Hiyaaaa~ You can call me Hare or Heresy (any pronouns)! I made this sideblog as the outlet for my recently developed Taskforce 141 hyperfixation. I've started making progress through the games but I'm obsessed with all the drabbles and fanfic on here so I wanted to participate :3
MDNI - I'm nasty and dark with my posts and reblogs
This is a solidly anti-AI blog!
I don't fuck with the military irl
Ask Box Is Open!
Will write: fluff, smut, angst. I'll write most things, including dubcon, noncon, fauxcest and piss
Will not write: Scat, gore, vomit
Also feel free to just leave your own thoughts, comments and headcanons :33 Anons welcome, just don't be a dick <3
The blinds are still closed but sunlight peeks through them anyways.
Your bed is warm with shared body heat.
A heavy, hairy arm is wrapped around your middle.
How you love waking up so softly.
You don’t move, not wanting the moment to end.
A kiss to your shoulder lets you know your husband is awake behind you. The scratch of his beard has your cheeks warming.
His hand travels up, landing on your hip.
You smile.
Not a word is said as you scoot back into him, feeling his chest press against your bare back.
You sigh, feeling right where you need to be.
Your eyes flutter closed once again.
Price squeezes at your arm, his knuckles brushing your skin.
Softly his kisses continue. Another to your shoulder, one to the curve of your neck, the last under your ear.
Your heart beats a little quicker in your chest.
His fingers follow the curve of your waist down to your thigh, giving it a teasing squeeze. The cold metal of his wedding band sharp against warmth of his rough palm.
A familiar coil begins to tighten in your stomach as he drifts his hand over your breast. Lazily teasing the little peaks on your chest with slow passes back and forth.
You hum softly, a sound of pleasure.
His fingers ghost down your stomach, making you twitch at the gentle sensation.
His fingers grip into your thigh, just enough to press small dents into your skin.
Like instinct, your legs spread open.
You lick your lips, watching his veiny hand travel lower.
Carefully his fingers brush into the soft curls of your bush, one finger tip pressing into your folds.
Tapping his fingers to your sensitive bud, each gentle slap makes you jolt at the contact.
His calloused finger dips, gathering wetness only to come and spread it over your sensitive clit in a slow tortuous circle.
You inhale, sharp and quick.
Another kiss to your shoulder grounds you.
You lean back into Price, your eyes fluttering closed as he begins to trace unhurried deliberate circles between your legs.
Your hips move and wiggle trying to follow the friction.
The pressure of an orgasm builds deep inside you at his practiced touch, but dies all too fast each time, you get close. Right before you fall of that cliff, Price pulls you back in with a bigger pass of his fingers, teasing you entrance with a single swipe.
He slows his pace down more, circle by circle until his hand comes to a complete stop.
Allowing you to rut against his hand at the pace you want to.
You take the opportunity to press down into his hand, shamelessly grinding with a gentle slow rock.
Breathy moans and whimpers escape your lips, your mouth forming an O shape as you feel that flicker in your stomach turn into a solid wave of pleasure.
Your first orgasm hitting you so early in the morning your legs feel like they get electrocuted. A tingling sensation so intense you’re unable to curl your toes.
But he doesn’t stop.
His hand cups you entirely, his middle finger teasing your slit with a dip between your folds.
A knuckle dipping into your cunt.
Barely giving you what you want.
What you need.
You gasp, throbbing for something more. Your heels push against the mattress trying to persuade his thick fingers deeper inside you.
When suddenly, he pulls out once again.
Leaving you empty.
You whine in complaint.
Price shifts behind you, his eyes darting to the clock on his bedside table.
A shiver runs through you as his hand lands back on your thigh, still wet from your slick.
He leans back in, the bed creaking under his weight as his lips meet the back of your head.
“Gotta go to work love.”
He murmurs, and just like that the beautiful pleasure making your thighs tremble disappears as Price throws off the covers and stands up.
To your horror, tears immediately begin to gather in your eyes.
But not out of sadness.
Frustration.
A laugh leaves you that sounds more manic than not.
“You’re kidding.”
John is already off the bed, pulling his pants to his hips, a proud smirk on his lips.
