#russian sniper rifle

[blueiscoool]

The Front Line

A Ukrainian sniper waiting for Russian invaders.

[padparadzha]

[moralton]

Currently down bad for a character from a r/nosleep story. sighs deeply and stares into the camera

[ur-mag]

Sniper’s Lord of the Horizon rifle ‘takes out Russian soldier from 2.5 miles’ | In Trend Today

Sniper’s Lord of the Horizon rifle ‘takes out Russian soldier from 2.5 miles’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[writingangst]

Russian Roulette

Summary: Simon Riley takes notice that the reader has a specific way of reloading her gun, which results in him being paranoid to the point he misreads the situation.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst, cursing, torture, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 2.3K

This was a prompt from Character.AI by user @/kstzii and I had to make this account to post because it really hit the angst spot for me. Hopefully, it does the same for you.

The echo from your sniper rifle was stifled by its silencer as you scored another bullseye. You felt someone's gaze burn into the back of your head. But once you turned, you couldn't see anyone. Must've been my imagination. You reassured yourself as you went back to attempt another shot. No bullets. You quickly reload and reposition yourself to fire off another round.

“What the hell was that?” Your lieutenant's voice called out. You swiftly turned to him. “Reload again.”

“What?” You were caught off guard, the slight hint of a Russian accent slipping out. Shit. You instantly clear your throat to switch back to your usual British accent.

“Are you deaf? I said reload again!” He repeats, his voice booming.

You rearange yourself from your position lying on your stomach, onto your knees, the head of your riffle touching the dirt beneath you. You look at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Now, why would I reload when I just switched to a perfectly good mag?”

His jaw clenched. You noticied how he was trying to hold himself back. He did this often. You were sharp with your tongue and tended to use it on him often. In more ways than one. Though this time, he didn’t quite seem like he was enjoying it.

“You know exactly what I mean. That was a Russian reload,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the veins in his arms were prominent. It brought you back… No. This was serious.

You laughed it off, seeming unbothered. You were cool. Calm. Collected. Everyone knew you weren’t one to be thrown off your game easily. But this certainley was doing just that. You weren’t about to let him see that though.

With a scoff, you turn your back to him to get a better hold of your gun. “I reckon you haven’t slept, Lieutenant. Could be playing tricks on your sight.”

“I know exactly what I saw,” his tone was cold, but with his clenched fists you knew this was a ticking time bomb. “Do. It. Again.” He ordered in a firm tone. It left no room for any arguments.

You’re stagnant only slightly. There was uneasiness in your stomach at what this could mean. You knew Simon, and you knew Ghost. This was the latter, but you weren’t going to let this play out the way he wanted it to.

“And if not?” You challenge as you turned towards him, eyes sincere as you looked deep into his conflicted ones. “This gonna end in friendly fire?”

In long strides he stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of you. He pulled you up by your elbow, but you never lost your grip on your weapon. With him being 6’4, you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His towering frame was imposing, making you feel small.

He leaned closer, just like he had so many times before. His body only a few inches from yours, but instead of it having the burning effect it usually did, now you were just feeling uncomfortable with the interaction. He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to intimidate you.

“What do you have to lose?” He countered, his voice low, a rumble to his chest.

You took it as a challenge.

With a clenched jaw, you took a step back from him as he severed his grip on your skin. You rid of the magazine wedged within your sniper and your eyes never leave his as you do so. Taking another mag from your tactical gear, you shift to do a simple tactical reload.

He watched you intently, his eyes glued to your every move. You didn’t break a single swet. And even though it seemed like something inherently intimate, you knew it was everything but. Once you finished and kept your straight face on him, he stepped towards you again.

He looked pissed as his eyes flickered to the mag that you just placed into your gun.

“That…” he stated through gritted teeth, gripping your chin with force between his thumb and his forefinger. You were forced to look at him head on. “…isn’t a British reload. Now tell me, who are you really?”

“I’m a simple sniper, sir,” you reply without skipping so much as a beat. “I was chosen for this task because of my outstanding sniper skills.”

Silence ensued.

Then you continued. “But you knew that already. You read my file,” you hissed back at him. “And you’ve trained with me for months, been in my bed, so what exactly are we implying here, Lieutenant?”

He kept his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. You noticed how he continued to get frustrated that nothing was out in the open like he previously thought it was. He expected you to be defiant, not secretive. A piece was missing and he was paranoid. Something wasn’t right.

Suddently, you’re smashed against the closest tree and your rifle was hitting the ground. You wince as a gruff pained noise falls from your lips once the air is knocked out of you. His vast hand squeezed your neck. Not enough to cut your air supply. Yet. But enough for it to be uncomfortable to breath. There was a sense of betrayal in his eyes and you knew he had assumed the worst.

“You’re a lying Russian spy,” he murmured into your ear with such force you thought you’d faint.

You struggled against him. “I am not Russian, nor am I a spy,” you rasp out as best you can, but you feel him crushing your windpipe. You wouldn’t lie to yourself. You feel hurt. He was one of the closest people you had since joining the 141 task force. Which made you angry. That’s when hurt vacated to make room for the feeling of deception. “But I will not explain myself to you when I have a job to do.”

You attempted to push him off but he was stronger and bulkier than you, making it almost impossible. You understood there that there would be no reasoning with him. Sleep deprivation and high stress levels were obvious indicators of this. You both had been on the field for days, and he had been the one doing most of the lookouts in order for you to get a bit of shuteye. You won’t be a good shot with heavy lids, sweetheart. He once said to you.

“What were you sent to do, huh?” He asked, his voice had lost its edge and now he just sounded distant. “Spy? Assassinate me?”

