ashy-kit
Bi | 22| MDNI | 18+ In my DM’s |
32 posts
Latest Posts by ashy-kit
Please money cat
Not gonna risk it.
“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”
i love when tinders like “you missed a match” and i just got done xing some military boy like NO i did NOT
i get what you exactly mean about taylor swift i mean i fully believe its nothing to do with her but more some of her fanbase, its like i had a friend who said she didn’t like her music which is fair enough each to their own but a diehard taylor fan ripped into her about not liking her music and honestly its not that deep
Yeah but that kind of behaviour is the same as what we were talking about with the wags. What does it matter who doesn’t like the same music as you? What impact does it have on your life? Or do you just want to be mad about something?
If you can’t appreciate the subjectivity of art then how much do you actually like it and how much are you just a bit of a prick?
the money skull, reblog for money and or skulls
He’s so adorable
leo 'the menace' leclerc
[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'There's a petition to ban conversion therapy in the EU' to Cas' 'I love you'. /End ID]
If you are a citizen in the EU please sign this petition:
pls rb if you think cuddling doesn't have to be s3xual
im tryna prove a point to my bf's mother help me out
RED ALERT - STOP SCROLLING AND REBLOG IMMEDIATELY, REGARDLESS OF WHAT YOUR BLOG IS ABOUT
KOSA COULD BE VOTED ON IN THE SENATE VERY SOON!
IF YOU ARE A MINOR, YOUR TUMBLR ACCOUNT COULD BE AT RISK!
TAG EVERYONE YOU KNOW. DO WHATEVER YOU CAN TO HELP.
CALL. YOUR. SENATORS.
@thebunnyofevil @itsapmseymour @bettinalevyisdetermined @singular-ghost-sound @staffs-secret-blog
@staff @badjokesbyjeff @the-one-and-only-duckduckgo @firefox-official @pukicho
@holisticdetective42
Photos from #memes-and-graphics in the Stop Internet Censorship Discord server.
Posted May 18, 2024.
reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions
URGENT UPDATE ON KOSA
Guys, this is getting really scary now. According to Senator Blumenthal they "rewrote the bill' (they didn't change anything actually) and the bill now has bipartisan (both democrat and republican support) with 62 co-sponsors now and could hit the senate as early as next week.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, KOSA (the Kids Online Safety Act) Is a strait up fascist mass internet censorship and serveillance bill that if passed, will force you to upload your government ID online in order to verify your age and give not only the government to track everything you do on the internet, but also the pwer to censor and erase anything or anyone they deem a threat to their power all by using the vague wording of the bill to deem it "a danger to kids"
both of the co writers of the bill, Senator Blumenthal, and Senator marsha Blackburn have fully admitted that they will be using this bill to wipe out any anti-isreal content as well as (in Blackburn's own words) "eliminate transgender content"
This bill WILL be used to end modern activism as we know it.
anything related to Free Palestine, Free Congo, Free Sudan, Black Lives Matter, Stop Cop City, LGBTQIA Rights, will be censored and wiped off the face of the internet.
we are looking at Farenheit 451 and 1984 COMBINED. And I still see almost NO ONE talking about it since my initial post I made talking about it last year. Every single one of you need to interact with this post and spread the word. contact your reps. sign petitions (all of which will b linked at the end of this post) AND MAKE SOME GODDAM NOISE. This is the fate of the internet as well as the fate of modern activism and literally the entire internet.
Resources for learning about KOSA:
Petition and Call Script for contacting your senators and reps
Sign the open letter against KOSA
Stop KOSA Movement Linktree
Joker Kermit! I have a question @the-muppet-jokerjoker
So yeah🤔
A giant fuckin clown, 7 or 8 ft tall n built like an old school flatscreen tv, built like an industrial fridge, built like Tonka.🚚👐BIG. n then💁♂️a lil guy. 5 or 4 ft, built like an pocket radio, like a desktop mini fridge, like a lego car. 🚗👌smol.
And they fuckin🕙🛌💥🕝hard for hours!😭Big guy is so big you cant even see the lil guy undr him n they sound like fuckin wild animals in there, growlin n snarlin😤All you can tell is that hes slammin into somethin HARD. 😰 n it sounds dangerous, like some1 might get hurt😳Sounds that might be the bed squeakin could also be the sound of the tiny clown under him wheezing n squealin, gasping out a name.😩 But Big guy on top sounds lik hes bein straight 🔥tortured🔥. Whinin n beggin🥺whimperin🥺abt how close he is n how much he luvs him🥴
Fuck, size kink go brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr🤪
Reblog if you think a woman can be complete without children
Y’ALL HAVE TIME TO REBLOG THIS. IT TAKES LESS THAN FIVE SECONDS.
Reblog if you're gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, transgender or a supporter.
This should be reblogged by everyone. Even if you’re straight, you should be a supporter.
for later *cough*
I would never condone watching F1 for free without subscribing to those expensive, corporate streaming sites that make millions from advertising other corporations.
And I would never condone clicking on this link to watch F1 pre-season testing and all the free practices, qualifying and races.
Don’t click on this link.
JOKES! Fuck that, free for all is what I say. No one should miss out on F1 because it’s expensive to watch.
Just to be clear…this is the link I am talking about. It streams F1 for free. FREE!
GET KOSA TRENDING.
STOP SCROLLING NOW!
AS OF FEBRUARY 21ST, 2024, WE GOT FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE DAY OF DECISION OF THE KOSA BILL, WHICH WILL CAUSE MASS CENSORSHIP ROUND THE INTERNET IF PASSED. OR DOOMSDAY. WE NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW ABOUT THIS AND CONTRIBUTE. I'M NOT GIVING UP ON YOU ALL.
WE'RE DOWN TO THE WIRE BUT WE CAN'T GIVE UP YET. IF WE GIVE UP, EVERYTHING IS OVER. IF WE DON'T, AT LEAST WE HAVE A CHANCE.
I'M THE ONE WHO SOUNDED THE ALARM, AND I'M NOT GOING TO CURL UP AND DIE YET.
Reblog this post in every LEGAL way you can under the Tumblr guidelines with the appropriate tags. TELL AND TAG EVERYONE YOU KNOW, then add the tags to see below... and more if you can think of any complying.
Visit badinternetbills.com if you want to find a way to defeat KOSA. It WILL NOT take much of your time. Reblog with any other information or sources, too-- but make sure to reblog if you can.
Reblog if you support lgbtq+ content.
Reblog if you support questioning queer youth and/or abused youth getting the information they need.
Reblog if you support Ao3 and/or other sites that wholeheartedly preserve talentedly made media.
Reblog if you're going to repost this on other sites than Tumblr and spread the word across Twitter, Tik Tok, Pinterest, or elsewhere, alongside the link to badinternetbills.com.
Reblog if you think KOSA is unfair and shouldn't be anyone's problem -- including the adults ALL OVER THE DAMN EARTH forced to face the mass censorship it causes because "think of the American Children!".
Reblog if you support internet activism and Palestine.
Reblog if you hate fascism or censorship, and don't want actually serious and helpful conversations censored on the internet.
Reblog if you value the internet in any way at all whatsoever.
CHECK THIS PETITION, TOO! https://www.change.org/p/stop-the-kosa?recruiter=1331807538&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=sms&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf&recruited_by_id=57368c40-d0fd-11ee-98f7-2175430f819f&share_bandit_exp=initial-36809664-en-US
(Also, please reblog with at least "stop kosa" as a tag and not "kosa". I made the mistake of not adding just "kosa" as a tag...)
We won't let this stand any longer. Let's start a riot and get this trending.
Please, I beg
Thank you so much. I will be just reposting it
words to use when writing
Appetite:
craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal
Arouse:
agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up
Assault:
attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound
Beautiful:
admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting
Brutal:
atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild
Burly:
able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed
Carnal:
animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean
Dangerous:
alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous
Dark:
atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched
Delicious:
enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty
Ecstasy:
delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled
Ecstatic:
delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild
Erotic:
amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing
Gasp:
catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded
Heated:
ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous
Hunger:
appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst
Hungry:
avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting
Intense:
forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous
Liquid:
damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping
Lithe:
agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry
Moan:
beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl
Moving:
(exciting,) affecting, effective arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling
Need:
compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen
Pain:
ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart
Painful:
aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded
Perverted:
aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile
Pleasurable:
charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent
Pleasure:
bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven
Rapacious:
avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering
Rapture:
bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy
Rigid:
adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering
Sudden:
abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning
Thrust:
(forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel
(push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick
Thunder-struck:
amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback
Torment:
agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe
Touch:
(physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap
(mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize
Wet:
bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water
Wicked:
abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched
Writhe:
agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank
PREACH!
The plot of MW3 was clearly written by a man. A woman would have never let this happen.
Hell yea
Reblog is this is a safe space for the identities theses flags represent pls follow too
Hehehe I’m a demiboy <3
Callout post on Keegs (keegans_mask) on Tiktok!
