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Knock. (angst & fluff)

It was this scene again, etched into her mind like a relentless curse. She could smell the acrid stench of burning wood and rotting garbage, mingling with the desperate cries and screams of her neighbors. She was nine again, small and terrified. Her head throbbed with a dizzying pain, the bruising ache from when a piece of plywood had crashed onto her.

A deafening roar shattered the air as another explosion tore through the neighborhood, sending shockwaves of fiery devastation in all directions. Flames danced hungrily, consuming everything they touched. The stench of burning flesh was unbearable—thick, nauseating, and infinitely more horrifying than charred pork or beef. It reeked of something profoundly evil and utterly revolting, a scent that clawed at her soul and churned her stomach into knots.

The black smoke invaded her lungs, a suffocating grip that squeezed tighter with every breath. She choked, each inhalation a desperate struggle against the oppressive heat and toxic fumes that swirled around her, burning her throat and searing her insides. The smoke was so dense it felt like it was wrapping around her, binding her in a lethal embrace.

Amidst the chaos, her vision blurred with tears and pain, she saw dismembered limbs scattered on the ground, charred beyond recognition. The grotesque sight of lifeless bodies, twisted in unnatural positions, added to the overwhelming horror. Blood pooled on the scorched earth, dark and glistening under the flickering flames, a grim reminder of the carnage.

"Mama… mama…" Her voice trembled, a pitiful cry swallowed by the chaos and destruction. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat against the cacophony of terror. She tried to move, to find her mother, but the fear paralyzed her, roots of dread anchoring her to the spot.

Suddenly, she jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. Her heart raced as her eyes darted around, adjusting to the dim light of the enclosed room. The air was still, the silence heavy and almost oppressive. There was no fire, no smoke—just the lingering terror of her nightmare, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud.

“It’s all a dream… just a dream…” she murmurs to herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her trembling body. She’s alive. She’s awake. The nightmare was over.

She forces herself to stand, her legs shaky beneath her as she makes her way to the shared kitchen. The images still haunt her, vivid and terrifying, refusing to fade.

"A nightmare, huh?" Ghost's low, husky voice cuts through the silence, startling her. His sudden presence, as always, is unexpected yet oddly comforting.

His voice softens, though it still carries that rough edge. "Nightmares been getting to you again?"

“I thought you were on guard duty,” she replies, trying to sound dismissive but failing to hide the quiver in her voice.

Ghost leans against the wall, his massive frame dwarfing her in the small room. The proximity is both intimidating and strangely reassuring.

"I was," he says, his tone gruff but laced with a softness he reserves only for her. "But I thought I'd check on ya. You haven't been sleeping well lately."

She looks up at him, meeting his gaze. There's a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, barely perceptible but enough to make her chest tighten. He's a fearsome soldier, renowned for his combat skills and unwavering presence on the battlefield. Yet, here he is, his demeanor softened, his concern for her palpable.

“I’m fine. Just a dream. That’s all.” She gulps down the water, the cool liquid doing little to quell the tremors running through her.

Ghost's expression darkens as he watches her try to brush off her troubles. “Yeah…” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “and I’m the King of England. Those nightmares are taking a toll on you.”

He’s heard her wake up in the night more times than he cares to count. Each time, he hears her whisper in her sleep, gasping for breath in the aftermath of the nightmare. He knows the dreams haunt her, more real and terrifying than she lets on.

“Respectfully, Sir… I think you should let it go.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow behind the mask. “And respectfully… I think you should talk to me 'bout these dreams.” There’s a raw edge to his voice, a hint of pain beneath the brusqueness. “We’re supposed to watch each other’s sixes. How can I do that if you shut me out?”

“Don’t.” She raises her palms, a defensive gesture, but her voice wavers, betraying her inner turmoil.

"Don’t what?" His gaze remains fixed on hers, intense and unwavering. "Don’t care? Don’t worry? Don’t try to help?”

A sigh escapes his lips, heavy with frustration and a touch of vulnerability. In this moment, he isn't Ghost, the fearless soldier, but just a man trying to understand. His voice softens, “I’m not good at this feelings stuff… you know? But you’re important to me. And, hell… I worry about you.”

“Tell that to the woman you kissed at the pub!” she snaps, the words out before she can stop them. Her eyes flash with hurt and anger.

Ghost’s eyes widen behind the mask. Shock and guilt etch across his face, though mostly obscured by the skull covering. He stumbles over his words, a rare occurrence for the usually collected soldier. “I can explain,” he starts, but she shakes her head, cutting him off.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she mumbles, trying to maintain a semblance of indifference. “I’m not your girlfriend, right?”

