#kyle garrick x john price

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Sphinx!Gaz Headcanons

Tags: monster au, sphinx shifter! gaz, poly 141, cuddling, snuggling, generally just sweet vibes, a/b/o dynamics sort of??

-Despite popular belief, he is not a riddle teller, so much as a riddle solver. Gaz is a sharp man, intuitive and observant.  Even if he hadn't come from a long line of notoriously clever shifters, little would stump him to begin with. Man loves a good puzzle, which mostly extends to puzzle games or toys. In addition to a serious love of mystery movies (Benoit Blanc better watch his ass). He does keep a handful of different apps on his phone, just to keep from getting bored, and often finds himself in wikipedia rabbit holes researching anything and everything. All this being said, he will break out a cheesy riddle on occasion, just to be a big smartass.

-Gaz is very physically affectionate with his pack. Fondly pressing his head to Ghost’s shoulder or chest after a particularly lame joke. Chuckling into his shirt. Grabbing Soap by his jaw during an embrace, pressing their cheeks or temples together. Nipping his ear playfully. Gently ramming his forehead to Price’s at the evac point, a silent check in after a grueling mission. 

- A notorious biter, nothing rough unless you ask of course, but the pack are certainly his chew toys.  Leaning over to chomp playfully at Soap’s shoulder when he isn’t paying attention to him. Nipping at the plush pectorals of Ghost’s chest when he is ready to quit napping with him. Chasing and nibbling at Price’s fingers as he tries to patch up his face.  

- Also say goodbye to your personal space, as he regularly, unceremoniously lounges on other members of his pack like they're furniture, sprawling himself over his mates. He tucks himself neatly against the soft fat of Ghost’s stomach and chest, his toes buried underneath Soap’s thigh. 

-Is also very content to let other pack members drape themselves over him. Rumbling happily at a conked out Soap draped over him like a weighted blanket. If one or more are napping around him, be prepared for a cuddle puddle. Gaz craves the physical contact.

- Sphinx commonly communicate with subtle sounds or facial expressions. This being said he is expressive, his feelings written in the lines of his face. (Leading to some mad RBF at times). He also has a tendency to reply in soft hums or huffs. A fair amount of communication with his family was non-verbal. He has been warned more than once to use his words when displeased. 

-Let’s not forget purring, and boy does he purr. Price was positively chuffed when he first heard it, a low rumble that he could barely make out above the mechanical roar of the helo. The op had been exhausting, and Gaz and slumped against his shoulder within the first 5 minutes of their trek home. Safe. Gaz felt safe. Safe enough to rest openly against his captain. It made his heart swell. Price settled in, adjusting the younger sergeant more comfortably before crossing his arms and relaxing himself. Letting the soft rumble lull him.  

-Gaz also possesses a deafening roar. His harmonics can paralyze and injure most in proximity, even deafen. And if you're small enough, completely knock you over with the force of it.

-there is an inherent magic to felids, and this extends to Gaz, who has the ability to see (or at minimum sense) most spirits and spells.  We've all seen cats stare into empty corners…well, they're not staring at nothing.

-yes the purring is indicative of a safe and happy sphinx, but there is a subtle magic to this as well. The resonant purr having a calming effect on those around him, he has lulled more than one pack member into resting with it. Sit with him long enough and you will be handed one ticket to sleepy town junction, whether you like it or not.  No one is immune. 

-Gaz has the sharpest eyes out of all the pack, making him an invaluable sniper. He also shares enhanced hearing, smell, strength and an improved healing factor. 

-There are differing species of sphinx, with their own unique shapes and dispositions. Gaz, even in a full humanoid form still possesses visible characteristics of his species (androsphinx), slitted pupils, long tufted tail, and most notably large wings.  

-Gaz’s wings are bulky, and not designed for extended periods of true flight. While possible, it takes a great deal of energy. It’s something he has to prepare for. They serve him better as enhancements to movement, such as gliding, covering large distances or scaling great heights.

Gaz’s wings can also produce a tremendous gust of wind, and act as a shield for certain types of damage.  

-Gaz, similarly to Price can control his shift, able to alter his body in varying degrees of change. Though some things cannot be completely deteriorated, such as his eyes, wings and tail. Most sphinxes are gifted a unique article as children, usually a piece of jewelry with a glamour charm. In Gaz’s case, this a small  paracord bracelet, its subtle and durable, ideal for his line of work. Other charms can be made, though the charm is tedious to apply. His hat, as well as charming gold earring, all have the same charm applied. 

