#i once loved a lass

[howifeltabouthim]

She has done nothing that I did not forgive as soon as it was done. Had she married that man, I should have forgiven her even that,—though I should have known that all her future life was destroyed, and much of mine also.

Anthony Trollope, from Can You Forgive Her?

[silusvesuius]

(crossing arms) yyyyou again

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

There are two wolves fighting in me:

I want to make a tiny, tiny gnome to romance Karlach, because the size difference would be so funny and cute.

I want to make the biggest, beefiest male character possible to romance Karlach, especially to see if he can pick her up in her romance scene in Act 3, because she picks regular sized characters up regardless of gender, and I want to make her seem small for once.

[wimbledon2008]

I assign you Leafeon, by the power vested in me by Officer Jennie

[feartheoldblog]

*knock knock*

I am demanding hcs for your Gilded rot Ocs

!!! (but take your time if you need to!)

HELLO THERE BIM I COME BEARING GIFTS

Headcanons are under the cut 😎

I figured that bullet points is probably the easiest way to do it, so:

Gawain

• He is an impeccable singer, incredibly talented. However, he rarely sings unless he’s had a few tankards of mead and has been peer pressured encouraged to by the other Cleanrots. In a past life, prior to enlisting as a soldier, he was well known as a singer and often asked to lead the hymns at church. However, he avoids them now.

• If you look under his bed, you’ll probably find a romance novel or two that he’s borrowed from the library. No, he wouldn’t sign them out under his name; he’s much too proud for that. He will vehemently deny ownership of them.

• Extremely fond of canines, in particular the patrol hounds. He regularly keeps chunks of dried meat in his pockets to offer them to the dogs. Unfortunately, they aren’t to keep dogs in the barracks for obvious reasons so he often visits the kennels. His favourite is an Irish Wolfhound called Birch.

• Refused to share a room with anyone other than Finlay. He was temporarily housed with Harlan and Aoife for a week and he deliberately annoyed them as much as possible so he could ensure he was placed back with Finlay.

Aoife

• Easily identifiable amongst the Cleanrots due to her being extremely tall. Due to this, she can come across as intimidating despite her amicable, cheery personality. She often hits her head off doorframes but barely acknowledges it (much to the others’ surprise).

• She’s an absolute fiend for fresh fruit. If there’s a delivery to the canteen and you fancy some fruit, you better make sure you can get there faster than her. Her favourite is peaches, though she does enjoy apples too.

• Do not play poker or any other card game that requires deception. You will lose. She is probably the richest Cleanrot because of these drunken nights of betting.

• Cat person. Spends half her time scrounging fish scraps from the fishing boats to feed the well kept cats that live around the Haligtree. Sometimes decides to sunbathe right next to them even if it means she takes up an entire path, much to people’s dismay.

• Seeing Harlan romantically. They often bicker over small things but it’s rare to see one without the other.

Harlan

• An incredible artist. He can use just about anything as a medium, from fancy paints provided by Miquella himself to creating his own dye from plants and berries. There’s many a landscape painting found around the Haligtree, from residents’ houses in the town plaza to the royal residence. He’s often commissioned by Miquella himself.

• The Cleanrot Knight that gets along the most with Miquella. They’re good friends as they shared an interest in the arts, much to Malenia’s dismay as she isn’t too interested in them.

• Extremely interested in how he looks. He wakes up the earliest of all the knights to ensure that his hair is neat, skin fresh and face shaved. He likes trying out different perfumes, both Haligtree concoctions and mainland scents.

• Seeing Aoife romantically. They often bicker as Harlan prefers neatness, whereas Aoife is more of a free spirit that cares not for well combed hair or freshly pressed clothes.

Bastien

• The friendliest person in the Haligtree, he can get along with basically anyone. If he wasn’t a guard, Miquella said he could’ve been an ambassador for the Haligtree. This means that’s he’s a total smooth talker and can talk his way out of basically everything, though mostly tardiness.

• Although he isn’t a Cleanrot Knight and instead serves in the Haligtree guard, he is one of Loretta’s closest friends and allies. He was happily accepted into their group of friends, though how much of this was Loretta’s influence or his own smart talking is unknown.

• Spends most of his time taking naps on the Haligtree’s treacherously high, smaller boughs. He’s extremely agile and can climb with ease, meaning that he’s often used as a scout. It doesn’t make Finlay any less uneasy when she watches him fast asleep, 30 metres above the ground.

• He enjoys playing the flute, and it’s not uncommon to hear the gentle sound in the distance if he’s finding it difficult to sleep.

[ghostsanctity]

Simon had always known he was possessive, but this… this was something new. It all started during a rambling, half-drunk conversation with Soap, the kind they’d both forget by morning—except for one comment that had lodged itself in Simon’s mind like a splinter.

“Lass can’t forget you if she’s knocked up with your baby,” Soap had muttered with a lopsided grin, slurring just enough to make Simon dismiss it at first.

At first.

Simon knew you’d never forget him, no matter how long he was deployed. He trusted you, loved you in ways he couldn’t always put into words. But once the thought was planted, he couldn’t forget it. Maybe deep down it was the fear you’d leave or just the desire to know that you were fully his, round with his child, but whatever it was, when he got notified of an upcoming assignment, he knew he was gonna damn well try.

Which is how you ended up here now, pressed into the mattress beneath him, his broad chest blanketing your back as his lips dragged heatedly along your neck. He reaches around, pulling your body up enough for you to stabilise yourself as he roughly palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers as he continues to rut against you.

He's been at it for hours, fucking you with a relentless intensity, determined to fill you with every drop of his cum before he leaves. You’ve lost count at this point, never knowing he could go for so many repeated rounds but you certainly know it now as you feel his cum run down your thighs, the squelching noise every time he fucks back into you, a combination of your arousal and how many loads he’s given you so far tonight.

"Fuuck-" he groans, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "Gonna knock you up so good. Gonna make sure you're round with my baby by the time I get back."

