O cafeluță, o biscuite!

Didi | XXVIII | Romanian - Dacian by blood | FILM Graduate, GAMER & WRITER | A blog dedicated to many Fandoms and of course, to share my passion for Films, Games, History & Arts

[infidesalus]

Task Force 141

Simon Riley Kyle Garrick John MacTavish John Price

There was an attempt at a brutalism style poster, but turned out more colourful than I anticipated. Any feedback is appreciated :3

Don't forget to give credit if using, thanks.

[ghostlyev]

Old sketch :3

[l3ibnest]

Soap with dogs!

Gaz with dogs!

Price with dogs!

Ghost with demons! TF 141 with dogs🐶 It's been a while painting full rendered pieces, enjoyed a lot! Inspired from awesome @yourfaithfulauthor's request.

[flytaco]

Don't forget me

[infidesalus]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley -> Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022) (1/?)

Appreciation Post

[infidesalus]

Ghost denying you kisses by wearing the mask, as a sort of punishment, during the act. MDNI 18+ AO3

It could have been anything that you've done that day that got him so upset or so turned on, be that you didn't eat anything while at work, you did not hydrate yourself maybe you teased him too much with your presence or through your texts, it could have been anything, anything to get his hands on you.

You'd whimper underneath him, craving his touch and his mouth. The only thing close to a kiss would be his masked face, close to your ear, his breath touching every bit of nerve as he praised or scolded you.

His hands would touch your body, fingers tracing every inch of your skin, making your nerves so sensitive, that'd you'd whisper his name like a prayer. Wishing for him to just take you then and there.

When he'd finally find your folds, slick and so ready, he'd leave out a grunt, one that you so loved to hear, that your hips would move just to have him touch you again.

"So willing, even through punishment." He would groan out as he held your hands with a gloved one of his own, while the other slowly, agonizingly would touch your nub and folds, teasingly entering one finger before changing his mind and massaging you even more.

"Please, Simon!" Your whimpers, his name coming out of your mouth might have impressed him, but he wouldn't try to give in and would just enjoy the moment.

He would tsk you for being so impatient, shaking his head at you as his fingers teased you more, his thumb reaching your mouth for more possiveness.

His ministrations started to quicken, his fingers drawing all the nectar and sounds out of you, his ragged breath so hot against your face and ear. He would not only turn you on while he wore the mask, hell, you'd want him to fuck you sensless while he wore it and this occasion was just that.

"You want me iniside you, don't you luv'?" His words, grave as they were, made you even wetter as he fingered you. You nodded your head, exposing your neck which made Simon growl in annoyance for not being able to lick or kiss your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he freed his member, gave it a few strokes, being so hard for you, and entered you. Another punishment he enjoyed of administering you for not being a good girl.

You lifted your head, your mouth open from the intrusion and moaned his name as he pounded into you, keeping your mouth covered with his gloved hand, shushing you, so he won't be tempted to devour your lips.

Your legs, already around his waist, trembled from all the sensations, whimpering in his hand for not being able to kiss him or talk to him. Your hands were kept above your head, Simon keeping you in place as he pleasured you in a way only he knew.

Seeing all your exposed skin, each muscle contracting, sweat beads forming, pleading eyes and the mixture of muffled sounds, made him release some animalistic growls, increasing his pace as he whispered your name.

In the end, through all your climaxes, he would finally take his mask off, leaving a trail of kisses from your chest to your so dried lips, taking you by surprise when his soft ones finally found yours. The kiss would be sloppy, all tongue and teeth as if you haven't kissed each other in months.

"Remind me to break the rules more often." You would mutter between kisses, gaining a muffled huff from Simon.

"Careful, luv," he mutters, his voice a lethal promise. "I might just hold you to tha'." You knew that he might have taken it as a challenge and you were up for it.

[thememedaddy]

[infidesalus]

Spending the first Christmas together and Simon is overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the celebration and for receiving a gift after such a long time.