“Paranoid motherfucker,” you hissed, holding onto his forearm to steady yourself against his grip. “Screw you.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip loosening only slightly. “You sound surprised. You can’t honestly tell me that you expected me to not investigate the mysterious sniper with a Russian reload and accent?”

“And I’m almost certain you couldn’t find a Goddamn thing about anything and that’s why you got me cornered,” you stated as a matter of fact. “I’m not whoever the hell you think I am, and this paranoia is serving to have this mission go south if you don’t let me get to my gun.”

He laughed this time. Honestly, laughed.

You scrunched up your nose. Fuck you, Ghost.

“You don’t think I have dirt on you, sweetheart? I have files on you, more than you can count. I know you, better than you think,” he paused for a second. “I know your weaknesses, likes, dislikes. Everything.”

You laugh bitterly. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, I even had a hand in the shit you know because I trusted you. That still doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what happened in Russia. You’re so inclined? Ask Price!”

“I asked Price!” His hand gave your neck a quick squeeze and you saw how his body trembled. “He didn’t know a damn thing. Said your file was locked and he was denied access. Now why the hell would that be, huh?”

You snorted. “He said that to protect me. I had the whole record wiped. None of this concerns you, Lieutenant. We all went through shit, and you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to be a ghost? Fuck you!”

His eyes narrowed at your words. “Why would he protect you if you have nothing to hide? That makes no sense and you know it.”

“Because my trauma is my trauma! And you have no business budding into it!” 

“And if it’s something that could jeopardize the entire task force?” He muttered, his patience wearing thin. “If it could get everyone killed?”

“You’re an idiot if you think Price would let me anywhere near this damn task force if he considered me a risk,” your voice was cool, but your heart was thumping in your chest. You attempting one last shove that surprisingly caused him to let go. You wheezed when the pressure was off your trachea and you coughed to catch your breath. 

He watched you silently.

Once you composed yourself, you looked back at him as you held your neck. “I thought we were fucking friends, Ghost.”

“Friends?!” He spat exasperatedly. “You really think I would consider you my friend when I know you’re lying? You think I make friends with people I don’t trust?” His eyes were cold, his tone cruel and bitter. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes for the simple deceit.”

Aside from the pain emitting from your neck, there was a hollow ache in your chest that was capturing your attention as well. You would relive the trauma if that would mean getting the job done. But when it came to Simon Riley, he was as good as dead to you.

“I was held hostage by Russian forces for 18 months.”

His stance faltered at that. You don’t think you had ever seen him lose his footing like he had in that instance. And his eyes… Christ, he had never changed his expression so fast. What the hell was that? Pity? He could go screw himself.

You continued. “Anything you can think of in torture, triple that. What kept me alive for so long was the fact they wanted to use me. The only way I got out of the constant abuse was the training. So excuse me if I picked up on a thing or two. Even the Godawful accent that creeps into the British one,” you cleared your throat. “I’m not your enemy, Ghost. But you’re right. I’m not your damn friend either.”

As you explained your past, his eyes never left yours as he listened carefully. He expected many things, but he hadn’t taken into consideration you being a literal prisoner to Russian forces. For once in his life, he was speechless. The thought that you had lived through a year and a half of torture at the hands of the Russians was something he could barely imagine.

His gaze had softened, but he hardened again when something wasn’t clicking for him. “Doesn’t explain why your file is locked.”

You snorted humorlessly. “Ever heard of Price’s little sister?”

His eyes widened at the mention of her. The captain was hush hush about the matter, but it was a well known fact he had family within the military. And that she was KIA some time ago. “What about her?”

“You’re looking at her.”

Those were the last words he expected to come out of your mouth. Shock and surprise flashed behind his mask as he finally realized what this meant.

“You’re…” He paused, trying to process the bomb that just exploded in his face. “You’re Price’s sister?”

“In the flesh,” you replied with the same cold tone he had been using earlier with you. “You’re not the only one trying to be ghost. You’ve just never been questioned by the task force on it like you just did to me.” 

What could he say to that?

“I took a bullet for you, Lieutenant,” you reminded him. “What fucking spy does that for the opposite team?”

His jaw clenched and you saw how his mask flexed due to it. His eyes showed how he replayed that memory in his head. It was something he thought about constantly. You had saved him, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He had been so focused on you being a spy that he hadn’t stopped to consider that you were actually on his side.

“I never should have questioned you,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he met your gaze again.

Your hand shot up to stop him from saying anything else on the matter. “It’s done. We’re done here.”

He watched as you walked away to pick up your gun, his mind racing with thoughts but they were too fast for his tongue. He knew he had messed up. He had completely misjudged the situation with the accusations thrown at you when in reality your connection to the task force was stronger than even his.

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t find it funny.

“Wait,” He sighed, taking strides to catch up to you.

“This is unprofessional, Lieutenant,” you stated, dusting off your weapon as you checked for any malfunctions. “We’re in the middle of an active operation. I’m done talking.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh as you dismissed his attempt at talking to you. He knew you were right, that the mission was what mattered now. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to apologize. It was clawing at his chest, the emotion raw in his throat, asking to be let out in word vomit.

“You can’t honestly expect us to just ignore what happened and continue on like normal?”

Silence followed.

You didn’t even look at him.

“Go back to being Ghost, because Simon Riley is fucking dead to me.”

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[anestofocs]

(Closed rp thread with @white-reaper-dragunov )

Pre Tekken 4/Post Tekken 3

It was a calm, silent night. The first in a while after Yuki discovered his half sister and biological father. When he lost said father when he sacrificed himself to save his kids. Adding to the turmoil was that his boyfriend, Sergei had been more secretive and withdrawn then usual. Both had been busy even before Yuki had to rush to Japan. Sergei was a soilder, Yuki was getting his new club up and running, alongside his less then legal activity as the "Mocking Demon". Yet lately they had seen less and less of each other.

