Since I started posting fics I guess I should post one of these. So hi! You can call me Kraken. Pronouns are he/him. I'm currently in university and unfortunately homework comes first most of the time. Thanks for reading :)
Important note: I will ONLY write gender neutral or male reader when writing readers
(Also 18+ cuz I reblog way too much smut)
Management:
Asks open!!
All works crossposted to AO3 under tiredtouristdad
dividers from @saradika-graphics
reblog banner from this post
works will be primarily fluff, anything that isn't will be marked otherwise
Fandom, navigation, rules, draft list, and masterlist are all under the cut
Requests:
Look at Rules for what you can ask fo
Just don’t ask right now
I appreciate the thought but no. Save if it if you want but I will not be answering any. This is until further notice.
Fandoms:
Written for:
Call of Duty: MW2
The Pitt
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Descendants
open to writing for:
Resident Evil 7 or 8
Lord of the Rings
The Hobbit
Interview with the Vampire
Ask nicely for any others and I can consider it (depends if I even know what it is….)
Navigation:
If you’re wondering whether I answered your question or not… filter with the #asks tag
If you have a request and are wondering if I'm working on it, check DRAFTS (at the bottom of this post) And no, drafts is not in any particular order
If you want to look at things I've written in the past, check MASTERLIST (at the bottom of this post)
If you want to know what you can ask for, check RULES
Anyways, I'd love to talk to anyone who wants to :)
on the field and on base, Gaz is nothing but professional and polite. He'll smile and charm and woo his way through conversations with people that don't respect him, and he does it easily. But around his team? Gaz is blunt, he's ranting about the "righteous" path they're on, complaining about all of the wrong and evil in the world. And the team listens with only half of their attention, already used to these rants.
Ghost watches and waits, much less professional about his lover, his pants tight and his cock aching as he watches Gaz get fired up. He drags the sergeant into a supply closet, worships him while Gaz continues to rant. The only hold Gaz has is the way his fingers grip into Ghost's hair and mask, head tossed back as he finally loses his train of thought.
But off of base? When Simon and Kyle set up tenuous dates and hesitantly brushing their hands against each other, it's blushing faces and soft words. Kyle makes the first move, hooking his pinkie with Simon's ring finger, the blonde man missing his last finger.
They don't talk about it, and it never happens on base. No tangible evidence of just how soft they can be, how they fill a spot of weakness with each other, for any other soldier or enemy to use against them. But Kyle and Simon will link their fingers together while out in public, both of them blushing like school kids, and smile to themselves about that warm spot that's grown in their chests.
thinking about Gaz helping his "next door neighbour"
You keep flirting with him, small comments here and there about how strong Gaz is, or how pretty his skin looks when it catches the sun. And the entire time, Gaz just cringes internally and keeps building the king sized bed frame, the one going next to the crib.
Gaz doesn't have the heart to tell you to stop, but he feels so fucking guilty about letting someone's spouse flirt with him.
He's setting up the baby's crib, and at the same time, you're commenting about the new bar that opened up down the street, when finally he's had enough
"Look, maybe we just got off on the wrong foot, but I don't think it's appropr-"
"We're here! Traffic was a fucking nightmare, you would not believe it."
Gaz is stunned into silence by the arrival of two people, one of them holding a baby. They a smile with you before giving him a look like he's missed out on a joke.
You're a friend of the family.
Gaz learns during introductions that you're just helping out, and that you're single, as your friend quickly points out. By the time you're getting ready to leave, most of the house fully unpacked, Gaz follows behind you with a sheepish expression.
"So... I hear that new bar might be pretty good, if you want to go grab a drink with me."
I neeeeeed more amab reader getting passed between Simon and Kyle [this is completely inspired by @rawme-price design for Ghost]
You didn't think about seeing any other soldiers at the club, the dim lights and warm hues casting shadows across your skin and making the harness your wearing shine. It's been so long since you've been stationed long enough to even find a good bdsm club, but you're happy to be back in the scene finally.
Except, you didn't expect to see your lieutenant and fellow sergeant at the club, both of them dressed in proper attire. Riley is on his knees wearing nothing but a cock ring and a harness with a leash. Edging closer from your position at the bar, it's obvious to see that Garrick is using his mouth, dick entered into the hole of Riley's cheek that you've only ever caught glimpses of. Garrick himself is dressed fairly simple, a buttoned dress shirt and some grey slacks, but you can just barely see the hint of a chest harness like your own.
