#mw3 x male reader

[boozenboze]

Right In Front Of Me Kyle Gaz Garrick x M!reader

Summary: Gaz comes to a realization

Women/Female aligned DNI

Together from the very beginning

They had enlisted together, honing their skills to be the best pair the Military had ever seen. Starting off when serving the SAS domestic counter-terror program, before being where they were now. They made a pact, to stick together no matter what the other does. It couldn't be helped nor could it be fought.

Even after being alongside one another for so long, aware of how the other behaved, conflict was always in their midst. Despite that, they always found their way back to one another, even if they got on the other's last nerve.

This time, however, they had gotten into a petty quarrel and Kyle didn't feel like talking. M/n tried to initiate their interactions to no avail, Gaz being a sass lord and ignoring him. In other terms, he was being petty and caught up in his own feelings. Now, today was the day of the mission. Get in, get out, a difficult yet simple task. Everything had gone smoothly so far, till the unexpected ambush by the enemy. It had left Gaz to hardly hold on to consciousness. On the ground, gripping his side, trying his best to stop his bleeding, being lucky enough to not have the bullet that hit him hit any major organs. His hat had slipped from his head, and his face and overall stature were covered in the filth of the field. Laid on his back, his vision got hazy with his eyes half-lidded. The sound of gunfire seemed more distanced despite being so near. Footsteps approached his resting place, Gaz unable to shift his gaze from what was above. Chocolate eyes met the head of a gun being pointed at his head, Gaz sucking in what he suspected to be his last breath. A shot rang off, a thud being followed right after. He felt no other pain besides the shot he had before.

Something bumped him from his left, hands feeling all over his body, the same hands cupping his face. It was like an echo in a cave, a familiar voice calling out in desperation and urgency. His eyes flickered open, meeting a familiar pair of e/c eyes he'd never failed to end up staring back at. "Gaz....Gaz, shit- Kyle get the hell up, ya bloke!" The voice yelled out, the commandment in his tone making him groan. He felt M/n's hand pushing his clothes up to expose the injury. The man said nothing, lips apart and a look of life in his eyes. It was like he was seeing a new light, a realization that he never had come to mind. It was always him if not anyone else.

"C'mon, told ya ass not to wander too far from me!" M/n urged, pulling him up to his feet like many times before. With everything happening so fast, it was surprising for Gaz to feel like everything was in slow motion all of a sudden. His legs showed no signs of weakening, likely due to adrenaline. Even so, while being saved again, his eyes never left him. They somehow never did.

Nobody else would do it, no matter how close they were. M/n was always the one to care, listen, comfort, and put him back in line. Every damn time, it was him who'd be right at his side, even in a moment like this. It was almost like a dream, watching how he rushed him to safety despite there being risks of him being hurt as well. He always managed to be there. He was safe, he had what he needed. And he needed him, the one who'd been in front of him all this time, even if he'd never end up saying out loud. (A/n- Good night/morning loves)

[italktoomuchxd]

Maybe because he grew up in a religious family, maybe because he’s not really in physical touch, but sex is a big thing for Simon Riley.

He never had a one-night stand or a relationship; that's a big thing for him… he doesn't want any exes or something. He wants to directly marry his first love; that's why he's acting like it's rocket science.

But when he met you… oh God, he knew you were the one… you cute thing! He started to spend some time with you. You guys grew closer and closer.

At first, you thought he was a strange man, just a big man; What could he want from you? But when it started raining while you were on a date, you had to go to his house. You were a little scared when he handed you dry clothes and a blanket, turned on your favorite show and you guys actually watched the show you knew he was the one too.

But he's unstoppable when you guys got married...

[gofishygo]

ok guys but hear me out..,

back before simon was drafted and he was still working in some butcher around the outskirts of manchester, he remembers a little bakery a few blocks down from his shop. although never particularly crowded, he's noticed the older locals go by in the mornings for coffee, kids guided in by their parents after schools to get a snack. but he doesn't seem to lounge in the corner of that cafe for either of those reasons- instead, he finds himself fawning over the pretty baker.

