#keller cod

[ebodebo]

OKAY! New ask!! Alex and Y/N get bored at their recon outpost and decide to see who can complete their workout track faster. (think like the ones they have at boot camps but low quality bc they’re in the middle of a war zone) whoever won got to shower first bc water is limited but it gets a lil steamy at the end🤭

The Great Race

NSFW CONTENT

—alex keller x f!reader

—1.4k+

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You and Alex were stationed in a recon outpost in Siberia, where the task force was sent to infiltrate Makarov's convoy. You were stationed there to be lookouts, though there were relativity no people around, causing you both to become increasingly bored. 

As Alex was wiping his gun clean, he noticed a workout track off to the side of where they were. Well, a track is an overstatement. It was a simple dirt track that looked like it had not been used for years. "You see that track over there?" He questions, pausing on cleaning to look up at you. 

You nod your head, not paying too much attention to him. He notices your disregard for his question and decides to say something that will pique your interest. "I would run circles around you on that track."

Your eyes dart up to meet his. "No, you couldn't, Keller." He shrugs. "I know I could." He states as he wipes his gun clean, a slight, knowing smirk forms on his lips.

You swivel your head towards him. "Keller, you are probably the slowest soldier I have ever seen." He rolls his eyes. "Mhm. Sure."

"You are!" You laugh, still looking at him. "Do you honestly think you could beat me?" You ask, sounding baffled. 

"I already said I could."

You purse your lips, looking over at the track. "Let's test it then." He cocks a brow as he stops cleaning. "Seriously?" You smile at him. "Scared, Keller?" He narrows his eyes. "Never." He turns his head to asses the track again. "Fine. I'll humor you."

You both make your way down the ladder of the outpost and head over to the dirt track.

"Ok. We'll do a mile. Four laps around-"

"I know how many laps a mile is." He interrupts.

You continue, paying no mind to his interruption. "And the first person to finish gets to..." You ponder a suitable prize. "Shower first." 

He nods, pleased with the prize. "Sound good?" You ask. "That shower is going to feel so good." You glance at him. "Right. Like you're going to be the one to cash it in." You point out. "I'll count to three; then we'll go."

"1..." 

"2..."

"Hey, what's that over there?" You look behind him, your eyes widening. Alex is quick to spin around. "Where?" His voice is plagued with confusion. 

"3.." You bolt as you end the countdown. Keller is still at the starting line. He spins around. "God damn it." He grits as he starts to run. 

Both of you are fast. Very fast. After the first lap, you were leading, though Keller was hot on your trail. 

You had been teasing him about being behind you until the third lap started, and he jets past you. "Fuck." You mutter to yourself, attempting to speed past him. 

The fourth and final lap proved to be incredibly challenging. You were both creeping up on the other. If Keller was in front, you were just a little behind. If he was in front, you were on his heels. 

When the finish line was in view, you dashed to pass him. You were both neck and neck. Then, without realizing it, you both crossed the line simultaneously. 

"You cheated, and we still tied." He remarked, his breath sounding labored. "I did not cheat. You need to learn to pay attention." You counter, also out of breath. He smirked. "Oh, is that right?" You nodded. "Yes. You had your head in clouds." He rolled his eyes you. "Mhm." He replied.

Once you both took a second to recuperate, you remembered the prize. "So, who gets to shower first?" You remind him. He ponders the idea. "Well. I guess since we both won, we both get to shower." Your eyes widen. He lets out a soft chuckle. "Not like that. We can face opposite ways." He continues. "Don't you want a hot shower?" You close your eyes, contemplating, eventually caving. "Fine. But, if you look at me-" He snickered. "Wouldn't dream of it, shortcake." He quipped.

You both went to the shower and you began to strip out of your clothes. "Turn around." You remind him. He obliges and starts undressing himself.

"Close your eyes."

"Then I won't be able to see."

"Why would you want to see me-"

"The shower. I won't be able to see where the shower is."

Your face turns pink. "Right." He cackles at your evident embarrassment. 