“M’not darling. Duty calls.”
He smiles at you flashing pretty baby blues. Bastard knew what he was doing. When he sees the tears trickling down your face he doesn’t panic, doesn’t baby you.
No.
He laughs.
“Damn baby, I make you cum and you’re still gonna cry?”
Despite his teasing his words are full of affection as he cups your face, wiping your tears with one big thumb swiping across your cheek.
“I’ll be back.”
He promises low, his eyes never leaving yours.
You huff, crossing your arms in defiance though a smile pulls at your pouting lips.
You know this isn’t a normal reaction, to cry, but you’re not upset, well— maybe a little, only at the fact that he stopped.
“That’s not fair! You teased me!”
You whine, but it’s half hearted.
He chuckles low and deep, his belly jiggling with the movement.
“You’ll be fine dear.”
With another chuckle he leans in and kisses your forehead.
“When I come back, I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”
And with that he leaves the room.
Leaving you, a wound up, frustrated, horny wife all alone in the warm bed.
John "christ, kid, slow down—" price who can hardly keep up with his younger partner in bed. He's gotten used to distracting you with his mouth or hands, you even broke his pride down enough to invest in toys after begging for a fourth round in a day. He's old and hasn't exactly prioritized his health, which means he often ends up on hid back breathing through his teeth while you ride him to your heart's content.
Vs
Simon "another? C'mon, please love I'll be good–" riley who even in his forties has the energy and want to bend you over every surface he can manage. Seriously, you're pretty sure his dick his permanently half-chubbed. You, the one nearly half his age, have to shove him away and whimper before he lets up to go take a cold shower. He says its all the love he has for you, you're pretty sure he's just a freak.
thinking of Simon Riley who gets to turn his brain off when he's around you.
he doesn't have to remember coordinates or how many magazines he has left. he just has to remember your favorite pastries and how you like your coffee in the morning.
if you ask him anything work related while he's home, he acts like he's never heard of anything you're asking. why fill his mind with that when he'd much rather be talking about the new shoes you got or the concert you've been planning on going to for a few months.
doesn't even respond to Ghost when he's at home. Simon or a pet name only.
"who's Ghost? y' been seein another man when I ain't here?"
the 141 aren’t stupid -- they wouldn’t carry a photo of you in their vest or helmet. no name written anywhere, nothing on their body that could potentially trace to a woman back home.
but they all carry something.
simon has a hair tie on his wrist. black, cheap, the kind you buy in packs of fifty and lose all over the damn flat. it sits under the cuff of his glove, biting into his skin, reminding him exactly why he needs to make it home. it always smells like your shampoo for a bit before it starts to smell like his own sweat, he finds himself a new one on the bathroom floor before each deployment.
price wears a watch. it’s not the watch that’s about you, really. it’s that he started setting the second time zone to match yours. he checks it more than he should, especially at night when he can’t sleep and it’s three a.m where he is and eight a.m where you are. he’ll think: ‘she’ll be making coffee, i wonder what she wore to bed’ and that’s the closest he lets himself get to mixing you with work.
kyle wears a bracelet. it’s thin braided yarn, the kind of thing you learned to make as a kid at camp. you made it on a slow sunday afternoon while he was half-asleep on your thigh. he said ‘oh, that’s sick, darling. ta!’, put it on and hasn’t taken it off since. it’s absolutely filthy these days. and when it starts to fray, he simply keeps re-knotting it, sometimes johnny has to help get it tight.
johnny carries a folded square of paper that’s gone so soft it feels like fabric, he keeps it safe in a zipped pocket on his kit. it’s a grocery list in your looping handwriting that you’d left him on the kitchen counter one morning. eggs, soy milk, the good butter, berries, your stupid crisps, wine (red). it’s got a small heart in the corner -- that’s the most worn bit because he brushes his thumb over it every night.
You often ran your nails down Kyle's back during your throes of passion. It was an instinctual response to the feeling of yourself being stretched around him so obscenely.
Both of you enjoyed seeing the red lines it left behind, even taking some Polaroid pictures of it at some point, so you'd have something to look at while he was deployed.
It was practically an accident the first time he did it to you.
