#GAZ!!! <333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[toshidou]

o h no hang on “puppy”? thats just lit up my brain like nothing, i’m such a slut for pet play 😵‍💫 Getting collared with Gaz >>

ah, everything rolling around to gaz, as it absolutely should <33 the only type of possession gaz ever exhibits is when he slides a collar around your throat and buckles it into place, because the only person who will ever be able to do that to you is him, and him alone.

[inactivegaz]

🚨🚨 GAZ SIGHTING 🚨🚨

[fraserbraw]

a day in the life <3

poly141, 141 x reader, no y/n, tooth rotting fluff

the kinds of kisses/affection that reader receives during the day from their 141 boys 😁

price

in passing, especially on the top of the head. adores seeing you flustered when you didn't see him approach you

slow, romantic kisses after a long day. finds you on his office couch or in the little kitchenette, wraps his arms around your waist, and lets all the stresses or problems of the day wash off as his lips meet yours

on the knuckles like a true gentleman. asks you anywhere with a kiss on the hand. bar? kiss. date night? kiss. the fucking gym? guess what? kiss.

on the face to wake you up in the mornings. you look so warm and snuggly, love, but it's time to get up <3 (often followed by a cup of tea/coffee)

kisses your inner thighs to soothe beard burn. he's so sorry, but you look so pretty when he has you in his mouth.

simon

until you've been a thing for a long time, and I mean a long time, he won't kiss you

that's not to say he won't show affection, though. one of his absolute favorite things is to bonk your forehead with his through the mask

sure, it can hurt either one of you just a bit, but it lets you know that he loves you

when he finally does kiss you, it's on the forehead or back of the hand. it takes him a long time to actually kiss your lips

loves kissing your neck and vice versa. seeing you walk around with poorly covered hickeys (because he can't make it easy for you, people have to know that you belong to someone) gets him going

also likes it when you leave your own marks on his neck. no one can see them because of that balaclava, but he knows they're there

johnny

kisses you the fastest out of all the boys

starts with the cheek, then the forehead, then the lips, then any inch of skin you bless him with

all of you is just so perfect, how can he pick one single favorite spot?

leaves little bites and marks everywhere he can

would devour you if he could

genuinely cherishes your slow and romantic make outs. yeah, he loves when they lead to something else, but feeling the passion in your kisses as your lips and tongues dance together? that's a feeling unmatched, bonnie.

this man has such an oral fixation. let him suck on your fingers.

kyle

once he saw johnny going at you, he couldn't help but follow suit

he's a weak man, hun, you've got to cut him some slack

loves kissing your nose. close enough to your mouth to be a little more intimate than the forehead, and he gets to see basically your whole face

kisses your hips like they're drugs. sex or not, he's between your legs kissing your hips and belly. so what if you're wearing clothes? let him move them for you.

adores little touches

tracing patterns on skin, kissing freckles/scars, moving strands of hair away from your face. he doesn't care; as long as he's touching you

it's the monthly post!! i wish i could have written more, but alas, the bastards at uni gave me the flu. i'm back now, though, and consuming content like a bear before hibernation.

(yk... that might be a good fit idea.)

thank you for reading, lovelies <333333

[personwhowrites]

Diner Adventures

Task Force 141 x gn!reader. (Platonic or romantic?)

Having to work at a small diner basically in the middle of nowhere wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even worth the pay, nor the customers. It was always some sort of ghost diner, cars passed it thinking it’s abandoned. You did tell the manager to fix the sign so maybe more people would come in.

Since, you being the only waitress, you never stressed out. Restocking was barely a thing needed, most of the time you spent it talking to a cook or down on your phone. Hoping that maybe one or two customers would come in into the diner.

Finally, one night looking down at your phone you hear it.

*ding*

Four men walk in, looking around before finally spotting you. You froze, it wasn’t just any average customers you would get late a night.

“Miss?” A Scottish accent spoke up breaking you out of your trance. “You open?”

You blinked a couple times before opening your mouth to speak. “Uh.. yes, sorry uh.. how many..?” You uttered out knowing it was just four of them. “Oh.. uh you guys want the bar or booth?”

“Booth.” A stronger voice spoke up and pointed to a booth. “That one will do for us.”

You grabbed the menus and walked over to the booth. You couldn’t help but side glance at them multiple times. They were freaking you out, it was obvious to them as well.

One of them placed a pistol on the table. The other two set their gear down on their laps, rolling their shoulders back before picking up the menu. The last one, that seemed to be the leader of the group took his hat off, ruffling his own hair as he stare at the window.

“Smoking allowed here?” He asked glancing at you now. “Don’t worry, they aren’t loaded.” He gestured to the guns. “I believe.”

“I..uh yeah smoke zone of the diner is the one you’re sitting at..” you spoke out, your eyes glued down to your notepad now. “What can I get you all to drink?”

“Coffee for me” the same man speaks up. “For those two muppets some sugary drink.”

You glanced up to see him pointing to a mohawk man, and another male wearing a baseball cap with the UK flag. Nodding you wrote down their drinks, then turned to the scary skull mask looking your way.

“Tea.” The masked man utter out. “Three sugar, packets on the side.”

You awkwardly nodded and backed away quickly as they turned their attention to the menus.

“Talk about freaks..” The cook said as you grabbed the drinks. “Who comes into a diner dressed like that.”

“Watch the tone.. At least we finally have someone in this dump.” You reply and look at the cook. “You can finally prove that you can cook.”

The cook rolled his eyes before glancing at the four men sitting in the booth.

“They don’t look American to me..” The cook points out. “That one guy with that cap, had a uk flag on it didn’t it?”

“They did sound… off, but who are we to judge?” You reply with a small smile. “I mean we are just three, counting the manager in the back working at some rundown diner.”

“Point taken, that Mohawk dude is looking over at you.” The cook says turning to the mild hot stove. “Think he’s into you?”

“Or probably trying to get my attention to order.” You say grabbing the tea. “Toss me some sugar packets.”

The cook shrugs and throws you some sugar packets. You mostly catch some of them, the cook chuckles as your clumsy hands. Setting the hot coffee on a tray with the two other sugary drinks felt odd. Something was odd about those four men. Their accents, their.. clothing style, I mean it wasn’t often you seen men like these in the diner.

Picking up the the tray that held the drinks you walked over. Setting it down in a booth behind them, you grabbed the drinks handing them each to them. You took out your notepad and smile, a fake smile they saw right through.

“So you fellas ready to order?” you asked holding the pen. “Or do we need more time.”

“We never been to a place like this before.” One perks up looking at you. “So, what would you rec—-“

“Ky—Gaz.” Another spoke putting his hand on the table. “What did we say in the car?”

“Sorry, Price.” Gaz says looks up from the menu. “Just, what.. on earth is a Nashville chicken on a waffle?”

“Oh, uh.. it’s some chicken tenders covered in a spicy tangy sauce.” You say before pressing your lips into a thin line. “..on.. top of a waffle..”

“You Americans eat that shit?” The mowhak man says before being elbow by his masked friend. “What! I mean it sounds disgusting.”

“Johnny.” The man spoke side eyeing him.

“It’s true aint it! Look at the photo doesn’t even look appealing!” The guy blurted out again. “Also Johnny? What happened to soap huh? Has our lieutenant Ghost finally losen up?”

Lieutenant? Wait.. are these men in the army? Your mind rushed to thoughts finally connecting the dots. That explains the gear, and possibly loaded guns on their laps and table.

“Ignore them..” Price says grabbing your attention again. “I’ll take some normal pancakes.”

“..normal how?” You say looking at him. “Like.. you want plain butter milk pancakes or uh.. something on them? Like berries or some kind of sweet?”

“What pancakes do you have?” Price breath out while looking at the menu. “..Christ..you have a lot.. uh..” he paused for a moment and pointed to some fruity strawberry pancakes. “Just bring me these.”

“Okay..” you mumbled out writing down strawberry pancakes. “For the rest?”

“You sell burgers?” Soap hummed while skimming through the menu. “Like ones that aren’t pure American grease?”

“Mactavish.” Ghost warns looking at soap.

“What, listen I’m on a diet.” Soap says looking at Ghost. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Or you’re just some picky eater.” Gaz charms in and looks at you. “I’ll the blueberry pancakes.”

“I’m not picky! Just.. look at all of this… on the menu..” Soap says and sighs looking at you. “Do you even know how much calories this all is?”

“On the bottom of the dish it lists the calories and what’s on the dish.” You reply now annoyed by soap. “I can just get you some salad.”

“Offend.” Soap scoffs and stares down at the menu. “Just get me something that doesn’t have a lot of calories.”

“So a salad.” You noted and looked at him.

“No something with just low calories.” Soap replies and slid the menu down.

“..a salad is the lowest calories we have.” You hiss now irritated by his actions.

“Or maybe a burger.” Soap grin noticing your irritation.

“Which one?” You asked in the most fake voice. “Because we have several.”

“One with the lowest calories.” Soap says and looks at his friend Price. “..actually just some pancakes…”

“..just get him a the highest calorie shit on the menu.” Price spoke out glaring down at soap. “Add everything on that burger.”

“I’ll take some pancakes too.” Ghost mumbles out to you. “Just plain ones.”

You nod, grabbing their menus and walking away. You can hear Price whisper yelling at soap. A small smile creeped on your face hearing at least he has friend or teammates that set him straight.

“What do they want to eat?” The cook asked as you approached him with the menus. “Well?”

“Pancakes and a burger with… everything..” you say and sit down in the high chair connected to the bar. “Well technically one stack of plain pancakes, a stack of strawberry pancakes and a blueberry stack pancakes.”

“Pancakes..” the cook mumbled out annoyed. “Did you even find out why they’re dressed like that?”

“From what I heard, something with the military.” You reply getting out the chair to help the cook set the batter of pancakes out onto the stove. “I know their names are Soap, Gaz, Price and Ghost.”

“What type of fucking names are that?” The cook uttered out before glancing at you. “You sure that’s their names?”

“Don’t know, but they call each other that.” You shrug and go to the nearby fridge. “Gaz let it slip that they aren’t from here tho.”

“Really? Where do you think they’re from?” The cook replies and presses down on the patty. “They look like those tea drinking Brit’s.”

“Now that you mention it..” you mumble looking at the four men who are all talking within themselves. “Their accents do sound British except for that soap guy.”

“Still can’t believe that’s their names.” The cook chuckles and looks at you. “What are you thinking?”

“..could be code names? You know like those cheesy movies?” You snickered with a grin. “Like I never thought that shit is real.”

The cook just shrugged and turned to focus on the food. Meanwhile, Gaz got up from the booth and wondered close to the open kitchen. Hearing you and the cook talk about them, their accents and names. His eyes narrowing as he heard you laugh about such an important thing to him.

“You think those guns are loaded?” The cook asked. “I mean, hey at least they would have the American sprit.”

“They are.” Gaz spoke up crossing his arms. “Where’s the bathroom?”

You immediately jumped and looked at Gaz before pointing to the bathroom. Gaz just walked away shaking his head, before you looked at the cook. He stare back at you before bursting out laughing with you.

When the food was finally done, the cook helped you take it to their table. They all gave you some glares, no words were exchanged in the process. You awkwardly took their drinks and refilled them, walking back you paused to hear them talking.

“Just drop it Gaz.” Price says shaking his head. “We just eat, pay and continue with our mission.”

“How can I? They’re speaking shit literally right in front of us.” Gaz hisses as Ghost rolled his eyes. “Is this how everyone is at America?“

“Hey at least we know that it’s not only graves.” Soap jokes and bites his burger. “On the other hand this burger is good.”