and you're nice to him, too- always smiling when you see him around, voice so sweet when you're at the butchers to buy some meat for the pies, sneakily trying to slip him a discount whenever he goes to buy a sandwich- 'hospitality workers gotta stick together, right?' it's no wonder that he finds himself falling for you, a stupid puppy crush that he tries, and occasionally fails, to suppress. and sometimes, simon lets himself believe you like him too, with the way the blood rushes to your cheeks when you spot him across the shelves, with he notes how you nearly fumble a frothing pot of milk when caught staring at him. it's a little attempt of young love that he thinks will be smothered out as he gets older.

but now it is twenty years later, he is working with the sas, and he is meant to be dead. but simon finds himself strolling his hometown, genuinely surprised that he sees the cafe still up, that he sees you, still working behind the display cabinets. you're older now, more mature, but your smile is just as pretty as it was those years ago. and he sees that glimmer of recognition in your eyes, how your head perks up at the sight of his figure outside of the window.

ghost smothers his cigarette and bins it before walking through the doors. may as well pay the bird a visit.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: I cant believe we're locked in this room together Ghost, throwing the key out of the window: Truly unfortunate

[thegnomelord]

Lads listen

Daddy sub Price

Daddy sub price who pushes you against the desk and breathes out against your lips how much daddy missed his boy and his boy's pretty cock, then begging you to let daddy help his boy relax as he goes to his knees.

Daddy Sub Price who will happily bounce on your cock when you're too tired to have sex, whispering in your ear how good you are for daddy and to just let him take care of you. He will make you cum so many times you pass out, unable to tell between being awake and asleep with his warm cum filled hole clinging to your cock and his rumbling voice moaning about how good you are for daddy.

Daddy Sub price but he's drooling around your cock and every breath he's able to take he spends it on begging you to use daddy's throat harder, he can take it, you earned a nice reward and he wants to spoil his boy rotten.

Daddy Sub Price who never corrects the kinksters when they assume he's the Dom in your relationship, even goes so far as to agree and hold you close when he says so, because the look you give him and the way you pound him in the nearest storage closet is so worth it.

Daddy Sub Price in the leather harness and assless black leather chaps.

Daddy Sub Price in a leather harness and assless chaps with a riding crop. But the crop is for his boy to spank his ass with when he gets too loud because the sight of him in those leathers are for your eyes only.

Daddy Sub Price wants to feel more of the sting of the riding crop on his skin so he shaved his ass. And you lament the loss of all that hair, going to show him how daddy's boy wants to be treated.

God his ass is pretty all red, not from spanking him no, because good daddy's don't shave - but because you're groping his cheeks so damn hard, spreading and gripping ass so you can eat him out. You found some sort of lube that left him all sensitive and tingly, each scrape of your tongue on his hole or balls like a miniature orgasm that's not enough, leaving him shaking and leaking like a busted tap as he tries to tell you daddy learned his lesson; but you don't stop until he's so deep in subspace all he can do is drool into the pillows and moan about how good his boy is

Just. . . Just Daddy Sub Price

[solrabi]

Ghost x reader, but it’s analog horror(ish)

HEAR ME OUT

You are an indie game programmer who designed an online ‘choose your own adventure’ style game where the player gets to go on a journey of learning how to exorcise their dead ex boyfriend who keeps haunting them. The boyfriend is lovingly named Ghost because he’s always wearing a mask to hide his rotting face. The game has ten chapters and if you play your cards right, then you can be free of his haunting and live your life peacefully. The ending screen has a final dialogue from him that says “I will wait for you.”

The game is sensational. The entire world is playing it, and you’re getting job offers left and right. It’s all overwhelming at first, but you decide to get comfortable with your newfound fame by giving a guest presentation at a local university.

Except, a week before your presentation, while you are playing the game all over again to check for any inconsistencies in the code or story, you notice that Ghost doesn’t say his usual line in the last chapter. You message one of your programmer friends who helped you develop the code for the game and they deny changing the final dialogue.

Your followers on your gaming forum don’t seem to have similar complaints so you try to go through the codes again, only to find that it has been untouched. Weird.

You feel static on the back of your neck as you reread the final dialogue in the last chapter: “I will find you.”

[omegapropaganda]

[fortheb0ys]

FUCK ME LIKE THE MEN BETWEEN THOSE PAGES

Bottom John Price x Top Male Reader

Just Price brain rot🤤 I've always wanted to a model for MLM porn sites ngl so I'm living through this fic🙏 As usual not proofread :)

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

Prices would be one of those faceless models for those erotic gay romance novels. All his work would be faceless. Just something he did to make money on the side.