"I won't look at you. Just go in." You hesitate only momentarily and make your way into the hot, steamy shower. He amends his early sentiment and doesn't look at you as he makes his way in, facing in the opposite direction, your backs to each other.

Although you can try to deny it, Alex Keller is so attractive. You salivate at the thought of his naked body so close to yours. His cock is only mere inches from you.

As he washes his body, you feel the slight graze of his hands on your ass; you slightly moan at the interaction, causing your face to turn red. "Oh my god.." You say, stumbling over your words because you were embarrassed. "I'm sorry..oh my..this is so fucking embarrassing." You attempt to make your way out of the shower, but before you can take one step, Alex grabs your arm, his body now facing yours.

He didn't say a word, nor did you—both of you breathing heavily before he finally broke the silence.

"Can I-" He begins to question before you cut him off quickly.

"Please." You beg.

With that, you two are entangled. His rough hands find their way to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he roughly kisses you. You maneuver your hands around his neck, bringing him closer to deepen the kiss.

"Fuck." He groans into your mouth as he notices his quickly hardening cock touching your stomach. You gently bring your hand up so it's now gripping him. He grunts at your touch, taking one of his hands from your head and moving it lower so it's cupping your breast. You throw your head back as his finger rubs your sensitive nipple. This incentivizes you to begin pumping his cock, though he is quick to pull your hand off. You give him a confused expression, and he dips his head into the crook of your neck to leave wet, sloppily kisses. 

"I'll come too fast." You laugh at his honesty, before you grab his head from your neck, and reconnect your lips with his. You gently pull back for a moment, your lips still hovering over his.

"This doesn't mean anything." You breathlessly say.

"No?" He bends down, whispering against your neck, as his fingers linger down your body, grazing your wet cunt. "Sure. Maybe it doesn't mean you like me, but I know you like my fingers..." He slips two inside you, soliciting a moan from you, causing a cocky grin to spread across his face. 

"I like a lot of guys' fingers." You continue, your voice sounding like gravel. "You're not special."

"Do you now?" He moves his fingers up and down your throbbing clit. "But, do they all get you this wet?" He whispers into your ear, referring to your dripping arousal. You shamelessly ground against his fingers. He takes your movements and silence as an answer.

"Didn't think so." He remarks as he hungrily catches your lips with his and pushes his fingers back into you. You whine into his mouth at the contact and instantly thread your fingers back through his hair. 

He continues pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt. "So fuckin' wet and tight fer'me." He mutters into your mouth. "Gonna make you come so hard. All over my fingers." He quickened his pace. "You have such a dirty mouth." You breathe out. "You fuckin' love it." He mumbles.

You can feel your peak nearing. "Gonna.." He quickly cuts you off. "When you come, say my name." 

"Kel..-" You begin. "Not fucking Keller. My name." He grits. 

"Alex." You loudly moan as you come, your legs shaking and your heart racing.

He holds you as your orgasm subsides, and then he sets you down gently. 

"Would you wash my hair?" He asks earnestly.

"No. I'm not touching you." You say as you regain your breath. 

"I just gave you an orgasm with my fingers, and you won't wash my hair?" He remarked. "Might I add, you we trynna give me a hand job earlier?"

"Fuck off." You say, as a small smile forms on your lips.

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[cod-dump]

After a long mission with no rest:

Price: Dead eyes, he looks like he's going to kill someone. He's mumbling. Do not ask him to repeat himself unless you want his frustrations taken out on you verbally. Has had four cups of coffee and a pack of cigs. Don't look him in the eye.

Soap: He can't keep focus, what is he even looking at? Trails off in the middle of talking. No, he probably won't finish that thought, better luck next time. He has been chewing on his hoodie drawstrings, don't let him swallow them, please.

Ghost: Has been staring at the spot on the wall for the last twenty minutes without blinking. Is he dead? Or sleeping with his eyes open? Either option is possible. Don't touch him, he will bite. Have tea as an offering.