“Pancakes aren’t bad ether..” Ghost admitted while pouring more syrup on the pancakes. “Just enjoy the food.”

Price noticed you not far away and clear his throat. You walked over and set down the refilled tea, and two sugary drinks. Gaz just glared at you, before being kicked by soap under the table. Gaz glare now to Soap, as you stare at them.

“..listen, I didn’t mean to offend anyone here.” You mumble in an apologizing tone. “It’s just, we never seen folks like you four.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gaz snaps his head to you again. “Is it before we are different! Because we are ‘tea drinking Brit’s’?”

“Okay, maybe we did judge.. but we just neve—“ you try to speak but Gaz interrupts again.

“Save it, leave us to eat in peace.” Gaz hiss while grabbing his drink. “Go now.”

You stare at Gaz, before shaking your head. Turning away you hear them mumble something to Gaz.

A couple minutes pass and you hear them laugh. Or two or the four men laugh, the smell of cigarette being lit up caught your attention. The cook glanced up from his phone and stare over at the men, before looking at you.

“You need a break?” The cook says in a teasing tone. “Even though you always are on break.”

“Shut up..” you reply with a small smile. “How about you?”

“All good here.” The cook boomed as he looked down at his phone. “I looked up their bandages, I got a close eye to them when I helped you with the food.” He pauses for a moment and grins. “These four men are more important than we think.”

“Really?” You perk up leaning over to see his phone. “How so?”

“Saw a badge that said SAS.. and I googled it.” The cook said pulling up an article. “Special air forces, something from the British army.”

You stare down at the article, reading though it before glancing at the four men.

“..huh..” you mumble and sigh. “Well doesn’t matter now, they hate our guts..” you pause to get out of your seat. “I’ll just hand them the check so they can leave and we can all forget this ever happened.”

The cook just shrugs as you walk away to the front counter. Printing the ticket out, you glance at them as you make your way over.

“Here’s the check.. you guys can pay whenever you’re ready.” You mumble and place the check down. “Again I’m sorry if me and my friend offended the four of you.”

Gaz just scoffs and Price gives you a small apologetic smile himself. He takes out his card to pay, but Ghost beats him to it. Handing his card first and looking at Price with a small prideful stare.

“Don’t sweat it.” Price speaks up and looks at you. “Just.. watch what you say. The smallest things can bring you enemies love.”

You just nod and take Ghost card back to the front counter. You slide his card, paying for the food. You walk back with a copy of the receipt and a pen.

“Sign here, and uh.. you guys can leave at anytime.” You say and walk away quickly to the bathroom.

Ghost just nods and signs the receipt. Gaz takes the pen and starts writing in a napkin, soon soap takes the pen and does the same onto another napkin. When you returned back from the bathroom they were gone. The plates were stacked neatly and there were four napkins with handwriting from each of them. The cook walked over and glances at the napkins and then notice the tip on the receipt.

“Who the fuck just blows over a thousand on a damn diner.” The cook mumbles grabbing the receipt. “Are you seeing this?”

In fact you weren’t, you were too focused on the napkins. Their handwriting was so different from each other, their notes as well.

“Don’t judge too easy.. and tell that cook to mix the pancake batter better next time we come by.” -Gaz

“The food was great, sorry for annoying you. It was funny to see your nose scrunch up when I annoyed you. Hope you don’t mind that when we come back.” -Soap

“Saw you needed a cigarette, sorry I didn’t offer you one. Maybe next time I can.” -Price

“Try to catch the sugar packets better next time. I wanted three not two.” -Ghost

You smiled at the napkins and looked up to see them get in their car. They all glanced at you, before Price patted the car for the men to load up and get ready to leave. You turned your attention back to the napkins, before slowly noticing something in the edge of every napkin. Their numbers…

[reds-skull]

I wanted to have more recent paintings for my portfolio, so I used that excuse to paint Gaz <3

[cod-thoughts]

Help to make the season bright

Word count: 9.9k

Relationships: NikPrice, PriceNik, team as family

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt Simon "Ghost" Riley, Fluff, Niks love language is food you can pry that out of my cold dead hands thank you Soft Nikolai, Christmas Fluff

I posted this while i was gone and never ended up putting it on here so im doing that now! Its two chapters!!

Stuck in a safe house over Christmas, the team does their best to keep spirits up despite the storm outside—and the one raging inside Ghost. It’s supposed to be the season for family, but some wounds don’t heal, and some ghosts don’t rest. Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

Chapter 1: And so I'm offering this simple phrase

The safe house was unremarkable, a squat, grey structure barely visible against the snow-laden woods. The storm outside had been raging for hours, a relentless whiteout that battered the building with icy gusts and howling winds. Snow piled high against the windows, and the walls creaked under the force of the gale. The wood-burning stove in the corner struggled to fend off the biting cold, its faint glow casting flickering shadows across the room. The scent of damp wood and lingering smoke clung to the air, seeping into every corner of the cramped space.

Inside, the team sat huddled around a battered table. A single bulb swung gently from the ceiling, its dim light highlighting the weariness etched across their faces. Supplies were running low, and the safe house felt smaller with each passing hour, its confined walls pressing in like the snow outside.

Soap blew into his hands, rubbing them together briskly. His breath fogged in the icy air as he muttered, “Bloody hell, it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”

“Better than being out there,” Price said from where he leaned against the stove, adding another splintered log to the flames. His voice was steady, calm, but his eyes were fixed on the fire as if willing it to grow.

Soap scoffed, gesturing around the room. “Aye, well, not by much. Think we’ll still be here come Christmas? Stuck in this frozen hellhole?”

Gaz glanced up from the radio he’d been fiddling with, his brow furrowed. Static crackled faintly, filling the silence. “Unless that storm clears, we’re not going anywhere. Could be days yet.”

Soap groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Fantastic. Best Christmas ever.”

Price glanced towards the frost-covered window, where Ghost stood silently, his posture stiff and unyielding. He was a shadow against the dim light, the edges of his figure blurred by the condensation on the glass. The balaclava he always wore revealed only his eyes, which were fixed on the swirling snow outside. His gloved hand rested on the windowsill, unmoving, and the stillness of him felt almost unnatural—like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping.

The quiet unease in the room wasn’t lost on Soap. Ever the optimist, he straightened in his chair, forcing a grin. “Oi, Ghost,” he called, his tone light and teasing. “Fancy helping me brighten this place up? Could string some lights or hang something festive. It’s grim enough without us all sulking.”

Ghost didn’t move, his gaze unwavering as he muttered, “Not interested.”

Soap’s grin faltered, just for a second. “Ah, come on, mate,” he pressed, his voice carrying a forced cheerfulness. “Even you can’t be above a bit of holiday spirit. You could use it, I reckon.”

Ghost turned his head then, his eyes cold and sharp under the dim light. “I said, drop it.” His voice was low, steady, and left no room for argument.

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Soap shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense as he looked towards Price for some kind of signal. The captain’s gaze was fixed on Ghost, his expression unreadable, but after a moment he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Soap leaned back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Suit yourself, Lieutenant.”

Ghost didn’t respond. His hand dropped from the windowsill as he turned away, his steps clipped and deliberate as he left the room. The door to the adjoining space shut behind him with a soft but deafening click.

Soap exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to push him,” he muttered, glancing back at Price.

Price stepped away from the stove, his expression softening slightly. “You weren’t to know. It’s not your fault.”

Gaz, who had been watching quietly from his seat, frowned. “What’s his deal, anyway? He’s been like this all week.”

Price’s response came slowly, his voice quieter now. “It’s not my story to tell. But this time of year… it’s not easy for him. Give him some space.”

Gaz and Soap exchanged a look, both nodding in silent agreement. Still, there was a lingering heaviness in the air, and it seemed to settle deeper into the room now that Ghost had gone.

The hours dragged on, the storm outside a relentless fury of wind and snow. Inside, the safe house had grown oppressively quiet. The stove crackled faintly, its orange glow casting long shadows across the room. Soap had finally abandoned his search through the supply crate, muttering about the lack of decent provisions, while Gaz leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he stared at the faintly glowing radio. Price stood near the stove, his eyes distant, his mind elsewhere.

A sudden knock shattered the quiet. It was sharp and deliberate, cutting through the howl of the storm like a gunshot. The team reacted instantly—Gaz straightened, his hand going to his sidearm, while Soap shot Price a questioning look.

Price moved towards the door, his steps steady but cautious. His hand rested lightly on the rifle propped against the wall as he glanced back at the others. “Stay sharp,” he said quietly. “Could be anything.”

Soap sidled closer to the door, his pistol drawn and ready. “Anything? Or anyone?” he murmured, his humour noticeably absent.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Price pressed his ear to the door, his brow furrowing as he listened. A muffled voice reached him, faint but unmistakable, carrying the weight of familiarity even through the storm. “John! Open the door, or I will freeze out here!”

For a moment, Price froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Then the tension in his shoulders released all at once, and he reached for the latch, yanking the door open against the howling wind.

Nik stood there, his figure outlined by the swirling snow, his coat dusted white and his cheeks red from the cold. His breath came in sharp bursts, visible in the frigid air, but the grin on his face was bright enough to rival the glow of the stove.

“Nikolai!” Price’s voice was low but edged with something that sounded suspiciously like relief. He stepped forward, gripping Nik’s arms to steady him as the wind threatened to shove them both back. “What the bloody hell are you doing out here?”

Nik’s grin softened into something more intimate, his voice warm despite the storm whipping around them. “Could not let you spend Christmas without me, could I?” His gloved hand lingered on Price’s arm, his touch reassuring.

“You’re mad,” Price said, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a rare smile. “This storm could’ve killed you.”

“For you?” Nik shrugged, leaning in closer as his voice dropped to a murmur. “I would walk through worse.”

Price shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he pulled Nik inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The sudden quiet of the safe house felt almost overwhelming after the storm’s chaos, and the others stared at the new arrival with a mix of surprise and relief.

Nik stomped the snow from his boots, shrugging off his coat and shaking out the worst of the frost. His gaze flicked back to Price, his expression softening as he murmured, “Merry Christmas, mishka.”

Price’s answering smile was brief but genuine. “Merry Christmas, love,��� he replied, his voice low enough that it barely carried beyond the two of them. He reached out, brushing a stray bit of snow from Nik’s shoulder before letting his hand drop.

Soap broke the moment, his voice loud and incredulous. “Nik, you daft bastard! What in God’s name are you doing out there in this storm?”

Nik turned, his grin returning in full force as he glanced towards Soap. “Saving you from yourselves, apparently,” he said, his thick accent colouring his words. He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, producing a bottle of vodka with a triumphant flourish. “Emergency rations.”

Gaz snorted, lowering his sidearm as he gave Nik a quick nod. “You’ve got your priorities sorted, then.”

Nik laughed, but his gaze slid past the sergeants towards the closed door leading to the adjoining room. His smile faded slightly, and he turned back to Price, his voice quieter now. “And Simon?”

Price hesitated, his eyes following Nik’s line of sight. “He’s…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s struggling.”

Nik’s eyes softened, understanding flickering across his face. He reached into his bag again, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped parcel. “I brought something for him,” he said quietly, holding it out to Price. “Not much, but... maybe it will help.”

Price took the parcel, weighing it in his hand. “He’ll appreciate it,” he said, though his voice was edged with uncertainty.

Nik clasped a hand on Price’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “He has you. That is enough.”

Price’s fingers tightened briefly around the parcel as he let out a low sigh. His gaze lifted to Nik’s, and for a moment, the tension in his features softened. “You’ve always got an answer, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice carrying a rare, almost teasing note.