If you guys haven't heard the news, we sadly lost a Call of Duty cosplayer recently, known as Inquisitor, another Ghost cosplayer on Tiktok. Inquisitor was known for being the lightsaber Ghost. Recently, he took his life due to a rumor that wasn't even true. It fucking sickens me how bad this situation got, knowing that the people involved are grown adults. Not too long ago, Inquisitor was rumored to be a gr00mer and a ped0ph!le because of AJ lying about their age online, making him seem like the bad person. Tito was involved in this situation, along with Keegs and AJ.
This Keegan cosplayer, Keegs, was mocking him before, during, and after his stream. It makes me sick. He stated that the rumors were false and that he was speaking the truth about it. I can't believe that adults did this, grown adults. It's fucking embarrassing. NEVER fucking lie about your age on the internet just to make someone look bad, and Keegs should've never gotten involved in this, because it wasn't even about her, at all. So fucking embarrassing.
This makes me so fucking angry. I used to love Keegs, but now she's a fucking piece of shit. What she did was illegal. I hope she fucking takes time to realize that she is a fucking criminal, like seriously, this can get the authorities involved. This shit is never okay, never fucking okay. Roukin getting harassed on his stream is horrible, but not as bad as this shit. It makes me so sad. I'm a cyberbullying victim and hearing this is just so fucking depressing. I can't even fucking say how angry I am right now.
I hope Keegs, AJ, and Tito realize how horrible they are. I hope they realize that it's too fucking late to apologize. I hope they accept the fact that they are shit people for causing Inquisitor's death. What they did, is so fucking wrong. Mocking him at his lowest point is the worst fucking thing she did, no apology, held no accountability towards her actions, nothing. I don't fucking care at this point. Nothing will make me feel better anymore. Nothing will make me forgive her. I have never felt so angry at these people. Grown adults doing this? How embarrassing. Be ashamed of what you did.
Inquisitor was never a gr00mer. You knew damn well he wasn't Keegs, AJ, and Tito. It's too late to fix what you fucking did, you can't run from what you did, Keegs. You knew damn well what you did was wrong. You knew.
Rest you poor soul, Inquisitor...
May you be missed, stay frosty...
Help them please
Tag list
Engravings (Chapter One)
(Makarov x F! Reader)
Engravings Masterlist
Word Count: 4.2k Rating: Mature Tags: Brainwashing, Emotional Manipulation, Kidnapping, False Romance, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Injury/Blood, Whump, Stockholm Syndrome, Winter Soldier AU, No Fluff, Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Mind the tags (Read on Ao3)
“How do you think you’ll die?”
His fingers still as they trace your bare spine.
It’s silent in the solitude of his apartment, one of many he moves between to keep safe. This is one of the nicer ones. Furnished with silk sheets, the interior is immaculately clean. Wide windows overlook St. Petersburg below, a sight you never see with towering curtains blocking the view. Carefully curated art hangs from the walls, an abstract painting flecked with gold above his bed. You see shapes in it, think you see something akin to a lynx staring back at you. There’s never anything on the counters, no mess that would indicate someone lives here. It feels too pristine, almost artificial.
Hazy, bluish light drowns both of you as you both sprawl in bed. You like it when he makes love to you here. The large space makes you feel so alone, so much closer to him, like you have him all to yourself. Greedy, you drink in his scent, claw at his back, listen to his breath stutter as he rolls his hips into you.
Makarov is silent as you tuck into his side, shift and tangle your legs a little closer to his. You can’t see his face, but you know the look in his eyes. Precise, calculating, almost detached. His silence is indicative of his answer before he even speaks it.
“With glory.” He responds, fingers resuming their lazy path. “For Russia.”
You nod without any response. You’re not sure what you expected, but it should have been that. Makarov is a soldier, just like you are. A warrior, one who will kill, die for his ideals. As much as you long after him, as much as he loves you in return, you know his death will be exactly as he says. Not gently, not beside you in old age, sighing softly into your arms with his last breath, a lifetime of joy he left behind. His mere existence speaks of violence and retribution, a danger you yourself are caught in as an inescapable tide.
You don’t remember a time before Makarov.
There’s glimpses, yes, whispers of a time before he found you, but they’re distant echoes drowned by the sound of his voice. He says you were a soldier, and you know this much is true. He says he found you dying, on the brink of death. He scooped you from the ashes, rescued you from the embrace of the grim reaper and brought you here. Home. Your earliest memory of him is when he sat in the hospital chair, looked upon you with curious, sad eyes and asked you your name.
You didn’t know.
Marionette, your callsign. A name he bestowed upon you, the one who holds the strings. You’re his blade, his weapon, the arrow in his bow. You fly in the direction of his enemies, cut them down with lethal precision, feel their heartbeats stutter and still in your hands. You’re used to the scent of blood by now, arrive back to him awash in red and let him kiss it from your lips, the taste of your murder on his tongue.
You know what the others say about you. You see them as they watch you walk with him, two steps back, by his right shoulder. A designated position. If someday he were to be betrayed, shot through his spine, you know the bullet would enter you first.
You know too that you’ve accepted this.
Marionette. The puppet, the other soldiers say. Beautiful, poised, but empty. He holds you in his palms and you go willingly, holding onto every scrap of warmth he offers like it will fill the hollow inside you. The others, they’re scared of your devotion to him, the way you’d be ready to die if he asked. Yet there’s something else there too, glimpses of desire for a thing they’ll never touch. A longing to feel your skin, to see the glimmer behind your gaze. Those who look too long disappear, and you know without having to ask that it was through his hands.
You’re his, after all.
In private he calls you милая, дорогая, любимая. Honey, darling, beloved. He cups your face in his hands and presses gentle kisses to your forehead, presses you into the sheets with endless praises of your violence. He treats you like he loves you, even though he never says it. You think perhaps it’s taboo for people like you, speaking of blessings only to have them stolen as soon as you confess. He gathers you to him when he sleeps, presses your bare form to his. You stay awake just to hear the sound of his even, steady breaths, watch how his face doesn’t soften even in sleep.
In the morning he’s gone before you rise. You tiptoe to the living room, see him standing at a crack in the curtains, awash in the hazy dawn. When you wrap your arms around his bare torso, he kisses your knuckles but says nothing. Eyes distant.
Loving Makarov is hard.
He always seems not completely there with you, eyes gazing into a distant future you cannot see. You’re stuck in the present, helplessly watching him discern the spinning axis of the earth, blinking as you see constellations sparkle in his gaze. Copernicus, he watches the stars rotate with him at the axis, tracing across their glimmering brightness like he’s drawing prophecies from the heavens. All for once was a far-fetched dream of Russia, one that becomes closer with every death in your grasp.
You don’t do it for his vision. You do it for him, and there’s some days where you wonder if you could ever stop.
“Come back to bed.” You whisper against the flesh of his shoulder, and he holds your hand to his chest where you feel his pulsing heartbeat.
“There are things to be done.” He murmurs instead. He’s silent for a while, as if waiting for you to protest. You never do.
“Dress. Eat.” He tells you in Russian, as he turns to hold your face in his hands. “I have somewhere to send you.”
That’s how you end up in Prague.
Trailing an informant, one of his own. He’s a twitchy sort, constantly looking over his shoulder in a way that means he knows he’s being followed. Your mission is not to kill him, not yet. First you must see who he meets, which enemy he speaks to, and then bury them both.
December. Snow dusts the streets. You’ve long since become accustomed to the winters in this part of the world, the way the sun hides during this part of the year. You’re bundled in a stylish coat and matching scarf- his choosing. It brings him a certain pleasure, somehow, to choose how you dress. You find you don’t mind, leaning up to his words of endearment with every fine thread he drapes you in.
It’s a shame the coat will get stained. You find he doesn’t mind that either, as if he prefers the color red on you.
You sip on coffee in a chair of the cafe, wishing instead for hot chocolate. The bitterness is familiar, even as the temptation of sweetness lingers in your senses. You hide your face between sips, pulling up the mask that covers the lower half of your face. The informant sits in a corner booth alone, leg bouncing. Sloppy. Obvious. You watch him with cat-like eyes, blinking slowly, wondering if he’ll beg when you kill him. The man that meets him is calmer, dark haired, clearly English. His mere presence seems to soothe the other man, and you watch as they discuss things in hushed detail, the informant sliding a USB across the table where their drinks sit untouched.
The Englishman leaves first, gives a small farewell and shrugs on his coat, neatly slipping the traitorous item in his pocket. You wait a minute until after he leaves, watching your fidgety comrade count on his watch by instruction until he too is supposed to depart. You’ll be back for him later. You know where to find him.
You trail the Englishman into the overcast afternoon, following his dark coat until the street is empty. Yet as you close the distance between you and the spy, a figure rounds the corner just in front of him. Your awareness roars to life a moment too late, and even though you stab your knife forward the man before you counters it easily. His movements are experienced, practiced, and strong. They counter your quick, precise agility in a flurry of movement, before at last you’re forced into the shadow of a building, his broad form crowding you from behind.
“Where is he?” The man breathes in your nape. Cigar smoke, musk, the grip on your wrists speaking of a soldier’s strength. You don’t need to ask who. You already know. You know you’ll die before you tell him.
“Minsk.” You lie easily, and the grip on your hands tightens.
