Warnings: 18+, Smut, Raw Dogging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Implied Unwanted Pregnancy, Power Imbalance, Big Dick! Ghost, Soft Dom! Ghost, Cult Leader! Ghost, Submissive (and Breedable)! Reader, Implied Abortion Attempt, Fem Reader, Profanity.
He’s filthy in the way he treats you, like a common whore, spreading you out over his desk – once-varnished mahogany, now bleached with weeks’ worth of spend, of tears, rubbed raw in places, the phantoms of many a night relentless under your leader – and bearing your body like it’s his god-given duty.
In essence, it is. Albeit, a god he created – fabricated – to lead lambs into a wolf’s den. And with the primal, savage way he forces himself into you, his tip pulsing and throbbing with the many hours he’s subjected you to, you can very well believe he is the very image of a predator.
“Won’t stop ‘til you’re full – ‘til it’s– fuck– ‘til it’s taken,” Simon pants, his shadow cloaking you, the sweat from his broad chest dripping down onto your sodden back. Your cheek is pressed into the desk, and in the corner of your vision, between the narrowed eyes you fight to keep open amidst the electric annihilation sparking between your legs, just below your stomach, you see him with bared teeth and dark eyes that glint with some unholy purpose. A purpose that only makes the feeling writhing inside you stronger, heavier.
With a deft hand – his other planted by your head, a cage – he finds your clit and presses it between two fingers as if it were the stub of a cigarette. He squeezes. Hard.
Your lips quiver around him and a strangled moan escapes you, euphoria becoming you, possessing you as something had him.
You keen on his hand, desperate for contact, for friction, despite him already filling you utterly and without mercy. Your arousal drips into his hand, pools in his palm. It takes all his will not to drink it then and there.
“I know, Doll–” ‘Doll’ – the name he’d given you, the name that reminds you you’re his to use as he pleases. His fingers squeeze your clit between them, a flesh vice. You’re gasping. He doesn’t stop, subjecting you to a pleasure so carnal you know only he can grant you it.
His free hand finds your shoulder, slips down your soaked back – a collage of brutal love-making, of animal rutting, of feral and incessant breeding – leaving goosebumps in its wake. He finds your rump, squeezes it, his hand flipping further between your legs until he finds your epicentre.
You’re so sensitive, and so swollen. He’s done this enough times to know that you’re red there, too.
He finds the spot where you’re connected, the modest sliver of his shaft that hasn’t been consumed by your wanting hole – where your combined arousal slithers out of you, dripping down his tightening ballsack – and plays at the edges of your lips, those that create a milky ring at the base of his cock, those that twitch with the almost overwhelming orchestra of sensations he is subjecting you to, playing you as his instrument.
Your hips twitch, pushing back against him, inadvertently impaling yourself on the inch or two he’d spared you from.
He’s swollen – painfully so. Plugging you, preventing you from getting away. Something you realise all-too late as you try to pull away, to ease the searing ache in your lips, in your womb.
You’re crying, he’s grunting, throat raw with hours of praise, of nothing short of feral growling – curses to something other than his god.
You whine as he withdraws his hand from between your legs, instead coming to cup your breasts and pull you flush against his chest. Squeezing around him again, the bulge of his cock inside you becomes ever more apparent when his hand slips up to your throat and he shunts you forward with his hips.
You’re weak – a ragdoll against him – and you’re pushed back down against the wood. He presses your stomach to the desk, your head now handing over the edge.
“D’you feel it, love?” he rasps. “Gonna give you a baby – put it right there.”
You do feel him, like an eel, slithering into any space he can, any space he hasn’t already occupied. You feel your heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and you feel his in the head of his dick, rabid. You want to sob, want the pleasure coursing through your every fibre to overwhelm you, to send you hurtling into a high nobody else can give you.
But you know this will have consequences.
You know there’s no morning after pill strong enough to overcome Simon’s seed, none strong enough to stand a chance against the sheer amount of his spend. You know this because you’re already pregnant.