It's just a lot of fluff.

~~~~~

The transformation of your home began on Christmas Eve. For Simon, the kitchen, the living room and the bedroom had always been a place of pure utility, nothing more. But under your guidance, it became a sanctuary. You drafted him into the decoration of your home, using his height to drape garlands across the highest beams. Often, he would simply lift you up to reach them yourself, his hands lingering on your waist and holding you there a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if he were finally learning what it felt like to be home.

In the kitchen, you guided him through the process of all the preparations: the simmering soups, the baking of the cookies, and the heavy mixing of cake batters, his large hands looking absurdly powerful against the domestic tasks of the holidays. He became a persistent thief of sweets, his large fingers snatching bits of dough and frosting when he thought you weren't looking. Each time you caught him, you’d demand a "fine", stealing kisses and lingering hugs while the kitchen was filled with the scent of cinnamon, spices and the low, rare sound of his chuckling.

When it came time to decorate the tree, some of his joy left. Simon stood before the bare fir, looking at the tangled lights and boxes of ornaments as if they were a complex encryption he couldn't break. He knew how to dismantle a rifle in the dark, but the delicate colorful threads of tinsel and fragile glass baubles intimidated him. He stood there, frozen, looking at you with a silent hope that you would take the lead.

You did, but you made sure he was part of every step. As you guided him on where to place the ornaments, you felt his muscles tense under your gentle touch. 

"I’m not good at this," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "For the calmness. For the joy."

He looked like he was on the verge of giving up, his shoulders hunching as if he felt he didn't belong in such a soft moment. You stepped into his space, taking his hands in yours and looking up into his worried eyes. "Just because you haven't done it until now, that doesn't make you bad at it, Si. It's time to let the worries aside and enjoy the moment."

He looked at you, the harsh lines of his face slowly melting. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours in a long, silent beat of shared breath, before following it with a slow, thankful kiss that tasted of sugar and promise.

The next morning, the city was draped in a silent blanket of white. As you set the table for the Christmas lunch, waiting for the 141 boys to arrive, Simon stood by the window with his cup of coffee in hand, watching the snowfall on the colorfully lit streets below. People passed by in bright coats, some caroling others visiting loved ones with ribbon-topped gifts in hand. It was a scene of pure tranquility, the kind of calm Simon wasn't used to, not even in his childhood.

"What’s on your mind, Si?" you asked, having watched his quiet posture for a while.

"It might be the first time I’m seeing snow and I don’t have to hunt somebody,” he murmured, a sort of hurt in his voice.” After such a long time, I see the calmness of it.”

You felt the sharp sting of pain in his words. Through his eyes, you saw the fatigue of years spent being cautious, being safe, and being lethal. He felt content now, yet there was a lingering disappointment, a frustration that he didn't quite know how to properly enjoy the moment. He had no idea how to do it, how to relax, how to forget about the world and just focus on himself. 

You helped him through his doubts, showing him love and assurance in exchange, yet every time, you were welcomed with more counter measures to your gestures, but you didn't give up, being there for him through it all, and this time was no different.

You went to him, giving him a soft kiss on the lips, your hand caressing his face until he finally leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. Slowly, you took his hand and led him towards the Christmas tree, sitting him on the sofa. 

You realized it was best to unwrap your personal gifts before the rest of the 141 arrived. You handed him a small box wrapped in vibrant, colorful paper. The mild shock on his face was heartbreaking. He hesitantly took it, his fingers fumbled with the paper as if they were trembling.

"It’s yours, love. Santa came by, for you too," you said with an innocent smile.

With the precision he usually reserved for disarming explosives, he cut the paper slowly and neatly. When the box was revealed, he went perfectly still. Inside was a beautiful watch, a powerful, rugged design suited for his line of work, whether to count the minutes before a shot or simply to mark the time until he returned to you.

"I don't deserve a gift... I don't deserve you," he whispered. His expression softened, his eyes brimming with a decade’s worth of suppressed emotion.

"Simon... please," you pleaded, stepping closer. "You deserve to be happy, just give yourself a chance.” You started off, caressing his face.” You deserve gifts, good food, a comfy home, and love. Even though you say you cannot live a normal life, you can at least enjoy it when it’s given to you and forget about the wrongs of this world." 

