#miltary

STARRING: Y/n, König, Ghost, Captain Price, and Soap

Pairing Ghost x Y/n x König

WARNING: inappropriate content, viewer discretion advised

(This my first time writing smut so let me know how you like it!🎀)

It had been a couple of months since you had joined the task force, and in all that time, you had done your best to keep your head down.

You spoke when spoken to. You followed orders. You trained, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle without complaint. You told yourself it was temporary anyway—just a military exchange, nothing permanent.

So when you were suddenly called into Captain Price’s office, unease settled low in your stomach before you had even stepped through the door.

The office smelled faintly of old paper, coffee, and gun oil. Captain Price sat behind his desk, broad and steady as ever, hands braced against the wood. Beside him were two men.

One of them you recognized immediately.

Lieutenant Ghost stood near the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his skull-patterned balaclava as unreadable as ever. Cold, still, watchful.

The other man was impossible to ignore.

He stood even taller than Ghost, his frame massive beneath his gear, shoulders so broad they nearly blocked the light behind him. A strange sniper hood concealed most of his face, bleached markings running down it like ghostly tear tracks. When your eyes met his, all you could really see were his pale blue eyes.

Sharp. Startled.

The second he realized you were looking at him, he glanced away with an awkward stiffness that seemed almost out of place for someone built like a tank.

You shifted your attention back to Price.

“Y/n,” Price said, voice calm and clipped, “I think it’s about time you get released onto your first real mission.”

Your spine straightened instinctively. “Yes, sir.”

His face did not change. “You’ve trained long enough. You’ll be accompanying Ghost and König.”

At the mention of the hooded man’s name, your gaze flickered briefly back toward him.

He was already looking at you again.

Price noticed, but didn’t comment. He simply reached for a folder on his desk and opened it. “Recon and recovery operation. Small team. In and out, ideally quiet. We’re tracking hostile movement near an old supply corridor. Intelligence suggests stolen equipment is being moved through the area. We verify, recover what we can, and eliminate resistance if necessary.”

Ghost spoke then, voice low and rough. “She’s cleared for field deployment?”

Price looked at him. “She is.”

Ghost’s eyes shifted to you. Even through the mask, the scrutiny felt heavy. “Hope she knows how to keep up.”

You held his stare. “I do.”

One corner of Price’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “That’ll do. Wheels out early. Get your gear sorted and get some sleep.”

You nodded once. “Understood, sir.”

Then you left.

Back in your quarters, silence wrapped around you like a second skin.

You packed methodically, checking and rechecking your gear just to keep your hands busy. Ammunition. Med kit. Spare clothes. Tactical gloves. Field knife. Rations. Everything had its place, and you made sure it stayed there.

Once you were done, you let yourself take one long, proper shower.

The water was hot enough to sting your skin, steam curling around the small room as you stood there with your head tipped back and your eyes shut. You already knew it would be your last decent shower for a while, and the thought made you linger longer than you should have.

When you finally shut the water off, the cold air bit at your damp skin immediately.

You changed, dried your hair as best as you could, and lay down on your bed. The mattress was stiff, the room dim, your packed gear sitting by the door like a silent warning.

You stared at the ceiling for a while.

Then, sometime between one breath and the next, sleep took you.

Morning came too early.

You dressed in your fatigues while the base was still wrapped in that gray, frozen hour before sunrise. The air outside was crisp enough to wake you fully the second you stepped out.

By the time you reached the military cruisers, Price was already there.

Ghost stood near the driver’s side, checking a weapon with efficient, practiced movements. König was at the rear of one of the vehicles, lifting gear into the back with ease, as though the weight meant nothing to him.

Price gave the briefing quickly, his words cutting through the morning cold.

“You already know the objective. Stay sharp, stay together, and don’t improvise unless you absolutely have to. Ghost, you’re lead. König, rear cover. Y/n, you stay with them and do exactly as ordered. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered.

Ghost gave a curt nod.

König’s head dipped once. “Ja.”

You moved to help load the rest of the gear. When you reached for one of the heavier cases, König’s hand got there first.

He lifted it easily.

“I can carry that,” you said.

His gaze dropped to you, then to the case, then back to you again. “I know.”

Before you could respond, he set it in the vehicle as if the discussion had already ended.