He pulls out, his cock sliding from your well-fucked hole 

He stares down at your pussy, mesmerised by the sight of it dripping with his cum. He leans down, his face mere inches from it as his heated breath ghosts your folds. He watches, transfixed, as another thick spurt of his previous load oozes out of you.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. "Look at that. Look at what you do to me."

He reaches out, his fingers gently parting your swollen lips to get a better look. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly before scooping up some of the cum that's leaking out and guiding it back in with his middle and ring finger.

He pushes his fingers deeper, scissoring them to work his own cum back inside you. He wants to make sure every last drop takes.

"Gonna plug you up-" he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Keep you nice and full of me.”

He withdraws them, glistening with the thick, pearly fluid before bringing them up to your mouth, pressing his fingers against your lips.

"Go on-" he purrs as he slowly pushes his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean. You can taste the saltiness of his cum mixed with the musky scent of your arousal. It's a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl for me."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, only to bring them back down to your pussy. He circles your clit with them, the slickness of his cum providing the perfect lubrication before he gestures for you to roll onto your back.

He straightens back up as he slides the head of his aching cock through your folds, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that do nothing to satisfy the ache inside you.

"Y’not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Not after this- fuck -you’re not leaving me…You can’t–”

You could hear the subtle desperation in his words, a fear that you'd abandon him. He needed to know that you would be here, waiting for him, even when he was deployed.

He kisses desperately, trying to put every fiber of his being into this kiss, hoping to portray even a fraction of the strong love he felt for you. His hips start to move again, his cock sliding into you with a groan. He sets a slow, deep pace, each thrust deliberate and purposeful as he works himself in and out of you.

"Fuck, I love you," he grunts, the words torn from him. "Love you so fucking much…You're my everything, I swear I’ll never let you down-"

He wraps his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, fingers digging into your flesh as he impales you on his thick cock over and over again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "So fucking tight and wet for me. Always so ready for my cock, god you’re perfect-."

He adjusts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your back arches off the bed as your nails rake down his back and you moan wantonly.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice husky with desire. "Gonna' fill you up so good. Gotta make sure it takes before I leave-

His hips piston faster, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's getting close, you can tell by the way his muscles tense, the way his breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

"Gonna cum," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Shit- fuck-”

He buries himself to the hilt, incoherent mutterings rolling off his tongue as his cock pulses, filling you with another thick load. He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans as you feel it, hot and heavy, painting your insides white. He collapses on top of you, all his weight heavy upon you, though you don't mind at all, arms wrapping tightly about him.

He stays buried inside of you, his now softening cock still buried deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours as his breath comes in short pants, trying to catch his breath.

"I meant what I said, you know…gonna' make you mine in every way possible," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he lifts some of his weight off of you. "Want you to have my baby- And when I come back, I'm gonna marry you because I’m completely yours and I want you to be fully mine, officially."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

© ghostsanctity → do not copy or translate any of my works

[devil-in-hiding]

the men finding farmer!reader awake earlier than you usually are one morning, scribbling in a little notebook at the kitchen table, eyes darting between your words and the calendar on the wall

“good morning, there’s tea on the stove and toast on the counter.” you greet, voice soft and tired and Price rolls his eyes.

(once you start warming up to them and allowing them to help more, they grill you about working yourself to exhaustion)

“Thought you promised to take it easy this morning.” He mutters, giving Grimes a scratch behind the ears as he goes to grab a mug. He feels Ghost squeeze by behind him, hands warm on his lower back as he pours his tea.

“I’m making a schedule Price.” You yawn, shooing Soap away he tries to snatch the last bite of eggs of your plate. “Hey!” You snap, slapping his hand. Soap looks at you as though you beat him. “Not even a little bite?”

“Make your own, you don’t even like my eggs-“

“Aye! All I said that mornin’ was they was runny!” He whines, and Ghost lightly shoves him away, stealing the seat closest to you.

“What kind of schedule hm?” He questions, trying to peer down at the paper.

“Breeding season.”

Gaz chokes on a piece of toast, Soap slapping his back quickly. Ghost’s fork clatters back onto his plate and Price freezes, only to curse when scalding tea cascades over the side of his mug and down his hand.

You watch, brow raised, as they compose themselves.

“Breeding season?” Soap asks weakly, voice tight and you look between them, tilting your head.

“Yeah…? For the animals…?” You say slowly, and they let out a synchronised groan, Price running a hand over his face.

“Christ love, learn how to phrase shit yeah?”

“What? What do you mean? It’s breeding season!”

“Lass please-“

[readwritealldayallnight]

im on my knees begging for jealous Simon headcanons 🧎🏻‍♀️

The thing about Simon is, he really has no reason to get jealous when it comes to you, and he knows it

He knows there isn’t anyone else who could make you smile so much your cheeks hurt, no one else who could make you laugh until you claim you’re going to pee your pants, no one else who could make you feel as good as he does, in oh so many ways, because you tell him so

You tell him that those same feelings of being loved, understood, appreciated, and wanted, those very feelings that you make him feel each and every day, he gives them back to you a thousand times over

He knows when you look in his eyes and tell him that you love him, that there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he is the only one for you, and nothing or anyone could ever change that

You’re as smitten with him as he is with you

Still though, Simon does have eyes

And while the logical part of his brain is telling him that he’s got no reason to be gritting his teeth and clenching his fists underneath the table, he can’t help but grow more and more frustrated with the way Soap and Gaz continue to flirt shamelessly with you

To be fair, you had warned him that keeping your relationship a complete secret from everyone would likely result is moments where Simon would have to watch you get hit on, and simply have to grin and bear it

That didn’t mean it was any easier, watching his only best mates try and work their charm on you, all while he sits at the same table and watches you roll your eyes at their advances

“Aw, come on love, just one chance, s’all I ask for!” The handsome, young sergeant practically whines to you, cheeky grin plastered across his features as he tries in vain to convince you to let him take you out some time

“Pfft, ye’d be nothin’ but a waste o’ her time, Garrick. We wouldn’t even ‘ave to to leave base for me to show ye a good time, bonnie.” The Scotsman winks at you, pointedly ignoring the way Gaz elbows him in the ribs at his comment

Throughout the entire exchange, Ghost’s gaze has never left your face, watching every time you scoff and roll your eyes at the men’s antics, reminding himself that you’re his, and he is yours, and the two sergeants are nothing more than pains in both of your asses

Finished with your pitiful meal from the dining hall, you stand from the table with your tray gathered in your hands, flipping your hair over one shoulder as you look towards the men trying to win your affection

“Once again, gentleman,” you say to them, knowing that they’re listening to your every word and watching your every move. “I don’t fraternize with colleagues. At least not the Sergeants.”

