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Who am I? – Poppy. she/they. Adult. bisexual trash gremlin w/ a caffeine addiction. @gloomwitchtales is my personal blog.
ao3 // personal tumblr
Missed Hints (Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader)
Misunderstanding (Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader)
Mint & Stone (Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader) ... coming soon
Rainy Reunion (Aragorn x Female Reader)
Burnt Bread (Éomer x Female Reader)
Gentle Dark (Haldir x Female Reader)
A Sudden Spark (Éomer x Female Reader)
We Won’t Be Missed (Legolas x Female Elf Reader)
An Unexpected Catch Masterlist (Boromir x Female Reader)
Circling Stardust Masterlist (CT-7567: Rex x OFC)
Taste Test (Boba Fett x Reader)
Untitled Din Djarin ... coming soon
Untitled Hunter (Bad Batch) ... coming soon
Dark Knowledge Masterlist (Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Reader)
Ink & Needle Masterlist (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)
Dangerous Pursuit Masterlist (Captain John Price x Female Reader)
Imagines & What If Main Masterlists: Primary // Secondary
Devil Bone (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)
Flint (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Female Reader)
Locker Room: Part One // Part Two // Simon's POV (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)
Second Act Masterlist (Task Force 141 Masked Metal Band AU)
A Brute, Brute Heart Masterlist (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)
Dog with No Teeth Masterlist (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)
The Bloody Devils Masterlist (John Price x Female Reader)
Holly Springs Masterlist (Task Force 141 Hallmark AU)
Headcanon, AUs, Quick Writes Masterlist
Winter 2023 Collection Masterlist
Fluffuarry 2024 Masterlist (Star Wars Edition)
Spring 2024 Collection Masterlist
Summer 2024 Collection Masterlist
1k Follower Event Masterlist
3.5k Follower Spooky Bingo Masterlist
10k Follower Event Masterlist
Kinktober 2024 Masterlist
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
Kinkmas 2024 Masterlist
profile picture: taken & edited by gloomwitchwrites
profile banner: taken & edited by gloomwitchwrites (oracle cards from Threads of Fate)
hiii a humble tf141 req here 🤲 the guys seeing reader use a weighted blanket and being confused/jealous/etc. there’s no place for a weighted blanket when reader has her massive and built partner to snuggle and lay on her!!
w/ gn!reader
Simon “Ghost” Riley is tearing the weighted blanket off of you without a word, falling like a dead weight on top of you afterward, squishing you into the bed/sofa/floor/wherever until you’re gasping “Simon I can’t breathe.”
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is confused (and a little hurt) that you didn’t ask him to be your blanket. He’ll mope, stare down at you like his gaze will somehow awaken you to his ire, and he might pace about. But he’ll eventually settle, snuggling against you as big spoon, muttering under his breath about it.
John Price isn’t going to do shit. That man is leaving you alone or going to bed without you because how dare you not ask him.
John “Soap” MacTavish is backing up for a sprint. He’ll fly through the air, arms outstretched, dog piling you without notice because he’s a menace.
"wee bairn" sounds so cute AAHHH i love the way he speaks
I can only hc Johnny calling small children "wee barins" or "wee ones" if they're the children of other's or he's referring to his children without them present.
hii i was wondering if you could write some 141 headcannons but the reader is from a non english-speaking country so maybe they have an accent or there are some cultural barriers or maybe they miss home? 🙏🏻Love your work you are really talented 🩷
I did write some general headcanons for the 141 with non-British reader who is homesick and partially staying in the UK for them. I was not specific with country or culture, or gender, and focused more on how and what each member of the 141 would do you for if you were missing home.
You can read those headcanons HERE.
If it's not exactly what you're after, please feel free to send in another request! :)
I just want to say the last post I saw of yours was that you got hurt with a TBI and were taking a medical break; I hope you are healing well and thrilled to see you back on here and writing again <3
Oh my gosh, thank you for checking up on me!
I am completely healed from my TBI. I was down for the count for about three weeks. It sucked, but I've made a full recovery. No permanent brain damage, and I'm lucky that I had a closed TBI (with no damage to my skull other than some bruising) and not a penetrative TBI.
Thank you so much for the kind words, and for reaching out even though it happened last month and I've been well for a few weeks now. I really appreciate all the support I received while I was away and that I'm still receiving even though I'm fully recovered.