It was a secret that was long forgotten. Memories replaced by his military service. His body more scarred than his younger self's. His own books but they were just collecting dust in a box.

When you got together, you had found one of the books Price had forgotten that was on a shelf. Your eyes grew wide as you noiced it was Price's shirtless body on the front cover. A small mole on his left hip was telltale that it was him.

Flipping the book over and reading the synopsis reveals the dirty content of it. All the colour washes from Price's face as he sees what you have in your hand.

Price was about to open his mouth to quickly deny it but saw your giddy excitement. Though Price felt a bit shameful, he told you that there was more. A lot more.

With much hesitation from him and a whole lot more convincing from you, Price lent you the books. His amazing body on every single one of them. A new scar here and there as the

He had been surprised that you never poked fun at him and that you were genuinely interested in his past works.

You'd admit that the sex scenes depicted were the main thing that got you interested. You'd imagine Price vividly as the characters he model on the front covers. It didn't take long for you to read through the lot of them.

When Price would be on deployment, he'd get a text from you.

Cum on the front cover or on the pages. Or others with your erect cock slotted like a bookmark between the pages with the dirtiest scenes, precum dripping onto the sheets.

You'd send worded texts underneath the photo like "Try these with me?" or "What if were we the ones to do this?"

Price hated himself for showing you the books right before the mission, making the wait painfully long.

Sexualy frustrated and slightly pissed he had to wait for his deployment to end, Price would have a lonely wank in his barracks. His fingers didn't feel right. His fantasies never felt like details in the books. Nothing felt like you.

Once he got back, Price had to fight back a boner as the anticipation took over him. He went through countless cigars trying to get his mind on something else. The 141 Boys knew something was up. Soap had to control the intrusive thoughts to ask if you were waiting naked when Price returned home.

Which he wasn't wrong. The moment Price came through that door he was already painfully hard. Before he could even open his mouth to greet you, you were on him like a fly to honey, attacking his neck with bruising kisses. Whispering the dirty dialog from one of the books made Price weak in the knees.

Thus was the beginning of your roleplay sex.

Your playtime is always different. Numerous scenarios with one thing in common: Mind blowing sex.

Price would play a royal guard, and you, the prince. A prince in a loveless engagement to a princess. A guard pleading loyalty as he rides the prince on the royal throne.

A grade slipping college student fucking his teacher in an empty classroom for extra credit. Blowjows underneath desks replaces the outdated method of study and paying attention to lectures.

A hunter who falls in love with a werewolf he's supposed to kill. The wolf is just a dumb puppy who needs to be told what to do. With a collar around his neck, ready to be tugged at and the willingness to please his master, puppy soon becomes skilled at lapping at master's hole.

A rowdy rockstar and his stressed out manager. The musician needing to burn off the adrenaline after the show and the poor management needing the stress fucked out of him. The real show was played backstage. The manager put on quite the proformance, his deep moans sounded much better than your singing.

A sex therapist that prefers to take on a more hands-on approach. That skilled tongue was used more than just giving advice.

Or lastly, a priest beguiled by a gorgeous sinner. Guilt was all he felt but it felt like true heaven. God would forgive any sin if he showed true repentance, right? Wouldn't Jesus have died for nothing if we didn't sin?

Sure, some where terrible written and some were written by women with a fetish for gay men. Seeing you act out the scenes without missing a beat or breaking out into laughter while you quoted the dirtiest and most ridiculous things.

You'd remember every dirty word uttered. Every scenario memorized. Price was starting to understand what those white women on TikTok saw in those fucking books. It was just too bad they couldn't live it out like he could.

[eccentricallygothic]

simon riley is the type of grumpy overindulging older boyfriend who always tells you that you need to grow up and not be so pampered and spoilt because one should be prepared to survive in the world as you never know what will happen (one of those ‘what if i am not here one day because something happened to me’ overreacting oldies) but will also let you put everything you pick out of your plate into his own because some veggies/pickable ingredients are too ewie and he facilitates because he can't say no to your pouting and whining, will do everything for you because you're just a baby ‘tsk, give it here, kid’ and will most certainly carry you around like one. hes a hypocrite

[writingoddess1125]

Too Comfortable for Routine

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN Reader

This was randomly written at like 2am in-between assignments so- It's kinda shit but at least Fluffy shit.

