#Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

[moondirti]

sucking gaz’s tongue

[mikichko]

⛔ this blog is 18+ !! minors and ageless blogs please dni ⛔

actually i think the real way you meet tf141 is when some dickbag on base is just harassing the shit out of trans!soap.

blabbering on and on about him never being a real man. how he can climb onto the laps of commanding officers and climb up the proverbial ladder but he’ll never truly earn his rank. that he’ll never be a true soldier of quality caliber like him. yadda yadda yadda. whole lot of bullshit.

the decision to spin his fucking jaw is real easy when 1) he’s being transphobic as fuck, 2) you hate this fucking guy , 3) you’ve been itching for a fight.

and see here’s the thing right, everyone in the fucking army thinks that you just have to take any bullshit anyone gives you and “toughen up.” but frankly, this motherfucker’s mother clearly didnt teach him any manners so you ought to.

all anyone sees is you getting up from the table where your squad is sitting, walking over calmly to douchebag mcgee, and tapping him on the shoulder. he’s not even finished turning around fully when your right hook hits him and sends him stumbling back flat on his ass. and from the way he starfishes on the floor you know that fuckers out cold.

you just step over him, feet planted on either side of his hips and lean down to look at him as he comes to. brother isnt even done blinking the confusion out of his eyes when you place your foot on his chest, bending down to get closer to him and putting more pressure on his chest.

“i ever hear you spewing that putrid shit out of your mouth again to the seargent or any one on this base, hell anyone in the goddamn service and your jaw’s the last thing you’ll be worrying about. we clear?”

barely finished nodding by the time you step off him and walk away.

your squad leader’s already at price’s side apologizing for your behavior, who, despite keeping a straight face and responding with a silent nod, you’ve just won the favor of. hell, whole task force really.

[springsylph]

[mdni]

brain. is dry heaving. hnngh. victorian era reader as the lady of a house on the brink of ruin after a disastrous engagement between herself and a young lord. spreads a nasty rumor that you’ve got a hot temper—you’d do better as a mistress than a wife.

which is untrue, of course. you’ve been dreaming of your happy ending since your mouth had the strength to sound out the words. but new money tends to topple quickly these days, and your last shot at the salvation of your family line hinges on your success as a governess.

enter, kyle garrick. a widower of good repute. wealthy, too, but seldom seen in high society since the passing of his first wife.

by the time you reach the front gate of his sprawling manor, you’ve been turned away from just about every estate you’d managed to scribble down onto a piece of scrap paper. hardly from lack of qualification—no, the tendrils of your former fiancé merely stretch much farther and much wider than you’d anticipated.

which is why you’re a bit taken aback when you’re led to the drawing room with a smile and a slender hand pressed to the small of your back. it’s too good to be true when he takes one look at you before drawing up a contract. a little strange, but you’re hardly in a position to be picky.

when you inquire about your living quarters, the very idea of you living anywhere else seems to be an insult. he won’t have it, he won’t. you deserve the best money can buy.

the very thought makes you tear up. throat sticky, head tight, you thank him. over, and over, and over.

it’s only after the emotions subside that you think to ask about the age of your soon-to-be charge. you don’t recall seeing any nannies on your way in, and the hallways are strangely quiet.

you nearly faint when he tells you that if you’re in a rush, the two of you can resolve that issue now.

(next time, you’ll remember to read the fine print.)

[emrzennn]

I just found this and - 😭😩🤭

(It was on Elliot’s Facebook from what I remember

[pricesugarwife]

No sé. Esto es pura autoindulgencia. Y quizás me estoy proyectando en el triángulo amoroso que tenemos Price, @the-californicationist y yo. Va para ti, bebé. Espero que te guste.

Otra noche calurosa de Texas. Otra ocasión donde el 141 aprovechaba el tiempo de relevo y se reunían, con un poco de resistencia por parte de un críptico Ghost, para hablar sobre cualquier tarea mundana que estuvieran haciendo en su tiempo de inactividad. Otra ronda de cervezas que Soap invitaba, mientras escuchaba las divertidas anécdotas de Cali y su Capitán, intentando adaptarse a la caótica sociedad estadounidense. 