Shaking his head, Yuki brushed those tthoughts away. He had a job to do. A high ranking "diplomat" and her cronies had been terrorising the local honeless population. Snatching some off the street, all while keeping plausible deniabilty. Unfortunately for her two things got him involed. One,her minions hadn't escaped his intelligence ring"s notice. Two, a customer paid the demon a good deal of money to kill the diplomat.

Garbbed in his tactical gear, a full covering outfit, Yuki stared down the scope of his sniper rifle, signature mask popped up onto his head so he could make his shot. The woman, A Russian currently traveling to her car was right in his sights.

"Got you." He murmured, firing at her from a distance. It was clean hit. But did alert her guards. So Yuki popped his mask back on and ran...

..Unaware that an Angel was on the hunt.

[karlachismylife]

The Slopes of Mountain Aragats

#PriceGhostWeek

Day One: Confession/Kneel (@gomzdrawfr)

I hate this work with a passion, especially because I loved the place I'm describing here and I feel like I fucked up the chance to share this love with ghostprice and readers. But I spent too much time on it, so I'm just throwing it there, and if some other time you see me writing about mountain Aragats again, you pretend this shit never existed.

“Do you believe in God, Simon?”

A more or less expected question in a church, where sunbeams hang down from the light wells in the ceiling like see-through gauze fabric stripes, completely still in the air filled with thick smell of burning beeswax candles.

Not so expected when you’re stuck at a narrow window with a sniper rifle pointing outside, ancient walls of an Armenian church serving as basic cover for a slow-paced op. Nothing holy in this house of God, pigeon feathers left at the front steps sickly grey instead of pristine white. A few miles ahead an enormous bowl of an abandoned radio-optic telescope shined like a giant mirror on the slope of mount Aragats, blinding Ghost’s concentrated eyes with an annoying silver glint. Somewhere in the blocky constructivist building of the observatory on that same slope, among decades-old equipment and journals left open on a page with a 1990 date in the corner, were hidden remains of an abandoned space project certain Russians were suddenly interested in.

Ghost’s job was to quietly prevent them from leaving with the project in hands.

There lied a deep picturesque ravine separating God’s and scientists’ territories – a blooming rocky metaphor a little too on the nose for Simon’s liking. Clear sky above was the same for both, equally indifferent to the prayers and radio waves sent up by people desperate for answers.

He wouldn’t remember a single time his Captain didn’t answer a call through the comms.

“Unless old man in the skies sends me a cloud to get rid o’ the fuckin’ reflection, no, sir, I don’t.”

Price’s distinct chuckle bounced off dark stone walls, gruff and muffled by a cigar caught between his lips. Its smoke was one of the few things still moving in this place, barely able to push through the thick candle smell – they’d spent here so much time already that Simon had trouble remembering what did those bloody cigars smell like on their own. That meant some imaginary old man in the sky was trying to replace Price’s smell with his own in Simon’s memory, forcing him to inhale sweet, greasy air that coats the roof of your mouth with a thin layer of soft polish – more the reason to despise the guy.

There was no God waiting for Simon outside his grave when he died, only Captain Price, and as long as Ghost still roamed this Earth, it would stay that way.

“Jus’ thought he’d love ya for being able to kneel for so long.”

If the words rung in his ears like church bells, Ghost didn’t show, still a frozen picture of a perfect sniper – kneeling was the only option to fit himself at the right level to look through the narrow window. He could think of a few other things this was the right level for, but decided against it, and if the cool of the stone interior got suddenly washed away by heat raining down his scruff, that was between him and God.

There was no God here, though, only John Price.

“Let’s switch. Can’t ‘ave ya dropping yer legs like a bloody lizard tail ‘cause you sat on them for too long.”

Ghost didn’t move, acknowledging the offer with an unimpressed grunt, and blinked, fighting against his own body: as soon as Price mentioned it, his knees filled with tiny needles pressed into the squeaky joints and begged for mercy.

It was his Captain who decided whether Simon needed a break or not.

Something let out a short, sharp hiss behind him, and Ghost allowed his eyes to slide away from the target to see Price putting the butt of his cigar out in one of the water-filled trays for candles. With the myriad little flames eating away at the thin columns reflected in his sky-blue eyes, Price looked like God gazing over his land of ash-contaminated sea washing onto honey yellow shores of melted wax islands.

“Come on, boy, up. Can’t switch if yer fat arse takes up all the space.”

“Rich coming from you, sir.”

He finally moved, reluctantly, a gargoyle, foreign in the country of stone khachkar crosses, coming to live, uncoiling its creaking spine – a rod in the wide wingless back – and getting up from its aching knees. Price was already there, a firm pat on the back of his neck from a heavy hand and a smile of approval crinkling the corners of his eyes.

When Simon looked to the altar, what was left of an old Mary stared back with cracks of paint mimicking same expression around her single eye.

Price lowered himself into same position with a grunt, thick thighs bulging with the strain of his weight as he adjusted the rifle to his height – a few inches of difference that made Simon’s blood run hotter than the melted beeswax. He was hulking over his knelt Captain, shamelessly staring at that very ass, defined in the shitty lighting weaved from freshly pressed sunlight and stretched out candle flames – same lighting people are used to stare into big symmetrical eyes of holy icons.

There wasn’t enough air up here, what little oxygen left at the mountain top burnt out with those flames; Simon tilted his head back, rolling up his bally soaked with sweat gathered on his mangled upper lip, and tried inhaling with his full chest. It felt like breathing through a clogged-up cheesecloth, molecules coagulating in a hard to distribute blobs, sticking to the waxed walls of his throat. Breathing poor air made him lightheaded, uneven, hand-cut stone floor unsteady under his feet enough to force him to back away, leaning onto the altar to stay upright.