Fluff

Simon had just gotten home from deployment-

He made it straight over to your flat as per usual when he was on leave and had time to pretend be a civilian.

You two had been dating for just over two years at this point. It was hard at times however it seemed you two had sort of fallen into a perfect rhythm for each other.

When in your flat (Really his home at this point but won't say it out loud-) He would always bring some form of take away dinner as a easy meal for comfort, put his shoes by the door, duffle in the closet, greet you with a kiss, go take a shower, eat dinner and talk, watch his favorite show with you in bed- then you two would knock boots.

Perfectly planned out and executed during each return to you.

Simon was a creature of habit afterall.

Set in what he liked- especially when he came over to your flat. You respected his habits and how he liked things, having quickly noticed how he would always do things the same. So when he was to in your home you kept to what he was comforble with- (truthfully you had some theories on his nature of sticking to routine but would never voice it.)

But this time.. It was different?

Simon walked in, Boots, Duffle and a greeting of a kiss as you smile up at him.

"Welcome Home Simon" You say brightly, Simon giving a soft smile in return.

"Hey Lov" He said softly, wrapping a arm around you to pull you close.

'God he missed this-'

Leaning into his embrace, you cant help but hum happily at having him back home- safe and sound. You looking to him as you can already see his features softening, relaxation.

You lead him further into the flat as he drops his boots off in its set spot- His muscle memory routine already in full effect it seemed..

"Oh- Before I forget Si, The show is airing a bit earlier then usual, Do you wanna shower and just head straight to watching the show?"

Simon gave a heavy sigh at hearing this, before nodding in understanding. While a bit hesitant at the change, agreed.

This was unwelcomed change- However it seemed fairly alright to him. Afterall it was the same things just out of order.

You take his duffle bag and the fast food as you send him off to shower, Simon doing as told quickly- It was odd of course however it wasn't too bad.

After his admittedly very long shower he made it to your bed fast in only sweats. Seeing you'd already set up for the two of you to simply eat in bed to watch the show he liked on time, Simon and you sharing some idle chatter with each other- eating McDonald's together (aka a short and funny argument about him calling it Maccies vs you saying McDonald's) before you two lay down to watch TV.

Simon however as normal shifting in the way too soft bed, having to always adjust to not being in a cot- He moved just until he finally got comforble and lazily staring at the TV. His mind starting to get fuzzy and with absolutely no thoughts as you ran your fingers through his hair.

He didn't even really watch the show like he would normally? It felt like simple background noise unlike before when it would capture his attention.

However the warmth of your body made him melt especially under your fingers.

Unknowingly He had rested his head against your stomach, his arms wrapped around your thigh as his leg was even hiked up on your own. His massive build cuddled into you as if you were his security, his to shield from the world outside-

It was his own slice of heaven he could be wrapped in forever and ever, he just felt himself at peace. Eyes starting to drift closed as the creeping feeling of sleep came way faster then normal an-

Wait-

What the fuck?

He blinked suddently as if his brain snapped back from wherever it had just went to.

What the fuck just happened? When did he get into this position??

Simon pulled from you fast a confused wide eyed expression as he sat up quickly and looked around the room as if he didnt even remember walking into it in the first place, You raising an eyebrow at his movements as if he had just gotten punched by some invisible force to get up.

"Uh, Simon? You okay?"

You ask, seeing him slowly sit himself up property and stare at you as if you had somehow grown a second head or done something to him. Brows knitted together as he slowly slid to sit up next to you and pull you in his arms instead.

You could feel he isn't as comforble as he was before when he was laying on you, tense as he holds you to his side now like how he usually does- but now a firmer hand.

Simon mind reeling as he stared a bit blankly at the TV, the hour long show wrapping up as he didnt know what the fuck had happened- a creeping feeling going up his spine.

Was he comfortable in this routine? Despite you breaking it?

Or

Was he just comforble with you?

[boozenboze]

2. Hound Dog

Tf!141 x Roberta!Male reader

Summary: Don’t mess with the people he holds to dear. He will get blood on his hands for them.

