#task force 141 smut

[gloomwitchwrites]

i was thinking. and what would 141 be like with a girlfriend who had never cum before them. like if she was shocked that she was able to cum? how would the 141 be?

Oh, anon. You have me punching the air and screaming over here.

Do any of y'all remember your first orgasm? I do. I remember because my boyfriend at the time did not know how to eat it. Instead of getting upset with me, he went and did some research. The guy came back and gave me an orgasm so fast and so intense that I cried.

but anyway, it's our fav fictional men giving it to us.

MDNI

Gaz is absolutely full of pride when he realizes he’s the first man to make you come. Will he be boastful about it? Not overtly. He’ll take the opportunity to tell you how beautiful you are when you’re falling apart. If he’s eating you out while it happens, Gaz will praise how you taste and the way your thighs tried to crush him. If he’s inside you, he’ll tell you how good you feel and what a pretty sight you are. This man is raining affection down on you and then he’s absolutely going to make it happen again.

Soap is a cheeky bastard when you come for the first time. He did that? He did that? Man is going to brag about this forever. Your other partners must be shit lovers because how could they not make this happen? There’s nothing wrong with you, love. It’s every previous partner who couldn’t give enough of a shit to make sure you’re happy. Not only is he smug about it, but knowing he’s the first man to make you come, he’s going to see it as a personal challenge to see how many times he can make you come during sex. And he intends to beat his record every time.

Price is a softy about it. As you cling to him, the orgasm rolling through you, body shuddering, Price is completely in the moment, fucking you through it as he chases his own end. An orgasm is standard. It comes in a packaged deal. It isn’t until you tell him that’s the first time that Price realizes what he’s just done for you. But there’s no bragging from him. Price wraps you up in his arms, pulls you against him, peppering you with kisses and touches, talking to you about it because he wants to know how he can replicate it for the future.

Ghost is neither impressed with himself or about to brag over the fact that he’s just given you your first orgasm. If anything, he’s upset/angry for you that no other partners have ever made the effort. To him, that’s abhorrent. While an orgasm might not happen every time, the fact that it hasn’t happened at all honestly pisses him off. From now on, Ghost is going to make sure you come first before he does. He intends to learn what gets you going and what sets you off. Understanding your needs comes first.

main masterlist

[itsoutrageouss]

Sitting on Simon’s face to shut him up?

It's when you think he gets too arrogant, too mouthy that you push Simon 'Ghost' Riley down by the shoulders. He could easily stop you and you both know it. But he welcomes it, a little taken aback by the sudden gesture but intrigued.

You had been arguing over yet another mission- he said you were too soft and sentimental, you said he was too cold and aloof. One day arguing had led to him hoisting you up against the wall and fucking you to prove a point. You guys had argued a lot more since then.

He lets himself lay down on the bed, feet still planted on the ground. It takes you 0.1 second to slip off your panties under your skirt before you're crawling over him, climbing him like a tree and slowly sitting yourself down

You manage to catch his eyes before his face disappears under your skirt. You think it might be love, the way he looks up at you.

And it worked because he doesn't say a single thing- no protest or thanks. He just gets to work, hands curling around your thighs, opening his warm mouth for you and letting his tongue delve into your cunt. Eventually there's a groan of appreciation that sends shivers up and down your spine, making you arch and simultaneously press yourself down onto his mouth harder. He sticks his tongue out in response, urging you to move by yourself with a tug on your hips.

It had been a ridiculous discussion where he'd been praising his skills far too much and yours far too little- but it melted from your mind as you rocked your hips over his face, feeling his nose nudge your clit.

He mumbles against you, slobbering and sucking diligently -doing his duty- serving his apology with gentle sucks on your clit.

His eyes are closed tightly. What had you been arguing about? And why exactly hadn't you shut him up like this before? And would you pretty please do it again?

He feels you drip down his chin and onto his neck, his brow furrowing as he groans. He wanted to actually eat you up, gently scraping his teeth on your sensitive clit as you cum all over his face. He was gonna piss you off more often now on purpose if this was how you'd punish him.

[tobeholyistobeempty]

G’mornin, bonnie. | john soap mactavish

You wake up from a one night stand — ready to gather your shit and run just like you always do after a night of bad decisions — but turns out, Johnny has other plans for you.

cw: 18+ mdni. smut. slight dark themes ie. stalking. john price has a kid and is a great wingman apparently. reader afab. teacher!reader. morning after a hookup. domestically menacing johnny with a permanent shit-eating grin. first time attempting to write his accent so i’m sorry in advance. piv. voyuerism!kink. rip to johnny’s neighbours. creampie.

for the absolutely lovely @spurbleu. thank you for offering me this challenge. i hope i did him justice 🤍 i’m so sorry i’m so late ilysm

You wake to something warm.

It washes over you slowly — spring streams pouring into fragmented consciousness, urging you from the depths of slumber with a gentle lull. Coaxing. Warm like summer sun internalized, flowing through your hair — hazing the room in a golden film as your eyes peel open with rapid blinks, and confusion hastily nullifies it.

You shift, becoming aware of what your body is subconsciously telling you. Warmth. All of it adding to the growing discombobulation. The lingering heat between your thighs. The cocooning comfort of sheets that aren’t yours. The odd familiarity of a room that’s too bare to be recognized. The grace of a bed that’s glaringly empty save for dark sheets wrapped around bare, aching legs.

It takes you a minute, but your memory eventually resurfaces — gasping for air at the smell of coffee and the hum of movement from the other room.

Johnny.

Hard to forget that name after you’d spent the night screaming it. Your body knows before your mind does, muscles humming with the memory of hands that held too tight, a mouth that took its time. You inhale. Coffee again. A lure. A leash. It tugs at something instinctual, something inside you domesticated — until you glance at the clock sitting on an empty nightstand and realize it’s almost 9 am.

Shit. You should have been long, long gone by now.

You exhale, cursing your constant stupidity as you drag yourself out of his bed and up to your feet — fogged vision scanning the floor, brows creasing as you realize you’re wearing nothing save for a long white shirt that surely isn’t yours — and your clothes are no where to be found.

Oh. Right.

Your clothes barely made it past the front fucking door.

Another exhale, forced from shaking lungs. You’ll have to go out there. You’ll have to face him, grab your clothes and change. It’ll be awkward, but it’s not like you haven’t been here before. Not like you haven’t been through this with past vices. It’ll be fine. It’ll be easy — you all but convince yourself. And within seconds, you’re halfway down the hall, practising your fake smile and empty thank you’s when the smell grows stronger.

Your stomach grumbles with the force of it as you step into the kitchen and —

Fuck.

Johnny stands at the stove, shirtless in grey sweats, bathed golden by the early morning light. It clings to his skin, drapes over the planes of his back, the ridges of his spine. His hair is a mess, wrecked and mussed — a souvenir from your hands as he fiddles with something in a pan, humming hypnotic under his breath.

And it’s then that you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

Because this? This is wrong. This is not how this goes. You don’t wake up like this, wrapped in the scent of coffee and breakfast, staring at a man who should’ve already been nothing more than a memory.

Your breath sticks in your throat, limbs made of cement as he turns. Catches you standing there.

And grins. “G’mornin’, bonnie.”

You blink, the exertion of it painful. You should leave.

Instead, you exhale. “You’re making breakfast.”

His lips twitch, amusement and archaism synchronized swimming in his ocean eyes. “Aye. Tha’s usually what it’s called.”

He is so at ease here, it’s unnerving. You can feel it, see it in the way he moves. Unfettered. Relaxed. It makes a knot of tension bindle between your shoulder blades — because this is familiar to him, but not to you.

Two plates. Two cups of coffee. You should leave.

“You—you don’t have to do that.”

Johnny just shrugs, turning that canvas of a back to you — red parallel lines catching under karat coated rays. Your own painting on display — you find yourself admiring it as if it wasn’t created by last nights drunken fingers.

“Ye thought I’d jus’ kick ye out?” He flips eggs in the pan. Your chest aches. “Ye were tryen t’sneak off first then?”

Your lips press into a thin line — indignant as you force your eyes to the floor. “Admittedly, that was the plan, yes.”

He tsks, shaking his head like that’s the most disappointing sentence he’s heard all week before he glances over his shoulder at you again — all beaming blue eyes and grins.

“Shame. Poor things nae used te bein taken care of, is she?”

That indignation spreads, grows a vine around your throat. Twists your tongue. “Well, I mean—I don’t—“

Johnny cuts you off with a hum. Or, more like you cut yourself off, because you have absolutely nothing to say to that and what you did offer seems to be more than enough of an answer for him.

“Ye think too much, bonnie.” Something sizzles in the pan — you watch the veins in his arms shift against whiskey skin as he lifts it off the element. “All tha’ time plotting yer escape, ye coulda’ been enjoying breakfast.”

Christ. You really should leave. You should slip back into the skin of someone who doesn’t stick around for things like this. But it’s like your feet have grown roots, burrowed beneath his floorboards. You blame it on the smell of coffee, the warmth of the kitchen. The way his fucking muscles flex as he moves.

It’s all nurture to something long rotted in your soul.

“It’s not like I was expecting breakfast.” You mutter, tugging his shirt down your thighs before crossing your arms across your chest. “Wasn’t expecting any of this, really.”

Could you be anymore fucking awkward about this?

“Tha’ right?”

You can’t see it, but you can hear the grin on his mouth. It should scare you that you are beginning to predict him — expecting something smart to come out of him next.

“Didnae expect the shag either, but ye still took it real well.”