Soap's arc more or less seems to be over as of the MW4 trailer, so is there any chance you'll stop including him in TF141 imagines? I'll totally understand if you choose to do that, but personally, I'd be pretty sad if that happened....
Straight to jail, anon! Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
In all seriousness, I will not be removing Soap from the Imagines series. It's for Task Force 141, and it's not Task Force 141 without Soap. Don't fear, anon, Soap isn't going anywhere.
You tend to Simon’s wounds. An argument follows with makeup sex. The fragile accessibility to contraception is broken. The first Pillar looms.
Chapter Twenty-Two // Chapter Twenty-Four
ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist
Blood graces the tips of your fingers.
A few fresh drops form hairline rivers, the rest is darkly dried and flaking, drifting to find a home on the back of your hand. Simon’s face is the worst of it. Bruising mars his upper jaw near the lobe of his ear. A large, stitched gash stands stark against his skin above his right brow, the edges of the wound inflamed and puffy from the needlework and initial blow.
“This will need ice.” Your thumb grazes over the mark. “The area is swelling.” Dropping your hand, you reach for the damp towel, removing the blood from your fingers. The fresh stuff wipes clean. The dry bits stick, forcing you to scrub. “What the hell hit you?”
“A food tray,” answers Simon, monotone.
“A food tray?” you repeat, disbelieving.
“Made of hard plastic.” Simon shrugs. “Cleans easy. Won’t break if used as a weapon.”
“Unbelievable,” you huff, checking under your nails.
Simon rolls his neck with an audible pop. “Had worse injuries.”
Perched on the edge of the coffee table in the living room, you stare dumbly at your husband. Simon sits on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. One leg bent, the other outstretched. A first aid kit lays open beside you, the contents spread out on the table.
Grasping Simon’s chin, you guide his face to the right. “I know.” The bruising will only deepen with time. “Still need to take care of it.” A bit of gauze and antiseptic will clean the area. “Should have this done at the hospital.”
As you add pressure to the afflicted spot, Simon inhales sharply. “I like your hands better.”
You snort, dabbing at the wound. “My hands aren’t meant for this.”
“Not meant for taking care of me?”
You drop your hand quickly. “This isn’t funny.”
Simon grasps your wrist, bringing your fingers back to his face. Palm upward, Simon rests his cheek against it, eyelids closing as he inhales deeply. “Didn’t say it was.” Those gorgeous brown eyes reappear, striking and sharp. “Should see Fields. That man needs the hospital.”
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, not drawing your hand away. It’s warm where his cheek rests, radiating into your arm. As strong as Simon is, this is the most vulnerable you’ve seen him, seeking comfort with a gentle touch.
“Don’t regret what I did,” he says, firmly. “Do it again given the chance.”
“Simon,” you sigh. “Are you not worried? About what will happen to you?”
His voice is firm. Nonnegotiable. “Nothing will happen.”
The finality in his voice gives you pause. You’re not ignorant of the roles and rules of a military force. Regardless of who, to strike another soldier, to strike one of your own, results in punishment.
“Nothing?” you exhale, wanting nothing more than to roll your eyes but thinking better of it. “They punish soldiers all the time for this. What makes you any different?”
Simon slowly draws your hand away from his cheek. Clutching your hand in his, he brings it down to his lap. “Captain Price decides what happens to us.”
“I doubt that very much.”
His hand squeezes, drawing you closer. “I’m not some grunt, dove.”
That you know. You’ve been victim to it firsthand. “Real convenient then. Sounds like you can do whatever you want.” You don’t mean to sound as snarky as you do. Frustration, and concern for Simon’s injuries, outweigh your neural processing.
Simon leans in, shortening the small sliver of distance between you. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”
Not a lecture, even if it feels like one. The delivery is gentle, like a brush of wind against the cheek.
“I know you nearly beat a man to death.” Try as you might, your voice cracks. The emotion isn’t for Fields, it’s for everything else, and how scared you were.
“Fields deserved it. Plenty of witnesses heard him. What he said. I had every right to do what I did to him.”
You shake your head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t kill him,” he says, as if that makes it better.
Yanking your hand out of Simon’s grasp, you bolt up from the table, stepping over him. “You let yourself get carried away.”
Placing his hand on the sofa behind him, Simon pushes himself to standing. “I’ve killed enough men to know when they can’t take another hit. Fields had plenty left in him.”