They saw you the moment you walked in, had been waiting for you to venture over to them. It didn't feel as awkward as you thought it would be, sitting next to Garrick and watching as Riley's tongue works around the thick cock stuffed into his cheek, his mouth hanging open and unused. Garrick guides your hand to Riley's hair, shows you how to tug at certain spots and how his body jerks.
It's somewhere between Garrick asking you to call him Kyle, and Ril- Simon moving to lay his head on your lap instead, that you end up sitting on Kyle's thigh. You're not sure exactly how you got there, too many sweet words clouding your mind, unable to think straight when Simon is nosing at your dick.
"Just relax, sweet thing. He doesn't bite, not when you're with me."
Simon's skills on the field aren't his only talents. The mutt is wicked with his tongue, and seeing yourself enter his mouth, only to exit from his cheek, is like a taser to the back. Everything feels like electricity, your hands grabbing at Kyle's slacks, his cock rubbing against the soft fabric of your pants, all of it has your brain turning into a puddle.
When you cum, it's with Kyle's lips against your ear and his dog's tongue lapping at the base of your cock. White seed spills onto Simon's face through the hole in his cheek, and the sight has you blacking out for just a moment, coming back just as Simon finishes licking you clean.
"There we go, hey there, sweet boy. Lost you for a moment, yeah? Don't worry, you can sleep as long as you'd like while we play."
Omg that was so fucking gross why would you post abt transfemme ghost?? What's next, calling simon a g– good girl...or uh– buying long flowy skirts for her... >///< I CANT DO THIS!! ITS ME ITS ROMMY I LOVED THE POST I WAS GONNA MOCK UR ANONS BUT THE POST WAS TOO GOOD AHHHHG!!!!! >0<
– rommy
You told me about this before hand and i still jumped, so LMAOO, ty ty I am glad to have written something for once and am delighted with the results frankly
this was sent exactly eight minutes after I posted a oneshot of a trans male reader loving and having a sweet moment with transfem ghost. While im not sure exactly which part pissed you off, I’m almost entirely sure you’re one of the wet nose sniveling little rats that thinks playing you’re gods gift to mankind and that everyone should fall into line with you just because your ego is so drastically different then your intelligence that if you climbed to the top of your ego and jumped to your intelligence you’d land in more pieces then braincells you have, and believes that anyone who identifies differently from you should be killed at birth or some other insane shit that has you on my blog EIGHT MINUTES after I posted a fucking story about a fictional character. Whatever problem you have with me and my writing, that is insane in any case. Genuinely, you fascinate me, because the amount of self centered asshattery required to send me this gives off the vibes that you’d remove your own ribs just to help you bend to suck your own dick, because im sure as shit that no one else is doing it, and anyone that is is probably being held hostage, as they’d have to be to get anywhere near you willingly. Anyways, get the fuck off my blog.
Simon had never felt like much of anything in the military. No, correction. For the military, Simon was Ghost. Ghost was a decorated soldier, well respected and a monster in the field. Ghost was whatever Ghost needed to be. Ghost was the man, the myth, the monster. Ghost was what lurked in the dark, the bogey monster that haunted the base. Ghost was… Ghost was the soldier. Not Simon. Ghost and Simon were two different people. Two personas occupying the same mind.
Simon never felt real. Simon felt empty, listless, drifting. Simon was unable to connect to comrades, fellow soldiers, anyone else on base. A raw, aching need, a gut churning pulse of something different, something longing and deep and primal and desperate that left Simon reeling more often than it didn’t. There was never anyone Simon could connect to, always feeling some wall of blank disconnect, an uncrossable void. At least, not until you.
You’d transferred in almost a year ago now, taking over the intelligence department of the base for a retiring soldier. A younger man than your station would normally be held by, you’d been promoted quickly for fierce intelligence and an uncanny ability to read people. That’s why it had happened, Simon supposed. The lieutenant had stopped to pick up some documents, and you’d come down from your office to hand them over yourself.
You’d stared for a long moment, gaze cutting into Simon like nothing ever before. Then, you’d all but commanded a lieutenant who technically had more command than you to come back to your office the following day. For some reason, entirely unclear to the forces of the universe, Simon, and everything else, the lieutenant had obeyed your orders. When Simon showed up, you smiled, slid a cup of tea across your desk, and said the one damning sentence still burned into the lieutenant’s brain.
“Let’s talk.”
From there, it had spiraled. From meetings to doing your paperwork together, to coffee dates to sharing history, Simon and you became close faster than anyone the lieutenant had ever been friends with. The first time that word had left Simon’s tongue, it had been an iron ball in the lieutenant’s throat, weighing Simon’s tongue down, choking and aching and terrifying. What if you said no? What if you hated the word? What if you only let Simon into your world because you felt pity?