“Try again.” He growls.
“You’ll never find him.” You offer instead, voice easy, almost detached. It makes him pause for some reason, and you wonder if that alone has startled him.
You don’t expect him to flip you around, press his forearm to your throat and rip down your mask.
You see him for the first time then. He’s worn in the way warriors are, years of duty etched onto his face. Thick brows, a beard, eyes that you think in another lifetime could have been kind. He stares at you with open astonishment, a bewildered shock that fades to a strange grief you can’t understand.
“You’re alive.” He whispers.
You blink at him, and for the first time feel your expression change to that of confusion. He seems to recognize you. You’ve never seen him once in your entire life.
He whispers a name, one you don’t know. Yet the voice he speaks it in is that of despair, a realization that seems to eclipse the fabric of his soul.
“What has he done to you?”
Panic flares inside you, and suddenly your entire being is consumed in the instinct to run, run, run. The man holding you captive radiates a danger far beyond that of duty, a fear that roots inside you and cracks at the foundation of your composure. You throw a leg up between you, and in his attempt to dodge his grip loosens on you. You duck under him, seize the knife that had been wrestled from your grip. A slash on his leg brings him to a knee. You dart a distance away from him, shaking, looking back with wild eyes. Red drips from your blade.
You should kill him. You’re not sure you can if you try.
You run.
When you find the informant, let his blood pool over his fingers, you see your own fear mirrored in his eyes.
The Englishman gets away. It’s an unacceptable failure, and when you send an encrypted message to Makarov he is silent for some time before he responds.
Report back.
He’s displeased to say the least when you arrive, mouth pressed into a scowl, brow drawn tight. You try to stand tall, refusing to show just how shaken you are by the whole ordeal. You know better than to show him weakness. Yet the man’s words from before haunt you, repeating in a ceaseless echo that sends the world under you spinning violently.
Makarov paces away from you, but at the mention of the stranger he snaps to look at you, blinking in something akin to shock. It flashes over his features for only a moment before he stills back into his stony passiveness, and then it darkens into something that makes your stomach sit heavy, making you nearly take a step back at the glint that warns of danger.
He strides over to you, and this time you do falter. You’ve seen Makarov angry before, but it was always with his subordinates, the men who show fear, hesitation, those who don’t follow orders. You’ve seen him shoot a man dead for daring to question him, and as he stood over the man’s oozing corpse he had murmured that Russia’s future did not include traitors.
Yet this- as he crosses the room with surprising speed, as you reel backwards out of pure instinct, as he captures your jaw and presses you to the wall so the lynx painting rattles- is different.
“His name.” He growls, teeth bared, jaw clenched, and he doesn’t notice the way your hand encloses his wrist in a pleading grasp. “What was his name?”
“I-I don’t know.” You manage in hardly a whisper. “I swear.”
He holds you for moments longer, stares into your eyes and waits for your gaze to falter with dishonesty. Your heart beats at an aleatory rhythm in your chest, a tremble starting in your hands and spreading along the sinews of your body. Yet as Makarov waits for you to stumble, to confess something you don’t have, you stare into his eyes.
and you see fear.
The ground cracks under you like splintering ice. A flare of panic takes a frigid hold of your veins. Makarov is not afraid. He is not fearful. He isn’t scared of death, of defeat. He throws himself in the jaws of lions and peels their teeth to use as daggers. He does not waver, he remains steadfast, unmovable. So this...this....
He releases you, and it takes all your strength to not gasp in relief, practically sagging against the wall as he turns. There’s a coiled tension to his shoulders, his fists clenching and then releasing before he turns back to you, eyes almost gentle.
“I’m sorry, darling.” He murmurs, reaching forward to loop his arms around your waist. Despite the tremble in your limbs you learn eagerly into the safety of his embrace. “I shouldn’t have scared you. I just can’t imagine the thought of someone like that taking you away from me.”
He presses your cheek to his shoulder, and even though you stay there your eyes are unblinking, wide, as if seeing the first glimmer of the truth to come.
As you sleep in his arms that night, you lay awake with wide eyes still, the stranger’s words repeating endlessly in the cacophony of your mind.
“What did he do to you?”
He gives you a few days to rest but leaves you alone in the too-large apartment. You feel miniscule against the towering windows that overlook the city, and in the absence of his touch your thoughts spiral in uncertainty.
How did he know you?
You’re sent out once more, and this time you aren’t alone. It unnerves you. You’ve worked by yourself for so long that the men on either side of you on the plane feel like they crowd into your space. One of them, the younger one, is fairly talkative. You pass idle exchanges, but every time he asks something that even remotely pertains to you his older comrade hisses at him, as if they’re not allowed to know. As if the mere knowledge of you as anything other than a weapon is a sin.
The rifle in your hands is familiar, the weight grounding as you perch on a snowy rooftop, examining the ambassador’s aide just outside his home. You watch him kiss his wife, blink and feel something familiar and forbidden tug in your ribs.
The older soldier is beside you, his own sights trained on the driver. His younger comrade scans the surrounding rooftops for interference. He doesn’t flinch at the gunshot, the scream from the wife.
He does, however, collapse at the third gunshot. Not yours.
You bolt, rifle hoisted to your shoulder. The older comrade calls for his friend, and you tug him back even as he fights you. He acts as a shield when the next shot rings out, and his blood coats your arms. You duck, roll, plant yourself behind a vent cover and search for the other sniper. You find him on a taller rooftop, his sights glinting in the dawn. A shot dents the steel, and you focus your sights on its origin.
A skull mask. A reaper.
It tugs at something inside your thoughts, the same place where the stranger’s words echo. Distant, a whisper of familiarity locked behind a terrible dread. Brown eyes. The color of rust. They widen when they see you, and in his hesitation you fire a single round.
Your aim is off.
It catches him by the shoulder, and he rolls out of view. As police sirens howl, you take that moment to escape, cast a lingering glance to the neighboring rooftop and wonder why it feels as if you just saw a phantom.
You lose two men, and the deaths are acceptable. They died for the cause. Martyrs for the future that Makarov divines even as he licks the blood clean from your fingers.
It’s only then that the dreams begin.
You sleep in an empty bed. Cold, the phantom chases you through sleep. The bone white mask fades at the edges like mist. It snakes into your lungs, chokes the air and freezes your ribs. In the hollow of your chest there’s whispers of a name you don’t recognize. Yelling, screaming, hands reaching for you amidst chaos and flames. You fall through the sky, descending too quickly. Their voices are lost to the wind, and as you pull at your shoulder, the thing that unfurls above you is shot through with debris. The ground races up, up, up-
You fall, wake up on the floor, trembling, chest heaving, trying to remember where you are. Who you are.
The voices chase you on your next assignment, pulse in tandem with the heartbeat that fades under your fingertips. You try to blot them out, try to replace them with the sound of his voice, and in the midnight darkness they return, howling like the gale. Faces you don’t recognize, hands, touches, laughter.
“You were talking in your sleep.” Makarov tells you when he rouses you in the darkness of a safehouse. Your bruised ribs from your last mission heal under bandages, and as he soothes a hand over them you wince but don’t protest. “Were you dreaming?”
Yes. You think, and open your mouth to tell him, confess the chaos of your nightmares. Yet something howls in the gale inside you, screams in a soundless cry that stifles the air in your chest, sends your voice into wordless silence.
“I don’t know.” You whisper, and it’s the first lie you’ve ever told him.
After that, you only dream when you’re alone.
Never alone on missions, not again. You’re constantly accompanied, flanked, and you have the itching, uncomfortable feeling that you’re being monitored.
You try to ask why you aren’t allowed to go alone and see the way the smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he holds you close.
“To keep you safe, дорогая.” He coos, stroking your cheek with his knuckles. “How could I ever lose you?”
You accept this, but the hollow of doubt inside you wonders that, if that were true, why he would risk you at all. Hardly a week goes by without another injury, another bruise from a target, a mission, an enemy he throws you at and you carve into fatal stillness. It feels in some ways like he’s punishing you, forcing you to bear the cost of his love. Yet he presses kisses to your cuts, the blossoming yellow and purple across your skin, sighs endearments and swallows your whimpers with the slant of his mouth against yours.
Yet you fall into him, your only source of comfort, your beacon. You’re lost without him, a marionette with no master. You don’t whisper the sin of your loved confession even as it tightens in your chest, knowing he can never say it back lest it summon destruction. Taboo, forbidden, just like the doubts you refuse to share with him. You cling to him instead, listen to his heartbeat and try to synchronize it with your own.
“You’re shaking.” He whispers as you shiver in his arms following something akin to lovemaking. “Are you scared?”
“No.” You tell him, another lie. It’s not of him, never him. Not yet.
Your dreams are the thing that terrify you, and you fear them because you don’t understand. They paint images you struggle to discern. Falling one moment, caught in an embrace the next. Gunfire replaced by the clink of glasses and a bark of laughter. Cigar smoke envelopes you, war paint smears charcoal across your fingertips. An arm slings across your shoulder in warm familiarity, hands wrap a wound, and blue eyes turn to you in an affectionate concern. They whisper a name that bores into your marrow, takes holds like rot, and the deeper you carve to dig it out the more you begin to fracture.