That’s not the point. It was never the point.
Inside your chest is a twisted nest of vines, shredding your heart and ribcage, caving it in.
“You worried me.” You turn on him, voice rising slightly. “Receiving a call like that? I dropped everything and went to the hospital looking for you.” Your chest heaves, adrenaline spiking. “Jesus, Simon. Thought you were seriously injured.”
“Dove—”
“And then you weren’t at the hospital,” you continue right over him. “No one could tell me where you were. And I didn’t even find you. You just,” you gesture vaguely into the air, “appeared. After I searched everywhere you could possibly be.”
Simon’s shoulders soften, gentleness easing in. Rage would be preferable. Have a screaming match and fuck each other afterward.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, all the energy deflating like a slashed tire.
A slow saunter and he’s right there, on you, resting his hands on your hips, squeezing, drawing you in until you’re pressed against him. Simon’s arms slide up, and you melt, wrapping your arms around his middle as Simon encircles your shoulders.
“Don’t make me worry,” you say into his chest, eyes watery.
Simon kisses the crown of your head. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You still haven’t said what will happen to you.”
“Already told you,” he chuckles, “nothing.”
Leaning your head back, you stare into his face, searching for a hint of a lie. “That’s impossible.”
Simon releases your shoulders, cradling your face with both hands. “Not repeating what Fields said. But he said it loudly. Enough for everyone to hear. Left too many witnesses. Can’t defend himself.”
“What did he say?”
A pause blooms, and a muscle in Simon’s face twitches. Whatever Fields said, Simon is still angry over it.
“He said things about you. What he’d do to you if you were his. Couldn’t let that stand.”
Simon doesn’t just swing on anyone. His dislike for the Fields is thick like cooling tar, but Simon has never struck out at the man with his fists. What the fuck did Fields say about you? Enough for Simon to nearly beat him to death?
“I still don’t see how you won’t face consequences.”
Dipping his head, Simon comes in for a kiss. It’s slow and soft, more tender than he’s ever been.
“Price will drill me about it. Assign me grunt work for show. Keep me out of sight until we leave. But it’s Fields that’ll face a harsher consequence. To publicly say what he did, loud enough for me and everyone else to hear, that’s seen as disloyalty, and provoking conflict.” Simon rests his lips against your forehead before continuing. “He also has a record. It’s an embarrassment to Graves. He’ll want it swept under the rug and forgotten.”
You snuggle closer. “That’s not comforting.”
Simon seeks a few more kisses. These are deeper than the last and just as sweet.
“I was defending you. That’s how it’ll be seen. If Graves demanded punishment for bloodying one of his men, everyone would question his leadership. A drunken scuffle is one thing, but to not punish the soldier that talked about assaulting another’s wife?”
You jerk backward. “He said what?” Simon exhales through his nose. “That is not what you said a minute ago.”
“See why I couldn’t let it stand? Man deserved it.”
Burying your face in Simon’s chest, you breathe deep, lingering in his scent, filling your lungs with him. As much as you’re frustrated, having Simon here, holding you, is calming.
“I’m just happy you’re okay,” you whisper.
“I’m fine, dove. Promise.”
Tucking you against his chest, Simon sways, rubbing your back. Closing your eyes, you settle into him, silently counting your inhalations and exhalations, finding a place of calm, or a semblance of the concept.
“Still upset with me?” asks Simon.
“Only a little.”
“A little?”
You hold up one hand, bringing your thumb and forefinger close together but not touching. “Little bit.”
“Little bit,” repeats Simon, playfully kissing your fingers.
Laughing, you pull away, slipping out of his arms. Simon allows you to take a few steps before he’s on you again, grabbing, diving in for more kisses as you attempt to flee. This is a different side to Simon, a playfulness you didn’t think he possessed. Of all the times you’ve seen him smile, it’s never been with his whole mouth or even his teeth.
But this man is enraptured with you. Completely happy. It is soft and sweet and perfect enough to bottle. Let it be your perfume, or the honey in your tea.
“Simon,” you chastise, slapping at his hand. “Enough. You’re hurt.”
“Just my face,” he replies, a flirty drawl creeping in. “Not my dick.”
You burst out laughing, unable to contain yourself. Simon chases, herding you to the bedroom, dispelling you of clothes until you’re completely bare for him. Simon’s demeanor shifts from teasing to seductive, cradling your face in his hands, kissing you with a ferociousness that steals your breath.