The sheer amount of goodness, the music, the warmth, the food, and the heavy weight of the watch in his lap, finally broke through his last defenses. Simon let out a jagged, shuddering breath and reached for you.

He didn't just hug you, he seized you, lifting you off the sofa and crushing you against his chest. His massive arms wrapped around you like a shield, his body shaking with the effort of holding back years of isolation. He held you so tight the air left your lungs, his fingers digging into your sweater as if you were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become too bright and too loud.

"Thank you," he choked out, the words muffled against your skin. "Thank you for... for all of this." His fingers traced your cheek, finally leaning for a long sweet kiss, that made you both smile at one another. 

Eventually, Simon pulled back just enough to reach for the tree. He plucked a red bauble decoration from a branch and handed it to you. You realized it was a hollow ornament, and inside lay a delicate silver necklace with a locket.

"I needed help from the boys to pick a design," he admitted, his voice regaining its strength. "We all agreed on it."

Personally you did not expect a gift from him, it was your first Christmas together and he didn't know how to celebrate it. The gesture itself brought joy to your core and it made you melt at the kindness and love he started to show back. 

He moved behind you, his large hands surprisingly steady as he fastened the locket around your neck. You jumped on him, hugging him fiercely before locking together in another sweet, lingering kiss. When you pulled back to look at the locket, you saw the engraving: With love, Si!

As you stood there, your noses touching and hearts fluttering, the doorbell rang. The 141, Simon’s new family had arrived. The holidays had finally begun.

[infidesalus]

Adopting a dog to have a cuddle buddy while Simon is gone on deployment and him not being entirely certain it's a good idea only to become best buddies in the end.

You had just finished a quick run for necessities, though it had included an unscheduled, sneaky detour to the local shelter. Thankfully, you let Simon stay behind, allowing him a moment of respite from all the work he' has'd done to secure your home, so he occupied himself with the organization of the pantry; for him it was comforting, for you, it was a relief.

You slipped inside the apartment door, moving silently, aiming to get your little surprise into the guest room before he noticed. But he was too fast.

“Is something wrong?” Simon asked, stepping out of the kitchen. He saw how quickly you’d returned, barely thirty minutes after leaving. He was facing your back, watching for any sign of distress.

You turned, forcing a clumsy, innocent smile. The front of your jacket was visibly puffed out, and you cradled your front as if holding a baby. Before you could speak, a tiny, distressed whine escaped. Simon went instantly rigid. His intense brown eyes snapped to the jacket, then to your face, his posture instantly turning into a defensive position.

You looked completely flustered, and when another little noise came out, your eyes widened in a caught panic. Sighing in defeat, you dropped to your knees and carefully unzipped the top of your jacket and from it tumbled a clumsy, small German Shepherd puppy, all massive paws, floppy ears, and soft, dark fur. It shook itself off, looked around, and immediately stumbled toward the nearest threat, barking softly at Simon’s boots.

The puppy looked up at the intimidating figure, then settled his snoot right down on the boot’s toe, closing his eyes with a sigh.

“Luv, we talked about this.” Simon finally managed, his voice dangerously low, but with a tint of disappointment. He didn't move a muscle, clearly terrified of startling the tiny thing.

“I know, Simon,” you whispered, kneeling to unclip the puppy’s makeshift leash. “But I saw him at the shelter the other day, and he was tiny and looked so lonely...the space was so loud, it was so overwhelming. I just…I couldn’t leave him there.” You watched the immediate conflict play across his scarred features.

He reached down and slowly, tentatively, ran his hand over the puppy’s head. The puppy leaned into the touch, licking his fingers.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he sighed, the sound heavy. "It's not fair to him. He needs constant care, stability. We deploy for weeks at a time. Who watches him? This house is silent when we're gone." He wasn't just talking about the dog; he was projecting his own past trauma, the sense of being alone and abandoned, onto the helpless creature.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Your face was pleading as you looked at your lover. "He won't be alone," you insisted, moving closer, placing a hand on Simon's tense jaw. “We’ll find a way, but when we are here, he’ll receive the best love.” You scratched the puppy behind the ears. “And when you are gone, I’ll need someone to help me watch over our home, and a cuddle buddy to keep me safe.”