Si alguien le hubiese dicho a John MacTavish hacía unos años atrás que viviría para ver como su Capitán se enamoraba de una dulce mujer texana, establecía su residencia permanente en U.S y los invitaba durante el verano para compartir en su rancho, probablemente se hubiera reído en la cara de esa persona. Pero aquí estaba, tomando un trago de la cerveza artesanal mientras algo parecido a Blake Shelton (si su precario oído musical no le fallaba) sonaba por los altavoces y escuchaba la estridente risa de Cali cuando Price decía otro de sus espantosos chistes de papá. 

Pero oh, todos volteaban la mirada cuando la mujer estampaba sus carnosos labios rojos contra la boca de su capitán y fingían hacer un recorrido rápido por el destartalado bar destinado a albergar vaqueros, o cualquier aficionado a la música country de mediana edad. Solo que, en uno de esos escaneos rápidos a la barra de madera donde el bartender se movía con velocidad para servir a la masa de hombres con camisas de cuadros, sus ojos azules captaron un exuberante culo forrado en unos jeans acampanados, acompañados de una cabellera negra que llegaba a las caderas. 

Embelesado por sus curvas, los jugosos labios pintados de rojo y la forma en cómo su camiseta sin mangas hacía resaltar sus tetas alegres, el sargento consideró en acercarse a coquetear un poco, quizás con la esperanza de llevarse esa dulce cosita a casa para aprovechar al máximo este viaje a norteamérica. Un pensamiento que se podía leer fácilmente en los ojos depredadores del escosés, mientras Ghost amamantaba su whisky con un semblante áspero y enojado detrás de su pasamontañas, pero tanta era el hambre de Johnny que ni siquiera se volteó a mirarlo. 

Cuando la mujer se volteó completamente, vistiendo una divertida camiseta que decía: “I LOVE DILF”, le hizo soltar una risa baja que atrajo la atención de todo el grupo que hasta el momento había ignorado el desarrollo de los acontecimientos. 

“¿Una víctima más, MacTavish?” preguntó Gaz, deteniendo sus ojos chocolates en el atractivo que su compañero había visto primero, unas buenas tetas que se movían cuando la mujer cantaba el coro de la canción. 

“No me digas que esa bonnie no se ve lo suficientemente bueno como para comer” respondió el mencionado, haciendo que Cali rodara los ojos y bufó, acostumbrada a que el escosés hiciera comentarios como esos, pensando que las mujeres son un trozo de carne

“Manténlo en tus pantalones, sargento. O al menos no nos des un espectáculo delante de todos” señaló el Capitán, que hasta ese instante se había mantenido en silencio, sin prestarle mucha atención a lo que estaba sucediendo porque la maldita falda que vestía su mujer lo estaba poniendo duro en sus jeans. 

Sin contestar el comentario hosco de su Capitán, Johnny hizo su movimiento para seducir a la dulce cosita que no dejaba de observarlos mientras remojaba sus labios con lo que parecía ser una sangría. 

“¿Cuánto apuestas a que ella lo manda al diablo?” bromeó Gaz, bebiendo el último trago de su cerveza y miró a Ghost, quien simplemente se encogió de hombros para acto seguido bufar cuando se dio cuenta que Johnny estaba abordando, de una manera tal vez demasiado encantadora. 

Por el lenguaje corporal de la mujer, parecía estar interesada en los avances del escosés, que sonreía como un lobo deseando encajar los dientes en la carne de un delicado corderito. Aunque había una leve espinita que no convencía a John, había algo misterioso en esa mujer que lo mantenía atento a la escena, al igual que Ghost, quien intentaba enfocarse en el juego que transmitían el destartalado televisor en la esquina del bar. 

“Ella no parece estar muy convencida, pero tampoco lo rechaza del todo” respondió Price, hablándole a Kyle que estaba dispuesto a arrancarle unos billetes a cualquiera de sus compañeros para demostrar que sabía en cuánto tiempo podían sacudir a Johnny. 