-Unlike Price and Simon, Gaz’s nature leans less towards possessiveness (though it’s still present), but rather a fierce protectiveness for his pack. He is the peace keeper, a pillar of emotional stability and comfort for his mates. Who he serves not only physically, but emotionally as well. Any slight towards his mates is unacceptable, and while they may forget or forgive, Gaz will not. He will protect them viciously. If not with the gun in his hands then with teeth and claws. 

-Sphinx are territorial. While most are able to tell the difference between deliberate intrusion and accidental trespass. Gaz still gets antsy about the 141's barracks. That he has self declared as exclusively his territory. Like a guard dog who wasn't given permission to bite (yet), he follows any perceived intruder around at a distance, watching around corners in case they try to touch anything. 

-Perhaps even more serious to him than the barracks? His room. A den he calls it, but it's really a nest. His nest is well guarded and maintained, his sanctuary of safety and comfort in a profession full of bloodshed and adrenaline. As social as sphinx are it can be a difficult thing to be away from his pack, and so he keeps articles of clothing from his lovers, weaves them into his nest so the scents weave and surround him like a warm blanket.

-Gaz, thinking himself a rather clever shit, had taken to stealing the items at first. Well not stealing per se, borrowing really. He gives them all back…at some point. In the beginning, while the pack had gotten close, his nest was sorely void of real comfort. It was childish by sphinx standards, to still need a nest after one had left home in their solitary journey. Too embarrassed to outright ask, he took to snagging clothes from the laundry room, washed, but his pack mates scent lingered just enough to tie him over. Only to be replaced with something else when the scent faded completely. 

-Ghost, of course, was the first to notice. Being forgetful was something Ghost was not. And he knew when his favorite hoodie was missing god damn it, only to mystically appear when he pulled his clothes from the dryer, just for another favorite, an old soft band t-shirt, to come up missing next. Ghost clocked him soon afterward, catching the little thief by the familiar scents that clung to Gaz when he shuffled into the kitchen that morning. 

-After a stern conversation with his Lieutenant, Gaz explained himself with burning cheeks. Ghost hadn't said a word, only yanked his current sweatshirt off his shoulders, shoving it into Gaz's hands. “Go on then, and bring me my other one back" he grunted.

-From then on, like clockwork, Gaz retrieves his treasures. Swapping out clothes for new pieces, warm and scent heavy.  Price is sure to drop off extra when he anticipates being on longer missions. Soft cotton sweatshirts soaked in his honey-tobacco scent.  Why no he did not shift and then wallow on these clothes like a chinchilla to make sure his scent sticks…ignore all the dog hair. 

-It would only get better once his pack began to tumble in bed with him, their scents mingling, soaking into his plush blankets. Now, Gaz sleeps soundly, purring serenely against the skin of one or more of his mates.

[lapetitepatisserie]

cod × fem!reader ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

The familiar sound of keys in the door alerted you to your husband’s return.

“My love?” he called, looking for you, boots making heavy footsteps as he made his way towards you and your child. His eyes soften once they land on you and your baby girl.

“How’s my princess?” he drawls, voice deep with exhaustion from work.

You look down at the child sitting in your lap, occupied with trying to fit a chubby foot into her mouth. A steady finger reaches underneath your chin, lifting it to meet his warm, intense gaze.

“I’m talking about this one.”

[writersdrug]

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Being so sensitive to squirting that the 141 make fun of your for it and have little competitions to see who can make you squirt the fastest :(

Johnny holds the record of 37 seconds from fingering you so fast you couldn’t tell when his fingers were inside or out of you.

After their little competition your poor pussy was so swollen and sensitive that all it took was a few rough spanks to your pussy from Price to make you squirt again.

“Oh well look at that? Seems we got a new record holder hm?” Price teases you and Johnny.

“That doesn’t count the competition is over!” Johnny exclaims angrily at Price.

Meanwhile Simon and Gaz are fucking rock hard from watching you squirt again so quickly.