“Want my mouth on your cunt.” Simon’s words are blunt. “Need your taste on my tongue. Need to hear you scream my name.”
A twinge seizes your thighs, pussy clenching like he’s inside you.
“Can I do what I want?” he asks, hushed.
Simon has controlled this entire relationship, but he’s seeking permission this time, laying it before you to take or reject. He’s asked you what you’ve wanted before, yet this is different, a desperateness that lingers beneath the surface.
The fight. The looming deployment. The idea of the two of you being separated for a month or more.
“Have your way with me,” and your voice is a whimper.
Simon seizes your mouth again, consuming until you’re clawing at him, needing to be within and without. His mouth descends, finding jaw and throat, shoulder and breast, stomach and thigh. Burying his face between your legs, he inhales, his hands supporting your ass as you fist his hair.
One minute you’re standing, and the next you’re on your back, the bed sinking beneath your weight. Simon is precise, turning you onto hands and knees, forcing your ass up and your legs wide.
You choke on your next inhalation as Simon tongues your pussy, using the tip of his tongue to trace lines that may very well be his name. A branding all its own.
“Fucking love your taste, dove,” groans Simon. He draws back, inserts a finger. It slides in easily. “And how your body takes me.”
A few strokes and then it’s gone, replaced with his tongue. You fist the bedding beneath you, squirming as Simon switches between fingering and tasting, coaxing your orgasm to the surface.
“Don’t fight it,” he says. “Don’t fight.”
Simon brings both into play, forcing the orgasm out. It’s harsh. Searing. You burst into a brief sob in the unrelenting pressure. Ceaseless, Simon continues to fuck you with his fingers, running his tongue over and around, sucking on your clit.
Another. Another.
The withdrawal is sudden. Suddenly full, then empty. Cool air and nothing, lasting but a moment. Lifting, pressed up against him, Simon slides his cock between your thighs, rocking back and forth in an easy motion. Not inside you, simply grinding, keeping you still as he coats himself in your slickness.
An urge crawls forth, of wanting to sink to your knees, to take him into your mouth, have him spill down your throat.
“Simon,” you gasp. “I want—”
Your words are stolen as Simon’s fingers slide into your mouth. His arms around you tighten, keep you aloft and on your knees at the edge of the bed, your legs pointed outward as he stands between them.
“You can suck my cock later,” he growls, knowing exactly what you desired.
His hips draw back, and the head of his cock finds its home. It’s a slow ease as he feeds you his dick, bringing more of him inside until there’s no more space between your bodies. Simon bites down on your neck, not hard enough to break skin, but the area will be tender. Might even leave little indents from his teeth.
Another slow move as he withdraws, leaving just the tip. Simon stays like that, the two of you simply breathing. His teeth are still on your skin, still pressing, causing a twinge of pain. A release, and an absence of teeth, followed by lips.
“Hold still, dove,” he murmurs.
Simon thrusts. It’s all fast, all rough, all primal need. You’re caged against him, the little sounds you make muffled by his fingers. Whatever this is, Simon needs it, desperately. To claim you, perhaps, to make them understand you’re his, even if no one is watching.
Your head falls back, resting against the top of his shoulder. There is no place for you to go to, no way to escape, not that you want to. His strokes are rough and deep, the penetration alone hitting somewhere that sparks with intensity, increasing with his thrusts.
Muscles relaxing, you remain weightless, eyelids fluttering as another orgasm rolls in, this one less intense but just as venomous. Behind you, Simon is all feral grunts and groans. It’s right in your ear, puffs of air that brush over your earlobe and across your skin.
All you can smell is sex and sweat. It mixes with your pathetic moans and Simon’s animalistic noises, and the slap of skin. Your thighs are wet and sticky, growing drenched by the second, likely to leave a small pool on the bed.
With a grunt, Simon’s arms shift. His fingers retreat and you gasp for air. The arms holding you grab your own, seizing your upper arms, drawing them back. Your top half is bent slightly, hanging over the bed. And Simon is still fucking you, rough and wanton.
He doesn’t cease, even when he fills your pussy with his cum. Your husband fucks it into you, only stopping to bring your bodies together, holding his dick inside you. The air is thick with breathing and sticky bodies.
Simon’s arms become a cradle, guiding you both down to the bed. Draping himself over you, still nestled in your cunt, he begins again.
