Thinking about gaz who has a mortifyingly intense crush on the medic the 141 tend to work with.
Which usually isn't a problem, he can stumble through conversations well enough so long as he doesn't get distracted staring at your hands patching someone up. Gaz has made sure to keep his crush tightly contained, no need to humiliate himself with that.
That of course, all goes out the window when he's shot twice in the stomach. Blood loss and adrenaline have the sergeant fully convinced he will be dead before you manage to save him.
Might as well confess, right?
"Love, i– i need to tell you something–" he mumbles, trying to grab your arm but being swiftly held down so he doesn't get in the way. "I always liked you. Really liked you."
For a split second, like a fucking amateur, you freeze.
Gaz doesn't notice, already rambling further "you're perfect, yknow? Christ– nights I've spent thinnking about thos' hands of yours. Wanna feel them wi'out gloves–"
"You're losing blood, sergeant." You mumble quieter than you would, trying to rationalize his behavior as nothing more than momentary delusions.
"M no' lying—" gaz huffs, head tossed back but still lucid enough to catch your implication. Not lucid enough to stop himself when he says "can't fuckin' get off to normal shite anymore. All medical porn, innit? thinkin' about you, sometimes just imaginations enough—"
"Sergeant." You warn mildly, pressing at his wound just that bit harder. Retribution for your burning face.
"Mghh! Fuck— keep doing that, love. Need my last breath to be under your hands—" gaz groans, truly having lost it now because you can see the way his cock twitches in his trousers. "Press a little harder, please—"
Ah. The drugs worked.
Gaz goes limp under you, and quietly you thank whatever above that you were the only ones to hear that. Face burning, you finish patching him up to drag to emergency evac.
"Almost had me fooled you felt the same, sergeant." You whisper, completely unaware that kyles comms have been on the whole time.
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You stand in the kitchen of the quaint apartment you share with Simon. Your arm is outstretched, keeping you steady against the edge of the counter, and your ankles are crossed below you. The blinking clock on the stove reads 12:24 A.M, the dim glow of streetlights pours in through the window above the sink, and all you did was come in for a drink of water, but you still hear the shuffling footsteps of your boyfriend who walks like the dead when he's tired.
His arms wrap around your waist, swallowing your body whole with the sheer size of him, locking you down in place. He places a kiss on your shoulder while his hands roam. One hand snakes under his over-sized shirt you wear, bunching it up until his palm finds your breasts and he squeezes the plush skin. His other hand makes its way to your thin, cotton panties, pushing past the waistband and finding its way in between your thighs.
"So warm," he whispers groggily, placing a soft kiss to your neck, and goosebumps line your skin despite the warmth his body has to offer.
His chest is pressed against your back, his mouth to your skin, and the longer you linger there with his hands caressing your body, the more you want him. He sucks, bites, licks your neck, leaving purple bruises to ache in his wake, all while he continues to stimulate every last part of you. His fingers toy with your nipple, pulling and pinching until it peaks within his grasp. His palm grinds against your clit, just enough to drive you insane but not enough to do really anything.
"Si," you say breathlessly, moving your hips with the rhythm of his body unintentionally, rubbing your ass against his hard cock that aches in his boxers which earns you a groan of desire from the man behind you. "Let's go back to bed, Si."
"Can't make it to the bed lovie… need to be inside you here, right now," he says, voice low and rough around the edges with lust as he pushes down your panties until your legs are forced to uncross and the fabric strains against your skin.
Your breath catches in your throat from his words, desire builds in you until you know your pussy is soaking, until a heat begins to pool in your lower belly that only he can soothe. You spread your legs wider, gripping the edge of the counter with both of your hands, arching your back into him when you hear the rustle of his boxers being pushed down.
His hand pushes up your shirt as his fingers kiss your spine deliciously, pressing down to arch your back further, presenting your bare pussy to him and he notches his tip against your entrance. You push back on him, sinking an inch inside of you with ease, and the two of you share a raw moan of pleasure. He pushes in the rest of the way, groaning from the feeling of your warm, wet walls wrapped so tightly around him, and he doesn't stop until his cock is buried against your cervix.
"Goddamit," he says behind clenched teeth, "you're so tight around me."
You squirm your hips, begging for friction, and he places both of his hands on your hips until his fingers dig into the fat of your skin and begins to pound into you. Every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping for more. The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, molding your pussy to him, leaving no space inside of you empty for long as he repeatedly fills you to the brim.
