other people?

The truth is you're good at seducing people. Too good. That it distracts him from doing his own job. Sniper has a tendency to watch you through the scope of his gun.

The way your body gets all hot and sweaty from the terrible heat, oh it does something to him. Sniper has imagined licking your sweat off your tits while you degrade him for being such a filthy fuck.

You are his go-to jerk off material. The women in his porno magazines don't get him off like they used. The only way he can relieve himself now is by imagining your fat ass bouncing on his cock.

When he noticed a pair of your panties in the laundry basket, Sniper couldn't help himself to inhale the sweet scent of your panties before putting them back.

Sniper knows he's a damn hypocrite.

He slut shames you for what you do, only to get off to you afterwards. The post nut clarity consumes him with guilt and shame.

Sniper still hasn't built up the courage to apologize to you.

Heavy

Heavy is one of the very few people who treat you like an actual human being. He was raised by a single mother alongside three sisters. Heavy knows to treat a woman right. Less he wishes to face their fury.

Heavy doesn't understand why you seduce the enemy. You're supposed to shoot at the enemy, not bat your eyelashes and wink! However, after watching your work on the battlefield, he gets to more of an understanding.

"Oh, I see. You lie to enemy and lure them in like fish? HA! Very clever!"

Absolutely loves gunning down the enemy that is distracted by you.

Is one of the few men who genuinely falls for you for your personality. Heavy knows you're drop-dead gorgeous, but he knows that beneath all that beauty is a truly intelligent woman. You earned your place on the team by impressing Mann Co., with your skills instead of batting your eyelashes and begging to be a part of the team. You make his heart swoon like no other woman has.

He likes to write you poetry. It helps convey how he feels for you because he's too bashful to put it into simple words.

Heavy is not afraid of anything. Nothing, not even death itself. However, it took him a lot of courage and constant rehearsal to ask you out on a date.

He hopes to start a genuine relationship with you. Heavy doesn't want a one-night stand or be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants you to be his girlfriend and maybe possibly his wife later down the line.

Engineer

"Well, I'll be! Aren't you the prettiest thing I've ever seen."

Engineer is taken aback by your good looks and sauve personality. He genuinely questions why you wanted to be a mercenary. A beautiful lady like yourself is too of high risk to get hurt!

Will always be there to help you if it gets too much for you to handle.

However, he can be very overprotective over you on the battlefield. Engineer thinks it would be safer for you to stay on the rancho relaxo than getting shot at by the enemy. As much as you'd like to not do anything on the job, Mann Co. isn't paying you to be lazy. They see everything and will tell you to get off your ass and start fighting.

You have to beg Engineer that you can do it on your own. He understands your point of view and begrudgingly lets you fight with the others. Even if it means going against his code of defending and protecting a lady when she needs it.

While putting up dispensers and sentries, he can't help to admire you from afar. Engie believes that a guy like him has no chance with a girl like you. What woman would be interested in a bald man who has a robotic hand and locks himself away in his work? No gal that's who.

Engie fantasizes about working up the courage to flirt with you and ask you out, which would eventually lead to a rather sensual night spent together. He did try to ask you out once but miserably failed. Engie kept stuttering and mispronouncing words out of nervousness while attempting to seduce you. You couldn't make out what he was trying to say. Thankfully, Demo had the heart to pull Engie out of that mess of a conversation and save him from further embarrassing himself.

So now, he just admires you from afar. Dreaming that one day he'll get to win your heart.

Spy

Surprisingly, he wants to get to know you as soon as possible. It's not every day you get to meet a lovely lady.

When he learns of your class type, oh boy, this man will make you question if you're even meant to be the Seductress.

"Mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid my eyes on."

"Do you know why they call Paris the city of love? Why don't I take you there and show you?"

"If the verb ‘to love’ didn’t exist, I would have invented it upon seeing you."

Spy leaves your entire face red and completely frozen after he's done talking to you. He's so flattering and charismatic. In comparison to the other men, he makes it seem like they're not trying at all. It isn't their fault, though, Spy is a natural at wooing the ladies.

You're surprised when Spy gifts you things that you really like. You never shared these intimate details with him before or with the other mercenaries. When you asked him how he knew what you specifically liked, Spy merely winks at you and grins. He has a way of receiving information without anyone knowing.

He has a tendency to kiss the back of your hand whenever you two are greeting each other. Spy is a gentleman and can't help himself to be sweet to a beautiful woman.

When Spy asks you out on a date, you agree to it because you have been meaning to go out. You felt like you'd go insane if you stayed in the base any longer. You put on your best dress and left with Spy into town.

After having a nice meal and a few glasses of wine, both of you give into temptation. Spy could hardly keep his hands off you when he drove you both back to the base. All your clothes came off the moment you reached his bedroom. You found it a little strange he refused to take off his mask. Oh, what the hell. He's hot and treated you to a nice date.

In the morning, you receive uncomfortable stares from the other mercenaries. Let's just say you and Spy weren't exactly quiet during your lovemaking. Unfortunately for the others, you decided Spy would become your fuck buddy.

Medic

He's been meaning to include a female subject in his experiments- I mean, he's glad to meet you!

You try your best to steer clear of him. However, on the front lines, it isn't so easy. When you're constantly getting shot at and stabbed by enemies, you'll need the Medic's help to get better.

When he sees you in action, Medic feels a new emotion that he's never felt before. Is this.. love? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just lust.

Medic has never been infatuated with any woman. Except you. The way you lure in these pathetic men with your good looks and false promises, only to kill them afterwards- oh God, it makes him giddy. He feels like a schoolboy all over again!

Medic does routine check-ups on you. To make sure all your lady parts are in working order. In reality, this perverted fuck wants to have an excuse to grope you. Always gaslights you into believing he's not being a degenerate.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Why, of course! Breast cancer isn't something to take lightly!" He'd respond. You would understand, but after thirty minutes of him fondling your breasts, you knew what his true intentions were.

Medic writes you love letters and his dove, Archimedes, deliver them to you.

The letters start off relatively sweet. Medic writes that he views you as a Goddess, a truly ethereal being that is too perfect for this world filled with lesser mortals. And how he's the only man truly worthy for you.

Then, the letters take a complete turn the more you read it. He writes how he wishes to fulfill every filthy fantasy he's ever had with you. Oh boy, the list is long. For one, Medic wants to tie you down, gag you, and breed you like the filthy whore you are. Another consited of how he wants to fuck you on the battlefield while you're bleeding out and fingering your open wound as if it was your pussy.

You've stopped reading his letters and tend to light them on fire.

Demoman

"So, how much do you regularly charge for a quick shag?" He'd ask you before laughing his ass off.

Demo will never take you or your work seriously. Even if you politely ask him to.

He doesn't see what's so hard about showing off your tits and saying how much you love to suck cock. Demo believes you should've been a stripper if you wanted to tease men so desperately.

You frequently explain to him in detail how you help and provide for the team. You honestly can't tell if Demo deliberately forgets or because he gets drunk so often, he hardly pays attention to you while you talk.

Don't worry, though. After you've instilled the fear of women into him, he'll be gladly reminded that he shouldn't judge or ridicule a woman. If his mother were here, she'd knock some sense into him.

Demo apologizes to you, drinks, gets drunk, and apologies some more

"I'm sorry, lassie! It's just that I just get so lonely sometimes! What woman would give me, a one-eyed freak, a chance!"