The two men groan in feeble protest at the mention of their ranks, having heard this reasoning from you before

“Ach, what if I get myself demoted, lass? I ken I could do that, easy!” Soap teases you, only kind of joking

“Mmm, don’t think that’ll work.” You reply, beginning to slowly walk away from the group, but not before glancing over you shoulder to lock eyes with Ghost and add, “You might have to become a Lieutenant. Those are more my type.”

The two Sergeants are staring after you, slightly gobsmacked, while their Lieutenant hides an overly smug and satisfied grin beneath his mask, shielding the pride that spread through him at your words

“Shite, sounds like you might ‘ave a chance, LT.” Soap laughs, smacking Ghost across the shoulder in a playful gesture, thinking that the larger man would never actually pursue you, let alone sleep in your bed almost every night

It’s a few weeks later when you and the rest of the 141 are all out for drinks at a nearby pub however, when Simon finds his instincts growing stronger than his insecurities

Because that’s just it isn’t it? He’s not feeling insecure when he sees you walk towards the bar by yourself to order a new drink, at least a dozen pairs of eyes watching you weave through the crowd in hopes of making a move on you

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches some tipsy idiot try and pretend he’s drunker than he really he is when he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you, apparently feeling the need to put his hands on you as he apologizes

He’s not feeling insecure when he watches you shove the guy off, reading your lips he knows so well as you tell the guy you’re not interested, nor is he insecure when he knows the idiot won’t give up that easily, likely asking if you’re here alone before you point over to where the 141 have overtaken a booth in the back

No, he certainly isn’t feeling insecure when he sees that the man never bothers glancing back to the table, still trying to land a hand on your body somewhere, when Simon’s instincts take over, rising from his seat without a word to the men who glance his way and ask where he’s going suddenly

He’s acting on pure instinct as he stalks over to you, the crowd parting for his large frame to move by without hesitation, locking eyes with you just as he lands a massive skull gloved hand on the tosser’s shoulder, wringing him around to face him

Your would be admirer isn’t feeling so confident now when he’s staring up at a 6’4” wall of muscle donned in all black apart from the white markings of his skull balaclava

If he were a more jealous man, Simon might take more time to admire the way you can practically hear this idiot gulp over the loud sounds of the music, the way his eyes bulge out of his head and how he looks nearly ready to piss himself on the spot

But your man knows who he is to you, and so instead he shoves the geezer away, turning to face you as one hand lifts up the bottom of his balaclava, just far enough to swoop down and meet your lips in a passionate tangle of tongue and teeth, tasting the alcohol on each other’s breath and the desire in your systems, a kiss that says to everyone else watching, including the bewildered Captain and Sergeants gawking from across the room, that you are his and his alone

[beloveds-embrace]

OK IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR A WHILE

so I keep seeing these ads for “pheromone perfume” pop up. the women in who advertise it say that it makes men go crazy, it smells amazing, they can’t get their bfs off of them whenever they put it on (and usually they put it on and then set up the camera and wait for their significant other to walk in the room and react to it)

and every time I see one of those ads, I think of designationless reader.

idk if that’s something they’d ever do, but I feel like it would be interesting for them to dab some of it on their wrists and behind their ears, as well as where their scent glands are and see how the guys react to it 🤭🤭

Anon i love you and I am smooching your brain so hard rn

The idea had been simmering in your mind for weeks, born from the endless pheromone perfume ads that flooded your late-night scrolling. People with bright smiles swore their perfumes were magic, capable of driving their partners wild with desire. But you weren’t like those people. You had no designation, no scent, no pheromones to speak of-

The ads made you feel like an outsider all over again. But they also left you wondering- what if there was a way to bridge that gap, just a little?

That’s how you found yourself at a specialized lab, the kind that catered to people willing to spend a small fortune for something deeply personal. It wasn’t easy. The process was invasive, awkward, and expensive. The technicians had taken a lot of samples of your body- skin oils, sweat, saliva- examining them under microscopes, running them through machines you didn’t understand, distilling your very essence into a single vial of concentrated potential.

When you walked out with the tiny glass bottle, your wallet was lighter, and your chest was tight with nerves.

What if this didn’t work?

What if it did?

Being scentless had always set you apart, a quiet absence in a world built on pheromones and instinct. You didn’t have the alluring pull of an omega’s sweetness or the steady, grounding weight of a beta’s calm. And you certainly didn’t have the commanding presence of an alpha’s dominance.

You were… nothing.

Not that your pack ever made you feel that way. Price, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz treated you like you hung the moon, their affection constant and overwhelming. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, you wondered what it would be like if you could scent them. If you could mark them the way they marked you. If you could pull them closer without relying on their instincts to protect what was theirs.

You’d dabbed the finished product on experimentally: just behind your ears, at the base of your throat, and along the faint line of your collarbone. You added drops to your wrists and even a little over your faulty scent glands, though you weren’t sure why. It had no scent for you, and you were almost worried that they might have scammed you.

But their reactions convinced you otherwise.

The moment he walked into the common area, his steps faltered. His broad shoulders stiffened, and his blue eyes sharpened, narrowing as if sensing something just out of reach. He sniffed once, subtly at first, but then again, deeper, his nostrils flaring, and his hands flexed at his sides.

“Something’s… different.” He muttered, almost to himself, but his voice was low enough to send a shiver through you.

“Something wrong, Cap?” You asked innocently, feigning ignorance as Soap entered behind him.

Soap stopped in his tracks, bright demeanor dimming as his eyes zeroed in on you. His head tilted, his mouth parting slightly as he breathed in deeply. “Lass,” he murmured, soft and careful. “What are you wearin’?”