"F-fuck Si," you stutter, lifting your hips with need, meeting his every thrust with one of your own.
His hips roll against your own, finding a rhythm of harmony between the two of you, delivering the same amount of pleasure with each last thrust. He slams against your cervix, and your pussy clamps down on his length. He pulls out until only the tip remains, and your pussy sucks him back in. Angling his hips, he finds your sweet spot with ease, hitting it with precision and leaving your toes curling against the tile of the kitchen floor.
"You feel so good baby," he praises, leaning down until his bare chest is pressed against your back, his hands finding their previous positions on your body.
You cry out when his fingers find your clit, pinching the sensitive bundle of nerves in between his calloused fingers before rolling and rubbing at the same pace of his relentless thrusts. His other hand finds your breasts under the sea of fabric, latching onto your nipple and twisting until it hardens from his touch. His thrusts continue to drive you towards your inevitable orgasm, each one hitting your sweet spot, then your cervix, then pulling out and stretching your entrance wide to accommodate his length.
"S-so close Si," you say breathlessly, your eyes shutting tight while you focus on every touch from him, every sensation.
Your words spur him on as his lips find your neck where he kisses over blooming bruises, his tongue parting his lips for him to lick the salty-sweet sweat of your skin, and you're completely lost in it. Your mouth hangs open ever so slightly as moans pour from you, drool drips from your chin, tears stain your cheeks from the sheer amount of pleasure running through your body.
"I know baby, I know," he whispers, kissing just below your ear, holding you up when your knees grow weak from the tender press of his mouth. "Cum on me lovie, for me."
His words turn to begs, which turn into groans of desire while he continues to fuck into you like he wasn't just fast asleep. With a wider stance, he digs into you, reaching deeper, fucking you faster, thrusting harder, anything to push you over the sweet edge your body so desperately craves. Your nails try to find purchase against the smooth countertops, trying to steady yourself when your legs grow numb and your mind can't focus on anything over then him.
A shiver runs down your spine, your body grows rigid, your muscles draw taut. His finger works your clit effortlessly, drawing your orgasm out of you as if you have no control over it. A broken moan falls from your lips when cum gushes from your entrance, coating his length, leaving behind rings of cream at his base. Your pussy clenches rhythmically around his length, pulsing with lingering pleasure, and Simon can't help but drop his gaze to where the two of you are connected.
"So beautiful," he says, more to himself than anything else. "That feel good?"
You nod your head frantically, dropping your forehead to the counter, the frigid stone cooling your body temperature. His hand runs down your spine again after he eases up on your clit when your body begins to jerk from overstimulation, and your back arches the more he thrusts into you. His grunts and groans turn rawer, the need for his own release building, and he turns his focus to that.
"Gonna fill you up, huh baby? That sound good?"
He knows the answer to it, which is why he wastes no time in drilling into you. Hips rolling against yours, fingers digging into any skin on your body they can find, his sounds of pleasuring ringing out in the small space around you two of you, and his release is crashing through him.
"F-fuck, oh fuck," he curses, his length twitching deep inside of you as he continues to rub against your raw walls with need.
With a few more thrusts and a guttural groan, long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, leaking out from his tip with every pulse of his orgasm, coating your walls in everything he has to give. His body stills, only the slightest thrusts and movements to draw his climax out for as long as possible remain, and your pant against the counter trying to catch your breath when his body collapses against yours.
He rests his forehead against your lower back, kissing the skin oh-so softly while he pulls out of you, hissing from the stimulation of his tip sliding through your tight entrance. Your legs shake, your arms feel weak, your body is beyond tired from what he just did to you. He drops down to his knees behind you to clean up the mess left in between your legs before lifting your panties back up and slapping your ass.
Simon leaves a kiss on the raw skin while standing up and turning you around to throw you over his shoulder. He stomps back to the bedroom, throwing you onto the mattress, and slides in right beside you. Pulling the sheets over the two of you, he wraps his arms around your body, making sure you're tightly secure before he begins to growl about how you are stealing his precious sleep from him.
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Simon's always found cum a little... gross. He was always quick to clean himself up after he jerked off, never let anyone cum in his mouth or on his face, and he mostly topped to avoid anyone cumming inside of him. He didn't want to feel the sticky seed spilling into his hole, slowly dripping out of him as he laid naked on the bed.
Captain McTavish noticed it right away when he started grooming guiding Simon to be the best soldier he could.