And that… that truth cut deep. She wasn't his girlfriend. Despite the electric chemistry crackling between them, despite the longing glances and the lingering touches, they had never crossed that line. But Ghost couldn't deny the storm of emotions raging within him.

He had kissed the woman, hoping it would ease the ache in his heart, hoping it would dull the sharp edges of his feelings for her. But now, faced with the reality that she had witnessed him with someone else, all those emotions crashed over him like a relentless tide.

He tries again, his voice betraying a crack of desperation, "that woman… she meant nothing to me. She was a distraction. She was…”

But he trails off, the weight of the truth bearing down on him. He had used that woman as an escape, a way to hide from the relentless pull he felt towards her, a futile attempt to silence the longing in his soul.

But now, he can't hide from the truth any longer.

“Let me deal with my nightmares on my own.”

And that stings, too. The way she keeps pushing him away, refusing to let him in, refusing to let him share her burdens. He wants to be there for her, to hold her through the darkest nights, to chase away the demons that haunt her dreams. Yet she keeps pushing him away.

“Why do you push me away?” His frustration spills out, mingled with a raw vulnerability that he rarely shows. "I want to help, damn it. I…"

He hesitates, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. "I care about you. More than I should.”

“And you shouldn’t.”

Those words cut deeper than any bullet ever could. Yet, he presses on, his voice heavy with emotion.

“Why not? Because it’s not what we signed up for? Because it’s not what’s professional?” He steps closer to her, his voice barely a whisper now. His gloved fingertips graze against her cheek, the touch gentle, as if afraid she might vanish before his eyes.

“It’s not professional. I can’t have you risking your rank.”

“To hell with my rank!” His gruff voice reverberates through the room, his hand now firmly cupping her face.

“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve stitched me up, patched me up. You’ve saved my damn life on innumerable occasions. I owe you that and more.”

His gaze holds hers, pleading for understanding, for acceptance of the truth he's finally admitting. "Maybe it’s not ‘professional’. Maybe it’s messy and complicated. But it's real, damn it."

He brings his other hand to her face, cradling it gently, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. The leather of his glove contrasts starkly against her soft skin.

"I’m done pretending."

His voice is rough, filled with a desperate intensity. The walls he built around his heart, the barriers of restraint, finally crumble as he speaks the words he’s been holding back.

"I don’t care if it’s not ‘professional’. My heart is already yours. And I don’t want it back."

“Am I… interrupting something?”

Gaz’s eyebrow is raised as he uncaps his water tumbler.

Ghost's eyes widen in realization, embarrassment flushing his cheeks beneath the mask. He turns towards Gaz, annoyance and surprise lacing his voice.

"Bloody hell, Gaz! Can't you knock!"

Thank you sm for tagging me! @sue-the-poemegranate

This or that

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair // fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // Marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds // phone call or text // Laundry or dishes // Pool or beach // flats or heels // Stay home or go out // coke or Pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // Chocolate or Vanilla // Facebook or Instagram // Over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo // Parties or Picnics // white lights or multi-colored lights

Tagging @fai-rys @moonsetlover @hyeri-yah and @ whoever wants to do this !

I was getting so bored. So, I thought of making a small tag game. I hope you people will enjoy it. I took some help from Tumblr for a few options.

This or That

summer or winter // coffee or tea // straight hair or curly hair // fiction or nonfiction // necklaces or bracelets // Marshmallows or whipped cream // night in or night out // sunset or sunrise // pizza or pasta // cold drink or hot drink // vampire or werewolf // crop top or oversized hoodie // be able to fly or run at super speed // speak many languages or able to speak to animals // be invisible or read minds // phone call or text // Laundry or dishes // Pool or beach // flats or heels // Stay home or go out // coke or Pepsi // cook dinner or do dishes // books or movies // dogs or cats // Chocolate or Vanilla // Facebook or Instagram // Over-dressed or under-dressed // morning or late nights // always late or always early // dancer or singer // always eat only dessert or always eat only savoury // shopping or museum // art gallery or zoo // Parties or Picnics // white lights or multi-colored lights

Tagging : @thatshadylilbitch @ukiyowi @the-wild-candy @mistybreak @airas-magicshop @snowflakesluvu @royaleofury @sunkissedchld @eunoiatarot @etherealjaehyuns @ygkidling @pjmnoir @purple-winter @dazzletarot @daszlight @the-falling-star @athena-swords and anybody else who wishes to join.

MW2 Reaction to You Being A Virgin

Warnings: 18+, Implications of Smut, Corruption Kink, Purity Kink, Innocence Kink, Ownership Kink, Age Gap, Implied Slight Yandere Graves Inexperience, Objectification, Dominant MW2, Soft MW2, Gaz is anxious :-( but trying his best, MW2 Trying To Be Smooth, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Ghost

The fact that you, innocent, are his to love and corrupt sends white-hot anticipation between his legs.