“Clothes? What else would I be wearing, Soap?” You replied, voice dry just enough to be convincing. You raised an eyebrow, then, and crossed your arms. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Gaz appeared next, his movements slower than usual as he approached. Dark eyes narrowed, his focus razor-sharp as his body tensed. He didn’t speak immediately; instead, he circled you slightly, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn’t know where to start.

Ghost entered last, his imposing frame cutting through the room’s tension like a blade. He didn’t say a word, didn’t ask, didn’t even hesitate. He simply stopped in front of you, his chest rising and falling steadily as his head dipped slightly, his masked face inches from yours. His gloved hands found your waist, and a low growl rumbled in his chest as he inhaled deeply.

“What?” you asked again, blinking at them with wide eyes, your voice lilting with carefully curated confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Price stepped closer as well, his boots heavy against the floor as he studied you. “You smell… different, love.” He said, voice like the distant rumble of thunder.

“Different how?” you asked, biting back a smile.

Johnny couldn’t hold himself back from you any longer, his hands sliding over your hips as he leaned in, his nose brushing against the curve of your neck. He let out a low hum, his warm breath skimming your skin. “Christ,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing your throat, “you smell good. Like somethin’ I can’t quite place.”

Gaz knelt at your side, his hands wrapping around your wrists. He brought one up to his face, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin. “Sweet,” he murmured softly. “Warm, like you’ve been wrapped in sunlight.”

Ghost growled again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating through his chest as his gloved fingers tightened on your waist. He pulled you closer, pressing his masked face against the other side of your neck, and the rumble in his throat sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sell the performance. “I didn’t do anything.”

But the pack wasn’t buying it.

Price’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he tilted your face up. Piercing blue eyes searched yours. “You sure about that, love?” he asked, a low grumble that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

Soap pressed a kiss to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin lightly as his hands slid beneath your shirt. “Disnnae matter,” he murmured, voice thick with affection and something more primal, more hungry. “Whatever it is, it suits you.”

Gaz hummed in agreement, his lips trailing up the inside of your wrist to the sensitive skin of your palm. “Feels like it’s everywhere,” he said, his voice almost reverent. “Can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of you, dove.”

Ghost was silent, but his actions spoke louder than words. He lifted you effortlessly, setting you on the edge of the table with a deliberate slowness that made your heart race. His hands found your thighs, his grip firm but gentle as he leaned in, his masked face pressing against your stomach. The low growl in his chest deepened, a possessive sound that sent a thrill through you.

They were relentless after that.

John claimed your lips, firm and demanding, his hands cupping the back of your neck as he tilted your head back. Soap followed, his kisses trailing along your jaw and down your throat, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made you shiver.

Gaz and Simon kissed the inside of your thighs, their teeth grazing the sensitive skin there as theirs hands held you steady and open, all theirs.

“Perfect girl,” Simon groaned against the back of your thighs, thick fingers digging into your skin. “Ours. Whatever you’d done- you don’t need it. You’ll always be ours.”

Hours passed in a haze of touch and heat, their attention unyielding as they marked every inch of you as their own. They murmured about your scent between kisses, their words a mix of worship and devotion. You played your part perfectly, letting soft, breathless sounds escape your lips as you clung to them, your innocence a carefully crafted mask.

By the time they were done with you, your were very sure they had rubbed off all the perfume off your body, and covered you with their own scents.

When they finally pulled back, in the nest, their bodies heavy with satisfaction, Price cupped your cheek with gaze still burning with intensity. “You don’t need anything to make us want you,” he said, low but steady. He stared straight at you, so that you would not have any reasons to doubt his words. “You’re already perfect.”

You smiled, letting the words wash over you, but said nothing. Your secret was safe, for now.

[probablybadrpgideas]

So, the way I see it, there are 5 types of lore in your game.

There's what you might call basic lore, which is just normal information players need to know about the world - elves exist, we're on a terraformed Mars, people get powers thanks to aliens. This tends to not be that interesting, it's just basic stuff. No-one hugely cares about them.

Then there's pragmatic lore, which is lore that's mostly there to determine what people can or can't do. "The lich's phylactery is the kings crown" or "the state has spies everywhere". This is also usually fairly boring. Related is narrative lore, which is things like "we have high tensions with the klingon empire" or "the vampires are massing under one ruler" - lore that is intended to set up a plot. This is only interesting dependent on the plot its setting up happens, otherwise its just pointless.

Then there's awesome lore, which is thing like "this land was founded by eternal dragons!" or "magic is drawn from Lucifer's chains!". Lore for the sake of lore, big setpeices and cool reveals and such like. And they can be interesting, but they can also be really annoying if the players don't find them as cool as the GM does.

Which is why I advocate the fifth kind.

Shitty bullshit lore.

Shitty bullshit lore is things like "Elven woman love children's toys. They're Lego Lasses" or "Oh, gold pieces detonate if you have more then ten in your pocket at once, did no-one mention that?". It's lore whose function is designed to grind the story to a halt while your players beat you to death with hammers. It's lore as an active weapon to use against the rest of your game group.

You should put as much as it in your game as possible.

[audisive]

♪ BROOKLYN BABY. (💌) – previous part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: the 141 believes the scot now.

tags: fluff, romance, soft!simon, you're basically their mom atp lol, bickering, there's a bet between gaz n soap, gaz secretly wants you shh, ooc characters, not proofread, price being the gentleman he is, he's seriously just watching everything unfold

       It's not always that Ghost is willing to let the 141 stay at his house for their traditions – which is just drinking beer and watching sports, really. In fact, he's always said something about his place being empty, so they always settled on someone else's. They stop asking after a year, and in turn, he stops having reasons.

It's not until Soap pops the question again when everyone else's houses are unavailable for a variety of reasons, his being that he left his faucet on and now his shitty apartment is flooded. You can only imagine the suspicion and shock when Ghost agrees (or, rather, simply grunts).