There was no God to unleash wrath on him for gripping onto the cold, rough edge of the stone table. Tuff, darkened with centuries of life Tegher Monastery led – its still light wild rock brethren scattered all around the ravine separating them and the target – tried to close onto Simon, suffocating him in a tiny crypt.

A single shot rolled down the slope, quaking ready to crumble rocks and rattling an echo. Simon’s eyes shot open – when did he even close them? – just in time to see Price lean back with a quiet, satisfied smirk. That meant target was eliminated.

Simon’s vision went black.

When the light came back, first thing he saw was a misty halo around John’s head, bright Armenian sun leaking down the light well and pooling on the brim of that bloody hat.

“Focus on me, Simon. S’alright, just breathe, aye? Gotta take ya outside, can you walk?”

 He took one breath and stood up, knees buckling immediately – if not for Price’s arms catching him under his armpits, he would’ve fallen, forced to kneel at the altar of a God he didn’t believe in.

Instead, he turned his back to the one-eyed Madonna with a faceless child on the cold stone wall and leaned into the warmth of his Captain’s thigh. His cheek pressed into Price’s garter belt, eyes and mouth wide open in a suffocated awe.

“Simon? Simon, you hear me? Bloody hell…”

A handler’s hand found its way into his hair – he didn’t even realize Price had taken off his mask as soon as he started choking on thin air – and pulled, forcing Simon to look up.

He saw blue sky in a round light well, dusted over with sunlight. And then, he saw God.

Simon didn’t hear his own voice, his dry, uneven lips moving on their own, croaking out his only prayer on the last drops of oxygen in his constricted lungs. He could only see – two piercing blue light wells, widening for a second before slowly retracting back.

God smiled, running his calloused fingers through his lamb’s blonde curls.

“I know, Simon. S’alright. I know. Been waitin’ for some time t’ hear ya say that.”

A rough thumb stroked over a scar that ran a little too close to the desperate brown eye, staring up in search of a sacrificial knife and finding nothing. Simon breathed in – and felt his mind clear up with familiar musk and tobacco smell flooding his insides, gruff notes scraping the wax off, leaving him raw, unprotected and breathing.

“Better now?” Price’s smile grew brighter at the sound of a grumbling agreement. With a grunt, he gripped Simon’s arms and lifted him up, patting him over and resting his palms on the back of his boy’s neck. Guided, Simon leaned forward to rest his forehead against John’s. “Yeah, that’s it. I’ll always be there, a’right? You just follow and listen to me. ‘M gonna take care of you.”

Something forced the sunlight away from the light well – a cloud passed over the church, moving along to kill off reflection in the telescope bowl a few minutes too late.

“Do you trust me, Simon?”

“Yes, sir.”

[pistol-grippump]

shooting!HOBBY] ->

Something a lot of people dont seem to take into account when shooting (somehow) is a four section rule that the military practices. I've been working on this specific thing since I was 10 or 11, which ready benefits my aim now, especially when my father prompts me to think fast.

Depending on your target, I've always been taught Head - chest - kneecaps. Most of the time my father will reverse it in case of emergency (which is unrealistic but who knows.) to not get caught with murder charges hehe. This is a fortunate practice and definitely helpful; not to mention that weapons with more kickback, depending and taking into consideration your personal strength with firearms with extreme/moderate kickback, making sure you make your shots count;).

In my experience, I mostly shoot with a .22 cal single shot and a WW2 Russian sniper rifle which don't have too much or any kickback at all. The sniper rifle holds about 10 rounds so it's easy to be quick when you pull the ejector. The .22 cal has no kickback at all but unfortunately as said, it's single shot which makes it slower to reload.

Not that I should have to explain to some anyone why head-chest-kneecaps is important but head of course is beneficial on its own.

Depending on where you shoot in the chest region, of course a gunshot is a gunshot but some people take it like a CHAMP. No matter where you shoot in the chest region, you are definitely hitting something, whether it goes right through and hits the spine (50/50 considering the sternum.) or hits a lung, heart, or anything.

Knee shots will obviously give out the legs if you do it correctly.

Who can guess how excited I am for the range. I will shut up about it eventually but for now, just something I find important:-)

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch3

Description: third chapter - who am i updating twice today?! Anyway, Laika gets upset, Kyle is a sweet baby angel. We hate Soap and Ghost rn, Price is ok, I guess. Will just have to wait and see if they make up. Guess we will just stick with Gaz for the time being, huh? We find out a little more about Laika’s past here, but she is keeping things close to her chest. Who will she open up to first?

The car ride, so far, hasn't been an enjoyable one. I feel caged in between Gaz's large body and the door. I try to take up as little space as possible, deciding to uncomfortably twist my body and stare out of the window. There isn't much to see. We seem to be driving through the middle of nowhere, and I dare not ask where we were going or when we would arrive. I decide, instead, to watch the raindrops slide down the window, taking bets on which one would make it furthest before collecting too much weight and flying off of the glass into the wind.

I glance around a couple of times and accidentally make eye contact with the masked man through the side mirror. I decided not to look in that direction again. I cannot shake the itch of his gaze, though. He truly does terrify me.

I sit there uncomfortably before my eyes start feeling heavy. It was late—it must be around 2 a.m —and pitch black outside. I want my nest, if you can even call it that. My cell isn't exactly luxurious, but it is - was - my space. The facility had stripped me of everything. I was found with just the clothes on my back, and now all I have left is a filthy handkerchief that I was found with, that I have somehow managed to hold on to. I swear it still has the lingering scent of...before.