Nik’s grin widened, his hand sliding down Price’s arm in a slow, deliberate motion before resting just above his elbow. “Only for you,” he said lightly, though the warmth in his tone betrayed the weight behind his words.

Price shook his head faintly, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile. “You’re mad, coming through that storm.”

“And you love it,” Nik countered, leaning in just enough that his breath warmed the air between them. His gaze held Price’s, steady and unwavering, and for a brief moment, the room seemed smaller, the world outside distant and irrelevant.

The sergeants exchanged a glance, Soap clearing his throat dramatically. “Alright, lovebirds, save it for later.”

Price turned towards him, his expression carefully neutral, but the faintest hint of colour crept up the back of his neck. Nik, on the other hand, laughed easily, his smirk only growing as he released Price’s arm and turned to face the others.

“What do you have in mind for this evening?”

Soap perked up “Gaz, you’re on wrapping duty. Price you’re on food and…Nik, you’re on morale.”

Nik raised an eyebrow, glancing at Price with an amused smirk. “Morale?”

“Don’t look at me,” Price said, his tone dry but softened by the faintest hint of a smile. “He’s the one giving orders now.”

---

The warmth from the stove slowly spread through the room as the storm continued to rage outside. Soap dropped into a cross-legged position on the floor, pulling out scraps of old paper and a small pencil from his kit. His brow furrowed as he carefully began folding and sketching, the sharp movements of his hands betraying his focus.

Gaz raised an eyebrow from where he sat nearby, unspooling a length of thread he’d found in one of the supply crates. “What’s that supposed to be, then?” he asked, nodding towards Soap’s creation.

“Dunno yet,” Soap admitted, though his tone was light. “Just thought... maybe something for Ghost. Don’t know what, but it’s gotta be something, yeah?”

Gaz glanced at the scraps of paper and gave a small, approving nod. “Yeah. He’s not going to say it, but... I reckon he needs it.”

Soap’s hands stilled for a moment, his gaze dropping to the makeshift decorations in front of him. “You think he’ll even keep it? Or just bin it the first chance he gets?”

Gaz leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that we did something. He’ll know it’s from us.”

Soap let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. “You sound like Price.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gaz shot back with a grin, before sobering slightly. “I mean it, though. He might act like nothing gets to him, but you’ve seen the way he’s been. It’s bad.”

Soap nodded, his hands resuming their work. “Aye. The way he froze up earlier...” He trailed off, his expression flickering with guilt. “I didn’t mean to set him off, you know. Just thought a bit of banter might help.”

“Not your fault,” Gaz said firmly. “Price said it himself. He’s carrying a lot, and it’s not on us to fix it. Just to let him know we’re here. even if we don’t know what’s going on”

Soap nodded again, his movements growing more purposeful. The faint scratch of pencil against paper filled the quiet space as he began sketching small patterns across the scraps. His usual precision was softened here, his strokes more hesitant, but Gaz didn’t comment. He simply continued his work, the two of them falling into a companionable silence.

Across the room, Price sat near the stove, his focus half on the fire and half on the small parcel Nik had handed him. The weight of it felt disproportionate to its size, and he turned it over absently in his hands, the edges of the paper smooth beneath his fingers. Nik, perched nearby, sipped from a steaming tin mug, his eyes quietly tracking Price’s movements.

“Still thinking about him?” Nik asked softly.

Price’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t deny it. “Always.”

Nik leaned back, his mug cradled in both hands. “You have done more for him than anyone else ever could. Try not to let yourself forget that, Mishka.”

Price’s gaze lingered on the flames, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough,” he admitted, his voice low. “He’s still... there. Stuck in it.”

“And he is still here, with you,” Nik pointed out. “He would not be if he did not want to be, you and I both know that.”

Price exhaled, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

Nik’s smile was small but steady. “No, not simple. But the truth.”

In the adjoining room, Ghost sat on the edge of the cot, his head bowed and his gloved hands clasped tightly between his knees. The faint crackle of the stove in the other room seeped through the walls, but it did nothing to drown out the silence that clawed at his mind. The storm outside howled, the wind battering the safe house with icy ferocity, but to Ghost, it barely registered. His focus was elsewhere, lost in memories he wished he could burn away.

The scent of iron and gunpowder seemed to cling to him, even now. He could still see it—the crimson streaks splattered across the carpet, the pale hand of his mother lying limp against the arm of the sofa. His nephew’s tiny body crumpled in the corner, his favourite toy still clutched in one hand. The echoes of his what his brother’s voice sounded like, it must’ve been raw and frantic, shouting for help that never came. It was all so vivid, so painfully clear, like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

Ghost inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He had found them like that—his family, executed in cold blood—on what was meant to be a day of warmth and love. He had walked into his childhood home expecting laughter and the smell of roasting turkey. Instead, he’d been met with silence and the metallic tang of death hanging thick in the air.

And then there was the fire.

He’d struck the match himself, his hands steady despite the storm raging inside him. The flames had climbed quickly, consuming everything—his memories, his childhood, the evidence of the life that had been taken from him. He had watched it all burn, the heat licking at his face as he turned his back and walked away, leaving behind the only home he’d ever known.

But he hadn’t left it all behind. The guilt stayed with him, a constant weight he carried. He had faked his death that day, disappearing into the shadows, but no matter how far he ran, the memories followed. His family’s silence, their bloodied faces, the betrayal that had led him to them too late. It never stopped. Not even now, years later, sitting in a safe house surrounded by people who would never understand.

His breathing hitched, his fingers digging into his knees. He could feel the storm pushing against the walls, its howl seeping through the cracks like the echoes of the past he couldn’t escape. The sound of boots scuffing on wood and the distant murmur of voices filtered through the walls, but it wasn’t enough to ground him.

A soft knock at the door cut through the noise.

“Simon?” Price’s voice was low and steady, a quiet anchor against the tempest inside him. “You don’t have to come out, but... we’re here. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ghost stared at the door, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. Price wouldn’t push—he never did. That was part of what made it so much harder. Part of what made the heaviness in Ghost’s chest feel like it might crush him.

The sound of Price’s retreating footsteps left the room in silence once more. Ghost dropped his head into his hands, his gloves creaking softly as he pressed his palms against his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images away, but they lingered, just as they always did.

The storm raged on outside, but faintly, he could hear the sound of the team in the other room—the low murmur of conversation, the occasional soft laugh. It grated at him and comforted him in equal measure, a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Not entirely.

But even now, with the warmth of their voices filtering through the walls, all he could feel was the cold weight of his past pressing down on him.

Chapter 2: Merry Christmas to you

The storm howled outside, a relentless wail that rattled the frosted windows of the safe house. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of burning wood and the faint tang of damp clothes strung up near the stove. The first light of dawn seeped weakly through the cracks, casting long, uneven shadows across the room.

Soap was already awake, moving around the cramped kitchen area with the kind of energy that felt almost sacrilegious at such an early hour. The crackle of the stove and the occasional clang of a pan broke the stillness, his humming just audible over the storm outside. It was cheerful and obnoxious—exactly what one would expect from him.

Price appeared in the doorway, his presence a quiet weight that filled the room. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his hat was pushed back, revealing a tangle of unruly hair. “You planning to burn the place down, Sergeant?” His voice was rough, still thick with sleep.

Soap turned, a wooden spoon in hand, his grin immediate and unapologetic. “Nah, Cap. Just thought we could use a proper breakfast for once. Y’know, something to keep us from freezing our arses off.”

Price’s gaze dropped to the pan Soap was stirring over the stove. The concoction inside was a chaotic mix of eggs, tinned beans, and what looked suspiciously like crisps. His lips twitched, though whether it was a smirk or a grimace was hard to tell. “That meant to be food, or are you experimenting with chemical warfare?”

Soap laughed, unbothered. “Food. Though I reckon it might knock Gaz out if he smells it before it’s ready.”

Price hummed, stepping into the room fully. He glanced towards the back of the safe house, where a door remained firmly shut. “Where’s Gaz?”

“Still sleeping,” Soap replied, his grin dimming slightly. “Ghost too. Or... whatever it is he does when he’s not brooding.”

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed Price’s face before his expression settled back into something more serious. His gaze lingered on the door for a moment longer than necessary. “Let them sleep,” he said finally. “They need it.”

Soap nodded, stirring the pan a bit slower. “Aye. Think it’s gonna be rough for him today, yeah?”

Price didn’t answer right away, his silence heavy. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost reluctant. “Yeah.”

Soap turned around and started muttering to himself, nudging a particularly stubborn clump of eggs across the pan, when the faint creak of floorboards signalled another presence. Nik appeared in the doorway, rubbing a hand across his face but still looking more put together than anyone else in the room. He carried his coat over one arm, the tailored fabric folded neatly despite the storm outside, and his heavy boots made no attempt to soften their steps on the worn wooden floor.

“What the hell is that smell?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement, though his nose wrinkled slightly as he approached the stove.

Soap turned with an exaggerated flourish, brandishing the wooden spoon like a trophy. “Breakfast, mate. A masterpiece, if I do say so myself.”

Nik leaned closer, peering into the pan with a critical eye. “That is not breakfast,” he declared with a shake of his head. “That is a culinary crime.”

Soap narrowed his eyes, jabbing the spoon in Nik’s direction. “Oi, I’ll have you know this is an original recipe.”

“Original, perhaps,” Nik replied, his lips twitching into a smirk. “But edible? I have my doubts.”

Price, who had been leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, let out a low chuckle. “Careful, Johnny. He’s got a point.”

Soap looked between the two of them, his mock offence quickly giving way to a grin. “Bloody brilliant. Both of you, ganging up on me before I’ve had my morning tea.”

Nik shrugged, setting his coat down on the back of a chair. “It is for your own good. You will thank me later.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first,” Soap shot back, though his tone was lighter now, the weight of the earlier conversation slipping away.

Nik rolled up his sleeves with the practised ease of someone who had done this many times before. “Jealous? No. But I will not stand by and let you poison the team. Step aside.”

Soap hesitated for a moment, glancing at Price for support. The captain raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show. “Go on, Sergeant. Let him work.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Soap relinquished the spoon, stepping back to watch as Nik began unpacking supplies from a crate near the stove. The sharp scent of cinnamon filled the air as he pulled out a small jar, followed by a tin of flour and a bottle of honey.

“What’s all this, then?” Soap asked, folding his arms. “That doesn’t look like beans on toast.”

“It is not,” Nik replied without looking up. His hands moved with practised precision, mixing ingredients in a bowl with quick, efficient motions. “This is for Ghost.”

That got Soap’s attention. He tilted his head, watching as Nik shaped dough into small, neat circles. “Ghost? What, you reckon he’s a pancakes man?”

Nik glanced over his shoulder, his expression calm but pointed. “Everyone has a favourite. Even him.”

Soap looked skeptical, but Price spoke before he could argue. “He’s right.”

The faintest hint of something softened in Price’s voice as he moved closer to Nik, his arms dropping to his sides. He lingered near the stove, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed against Nik’s. It was a subtle thing, easy to miss, but Soap caught it, maybe he can convince Ghost and Gaz to give the two some time alone, especially with the way Price’s gaze lingered on Nik’s hands, and the quiet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—it wasn’t just appreciation for breakfast.

“You’re showing off now,” Soap muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Nik didn’t look up, but there was a faint air of satisfaction in the way he flipped the first pancake onto a waiting plate. “Maybe. But only because I can,” He said with a wink.

