#silver cartel

[ok-i-draw]

Sneak peak for the next Mob!hopper backstory chapter!

( as a sorry for not posting yesterday… )

Click for better quality

Bonus sketches from notebook, Anatomy for Mob!maria and mob!marcos down below! 👇

I’ve always imagined them with tattoos, Maria having more meaningful floral tattoos and Marcos…. Getting whatever he wants… But he still wanted to match with Maria so he got a similar chest tattoo as a symbol of their familial bond!

[prismatic-skies]

Q͟͟U͟͟I͟͟C͟͟K͟͟ G͟͟L͟͟I͟͟M͟͟P͟͟S͟͟E͟͟: 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒 is coming back to 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑦 𝐶𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. It will also have a new look!! Listing to website soon!!

[mellowwillowy]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝

Yan! Sugar Daddy who fell in love with you at first sight in the cafe he often visited for his daily to-go coffee. He had seen lots of beauties but you were the first to catch his breath.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who tried to woo you, he tried his best to not scare you and subtly flirt with you. It took him a huge courage to approach you and ask for your number.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who found out you were still just a college student who was most likely to be struggling with financial issues, or so he assumed from how most of the students there were.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who took his time bonding with you before subtly offering an arrangement with you, a mutual arrangement of a sugar relationship. Instead of sex, fancy dates, or a plus one to those higher-ups events, he wanted your company all the time if he could.

You were wary and hesitant but his silver-tongued nature convinced you that this would change your life for the better.

While you were inexperienced in most of it, Yulian made sure to make you feel comfortable about it and him. The weekly allowance and PPM were enough to make you never lift a single finger to work anymore.

The more you spent time with him, the less it felt like an arrangement. It felt like a man treating you with utmost respect while spoiling you with luxuries you would never imagine to have.

But with such great benefits came a great price. You noticed that you had been seeing your friends less because of the attention you had on him.

You noticed the higher-ups never stopped sneering at you for being a commoner or his pet whenever you attended the fancy events with him as his plus one.

You noticed how you had almost less to none freedom, always heavily guarded by what seemed to be his bodyguards. Who was he and why did you even need this sort of protection?

One day you decided to trick his bodyguards with your flat-out white lies so that they'd leave you alone. They did not expect someone like you to ever lie and put them at risk so they left you alone.

All you did was wander around in awe, checking the grand balcony to go to the washroom as normal people would.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who was seething in rage when the bodyguards came to him, tricked by your childish lie. But there was no way something bad would happen with this slight mistake right? You were not his spouse by any means.

But oh did everyone know you were someone he fancied for the first time in his whole life. Part of his brain just tried to look at this mistake in a bright light and it backfired.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who had to be endlessly teased by his great-for-nothing cartel friend. He had to endure the stress of losing you and the risk of not being able to take you back.

It's not like the Drug Lord couldn't help him, it was simply humiliating for him to endanger you by not keeping a close eye on you.

Yan! Sugar Daddy who could track you down in less than a week and ordered a mass slaughter on the faction that imprisoned you. You were not wounded terribly but a wound was still a wound.

Yan! Sugar Daddy was just a confidant to the Drug Lord and an infamous lawyer. You only knew he was a lawyer but never the lurking threat of his other occupation. No wonder he was always wary of his surroundings.

How could someone from such a cold underground world have the heart to fall in love with you? That was what you thought when you woke up to his concerned face.

Weeks passed and it didn't take him so long to propose to you, for you to become his spouse.

"I truly love you, dear. I have never even once seen our arrangement as something strictly business instead." He showed you a velvety box with a diamond ring in it. "I admit, it was not the best approach but I thought I could work my way into your heart while profiting you with all the benefits and luxuries you could have from me."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I wanted you to see how capable I am."

Something told you that nothing good would come out of your refusal. And instead, logic swarm into your brain. You had been in an arrangement with him for almost a year already and had never even once felt any hardships.

He was nice to you, downright kind and loving even. He cared for you deeply and wouldn't hurt you in any way. It was your fault that you broke free from the barrier of protection he granted you.

With great fame and luxuries, came all sorts of threats. He wasn't disloyal like those higher-ups. He didn't belittle you like others would. He loved you.

Even if you didn't love him, you knew how great it felt to be loved by him. There was not a single loss from this arrangement which was a marriage, right?

[girlwitheconverse]

AMNESIA

╰┈➤ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

Genre: romance, fluff, a little angst Story type: two part story, short story

Part 1 | Part 2

Word count: 2k

TW(s) for this part: mentions of torture, super brief mentions of r@pe, a lot of angst

Simon fan art credit: @shkretart

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taglist and requests masterlist

Taglist: @m3ntally-unstable

if you like MARVEL check out this

One year, thirteen days and eleven hours.

That’s the time passed since you’ve been declared missing in action, the time that Simon had spent without you, the time that made life feel like hell all over again for him. You had been his light in the dark, making his life seem meaningful again. He still remembers when you two met for the first time, when you saved his life on the battlefield, he remembers your first date – you asked him out first – it was a simple date at a pub, he remembers when you were drunk and pulled up his mask to kiss him.

He remembers when, as a gift for your one year anniversary, he showed you his face and you cried while telling him how handsome he was. Two weeks after that you went out on a mission, as usual, but you didn’t come back when the mission was supposed to end, or one day later, or one week later.

They hadn’t found your body so you got declared M.I.A., missing in action, instead of K.I.A., killed in action.

That happened one year, thirteen days and twelve hours ago.

Simon didn’t know what to believe, if you were alive, where were you? Why didn’t you come back? If you were dead, well…Simon didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

Today was supposed to be your second year anniversary, but you aren’t there to celebrate with him, and even though he knew that you wouldn’t magically appear in your room at the base he still placed the gift he got you on your bed: a silver ring.

He had never been too much invested in marriage, not really seeing the point in it…But with you? He definitely wanted to marry you, but didn’t want to go too fast so he decided to wait at least four years of relationship before asking you to let him be your husband.

That was a stupid idea.

You both were soldiers, risking your life everyday, waiting wasn’t something neither of you could afford. But, as they said, you understand the beauty of things only when you don’t have them anymore, right?

It took him one year, thirteen days and thirteen hours to understand that he should’ve married you sooner.

“Lieutenant Riley, the squad is ready.” A soldier says as he walks next to Simon to the exit of the base, they were going on a new mission, but they weren’t searching for you. They stopped after five months and two days – the Task Force stopped, not Simon, who was always using the mission as excuses to search for new intels about you from the enemies.

Simon doesn’t answer the soldier, acting cold like he wasn’t crying in your room a few minutes ago, he simply nods.

Simon is just Ghost now, on the battlefield, shooting the enemies at sight, not even caring if they had any family that was waiting for them, he didn’t pity them because no one pitied you. He finally reaches the interior of the building and finds the boss of the cartel watching him unfazed as he smokes.

“Are you here for me? Or for the bitch in my possession?” he asks as he lets the smoke get out of his mouth.

“Human trafficking too? This isn’t getting better for you.” Ghost snickers as he points his gun at the man.

“Human trafficking? Oh no, my boy – the man laughs – that woman is a rare jewel, I could never share her if not with some of my most trusted men, of course.” Hearing his words makes Ghost sick in the stomach, he feels that something is off and for the first time in his life he hopes that his instincts are wrong. “You, with the skull mask over there, is your name Ghost by any chance?”

Ghost’s eyes widen a little but he quickly regains his composure, “How did you know?”

“‘Cause that was the only name that bitch could say when I got her a year ago, her name is something like…Y/n? Do you know her or is she just a groupie of yours?” The man laughs and Simon’s heart skips a beat.

Y/n is alive?

His Y/n is alive?

“Where is she?!” Simon snaps and holds the gun against the boss’ neck, “Where is Y/n.”

“Oh, so she is someone important…Let me go out of this place untouched and I’ll tell you how to find her.”

“Deal.” Simon says as he lowers his gun.

“Three floors under this, two of my men stand in front of the door of her room, tell them I sent you and they’ll let you in.” The man explains with a smirk as he walks to the door of the room.

“Thank you for the information,” Ghost says before shooting at the man right in the back of his head, “asshole.”

The next thing he knows is that he’s running down the stairs of the building until he reaches the floor where two men stand in front of a metallic door, “Your boss sent me.” He says, the men look at eachother confused before Ghost shots at both of them in the head. He takes a deep breath and kicks the door open, the room is empty and dirty, the only thing he sees is a small figure curled up against a corner as she rocks back and forth, hugging her knees and with her head between them.

“Y/n?” He asks softly as he kneels next to her, the girl looks up at him and he immediately recognizes you. You’ve lost weight, your cheeks are more hollow, your body more fragile, and your eyes more dull but it’s definitely you.

He knows it.

“Don’t hurt me please…” You whisper as you crawl more against the corner, as if you just want to disappear.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I would never hurt you…” Simon whispers back as he holds out his hands to touch you but you flinch and move your arm away.

“I don’t trust you.” You say as you look at him from behind your arm, using it as some sort of shield.

“Sweetheart, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Simon, Ghost, your Simon…” He whispers trying to not show how much your words hurt him, he more than anyone understands how torture can change someone and he won’t judge you.

“Who are you? Do you work with him too? Are you new?” You ask as you look at him with wide eyes, scared.

“Darling it’s me…Your boyfriend…” He says as he looks at you frantically, have they brainwashed you? Have you…lost your memory?

“I have a boyfriend?” You ask as you slowly let your guard down, why do you already trust this stranger so much?

One year, thirteen days and twenty one hours is the time that took him to find you.

And you have no idea who he is.

“This place is…nice.” You say as you walk around what this man, Simon, says is your room at this military base. You trust him, I mean, he showed you the records of your past missions, he showed some photos of you two together – with dates that go back to two years and more ago – so why shouldn’t you?

And he’s so sweet and gentle with you, he treats you like you’re made of glass.

“The doctor said that your amnesia shouldn’t be permanent…” Simon sighs as he sits on your bed and with a quick motion takes the ring that he had left on your bed before the mission back and hides it in his pocket, without you noticing anything.

“I hope so…” You say as you look at the framed photo on your nightstand: you and Simon hugging in your gear, probably after a mission, “I would love to remember our relationship, it seems so…happy, healthy and full of love…” You smile and take the frame in your hands, then you look at Simon, “You said I’ve been missing for over a year, and you still searched for me?”

Simon chuckles, almost offended at your question, “of course darling, and if I hadn’t found you today I would’ve continued searching for you…Until my death.”

“I was one hell of a lucky woman…I mean…I am one hell of a lucky woman?” You say confused as you place the frame where you found it.

“You don’t remember our relationship so I guess considering us a couple must be…strange, for you…” you hear him whisper under his breath, “so you don’t have to see me as a boyfriend you don’t remember, see me as a…best friend, or just a friend…or a coworker…” he starts to panic, then he takes a deep breath and looks back at your eyes, “just…see me as what makes you comfortable the most…”

You can’t help but smile, he seems like a sweet man, you were lucky to have him as your boyfriend — friend, for now.

“Perhaps there’s something that can help me remember everything? Remember…us?” You ask as you look at him with a hopeful look, he seems so sweet and caring that he just makes you want to remember your relationship. “I don’t know…something we used to do together?”

He thinks for a few seconds, “We did almost everything together…” he chuckles, “But every Saturday evening we would meet up in my room and listen to the radio as we cuddled in the bed. That was definitely a weekly routine.”