You’d originally tried using a multitude of contraband substances – pills, medication, anything you could get your hands on – to stop the inevitable. To prolong it just long enough for you to find a way out of the hole you’d dug yourself into.
When Simon had found them – no doubt with the help of one of his disciples, one eager to please and who would settle for the simple pleasure of being the dirt beneath his boot – he made absolutely certain to undo all your hard work.
For days afterwards, when he gave his sermons, you had to stand, hands clasped in prayer, with his cum rolling down your thighs beneath your compound-issue garments.
And despite how you know you don’t want this destiny he’s imparted upon you, you still urge your hips against his. Especially as you feel him twitching, your hole leaking and almost squealing with his semen and the memory of the many times he’s already pumped you full this same night. He’s ready to bust at any moment, ready to find and create any excuse to empty his load into you, his favourite disciple.
You finish first in a fit of euphoric fury, an outpouring of devotion, a static explosion that leaves you utterly spent and entirely limp, unable to move as Simon continues to pummell you, using you, not stopping until you hear him give nothing less than a guttural roar, throwing his head back as he empties every ounce of his spend into you.
Any chances of escaping, any hopes of the world beyond the company you’d embroiled yourself in – they’re all gone now. Knocked clean out your head and from your reach, your mind nothing but a post-haze. You feel full almost to the point of bursting, but your body settles for a ballooned discomfort in your middle. One which you know will only grow bigger and heavier over the coming months. And no doubt beyond that when Simon deems you capable – worthy – of bearing him more offspring.
Simon is panting behind you, hands planted either side of you, head hanging between heaving shoulders. As if he’s impregnated you with his very soul.
His hand slips across the desk down to your front, where he manages to levy his fingers between your exhausted form and the hard wood beneath. And, as if by divine intuition, he gives a hum. Presses a languid kiss to your exposed neck, uttering a “Well done, love.”
He’s going to be a father.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist
Masterlist [Continued]
Masterpost
Modern Warfare AI Masterlist
simon “ghost” riley kisses you on the forehead. ghost isn’t big on pda, but he’s starving for your touch at the same time. kiss him back on his skull mask, and he’ll become putty in your hands.
john “soap” mactavish kisses you like he needs it. when he’s around you, soap cannot control himself (ghost teases him religiously for it). a peck turns into a kiss, then soon enough you’re both fucking on the couch.
phillip graves likes short, sweet kisses. at first, graves is hesitant to show vulnerability; but as time passes, he slowly begins to open up. you’re his good luck charm before missions, so he’ll leave a peck on your lips before he goes.
alejandro vargas kisses you passionately with tongue like it’s his last. despite being acquainted with the worst of death and bloodshed, his ultimate fear is losing you. so while alejandro has the chance, he wants to constantly remind you that you’re loved.
kyle “gaz” garrick loves soft neck kisses. he does like pda, but nothing too graphic. there’s never a moment where you’re not holding hands with gaz. he’ll cuddle and share banter with you until your sides hurt from laughing.
john price cups your face before squarely kissing you on the lips. gaz has berated both of you in the past for showing too much pda, so price only uses tongue in private.
valeria garza kisses you in secret. no one knows the identity of el sin nombre, and valeria intends to keep it that way. when she does kiss you, her kisses are soft and languid, and her sin nombre façade completely fades away.
summary the aftermath of the mission that almost causes the loss of your life.
cw description of a panic attack (reader has one), canon codmw2 violence & mentions of it, feeeeeeelingssssss, hurt/comfort, atp mutual pining & idiots in love. NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!!
note some people asked for part two, sooooo!!! i delivered :)
1,5K | shelf
When you opened your eyes, it was because of the horrid images that haunted your eyelids. You woke with a gasp and a ripple of pain spreading through your whole body. The room was dark and cold, but you felt the soft mattress underneath you begging to swallow your exhausted body.
It all came to you slowly. The mission, the men trying to escape with your team's hidden car, you leaving your post and sneaking behind them, fighting them, and managing to get stabbed two times. The pain in your side was becoming more and more apparent now.