He'd been sitting against the headboard, you straddling his lap while he desperately bounced you up and down the length of him, hands held firmly on your shoulders. You were both sweaty and getting tired after going for so long, one of his hands simply slid down and suddenly his military cut nails softly scratched over the path of your spine.
The sensation was immediate. A shiver ran through your entire body, goose bumps raised up and a tingle went through your clit. It felt good.
Kyle didn't instantly recognize the last part, softly whispering an apology as he changed his grip to be stronger on your shoulders again. His head buried in against your neck.
"No, no, do it again." You whispered, voice unintentionally just as quiet, too tired to muster much more but still wanting to chase your high.
He pulled back slightly to look at your face, "What was that?" His energy seemed to be up from before, voice rough and deep.
"Your nails," Talking around your own constant whines was proving difficult, "Please do it again."
Kyle looked at you with a satisfied smirk, "Oh, you mean this?"
A much louder moan burst from your lungs as you felt his nails once again traverse the expanse of your back. It was followed by more as he slowly scratched his way back up. With a few grinds of your clit against his pelvis, your hips twitched wildly with your orgasm.
He finished not long after you and in the haze of your afterglow you almost missed how the smirk had never left his face.
Thinking about nothing but Ghost making you jerk him off under the table. Cringing against his side with your face and stomach burning from humiliation that you're even doing this, trying to hide the movement of your hand, but he's sitting back with his thighs spread, crushing your fist tighter around his cock with a scold to do it better.
When he finally comes with a grunt over your fingers, thick and sticky, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back against him before you can flee- where do you think you're going? It's not going to clean itself up.
It's not until his cock is licked clean and your eyes are glassy and dark, drool on your chin and your throbbing little cunt soaking your thighs, that he pats your head and lets you up- only for the rest of the 141 to snatch you back, ready for their turns.
You forever thanked your lucky stars that you were able to speak English that time Kyle approached you at a bar. The two of you fell hard and fast for one another, your banter easy and flirtatious.
It was no problem hearing and saying love confessions or dirty talk in English. You always found it more romantic or sexy than you would in your native language anyway.
That was, until one day you were in conversation with another non native speaker and they pointed out how the reason they were sometimes uncomfortable saying those things in anything other than English was because it was simply too vulnerable. It shifted your entire perspective, realizing that you truly had just felt uneasy at the raw honesty of talking to Kyle in the words you knew best.
You were a still mulling over it by the time you came home. Your boyfriend greeted you by the door, as he usually did, and suddenly your worries melted away. He embraced you there in the hallway, his voice soft and quiet as he asked how your day had been.
You gave him your answer, hands on his chest when you pulled away from one another.
You'd always loved how he looked at you. His eyes never strayed away from your face, full attention solely dedicated to you. His lips were stuck in a permanent easy smile, revealing his utter content at being with you. You scanned his features, every hair of his eyebrows, every scar in his skin.
He exhaled a soft laugh at your expression, "Hi, there." He teased you, voice still barely more than a whisper.
Without thought, your hands found their way onto his cheeks, keeping his gaze locked on you as if it would ever stray away. You spoke to him then, simple words that had never felt easier.
His smile got a little wider, his eyes were full of wonder, "What was that?"
You had you choice but to smile back, "It means 'my love'."
If you had thought Kyle couldn't look more joyous, that moment proved you wrong. He pulled you back into a kiss as his hands pushed you closer by the hips. The only moment he let the spell break was so he could pull back slightly, no further than absolutely necessary, and whispered back, "My love."
Giving Simon Riley the silent treatment during sex (18+)
You are drunk and pissed all because Simon decided it was time to leave the bar. He threw you over his shoulder, patted your ass, told you that you have had way too much to drink and walked out like nothing was unusual about the scene. On the way home, you sat angled towards the window, giving him the silent treatment, and every time he tried to touch your thigh you dramatically pushed his hand away and huffed in annoyance.
Such a brat.
Simon knows exactly how to take care of his bratty lady, which is why the second the two of you walk into your shared apartment, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the bedroom.
What he doesn’t see is the sly smile spreading across your face when you think of the best way to fuck with him.
