Hey guys! My name is Kyle, I use he/him pronouns and I'm 25. I'm a pansexual trans guy, I'm in love with the Call of Duty franchise, most of my posts are smut, and fluff!
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The hotel receptionist brow pinched together as she tapped away at her little computer. Giving you and John an apologetic smile after a long moment.
"I'm so sorry. It seems the only rooms we have left are queen beds."
You were confused. Why on earth would that be an issue. That was the plan anyway.
John clapped you firmly on your shoulder. Tugging you close to his side with a grin.
"That's alright. You don't mind sharing the bed with yer dad for a few nights, do you, kid?"
It clicked all at once and you could feel your face growing hot. You couldn't possibly correct him. Especially with the receptionist now awing at the sweet relationship you had with your 'father'. So you just shook your head. Avoiding both of their eyes and gritting your teeth. John was in so much trouble.
At least he was once he finished fucking you like this.
"Yeah... don't mind sharing with yer old man..." He laughed. Tugging your hips back to him and filling you all at once. Fat cock punching so deep you felt the breath leave your lungs.
"Ahh..." Was all you could respond. Eyes rolling back into your skull. Arms giving out so your face fell into the plush pillows of your shared bed.
"Say you love sharing a bed with your dad." He growled low. Leaning over you to press against your back.
The words were heavy on your tongue. Barely able to string two thoughts together as he fucked you, let alone say them out loud.
"Da... ah..." Was all you managed.
John pressed a warm kiss to your cheek. Strong arms wrapped around you so he had the leverage to grind even deeper.
This scene of Price with Farah in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II was my absolute favorite screen time with him. The lighting was perfect for every shot, I wish I would have captured more pics during this scene.
Which one is your favorite?
Please tag me if you use any of the photos, Iβd love to see or read what you post and use them for! π€π
You donβt even need to threaten him with a bad time, Simon already feels like the scum of the earth the moment he recognizes that your morning sickness turned all day long sickness isnβt going to be a quickly fleeting symptom of your pregnancy
He wants to support you, be there for you, show you that heβs in this with you one hundred percent, but heβs not entirely sure on how to put a smile on the face of the woman he loves when sheβs spending more time staring down the loo than she is looking at him these days
He doesnβt think it entirely helped his case when his idea of solidarity upon watching you yack for the twelfth time that day, was to try and make himself throw up alongside you
Certainly didnβt help when heβd joked that your latest pregnancy craving is what got him gagging in the first place, a delectable assortment of pickles dipped in only the finest of apple sauces
He at least knows to bite his tongue and avoid repeating the OBGYNβs recommendations on swapping junk food out for more nutritious alternatives, when hot cheetos seem to be the only thing your stomach will tolerateβ¦ up until those are fighting back as well and climbing back up your throat like the rest of the food in the kitchen
βWhy is bloody tea the only thing your child is letting me consume?β You grumbled unhappily, still sending him a thankful smile as he swapped your empty cup out for a new steaming one, pressing a soft kiss against your temple in the process. βBad enough I already feel like I have to pee every two minutes, now I actually do.β
βHe knows his mumβs got to stay hydrated. Besides, heβs a proper Brit already, feigninβ for a cuppa like his dad.β Simon replied factually, corner of his mouth twitching at the idea of one day preparing three cups instead of just two.
βFirst off, she is only half British, thanks.β You corrected playfully, still insisting to him that it might be a girl causing you all these tummy troubles, the gender still being a secret to you both. βAnd Iβm pretty sure we were still in Scotland when we made her, so she shouldnβt be craving something like fish and chips or haggis?β
Which country you were actually in when Simon finally knocked you up was still up for debate; a month long honeymoon exploring his corner of the globe together and going at it like rabbits leaves some room for debate on where you were when it actually happened. Simon thinks it was that time he had you on your back in the bed of the rental truck in Cork, whereas you insist it mustβve been that one hotel balcony in Edinburgh.
Regardless, Simon can already notice the way your breath is catching at your last words.
βLove, are you sure you want to talk about things like haggis when you-β
Youβre already sprinting for the bathroom, any remnants of food left in your stomach coming up at the mere mention of more. Simonβs only steps behind you, ready to hold your hair back need be, or to rub a soothing hand along your back. Itβs going to be long first trimester, full of dry heaving and puke buckets littered around the flat and the most bizarre food cravings heβs ever heard of and late night runs to the shop for more tea bagsβ¦ and he canβt help but to love every minute of it with you.