No transcurrió mucho tiempo para que Soap regresara a la mesa con semblante derrotado,  mientras la mujer sonreía alegremente y le enviaba un saludo al resto del grupo que yacían confundidos al otro lado del establecimiento, porque minutos antes habían visto cómo ella le escribía algo en una servilleta con un lápiz labial, impregnando la marca de sus labios en el mismo papel. Pero antes de que Cali pudiese interrogar a Johnny, todos captaron como la fémina le lanzaba una beso y hacía un gesto con las manos de “llámame”. 

“Parece que no habrá un polvo para mí. Pero ustedes tienen a alguien por si quieren hacer un trío, o tener una relación poliamorosa” les informó el hombre, poniendo la servilleta en la mano delante de su Capitán, quien rápidamente se sonrojó hasta las orejas y el cuello. 

“¿Qué?” cuestionó Cali sin aliento, mirando la servilleta que tenía el número de la mujer. 

“Como lo escuchaste, dijo que está interesada en la rubia caliente de grandes tetas y el hombre barbudo que no ha dejado de manosearla desde que llegaron” Soap insistió, alzando las cejas cuando soltó esa línea de barbaridades que en otro momento de su vida tendrían a Cali agarrando el rosario de su abuela contra su pecho.

“Wow, sí que fue directo al grano” se rió Garrick, conteniéndose para no soltar la carcajada que le había provocado la hilarante situación. 

“No sé si sentirme halagado u ofendido” soltó Price, rascándose la nuca y mirando de reojo a su mujer que no había dejado de sonrojarse desde la primera respuesta de Johnny. 

[yuniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie]

Safe

c.w : mentions of reader being in a shelter, gaz taking in reader, plot does not follow mw2/mw3 entirely, no uses of y/n. Only (Name) or petnames + ‘You’. Mentions of loss (parents death) + bad staff at shelter.

NOT EVERYTHING IN THIS FIC IS ACCURATE)) hcs

Gn! Preteen! Reader + Gaz

(Some facts in this au/ fic arent canon! If i made any mistakes like /gaz’ age/ do tell me.)▪️▪️

sumry. : pre teen! reader is taken in by gaz after he gets back from a mission he finds reader in a shelter. After being taken back home with gaz, gaz’s family didn’t seem to get along with you.

- The loss of your parents caused you to be sent into a shelter.

- You barely ever felt safe in there, the nightmare and flashing images of your last moments with your parents haunted you every night.

- You woke up screaming, every night you felt drenched in sweat. You weren’t able to go to bed without having flashbacks. - To this day you still remembered how the house burned down.

- And took your parents down with it. Left no trace of them. No one can blame you, you were only a child. By the time you figured out how to call the fire fighters it was already too late.

- Feeling frozen in place as you watched them announce. Your parents were gone. It happened so long ago. You barely had time with them,

- The only memory you ever had of your parents was a notebook you’d had been given by them. It had their signature inside along with pictures. There was a memory book you recovered. But it wasnt good quality.

- Your parents were around for long. By their time not all cameras were the best. - Taken into the shelter at a young age you never had anyone. The staff treated you like crap. The children your age there, for so many years

- Everyone got taken in or adopted. You weren’t. You got sick of it. Constantly kids shoved you around, constantly, staff barely fed you.

- But one thing that was even worse, this shelter was near a field. The field was stuck around for a very long time.

- It used to belong to farmers. It was a very open one but now it was used for military. It was used as a spot for training or anything really.

- One man in particular saw you.

The shelter had a routine for everyday. One weekends, at sometimes thursday night. Children would be allowed to do activities out. You never really participated. You were closed off and reserved. Everyone there was just not overall good people. You were rather watching the soldiers train, you always noticed one man though. He seemed to have seen you from afar.

- Gaz. You knew him as. Gaz, but you always called him the big man. Since he was tall,

- One time running around outside the shelter’s playground. You had felt a shove when you scraped a little bit of your knee. He was the one who reported to the staff if they can check in on you

- So far to run off mid way through training a few times to immediately make his way towards you. He somehow saw himself in you. Quiet, reserved.

- His own captain always told him he was quiet. But you were so sad all the time it broke his heart.

- He was a soft man at heart but really had to be tough, when he got to know you. He had seemed to come across a store one day while on a mission nearby. Or had it seemed they took a stop.