Price’s chuckle was low, almost private, as he leaned back against the counter. “You’d better hope he likes them.”

“He will,” Nik replied simply, sliding another pancake onto the stack. “Trust me.”

The quiet certainty in his voice was enough to quiet any lingering doubt. Soap fell silent, watching as Nik finished his task with the precision of someone who took pride in even the smallest things. The pancakes were golden and crisp at the edges, their tops glistening with a light drizzle of honey. The smell was warm, sweet, and utterly at odds with the cold storm outside.

Gaz stumbled into the room just as Nik finished the last pancake, his eyes half-closed and his hair sticking up at odd angles. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Breakfast,” Soap said brightly, gesturing to the stove. “Nik’s decided to show us all up.”

Gaz sniffed the air, blinking as the scent registered. “Smells better than usual,” he admitted, dropping into a chair and rubbing his face. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Nik said, sliding the plate onto the table with a quiet sense of finality. “Just something decent to start the day.”

Before anyone could dig in, the door to the back room creaked open. All heads turned as Ghost stepped out, his movements deliberate and quiet. He lingered in the doorway, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the faint light spilling in from the room behind him. His gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing, before finally landing on the table.

Ghost’s boots barely made a sound against the wooden floor as he stepped into the room, but his presence immediately shifted the air. The faint warmth of banter dulled under the weight of his silence. He was still wrapped in his usual layers—balaclava pulled snugly over his face, hood drawn up against the cold that seemed to cling to him even indoors.

“Morning, mate,” Soap greeted, his tone carefully neutral, not quite as bright as it had been with the others. He waved a hand toward the table, where Nik was setting down a fresh plate of golden pancakes. “You’re just in time. Nik’s gone all domestic on us.”

Ghost’s gaze lingered on the plate for a moment, then flicked to Nik. His stance remained guarded, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. “What’s the occasion?” His voice was low, rough at the edges, as if dragged up from somewhere far deeper than his throat.

“No occasion,” Nik replied, his tone calm and measured. He didn’t press, didn’t look too closely, just gestured toward the table. “Thought you could use something warm.”

There was no hesitation in Nik’s movements as he stepped closer, holding out a plate of pancakes with quiet confidence. The smell of honey and cinnamon filled the space between them, soft and inviting.

Ghost hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the gesture. He glanced at Price, who stood nearby with an expression that gave nothing away, his arms loosely crossed as he leaned against the counter. When no one said anything else, Ghost stepped forward and took the plate. His movements were careful, deliberate, as though he wasn’t sure if the food might vanish the second he touched it.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Nik shook his head, his tone matter-of-fact. “No, but I wanted to.”

The room was quiet, the storm outside muffled by the thick walls of the safe house. Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance, but for once, neither of them spoke. It was rare for Ghost to linger this long in the shared space, let alone accept something so openly.

Ghost didn’t retreat to his usual corner. Instead, he moved to the far end of the table and sat down, his posture stiff as he set the plate in front of him. He stared at the food for a long moment, his gloved hands resting on either side of the plate as if bracing himself.

Soap broke the silence first, his tone a little too loud, a little too eager. “Don’t let it get cold, mate. Nik put his soul into those.”

Nik snorted softly, shaking his head. “Ignore him. Just eat.”

Ghost lifted a fork, his movements slow and methodical as he cut into the first pancake. The fork hovered for a moment before he took a bite. The crisp edges gave way to a softness that melted on his tongue, the sweetness of the honey grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. It was warm, nostalgic, and uncomfortably familiar.

He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze fixed on the plate as he worked through the first pancake. It wasn’t until he’d cleared nearly half the stack that he set the fork down, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Thanks,” he said, quieter this time, though the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable.

Nik gave a small nod from his place by the stove, not making a show of it. “Anytime.”

Soap’s grin softened as he leaned against the table, his arms crossed. “See? Told you it was a masterpiece.”

“That’s because you had nothing to do with it, Johnny, I’m sure of it,” Ghost replied, the faintest hint of dry humour slipping into his tone.

The team laughed, a quiet ripple of sound that broke the tension. For a moment, the storm outside faded to nothing more than a faint hum, the warmth of the stove and the quiet camaraderie filling the room instead.

Ghost didn’t linger long after finishing his plate, but when he rose and carried the empty dish back to the counter, he gave Nik a small nod���a gesture that spoke volumes for someone like him. Nik returned it with the same quiet understanding, a moment shared without words.

The warmth of the room lingered even as the storm outside raged on, but the chatter around the table had softened into something quieter. Soap and Gaz had started a half-hearted game of cards, their voices low and easy, though they occasionally glanced toward the window where Ghost had settled again, his posture closed off.

Nik leaned against the counter, a cup of tea cradled in his hands. His gaze flicked between Price and Ghost, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. The two of them exchanged a brief glance—a silent conversation that spoke of understanding without a single word.

Price set his empty mug down on the table, the sound barely louder than the soft crackle of the stove. He straightened, adjusting his jacket as he crossed the room to where Ghost stood by the frost-covered window. The faint glow of the storm outside reflected against the glass, casting pale light across the Lieutenant’s masked face.

“Simon,” Price said softly, his tone low enough not to carry beyond the two of them. “Come with me.”

Ghost turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Price didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady but heavy with meaning. “It’s important,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

There was a beat of hesitation. Ghost’s posture stiffened, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeves. He glanced toward the others, where Soap was muttering about a bad hand and Gaz was laughing under his breath. Neither of them paid much attention to the quiet exchange happening by the window.

Finally, Ghost exhaled through his nose, the sound sharp in the stillness. “Fine.”

He followed Price out of the main room, their boots thudding softly against the wooden floor. The temperature dropped noticeably as they stepped into the adjoining space, the chill seeping through the poorly insulated walls. It was smaller here, quieter, with only the faint sound of the storm and the creak of the house settling around them.

Price moved to the table in the centre of the room, where a single candle sat waiting. Its wick was unlit, the wax slightly worn and uneven. He stood beside it, his hands resting on the back of a chair as he looked at Ghost.

Ghost stopped just inside the doorway, his shoulders drawn up and his stance uneasy. “What’s this?”

Price gestured toward the candle. “Thought we could take a moment,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “For them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. Ghost’s chest tightened, the weight of the day pressing down harder than ever. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, until he stood on the opposite side of the table.

“For them,” Ghost repeated, his voice low, almost hollow. He stared at the candle, his hands twitching at his sides as though unsure of what to do with them. “It’s not... it’s not the same.”

“No,” Price agreed. “It’s not. But it’s something.”

The room felt colder, the silence pressing in from all sides. Ghost stared at the unlit candle, the faint tremble in his hands betraying the calm he tried to project. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, but the words wouldn’t come.

Price moved slowly, striking a match and lighting the candle with careful precision. The small flame flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls around them. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “Just... be here.”

Ghost’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on the flame. It wasn’t the same—could never be the same as visiting the graves. But the thought that Price had done this, had set this up for him without being asked, cut through the tight coil of grief in his chest.

“I should’ve been there,” Ghost muttered, his voice breaking on the last word. “I should’ve done more.”

Price didn’t move closer, didn’t try to comfort him with hollow words. “You did what you could,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “And you’re still here. That counts for something.”

Ghost’s hands tightened into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. The grief was sharp, an ache he hadn’t allowed himself to feel fully in years. He bowed his head, the shadows of the flickering candlelight dancing across his balaclava.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding, broken only by the faint hiss of the storm outside. Ghost’s breathing quickened, shallow and uneven as he kept his gaze fixed on the candle. The small flame flickered, fragile but persistent, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on him.

“I miss them,” Ghost whispered finally, the words barely audible. His voice cracked, rough with emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Every fucking day.”

Price didn’t speak, didn’t move. He let the words hang in the air, giving Ghost the space to let it out. He knew better than to rush him, knew that the silence was sometimes the only thing that could carry what words couldn’t.

Ghost’s hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white beneath the leather of his gloves. “I should’ve been there,” he said again, his voice breaking. “Should’ve done something. I could’ve stopped it—”

“Stop,” Price cut in gently, his voice firm but low. “You can’t do this to yourself.”

Ghost shook his head, his shoulders trembling under the weight of it all. “It’s all I fucking do. Every year, every day—it doesn’t go away.”

“And it won’t,” Price said softly. He stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding. “But carrying it alone isn’t the answer. You’ve got people now, Simon. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Ghost’s breath hitched, the tremor in his hands spreading until his whole body felt unsteady. The mask felt suffocating, the thin fabric pressing too tightly against his skin. He reached up without thinking, his fingers tugging at the edges of it.

The balaclava came off in one sharp motion, his hands trembling as he dropped it onto the table. His face was shadowed in the flickering candlelight, the faint scars and the raw edges of his grief laid bare. He didn’t look at Price, his gaze fixed firmly on the flame, as though it was the only thing tethering him to the room.

“I don’t know how to stop,” Ghost admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to... let it go.”

Price reached out, his hand resting gently on Ghost’s shoulder. The touch was light, unobtrusive, but solid enough to anchor him. “You don’t have to let it go,” he said quietly. “You just have to let yourself feel it. You owe yourself that much.”

Ghost’s head dipped lower, his chin nearly brushing his chest as the tears finally came. They were silent but relentless, streaking down his face in hot, bitter trails. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly it hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

Price didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Ghost’s shoulders and pulling him into a firm, steady embrace. Ghost stiffened at first, his instinct to pull away kicking in, but the warmth of Price’s presence was impossible to resist. Slowly, tentatively, he let himself sink into it, his head dropping against Price’s shoulder as the tears kept coming.

“I should’ve done more,” Ghost choked out again, his voice muffled against Price’s jacket. “I should’ve—”

“You did enough,” Price said firmly, his hand resting on the back of Ghost’s neck. “You’ve done more than anyone ever could. And they’d be proud of you, Simon. I know they would.”

Ghost’s grip on Price’s jacket tightened, his breathing uneven as he tried to pull himself back together. The weight of years of guilt and grief bore down on him, but for the first time, it felt like he wasn’t carrying it alone.

They stayed like that for a long moment, the faint crackle of the candle the only sound in the room. When Ghost finally pulled back, his face was raw with emotion, his cheeks still damp with tears. He didn’t look at Price, swiping a gloved hand roughly across his face.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but sincere.

Price gave him a small nod, his expression soft. “Always.”

Ghost’s gaze drifted back to the candle, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table before coming to rest near the flame. The warmth of it seeped into his palm, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“They’d have liked this,” Ghost said quietly, his voice steadying slightly.

“They’d be glad you’re still here too,” Price replied, his tone low but certain. “That’s what matters.”

Ghost’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the flickering light. For a moment, the weight on his shoulders seemed to ease, just enough for him to breathe.

The candle flickered faintly as Ghost leant forward and gently blew on it, letting the smoke curl up into the air. Ghost turned to Price and they stepped back into the main room, their footsteps barely audible over the low hum of voices. The warmth from the stove was a sharp contrast to the cold, still air they’d left behind, and the faint scent of cinnamon and honey lingered like a comforting embrace.

Soap glanced up first, his eyes flicking between Ghost and Price before his grin widened. “There you are. Thought you’d gone and disappeared into the storm.”

Price gave him a look, one brow raised in mild exasperation. “Something like that,” he said, his tone carrying a subtle edge that warned Soap not to push. Soap raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t falter. 

Ghost stayed quiet, his mask tucked loosely into one gloved hand as he lingered near the edge of the room. His face was still flushed, the faint lines of emotion lingering around his eyes. He glanced at Soap briefly before his gaze dropped, his shoulders stiff as though he was bracing for a question that never came.