Otter hybrid who has been in the enclosure a very long time. She really wants a baby. She wants any family actualy.
Instead, she chooses the most circular rock she can find and she treats it as her baby. At some point she draws a little face on it with closed eyes like her baby is sleeping.
Sometimes she catches Kyle's eye now he knows to look at her, he will glance up and she will wait and then proudly hold out her baby as if to show him. This confuses him a lot. Why has she got a rock witha face on? Is she that lonley? Is she crying for help? Heck her fur looks bone dry she's been waiting on that rock so long...
Maybe he needed to ask the keepers about it, arrange some more visits before this serious situation got any worse...
i love this but i'm changing it slightly (but then i got carried away and did something else)
other part
kyle knows where to look now. he knows how to spot you on top of that rock, all curled up and staring at them.
he's got all of them watching you. "wot're they like?" simon asks, his brows furrowed. if he were any other wolf hybrid, he'd be wearing the same expression as kyle and johnny; this dopey grin whenever you do something cute (like reorganising your rock collection).
you've not got a raft (the name for a social group of sea otters. i imagine the facility you're in doesn't know what type of otter you are. some are solitary and some live in groups. to not risk you're safety, they keep you on your own), but you've had your moments of loneliness.
refusing to eat or interact with any research, the facility knows something is wrong. you insist that you're fine, that you're not sick, but you're still not saying what it was. ignoring them to sort your rock collection.
but you finally say it, finally tell them that you want some company.
they won't give you company, but you get a teddy. a little otter plush that you quickly become attached to.
so when the boys are watching you on the rock, you're holding your sweet little otter plush against your chest. it's your baby now, and it's down right the cutest thing they've ever seen.
"wot're they 'oldin'?" john asks, stood behind them with his arms crossed.
they're all hyper aware of the facility watching them, noting down everything they're doing. but all they've been doing is watching you.
"otter," johnny answers. he's completely locked on you. "and a rock."
simon stands up. he disappears into the outside area that's apart of their room (combining both sides of a hybrid lol). there's a little tree and under the tree, nestled against the roots, is his collection of rocks.
he picks up his best one, shoves it in his pocket, and heads back to the boys. you're sitting up when he returns, otter plush in your lap. simon breathes in, pulls the rock from his pocket, and throws it as far as he can.
which is pretty far (he's got big muscles. you've been unable to look away). the rock flies. over the wall to their room (glorified cage), over the walkway, and into the little body of water that moves through your room.
you jump up. eyes wide as you move off of your rock. you leave the plush looking at them and dive into the water, coming up with the same rock simon had thrown.
and you're grinning as you add it to your collection.
I just know that when Ghost finds a girl that matches his freak in bed he makes it known to absolutely everyone how crazy good his sex life is. Like walking around the gym with her teeth imprints all up and down his biceps, the lipstick marks not even scrubbed off his chest, bruises and hickeys all along his shoulders, showing off how crazy good the sex was the night prior to the point where it starts making everyone kind of uncomfortable.
He sheds his shirt in the locker room to show off a back full of deep, welting scratches and Gaz takes one look at them before quietly sending Johnny a text from across the room that just reads: "I feel violated."
In a job so violent, it feels wrong to talk about his child. No one is in the mood to hear about a baby boy with pudgy little legs who wriggles like he has somewhere better to be.
But Kyle so desperately wants to talk about his baby boy. He doesn't like having to leave him at home with the missus, missing what little time left he has of the newborn scrunch and soothing him at night when his wife is asleep.
When he finds himself approached by Nikolai, he expects to have his last fag stolen from him or find himself entangled in a joke he'll have to adamantly pretend wasn't funny the next time he sees his captain.
"So, you're a father? If his name isn't Nikolai, I'm going to be disappointed, Sergeant. I'd assumed we were over the mishap with the heli."
Then again, Nikolai is a man of many surprises.
"Sorry to disappoint, Nik, but his name is Ethan."
The pilot sighs, loud and dramatic, but his smile is hard to disguise under all of his feigned anguish. The hand on Kyle's shoulder grips tightly, and suddenly Kyle is aware that he isn't getting out of the conversation. Better yet, he doesn't want to.
"Ah, like Mission Impossible. Acceptable. What's fatherhood like? I assume it's mostly piss, spitting up and crying. And then there's the baby."