He bawls on the floor, crying in front of you. You attempt to cheer him up by comforting him. Instead, you end up getting drunk with him.

Did you shag him in the heat of the moment? That's all up to you ;)

Pyro

Has no idea what you're doing to the enemy. Anything sexual you do is translated as innocent in their vision. Will never know what real seduction or sex.

Luckily, they think everything you do is nice and polite!

Regularly gives you grotesque gifts, which are usually human hearts and bones. You begrudgingly take the gifts because you know they mean well and don't wish to be disrespectful.

Pyro has a tendency to go through your closet when you leave your room. Or while you're sleeping. Either why, they steal your clothing and belongings. They pick out outfits and wigs they like along with makeup supplies. You wonder where you placed your dress and immediately begin searching for it. Maybe you left it in the laundry room. As soon as you exit your room, you see Pyro wearing your clothing over their suit. Fake eyelashes have been glued onto their eyes, and lipstick smeared all over the breathing hole.

You can't even be upset with Pyro. They're doing their best.

You let Pyro keep the dress they're wearing, considering it most likely wouldn't fit you anymore.

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐌 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “That’s so fucking hot.” — Paired with Ghost on a 'drill' mission, you get to witness his sniping prowess first hand.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Utterly self-indulgent. Shy reader (because I fancied something different), firing guns, very vague power play, very light degradation (barely there but it’s there), fingering, cum eating (don’t know if this counts but I’ll put it anyway), Ghost is very skilled with a gun.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Easterly winds trace the curve of your cheek and gently waft your hair across your forehead. The pitch blackness that hangs in the nighttime desert air swallows you whole, your defensive spot illuminated only by the waning crescent moon. It's fucking freezing, you're tired, and you'd been staring down a sniper's scope for over six hours.

You’d already decided that whoever thought a sniper drill was a good idea was going to face your wrath in the morning.

Settled into the sand grains beside you is Ghost's hulking frame. His patience is remarkable, settled on his front with his finger fixed on the hairpin trigger of the HDR. He's not moved once since getting into position, the vaguest sign he was even alive being the blink of his eyelids. He doesn’t even need to practise, and you’re convinced he’s been paired with you simply because he pities you being a shit shot. 

"Do you not have pins and needles?" You grumble, the crosshair in your field of vision blurring into a shapeless mush after gazing at it for so long, "I swear I've got a dead leg."

"No." Simon's answer is definitive. You're unsure if you believe him at first, but he squeezes the trigger without warning. The gun cracks, firing its round, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden break of silence. "What the fuck, Simo-"

Disbelief stalls your loud complaint, the image of a body-shaped target with a bullet hole dead centre of the cross in the inner circle's fixed point making your jaw drop. 

Simon settles back, shedding the shell casing from the HDR and effortlessly loading a second round. It's like breathing for him, the sniper rifle like a body part that worked as seamlessly as his arms or legs. 

It slips out, your inner dialogue somehow managing to worm its way out of your lips before you can swallow down the mortifying comment. 

"That's so fucking hot..."

Simon doesn't seem to respond at first, but your cheeks are already heating up in embarrassment as you try to backpedal. "I mean- I mean, I'm sure most girls at home would find that really hot! You must have so many girls asking you out when you go home- Half of Manchester, I bet!" 

You laugh awkwardly, holding your own sniper weapon in a death grip. You wish the sand would sink beneath you, dropping you into the depths below. 

"Not really," Simon's rumbling voice cuts through the desert silence. It makes your humiliation even worse, and you squeeze your eyes shut and plan to request a transfer with Captain Price the moment you return to base. Or even hand in your resignation letter. You'd never have to fear running into Simon on another team that way—

"Delta," Ghost's gruff voice cuts through your downward spiral. You open your eyes and glance over at him apprehensively. He's still staring down the scope of his rifle, mask concealing his expression from you. Undoubtedly he was enjoying making you feel stupid.

A heavy hand settles on the back of your thigh, and you suddenly exhale the oxygen in your lungs as though someone has popped the membrane with a pin. Ghost doesn't look up from the scope; his attention is focused on the target over seven-hundred meters away. 

"G-Ghost-" Your voice tremors, and you wish you could blame it on the chill in the desert air. Instead, it's Simon's palm slowly tracing up your thigh, palm squeezing gently at the globe of your ass. 

"Quiet," he orders, and you nod quickly, falling in line at the sound of his authoritative 'lieutenant voice'. He continues his advance, pushing his fingertips under the waistband of your khaki cargos at the small of your back. 

Simon hesitates. He offers you a chance to wave him off, but you can't think of anything worse— he's touching you, sparking your skin hot beneath his slow, deliberate touches. 

Breaching the waistband of your pants, he ensures that he inches his hand below your panties, too, fingertips tracing the naked curve of your ass as they continue their descent. You whimper softly, impatient, but the sound dies in your throat when you see Ghost's irises flick to you in a warning. 

Quiet, I said. 

Swallowing back any more noises of complaint, you spread your legs ever so slightly for him. A rumble of content sound from his chest, and Simon aims his sight down the scope of his rifle again. 

Simon's fingers sink into your fluttering cunt from behind. The stretch alone has you biting down on your knuckles in an attempt to smother the yelp that threatens to breach your mouth. 

What makes it worse is Simon's blatant nonchalance. He adjusts the positioning of his Sniper to mitigate the desert breeze with one hand. Meanwhile, his fingers sink deeper into you, easing in and out until you hear the slick sounds of your cunt swallowing his digits. 

It's pathetic. Ghost'll probably taunt you relentlessly for it, but you rock back onto his hand as his fingers tease your spasming walls. 

"O-Oh, fuck-" you choke out, breathless, as you lower your head and brace against the rising bliss in your abdomen. Again, Ghost's eyes flick over, cautioning you. 

"I'm tryin'a focus," he scolds you flatly, pushing his thumb into your clit harshly. You yelp at the sudden pressure, the arc of pleasure that whips up your spine. 

"W-What can you possibly be fo-ohh-" you moan out, losing your sentence as he slowly begins to circle your clit with his battle-calloused thumb. 

"On this," Simon hums, and again the crack of his sniper rifle jolts your body in shock. Fuck- but he keeps rubbing at your clit, sinking his fingers deeper into you as he searches for your g-spot. 

Your head whips up as your cunt flutters around his digits, looking down the scope. Again, Ghost has hit the target perfectly— slap bang in the middle of its forehead. 

Honestly, you could have cum from that alone, but Ghost's fingers are retreating just as your orgasm surges. You whine loudly, looking over your shoulder to see him remove his hands from your pants despite your protests and use his thumb to push the bottom of his ski mask over his mouth. 

Sinking his fingers into his mouth, he groans as he tastes you. It's the most sordid sound you've ever heard, the noise settling deep into your abdomen as you watch him lick his fingers clean. 

Simon knows what he's doing, knows he has you on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, but ignores your heavy breathing and desperate gaze to nod his head at the target. 

"Your turn. Best stop your hands from shaking, love. Get him between the eyes, and I might let you cum."

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[ghosts-cant-sleep]

Heeeeyyy, never requested anything but i think i'll give it a shot because i really like the way you write! You're really talented :]

Mayhaps a simon "ghost" riley x male reader? Reader is very provocative and loves getting reactions out of people, no matter if they are amused chuckles or annoyed groans. BUT Ghost is a brick wall and reader sees it as a challenge? Im sure your beautidul mind will come up with something interesting!