Gaz looked up from the table where he was reshuffling a deck of cards, his movements slowing as he took in Ghost’s expression. “Everything alright, LT?”

Ghost nodded once, his shoulders loosening. “Fine.”

The room fell into a comfortable, subdued silence. Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance but didn’t press further, the unspoken agreement between them clear. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t their place to pry.

Nik approached Ghost quietly, his steps measured as he offered a cup of tea. “For you,” he said simply, his voice low enough not to draw attention. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, and without judgment.

Ghost hesitated for a moment before taking the cup, the warmth of the porcelain seeping into his gloves. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice rough but genuine.

Nik nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Anytime.” He said, echoing his words from earlier.

The brief exchange passed unnoticed by the others, but it left something unspoken between them—a quiet understanding, a thread of trust that hadn’t been there before.

The stove’s warmth and the low hum of banter had settled into the room by the time Ghost returned to his seat. He lingered near the edge of the table, the steaming cup of tea from Nik cradled between his gloved hands. The faint aroma of honey and black tea curled into the air, grounding him as the others moved around the room.

“Alright, lads!” Soap clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and cheerful enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Gather ’round the tree. Time to see who’s been nice and who’s been naughty this year.”

Ghost’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing as he followed Soap’s gaze. Near the corner of the room, a small, potted plant sat perched on an upturned crate, its thin branches barely supporting the scraps of tinsel and paper stars draped across them. A strand of fairy lights blinked faintly, the bulbs unevenly spaced but glowing warmly despite the storm outside.

“That’s what you’re calling a tree?” Ghost muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

“Best we could do on short notice,” Gaz said with a shrug, already crouching near the crate. He gestured toward the mismatched pile of wrapped parcels tucked beneath the plant. “And it’s got presents, so it counts.”

Soap knelt beside him, his grin wide as he began sifting through the packages. “Right, let’s get started. Cap, this one’s yours.”

He passed a carefully wrapped parcel to Price, who opened it with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Inside was a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with faint, intricate designs. Price ran his fingers over the edges, his lips twitching into a rare smile.

“Good work,” Price said, nodding toward Gaz and Soap. “Might actually use this.”

“You’d better,” Soap said with mock sternness. “Took us bloody ages to find something you’d like.”

The exchange continued, each gift drawing laughter and soft words of appreciation. Soap’s exuberance filled the room as he opened his own parcel—a set of sketching pencils with a small, leather pouch—and immediately declared it “the best present ever.” Gaz unwrapped a finely stitched pair of gloves, his grin softening as he flexed his fingers in the sturdy material.

Ghost stayed quiet, his tea growing cold in his hands as he watched the others. The way they passed gifts back and forth, the easy warmth of their banter—it felt distant, like watching something through frosted glass. He hadn’t expected anything, hadn’t thought it was possible to be included in something like this. But when Soap reached for a package wrapped in paper adorned with tiny skulls and held it up, he froze.

“And this one,” Soap announced, his grin bright, “is for Ghost.”

All eyes turned to him. For a moment, Ghost didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the parcel in Soap’s hands. It was small but neatly wrapped, the paper clearly hand-decorated with painstaking care. Tiny skulls and symbols had been sketched along the edges in careful detail, some slightly smudged but all unmistakably Soap’s handiwork.

“Come on, mate,” Gaz said, his tone softer now. “It’s not going to bite.”

Ghost stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he approached the makeshift tree. He reached out, his gloved fingers brushing over the edges of the paper as he took the parcel. For a moment, he just held it, his chest tight with something he couldn’t quite name.

“You gonna open it, or just stare at it?” Soap teased, though there was no edge to his voice.

Ghost sat back at the table, carefully untying the string that held the wrapping together. He worked with precise, deliberate motions, taking care not to tear the paper. When he finally peeled it back, his breath caught.

The wooden frame was smooth and solid, its edges carved with tiny symbols. A skull in one corner, a soap bar in another, a boonie hat, a cap, and what looked like a helicopter etched along the surface of the wood—the work was rough but meticulous, each detail imbued with care. Inside the frame was a sketch of the team, their expressions captured with remarkable accuracy. Soap’s grin, Gaz’s smirk, Price’s calm, steady presence, and Nik’s quiet confidence—all of it centred around Ghost himself, his mask drawn with sharp, careful lines.

Ghost stared at it, his thumb brushing over the carvings. “You made this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Gaz did the frame,” Soap said, his grin softening. “I did the drawing. Thought you might like something to remind you of us. Y’know, in case you ever decide to ditch us for some better company.”

The faintest huff of amusement slipped from Ghost, though he didn’t look up. His fingers traced the edges of the frame again, the weight of it grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Thank you,” he said finally, the word rough but sincere.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance, their grins widening, but they didn’t push him for more. Instead, they moved on, pulling another parcel from beneath the tree.

Ghost sat back, his grip on the frame tightening slightly as he watched them. It took him a moment to realise the room had quieted again, all eyes turning toward him as Price tilted his head slightly.

“Something you want to add, Simon?” Price asked, his voice light but knowing.

Ghost stiffened, his hand tightening on the edge of the table. Slowly, reluctantly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bag, the fabric worn but clean. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low. “Figured I owed you lot something.”

Ghost placed the bag on the table, his movements deliberate but hesitant. His shoulders stiffened under the weight of the team’s attention, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he focused on the bag, untying the knot with careful fingers before reaching inside.

“I, uh...” Ghost cleared his throat, his voice low and slightly hoarse. “Didn’t think I’d be... here for this. But I had these ready. Was gonna mail them to you.”

He pulled out the first item—a carefully folded piece of fabric—and handed it to Soap. Soap unfolded it quickly, his eyes widening as the dark material revealed itself to be a patch, custom-embroidered with a small, detailed skull set against crossed paintbrushes.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Soap said, turning the patch over in his hands. “This is brilliant. You had this made?”

Ghost nodded, his gaze still fixed on the table. “Figured it’d suit you. Something for your kit.”

Soap’s grin softened, his fingers tracing the stitching. “You’re a bloody genius, Ghost. Cheers.”

Next, Ghost reached into the bag again, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook and setting it in front of Gaz. The cover was simple, but the first page had been carefully filled with neat handwriting: To keep track of all the things you’re too stubborn to write down.

Gaz let out a low whistle, his fingers brushing over the cover. “Didn’t think you paid that much attention, Lt” he said, though his grin was warm. “This is great. Thanks.”

Ghost didn’t respond, just gave a faint shrug as he pulled out the next item. It was smaller, more personal—a slim case for cigars, its surface dark and polished. He handed it to Price without a word, his gaze flicking up briefly to catch the captain’s reaction.

Price’s lips twitched into a faint smile as he turned the case over in his hands. The leather was smooth, the edges stitched with precision, and the faint engraving of a compass rose on the lid gave it a touch of elegance. As he turned it slightly, another engraving caught his eye, etched just beneath the compass:

For always leading me home.

Price stilled, his thumb brushing over the words. The quiet weight of the sentiment settled deep in his chest, something unspoken passing across his face. He let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening slightly around the case.

“Simon,” he said softly, his voice steady but low enough to hold meaning. His lips curved into the faintest smile, the kind Ghost had seen only a handful of times. “I’ll take good care of it. Thank you.”

Ghost didn’t look up, his attention fixed on the edge of the table. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed how much the gesture meant to him.

Price said nothing more, slipping the case carefully into his pocket as though it were something fragile. The faint twitch of his lips lingered, but his gaze didn’t waver from Ghost for a moment longer, the weight of their shared trust unspoken but understood.

Ghost’s hand lingered on the bag for a moment before he pulled out the final item. It was small and roughly made—a wooden carving of a wrench intertwined with a rotor blade. He hesitated before holding it out to Nik, his grip tightening slightly as though he might change his mind.

“This one’s... last minute,” Ghost muttered, his voice almost too low to hear. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Nik took the carving carefully, his fingers brushing over the uneven surface. The details were rough, but the effort was undeniable—a simple, thoughtful gesture that clearly meant more than Ghost was willing to admit.

Nik smiled, his expression softening as he turned the carving over in his hands. “You made this? For me?” he asked, his tone full of quiet admiration.

Ghost nodded once, his shoulders stiff. “Yeah. It’s nothing fancy, sorry it’s a little rus-”

“It is perfect,” he said simply, cutting Ghost off, his voice carrying a sincerity that left no room for doubt.

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of the gesture settling over them all. Ghost sat back slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he avoided their gazes. The faint flush of embarrassment was barely visible under the faint shadows of the room, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

Soap was the first to break the silence, his grin wide and teasing but filled with warmth. “Right, well, now you’ve made the rest of us look bad.”

The room filled with quiet laughter, the tension easing as the team shifted back into their easy rhythm. Ghost stayed quiet, his gaze dropping to his hands, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Nik leaned closer, his voice pitched low enough that only Ghost could hear. “You have a good heart, kostochka.”

Ghost froze, the nickname pulling him back to a memory he hadn’t thought about in years. The last time Nik had called him that, he’d bristled at the word, sharp and defensive. He’d thought it was infantilising, a jab at something he couldn’t quite name. He’d snapped at Nik, told him to knock it off, and the name had disappeared after that.

But now... now it felt different. The way Nik said it didn’t sound mocking or patronising anymore—it was warm, soft in a way that caught Ghost off guard. It settled in his chest, strange and unexpectedly comforting.

“You haven’t called me that in a long time,” Ghost muttered, his voice quieter than he’d intended.

Nik smiled faintly, his gaze steady. “Thought you might be ready to hear it again.”

Ghost huffed, the sound low and almost bashful. He glanced away, a faint heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Still sounds ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Nik said, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it suits you.”

Ghost didn’t reply, his fingers brushing over the edge of the frame in his lap. The nickname lingered, filling a space in his chest he hadn’t realised was empty.

The storm outside had softened into a low, steady murmur, the howling winds reduced to whispers that brushed against the frost-covered windows. Inside, the safe house felt warmer than it had all day, the stove’s soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room.

Soap and Gaz had moved to the floor near the table, a deck of cards spread between them as they traded quiet jabs over their game. Their laughter was light, unguarded, the kind that filled the space without demanding anything in return. Price leaned back in his chair, his cigar case resting on the table in front of him, his gaze distant but content.

Ghost sat between Price and Nik, the frame he’d been given still resting in his lap. His gloved fingers traced the edge of the wood, running over the tiny carvings with slow, deliberate movements. Every so often, his gaze dropped to the sketch inside, his eyes lingering on the details—the lines that made up Soap’s grin, the precise angles of Gaz’s cap, the calm strength in Price’s expression, and the confident hand Nik had around Price’s waist.

The weight that usually pressed on his chest felt lighter here, surrounded by the quiet hum of his team. For years, Ghost had thought of himself as a shadow, something separate and apart from the people he worked with. But now, sitting here with them, the thought felt... wrong. The frame in his hands, the tea still warm in his chest, the lingering warmth of Nik’s quiet words—they all reminded him of something he hadn’t dared to acknowledge in years.

Family.

He didn’t say it out loud. Couldn’t. But the thought lingered, settling in his chest like an ember that refused to go out.

“You alright there, LT?” Soap’s voice cut through the quiet, his tone light but full of genuine curiosity.

Ghost glanced up, his fingers stilling on the edge of the frame. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice quieter than usual. “Just... thinking.”

Soap didn’t press, though his grin softened into something almost knowing. “Good. Don’t think too hard, though. We need you sharp, this one cheats.”