His son is actually named after his wife's brother, but the idea of naming an infant after a Tom Cruise character is infinitely funnier.
did you truly believe my man konig was going to stop after the melon? oh no honey, he won't. he's still riding the post-nut clarity and his mind is already going though the selection of fruits he could try.
i can picture his enormous frame looking all awkward in the supermarket, walking through the produce section checking which of the fruits he wants to try is available.
and while being in the produce section is a normal thing, the fact that it's this man, with his muscular and tall man, not a sliver of skin showing and his face hiden behind his mask as he eyes the watermelons with lustful eyes definitely makes it weird.
he ends up spending a good 10 minutes trying to find the perfect watermelon, ripe enough but not too soft. it's all about the consistency of it, specially if you are going to be putting your dick inside of it.
he skilfully makes a hole in it - must he the years in the military what granted him those knife skills -. but the way it's made already says a lot about him. tight. definitely tight.
he wants to feel the way he imagines a sweet cunt would trying to take him in. stretching out and fighting to take his big dick. slowly pushing himself, deeper and deeper into the impromptu pocket pussy.
the juice of the watery fruit imitating the way a pussy would feel. already slightly wet when he first slips in, remnants of his handy work making the hole. and getting wetter and wetter as he keeps fucking into it.
the drag of the meaty fruit against his cock and the way his bulbous tip is hitting against the end of the hole, smashing against the fruit making it release more of it's watery substance.
and when it starts squirting out... man's about to pass out. that feels just like a pretty pussy squirting all over him. covering his cock, balls, lower abdomen and thighs with sticky juice. what I'm telling you, just like a pretty lass would as he keeps abusing that poor cunt with his thick leaky cock.
i must say, if ge were flexible enough, he would suck the watermelon juice off his own cock.
Blunt!Simon, who has never once been good at keeping his mouth shut. He says this exactly as he sees them. Simon, who has the exact same mindset when he sees you enter the bases gym, clad in leggings and a standard issue sports bra.
'Can see yer nipples cuttin' through yer top, luv' he said gruffly, when you came over to say hi. You stopped dead in your tracks, blood rushing to your face, who even says that?!
You try your best to get on with your workout, opting to do some cardio to warm up...
After a few hours, you head over to the water fountain to hydrate, where Simon had been standing, filling up his bottle. 'Been enjoyin' the outline 'f yer cunt, luvie' he says, looking down at you as you cough on your water in shock.
He bends down to get close to you 'dyin' for a taste... give yer LT a han', aye?'
Blunt!Simon who has you throbbing with his crude words.
Price inviting the team over to his house to meet his lovely wife and his sweetheart daughter.
His daughter only living there at the moment after a nasty break up and not being able to find a new apartment immediately.
Prices wife welcoming the guys at the door and letting them into the warm house.
The boys take off their shoes after misses Price tells them to. Then they look at the stairs seeing a sweet and beautiful woman descending them.
Soapβs mouth falls open, Gazβs eyes widen while he is actively trying to keep his mouth closed and Ghost drops his jacket when he tried to just put it on the hook.
βHey, Iβm β¦β you beam at the men that collectively think:
Weβre fucked and not the good kind.
_______________________________________________
Price is over 50 in this and his daughter is like 23.
The team has been trying to help Simon get better at flirting.
It started off with Johnny noticing how Simonβs gaze often lingered on you, the newest truck loader.
Then he blabbered it off to the entire team. So yeahβ Simon may have banged his head against the wall in his quarters and slept that night thinking about choking Johnny.
But here he was, after a long day of being convinced to talk to you.
You had just finished unloading the last truck of the day and what better time to talk to you than now?
βYou gotta be confident and bold with your words, L.T.β Kyleβs words.
βNo, you have tβ be funny. Make βem laugh.β Johnnyβs words.
βIf all things fail, just ask βem for coffee.β Johnβs words.
Simon took in a deep breath and smiled (the best he could. He doesnβt smile often). You didnβt even catch it either; he was wearing his damn balaclava. βYou just started working, yeah?β he asks, stuffing his hands into his vest. Confident, check.
You took off your gloves and patted your sweaty forehead with your arm, βmhm! About two-ish months ago,β you tell the older man, giving him a polite smile.
A quiet hum fell from Simonβs lips as he rocks on his heels a bit, βOnce saw yβ trippinβ over a box,β Simon says bluntly. Funny, check.
You stared at him, blinking twice and half expecting him to finish his sentence.
He didnβt.
Instead, the two of you had a staring contest while Simonβs face burned behind the balaclava.