May i have the "🦇" as my anon emoji? (If its not taken of course!)

Thanksss, have an amazing day/night!

you can whistle for it

simon 'ghost' riley x male! reader warnings: idk how spotting works im just basing it off of that one american sniper scene kinda, suggestive innuendos, stupid jokes, not proofread, notes: i love specific anons sm :3 yall r so cute :3 ofc u can have 🦇 :3 lysm :3

fem dni.

"Y'know, Lieutenant, I've been thinking-"

"I doubt that."

"-You, me, alone under the stars... It's pretty romantic, don't'cha think?"

"No."

A heavy sigh pushes past [Name]'s lips, hia breath blooming into a faint mist of white, fading into the deep blues of the sky hanging high above them.

The snow crunches bellow his elbows with every breath, laying thick over the plantlife. Frost coated the leaves that shrouded the pair, snowfall left the branches bending under the weight, there wasn't even a peep from the local fauna.

And oh god, what he wouldn't give to be warm like them, huddled in a burrow, coat all he'd need to keep warm. Instead, he was left in thick, stiff winter gear, the cruel wind biting at the tip of his nose in spite of the fleece-lined gaiter.

Hell, he was surprised his rifle wasn't crusted in ice.

He wasn't surprised, however, to deduce that the poor weather seemed to reflect on his lieutenant's mood, as if being stuck on overwatch for hours on end wasn't bad enough.

[Name] laid with his cheek resting on the stock of his gun, index finger lazily tapping against the trigger gaurd to some unrecognized rhythm.

And Ghost was right beside him, nearly hyper focused on spotted. Each had their eyes trained on their respective scopes, and both were miserable.

Aching backs, necks swiftly growing sore, eye's dry, lips cracking, and faces all kn all feeling like they'd be ready to freeze off any moment now. And that's not even mentioning that this was the fourth time Ghost had essentially requested [Name] shut his mouth in the past thirty minutes they'd been in the field, which was frustrating enough for both of them.

And excuse him for not wanting to waste his night sulking in silence, but making the best out of a less than steller situation didn't seem to be something Ghost was capable of.

It was charming, in its own annoying little way-- the relentless chatter and constant quips and jokes, even if they sometimes boarded on ridiculously unprofessional. Whether it be an annoyed groan, a flustered chuckle, or a reluctant smile masked with a roll of their eyes, his little antics never failed to coax out some reaction.

Almost never.

And in all honesty, this self inflicted, fruitless journey to get so much as a scoff out of Ghost wasn't even the point anymore. Sure, to be met with anything other than stubborn apathy would be a breath of fresh air, not to mention satisfying after so long of any and all jokes, swipes, and thinly veiled innuendo being shut down with little remorse would be a delight. But now? [Name] just wanted something to distract himself from the cold that clung to his skin.

So, as always, to Ghost's dismay, he gives it another go.

Dispite himself, another sigh is huffed out. He glances over to Ghost, the sight of something other than his reticle feeling foreign.

"So..." He starts, situating his sights back to his scope. "You got a girlfriend or anything?"

He found the idea a little funny. The image of this big, stoic man holding hands or otherwise being sweet on some pretty little lady.

There's a stretch of silence, expectantly so, and [Name]'s already racking his brain for something-- anything, to say next.

"No."

The low rumble of Ghost's voice takes him by surprise, but it'd be foolish to dwell on it long. An answer's an answer.

"Figured," [Name] mutters out, adjusting the grip on his gun, rolling out shoulders in an attempt to ease the discomfort that's begun to festerbetweenhia shoulder blades. "Does that mean you're up for grabs then?"

Only the whistle of wind responds this time.

"I'll take that as a maybe." He might as well have been aimlessly talking to himself. Hell, that would've been more entertaining than this.

"Y'know, I'm sure deep down you do think I'm funny." Told you; relentless. Still, despite the smile hidden behind his mask and the slightly forced crinkle in his eye, [Name] couldn't quite hide the irritation growing thick in his own throat.

"I think you're a distraction," Ghost is swift to correct, his balaclava doing little to hide the annoyance in his tone. "A liability if you're not careful, so do shut up."

[Name] can't help but shake his head, a sharp huff pulling from his throat. Sure Ghost was his superior, and by no means were they supposed to be all buddy-buddy with one another. But jesus fucking christ, would it hurt to crack smile. Hell, even Price offers a pitty laugh on the rare occasion.

"It wouldn't kill you to have some damn fun one in a while." The words leave his mouth before his can think better of it, tounge sharp.

"It might," Ghost is quick to retort with just as much bite. For the first time since they settled down, his eyes leave the spotter, sending a well received warning glare [Name]'s way. "Give it a rest, yeah?"

Be it the weather, the job, a wave of bravery, or simply just [Name]'s long overdue annoyance reaching its peak, he, in fact, does not give it a rest.

"It's like you're scared of saying something interesting for once."

"Maybe I'll let you chew on some lead to shut you up. That interesting enough?"

"Christ."

Every stretch on silence is near unbearable. It feels like even the wind still in these moments. [Name] would prefer a constant flood of berating and hardly enjoyable banter from Ghost far more than this.

The tension of the moment breifly lingers before it disapates just as swiftly as it had arrived, the tension in [Name]'s chest easing. He lets out a soft breath, his grip adjusts, his elbows sink furth into the snow.

"Well-" Ghost interjects with gruff sigh, "-Soap told me you like jokes."

"Did he, now?"

"Where do generals keep their armies?"

"Up their sleevies."

"God dammit, Ghost."

[Name] purses his lips, effectively splitting it down the center, the heat from the sting made all the worse by the every present chill. He had more pressing matters to worry about. "Why do snipers aim with one eye closed?"

"Sergeant."

"Humor me-- just this once, and I swear I'll shut up for the rest of the night." An obvious lie. However, Ghost doesn't try to correct it. "...Why do snipers aim with one eye closed?"

"...Why?"

"If they closed both, they wouldn't be able to see."

Yet another discontent sigh leaves Ghost's mouth. But, [Name] could've sworn he almost heard a smile forcing its way onto Ghost's face as he spoke. "Now are you done?"

[Name]s response isn't instantaneous. His head lifts from the small of the stock, gaze leaving the scope and finding Ghost beside him.

Ghost was still, near statuesque if it weren't for the soft puffs of breath that seeped through the thick knit of his mask. [Name] knew Ghost liked being behind the trigger more than anything, but he was sure Ghost's ego swelled, even if just a tad, over being the one chosen to spot instead.

Only when Ghost's eyes meet [Name]'s does he retreat back to his scope. Still, he let's his stiff face pull into a grin. "Say whatever you want, but I think I am starting to get to you, Lieutenant."

"Oh, piss off." This time, he hears Ghost shift around in place, a tired groan accompaning the shifting of snow beneath him. "Just quiet down before I show you how to put that mouth of yours to good use for once."

"Awe, c'mon now, you-- huh?"