A flash of Ghost holding you in his arms makes you tense. He'd come to your rescue. Called you darling. Held you in his arms and reassured you that you'd be okay. You're fine. Nothing that can't be fixed. I can fix it.
Your heart fluttered, and your gaze blurred with tears. It wasn't right to have a crush on your superior, but you couldn't help yourself. Everything about Simon Riley fascinated you—from his continuous silences and intense glares to his very attractive build. You didn't need to see his face to know he was drop-dead gorgeous. The mask was one of the things that made Ghost even hotter.
But it was wrong. Ghost's your lieutenant, your superior, and there was no way he'd ever feel the same way about you anyway. You doubt he could feel love sometimes. He cared for his team, that's for sure, but this line of work didn't allow deep and romantic sentiments.
The jiggle of the door handle snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped, causing your wounds to throb. A poorly contained whimper escaped your lips. Your heart sped up in fear, and your left hand tried to look for the knife strapped to your left thigh.
Fuck, it's not there.
The silhouette slips in, and you swear your heart feels about to leap from your throat. A tear slides down your cheek as the man approaches your side. Shit, he's here to kill you. Finish you for what you did to his companions.
In your panicked haze and blurred gaze, you don't hear Simon calling your name. You see him set down a tray next to your head, and fuck—he's going to torture you first? Where the fuck is Ghost? Soap? Gaz?
"K-Kyle?" You try, but your voice is hoarse and not as loud as intended.
Your gaze falls to the door, and you call Johnny's name. Then Simon's. You plead, but it's still not loud enough. More tears slide down your face, your ears ring, and your body shakes under the blanket.
"—ocus! Focus on me, Owl! You're safe here!" The man calls your name. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."
Darlin'.
Darlin'. Darlin'!
Ghost.
And suddenly, the ringing in your ears subsides, and panic isn't bubbling hot in your blood. You feel his hands now, touching your bare shoulders—cold fingers touching scorching skin—shaking you to pull you out of your living nightmare.
"It's okay, lovie. S'alright. You're alright." He shushes you, sitting next to your feet.
"Help me up," you whisper.
Ghost reluctantly helps you sit up, gently touching your wrists. He towers over you to adjust the thin pillows on your back. Your gaze never leaves him. He's rid himself of the tactical vest, only wearing his tight-as-shit shirt, pants, and of course, his balaclava. Thank fuck, it's not the skull one. You melt at how he cares for you, despite you having fucked up the whole operation.
He grabs a bottle of water from the tray, and you have to remind yourself that it doesn't carry torture devices. The man in front of you is Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, not the enemy. You gulp the water greedily like you've been walking in the desert under the scorching heat for hours.
"Want another one?" He asks. You shake your head.
There's a pause. The silence isn't tense but not comfortable. The nagging guilt—from both of you—holds you back from being truly open with each other.
You should've never left your post. The team would've been able to escape without the car anyway. Your thoughts are never-ending.
Simon wants to punch himself. He shouldn't have had to carry you to the car. The guilt of letting you get hurt punctured a hole in his chest.
A sniff brought him back. "I'm sorry."
He looks at you. Stares at you with those emotionless eyes, and you hate it. You hate that you can't guess what he's thinking. You'd fucked up that much is true.
"Fuck—" You hiccup and look away from him. "I didn't mean to. I panicked. I thought—I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry, Ghost, truly—"
"What're you sorry for?" His hard tone startles you.
You look at him, confused more than ever. "I fucked up the mission. Got hurt in the process too. We would've been in base by now had it not been for my fuck-up."
"You protected the team."
"No, I put my team and this mission in jeopardy."
"You took care of a threat, Sargeant." His tone was final. "You did your job. Greatly."
You inhale deeply, your eyes meeting Simon's. His gaze is like stone, but you can see the glint of pride he has for you.
"I was so scared." Fuck you for tearing up again. You felt weak.
You look down at your hands. The light slipping through the open door allows you to see the dark colour they have. Your blood—God, you hope it's yours—stains your palms and reaches up to your wrists.