βYou can trip on me,β Simon suddenly adds. Funny and boldβ¦ check?
Your brows knitted a bit, βwhatβ¦?β you ask with an awkward laugh.
Fuck.
This wasnβt going how he imagined it to go. He imagined him coolly leaning against a wall or something while complimenting you.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
βDo you have coffee?β Simon changes the topic, his entire face blowing up with steam.
Off to the side, John stared at his teammate with a heavy sigh and rubbed his temple. βBloody idiot asked for coffee,β he mumbles.
Kyle shrugs a bit, βTβ be fair, you did say to ask for coffee,β he says, defending his lieutenant.
βImplying to ask for a coffee date,β John replies bluntly. βFuckinβ disaster of a man.β
Imagine having a crush on your lieutenant and friend, ghost, right?
You never planned on confessing, of course. You know ghost has no interest in you, not sure if he has any interest in men, really. You know so much about him, know the foods he loves and the ones he doesn't realize he hates, know his favorite war tactics and the music he plays in his earbuds on every occasion.
He is somehow fully realized inside your palms yet impossible to grasp. Yet he's still your friend.
"For you, sergeant. Looks like you need it." Ghost huffs, tossing you a cold water bottle after a brutal workout. His body haloed by the gym lights, eyes crinkled in a smile under the plain balaclava.
You down it, cold shocking your system. Maybe the rush is why you don't think before saying "thanks. I love you, ghost."
Dead silence. For a horrible moment, you pray it reads more like a joke than a confession.
But you glance up with a wince, and ghosts face is twisted in disgust. You know the look well, plain as day. "Don't joke like that, sergeant. 'S not fuckin' funny. "
Right. Of course. The hottest guy you've met and he's probably homophobic.
"Uhβ yeah. Right. My bad, sir." You rush, standing up to fast and stumbling away from ghost instead of steadying yourself on him. "I need to go wash up, meeting with captain later."
You leave ghost stood in the middle of the gym, skin still smelling faintly of your sparring match where your cologne rubbed off onto him. He breathes it in, cones to terms with it like it's the first time all over again.
Ghost doesn't dwell on your joke, on how the words made his heart flutter. He doesn't need to see the disgust on your face when he reveals something too-close to the chest.
He finishes off the last of your water and tosses it in the bin.
Everyone probably knows by now that Gaz has a high libido. He brags like crazy. But he started dating you and you so happen to have an equally high libido yourself. Now the question is..
Can Kyle Garrick keep up?
You decide to test that.
Riding him cowgirl, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of him until he's a whiny, trembling mess.
"Please baby, I cant anymore." His legs feel like jelly, cock rubbed raw and leaking like a faucet.
You only smirk, continuing to torture him with that sickly sweet cunt of yours, taking it slow as your bring yourself to orgasm.
"Mmm... I think you can handle a bit more, Kyle. Don't you think? I mean you keep boasting about how high your libido is you should be able to keep up, no?"
He could only whine loudly, hands on your hips as he watches you continue your torturous pace.
He groans loudly as he cums into your tight heat again, having lost count from how many times you've drained him already.
After a few more orgasms you finally pull off and he lets out a small "finally..." until he sees you between his legs, getting ready to lick a stripe up his cock.
soft!simon ghost riley who never in a million years thought he would ever soften for anyone. he doesn't soften for price, gaz or soap. rarely even offers a smile to them except for being his namesake, a "ghost", anywhere he is with them.
soft!simon ghost riley who doesn't expect you β the rookie, the new one β to be anything of difference. yeah, you're pretty, but it's not like he's never seen a woman in his life. and he knows better than anyone the risk of being attached.
soft!simon ghost riley who doesn't not notice the way you seem to naturally gravitate towards his friends, whether it's hanging around with soap or talking to gaz quietly at your table. and somehow your eyes always meets his masked ones before they flick away.
soft!simon ghost riley who watches you for a whole month, trying to judge your character. who really are you? why do you not seem fazed by anything?
soft!simon ghost riley who blinks as the next day, you accidentally slam into his broad chest, mistaking it as a wall. automatically, his hand comes to steady you as you blink up at him. after a whole twenty seconds of staring at each other, he quickly drops his hand and tries to step away, "watch where ya goin'."
you don't seem to acknowledge the comment, "you're simon, right?"