Perhaps it should scare you more that you were right.

You clear your throat, but the heat is already rushing down your spine. Settling somewhere inconvenient. He just gives you a quick glance, lopsided leisure tilting his lips as he turns with a plate and coffee cup in hand, gesturing with his head toward the table.

“Come o’nae, I won’t bite ye.”

————————-

Turns out, Johnny MacTavish is real easy to talk to. Too easy.

Mostly because he doesn’t stop talking, but nonetheless, it whiplashes you. You came here expecting the usual routine — get in, get out, leave nothing behind but the scent of mingled sweat on strange sheets — but the one-night stand has somehow stretched into morning and now you’re sitting at his kitchen table, fork scraping against porcelain, coffee steaming — actually talking like this isn’t just borrowed time.

He tells you about Scotland. About real pubs, the kind where the floors stick to your boots and old men sing ballads in voices ruined by smoke. He talks with his hands. His shoulders. His fucking eyes — restless and full of movement, always wandering. Blue. Though that hardly cuts it — the colour of a storm sky split by lightening. Cool in the shallows and rich in the depths.

They hold contradiction well. Like they’ve seen enough of the world to be cynical but still manage to burn bright enough to keep that warmth kindling under your skin.

Perplexing.

That’s the word that sits on the tip of your tongue as you stare at him. Wondering if he was truly just another notch on your bedpost, would you still be here, trying to make sense of what you missed in the dark last night.

“So,” he says, ripping a piece of butter soaked toast in half. “Ye always bolt after?”

You pause mid-bite. Then your mouth moves dumbly. “After what?”

Johnny smirks. “After ye ride a bloke like yer life depends on it, scream his name loud enough tae wake the dead, and wake up wearen’ his shirt.”

“Jesus—“ you choke, grateful you at least swallowed your food prior to him starting that sentence, otherwise he’d be halfway to giving you the heimlich right about now. “You don’t do subtle, do you?”

“Aye.” That grin grows over the rim of his mug. “Subtlety’s a waste on a woman like ye.”

Before you can’t think better of it, you find yourself grinning back.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes flick away to catch the sunlight.

“Ye dinnae’ strike me as the half-measures type, bonnie.” Then they wander back to yours. “Means ye like a man tha’ says what he’s really thinken, tha’s all.”

That makes you pause, and you try to tell yourself you’re not blushing. It’s the warm sun at your back, or the coffee sitting thick in your belly. It’s certainly not those eyes — still on you, unashamedly, taking in whatever it is they see behind your own.

“You think you know me?” You try to make it sound as casual as possible. You know you don’t accomplish it.

“Aye.” A lazy nod. “I do.”

And that — that makes you squirm. Makes you drop your eyes to his hands as they sit against the sides of his coffee mug. Capable fingers calloused with strength, a few bruised knuckles. Your gaze drifts up to the veins on his forearm, and you stop yourself before you stare too long.

“Why?”

You hadn’t even realized you’d asked it out loud until his lips quirk like he was waiting for it.

“Wha happened te all yer self-preservation?”

You blink. Your tongue is heavy, but you make yourself use it.

“...self-preservation?”

He leans forward, arms on the table between you.

“All it took te keep ye here was a little forward hospitality. Ye got no blasted clue who I even am — yet yer still here, asken questions ye shouldnae be asken in a voice tha doesnae belong te someone looken te run.”

And you don’t know what to say to that, because admittedly it knocks everything off kilter. Leaves you wrong-footed. Lands a little too close to being right. There is safety in one-night stands and running before the sun breaks. There is safety in not learning anything about the man you share a bed with for a night if you don’t have to. You’ve been good at it. Practiced it like a bad habit.

You didn’t realize, until now, just how easy it’d been for Johnny to make you break it.

“I said I know ye,” he whispers. “Because I do m’research on who I share m’bed with.”

He leans back in his chair after that — and your eyes follow. Milliseconds stretch to seconds which stretch thin to what feels like minutes before you find some sort of wherewithal to move. You don’t want to know what he means by that, and you don’t want to look too deep to find the answers — the incrimination dunked just beneath the ocean tides in his irises.

“You are so bloody full of it.” You surprise yourself by not stuttering, staying steady as you stand. “I—I have to go.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Aye, I am.”

His eyes find yours again before you head for your clothes still scattered all over his living room floor. You swear to all kinds of unholy things that you feel the heat against the back of your skull as the flashes of last night flood your memory — his tongue on your cunt, your nails in his skin, his name on your lips—

“Ye’ll be back though, aye?”

You pause somewhere by the window, turning to note the morning light painting his hair a hundred different shades of gold. There’s an easy smile on his mouth, no trace of last night’s drunken humour in his expression.

“What?”

His smile stretches to something devilish, and you are so not used to the feeling it elicits. Not used to being charmed. Being disarmed.

“Y’like a man who says what he’s thinken.” He wets his lips. You can’t look away. “And what I’m thinken, bonnie, is tha this willnae be just a one time thing.”

He rises, then, and you get the unsettling, stomach-punching feeling that he knows. That he can see the words spinning up and dying on your tongue, can see the flush rising up your neck knowing it’s something he put there.

“Ye want te leave, go right ahead.” Your pulse thrums as he draws closer. “Just know tha when ye come back. I’ll be starven.”

Asinine, you tell yourself, but your heart is in your throat — that suffocating something licking up your spine and curling beneath your sternum. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Time. Work. Reality. The real world standing just beyond the exit of whatever the hell this currently is.

You decide, then, that you actually do want answers.

“You—you researched me,” you find your voice, though it doesn’t come easily. Drags itself up from the pit of your throat, scraped raw by the claws of confusion . “I don’t—”

Glass touches your back through the thin veil of his t-shirt as you take a step back, snow white fabric still lazily draping the curves you let this man get well acquainted with last night. A stranger who wasn’t all that estranged, you realize.

“Relax, lass,” his voice drops to a soothing pitch. Something suiting for the cornered animal you currently feel like you are, as he steps closer again. “I didnae run a background check on yer whole bloodline, if tha’s what’s got ye hackles up.”

You clear your throat, sun beating at your back through the glass. Suffocating.

“Then tell me. What you meant.”

Tongue over teeth, he nods, palms going up. Playful as a puppy, if the puppy was rabid.

“I jus’ know who ye are. What ye do.” A pause, glimpsing down at the way your chest is rapid firing, before flicking back up. “Know someone whose kid ye teach. Speaks real highly of ye, actually.”

There’s no amount of blinks that can make those words make sense, yet you hope 10 might do it.

A parent of one of your students is talking about you. To Johnny MacTavish.

“I’m s-sorry?” You’re stuttering, now. Goddamnit. “Who? What’d they say?”

He exhales, props an arm on the glass beside your head and crosses his ankles as his body brackets yours — watching the silence drag. Watching you ruminate in it.

“S’nothin bad, bonnie. Quite the opposite.”

You’re staring at his mouth. “Johnny, who was it?”

He makes you wait, the bastard. And then—

“Price.”

The name punches the air from your lungs. “What?”

Johnny’s smile turns smug. “Captain’s kid. Ye teach ’em, aye?”

It hits you somewhere between the grin and the way he leans in. Captain.

“Price,” you repeat softly, the name tilting sideways in your mouth. “John Price?”

He stills. Just slightly.

“Aye, Captain John Price.”

You blink once, twice, brain whirring. He’s referring to him like an official superior. Routine. That means he’s either a cop. Or detective. Or FBI. or Military—

“You work with him,” you murmur.

“Work, kill, drink. Depends on the day,” he says, that thick Glaswegian accent wrapping around the truth like it’s not heavy. Military. “Didnae put it together, did ye? All tha time I was sittin’ across from ye. Ye never asked what I did. No idea I had credentials.”

You huff, stunned. Unsure what to say. Less unsure what to feel. “Christ.”

“Oh, now yer sayin’ His name,” that smile is back. Rankles you in a way you never knew until him. “Where was tha earlier when I had ye on yer knees—“

“Johnny,” you warn. “Keep talking or I’m leaving.”

He laughs, easy, leaning in until all the air feels like it’s his.

“Didnae have te dig deep, bonnie. Prefer te do all the dirty work m’self.” Eyes narrow, at that. He just keeps going. “Capn’s kid. Jamie. Talks bout ye like yer some kinda’ fairytale. Real sweet. Price said he’s never seen the kid so bright-eyed about school.”

The name finds your ears with a soft ache chained to it. Jamie Price — broad-shouldered for a ten-year-old, barely spoke unless coaxed, drew galaxies on the backs of worksheets when he thought no one was watching.

Gentle kid. Brilliant, too.

Johnny shrugs, that easy, terrible shrug like it’s all nothing. “Price asked me if I knew ye. Ranted on about how ye treat ‘em. Said he overheard ye talken to someone about the bar ye frequent. Said ye had a backbone, a kind heart, and the sort of stare tha makes grown men straighten up like schoolboys.” Blue eyes glimpse your lips, again. “But ye ain’t ever been treated right.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You’re still pressed against the glass, still unsure if you’re more flattered or frightened.

“He said that?”

The amusement falls off his face, something stern replacing it, and nods.

“There’s some things tha just stay with a man.” He shifts closer. Doesn’t touch you, though. Doesn’t need to. “He said it. Like he was tellen me not te fuck it up.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a weak exhale, like your body doesn’t trust relief just yet. He swallows, continues.

“I just cannae figure it out. Pretty thing like yerself. Real good with kids.” He breathes the last part thick, like it curls in his throat and tugs. Like it does things to him. “Bit of a wild ride, clearly. And somehow — yer alone. Settlen’ for quick fucks instead.”