Gaz: Looks like he's about to cry. Nothing productive has come from him since the flight landed. Don't ask him to do anything because it won't get done. Yes, he heard you. No, he will not respond.

Nik: Has been laughing to himself. Did he fly here? Yes. Is he flying back? No his keys are being taken from him, he's passing out in hanger in the back of his bird. Will be mistaken for dead later.

Laswell: She's talking fast but she is not making as much sense as she should. Frustrated, she has her head in her hands. Will fall asleep like that. No, she doesn't want a cup a tea, she wants concentrated caffeine injected into her veins, fuck off.

Graves: If looks could kill... His hair is sentient, he has not touched it since they got to exfil. Southern charm? No, southern sarcasm. He requires thirteen hours of an uninterrupted coma and a pot of coffee.

Alejandro: Incredibly argumentative. Personal space? He doesn't know what that is, doesn't care. Don't be fooled, he's going to start crying if he can't get to a bed in a pitch black room soon.

Rudy: Sarcasm to the max, will make someone cry. If he doesn't answer the first time then don't repeat yourself. He will bitch until he gets to curl up in bed. Don't touch him if you value any and all of your fingers.

Farah: Trying to be overly friendly because she doesn't want to unintentionally upset someone while exhausted. Will say something bitchy then immediately apologize. Please get her some coffee.

Alex: On autopilot, isn't all there. He can go for another two days before passing out. Don’t let him do that. Will say something batshit and then move on without acknowledging it. He's talking to the clowns, do worry about it.

[brav0-6]

SERGEANT KYLE GARRICK | CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE (2019)

[felrija]

Sketch dump

[cale3k00]

.

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More sketches.

[klaart]

Sprout Alex + Farah!!🌱✨

Trying something different,,

[gothghostiie]

thinking about any of the cod men making use of your sickly, feverish state while you have a cold. pinning you to the bed under his big frame, legs carefully laid over his shoulders while bullying his cock into your hole :( fat, swollen tip rubbing against your heat while you whimper and writhe slightly, cold sweat beading on your forehead. "shh.. just take this for me, yea?" he coos, feeling your hot forehead with the back of his hand. he chuckles, making a stupid joke, something about you being in heat, before starting to fuck into you. your whines are more pathetic than usual, everything feels so much more intense, his cock feels like its splitting you open:( yet all you can do is lay there and take it, orgasms being ripped from your weak body until you're barely able to stay awake :(

[emmster]

Group shot in the market district

[gomzdrawfr]

Call of Kitty

[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[heymurada]

Of course Ghost would be horrified at the American version of tea (and follow it up with a nuclear-grade pun in retaliation)

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NOPA page masterpost

~~ No One Plays Alone updates Tuesdays/Thursdays

[yakowo]

[cod-dump]

When they're sick:

Price: He's fine stop asking. No he has to get his work done, no time for rest. He said he's fine! That cough is normal, yes puking is normal. He's got shit to do!

Graves: End of the world, he's dying. This is it, this is how he dies. He's laying in bed crying until the second he can breathe out of his nose again.

Nik: Wait, he was sick? Since when? You're lying, he never gets sick.

Ghost: He's working until his bones break. He needs to be watched or he's trying to get out of bed. Will behave as long as he's constantly supervised. Is that medicine orange flavor? He's going to kill you, cherry only.

Soap: He's either absolutely fine or he's dying, there's no in between. Don't touch him he bites or if he doesn't have any head pats he's going to cry.

Gaz: Oh, he's taking a sick day. He doesn't want to risk getting anyone sick. Is he dying? No, his doctor says he'll be fine. He'll be fine, he'll catch up on sleep.

Laswell: Don’t touch her she'll stab you. Don’t look at her she's fine. Her wife made her soup, don't even look at it. Why is she still working? Who else is doing her damn job? Exactly.

Alex: He can handle being shot better than a cold. He hates everything, he's melting, he's dying. Tell Farah he tried (he'll be fine in two days).