Just then, the puppy pushed himself up, scratching at Simon’s jeans as if to catch onto something, his little eyes pleading for attention, and most importantly, love.

Simon’s intense expression finally softened. He slowly, carefully, slid his huge hands under the puppy and lifted the fragile little body, holding him right against his chest. The puppy immediately snuggled into his elbow and went completely silent, listening to the deep, steady beat of his heart.

Simon looked at you, his eyes softening with a mixture of defeat and overwhelming devotion, a tenderness you rarely saw.

"He is tiny," Simon muttered, almost to himself. He turned his head to nudge the pup gently with his chin, confirming the warmth against his skin. You couldn’t help but smile, both in victory as well as seeing Simon finally be gentle with something else other than you.

"He needs a name, babe." You added, comforting him with a hand on his arm.

Simon looked down at the pup nestled so securely against him, then back to you, a slight, rare smirk curving his lips. "He's going to be massive and he will play an important role in our family. Let's call him Baron."

You smiled at him coming in closer to kiss the man you loved. You touched foreheads in a sweet, tender moment, the puppy, wanting to join in on the fun, managed to lick both of your faces at once, making both of you laugh softly. In that messy, chaotic moment, all three of you were finally, completely home.

I tend to write a lot and sometimes add unnecessary details, so any feedback is appreciated. 

[erumelde]

[infidesalus]

Echoes of a Promise

James 'Red' Atkins x Original Female Character

CHAPTER 2: A Glimmer Of Hope

Word Count: 2,819 Warnings: Mentions of death and abuse, massacre. Summary: With a bitter sweet reunion, other challenges appear on the way to freedom, challenges that also bring out a new sense of purpose and a heart's desire.

Upon their arrival, the scene was one of bittersweet relief and profound agony. The remaining refugees, who had believed themselves abandoned, erupted in a chorus of bewildered shouts and tearful cries. But the reunion was fleeting. The final, agonizing choice was made clear: only some of the injured and the youngest children could be taken aboard the helicopters. It was a brutal calculus of survival. The cries of families being torn apart filled the humid air. Mothers pressed their children into the arms of soldiers, their desperate pleas echoing long after the helicopters lifted off, their blades a thundering roar of salvation for some and a deafening sound of abandonment for others. The remaining refugees, along with the entire extraction team, were left to face the unforgiving miles ahead, a long and arduous journey back to Cameroon on foot.

The hours that followed were a grueling test of endurance. The sun beat down relentlessly as the group, now in a smaller, more solemn formation, retraced their steps back through the dense, unforgiving jungle. The silence that had once been a tense necessity was now a weary companion, punctuated only by the scuff of boots and the soft, tired murmurs of the refugees.

After what felt like an eternity, they took a much-needed break. As the soldiers secured the perimeter and the refugees rested under the shade of massive trees, Diane used the quiet moments to take out her tools of trade. Her camera and a well-worn sketchpad were her small, familiar comforts. With her pen in hand, she found that focusing on the details of her surroundings—the way the light filtered through the canopy, the tired faces of the children—brought her a fragile sense of peace. Documenting her journey was more than just a job; it was a way to process the stress and emotion swirling inside her. Every line she drew, every note she scribbled, was a small victory against the chaos, an act of finding order in the turmoil of a world gone mad.

"I just hope you didn't take any bad pictures of me!" Slo, the company's designated comedian, teased her as he walked in front of her lens. Diane, who was taking a candid portrait of Red standing nearby, smiled. Red, ever stoic, showed no emotion.

"Not at all," she retorted, looking at the photos she took. "Only what's good makes it under my signature."

Slo laughed and moved off to find his lunch. Diane decided to eat something as well, enjoying a piece of fruit and sharing whatever she had with the few people she was with, appreciating the moment as best they could. A moment later, Red came by, sharing some of his rations with her and the others. They ate together, a simple act that made this strange and dangerous moment feel a little calmer, a little more human. He found the courage to converse with her through food bites, captivated by her guileless expression and the sincere look in her blue-green eyes.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, finding the courage to start a conversation between bites. Their shared meal felt less like a dangerous mission and more like a friendly gathering.