The handkerchief in question is currently tied around my upper arm. I use it as a makeshift cushion for my sniper rifle. I told myself that it lessened the jolt of the recoil, but it doesn't, if the permanent bruise on my bicep is anything to go by. It goes everywhere with me, it is all I have that reminds me of what I was before I became a puppet for the Russians. When I'm in the comfort of my own nest and hear the lock click in place, I use it as a pillow. It smells of something I cannot place, maybe it just doesn't hold the smell of the cold, damp cell, but I find it grounds me regardless.

I decided to try and get it from my arm. I need grounding right about now. I try to reposition myself quietly, making a huge effort not to make a sound or touch Gaz, who is having a quiet conversation with the captain. As I turn, I can see that Soap is fast asleep, head lulled back against the window. His mouth is wide open, and he is on the verge of snoring. I know that the scary masked one is watching me through his mirror as he tenses as I start to move—just ever so slightly, but enough to scare me a bit. It throws me off my task, and I ever so gently brush my elbow against Gaz's ribs. He immediately glances down at me.

I freeze and stare up at him. "S-sorry" I stutter, trying to back myself as close to the car door as i can. "What are you trying to do?" He asks me softly. I shake my head as if to say 'just leave it' but Gaz is too observant for that. He notices my tiny glance down at the handkerchief tied around my arm and acts immediately.

"Oh shit, are you hurt under there? Hold still, let me look." He must assume that I'm using it as a makeshift bandage. Something deep inside of me snaps and I growl at him as he reaches for the piece of fabric. I feel all of the eyes in the car snap to me immediately, even Soap's, who has woken from his sleep. The Captain must tap the brakes as I slide forward slightly, causing me to whimper due to the loss of balance. I quickly correct my seat and twist away from Gaz and stare at my feet. If I could curl into a ball and disappear, I would do it in a heartbeat. Embarrassment, shame and fear wracks my body. I sit and whimper in the back corner of the car.

That is until a soft hand touches my shoulder, so gently that I almost don't feel it. "Hey shh, Laika, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to snatch at you like that. Let me look.. I just want to make sure you're ok." I shake my head and whisper a broken "I'm fine" at him, without looking at him. He starts rubbing a small pattern into my shoulder. "Ok, that's fine. Were you uncomfortable? I felt you moving before you snapped at me". Damn him and his soft nature, the use of the word 'snapped' floods me with shame. "S-sorry. Didn't mean it. I don't bite.. promise. Just got scared.. It's mine.. no one else can touch it." I explain weakly, feeling utterly pathetic.

Gaz continues to dig: "It's yours? The bandana on your arm" - "s'not a bandana, it's a handkerchief" I interrupt. He laughs slightly at that, Soap pipes up from beside him "Aht's you been telt boyo" he says chuckling. I quickly flit my eyes at them and see Soap chuckling away to himself and Gaz rolling his eyes. "Sorry" I whisper, looking at Gaz for the first time in a while.

He immediately finds my eyes and smiles. "Stop saying sorry.. You didn't do anything" he says kindly. I relax slightly at that before the masked man in the front who had been silent the whole ride decides to shatter any progress I had made with Gaz.

"That's debatable. A girl with that much blood on her hands - I wouldn't call that 'didn't do anything'" he barks. I immediately tense up and curl into a ball, shaking. Tears pool in my eyes. "He's right," I whimper. "I'm a monster."

Gaz's eyes flash angrily at the mask man who only shrugs and grunts in response before looking back out the front window. He immediately looks back to me with the softest eyes, I almost have whiplash from the change in emotion he showed so quickly. "We don't know enough of the facts to make a judgement on that yet. And as far as I can tell, you are no monster. You're just a small bug that got caught in a spider's web. Is that closer to the truth, Laika?" He asks.

His brown eyes don't look away, I almost feel like nodding in agreement but my stupid, self destructive brain overrides that decision. "I am a monster though. I've killed people. Good people, I think. Lots of them. And people have been killed because of my actions too." He listens intently "What do you mean you think?" he asks. "I- I was told that they were bad - but they couldn't all have been bad. I think I was the bad one. So he's right" I glance at the masked man.

"Tell me, did you want to do it?" he asks - I shake my head immediately "No - never - But the punishments.. I couldn't.. and then the drugs and tests.. I was too weak.. I should have died.. You should kill me" I rush out, tripping over my words and interrupting myself.

I jump in my seat slightly when the Captain's gruff, authoritative voice snaps though my self loathing rambling. "No one - and I mean this - is going to kill you. And we will get to the bottom of this. We have friends in high places, they will dig into your past and see what happened. Until then, we give you a room at base, keep you safe and go from there. We aren't in the business of punishing innocents." His speech stuns me into silence again and I find myself just staring into space.

"And for the record - I agree with Gaz." He adds, practically spitting his anger at the masked man for making the accusation in the first place. "Now, let's all calm down - let Gaz check your arm, lass. That's an order". My eyes widened, panicked, still not wanting Gaz to take my handkerchief. My eyes shoot to his and I ever so slightly shake my head once. He tilts his head slightly as if to ask 'Please?'. God, he has his puppy dog eyes down. I look at my arm and back to him before quickly untying the fabric from my arm and presenting my uninjured arm to him. Obedience is rewarded, my brain repeats its favorite mantra. I stuff the handkerchief into my pocket for safe keeping.

"Can I touch your arm?" Gaz asks, asking for consent again. I nod once. He gently takes my arm and turns it over in his gentle grip. "No wounds, but a deep bruise" He announces to the team. The mask man turns in his seat briefly before facing the front again and just barks "Sniper".

"You a good shot then?" Gaz asks me. "I don't miss" I reply bluntly. He nods. "What else can you do?" He digs for more information. "Gaz.." the pack's alpha warns from the driver's seat "Don't push your luck".