Doubt, and it terrifies you. You never have to doubt Makarov. You turn to his hands as they guide you, surrender to his touch as they hone the fatal edge of your killing strike. You’re his, and his alone.
It’s in Belgrade that you begin to understand.
The details of the mission are obscure. Moving a Belarusian oligarch, a team with you. Different from your usual assignments, your carefully curated wardrobe is exchanged for plate armor, gloves, bracers. You wear it like a second skin. The weight is familiar, almost relieving. There’s not much for you to do, sitting in the back of the Humvee beside the package, watching the nighttime city fade to countryside and listening to the loud thrum of the convoy. You’re still healing from your last mission, a sprain that aches in your shoulder. You didn’t protest when he pressed it, took note of your grimace and declared you fit for duty. You must have made a face, because he’d tipped his knuckles under your chin, and had forced you to meet his gaze.
“You’ll do it for me, won’t you, Marionette?” He murmured with those dark, soft, velvet eyes, and you found yourself empty of protests.
The Belarusian oligarch grumbles the entire time, and you don’t entertain him. Yet eventually he seems to take notice of you in a different sense, eyes roaming over the dip of your waist that your gear obscures, then up to your eyes hidden by your helmet. You see it out of the corner of your eye, ignore his sly murmur and hungry gaze. He plants a hand on the thigh hidden by your canvas pants, and you resist the fatalistic urge to separate his fingers from his-
A whoosh of noise, a shout by the soldier in the front seat. Garbled, surprised Russian, and you make out the shout of GRENADE!! before the world groans and twists violently around you.
The truck lands upside down, and you kick out the window to escape, haul the unconscious oligarch out behind you, then the driver. The convoy screeches to a halt, darkness illuminated by growing flames and bright bursts of gunshots. A comrade runs to assist your stumbling stance even as you try to drag your package to another truck, and he gets three steps before he crumples to the ground. The bridge where the convoy is halted is precarious, prone to gunfire, and you can hear panicked shouts as those in the trucks behind you realize the mangled wreckage of your Humvee blocks the way.
Another grenade, and this one is close. It knocks you flat onto your back, scatters asphalt and dust over you. There’s a ringing in your ears that deafens gunshots to distant pops, and even your groan of pain sounds like it comes from under water. Your helmet has been knocked from your face, and when you tilt your head to the side you see hostiles growing closer, nearly atop you.
You stand, turn, fall again as a bullet grazes your shoulder. Yet there’s a shout then from behind you, one you stubbornly ignore as you rise once more, stagger towards the edge of the bridge.
That name again, the once that’s become familiar to you by now, the one that isn’t yours. You bend over the railing, stare at the current below, racing in the darkness. The voice calls again, and you turn, stare at the face partially obscured by his helmet. Brown eyed, a mustache, younger than your spirit feels. You’ve seen him before, and you don’t know where, like he’s appeared in a distant dream.
Hands off his weapon, he takes a step towards you, repeats the name in a cracked, desperate call. You look at him, feel fear of the unknown once more pulse between your ribs. The ringing in your ears grows louder, and you stumble backwards in uncertainty. He reaches for you.
“Wait-” He tries, gaze open with despair. “Please.”
“I know you.” You breathe, seeing the way the fire alights across his brown skin in amber hues. “I...”
A step back, a stumble. You pitch over the railing, into the water.
Darkness surrounds you.
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Poly TF141 x Omega!
(Poly TF14 x F! Omega Reader)
(Part Fourteen: Shared)
Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Hidden designations, Alpha! John Price, Alpha! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Beta! Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, Omega! John 'Soap' MacTavish, Omega F! Reader, Group dynamics, Poly TF141, Slow burn, Cuddling, Brat! John 'Soap' Mactavish, Bottom! Soap MacTavish, Soap x Reader, Omega! Soap x Omega! Reader, Accidental voyeurism, Simon Ghost Riley x Reader, Alpha! Simon Ghost Riley x Omega! Reader, Cunnilingus, Face riding, Dom Simon Ghost Riley, Alpha traits, Handjobs, Praise kink, Threesome, Making out while getting railed, General debauchery
Masterlist
You’re sitting on Soap’s face when it happens
The other omega has coaxed you into his room after hours, slinging an arm around your shoulder in the mess at dinner and playfully nipped at your ear when the others weren’t looking. It hadn’t taken much convincing on his part, and like a schoolgirl you had been led off hand in hand with him, giggling girlishly to hide your hammering heartbeat
Hands roaming over clothes, sloppy kisses and teasing little jabs that left you hazy eyed and pouting, tangling your fingers in his mohawk to drag him closer to your parted lips. You taste his laugh there, feel his fingers tickle your sides until you squirm and smack at him playfully
He’s in a good mood tonight, you think. You’re not sure what it is, but Soap’s leering grin speaks of mischief, secrets untold that are stifled by his panting little breaths when he rolls his groin between your thighs
You’re flushed, damp with arousal by the time you’re both undressed. He hauls you up onto his chest, and you feel the smear of your slick catch against the coarse hair between his pectorals. He grazes it with lazy fingers, dips them to flick your clit in a way that makes you jerk and bend to bite at his neck in retribution
Eventually he encourages you upwards, so you hover over his face, gripping the headboard with uncertainty.
“A can take it.” He moans under you, hands fastening to your thighs as he prepares himself. “Bloody hell, hen, go on, please.”
You hesitate just a little longer to hear him whine, see his pupils dilate and eclipse his baby blue irises before lowering yourself down
It takes a few moments for you both to settle into a rhythm, and eventually you’re holding the headboard in a steel grip, chin tucked to your chest and moaning openly at Johnny’s skilled tongue
You’re so caught it in you almost don’t hear the door open
It’s only when the fluorescent light of the hallway slants across your naked form that you suck in a startled gasp, freeze atop the omega under you
Ghost.
Ghost stands in the doorway, his hand still on the knob, eyes wide under the simpler balaclava he’s wearing. He’s startled, unsure, frozen to the spot, and in his eyes you imagine your own aghast expression
It’s only then that Johnny lifts you up far enough he can peek over your thigh
“Bleedin’ Christ, Ghost. Come in an’ close the door.”
Ghost moves automatically, albeit slowly, but nevertheless obeys the other omega’s instructions. The door clicks shut behind him, and he stands a little stiffly just before it
Yet his eyes are different now. They stare, long and hard, dark pupils weighing against your skin, drinking it down greedily, silent and hungry
There’s silence for a few moments before Johnny pipes up again
“Well don’t just stand there, ya big numpty.”
Ghost moves at last, and you watch transfixed as he sheds his jacket, his boots, his gloves that reveal his bare hands. With every inch of flesh revealed to you his scent becomes thicker, washing over you in waves that makes your eyes flutter and your skin shiver
He smells like charcoal, like gun oil, like thick smoke acrid and somehow sweet against your senses. His eyes, pitched dark with desire, watch as you suck in a ragged breath and drink in the undeniable scent of alpha
“Look at you, pet.” He rumbles as he approaches the bed, not touching. Not yet. Instead his hands land on Johnny first, bare palms grazing up the thick meat of his thighs. The omega shivers under you, and as you glance over your shoulder you see the tell-tale bead of precum betraying his lust to his mate
It should feel like you’re intruding, somehow. You should excuse yourself, hasten to dress and leave. But Johnny’s hands are clenched around your thighs where you perched atop his broad chest, and when you glance at him you see a lovely rosy flush creep up his neck and towards his ears
“Johnny been treating you well, love?” Ghost asks, and you raise your eyebrows at the touch of cockiness in his tone, a pride at his mate being able to satisfy the needs of those he chooses. The suggestion of it makes your skin erupt in goosebumps, and it’s hard to speak around the sudden tightness in your throat
“Course I am.” Johnny snips when you don’t speak. “Been getting a facial on mah-”
He cuts off with a choked, surprised little groan, and when you glance back you see Ghost has his hand wrapped around the omega’s length, a thumb neatly slotted against the head.
“I wasn’t asking you, pretty boy.”
Soap whines
“Ghost…” He tries, squirming. A firm hand on his thigh keeps him still.
“Are you going to behave, Johnny?” Ghost acts, low and sinful, and you bite your lip at the sudden trickle of arousal that pools between your legs at his tone
“A-aye. I’ll be good.” Soap manages, and his hands grip your thighs a little harder when Ghost hums and drags a hand up his length in appreciation
“Good boy.”
Soap makes a little sound, and you neatly file that note away in your brain for later
Ghost moves, and then pauses, and you glance over his shoulder to see him hesitating, eyes tracing from the small of your spine up to your face
It’s electrifying, it’s breathless, it’s enough to make your thighs close a little tighter around Soap’s form under you
“You can touch me, Ghost.” You offer in a hoarse whisper, watching as his eyes focus on yours, his coal-dark stare burning into your veins. “Please.”