Simon looks up at you with eyes full of love because, you may not remember him, but he remembers you perfectly; he remembers your first kiss, he remembers your first date, he remembers the first time you two had together, he remembers every curve of your body.

Just then an idea crosses his mind, now he knows what to do if you don’t get your memories back: you fell in love with him once, he could make you fall in love with him all over again.

“The idea of cuddling may look uncomfortable for you, since you don’t remember anything…so, what do you think about a date? We could ask for a few days of leave and try to give you your memories back…What d’ya think?” He asks with an hopeful smile as he looks at you. “Maybe a picnic or something like that…”

“I’m in.” You say with a smile without thinking twice about it.

And just like that you find yourselves back in London, everyday Simon takes you out for a date, each one always different from the one before. You slowly start gaining back your memory, but they are just pointless memories of the names of your hamsters, or an order Price gave you a long time ago.

But no memories of Simon, zero, absolutely nothing.

But that doesn’t stop him, not even in the slightest, he continues taking you out on dates, talking to you about all the things you did and used to do together; he tells you what happened on the day of your first anniversary and shows you his face again, in the intimacy of your apartment.

You two had planned, one year ago, to move in together in that apartment together once you’d be back from the mission, the same mission where you went M.I.A.

That’s the only thing he doesn’t tell you, because he didn’t know how you could react to that information.

You don’t remember your love for him, but it wasn’t hard for you to fall in love with him all over again in no time, with all the dates he took you in this week.

“Simon, I have to tell you something…” You say while you two are sitting on the couch of your apartment, watching a movie. Simon turns his head towards you with a soft smile, “I don’t know if the memories will ever come back completely, or come back at all…”

“It’s okay, we’ll work on that.” Simon says with a smile as he gently caresses your cheek.

“What I mean is…I don’t remember how our relationship was…I don’t remember loving you, but…Now, I do, love you…” You say as you lean your face in his touch, smiling softly. Simon’s eyes shoot wide as he looks at you.

“Are you sure? I- I don’t want you to feel pressured or…or forced to have feelings for me…” He says nervously as he examines your expression with his eyes, trying to understand if you really mean it or are just saying that to comfort him.

“Hundred percent sure, Si…I love you.” You smile, Simon’s eyes fill with tears as he softly kisses your lips.

He had missed the feeling of your lips on his so much…

“I love you too, I love you so much that you can’t even imagine.” He says as he giggles through the tears and kisses you again. “I don’t care if you get your memories back or not, we’ll build other memories together.”

“Together.”

I love making people cry <3

Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[zepskies]

Hello. I was wondering if you could write an imagine in the BMD-verse (been following it for a while now; love, love, love it, by the way!) where Ben cries?

Like something really bad happens in general or to the Reader, and he losses it? I mean, personally, I have never known this man to cry, and I would love to see you conjure up something that could possibly elicite that reaction from him.

But no pressure - will definitely understand if you don't want to write it!

Oooh, so you really wanna kill me, huh? 🫠😭😭

Lol it's okay, thank you for loving Break Me Down!! It's one of my favorite story verses that I've been able to create on here. ❤️❤️

This request was difficult for me on multiple levels, but I think I was able to pull it off? (I'll let you be the judge.) This is set in the BMD-verse, shortly after "Love Actually."

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst, show-level violence, hurt/comfort, "twist" ending (you'll want to read until the end, trust me).

Imagine: Ben loses you.

Ben restrained another sigh when he realized you were no longer walking next to him.

He turned and saw you stopping in another damn kiosk, this time looking at a selection of Pashmina scarves. As if you didn’t have enough clothes.

“We’re not here for a damn shopping spree,” he called after you.

He ignored the people who glanced at him as they walked past, a couple of them even shooting him an annoyed look.

One didn’t just stop in the middle of a busy sidewalk in New York City, but as with most societal protocols, Ben couldn't really give a fuck.

He almost started tapping his foot. Instead, he crossed his arms as he glared in your general direction. You were smiling and chatting with the woman selling her wares as you finished the transaction.

Ben at least could admire the view of you bent over in those tight jeans and ankle boots. You also wore the dark green winter coat he bought you last month, lined with faux fur to keep you warm.

When you eventually came back to him, you shot him an amused smile. You held a new scarf in shades of green and blue, to match your coat. But you also held out a new pair of leather gloves for him.

“Here you go, Grumpy. I didn't forget about you,” you teased. He raised a wry brow at you and took the gloves. He inspected them with a half-critical eye.

“And how much did these cost, five cents?”

You rolled your eyes and kept walking. He caught up with you and slipped the gloves into his pocket.

“My hands don’t get cold anyway,” he reminded you. And you often complained that his body heat was like a radiator, especially at night. Although, you hadn’t been complaining since the winter turned frigid this February.

“All right, whatever. Just don’t say I never get you anything,” you quipped. “Besides, you know you love to accessorize.”

A smirk pulled at Ben’s lips. The gloves were a half-assed gift, but he still wore the watch you got him for Christmas proudly on his wrist. That was a nice silver Rolex.

“All I know is, we’d better not be late for this damn meeting,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear Mallory’s fucking mouth.”

The two of you had made a day of coming into the city, hitting a nice brunch spot and ice skating at Rockefeller center before your date had been rudely interrupted—by a call for a new mission.

Grace Mallory had been a bit cryptic on the phone, but it had something to do with the mess Ben left of the drug cartels in South America. After they got back to the States, Ben left that “business” behind…he just hadn’t thought of how that would shake out in Colombia.  

So now, you two were headed to the Supe Affairs building. You slipped your arm around his, while his hands were in his pockets. You looked up at him with a smile.

“Try to enjoy the little things, Ben,” you told him. “We had mimosas and some bougie ass lobster tails with our eggs this morning. I skated circles around you on the ice. And now we’re going to get some work done.”

“On our day off,” he retorted.

“To be fair, you made the mess, Mr. Kingpin,” you pointed out. “We’ve just gotta clean it up…as usual.”

“Hey," he eyed you. But you both knew the warning had little heat behind it.

He still reached for your cheek and brushed his thumb across it. He felt how cold your face was, and he stopped for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. Neither of you cared when pedestrians gave you dirty looks as they passed by.

Maybe you were right though. Maybe he should take stock of the small moments. Ben held your face with both hands and caressed some warmth back into your skin.

Your smile softened, and your eyes closed when his lips found their way to your forehead. He then took the newly bought scarf out of your hand and wrapped it comfortably around your neck.

“What a gentleman,” you said, with a small grin.

Ben smirked down at you…until his face fell.

He heard the whistle of the bullet before he saw it.

It took him another second to move, grabbing you and shielding you with his entire body when it hit his back. The bullet itself bounced harmlessly off his skin, but the inner compartment of Novichok exploded like a small smoke bomb. The smell was too familiar to him to be anything else.

Ben coughed and was forced to push you away from him before the gas reached you. You yelped and almost tripped on your feet, but you scrambled back against the wall of a drycleaners. Your wide eyes met his as his knees buckled; the gas had clouded around his head.

“Run!” he shouted through fits of coughing.

You hesitated, for just a second. But when another bullet ricocheted into the wall behind you, near your head, you ducked and had to take off running.

You wove through the busy sidewalk, pushing people out of your way as you went. Whoever was after him this time, you had a feeling these were the people Ben had pissed off in Colombia.

Fuck! You sprinted past an alleyway and saw the hand coming for your arm, but even when you turned, there was another man, dressed a black military-style uniform with his face covered by a black mask, waiting to grab you from behind.

It was muscle memory. You released an elbow into the man’s neck, a punch straight into his teeth and nose, then kicked his knee out with the heel of your boot.

You grabbed your gun from under your jacket and would've shot him, except the next man wheelhouse kicked it out of your hand. You stepped back on instinct, ducking the following punch, and the rest of his arm to run in the opposite direction.

The first man pointed a large automatic gun straight in your face. You gasped and put your hands up. With a quick glance in either direction, you realized that they’d cornered you.

Your hands were pulled behind your back by someone else. That’s when they started dragging you toward a black SUV parked in the corner.

Except that car was soon destroyed, by an old Honda Civic being shoved into it. The SUV's hood constantined like an accordion.

You looked up with wide eyes, and there stood Ben, at the crossroads of the alley. He was furious.

“Soldier Boy,” greeted the man who once again held the automatic gun poised at you. He pulled down his mask, revealing the tan face of a middle-aged man.

He moved over to you and grabbed your arm from his subordinate. He raised the gun to your back. With one press of his finger, your insides could become Swiss cheese.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to take in even breaths. You focused on Ben. His green eyes met yours, and briefly you caught the worry behind them before his steely gaze moved back to the man who held you.

“Pretty ballsy, Reyes,” Ben said. His voice was a drawl, more controlled than he felt. “You really thought this was gonna go down that easy?”

Reyes scoffed. “You’re the ballsy one. Taking off with all that product you stole.”

“You’ll have to take up with the CIA on that one,” Ben replied. “They confiscated all the smack from my place. Probably reselling it to a few hobos down the street. You’re welcome to check under the bridge over there.”

He gestured in the direction of the Hudson River.  

Reyes shrugged. The sound of a gun’s safety being clipped back resounded through the alley. You felt the vibration of it on your back. Your eyes closed for a moment.

“Bad news for her,” he said.

"Hey," Ben snapped. "There's no fucking need for that."

"I think I'll decide what we need," said Reyes. Your lips pursed as the gun dug into your back. "Maybe it's your bitch's insides at your feet."

Ben slowly raised a placating hand. Though his gait was still relaxed and arrogant, as always, you knew it was a well-crafted act. To hide his anger. His fear. To seem in control of himself, and to reinforce the intimidating presence he still was, even unarmed.

“Listen. If it’s money you want, we can work it out,” Ben replied.

His eyes once again found yours. He could see you were holding your breath. You were good at hiding it, but he knew you were scared. He wanted to tell you that he had this handled. That everything would be all right.

He focused on Reyes again. The other man considered the supe with a tilt of his head. He sucked his teeth and spit on the ground, out of the corner of his mouth. It was mixed with a bit of blood from when you'd punched him in the teeth.

“Okay, my friend,” said Reyes. “Let’s work this out. Pull out your phone.”

Ben made slow movements in grabbing his phone from his pocket. They all stepped further into the alley to avoid prying eyes and discussed the transfer of funds, and how much was fair. Ben claimed he was giving him a deal with his first offer.

Reyes demanded three times that amount. Ben raised his brows...but he complied. The money transferred from his bank account.

“Okay, we’re fucking done,” Ben snarked. He gestured at you with his eyes. “Let her go.”

In his mind, he was already contemplating how thoroughly he'd rip Reyes apart for this. After you were safe. He'd have a first class ticket to Medellin by tonight, ready to Colombian-necktie this cocksucker.

Reyes sighed through his nose. There was still about ten feet between him and Ben. He didn't seem to think it was enough. He took the gun off your back and backed up with you a few steps. Eventually, he released your arm.

“Come ‘ere, sweetheart,” Ben reached a hand out, beckoning for you. You met his gaze once again, and let out a subtle breath.

You took three hesitant steps forward.

And the gunshots echoed horribly through the alley.

As it turned out, Reyes always had an escape plan. You were merely the distraction.

It proved effective, as Ben’s protest rang out as soon as the bullets fired. He raced forward and caught you as you stumbled, but his hands soon became coated in your blood; it fled from your back in thin rivulets.

You gasped and clung to his arms. His ears rang with the sound, along with tires squealing and shouts and police sirens. All he could focus on was the color draining from your face.