Women/Female Aligned DNI

While going through the endless amounts of older articles and private information. Price hadn't found much significance in the writings, though there were a few things he took to mind. Some of the poorly taken photos were clear to be of M/n. However, there was something weird under the information. He used to be under an elite squad way before he joined the 141. The call sign he has now Teleiotís, wasn't even his original call sign. Having gone under the codename Hound. "The hell were you up to lad..?" Price murmured, eyes focusing on the name. It was another word for a dog, a wild beast. M/n wasn't like that, he'd always been the perfect soldier. Even if he did act robotic sometimes. Despite the decent amount of info that was given, there wasn't enough to piece many things together. Why was he so durable, strong at that. He'd met many other soldiers in his time, yet there was nobody like this. Nobody like him.

Going a bit further, he found a folder in the corner of the screen, the slightly hidden folder having caught his full attention. He clicked on it, watching the screen flash black, extracting a look of wary from his face. 0...13..26...45...60..76...89...95...100..loading.

A knock on his door swept his attention away from the screen, Price now looking towards the door.

"Time to start headin' out," Laswell called out, leaving Price to sigh in response. He still had shit he needed to do, that would have to wait. They still had a job to do. In the moments that Price put his hat on his head, and headed out the door, a description was shown of a man. In bold italic letters in red, showed something that could change a lot. The Blood-Hound of The Inner Circle.

—————-

Everything went to shit, leaving Soap beat up on the ground with Gaz tied up to Price, arms to their backs. They don't know what they'd done with Ghost, but he's a tough one so they try not to worry much about it. After almost acquiring what they needed, the whole operation having gone too smoothly for their liking ended with them being led into a trap. M/n was nowhere to be found, hell he hadn't even come on this run with them. If anything he should still be at the base, doing whatever work he does when they do go on a mission without him. "Watcher-1, do you copy?" Price grumbled, voice sounding hoarse and dry. He struggled against the rope, wrists having rug burn on them causing a stinging sensation. "Shit.., Soap...lad you alive?" Soap opened his eyes, having had them closed moments ago. He looked roughed up, having run his mouth more than needed towards the enemy. Left him with a bruised cheek and busted lip.

"Never been better sir.." Soap groaned, feeling the pain in his back as he sat up groggily. He pushed himself up against the wall, working his wrists only to feel that he was tied too. "Got this shit bloody fucking tight- ugh." Soap struggled against his restraints to no avail, his wrists beginning to sting due to his struggle. He leaned his head against the wall, sighing out of frustration. As far as they could tell, they were unable to hear anything going on outside the room, and the only thing there for potential escape was a ventilation system high up on the ceiling. They were stuck, no doubt, with no possible way of escape. A few moments passed, Soap lolling his head to the right, hearing the door to the room they were being held in being unlocked. Adrenaline rushed through their bodies, an unspoken sentence going through their heads as their eyes set heavy on the door. Be ready

The door creaked open, Gaz shifting in his seated position, fully being on edge. With the door fully opened, they found themselves staring into nothing. The hallway was completely dark, the lights occasionally flickering. "The hell..?" Price murmured, squinting at the dark abyss of the hall, attempting to land his gaze on something, anything. Then he saw it, the familiar sight of the red substance he and the rest of his fellow soldiers often got on their hands. It looked fresh, and as the lights flickered again he could see the extent of it all. An audible gulp was heard from Soap, which was understandable. They weren't able to hear or see...whatever the hell happened, but there was no mistaking the sight of Ghost walking past, the large man stopping when he found his team. "Bloody hell..." Ghost said under his breath, rushing to untie Gaz and Price from one another. "Well look at that, L.T. here saving the day." Soap cheered cheekily, though the look Ghost gave him shut him up. He let the man untie him, nodding his head at him once finished. The 3 took the chance to stretch, needing to be ready to move again. "Mind telling us what going on?" Gaz questioned, referring to the flickering lights and blood-splattered walls. "Dunno wasn't me though." Ghost replied gruffly, his gaze coming in contact with the others who held a look of confusion and a sense of uneasiness. If Ghost hadn't done this, that'd only mean one thing. Someone else was here

"Where were you-, what'd happened when they took you," Soap asked, shifting his weight to his right leg. Silence filled the room, Ghost just staring at each of them.

------------

Thwack

Thwack

Thwack

Blood was spat out of Ghost's mouth, and his mask had been ripped off his face, leaving him with his balaclava. He was being interrogated, his silence having ticked off the enemy soldiers badly. "Hell's it gon take to make ya talk eh?" The soldier said, the annoyance prominent in their tone. Ghost's head was to the side, his gaze to the ground.