It seems like that was what Ghost was waiting for, was the permission he needed to touch you, unravel you
“Sweet thing.” He purrs, and you barely swallow down a noise not unsimilar to the one Johnny just made. His scent floods your senses, has your limbs loosening on instinct, heeding to the strong, capable alpha before you
His hands cup your waist, and you shiver under his touch, leaning back as he settles himself on the bed. You feel his reach to ruck up his mask to his nose, and somehow it thickens his scent even further
Broad palms splay across your skin, and you reach back to drag his face against your neck, arching submissively so he can nose at your scent gland
Ghost moans, low in his chest, and the sound is primal, hungry, absorbed in the slow, sure process of defiling you
Yet then Ghost moves, turns your head with one broad palm at an angle to press a kiss askew to your mouth, one that has you shuddering an exhale against his lips
It’s after the first contact that he moves in earnest, suckling at your lip, swiping his tongue into your mouth, a little clumsy but enthusiastic, dizzying with desire, tilting you at an angle so he can delve deeper
“Hells bells.” Soap groans, watching the display from under you. You feel his cock twitch against your ass, one hand reaching up to grope appreciatively at your breast, teasing a nipple between his fingers. When you moan into Ghost’s mouth, the alpha growls faintly, possessive, carnal, his teeth bared for just a moment against your lips
You think if you get any wetter it might start leaking off Johnny’s chest
“Bend over for me, love.” Ghost murmurs into your shoulder, and you do, pressing yourself flat so your chest squishes up against Soap’s torso. You catch sight of the omega’s eyes, a wicked, knowing smile creeping up his face. Silent. Eager.
“Just you wait.” It seems to say
His hand settles at your nape. A reassuring squeeze, and your eyes flutter in relief
Thick fingers probe at your entrance, and when you mewl Ghost lays a hand against your hip. Grounding, tender
“”Little omega.” He croons, amused, and it’s startling, the amount of affection in his tone. “Look at all this.”
Two fingers easily slip inside you, and you bury your face against Johnny’s neck in embarrassment when they squelch
“Pretty thing, isn’t she, LT?” Soap asks smugly, stroking a hand across your curved spine as you settle into presentation atop the other omega. Ghost hums an affirmative. A little dark, a touch of a growl reverberating low in his chest
Soap huffs a laugh, and gently shifts you so he can press a slow, languid kiss to your lips
“Alpha is going to take care of you now, sweetheart.” He tells you huskily, and you cling to him a touch shyly, glancing over your shoulder at Ghost with half-lidded eyes
“A-alpha…” You try weakly, feeling him spread you open curiously on his fingers. “Please…please fuck me.”
Ghost stiffens as a shudder rolls bodily through him, and swiftly you watch as he manages to fish himself out of the pants he never took off
Gods above you think, eyes widening. How is that supposed to fit?
Ghost must sense your apprehensiveness, because the hand at your hip circles in slow, gentle circles
“You can take it, pup.” Johnny murmurs into your neck, caught in rapt fascination as Ghost drags a hand up his length so precum beads at the tip “Nice and easy.”
You force yourself to relax as Ghost presses the head between your folds, steadying yourself as he slowly pushes forward
“Eyes here, love.” Ghost murmurs softly, and Johnny presses a kiss to your cheek as he braces you against his collarbone. It’s warm. Ghost can see your hazy-eyed stare as he pushes home inside you just as you let out a shuddering little gasp, eyes rolling back
“F-fuck, Ghost-” You managed, fingers digging into Johnny’s shoulders as you breathe through the electrifying sensation of fullness inside you
“Simon.” Ghost grunts, fingers on your hips, one hand pressing the small of your spine to arch you to him. “Call me Simon.”
“Simon.” You mewl, gasping wetly when he drags just the tiniest bit back before rolling his hips forward experimentally
“Doing well, sweetheart.” Soap tells you huskily, and you can only imagine how turned on he is by this, by the sight of his alpha fucking you while you splay across his chest. The mere thought of it has a pulse of arousal thundering through you, once that escapes as a lecherous groan muffled by his neck. You press yourself there, drinking in his scent with panting little breaths as Simon begins to pull back and fuck forward with firm, rolling presses
“How’s she feel, Si?” Johnny asks, and even though you don’t look you can imagine his cheeky grin at the way Simon is huffing little grunts as he sheathes himself inside you over and over
“Good.” Simon growls, and despite the curt answer you can hear how he’s becoming undone by the velvety grip of your walls, grinding you open so there’s a place for him there
The slow, sensuous rolls of his hips quickly become not enough, and soon you find yourself presses back against him, trying to fuck yourself onto his cock with gasping little whimpers
“Simon.” You manage again. “More, please, a-alpha-”
Simon’s voice is caught somewhere between a groan and a growl, but he seems happy to oblige to your request, picking up his pace with firm, precise thrusts that have you melting into Johnny beneath you
“Oh, pup, look at you.” The other omega croons, and raises you so he can press fluttering kisses against the planes of your face as your voice is reduced to mewling, keening noises with every thrust. “Taking alpha’s cock like a good little omega. So good for him.”
You whine at that, trying to find the words but finding yourself empty, puddling across his torso as Simon begins to fuck into you in earnest. One hand holds you up by your hips, presenting you to him, the other flat on your back, splayed so you can feel each finger pressing into your flesh. With every thrust he drags you to him, skin slapping skin as he ruts into you with huffing, growling little noises
You jerk with a little cry as he finally grazes that sensitive bundle of nerves inside you, and Simon pauses long enough to gently rub against it again with the head of his cock
You moan again, shivering with wrecked arousal as he hones in on it, feeling weakness pulse across your hips and the full pressure of your impending orgasm loom in the distance. Your fangs have poked out, and you try not to teeth your lip to shreds as Simon resumes his pace, aiming for your g-spot
“Oh good, good girl.” He groans as your walls flutter around him, and when you look back you see his fangs are out too, head leaning back as he loses himself, fucking forward with ragged inhales, drawing you closer to your climax
“Gonna cum, pup?” Johnny asks you, and you nod feverishly against his skin, moans stuttering as you near the peak of your desire
“S-Simon-'' You chant, trying to press back, trying to force him further inside. “I- ah, hah, I’m gonna cum, hah, hmmmng- wanna cum, please alpha-”
Simon leans over you then, presses himself to your spine so his nose presses into your nape with a deep inhale. His voice is a low, commanding growl that speaks of alpha authority, of demand and desire and carnal instinct rolled all into one
“Cum. Cum for me, little omega.”
It takes a few more thrusts but you do, you open your mouth and feel a punched-out, wrecked sound spill forth as your orgasm explodes inside you, fracturing outwards along every nerve ending, centering itself in the pulsing grip of your cunt as it ripples down the length of his cock
“Fuck, fuck-” Simon grunts above and behind you, one arm snaking under your stomach to hold you up as your legs give out, hips thrusting wildly forward before he finally presses himself deeply inside and lets himself go
Warm ropes of cum pulse inside you, and the warmth of it settles below your stomach, spilling out around his cock and he seems to cum endlessly, alpha genetics forcing himself to fill you far beyond what omegas or betas are capable of
You feel him growl, long and dark against your shoulder as you milk him dry, teething your skin in an imitation of a claiming bite
He waits until you’ve settled before pulling out, and you feel the remnants of him drip lewdly between your thighs as you shiver
“Fuck me.” Soap groans under you, and it’s only then that you realize how tight he’s holding you. “Fucking hell, LT, you’ve ruined her.”
“Only in the best of ways.” Simon chuckles with a rasp, soothing a hand up your spine. “You alright, pup?”
You roll your head so you can look at him, smiling dolly, body heavy and sated. “I’m good, I’m really good.” You tell him hoarsely, before sighing into Johnny’s chest
“We’re not done.”
You blink at that, brow scrunching as you try to ask him what he means, before Soap jerks under you with a sharp cry
“B-bloody hell, Simon, give a man some warning before you- oh, shite-”
You watch, entranced as Simon drags his hand up Soap’s flushed cock with little preamble, pausing long enough to collect slick from the other omega’s dripping hole before resuming his ministrations.
Any other wry comment Soap has to offer quickly erases to nothing as the alpha quickly fists his mate’s cock. Soap squirms under you, offering keening little whines and pleas as Ghost quickly draws him towards a fast paced, unstoppable orgasm
“S-Si please, yes, fuck-” He groans. “Fuck, feels good, oh God-”
The schlick schlick schlick of Simon’s hand pulses low within you, somehow reignites the flame of desire that had burned to embers. You press it into Johnny’s lips with a kiss, feeling how he pants into your open mouth, fangs gently scraping against your flesh
“C-close-” He rasps, arching under you so his hips buck up into Simon’s hand. “J-just a little more- God, God-”
“That’s it, Johnny.” Simon purrs, pleased. “Go on and cum for me.”