You don’t answer immediately. You can’t. You just peer up at him, breathing made heavy by everything you’ve learned and everything he is.

“Choice, Johnny.” You whisper. “It’s by choice.”

“Aye. Choice.” He whispers back, other hand finding the glass beside your head, knees knocking as he leans in impossibly closer. “But all those men who let ye walk. Who didnae fight for ye, they’re fools.” He’s close enough your lips almost brush. No grin on them, now. Just gravity. “I’m no fool, love.”

It’s all hitting you at once, in the same place you’re pressed — against the cool pane of the balcony door. It was all set up. Johnny pulled the entire night from the ether thanks to a man you hardly know. Captain John Price. You’d only ever thought of him as John — the friendly, albeit quiet man who showed up to parent-teacher meetings with stories in his eyes. Said little. Watched everything. A ghost in your mind until now — until Johnny pieced it all together with soldiers determination and an easy tongue.

Sat beside you at the bar. Didn’t come on too strong. Didn’t press or sound too rehearsed. Made it real easy to believe it was all a coincidence.

How foolish you had been to not see through the performance.

But now, the shows over — there’s no final act. No audience to entertain. The masks have come off, and you hear it. The sincerity in the way he says I’m no fool. Like it’s not just about last night but about tomorrow and the one after that. Like he’s telling you he’ll fight for you and he’ll mean it. That this isn’t just a night. That he doesn’t want it to be.

And you’re still reeling from it when your hands find the heat of his chest. Curling around his neck without ceremony, pulling him in the final inch.

He’s kissing you.

Not like he earned it, but like he means it — and you’re kissing him back, hard, moaning as his teeth find your bottom lip and tug. He pulls back before you’re ready for him to, and your head slumps back against the glass. Breathing. Trying to will the ground back into place beneath you as he traces your jawline with his thumb.

“What else,” you croak out as he drops his head into the crook of your shoulder and exhales. “Do you know about me?”

He hums, pressing closer, hips pinning your ass to the glass as you drag your digits down his chest, tracing scars like braille.

“Enough,” he answers, fervent fingers dragging the fabric of his shirt up your hips, torso. “Enough te drive me insane.”

You feel the moment your heart stutters — mouth parted with nothing to fill it but a gasp as your bare ass is exposed against his glass balcony door — giving neighbours and street dwellers a goddamn good view should they be glimpsing up—

“Wait. J-johnny.” He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even blink as you catch his wrists, pleading for reason. “Your neighbours—“

“Donnae care.” He mutters, tugging the fabric up over your head. “Let the bloody bastards watch.”

You don’t want to know what sound slips from your throat at that, but you’re sure it’s some ugly, gorgeous thing. Torn somewhere between lust and indignity as he moves — one hand bracing against the glass beside your head while the other wrestles with the waistband of his sweats, shifting until you can feel him — hot, heavy, throbbing — pressing low against your stomach.

And maybe there’s a moment where you think you should tell him you can’t do this. Something because of the neighbours or the noise or the glass sticking to your back. But his hand finds your face, eyes flooding you like atlantic as he leans in to kiss you before lifting you up, legs curling around him— teasing with false thrusts, dragging his tip slow and sinful over your clit just to swallow the noises pulled from your throat. He doesn’t need words to silence your protest but manages all the same as you’re rocking against his shaft in tandem — one hand holding his lips to yours and the other gripping his back until you’re slick and half out of your goddamn mind with need.

And if you thought he’d be gentle — well.

He doesn’t ease you down. Doesn’t waste time. Just slides into you in one heavy thrust until you’re stretched to your edges and his name is caught on a sound you don’t recognize.

“Johnny! Ohf-fuck!”

He curses, teeth grazing your jaw, hips driving forward like he’s punishing you. Or maybe himself. Probably a little of both. Regardless, there’s nothing easy or soft about this — the kind of frenzied effort that takes you apart and leaves you hoping he’ll stitch you back together. Makes you realize you needed this — the pressure, the friction, the drive deeper into your belly with every excruciating inch as you choke on the sounds he’s drawing out.

You can’t control the pleasure that pours out of you, dripping like honey over his lips as you grip the back of his neck—

“Oh—f-fu—ohgod—“ you can’t find the right words, though you’re not even trying to anymore. It’s better than a dream. Better than last night when it was all alcohol and adrenaline. This is raw. Real. And you realize, through the fog, just how easy it was to get lost in him. To let yourself. Even with nothing but the sound of his voice and the skin on his back to hold onto. “J-johnny—fuckingdeep—yes—“

He sets a frantic pace, teeth sinking into his lip like he can taste the curses you’re whispering against it.

“S’good. S’tight, mmfuck.”

Feral. Best word to describe this. Gnawing you from the inside out, leaving your thighs quivering as you fight to hold onto him, back slicking against the glass as he buries himself so deep you can barely choke out an inhale.

“M’gonna—ohmygod—“

You’re going to cum. You can feel it in the way your belly knots and your thighs tense. His smile gets lost in the crook of your neck as he grunts — not daring to slow down or give you a moment to breathe. Instead, he just slips a hand around your throat, pinning your head back to glass that’s just as humid as you.

And when his eyes finally find yours, they’re a million shades darker than they were five minutes ago. All the blue eclipsed by dark, midnight hunger as he devours like you were served to him on a silver platter.

In some metaphorical way, you know you were.

“G’on. Make a mess of me, bonnie. Know ye need it.”

You want to look away. You can’t. Not when he squeezes your throat like you’re his. Not when he rocks deep and hard and your blood is singing for more. Your pulse thumps wildly and you wonder if he’s trying to slow it with his fingers as he tightens his hold.

And so you moan, because it’s all you can do — while the words you whimper as he thrusts hard enough to make you keen don’t sound like you. They sound like someone he owns.

“Ohfuck, Johnny—yesfuckyesyes—“

It hits you like the shatter of stained glass.

Your mouth falls open, soundless at first, a broken gasp caught somewhere between your throat and tongue. Your whole body tightens, back arching off the glass as you tremble, drowning in it, orgasm dragging you under like a rip current — teeth clenched, thighs shaking, fingernails digging so hard into Johnny’s shoulders you’ll leave marks. You want to leave marks.

“Christ, lass. Tha’s it. Tha’s fucken it, baby.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. He fucks you through it, jaw clenched, hips snapping forward like he’s chasing your high to the end of the world — like your pleasure is the only map he’s following. You’re crying out now, helpless and shaking and soaked, clenching around him so tight it borders on painful — more for him, you think — as he grunts, one hand bruised into your hip and the other braced against the glass, eyes locked to yours as you fall apart for him.

“Tha’s it, bonnie—” his voice is wrecked, sweat dripping from his brow. “Jesus Christ, s’tight—fucken’ look at ye.”

And you do.

Your head falls forward, forehead against his, eyes burning with the kind of emotion you don’t dare name as you watch him drive in and out, slick coating everything flesh. You sob a noise against his mouth, some choked half-curse, and he swallows it with a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and possession as his thrusts grow sloppy — rougher, more desperate, chasing his own breaking point.

“Can I—fuck—can I cum inside ye pretty cunt?” He pants, voice hoarse against your jaw. “Tell me no. Christ, I’ll pull out, jus’ say it—”

You don’t say it.

You just grab his face, kiss him hard, and whisper; “don’t you dare.”

That’s all it takes.

He groans — a guttural, broken sound — and slams into you once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you. Hips twitching, mouth open against your neck. And for a moment, the world goes still. Nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing. The steam on the glass. The thrum of blood in your ears.

You close your eyes. Let yourself float. You don’t know what this is — but you know it wasn’t just a fuck. Not with the way he’s still holding you. Not with the way you’re already aching to let him do it all over again.

It’s a few moments before he pulls out. Another few before you find your head.

“Christ,” you breathe, rubbing your face as he fixes himself back to modesty. “I can’t believe I—”

You cut yourself off, because what’s the point. Johnny doesn’t move, just watches you with that maddening calm — sweat still cooling along his temple, chest rising and falling slow like he’s got nowhere better to be than right here. Looking down at you the same way he did when he sat beside you at the bar.

Like he’s well acquainted with the taste of your name.

“I told myself,” you try again, “that this was a one-night thing. Just a fuck. Then breakfast. Then I leave.”

His gaze never wavers. “So why didn’ye?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Because you don’t have an answer that doesn’t make you sound like a fool. Until you give up caring.

“Maybe part of me still thinks you’re bluffing.”

“Bluffen,” he echos, leaning closer — eyes soft like snow. “Ye think I sat down beside ye at tha bar for just a fuck? You think I made ye breakfast just to be polite? Nah. I did it cause’ I already knew I wasnae’ about te let this be just once.”

You exhale — stepping back like you’re reclaiming ground, but the glass is at your back and his voice is in your blood now.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “This is mad.”

“Aye,” he agrees, extinguishing the space. “But I’m no’ lettin’ you bolt just ‘cause it scares ye.”

You blink at him. “And if I try?”

Lips at your temple, he grins.

“Go ahead. But ye best put all tha practice te good use, bonnie. Cause’ I’ll find ye.” His fingers trail up your side, electricity coursing. “And each time I’ll fuck ye harder than the last. Leave ye walkin’ funny and thinken’ of me every hour after.”

Those fingers pause, and you jolt, a shockwave behind the ribs as his words drive through you. It’s maddening and it’s sick — how fast reason betrays you. How fast you clench around nothing, aching like he’s made good on that promise. Like part of you wants to be hunted, dragged back by your hair and wrecked until all your rules blur into white noise.