"You think my cum is nasty, boy?" He sneers, fingers digging tight into the back of Simon's head. His eyes bug out of his head, slapping Johnny's thigh desperately. "Learn to hold your breath, solider... You can handle it." He chuckles as he spills down Simon's unwilling throat.
He chokes and gasps, coughing painfully as spilt and cum slick his lips and tongue. The salty taste burned his throat, eyes filled with tears from lack of oxygen. "You're gonna learn that mouth is good for two things, answering to my orders and eating my cum. Understood?" Simon tries to shake his head head, but Johnny's firm palm forced him to nod yes.
Johnny kept Simon on a tight leash as he trained him for his team. He wasn't going to let the man he trained into a perfect cock sucker go. When you started as a rookie, Johnny saw the needy little look in his pretty boys eyes. "You want a taste of that? Hmm?"
Simon shrugs slightly, eyes darting over Johnny's face. "You can be honest with me, Sargeant. You want them?"
"Yes, sir." Johnny nods, and that was the end of the conversation. Maybe Simon should've lied. Johnny would've been able to tell. His captain knew him well. He could only imagine what the punishment for that would be, but he wouldn't call watching Johnny fuck you over his desk a reward.
He squeezes the base of his cock, eyes locked onto your tits as the bounced with each thrust. "Captain - fuck, please captain let me cum." You plea desperately, but it means nothing to Johnny. He would keep you right on the edge for his right hand man.
"Hold it. Show me some discipline solider. Would someone be able to fuck classified information out of you? Are you that weak?" Johnny sneers as he slaps your cheek, getting your eyes back on him. "That's it, you dumb little thing." He groans, burying himself balls deep as he empties inside of you.
He cuts your worried gasp off with a thumb shoved into your mouth, chuckling when you immediately start sucking. "That's it... Simon. Come clean her out. If you do a good job, I'll let you cum tonight."
shaking my fic desperately @cod-enthusiast you liiiike?
Omg I just discovered your 141 imagines and I’m addicted! I’ve been scrolling for miles. Could I request a throw back for the One Bed trope with Alejandro or Rudy?
Or? Or? Babes. Anon. You're getting both. Can't dangle those two beautiful men in front of me and ask me to choose. That's cruel (it's not I'm just being dramatic.) Please enjoy the smut. :)
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Alejandro Vargas & Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra x Female Reader (reader is Mexican)
Content & Warnings (mdni): oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, mention of trafficking, prior trauma, past relationships, rough sex, coworkers that fuck
Word Count: 2k
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
Alejandro Vargas
Dampness sticks to your skin. Moisture blooms on the aged concrete walls. Distantly, you hear water dripping, slow and steady like a leaky faucet.
“It’s not much,” comes Alejandro’s voice as he enters the small room. “But you’re safe here.”
Here is a hole in the ground, just a rotten board covering a metal door in the earth, and a ladder leading to semi-darkness. The safe house Alejandro brought you to is completely remote, a sanctuary from the fallout following the assassination of the leader of the region’s cartel. A murder you helped execute with your red-painted lips.
Small and cramped, the lone room in the underground safehouse is sparse. There’s a worn mattress on a metal frame with a few blankets piled in the middle. In the corner is a faded wood bookcase minus a shelf and smelling of rot.
It’s only a few days.
Alejandro coughs, your gaze shifting from the bookcase to him.
“They don’t know it’s me?” you ask, voice cracking.
Alejandro’s mouth twitches. “Have a shower.” He jerks his head to the right. “Through that door.”
Frowning, you step forward. Alejandro shifts back as you peer out in the short hall. There’s a ladder, and two doors, one of which stands open. From it, you can just make out the edge of a cracked sink.
“Down here?”
Alejandro inclines his head. “Runs on a hand pump. Water won’t be warm. But it’ll do the job.” He reaches out, almost absently, lightly cradling your check. Gaze roaming, your savior frowns. “You’ll want the blood off you.”
Clarity comes, your arm rising, hand pressing to the front of your dress. It crackles and crunches, thick and hardened with blood. Not yours, but of the man that kept you, showed you off when his wife and kids weren’t around. Men with power love to parade their pretty things. Now, he’s composed of rotting flesh and splattered brain matter.
Alejandro’s hand drops to your elbow, “I’ll find you some clean clothes.”