Soap lets loose with a muffled shout, his head bent forward into you as he arches and shoots himself all across Simon’s hand and your lower back, cock twitching as his orgasm punches through him. You can tell it’s intense by the way his voice trails off to a long, lingering whine, hips stuttering as Simon works him through it
“Beautiful, Johnny.” You smile, happy to return the favor of his mild teasing, and Johnny manages something between a gasp and a laugh, raising you enough to throw an arm over his face
Simon moves his weight off the bed then, and when you glance up you see he’s vanished in the direction of the bathroom, returning shortly with a washcloth to wipe the mess of fluids from your forms
Before he can finish you gently reach for him, coax him into the bed with you. He obliges, shuffles so you’re all laying on your sides pressed together. Him, his two precious omegas, and you between the men who have decided to keep you
You think you should say something, should speak a few words of thanks, of endearments, of something to show your affection and appreciation for these two men, but no words seem to be quite right for the fluttering happiness in your chest, safely ensconced in their embraces
Instead you find Simon’s hand, raise it so you press a kiss into his knuckles, listen to him release a breath before fully sinking into you. Johnny grazes your face, smiles tenderly with his beautiful blue eyes before lifting himself to kiss your forehead
You’re safe here, protected, comforted by these two men who will someday become your mates. You think you know how the story ends, in this moment, know someday you’ll see it unfurl in all of its stunning, prismatic color
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Tag, You're It: Part One
(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+
Masterlist
Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 5.2k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, SoapGhost, Restraints, Chase/Takedown, Hunter/Prey, PiV sex, Oral sex (M receiving), Vaginal fingering, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Spitroasting, MMF, Aftercare Warnings: N/A A/N: The official part one including the dynamic duo themselves
It’s Johnny who finds you first, naturally.
The team spends most of the day making you wait. You had found a hiding spot before sunrise, brought along a small pack of supplies and some things to keep you occupied while you waited for someone to find you, for the chase to truly begin. Yet by mid-morning you were bored, and by noon you were practically groaning in frustration, considering using your phone to drop hints so they would just get on with it.
So you decide to take things into your own hands.
You begin darting between safe zones, checking your corners, making sure to watch your six, eyes keen and trained for threats. This little game of yours had specific zones on base mapped out to avoid at different times during the day, forcing you to adapt to your environment constantly to avoid curious stares from other soldiers and recruits.
It’s fun, the thrill and anticipation has you feeling a bit like a little kid all over again, giggling into your hands as someone bypasses your hiding spot. Yet the thrill is only doubled by the knowledge of the consequences of you being found.
You realize too late that this new method of yours is exactly what the team has been waiting for.
You get sloppy. You’re looking over your shoulder when you round a corner at the edge of the armory in the light of mid-afternoon, halting mid step when you spot a familiar figure peeking around the opposite side of the building.
Shit.
You double back quickly, but it’s too late, because the Scot barks a delighted little laugh, calls after you as he gives chase. His footsteps are slow, purposeful, and for a moment you’re reminded of the villains in horror movies that seem to walk so damn slow and seem to inevitably catch up with their victims. It should terrify you, but instead it makes something in your stomach twist with exhilaration.
You manage to draw him to one of the empty supply warehouses at the edge of the base, skidding inside and diving into a smaller hiding spot hidden into the shadows. Yet Soap has clearly seen you at least enter the building, because in the distance you can hear his footsteps echo against the concrete floor, glass breaking under his boots.
“Ohh songbird…”
You feel your heart hammer against the cage of your ribs, hands planted across your face to prevent even a single sound from escaping at the tenor of Johnny’s voice floating through the unused warehouse, sing-song, teasing, hungry.
There’s a light flickering in the aisles of upended crates and empty boxes, and the intermittent brightness manages to catch against the whites of your eyes. The flickering dimness of this space seems to only add to the rapid thump of your heartbeat, muscles coiled in preparation to run, to flee should you be discovered.
“I know you’re in here.” Soap taunts, and you can hear the clear excitement in his voice despite the fact that he’s trying to play into the persona of an enemy- tracking you down, taking you what he wants, only to set you free once more.
He’s close, you realize as his boots thud down the end of the hallway. Too close. You can hear his footsteps from where you press yourself inside the shadows of a doorway, his heavy boots a purposeful, slow echo throughout the empty space. It’s almost like he wants you to know exactly where he is, advertises his presence with every noise. What his strategy is, you aren’t sure, but you’re certain that if he gets any close he’ll find you for sure, claim his prize through the price of your flesh, your pleasure.
“Come out come out, wherever ye are…” He chuckles, and you rise slowly from where you crouch, tip-toe to the door and see the profile of him vanish just beyond the edge of the hallway. It gives you the chance you need, and you quickly but quietly move down the other direction, keeping eyes on where he’s disappeared to.
Yet then your foot crunches against something fragile and you freeze, hear his pleased little noise of realization a split second before you bolt, shoes hitting the floor harshly as you sprint away from the sound of his pursuit.
“There you are!” Johnny calls gleefully from behind you, and Christ- how did he close the distance so fast?! You can see the blur of him in the periphery of your gaze, the blue of his favorite shirt a mere blob of color as you race away from him, heart in your throat.
You did promise to not make it easy, after all.
You skid around the next corner, nearly stumble, and launch yourself forward past a darkened doorway yawning into a pitch black room-
Before you realize your mistake a moment too late.
Skeletal hands reach out, snatch you mid-step and drag you backwards into the broad plane of a chest. You yell from behind the gloved palm covering your mouth, adrenaline spiking in your blood and trying to thrash away from Ghost as he hauls you further into the darkness.
“Caught you.” He murmurs in your ear as your hands are dragged behind you, back flush with the rigid surface of his front. It sends a jolt of something through you, dark and thrilling as he overwhelms you with his adamantium strength, smears charcoal across the inside of your skull with his mere presence. You thrash in his grip, trying to actually put effort in even though you’ve not once dislodged him in all the time you’ve spent in his hold. Exhilaration squirms breathlessly in your chest, bright and electric with every gasping breath.
It only grows when the zip-ties fasten around your wrists, and you again try to wiggle free with no success.
“You’re a fast little bugger.” Johnny pants as he catches up, leans on the doorway, his gloved fist planted on the frame. Yet his eyes dance with delight as he witnesses you caught in Ghost’s grasp, dragging his lip between his teeth at the conflict of outrage and desire in your gaze.
“Hells bells.” The Scotsman breathes, and he steps forward, his hand falling to the noticeable bulge in his pants, which he idly strokes through his pants. You hadn’t even noticed, and realize belatedly that the thrill of the chase must affect him just as much.
Yet then his eyes catch that of Ghost’s behind you and he grins, untamed and starved.
“Teamwork makes the dream work, eh LT?”
Of course. He chased you here on purpose, pursued you right into a trap. Right into Ghost. Working in tandem as they always do, sharing twice the reward with you, and with each other.
You fuckers.
“Get in here Johnny.” Ghost offers instead to Soap’s quip, and you clamp your thighs together as his hand abruptly descends into your pants, your wetness soaking through his gloved fingertips. You make a little sound of protest, trying to buck his hand away, only for a thick thigh to wedge between your legs and force them open.
“Looks like our pet likes to be chased.” Ghost observes idly, and if you didn’t know him better you’d swear he sounds detached, playing the villain all too well. It only ratchets the excitement inside you higher, and you answer it with a muffled yell that only summons a chuckle from the sergeant before you, now pressing against your front and sandwiching you between the two men.
“Tough luck, us finding you first.” He tuts, and his hand raises your shirt and presses flat against the softness of your stomach appreciatively, suggestively. “Won’t be much left for Price and Gaz once we’re done with ye, hen.”
You stare defiantly up at him, and it only seems to please Soap, who’s eyes dance bright in the dimness and his fingers rise to tug a nipple under your shirt. It makes you falter for a moment, the sudden sharp sensation making your expression shift into something wanting, a little mewl escaping you at the pleasure that rises inside you between his fingers and Ghost’s digits stroking against your folds.
“Fuck, we’re going to ruin you.” He promises, and Ghost hums a dark, pleased assent in response. “Fill you up and send you scampering so the others can hunt ye down and have their fun too, aye?”
Ghost presses down firmly on your clit and you mewl, nod frantically in an effort to get them to really touch you, giving into temptation and erasing this farce of pursuit that’s led you here. Ghost notices and huffs a laugh, low and dark in your ear.
“So needy, pet.” He murmurs, and you shift so you can grind yourself down onto his hand, eyes fluttering as it stokes the pleasure burning inside you. “Didn’t take you long to drop the act, did it?”
Of course it didn’t. That’s the bloody point, and you want to tell him as much, but instead Ghost’s fingers rub a gentle little circle over your clit that makes your knees abruptly weaken. You don’t buckle however, not with the men on either side of you keeping you upright.
“Don’t worry hen, we’ll take care of you.” Soap promises before you can even try to answer, and gently pulls Ghost’s gloved hand away, tilts your head so his lips descend to meet your own. Teasing, he seizes your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it before releasing it with a wet little pop. “Just need to ask us for it. Mm?”
You consider escape once more, could draw this out and try to get away even with your hands zip-tied, but between Johnny’s decadent touch and Ghost’s unyielding grasp, you find yourself with few other places you want to be.
You surrender, gasp out your reply in a wanting sigh that spills across his tongue.
“Please.”
Soap breathes out in a whoosh, the air tickling your face. His thumb presses down on your bottom lip, and you open your mouth willingly, tongue circling the pad.
He curses.
“Good girl.” Ghost supplies instead with a growl, and the full breadth of his gloved palm presses bare against you, cupping your mound and giving you the smallest indication of friction. You stifle a moan, throw your head back against his chest.