"it's ghost to yer, rookie." he responds and walks off.
soft!simon ghost riley who, despite that comment, seems to get used to you more. whether it's you trying to talk to him at lunch or saying his name sometimes, he seems to naturally gravitate to you more. by surprise, a few weeks later, he even makes several comments, all painfully awkward but still sweet.
soft!simon ghost riley who finds himself searching for you like it's instinct. already keeping your seat empty during lunch, even to a price's raised eyebrows, looking for your figure amongst any others.
soft!simon ghost riley who doesn't even realize he's doing it until one afternoon soap slides into the empty chair beside him with a grin.
"thought you were savin' that seat."
simon barely glances at him. "wasn't."
"then why'd you keep lookin' at the door every five seconds?"
he doesn't answer. he doesn't have one.
soft!simon ghost riley who notices you're having a rough day before anyone else does. you don't complain, don't make a fuss, but he sees the tired look behind your smile and the way you keep rubbing at your temples.
the next morning there's a hot cup of coffee waiting on the table where you usually sit. you ask around. soap shrugs. gaz swears it wasn't him. price just gives simon a knowing look that simon pretends not to notice.
soft!simon ghost riley who catches himself slowing his pace so you don't have to rush beside him. he'd spent years walking ahead of everyone, expecting them to keep up.
soft!simon ghost riley who starts talking to you more without meaning to.
"don't forget your gloves."
"weather's gonna turn."
"eat somethin'."
they're short, gruff little reminders that shouldn't mean anything.
soft!simon ghost riley who doesn't like being touched. years of training, years of surviving, years of convincing himself that distance was safer. so when your fingers accidentally brush against his while you're both reaching for the same folder, his whole body stills.
you pull your hand back immediately. "sorry." he only hums, but he doesn't move his hand away either.
you put a note in priceβs lunchbox ! (18+ mdni)Β
itβs a known fact that priceβs wife packs his lunch every day when heβs on desk duty. soap always used to ask what the βmissusβ had made, getting his hands on the box you have packed for your husband.
( nowadays, you pack enough for four hungry men anyway, youβve seen how starved they are all the time, how they eat your sunday roast like a pack of wolves. )
today is no different, the little bento boxes are labelled. a little skull for ghost, a bar of soap for soap and a little hat for gaz. and your husband gets a bento box with a love note on it, like every day.Β
you always put something sweet in there, and he always takes the post it note and saves it in his desk drawer. it works, youβre shy as a mouse at the best of times, and writing these notes and making this food is the way you really show affection.
βyour missus has outdone herself this time.β soap says, as he opens up the first box to the smell of steaming curry, probably butter chicken with the way it looks. the box underneath has small dumplings, john knows youβve been obsessed with filling them yourself, the soup is completely your own recipe.Β
price blushes, face going red. he looks away to see ghost already hungrily going for the food with a spoon, the rice halfway complete. gaz is taking a photo, probably to send to his own girlfriend as inspo. you and her really get along.
johnny leans on simonβs shoulder, and nudges to split a dumpling.Β
itβs nice like this.Β
until he sees the folded up paper at the bottom of his final box, taped to the bottom.Β
he opens it, why wouldnβt he, there in the mess room.
he opens it, and slams it closed. not here.
itββs a photo of you, angled, in the lingerie he brought you last month. pink and red, cherries littered on the straps. itβs lacy, and he hasnβt seen you wear it before.
he excuses himself to his office, his cock already painful from the glimpse. his hands hiding it as he shuffles into the room.
the locks clicks, and he takes his cock out, thick and heavy. and unfolds the photo.Β
it looks good. you look good, the lace cupping your boobs, cunt wet already. your hands tease your clit, and heβs so painfully hard from just looking at the photo.
february 14th. of course youβd do that. youβd be too shy to do anything at home but this? an image, you could do that for him.
his hands smear precum over his cock, and he starts rubbing it, desperate for relief. your cunt wouls be so fucking tight around him, but you arenβt here. youβre at home, twenty minutes away. and he has meetings.Β
itβs not long before he comes, with spurts of white cum that he tries to desperately keep a hold of. his hand doesnβt grip as hard as you, itβs not as warm as you, fucking hell.
heβll fuck you right when he gets home. but for now the image of you is enough, teasing him.Β
Big bad mafia!johnny stoic and serious his presence commands respect his posture exudes discipline and power his Icey sky blue eyes pierce through your soul his voice when he speaks can be felt in your bones
vs
adhd reader with a potty mouth that makes sailors blush and zero sense of self preservation Johnny has to put you on a leash just to keep you out of trouble
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