[maezysworld]

test subject x the ghoul pt 1

Pairing: cooper howard x fem! cat mutant & sniper reader (thats a mouth full lol)

I've never really written stories like this but i think this is a fun idea so ill try my best anyways please please please msg me if you have ideas and or suggestions (i am sensitive please be nice LMAO)

Warnings: slow burn, writer is dyslexic, might be slightly out of character, a whole lot of guns, not proof read

context: you are part cat due to being experimented on you have the cat ears and eyes along with all there senses (i do plan on making a full backstory)

your on the search for a doctor who has a large sum of caps over his head, you could care less about the caps you don't have a lot to do in this world so you take any opportunity you can to have some fun no matter how risky it could be. considering the amount of caps, you already know it will be quite the task but you don't mind playing with your food.

you've asked around the wasteland a little (not that a lot of people really said anything useful) but any information you got led you to a town called filly. you entered filly walking in trying your best not to draw more attention to yourself, the gasmask your wearing doesn't really help with that but you don't really need people knowing you have animal ears and eyes. you take in your surroundings as you walk with a crowd looking for the highest most excluded building you could see when a ghoul catches your eyes, you walk a bit slower admiring him for a moment watching him roll a vile in between his fingers before snapping out of your trans and picking up you pace again.

you get to the top of the building staying low to the ground making sure no one sees you up here before laying on your stomach and pulling out your sniper riffle. you sit and watch everything for about 7 minutes until a familiar doctor falls into you glance. you don't even bother lining up your scope to his head, you don't feel the need to someone else is bound to get him after you shoot him regardless but that's more then okay with you, you don't mind playing a waiting game.

you see him talking to a vault dweller just before an older woman who seems to run a shop approach them, you try you best to listen in but all you can seem to make out is the shop owner saying something about getting out of here. "this gasmask is fucking me over" you whisper with a sigh readjusting your arm a bit to be more comfortable.

suddenly the ghoul stands up, along with a few people just now noticing there's a ghoul in the town as they cautiously speed walk away from the area. the ghoul shouts something about this doctor having a hefty price over his head as almost everyone moves away from the man. a sly smile grows on your face now knowing hes involved with this bounty as well. the shop owner says something and before she can even finish her sentence the ghoul shoots the mans foot off, the poor vault dweller just stands there in fear and confusion, a wave of sympathy overcomes you knowing you were just like her you almost wish you still were.

the old woman shouts "i gotta 1000 bottle caps for who ever kills that fucker!!... but you dont get SHIT if i kill em first!". your not to sure why but after hearing that you start to focus your scope on anyone who starts to even look at him. the ghoul holds his gun out gun on the trigger ready to shoot just waiting for someone to make the first move as he looks around in a circle. a man in a black hat and googles pulls out his gun but before he can even pull the trigger the ghoul shoots him in the chest, his bullet exploding on impact. immediately after more people start shooting at him, he turns in a circle again shooting anyone who try's to get near him as you shoot the people from a distance. in all honesty you know he probably doesn't need your help but still you continue with out a reason to be doing so. you see someone trying to come at him with a knife from behind and just as the ghoul turns around to attack you shoot the man with the knife and the glare of your scope hits the ghouls eye and he looks up as you give a slight wave right before pointing to signal behind him as a brother a steel knight shows up.

you see the old woman and the vault dweller go run and hide into the shop bringing the doctor with him. you know you wont to much to the walking tin man so you decide to go down and listen in. you try your best to sneak in with out anyone seeing you but as the ghoul is on some broken steps you look over at him and with out a doubt he was looking dead at you before getting right back into combat. you ignore it and continue to snoop in on the others.

you keep your back pressed tightly agents the wall. hear the woman convince the vault dweller to take the doctor to moldaver, you've heard of the woman but have never had any encounters with her based off the things you've heard you know this will be a good time (you would have never found anything about this situation fun before the war). you start making your way out of the building after hearing that its plenty for you to go off along with now having both the doctor and the vault dwellers sent. you decide to hide in a ally and wait for things to die down before leaving.

after about 9 minutest you don't hear metal clacking or guns shooting you start to leave filly. you didnt get to far outside of the town before you hear a gun cock behind you "aint you a little over prepared?" you hear a mans voice with a southern accent referring to your gas mask. you turn to face the voice seeing the ghoul you've been eyeing this whole trip "doesn't effect you now does it? is the gun really nectary after i helped you?" you scoff offended but knowing youd do the same "now i aint ask you to do that for me, did i?" he says finger on the trigger. you think for a moment 'rude ass' you think to yourself "i guess not, but a thank you would be nice" you say with sarcasm in your voice. The Ghoul keeps his eyes upon you as you speak, the gun never moving. He lets out a short laugh at your attempt to engage. "You want a thank you for a job half done? bailed in the middle of a fight.. not that id thank you anyways i didnt need your help smooth skin. what's you goal here you tryn to steal my bounty" he says sounding more relaxed than he should be. "not necessarily, i don't want the caps if that's what your worried about." the gun never wavers even as you speak. "so just what do you want then?". "entertainment, not much to do in this world." you say with a smile on your face, not that he can see it. The Ghoul is surprised by your answer. He lowers his gun slightly, looking you up and down, but still doesn't trust you. "You ain't got better things to do with your time? Like finding food, or water, or caps?". those things are all fairly easy to come across for you, your sneaky and when you want something you take it. "lets say that all comes easy" Something you said intrigues him, and his gaze lingers on you a little longer. He shifts his weight to his left foot, and holsters his gun. "You saying food, water, caps just comes to you?". you relax abit more now that his guns down "i never said that, its just easy to get. now i have some information that may be of use to you, and im more then happy to give it under one condition" The Ghoul's interest is piqued. His curiosity getting the better of him, he nods his head. He wants to see if what you're peddling is actually worth something. "And what would that condition be?". you feel excited, youve never traveld with someone much less had company in years and the though of him agreeing (even if its not very friendly) makes you happy "i come with you on your bounty." He considers it, still not fully trusting you, but also intrigued by your offer. "And why the Hell would I want you along for a bounty hunt? Why should I trust you? What's to stop you from just turning on me? "he responds "you interest me, my weapons aren't out now are they? if i wanted to kill you i would have done it while i was on the roof" you say slightly muffled from your gas mask. He looks at you for a moment, thinking it over. He didn't like the idea of traveling with someone he didn't know, but he wouldnt mind the help from someone who knows how use to use a gun(not that he'd ever admit that). "Fine, we'll go after the bounty. But the second I even get a hint you're planning something, I'll kill you where you stand. We clear?". "understood." you say trying your hardest not to sound excited. He nods, then turns and begins walking away the dog standing behind him following. He calls over his shoulder to you.

please let me know what you guys think of this and im open to any suggestions and ideas ( i would also love name ideas for this) :)

notes: @s-lock-doctordonna I LOVED YOUR IDEAS AND I WILL BE USEING THANK YOU <3

[chocsra]

"Take the Gun and my Heart, okay?"

15! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

A/N: im back again 😜😜 please send more requests and ideas! i wanna try writing angst for my next fics

content: you're the port mafia's best markswoman/sniper & chuuya goes to you to learn ur ways, oneshot, fluff, pre-relationship, mafia work 😱, guns, coworkers? to lovers, rich chuuya era, could be gn! reader bc there are no descriptions but used she/her prns 😭

thank you sm @soleelia for the idea!

Sometimes, regular days of being in the mafia felt boring.

Most of your life was inhabited by the four same walls of the mafia's firing range, your body was free of bruises besides the callouses on your fingers from the amount of steel pressing against your palms; it almost felt like your hands grew with a silver pistol rested upon them as if royalty was granted with a crown.