Ghost huffed a quiet laugh, the sound barely audible but enough to draw Gaz’s attention. The sergeant glanced over, his smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“You’ll have to fend for yourself I’m afraid,” Ghost muttered, though the faint warmth in his voice gave him away.

Nik shifted beside him, drawing his attention and pulling out a small tin from the bag he’d kept near the bunks. “Ah. Almost forgot,” he murmured, holding it out to Ghost. “For you.”

Ghost frowned slightly but took the tin, his fingers curling around the cool metal. He popped the lid open, and the faint scent of honey and butter hit him immediately. His breath caught.

Inside were biscuits, their edges golden and crisp, just like the ones his mum used to make every Christmas. The memory hit him like a wave—his mum humming softly as she shaped the dough, the faint warmth of the oven filling their tiny kitchen, the laughter of his nephew somewhere in the background. It was a memory Ghost hadn’t allowed himself to visit in years, and now it sat in his hands, tangible and real.

“How did you...” Ghost began, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, his grip tightening on the tin. “How’d you know?”

Nik shrugged, his expression soft. “You mentioned them once. I thought they might mean something.”

Ghost swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stared at the biscuits. He didn’t know what to say, the words sticking somewhere deep in his chest. Instead, he looked up, his gaze meeting Nik’s for a long, quiet moment.

“Thank you,” Ghost said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t enough—not nearly—but it was all he could manage.

Nik nodded, his smile warm but understated. “Anytime,” he said, the familiar word carrying the quiet certainty that it always did. Ghost had heard it before, countless times, but something about the way Nik said it—steady, unchanging—made the weight in his chest ease just a little more.

For a moment, Ghost hesitated, his hands tightening around the tin. Then, slowly, almost awkwardly, he leaned slightly against Nik, his shoulder brushing against the other man’s. The touch was hesitant, the weight of it fleeting, but he didn’t move away.

Nik didn’t react immediately, letting the moment stretch in quiet understanding. Then, with the same quiet grace, he leaned back into Ghost just enough to make the gesture feel intentional—balanced.

They sat like that for a while, the warmth between them quiet but steady, the biscuits still cradled carefully in Ghost’s lap.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the stove and the faint laughter of Soap and Gaz filling the air. Ghost shifted in his chair, placing the tin of biscuits to rest on the table in front of him but keeping the frame cradled carefully in his lap. The carved wood was smooth under his gloves, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He glanced to his right, where Price sat close, solid and steady as always. On his other side, Nik leaned slightly back, his posture easy but his presence just as calm, just as constant. The space between them felt warm and safe, like a barrier against the cold chaos that so often consumed his world.

Ghost took a slow breath, letting it settle in his chest before he moved. Carefully, he leaned toward Price, his shoulder pressing against the captain’s arm. But instead of stopping there, he shifted further, resting his head lightly against Price’s chest. His forehead brushed against the rough fabric of Price’s jacket, the contact steady and intentional. The motion wasn’t hesitant—it was a quiet, deliberate moment of trust, rare but unflinching.

Price’s arm moved instinctively, wrapping loosely around Ghost’s back. His hand rested lightly against Ghost’s shoulder, the weight of it both protective and grounding. His head tilted slightly, chin just brushing Ghost’s hair.

“Get some rest, Simon,” Price murmured, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got you.”

Ghost exhaled softly, the tension in his frame melting as he let himself relax fully against Price. His eyes drifted closed, the quiet weight of safety settling over him like a blanket. On his other side, Nik’s hand brushed briefly against Ghost’s forearm—a fleeting but deliberate gesture of reassurance. Between the two of them, Ghost felt completely shielded, an unfamiliar but welcome feeling.

The storm outside raged on, relentless and cold, but inside, there was peace. For the first time in years, Simon Riley let himself sink into it. Surrounded by the quiet strength of his team and the warmth of an unexpected family, he drifted into sleep—deep, steady, and untroubled in a way he hadn’t known in far too long.

[theartgremlin]

Here’s the pictures of the soppy bebe, if anyone wants to see :3

[whiskeybear26]

got a new pencil

[vampirebee123]

GAZ GAZZ GAZZY

[spencers-abit-weebish]

Up For The Challenge

XxX

Warnings: Slight Sexism, Slight Homo/Transphobia (if you squint), Typical Cod Violence, Sevearly Violent Language

The One Where: Kate Laswell introduced Task Force 141 to her favorite team.

Pairing: 141 x 333

A/n: The two 141 oc/readers I made for this are Tangled and Bang, I personally like how they are so far but don’t hesitate to give me your input. Also let me know if there’s any spelling or grammar errors cause I hate having those

W/c: idk, I might’ve gotten carried away

xXx

"I think it's time to call in the big guns" Laswell said over the comms.

"Big guns, what bloody big guns we have to get out of here" Price said as he and Ghost tended to a wounded soldier.

"I'm sending Medical Evac, when you guys get back Price I want to meet with you, I'm teaming the 141 up with another task force, smaller than you guys but stronger" Laswell said causing Ghost and Price to look at eachother.

"Watcher-1 out"

xxx

"How do you feel?" Price asked as he watched Gaz get his waist bandaged up.

"Like shit," Gaz said

"You took a hell of a fall, had no choice but to leg it" Price said.

"Give us a scare like that again and I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug" Soap chuckles causing the other men to look at him confused.

"English MacTavish" Ghost groans rolling his eyes as he struggles to hold down a soldier who was refusing to get treatment.

"Apologies Lt, I'll smack him upside the head. Is that better?" Soap asked sarcastically before looking over at him and laughing.

"Hey Tangled, how you doing over there?" Gaz chuckles after following Soap and Price's gaze to the bed behind him.

"Just peachy Gaz" Tangled said as she tries to bite Ghost.

"You lot stay here, I have to go meet up with Laswell" Price said looking down on his phone.

"Like hell yer going alone. I wanna know who the hell she was talking about earlier" Soap argues.

"Me too" Gaz said slowly getting off the bed.

"Stop moving you bloke, you have bruised ribs" Tangled scolds.

"Yeah and you need stitches!" Gaz retaliates.

"Too late, I glued her head, she'll be fine" The nurse groans as Tangled growls at her. Ghost pinches her as the nurse slaps a bandaid over the cut. Tangled huffs as she gets off the bed helping Gaz get up.

"You're like a dog" Gaz chuckles tossing an arm over her shoulder for support.

"Oh bug off, let's go see Laswell" Tangled said.

“Bang how’s it going over there?” Price asked.

“Go ahead without me, I’ll still be a while” Bang says from across the room as the nurse tending to them is still tending to their many, many bruises.

Price sighs heavily but agrees. After checking in on the rest of 141, he takes the four stubborn soldiers to his office where Laswell was already waiting.

"Price, and why am I not surprised; Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Tangled" She greeted the other four soldiers who nodded at her in agreement.

"C'mon Laswell don't beat around the bush" Price requested.

“Task force 333, they tend to stay under the radar, don’t really have much of a base command like you guys. But they’re a hell of a team, my proudest I’d say” Laswell starts.

“I thought we were your favorites” Tangles teases but the look Laswell gives her makes her pout.

“You are, but let’s just say they have a leg up against you guys. They’re a small team but I’ve seen them do some amazing things. There’s no doubt in my mind that whatever team you have left and theirs combined, you two will be an unstoppable force” Laswell said.

“If your that confident then I am too, bring ‘em in and we’ll talk strategy” Price says

"Okay, call what's left of your team thats not on medical leave, need to inform everyone as soon as possible” She instructed

xxx

The entirety of Task force 141 sat around the briefing room. At least those of those who we're good enough to leave the infirmary.

"Next week you guys will be going back out there" Laswell informs. A lot of the men protest with valid arguments.

"Half our team is in the infirmary for at least the next week"

"We got our asses handed to us last time"

"If we go back out there with less men than before we'll be sure as dea-"

Ghost slams his fist down on the table causing everyone to jump and shut up.

"I hope you have a plan here Laswell" Price sighs heavily as he looks around at his men that weren't in the medical wing on the building.

"There's another team I can pair you guys up with, they're smaller than you for sure, it's only 8 soldier's but the 8 of them, plus the 9 of you and the other 4 that should come back before the mission. That should be enough men to get us our target" Laswell explained.

"How do we even know they're still going to be there?" Scarecrow asked.

"They're not, but we're tracking their every move thanks to Gaz not only putting locators on their vehicles, and Tangled somehow on their helmets of a few of their men" Laswell said gesturing to the soldiers with a bandaged ribcage and a glued forehead.

"Is Cap'n still leading this mission?" Roach asked his hand rubbing circles on his aching shoulder. Laswell looked over at Price who shrugged.

"If we're bringing another task force into this then I rather work with the other Captain than take the reigns" He said.

"I'll get them down here as soon as possible, everyone take the rest of today and tomorrow off, but I expect to see you all down at the training field 0600 sharp on Friday" Laswell said. Everyone left with the exception of Ghost and Price.

"Who exactly is this 'other taskforce' that you're calling Kate?" Price asked.

"Don't worry about it Price, they'll see you Friday, 0600 sharp. I'll make sure of it" Kate smiles grabbing her phone. Ghost notices the pep in her step as she dials a certain number.

xxx

"Hey! Packup, we're going to the 141 Command base" Missus Laswell barks.

"Already packed Captain" Bug smiles innocently as she plays a game of solitaire at the coffee table.

"Bug if I go into your room and find all your clothes piled in a corner I'll take away your driving privileges" Missus says causing the Sergeant to scramble up from his seat and head to their room.

"Pain! Panic! Come in we gotta pack up!" Hades yelled out the back door at the set of twins that were playing basketball in the backyard. Pain threw the basketball at Panic causing them to groan in pain when it hit their chest. Pain chuckled nervously before bolting indoors and upstairs getting chased by her twin.

"You all packed Hades?" Missus asked.

"I never unpacked, we never stay at Otto's for more than two weeks" Hades shrugged.

"They're not wrong" Otto said walking into the kitchen opening the fridge.

"We're still very appreciative Otto that you and your wife opened your home to us" Missus reminds her.

"Home? More like Castle, we've been here over a dozen times and I still get lost on my way from the bathroom" Tick said a towel wrapped around her neck as she caught the bottle Otto tossed her.

"The house is fully equipped with a smart home system Tick, just ask Alexa for directions" Otto teased.

"Pack up guys, we're leaving for 141's base in a few hours" Missus said. The rest of the team saluted as they all left leaving their Captain with their lieutenant.

"Have you seen Athena?" Missus asked.

"I got this, Bug!" Hades called out. They heard a bedroom door open and close Bug calling out to their Lieutenant.

"Yeah Hades- ow!" Bug could be heard tripping over her own two feet.

"I got the first aid kit" Athena sighs loudly coming out of the office.

"Athena, go fix Bug then pack up, we're leaving" Missus orders causing the Lieutenant to nod her head before heading upstairs.

xxx

"How's your head Tangled?" Soap asked.

"Ask again and I crack yours open like an egg" Tangled growled.

"Bang wake up before you crack your head open" Price said gently.

"I got 'em Cap" Gaz said pulling an energy drink out of his bag. he cracked it open causing Bang's head to shoot up like a predator before looking over at the dark skinned man who chuckled offering them the drink.

"Hey Cap, where the hell is this team, didn't Laswell say 0600 sharp?" Toad asked from where he sparred with his sniper counter-part.

"I did Toad, and last time I checked it's, 0558" Laswell said walking up to the team of 10 soldiers. Bang had been cleared out of infirmary not too long after the meeting with Laswell but there were still some more guys who have confirmed they'll be good for the mission on Wednesday.