Price exhaled smoke to the side and muttered, “Christ.”

Once everything was packed, the front passenger seat was taken before you could claim it. Ghost slid into the driver’s seat, and one of the others from the staging area shut the door after a brief exchange with him.

That left the back.

With König.

You climbed in, gear tucked at your feet, and the suspension shifted noticeably when König settled into the seat beside you. Up close, he felt even larger somehow, his knees nearly brushing the front seats, his shoulders broad enough that he took up more than his share of the space without even trying.

Ghost started the engine.

For a while, the only sounds were the low growl of the cruiser and the faint crackle of the radio.

You glanced sideways at the man beside you.

He sat rigidly, hands resting on his thighs, eyes forward beneath the hood as if he were trying very hard to become part of the seat.

You cleared your throat softly.

“Sir, it’s nice to finally get to know you.”

You turned a little and extended your hand toward him.

Before König could react, Ghost’s voice cut in from the front.

“Don’t bother,” he said, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “That bloke doesn’t talk.”

You hesitated, your hand still half-extended, then slowly began to lower it.

But then, beside you, the large man shifted.

A gloved hand carefully reached out and took yours.

His grip was firm but oddly cautious, as though he were worried he might hurt you if he wasn’t careful.

“I am König,” he said in a thick Austrian accent.

His voice was deep—deeper than you expected—and quieter too.

You smiled despite yourself. “It’s nice to meet you, König.”

He let go of your hand almost immediately and gave a small nod. “Ja.”

Ghost glanced up into the mirror again. “Look at that. A miracle.”

You leaned back into your seat. “So he does talk.”

“Barely,” Ghost replied.

König looked out the window. “I talk enough.”

Ghost huffed out something that might have been a laugh. “That’s generous.”

You looked back at König. “How long have you been with the task force?”

A pause.

“Some time.”

You waited.

When it became clear that was the full answer, you tried again. “Do you always say as little as possible?”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

Ghost made a low sound in the front. “You walked right into that one.”

You tried not to smile too much. “Okay. New strategy.”

König’s eyes shifted toward you slightly, curious despite himself.

You rested your arms on your knees. “Where in Austria are you from?”

He was quiet long enough that you thought maybe he was just going to ignore the question entirely.

Then—

“Near Vienna.”

“That’s nice,” you said. “I’ve never been.”

He gave a tiny nod. “It is… different now.”

Your expression softened a little. “Do you miss it?”

He looked at you then.

The pale blue of his eyes was almost startling under the dimness of the hood.

“Yes,” he said, and for the first time, it sounded like there was something real under the shortness of his answer. “Sometimes.”

The cruiser was quiet for a few seconds after that.

Then Ghost, still watching the road, said, “She’s trying to be friendly, König. You won’t die from conversation.”

König muttered something in German under his breath.

Ghost gave a dry chuckle. “Didn’t catch that.”

You blinked, then laughed softly before you could stop yourself.

König’s head turned toward you almost immediately, like he hadn’t expected that sound from you.

Your smile faded into something smaller, more embarrassed. “Sorry.”

He stared for a second too long, then looked away again just as fast.

“You do not need to apologize,” he said.

Ghost caught the moment in the mirror and said nothing, though you could feel his notice all the same.

You shifted slightly in your seat. “So, what exactly do you do on missions?”

Ghost answered before König could. “I lead.”

You looked toward the front. “I noticed.”

“And he lurks,” Ghost added.

König turned his head. “I do not lurk.”

Ghost’s eyes flicked to the mirror again. “You absolutely lurk.”

König went silent, which was probably as close to conceding as he would ever get.

That made you smile again.

After a moment, König spoke, quieter this time. “Sniper support. Overwatch. Extraction, if needed.”

You gave one small nod and looked forward again.

The silence that followed felt different this time—not as tense, not as sharp.

Ghost drove on as the sun slowly began to rise, pale gold light spilling across the road ahead. The world outside remained cold and distant, the mission waiting somewhere beyond it, but inside the vehicle something had shifted ever so slightly.

Enough that when the cruiser hit a rough stretch of road and your shoulder knocked lightly into König’s arm, he didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

The recon had gone smoother than expected.

Long stretches of silence, broken only by clipped comms. Moving through ruined structures and damp tree lines, your pulse hammering in your throat, trying to keep your breathing steady while Ghost stalked ahead like a predator and König loomed behind, watching.