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[grabattheseballsss]

COD P★ LINKS

Yawll……dis is horny… so like fair warning

John price

Price tying you up after he catches you disobeying him by touching yourself :(

Overstimulation with John <3

Price eating you out after a loooooong mission

More price eating pussy (the guy LITERALLY looks like him or am I tripping)

Since you like using them so much, this shouldn’t be a punishment for you, correct ?

John getting you to ride his thigh

Theres a reason why they’re his favourite

Kyle Garrick

Gaz after ruthlessly fucking you for three hours ;3

What you get for flaunting yourself in front of his mates :(

Lazy night in with gaz

Shhh don’t want anyone to hear you

Late night humping with your clingy boyfriend

Roommate! Gaz getting tired of your horny whining

Simon Riley

Just a quick reminder of where you belong

Quick polishing’

A goodbye gift

A welcome home gift

Roommate! Ghost pounding you till you wake up :(

Owner! Ghost with his lil pup

Little film for later

Gettin’ crafty

John McTavish

Riding him until he’s dumb <3

Mornin sex with Johnny boy

Self restrain

Virgin! Johnny

Just his doll

Convincing your friend, Johnny to join your live 🫣

König

Hes just too big you needed a photo for confirmation

Need your colonel to reach you a lesson?

Just a quickie before he leaves for work

Quickie part 2

Good girls beg

[thebookbutterfly]

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[guppybibi]

Price who rethinks about his life choices when his kid asks him what year he was born just for them to say "Wow, you're old daddy! Were dinosaurs scary?"

Simon who was teaching his little girl some carpentry because it wasn't just a boy's job, right? Of course it isn't! But he does internally cringe when his kid grabs a nearby hammer due to curiosity and drops it on his foot.

Kyle who silently gulps nervously & you see sweat forming at his forehead when his kid goes up to him and asks help with their homework (Not that he's stupid or anything, he's a grown man after all, just genuinely doesn't want to get anything wrong.)

John who had to witness first hand how honest and mean children were when his own child came up to him, all smiles at first just to say– "You're hair looks a little weird, daddy." Then runs off to continue doing whatever.

(uhh im a different person at night, if this is bad, blame them not me)

[teamblck]

YEAH? AND?

[majinbangus]

Being short and taking tiny steps. It's something he never really realized because you always forced yourself to keep up with his longer strides thanks to his superior height, but now as you're going home after a lunch date, he's walking behind you, and nearly bumping into you every few steps.

"You walk so slow," he states after forcing himself to slow down for the tenth time.

"Cuz I'm short. And I don't want to walk fast if I don't have to." You look over your shoulder to look up at him. "You know, you can walk ahead of me? Home isn't going anywhere, I'll meet you there."

Absolutely not. He's not gonna let you walk home alone.

Instead, he says, "I don't want to."

You let out a confused laugh, "What do you mean 'you don't want to'? You were complaining about how slow I am."

"Wasn't complaining." He pauses. "Just observing."

"But you're still rushing to get home," you point out when he almost bumps into you again.

"The game is starting in fifteen."

You roll your eyes. Him and his soccer.

"Then either walk ahead or don't. Or carry me if you're not gonna walk at my pace. I'm don't plan on speeding up, I'm tired of practically jogging just to keep up with you."

Now there's an idea.

"Alright."

"Alright?" You look at him suspiciously. "Alright what?"

"Alright I'll carry you."

Your eyes widen. "Wait-"

He doesn't let you finish, arms coming behind your back and knees, picking you up without any complaints. You squeak out his name, arms coming around his neck. "I-"

"-won't struggle to keep up with me." He shoots you a cocky look, setting a much faster pace. "We'll be home in five."

[quillcraftconquer]

Task force 141 and their favorite positions

John Price - Spooning. This man will wake you up in the morning by pressing up against you from behind, planting soft kisses on your shoulders and neck until you stir. His hands will slowly drift downwards, massaging your ass and thighs as you’re waking up. Takes Good Morning seriously, sliding his cock between your thighs until you’re rising up to settle his length inside of you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Cowgirl, but sitting up so he’s closer to your body. Likes to be able to glide his hands over your skin as you ride him. Will rest his hands on your ass and gaze up at you with so much adoration as you tilt your head back and moan.