- He’d asked to step in since he quickly payed, he bought a treat.

- When he came to the shelter he took a knee and cooed for you to take it. You thanked him but he suddenly just hugged you. He was tearing up.

- He hated seeing how fearful and unsafe you seemed. How you werent given treats.

- So many things were happening. He got to know you day by day. If they were on a break he always came to see you. Because he wouldn’t forget how you even got him something back. It was a drawing. Of the field.

- He still had it in his breast pocket,

- But really, he had enough of seeing this

What had you done to deserve this. One time he had stepped into the office, when he talked with the staff about you. He got to know about the shelter and what it was like, he saw your file. How could a innocent kid

Be mistreated?

- He took you in one day. He had introduced you to his own home where he lived. But his father really made this a problem, his father constantly asked Gaz if he was same for bringing you in here.

- You got to know Gaz though. You were kept in his room, he told you could sleep in his bed, he didn’t mind sleeping on the floor since he was in harsher conditions anyways.

He’d been used to it.

- But he finally figured what troubled you.

- ‘Why didn’t you tell me, (Name)?’

- The nightmares. When you woke up crying he was almost instantly there. Crushing you in a hug he didn’t realize how hard he held you.

- ‘Are you okay, kid?’ He’d brush your hair away. Wiping any stray tears.

- His hand ran up your shoulder. Patting it a little before he pulled you to rest on him. You were like a scared animal.

- He held you so tight. He felt your tears wet his t shirt. You hit him out of panic but he only took the blows,

- Since that night he’d tried his best to help you relax. He told you what to do if he was gone while you had these nightmares.

- Alot of times he had to keep you only in his room since his father didnt like you. Nor did his brothers do. But he only told them to f off since you were almost his kid now and they’d need to accept it.

- When you were sick back at the shelter you were often just given those pills and told to take them. Then you were just stuck inside all day. No one was present to take care of you. But Gaz made you safe.

- You were having a really bad fever but you saw how quickly Gaz caught onto it. He places you in the tub after he filled it with water. He gave you your privacy. But he was outside the bathroom if you needed him.

- ‘Im here if you need me, kiddo’

- He sometimes had to rush to the pharmacy for medicine. But you couldn’t let go and your hands flew up to his arm one time he actually stumbled back next to you when you did.

- So he had to take you with him. No one can ask who the kid coming with him was. You were a secret though. He didnt tell anyone about you at base. He kept his child safe.

- It didnt make so much sense to anyone how he adopted you. But it was simple for him. He knew you long enough.

- But really it felt fast. A month, and he took you in. You only saw him those days bringing you treats or coming to talk to you sometimes. Even if it wasnt talk. It became a normal thing he’d nod at you from afar as hello.

- You got along. You did grow attached to him, he officialy did sign adoption papers. Legally and finally now. His child.

[jawabear]

Bedroom act

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader

Not my GIF

A/N: sorry for the bad title. And I have no idea where this came from but here you go. This is pure smut and maybe I did him dirty. Although I tried writing in the second person (you) for a change, reader is still AFAB. Hope you enjoy it! Sorry for any mistakes.

Genre: smut

Warnings: AFAB!reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, name calling, lots of dirty talk, spanking, pussy grabbing, clit spanking, a little anal play, aftercare

Summary: The bedroom is where Kyle comes into his own

Kyle was perfect in every single way. He was kind, loving, funny, handsome and all that jazz. He was absolutely besotted by you. He would do absolutely anything for you. He would climb the highest mountains, tame the wildest seas, even bring you the brightest star from the sky if you always it of him.

And in bed, he was just a sweet. Sometimes anyway.

The bedroom was his domain. His area of expertise as it were. That was where he put his needs first. You didn’t mind because you knew he would always look after you and he would never push you too far or force you into anything you didn’t want to do. Even when he was dominant he was still sweet.