Both of your breaths came out ragged as he slid with you down to his knees. He brushed your hair away from your face, even as his blood-covered hand stained your cheek. Your pained eyes drew up to his face. You tried to speak, but you didn't have the strength.

“I hear the sirens. They’re coming for you, take you to the hospital,” he promised. His voice was rough, but his throat was tight. His eyes scanned over you. “All you need is my blood and…Christ. Fuck it all.”

He laid you down on the dirty asphalt and hurriedly yanked up his coat sleeve until it ripped. It exposed his arm. He was about to drag a blunt nail across his own skin to bleed into you.

“Ben.” Your fingers twitched against his knee.

When he looked at your face, there was no longer life in your eyes.

His own were wide, almost uncomprehending. His breathing was harsh as empty hands fell to his thighs. His head felt heavy, though his ears were still ringing.

He drew enough strength in his hand to wipe the blood from your cold cheek…but your face was beginning to blur.

Or not, he realized, as the sting in his eyes took him by surprise.

In a fit of mania, he gathered you back up in his arms and ignored the wetness covering your back. He held you, impossibly tight. Tighter than he’d ever held you, because he was alone in the alley…because he was alone again.

And it was his own fault.

His eyes squeezed shut against the burn, but it was futile. Everything was. His breaths were sharp and stifled as pain tore inside. A pain worse than anything the Russian's could've inflicted on him.

His lips pressed against your forehead, trembling there. The first drops of wetness rolled down his cheek. He couldn't stop it from happening, but then again. He guessed he truly was a failure, after all.

You made the mess…

His first tears had been spent at his mother’s funeral, when he stood alone at her gravestone.

His last ones would fall and die with you.

“Ben,” your voice was soft but insistent.

He finally woke with a start. A sharp inhale through his nose.

He had been sleeping on his side. Before he even truly registered where he was, in the safety of his bedroom, he turned his head toward you.

His eyes found your face in the dark, over his shoulder. Your hair was frizzy from sleep. The strap of your nightgown had fallen off one shoulder. Your face looked bleary and tired, but you frowned in concern.

“You okay, baby?” you asked. Your hand soothed across the dewy skin on his arm.

Ben’s throat constricted. He was starting to remember bits and pieces of the dream…the nightmare. He rubbed at his eyes, then dragged a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he said at last.

“Hmm.” Your gaze narrowed at him. “You sure?”

Ben had only enough energy in him to nod in response. His heart was still racing. Maybe you sensed that, because you leaned onto his arm and dropped a hand down his chest. You kissed his bare shoulder with soft lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

He raised a hand to cup the back of your head. He let out a long, relieved sigh through his nose, closing his eyes. Then he turned onto his back and brought you closer, with an arm slipping around your frame and pulling you against his chest. You made a sound of surprise, but you went willingly.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair away from his face and pressed a kiss against his neck, to his jaw, his cheek and above his brow. He accepted it all and tried to calm his breathing with the feeling of your touch, and the smell of your flowery soap that lingered on your skin.

With a hand still cupping your head, he guided your lips to his. He claimed you slowly, but with purpose. You answered him by tilting your head, deepening the kiss for a moment.

You parted from him just as slowly. You knew everything wasn’t okay, but you also knew it wasn’t the time to push him for an answer.

Maybe in the morning, you thought. …I’ll make pancakes. Haven't done that in a while. And he’s always happier with something sweet.

You rested contentedly against his warm chest and let his heartbeat, gradually slowing back into a steady rhythm, lull you back to sleep.

Ben tangled his fingers into your hair. He laid one more kiss on the top of your head.

And for damn sure, he was going to cancel that trip into the city tomorrow.

AN: I know, I know. The "it was all a dream" thing is super cheesy, but I couldn't leave it on heartbreak. I just don't have it in me with these two. 🥲❤️‍🩹

Read the Sequel:

A friend of mine requested a sequel to this imagine: "You confront Ben about his fears."

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[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

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He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures. 

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room. 

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction. 

He knows. 

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent. 

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified." 

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid. 

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull. 

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley." 

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt. 

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows. 

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table. 

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it. 

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions. 

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours. 

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence. 

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic. 

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance. 

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power." 

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it." 

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper. 

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.  

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?" 

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up. 

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you. 

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this. 

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine. 

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards. 

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage. 

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him. 

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you. 

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty. 

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7. 

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor. 

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste. 

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face. 

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-" 

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you. 

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare. 

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance. 

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face. 

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you. 

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds. 

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry. 

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on. 

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you. 

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Simon won't let you. 

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims. 

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen. 

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight. 

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.  

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.  

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss. 

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing. 

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place. 

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind. 

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost. 

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image. 

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive. 

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

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[edensdahlia]

༊*·˚ Until I Say So

CHARACTERS: John Price x M! Reader (F! Reader here)

RATING: NSFW

CONTENTS: Military reader, canon typical violence, Price thinks reader needs a little extra training after they get compromised during a mission, may be inaccuracies in the fighting, porn with plot because I can’t write it without, established relationship, relationship with a superior <3, sparring as foreplay, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism (?), multiple orgasms, nicknames used: muppet, darling, love

ೃ⁀➷ WORD COUNT: 2K

“--How copy?” Price’s voice crackled through the comms, rough in all the right places and with just the slightest bit of worry buried deep beneath his impassive tone. It couldn’t be helped, worrying about you came naturally to him, like donning a second skin he couldn’t seem to shed no matter how hard he tried. He really did try. In his line of work, he couldn’t afford to worry, it was a distraction when he needed to be anything but. Distractions could cost a life.

Subconsciously, Price tightened the grip he had on his rifle, trying to convince himself the sudden tension in his body was from the mission itself and not you. Although he really shouldn’t have been tense over that either. The operation was a simple two-person job with him acting as overwatch while you mapped out the interior of a warehouse suspected to be owned by a high-profile cartel. During debriefing Laswell had confirmed that the warehouse would be empty until the following week when shipments would first start arriving.

Meaning it should have been an easy in and out. Childs play really, and yet the silence seemed to stretch eons as he continued to scan the windows of the warehouse, searching for any sign of movement. For any sign of you. The sound of static filtered through the air, startling him, and then your voice came through, low and slightly breathy.

“All good so far Captain. Warehouse appears empty.”

Your voice was like a shot of comfort directly to his nervous system. The tension in his body seemed to fade. His grip slackened but remained steady as he continued searching the windows. “Good. Map the layout and get out. Quickly yeah?” There was the sound of static again and then your hushed laughter- more an exhale than an actual laugh.

“Sounds like you’re worried sir.”

He was. Of course, he was.

“Focus Sergeant.” It wasn’t a direct command but it had the same effect regardless. On the other side of the comms, you fell silent returning your attention back to the objective you’d been given. Eventually, finally, he caught sight of you, moving with the efficiency that had been drilled into you as a rookie.

Price watched as you dipped in and out of side rooms his heart seeming to still until you came back into the focus of his scope standing just in his line of sight. Your head was tilted up towards the window as if you could see him and the thought sent a secret thrill up his spine.

“All finished here sir, heading back your way.”

“Good work, Sergeant.” The praise fell from his lips easily. Like a secret only you were privy to. His words hung briefly between you two disappearing like mist on a summer day as something flashed behind you, a streak of silver turned a blinding white by the moonlight cast through the cracking windows. 

The warehouse was supposed to be empty.

The shadowy figure behind you crumpled to the ground, dead by the silent bullet Price had put through his brain. A moment too late. Just a moment. You looked up through the shattered glass one hand around your neck attempting to stop the blood that leaked through your shaking fingers.

♡ 。 。

Price loomed above you his legs bracketing your hips, keeping you pinned firmly to the floor in a position that was vaguely familiar. He smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, a combination you would have found comfort in had you not been wrestling with him for some semblance of control. You thrashed in his grip fists coming up to connect harshly against his chest. The force of it drew a small wheeze from him that morphed into a growl as he dug the blunt edge of a knife unceremoniously against your neck. It rested just above the jagged scar splitting your throat and when he pressed down just a bit more you felt the warning behind it, gaze finding his in defeat.

He shook his head at the look withdrawing from you, watching as you rolled over, panting from exertion and the vaguest hint of something else. Sweat collected near your hairline and dripped slowly down your nose leaving a dark stain on the mat below you.

“Get up muppet.” The words fell from him, in a harsh bark that had your mind dizzy with the possibilities of what else he could command you to do. Weakly, every bone in your body aching with the movement, you pulled yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly to the side.

“Can’t we take a break Captain?” You wiped the sweat from your brow with the edge of your shirt, the movement revealing a strip of scarred skin. His gaze flickered to it unthinkingly. “I just got dismissed from medical you know.” Your shirt dropped back in place and he frowned simultaneously at the loss of such a sight and your words.

“And why were you put there in the first place Sergeant?” Price challenged. You sighed through your nose and he took that as a sign of defeat gesturing with the plastic knife in a ‘come on’ motion. “Again.” His gaze remained steady on yours as you circled the mat together, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Taking initiative you lunged for him, your dominant hand swinging out in a messy hook. Price ducked easily beneath the arm you had thrown out, pivoting so he could slam his foot into the back of your knee. You crumpled to the ground hands coming out to catch you, but he dragged you back with his forearm secured around your chest and the knife flat against your throat.

“Compromised again Sergeant.” His voice was a whisper against the shell of your ear. “You’re getting sloppy.”

You squeezed your eyes tightly together trying to fight off the arousal you felt aching between your legs. It’d been there since he’d first walked through the training room doors wearing a compression shirt that showed everything off in just the right way and sweatpants that hung dangerously low. With each press of your bodies together- each struggle for control it’d only intensified turning into a burning heat you needed so desperately to satisfy.

“I’m tired.” You offered in weak defence. The hard muscle of his thigh sat temptingly between your legs and you slowly let yourself relax in his grip, allowing you to subtly grind against his leg.

“Tired eh?” Price brought his thigh up pressing harder into your semi-hard cock and drawing a whimper from your lips as you met him halfway. Maybe not so subtle then. The knife tumbled to the floor as he settled his hands on your hips helping assist in the slow grind of you against him. Your chin dropped towards your chest at the sensation, thighs burning with the effort of keeping you upright. Price slid a hand beneath your jaw forcing your head up and turning it towards him so he could bring your mouth to his in a heated kiss. It was lazy on your part, your body sluggish from the training you’d gone through, and when you pulled back your eyes remained half-lidded.

Price smiled at the look. “You truly are a sight for sore eyes darlin’.”

The compliment did nothing but fuel your desperation. You arched further into him, nose brushing the skin of his throat. “I need you.” It was a quiet plea. A beg for him to relieve you of your own painful arousal. His hand slid beneath the band of your sweatpants teasingly and you thought for a moment he just might, but his fingers skimmed across your clothed cock with barely-there touches.

“Now?” He applied the slightest bit of pressure and you squirmed, hips rocking against his hand desperately. “Where anyone could see you?” You nodded pathetically, grinding yourself downwards in search of something more but it wasn’t enough.

“Fuckin’ tease.” Price chuckled as he hauled you off his lap, repositioning you so you were laid out flat on your back. He slid your sweatpants and underwear down to your ankles, revealing more of you to his hungry gaze. Every inch of your skin was intoxicating, each scar and blemish stirring something in him.