Robotically nodding, you shuffle toward the bathroom. There’s a toilet, the cracked sink with a matching cracked mirror, and shower that’s just a off-pale green curtain, a showerhead, and a drain in the floor.
You don’t shut the door, stripping in full view, turning the crank in the wall. Behind the wall, a pipe rattles, and then clear cold water bursts from the showerhead. It pebbles your nipples, brings a shiver to your skin, but it’s washing away the blood, softening it until is runs down your body and circles the drain.
“I’ve brought—”
Alejandro’s voice falters. You glance over your shoulder, finding him standing in the doorway, gaze averted from your naked body. Too focused on removing the blood, you never shut the curtain.
He clears his throat. “Found a towel. Clean clothes.” Failing, Alejandro’s gaze shifts to your body, works his way up until he meets your eyes. Your savior glances away again. “Have a few storage boxes,” he explains, as if you wanted to know where he found them. “Smell a bit musty.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, reaching for the offered towel as the water sputters out.
Alejandro walks in, bringing the towel closer. He stands there, stoic and observing, watching as you dry yourself and dress. The clothes don’t fit, too large, but it’ll do. It’s better than the blood.
“I’ll take the floor,” says Alejandro, backing away.
“No,” you say quickly, darting forward without thought, grasping Alejandro’s wrist.
He’s surprised as you, lips parting slightly as he takes you in. This isn’t a man you’ve just met. For months, Alejandro sought you out, stalking your every step, emerging from the shadows when prying eyes were absent. Always flirting, always insisting, negotiating to the point of exasperation. Fear came first, for your life and his, but you were never caught, not even gossiped about.
His favored would never. Not the gorgeous thing that sat in his lap. That spent more time with him than his wife and kids. That never had a choice to begin with because you don’t say no when a drug kingpin offers to pay for your abuela’s cancer treatment in exchange for being his mistress. The monster that paraded you in front of his men, fucked you in front of them, enjoyed coming inside you without birth control but never liked when you ended up pregnant. Those always had to go away. Can’t have bastard children running around.
Alejandro whispers your name the same way he did when he dragged you from the slaughterhouse. Bullets flew. Blood sprayed. You, curled up on the ground, crying. And then Alejandro, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up and away.
“I don’t bite,” you smile.
Alejandro chuckles, the corner of his mouth quirking. “That’s a shame.”
Your stomach flips, squeezes. This is the Alejandro who pursued you, gained your trust, and helped you escape. The one who flirted with you, the man you eagerly awaited until his next appearance. Alone with him, hidden in this bunker, you’ve never felt safer.
“Alejandro,” you murmur, breathy and soft.
You place your hands on his chest, the rough fabric of his uniform scratching against your skin. Pressing in, you keep your gaze low and demure, focusing on a small strap near your right hand, toying with it but not loosening.
“We shouldn’t,” he rasps, needy.
His tone goes straight to your pussy. After meeting Alejandro, you thought of him during sex, picturing him over you, his hands on your body. It’s the only way you could show desire or orgasm, pretend that you were even remotely interested in the man paying for your abuela’s cancer treatment.
“But you want to,” you say, tugging on the strap. “And I want to.”
Let you choose this for yourself. Have some control for once.
Temptation is easy. Alejandro needs no more convincing.
He grasps the back of your neck, banishing separation. One arm snakes around your back, and your hands slide up to lock behind him. Months of tension evaporate in a second, morphing into desperation. Fresh clothes forgotten, Alejandro yanks them off you, baring your body. He drops to his knees, kissing your stomach and hips, spreading your thighs with his hand, placing kisses there, too, only to part your pussy with his fingers and give your clit a little lick.
Eyes rolling back, you fist his hair, hips arching upward into his mouth. Alejandro’s hands grasp your ass. The world tilts and you’re on your back, the worn mattress beneath you, and Alejandro’s head buried between your thighs.
Toes curling, everything in you sharpens. A hard swirl of his tongue and you’re already falling apart, choking out a sob. Years of faking it and the real thing slams you into the floor, crushing you under its fist.
“Wanted to be here forever,” groans Alejandro, lightly biting your inner thigh. He turns his head, bites the other, licks a slow line up your pussy. “Worth the fucking wait.”
Alejandro pushes up and over you, pinning you to the bed. Your mouths connect, tasting yourself and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Still in uniform, Alejandro is ceaseless, starved for your kisses, claiming you like he’s always owned you.