Even when he was fucking you so hard the headboard was banging and cracking against the wall he was still kind. His touch on your hips so soft and gentle it was almost as if two different people were fucking you. One sex crazed animal. And one gentle content lover. It was a head spinning position to be in but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Kyle’s hand tugged your head back by your hair, his hot, sharp breaths hitting against your ear. “Such a slut for me. Look at you” he whispered. You wish you could’ve seen yourself. No doubt you were the picture of pure pleasure. Eyes closed, face flushed and hot, open mouth, drool falling from your chin, hair a mess, neck littered with purple marks from his lips and teeth. But you knew he loved it. He had taken enough pictures of your fun time to prove he did. “You like getting fucked like this? Like getting your little pussy used by me?”

You could only (barely) nod a yes. Too fucked out to use your words but Kyle wouldn’t stand for that. He wanted to hear you say it. “Tell me” he growled and nipped your ear “tell me you like being my slut”

You let out a soft scream when he pulled your hair roughly “yes!” You cried “love being your slut, Kyle! Want you to keep using me!”

“Good girl” he praised and pushed you back to the bed. He grabbed your hips rougher this time. Finger tips digging into your skin. “Such a good little whore”

“Yes daddy, for you. Wanna be your good slut” tears were falling from your eyes. His balls swinging up and slapping shading your untouched and throbbing clit.

Kyle liked to get things going as soon as he could. The meant he would sometimes skip the fore play and go straight in. Literally. This was one of those times. He has pushed himself into you without even touching you. It was a little embarrassing at how easily he could slip in without foreplay.

Kyle lifted a hand and delivered a harsh slap your ass cheek. “Kyle!” You screamed.

“Too rough?” He asked, half in character half not.

“N-No. But I-“ he slapped you again. A little softer this time.

“You what?”

“Please touch my clit…it hurts…” you sobbed. You reached a hand behind your back to try and grab at his arm but he kept it out of reach. “Please daddy”

He let out a grunt and slowed his hips a little. He slid a hand round to your front and grabbed at your pussy making you scream again. “Daddy!”

“Be more specific, sweetheart. How do you want me to touch this pretty little clit of yours?”

“C-circles. Fast ones. Please”

“There you go. Wasn’t so hard was it?” He took his index and middle finger and began rubbing fast circles on your clit like you asked. You cried out his name again and gripped at the sheets, the pillows or whatever it was you were holding onto. Too fucked out to even open your eyes to look at what it was. “That’s better isn’t it? This pretty little pussy getting some attention. All you had to do was ask”

“Feels so good, Kyle. So fucking good” he slapped your pussy making your hips jolt back into him. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“Filthy mouth” he muttered before rubbing your clit again.

You could feel you climax nearing. Coming at you quicker than you could comprehend. “Gonna come…” you muttered bucking your hips into him. “Please daddy”

“Are you there? Right on that fucking edge?”

“Yes! So close!”

“Fucking stay there. Don’t come ‘til I say”

“Kyle! Please let me come!”

He slapped your ass again “don’t. Come. Until. I. Say.” He punctuated with word with a harsh thrust inside you. His fingers picking up their pace around your clit. He was making it impossible for you to hold it. And he knew that. “Besides, I thought you wanted to be my good little slut?”

“I-I do…” you stuttered burying your face into the pillow “I’m your good slut”

“Yes you are baby” he grabbed at your ass with both hands and spread it apart. He loved your puckered hole. Loved it just a little more than your pussy. It really got him going to look at it while he fucked you. They way it looked so desperate to be filled. “Fuck” he bit out “gonna come baby. Gonna come on this fuckin’ arse”

“Please daddy. Come all over me”

“You come all over me. Want to feel this pussy squeeze around my dick” he took a finger and pushed it into your tight hole. You screamed and your thighs shook barely able to keep you up anymore. You came screaming his name around his throbbing cock. Your head spinning and veins burning with white hot pleasure. “Yes, yes. Fuck. Just like that baby. Keep riding it out. I’m so close”

You could barely hear him I’ve the sound of your heart thumping in your ears as you continue to ride the wave of pleasure. Kyle pulled his dick out and tugged at it a few times before shooting his load over your ass. “Fuck” he drew out as he came “perfect little slut”

Kyle took his finger out of you and gathered up some of his come and pushed it into your hole. “That’s it. Gotta fill up this cute hole”

Once he had pushed all of his come into your ass he gently rolled you over onto your back and hovered over you.