The drive is long, nothing short of 5 hours, and Soap spends the better half of it bickering with either Gaz or Ghost. He falls asleep by the next half, and when he awakes, he gawks at the lovely looking house before their car. There's two stories to it, a balcony, a front porch, and there's no doubt that there's a backyard.

Contrary to popular belief, no, it is not all black or plain at all. It's all equally surprising to them. The Brit isn't the type to care about the appearance and state of a house, usually. They do envision him in a mostly empty apartment with only a bed and a bathroom, though.

There's a delicate touch to where a rough man lives; the smell is almost heavenly when they enter the house. It's homely, the scent of newly washed sheets and lingering smell of food; there's a cat perched on the living room table that Ghost scratches the head of lovingly in a way that's so casual and natural. It's like they're at the gates of–

"Simon!" Heaven's bells ring in their ears, luring them into the doorway of the living room, and the sound of feet padding against the cold floor. There comes a soft-looking thing running into Ghost's arms, completely engulfing you.

You only notice the three familiar faces of your boyfriend's team members – though you know he considers them family if anything – when you pull away. An angel clad in only a cami top, shorts, and Simon's hand around your waist, you turn to look at the group with a surprised look on your pretty – Soap thinks that God, you're so pretty – face. "Oh, hi," you smile sweetly, obviously awkward at the silence and the staring.

"It's been a while," Ever the gentleman, the gruff voice is the first to speak up with your name uttered, the only who's actually met you – John Price. Soap is too enamored with the way you hold yourself and the fact that, holy fuck, even your name's pretty. Gaz raises a brow at the captain's greeting.

You smile once more – a genuine one now. "Nice to see you again, John."

"'S rude to stare, Johnny." Simon speaks out, a smirk under the mask. "Please excuse him, miss," Gaz adds, this beautiful man, and offers a charming smile.

"You must be Gaz," you hold your hand out, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Kyle forgets that a hand could be this soft and gentle, "and please, call me Kyle." He barely stops himself from turning your hand in his to kiss the back of it like one should to a lady so fair; his lieutenant has good taste in women, he'll give him that. And when you're out of the area, Soap is sure to rub it in Gaz's face. I told ye so! LT wis hidin' somethin' from us. A pretty something, that is. You don't miss the way he slips a twenty-dollar bill into the Scottish man's hand.

"Glad tae meet ye," Soap finally says, winking. "Understand why he wis hidin' a bonnie lass like ye from us." There's a mischievous glint in his eye, almost naturally so.

"A'm hurt, LT, but whit can I do? After all, we're just a couple o' brutes, arenae we?"

Simon watches in amusement, "you'll live." Soap is quick to move to your side as you lead the small group of hulking men through your shared home after that.

Simon is visibly more relaxed with you around. He's comfortable, that much is a given, with the way he's taking up most of the thankfully large couch with his manspreading. So is the 141. They're pampered like spoiled children (or pets, really) through the whole day.

Instead of just beer and faucet water, they're offered a variety of drinks in the kitchen that's enough to be considered a private bar. Instead of an empty belly unhealthily stuffed with beer and a mix of mediocre takeout, they're met with warm homecooked meals. They lose track of time quickly; the night falls by the time they've tired themselves out, and they've had not one, but two meals thanks to you.

(They're sure to commend your cooking skills and think of how lucky this tall brute of a man is blessed with a woman so soft and pliant and wonderful and– while Price is the one to be the most grateful, Soap compliments you the most. "A can practically taste the love." You laugh in turn.)

Gaz is the first to speak after a meal so lovely, they could simply just sleep on the floor comfortably and wake to the same smell of home. "It's a bit late, love, we should probably go."

"Thank you for having us," Price smiles down at you kindly.

"Ye've been lovely, bonnie." He wants to stay some more.

"Wait," you stop them, looking up at Simon for further approval. He's already looking at you with a reassuring brush of his thumb on the side of your hip and a nod. You turn your eyes back at them. "It's already late, you three should stay the night. We have enough room for everyone."

There comes, "we don't wanna intrude," then, "we can take care of ourselves, it's alright."

"Please, I insist." Your smile brightens, "I'll even cook breakfast before you leave."

The mohawk moves with a sigh, "now tha's just no' fair, lass. How are we gonna say no tae that?" You giggle. Only then do they find themselves tucked away in the guest room, and boy, you were right when you said it could fit them all if not more.

On the way to the bathroom in the late hours of the night, Soap catches a glimpse of light through the crack of your bedroom door to see his oh-so strong lieutenant, vulnerable in your arms. There's something natural about the way you cradle the large man and kiss his hair like it's part of your DNA, like you're programmed to do that 'cause Soap thinks you're simply unreal.

He's proud of his lieutenant, this lucky bastard. He turns another blind eye once more, but he's paid in full with another fulfilling meal by the morning.

[howifeltabouthim]

In the drawing-room was Francis Levison, and her heart beat wildly: which said beating might have convinced her that she ought not to marry another.

Ellen Wood, from East Lynne

[codnasties]

cod characters fucking fleshlights

this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro

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soap 🧼- the one that takes his time

now, this ain't soap's first time using a fleshlight. he started with a tenga egg or something like that, just for the sake of trying something that wasn't his hand. and i just know that troughout the years he has created a decently sized collection with a lot of varietiy: fleshlights imitating pussies, asses, mouths,... even if a man like him could easily pull a pretty lass to fuck, with the job he has and what it requires of him, it isn't always ideal.

but there is one thing that soap does, no matter weather he's fucking one of his partners or a plastic replica: he takes his time. stroking himself tentatively before lubing his dick up and loweing the fleshlight onto his hard on until he's balls deep. and when i say he fucks it as if it were a real person i mean it. he's fucking int in diferent positions, jerking himself with it but also fucking into it, both slow and fast until cums all over himself

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ghost 👻- the stretcher

ghost sometimes has to ask himself if he's really that big and thick or if it's just that the one or two fleslights he owns are way too fucking small. he doesn't know, but he very much loves it. there is something about the size difference, the way the plastic stretches to fit him and how he can perfecly see it expanding as he pushes his dick deeper into it that makes him go feral.