"I can do most things. Don't like hand to hand though.. I-I'm not as strong.." I muse. He nods. Soap interrupts, "Ya like bombs, lassie?" "No." I immediately responded, shutting him off. I've decided that Gaz is my favorite, followed by The Captain. Then a long gap to Soap, who just seems pushy and insensitive, and then an even longer gap to the masked man who I don't even have a name for. I don't care to find out either.

The car settles back down, and I turn back to my window. Soap has opened his window to let some air in, but it makes me shiver. I'd never been good in cold climates—ironic, I had survived the long Russian winters for all this time, really. I try to close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I slowly remove the handkerchief from my pocket and lift it to my ear, resting it between the window and my head. I inhale the smell gently, trying to imagine what it used to smell like. I drift into a half sleep - half awake state and then feel something soft and warm drape over me. I resist the urge to jump out of fear. It's the last thing I feel before finally falling asleep.

The car pulls to a halt. I wake up as soon as I hear a car door open, always on edge. I pull my cover towards me, clutching to it like a shield, until my brain processes where I am and what to do. I meet Gaz's kind gaze again. "We are here, back at our safehouse. Put it on.. It's cold out."

I look at him as if he had grown two heads, confused, until I realise I am clutching a dark coloured jacket. It has a Union flag on the sleeve. I spot the tags inside the jacket, black pen writes 'Garrick' over the washing instructions. It reminds me of how my mother wrote my name inside my school pullover. Y/N - That was a whole lifetime ago. I hadn't forgotten my name, but it had slipped into obscurity a long time ago. It was connected to a hope I had long since lost. I must have zoned out because Gaz - Garrick? - clearshis throat.

I quickly stand, putting the jacket on obediently and stuffing my handkerchief in the pocket for safe-keeping. The jacket is big, but it's warm. I ball the extra sleeve length into balls in my fists and squeeze them as if they are stress balls. Gaz hides his triumphant glee at seeing a cute little thing in his clothes. It awakens a side of his Alpha that had been dormant for so long.

Gaz was, arguably, the least trait-typical Alpha in his pack. It was unusual to have a pack full of Alphas but they made it work. Seeing a non-Alpha trust him and, inadvertently, covered in his scent, awakened an inbuilt reflex to protect. He steps closer and offers his arm to lead me into the safe house.I shake my head gently, not quite ready to accept his touch. He respects my decision and shows the way with his arm.

He smiles as I step towards him. I smile back up at him this time.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Another Palestinian terrorist attack today, this time we're talking about a shooter, who opened fire at an Israeli minibus, and managed to injure several people, at least one is critically wounded, and 2 are in serious condition. The terrorist has been neutralized after a 5 hour chase, and his identity has been confirmed. His past includes both having served time in an Israeli prison for terrorist activity, and having served in the Palestinian Authority chief's guard. According to the army, he was using a snipers rifle, and had prepared in advance several organized sniping posts.

Iran, the country which funds at least 3 of the terrorist organizations currently attacking Israel (Hamas, Hezbollah and the Houthis), and which has directly targeted Israelis as well (through cyber and physical attacks), has had its ambassador summoned over Iran's suspected complicity in the attempted synagogue attack by a German Iranian in 2022.

The US brought a resolution to the UN security council, which suggests an immediate ceasefire AND an immediate releasae of all the Israeli hostages. 11 countries voted for it, only Russia, China and Algeria voted against it. But because Russia and China used their veto, the resolution was rejected. Next time you hear an official from Russia, China or Algeria claim to care about the lives of those in this conflict, please remember they could have saved people on both sides of it (including kidnapped Israelis of Russian or Chinese descent), and chose not to. Russia's excuse for it is especially ludicrous. If Hamas had released the hostages immediately, then Israel would have been obligated by this resolution to cease fire, and then there'd be no operation in Rafah.

After Canada, Sweden and Australia, now Finland has announced that it would renew its financing of UNRWA, the UN agency whose employees are complicit in the Hamas massacre, and in having symbiotic ties to Palestinian terrorist organizations. That's while some countries have never stopped funding UNRWA, and Saudi Arabia has even announced an increase in it. And I will mention each one as often as I can, for their complete disregard of Israeli lives, because this IS a STAIN on the so-called morality of these countries.

Speaking of Canada. The same country happy to continue financing an organization complicit in anti-Israeli terrorism, which shows a complete lack of care for the lives of Israeli civilians, has also been doing a lot of posturing as if it's oh so moral, and therefore will no longer sell weapons to Israel. So here are a few reminders of why it's indeed nothing more than posturing:

As I mentioned, Canada is fine with resuming the funding of UNRWA, without this UN agency being properly investigated, and without any assuraance that the Canadian money going to it, won't end up responsible for the murder of innocent civilians in Israel, including ones with Canadian nationality.

Canada has resumed its sales of military-used systems to Turkey, despite the fact that its known these systems have been used against ethnic Armenians, simply because Turkey agreed to Sweden joining NATO, not because it promised to change in any way its use of these systems.

3. Canada isn't actually selling weapons to Israel, it's selling components for weapons, for an annual worth of about 22 million dollars. Meanwhile, Canada is buying weapon systems from Israel at an annual worth of about a billion dollars.