Before anyone else could say anything they watched as a helicopter that was in the distance came over flying above them. 4 ropes dropped from the helicopter, two on each side, and two people dropped from each rope.

"Thanks Dixon!" Bug cheerfully waves off the pilot who salutes them before flying off.

"0559, cutting it a bit close there aren't you honey?" Laswell smirks at the soldier standing front and center of the team. The 141 look at eachother confused as they watched the soldier take off their helmet and mask.

"Sorry love, Bug made us stop for döner on the way here" Missus said pressing a light kiss to Laswell's temple before the group looked back at Bug who was unwrapping his döner.

"Hey I got one for everyone, there's at least 19 left in this bag" Bug said taking off her mask and putting their goggles on top her helmet before taking a bite from his döner.

"I'll take one" Tangled shrugged. Bug smiles setting the lunch bag down and tossing one to the girl with the bandaid on her forehead.

"Wha' in the bloody queen's name is going on 'ere" Bang asked.

"Men, I want you all to meet Task Force 333, also known as Task Force W.I.T.C.H." Laswell said her hand on Missus's back while the taller woman had her arm around Kate's waist.

"Yer all a bunch of girls?" Archer asked.

"Not exactly, Panic and Hades are nonbinary, and Bug is genderfluid" Missus said.

"What does W.I.T.C.H stand for then" Toad asked.

"Woman in total control of herself" Athena answered.

"So yer all a bunch of girls" Archer repeats himself.

"Shut the fuck up Archer, incase you forgot Bang's nonbinary, and I'm a woman, we won't hesitate to remove your eyeballs and replace them with your testicals" Tangled shouted. Gaz shushed her gently wrapping his arms around his waist pulling her away from the sniper.

"Like I said, this is Task Force 333, you will treat them with the utmost respect because this team, has done double what you all have done, and don't underestimate them, cause as individual's, they can make your life flash before your eyes, now pair up, there's 10 of you and 8 of them, Witches choose your opponents, we have five days to get ready for this" Kate orders.

Missus smirks as she walks up to Price patting him on the back.

“Price”

“Laswell”

The two captains interacting caused the rest of 333 to suck it up and grab a partner. Hades immediately went to Tangled feeling more comfortable in the presence of a woman while Bug went to Bang. Athena partnered up with Gaz and Panic went over to Ghost. Pain smirks as she walks over to Archer Otto right behind her as she chooses Toad. Tick shrugs as she walks over to Soap leaving Scarecrow and Ozone to pair up with each other.

“Do y’all have any techniques you can teach us?” Scarecrow asked.

“Let’s do 30 minutes of sparing and we’ll switch partners and we can go from there” Price says. Missus whispers in his ear causing him to nod. “Hades, Bang, come over real quick”

The two captains discuss with 333’s Lieutenant and 141’s Staff Sergeant quickly before dismissing them.

“Begin” Kate says.

xxx

Task Force 333 smirk victoriously over half the men they had taken down and were groaning on the floor.

“That’ll teach you to mess with women” Pain says standing over Archer’s body.

"Pain honey, they're not the enemy please don't kill them" Athena says.

"He's not dead, just in pain" Pain sighs dramatically.

"We need him at his best on Wednesday kiddo, trust me I'm not happy about it either" Hades said an arm tossed over Tangled's shoulder. It's easy to assume the two of them became quick friends.

"He'll be fine, Archer and Toad are melodramatic due to being our snipers" Bang said.

"That's their only job?" Panic asked from their position next to Ghost. The two almost stood at the same height and both soldiers fairly out of breath from having the same hand to hand combat techniques.

"Well they're good at other stuff but yeah, for the most part they're our official snipers" Price says. Missus hums to herself sharing a look with the rest of her team.

"Switch" She announces. Bang and Hades immediately pair up together, Ghost this time walks over to Archer picking him off the ground, Missus picks up Toad.

"You okay there buddy?" Tangled asked as she helps Gaz off the ground.

"Might've hurt him too badly, should've told me about your ribs honey" Athena says in a motherly fashion.

"It's fine, I'll live" Gaz grunts as he gets off the ground.

"I'll take Athena, Bug looks like they're open" Tangled said gesturing to the energetic sergeant who was beaming with Tick who just patted her head.

"Bug, you're with me!" Gaz calls out. Bug smiles putting her goggles back on bouncing over to the bruised man. "Go easy on me kid" Gaz chuckles. Tangled smiles as she steps to the side with Athena.

"Pain, I got you" Soap says walking up to the woman almost his height.

"Only if you're sure" Pain shrugs. Panic chuckles patting her back as they pair up with Ozone leaving Otto with Price and Tick with Scarecrow.

xxx

"I expect you all ready by Wednesday, Witches, please behave, and someone get Bug another snack before she combusts" Laswell says before leaving.

"Hey Bug, still got those döner?" Gaz asked from the ground.

"Yeah, I haven't taken any more since I wanted you guys to get some first" Bug beams as they grab the lunch bag. They hand out the döners to the 141, who most were lying on the floor with the exception of Ghost, Tangled, and Price. Bang sat on the floor leaning against Price's leg. The rest of 333 took the last of the döner leaving one left in the bag.

"You can have the last one Bug, we know you love the food of your people" Missus says.

"Are you sure" Bug asked taking the goggles off his face. The rest of her team nodded making her beam as she took the last döner.

"I'll admit, we definitely underestimated you guys, then again I shouldn't be surprised Laswell, any team led by you is bound to be great" Price compliments.

"Don’t look at me, my team does everything themselves. I'm pretty sure half of us would be dead if it wasn't for Athena and Hades" Missus compliments causing the two Lieutenants to blush heavily.

"Well I mean Otto's the one with the PHD, we'd definitely be dead if it wasn't for her" Athena says.

"Okay but the amount of times Bug has saved us from snipers," Otto states.

"Don't look at me, Tick is the reason I'm alive today" Bug shakes her head from their seat on the floor next to Bang in front of Tangled.

"Okay but Pain and Panic are the youngest on the team and have saved our asses more than once" Tick says.

"We're only as good as our mentor" The twins say in unison causing all eyes to land on Hades.

"Shut the fuck up, all of you and eat your food" Hades hides their red face by pulling their mask back over it.

The 141 chuckles at 333's atics realizing none of the members could take a compliment.

Most of the day was spent with the two tasks forces training for an hour then taking a half hour break, a rule made by Missus which the 141 boys were grateful for due to Ghost and Price usually being ruthless with their training. Hades constantly jumped back and forth from having either Tangled or Bang as their opponent due to none of the Witches going up against each other for the chance of everyone getting a chance to train against someone they hadn't met before that day.

When lunch rolled around the two teams headed to the mess hall together in a fit of laughter and loud talking.

"You know, I really wouldn't mind working with them more often, they're really amazing" Gaz says as he watches Tangled laugh as Hades puts her in a choke hold ruffling her hair.

"How many of them you think are dykes?" Archer asks earning him a slap from Ghost.

"Just me and Missus man, both of us are taken anyways" Otto calls out over her shoulder as she and Laswell both hold up their wedding bands.

"They're a tough team that's for sure, Laswell, you think you guys could stay a little while longer, after the mission?" Price asks as the two teams stand outside the mess hall doors.

"For what reason Price, I gotta say my team's very busy" Missus says.

"Training, I know a few of my men are challenging for your team, and you witches are tough as hell, exhibit A;" Price pokes Archer’s rib cage causing the man to hiss in pain from the damage the 333 had inflicted on him. "I think we could help each other improve" Price suggests.

“Hades? This is your call kiddo” Laswell asked. Hades tilted their head side to side looking over the team of mainly men. Their eyes slightly connected with Soaps before quickly looking at Tangled.

"You think your men are up for the challenge?" Hades asked.

"We are" Tangled smirks leaning against Gaz.

"Sure wouldn't mind kicking their arses again" The twins smirk.

"What about it Price, wanna get your arse handed to you again by Athena" Bang teased from their Captain's side.

"Boys?" Price asked looking at his team who all shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah, we're up for that challenge then... Captain Laswell" Price steps up to the Captain that was just his height.

"So then be it Captain Price" Laswell smirks.

There stood the infamous 141 across from the fierce 333 in front. Unlikely pairs ready to form.

xxx

A/n: Let me know your input guys i always appreciate constructive criticism. So my plan was for Otto to be the only one in the group to not be paired with a MW2 character just to get some platonic fix’s with the teams cause those are always fun, and obviously I’m gonna make a task force 141 master list like the 333’s so I can give Tangled and Bang their own masterlists

Taglist: @fluffysmiko @abbiesxox @agspgrwasb

[djarincore]

your rogue ex bf!gaz tries to climb up to your window and rolls a nat 1, falling two stories onto his ass. maybe it was a little endearing...

[toshidou]

This is surprisingly not horny but i got a question,

Do you think any of the COD men have stretch marks? I personally think König and Ghost definitely have at least a few because they’re massive, but do you think anyone else does? And how do you think they feel about them?

I kinda think they wouldn’t mind them. It would be real cute if reader also has them and then they’re kinda happy that they match

this made me so soft and squishy you have no idea 🥹

i for sure think ghost has stretch marks on his thighs, signs of a man who grew quickly, only bolstered by the muscle growth from training. as for his opinion of them? he couldn't care less. there are far uglier scars on his body he's had to come to terms with, stretched skin is the least of his worries.

price has stretch marks on his tummy. although he used to have a defined abdomen back in the day, he's grown softer around the edges, and with that comes pretty lines of pink that mark his torso. price isn't one for insecurities, but sometimes he does find himself staring at his shirtless self in the mirror, a low huff accompanied with a subtle shake of his head as he mutters about the physique he used to have. but those moments never last long, after all appearances have never been at the top of his priority list.

soap has some around his biceps, he calls them his "tiger stripes" and he loves them so much, they're a sign of the hard work he put into building them up to what they are now. he'll have no qualms flexing his biceps and wiggling his eyebrows, showing off faded pink lines that stripe across bulging muscle. but the stretch marks he has on his ass? he may not be insecure about them, but the way you tease him for having such a rotund rear leaves him pink in the cheeks every time.

gaz has some on his hips and back. he's had them since adolescence, and they're not really something he's paid attention to until he catches your fingers tracing over them every chance you get. he finds it nothing short of adorably endearing, especially when he notices how instinctive the touch is to you, a mindless motion that coaxes your fingers to brush over scarred skin whenever you're both tangled together in bed.

[alexgalaxyboo]

So Alex in the pirate au right? I actually have no idea what his rank is but based on everyone going "haha I thought he was just a younger Price when I first joined" I'm dubbing him the first mate :'D

He's a siren. He wears his little funky scarf thing to hide the gills.

[sidereus-stars]

GAZ!!!!!

Very safe. unless I'm on his bad side but I don't exactly see why I would be

Tags: @gorefreaklintjrwi @justyouraverageleafykinnie @conivolos @whaaaaaaaalllle6 + open! /nf

You’re stuck in a room with the last character in your gallery. How safe are you?

Thanks for tagging me @artsy-girl-76 @schnarfer @oonajaeadira @jeewrites (I’m so sorry if I missed anyone!)

Does this guy count?

YOU GUYS. It told me the gif was “too big”…. I’m not safe AT ALL 😅

Tagging @burntheedges @grogusmum @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @ishabull @davnittbraes

[evilgwrl]

I LOVEEEEE THE IMMUNE SERIES!!!! I NEED MOREEEEEE

Could you give us a dynamic of what the guys would be like in bed all together with reader????