John “Soap” MacTavish - Doggystyle. Likes to press you down into the mattress and rub his hand down the length of your spine and gently grab the back of your neck when he wants to go harder. Appreciates the nice view and the recoil when he’s slamming into you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Missionary, this man worships your body. Loves to be able to see all of you. Will gently caress your face and just stare into your eyes, or brings his head down to your neck to mask the sound of his grunts. Even though you told him you love when he makes noise.

[evermoreal]

thinking abt some kind of outlaw!au where the 141 walk away from a raid with a lot more than they bargained for.

a few weeks back they’d received word of a nobleman and his wife who’d be leaving for their honeymoon, valuables aboard the carriage. after a bit of lurking and bribing, they’d narrowed down just which road was desolate and wild enough to get away with the raid.

concealed by the bordering forests, they’d waited. an embarrassingly opulent carriage came dawdling down the road (polished wood, velvet curtains, ostentatious engravings) & they pounced.

the drivers & guards, they’d expected. the gunshots, the shouting. what took them by surprise, though, was the wife, who did not fight as gaz wrestled her into his arms. who watched a little too closely when ghost dragged his blade across her husband’s chest, demanding the location of their funds.

“where’s’a money?” price questioned, moving towards the woman when her husband’s pride weighed heavier than his cowardice. his broad palm gripped her jaw as gaz held her arms behind her back. “hm, lovey? y’speak english? y’better tell me, or your sweetheart ‘ere ‘ll be gutted before tha night’s over.”

she watched her husband writhe for a long moment, before meeting price’s gaze. her voice was flat, steady. “kill him.”

soap barked a laugh. ghost cocked his head.

price, though, was intrigued.

“kill ‘im?” he echoed. then, he lifted her hand, yanking the diamond ring off her finger and pinching it between his fingers. “wha’ bout this? just a rock, is it? ‘till death do us part’ mean nothin’ to ya?”

“words don’t mean much when you’re forced to say them, sir.”

“forced?” price questions, narrowed eyes flicking across your features. he looks to your husband, then, who’s soiled his pants. “tha fuck is this muppet forcin’?”

price is quiet for a while, watching your husband as he wriggles in ghost’s grip. when he meets your gaze, there’s a small, barely-there curve to his chapped lips. “you really want ‘im dead?” there’s an amusement to his tone, a disbelief.

you steel your gaze. “yes.”

the curve of his lips bends into a grin, and you’ve barely exhaled before he’s lifting his pistol, aiming it at your husband’s head, and shooting.

limp, he falls to the ground.

you don’t flinch. in fact your voice is steady when you state, “the money’s in the chest, beneath the seats.”

once again, price approaches you. grips your jaw, tilts your face this way and that. he taps your cheek twice, and says, “you heard the woman. soap, get the money. gaz, tie ‘er up, she’s with me.”

[swordsandholly]

Been thinking about the 141 boys coming to visit your southern family…

Price ends up out back with your papaw and uncles staring at a riding mower that they haven’t been able to get back up and working. Beer in hand, hip cocked, mimicking their ‘uh-uh’s and ‘yep’s. He tries to help with grilling but your dad won’t let him anywhere near it because “damn brits can’t cook out to save their lives. I’ve seen what y’all eat.”

Ghost gets a little overwhelmed by the women fussing over him. He’s on his third plate of food and your mimi is still loading him up with more mac n cheese because “He’s just such a big boy - he really needs to fill up! Are you sure you’re feeding him enough?” Luckily Simon is a literal human vacuum - a total garbage disposal. He drinks about a pitcher of sweet tea by himself because you can’t tell me that man doesn’t have a deadly sweet tooth. You have to drive home after the food coma they put him in.

Gaz is the decided favorite son-in-law (never mind that you aren’t married yet.) He’s just so polite, happily helping wherever needed. Quick witted and more than prepared to participate in the small town gossip. Giving genuine, dramatic gasps at the news that the preachers son of your family’s rival church took a trip (went to prison). It just makes sense that boy always had a screw loose, after all. He picks up on the cooking easily enough, asking your mom for all her recipes to make both you and her a lovely custom cook book of family recipes.

Soap goes absolutely hog wild on the four wheelers with your cousins. Regaling the younger ones with stories of his ‘adventures’ (pranks on the other 141 members.) He picks up some of your slang for the fun of it. After all, sigogglin’ just works with a Scottish accent so well. Unfortunately he can’t handle the jalapeño corn bread - it’s just too spicy for the poor boy.