4. According to Israeli reporters, about 99% of Israel's weapons and weapon components are bought from 3 countries, Canada is not one of them. In other words, Canada's sales to Israel don't make up even 1% of Israeli military imports, and make little relative difference for Israel's ability to continue its war, but it does mean that while Canada says Israel has the right to self-defense, in practice it acts like Israel doesn't, which begs the question, why does the Canadian government think Israeli civilians don't deserve to be militarily defended from a genocidal, antisemitic terrorist organization? (to make the below screenshot clear: it shows the countries Israel has bought munitions from between 2019 and 2023, with Canada being just one of the countries that compose the yellow block of 1% of Israel's puchases. See how well you can spot it)

(here's a screenshot slightly zoomed in on the yellow block, to give you kind of a better view)

I'll add to this that Israel has already dealt in the past with full or partial weapons embargo from the US, France and 3 times from the UK. And Israel's still here, still with one of the strongest armies in the world (because we have no other choice). So yeah, that's how likely this embargo is to make a noticeable difference.

5. Here's an interesting op ed, suggesting that the ban was kind of in place anyway, explaining why Canada was selling so little to Israel in the first place, and that this official ban has more to do with internal Canadian politics, than whether Israel deserves the ban or not.

As US President Biden continues to berate Israel for not conducting our military operations well enough, obviously based on his extensive experience from his many years of not serving in the army, let alone leading one, I got to hear on TV an Israeli expert on our relations with the US reminisce on about the time when Biden was the Vice President, and in 2010 berated Israel for intending to take over a sailing ship by having IDF soldiers propel down ropes onto its deck. "You guys need to come here and learn from us how it should be done," Biden said, according to this expert. Israel took the suggestion seriously, and prepared a delegation of army seniors, ready to fly to Wasngton, meet up with US army seniors, and learn from them. Not long before the plane was about to take off, they got a phone call. "Don't come. Our apologies, but we've checked, and there's no other way our people would do it, either."

This is 22 years old Libby Cohen Meguri (on the left side of the pic) with her mom, Shelly.

On Oct 7, Libby was at the Nova music festival. Together with friends, she was fleeing the scene in a car, when the terrorists got to them. She managed to call her parents, and tell them that one of her friends is dead already, and she's been shot as well. "My biggest regret," Shelly said in a recent interview that I will never forget, "is that I didn't realize it was the end. I was screaming at my husband to do something, to save her, and that's how my daughter died, hearing me screaming instead of hearing me telling her that I love her. I'm not angry with myself for not understanding back then, because the truth is, I still don't understand. But I do regret it. Libby understood that it was the end. She was calm, she asked to talk to each one of us, to tell us all that she loves us. Then another group of terrorists got to the car. Her body was found outside the vehicle, with dozens of bullets in it. Killing her and her friends wasn't enough, they had to desecrate the bodies, too. But I'm not going to let those terrorists take being Libby's mom away from me. We work and do everything for our kids, so that's what I'll continue to do, I'll keep working to make sure that people know her, know who she was as a person. Libby's sister knew her IG password, so we turned her account into a commemoration page. Please, to anyone listening, go and have a look at it. Remember that such a wonderful girl as Libby existed. It would mean everything to us." I found Libby's IG page here.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[blueiscoool]

Big Guns

Just another day in the office 🇺🇦🇬🇧

Pezz is holding a Zbroyar Z10 sniper rifle.

Pezz ix a former British sniper serving in the 131st battalion special reconnaissance unit of the armed forces of Ukraine.

[padparadzha]

[gvtted-ratz]

read all our tags/ratings. they r important n give u all u need 2 decide if u wanna actually read or not. do not like the tags/rating? do not read.

FEM ALIGNING/IDENTIFYING PPL (unless mutuals/friends) DNI WITH OUR MLM WORKS. fem ppl can still request tho. respect our wishes or get blocked. yes we do read/check everything. we tag appropriately/use tags that go with our posts.

want 2 request? find the rules: here!

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Soft To The Core

König x M!Reader

Last Edited: 03/01/23

TW: death mentioned

AO3 LINK -> HERE

anon: 4 with König and he/him male reader. That is all <- frothing at the mouth but being SO COOL about it (4. accidental touching!!!!)

Word Count: 767

Notes: hey again bestie… i see u. i have our dms about the man n u frothing btw. Also. ik absolutely nothing about guns n stuff so uh. oop ig… also. i made the reader like. kinda techy n speak some russian? i was listening 2 gore by graveyardguy as i wrote this just so u know. Didn’t influence much of the thing but the title is definitely from the song.

You hum as you clean your sniper rifle; the disassembled piece of metal all over your lap. Usually, you would be around a table or even in your own assigned room. However, today they had a mandatory room check. While you didn’t mind it, having all the tables and sitting areas taken out in the cafeteria as well as the shooting range didn’t help. This leads to you sitting underneath a small pine. It’s fairly young, being only large enough to cast enough of a shadow to give you cover from the sun.

While you don’t mind cleaning your gun, making sure your laptop was in better shape or needed to be put back together was more interesting. While you’ve done it a hundred times before, for you, it never got old. You enjoyed taking apart the electronic gadgets and putting them back together. Seeing how they work and even improving them intrigued you more than going out on the field and sending bullets people’s way to splatter their blood everywhere. The missions they assign you in KorTac have been nothing but boring or a pain. You’ve never actually trained for this part or even with the rifle at all. You are more of someone who hacks cameras, reads coding to try and find anything that could give enemies away, and even disarm some bombs via the tech you have on hand during said times.

Now, while it’s not something you prefer doing, you can’t help but enjoy at least one of your members. König, or King as many call him, is your favourite man. Despite his awkward social interactions, he’s never been particularly rude to you. Nor has the giant Austrian ever tried to get on your nerves. He keeps to himself mostly, leading to you having to seek him out if you want company. Sometimes he’s out and about, though he’s either alone or towering over the other soldiers.