His cock was heavy in his hands and unsurprisingly hard as he angled it against your entrance. You grabbed for the back of his neck nails scraping against the short hair there as he entered you. It wasn’t slow by any means and it burned with every inch he forced forward but it was good. So good. Your eyes fluttered closed nails digging into his scalp as he rocked against you. It was rough, needy almost. His fingers dug into your sides pulling you in, each thrust opening you further.

“I was worried about you.” Price confessed on a particularly hard thrust that had your eyes rolling back into your head. “Bloody bastard should have never touched you.” His voice was thick with emotion, a sound so rare it had your eyes blearily finding his.

“Wasn’t your fault-” You whined attempting to lift your head up but failing miserably as he fucked you harshly into the mat. Clumsily you sought out his hand squeezing it reassuringly, the touch the best you could offer when he was filling you so completely. Price seemed to understand though. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his beard scraping against your skin.

“Won’t happen again yeah?”

There was a sureness to his words, a casual confidence that left no room for argument. Although- you certainly were in no position to argue as it was. Price somehow sensing your impending orgasm soothed a hand down your sweaty face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at you. “Go on love, I know you’re close.” His words and the look on his face were horribly tender, a startling contrast to the way his hips snapped against yours, rough and without mercy.

Your legs tightened around his waist drawing him closer to you as you came. Price didn’t slow in the slightest bit. If anything he picked up in pace watching the way your eyes flew open. Overstimulation drew you up onto your forearms, one hand shooting out to steady yourself on his shoulder.

“John!”

He chuckled the sound lost in the skin of your neck. Each drag of his cock felt like heaven and hell all at once. The overstimulation was bringing you back up to that previous peak quicker than you could form the words for. It didn’t help either the way he continued to stroke your cock, drawing his thumb in lazy circles across the leaking tip and delighting at the pitiful sounds it drew from you. You were already hard again. Painfully so.

“You gonna come again, love?” You nodded chest heaving with the effort of drawing air into your poor lungs. Price nipped at the junction between your neck and shoulder smiling. “Good.” He continued rutting into you, the slick sounds of his hand around your cock obscene in the empty training room. At this point, you were halfway into his lap and each thrust imprinted the shape of his cock to your insides leaving you a stuttering mess of his name.

Exactly how he liked you.

Your second orgasm was stronger than the first and had you clenching around his cock almost painfully. Price cursed lowly slowing his thrusts to help draw it out, until you finally collapsed against him, legs twitching and breaths coming in short puffs. He lifted you slowly off him and you sighed in relief. His cock brushed against your stomach still leaking precum. Lazily you reached between your bodies intent on finishing him off with your hand but he swatted it away.

“On your stomach love. Ass up.”

The fucked out haze of your mind swirled curiously trying to process his words. You lifted your head searching his eyes in confusion. “Sir?” You asked voice shaky, looking every bit the fucked out mess you were.

Price couldn’t help the sick satisfaction he felt at being able to reduce you to such a state. “C’mon Sergeant,” He eased you up and then pushed you onto your stomach, your face pressed uncomfortably to the mat. “I’m not done with you yet.”

A/N: I’m honestly not too happy with how this turned out but it’s been sitting in my draft for like a month lmao. As always though thank you so much for taking the time to read this mess- have a lovely lovely day

[ok-i-draw]

Ok! Need some motivation, send me some asks about Mob!Au whether that be hopper or Silver cartel.

Something about having asks really gets me motivated to draw!

[constantcrisis19]

Domestic Bliss

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN S/O

AN: I was thinking about starting a new series of one shots about a reader who is married Ghost so, while this will be the first story I post, it won't necessarily be the first in the timeline. I promise that it'll all make more sense when write enough fics to necessitate making a masterlist.

Word Count: 2,449

Main Page

You watched with a wide grin as Gaz nearly snorted coffee out of his nose at Soap’s recount of his earlier demonstration at the demolitions range, a truly impressive display that you just so happened to be present for, the resulting blast so big and so loud that you had stopped in your tracks in order to stare wide eyed at the bright flashes of light and dark plumes of smoke along with the rest of the recruits.

You still vividly remembered the truly manic expression on Soap's face as he’d watched the chain reaction go off, the crazy Scot standing as close to the resulting explosions as he could without injuring himself while everyone else with a modicum of self-preservation stayed further back.

You noticed a familiar figure prowl into the canteen and eagerly waved to Ghost, inviting the masked man to join you. Ghost didn’t even pause his stride, instead he simply redirected his course to begin walking towards the table that you, Gaz and Soap were currently occupying.

"Hey, babe." You greeted Ghost as you absentmindedly fiddled with the wedding ring that you kept on a silver chain around your neck. You’d been married to Ghost for six years now though had known the man since you were both stupid kids.

Unfortunately, you had moved away when you hit high school and the two of you had ended up losing touch with each other over the years, so it had been a pleasant surprise when you met again in the SAS when he was still a Sergeant, the two of you often being partnered with each other on ops since you worked well together.

The two of you hit it off one you got past the awkward pining stage of your relationship and then it wasn't long before you were getting hitched, the wedding taking place a few months before Simon went to Mexico in order to take down the Zaragoza cartel with that slimy fuck Vernon and came back... different.

Quieter. More paranoid. Broken.

As usual, Ghost’s only response was a brief dull stare and a sharp nod in your direction, though you never took his antisocial tendencies to heart. He sat down on the empty seat next to you, taking the mug of coffee that you slid over to him, and though Ghost was more fond of tea than coffee, he never turned down your cup when you offered it.

“Soap was just telling Gaz about his demonstration earlier.” You clued him into the conversation as he lifted his mask up just enough to uncover the lower portion of his face, lifting the mug to his lips in order to take a swig of the steaming contents, his resulting slight grimace at the taste forcing you to turn your head away in order to hide a smile.

“Aye, Lt. Yew shuid ‘ave been there, it was glorious.” Soap sighed whimsically, you and Gaz sharing an amused look at Soap’s usual antics since he never failed to either wax poetically or confess his undying love for bombs and explosives and such at least twice a day.

"Not interested." He dismissed bluntly, his expression flat, but despite his curt tone it was fairly obvious to you and anyone who knew Ghost that he wasn’t intentionally being rude. His standoffish behavior was mostly because he was emotionally stunted, which meant that he typically defaulted to being curt when he was actually just too tired or wound up to deal with any high-energy conversations.

“That’s just because you don’t have a thrill-seeking bone in your body, old man.” Gaz quipped, finishing off his cup of coffee before grabbing one of the muffins out of the container you’d brought with you. You and Ghost had managed to get some time to yourselves yesterday so you went off base and spent the afternoon out in the nearby city and you had decided to get a treat for the other three members of the 141.

“Ha! Better be careful, Gaz, we wuidn’t want him tae break a hip tryin’ tae teach yer sorry arse a lesson.” Soap added with a shit-eating grin, Ghost pausing with his mug halfway between the table and his mouth, his dark eyes darting over to a cocky Soap, who confidently met his gaze.

“You’re both such fucking shitheads.” You said with a laugh, placing your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your palm as you watched the ensuing showdown with blatant interest. And, since popcorn wasn’t exactly available at the moment, a muffin would have to do.

With your free hand you reached out across the table and took a muffin for yourself, taking a bite of the fluffy bakery item and humming softly at the pleasant taste.

Ghost blankly stared at the two smug men sitting across from him and he was quiet for so long that you began to wonder if he was even going to respond. Though, after a few seconds had passed, he finally spoke. “We’ll settle the matter on the mat. 1300”

The smile was quickly wiped off Soap and Gaz’s faces at the prospect of fighting Ghost, even if it was strictly for training, because Ghost was known among the recruits for being ruthless even while sparring, people who dared to go up against him coming out with bruises and even the occasional dislocated bone.

“You both are so gonna eat your words.” You cackled, pulling your hand out from under your chin in order to grab one of Ghost’s hands from where they were wrapped around his mug of coffee, lacing your fingers together and resting your intertwined hands between the two of you on the tabletop.

Ghost turned his gaze away from Soap and Gaz and stared at you for a few moments before looking down at your joined hands and sighing, lightly rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. You bumped shoulders with him, basking in the heat that always seemed to come off the man in waves

“You’re clingy today.” Came Ghost's flat reply, his voice containing the slightest hint of amusement, and you playfully shoved at his shoulder with a half-hearted scowl, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms over your chest instead.

“You’re such an ungrateful ass sometimes. I’ll have you know that I’m a total catch, cuddly or not.” You declared petulantly, barely able to hold back your smile when you saw Soap snicker out of the corner of your eye.

Your shove as well as your bold statement was rewarded with a faint smile spreading across Ghost’s exposed lips, the man’s emotions being much more apparent without the mask there to hide his various reactions. Though that’s not to say that it was impossible for you to tell what he was thinking when he did wear the mask since Ghost had really expressive eyes and you had several years of experience reading every subtle shift of his gaze.

"You love it." Ghost said, his flat tone was broken by a small hint of sarcasm and humor, his voice growing slightly amused as he shifted slightly to face you with a dead-pan look.

"Unfortunately." You sighed dramatically before leaning over to plant a fond, chaste kiss against his fabric covered cheek.

"Love you too, sweetheart." He said with all the enthusiasm of a brick wall.

"Love you more, stud-muffin." You said with a quirk of your brow. It wasn't a secret that one of you and Ghost's favorite games was to see who could come up with the most ridiculous pet names for the other, and you both indulged in the game so often that even other members of the 141 would play along, the game never failing to escalate and get everybody involved all sorts of riled up.

"Love you most, dandelion." His words sounded teasingly sarcastic and dry as he called you 'sweetheart', and you could have sworn that you heard a tinge of humor in that flat tone of his as he spoke.

“Aren’t you two adorable.” Gaz sighed dramatically and you flicked him off, petulantly sticking your tongue out at the other man, Gaz giving you a wide grin in response.

"Everyone shut up and let me finish my breakfast in peace." Ghost grouched, grabbing a muffin from the container and pulling a piece of the top part off, one of his quirks being that he always eats the muffin top first before moving on to the rest.

"Anything for you, pookie." You ribbed at Ghost, hearing Soap give a bark of laughter from his seat across from the two of you at the dumb nickname. You raised a brow at Ghost when he gave you a judgemental side eye, daring him to try and one up you.

“How considerate of you, buttercup.” Ghost commented neutrally, his tone dry, and you tilted your head at him, raising a questioning brow at him.

"What’s with all the flowery pet names? I expected more creativity from you, doll face." You sighed with a mock-disappointed sigh and shake of your head.

"You aren't worth the effort, honey." He deadpanned. And, while Ghost may have seemed to be insulting you from an outside perspective, it was fairly obvious going by the mirthful glint in his eyes that he was just teasing.

"If I can force myself to laugh at your shitty dad jokes, then you could at least try to think up an imaginative name for me." You said with a smile, just so that Ghost would be able to tell that you were mostly joking.

“Believe it or not, I'm not trying to impress you. You're stuck with me either way." Ghost shrugged, Soap giving a low disbelieving whistle at the bold words as you rolled your eyes.

"I think that it's safe to say that we've officially left the honeymoon phase of our relationship then." You chuckled good-naturedly, placing a hand on Ghost's thigh and squeezing before just letting your hand rest there as a soothing weight since Ghost never seemed to mind your touch.

"We're way past that. We've been married for six years now and we know each other's quirks and ticks." Ghost paused for a few seconds, pulling off another bite of muffin before continuing on. "We know how to get under each other’s skin, but I still wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither, love bug." You smirk in thinly veiled amusement and triumph, and Ghost dropped his holier-than-thou attitude and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname.