“I’m out.”
Your stomach flips, threatening to spill your breakfast onto your feet. “I thought there was one left. What happened to it?”
Hannah frowns. “Didn’t you use it?”
You try to think, to roll back in time and recall when, or if, you used the last emergency contraceptive. The fact that they can make it at all is an accomplishment, which is why they’re rare and only ever given to women who have a history of complications or the potential for a difficult pregnancy. Hannah managed to snag what she could but that doesn’t mean the supply is endless. There are thousands of others that might need it.
“Maybe I did,” you laugh awkwardly, brushing it aside, even though the room is fucking tilting. “Can’t remember.”
Hannah quirks an eyebrow. “I can get you condoms. There are lots of those. Plenty to supply. They’re easier and cheaper to make.”
Simon might be hurt if you brought them home. He understands your reasons for wanting to delay, but he desires to be a father. He’d listen to you now, hear you out, even talk about it, but it would still cut.
“I’ll take a few,” you smile, accepting the box from Hannah. “Wouldn’t hurt.”
Not like it’ll help now.
How many times did you and Simon fuck last night? You won’t even count this morning in bed, in the shower, and then in the kitchen because you’d need more fingers. Even now, as you stand here, you feel his cum leaking out of you to dampen your underwear. If you didn’t have that it would be all over your thighs.
Eloise bursts through the door, her hair windswept, arms full. She drops the mess onto her desk, muttering under her breath in French.
“No cart?” asks Hannah.
“No,” Elose emphasizes, digging through the loose papers like she’s desperately searching for something. “The bastards.”
As she digs, she sorts. Pushing her hair out of her face, Eloise holds out a small stack of envelopes to you. “Yours,” she says, clipped.
Rushing over, you take them before she can throw them at you. Not that you think she would, but Eloise appears irritated enough to do anything.
“Thank you,” you say brightly. The fakeness hurts.
Eloise is still muttering to herself as Hannah tries to calm her when you plop down into your office chair, staring down at the small letter from the family planner you haven’t seen since you first signed your marriage contract.
If you weren’t at work, you’d fucking scream, rip the letter apart into thousands of little pieces. Doubtful they’d send a letter to Simon. He’s not the one with a womb.
“Everything okay?”
Your head snaps up into Hannah’s concerned face.
“Course. Yeah,” you lie, folding up the piece of paper with the appointment time and sticking it into your bag.
The clock on the wall is two hours off.
You consider saying something, then think better of it. Claire’s face is serious despite her smile; her clothes ironed to smooth perfection. There isn’t even a single hair out of place.
“This is just a follow up,” she says, hands clasped and resting on top of her desk. “To check on our progress.”
Simon remains impassive, a solid wall. “Progress?”
To her credit, Claire’s smile doesn’t waiver. “On a baby.” Her tone gives her away, because why else would they be there?
That is Claire’s purpose. She’s not for the singles but the newlyweds, to play up all the joys and benefits of pregnancy. Contribute to the population, and all will be well. The first Pillar is the most important. Scratching the woman’s eyes out isn’t an option, so you settle with silence. Your opinion is not wanted, and Simon has enough presence for both of you.
“Already?” he questions. “Last we spoke, we discussed my job. Trying for a baby while I’m expected to be gone isn’t ideal. And it’s not good for her. I should be here.”
Claire sighs like she’s about to correct a child who confidently rattled off an answer. “Yes. I agree with you. It is important you’re here. But you don’t need to be here while she’s pregnant.” She smooths her hands over the wood, clasping them again.
“I’m right here,” you retort, because why won’t Claire look at you? Why is she only addressing Simon? “And I’d like my husband present.”
Claire’s gaze shifts to you and then reverts to Simon. “I’ve already spoken to a few of your superiors—”
“You spoke with Price?”
Claire cocks her head. “Who?” She quickly waves away the question. “No. It doesn’t matter. From what I can gather, you’ll only be gone, at max, two months.” She turns, finally addressing you. “You really won’t be showing then, and something might happen.”
You swallow, your tongue growing dry. “Like a miscarriage.”
Claire nods. “Exactly.” She turns to Simon. “There’s no reason for you to worry over that. Your wife is in good hands here. She’ll be looked after. Cared for.”
“That may be true, but I’d rather be here. Especially if she were to miscarry. A husband shouldn’t be away if that happens.”