"About two months," she replied. "This is my last month of this so-called 'internship.' My documentary and essay are due next month."

"Have you made some progress?" he asked, genuinely interested. "What's your main topic?"

"Sort of. Some of the footage is pretty gruesome," she admitted. "I know it sounds weird, but I'm intrigued by it all. Someone has to document this."

"Look at my line of work," he said with a wry smile. "And I still haven't seen it all."

"It's better not to," she responded.

"You might have a point, but who knows what lies ahead. We should all be ready for it." His words seemed grim, thinking about all the possibilities they could escape this jungle and complete the mission.

"I was only asked to document the injured and their stories," she said quietly, after a moment of brief peace, her voice trailing off. 

A comfortable silence settled between them as they finished their meal. "Thank you for sticking with us along the way."

"You don't have to thank me," he said, the words simple and direct. "I'm just following orders."

"And yet here you are, dining with us and telling stories," she countered with a playful smile.

As he prepared to leave for patrol, another silence fell. "Are you allowed to present your name, or is it a secret?" she asked.

"It's James," he replied, and she grinned.

"Like Bond?"

"More like his long-distance cousin, Mr. Bean."

"James Bean?" she teased, and he looked at her with an easy smirk and a shake of his head in disbelief, the first true emotion she had seen on his face all day.

Though she initially worried he was an interrogator, she knew her answers were genuine, and she felt a true connection. He was attentive and engaging in a way his cold exterior never suggested. It felt as if with her, he behaved differently, and she made a silent promise to keep an eye on it—but only after her main priority, getting home in one piece, was fulfilled.

Not long after, Diane’s attention was caught by the hushed tension between the lieutenant and her aunt. He was questioning her intently, his voice calm but frustrated, and still carried over the camp.

"Do you know why anybody would be following us?"

"No, I don't," Lena insisted, her expression unreadable.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

Diane felt a wave of frustration. She somehow knew why the rebels were behind them, and she knew Lena was keeping a secret, yet she did not disclose any information she might have had, as she was not in the position to say anything. Her aunt's stubborn silence in the face of danger was a risk she couldn't stand though. She approached her aunt and, in a quick, furious exchange in Italian, confronted her.

"Why won't you tell them?" she hissed.

"I don't trust them enough with this," Lena insisted, her eyes darting nervously.

"They might give a reason for helicopters to arrive! Our places were taken, but with him, there might still be a chance!"

"Please, shut up. You have no idea how these things work," Lena whispered back, cutting her off.

"Good thing you know," Diane shot back, her voice laced with venom. "I'm not stupid. This might have a graver impact than you think." She turned and stalked away to the edge of the perimeter, needing space to calm her senses.

As she moved, she was aware of the many eyes on them—the whole unit and the refugees, watching the baffling, silent drama unfold. Red watched from a distance, his trained eyes picking up every subtle cue. He couldn’t understand the Italian, but he saw the tension in Diane's shoulders and the defiance in her posture. What is she hiding? And why is it important enough to get her this upset? 

“What did you two talk about?” The lieutenant asked, with his team now watching the doctor.

"She's just upset about this whole situation. And mad at me." Lena dismissed the argument with a wave of her hand, before joining her group of refugees. 

But Slo wasn't convinced. "Now, Lieutenant, I might not know Italian, but they were definitely not talking about their depression." He gave his superior a knowing look, watching the situation unfold.

As they prepared to move out, Diane's disappointment was a palpable thing. Every time she passed her aunt, she would send a withering glare, her scoff a low, sharp sound of disbelief. As instructed by his superior, Red moved among them, helping to pack up the camp and ready the group for departure. He noticed the strained behavior and the deathly tension between the two women, but he kept to himself, unwilling to intrude on their private conflict or worsen it.

The group came to a halt on the edge of a new village, the sounds of distant gunfire and panicked screams echoing through the trees. The special forces decided to intervene, moving in ahead while the refugees stayed hidden, praying in the shadows. From their concealed position, all they could hear was the terrifying sound of a battle raging—the cries of villagers joining the deafening report of weapons. The rebels were merciless, hiding within the huts to murder the innocent, destroying families and burning homes.