You had stayed low, stayed alert, listened, followed, and kept up.

And now, by some miracle, the three of you had made it back to the safe house in one piece.

Mostly.

The safe house itself was barely more than a forgotten structure tucked far enough off the road to avoid notice. The windows were boarded from the inside, the walls rough and worn, the air faintly stale—dust, old wood, and the metallic tang that always clung to soldiers after a mission.

Ghost immediately moved to check the perimeter, habit as much as caution, while König ducked beneath the doorway and stepped in behind you.

That was when you noticed it.

The dark stain spreading along König’s sleeve.

You turned sharply. "You’re hurt."

König glanced down as if he’d only just remembered. "It is nothing, liebling."

Ghost, halfway across the room, scoffed. "Nothing, my arse."

You stepped closer before König could brush it off again. "Sit down."

He blinked at you.

You pointed toward the old couch against the wall. "Now."

A beat of silence.

König looked from you to the couch, then—without argument—crossed the room and sat.

The old cushions groaned beneath his weight.

Ghost stared.

You were already dropping your gear and kneeling by the med bag. "How bad is it?"

König shifted, trying to look at his own arm. "A graze."

Ghost leaned against the wall, arms folded. "That ‘graze’ bled through two layers."

You pulled out gauze, antiseptic, scissors, tape. "Take the sleeve off."

König went still.

You looked up. "I need to see it."

He hesitated, his large hand flexing once over his knee—then again when he felt blood rushing south.

Ghost’s voice cut in, dry. "You heard her. Unless you want infection."

König muttered something low in German, then carefully began stripping off the outer layer of his gear, movements deliberately slow to hide the growing strain in his pants. The adrenaline had worn off enough for the ache to settle in, but the way you were looking at him, the way your hands were about to be on him—

Once the fabric peeled back, the wound came into view.

Not terrible.

But not nothing.

The bullet had clipped him along the upper arm, tearing open a hot, angry line. Blood smeared down the side of his bicep, disappearing into the seam of his shirt.

You moved closer without thinking, kneeling between the couch and the low table in front of it.

"This might sting," you said.

König looked down at you, the mask hiding the flush creeping up his neck. "I know."

You soaked the gauze and gently started cleaning the blood away.

His arm was massive up close—solid muscle beneath torn skin, warm and tense under your careful hands. He didn’t flinch at first, but you felt the subtle tightening the second the antiseptic hit raw flesh.

You glanced up. "Sorry."

"There is no need."

"You say that now."

Ghost watched from across the room, posture casual only if someone didn’t know better.

But he did know better.

He knew exactly what he was looking at.

You, kneeling between König’s spread knees because there was nowhere else to fit in the cramped space.

Your face tipped up in concentration.

Your hands moving carefully over König’s arm, your voice softer than it had been in the field.

And König—massive, dangerous, unpredictable König—letting you.

Letting you touch him, direct him, fuss over him.

Ghost’s jaw tightened under the balaclava.

You peeled back another bloodied section of fabric. "You should’ve said something sooner."

Ghost cut in, voice dry. "He enjoys pretending he’s indestructible."

König turned his head slightly. "I am sitting here, Lieutenant."

"And?"

König said nothing.

You fought back a small smile and reached for clean gauze. "Hold still."

His eyes dropped to your face again immediately.

Ghost saw that too.

Saw the way König’s head lowered so he could hear you better.

Saw König’s quiet obedience.

Something unpleasant twisted low in Ghost’s chest before he could stop it.

He pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward. "Need a hand?" His voice was rougher than he meant it to be.

You looked up at him, mildly surprised. "I’ve got it."

That should have been the end of it.

Instead, Ghost frowned under his mask but bit his tongue and stood there—close enough now to loom just behind your shoulder, his presence large and cold and impossible to ignore. You could feel him there even without looking, and König clearly could too, because his posture shifted almost imperceptibly.

The room grew quieter.

You looked between them once, then returned to wrapping the bandage with deliberate care. "You’re both being weird."

That earned the faintest huff from Ghost.

König, somehow, looked even more awkward than before, still trying to hide the growing hardness in his pants as you worked between his legs.

You finished winding the bandage around his arm and smoothed the end down with tape. "There."