Simon is without the balaclava, but you sense the Ghost you meet all those months ago. There is a dangerousness lurking under his skin, awaiting the trigger to burst forth and devour.
Claire is still dismissive. “Even so, there have been changes. The counsel overseeing the first Pillar are concerned about numbers. We sustained significant loses over the tragic fighting that happened at one of the Safe Zones.”
The same Zone Simon is leaving for in less than a week.
“They’ve raised the goal birth count to counteract the loss. I’m afraid I must insist on this. You’re also a new couple, without children. Eyes are on individuals like you.”
Without thinking, you reach out and place your hand on Simon’s thigh. He glances down and then covers your hand with his own.
“But he’s leaving,” you say. “You can’t expect this of us now.”
Claire’s expression is unmoving. This is not an argument. It’s an order. Not from her, but from people far above them. People at the top. People who have a say on what happens. The old fear, the one you thought you unburdened yourself with, seeps in, taking root in the folds of your brain. Choice is what you want, even veiled, even fake, you’ll take it. This is not choice. Funny to think you could circumvent the inevitable.
“As I said,” she sighs. “There have been some changes. For couples like yourselves,” and she opens her hands wide, “we’ll be closely monitoring your progress.”
Simon snorts, showing more emotion than he has this entire meeting. “By giving us a tracker? Keeping tabs on creampies?”
Claire’s left eyelid spasms. “Not in such crass terms. But yes. In a sense.”
“I’m not comfortable with it,” you state, loudly and with conviction. “Sex is private. That should stay between Simon and I.”
“We have no intention of being present for it. Whatever you do on your own time is between you two. But twice a week, starting today, and then resuming when Lieutenant Riley returns, you’ll come here. There are private rooms where you’ll copulate, and a doctor will discreetly confirm that Lieutenant Riley’s sperm—”
“No.”
Simon’s voice cuts through the air. It is cold, tinged with anger. Ghost is back, ready to emerge, to show fang and claw.
“I’m sorry?” coughs Claire, clearly startled.
Simon delivers each word slowly. “You heard me. No.”
Mouth open like a dead fish, Claire blinks rapidly. Always the professional but even she has her limits. “This isn’t negotiable.”
“I don’t care,” and Simon’s voice remains lethal. “Not happening.”
“We could track at home,” you offer. The safest route is compromise, and tracking at home means things can be faked.
Claire makes a sound of disgust. “I’m sorry but it’s out of the question. This is from top. There are no allowances.”
Simon stands abruptly. “We’re leaving.”
Claire rises, too. “Lieutenant Riley.”
“Piss off,” he snaps, and Claire’s face goes beet red. Reaching for your arm, you allow Simon to guide you out of the chair, and away from this mess.
“You can’t say that to her,” you say to Simon as you exit Claire’s office. “No matter how angry you are.”
“I did,” he growls. “Deserved it, too.”
You walk together, hand in hand, your mind spiraling. There’s no way the woman is serious, but why does she have any reason to lie. Family planners spin the truth all the time, but Claire was upfront about this. Confident, if you had to put a word to it.
“Simon.”
A grunt.
“Simon,” you hiss. “You’re squeezing too hard.”
His grip eases. “Sorry, dove.”
With your free hand, you gently grasp his bicep, squeezing with soft reassurance. “You’re angry.”
“How’d you guess?”
Before Simon can open the front door to the building, you come to a halt, stepping to the side. “Hey,” you murmur, tugging him along. “Listen to me.” He goes to you without hesitation, and you draw him close, placing one hand over his heart. “It’s fine. Okay? Everything is going to be fine.”
Simon’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone. “I promised you a year. Not walking back on that promise.”
“No. I know. I believe you.”
Your hand rubs absently against his chest. “They can’t force us. They can’t.”
Do you have any HCs for how the 141 each lost their virginity? Or any other CoD characters?
(And take it from a loser who didnt get laid until she was 25... this does not need to involve anything underage...)
Thanks for continuing to feed our CoD addiction, Poppy! So excited to see what's next in Dog with no Teeth.
f!reader on Ghost & Soap, gn!reader on Gaz & Price
mdni
Simon: Lost his virginity at the same time he was taking the virginity of the daughter of the principal from the secondary school he attended. Ended up in trouble, Simon wanted to retaliate. Talked her up in class for a couple weeks and then they did it on the principal’s desk.