He’s imagined what you’d be like in bed: how you’d take him, the sounds you’d make. Of course he has – practically everyone on Base has.

But now, his fantasies are tinged with something feral. A primal need to show you that he is the best choice for you (even if he doesn’t believe it himself) – the only one strong enough and skilled enough to be yours and to make you his.

He’s fantasised about you looking up at him with doe eyes while he pins your wrists to the mattress, voice meek as you tell him, as if it’s a secret, that you’ve “Never done this before…”

He can’t live without it. The fact that he can – will – be your first time. Satisfy you in ways nobody else will ever be able to compete with.

He’d never admit it, but a dark part of him has plagued him with ideas of ravaging and corrupting you, about making your first time so pleasurable and carnal that nobody will ever be able to satisfy you as he can.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he tells you, taking your chin between his fingers. He lowers his lips to your ear. You don’t see the dark gleam in his eye. Don’t see the deliciously dark idea cross his mind – the impulse to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to feel anything, nevermind pain. And he makes a promise to you anyway.

“I’ll take care of you.”

König

“Thought as much.” König’s words are blunt yet sharp.

“Seeing as you have everyone wrapped around your finger, it’s clear you have no regard for the way you conduct yourself.”

You may construe König’s words as mean. Derogatory, even. He means it as a compliment. Even if you don’t know it yet.

“You think I don’t see the way you flaunt yourself in front of the soldiers – thinking that you’ll be able to get away with it without consequence.”

König’s frame towers over you. His gaze is ice, and any trace of the socially anxious soldier you knew is gone.

“I wonder how you like it.” he muses aloud. His voice is tinged with something unreadable. Venomous.

“How you’ll take it. Rough, gentle…” His eyes narrow.

“Mean.”

He’s boxed you in with his stature alone.

“Makes no difference to me,” he tells you. Deceptively calm. And then, an offer. One you can’t refuse.

“I’ll fuck you every which way until I find what makes you scream the loudest.”

Soap

“Oh, really?” he says, eyebrow quirked and a hidden smile teasing his lips.

Johnny really couldn’t care less that you’ve never had sex before. But, the fact that you shared this information with him – albeit after he steered the conversation towards more…intimate topics – gave him hope that you were hinting towards something.

Something that Johnny’s wanted since he realised he was massively, whorishly down bad for you.

From his position opposite you, against the kitchen counter, he takes a step forward.

“I suppose you’re not very experienced then, are you?”

He advances until he’s in front of you. A wolf and a lamb. Close enough that you can smell his cologne.

His eyes are piercing, but there is a softness behind them. Something that writhes and wants and needs.

His hands come to rest upon the counter behind you. Nowhere for you to run. The heat from his body is scorching.

“Though, I’d be more than happy to…” His voice husks. “Beef up your résumé.”

Valeria

Corruption kink to the MAX

Valeria is a territorial, dominant woman – that much is easy to see.

And the fact that you haven’t had anyone else before her just does something to her.

Alters her brain chemistry permanently.

There’s not one soldier, police officer or government official she doesn’t own in Las Almas.

So why shouldn’t she own you, too?

Now she’s thinking of every conceivable way she’s going to take ownership of you.

She thinks about it so often that she struggles to complete her paperwork without having to disperse the issue before she can continue.

But be warned: there will come a day when satisfying herself just won’t cut it. When she’s going to seek you out and ruin you.

“It might hurt at first, mi Amor,” she tells you, hand stroking your cheek, coming down to your jaw. “But trust me when I say that–”

Her hand grips your jaw. Tight. A viper’s strike. A fire burns in her eyes and the corners of her lips curl up in a cruel smile.

“I’ll make it hurt a whole lot more if you don’t do as I say.”

Price

Given his age, Price has had his fair share of experiences.

But that doesn’t harden him to the simple fact that you haven’t.

In his eyes, there’s something endearing about how you’ve yet to give yourself to another person.

Another person that, he hopes, will someday be him.

The idea makes something in him stir. The fact that the difference between your age and his makes him that much more confident in his ability to please you in ways no mere boy can makes him anxious to act.

“Oh. Is that right, Love?” He says, eyes light and his smile dangerous.

“S’ppose you’re waiting for the right person.” His posture is inviting. Tempting. Belies the rush he’s feeling — the desire to have you at his mercy in the most carnal sense.

“Pretty little thing like you, you could have your fill of men.”

He’s angling for something. His face says it all.

He steps towards you. Again. Again. He’s in front of you.

His chest is almost to yours. His smile is shallow now. Strained. Like his pants.

“Probably looking for someone with experience.”

