#tf141

[howyoulovelikeweaponskill]

“i’m goin’ home to fuck my wife.”

and those were the last words john uttered before slamming the palm of his hand down against his desk and leaving. spoken the way most things he says are - gruff and final, with no room for argument - stunning the room into silence until the door shut hard behind him.

everyone just looked at each other, dumbstruck.

“should we wait for him to come back?”

“what the hell does that mean—”

“is that code for something?”

“wait, he’s married?”

price didn’t hear a word of it - by that point he was already halfway down the hall, boots pounding concrete with purpose, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, everything else dissolving into white-hot static behind his eyes.

he can take a lot of bullshit. does it daily. but fuckin’ hell - they wouldn’t stop. wouldn’t stop talking, hovering, circling him like crows. clipping questions at him in endless fucking rotations.

what now, captain? what’s next? what do we do about makarov? do we move now or wait for shepherd’s greenlight? have you seen the updated file? should we pull soap and gaz back? do we burn the safe house? double-tap the asset? what’s the protocol—

jesus fuckin’ christ.

it’d been too long. john’s mentally checked out and he knows it. doesn’t care. he didn’t want to be in that room. didn’t want to sit at that table. didn’t want to give another goddamn order with five pairs of bloodshot eyes looking at him like he’s meant to have all the answers and none of the doubt.

he needs a break. not a debrief. not another satellite feed. not another fucking decision.

he needs to go home and fuck his wife.

needs to put his hands on something solid, something that he doesn’t have to second guess. something that’d let him burn off all the static and pressure and noise building between his temples without asking anything much in return. his sanctuary where he can fall apart and come back clearer. reset his head before it spun off his shoulders.

so he peeled out of the parking lot before he’d even properly put the car in drive, and sent you one text:

‘take off anything you value and put away anything breakable. i’ll be home in 15.’

[simonriley09]

Had to get onto the portal pussy trend

You're slumped over your bed, feeling the familiar feeling of a dick sliding through your wet folds, but the thing is you're fully dressed and home alone, the team left hours ago to the pub.

Your back arched, clit throbbing and slick pooling in your panties. The person could be any one of your team mates, they're all horny mutts who can't keep it in their pants.

A moan slips from your mouth, feeling a fat tip slip in and out, nothing more nothing less.... clearly ghost.

That's until you felt another head slip in beside it, your back arched even deeper, knees digging into your bed. Soap. They're both taking turns sticking just the head in, it's driving you crazy.

A few minutes of this and you feel the familiar buzz of a vibrator press against your clit, you gasped, grabbing your phone to text the team but before you can even hit send your body locks up into a strong orgasm, legs quivering violently and your jeans getting soaked.

4 orgasms later you finally feel both of them slip out. God you need a change and a gun. Maybe to murder them, maybe to point it at them while riding them till they whine. You'll never know until they show up. You're just glad Price or Gaz haven't had a turn... they've got more stamina.

[twolegsandbleeds]

you've got used to simon’s silence when he's deployed. no calls. no texts. he simply vanishes from your shared life.

before his last mission, you’d pressed a small, matte black disc into his palm.

“what th’ fuck is this?” he’d grumbled, eyebrows knitted together.

“pocket pussy,” you’d deadpanned back. “best one i could get. you fuck it, i feel it. means i know you’re still alive… and we can both get off while you’re gone.”

his ears went red, but he’d tucked it into his bag without another word.

now, almost every night, you feel him.

thick fingers parting your folds, brushing over your clit until you’re soaked and trembling. then comes the stretch - his cock pressing into you from halfway across the world. you recognise every ridge, every vein, the perfect shape of him. 

sometimes he fucks you hard and fast, like he’s angry at the distance, hips snapping until your back arches and you cum with his name falling from your lips. other nights he’s slow, teasing your clit with absent circles of his thumb while he edges you, leaving your legs shaking and your voice hoarse from begging even though there's no way for him to hear you.

you’ve even felt him in the middle of the day - once when you were doing the big shop, having to pretend to be closely examining the nutritional information on a packet of cereal whilst your legs trembled. once in the shower, knees buckling as he thrust into you without warning, the stretch absolutely obscene. 

but every time he uses that little black disc, relief floods you.

he’s alive and he’s thinking of you.