"I told you I'd fix it," Simon says, and you melt at his words. "Fixed you up pretty good, all things considered."
It makes you laugh. The timing isn't great, but the chuckle escapes before you can stop it.
"Thank you, Ghost. I owe you big time."
He shakes his head. "Don't mention it. I'm your Lt. I'm supposed to keep you safe and alive."
Lt.
I'm your Lt.
It stings. You want him to call you darling and lovie again. You purse your lips and nod your head, feeling awkward thinking such thoughts with him present.
"Thank you." You pause, looking for something to ask Ghost—so he doesn't leave. You can't be alone right now. "Where are we?"
"Deep in the woods. They can't find us here."
Pursing your lips, you nod, feeling relieved. The silence returns, and Ghost exhales. "That's soup and meds for the pain. Not much, though. I don't want you passing out."
He stands to leave, and you jump, completely forgetting about the stitched wounds. "Where are you going?" Simon stills at the fear in your voice.
"Leaving?"
It comes out as a question—not what he'd intended. He was fighting the urge to show you how scared he'd been—and still is—after almost having you dead in his arms. The sentimental feelings toward you are growing stronger every second he spends with you, and it's dangerous. He has to stop permitting himself to feel. To hope that one day you'll feel the same for him. God, he feels like a teenager just thinking these thoughts.
But how can he not hope? When you look at him with wide, terrified eyes, swimming in unshed tears. When you're gripping the bowl of soup, he made carefully just for you, silently pleading with him to sit a tad bit longer.
He can see your lips tremble, but you hide it well by pursing them. The words are on your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to ask him to stay because fuck. How much more can you ask from this man? He saved you, patched you up, made you food, and now you wanted him to stay, purely out of fear. It's embarrassing to request this, especially in your line of work.
So, Simon decides to do it for you. "Unless you want me to stay?"
Your expression is shocked, but you eagerly nod before he can change his mind. You scooch to make room for his big frame on the small bed, and he actually manages to lay next to you, a hand draped on the bedframe to pull you closer.
You feel safe. Simon tends to make people feel this way. It's not only his large frame but how he carries himself and shows affection to the people he cares about. It doesn't matter if you talk or stay silent—he prefers silence—Ghost's presence is relaxing enough for you to eat your soup and drink your meds.
And when you finish, he grabs the bowl and places it next to him. When you start to drift off and snuggle closer to steal his warmth, he forces his tense shoulders to loosen and pulls you closer. He kisses the top of your head, and your hair tickles his cold nose even through his balaclava.
He knows his back will ache from the uncomfortable position he's sitting in, but he doesn't care because you're alive. Alive and safe. In his arms. And it's all that matters right now.
humbly requesting ghost x reader where he thinks he’s too old and damaged for reader. i headcannon ghost to be anywhere between 35-38 and the reader would be early twenties. he’s all emo and “oh they’re too innocent, i’d hurt and ruin them” and reader is just like “i would die for this man.”
Too Old For You // Part One
Summary: You've been crushing on him for a while now, even going as far as taking a stab for him. But it isn't enough for him to notice you; you're too young, too nice for someone like him.
Warning(s): medic!reader, fem!reader, age gap [reader is early twenties, ghost is mid/late thirties], mild injury/blood, hurt/no comfort
Word Count: 817
A/N: I enjoy hurting my own feelings :)
꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST
// have a request? ˗ˏˋ ASK BOX | AO3 VER | PART TWO .ˎˊ˗
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
You did know that, by this point, at least. He had only told you about a hundred times.
“I can do this myself. It’s my job,” you let out a hiss as the Lieutenant purposefully wrapped the gauze tighter than necessary. You weren’t even supposed to be involved — you were supposed to keep hidden until the situation was handled.
He ripped off the end of it, fastening the small clip to keep the wrap in place. “Keep quiet,” he wanted to be irate. But you meant well, and that’s what bothered Simon the most. He, of all people, didn’t deserve to be the one you sacrificed yourself for. You were lucky it was a knife through the hand and not through the heart—where the intruder had been aiming the blade intended for him.