König flexed experimentally, then nodded. "It is good."

"Good," you said. "Because you’re not tearing it open five minutes from now."

"Ja."

You began gathering the used supplies, but before you could fully pull back, König spoke again.

"Danke."

You looked up at him and smiled. "You’re welcome."

Ghost’s gaze flicked from your smile to König’s face.

There it was again.

That same strange, hot irritation.

It made no sense.

He knew that.

You were patching up a teammate. That was all. Standard. Practical. Necessary.

So why did the sight of König looking down at you like that make something in him go sharp?

Why did it bother him that your hands had lingered a second longer than they would have with anyone else?

Why was he suddenly, irrationally aware that you’d smiled at König twice in the span of ten minutes and at him only once all day?

He shoved the feeling down hard.

Jealousy was stupid.

Worse than stupid.

It was inconvenient.

And yet there it sat, ugly and stubborn.

You zipped the med bag halfway shut and finally stood, stretching slightly. "Anyone else injured?"

Ghost answered too quickly. "No."

Your eyes moved to him. "You sure?"

You narrowed your gaze slightly, as if deciding whether to believe him.

Then you set the med bag down with a soft thump. "Lieutenant."

He knew that tone. He’d heard it used on König less than five minutes ago.

And somehow, it was worse aimed at him.

With a low sigh, Ghost reached up and tugged part of his gear aside. "It’s barely anything."

You stepped closer, checking the spot he indicated. It was bruising rather than bleeding, though the edge of his tactical shirt was scuffed where something had struck and dragged.

You touched near it lightly. "Does this hurt?"

Ghost’s shoulders went rigid for a fraction of a second. "Not particularly."

König, from the couch: "It does."

Ghost shot him a glare. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

You looked over your shoulder at König. "You really are."

His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners—the closest thing to a visible smile you’d ever seen from him.

That, inexplicably, made Ghost feel worse.

You turned back to him and reached for another cold pack. "Here."

Ghost looked down at it, then at you. "I can hold my own ice."

"I’m sure you can."

"But I’m handing it to you anyway."

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Ghost took it from your hand.

Your fingers brushed his glove.

A tiny thing.

Nothing, really.

But his eyes lingered on yours a second too long afterward, and you noticed. He knew you noticed. The room seemed to narrow for one strange, quiet beat before König shifted on the couch.

The mission had scraped some of the distance away.

Not all of it.

Just enough.

You moved toward the small kitchenette and found an old kettle, a box of tea, and a few mismatched mugs that looked like they’d survived three separate wars. "I’m making tea."

Ghost eyed the kettle skeptically. "That thing safe?"

"Probably not."

König answered immediately. "I will still drink it."

You glanced back at him with a smile. "Very brave."

Ghost watched that smile again.

There it was.

That same small, genuine curve of your mouth.

And there it was again in him too—that ugly twist of jealousy, quieter now but no less real.

He looked away before either of you could read anything in his face.

From the other side of the room, König watched him do it.

And if Ghost had to guess, König understood far more than he was letting on.

That thought was irritating enough to make Ghost press the cold pack harder to his shoulder than necessary.

You turned back with the kettle in hand. "Sugar?"

König nodded. "Ja."

Ghost said, "No."

You hummed. "One normal person. Good."

Ghost looked up sharply. "Normal?"

König’s head dipped as though hiding amusement.

You busied yourself with the mugs before Ghost could answer, your shoulders relaxing now that the immediate danger had passed. The safe house still smelled like dust, blood, and damp wood, but with the faint rising warmth of tea and the low murmur of voices.

You set König’s mug down first.

Then Ghost’s.

His gloved fingers closed around it as he looked up at you. "Thanks."

A simple word. Rougher in his voice than in König’s, but honest.

You nodded once. "Try not to get shot tomorrow."

Ghost tilted his head. "No promises."

You sighed. "Of course not."

Later, in the shower:

König waited until the bathroom door was locked behind him before exhaling sharply, his cock already straining against his fatigues. The way you’d knelt between his legs, your small hands smoothing over his skin, your breath warm against his arm—it had been fucking torture.

He turned the shower on full blast, the water steaming hot, and stripped with rough urgency. His gear hit the floor with a heavy thud, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, pre-cum already glistening at the tip. He stepped under the spray with a low groan, his massive hand wrapping around his length in a tight grip.