It’s nonsensical. But all men before him were dull — a realization that makes your mouth dry. And all you can think about is the way his voice dragged over that sentence.

The way each time implies he’s already counted them.

“Quite the promise.” You reply.

He smiles all teeth and truce — and you know you’re already too far gone. He knows it too. Judging by the way he hums, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone.

And adds. “This wasnae’ chance. Wasnae’ luck. I came for ye because I meant te. And m’stayen’ for tha same reason.”

[luckyntrashy]

You guys gave good feedback so what about...

The soldiers of task force 141 with a reader with thick, and dark body hair. (NSFW!!)

I mean, like, it's everywhere. Legs, stomach, arms, pubic area, on their head, eyebrows, small sideburns, and mate, even the back of their neck is covered in thick, dark hair.

Be it an Arabic, Latina/Latino, Indian, Persian or even just a random nationality (Hungarian in my case), the boys love their thick hair.

Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley, and his pretty little partner..

Loves, loves, loves tugging their hair! It fits so nicely in his hands, being thick enough that it fills his fist. Or that pretty snail trail down their belly, and the small hairs all over their bellybutton, and the sides of their tummy that he loves licking, and kissing slowly as he travels his way down their body with his mouth.

Captain John Price, and pubic hair (his addiction)

I just know he likes when his facial hair doesn't irritate their pussy lips, or their clit, cause of the hair there. Makes it easier to shake his head like a wet dog to get them off. And those pretty legs covered with dark hair? Makes his go feral honestly.. (May or may not have a body hair kink)

Sergeant Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish and.. (idk even know anymore???)

He's probably jealous, not gonna lie, but he likes tugging on the hair on the back of their neck to make them swallow his cock more. Thinks it's cool that he can style their hair so easily, and probably (honestly) likes how the musk of their sweat gets stuck in their armpit hair.. WAITT!! WHO SAID THAT??

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and pussy hair

The moment they wax, or shave it, he'll be the first to finger you out of punishment. Probably saying things like 'Baby.. They ruined you, didn't they?.. Your pretty, pretty hair, baby' (Talking to their pussy). Doesn't mind the body hair, but doesn't necessarily have a thing for it. It's just comfortable, and stimulating when he's balls deep in them, and he can feel their pubic hair on his pubic area.

(Today, it was fuelled by lidl bakery cheese and bacon bun. Praise the lidl bakery)

[tojisun]

simon having to stuff his mask in your mouth when he’s eating you out because you’re so loud, it might wake up the rest of the squad :((

(oh but they are awake—callused hands fisting their own cocks, thumbs pressing down on their leaking slits. the new sounds of your muffled and gargled voice just makes them buck harder, and they bite down on their lips to smother the curses.

simon knows they’re awake—even you do—but there is something so maddening at the pretence. at the way simon’s bulk and his strength and his touch manhandles you, fills you, overpowers you.)

[stargirlstabber]

mdni. 0.2k words. not proofread.

older bf! john price having a house rule for you.

skirts. without panties. he wants- he needs you to wear skirts when you're at home. it's for easy access, you know?

so randomly throughout the day, he comes up behind you, smacks the flesh of your ass, bends you over and pushes his cock inside of your tight cunt.

he makes sure you follow his rule and he's the one to buy some nice skirts for you, scrolling through his phone to look for something he wants to see you in, and order it to be delivered.

sometimes john orders some toys alongside the skirts. some nice butt plugs for example.

and when the package arrives, you're making a little show for him in the living room.

john sits on the couch, legs in man spread as he leans back into the soft cushions, eyes rolling up and down your body, only dressed in a small top and one of the skirts be bought. and oh? a plug as well, the one with the blue gem, matching his eye color.

[kkusuka]

gaz is a pretty good guy, at least he likes to think so.

he does what he can to keep people safe, even at his own expense. he listens to orders and protects his brothers in arms. when he goes home, he helps around the house and cooks and cleans for his mom- he really is the perfect guy!

until it comes to you- the sweet little medic assigned to task force 141 after a particularly gruesome mission scared off their last one. just like the one before that, and like the two before him, but he'll be damned if they scare you away somehow.

and god you're just so sweet. you know exactly what's wrong just by looking at them, and you patch them up so so so good. and you look at kyle with such wide eyes and that precious smile that he just can't bring himself to return (too busy make sure you can't see the tent in his pants growing or hear the whistles of the rest of the task force).

and kyle still thinks he's a good guy- but good guys don't purposely get hurt so you have to spend more time with him after missions. and good guys don’t steal gloves to jerk off with later and imagine that it’s you. and good guys definitely don't tell their medic about hoe pent up they are and how they haven't been able to fuck a pretty bird in months and that's why he keeps messing up.

and good guys most definitely do not take their medics offer to fuck them to release that steam or take them right back to the barracks they share with their closest men. and good guys don't fuck the ever living daylight out of their bird and leave their legs useless.

but gaz can be a good guy for you later, right now he just needs to be between your thighs.

can you tell that i want to be the 141's pretty little medic yet?

[captainswhore]

you see price sitting like this when you walk into a room post mission- and you know exactly what it is he needs.

he's licking at you and holding your thighs open with his rough palms- and you can't take it. his calluses and his beard and the fabric of his sleeves are rubbing at your legs just right- but not enough for you to lose focus on his hot tongue rubbing on you and in you and you've never been wetter in your LIFE.

his only problem? you're still moving too much. he can't reach where he wants to inside of you because you keep wiggling out of his way. his hands want to touch you everywhere- not just hold your thighs still. this is when he begins to squeeze at you everywhere, and tell you to rest your thighs on his shoulders.

"b-but price- hhnngh ohmygod- i c-can't. they're too big. thighs are too big"

you whine at the loss of contact, but then you look down and see him staring at you with massive pupils and a wet face. "lovie- my shoulders are broad for a reason. rest your thighs on em and i swear they'll have enough room"

and you listen, and you're crushing his ears with your thighs, and he's never been happier. the next time you look down? he's rutting into the mattress and you see his hips stutter when he groans into you and your vision goes white

(@chamomiletealeaf and i had SUCH A HORNY discussion about this and she told me to post it so here i am- and also omg photo creds to her. we've gotta reign it in lmfao)

[spookypete-94]

NSFW Task Force 141 smut thoughts/brain rot below

I had a night with my husband that led to a conversation that I felt was relatable and now I can't stop myself from the little thoughts below.

Thinking about a night out with 141, and a surprising twist in conversation letting them know that it's hard for you to come.

TW for language.

Not even sure how the conversation got to you from the four men that were talking amongst themselves on a night out, but it for sure had.

"I dunno," you muttered out. Four sets of eyes on you making you look down at your glass in embarrassment. "Just hard sometimes. Can't every time, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. Something wrong with me I guess."

At the end of the night they had all formed a wordless pact or bet depending how you looked at it. Planning on showing you that indeed there is nothing wrong with you, just how the last "boys" had fucked you.

Price

Takes the longest to make you come. Not because he sees it as a race, but this man makes love to you. He takes his time to worship you, foreplay his entire forte. In reality, he almost edges you, showing you you can indeed get close, only to take it away. The prize? The hardest shake and squeeze your body ever gives, making you feel like you're going to go blind from coming so hard.

"Mmmm, look at that. Nothin' wrong with you, just didn't have partners that knew what to do with ya'." He'd grumble over top of you, beard and rumbling voice in your ear.

Ghost

Is the man that gives you the most orgasms. He is relentless in what he gives you. Whether from eating you out for what feels like and probably is hours, legs forced and pinned up and locked on his shoulders. Shaking like a new born deer, only to be rolled over and forced onto your knees and head pile drived into the mattress. Your pleas and begs are often ignored. What was Ghost's initiative? To shut those down and turn them in the moans and cries. Hard to reach your peaks? Then he better spend his time giving you as much as he can. No better man with the stamina to do it either.

"Calm down dove, go' one more in ya'. Know you do." Voice patronizing and getting you closer again. Knees are forced up to your chest, making your breathing shallow. "Just needed someone who could go longer, didn't ya? Just needed ta ask was all, poor girl."

Soap

He is the one to make you finish the quickest no doubt. Eager to please, he finds what you like with speed. Bending you into the position and fucking you until you come. Like the true soldier he is, hears what the problem is and wants to find the solution to it. He listens to your moans, knowing that's what you like best and puts your body into it. Instantly knows what your body wants, and gives it to you. The only downfall? The image and sound of you coming around him so quickly, makes him as well.

"Sorry lass, give me a minute and I'll be ready to go again." He said stroking himself, already half erect. "Just nice knowin' I'm givin' ya sumthin ya never really had is all. Give me a min', and I'll do it again."

Gaz

Probably the best fuck out of the four. He had the stamina of Ghost, the love making of Price, and the intent and eagerness of Soap.

Willing to go for as long as you wanted, but listened to what you wanted. Wanted some hard back shots for awhile? No worries he's got you. Need your hair pulled to turn your brain off for a bit? He's your man. Sure he was large, but kept the weight off of you to keep your lungs full of air. Letting you go for as long as you want and come as many times as he could get you there.

"Not so hard is it? Just needed the better man was all." His hands holding your hips in the position you asked. Head in the mattress and back arched up with legs on his shoulders. Rocking back and forth with you, helping you get closer once again.

"Atta' girl." He groans as you squeeze him tightly on your umpteenth orgasm.