The gash in your palm would be a life-long reminder, doomed to leave a nasty scar.
Nothing says I’m in love with you like taking a stab in the hand for him, but it was abundantly clear he was too headstrong to let you be with him. Or was intentionally dismissing your signals entirely, you weren’t sure which one was more disheartening.
Ghost sets your injured hand back down, letting you admire his sloppy patchwork. It got the job done, it didn’t need to be an aesthetically-pleasing bandage. He used an alcohol wipe to cleanse the bloodstains on your forearm, now an unnecessary service. Perhaps it was his way of apologizing for you being injured on his behalf because he surely wasn’t expressing it through words.
You reached over with your unharmed hand and placed it over his, stopping his meticulous wiping, “I got this.”
The stubborn Lieutenant only flicked his gaze upwards from your hand on his, a brief scoff escaping his lips. Whatever the hell that meant. “Least I can do is get the damn blood off you, kid. Jumped in front of a bloody knife for me.”
Kid. It was like nails on a chalkboard to you.
He continued muttering and shaking his head in disapproval, running the alcohol wipe along your flesh until there was no trace of crimson.
It wasn’t a motive of stupidity, nor was it to prove yourself. You weren’t even a soldier, there would be no use trying to be tough in front of him. Your true motive was admiration for him, and even now, with a stab wound, he’s too mule-headed to let you in. Any longer, and you might just lose your mind entirely.
“Thought you would be relieved, I guess.” You shrugged, speaking with a small bit of defeat. “Knife was supposed to go right there.” A finger pointed at his heart but didn’t dare make contact. You knew better than that,.. Sort of.
Before you could finish outstretching your hand, his unoccupied one clamped over it, breaths a little heavier. Followed by a look that could only be described as intense contemplation; should I break this hand or continue to gently hold it?
“You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re doing, do you?” Simon questions, thumb instinctually caressing your knuckle to balance out the iron grip he maintained. “You’re confused.”
You were too young, too nice in his eyes. It was your job to be a healer, a good one, too. And his job? A trained killer. To him, it was too ironic, too striking of a contrast. An arrangement like that would never work—Simon was too mature, too damaged, downright unworthy of your kindness. At least that’s what he had himself convinced of, even after the knife incident.
You replied hastily, a slight tinge of frustration showing. “I’m not confused, Ghost. I know what I want—I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.” You would’ve done it again if it meant another chance at restarting this conversation. A conversation that now was nose-diving into a point of no return.
“You shouldn’t have done it at all,” he sighed, amber eyes flooded with internal conflict. His grip released with one swift movement, and now his palm rested on either side of you, but it wasn’t intimidation he was after. “I’m not the bloke you want to jump in front of a bullet for, trust me.”
“Simon—” You blurted amidst his attempts at swaying you, cradling your bandaged hand. What more would it take?
“—Ghost.” He interjected, taking several steps back from his looming position. If he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from poisoning you.
It wasn’t right. You deserve someone better than him. “It’s Ghost. We’re not doin’ this, Kid. I’m not doing it.” His words were like a punch to the gut, more painful than a stab to the hand, that’s for sure.
The door to the infirmary slammed shut, only seconds before his footsteps faded into silence, stranding you with the solitude of rejection.
Task Force 141 + Reader (Callsign-Crash): friendship headcanons
a/n: Hello hello! Just some random headcanons that I had written down for Crash and her relationships with the members of the 141 team. Nothing romantic, just some wholesome stuff.
original gif by @collinnmckinley
also, this is really freaking long, sorry in advance. enjoy reading!
Before getting thrown out the window and getting her callsign, she was quiet and shy around the group. Opting to listen to others conversations, rarely adding to it.
Honestly intimidated with how tightly knit the team is, and given her previous team’s history, she was scared to get close.