Johnny: He lost his virginity in secondary school, as well. Huge flirt and talked a good game. It happened with his first serious girlfriend and it lasted all of ten seconds. Johnny was proud of himself…the girlfriend, not so much.
Kyle: Responsible. Responsible. Responsible. Waited until he was an adult to have sex. Kyle didn’t want to have it off with just anyone, wanting to make sure his time and whoever he did it with, would be meaningful and romantic. Sounds nice, but it’s the control issues.
Price: Lost his virginity the day before he left for boot camp. Back when John was just a grunt, a piece of canon fodder, he went to the pub with some friends who were leaving for the same thing. Drank himself into a stupor, found someone willing, and did it that evening. John hardly remembers the sex and definitely doesn’t recall the person’s name.
Hi Poppy! I can’t remember if you wrote this fic but I’m trying to find one where Johnny has to stay with Simon and gf for a couple weeks or something and ends up wanking to the sound of them having sex. I’m sorry if you have no idea what I’m talking about but I’ve been racking my brain trying to find it😭🫶
Hey, anon!
That does not sound familiar to me, or like anything I've written. I also don't know what fic it might be - as I've not come across something similar to that.
But I do have lots of lovely followers who might know the fic you're talking about! Maybe one of them can help point you in the right direction!
Good luck, anon! I hope you find the fic you're looking for!!
ao3 (long distance) ao3 (insatiable) // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
Long Distance
Alejandro stays close to home.
Deployments are rare, almost unheard of, especially with the cartels. Police can’t manage and sometimes the military steps in. There are always hands in pockets. Infiltrations, extractions, and assassinations take time. That’s when Alejandro is gone for long stretches.
It hurts, leaving you like this.
With electronic devices banned, he can’t call you. Not to video chat, or hear your voice. The silence is the worst of it, not knowing if you’re taking care of yourself, or if the children are completing their homework without his watchful gaze.
The only personal items he can carry with him are a couple photos. One is of his family. That one he takes out to look at, to kiss you and his children’s faces, to say a small prayer before heading into danger. The other photo is of you, made for the moments when he’s alone. Rare moments, but Alejandro takes them when he can.
Men on the move doesn’t always allow for privacy, but he’s on base today, sharing a room with Rudy. Rudy is elsewhere, not expected back for an hour or so. It’s his only opportunity.
The picture he has of you was taken the last night together. Alejandro had your legs out and open, knees bent in toward your body, perfectly exposing your pussy to the camera. He had eased himself inside, bottoming out, holding himself inside you went he snapped the photo.
That is the image he stares at while he masturbates in his bunk. There’s no one to hear him grunt and groan, no one to witness the how he jerks himself, or the way he whimpers your name.
Alejandro thinks about his return weeks from now. What he plans on doing to you. How he’ll fuck you on every possible surface.
High Sex Drive
The air is humid and sticky. Above the bed, a ceiling fan turns, kicking up the moist air. Sweat clings to your body and Alejandro’s. It’s starting to dry, enflaming the need to itch.
“No more,” groans Alejandro. Stretching, joints popping, he reaches for his dick. “Nothing left in me.”
The gold cross around Alejandro’s neck glistens with sweat. Even the hair on his chest is damp and flattened.
You hum softly, rubbing your hand over his stomach. “Nothing?” You tap the head of his dick. “But you’re still hard.”
“It hurts.”
“Can you walk?”
Alejandro snorts, reaching behind your shoulders to pull you in. “That I can do.”
“Really?” you laugh, shifting to an elevated position. Staring down at Alejandro, you grin mischievously. “Sounds like I didn’t fuck you hard enough.”
“No,” he laughs. “No. Not starting that.”
You tease him anyway, stealing a kiss, then a second until you’re both melting into the bed.
“Have to work tomorrow,” he says between kisses. “Trying to get me to call in?”
Shifting to lay atop him, you reach between your bodies to stroke his cock, already hard and throbbing, dripping with precum.
Haven't stepped foot in a professional kitchen since 2021.
But yes, there was a line cook who would always ask me when I was going to let him put a baby in me. The kicker? I was having sex with his best friend and he wanted us to be a thruple.
Anon, how did you know I love cinnamon rolls and lattes (literally sipping on an iced latte as I type this.)
Espresso fuels by body (water...I don't know her) and I have a horrible sweet tooth especially for a warm cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting...gosh, I'm hungry now.