You’re face down, cheek smooshed against the pillow, ass up, pussy bare to him behind you, and ready to get on with your evil plan. His hands find your hips, and he nudges his cock at your entrance. Your folds are soaking, glistening under the soft glow of your bedside lamp, and the second his tip pushes through your entrance, you’re biting your bottom lip and shoving your face even further into the pillow.
This will be harder than you thought.
A groan rumbles out from his chest, vibrating through your body, as his cock slides impossibly deep inside of your pussy. He knocks against your cervix, resting there to give you time to adjust, but he notices you not making even a single sound, not even moving a little bit and you usually are trying to squirm away from him right about now.
He tilts his head to the side in confusion, sliding his cock back out, and thrusting back in once more just to make sure his eyes and ears aren’t deceiving him. It knocks the air out of your lungs, it makes you want to run from his fat cock, but the alcohol sitting low in your belly gives you enough bratty will to keep up the act.
“What kind of game you playin’ at lovie,” he coos, rubbing one rough, calloused hand down the length of your back.
Simon rolls his hips against yours, his balls smacking against your clit ever so slightly, his cock stretching you out while your walls mold to his length. His hands spread your cheeks, watching the way your pussy swallows him with ease, watching the way slick leaks from your entrance and wets his skin.
“Gotta fuck the brat outta ya or what?”
Simon isn’t a man with much patience, although he has a lot more when it comes to you, but you are really pushing his buttons. When all you do is shove your face further into the pillow as he grinds his tip against your cervix, he knows what he has to do.
He grabs both your wrists, pulling your arms back towards him, forcing your face to lift from the pillows and he slams into you with one deep, rough thrust. Your mouth falls open instantly, a moan ripping free from your throat, and tears well up in your eyes from the force of his cock bullying your insides.
“Si… f-fuck- ‘s too m-much,” you whine, squirming your hips against him, trying to pull your arms from his grasp because you know he’s about to fuck you as punishment.
“There ya are. You can take it, can’t you lovie?”
And just as you thought, his pace becomes impossibly fast, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with little effort from how wet you are. Moans and whimpers fall free from your lips, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps as every thrust knocks the air out of you, and you can’t help but arch your back and silently beg for more.
“Feels good, don’t it? Thought you could get away with that when you’re this wet and tight around me,” he says, voice low and rough, his thrusts only picking up speed the more sounds pour into his ears from you.
The veins and ridges of his cock slide through your walls, filling you up to the brim, leaving no parts inside of you empty for too long. He pulls out and your pussy tries to drag him back in, he pushes all the way in and your pussy clamps down on his as if it never wants him to leave. He laughs quietly, watching your resolve crumble under a few hard thrusts, and he angles his hips with precision to hit every last spot you have.
“So g-good,” you manage to mumble out, your words cut off by an obscene moan.
He fixes his grip on your wrists when your skin grows warm and sweaty, keeping you in the perfect position with your ass arched and mouth uncovered. His balls slap against your clit, your body jerks from the sensation, and you feel the heat pooling in your lower belly faster than usual.
“Yeah? What about here,” he coos just before angling his cock right up against your sweet spot.
Stars burst behind your eyelids, and your climax immediately crashes over you. Cum gushes from your entrance, leaking out around his cock, dripping down his skin and onto the soft sheets below. Your pussy pulses around his length rhythmically, clenching down tight over and over again until your body begins to jerk with overstimulation as he rides out your high for as long as possible.
“Si… can’t t-take it,” you stutter, trying to catch your breath, but his pace never once let up on your poor pussy.
“Oh c’mon. Give me one more.”
He drops your wrists, watching as your fingers curl into the fabric below you, and his arm slides around your waist. He presses against your lower belly, groaning from the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you so deep before two fingers find your clit and begin to rub fast, tight circles onto the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your face is smooshed against the pillow once more, but this time, moans and whines fall from you. Your eyes are shut tight, tears stain your cheeks, and your mouth hangs open ever so slightly as drool drips from your chin while Simon fucks you dumb. All the sensations bring you close to the edge again for a second time: his fingers against your clit, his cock rubbing your walls raw.