Of course, that doesn't mean he’s not deadly. You’ve seen him out on the field. He’s truly a rampaging beast. He picks up enemy soldiers and cracks their backs over his knee. He’ll gun them down or snipe them, giving a laugh or giggle. He’ll yell out in a happy tone “I have some cash!” whenever he gets his hands on even a single coin. He’s wilder and more brutal. And you couldn’t help but notice. However, despite noticing it, you didn’t treat the man any differently.

A large pair of military-issued boots appear in front of your crisscrossed legs. Looking up, you see the man you’ve been thinking of as you cleaned the barrel of your gun. “Ah. König,” You say, giving him a small smile. “Привет! How has my favourite man been?” König’s hands are loosely holding each other, nearly touching his stomach with his chosen position.

“Ah… Ich meine, es lief gut…” He says, looking uncomfortable standing there. You gesture to the ground next to you, letting him know that he can sit beside you. With confirmation now obtained, König lets himself fall into a seated position right next to you. He ends up knocking his knee into your thigh; you wince at the sharp pain but laugh it off.

“I’m so sorry..! I did not mean to hit you. Bitte vergib mir!” The large man starts to apologize immediately, already beating himself up over the accidental touch. You wave him off, trying to make your smile softer to try and reassure the Austrian.

“ нет, нет! Все хорошо, ты в порядке!” Your words seem to calm him down a bit, despite him not exactly understanding your words. “Besides, König, I say you’re sharp as a knife but Soft To The Core.” You’re not sure why, but the words felt right to say.

“Ja? Well… They do say beauty is on the inside, Freund,” He tells you; a nearly inaudible chuckle escapes him. You feel another smile pull at your lips at his words.

“They sure do, мой возлюбленный. They sure do.” You mumble. With some silence between the two of you, it’s easy to hear the shout of one of your captains letting you all know that the mandatory room clearance has been finished. You playfully smack König’s shoulder, clasping it as you stand. “Let’s go back, да?” When he gives you a nod, you shove your gun parts into the duffle bag you brought just for it. “Let’s go then! Maybe we can grab some food once these bozos clear out.” With those last words, you take the lead, König following behind you quietly and with genuine happiness shining in his eyes.

[alexa-mwll]

Anastasia Pérez Ivanov.

PERSONAL INFORMATION:

Name: Anastasia, Pérez Ivanov

Alias(es): La Baronesa (Baroness)

Height: 1.58

Eye color: Blue with gray

Hair color: Chestnut blonde

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Native language(s): Spanish

Other spoken language(s): Portugués, Ruso, Inglis.

Nationality: Mexican

Date of birth: 1961, March 8

Birthplace: Rosarito BC, México.

Current residence: Rosarito BC, México.

PERSONALITY AND TRAITS:

Potentially dangerous if threatened.

Multiple personality disorder, she calls herself the Baroness. (When she doesn't like something, The Baroness takes Anastasia's place).It is being treated with medications, danger level 40%.

Knows how to act under control and stress perfectly.

PROFESSION AND SKILLS:

Professional Background and main skill: Expert in: Military strategy, armory, infantry, logistics in weapons of war, guerrilla warfare, special operations, Clandestine operations, Sniper shooting and Parachute Rifle Corps.

Current Profession /Occupation: Special Forces High Command; Airmobile Group of Special Forces, (GAFE).

FUN FACTS;

She mostly likes to spend time surrounded by happy people (Friends), she likes drawing and dogs, and she was the first woman in all of Mexico to take the special forces course at the age of 15 thanks to the influence of her half-Russian family.

AFFILIATIONS:

Special Clandestine Officer Russell Adler.

Aleksandra Clarke R. (Rank: Psy-Ops Specialist). @alypink

Yume Sieheart (Specialist doctor) @cyberghostdraws

Vasili (Bell) Sokolov @welldonekhushi

Special Agent Jason Hudson (Indirectly)

Special Operative (Master Sergeant) Frank Woods (Indirectly)

Special Operative (Captain) Alex Mason (Indirectly)

Lawrence Sims (Indirectly)

Eleazar "Lazar" Azoulay (Indirectly)

Helen Park (MI6)

BACKGROUND STORY:

Anastasia grew up in a lonely and cold home, she always wondered where her parents were, the only affection she had as a child were the words of the maids and butlers in that house, until she met him, Alexander Ivanov, a man who called himself her uncle, he was in charge of finishing raising our girl who was only 10 years old, he never told her because he was close to her family, Anastasia grew up within a Military indoctrination, her uncle said that It was necessary and that she would have an important role in the course of the Cold War and the so-called Operation Desert Storm (Gulf War, Persian).

5 years later, at the age of 15, Alexander, her uncle, sent her to the Mexican Special Forces Corps, and Alexander disappeared. Leaving Anastasia alone once again. (During her time in the special forces Anastasia suffered a serious accident which left her distraught, causing her to become what she fears so much every time she was in dangerous moments: The Baroness.)

It was there that 5 years later she received a visit at her house from a man who called himself Russell Adler, Special Agent of the CIA, managing to hire her to do outside work within the Cold War, in a small faction of the Nicaraguan Contras. , which had information from Perseus. Anastasia became Adler's secret informant, thus managing to uncover spies, until the day of Adler's disappearance.

Anastasia was left in suspense and began to look for Adler, until she ran into Aleksandra, where a friendship began, the rest... is merely classified.

[mariacallous]

Russian snipers continue to receive thousands of Western-made rifles and millions of rounds of ammunition, despite years of extensive international sanctions. After ending their direct supplies to Russia, companies from the EU, U.S., and Turkey have visibly ramped up shipments to Moscow’s neighbors — Armenia, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan. The Insider was able to fully trace these supply routes and uncover ties between several Western companies and Russian arms importers.

This is a joint investigation with Investigace.cz (Czechia), IrpiMedia (Italy), and Vlast.kz (Kazakhstan).