Task Force 141 Masterlist

[bluedrizzle82]

Naughty neighbors

Pt 2

Simon stares at you, his eyes admiring your body, he didn’t understand how your husband could leave you the way he does. You’re a beautiful woman, with an intelligent mind and a great sense of humor. “Good morning… let’s have breakfast together I don’t want to eat alone.” Simon lets you in but after closing the door he pulls you into him “how long are we going to keep this up before giving in? I know you want me just as much as I want you”

You feel his chest on your back as he breathes in your scent and pulling you in closer by your hips. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you subconsciously rest your head on his shoulders “Simon.. you know we can’t.. I-I’m married…” he kissed your neck softly “Your body isn’t telling me to stop… why don’t you let me show you why you married the wrong man” in a swift motion your dress drops to the floor and you only realize once the cold air hits your body. You look down and your breast are on full display making you flustered. Simon gently grabs your breast and pinches your nipples “look at this already topless for me you know you wanted this..” he start sucking on your neck leaving marks all over and turns you around taking a nipple in his mouth. You toss your head back and run your fingers through his hair.

Suddenly he picks you up tossing you over his shoulder and walks upstairs. “If we’re going to do this we’ll do it the right way..” he takes you to his room and sets you on his bed climbing on top of you. You stare up at him still nervous and your heart racing. You had saved yourself for marriage so the only person to touch you was yourself mostly because your husband barely did he only cared about his own pleasure. All he ever did was suck your breast too hard or rub your labia as if he didn’t know what the clit was “Wait…” you stop him as he was kissing down your chest and you prop up on your elbows “I’ve never done this before…”

This hit Simon hard, not only were you a beautiful kind and smart woman but you were a virgin. “Okay well then i guess we’ll have to take it slowly let’s make you feel good today…” despite his cock throbbing in his pants he knew you were probably scared and he wanted you to experience pleasure comfortably. “Are you okay with that?” You nod and relax as much you can. When he pulls off your panties they have a wet spot due to your arousal and Simon smirks “i barely touched you and you’re so wet love.. look at this pretty pussy..” he spreads your pussy open gently and blows air into it making you flinch. “Relax love…” he takes a nice long lick from your pussy to your clit and swirls his tongue around it gently.

You let out a soft moan and you buck your hips into his face desperate for more “Simon… pl-please…” you rest your legs on his shoulders and gently grip his hair. Simon latches onto your clit and drags his tongue from the clit to the hood of your clit repeatedly. He pulls away slightly but you pull him back in “don’t stop please…” with a smirk he continues sucking and licking your clit while you’re relaxed he pushes a finger into you. You hiss at the sting but it fades quickly as his tongue keeps up the pace. You clench around his finger and he knew the day he fucks you will be the day he fills you up because it’s going to be hard pulling out this pretty cunt.

You feel his finger brush against something that makes you arch your back. “Simon!..” you scream and he pushed in another finger this time it hurt a bit more because of the stretch but you slowly relaxed. He starts fingering your sweet cunt and keeps slobbering all over your pretty swollen clit. Simon knew you were so close to cumming and he is determined to make you squirt on his face.

“Simon!…” that was all you could get out before you were gushing all over his face and bucking your hips. You were riding out your orgasm and gripping his hair tightly “shit…. don’t stop please!..” Simon was drowning in your cum but he loved it and drank it all up. As your pussy became sensitive you tried to push him away but he pushed your hands away and gripped your thighs. He continues to eat your pussy “you said not to stop..” he mumbles into your cunt and you whimper softly.

You cum for a second time and this time you push his head away “please Simon… I can’t oh fuck” you lift your head and look up at him. You can feel him abusing your sensitive clit and slurping up all your arousal. He finally pulls away but gives you one last lick. You stare into his eyes “your cunt taste so good love I could eat her all day…”

[gloomwitchwrites]

Good evening to you. I thought about writing you many times but never had the courage to do so 😅 I saw a TikTok Trend some time ago and thought about the Reaction from our beloved task Force 141. How would they react when you "accidentally" sent them the message "He just left our house, you can come now. He'll be gone for some time". Basically pranking them by implying something shady. You can ignore this if it's weird of course. Thank you for your time and amazing writing 🙏😊

I'm so glad you finally got the courage to send in a request because I had so much fun with this one! Many many thanks because I pretty much cackled and giggled the whole time I wrote this. I'm not exaggerating. I adored this prompt. It not only gave me room for a little humor, but it also gave me the opportunity to be a little naughty!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): established relationship, pranks & shenanigans, suggestive themes, mild sexual content, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, swearing, possessive behavior

Word Count: 1.5k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Five minutes.

Five. Minutes.

Five minutes and you're already causing problems.

John isn't surprised. Not in the least. Sometimes, you enjoy being on your worst behavior just because it stirs him into a frenzy.

John is sitting at a stoplight, staring down at his phone screen. A car honks but he ignores it.

He's gone. Come over.

There isn't anyone else. John knows this explicitly. Not because he completely trusts you—which he does—but because he knows your exact location at all times. He knows what you search on your phone and what things you look at on the internet. And because he knows that, he knows you're just trying to take the piss.

Locking his phone screen, John turns on his blinker. A few turns later and he's back home, marching through the door. He's not mad. Far from it. You just need a good lesson—a good spanking. Over his knee with a bare ass. That way he can watch it bounce, watch as you wiggle and squirm, hear you whimper, and watch as your arousal grows with each strike.

Then, and only then, will he keep you under him. Which is what you want anyway.

John walks silently and with purpose, approaching you as you casually lounge on the couch.

"You're home early."

John ignores the jab. "You're on one today, cabbage."

"Whatever do you mean?"

John holds up his phone. "Think I'm going to believe this?"

Your eyes widen but John can see the bluff. "I meant to send that to—"

"To me," interrupts John. “You meant to send it to me.”

"To a friend,” you correct, but John notices the smile you attempt to hide. “I meant to send it to a friend.”

No. You wanted John to come home—to be a bit neurotic, even a little possessive.

"Fine," growls John. "I'll bite."

He places one hand on the top of the back cushion while the other rests above your head. He leans in, lowering his voice.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"Show me you mean it."

You tuck your knees in, drawing back your top and removing your lounge pants. When they're gone, you spread wide, revealing your glistening pussy. Your arousal is clear, and John cannot wait to sink inside.

"That's my good girl."

John "Soap" MacTavish

You sent the texts not long after Johnny left for work.

He’s gone. Won’t be home for hours. Come over.

At first, you believed that Johnny would get those texts and immediately turn around, to head home and bust down the door. He did no such thing. He didn’t even respond. Not a peep from him. You spent the rest of the day in limbo, unsure if Johnny received the texts at all.

So, when he does come home, you expect him to say something.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Good,” he replies, heading down the hall to the bedroom. “Had a briefing. We’ll be heading out for a mission next week.”

“Do you know when exactly?” you ask.

“Tuesday!” he calls back.

Nothing. This man is completely glossing over the fact that you sent those texts to him. When he reappears in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, you nearly swoon at his bare chest and stomach.

“What did you get up to today?” he asks, sauntering over to grasp your hips and pull you close.

“Nothing much,” you reply, and Johnny hums in reply, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You know,” he says after a beat, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “You did send me a few odd texts earlier.” He taps away at the screen at turns it around to show you.

The texts you sent are right there, glowing brightly.

“Oh, those—”

“I checked the cameras.”

“Cameras?” you choke. “What cameras?”

Johnny grins and then he’s tapping away at his phone again. When he shifts the screen around, you see yourself and him in real time. You turn to the corner of the room from where the feed is coming from.

“I never saw anyone come over. But I did see this.”

Tapping again, he changes to an earlier time during the day. It’s a feed of the bedroom, and you’re masturbating. Johnny ups the volume and you hear yourself moan.

“There’s this, too,” he says, switching to the night before when he had you on all fours, ass in the air.

“Johnny!”

He tightens his hand on your hip, keeping you close. Lowering his voice, Johnny grins. “Try again, love.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You watch from the window as Simon’s car pulls out of the drive. You wait until he turns the corner before unlocking your phone and selecting his name.

He’s just left. Come over.

With a wicked grin, you hit send, knowing that the texts will reach Simon any second. Leaning against the window, you wait, and then smile wider as Simon’s car sharply turns the corner and speeds down the street back to the house.

He’s hardly parked the car before he’s exiting the vehicle, storming toward the house, malicious intent clear with every step. With a triumphant giggle, you rush to the bedroom and flop onto the bed, pretending that you’re up to nothing at all.

You hear the front door slam, then Simon’s thunderous footsteps followed by doors opening and closing. Sprawling out across the bed, you tap away at your phone, acting like you're not bothered at all.

When he appears in the doorway, you deliberately ignore him for five long seconds before you casually turn your head and smile.

"You're home early," you observe.

Simon looms in the doorway. "What the bloody hell was that text about?"

"What text?" you shrug, all innocence.

Simon, deadpan, replies "He's just left. Come over."

"Oh. That was for a friend."

"Which friend?"

"A friend."

Simon slowly walks up to the side of the bed. "You're fucking with me."

"Don't know what you're on about, Simon."

The murderous demeanor you saw earlier melts away, leaving behind a mischievous glint that you know all too well. With a viper-like quickness, Simon grasps your ankle and yanks you to the end of the bed.

"Simon!" you shriek, but he's already flipping you over onto your stomach.

He plants both knees on either side of you, keeping you trapped beneath him, his large hands coming down on your wrists to pin them above your head.