now, other than his size kink goin brrr, he finds himself swiping his cock against the flesglight's pussy-like entrance, as if he were teasing a real cunt, before fucking himself slowly into it. he's mersmerized by the plastic doll completely swallowing up his aching hard dick until he's balls deep. he also intends to pull out - just to save himself some clean up - but he finds himself so overwhelmed by the feeling and visuals that he just fill the fleshlight up with his potent cum - more than once, at that -.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

gaz 🧢- mess making perpetrator

this may be my most repeated gaz headcanon but he's a mess maker and there is no deniying. when he get's home from a mission or something like that and he doesn't feel like trying to find a partner to fuck, he always has a trusty fleshlight. the thing is, he doesn't even make it to the bedroom most of the time, deciding to just fuck it in his livingroom.

he just plunged deeply into the plastic pussy, stretching the plastic over his limit because his dick is too long for the small fleshlight, almos breking it. the pent up hornyness and the feeling of something other than his hand wrapped around his dick sending him into an orgasm faster than he expected. he pulls out to first his impossibly hard cock when he feels himself about to cum. and he stains the sofa with it as the mess perpetrator that he is - and let me tell you, it ain't the first time he's had to clean his seed out of that sofa.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

price 🚬- the first timer

price is an older and more traditional man, he would rather fuck another person than some piece of plastic. but he keps hearing his men talk about fleshlights, how good they feel,.. and all that combined with the fact that he ain't getting younger, he's extra tired and trying to find a partner with a job like his is tedious, he decides to get himself a fleshlight just to try it out of curiotisty.

what he did not expect was that god forsaken piece of plastic would feel that fucking good. all it took was some slow deep strokes into it before he found himself cumming. and at that moment his lust filled brain took over and he started fucking himself into the fleshlight again, trying to extend the pleasure of the orgasm. let's say he now fully understands why his men praise them plastic holes.

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konig 🗡- the nasty fucker

lets be real, konig is fleshlight collector number 2. anxiety gets the best of him so he would rather to make do with some plastic pussy or ass than having to deal with the hassle of interacting with people. his not that experiended ass is fucking enamoured by the feeling of and ass or pussy, even if it isn't a real one.

now, konig allways finds himself doing two thing every time he uses one of his fleshlight. a. he moans. like a bitch in heat. he can't help it, it just feels overwhelingly good to have something wrapping tightly around his unexperienced cock. and the fact of finally getting some release. b. he makes messes - yup, mess making perpetrator no. 2 -. spit, precum, lube and cum mixing all together, covering his dick, hands and fleshlight as he fucks himself dumb and slaps his dick all over yhe plastic ass.

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graves 🪦 - the stressed

now, these military men always find themselves stressed out, it's a part of the job. but for graves, said job and the tension that it generates have kept him away for some time now from a real pussy or ass. so a fleshlight is a good alternative, giving him all that he needs to reach some much needed release.

the few occasions he has had enough time to indulge in some pleasure, he's going to make the most of it. alternating slow, sensual deep strokes and fast shallow ones. hands making sure that the fleshlight stays in place as he plunges into it chasing an orgasm and moanig at the sweet feeling of release. he for sure cums deep inside of the plastic masturbator, because it may be plastic, but he loves creampie-ing it the same way he would creampie a real person.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

alejandro 🤠 - the tip teaser

alejandro doesn't strike me as the type of person that would have a proper fleshlight, you know? instead of a piece of plastic that fully engulfs his dick he has one of those quickshot ones. a transparent one at that. it gives him a lot of options, from fully jerking his cock with it to just teasing his tip.

and oh does he love to tease his tip! using that comact masturbator to play with his angry red bulbous tip. pushing just the head in and out, sometimes tilting it to make his dick pop out of the fleshlihgwith a wet noise. and seeing his cock breach into the plastic, dick twitching at the feeling, his stomach spasming from the sensation... he always inevitably cums all over himself, staining his hard shaft, lower hairy stomach, thights and even the quilt.

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Extremely self-indulgent. For the neurodivergent girlies. English isn't my first language, so my apologies for any mistake. I also have no idea how to write a Scottish accent 🧘🏻‍♀️ bear with me

You knocked on the dark hardwood door as you've had done plenty of times before.

It has been almost six months since you've signed that contract. That one, the one where you forfeited 4 years of your life in exchange for stable wages and proper housing.

For someone with no life, no family and no friends (besides the online weirdos you'd talk to from time to time), that was kinda good, if you could say so yourself.

You had stability, even though it came with the cost of being tied down to a military base chock-full of people who didn't really understand you.

That was fine though. THAT, you were used to. It comes with the neurodivergence: the side eyes, the whispers and the isolation.

What you weren't used to, however, was how your heart would race like a rabbit on a run for its life whenever you knocked on that one door. And you had to knock on it quite a lot of times.

You rapped your knuckles against the hardwood once more when you got no reply, cracking the door open just a little bit to peek inside.

"Cap?" You said, voice almost a whisper. After a few seconds, you heard an answer.

"Come in, love. Didn't know it was you." A strong, booming voice came from inside and you swallowed the lump on your throat that always formed whenever you had to go to Price's office.

Not because you were afraid of him, no. On the contrary. Maybe Price and the rest of the task force were the only ones who didn't treat you like an aberration – probably because they were aberrations of their own merit.

Maybe it was stupid of you to get giddy over being treated well by some of your coworkers, but when the bare minimum was so rare, you latched onto it like a dog with a bone.

And in spite of yourself, you couldn't control your own heart. It would be racing like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever you went to visit any of the men from the task force. You gave up on trying to tame it.

"Hi Cap" you said, with a small smile, approaching his desk. On the corner of your eyes, you saw the other three burly men that made up 141 and waved.

"Hey, lass, good ta see ya!" Soap hollered, voice loud as ever. You could probably feel it vibrating inside your bones if he spoke for a little longer and you loved it; as much as you envied it. What wouldn't you do to be just a little bit outgoing like that? Maybe things would be just a tad easier.