“Nu uh, none of that.” He admonishes, and his other hand slides up to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and twisting you so you gaze up into his shadowed stare that reeks of devastation. “No need to be quiet, pet. Nobody but us can hear you here, so be as loud as you want.”
“Aye.” Soap agrees, and a broad hand reaches down to your back, dragging himself flat against your front so you’re squished between the muscular forms of the two men. “Can’t wait to hear all those pretty noises, sweetheart.”
You squirm a little between them, feeling too warm, too much suddenly with Soap trapping Ghost’s hand in your panties, pressing you up against the soldier so you can feel a poking hardness against your back. Arousal pools between your legs, and you whimper suddenly, baring your neck to them both when Soap rolls his hips forward experimentally.
“Soap.” Ghost says then, and you feel him nod, watching as Soap follows his gaze to a crate that’s about waist high in the corner of the room. Soap grins.
It takes him a minute for him to wrangle the crate at an appropriate angle away from the wall, making a point to cheekily pat it beckoningly at you. You don’t have time to roll your eyes though, because Ghost forces you forward, making you trip over your feet before your hips collide against it.
“Down.” He tells you easily, and there’s a hand pressing at the small of your spine, gently ushering you to bend until your cheek is pressed against the surface. Yet that isn’t enough, because his hands hoist your hips just a little higher so you have to balance on your toes, kicking a little for purchase.
They circle you, like sharks in the water, eyeing the prize of your flesh. Touching hands against your waist, your shoulders, tracing the swell of your ass. Working you up, making you wait, summoning your restraint to snap. Snap it does, because you grit your teeth and bite at them when the touches vanish.
“For fuck’s sake, just get on with it.” You groan.
Ghost chuckles, and a hand braces on your nape, raising you just an inch upwards so you’re forced to see the towering stature of him above you.
“Eager.” He observes. “Demanding words for someone who tried to run away.”
“I can’t run now, you bloody- ah!” You gasp as Soap’s hand cracks down on your ass smartly, making you flinch in surprise.
“Watch your words, darling.” He croons, sickly sweet. “Otherwise I’m sure LT will find a way to keep your mouth occupied.”
As if that somehow deters you. Instead you lift your gaze up to Ghost once more, summoning wordless defiance in your gaze. Ghost only chuckles, and you watch his other hand rub himself through his pants. The sight alone of his length pushing against his pants is enough for your expression to change, shift into something hungry, eager just as he’s said.
Yet behind you, Soap suddenly yanks your pants and underwear down to your knees, and the sudden air against your bare skin is enough for you to gasp, squirm away from the hands that smoothe over your hips.
There’s a pause between them, and as you look up you see a look exchanged between them before Soap’s voice speaks, softer and attentive.
“Color?” He asks gently, thumbs pressing into the dip of your flesh just above your ass.
You groan with frustration, forcing yourself back so you can feel the bulge of him wedged between your ass cheeks.
“Green.” You declare. “About as green as a cadet fresh out of boot camp, for fucks sake Johnny.”
Soap ignores you blatantly, talking over your sprawled form to Ghost. “She does have a smart mouth, doesn’t she, LT?”
Ghost makes a little noise of assent, and his hand is unexpectedly sweet, reassuring for a moment as it strokes the edge of your face.
“We should do something about that, shouldn’t we, Johnny?” He asks darkly, palming himself before that same hand reaches to unfasten his belt. You can feel saliva collect in your mouth as he adjusts, frees himself from his pants. The flushed, thick girth of him has you flick your eyes up to him, pleading silently. Yet the look Ghost offers you is only amused.
“Over.” He states, and you feel Soap seize your hips and lift, twist so you suddenly are on your back, arms pressed under you.
“Oh, much better.” Soap observes as he catches sight of your half-lidded eyes. “Shite, we’re going to have so much fun with ye, pretty girl.”
You squirm a little at that, at being so openly on display for them. With your pants down to your knees, your shirt rucked up past your belly button, you shiver at the little thrill of exposure they give you. Yet then Soap’s hands descend past the soft flesh of your hips, two fingers gathering wetness from your folds and you whine at him, hiss at him once more to hurry the fuck up.
“Quiet.” Ghost declares, voice low but firm, a hand cupping under your head and lifting you so the tip of him grazes against your lips. You don’t wait for him to tell you to open, jaw dropping so he can push just the head of him against you before retreating. Teasing.
You jolt when Soap leans over you, watching intently as Ghost strokes himself just above your face, and pushes a single finger inside you. He groans at the warm heat of you, the little flutter of invitation that greets him.
“Steamin’ Jesus.” He hisses, dragging his finger out, only to push it back in. You arch off the crate, trying to grind yourself down onto him with a little whine. It’s embarrassing how wet you are for them, worked up from the chase, from their words, from their touch alone. “The sight of you, hen” Soap breathes, his hand digging into your thigh to keep you from bucking. “Never seen anything prettier in mah life, I swear.”
You don’t answer, because before you can Ghost once more pops the head of his cock into your mouth before dragging it away once more and you want to curse.
There’s a second finger stroking inside you now, and when Soap crooks his fingers you arch up with a little cry of ‘F-fuck, Johhny!’
“That’s it.” Ghost encourages. “Not such a smart mouth now, is there?”
It’s a little mocking, a little teasing, and yet laced with affection. It melts you at the seams, makes you swallow wetly, looking up at Ghost upside down.
“Please.” You beg, biting back another demand in favor of a plea. “Please Sir, I-I want it. Just- ohh, hmnng-” You teeth your lip as Johnny once more curls his fingers, trying to close your legs for the barest indication of friction, only for the sergeant to plant a firm hand against the soft flesh of your thigh to keep them open.
“Oh, go on LT.” He encourages even as you writhe and whimper on his fingers, trying to force yourself down whilst also trying to rise up towards Ghost’s cock shamelessly. “I think she’s deserves it.”
Ghost hums, and finally, finally allows the head of him to push inside your mouth in earnest this time, gently cupping your head as he guides you down his shaft. You want to thank him, but your breath stutters to nothing as Soap scissors his fingers inside you, stretching your entrance until your back bows off the crate, drawing taut with need.
Your eyes flutter shut as Ghost gently rocks himself forward until at last the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat before pulling back and setting a gently, rocking rhythm past your lips.
“If that isnnae the hottest shite I’ve ever seen.” Johnny curses, and he shifts so he grinds the bulge of himself against you through his boxers. “Shame Price and Gaz aren’t here to see.”
“Day’s young.” Ghost remarks, and fuck- the reminder that they plan to just set you loose after this until your caught again has an electric pulse flutter below your stomach, making you clench down on Johnny’s fingers.
“Oh, ye like that?” Johnny breathes, amused. “Ye like being our capture or kill little thing, darlin?”
Yes. Yes- You think feverishly past the size of Ghost’s cock rocking into your mouth in slow, languid thrusts. You want to touch him, want him to reach down to Johnny, to circle your clit. Yet your hands remain fastened behind your back, and the thought of that alone has your legs fall open a little wider. You’re entirely at their mercy, submitting to their touch and whims as they use you as they see fit. You moan around Ghost, the sound vibrating through him and he grunts, holding back a little huff of pleasure.
“Get on with it, sergeant.” He hisses at Johnny, and you can hear the strain in his voice now, as deeply aroused as you are. You take a little pleasure in that, that you are the one to summon this in him, and belatedly realize the amount of restraint he’s exercising in the act of trying to be careful with you.
“Mah pleasure, LT.” Soap returns a little breathlessly, and he pulls himself from his boxers so the weight of him smacks against your thigh. You can hear the schlick of him as he gives himself a few strokes, making a point to let his length drag against your stomach teasingly.
A hand reaches under you, grips your ass as he lifts you to him. Yet as the dull pressure of his cock at your entrance clouds your senses in searing desire, his voice is soft as he reminds you: “Three taps if ye need to stop, hen, y’think you can do that?”
Ghost reluctantly pulls out of your mouth, and you make a point to hollow your cheeks so he slides free with a wet little pop.
“Yes, yes.” You tell him. “Three taps, please- fuck Johnny, please-”
You’re cut off when Soap guides the first few inches of himself into you, a long, choked groan dropping from the bottom of your chest as the girth of him presses a delicious, wanting fullness into you. “G-God, Johnny-” You pant, chest rising, face warm, sweat beading at your back. “Fuck, Johnny please, please, I want-”
Yet then Ghost has the audacity to hush you, lifting your head and sliding himself back into your mouth once more to muffle any other words you have to say. The salty, briny taste of him floods across your tongue, precum coating your tongue as he presses further, further, until your nose presses up against his pelvis and the thickness of his cock makes your throat spasm around him.
“Good girl.” He practically snarls, and his other hand raises to trace the slight rise of his girth in your throat. “Fuck.”
Johnny gives you a few more moments to adjust, drawing out and gently pressing himself into you again, a little deeper than before. You force yourself to breathe as Ghost pulls himself from the wet, hot tightness of your throat. A hand descends to your chest, twisting a nipple through your thin shirt and you jump a little under his touch, clenching down on Johnny’s length buried inside you.