But none of that had happened. Your friendship had blossomed even further. Sometime along the way, several months in, you’d talked about how you were trans, carving your own path to the place you were in now. You’d laid on Simon’s shoulder, flopped out like a sprawled cat as you talked about how isolating it was being queer in the military, how being trans had made people look at you like there was something wrong with you, something foul and disgusting and evil. But you’d still forged your way through, rising to the top and bonding with others isolated for whatever reason. Anyone who was different was your friend, you’d declared. Anyone just like you, just like Simon.
Then it had all clicked. Your words painted Simon’s experience, beat for beat. The isolating ugly wrongness buried in Simon’s chest was exactly what you’d described. The lieutenant had confessed that in your office over lunch and in response, you’d just tilted your head and stared. Calm. Quiet. And unflappably blunt. “So what do you want to do about that, Si?” When Simon stumbled over words, finally having an answer to the missing piece, you’d listened patiently. You’d waited, patient and even as always. You were perfect.
The first time you’d called Simon a girl, the lieutenant nearly cried. Not from hatred. Not from cruelty. But because the missing piece, the hole that had grown so wide. That was the answer to the disconnect. So obvious and yet so hidden that it almost hurt.
Time had moved on though, twirling you two around each other, until you’d finally started dating. Most days were spent in your office, sharing paperwork, sharing lunches, sharing meals. A boy and his girl, living the best life they could. Simon couldn’t transition, exactly, and didn’t feel comfortable telling anyone else, because of Ghost. It was easier to be Ghost with the rest of the base. Ghost was a man. A strong, tough, grizzled soldier. A man who’d seen the worst and walked through hell and came back and went back into hell anyways. Ghost was the military’s. Ghost was the soldier.
Simon was your girl. More often than not now, months into your relationship, you’d spend the night in Simon’s quarters, like you were today. It was one of the rare few days that slid through the calendar where neither of you had anything to do. A day that went like rainwater, sliding through your fingers and never staying long enough to enjoy.
Just now stirring, tucked under your arm, Si could sense that you were already awake and idly laying in bed. When you realized that your girl was waking up, a loose smile slid across your face, and Si could feel your lips pressing across her forehead, morning voice low and husky.
“Mornin’ doll. How’d you sleep?”
Si shifted, slow, languid, easy. It was easier to breathe like this. Less of a crushing weight, wrongness pinning her like a butterfly pretending to be a moth, waiting for people to notice she wasn’t like the others. A slow, sleepy, faint smile crossed her face, matching yours.
“Good. Good, decent at least. Better with you.”
All you did in response was lean down to kiss her forehead again, the smile on your face felt against her skin. You two had clicked, sliding in to complete one another, to fill in the missing pieces and delicacies of each other. You were a boy, and Si was your girl, and that was that.
Blessing on @rawme-price for the fascinating idea and a stellar piece of analysis on transfem Simon Riley that I can not find at the moment :3
sex is a distraction from your true purpose in life which is to go to the aquarium and look at the fish and go "wooooooaaah.... fishies". cmon guys we all need to lock in.
y’all really treat peoples posts like your dirty little secret side piece the way you’ll like it in private but never let it see the light of day on your blog by reblogging
me when i get one (1) note on tumblr dot com from my beloved mutuals: they lovme❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🙏🙏🙏😭😭❤️❤️😁😁😁😁😁✨️✨️☝️☝️☝️☝️😁😁👅👅👅👅👅👅👅💜💜💜💗❤️🩹❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥🫂🫂🫂🫂i love them 😁😁😁❤️❤️❤️❤️💜💜💜 f ried n
Andean Condor!Price where Nikolai is enamored with his sheer size and wingspan?.
He's maybe 6'11" to match the size of his bird counterpart, towering over the rest of the team, with a massive 22 ft. wingspan to block out any light his body isn't already covering. John probably doesn't work in the field much, as his wings would get in the way of everything, But he's a menace when he does.
Someone's made him custom armor to protect the delicate parts of his unusual appendages. The cloth is extra light, and is built to tank enough damage for him to come back mostly unscathed. It also helps correct his posture, which saves him from hours of horrible back pain.
And then it's time for him to suffocate Nik during their nap, wrap those feathers around the man as much as he can manage. Probably a dream for him when winter comes and his body demands warmth, but usually he's sweating his ass off to make John happy with his cuddles.