You spread your legs wider, reaching between your bodies. A large bulge meets your palm. Alejandro’s hips flex, rubbing his erection against your hand. Hunger chews beneath your skin in urgent need, wanting out, wanting Alejandro in. In similar desire, Alejandro places his hand over yours briefly before yanking at his zipper and button.
“Keep the uniform on,” you gasp, helping in easing his pants open, to admire the way his cock slides out, bouncing slightly as it’s released.
A haggard groan leaves his lips, dripping like honey as you explore him. He’s heavy and thick in your hand, warm and throbbing. Your legs fall wider, heels hooking behind his thighs to guide him forward. Alejandro’s forehead dips to rest against your own, his gaze glued to your face, watching every little movement, every expression.
You guide him in, heels digging, urging him deeper.
“I was always there,” he rasps, rocking his hips slowly, his cock slowly dragging in and out of your pussy. “Never alone.” His thrusts slowly increase. “You were never alone.”
The next thrust is hard. You gasp, lips parting. Alejandro smiles, cheeky and soft, still gazing into your eyes as you come undone.
Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra
Rudy’s heart is a bent branch close to snapping.
On the other side of the bed, the only bed, you unclip straps, removing gun holster and knives until you’re down to just your clothes. Rudy does the same but his fingers are sweaty, his gaze busy watching your slow removal, as if he’s not in the room at all.
He clears his throat, and you turn. “I can sleep in the chair,” he says flatly because it’s the only restraint he has.
You glance at the off-red armchair in the corner. “The cuck chair?”
“There’s only one bed.”
You arch an eyebrow. “That a problem?”
“Don’t start,” he breathes, removing his gun, checking the safety. If he unloads and loads and unloads it’ll keep him busy and not looking at you.
“Rudy.”
“Sergeant Major,” he corrects.
There needs to be distance. Alejandro did this on purpose, shoved the two of you together because he keeps asking why the two of you aren’t a thing anymore.
“Sergeant Major,” you repeat, softly, enunciating. Rudy surrenders, looking your way, only to find you topless, breasts on display. “My apologies.”
He glances away quickly, the back of his neck flaming. “How’s Rose?”
“Rose?” you snort. In his peripheral, you bend, removing your pants. You’re not wearing underwear. “On first name basis now?”
Rudy inhales sharply, exhaling slowly. “Your mother. How is she?”
“She asks about you. Wants to know why I’m not bringing that handsome man around anymore. She thinks I did something to run you off.” Rudy remains silent. “Did I?”
“No,” he finally says, removing his jacket and then his shirt.
You’re completely naked now and on display, not caring to cover yourself up. Rudy can’t help it, his dick is hard and throbbing, his mind racing toward old memories of you begging for him to fuck you.
“You shower first,” he grunts, undoing his belt buckle.
“There’s room for two.”
Rudy curses and turns on you, ready to swat the idea aside. Words escape him, leaving him stranded and staring, lips parting as he takes in the full view of you, and how you saunter closer.
Reaching for his buckle, you slide the belt from of the loops, dropping it the floor. “Or we can go to bed. Shower in the morning.”
Absently, he drags his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm, trailing back up to rest his hand between your breasts. Your heartbeat upticks, chest heaving slightly with anticipation. The feeling grows. Become bright and hot and red.
Grasping the backs of your thighs, Rudy lifts and dumps you onto the bed, following after. Pinning one leg to the bed with his hand, he lifts the other, locking it against him, your foot in the air. Rudy doesn’t need to touch to know how wet you are.
“How long were you thinking about me?” he growls, control slipping.
You fist the sheets, tilting your hips to give him better access. “The whole time,” you admit.
Rudy shouldn’t, but he does.
You welcome him without resistance. There’s no softness in him, only carnal need. He thrusts, your body bouncing but unable to go anywhere. His hold is powerful, vice-like. Rudy needs to fuck you, hard.
Head falling back, you moan, the end strangled as your pussy squeezes him. Rudy releases your thigh to palm one breast, teasing the nipple between his fingers.
“Tell your mamá she’ll see that handsome man again.”
Your lips form the start of words. Rudy silences them, crushes it into dust in the air. He brings your legs together, turning you onto your side. Bracing himself with his hands flat on the bed, his thrusts quicken. Your hand comes around his throat. Squeezes.
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Just thinking about: Simon Riley who’s just so dumb
(cw: smut, puppy play, dom-sub dynamics). MDNI.