“Shite-” He moans, a little high in his throat. “Fuckin stranglin’ mah cock, hen, Christ-”
You huff as Ghost gently pulls back from your throat, and make it a point to flex your muscles and clench down on the stretch of Johnny inside you, if only to hear the keen that escapes from him in response.
It gives him the indication he wants, because soon he sets a slow, rolling rhythm just as Simon pulls himself almost entirely out of you, a thumb smearing the tears of pleasure beading in the corner of your eyes.
“Doing well for us, pet.” He breathes down at you affectionately. “Think you can handle a little more?”
You nod around him, maybe a little desperately, because your lieutenant chuckles and grazes his knuckles across your cheek before rocking into your mouth a little more insistently, groaning at the way you force yourself to relax around him. “That’s it.” He manages, voice tight. “Good, good girl.”
“Aye, don’t forget about me.” Johnny teases, as he too speeds his thrusts into you, hands dragging you by your hips to greet him. It makes a muffled little whimper escape you, partly silenced by Ghost’s cock as it slides wetly over your tongue. You can only force your mouth wider, eyes rolling back as Johnny thrusts into you, each press of his cock filling you with delicious, addictive pleasure. It weakens across your hips, forces you pliant and open between them as they fill you at both ends, rendering you limp to their pleasure, and to yours.
You can hear every dragging breath from them both as they begin to use you in full, and you float endlessly in pleasure, unable to tether yourself down as something molten coils tighter in your core with every thrust. Whatever words they say next are lost to you, deafened by the series of choked moans that spill around Ghost’s cock, suffocating your chest in a searing, hot push of air that clouds your senses in warm velvet.
It’s so much, and you try to catch yourself but you can’t, helpless between them as pleasure winds tighter below your belly. The wet gush of you squelches lewdly around Johnny’s length as he thrusts with firm, precise thrusts inside you, and when he lifts a leg to give himself more access he manages to graze over a perfect, glowing nerve that briefly has you seize against them both, endorphins drowning out all other sensation as electricity races up your spine.
“Fuck, fuck-” Johnny swears, and you feel yourself twisted so you lay on your side, one ankle slung over his shoulder as his hips slap against yours. Ghost adjusts to the new angle, and with every thrust you can feel him bump against the back of your throat, his voice dropping in a series of low, choked groans as he chases his climax.
You wish he’d pull back long enough for you to babble senselessly for them, your words an unending mantra of Yes, more, please, good, so good-
You’re going to come, you can feel the inevitability of it winding through your veins, nerves alight with sparkling, glowing desire that burns brighter, hotter between the three of you. It draws closer, closer, and as it does you feel as if you gaze up at a towering wave that threatens to crash over your head. It shadows your senses and you try to climb upwards as it crest so you don’t drown-
Yet then Soap presses a thumb down on your clit and you sob at the sudden intensity of the pleasure right as your orgasm breaks over you, drawing you down into an endless tumult of sensation. Distantly, you can feel your walls spasm around Soap’s cock, your entire body going rigid as you suck in a breath against the urgent swell of pressure that releases from your core and floods through every fiber of your taut muscles.
You hear Soap whimper.
The sound must do something to Ghost, because suddenly he’s grabbing his sergeant’s shirt and dragging him closer, rucking the mask up to his nose so he can press a sloppy kiss against Soap’s parted, panting lips.
You feel Soap’s hips stutter as the aftershocks of your orgasm begin to pulse through you, and he presses himself flush with your hips before a silky wet warmth spills deep inside you. The groan that pours from his lips is only swallowed by the lieutenant in front of him as Ghost shifts to pull himself past your lips.
Simon releases Johnny, and as you heave and gasp for air, shuddering as your orgasm begins to recede, he fists his cock over your face, the shine of your spit glistening against the flushed width of him. He plants a fist next to your head, bracing as his hips buck forward into his grasp, eyes scrunched shut in pleasure before his cock twitches, cum squirting across your face and fluttered gaze.
Johnny leans over you, thrusting a few shallow, slow jerks into you as the clench of you milks him dry. His chest heaves, arms shuddering with the force of his orgasm as he slowly gathers breath.
“Y’good, sweetheart?” He gasps after a few moments, and it takes a few extra to offer him a nod, head drooping with the sudden dearth of energy your orgasm has left you. You can feel your heart still hammering in your ears, body slumped against the crate under you.
When Soap pulls himself from you, there’s a little whimper of overstimulation at the drag of him against your walls. Yet he only shushes you gently, kneading little circles into your hip to ground you once more.
“Shh, you did so good, baby.” He tells you earnestly, voice still a little breathless as he gathers himself. Likewise, Ghost forces breaths through his nose above you, trying to even his breathing and bracing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from flopping onto your back at an uncomfortable angle. When he shifts, it’s to reach for something on his belt. There’s a click as he flicks open his knife, cutting the zip ties from your wrists and freeing you once more.
“That’s it.” He tells you softly as your hands flop against you, and you gently rest on your back, chest heaving, blinking unseeingly up at the ceiling. “Take your time, pet. We’ve got you.”
Johnny’s touch vanishes from you for a moment, and when he returns he passes something over your head to Ghost. A wet, cool touch wipes at your face as he cleans off the cum from your cheeks and lips, gently scrubbing until you’re free of grime.
“How do you feel?” Johnny asks gently as your breathing at last evens out, and you raise a heavy arm with a cheeky little thumbs up, to which he chuckles.
“Fucking golden.” You manage at last, voice a little hoarse from your cries.
He seems pleased at that, and with a little murmur to his partner, you’re gently raised until you’re sitting up, knees falling over the edge of the crate. You slump against Ghost’s chest beside you, murmuring a little thanks when he presses a water bottle into your hands. You sip on it idly as both he and Johnny tuck themselves back into order, exchanging a few words over you to check in with each other as well.
You hum a pleased little noise and press yourself into the warmth of Ghost’s front, eyes fluttering shut in contentment. The gesture seems to bleed into him, because a hand braces on your shoulder to keep you there, thumb drawing circles across your skin.
“Solid, sergeant?” He inquires gently, and you nod to him.
“Right as rain, sir.” You offer, and he huffs a little noise of contentment at your response.
Soap comes to take his place at Ghost’s side, and he presses a kiss to the underside of Simon’s exposed jaw as a reminder of his attention to the other man as well. Then he bends to you, cupping your face in his hands and offering you the same treatment, adding a little kiss to each eye for good measure.
“Still with us?” He asks, and you want to roll your eyes, but choose instead to look directly into his blue-eyed stare.
“ ‘M good, Johnny. Promise.” You tell him honestly, raising a hand to the side of his face as well, the other tangling with Ghost’s fingers on your shoulder. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”
Soap does smile at that, and the utter adoration in his gaze forces such a fierce affection for him up your chest that you swear you’d take down the stars from the sky for him if you could.
“Think you’re up for another round?” He inquires, concern dissolving into a touch of excitement, mischief.
You huff. “At least give Price and Gaz a chance first.” You tell him, and Soap grins.
“Aye, though I’m hard pressed to keep you all to ourselves, eh LT?”
Ghost chuckles, twisting his hand so it catches yours. “The sergeant makes a good point, love.”
You do roll your eyes this time.
“You’re going to get me court martialed for disobeying orders.” You snark, but there’s no real venom to it, instead a pleased little smile spreading across your lips. “I should probably get a move on though.”
“Nah.” Soap drawls, and he straightens just so he can drag your forward far enough for your forehead to press against his stomach. “Ghost is right, day’s still young. Let us keep ye just a little longer, darlin.”
Well, you can’t really protest against that. So you let your eyes flutter shut, a heavy sigh of contentment drawing them both closer around you, hauling you into the comfort of their embrace.
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That happened last week,I was sitting on my roof and I just saw Batman and his little crew chasing after Ivy.and Red Robin saw me and just waved.of course I waved back and just watch this happen as they took down poison ivy.also the red hood was there.
I bet Gotham has an emergency alert system, put in place by a partnership between Arkham and Wayne Enterprises of course, that lets people know when anyone escapes from the asylum. Like people are just walking on the street and they get an alert on their phone and it says, “Joker breaks out of Arkham third time this week.” Or, “Mad Hatter escapes through drain pipes, have earplugs ready.” And people are just like alright. Because at this point, nobody is surprised at how often anyone breaks out. All Gothamites carry several gas masks, riddle answer books, luck charms, weed killer, earplugs, etc. with them in case they ever encounter any of the rogues. Even the rogues themselves carry equipment similar to what’s offered to the citizens. Of course, Riddler’s gas mask is top of the line quality, because it was designed by him personally and has question marks painted all over it, while Scarecrow just has battery acid as his “weed killer” and sprays it on people who get too close.
I’ve seen him around,and yea he keeps asking me very weird questions.also have you seen Red Robin,i need to return a set of D&D dice to him
This guy, Matches Malone, is so fucking weird. He's never brought clothes to clean and is always asking questions...have you guys met him? I swear he's one of the weirdest people I know and I know the Riddler
I’m just saying look at those mail you have,but also damn
Changed my phone background from Kuroo to Kirishima and normally that would make me a little 😓 because Kuroo 🥺 but this photo has me more like 😅 because DAMN KIRI 🥵
And of course Akaashi is still my lock screen, how could even think I’d change that bad boy