Fuck.

He didn’t even need to close his eyes to picture it—your lips parted, your lashes fluttering as you’d looked up at him from between his thighs. The way your body had fit there, small and perfect, like you were made to kneel for him. His hips jerked forward into his fist, his breath ragged as he imagined your tongue lapping at the head of his cock before swallowing him down.

"Y/n…" His voice was guttural, barely audible over the water, but the way your name rolled off his tongue was filthy, possessive. His thumb swiped over the leaking tip, smearing precum down his shaft as he stroked himself faster, rougher.

His other hand braced against the shower wall, muscles flexing as he fucked into his fist, the slap of skin echoing in the tiled space. He could see it so clearly—your lips stretched around him, your throat working to take him deeper, your teary eyes looking up at him like he was everything.

"So fucking small," he gritted out, his hips stuttering. "So perfect."

The water pounded down his back, his muscles coiled tight, his balls drawing up as heat pooled low in his gut. He was close, so fucking close, and he didn’t fight it. With a final brutal stroke, he came with a choked curse—thick ropes of cum splattering against the shower wall, his body trembling with the force of it.

For a moment, he just stood there, panting, his cock still twitching in his hand.

Then he let out a slow breath and turned his face into the spray.

Fuck.

He was going to have to do that again later.

The bathroom door had long since shut behind König, leaving the safe house quieter than before.

The kettle still radiated a faint warmth from the burner. The mugs sat half-empty on the table. Ghost lingered in the kitchen doorway, a cold pack pressed loosely to his shoulder, watching as you cleaned the last of the medical supplies and rinsed the cups in the shallow sink.

Neither of you said much.

You dried one of the mugs with an old dish towel and set it upside down beside the sink. For a moment, you could feel him watching you again—that heavy, steady kind of attention that made the room seem smaller without anything actually changing.

When you finished, you wiped your hands dry and stretched slightly, feeling the ache settle deep into your shoulders now that the adrenaline had worn off. Every part of you felt heavy.

“I’m going to bed before I pass out standing up,” you murmured.

Ghost nodded once. “Go on, then.”

The hallway was narrow and dim, lit only by a weak lamp plugged crookedly into the wall. The safe house had seemed larger from the outside, but inside it was cramped—just a main room, a kitchenette, a bathroom, and one small bedroom tucked off the hall.

You pushed the door open.

It was barely a bedroom at all.

The silence stretched just a little too long in the doorway.

You were already swaying slightly on your feet, exhaustion pulling at you hard enough that your vision blurred at the edges. The bed sat there—unchanged, unhelpful, singular.

One bed.

That was it.

Behind you, Ghost shifted his weight. “Well.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say something unhelpful.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Heavy footsteps interrupted before anything else could be said.

König emerged from the bathroom, ducking slightly as he stepped into the hallway. His arm was freshly bandaged now, though the fabric was already beginning to darken faintly. His hood still shadowed his face, but his posture—tight, controlled—gave away the strain he was under.

His gaze flicked between you and Ghost.

“What is wrong?”

Ghost tilted his head toward the room. “Look.”

König stepped forward, filling the doorway with ease. He glanced inside.

Paused.

“…Ah.”

You let out a tired breath. “Yeah. That’s about the reaction I had.”

There was a brief silence.

Then König stepped fully into the room.

Just—walked in.

Like the problem didn’t exist.

You blinked, watching as he moved to the side of the bed and sat down heavily, the mattress dipping under his weight. He adjusted slightly, careful of his arm, then looked back at the two of you like everything was already decided.

“…König,” you said slowly.

“Ja?”

“What are you doing?”

“Schlaf.”

You stared at him.

Ghost made a quiet sound behind you—half exhale, half laugh.

“That simple, is it?” he muttered.

König didn’t answer. He just shifted back slightly, making space—deliberate, unspoken.

An invitation.

Or a command.

You looked at the bed.

Then at him.

Then over your shoulder at Ghost.

“…You cannot be serious.”

Ghost met your gaze, unreadable beneath the mask. Then he shrugged one shoulder. “I’m tired.”

“That is not a solution.”

“It is if it works.”

“It does not work.”

“It will.”

You opened your mouth to argue—

And then closed it again.