“Go ahead. Cum on my dick again, yeah? Be a good girl for me,” he coos, pounding into you faster, harder, deeper, anything to make you feel good.
His voice rumbles through you, landing right in the heat pooling in your lower belly the same as before, and you cum all over his cock for the second time tonight. Cream coats the base of him, each thrust spreading it further along his length, and he begins to drive himself towards his own release.
“So good fa me… gonna make me cum so deep in my lady.”
“Please, Si. Cum in m-me,” you beg, looking back over your shoulder, watching him fuck you relentlessly.
Spreading your cheeks apart, he watches your wet pussy suck him in, and with a guttural groan and a few more thrusts, he’s spilling his seed so deep inside of you. Long, thick ropes of warm cum flood your pussy, spurting out against your cervix with every twitch of his cock, filling you to the brim and leaking out when there’s no room left for anymore. It drips down your thighs, pooling with your own on the sheets below, and when his movements come to a stop he collapses on top of you.
He kisses the soft skin of your shoulder as he catches his breath, his warm, slick skin against your own, his hands roaming up and down your sides while his thumb draws slow, comforting circles. You melt into the bed, feeling satisfied, and sleepy with his weight on you.
Simon stands and walks to the bathroom, running a rag under warm water before bringing it to you and wiping up the mess he left. Tossing it into the laundry basket, he slides into bed beside you and pulls you into his chest where you instantly fall asleep and the bratty attitude is gone just like that.
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There are many affectionate nicknames in Spanish. For example: Cariño, belleza, mi amor, muñeca… and so on (this is just a small selection). So during sex, you might hear Alejandro call you by different nicknames all night long. (This also work with Rudy or Keegan.)
Soap has a mohawk and he's very particular about his hairstyle. If you reach out and mess up his hair, he might want to get angry, but he won't have the heart to yell at you. He might mutter aggrievedly while fixing his hair in front of the mirror.
It's well known that the British love tea. So, Ghost might express his love by giving tea bags.
Horangi was a gambler before enlisting. What if he finds someone he likes? He might say, "You're the only chip I don't want to lose."
The concept of old man price who grew up with don't ask don't tell trying to be supportive of his new young secretary....
He has no idea what the mini flags in your pencil holder mean, only recognizes the rainbow one. Price tried to stay away from that sort of stuff, only way to stay alive, and now all his information comes to him through osmosis of talking with the sergeants.
Which is how you come into the office one day to find a small box on your desk, no note or anything. Price had told you he'd left you "something for the constitution, eh?" When you passed him in the hall. Could this be it?
You open the box and—
"PRoud of wHo you Are!"
A small cake, decorated with rainbow frosting, the words look messy and done in a gel icing you one might buy separately. The image of price being too embarrassed to ask the workers to add words because he wasn't sure what to say comes to mind, followed quickly by him bent over the cake piping on messy lines.
It's horribly tacky. It's the nicest thing anyone on base has done for you.
You're not exactly quiet about who you are, and that decision can be felt everyday withe the way your coworkers act. So this? Now?
You close your door so no one can see you crying while you eat a slice.
“Old dog’s can’t learn new tricks, price” Soap would grin across the table. Ghost’s low chuckle followed like smoke. “Bet the missus is bored stiff, Captain.”
Price never rose to the clear ragebait in front of the boys, but the words..stuck. You were younger, gorgeous, and God— always eager for him… yet a small, ugly part of him wondered if they were right. He’d never exactly been the adventurous type in bed—solid, thorough, but not… inventive.
So he cornered Gaz one night after drills.
“Need a favor, Sergeant.”
Gaz raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”
Price rubbed the back of his neck, face already red with what he could only pin as embarrassment. “You’re good with the ladies. I want lessons. Real ones.”
Gaz blinked, then a slow, wicked grin spread. “You want a demonstration, Captain?”
Price’s jaw flexed. “Please..”
That’s how you ended up here—naked on the bed, thighs spread over Price’s lap while Gaz knelt between your legs like he’d been invited to dinner.
Price’s big hands were firm on your waist, keeping you pinned back against his chest. “She’s sensitive.” he muttered, almost clinical, but you could feel how hard he was against your lower back. “On with it, sergeant.”