Volunteered to be the DD whenever the group goes out to a bar. Fortunately, most of the time, Ghost is sober(enough) to help her get everyone into the car and into their rooms
Would silently comfort Soap and Gaz whenever they threw up, rubbing their backs and getting them water.
In the mornings after, she got everyone a breakfast burrito. Soap and Gaz are eternally grateful. Got a little information about her when they asked why she got them food. “Help with my hangovers during college.” Soap and Gaz gave each other a look as she walks away
After the window incident, Crash becomes a lot more open. Seeing how they treat her as if she has been with them for years, it wasn’t fair to them with how closed off she was.
Soap:
He talks to you a lot and you don’t mind. He just comes out and starts rambling on whatever he has interested him at that moment. You don’t really say anything, just sitting there awkwardly (because why would he want to talk to the newbie instead of his friends) but nodding to what he says anyways. One time though, he looks at you and says “Thanks for listening to me. It’s nice to have someone not tell me to ‘Shut the fuck up Mactavish.’”
Literally you after he tells you this:
“you’re my friend now. we’re having soft tacos later” vibes
Would send him memes and funny videos whenever you guys are on leave
His contact name on your phone is “Bubbles”
Would show you how to make bombs out of random shit. Set them off in bare fields or abandon buildings. Had a couple close calls
Will let you call him Johnny but you call him Mac instead.
“Aww, why not, lassie?”
“I’d rather not get my ass beat by your boyfriend.”
Calls you Lassie along with your callsign. When he wants to piss you off, he calls you Mini Ghost or Little Ghost
Like Ghost, you rarely take off your balaclava and tactical glasses
“The mask, take it off.”
“Nah, I don’t wanna.”
“You ugly?”
“Not as ugly as you old man.”
Has yet to seen you drunk though and he intends to get you there some day
Holds his hand when he’s throwing up
You would use him as a pillow during rides back to the base
The first person to tell him about any drama that’s happening in your life
Gives you advice about men
"Men are stupid, trust me, I am one."
Loves it when you would go on ramblings about the things you like. Anime confuses the hell out of him but he would always ask you about the plot and your favorite characters. He’d ask you about the current artist you listen to and has a list of recommendations from you so he could look them up when he gets home
After a mission gone wrong and believing that it was his fault, you seek him out, finding him sitting alone in the meeting room. You tell him
“It’s going to be okay. I trust you, John.”
He tears up and you wrap your arms around him.
Gaz:
With you two being the youngest, you bond over similar experiences
Sometimes share exactly one brain cell with each other. Sometimes you, Gaz and Soap share a brain cell
Brings out the chaotic gen z energy of each other
Your guys’ energy:
Follows each other on social media and would send each other tiktoks at ungodly hours
Kind of have a competition against each other to see who’s Price’s favorite child is
Gaz finally has someone who he can talk about anime with
Favorite shows to watch together: Cowboy Bebop, Samurai Champloo and Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure
Similar music taste. The whole team listens to Queen, David Bowie, Pink Floyd and a few more others. However, Gaz and Crash have the same love of rap and indie pop. Anything they find on tiktok will be added to their shared Spotify playlist.
Gaz would ask about how college was like. He thought about going but ultimately for him, the military was the better option
“Were you part of a sorority?”
“Oh hell no. Loved going to the parties though. Always had top shelf vodka.”
“Really? Thought students couldn’t afford it.”
“When it comes to alcohol, we find a way.”
Share the same sentiment of feeling like they’re not doing enough in the team. After a particularly rough mission, you two would find a corner and just sit together in silence.
Would break the silence by quoting something from vine or tiktok and all things would be okay again
Price:
He has adoption papers ready
Crash, despite your name, is polite, respectful and responsible. Would always help Price clean up after meetings and briefs
Same with Soap, you would listen quietly to Price’s war stories and even his favorite fishing trips
Saw in your file about what happened to your old team and captain. Vows to never pull the same stunt as them
Sadden to see how you’re so young and has seen and dealt with many things already. It breaks his heart that there’s more that you’ll experience.