Thank youuu I love your work sm

Thank you <333 I need to update the series, I appreciate your support

CW: 4 men want u xoxox, piv (unprotected), oral (f receiving), fingering, anal fingering, jerking off

Series

“That’s it Johnny, see how her little clit throbs when you kiss along her thighs, she loves it,” Price remarked, holding you on his lap with your knees tucked against his chest, bare pussy on display as Johnny pampers around your cunt with butterfly kisses.

Gaz has a thick hand wrapped around his spit-covered shaft, jerking it lazily to the sight of you, breasts pushed together as you whine. Ghost watches you intensely, eyes glazing over every body part that twitches more than the other, taking notes on what you like and what you love.

Once Johnny’s had his fair share of your leaking cunt, Gaz takes over, thick fingers coaxing your pussy deliciously as you mewl, leaking all over his digits as he rubs at your tight rim, slick leaking over the tight hole as he pushes a finger in, stuffing both holes as your mouth gapes open. His tongue works against you as you whimper, teeth grazing against your clit as he sucks it into your mouth, Price’s lips rubbing against your ear as he praises you with soft murmurs.

You can barely see straight when Ghost takes over, huffing out his chest as he delivers a quick slap to your aching, desperate pussy. An angry flushed head is rubbed against your folds, precum mixing in with lewd squelches before he pushes in, knocking the wind from your lungs as you writhe in Price’s lap, almost biting down on his hairy bicep that holds you in place. His thrusts are rough but efficient, spilling pretty screams from you as tears well up at how well he fills you with his cock, hitting every spot you need touched.

Price’s hand rubs at your clit, sucking against your neck as you blabber incoherently, batting eyes briefly staring over at Soap and Gaz, both hands wrapped around their cocks as they go between watching you and kissing each other.

“That’s it, pretty, cum on his cock. You can do it, can’t you?”

Price’s words were so thick in your ear as your head lolled back, lips wide open as you choke out a gasp, clenching down in thrusting motions against Ghost’s cock, milking him as he pulls out desperately, spilling all over your chest in a pant.

You almost pass out from exhaustion as you’re laid down on the bed, until a burly figure stalks over your twitching frame, smug smile nearly concealed by his thick facial hair.

“Let me show them how to really fuck you, doll.”

[roosterr]

if ur requests are open, could we have like 141 falling asleep on the reader??? like different scenarios for each of them like price falls asleep accidentally and so does ghost while gaz and soap are like cuddling or laying on the reader :) i love ur writing so much <333

the 141 falls asleep on you

wc: 2.1k

hello!!! been struggling to love my writing for like the last month so i really hope you enjoy, and i'm sorry in advance lol its mostly fluffy but i just couldn't help myself with a lil bit of angst :)

price

✹ when you hear the front door open in the middle of the night – or, technically, early morning – the first thought your sleep-addled mind comes up with is that you're being robbed.

✹ with your heart in your throat, you sit up in bed and stare wide-eyed at the bedroom door, but your fear is short lived when a dull thud meets your ears, followed by a familiar curse that has you breathing a sigh of relief.

✹ your husband, coming home at last from a night of drinking with the other members of the taskforce, presumably stubbing his toe on the sofa that hasn't moved an inch since you put it there all those years ago.

✹ with a deep yawn, you get back under the covers and let your eyes fall shut again, the knowledge that it was john downstairs and not a burglar putting your racing heart to rest.

✹ you don't react when he clumsily slips through the door, fighting the laugh that threatens to give you away when you hear him swear under his breath after bumping into yet another piece of furniture.

✹ the cold air sends goosebumps rippling across your skin when he lifts the covers to clamber in beside you, but the chill is quickly chased away by his hands bringing you into his chest and his enveloping warmth.

✹ "and what time do you call this?" you tease in a whisper, opening your eyes to see his guilty ones looking back at you. the slight flush in his cheeks and his half-lidded gaze gives him a boyish charm that you can't even pretend to be mad at.

✹ "sorry darlin', didn't mean to wake you..." he murmurs in return, a sheepish smile pulling at one side of his lips.

✹ "well, i'm glad you had a good time," you punctuate your reply by placing a light kiss on the bridge of his nose, which prompts his smile to grow wider as he hugs your body to his own.

✹ "i'm havin' a better time now, love." he ghosts his lips over yours as he whispers, earning another tiny chuckle from you, his fingers tracing patterns into the skin of your back under your shirt.

✹ you can smell the whisky on his breath as he leans even further into you, and taste it when he closes the distance to devour your lips in a passionate, if slightly messy, kiss.

✹ he sighs into your mouth, his lips falling from yours when he rolls you onto your back to lay his head on your chest, and like a switch, he's dead asleep.

✹ "john?" you whisper, in a sort of disbelief that he was actually asleep just like that, but he doesn't even flinch when you gently poke his cheek. "oh my god…"

✹ once the morning rolls around, you both share a laugh about his drunken state from the night before, and he makes you promise not to tell the boys he passed out in the middle of kissing you.

✹ you just laugh and file it away for future blackmail.

gaz

✹ the two of you were watching a movie late one night, the first time you've had time to yourselves in months thanks to the never-ending workload you both seem to be under.

✹ the dim mood lighting of your flat combined with the comforting feeling of finally being alone with kyle is nearly enough to send you to sleep already, but your want to spent time with him keeps you awake.

✹ kyle watches you stifle a yawn as he presses play on the movie, and tugs you to lean against him with an arm around your shoulders and a teasing grin. "promise you won't fall asleep this time?"

✹ you look up to him from where your head rests against his collar and huff, a smile of your own playing on your lips as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. "maybe i should be the one asking that."

✹ the bags under his eyes leave no question about how tired he really is, but he was the one that insisted the two of you spend time together tonight, despite the exhaustion you knew he was hiding.

✹ "and leave you all by yourself?" he chuckles, "never, love."

✹ a comfortable quiet settles over you while you watch the movie together; kyle's choice, something action-y you've never seen before, but you know he's seen it a million times. he occasionally adds commentary to make you laugh which he, naturally, manages to do every time.

✹ as the movie plays, you gradually migrate to laying on the sofa on your back with kyle between your legs and his head on your sternum. you absentmindedly run your nails over his scalp, gently massaging his head while he hugs your waist.

✹ it's about two-thirds of the way through the movie that you realise kyle hasn't said anything in a while. you pause your ministrations, smoothing over his curls as you turn your gaze from the screen to where he lays on top of you.

✹ a soft smile lights up your face when your eyes land on his blissfully relaxed features, sound asleep and breathing in time with the steady rise and fall of your chest.

✹ you continue to watch the movie in silence, occasionally petting kyle's hair when he grumbles in his sleep. he deserves the rest, you muse, and something about how peaceful he looks means you can't even entertain the idea of disturbing him. and you would definitely tease him that he fell asleep like he said he wouldn't.

✹ even once the movie has finished, and your back has started to ache from the position against the armrest, you still don't dare wake him. tomorrow was an off day for both of you, so there was no need to go anywhere – as if you would ever want to, intertwined with your boyfriend and surrounded by his warmth.

✹ you close your eyes, give him one last squeeze, and whisper into the silence, "sweet dreams, kyle."

soap

✹ it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

✹ everything was supposed to go smoothly, you'd get what you came for, and you'd be home in time for dinner.

✹ but it hadn't happened like that  of course it didn't. you were on your way out, with johnny by your side, when a sudden noise from behind you caught your attention.

✹ you spin around to see a dishevelled soldier aiming their gun at you, but you noticed just a second too late. you can do little more than watch as they pull the trigger, a sick sense of horror travelling up your spine as time seems to slow down.

✹ there's a split second where you brace to feel the bullet lodge somewhere in your body, but that impact never comes.

✹ with a speed you didn't know he possessed, johnny tackles you to the ground and out of the path of the bullet, landing on top of you and pushing the air from your lungs.

✹ you lay winded underneath him, the sound of him returning fire vaguely reaching your ears but it takes a second for your mind to catch up.

✹ it’s quiet by the time you come back to your senses, johnny already pulling you to stand with a strained grunt.

✹ "johnny?" you frown, taking note of how he favours one side when he urges you to start walking again, "you okay?"

✹ "fine, darlin’, let’s just–" he winces, stumbling ever so slightly and trying to play it off by pushing you in front of him, "let’s just get home, aye?"

✹ your frown deepens. you turn around and stop him with your hands on his shoulders, and it's then that you notice how laboured his breathing has become.

✹ "you're not fine, soap!" your heart sinks as you watch the patches of blood on his leg grow steadily darker, "why didn't you tell me you were hit?"

✹ he doesn't flinch at the anger in your voice, or when you haul his arm over your shoulder and resume dragging him the rest of the way to the helo. he mumbles incoherent that sounds like an apology, but your only focus is getting him to safety and stopping the bleeding.

✹ the others are already waiting for you as the exfil site comes into view, and the moment they spot you shouldering johnny's weight they spring into action to help you.

✹ johnny is dragged up the ramp and made to lay on the floor as gaz and ghost make short work of packing the bullet wound in his thigh with gauze.

✹ you lift his shoulders and head to rest in your lap, grimacing at the pained groans he lets out when ghost puts his weight on the wound.

✹ "why didn't you tell me?" you utter, tilting his head back with your hands on his cheeks and meeting his distant gaze with your brows knitted together in concern.

✹ he musters a weak smile and lets his eyes flutter shut, the muscles in his face visibly relax. "i’m fine… ‘slong as yer okay, bonnie…"

ghost

✹ sometimes you wondered if ghost ever slept.

✹ he would always volunteer himself for the first watch, and he was up before you without fail every morning. on base he always seemed to be in the gym before everyone, and in his office after everyone else has left. he was frustratingly elusive.

✹ it worried you, that perhaps he had trouble sleeping. it made sense, however saddening, that someone like him wouldn't sleep well, but it was even worse that he brushed off your concern for him with practised ease.

✹ he made sure to take care of others, but wouldn't let you try and do the same for him. perhaps he thought you were joking, or that you were only being courteous, but your mind always goes back to one thing; the theory that, for some people, it's only possible for them to fall asleep when they feel safe.

✹ you wanted to be that for him, like he was for you.

✹ you do your best to forget about your rejected concerns for him, and the thought all but slips your mind until a mission two months later.

✹ it was long, drawn-out, and gruelling, and all you wanted to do was get home and have a shower hot enough to melt your skin. it had been almost a week since you've had a moment to catch your breath, and you were more than thankful to be on the way home.

✹ even if that meant being squashed into the back of an suv with soap passed out on your left and ghost on your right. gaz called shotgun and wouldn't give it up for anything, so here you were, shoulder to shoulder with the lieutenant you may or may not harbour feelings for.

✹ the five of you have been on the road for a couple of hours now. the conversation has died down by now and and the quiet hum of the radio was the only sound, besides soap's intermittent snores.

✹ you're on the verge of passing out yourself when a weight drops onto your shoulder, and you have to fight yourself not to jump with the start it gives you.

✹ your tired eyes look to the source and to your utter surprise, they find the dark fabric of ghost's balaclava resting against you, and when you tilt your head you can see the blond of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

✹ the sight brings a smile to your face. as subtle as possible, you shift as much as the limited space of the backseat will allow so his neck isn't bent at such an awkward angle.

✹ he fell asleep on you. perhaps it was just because of the exhaustion this mission left him with, but you like to think back on your theory from weeks ago as you admire the restful expression he wears.

✹ your stop fighting your own exhaustion and let your eyes fall shut, and with your last thread of consciousness you file this memory away for later, and hope that it really does mean that he feels safe with you.