Gaz’s eyes flicked up to yours, dark and hungry. “You ready for this, love?”
You nodded, already wet and aching just from the sheer thrill of the situation.
Gaz didn’t waste time. Two thick fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open. “First thing—don’t rush. Get her nice and wet.” He rubbed slow circles over your clit until your hips jerked, then pushed two fingers inside, curling just right.
Price watched every movement like it was a briefing.
“There’s a spongy spot here…” Gaz pressed upward deliberately causing your whole body to jolt. “Right there. That’s your target.”
He started pumping—steady, focused strokes that dragged over that spot again and again while his thumb kept pressure on your clit.
Price’s voice was rough in your ear. “Breathe, sweetheart. Let him work.”
Your orgasm built fast—embarrassingly so.
“That’s it..” Gaz praised, voice low. “She’s swelling up. See how she’s pulsing?” He added a third finger and the pressure inside became unbearable. “When she starts trying to close her legs, don’t let her. Keep going.”
Price’s hands moved to your thighs, holding them open. You came with a broken cry, but Gaz didn’t stop. He kept fingering you through it, rough and relentless, and suddenly everything felt tighter, hotter, like something was about to—
“There..” Gaz growled. “Let it go, lovely...”
With a whine, a gush of wetness flooded out around his fingers, soaking the sheets and his wrist. Price made a low, filthy sound behind you as he watched you squirt for the first time in your life.
Gaz eased his fingers out slowly, letting you ride the aftershocks, then lifted his soaked hand to show Price. “That’s the spot. Consistent pressure, curved fingers, and you don’t stop when she comes.. you keep going until she gives it to you.”
Price’s breathing was ragged. His cock was nearly throbbing against your back.
Gaz wiped his fingers on your inner thigh, then met Price’s eyes. “Your turn, Captain.”
Price shifted you forward, laying you down properly. He kissed the inside of your knee, voice low with promise.
Very few times in his life has gaz been given a direct order from his spouse, and every single time he treats it with the urgency of a mission.
He has never once failed any of your requests....until today, it seems.
"Gaz, baby, you better come home smelling like that tomorrow." You had whispered in his ear last night after hours of sex. Not that you two never fucked, but he swears you were trying to kill him that night, face tucked into the crook of his neck.
Gaz doesn't want to admit defeat, but he's crawled through the entire base. Sniffing everything like a fucking dog trying to identify what smell had rubbed off on him. He didn't leave base, followed his normal schedule yesterday, so eventually he should find it.
He's in the middle of helplessly sniffing soap bottles in the hopes he accidentally grabbed someone else's when ghost walks in, post–...whatever he does to workout. He raises a brow at gaz sniffing the soap bottle, but says nothing.
Gaz knows ghost wont say shit about it, given everything he's walked in on ghost doing and—
Wait.
....gaz takes a much to obvious sniff in ghosts general direction.
....that's the smell. Gaz remembers the sparring he did yesterday, how ghost seemed very keen on grapples that time. The smell that had you jumping gazs bones last night was the smell of his lieutenant covered in dirt and sweat.
Gaz contemplates for a moment, looks ghost up and down. He's far from a turn-off, thats for sure. Easily both of your types.
I have a boss who says “atta girl” to me whenever he approves of something I’ve done. I’m 23. But holy SHIT does it make me blush. Just thinking abt reader getting all fidgety n shit bc a member of the 141 has said smthn like that to them…
Nng anonnnn that is so price trying to manipulate his secretary into not snitching @///@
You get hundreds of papers on your desk in a week, yet you somehow manage to catch the discrepancies in his teams accounts of events versus another teams. You brought it to price first, of course you did, he's been spending so much time making sure you trust and rely on him for help.
Sure, he uses your little crush against you, corners you against his desk and traps you in by leaning a hand on it. "Just change it to our account, love, chances are they rushed that report anyways."
"Uhm— I could check the other reports—" you offer, stumbling and squirming when he growls low in displeasure. "Ah— you're right, i know gaz spends so long making sure his work is right. I'll change it."
You're rewarded with a firm pat on the hip and prices gruff "atta girl."