Farah: Sick? Does it look like she has time to be sick?

Alejandro: He's doubled his work load. He gets more productive when sick. He has his spicy soup, he's going to live forever.

Rudy: Sick? He's immune to all such things. He hasn't been sick since he was five.

[sky-is-the-limit]

"𝑰𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔, 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏."

[lxvvie]

Simps 'R Us, Between the Sheets edition: Your faves and the wholesome and funny things you two get up to in bed, part I.

Capt. John Price - When he's half asleep and about to snore loud enough to wake the dead (Price vehemently denies this), you like to have random conversations with him because you know questions you ask will do one of two things: elicit a nonsensical answer from the Cap'n or... wake him up from his sleep altogether.

Gaz - Is curling up into himself because you're the big spoon, you're running your hands over his body because he's highkey lowkey ticklish, and your face is buried in his neck because... he's highkey lowkey ticklish. "Darling, please—" Gaz manages to gasp out between... wait, are you giggling, Garrick?

Soap - Your darling golden retriever chaotic good boyfriend loves... to sleep naked. You're not complaining, though, especially because he loves it when you lay on him. You've made a home for yourself between his thighs; his stomach is your pillow, and he usually has a hand rubbing your head. Helps him to relax, y'know, bonnie? And whenever you don't lay on him, it's an affront to Johnny's... everything. His heart is broken. His soul is crushed. You're too far away from him (even though you're still right under him). How could you do this to him? He can't live like this. No other stud muffin can offer you what he can, beautiful. But no really, bonnie, he needs you on top of him like... yesterday.

Ghost - You really like his body. Like... really like his body. You blow raspberries on his stomach, you smack his ass, you talk about his eyelashes—scratch that, you love his body. To you, every scar tells a story, and you've asked him plenty of times to talk about them. And then you did the unthinkable that had Simon wanting to disappear into the fucking blankets—"Si-bear, I didn't know you had a mole on your inner thigh!" Bloody fucking hell, he'll never hear the end of this. And then you kissed it and Ghost's face had never felt so bloody hot before. Christ, you'll be the death of him, sweetheart.

Roach - Nothing but the most sickeningly saccharine stuff to ever stuff happens with Roach. A poke-fest, a kiss-fest, a tickle-fest, you name it, it happens. Roach loves to sleep with his face buried in your chest and arms wound tight around you. Always. You rubbing his head soothes him to sleep as well.

Alex - You're also the big spoon here, too. You're busy talking about conspiracy theories you believe the government is/was involved in and Alex is entertaining you ("That so, Boss?"). In actuality, his eyes are comically wide because the truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction and you may or may not be walking a little heavy there, Boss.

Alejandro - Is the big spoon to your little spoon in bed no matter what you're doing. Loves to intertwine your legs together, too. Alejo murmurs how much he loves you in your ear and kisses the top of your head before telling you good night.

Rudy - Sometimes when he's asleep, you'll whisper "Rodolfo" in his ear which causes Rudy to shoot up, eyes comically wide because the only time someone calls him by his full government name is when he gets into shit but it wasn't him this time, it was that idiot Alvarez— "Didn't get to tell you good night and I love you, Rudy, so... good night and I love you, Rudy." Oh. Oh. Ha. Real funny.

Farah - A cuddle bunny through and through. She loves laying up under you, her head resting on your shoulder or under your chin, or her face in the crook of your neck. She wants to hear you as you sleep. She wants to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or the resonances as you speak. Farah simply can't get enough of you.

Keegan - It's really you teasing him because Keegan isn't one to really get flustered or deviate from his infamously neutral expression. Much. Until you came along. You two are relaxing in bed and you're the one randomly calling out, "Hey, Kee-Kee," to which Keegan makes the most surprised and disgusted face in response and you're wheezing.

[majinbangus]

Screenshot and reblog with who you got!

I got this idea from this post by @/shyeehaw

Who I got 👇

I mean... I think I'd change my best friend but I'm cool with this 😅