"Oi...speak damnit!" A loud thud was heard, the butt of a gun making contact with Ghost's skull. The soldier went in for another hit only to be stopped by the other soldier in the room with a hand to the shoulder. They scoffed, backing away and letting the other soldier have his turn. They turned on their heel, walking out of the room, leaving Ghost alone with the other soldier. The man stood there for a moment, looking down at Ghost who was also looking at him. A look of distaste clear in his gaze, moments going by with just this. "You're gonna have to talk," He stated shortly, the soldier, pulling a chair to now sit across from Ghost. He sat, lounging in the wooden chair casually, potentially trying to appear laid back. An often yet effective tactic. "And hell if I don't?" Ghost said back, hardened stare not leaving the soldier who visibly became uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Well, ya teammates seemed pretty worried bout ya earlier." The soldier said, staring back at Ghost with his newfound found hand. The fucker was holding the lives of his team over his head, and quite frankly. That's not something he'd want to happen.

He glared, the smirk appearing on the other man's face pissing him off with each second it remained. "Lay a damn hand on any of em and I swear I'll-" Ghost was cut off by the sound of a blood-curdling scream, followed by the sound of glass shattering. The enemy soldier stood up, pulling his gun up steadily. The screams faded out, a cracking sound echoing through the now silent hall. The soldier stopped in place, the sound of footsteps being heard making their way down the hall. With a shaky hand, he grabbed the doorknob, slowly opening the door and peeking out of it.

His breath hitched, at the sight of the soldier who was originally inside the room with his neck twisted where the back of his head should be. His mouth was ajar, blood spilling from his mouth, worse part about it being that he was still alive. He wasn't getting enough air, choking on his own blood while using whatever air he had left in his lungs to breathe. Or at least try...

The soldier backed away, the door creaking open on its own, enough for Ghost to see as well. He tensed, gazing hard at the now dying soldier. Not even a second later, a gun went flying towards the soldier in the room with him. The man got thrown back, the gun sending him flying into the wall, the head of the gun piercing the man through the mouth and out his skull. His body now hung from the wall, completely motionless.

The remaining man, Ghost stared at the whole scene. He couldn't move, gaze shifting to the doorway again to see someone standing there. He was locked in, being able to hear his own thoughts yet couldn't move a muscle even if he tried. His pupils dilated as the figure approached him slowly and tentatively. Upon closer look, he had a black surgical mask on his face, with a familiar uniform on his body. Was he worried about that at the moment though? Not at all.

Ghost's eyes lost their sight on him once they went behind him, feeling the enigma untie his hands. He still hadn't moved, yet a look of confusion was now held in his eyes. His breath hitched when he felt something land in his lap, relaxing when he saw his mask. He looked back up, about to say something only for the man to be gone.

------------

The three stared at Ghost, looks of equal confusion and intensity in their eyes.

"Let's move, can't risk gettin' caught up with whatever the hell's going on." Price said, quickly moving to lead the others out. They had to be quick, or else there'd be a possibility that they'd end up having the same fate as those other poor sods.

As they moved through the large building, swiping whatever guns or knives the fallen soldiers had on them. Gaz had to cover his nose at one point, the metallic smell of blood making him feel sick.

"Where we even goin'..., place s' like a labyrinth," Gaz murmured, staying close on Price's 6 while Soap stayed a bit further back with Ghost's imposing figure.

"Should be an exit somewhere-." Price held his hand up, the others stopping in suit. There were two people at the end of the hall, both throwing punch after punch at the other. With a quick and swift movement, the soldier who was clear to be the enemy lifted the other up, slamming him onto a table that was for some reason at the end of the hall.

"You really thought I couldn't recognize you...," An unfamiliar voice spoke, possibly the enemy soldier. The sound of a gun clock echoed through the quiet hall, the 141 members hiding around the corner, silently watching the whole spectacle. "I know how you fight, hell we were from the same regiment.

"Hmm, well I do recognize you..." The other voice spoke, Soap's ears perking up at the sound of it. If he wasn't dreaming, it was who he thought it was, despite his tone being so... different. A scoff of amusement was heard from the same man.