You, Soap and Gaz would do dumb shit all the time but you knew when it was the right time to bail. Of course, they would snitch on you to Price. You’d rarely get in trouble though
Basically you two:
Would gift him cigars from the countries you’d visit during leave
Also a matching set of torch lighters. His has a special green flame while yours is pink.
You don’t smoke anymore but you would hangout with him and help him finish reports together.
Price often thinks about a life where he didn’t join the military. A life of normalcy. To go to a home filled with life.
Would have loved to have kids and technically, he still can but his job makes it almost impossible.
But with Gaz and now you, you two are his pride and joy.
Would be the “hip” dad and will always ask about the new slang and memes
“This food is-what you kids call it...uh, busting!”
You and Gaz look at each other, “It’s bussin’.”
“This food is bussin’!”
Ghost:
Did not to want to get close to you at all.
Was honestly peeved when Price told him that he was going to mentor you
“I don’t want to play babysitter, Captain.”
Surprised to see how short you were. All of the rumors and information he was told, they never mention your size
At first, he hated how you would follow him around like a lost puppy.
“Leave me alone, go bother Soap or something.”
Doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in your eyes but you turn around anyways.
Before you joined, he, Price and Laswell were all sitting in Price’s office, his phone on speaker. He was reading over your file before Price’s contact said
“She reminds me of Ghost when I worked with him seven years ago.”
He looks up from the folder, Price’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Laswell nodding.
“I think we’ll have her transferred to us,” Price replies.
Hates to admit but he’s impressed. Thought the rumors was bullshit but you proved him wrong, time and time again
You still have a lot of things to learn and even more practice to do but he believes in you
Does not go easy. He’s merciless. Has put you down countless times and reprimanded you more. You would always leave training sessions with a new bruise. The rest of the team gets concerned with his training methods.
But you still get up and you blink away the tears whenever he shouts at you
At about five months after you joined, on a mission, you spot an enemy behind him before he does and without a word, you quickly take your knife out and throw it towards the man behind him.
He opens his mouth to yell at you but he sees the enemy on the corner of his eye and watch him slump down. Your knife stuck in his bleeding neck
Gives you a nod after that. Pulling out your knife and handing it back to you
Knife throwing would be one of the training sessions you’d do. It was also a good time for some small chat
Finds out that you’re also a part of the “Dead Mom, Shitty Dad” club
It takes a year for him to SLIGHTLY open up to you
Told you about one of his favorite dishes his mom made and his favorite Queen song was ‘You’re My Best Friend’
Even told you how he likes his Earl Grey prepared
It scares him of how much you remind him of his mom and brother. You have her kindness and his determination. He will never tell you this
You, along with the team, become the very thing he cares about and will protect you to the best of his ability.
task force 141 and alejandro and rudy reactions to the afab s/o squirting during sex 👀
Hey love! Thank you so much for your request. I didn't include Rudy since I don't write for him, and that would've made for a hefty HC list anyway. not proof read btw! just finished a ten hour closing shift and i wanted to get this out bc it's fun to write
okay so i've never actually squirted but from asking my bf/friends i have an okay-ish idea of what it's like so i hope i delivered!
NSFW Content Below!
AFAB!Reader
Simon "Ghost" Riley
I think Simon is well aware of what he's doing. He knows exactly how to coax you toward squirting, even if you're unfamiliar with it and have never experienced it before.
He's two fingers knuckle-deep inside your velvety walls, murmuring praise as he massages and rubs against the spongy nerves inside you. His palm nuzzles against your clit with each pump of his fingers, and it's electrifying.
You might feel the urge to pee and be concerned about it, but if you even dare to try and pull away he'll pin you down firmly.
"Shh. Just let it happen, love."
It's humiliating, but that's part of the fun. The orgasm is intense as hot liquid floods down your legs, soaking your thighs and his hand.
You might be embarrassed, but his words are encouraging.
"There you go, love. Let it all out."
Simon is completely enamoured. He'll lap up the excess fluids, taste your release on his fingers and admire his handy work. He's already turned on by the foreplay, but he'll be rock-hard at this point.