“Are you okay?” He whispered as he pressed soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks. “I wasn’t too rough right?”

“No” you smiled and reached up a shaky hand to his cheek “you were great. You’re always amazing Kyle”

“As are you, beautiful” he kissed your lips once and then got off the bed heading into the bathroom. You heard the shower turn on and then Kyle reappear. He looked so good naked. In his full golden brown glory.

“Stand there” you told him “just want to look at you for a second”

“Do you want me to pose?” He asked making you laugh.

“No. I just love you”

“I love you too” he walked to the bed and lifted you into his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up”

31/12/22

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Can we some more of soap with a fatty please? I just need more of people thirsting over his ass

Why does my tumblr not notify me of these??? Anyway! Anything for a fellow people simping over soap and his ass lover!

Also I’ve been put onto other ships like Gaz x Soap and Price x Soap so be prepared for everyone thirsting over Soap.

Ps. I got mad side tracked with this and Soap’s ass ended being like a side feature sorry 😭

The idea I’ve got in my head is the 141 have an event to go to yeah? It’s a formal event so everyone’s dressing up nice. Everybody’s in fitted suits and looking all neat and trimmed and proper. Even Ghost has left the usual balaclava for a simple surgical mask.

But the real surprise here (more so than Price abandoning his hat for once and Ghost the mask) is that Soap’s suit is tailored to near perfection on him. Now don’t get them wrong they had all seen Soap in fitted clothes, the man seemed to own nothing besides jeans and tight shirts, but they’d never seen him in something tailored to bring out all of his assets.

It sits tight around his biceps and tapers in at the waist and the colour of the jacket brings out his eyes. But the real shock is the pants he has on. They can tell he’s not happy about them, constantly running his hands along his thighs and plucking at the tight material but that just seems to accentuate them even more.

They look painted on with the way they cling to his thighs and ass, shifting with every step he takes and threatening to rip if he moves too fast.

Soaps grumbling about them, something about how the brass wouldn’t let him walk around in his usual kilt cause it’d upset the older folk or something, ‘fucking let the old bags cark it for all I care, beats having to wear this shit’

But everyone else is silently thanking the brass for blessing their eyes with this rare sight.

Gaz looks a little pink in the face but he still approaches Soap with a smug little grin, blatantly checking his best friend out as he talks to him, “You gotta admit the pants make your ass look downright sinful McTavish.”

The Scot scoffs but nobody’s missing the flush it brings to his face, and suddenly it’s a competition to see who can make him blush more from the compliments they lay on him.

Price, in all his old man ways as the sergeants like to call it, simply comes right up next to Soap and slings an arm around his waist as they talk to a couple of soldiers from another platoon. Nothing really happens at first but then they’re shifting with the crowd and Price’s hand is slipping down and resting on the curve of his ass, fingers brushing gently and threatening to squeeze but not quite getting there.

When he leans in and speaks his voice is low, sounding like gravel and sending heat up Soap’s spine, “You look good lad.”

The words and light brushes of touch make him reden to an alarming degree if the worry in the soldier’s eyes is anything to go off of.

Ghost doesn’t really say much, he was never really a words person but also he can’t actually make his mouth move in the face of everything. So instead he just blatantly looks his sergeant over, holding eye contact when he catches Soap’s eye and relishing in the way his ears redden under his stare. And if he’s trying to hide the fact that he may or may not be drooling under the mask?? Well, he’s doing a damn fine job of it.

Alejandro is blatant about it because of course he is. He eventually manages to back Soap into a corner, leaning in close and relishing in the way the man stares back defiantly though there is a hint of a smile on his lips and the apples of his cheeks are starting to darken slightly.

“You look stunning mi amor.” It’s a blanket compliment but from the way Alejandro’s eyes dip, quick but with clear purpose, it’s easy to tell exactly what he’s talking about. Soap snorts at it but there’s no denying the way his smile turns shy and the redness in his face darkens even further.

Nobody’s entirely sure what Rudy had done. They had all watched him drag Soap out onto the dance floor, the two of them dancing with the other couples and exchanging quiet words and smiles.