When you were younger, a tall pale man with the name of Paul Verlaine taught you all the ways of a markswoman he could.

Your work consisted of staying in the firing range, assisting criminals in their weaponry choices, dealing guns; and the off chance you could go on missions.

But when you did, shit was amazing.

"Nice one, [Y/N]." A boyish voice rang through the single earpiece of your left ear, repositioning yourself planted on the ground of one of the Port Mafia's rooftops; your index finger positioned off the trigger, taking your face off of the scope. "The pleasure's all mine." You thank teasingly; even if your 'partner' was kilometers away from you, you could almost taste the cruel smirk on his face from the other side; plotting a decimation not even a mafioso with 30 years of experience could pull off.

Dazai Osamu, the youngest mafia executive in history.

He was the craziest fuck you've ever met, but you did partake in his affairs with murder and crime; just from afar. Word says he got himself a new partner on the battlefield; a boy a year older than you, he was the supposed King of The Sheep, but his mentality and brutal force screamed nothing more than that of a wolf.

"Careful, pipsqueak - backup has already been granted." the lanky boy with bandages covered all around the midst of his tainted body said with boredom sinking in his voice; blood dribbled down his forehead, emerging in the facial bandages covering his right eye. Men with firearms and knives surrounded the two teenage boys; more than ready to shoot the children under the guise of their boss.

The ginger next to him barely turned his head in Dazai's direction, his tongue swiped behind his bottom teeth in irritation; though owning a petite stature, the King of The Sheep was more than confident that all these men, despite their bodies, would fall to their knees under the crushing pressure of gravity. "I don't give a damn about your shitty backup, I didn't join the Port Mafia to be protected." the redhead smiled cheekily, a red aura glowing from his body as his right leg lifted in the air - about to throw a powerful repeating hook kick.

Bang.

Several collisions shot through the air, Chuuya was sure it was the force of his ass-kicking skills; Dazai would have flipped a coin to see if it was you or the midget who landed a shot.

The redhead launched in the air, he twisted his leg just so that his shin hit the man's forehead. However, upon doing so - blood spluttered out of the man's head, falling harshly to the ground. The small boy landed successfully on the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets with a proud smirk. Until Dazai gently pressed on his earpiece to enable the microphone. "Again, thank you, [Y/N]," he says with a sigh, watching as Chuuya's face contorts in confusion. Spinning around on his heels, the man died not by his kick; but by a metal bullet pierced through the middle of his skull; along with all the other men perfectly striked in the forehead with the small bullets.

"What?" the ginger mafioso asked with surprise, "Who the hell did that?" he sharply turned to the bandaged brunette with annoyance laced in his voice. "[Y/N], you haven't heard of her?" Dazai asks boredly, striding over to the fallen man who was their leader. "No? Dude, where'd that even come from?" Chuuya spins his head in several directions, trying to find the source of the bullets. "Up your ass." the lanky boy teased, bending down to ransack the man's clothing.

"Shut up! Guns are a good for nothin' weapon anyway! Like hell we need them!!"

"Huh? I thought you didn't like guns."

You stood across from Chuuya in the stained room of the firing range, it's length was more than long, with rather narrow walls. Bales of hay were stacked at the end of the room, protecting the wall from bullets and missed shots. From the small distance of the door creaking open, laid the only walking point of the room; as the rest were hidden by pillars that seperated individual's gunfire; and nobody wished to get shot.

The teenager ruffles his hair, almost loathing in the awkward silence of the room; even with noice cancelling headphones on. He was wearing casual clothing, usual black sweatpants and some sort of red biker jacket; accompanied by a swift movement of his orange hair, tangling between his fingers.

"About that- 'kinda feel left out, ya mind teaching me?"

"You don't know how to use a gun?"

A more awkward silence entered the room as you stare at him in disbelief, the ginger's face remained somewhat sheepish; but by his piercing azure eyes, he was irritated by something, pretty obvious. "Nah," Chuuya replies, gently pushing his hands in his pockets, walking up to you. "was never a fan of guns - ain't bullets shoot better with your hands?" the boy smirked cheekily, causing you to scoff and take off your headphones. "You're talkin' like I can manipulate gravity." you reply dryly with a creeping smile, finishing to sweep the lose bullets on the floor.

"Exactly, that's why I'm apart of the mafia." the redhead boasted defensively, rolling his tongue across his inner cheek. "I think you're the only mafioso who doesn't know how to shoot." you reply with almost a whisper, his sharp glare at you made you question your lifespan. "I've dealt with swords thanks to Kouyou, I've gone to daggers and knives for the look and practicality - so lemme ask ya this, [Y/N], why would I ever turn to guns?" you heaved a sigh at his smartass answers, sometimes you hated his stupid delusions that he always had to be right.

"Well you're here now, so technically you are turning to guns." you swipe a sleek pistol off a metal table, discharging the magazine to see if any bullets were left. "Tsk," Chuuya crossed his arms in annoyance, "You're putting words and my mouth." he scoffed, causing little bits of laughter to escape your lips. "Just shut up and listen."

"Chuuya- you can't shoot a gun with one hand." you scold in annoyance, gently taking the same pistol out of the boy's gloved hands. "Why the hell not? I see it all the time." he brushes off some dirt off his jacket, blue eyes gazing at the addition of bullets in the chamber. "You watch too many movies," you mutter in concentration, redjusting the safety junctures. "a pistol's recoil wouldn't allow you to shoot it properly, and you'd miss like, 90% of the time as a beginner." you grin mockingly, causing Chuuya to smirk in irritation.

"But Dazai does it all the time."

"I don't know- Dazai's fuckin' crazy."

"You have a point."

You laugh as you placed the gun in his hands, "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, even if we're mafia." you said softly, the ginger nodded, readjusting his position into some kind of sharp-shooter. "Got it," he rasps, pointing the silver tip of the pistol towards the cardboard target. Your eyes scan his whole body and stance with predictability, he was standing like he was holding in a shit. "C'mere," you proceed with a click of the tongue, cupping Chuuya's hands over the pistol.

The fabric of his gloves saved you from some embarrassment, but you couldn't help but feel the way his soft hair poked your face leaning over his right shoulder. "Your hand that's going to pull the trigger should only use 30% of force, all the other should be with the other hand, using 70% to support it." you inform in almost a whisper, applying pressure atop his right hand for a more firm grip, Chuuya's eyes glanced to yours with a slight pink tint on his cheeks before nodding. "Alright,"

"So, why'd you come to learn from me anyway?"

"'Cause I wanna learn from the best, yea?"

...

"What?"

"What? You don't like being complimented?"

Trying to readjust his grip on the firearm whilst his breath was fanning your face and neck was so damn distracting, you don't even think he knows how close or what he's doing; especially with his trademark smirk and alluring aura. Chuuya's always been a bastard, but he wasn't all bad when you had a civil conversation; actually, maybe you two had one too many civil conversations. "Okay, think I got it, ima shoot." he nods with confidence, you take a step back as the redhead takes a few moments to reposition his stance and well, learn how to shoot.

"There's two parts of a gun that allows you to shoot: 1. the front, 2. the rear, match those two up and it's like a puzzle." you inform, pointing to the junctures of the firearm before yet again taking a step back. "And don't forget double action, it holds more trigger pull than all other shots."