"Why don't you just shoot me eh? I see that look in yer eyes." The enemy spoke, glaring down at the other man. "You were an asset to our plans, yet you up and left us like an old toy. Boss wasn't very happy bout that..." Silence came back into the room, Gaz looking back at Soap who had a look of familiarity in his eyes. "What?" Gaz whispered, staying as quiet as possible. Soap held a hand up, a silent motion to tell Gaz to be quiet.

"Come back with us Hound, stop pretending to be some weak-ass hero. Come be the man you were before." The man pushed, smirk clear in his voice. The four men's eyes widened, their teammate? No, it couldn't be...how... "Markov would love to see this pretty face again y'know."

A low chuckle left the other man.

"Well...I am tired of it all, but once I'm done here, my job will be done," The voice spoke back, undoubtedly belonging to their teammate. The enemy backed away, gun still in his hands as he watched Hound intently. With the way his gaze lay on the man, it was clear there was something else he wanted. Hound, being the quick-minded man he was, sighed as he sat up a bit more on the table.

"Still being cautious, understandable." The sound of a belt unbuckling made Price quickly move slightly from around the corner, ready to shoot the man. Without missing a beat, the lock on Hound's belt opened, revealing something other than a belt. The sound of shots firing made Price back, the enemy yelled out in pain, falling to his knees.

"You fucking!- AGH." The man was cut off when he was suddenly lifted off the ground, Hound landing a heavy blow across the soldier's face. "You think I'd lower myself down to your level again? Pig," Hound spoke, glaring down at the soldier who looked shocked. Another punch to the face, then the stomach. The enemy spat out blood, knees buckling yet Hound's hold on his shirt unwavered. Another punch was heard, only this time a loud crack was heard. Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost listened intently, an uncomfortable feeling in the pits of their stomachs to the sound of bones breaking. "I'd never go back, not when I have them," Hound spoke, voice void of any emotion towards the beaten and wounded soldier "They're my family and my loyalty...my protection...my love is for them. I'd be damned if I let them go, or have you try and take me back to that shit hole."

It was like a pang to the heart, despite how sinister his tone was coming off. It was refreshing, he really did care for them despite how he behaved. Though, they couldn't ignore the fact that...he'd been associated with Markov. (A/n: I tagged those who asked to be tagged or be made aware of when this came out in the comments of pt.1) @byakuren100 @d0wnwthecl0wn @thefanpov @sochigonzo

@hashslingingslasherofficial @hauntedapplefarm @incubusx @king825

[italktoomuchxd]

Simon grew up in a household where toys were a rarity, and his childhood playthings were limited to a few humble items. Among them were a set of small green plastic soldiers and a well-worn car, its tire long since worn and broken. However, what truly captured Simon's imagination was his sister's old porcelain doll, a treasured gift from their grandmother.

Oh, that doll! With its delicate white skin glowing softly in the light, plump red cheeks that seemed to blush with life, and bright blue eyeshadow that accentuated its striking blue eyes, the doll was enchanting. Its golden hair shimmered like spun sunlight, cascading in gentle curls, while a long, flowing blue dress adorned it, reminiscent of the elegant figures from a fairy tale.

Simon adored that doll, pouring all his affection into play, nurturing it as if it were truly alive. But his innocent joy came to a devastating end one fateful day when his father, in a fit of anger, hurled the precious doll against the wall. The shattering porcelain echoed through the room, marking the destruction of the most beloved object in Simon's world, leaving behind broken fragments and a heavy heart…

You and Simon were still in the early stages of your relationship when you decided to invite him to spend Christmas at your home. The atmosphere felt cozy, just the two of you introverts nestled away in a familiar space. As he stepped through your front door, a bottle of wine cradled in his hand, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in your stomach.

As he made his way toward the living room, the warm glow of the holiday decorations framed the scene perfectly. However, his gaze quickly fell upon a surprising sight that filled the corner of the room—an array of supplies scattered about. The vibrant fake hair, a box of paints, assorted little fabrics, and the glinting edges of a sewing machine revealed a world that was uniquely yours.

“Oh…sorry—it's my hobby,” you said with a nervous chuckle, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “I like restoring dolls.”

At that moment, you could see the intriguing spark in Simon's eyes…he fell for you once more—call it childhood trauma; he didn't care he'd spend Christmas night painting doll faces with you.