The American soldiers' response was tactical and precise. With the lieutenant guiding them, they split into groups, ambushing and eliminating each target with ruthless efficiency. It was a complete success; no American soldier was lost, save for the lieutenant who received a minor injury to his arm from a Nigerian soldier.

When the gunshots ceased, the group began to move in, ready to offer help. The sight that greeted them was horrifying. Injured villagers were scattered throughout the smoldering remains of their homes, while mothers mourned over shattered families.

Diane was among the first to enter the affected areas, searching the huts for their soldiers and victims. Following the troops into a small hut, she was greeted by a gruesome sight: a mother with her breasts cut off and a dead baby by her side. Tears immediately blurred her vision, her mind unable to process such an act of cruelty. From behind her, she heard Red's voice, raw and pained, discussing with Doc and confirming the obvious: "The baby's dead." She turned and saw him, for the first time, without his stoic mask. Grief was etched on his face, his usual indifference shattered.

In his frustrated anger, Red got up, noticing Diane behind him. His gaze met hers, and for a brief moment, he felt a desperate urge to reach out, to seek comfort in their shared grief. But his training was a hard, cold thing, and the years of discipline forced their way to the surface. He was a soldier. Soldiers don't grieve or seek comfort in the field. He couldn't be a human at that moment. Unable to speak, he simply looked at her before moving outside to join Zee, who was also quietly mourning these inevitable deaths.

Meanwhile, Diane could no longer stand the sheer injustice of it all. The unfairness brought upon these women and their families. As if in a fit of rage, she stormed out of the hut and sank to her knees in the mud, bowing her head as if in a desperate, silent prayer.

She noticed a Nigerian soldier crawling toward a gun in the distance, his body leaving a trail of blood. He spoke in a broken English, pleading that he was unarmed, but she didn't care. In a fit of pure, unadulterated rage, she stomped toward him, kicking him in the face and flipping him onto his back. She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at the carnage around him, before she began to pound his head into the mud, screaming in fury until his pleas were silenced and he lay still.

As the rain fell, mixing with the mud and blood, Diane stood still, tears dripping down her face, breathing heavily, her body responding to the exertion, but her mind seemed utterly detached. The cold mud seeped into her clothes, and slowly, realization hit her senses. A shiver, born of both the cold and the adrenaline of taking a life, wracked her frame as she finally started sobbing. The scene unfolded under the stunned eyes of Red and Zee, who had watched her, frozen, but hadn't intervened. They seemed to understand her need for a moment of savage release. Her usual gentle expression had been replaced by a look that was evil enough when angered. Her blue-green eyes, once so full of compassion, now held a raw, terrifying resolve, and they knew it had to end. When she finally collapsed in sobs, Red’s instinct to protect her was overwhelming. His professional duty was to keep her alive, but now, his personal desire was to keep her whole.

"It's alright now, come on. Easy," Red said gently, coming to her side. He reached down, and as his hand found hers, something in him broke. The sight of an abused woman, the dead baby, and his mutilated mother had been enough for one day. Now, watching this simple, gentle woman release her grief in such a violent, final way, he couldn't keep his stoicism. He helped her up from the muddy ground, and without hesitation, she went straight into his arms.

As a soldier, he knew he wasn't supposed to show emotions or seek comfort. But in this moment, as he held her, the dam inside him cracked. She's an intern, for God's sake, not a soldier. What has this place done to her? He couldn't help but return the embrace, his free arm coming around her with a surprising gentleness. His hand touched her muddy, fallen hair, fingers threading through it as if to calm her, a soft, almost imperceptible "Shhh," escaping his lips. It was a silent, powerful acknowledgment of their shared trauma, a breaking of the rigid barrier he always maintained. 

Once her initial emotions settled, a wave of profound embarrassment washed over Diane. She pulled away from him, her gaze falling. "Sorry," she murmured, barely audible over the rain, apologizing not just for her violent outburst, but for clinging to him, for making him break his carefully constructed soldier's facade. Without another word, she turned and went to aid the other villagers, giving a look back to him before turning a corner.