"Was last night not enough?" he asks, voice a gruff whisper. "Or do you need another lesson?"

You lift your head as Simon transfers both wrists beneath one hand. He has his phone, tapping away at the screen.

'What are you doing?"

"Telling Price I'm not coming in."

"But you're scheduled."

Simon locks the phone and then tosses it to the side. "He'll understand." Pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, his voice drops to a breathy whisper. "I have a woman to breed."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It's cruel, perhaps. Even mean. But getting Kyle worked up is so goddamn sweet.

He’s protective, sometimes even a bit possessive, and nothing is hotter to you than watching him stake his claim.

Which is why you sent those texts in the first place—a way to make his heartrate spike.

He just left. He'll be gone for hours.

Kyle bursts through the bedroom door, his chest heaving as if he just ran several miles.

“Where are they?” he asks, voice a growl.

Kyle heads for the bathroom. Throwing open the door, he storms inside, but finding nothing, retreats back into the bedroom.

"Where's who?" you ask in mock innocence as Kyle opens the closet, pushing aside clothes as if he’ll find someone hiding there.

Kyle exits the closet, hands on his hips. “I saw the texts.”

“What texts?” You casually retrieve your phone, already knowing what you’ll find there. Opening up the messaging app, you click on Kyle’s name, and laugh.

“Sorry,” you giggle. “I meant to send that to a friend.”

Kyle’s eyes shut, and the sigh he makes is so loud you laugh harder. Clutching his own phone in his hand, Kyle shakes it in his fist.

“You’re having a laugh,” he says.

"No," you giggle. "Just a mistake."

That thin line becomes a smirk. Kyle tosses his phone onto the bed and you immediately know you’re done for.

“I know you, love. Think you’re clever, yeah?”

He saunters forward, and you push up onto your hands, sliding back along the bed.

“Kyle,” you warn.

“Tricking me just to get me home. For what? Think I’m going to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I think.

You scoot away, sinking into the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Kyle matches your movements until he’s nearly horizontal over you.

“You’re right,” he continues. “I will.” His gaze roams over your body and then returns to your face. “But first, I’m going to train you into never making a silly mistake like that ever again.”

[itsoutrageouss]

Part four of Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley seeing you cry for the first time, due to demand which I am (so) grateful for. Simon’s accidentally a little mean at the wrong time lol- readers on her period.

It’s the second time Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sees you cry that he looses himself into some kind of caretaker instinct.

The last time it had happened, it was after a brutal mission where he’d found you as a crying heap on the floor. So naturally his heart started pounding painfully in his chest when he creaked the door open to your room and saw you curled in bed, sniffling softly.

Once again the vulnerability you showed seemed to hurl him away like a storm. It was such a precious, private side of you and he wanted to go on his knees for you in thanks for allowing him to see it.

He’s by your side with three stalking striders, crouching down next to the bed. His hand hovers over your waist, then your shoulder, then your face because he doesn’t know if he can, or even where he should touch you right now, your shoulders shaking as your head nuzzles into your tear stained pillow.

“Hey. Stop.” He says, voice almost holding a small tremble, laced with panic because as much as he adored this side of you, he wanted you to smile again. Please?

You didn’t respond, only curled further away like an uninterested cat. He frowns and then grabs your neck, gently turning it until you meet his gaze. He wants to gasp at how pretty you look with glistening, red cheeks and glossy eyes, lashes sticking together as you pout at him.

“What is it lovie?” The nickname slips before he knows how to stop it and he winces internally, tensing. But it seems to coax you to nuzzle your face into his hand instead, and he keeps it completely still, scared that a single movement would scare you away. He feels your cold cheek press into his palm, itching to curl his fingers into the soft skin.

“Nothing” you whine.

He huffs. Jesus Christ.

“Nothing, yeah? That’ why you’re crying like a baby?” He smiles, eyes crinkling behind the mask but yours have closed and he sees your face contort into more sadness, more crying and his eyes go wide, immediately holding you a little tighter.

“No! No, shit, sweet’eart it was a joke” he says quickly, voice urgent. You usually took all his teasing with great stride or an even better comeback, but seeing you cry even more because of him made a strange knot form in his throat that he couldn’t seem to swallow down.

You demonstratively turn your back to him on the bed. It was actually insane to him, seeing you like this. You were always sharp, focused, witty; slapping Johnny and Simon on the arm when they start bantering too much on the way to a mission.

He was sort of addicted to it, he thought, as even your back turning made something warm flutter in his stomach as he reached for your shoulder, entire hand able to envelop it and tug gently.

“M’ sorry? M’ sorry just… talk to me.” Silence ensues.

“Please.” The word falls unnaturally from his lips.

It seems to be the keyword because your head turns painfully slow until you blink up at him, now with a slight scowl.

“It hurts” you whisper, bottom lip jutting out. He immediately pulls your cover down to your thigh to start looking you over for injuries but your cold hands tug his wrist and puts his palms over your lower stomach. He blinks.

“You pregnant?” He blurts.

Your eyes widen and he swears he sees a hint of a smile and triumph floods his system. “No you idiot! I’m on my period. Cramps!” You say with a shake of your head, eyes closing for a beat.

He was a bloody idiot to be fair. A lot of things from today seemed to click for him when you said that, and his shoulders relax, head tilting as his eyes narrow, framed by the black mask. His hands on your stomach fan out, thumbs stroking the skin under your shirt. He feels your muscles tighten at his touch.

“Sensitive?” He muses.

“Shut it” you mumble, looking away and trying not to let the enjoyment of his touch show too much, but your eyes flutter closed and he could practically hear you purring. But he doesn’t say anything, once again afraid he’ll ruin this little bubble that you’ve let him be a part of, for reasons he doesn’t understand.

After long minutes of comfortable silence, his hands running over the expanse of your stomach, caressing and massaging softly, he sees your lips part in soft breaths. Slowly and lingering, his hands retreat so he doesn’t do anything stupid. But you whine, immediately noticing the lack of his touch, even in your half asleep state, grabbing for him. His jaw flexes as he tried not to smile.

“M’ gonna run you a bath, lovie. I’ll be right back.” He promised, suddenly turning into some kind of caretaker role he never thought he wanted to be. Until you came along and now he finds himself wanting to do all kinds of things for you, after seeing how you reacted to his touch. The scrunch of your brows when he tells you he’ll run you a bath gives him a high he can ride for days.

He’s just trying to repay how sweetly you bandaged his hands weeks ago. To repay how you played along to his little story at the last mission about how you and him had met.

Trying to repay these insatiable and foreign feelings you brought forth in him, so you wouldn’t take them away. Ever.

Now maybe he just had to actually tell you about them? No. No way. The thought was forced from his mind immediately.

series masterlist

[tobeholyistobeempty]

prices version of brat taming / punishment is literally just tying you up, cutting your clothes off calmly and sitting you nice and pretty on his cock as he holds a vibe to your clit. smokes a cigar while you’re squirming and cumming over and over, cock throbbing against your spasming walls with each o but he’s a man of restraint when he needs to be. maybe if you beg nice enough he’ll fuck you through your last few.

[diejager]

I need to add something to the request I put in

(totes okay if you don’t accept this)

bunny hybrid probs has to deal with a lot of racism because most think they’re just breeders and stuff, so reader has gone as far as to swear they’ll never become a breeder (which is fucking hard not to with soap around lmao)

~🧋

Cw: sexism?, racism/xenophobia?, non-con touching, soap being horny, tell me if I missed any.

Despite wanting to fight for your cause, you knew there wasn’t anything you could give - excuse - to reason your biting, the lingering taste of spoiled and rotten blood on the back of your throat and the stains of red on your lips were a constant reminder of your aggression. You knew Price wouldn’t fault you for lashing back at them, insulting and disgusting pigs whose eyesight went as far as the end of their noses, with an ego so high up their arse that they couldn’t differentiate a softer and domestic rabbit to a hardened and trained one. 

It felt degrading, being constantly reminded that you could’ve been a small breeder, a broodmare to another mate, forgoing your person for a duty others seemed to have filled. The world didn’t need more bunnies than it already had. It didn’t help that you were softer than them, wider hips, tender skin and rounder curves, charmingly feminine despite the rough material of your fatigues or your growls and snarls. They’d often ignore your hisses when their hands lingered, ignoring the signs of aggression because what- bunnies weren’t inherently aggressive? You fought, you bled and you killed, so how would biting and clawing be any different?

But Price wasn’t proud of your manner of escape —self-defence, anger issues, rage, whichever word he used. He grumbled lowly, placing down his precious hat to fist at his hair, the gleaming silver strands a physical reminder of the stress and pressure he lived when he had you all under his care. A dedicated leader. An empathetic friend. A good captain. A loving man. He was all and more, but there were things even he couldn’t do, and the constant complaints and reports on your “biting problem” was souring his bitter tea. 

“Biting won’t do any good,” he mumbled your name in slight disappointment, sighing at your sudden pout, ears drooping sorrowfully.

“I know, but they keep saying things,” your snarled, fisting the fabric of your pants, “These p- men keep touching me and Soap isn’t hel-”

“Helping you with all the times he’s pulled you into his room or a closet. I’m aware,” he breathed out a puff of smoke, rolling his head back with a satisfied feel of ash and tabacco, “I’ll remind him to be mindful.”

You flashed him a grateful smile, small but happy, shoulders slumping lighting at the small respite Price had given you. It might not be a fix-it-all, but it would mellow down the on-going rumours of you being both a bunny hybrid and a barracks bunny —however insulting and debasing that was. 