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish
Johnny also purposefully tries to get you to squirt. He's intrigued and turned on by the idea, which was something he first discovered when watching porn.
He's a little devious. He might've offered you plenty of water before initiating sex on purpose.
Toys are Johnny's friend. He uses g-spot stimulating vibrators to encourage you to squirt. He's enthralled by the sight of you falling apart - red face, blubbering lewd nonsense, panting breaths, arched back.
It happens quickly and intensely, likely faster than you're able to comprehend. The sheets beneath you are soaked, ruined. His pupils are blown wide with arousal and he practically humps against your thigh.
"Steamin' Jesus. Didn't know you had it in you."
He'll stroke your slick legs to help you ride out and come down from the orgasm, and might even be feeling a little bit cheeky and increase the setting on the vibrator if you can take it.
"Reckon we could do that again?"
John Price
There's a myth floating around that men grow fuller facial hair when eating pussy. You might just consider it a fact when it comes to John, though.
He absolutely adores being buried between your thighs and will be there for hours, for multiple orgasms, simply because he gets off to it as much as you do. He's a lover, a giver.
Doesn't often include his fingers since the wide, wet heat of his tongue is usually enough, and sometimes the angle is a little awkward for him to pleasure you without knocking you funny with his fingers.
Squirting comes very quickly and suddenly when he uses his fingers this time, however. The pads of his fingers push against your g-spot just right. You have to warn him of it when you're overwhelmed with the swelling, white-hot sensation in your lower abdomen. It feels different to a typical orgasm.
This isn't his first rodeo, though.
"It's alright, love. I don't care. Make a mess."
You end up squirting on his face. He certainly finds it to be a pleasant surprise. His mouth, chin and beard are drenched, practically dripping with your explosive release. I imagine he'd lick the excess, and return to the plush confines of your thighs for more.
"Christ, you're incredible."
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Squirting is uncharted territory for both of you. You've talked about it and wondered if you could manage it, but never necessarily tried to get there. Kyle probably thinks it's only possible in porn.
He loves delivering backshots. Gaz is an ass man, through and through, so he loves to see the flesh of your butt bouncing when he takes you from behind. He'll experiment with all sorts of positions and angles that let him get a good view of it.
He's hitting it just right, all with the help of a pillow to prop your stomach up when your legs dangle over the edge of the bed.
It's not often you cum simply through penetrative sex, either, so you're essentially jello when your climax approaches.
You cum in waves. The fluid quickly follows. You're soaked, he's soaked, and the pillow underneath you is soaked. For a fleeting moment, you think that the warm fluid is his cum until you realise he's frozen and you're more wet than usual.
"Babe. Holy shit."
You might be embarrassed, but I think Kyle will love it. Might even dip his hand down to where you're connected to get a taste.
"So fucking sexy."
He'll fuck you with renewed vigour after that. Now he knows that you can squirt, he'll try and encourage you to do so almost every time you have sex.
Alejandro Vargas
I think it happens during a long-winded overstimulation session. He's relentless with his tongue and fingers, forcing you to cum over and over again. His hands explore, toying with your nipples for added sensitivity.
"C'mon, you can give me another one, eh, cariño?"
You're not sure if you can take another orgasm, but the incoming sensation feels different. Your legs shake, tremours induced by every merciless flick of his tongue against your clit. It sets your body on fire. Your cunt clenches and your stomach lurches.
It's almost a relief when you squirt. It's like your body is releasing the aching, pent-up tension that is the merciless attack of pleasure that keeps your body writhing, teetering on the edge of peak arousal. Everything just releases at once.
"Mm... there we go, mi vida, just like that. Perfect."
He loves the humiliation of it, the control of your body completely and utterly submitting to him.
He'll use the fluids to help guide his cock inside of you. You're hypersensitive and take him with ease, aided by the excess fluids. The sounds are crude, squelching, but he's obsessed.
The sheets are ruined. He doesn't care - he'll buy new ones just to ruin them again.