Red remained in the same spot, the rain falling steadily upon him, staining his own uniform. He stood alone, his heart a storm of conflicting emotions—grief, shock, and a fierce, unspoken resolve. She would be safe, he promised himself, the words a silent vow against the chaos that surrounded them. No matter what.

Diane moved through the burnt-out huts, her knowledge of the local language barely enough to whisper a few words. She called out for people, a desperate, risky act, for a hidden enemy could still be lurking. As she searched for supplies and any sign of life, she found a little boy, no older than three, hidden behind his dead mother. The child was barely visible, protected by a flimsy cover of twigs and branches. Diane fought to keep her composure, her voice a gentle murmur as she carefully removed his mother’s necklace and placed it around his tiny neck. His cheeks were stained with tears, his small body wracked by silent sobs, but now he seemed utterly exhausted, his eyes wide and confused, unable to process the horror around him.

She took him into her arms, cradling him close, and slowly left the hut. Her guileless expression was a stark contrast to the destruction, and she carried the child with a quiet, gentle demeanor. A pair of eyes watched her from a slight distance, belonging to Red, who inspected the other huts and aiding their people in the process. Diane shushed the child as she went along, the rhythmic sound meant to soothe, but also to alert her aunt and the group of another infant, a risky addition to their already strained journey. She was a liability, Red knew it instinctively, but as she carried the child with a quiet, gentle demeanor, a protective part of him stirred. He was a soldier, trained for detachment, yet seeing her so calm and empathetic went against everything he understood about survival in this place. A part of him wanted to remind her of the danger, but another part knew that her softness was a strength, not a weakness. 

There were so many new additions to their group now that the mission seemed to have completely veered off course, far from the original plan. “What can we do?” Diane asked, her voice tight with a desperate question she already knew the answer to. She gestured toward the small boy in her arms, her unspoken desire to keep him, to see him safe, warring with the stark reality that bringing him, and all the others, was too great a risk.

"They will remain with the women of these parts," the lieutenant stated, his voice devoid of emotion, "and be diverted to a different region."

The soldiers did what they could, helping the injured and gathering any villagers strong enough and willing to join their perilous journey. The rest received what few medical supplies and rations could be spared, preparing for their own separate, dangerous trek to a different region. Some villagers openly mourned their dead, while others, with a grim pragmatism, gathered the boots of fallen soldiers to replace their own worn footwear, knowing the long journey ahead. With so many hurt and in need of immediate care, they spent several hours in the destroyed village before each following their own way.

[hellbun]

[skyrim-forever]

Cunk on Nirn Part 8: The Retching Netch

[infidesalus]

Sorry not sorry, but Soap looks like Zac Efron and Bradley Cooper had a baby.

[infidesalus]

My short ass looking up at Ghost and König

[infidesalus]

Treating him right! Showing Simon how much you missed him after a long deployment...explicitly

MDNI!

When he's exhausted after a long day, the only thing you crave is seeing him finally relax and smile. After finishing an assignment and coming home, you’d let him take a long shower, allowing him the solitude he needed to shed the mission’s grime. Later, you’d eat together, having prepared several rich meals and a dessert, consciously spoiling him with the comforts he loved. This whole preparation was a deliberate effort, designed to melt away his fatigue and worries; he was starting to soften, the mission and the work finally fading.

"Do you want dessert?" you asked him cheerfully. His refusal, delivered with a promise to claim it later, brought a bright smile to your face. Still, you saw the heavy shadows in his eyes, filled with a draining exhaustion that broke your heart.

Seeing him eye you up and down, you offered, "Do you want to go to bed?" You didn't know if he was too tired to move or already deep in a food coma.

"Only if you come with me." He smirked, the fatigue failing to hide the immediate heat in his eyes, you knew exactly what he had in mind. But tonight, you had other plans for him.

“Then let me show you how much I missed you.” You grinned, your eyes sultry enough to have him raise an eyebrow in anticipation. Slowly, you took his hand, lifting his heavy form from his chair and leading him toward your shared bedroom.

Inside, you turned to face him, rising on your toes to give him a slow, deep kiss, trying to reach him fully due to his huge form. Your hands went immediately to his shirt, working the buttons and pulling the fabric away. You noticed a few new bandages beneath some faded scars on his ribs, evidence that the mission had been worse than he let on. He sealed your worry with a tender, urgent kiss, whispering against your lips that he was fine.