Part 2

[gofishygo]

simon 'ghost' riley / reader: no content warnings

in the military, ghost is good at working with other people. it's his job as a lieutenant after all, to help out his colleagues- from coaching how to scope accurately to lifting cars off trapped teammates in the midst of gunfire.

but at home, he only provides for himself. well, at least before he'd met you.

he has one set of utensils. two bedsheets that he changes from time to time. probably less than ten articles of clothing, since he's practically never home- either in his gear or fatigues most of the time. if he'd gotten the chance, he would probably cut his dining table in half too, can't stand the empty space that seems to taunt him.

and then you come along, with all your eccentricness and ideas and bright eyes, stumbling into his life with brightness he has only seen from the scorching sun, and no matter how much he tries to pry you off, you're properly stuck, glued by his side, refusing to leave. of course he has to take you home, now that you've wormed this deeply into a soul that he thought was dead. and hear you are, ripping him a new one over his kitchen, or lack thereof- 'seriously, simon- you use the same three bowls for everything? and why is the milk in your fridge two months old?' and berating all the little cigarette burns on the clothes that he swears are still useable.

when you both eventually fall asleep curled up and tangled together in a too-small bed, he has one hand carding in your hair, holding your head, whilst the other scrolls on his phone, for maybe the first time ever. eyes flick between you in his arms and the shopping cart on his screen.

by the next week, there's a second chair for his dining table, and an even prettier bird in it, smiling at him so sweetly.

[maladaptivewritings]

Konig's Favorite

Tw: COD things; slight gore/blood mentions, Konig is creepy anxiety not cute anxiety, military! reader, violence mentions.

Konig is tall, to most it's unnerving. He knows this, and his quiet nature doesn't help. He's a tank, and a quiet one at that which leads to him appearing out of nowhere only to be covered in a shadow.

"Servus, private." The voice from behind that hastily made mask startled you. Staring up at the colonel, your body freezing as you make a faint smile. The faint copper scent wafting through the air, a remnant from his recent mission. Cobalt blue eyes staring down at you from the abyss, you didn't know if it was a smile or scowl he was hiding.

"Good Morning Colonel, can I help you?" The hesitant voice escaped your throat. The giant leaned down, his eyes almost meeting yours. It feels like a threat, a predator staring at prey. You squirmed in your uniform, as you tried to display a form of bravery.

"Ah yes, " He sat in this position longer than what you'd like as he searched for words. "Could you please clean the interrogation room?"

A quick nod excused you as you rushed to the task, a grim sight caressing your eyes. Blood decorates the room, teeth loose on the floor and mechanics tools glisten on the lone table. The smell alone would normally leave you running, but fear of that colonel was stronger. You grabbed a bucket of cleaning supplies, and relented yourself torid the room of the animalistic display.

The suds in the water, the heat of the water hinting through your gloves as you worked against the linoleum floor. The familiar orange hue drifting down the drain as you worked again and again. The quiet of the room, eerily sweet as you tried to hum a long-forgotten tune. You had no clue how long you had been working, hoping age-old stains may just need your hand to wash them out.

The door creaks, and heavy boot steps fall behind you.

"Ah, looks great." His voice awkward to the english language, you heard him speak in his native tongue before and it nearly dizzied you. He was leaned against that wall, the smell of bleach mixed with his cologne a sorry excuse to clean himself from the dirty work.

"Mm- oh um yeah..." Mindlessly speaking as you intricately put away the torture devices used. If it weren't for the breeze from the hall, you'd be in your own form of torture. As he stared at you, formulating his words as you tried to ignore him.

"Next time, you join?" His words felt more like a statement as he furthered himself into the room. Watching you like a vulture as he figured out his next step, soon taking another step in your direction.

"Would be nice to have a fresh set of ... ideas." His words enticing you, his tone implying a smile under his mask.

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[solrabi]

Imagining John Price as a sleazy pottery class instructor rn:

He would be so sly with it too, wrapping his bulky and hirsute arms around you to help you mold the wet clay into the shape you want.

John would take the opportunity to deeply inhale your perfume and maybe rub off his own cologne on your body with the way his chest is pressed flat against your back.

He bites the inside of his cheek when he notices you’re trembling, especially when you accidentally end up creating an almost phallic shaped sculpture because you were too busy focusing on the way his breath would brush against the shell of your ear.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest when you’d momentarily feel his hardness when he’d lean over to mold the clay better.

Maybe it was time to sign you up for some one-on-one lessons with him