From all the talking you just did, there was only one thing on your mind; Chuuya. A conversation so little that felt so heavy, were you that touch starved? Nobody visited you in the range, only older men who were practicing their skills. Infact, Chuuya hates guns; he believes that it held no value over him in the mafia and a machine used by non-ability users and non-ability users only. And yet, he still learnt from you, he could've went to anyone else; he could've went to another person to watch him fail.

Too much of your previous conversations filled your head; wine, motorcycles, cigarettes, music.. maybe you did share one too many conversations, you hate the way someone so violent could you make you feel huma-

Bang.

For the first time in your life, with or without headphones; the sound of a bullet puncturing cardboard startled you, even just a little. Damn it, that ginger did a number on you. You tilt your head up to see if the bullet hit, indeed it did not. "Fuck," the redhead groans, causing you to snicker a little bit, attempting to stiffle it with your hand. "Man, shut up.." he scowls in irritation, a small smile creeping on his face. "C'mon, the chambers not finished, you can do it." you cheer the boy on, patting his back lightly, Chuuya only chuckles with a shake of the head before turning back to the target.

"You wanna know why I think you're the best?" the mafioso continues to shoot, gritting his teeth everytime the metal bullet pierced anything but cardboard. "Why?" you ask curiously, watching as he finishes the chamber, setting the firearm down at the decently shot target.

"Have dinner with me and find out."

He smirks confidently, watching as you stare at the ginger blankly. "You wanna shoot up a restaurant?" you cock a brow in confusion, taking off your headphones. "No- what?"

"What I mean is, let's go out and enjoy some good food tonight, 'kay?"

[lieutnt]

hi i hope you're doing well <33

I have had a very kinky thought with Konig and haven't seen anyone do it so I figured I'd request it

Reader is an excellent sniper , Konig asks him to help train him to be a better sniper. Reader agrees and while helping Konig practice , he starts teasing him and telling him to keep focusing on hitting the targets - after Konig hits all the targets reader gives him a reward for being such good boy and ofc the reward is getting railed til Konig is a moaning mess

helping hand

Pairing: König x Male Reader Summary: König comes to you for some help - and you're more than happy to. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Top!Male reader, teasing, handjobs, fucking outside, unprotected anal, creampie.

Your breath in his ear sends goosebumps rippling across his skin. “I thought you wanted my help König?”

He quickly nods, a whine bubbling in the back of his throat. “I do-”

“You don’t seem to be taking it very seriously.” You interrupt, a hand trailing down the curve of his spine. Under the weight of your hand you feel him fidget, trying to stop himself from grinding his hips into the ground for any sort of relief. “You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” he cries, cock throbbing painfully within the confines of his pants. Every little one of your touches sent a new wave of arousal coursing through his body, his mind ready to give up and submit to you. “You’re too distracting,” he whines.

Ever since he had met you in the makeshift training area you had been teasing him; standing too close, talking in his ear, your hands all over his body as you manoeuvred him into different sniping positions, all while König steadily got harder and harder and became more and more distracted, barely able to focus on why you were here in the first place.

“You need to be able to focus even with distractions all around you,” you begin, capturing his attention once more. “How about this? You manage to hit the rest of the targets and I’ll give you a reward.”

“What kind of reward?” He asks pointlessly, he’s already sure he knows what will happen, or at least what he wants to happen.

Tutting you shift up onto your knees, König turning his head to watch you. “Well we can’t ruin the surprise now can we?” You wink, and he’s thankful for the hood covering his head so you can’t see the crimson blush creep up on his cheeks. “Now, three targets left.”

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up, and he quickly adjusts his focus back through the scope of the sniper rifle, scanning the area to try and find the targets. He soon finds one, hitting it dead on with no issues. 

Hearing the pleased hum come from you he tries to ignore it, but he can’t contain his reaction as his body jumps when your hand falls onto the arch of his back, fingers skimming across the fabric of his shirt. “Focus,” you scold, and he fights his body wanting to arch into the touch.

Pushing out a deep breath he starts again, searching for another target. Your hand stills as you wait, and the heat coming from your palm even through his shirt feels like torture. You can feel when he finds another one, his back just tensing and relaxing ever so slightly, and once he’s in position he quickly lets off another shot, hitting the target perfectly. “Good,” you praise, hand drifting lower to follow his spine, stopping halfway down. “One more.”

König’s breathing is harsher now, fighting to control every breath as he tries to find the last target. Excitement races through his veins when he does. He forces himself to be calm, trying to ignore your presence near him and fires, sighing with relief when he hits the final one. 

Moving your hand lower you start to play with the waistband of his pants, fingertips dipping under the fabric intermittently. “There you go, knew you could do it,” you purr, König preening under your praise. “Now about that reward-”

König groans, cutting off your train of speech. “Please, stop teasing me.”

You take your fingers away, chuckling as pushes his hips up to follow the movement. “Oh? What do you want me to do?”

His cock throbs, leaking with excitement. “Fuck me,” he mumbles, tucking his face into the inside of his elbow. 

Although you heard him perfectly you decide to tease him further, placing both hands on his hips, encouraging him to move until he’s resting on his arms and knees, back arched perfectly, ass in the air in front of you. “What was that?”

“Fuck me,” he tries again, louder this time. 

Shuffling forward you stop just before your thighs hit the back of his legs, hands tightening on his hips to bring him backwards the rest of the way. He goes willingly, groaning when he feels the large bulge in your pants against his clothed ass, and unashamedly he rubs against you, a pleased rumble leaving your chest.

One of your hands snakes from his hip around his waist, fingers barely ghosting the outline of cock as you go for his zipper instead, slowly bringing it down until the shape of his cock is spilling out from the opening. As swiftly as you can you pull his pants and boxers down in one swoop, König hissing as his cock twitches in the open air. 

He grunts when you wrap a hand around his hardened cock, sliding your palm over the head to gather the precum dripping there and slathering his cock as you begin to stroke up and down, your other hand kneading the flesh of his ass cheek. As soon as he starts trying to fuck into your hand you stop, removing your hand and planting it on his other cheek, pulling them apart so you can see his twitching hole.

“Would you look at that?” you coo, thumb brushing against his rim. “Looks like your hole is begging to be filled.” König whines, his body aching for any sort of stimulation. Gathering up as much spit as you can he gasps when he feels it hit his hole, your thumb quickly spreading the moisture, teasing his entrance.

Slowly you fight against the resistance, his hole gradually opening up to your thumb as you push it deeper, and only when it easily slides in and out do you add another finger, König beginning to rock back against them as you scissor the digits. Your mouth is dry by the time you can fit three fingers, making sure he’s fully prepared for you, your own cock desperate to be inside him. 

Withdrawing your fingers you slide your zipper down, pulling out your cock to rest it in the crevice of his cheeks, König able to feel the heat emanating from your dick. Taking what little moisture is left from your mouth you spit into your hand and slick up your own cock before you press the head against his hole, giving him slow, gentle thrusts as you enter him inch by inch, pushing in and pulling out until he opens up around you.

When you’re finally fully seated inside him you stop your movements, relishing in the heat as he clenches around you, König mewling with impatience as you do nothing other than stroke the skin of his hip. Eventually, he pulls himself away and pushes back onto you, a pleasured moan escaping both of you. “Please move,” he begs.