You led him to the edge of the bed and sat him down, finally eye-level with him. You cradled his face, your thumb tracing his sharp cheekbone and jawline before reaching his bottom lip. He leaned into your touch, kissing your hand and fingers, then pulled you into a deep, longing embrace, burying his face in the soft comfort of your chest.

You tilted his face up, peppering his eyes, nose, and forehead with gentle kisses before pushing him slowly onto his back. He moved backward toward the headboard, allowing you enough space to kneel and lean over him.

You settled on your knees, coming to lay on top of him, kissing slowly while you smiled at one another, needing no words, just each other's presence. You started with light pecks, caressing his face and hair as he lay completely in your arms. You kissed his tattooed arm, trailing seductively toward his neck, before dropping to his chest and abs. Slowly, deliberately, you began kissing and praising each and every scar of his, focusing on the rough textures and healed skin. His low sighs of approval and deep moans pushed you to go further.

You could feel the insistent, heavy pressure of his member stiffening beneath you, and you smiled with each given kiss, lingering on his abs as your hands found his pecs, massaging the tense muscle to draw sweet sighs of relief from him. His hand was caressing your hair, watching you through heavy, hooded eyes, a dark smirk plastered on his face.

One of your hands slid down, starting to massage the thick length of him through his pants. He shifted slightly to match your movement, a clear command to continue. When your hands moved to pull his trousers down along with his boxers, his hard, thick member sprang free.

“Someone looks eager.” You smirked, gaining a huffed, grateful laugh from him. As soon as your lips touched the velvet head of his erection, he sighed so deeply, his head dropping back onto the pillow in complete surrender.

“Oh, fuck!” He grunted, feeling his whole body tense beneath your touch.

“Relax, baby.” You whispered between slow, deliberate kisses, your tongue circling the sensitive ridge. He could only manage a grunt of pure excitement. This level of nurturing was new to him; you were the only one to show him such appreciation and love. The field had turned him into a stoic, rigid man. He was still struggling, still learning, even now, how to be gentle and slow with you in the bedroom. Yet, you didn’t mind his pace. He showed that he cared, and that he was patient enough to suit your needs, and this was your way of showing him he didn't have to carry the burden of war home.

Every time he came back, you wanted to be here for him, to show him he returned home, that he belonged, and that he was loved and appreciated as a man, not just a weapon.

Your lips began leaving wet, open-mouthed pecks along the veined length of him, your hand slowly massaging his base, drawing out grunts and moans that spurred you on. You felt yourself getting slick and wet with each sound he made and started to take him fully, stretching your jaws and throat around his considerable girth.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He moaned your name with each movement, sucking him out of his life, licking him between pauses, breathing him in and moaning along with him. When your pace quickened, his hands moved to both sides of your head, applying firm pressure, guiding you to the depth he craved. He was holding back his climax, wanting to enjoy the sensation fully.

“I want to touch you so badly,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes watching you intensely. He gave you a silent sign not to touch yourself, but the need was too strong. You moved your thighs together briefly, moaning onto his cock as the depth of his size forced a gag.

When he reached the edge of his control, he let you know with a sharp, inhaled gasp, and you confirmed the signal with your eyes. Not long after, he came, his hot seed filling your mouth, his low, groggy voice and groans echoing the intense pleasure he found in your total surrender.

You swallowed him whole, licking him clean, and left a final, soft peck on his member, smiling up at him with pride. His face looked utterly spent, filled with lust and only love for you as he breathed harshly. You sat on your heels beside him, still smiling, caressing his thighs, watching him with lustful eyes, proud of your achievement.

“Now, I'm craving some dessert.” He lifted himself onto his elbows, his expression turning predatory as he eyed you up and down. Your eyes widened and before you could move, he caught you by the waist, his massive form looming over you, suddenly emphasizing how much bigger he truly was.

He pinned you beneath him, starting to show you how much he missed you, and this time, as much as he wanted to be patient, his desire for you was too overwhelming to stop.

[infidesalus]

Ghost: Send dudes!

Soap: You mean nudes, LT?

Ghost: I'm in a fight, I need more men!