What’s the point of a guy so gigantic, so muscular, so big in the dick; but all he can do is follow around mob boss reader like a big stupid puppy? She put him to some use at least being her guard dog.
Who only does whatever she tells him to. If she tells him to jump, he’ll jump, then remember he’s supposed to ask how high and get confused mid-air and trip over his big clumsy feet. His obedience is unquestioning. Her word is law, so if it means breaking others, so be it.
Who is loyal to only her, has eyes only for her. A rival tried to lure Simon to his gang with suitcases of money. The next morning, she showed up to her office with his and his henchmen’s corpses waiting inside. Simon smiled, all pleased, like a dog who’d fetched a ball and was now wagging his tail for its owner’s approval. She made him scrub the stains by hand as she yelled at him for two hours. “You fucking bloodied my office, Simon! What if the police had caught this and put me in jail?!” Dumb puppy was hard the whole time.
He’s so pathetic he begged for her to sit on his face to relieve her tension after a really stressful time. But he came in his pants twice just from eating her out, so she punished him by making him hump her leg like the mutt he was. When he whined at the overstimulation, she muzzled him with her panties.
Dumb puppy doesn’t know how big he is. He’s constantly bumping into things or knocking them over. Once, cheeks red, he muttered a “M sorry” to a corpse he’d just tripped over. Upon realizing 1. the corpse was dead, 2. the corpse was an enemy who’d dared to steal your territory, and 3, you were glaring holes through him, he turned even darker crimson.
His lack of awareness is worse when he’s slamming into you with that huge cock. You’d looked so god damn gorgeous with your ass up for him. He’d barely located your hole and begun thrusting stupidly like he was in rut. He’s unaware that you’re barely holding onto your sanity. You just feel so good, and he can’t help but get all messy. He covers you with wet, hot open-mouthed kisses from how fucked-dumb he is. Then, when he’s done filling you up, he’ll lap it out of your pussy like a dog.
People are surprised he doesn’t just… rebel. He’s twice her size and width. He could pick her up with just one arm with ease. He’s all scar and muscle— not someone who needs to prove himself. And yet, he wears a collar with her name engraved on it.
what's love? 💕part two (DARK!GHOST x FAWN!READER) part one 🦌
gloved hand wrapped around her throat, he's thrusting at her perfect pussy, her body submissive against her plushy pillows and warm blanket. 'what are you gonna tell your boyfriend, love, hm?'
the pleasure has her dizzy. her doe-eyes fluttering shut. she opens her mouth to speak to the giant man on top of her, but her eyebrows furrow instead of words leaving her throat, a little croaked whimper escaping her.
he's smiling beneath the mask. her torn clothes on the floor beside them as he loves nothing more than when she blushes. 'told you i was gonna help you, love. what have we been practicing, hm?'
rather than slowing his thrusts down so she can think, he fastens them. her pussy holding onto his girth as if she's clinging for dear life.
she squeaks a little sound. 'i-
'good start,' he husks. nose brushing against hers, his animalistic desire at its peak.
the material of his glove is too coarse. her senses on absolute overdrive. pained tears drip down her cheeks, erasing the ones of pleasure. 't-t-take o-ff your gl-oves please...'
he rips them off, tossing them to the side in a second. wrapping his warm, bare hand around her delicate throat, she can finally breathe again.
she’s looking at him, lips parted. ‘g-g-onna tell him i-i-’m leaving him.’ something she's tried to almost do many times before.
he growls, eyes closing. the pleasure ripping his soul in two. leaning his forehead against hers, he growls, ‘that’s my bloody girl.’
As a fan of Call of Duty and someone who actively enjoys gameplays of different campaings of the game I think it is really important for people to remember:
Call of Duty is American/British military propaganda and we need to draw a line between enjoying a game with military settings, which are FICTIONAL, to actually glorify war criminals actively commiting war crimes (such as the current situation in Palestine where american and british soldiers are being deployed to).
A very special part of this community are the military inacurracies and playing with the propagandistic settings to mold the characters into queer/hybrid/silly/gender bent/whatever fictional creature individuals. Fiction is an important form of protest against these regimes.
It is particularly important for me to mention this after the MW4 trailer came out. Thinking about a (not so) fictional war between USA/UK and North Korea makes me think of… something… (cough cough The Korean War cough cough).
What I am trying to say is: don’t fall into propaganda. Make soldiers fuck eachother sloppy style. Fuck military propaganda. Read gay smut.