He thrives on the way your chest flutters. His does, too, but it’s masked beneath a  heavy stare.

“And trust me, Love,” his voice is low. A message for you and you alone as he brings his lips to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

“I’ve got plenty to spare.”

Horangi

You don’t hear it for his mask, but Horangi lets out a shuttered breath.

“That’s why you’re always so quiet when sex talk comes up.”

He says it as a fact, but you take it as a question. You nod.

Horangi’s arms unfurl from his chest, come to rest at his sides. He’s looking at you.

Even through the layers of his mask, his gaze is heavy. Leaden.

He steps towards you. His frame, broad, fills your vision.

You can hear how heavy his breathing has become. How thick the air is.

How much he’s trying to restrain himself.

“How about a deal,” he proposes. Commands.

“You give me something to have a nice, long, hard think about,” his hips are to yours. You feel him pressing against you.

“And I’ll give you something to talk about.”

Alejandro

“You surprise me, mi amor,” he says, natural as anything. As if he already knew.

“I’d have thought someone would have swooped in and claimed you by now.”

Truth be told, Alejandro wanted to be that somebody so badly that it made him ache in places he’d rather not think about. Especially when you’re already making containing himself incredibly difficult with that pouting, wide-eyed, innocent look.

God, you had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Or…are you saving yourself for someone specific?”

Before you, his frame is broad and imposing even without all his military gear on.

He takes your chin between his fingers. Tilts your head so your gaze can’t escape his. A shiver runs up his spine at the sound of your breath stuttering.

His words aren’t rhetorical. He’s pulled the answer from you – seen it in your eyes.

“Or are you just waiting for a man who knows how to take care of you?”

Rodolfo

“O-oh!” Rudy chokes out. His cheeks are already giving way to a telltale pink. He tries to cover it.

“But– you’re so pretty and smart and kind – I thought you’d have a boyfriend by now!”

In some ways, Rudy’s a bit of a traditionalist: his mind still jumps to the idea that you’d typically only be intimate with someone you’re already in a relationship with.

Not that he’d judge you if this were not the case for you.

But he sees his chance. And he takes it.

“Well, if you’re not with anyone, then…would you like to go out sometime? With me?”

His eyes are wide and filled with hope – something you’d never have expected from a  man in such a brutal line of work.

Sex is the last thing on his mind right now: truly, he’s so taken in with the idea that you’re single and available that your sexual status means very little to him.

Though, that isn’t to say he hasn’t thought about you like that before, or that he hasn’t spent many a night with his face smothered with pillows as your name escapes from between his lips, panting, moaning.

That’s a little secret for you to uncover later in your relationship…

Graves

“So you’re tellin’ me that no one’s had the privilege of fuckin’ that pretty little ass of yours?”

Graves sure has a way with words.

For all his slimy business practices, this is the one time he’s genuinely surprised. Unable to be slick.

He puts his game face on. Gives you a half-lidded stare and lowers his voice. His heart hammers: he conceals it behind a cool tone.

“Well, colour me impressed, Angel,” he says. A hand comes to the hem of your shirt, takes it between slow, intentional fingers. He has to resist the urge to look at your chest when he pulls the fabric taut.

“And here I was thinkin’ I already knew everything about you.”

He’s moving in before you can analyse his statement. Before you can begin to understand how badly this man has lusted after you – how deeply entrenched in your life he’s become. And all without you knowing.

He places a hand on the wall behind you. Presses himself closer to you.

“How much to let me be the first,” he drawls. Your eyes widen. His thin smile grows.

“And last.”

Gaz

Bless his little cotton socks, he doesn’t know what to do with both this information and himself.

See, despite being incredibly intelligent, Gaz is still the youngest of the 141, so he’s not entirely accustomed to situations like this.

He can’t tell if you’re hinting, flirting, or just telling him something about yourself.

He remembers what Soap taught him, though.

Should a situation arise where someone is flirting with you, just use your intuition and don’t fuck it up.

Gaz leans against the doorframe, almost misses, scrambles to resume his ideal posture.

“Oh, so we’re more similar than you’d think, then.”

He can feel Soap banging his head against a wall. Jesus, Gaz – at least try to impress (Y/N) !

At your raised eyebrow and your playful “Oh?” Gaz coughs. His voice lowers.

“But…” he steps closer. “Maybe we can un-virgin each other.”

Long story short, Gaz has no idea what he’s talking about. But, somehow, his nervous disposition and pretty boy charm have enamoured you. And you may have told him you’d take him up on his offer 👀.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

friendships are the sweetest thing in the world. we get to play together and love each other. and hug each other if we get sad

swans & a duck

I hope I find someone that loves me the same way Stephen Colbert loves his wife ❤️ ❤️ ❤️