[johnpricescumrag]

"Hurry up, Soap!" Gaz complains. "I want a turn with her before we have to go!"

"She has other holes!" Soap grunts, his hips harshly slamming into you.

"Easy, boys. There's more than enough of that pussy to go around." Ghost laughs. His hand comes to pet your cheek, his thumb parting your lips.

High-pitched, squeaky moans are forced out of you with each harsh thrust. You clench around Soap hard enough for him to curse, his hips stuttering.

Gaz practically body slams Soap out of the way to get to you, or more adequately, your sloppy, dribbling pussy. "Shh, easy, honey. It's just me."

Gaz's thrusts are deep and harsh, making you repeatedly sob and cry out his name. Your whole world narrows down to Gaz and his cock. Nothing else really registers with you.

You sob at the loss when Gaz pulls out of your spent, swollen pussy. You whine, confused when no one moves to replace him.

"Sorry, slut. We've gotta go." Ghost sneers, patting your cheek condescendingly.

Price smiles at you, "I'll fuck ya when we get back. Keep that cunt nice an' loose for me."

[stillinnav]

i wanna be apart of their program

[actuallyacat]

CAPTAIN !! WAKE UP YOUR LIEUTENANT IS COMPROMISED !!

The promised continuation of my last post 🥳

[stargirlstabber]

0.1k words, not proodread

imagine simon riley trying to fix something on your car while he's home, standing in front of the open hood without a shirt, the sweat from the shining sun dribbling down the muscular planes of his back.

women from the neighbourhood practically glued to their windows, watching as his muscles flex when he fixes the problem, or how his bicep moves when he pulled you close to him, engulfing you in a passionate kiss to remind the oogling neighbours that he's happily taken.

[devil-in-hiding]

something something reader is a bartender at a popular little pub, and night after night you are hit on by men so plastered you often have to sigh and call over one of the guys you work with the idiots end up vomiting all over themselves (sometimes it’s worse than vomit but thankfully you can count those incidents on one hand)

you think by slipping on your grandmothers old wedding ring, it will sway men from hitting on you at work. And it does, there’s still some that try to test their luck, but the minute you flash that pearl on your finger they’re scurrying off to find their next target.

Cue four new regulars, four attractive military men that always flash you a polite smile and leave you a nice tip. Price comes in more than the others, claiming the stool near your register for himself, Ghost doing the same the rare nights he slinks into the pub. Soap and Gaz come in together some weekends, sitting themselves in front of you with big grins on their faces as they watch the game on the tv overhead.

They’re all sweet, a little cocky at times but nothing that one of their grins or sly remarks can’t make up for. They ask how their favorite girl is doing when they return from longer missions, genuinely listening as you fill them in on the things that have happened since they’ve been away.

Perfect gentlemen.

Until one night you forget your ring, having had to rush your shower and sprint out the door to make it to the pub before the nightly rush.

You filling glasses when you hear the chime of the bell and a familiar laugh fill the pub.

“Was wondering if I’d see you boys tonight.” You smile, motioning for them to give you a moment as you serve the other patrons.

When you slide back over to them, you immediately reach for their usual glasses, grabbing your cloth to wipe them off, when a hand clamps around your wrist and you jump, nearly dropping the glass as Ghost turns your hand over in his.

“Trouble at home pretty?” Price comments, concern etched on his face and it takes a moment for you to catch on, and you can’t help the little giggle that spills out.

“Oh! My ring… It’s kind of a funny story. I uhm.. I’m not actually married.” You laugh, expecting them to laugh along with you, but all you feel are four pairs of eyes piercing into you.

“Come again?” Gaz asks, voice a tad deeper than usual and you ignore the chills it sends down your spine.

“I started wearing it so some of the drunkards would leave me be, kind of forgot about it, just became habit.” You chuckle nervously, hand still in Ghost’s grasp and he’s eyeing you in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Hm. Interesting.”