Slowly you draw all the way out, tip catching on his rim before you slam forward, a harsh slap of skin against skin as your thighs smack against him, König letting out a choked groan. Taking little time to set a harsh pace he’s soon lost in ecstasy, arms barely holding him up as you use him like a toy, grunts and moans escaping into the air.

Fucking into him you search out that sweet spot, the tip of your cock punching in deeper and deeper until on one thrust he wails, body trembling and cock pulsing as he sprays his release across the ground, streaks of white staining the soil underneath him. 

You don’t stop, chasing your own orgasm as you continue your thrusts, one arm wrapping around König to wrench him up and hold him to your chest, your free hand gripping his cock, jerking him off as he cries from the stimulation. “Bitte, wait.” With the new angle you thrust in deeper, his hole clenching and pulsing around you, driving you closer and closer to the apex. 

“Just a little bit more, I’m close,” you groan, rapidly thrusting into his hole, cock bullying against his prostate. “Where do you want it?” 

“I-inside,” he hiccups, one of his arms ensnaring your neck to hold you close as the other rests on the one jerking his cock.

It takes just a few more thrusts to come undone, a hoarse snarl tearing from your throat as you unload inside König, your cock shooting rope after rope into his hole as it milks you for everything you have. The feeling of you cumming inside pushes König into another orgasm, a smaller spurt of cum erupting from his cock and joining his previous load on the floor. Your hips give small, shaky thrusts as you fill him up, a ring of white forming around his rim as your cum starts leaking out and back down along your cock. 

Time is lost as you both stay like that, holding each other close, trying to swallow down oxygen as pleasure bursts through your veins. Once your senses rush back to you, you gently lower König to rest on his arms, the man unable to remain sitting up, and slowly pull out, cum immediately seeping from his hole and you quickly tuck yourself away at the risk of becoming hard again as you fight to tear your eyes away.

König takes longer to recover, only doing so when you finally speak up. “König?” He barely hums in acknowledgement. “You have to get up, big guy.” He grunts, mind still hazy with pleasure. There’s not much you can do about the current mess of his hole so you pull his underwear and pants back up over his ass, tucking his cock back in and adjusting them so they look as normal as possible.

“I don’t think I can move,” he grumbles, and you bite back the bark of laughter threatening to erupt.

“Here,” you offer, moving to his front and offering your hands to help him up. He takes them, relying on you to drag him up and without asking, you place a supportive arm around his waist, tucking him into your side as you walk back together. The walk is uncomfortable, cum oozing out of his hole with every step, something he makes known.

“I need a shower,” he states, gait becoming awkward as he tries to find the walk most comfortable.

You hum in agreement, arm tightening around his waist. “How about I help clean you up?”

[dudecreature]

Clean Shaven

Pairing: [Established] Price x GN! Reader Synopsis: Price shaves his beard after a mission goes haywire. Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: descriptions of razors A/N: I feel like I was MIA (´～`) it is finals season after all. - the reader's callsign is Bullseye (they're a sniper and I am unoriginal lol) and - we are definitely not going to talk about how I had to google whether a movie would be on a DVD or a CD... - Enjoy! Like and reblog if you did <3

“Fuckin’ HELL. Soap!”

“Price! Shite! I’m so sorry!!”

That is all that was heard over the comms. You and Gaz shot a mix of concerned and confused looks at each other on the rooftop they were currently located. Soap and Price were the ones to infiltrate the building to find the information they needed, then blow it all to hell. You were there to provide sniper assistance and Gaz was there to fly the helicopter (he got his license and no way in hell was he going to let anyone else do that. not with his track record). 

“Price, Soap. How copy?” Gaz said through the comms. There was silence for a short while, but you could still see movement through the windows of the compound. They seemed like they were still alive and hopefully uninjured. you kept your eyes through the scope tracking both men through the building, waiting with bated breath to hear back from them. 

“Guys, how copy?” You had asked over the comms after Gaz had already asked twice. It was frustrating silence, but you understood not having a safe opening to answer comms. Suddenly the comms crackle back to life from their end.

“Copy fine Bullseye, nice an’ crispy.” Price sounded angry and he hesitated at the last bit. Soap was going to get it this time. According to the mission, the team needed to get as much information as possible, and then blow the place to smithereens. Price knew what they were looking for, and Soap liked to make things go boom. The pairing made sense at the time. 

You looked at Gaz in bewilderment 'What the hell is he talking about?' printed across their faces. Gaz could only shrug, he knew as much as you did. Soap and Price ended up splitting through the rooms. Price headed to the office where all of the files were stored and Soap to find the weak points of the buildings. 

"Soap I've got as much as I can find. You ready to detonate those planted bombs, mate?" Price's gruff voice sounded in your ear. You smile to yourself, proud of the man as always. In and out with no injuries, as it should be. Soap chatters off an excited reply and the two exit the building. 

You watch through the scope of your rifle as the two stealthily exit the building. You notice that something seems… off about Price. You can sense the scowl from where they are from a hundred meters away. He looked a little different, though you couldn’t quite place it. 

You could finally place it once the two had gotten closer. Soap trailed behind a grouchy Price. Oh... Oh no... Oh no no no. You now understood why Price was so grouchy. 

Half of his beard was burnt off. The left half of his face looked naked, the hair on his face was half burnt. The charred hair traveled from his nose all the way up his cheek and near his ear. Barely missing his precious hat.

“What the hell happened to you?” You were unabashedly shocked at what you had seen. You trodded up to the pair with Gaz at their side, Bullseye and Gaz stared at their captain in awe. The former had packed their things quickly to get out of there quickly. You had gotten in close to assess the damage to his beard, their hands ghosting over his cheek and above his lip. 

“I’m fine darling, don't fuss ‘bout it.” He paused and shot a thumb back at a very remorseful Soap and said “This one was playin' with a lighter he found and lit my beard on fire.” His hands found yours and held them while you traced his cheekbone. He looked down at them with tender eyes, appreciating the fact you were worried about him, but hated the look on your face. He leaned down to their left ear, the intact half of his beard scratching their face slightly, and whispered to them,

“Jus’ a bit of cosmetic damage.” He kissed your cheek and neck quickly before moving to get in the helicopter. You sighed at the loss of contact, threw your stuff on the bed of the helicopter, and climbed in. Gaz at the wheel the group got into the air and flew over the enemy compound. With confirming word from Price, Soap excitedly detonated the bombs he had placed and the place erupted into flames and fell to rubble in a matter of seconds. You could almost feel the heat of the flames that engulfed where the building once stood. 

You looked to Price to admire him, only to catch his eye. You smiled softly at the captain and looked down at what was left of his beard. He saw this and touched the charred hair, cringing at how different it felt. It had been a while since he could feel the wind on his upper lip, it made him shift his mouth awkwardly. He needed a reflection to judge just how bad it was, and to decide how he would deal with it. 

Price knew that his lover liked his beard, you had often commented on how it tickled when they kissed (among other things *wink wink*), and would help him groom it on occasion. His beard was a staple of his look, aside from his hat, and having to part with it gave him a sense of anxiety he hadn’t ever felt before. He worried how his Bullseye would feel if he had to shave it all off, maybe he could keep a little of it just to hopefully keep them with him. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Bullseye bumped his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be alright love, it grows back.” You said with endearment. He huffed a response and scratched awkwardly at his face still. When the group arrived back to base Price was able to hide the accident behind his hand in the debrief, the darkness of the room aiding him. Once the four were dismissed he was the first to leave the room, bustling down the halls praying no one saw him. 