"You always know what to say to lighten the mood, honey-bun." Ghost drawled as he stripped the wrapper off his muffin in order to begin digging into the bottom half of the baked treat, his voice sounding equal parts sarcastic and genuine.

“Yew two are fuckin’ cracked, a true match made in hell.” Soap piped up as he started in on his third muffin, crumbs covering the majority of the table in front of him. And though some people found Soap’s messy eating habits disgusting, you actually thought his toddler-esque way of eating was somewhat endearing.

“You’re just mad cause you weren’t able to be Ghost’s best man at the wedding.” You replied with a cheeky grin, leaning across the table to flick Soap’s scarred eyebrow.

“I dinnae even know Lt yet! An’ it's not my fault tha’ yew impatient bastards cannae ‘ave waited a couple more years before gettin’ hitched.” Soap was quick to defend himself, abandoning his food in favor of gesticulating wildly as he complained.

“Fuck off, angel face.” You said good-naturedly, placing your palms flat on the table and leaning into Soap’s personal space, the man mirroring your movements.

“Never, ya wee feral bairn.” He shot back without missing a beat as he shifted even closer, slowly but steadily closing the distance between your faces.

“Teddy bear.” You happily continued your banter with a mischievous grin, pushing forward until your noses were practically brushing as you stared each other down.

“Both of you shut it.” Ghost interrupted your battle of wills, grabbing your forearm and gently pulling you back down into your seat, his hand sliding down your arm until he reached your hand before lacing your fingers together, squeezing in a wordless reprimand.

“So, how was the wedding? Seeing as we weren't there.” Gaz broke the companionable silence that had descended over the four of you, popping the last of his muffin into his mouth before washing it down with the last of his coffee.

“An’ who was Ghost's best man?” Soap tacked on almost as an afterthought as he leaned back in his seat as far as he could get away with without losing his balance and toppling over ass over teakettle.

“First of all, Price was the best man, which is only fair since he's the one who introduced us to each other.” Well, more like reintroduced, but you weren't about to get hung up on the schematics.

You brought your shoulder up into a nonchalant little shrug, absentmindedly tapping the fingers of your unoccupied hand on the tabletop aa you ignored Gaz and Soap's twin looks of surprise in favor of continuing. “And our wedding wasn’t anything over the top. It was just a small ceremony in a secluded church with a short guest list. We both agreed that we didn’t want to make a huge fuss.”

“And you were cool with a modest wedding? No extravagant flowers or decorations or cake?” Gaz asked, his brows furrowed and you could see where the confusion was coming from since the media made most people feel like the average wedding was supposed to be huge and expensive.

Though that being said, you wouldn’t necessarily have minded something lavish like that, you just didn’t really feel that all the fanfare was necessary for you and Simon. You were both well aware of how much you loved each other, so you mutually agreed that you didn’t need some big ceremony to prove your devotion to each other.

“As far as I’m concerned, all I needed was Simon.” You said, turning your gaze to Ghost and bringing your joined hands up to your mouth in order to plant an affectionate kiss onto the back of his hand.

Ghost stared at you for a short moment, looking a bit caught off guard, before he managed to pull himself together. He moved closer, leaning down and tilting his head in order to place his lips against yours in a soft kiss, letting the connection linger before pulling away just far enough to speak, his breaths fanning intimately across your lips.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that you’ll never want for anything else.”

[crystalbeetle888]

Promising Future

1.8k Words - SFW - Hybrid AU

- brief mentions of kidnapping, violence, torture, minor fluff -

The darkness surrounding you seems eternal, not knowing where your body ends or the walls of the cold hard shipping container begins. At least the freezing nights were better than the sweltering days, inside that metal box it felt like an oven. Your arms ache, the thick chain holding them loosely above your head clinks as you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The rusted muzzle weighs heavy around your skull, its mouthpiece sharp against your tongue.

You had been in hiding for most of your life, living amongst a small rural community in Alaska. Before an unmarked militia group came through to clear the people out for an upcoming oil line. As they did they took you, a rare feral hybrid, Lupus-Versipellis, a wolf hybrid. Feral hybrids were rarer than domestic species like dogs or cats, and are often outcast and forced into hiding for being assumed dangerous. Which just makes them all the more allusive.

You couldn’t tell how long it had been since your capture, but your hair had since grown long down your back, matts littered throughout. You have had many different buyers all across the world try to break you into a pliant soldier. Various methods were inflicted upon you. From beatings to negotiations, from tying you to a post for days with no food or water, to attempted medical and chemical reconditioning. Key word, attempted. Little was actually known on hybrid physiology so it wasn’t uncommon for people to under-sedate you. They quickly learnt that wasn’t the safest method for reconditioning.

Your latest buyers seemed to be Mexican. They never spoke to you but based on the tattoos you saw when they came to feed you, the general climate, and the fact that you could hear them speaking Spanish outside of the shipping container, strongly hinted at the Cartel. You had only really heard about them through wild action movies and terrible bar jokes though, so other than that you were in the dark. Literally.

Your ears perk at the sound of distant gunfire, it echoes loudly through the previously still night. You rattle your chains in suspense. You can hear yelling and loud explosions. Then, nothing. You wait for what seems like forever before the shuffling of footsteps and the clanging of metal breaks the silence. A stream of silver light shines through the darkness as the door slowly scrapes open and two silhouettes come into view.

“Fooken hell, they av’ a hybrid” a Scottish man's voice echos.

You growl deeply at them, the noise vibrating through your chest. “A cranky one at that. Get the Colonel, he’s gonna wanna see this ""Yes sargent” the other man replies before disappearing from view.

You squint at the man, struggling to see him properly as he approaches. “Easy there lass, M’ not gonna hurt ya” he mutters, arms out wide in submission. You shake your chains violently, trying to scare him off. “Easy, Easy” he finally steps close enough for you to see him. He’s a stocky white male with a short brown mohawk and piercing blue eyes. “Easy there lass, I’m just trying to help ya”. Your heart pounds against your chest, panic overwhelms your mind as he reaches a cautious hand towards the back of your head “Hay I’m just trying to get it off” he reassures you. Your breathing is laboured, you eye his hand as it reaches behind you and lifts the heavy padlock. Your ears press flat against your skull as you watch him cautiously.

Suddenly three more silhouettes appear at the door “Dios Mio” a gravelly voice whispers. “Alejandro! We're gonna need some bolt cutters” the man next to you calls out. “Aye!” he responds before whispering to the other man in spanish. You swing the chains violently, trying to free yourself from their confines. A muffled wail ripping from your throat at your fruitless attempts. “Hay, hay, hay, take it easy!”, “Calm down niña”, “You need to quit that darling” the men unsuccessfully try to reason with you as you continue to thrash around. Pain shooting through your shoulders causes you to fall limp against the chains, the weight of your body on your arm causes you to cry out.

Suddenly, the weight on your arms is lifted as you’re hauled into the air, the Scottish man's thick arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, his head pressing into your stomach. You stop thrashing and stare at him, completely stunned. You’re finally able to rest your arms. You place them slowly on top of his head, groaning as the tension releases from your shoulder blades. “Better?” he squeezes your leg, you huff in response. “So you understand english” you huff again, staring down at him as he gazes back up at you. His stubble prickles your bare stomach as he talks, his skin radiating heat. “So she’s friendly then?” the southern white man asks. You growl in response causing the scot to chuckles “Careful Graves, she’s a feisty one” he pats your legs. “She’ll fit right in then camarada” Alejandro says.

Finally a young man walks into the shipping container holding some bolt cutters. “Let’s get you free then aye lass?” the scott smiles up at you. The young man approaches hesitantly before looking to his superior, “Go on” he says to the younger man. He turns back towards you, you can hear his heartbeat racing in his chest as he places the jaws of the bolt cutters around the padlock on your wrist. He struggles for a moment before…Snap! A cuff falls from you, the chain connected to the ceiling now hangs loosely. You grip onto the man's shoulder with your free hand, offering up the other. He readies the bolt cutters and…Snap! You’re so close to being free.

The scotsman squats down, placing you gently on the floor “Don’t try and stand up yet lass” he rubs your bare back in comfort before grabbing the padlock on your muzzle “Take it easy on this one amigo”. The young man nods, positioning the cutters and…Snap! The scott takes the padlock off, before unclasping the muzzle and pulling it off your face and out your mouth. You breathe out your mouth freely for the first time in years. The cold air graces your lips. You bring your now trembling hands up to your face, you feel so weightless. A sob escapes your throat as you sit there in your newly found freedom. “You’re alright, we’ve got ya bonnie” he places a warm hand on your back.

The hospital room was dimly lit and smelled strongly of chemicals you couldn't quite place. After cutting you down, the Scottish man named Johnny, escorted you back to the hospital at their base. Doctors and nurses fluttered around you, curious at your unique appearance. They placed you on a drip, bandaged your wrists and and sponge bathed the rest of you down. You were put in thin shorts and a shirt that tied up on the sides, the grippy socks they provided didn’t fit your feet as your claws had grown so long they tore straight through them.

You listened intently to the conversations down the hall, most of them were about you, but you weren't interested in all their gossip. They’re not who you’re waiting for. Heavy boots thumping through the hall towards you catch your attention. Your ears stand straight, focused in on the door as they approach. The handle rattles and the door swings open, revealing Johnny carrying a large tray of assorted meats “Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I had ‘em put a bit of everythin’ on” he smiles, walking into the room casually, he places the tray on your lap.

The smell of raw meat makes your hair prickle and stand on end. You were starving. Snatching the food off the tray you rip into it, snapping and growling as you eat. “Easy there lass, don’t want you to choke” he chuckles, sitting down in the chair beside your bed. Ignoring him, you continue to chomp through your charcuterie of meat until someone else enters the room. You glance up at them wearily, it was Alejandro, the colonel running this base. “How is she holding up?” he asks Johnny. “Enjoying the food, still hasn’t said a word though” he responds. Alejandro nods before directing his attention to you. Your ears flatten against your head, a growl rumbling from your chest. He huffs in mild amusement “You can grumble all you want senora, but eventually you’ll have to talk to us” he chastises you, folding his arms over his broad chest. You look away from him, nibbling timidly on your food. You don’t like being forced to do things, or talk, or anything really. Your capture has made you increasingly stubborn.

He grunts at your behaviour, “I’ll come back tomorrow once you’re healed more, maybe some exercise will loosen you up hmm?” He nods at Johnny before turning back around and leaving the room.

“We’re not going to be able to help ya if you don’t talk to us Bonnie” he whispers as gently as his thick accented voice would allow him to. You side eye him, huffing out your nose in reluctance. “Would you at least tell me your name?” He pleads with you, leaning his elbows the side of the bed.

Anxiety shoots through your body like electricity. You had learned early on in your capture that the less they know about you, the better. This meant no talking to anyone about anything, no responding, and certainly no trusting them. When they had nothing on you it was easier to act like a complete animal, after all that’s all that you were to them. A feral beast.

Your lip quivers as you try to muster up the courage to say something, anything. You wanted to trust him that this was all over, but you couldn’t. He was just another soldier following orders.

You clenched your jaw tightly and shook your head, brows furrowed in frustration. He sighs before standing “That’s alright lass, I’ll try to check up on you tomorrow aye” he says, as he makes his way to the door.

You let out a gasp as he is about to leave, trying to will yourself to say something. A moment passes in silence.

“Thank you” you whisper meekly, barely audible.