“Now, onto the actual issue,” you were keenly aware of his hand, running along the seams of his beard and against his lips, “Reckon they’d enjoy longer drills.”

You couldn’t help the grin that curled your lips into a cruel smirk, teeth flashing at your captain’s planned punishment. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[tojisun]

guys what genre do u call it when, like, the reader is dating one in a group (simon in tf141) but the rest of the group is the reader’s unofficial partner? i lose my fucking mind every time i think about it.

just:

simon gets to call the shots.

simon is the one who asked you out but john buys you a necklace and kyle brings you flowers and johnny picks you up from work.

simon is the one who gets to claim you and bring you home to his place, but john gets to kiss you and kyle gets to cuddle with you and johnny gets to use your thighs as a pillow.

simon is the one who fucks you but john gets a blowjob and kyle gets to use your thighs and johnny fucks your tits.

simon is the one who rings the groupchat when fucking you to make them listen to your moans and cries and whimpers; makes them hear how desperate you go as you beg for his cum. but john praises you for being a good girl for simon and kyle says you sound so adorable for simon and johnny whines how delicious you sound for simon.

fuck ugh im meltinggg i need em all its crazy

[killsbil]

His Muse

Pairing : Ghost x Secretary Reader

Warnings: angst, smut, choking, ghost jacking off in his car. Ghost driving for some damn reason

18+ ONLY MDNI

( YES, HETEROCHROMIA GHOST. CRY)

Now, you were a secretary for a special operations force called Task Force 141. While being the secretary, they had strict rules, of course, it wasn't JUST for you, but they weren't anything hard to follow honestly. It's not like you were some damn horny teenager, you were just trying to get by with this job. You wanted some job that could help you real good...and somehow you landed with this one, being the secretary, you only had to organize nearly everything, write reports, and emails, keep up with data, and do whatever Captain Pierce asks of you.

None of the members spoke to you as they never really saw you, well they did, but you didn't pay attention. Your face was always focused on the computer, typing away, but hey? What's a girl gotta do to get by yeah? One task force menber caught your eye, Simon Riley, he was quiet, and when he spoke his voice was cold, a little too serious. But when he looked at you, you wouldn't look back. He was honestly scary looking, honestly, he looked like he could just snap you in half if you said something wrong. You never spoke to him, he's always busy, you're Always busy... and either way, what would you say to him? The only thing you could think about saying was something about his eyes, they were pretty, one eye was brown, the other grayish blue. You had never seen heterochromia in person before, it was beautiful. It wouldn't hurt to tell him that... Right? Y/n had thought, it was not like he would kill her for that.

Noticing the time, and one of the recent emails from Captain Pierce, she had to bring a folder of mission data to the meeting...in that room ..with all those people. That wasn't scary...at all, y/n unlocked her cabinet, reached in the middle for a file, and closed it back, locking it.

She'd walk down the hallway and then turn to her right, knocking on a door, the sign next to the door would read "conference room". Through the window she saw a black male, with short curly hair, he was leaning back in his chair, he turned to her and smiled for a split second. his eyes went back to somebody who was talking, Shortly after the talk was done, y/n was allowed into the room, she walked over to Captain Pierce, placing the folder down as she turned around, she saw an empty chair next to a task force member named soap, he was nice, but all discussions y/n had with him were short. Was that Ghost's chair? Noticing y/n's stare, soap smiled, his other hand which rested behind a chair pointed down the hall.

Usually, he didn't do this, he would ignore her if she came in during meetings because she wasn't supposed to hear a thing about the meetings, y/n snapped out of it as she left, closing the door behind her. Now, she didn't like him like a crush, nor was she a fan of him, she just wanted to tell him her lil compliment.

Y/n went down the hall and turned, seeing a man pour him some coffee, it was a ghost, and he needed a breather. Y/n leaned on the wall as she watched him. Honestly ..he was so.. it was unexplainable but ...the girls that get it, get it. "You just gonna stand there and look stupid?" He said, not even turning around "Oh! Sorry I-'' she was about to explain before he finished her sentence" Didn't mean to," he said..pouring coffee into his coffee cup.

"How did you know what I was gonna say?" She asked him, as she walked closer, leaning on the counter "Cause that's what every secretary before you said " he said, his voice was cold, it was like he was just...tired of playing this game, over and over. "Every secretary before me? What happened to them?" Y/n asked, now...she was curious! She had forgotten all about her compliment. Ghost would let out a sigh as he turned around. "they all got terminated, fired. Breaking rules.. or they were spies" he said, he had some skull balaclava on, not the full mask, ghost would place his cup down leaning on the counter.

"you're gonna end up just like them, you're gonna take a bribe and spy, or break that rule." He added on, he read her like a book, y/n though, she scrunched up her face in confusion, somehow feeling a little disrespectful "Okay mr mysterious" she said with a slight eye roll. "Ghost." He corrected her, his voice firm "Lieutenant ghost." He said. Y/n's eyes widened when she realized his rank, now she felt a little demotion coming for that eye roll. Ghost's face was blank, with no expression, just those eyes staring at her as if he was reading her like a book. " What rule did they break" Y/n was a little interested in the lore now.. she was glad she was on break, otherwise Captain Pierce would have her head.

"Someone lacks critical thinking skills.." he mumbled, who invited him to the bitch fest? "No dating rule. They come up to me just like you did ...no ill intent, ask questions...then there's that compliment, and it starts something" he said, each word he got close to her, y/n leaned back against the counter as his hands rested on the counter, trapping her, his eyes stared down at her as if he was disappointed. "I'm gonna say this once... Don't treat this like it's some game like you can just sway a coworker with this innocent act, be professional" he said, he was tired. But was he tired of those girls just .. treating him like he was an award, an object for pleasure, or just....the betrayal, tired of having hope, letting someone close, and then...boom.

Well, the answer was he was just... Tired of the unprofessionalism "Huh -" y/n noticed how close he was, her heart beat so damn fast, hell! She wasn't trying to seduce him, she just wanted to give him that compliment." I...I just wanted to say your eyes are pretty. I never saw them up close. I'm sorry if you thought I was trying to pursue you Lieutenant" she said, and ghost was wrong, well, half wrong. He shook his head "You don't know what you're getting yourself into. Run along." He said turning his back to her and going back to his coffee...

Y/n was so confused...what the hell? She was NOT trying to seduce this man," um...right." she said walking back to her desk, part of her kind of liked that. But the other part was so damn confusing. Now, for the rest of her break, she was on the phone with her best friend until...she felt her phone vibrate, from a text message.. sent an unknown number. "Girl hold on...some number just texted me..." She said, putting her on speaker, "bitch don't you have it where unsaved numbers can't contact you??" She said, "Girl yes I do, that's why I'm confused."

She looked at the text message reading You're Loud. we can hear you down here. Now she knew it wasn't Captain Pierce because she had his number saved. "Is it your boss?" She asked "No? I have his number saved, remember he gave us that ride back to my house?" Y/n said "Oh shit...right Anyway, when is he gonna let me climb that tree-" she said "Bye Audrey, you are not getting me fired because you're sexually attracted to my boss- WHO COULD BE YOUR DAD," y/n said "call me a panther. I'm ready to take it..." Audrey said. "Bye ...get off my phone.. you're distracting me, I'll see you later." Y/n hung up on her sighing

She was a hot mess, Audrey was the friend with no filter, but anyway. She would look at the message rolling her eyes a little, y/n texted the number back saying Sorry about that, but who is this and how did you get my number? only for it to be left on read for about 50 minutes. She just rolled her eyes going back to organizing meetings and events. She hummed, and of course..responding to emails, she kind of neglected them.

Shortly after that, her phone lit up as she got a text message that said Lieutenant Ghost. with that she saved the contact. She wanted to mess with him a little, to ease the weird tension between them Responding 56 minutes later? now nice of you. She would text him. Yes, she thought she ate that. This time she got a quick response It's disrespectful to be on your phones during meetings, and you're counting the minutes Ms L/n? Y/n saw that, was she just eaten up respectfully? And Ms? SHE'S NOT EVEN MARRIED? Oh.. you could just call me Y/n, and I'm not married Lieutenant.. it would be Miss.. she would respond to his text Yeah YEAH she ate him up. noted. Would be the last text message he even sent.

soon came the end of the day, when everyone left, y/n was the only one left she had to stay back and respond to some emails, once she was done she'd lock her computer and would put any paperwork she left out, back in the respective drawers, when she went to the door she had seen the rain attacking the streets, this caused a loud annoyed groan from y/n, she didn't bring a damn umbrella cause she swore it wouldn't rain today. She suddenly felt someone behind her... who was left here? Was she not alone? As soon as she turned, she saw that it was Lieutenant Ghost, holding an umbrella at her "How far is your car..." He said. Now he didn't want her getting drenched in the rain, that's the nicest he could be at least "Oh no- my friends picking me up..." She said, smiling. That smile unthawed that heart of his, just a little. " It's 11:00 pm L/n, normal people are asleep by now," he said.

"So...you're not normal?" She asked, her smile getting wider, ghost just raised an eyebrow.."let me take you home." He said opening the door for her, he didn't exactly answer that question of hers ``You can drive? Gaz said ...you can't drive, you shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel" She said, if you saw the look on y/n's face, she looked horrified. "Do you want a ride home or do you want a sneak peek at the next little mermaid." He was getting drenched waiting for her, y/n laughed at his comment, and she stepped under the umbrella and followed him to his car, which was an eight-seater, and she mumbled sorry since she felt bad for him getting drenched. Ghost just got in behind the wheel, y/n turned to him asking him a question "Hey... Lieutenant... How come you're staying back?? Wouldn't you be sleeping about this time?" She asked "I could ask you the same, but I was getting training in.. that's all," he said, but the look on his face said differently.