"How can I help my favorite secretary?" Price asked, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, crow's feet getting a lot more pronounced in a way you probably thought of more than you should.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm your only secretary."

"Doesn't make my statement any less true."

You shook your head and placed a manila folder in front of him.

"I need your autograph, Cap."

"What for?"

"Because I'm your biggest fan and I wanna put it on my refrigerator...?" You answered humorously, and Price raised an eyebrow. You sighed. "We need to authorize the training of a few new recruits and they need your approval. So I need you to sign it."

Price huffed out a low chuckle and began leafing through the needlessly thick document. You poked your finger into the folder, fishing out the last pages, and walked towards the other men sitting on the other side of the office.

"I like today's dress, love." Gaz was manspreading on one of Price's armchairs, head resting on his palm as he gave you an once over. If it were anyone else, you'd probably hate the way you were being perceived – it usually made you feel like a bug being watched through a magnifying glass. But under his gaze, you just felt like a doll being admired.

"Do you, now? It's one of my favorites." You bowed dramatically while holding the hem of the dress. It was just another one of the black frilly dresses that you wore like a signature. It flew around you as you spun on your feet to show the black ribbon on the back.

"Adorable as always. If I wasn't selfish, I would say it's wasted inside this base, but I like to have you around way too much." His eyes gleamed with mirth and, in any other situation, you'd think he was secretly mocking you – but not Kyle. Not any one of them. You knew the compliments were genuine, even if they didn't understand why you insisted on sticking out like a sore thumb when it brought you so many problems.

You knew they would never really understand how masking could hurt you, but you were grateful they still defended your decision on just being yourself.

"Look at tha' key on yer neck." Soap pointed at your necklace. "I ken what's tha' for. It's the key to my heart, aye?" He said with an exaggerated wink and a smile that could blind you.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." You rolled your eyes, smiling, and pushed a paper into his hand and did the same with Gaz and Ghost.

"I need your autographs as well. You heard my explanation already."

" 'm not built for a life of fame, love." Simon grunted, shifting on his seat right beside Soap.

"Too late, the spotlight already found you. Now you gotta give me your autograph or I'm gonna cancel you on social media."

He huffed.

"Don't ya think I should have been canceled a long time ago?"

"Probably." You shrugged, and handed him a pen. "I like my favorites problematic, what can I say."

Soap barked out a laugh, mindlessly scanning the document and Ghost merely shook his head.

"Do I gotta sign this? Don't really feel like training new runts." The masked man muttered and you shrugged.

"Don't shoot the messenger. I don't really want new young men around me either." You walked back towards Price's desk after collecting the documents and placed them neatly inside the folder after he was done surveying every single fine print.

"What do you guys want for lunch?" You asked as you tucked the documents under your arm. Price clicked his tongue.

"You don't have to keep bothering with making food for us, love. We can all eat at the canteen like everyone else." The older man leaned back on his chair, folding his arms.

You looked to the side, with a small pout on your lips.

"But if I make you guys' lunch, then I can emotionally blackmail you into eating with me at the kitchen." You mumbled, avoiding any and all eye contact.

"So it was all a ploy to keep us nearby? I thought you were doing that because you liked us. I'm so hurt, dear." Kyle spoke up from his seat, a dramatic hand over his chest as he leaned his head back. You put a hand over your mouth, hiding your grin.

"Maybe I'm just learning a thing or two from hanging around tacticians?"

"Aw, Captain, come on. How can we leave the poor doll hangin'? And we get ta eat actually good food, not that canteen slop! Come on!"

Price sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Anything you make will be great, love."

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Ghost added from his seat and you snickered. He had already seen you eating your comfort foods before and, needless to say, he didn't approve of them.

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Price repeated, with a nod.

"Proteins and carbs, okay, got it." You said with a fierce nod, walking back towards the door to the older man's office. "Meet you guys at the kitchen?"

"1200, sharp." Price said, with eyes as soft as the smile under his moustache. You gave him a small salute on your way out.

"Yessir."

This will probably be a little anthology of scenes I think of, involving poly!141 x neurodivergent reader who works for them as a secretary. They might not have much continuity but I'm using this as a self-healing, self-indulgent blog, separated from my main. Expect mostly fluff and angst from me.

[penelopepine]

Little Kicks

141 reacts to feeling the baby kick for the first time. 

Price: 

It's late at night and Price is helping you with your nightly routine. He helped with rubbing some soothing cream onto stomach; it was something he honestly looked forward to every night now. To feel your pregnant stomach under his palm is something he would never deny himself; not even for a second.

The bedroom is quiet; your eyes are closed and clearly enjoying his touch. At least that was until you suddenly wince in pain. Immediately Price is on alert, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Just-," you gasp and wince again, "Just the baby kicking me. "

Price releases a relieved breath hearing those words. He knows the little one has been more active as of late, and that the one light taps are slowly but surely getting harder.

"Here give me your hand! With how hard she's kicking inside there you might be able to feel it now."  

With your words Price reaches out and puts his hand on your stomach once more. He spreads his palm out wide hoping to feel even the lightest tap. And eventually after a few seconds he does! He can feel his baby girl kick his hand. 

Looking at you he sees that you have the softest smile on your face as you watch him. You know that this has been something he had been waiting for ever since you first mentioned it. He couldn’t help, but think how this was all he had ever wanted. Price wouldn’t change this moment for anything in the world. 

He moves himself up on the bed towards you, and pulls you into his arms. Doing so he makes sure to have one hand pressed on stomach as he whispers praises in your ear. 

Gaz: 

Gaz is in the living room building some furniture for the baby’s room when a gasp followed by a loud thud of something hitting the ground. He is immediately calling your name, and rushing to find you. 

Once in the kitchen he sees you standing in the middle of the room. You're obviously in pain, but you have a wide smile on your face. A tupperware container sits on the ground; the lip Is still on and luckily nothing spilled out onto the floor.

"What! What is it? Is everything alright?" Gaz quickly asks, coming to stand right in front of you. 

 "Give me your hand!" You excitedly exclaim while reaching for his hand and placing it on your stomach. 

 Confusion and worry quickly leaves him as he feels a sudden pressure press up against his palm. "Is that-?"