Because arguing required energy.

Energy you didn’t have.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, the fight draining out of you in a quiet, reluctant wave. “…This is ridiculous.”

“No arguments there,” Ghost said.

And then—before you could change your mind—he stepped past you into the room.

The space shrank instantly.

You watched as he moved to the other side of the bed and sat down, boots thudding softly against the floor before he shifted his weight back. The mattress dipped again.

Now it looked even smaller.

Two of them already took up most of it.

They both looked at you.

Waiting.

You stared back.

“…Unbelievable.”

But your body betrayed you.

Because you stepped forward anyway.

Slow. Reluctant. Like you were walking into something you couldn’t quite undo.

You stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at the very limited space left between them.

Then up.

König had shifted slightly, making room in the middle.

Ghost leaned back just enough to give you a sliver more space in the middle .

Not much.

Just enough.

You sighed under your breath. “If I get crushed, I’m blaming both of you.”

Ghost snorted quietly.

König said nothing, but there was something almost approving in the slight tilt of his head.

Carefully, you climbed onto the bed.

It dipped immediately under your weight.

You shifted back, pressing closer to könig, trying to make yourself smaller—like that would somehow fix the situation.

It didn’t.

There was still no space.

Heat radiating through the thin space between you.

Ghost followed a second later, stretching out on the other side, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely across his torso.

You were very aware of both of them.

The warmth.

The presence.

The lack of distance.

“…This is ridiculous,” you murmured again, softer this time.

“Go to sleep,” Ghost said.

König’s voice was quieter, closer. “You need rest.”

You didn’t argue.

Couldn’t.

Your body gave out first.

Your eyes slipped shut, your breathing slowly evening out despite the cramped space, despite the unfamiliar closeness on either side of you.

Between them—

solid, steady, unyielding presences—

you found yourself drifting.

And neither of them moved away.

The bed creaked softly in the dark.

You stirred, still half-asleep, the warmth of König’s massive body pressed against your back. His arm—heavy, possessive—had somehow wound around your waist in the night, pulling you flush against him. His chest was a wall of heat, his breath slow and steady against the nape of your neck.

Then you felt it.

Hard.

Thick.

Pressing insistently against the curve of your ass.

You stiffened, sleep evaporating in an instant.

"König," you whispered, voice still rough with sleep.

He didn’t respond.

But his hips shifted slightly, grinding against you in a slow, unconscious roll.

A whine escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"Move your—your weapon," you hissed, reaching back to shove at his hip.

Your fingers brushed something far hotter, far harder than you expected.

König’s breath hitched.

His grip on your waist tightened.

And then—

A low, gravelly groan rumbled against your ear as he woke up .

"Y/n," he murmured, voice thick with sleep and something far darker.

You froze.

His cock twitched against your palm.

"I—" you started, but his hand clamped over yours, pressing it harder against his length.

"Hör nicht auf, Liebling," he growled.

Your breath caught.

Because he wasn’t just hard.

He was dripping.

Pre-cum slicked the fabric of his boxers, the heat of him searing through the thin material.

"König—"

"You touched it first," he reminded you, voice rough. His hips rolled again, grinding his cock into your hand. "Now finish what you started."

In front of you, Ghost shifted.

"The fuck is going on?" he muttered, voice thick with sleep.

König didn’t answer.

He just tightened his grip on your wrist and dragged your hand lower, beneath the waistband of his boxers, until your fingers wrapped around bare, throbbing flesh.

"Scheiße," he hissed as you squeezed instinctively.

Ghost went still.

Then—

"Christ," he muttered, sitting up slightly. "You two are fucking shameless."

König ignored him, too focused on the way your fingers were tentatively stroking his length, exploring the thick veins, the swollen head.

"Harder," he ordered, voice rough.

You obeyed.

Ghost exhaled sharply, watching as König’s hips jerked into your touch.

"Fuckin’ hell," he muttered.

But he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t move away.

Just watched.

And when König’s free hand slid beneath your shirt, palming your breast with a possessive growl, Ghost’s jaw tightened.

But he still didn’t stop you.

You swallowed hard. “König—”

He silenced you with a groan, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants.

“Shh.”

A sharp rip echoed through the room as he tore the fabric away, leaving you bare beneath him.