After a bit Rudy had leant down, saying something or other that had the Scot tripping over his own feet, completely red in the face and trying to hide it away on the other man’s shoulder. Rudy had looked smug over it, shooting the rest of the guys a wink and little eye brow wiggle that they can’t help but find mildly adorable.

In the end it’s clear to see who won that little competition, but none of them really feel like they lost anything when they got to watch Soap blush up to his ears because of them. The tight pants and his amazing ass were a nice bonus as well.

[fuckin-brits]

Ghost: Coca Cola can remove rust from metal, imagine what it’s doing to your body.

Soap: Pffft, getting rid of the rust, idiot.

Ghost: THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS!

Gaz: Hmm…I’ve been drinking soda and my body’s rust free…not sure where you’re getting your facts from….

[hawkmothdiemotte]

Do you think the mw group argues over seating arrangements for longer flights like school children like if they know they’re gonna fly and aren’t in a hurry?

“No you sat together last time now I get to sit next to ….”

“But you said we could be neighbours”

“Do you want to sit next to me?”

And looking ant each other during the meeting when it’s announced and nodding*

And do you think they’d get mad if they’re stood up? Because I would

[stuckcampinginalaska]

obsessed with these two geezers

[moondirti]

anal on the beach w/ gaz. a spiritual continuation of that one cbf! dry humping blurb i wrote but can be read separately

kinda dubcon. anal (obviously). manipulation. semi-public sex (no one catches you). gn! reader

he texts you that he’s got an extra ticket to fiji. the message is brief, spontaneous like he tends to be. pack your bags. eta 1420. you planned on rotting home all weekend, already in your pyjamas and hair care, looking every bit a wreck as you feel. it isn’t exactly the opportune time for him to come by; though you know mentioning it won’t do anything to change the fact that he will.

frankly, the whole thing reeks of that kyle-specific class of manoeuvring you’ve come to know in recent. catching you off guard with something you can’t say no to, and using it to push you past what you’re comfortable with. you’re tempted to refuse. it’s too short a notice. pick someone else. but a week long beach trip sounds nice, actually. work has been killing you. your personal life’s a mess. every date you’ve managed to snag in the past month has ghosted you. and to top it all off, you miss your best friend – his odd quirks and all.

so your body’s way of protesting is to slip off the couch, refocusing on the effort it takes to haul your luggage out of storage rather than your several woes. by the time kyle comes by, you’re in a sweatsuit and sneakers, bag stuffed with all the swimsuits you’ve owned since high school; you doubt you’ll have time to wash one between swims.

and it’s nice. you sit next to one another on the plane, syncing your movies by counting down to three. yours is always a few seconds behind, but he waits for your reactions before delving into a spiel about how realistic it is to drive a knife into someone’s throat with just your teeth, à la dev patel. you listen, swinging off every word he says into your own conversations, and it goes that way until the old lady two rows back shushes you. you, specifically, seeing as kyle charmed her into deference when he helped her lift her bags in the overhead compartments. always so considerate.

still, you’re concerned about falling asleep next to him, lest you wake to find a hand kneading your inner thigh.

nothing weird happens, though. you touch down in fiji and check into a lagoon resort (we managed to find you that king room, mr. garrick – the receptionist adds with a smile, eclipsing the weary way you regard sharing one bed. but you’ve had your fair share of cramped family vacations, and are well-versed in the subtle art of pillow walls to keep his side and yours separate.) that first night, he gives you an hour to dress up for dinner reservations while he fetches snacks for the room. make it pretty, yeah? we’re meeting a few distant cousins f’mine. i told them we’re dating to keep the work questions off my back.

nothing weird happens. until—

you take a boat out to Fulaga after citing it as one of the least populous islands. with wisps of white sand, like baker’s flour beneath your feet, and limestone islets across electric blue waters, it’s hard to see why.

no matter to either of you. you lay your towel on flat patch of sand, smothering yourself in sunscreen to play a game of chicken and waves. a vain endeavour, of course. he’s always willing swim out further than you, diving under quivering waters to arch amongst sea turtles and ulavi.