He turns to look at you, a wide grin stretched across his face, his eyes twinkling with joy “I’ll see you tomorrow dove” he says before gently closing the door behind him. Your face feels hot and your tummy flutters ‘Why did he smile at me like that?’ You think to yourself. Shaking off the strange feeling, you place the now empty food tray to the side before snuggling under the cover. It isn’t long before exhaustion takes its toll, and you drift off into a deep sleep.

[captain-mj]

Good morning afternoon evening and midnight Captain. Just wondering have you ever thought about some bad guys like Roba or Makarov or something hosting illegal dog fights but then there’s actually no dogs but instead just wolf shifters and Ghost being a victim who was forced to fight and kill to survive?

I’m just trying to help with your muzzle kink and that’s all, totally not because I wanted to see Soap being a badass dog rescuer that takes down the bad guys and comforting a shaking Ghost and gaining his trust and wrapping him in blankets and feeding him soup, nor am I desperate to see how Ghost turned from teeth baring to tail wagging when he sees Soap and give those guilt puppy eyes when seeing the scares he made back when he didn’t trust Soap and chomped on the hand that tried to feed him.

Yeah I totally don’t need to see those, just trying to help with your muzzle kink. And I definitely won’t bite you if you don’t give it to me :3

This reminded me a little of Days of Hana (don’t recommend it emotionally destroyed me) but I’ll do it for ya

Btw, I use military lingo throughout but they are just a group of rescuers. Also, Ghost is shifted like 80% of this so fair warning if you wanted him to shift back and forth.

Despite the muzzle, they did not end up fucking?? Y'all want a part 2 that is just porn ask I guess??

Soap was part of the initial bust. There were four people undercover that he was aware of, Just enough to take the guards and everyone there down without having to have too many people infiltrate the place.

He watched Gaz and Alejandro talking, pretending to be making bets. Price was closer to the arena.

Arena May be a stretch. It was a dirt floor with silver influenced chains around it to keep the wolves in.

The one in the arena was small and limping. He growled at the gate on the other end, clearly anticipating what came next.

“Bringing in…” The announcer made a drum roll and everyone quickly brought their attention back to the arena instead of the bets they were making.

“The Ghost!”

Soap frowned, not understanding the excitement. Everyone seemed to recognize the names except him and his crew. He didn’t have to wait long in suspense.

“Ex military. Brought here from Mexico after being a guard dog for a cartel leader! Undefeated champion.”

He was huge. Easily Soap’s height and built. Soft dark fur that looked like it had start getting matted. The weird thing wasn’t his size actually.

It was the design on his face. It was a skull, clearly painted on to him.

His teeth were huge and he bared them immediately. It was vicious way to go.

The other wolf started to Yelp, trying to escape the ring. And Ghost. The nerve and resolve that had been there before disappearing as soon as he appeared.

Soap couldn’t let this happen. He looked at Price who thankfully gave him the signal.

They started firing immediately and both wolves went on the defensive, hiding from the fray. Ghost met Soap’s eyes and they were so… human. While yes, Soap knew logically they were human so of course their eyes would be, it was still startling. He looked so intelligent.

Soap shot one of the guards and they quickly started arresting the voyeurs. Instead of helping them with that, Soap found how to get under the stage to where they were holding the other wolves. Most immediately shifted back, thanking him profusely.

He made his way to the arena and saw that Gaz had a gun on Ghost who was snarling. The other wolf had been hurt, but it didn’t look fatal.

Just barely though. They’d have to get him to medical fast.

“Careful, Soap.” Alejandro called out, steadying the gun. “And you don’t make a move, Ghost.”

Ghost snarled at him but stayed still, thrashing his tail. He looked so angry. So vicious. Soap worried he might lash out and kill him if he got too close. But he pushed on, getting the other wolf safe and away from Ghost before readying a leash. It was one of the one's with the control pole so as soon as he got it around Ghost's throat, they'd be home free.

Now, how the fuck would he get it around his throat. Soap stalked around Ghost but Ghost circled him back, refusing to leave himself exposed for very long.

"Listen, I want to help you, okay?" Soap tried, hoping he wasn't completely feral. If he was too far gone, they might have to put him down. He really hoped that wasn't the case. Judging by the many scars all over him, Ghost had a rough go of it.

Price shot Ghost and there was a loud bark before he collapsed, the dart hanging from his shoulder. "Took a few tranqs just in case."

Soap nodded and looked at him, giving him a thumbs up.

Ghost was put in a cage. He tried not to look at him, hoping he slept a while. Looked like he needed it.

They managed to get the names of everyone else and start working to get them home. The meticulous records the fighting ring kept made it easier.

Soap was surprised to see that what the announcer said was true. Ghost had been bought from a cartel for quite a bit of money. There was a note that he didn't really shift back, but Soap was sure once Ghost realized he had been rescued, he'd shift back and they could return him to any family he had.

Ghost woke up and Soap smiled. “There you are! Sorry for the cage, i promise it’s a formality. As soon as you shift back, we can help you.”

Ghost growled at him, clearly afraid. His eyes were huge and he was shaking.

“Come on, i don’t want to have to call you Ghost.”

He lowered his head, the paint starting to wear off.

Everyone on Soap’s team knew they weren’t real wolves, but it was easy for them to treat them as such. That was not to say it was with any cruelty. It was more wary and clinical. But Soap never had that problem. Maybe it was cognitive dissonance he had. Or didn’t have. Soap wasn’t a shrink.

Soap only saw a person there. A very scared, very hurt person.

He grabbed one of the blankets nearby and opened the cage. “I understand if it’s modesty. You can cover up if you want.”

Ghost stared, almost impassively. Like Soap spoke a language he didn’t understand.

It hit Soap then that maybe he was. Mexican cartel. He may just speak Spanish.

“Hey, Alejandro! Can you help me with something?”

Alejandro nodded and came over but Ghost immediately started to bark at him, shaking. He took a few steps back and Soap watched his hand twitch as he tried not to grab his gun.

“Nevermind. I’m going to need some Spanish lessons from you soon though.” Soap waved him away and closed Ghost’s cage, a little worried he’d run off. He looked at Ghost. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

Ghost continued to shake until Soap left. There was a ton of paperwork and he had to talk to Price, so Soap didn't get to see Ghost again until the next day.

He still hadn't shifted back, just sitting there. Soap felt so bad. He talked with the cooks and managed to get a beef soup for him. He also grabbed another blanket for him.

Ghost didn't react when he put the soup in front of him, just laid there. Soap had to lean partially into the cage to throw the blanket over him but as soon as he did, Ghost bit him. Luckily not too hard, just enough to break skin. He yanked away from him, surprised and a little confused.

Ghost noticed the food and quickly started eating. He ate slowly, trying not to spill or get it into his fur. Soap went to move away but Ghost snarled like he was threatened and Soap quickly stopped moving.

Once he was done, Ghost let him leave, laying back down on the floor. Soap stood next to the door and kept it open. "Do you want to get out?"

Ghost looked at him and slowly backed further into the cage.

"Alright... just... tell me when you want to get out okay? You can shift as soon as you're ready."

Ghost nodded and Soap smiled, glad to get an actual reaction. He left Ghost, sure he'd shift soon.

Two weeks. Everyone else had been either returned to family or was recovering in the nearby hospital with family. And Ghost was still just slumped in the bottom of the cage.

Soap kept him fed and Ghost didn't immediately snarl when he came by. He didn't seem to like Alejandro, remembering how he went to shoot at him. Price and Gaz didn't get a better reaction though as Ghost would just blankly stare for the most part. Sometimes, he'd catch Ghost and Price in a staring match which was weird.

"Captain..." Soap started and he could already see Price's face scrunch up.

"No. You are not taking that thing home."

"He's a person."

"Yes. He is. When he's shifted. Right now, he's dangerous."

"Look, I think if he's away from all the stress, safe in a residential home instead of on our base, he would feel more comfortable."

Price sighed. "Fine. On one condition."

"What is it?"

"He stays muzzled."

Soap slammed his hand down. "It's inhumane!"

"He's dangerous. You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to, but you're suggesting taking a dangerous person, one we don't, into your home. What if he's a criminal? What if he's waiting to get you alone? We don't know. So he stays muzzled. You're lucky I'm not insisting he has a shock collar."

"I wouldn't put a shock collar on a dog." Soap snapped.

"Neither would I. But a person can learn faster than a dog. So keep him muzzled unless he's eating." Price clicked his pen. "I'll fill out the paperwork for you. Tell me as soon as anything happens."

Soap wanted to argue, but he was worried Price would tell him that he couldn't take him. So Soap shut up and went to get him.

Ghost didn't really react to being muzzled or collared. He just started somewhere else. Soap decided to give him a small head pat, just to test it, but Ghost's tail stayed still. He didn't growl though, so that was a plus.

Soap started to walk and Ghost trailed behind him, not seeking him for comfort despite how clearly distraught he was. He treated Ghost with as much dignity and respect he could in the situation, even if the car ride home was the most awkward experience of Soap's life.

"Do you like music?"

Ghost stared silently.

Soap turned on the radio and pop music filled the car. After a second, the music changed to a rock station. He looked over to see Ghost looking out the window.

Weird. Soap changed it back. A minute later, back to the rock station.

"Are you doing that?"

Ghost looked at him. His eyes were human. Gorgeous too. Soap tried to piece together what he'd actually look like, but... it was hard to guess from the way he looked now. He noticed most of the paint had worn off him, just leaving the soft black fur behind.

Soap frowned. "If you did, just nod and I'll leave it okay?"

Slowly, Ghost nodded.

"Thank you." Soap turned it up a little and Ghost went back to looking out of his window. His tail gave a simple thump, not quite a wag but it was a sign of life that hadn't been there before.

He took Ghost into his apartment, surprised when he beelined to the couch and curled up on it. Soap pulled one of the blankets on top of him and Ghost slowly relaxed, eyes closing. A few minutes later, Soap heard some soft snoring.

Soap thought of what Ghost might look like again. Ex military. Maybe he had tattoos? Tall. Dark hair. If he and Alejandro were right, he might be Hispanic and ex Mexican military to be specific.

Dark brown eyes of course.

Soap gently tapped Ghost who swung around and went to bite him, only stopped by the muzzle. Maybe it was a good idea.

"I'm going to be gone a while, okay?"

Ghost stared at him for a minute before settling back down. He watched Soap leave and stretched. After a moment, he paced around the apartment, mapping it out. Simple two bedroom two bath. Well decorated, but clean. Fewer knickknacks than he expected, but it made sense if Soap was always out trying to help poor unfortunate souls like himself.

Ghost laid in the bathtub for a while, just relaxing. He closed his eyes and enjoyed himself. Maybe later, he'd turn the water on. All of the leather against his skin was something he was used to. It didn't feel nice, but comfortable.

Soap walked around the apartment, trying hard to find him. He started to panic, wondering if he left. He hadn't exactly done anything that would prevent him from leaving.

Ghost was snoozing happily in the tub, giant head on the edge.

Soap stood there, really taking in his size. He filled the tub to the brim and while most of it was probably fur, he must be massive when human.

It started slow. Ghost always seemed to be watching him right from the edge of rooms, always close to the exit. He also sat very politely during meal times. Soap made them eat together and Ghost always let him take off the mask.

Ghost noticed that Soap would disappear every few days. Every four days to be exact. And when he came back, he smelled of cologne that definitely was not his own.

