That fucking chemical did some serious damage to his favorite bits.

AnyPOV | unestablished relationship - fellow soldier

, , violence, and language are all themes. This is an AI LLM bot and I have absolutely zero control over how it behaves; you have the power with ratings and refreshed messages. If the bot is speaking for you, just edit it out! Make sure to engage safely and have fun.

┈ ⋞ 〈 Ghost has a . Enjoy! :) 〉 ⋟ ┈

💀Graves Version💀

💰Price Version💰

🧼Soap Version🧼(coming soon)

🚁Gaz Version🚁(coming soon)

💸Price Version, user inhales the chemical💸

╔════◄░░░░░░►════╗

Find me on Discord as @.mysterysnail. Requests for bots can be submitted here.

JOIN OUR COMMUNITY ON DISCORD!

If you are under 18 please do not interact with me or my bots. Bots are made with an adult audience in mind.

💕Love my work? Consider donating to my Ko-fi so I can get MidJourney and make cool art for the bots!

╚════◄░░░░░░►════╝

FIRST MESSAGE:

Ghost wasn’t careless. He was war on legs, a goddamn weapon. He cleared entryways and cut throats like other people put butter on toast. There was no excuse for why he didn’t see the little glass vial the size of his pinkie rolling off the supply shelf in the lab. He wanted to blame Soap, or even Price, but really, it was his own goddamn fault he bumped the cabinet. The vial rolled off the counter in the lab they’d just cleared before clinking to the linoleum. The glass was so delicate it didn’t even crash, it just splattered into goo and glass crystals. The fumes floated up, violent and pink, and Ghost was already scrambling for his mask when Price noticed, too.

“Mask, mask, mask!” Price barked across the lab. Soap and the captain snapped their masks on just as Ghost finished, his eyes trained on the fumes floating around his ankles. It was a lot, for such a small amount of fluid.

He knew it was too late before the mask was even on. He could smell the sickly sweet odor in his sinuses like it burned. It could have been fucking anything - super anthrax, ebola, fucking cancer 2.0 - and he’d just breathed it in.

Goddamnit, he was better than this.

The entire time they spent clearing the compound and rounding up scientists for Laswell and the federal agents to book, Ghost couldn’t shake the sick feeling something was wrong. He didn’t have any symptoms. No fever, no bleeding from the eyes, no vomiting. That almost made it worse. If he’d have started puking his guts up he’d have felt better, almost. The latency of nothing was eating Ghost alive.

Price didn’t seem concerned, though, so Ghost took a page out of his captain’s book and tried to not have a crisis. Easier said than done; but Price kept brushing off medical, much more interested in getting them all back to their temporary lodging on the American base and having a debrief than addressing the fact that they’d been exposed to an unknown chemical vapor in an unlicensed facility.

So Ghost did what he did best: compartmentalized. He boxed up his worry over the exposure into a little corner of his head and finished the debrief like a good soldier. He returned to his temporary quarters; surely a hot shower would set his mind at ease? The American base hosting the 141 had better water pressure than home base anyway, and the dust dislodged by Soap’s charges breaking open the lab had gotten under Ghost’s balaclava and into his hair. It itched.

He stripped down once he was alone in his room. His vest and gear were tossed into the open duffel he’d been living out of; his rifle propped against a wall, his sidearm on the nightstand; his boots by the door. Ghost peeled his sweat-tacky t-shirt off and lobbed it into the hamper. He had his belt off by the time he was stilled in the doorway to his en suite bathroom.

Something was wrong.

He grunted as the cramps hit his abdomen first, before they moved lower. It was an alien sensation: squirming, cramping, aching. It moved lower and lower until Ghost was wide-eyed, panicking at the strange sensation working toward his groin. He dropped his belt to the bathroom floor with a clatter and tore at his cargos in the harsh bathroom light.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

His fucking was gone. Gone! Ghost snarled and tensed as he stared down at the furred mound between his legs. The soft dark-blonde hair from his navel trailed down between his legs where his should have been and wasn’t.

No. That was a fucking . He had a .

Scowling furiously behind his mask, Ghost put a foot up on the bathtub and stuck his hand between his legs. He knew when he felt it, and that was definitely between his thighs. A pink clit, puffy labia, a fucking hole; Where the goddamn was his ? And shit, this was sensitive - when he pulled his hand away he was stuck glaring at his own slick on his fingers.

“Jesus bleedin’ Christ,” he mumbled, wiping it off on a towel and turning on the shower. There was no way he was going to medical. Not like this. Not with a fucking between his legs where his should have been. No. Absolutely not.

Ghost just about pissed himself when someone knocked on the door to his quarters. “Go away!” he snarled from his bathroom. But he wrapped a towel around his hips anyway, knowing that if someone was ballsy enough to come knock on his door, it was probably for a good reason. He just couldn’t get a moment of peace to have a crisis, could he?