He just dragged you to the edge of the bed, flipped you onto your back, and dropped between your thighs.

He pulled his sniper hood up just above the bridge of his nose so he could devour your sweet pussy.

“Fuck—” you gasped as his tongue swiped through your folds in one long, filthy stroke.

Ghost sat up fully now, watching with sharp, predatory focus as König devoured you like a man starved.

“Bloody Christ,” Ghost muttered, but he didn’t stop him.

König groaned against your cunt, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it between his lips.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken whimper tearing from your throat.

“So fucking sweet,” König rumbled, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh as he lapped at you greedily.

Ghost’s gloved hand suddenly gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough.

You nodded desperately, your hips jerking as König’s tongue plunged inside you.

Ghost smirked.

Then he unbuckled his belt.

König didn’t stop.

If anything, he ate you out harder, his fingers joining his tongue, stretching you open as he fucked you with both.

Your thighs trembled around his head, your moans growing louder, more frantic—

Then Ghost’s cock slapped against your cheek.

“Open,” he ordered.

You obeyed.

The moment your lips wrapped around him, König’s fingers curled just right, and your orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You screamed around Ghost’s cock, your body clamping down on König’s fingers as pleasure tore through you.

König didn’t let up.

He licked you through it, his growls muffled against your cunt as you writhed beneath him.

Ghost cursed, his grip tightening in your hair. “Fuck,” he groaned.

König finally pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough. Then he flipped you onto your hands and knees, his cock already free—thick, heavy, dripping with need.

“Now,” he growled, lining himself up, “you take me properly.”

He didn’t give you time to prepare.

One brutal thrust, and he was buried to the hilt, his girth stretching you impossibly wide.

You sobbed, your body still oversensitive from your orgasm, but König didn’t care.

He set a punishing pace from the start, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to shake the bed.

Ghost watched, his cock still slick with your spit, his gaze darkening as König fucked you like a man possessed.

Then—

He moved behind you.

“Think she can take us both?” Ghost mused, his fingers tracing your asshole.

König thrusts stuttering at the thought. “Try,” he challenged.

Ghost smirked.

Then he pressed in.

You screamed, your body stretching obscenely around them both, the pleasure-pain so intense it bordered on unbearable.

Ghost groaned, his head falling back. “Fuck, she’s tight.”

König didn’t answer.

He just moved.

Their cocks rubbed against each other inside you, the friction maddening, the stretch overwhelming.

Ghost’s hand found your clit, his fingers working in rough, demanding circles.

“Cum for us,” he ordered.

You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you like a bullet, your body clamping down around them both.

König cursed, his hips jerking erratically.

Ghost gritted his teeth, his grip on your hip bruising.

Then—

They came.

Hot, thick, filling you until you were dripping with them.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing and your soft whimpers.

Then König pulled out with a satisfied groan, collapsing onto the bed beside you.

Ghost wiped himself off on your thigh before tucking himself away.

“Not bad,” he mused.

König huffed a laugh, pulling you against his chest.

Ghost just smirked.

And you?

You were already half-unconscious, too fucked-out to protest.

The military cruiser rumbled down the dirt road, morning sunlight filtering through dust-streaked windows.

You were trapped between two walls of muscle—König’s massive frame pressed against your left, Ghost’s solid weight crowding your right. Their thighs bracketed yours, the heat of them searing even through layers of tactical gear.

Up front, Price and Soap were deep in conversation, their voices a low murmur over the engine’s growl.

Then König shifted.

His gloved hand slid casually onto your thigh, fingers flexing possessively. You stiffened, but before you could react, he leaned down, the rough fabric of his sniper hood brushing your ear as he whispered in German:

"Erinnerst du dich, wie du gestern nach mir geschmeckt hast?"

("Do you remember how you tasted on me yesterday?")

Your breath hitched.

Ghost’s hand clamped over your other thigh, his grip squeezing when König’s fingers crept higher.

König ignored him, his masked lips grazing your ear again.

"Ich kann dich jetzt riechen... schon wieder nass für uns?"

("Wet for us again already?")

A traitorous pulse throbbed between your legs.

König chuckled darkly, his thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of your pants.

"Du willst es doch auch."

("You want it too.")

The cruiser hit a pothole, jostling you hard against them both.