Ghost didn't fucking like that. It hurt his head. He sat grumpily near Soap, not quite close enough to touch. The smell had finally worn off of him so he could stand to be in the same room.

"Ghost?"

Ghost grunted, letting Soap know he was listening.

"If you shift back, I won't say anything to anyone. Just... so we could talk. I want to help you."

Ghost got up and left the room, curling up in Soap's bed instead. He didn't want to. He'd have to talk about what happened and Soap would see his scars and he didn't want to.

Soap didn't bring it back up for a while. He kept feeding him and started to scratch him behind his ears when Ghost let him put the muzzle back on. It was a weird stalemate.

Until Mr. Awful Cologne came by. Soap flushed when he opened the door and cringed. "Ah, Marcus, loo-"

"I wanted to drop by! We're always at my place lately." He had flowers.

Ghost thought he looked like a chump, but maybe that was what Soap was into. He settled his head on his paws but he was huge and took up the entire couch, so Marcus didn't miss him.

"Soap."

"Yes."

"Who is that?"

"Look, it's not like that. He's... a special case."

"You have a werewo-"

"Wolf shifter. Important distinction."

"Whatever, in your house."

Ghost rolled his eyes and Marcus paused.

"Look, it's complicated. He hasn't shifted back and it's a whole thing. I promise, he's just here until he recovered."

Marcus glared at Ghost. He must've noticed something because he dropped it and helped Soap find a place for the flowers.

Ghost saw the cigarettes in Marcus's back pocket and he knew what must be done. He waited. And waited. Marcus turned his back and so did Soap. Quick hands grabbed the cigarettes and the lighter before disappearing.

It was a few hours later that Marcus noticed. Soap and him had went to his room, shutting the door but clearly not having sex if the TV and complete lack of any thing else was to go by.

"Did you take my smokes?" Marcus sounded irritated, like he had been since he saw Ghost.

"No. You know I don't like that kind."

"Well, unless your do-"

"His name is Ghost."

"Stole my smokes." Marcus stepped out and froze.

Soap looked around the corner to see... Ghost. He could tell by the muzzle.

The giant man. Huge fucking man. Why was he so big?? He had to be 6'4!! And he was jacked.

Soap had guessed right about the tattoos though. His chest and an arms were covered in them. The blanket around his waist prevented him from seeing much more but Soap could see the shape of his hips. Smoke poured out of the holes in the muzzle and Ghost eyed them.

Ghost was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous. His hair was a warm ginger color and his eyelashes were a soft blond. Even with the muzzle covering the bottom half of his face, it was clear he was good looking. Not to mention the clear definition of every muscle in his body. Yeah there were scars too, but Soap liked them.

"You have shit taste in smokes."

Manchester... was not what he predicted. Also, Soap had kinda figured out he spoke English a while ago, but he hadn't been expecting him to be English!

"I..." Marcus trailed off, staring at him. He looked scared, but Soap didn't get why. It was just Ghost.

Well... Marcus didn't really know Ghost how Soap did. He didn't know his favorite shows like Soap did. Or that he preferred rock music. Or that he preferred his steak medium instead of rare like Soap assumed.

"Are you going to leave already?" Ghost growled and he tilted his head, shadows falling over his eyes and they shined unnaturally. More smoke billowed from the mask and Marcus made the smart decision to just let him keep them. He flicked the lighter on and off, liking the clicking noise it made.

Soap stared at him. "All I had to do was get you cigarettes?"

Ghost grunted and looked away. He pulled the blanket up a little more, but it uncovered his legs and he grumbled about it.

Soap tried not to stare, but Jesus Christ how could you blame him?

"Simon."

"Huh?"

"You said when we first talked, you wanted something besides Ghost. My name is Simon." Ghost blew more smoke, leaning against the wall.

Soap nodded. "Simon. I like it. Now that you're talking, we can try to fi-"

"My family is dead Johnny. Saw their bodies myself. Any friends I had are long gone too." He took a drag.

"That why you didn't want to shift back?"

"Exactly why. What was I going to do? I knew once I talked, you guys would throw me on the streets. That's the next step right?"

"No. Absolutely not." Soap was almost offended that Ghost thought so low of him.

Ghost frowned, Soap couldn't see it, but he could see the way his eyes shifted. "I bit you. I caused you a lot of trouble."

"But I won't throw you out. I'd like to think we're a bit closer than that."

Ghost stared at him. His long hair got in his eyes. "Johnny."

"Yeah, Simon?"

"I'm going to take a bath. I need one. Do you have any clothes I can borrow?" He batted his eyelashes and Soap felt like he was under a spell.

"I'll see what I can find."

"Thank you." He sighed softly and the black leather tugged tighter against his skin. "And I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Scaring you."

"You were frightened too. Don't worry. I didn't take it personal." Soap grinned, even though he felt much more nervous now than he did twenty minutes ago.

Ghost left and Soap sent Marcus a text. "I don't think this is working out."

He then went rooting through his drawers to find anything that might fit him. He ended up with a tight t-shirt and sweatpants that would be too short.

They'd go shopping later.

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned just how ruthless Pablo Escobar was.

Known as the "King of Cocaine," Pablo Escobar was a notorious Colombian drug lord who headed the Medellín Cartel. His ruthlessness and cunning tactics contributed to his rise as one of the wealthiest and most feared criminals in history. Throughout his reign, he showed no mercy to those who stood in his way, employing brutal tactics to maintain power and instill fear.

Escobar's rise to power began in the 1970s when he started smuggling cocaine into the United States. As his operations expanded, he eliminated rival drug traffickers and built alliances with powerful criminal organizations. He was responsible for a significant portion of the world's cocaine supply, which fueled his vast fortune and enabled him to construct an empire of terror.

One of the most ruthless aspects of Escobar's rule was his use of sicarios, or hitmen. These individuals were often recruited from poor neighborhoods and were fiercely loyal to him. They were responsible for carrying out assassinations, kidnappings, and acts of violence on behalf of the cartel. It's estimated that the Medellín Cartel was responsible for the deaths of thousands of people during its existence, including police officers, judges, politicians, and innocent civilians.

To maintain control and evade law enforcement, Escobar employed a strategy known as "plata o plomo," which translates to "silver or lead." This phrase meant that officials and others in positions of power were offered a choice: accept a bribe (silver) or face the consequences, usually in the form of violence or death (lead). Many who refused his bribes were brutally murdered, serving as a chilling reminder to others of the consequences of defiance.

One of the most significant displays of Escobar's ruthlessness occurred in the late 1980s when he waged war against the Colombian government. In an effort to avoid extradition to the United States, he unleashed a wave of terror that included bombings, assassinations, and kidnappings. The most notorious of these attacks was the bombing of Avianca Flight 203 in 1989, which killed all 107 passengers on board. The target was presidential candidate Cesar Gaviria, who was not on the flight, but the cartel showed no remorse for the loss of innocent lives.

Escobar was also known to hold lavish parties and indulge in extravagant displays of wealth. However, this opulence was built on the suffering of countless individuals who fell victim to the violence and addiction caused by his drug empire. Despite his brutal reputation, he was regarded as a Robin Hood figure by some in Colombia, as he provided housing and support for the poor in his hometown of Medellín.

[visage-of-hell]

(Starter for @angie-long-legs: Another night at the club, another menagerie of party-seeking demons filling all available spaces to enjoy drinks, dancing and pulsing beats. As much as possible, Visage always preferred to just blend into the crowd, rather than be this large imposing figure that drew immediate attention to herself. She dressed in much the same casual flair as any other clubgoer as she relaxed on one of the plush lounge cushions richly upholstered in deep royal purple velvet. Clutched between two claws was a lit cigarette smoldering with bright blue embers, smoke tendrils lazily drifting around the hellhound in an acrid wreath. Keen silver eyes seemed to have a glow all their own, even amid the glowing neon that filled the club space, as her gaze roved over the crowd of patrons. It was, after all, her business to keep tabs on who was coming and going from her establishment, despite the air of nonchalance she so carefully cultivated. The larger and more successful Kingdom Cum became, the more she knew that she was drawing the attention of those who would quickly begin to consider her a threat. Good. About time something came along to shake up the status quo. These other Overlords had gotten too fat and lazy of their own spoils and were in sore need of some healthy competition. For the present moment, though, the power plays and political posturing were about as far away from Visage's mind as possible, focused instead on having as mellow of an evening as possible. Well ... 'mellow' by the standards of the club, of course. Which is why when her phone began to buzz and she glanced at the name to recognize the call as coming from her chief cartel enforcer ... her mood immediately began to sour. "What?" The word was spat out, laced heavily with annoyance. "Uhhhh, Boss? I just saw Angel Dust walk into the club." Aaaaand foul mood immediately gone. Now this could be interesting. A famous face like his in her club was bound to draw attention of all kinds, but that hardly worried the Overlord. What intrigued her more was the knowledge that one of Valentino's most prominent actors was in her domain instead of his ... and she liked what that could mean. While she could do nothing about the soul contracts themselves without more direct intervention, any opportunity to encourage those under his 'employment' to distance themselves as much as possible was a net positive from her perspective. "Interesting. Send 'em my way."

[edensdahlia]

༊*·˚ Until I Say So

CHARACTERS: John Price x F! Reader (M! Reader here)

RATING: NSFW

CONTENTS: Military reader, canon typical violence, Price thinks reader needs a little extra training after they get compromised during a mission, may be inaccuracies in the fighting, porn with plot because I can’t write it without, established relationship, relationship with a superior <3, sparring as foreplay, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism (?), multiple orgasms, nicknames used: muppet, darling, love

ೃ⁀➷ WORD COUNT: 2K

“--How copy?” Price’s voice crackled through the comms, rough in all the right places and with just the slightest bit of worry buried deep beneath his impassive tone. It couldn’t be helped, worrying about you came naturally to him, like donning a second skin he couldn’t seem to shed no matter how hard he tried. He really did try. In his line of work, he couldn’t afford to worry, it was a distraction when he needed to be anything but. Distractions could cost a life.

Subconsciously, Price tightened the grip he had on his rifle, trying to convince himself the sudden tension in his body was from the mission itself and not you. Although he really shouldn’t have been tense over that either. The operation was a simple two-person job with him acting as overwatch while you mapped out the interior of a warehouse suspected to be owned by a high-profile cartel. During debriefing Laswell had confirmed that the warehouse would be empty until the following week when shipments would first start arriving.

Meaning it should have been an easy in and out. Childs play really, and yet the silence seemed to stretch eons as he continued to scan the windows of the warehouse, searching for any sign of movement. For any sign of you. The sound of static filtered through the air, startling him, and then your voice came through, low and slightly breathy.

“All good so far Captain. Warehouse appears empty.”

Your voice was like a shot of comfort directly to his nervous system. The tension in his body seemed to fade. His grip slackened but remained steady as he continued searching the windows. “Good. Map the layout and get out. Quickly yeah?” There was the sound of static again and then your hushed laughter- more an exhale than an actual laugh.

“Sounds like you’re worried sir.”

He was. Of course, he was.

“Focus Sergeant.” It wasn’t a direct command but it had the same effect regardless. On the other side of the comms, you fell silent returning your attention back to the objective you’d been given. Eventually, finally, he caught sight of you, moving with the efficiency that had been drilled into you as a rookie.

Price watched as you dipped in and out of side rooms his heart seeming to still until you came back into the focus of his scope standing just in his line of sight. Your head was tilted up towards the window as if you could see him and the thought sent a secret thrill up his spine.

“All finished here sir, heading back your way.”