"It is!"

Gaz drops to his knees; his hand never leaves its spot. He loves you so much, and this pregnancy has only strengthened that bond he has with you. 

Everything in this moment is perfect, and he can't believe his life has turned out like this. How he ended up with you he'll never know, but he'll forever be glad he did. Gaz gives your stomach a kiss before rising to his feet, and leading you to the couch. All he wants to do right now is hold his family in his arms. 

Soap: 

Soap had his head right on top of your stomach as he talked to you and baby about how he couldn't wait for them to be born, and everything he had planned after that. When Soap had found out you were pregnant he was ecstatic, and would talk to the baby any chance he could. 

While doing so this time though a hard pressure hits him on his check. You gasp at the same time Soap jerks his head up to meet your eyes.

"Did she-?

"Was that-?"

You both say at the same time before focusing back on your stomach. Soap is immediately placing his head back on your stomach; waiting for the baby to kick him again. 

"Do it again, little lass, do it again!" He whispers repeatedly to the baby.

It only takes him a few short moments for it to happen again, and when it does Soap lets out an excited laugh. 

"I think she likes your voice." You affectionately mention to him while running your fingers through his hair. 

"Aye, just like her mama!" Soap reaches up and grabs your hand that's in his hair and brings it closer to him to give it a kiss before returning it where it once was. This right here was his favorite way to relax when home. 

Ghost: 

In the middle of the night Ghost feels you wiggling in his arms. Your pregnancy had been affecting your sleep so this was pretty normal, but before he can pull you closer to him he hears your pained wheeze. Instantly he’s wide awake and calling out to you. 

“Love, what’s wrong?” 

“The baby,” you gasp, “the baby is apparently wanting to be a football player, and decided that now is the perfect time to practice.” 

The relief he feels from those words are instantaneous. He hates that you’re in pain, but he would rather this than the worst possible scenario. “I’m sorry, love. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Can you talk to her? She always calms down when you do.” You sleepily ask him. 

And he does; if simply talking is what it takes to help both of his girls then he will do so. Leaning down towards your stomach he places one hand on it, and starts to speak. What surprises him though is that when he does he feels a light punch against his palm. 

That was the baby he realized. He felt her. A wave of love overflows inside of him, and for a second he thinks surely this can’t be real. There is no way his life has turned into something this perfect. 

[dante-mightdie]

long awaited part three of lowselfesteem!reader and simon

part two

invisible clothes

that’s what you called them, the rags you don when you have to integrate with the general population but you would much rather not be noticed. clothing that is so bland that it isn’t nice enough catch an eye but not hideous enough to catch any negative attention

you had told simon about them once, when he called you out on wearing them every time you stepped out in public, including your dates with him. especially since he knew you had a very elaborate wardrobe with a tailored sense of style

clearly they aren’t invisible enough to hide you from johnny’s guilty eyes from across the store aisle. you sigh when he comes up to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. he shifts uncomfortably on his feet

“I know ye probably hate ma guts, lass but ye should ken that simon shut down all of that bet talk after your first date. Ah just bring et up to annoy ‘im.” johnny says, with a nervous chuckles at the end. you don’t laugh alongside him

“okay, fair enough. look, he’s miserable without ye! he comes to the pub just to get pished and mope about how he fucked it all up with ye.” johnny continues, a pleading look in his eyes, “he’s supposed to he coming by to drop off some things of yours tomorrow. just hear him out, please, lass.”

you roll your eyes at him, continuing to grab what you need from the shelves in front of you. not even bothering to look him in the eyes when you finally begin to speak

"why should I? why am I always expected to think of other people even when they hurt me? you and simon didn't think about me or my feelings when you made your stupid bet. neither of you stopped to consider that I was just a person who simply wanted to be left alone." you say with a scoff, "he'll be lucky if I don't slam the door in his face."

johnny shifts on his feet, looking down at the floor since he feels too uncomfortable to look directly at you, "fair enough. take care've yerself, hen."

you bite back tears as you watch him skulk off in the corner of your eye. you stand there for a few more minutes, staring at the stacked shelves in front of you to distract you from the war raging inside of your head

-

it's late at night, nearly midnight, when there's a knock at your door. you let out a sigh, already knowing who was disturbing your doomscrolling at this hour. and when you open the door, you see him. you’re brooding prick of an ex-boyfriend. he at least has the decency to look guilty, like a dog caught ripping up the couch cushions

except he wasn’t a dog, he was the love of your life. and your heart isn’t so easily replaced like a cushion. though he definitely treated it like somewhere to rest his head

“hey.”

you scoff, you’re not sure why. there isn’t anything inherently wrong with what he said but it still annoyed you. he annoyed you. with his stupid stormy eyes and his stupid jokes and freckled shoulders that you used to connect like dots late at night

“just give me my stuff and go, simon. don’t have time for this bullshit.”

he doesn’t flinch. he saw that hit coming, and sometimes you gotta let them swing at you especially when you know that you deserve much worse

the exchange is quick, a box with small memories passed over to you. a couple items of clothing, a book and some toiletries. before you can slam the door in his face, he jams his heavy boot into it

“wait… love, I… there’s somethin’ else. I never gave it to you but it’s yours. got it for you and I’ll never give it to anyone else.”

the glare you give him only falters when he places a small velvet box in your hand, he pauses the speech you can definitely feel coming on. looking at you expectantly to open it. you do, waiting for him to laugh at you when you find nothing in there. ridicule you for even thinking he would consider making you his wife

but all he does it look on solemn, the beautiful ring twinkling as a devastating reminder of what could have been

“I kno’ I ‘ave no right to ask. I wouldn’t insult you like tha’ lovie. you can hate me, I deserve it. but you don’t deserve it. I won’t let you hurt yourself over what I did. you deserve to know the real extent of how bad I fucked up. maybe it’ll help to look at tha’ ring and know that I’ll spend the rest of my life having to know I lost the woman who should be my wife.”

there’s no chance to respond, not like you’d know what to say anyway,

“I’m sorry.”

and then he’s gone.