König used the momentum to grind his palm against your core, his breath hot through the mask:

"Zitterst wie ein verängstigtes Kaninchen... so süß."

("Shaking like a scared rabbit... so sweet.")

You bit your lip to stifle a whimper.

Up front, Soap laughed at something Price said, completely oblivious to what was happening behind them.

His gloved hand slid past the waistband of your pants in one smooth motion, the rough material catching on your hip before his fingers found the damp heat of your panties.

You jerked against him, your face burying into Ghost’s neck to stifle the whimper crawling up your throat—but it was too late. The sound vibrated against his skin, and Ghost’s entire body went rigid.

König tsked quietly, his fingers pressing harder through the soaked fabric.

"Leise, Engel... willst du, dass sie uns hören?"

("Quiet, angel... do you want them to hear us?")

His middle finger dragged a slow, torturous line up your slit, the pressure just shy of painful. Your hips twitched forward instinctively, chasing the touch, and König rewarded you by circling your clit through the lace—once, twice, before pinching lightly.

You gasped into Ghost’s neck, your nails digging into his bicep.

König pushed—his fingertip slipping beneath the waistband of your panties to tease your bare folds.

Ghost’s free hand suddenly gripped your jaw, forcing your face away from his neck. His eyes were molten behind the mask, his voice a razor’s edge of control:

"Look at me."

You obeyed, your breath coming in shallow pants.

König chose that moment to sink his finger into you to the knuckle.

Your back arched, a silent scream parting your lips as he curled that wicked finger just so—

Ghost’s grip on your jaw tightened.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he dragged his gloved thumb across your bottom lip.

"Open."

The command brooked no argument.

You parted your lips, and Ghost shoved two fingers into your mouth, his grip forcing your head back against the seat as König fucked you with his hand.

Up front, Soap turned slightly in his seat.

"Oi, you lot alive back—"

Ghost’s voice was lethally calm. "Eyes forward, MacTavish."

Soap’s brows shot up, but he faced forward again.

König chuckled, adding a second finger alongside the first, stretching you obscenely.

“So tight... do you think she can take us both?"

Ghost’s fingers pressed down on your tongue in silent answer.

You could only tremble between them, your body strung tight as a bowstring—

Until the cruiser hit another pothole.

And König’s thumb found your clit.

The tires of the military cruiser crunched to a sudden halt, gravel spraying as Price parked outside the debriefing building.

The abrupt stop jolted you back to reality—König’s fingers still buried inside you, Ghost’s grip still tight on your jaw.

You gasped, wrenching yourself away from them both with a sharp twist of your body.

"Enough," you hissed, cheeks flushed, breath ragged as you shoved König’s hand out of your pants and pulled away from Ghost’s hold.

König let you go easily, but his fingers lingered in the air for a heartbeat, glistening in the morning light before he slowly dragged them across the fabric of his thigh, wiping you off with deliberate slowness.

"Schade," he murmured, his voice a low, sinful purr. ("Pity.")

Ghost exhaled sharply through his nose, gloved fingers flexing where they’d been forced away from your skin. His eyes burned behind the mask, but he said nothing.

Up front, Soap unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around, oblivious to the tension.

"Debrief in five, lads."

Price shot a glance into the rearview mirror, his sharp eyes lingering on the three of you for half a second too long.

"Keep the drama outside my vehicle," he grunted, before shoving his door open and stepping out.

The moment he was gone, you scrambled for the door handle, your legs unsteady as you stumbled out into the sunlight.

König followed, his massive frame unfolding from the cruiser with predatory ease. He leaned down as he passed you, his breath hot against your ear.

"Das war nur ein kleiner Vorgeschmack, Engel."

("That was just a taste, angel.")

Ghost slammed the cruiser door hard enough to rattle the frame, his voice a warning growl.

"Move."

You didn’t look back.

I felt like taking pics, so here are some of my favourite designs from the game.

Elite Guards and BSAA

Grace

Leon

Three members of the WWII Airborne Demonstration Team display the typical loadout of gear worn by US Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions on D-Day.

The WWII ADT was one of several groups of airborne re-enactors that jumped in period-correct uniforms and gear, with authentic military canopy parachutes, from a fleet of C-47 ‘Dakotas’ onto original D-Day drop zones during the 75th anniversary of D-Day on June 6, 2019.