You followed at a slower pace, allowing for the man much-needed space from everyone. When you arrived at the door of their shared room you knocked gently calling out for him. When you had heard a response you then asked if you could join him. The door suddenly opened and he looked down at them with a look in his eyes that you were not able to place.

“It’s your room too you know, of course you can come in,” he grumbled and made space for them to make their way into the room. 

“I know, I just wanted to give you the option of having a moment to yourself, love.” Bullseye responded in a soft and caring tone. You knew how much he liked his facial hair, and he also knew how much you liked his facial hair. However, you wanted to check in on him first. you sat on the shared bed and patted the spot next to them, offering a seat to the Captain.

He sat down next to them with a soft sigh and leaned his head on their shoulder. you were trying to comfort him and he knew this. Accepting the gentle affection and support, he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He wasn't the type to talk about his insecurities or when he was feeling anything but confident, but there was something inherently trustworthy about Bullseye. It had drawn him in the first time they had met so many years ago.

“Will you help me fix this?” he asked in a soft tone. you nodded and stroked his back. As he stood, you stood with him and followed him into his personal bathroom. you knew where everything was, so you pulled out the scissors, shears, and the razor and shaving cream. Taking a washcloth, you had run it under warm water and heated it to a very comforting temperature. Price was pushed to sit on a chair that was brought into the bathroom, right in front of the large mirror. Bullseye stood in front of him as you wrung out the washcloth of excess water. When you turned, Price was looking up at them, with so much love in his eyes one would think that he hadn’t been a hardened soldier for nearly two decades. 

you smile softly at the man, gently take his hat off, and place the warm cloth on the bottom half of his face. After a few silent minutes, you took the washcloth off and wiped as much of the grime left on his face as you could. You took your time and were able to admire the man's face. The way his eyebrows furrowed when they got close to his eyes. The straight bridge of his nose and the crow's feet developing near the corners of his eyes. You suddenly broke the silence as gently as you could.

“Are we trying to salvage the chops or are we going for a clean shave?” you ran their hands through the right half of his face, scratching at the salvaged portion of the beard. He grumbled and his top lip twitched in thought. you waited patiently for the man to make up his mind and you ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. 

“Do you think it can be saved?” he asked slightly hopeful, but honestly he knew there was no chance of saving it. He ran a gentle hand down the burnt hairs on his face and sighed; he looked up at them catching their eyes. you shook their head solemnly, just as he figured. “Clean-shaven it is then, love.”

you nodded in response and grabbed the army-issued shaving cream and his straight razor. you gather some of the shaving cream into the palm of their hand before gently lathering it over his cheeks, and chin. 

“Ready?” you ask, looking at him waiting for an answer. He took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes still looking at you. They never left. Bullseye takes the handle of the razor and carefully glides it down his right cheek. The sharp blade takes all of the hair with it leaving the soft skin of his cheek exposed to the air. 

Bullseye wipes the stolen hair onto a towel next to the sink. Readying for another stroke you look down at Price, his eyes closed in a relaxed state. You smile to yourself and continue their actions, curving with the shapes of his face, and being careful not to knick him. 

After you had fully finished shaving his face (you even cleaned up his eyebrows a little), you put the washcloth back onto his face. It had been rewarmed by the water. Ensuring to get all the leftover hair off, you then put his aftershave on his cheeks. 

Price had then opened his eyes when he felt the slight sting of the aftershave, but he didn't flinch. He hesitated before looking from their eyes to the mirror. When he did he was slightly shocked, he had forgotten how much older the beard had made him look. His beard definitely added about 5 years to his looks. After examining his face for a few moments, he looked back to the other person in the room.

“Well… how do I look, darling?” He looked up at you expectantly (and with so much rizz). You chucked at the goofy face he made and shook your head with a smile. 

“You look as pretty as always.” You shoot back at him. You turn around and begin cleaning up the impromptu barber shop. He stood up from his seat and admired your work, his hand rubbing where his chops once were. Once you had finished cleaning up your station you had turned back around to face him. You wrapped your arms around his torso and smiled at him lovingly.

“Do ya wanna go watch a movie?” you ask him. The common room would be a good place for you to both unwind (in the most wholesome of ways). All you wanted to do was curl up with him and watch one of the movies on base. He hummed a confirming nod and squeezed you back. He led the way to the common room after you separated.

Price was thankful for the lack of people in the halls, he didn't want to have to deal with the odd looks and stares he would likely have gotten if there were anyone there. The two of you made your way through the halls, your pinkies intertwined, gently guiding each other. 

As the two of you make it to the common room, you cross over the threshold of the doorway and are greeted by three other figures. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost have already claimed the common room as their choice of relaxation. The three men notice your presence at roughly the same time, and an awkwardly tense silence fills the space. The three of them, with their heads all locked onto the two of you still frozen in the doorway, shock visible in each of their faces.

Soap’s face configures from shock to that of what looked like genuine horror. Ghost’s eyes were wide and unmoving from Price’s face and Gaz’s mouth hung open, unable to comprehend the new look their Captain was given. You managed to stifle your laughter but a smile still tugged its way to your cheeks, you had never seen them so emotive before. Price sighed and tried to hide his face saying

“Take a bloody picture, it’ll last longer you muppets,” he grumbled aggravated at the attention.

“Did I do that?!” Soap yelled at a volume able to burst ear drums. He leapt from his seat on the couch and stood in front of Price with his head bowed downward.

“I am so sorry, Price!” he all but wept in the older man's arms at the apology. The silence from the other two men in the room was noticed when you and Price found yourselves looking at them, waiting for their input on the situation.

Ghost stayed still as ever, unmoving and steady.

“Put it back,” he muttered, barely audible. You make a noise of confusion, that Ghost reads as if you were not able to hear him.

“Put. It. Back.” he says with a more stern tone. You burst out a laugh unable to contain it. They all look at you in confusion and when you notice you stumble something about how stupid the three of them look right now. Gaz still mouth wide open finally shuts it and states very proudly

“Well, I think it looks great. You have a very handsome face.” His arms are crossed over his chest and he is nodding in confidence. Price deadpans at his statement and sighs for what feels like the millionth time that day. His beard was going to grow back totally gray at the rate of these idiots.

You put your hand on the top of Price’s back and tell the team that the two of you were going to wind down with a movie of Price’s choice. After the initial shock had worn off the two still on the couch, they agreed. Soap however still looked upset at himself, and every time he looked at Price he frowned a little more.

Price pulled the man aside and barely within earshot tells Soap he wasn’t that mad about it, but he would be on bathroom and dish duty for the next four months. You chuckle to yourself at his punishment and ready the movie on an old DVD player that Gaz had brought to the base. Classic Price chose a Clint Eastwood movie to watch.

The two of you curled onto the loveseat together while the other three sat on the couch. Price held your hand the entire movie and when you leaned to whisper into his ear he leaned down to hear you.

“How long will it take to grow back… Ghost wants to know." That last bit was definitely a lie. Price knew this, chuckled, and pushed your face away from him. You let out an undignified noise and kissed his hand looking at him. You smiled and mouthed the words that he would parrot back to you for the rest of your lives. 

“I love you.”