Now ghost? He took care of his body, he had...muscle, a lot of it.. it was even visible when he wasn't flexing. Y/n would stare at his arms and hands as he drove, then slowly, her eyes moved back to his very own beautiful eyes. "Are you sure? You have this look on your face... Like you're not here mentally.." She said, Ghost stopped at a light, turning to her "You know, some questions aren't supposed to be asked," he said. "Well- I'm here for" "No you're not." He corrected her, internally, Ghost felt like he couldn't speak to anyone, it was a waste of time. "you can't handle anything I would tell you. that's if I did." He said, shaking his head, "How come? I'm helpful- I can handle it." She said " No." He repeated. "Please - I promise I can lift a weight off your shoulders" she begged, she wanted to help him, she felt like he could use a friend honestly "No. I'm not gonna say it again." Ghost said, sounding annoyed.

"Everyone does- "Y/n tried to speak, but she got cut off " Y/N. For the last time no, don't waste your time. You'd only hurt yourself..you'd be useless in this situation" He said, his voice like a stab directly into the heart, after that, y/n got quiet..then she furrowed her eyebrows turning to him "You don't need to be rude." She said Ghost looked confused, he didn't expect her to talk back "And I'm not useless... I'm a great listener! I don't know why but, ever since I've talked to you, you've done nothing but assume the worst about me. I just want to be your friend!" She said, Ghost started driving again, going silent before he deeply sighed "Colleagues, especially us, can't be friends. You're gonna be just like-" "I'm not like them- I don't wanna use you like a boy toy! I just think you're cool for fucks sake !" Y/n was starting to get so damn tired of his mindset.

"I understand you have this...wound but you can't just make it seem like I'm some weirdo... I'm not gonna befriend you, sleep with you, then leave! I think you're cool! " She said, "Besides, friends don't do any of that!" She added nodding. "If I say yes, are you gonna stop asking to be my friend?" He said, annoyed, he did feel a little better about her now that he knew she wasn't gonna try anything. "Yes!" Said smiling. "Does this mean I get to know your name?" She said, her smile all big.. ghost would let out a large...long dramatic sigh "Simon." He said, "That's a cute name !" She said, going to his contact, and changing his name, Ghost watched her shaking his head "But don't call me that at work. At least keep some professionalism" he said "Does that mean you'll call me by my first name?" She ignored what he said

"Did you hear what I said?" He stopped the car, turning to her with a serious look" Yes...." She said, looking away. The whole ride she didn't look him in the eyes, Ghost noticed that "look at me ." He asked, instead y/n would turning to look at a tree, Ghost would park between two cars as he gripped the girl's jaw, making her look at him. "What did I say?" He asked her, y/n stared in his eyes, fuck. She got nervous, butterflies filled her stomach as she bit her lips "Umm.. call you Lieutenant something. During work ...professional stuff..yeah." she said. Suddenly the tension between them got hot..

Ghost sighed, looking at her pretty lips a little too long.. "fuck.." he said"what... Do I have something on my face?" She said furrowing her eyebrows, confused "Nah..." He said just ..staring, was he gonna kiss her? "Hey- I mean...if you wanna kiss me .. do it, yolo?" She said, honestly she thought 3 things were gonna happen, he headbutts the fuck out of her, kisses her, or or or. Well, scratch those two things.

"That'd be unprofessional.." he said, his eyes never leaving her lips. "Oh for fucks sake then fire me for this." She lifted his mask to his lips, kissing him, and she held his face. The next thing you knew she was on his lap making out with the masked man, it got hot...he gripped her waist as her kiss got serious. A moan came from y/n as Ghost's hand slowly unbuttoned her shirt. Suddenly y/n heard her name being called, she snapped out of it looking at ghosts.

"Bloody hell. You look like you just saw a ghost." He said, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion "I'm sorry Lieutenant, what were you saying..?" Y/n said blinking a couple of times "I said did you hear what I said?" He said "Oh yeah ..professionalism." she said, sighing "No, I asked you for your address?" Now Ghost was confused "What's with you? You were just staring off?" He said, looking her up and down. "Nothing...I could've just sworn... Something had happened. But it didn't? I was just imagining it." Y/n said, "But I live...." She told him his address, she only lived a couple blocks down from him.

Eventually, y/n and ghost pulled up to her pretty house, she watched the rain fall with a smile, and then she turned to Ghost "Hey.. I have a question lieutenant.." she said "Simon, we are out of work.." he said, this girl fought to be his friend and get the privilege of knowing and calling him by his name... Now she's not? "But lieutenant sounds better," she said, aggravating Simon, and she knew she was. "God, you're annoying..what is it? What's your question" he said, sighing.. he was getting used to y/n honestly.. She was cute in a sense.

"Can we take a photo ? I wanna put it in your contact.. " she said, Ghost sighed "..." He looked at her, and the look he gave told her no, but ... She wanted a yes, she pleaded, doing the little look and all "fine." Ghost, a dog trained to kill mercilessly, cracked to a secretary pleading for a photo "but don't show anyone it. Got it?" He said

"Thank you, Simon!" She giggled and hugged him, this caught Him off guard, he wasn't.. the type of person who did physical affection, but his arms wrapped around her, hugging her back as a part of him wanted to cry, she felt so nice and warm. Something so comforting, he had the urge to protect her, the urge to lock her in a cage and keep her all to himself. "Ghost..?" She said as he spaced out, his head resting on her shoulder, his grip was firm but allowed her to move

she pulled back slightly reaching for his face, and that's when his eyes snapped to her, he released her looking away.. suddenly y/ns giggle was heard "You're a hugger." She said, "I'm a soldier." He replied she shook her head "No no, deep down that hug, you cherished it..that moment was something you're gonna remember" she said, he rolled his eyes turning his head to him"What are you- some psychologist?" He squinted.

"Oh no - I went to college for ( insert major of your choice) I could never do psychology! But my friend Audrey is a psychologist so I know a couple of things." She said proudly, Ghost nodded, he knew to remember Audrey "Come on and take this picture..you got some sleep to get." He said, "Aww you care!" She said messing with him. "Y/n." He said, "Okay okay!" She laughed, his care filled with her joy and giggles... Something for a change ... Maybe she wasn't like the others, well he hoped so.

She leaned in, getting him in the frame, but he barely was in it "Oh let me readjust!" She said she moved a little, and it didn't fix. This process went on for 6 minutes. "Note to self.. don't let y/n take pictures ." He sighed "Just... Sit on my lap for the picture." He said. Y/n grew flustered, "but I could crush you-" she said trying to find a better alternative, Ghost looked offended " ' I can lift you easy, you'll find out someday..But hurry up." She said,

she sighed, climbing into his lap hovering, getting ready to take the picture, ghost glared, putting his hands onto her waist as he forced her down with ease as if she was some kind of lightweight to him." see. not that hard to sit down and listen. Atta girl, now take the picture." He said, atta girl? Sit down and listen. Y/n was flustered by his words... Whew lord she needed to act right .. She felt his arms wrap around her, and she took the picture smiling. She didn't know what Ghost did, but she took it.

Y/n had accidentally dropped her phone, she moved back against Ghost as she bent down while sitting on him "What are you doing-" he said, his heart dropping as he felt her right above something she shouldn't be on. "Well I dropped my phone, so he still!" She said she was the only one moving around, god, she didn't mean to grind but she was doing it! Ghost bit down on his lips as he resisted the urge to just.. thrust up, suddenly he felt her warmth...that didn't help. "Y/n... Please just ...look normally.." he said, his voice cracking

"Shut up I almost got it!" She said, her lower body hovering above the said area before roughly sitting down, this made Ghost tilt his head up as he roughly gripped her waist forcing her to sit up. "Have you got that damn phone yet?" He said, his chest heaving up and down. "Yeah! I got it as soon as you pulled me up, thanks again for the ride Simon, I'll pay you back I promise...are you gonna watch me go in my house?" She asked, Simon just nodded as he watched her get up, and out of the car leaving to go inside her house

GHOST POV

fuck... I know she didn't mean to do that but... Shit. Why am I so riled up over something like that? Get it together lieutenant. He thought, he looked down at his boner as he sighed...she's in her house ...and it's not like y/n could see through his windows. He sighed, unbuckling his pants, and pulling down his boxers just to see his erect cock spring out, pre cum nearly leaking out, he removed his gloves sighed, closed them strokes his shaft. You're probably wondering what he imagined, of course, it was y/n, he tilted his head back only to see y/n bouncing on his cock, a moaning and teary mess.

He bucked his hips up into his hand as he visualized how pretty her boobs would look bouncing every time she did, looking down just to see a  bulge , he was the one causing it. Her whines and moans, her pleading for him to go faster, rougher, to choke her.  And he did just that,  then...a word came out. "love you so much!" she said, instead of shocking ghost, in this scenario he took his mask off begining to mark her up with bite marks and hickeys. Y/n gripped his short blonde shaggy hair.  His thrusts became passionate as he Whined "so good..so good .. nice and warm for me" he said in a shakey  voice... Finally, he came A little too much, the little scenario ended as he opened his eyes to him being in his car parked out  by y/ns house, he cleaned himself up. Simon has a moment of clarity... He just sighed, before speaking to himself "I'm setting myself up again..." He said before fixing himself, driving off.