“Good work, Sergeant.” The praise fell from his lips easily. Like a secret only you were privy to. His words hung briefly between you two disappearing like mist on a summer day as something flashed behind you, a streak of silver turned a blinding white by the moonlight cast through the cracking windows. 

The warehouse was supposed to be empty.

The shadowy figure behind you crumpled to the ground, dead by the silent bullet Price had put through his brain. A moment too late. Just a moment. You looked up through the shattered glass one hand around your neck attempting to stop the blood that leaked through your shaking fingers.

♡ 。 。

Price loomed above you his legs bracketing your hips, keeping you pinned firmly to the floor in a position that was vaguely familiar. He smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, a combination you would have found comfort in had you not been wrestling with him for some semblance of control. You thrashed in his grip fists coming up to connect harshly against his chest. The force of it drew a small wheeze from him that morphed into a growl as he dug the blunt edge of a knife unceremoniously against your neck. It rested just above the jagged scar splitting your throat and when he pressed down just a bit more you felt the warning behind it, gaze finding his in defeat.

He shook his head at the look withdrawing from you, watching as you rolled over, panting from exertion and the vaguest hint of something else. Sweat collected near your hairline and dripped slowly down your nose leaving a dark stain on the mat below you. 

“Get up muppet.” The words fell from him, in a harsh bark that had your mind dizzy with the possibilities of what else he could command you to do. Weakly, every bone in your body aching with the movement, you pulled yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly to the side. 

“Can’t we take a break Captain?” You wiped the sweat from your brow with the edge of your shirt, the movement revealing a strip of scarred skin. His gaze flickered to it unthinkingly. “I just got dismissed from medical you know.” Your shirt dropped back in place and he frowned simultaneously at the loss of such a sight and your words.

“And why were you put there in the first place Sergeant?” Price challenged. You sighed through your nose and he took that as a sign of defeat gesturing with the plastic knife in a ‘come on’ motion. “Again.” His gaze remained steady on yours as you circled the mat together, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Taking initiative you lunged for him, your dominant hand swinging out in a messy hook. Price ducked easily beneath the arm you had thrown out, pivoting so he could slam his foot into the back of your knee. You crumpled to the ground hands coming out to catch you, but he dragged you back with his forearm secured around your chest and the knife flat against your throat.

“Compromised again Sergeant.” His voice was a whisper against the shell of your ear. “You’re getting sloppy.”

You squeezed your eyes tightly together trying to fight off the arousal you felt aching between your legs. It’d been there since he’d first walked through the training room doors wearing a compression shirt that showed everything off in just the right way and sweatpants that hung dangerously low. With each press of your bodies together- each struggle for control it’d only intensified turning into a burning heat you needed so desperately to satisfy.

“I’m tired.” You offered in weak defence. The hard muscle of his thigh sat temptingly between your legs and you slowly let yourself relax in his grip, allowing you to subtly grind against his leg.

“Tired eh?” Price brought his thigh up pressing harder into your clothed cunt and drawing a whimper from your lips as you met him halfway. Maybe not so subtle then. The knife tumbled to the floor as he settled his hands on your hips helping assist in the slow grind of you against him. Your chin dropped towards your chest at the sensation, thighs burning with the effort of keeping you upright. Price slid a hand beneath your jaw forcing your head up and turning it towards him so he could bring your mouth to his in a heated kiss. It was lazy on your part, your body sluggish from the training you’d gone through, and when you pulled back your eyes remained half-lidded.

Price smiled at the look. “You truly are a sight for sore eyes darlin’.” 

The compliment did nothing but fuel your desperation. You arched further into him, nose brushing the skin of his throat. “I need you.” It was a quiet plea. A beg for him to relieve you of your own painful arousal. His hand slid beneath the band of your sweatpants teasingly and you thought for a moment he just might, but his fingers skimmed across your clothed cunt with barely-there touches. 

“Now?” He applied the slightest bit of pressure and you squirmed, hips rocking against his hand desperately. “Where anyone could see you?” You nodded pathetically, grinding yourself downwards in search of something more but it wasn’t enough. 

“Fuckin’ minx.” Price chuckled as he hauled you off his lap, repositioning you so you were laid out flat on your back. He slid your sweatpants and underwear down to your ankles, revealing more of you to his hungry gaze. Every inch of your skin was intoxicating, each scar and blemish stirring something in him.

His cock was heavy in his hands and unsurprisingly hard as he angled it against your soaked entrance. You grabbed for the back of his neck nails scraping against the short hair there as he entered you. It wasn’t slow by any means and it burned with every inch he forced forward but it was good. So good. Your eyes fluttered closed nails digging into his scalp as he rocked against you. It was rough, needy almost. His fingers dug into your sides pulling you in, each thrust opening you further.

“I was worried about you.” Price confessed on a particularly hard thrust that had your eyes rolling back into your head. “Bloody bastard should have never touched you.” His voice was thick with emotion, a sound so rare it had your eyes blearily finding his.

“Wasn’t your fault-” You whined attempting to lift your head up but failing miserably as he fucked you harshly into the mat. Clumsily you sought out his hand squeezing it reassuringly, the touch the best you could offer when he was filling you so completely. Price seemed to understand though. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his beard scraping against your skin. 

“Won’t happen again yeah?”

There was a sureness to his words, a casual confidence that left no room for argument. Although- you certainly were in no position to argue as it was. Price somehow sensing your impending orgasm soothed a hand down your sweaty face, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled down at you. “Go on love, I know you’re close.” His words and the look on his face were horribly tender, a startling contrast to the way his hips snapped against yours, rough and without mercy.

Your legs tightened around his waist drawing him closer to you as you came. Price didn’t slow in the slightest bit. If anything he picked up in pace watching the way your eyes flew open. Overstimulation drew you up onto your forearms, one hand shooting out to steady yourself on his shoulder.

“John!”

He chuckled the sound lost in the skin of your neck. Each drag of his cock felt like heaven and hell all at once. The overstimulation was bringing you back up to that previous peak quicker than you could form the words for. It didn’t help either the way he continued to thumb your clit, drawing his thumb in lazy circles and delighting at the pitiful sounds it drew from you.

“You gonna come again, love?” You nodded chest heaving with the effort of drawing air into your poor lungs. Price nipped at the junction between your neck and shoulder smiling. “Good.” He continued rutting into you, the slick sounds of your cunt dragging him back in obscene in the empty training room. At this point, you were halfway into his lap and each thrust imprinted the shape of his cock to your insides leaving you a stuttering mess of his name.

Exactly how he liked you.

Your second orgasm was stronger than the first and had you clenching around his cock almost painfully. Price cursed lowly slowing his thrusts to help draw it out, until you finally collapsed against him, legs twitching and breaths coming in short puffs. He lifted you slowly off him and you sighed in relief. His cock brushed against your stomach coated in your slick and still leaking precum. Lazily you reached between your bodies intent on finishing him off with your hand but he swatted it away.

“On your stomach love. Ass up.”

The fucked out haze of your mind swirled curiously trying to process his words. You lifted your head searching his eyes in confusion. “Sir?” You asked voice shaky, looking every bit the fucked out mess you were. 

Price couldn’t help the sick satisfaction he felt at being able to reduce you to such a state. “C’mon Sergeant,” He eased you up and then pushed you onto your stomach, your face pressed uncomfortably to the mat. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

A/N: I’m honestly not too happy with how this turned out but it’s been sitting in my draft for like a month lmao. As always though thank you so much for taking the time to read this mess- have a lovely lovely day

[ok-i-draw]

Silver cartel sneak peak

[queermentaldisaster]

“The Hunt Is My Muse”

Hello! The first chapter of my shifter!au fic is here! This one is gonna be a long one, so you better strap in. This one is gonna be so much fun! I'm so excited to introduce you all to the intricacies of this AU i have plotted out.

Tags: @forestshadow-wolf @spicyspicyliving @bringinsexybackk69 (If you wanna be added or removed, leave a reply, tell me in a reblog, or shoot me an ask. Reblogs are greatly appreciated.)

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter 1: "Steel and Silver Sing For Justice"

“No.” He said, being adamant about this. “I’m not working with him on this.”

Price exhaled, his eyebrows furrowed. “Ghost, you will be working with Sergeant MacTavish on this.”

“And do you remember what happened the last time we worked together?” Ghost huffed, crossing his arms. 

Price closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ghost, this isn't a discussion. We need both you and the sergeant on the field for this one. If it makes you feel better, you'll be working with Commander Phillip Graves as well as Colonel Vargas and Sergeant Major Parra.”

“It does not, but it's not like I have a bloody choice, eh?” Ghost asked, his eyes narrowed under the mask.

Price exhaled once more. “No, no you don't.”

“Of course.” Ghost mumbled, turning around and leaving.

That was a few days ago. Now he was sitting in the helo next to Soap, the Scot rambling about something. Honestly, he'd tuned Soap out a while ago. He stared at the ground, feeling the urge to shift, that feeling like deep-rooted anxiety deep in his gut, bubbling up. He clenched one of his hands into a fist, taking deep breaths. ‘In for three, hold for three, out for three.’ He thought, repeating that in his head as he continued breathing.

When he looked back up, Soap was giving him a weird look. “What?” Ghost asked. Soap shook his head. “Nothin’, ye just looked nervous is all. Ye alright?” He responded, his voice soft and calm. Ghost looked away. “‘M fine, sergeant. Worry about yourself.” He whispered. Soap arched an eyebrow. “Lt, ye clearly ain’t fine. Just talk tae me, please.” The younger man pleaded.

Ghost shook his head, as the helo landed “No, Soap. I’m fine. We need to focus on the mission.” He stood up. Soap huffed. “Fine.” he said as he stood up. “But ah dinnae believe ye.” He muttered. Ghost looked back at him. “You don’t have to believe me.”

The helo opened and Ghost walked down the ramp, Soap at his side. The Colonel, Alejandro Vargas, walked forward to meet them. “Alejandro!” Soap exclaimed, offering his hand for a handshake. Alejandro took it with a polite; “Sergeant MacTavish.” 

Soap chuckled, his smile growing ever wider. “Call me Soap,” he said as the two men pulled away from the handshake. Alejandro looked to Ghost. “Lieutenant. Laswell says they call you Ghost.” He murmured. Soap cut in. “Actually, I believe he prefers to be-”

So Ghost cut him off. “That’ll do.” He said, looking back to Alejandro and nodding. Alejandro nodded. “You two shifters?” He asked, and it was a simple question. But one that Ghost did not answer. But Soap nodded. “Ah’m a red fox shifter.” Alejandro smiled. “Ocelot here. Let's go.” He turned around and led Ghost and Soap towards an armored vehicle.

Ghost and Soap climbed in the back. Alejandro got into the passenger seat. “This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.” He murmured, and Rodolfo looked at the two in the back seat. “Hello.” He murmured, before saying something to Alejandro in Spanish.

“Where’s Hassan?” Ghost asked. Alejandro smirked. “Cartel safe-house, ten clicks from here.” Ghost nodded, and the vehicle began driving, two more behind it.

Ghost honestly kinda zoned out on the drive through the city. At some point, he heard Soap say something to him about kids, guns and balloons, and Rodolfo said something about his mask, but he was too busy trying to ignore that damned feeling in his gut.

Ghost didn't shift. Not since Zaragoza and Roba. He used to, even with his dad's abuse, albeit rarely, but he couldn't anymore. Not when all it brought up were memories of pain and suffering. So he let the animal in him fester.

It would never get out again.