eventually, you grow bored of watching him from the shore, ambling back to your set-up to make use of the oils you bought for an exorbitant price. they lacquer over your skin, the places you can reach, to reflect the light overhead. you recall a quote you read in uni as you slather – something about people broiling themselves as though they were nothing but cuts of meat – and falter for just a moment. it had seemed crude at the time, particularly in the context in which it read, but as you prep yourself for the sun, you can’t help but feel exposed. vulnerable. like predatory eyes are tuned in all around you, peeking from the foliage, the waves, and honed on your slippery flesh.

you tell yourself you’re being silly, and spread yourself back on your towel. the heat licks away at your worries, making good work of laving the salty stress off your neck. you measure time in how long it takes for the sand to flake off your feet, drying as the rest of you does.

when the soft stretch of your stomach starts to burn, you turn yourself over and bury your cheek into the fibres cradling you. sun-drunk, chafed, bruised a little from the choppy waters, you welcome sleep when it inches on your conscious.

“and what are you doing exactly?” kyle huffs, encroaching on your sanctuary. you can’t see him, though you can almost hear the water vaporising off his dark skin. sizzling. the heat sinks into your side once he flops down onto his own towel.

“sunbathing.” you mumble, reluctant to give more than a words response lest it shakes you out of languor.

“the water’s great. you’re missing out.”

“mm. later.”

“and what am i supposed to do?” he all but whines, tugging at the complicated strings that tie your bottoms up on your hips. it doesn’t feel as suggestive as it might be. all you can manage, in the wake of your scoured unease, is annoyance.

“read. dig. sleep.”

he doesn’t take to your advice, shuffling until his knee presses into your arm. “you missed a spot on your back.”

“get it, then.”

“where’s the lube?”

your head snaps up, eyes narrowed both to adjust to the brightness and in admonishment. “oil.”

“same difference.” his grin is wicked, white and impossible to upbraid. rolling your eyes, you settle back down, face turned the other way around to keep an eye on him.

“in my bag.”

he shuffles through your stuff until he comes up with the hot pink bottle, making no stop for confirmation before he squirts the contents over his hands. they feel every bit as big as they look when they press into your back, right below your nape. rough, barnacled with callouses, but softened a bit by the ointment so it doesn’t hurt when his thumbs run circles around your shoulder blades. you sound an appreciative moan.

“say, if you’re short on something to do, y’can always massage me.”

“yeah, yeah. doubt you’ll return the favour.”

“i would... later.”

he laughs. “whatever. isn’t what i want, anyway.”

“and what do you want?” you ask. not because you’re curious – but so long as entertaining him keeps his efforts on your sore muscles, you’ll keep at it.

“oh, y’know.” kyle hums. ambiguous. you don’t know, not really. not until one caress strays lower than it should, conforming to the rounded shape of your ass. your cheeks clench with the sudden touch. he takes it as confirmation that you must want the same thing, too. “these bottoms aren’t leaving much to the imagination, mate.”

“th-they’re old.”

“this pert thing is practically eating them. can’t see fabric anymore.” he squeezes the fat there, shaking it in a vice grip that doesn’t so much as allow you to sit up, to knock his assault off. “want me to look for it?”

“kyle–”

“kyle.” he mocks, snickering. your hesitation does nothing to dissuade him. instead, he rocks up to straddle your legs, hands moving away from your back to settle below the curve of your ass. you don’t know what’s hotter – the damp, sun-bleached sand cushioning you, or the way he spreads either cheek apart, groaning when your swim-suit slips to expose the tight rim under it. “fuck. you been hiding this from me?”

“i- i don’t… please don’t be w-weird about this.”

“dunno what you mean by that.” he says, then promptly proceeds to be weird about it as his knuckle grazes your hole. you’re stiff, printing an indelible mark on beach. “never had it touched before?”

“no. i’m not a freak.”

“ouch, darl.” but he’s already spurting a hefty amount of oil onto you, working it in with a thick thumb. effectively makes good on his stupid name for it; lubes you up, nice and slick, so the only pain that arises at his intrusion is the virgin stretch. “promise it feels good.”

and you hate to admit it, but it does. once you get over the foreign sensation of his finger pistoning where you’ve never been fucked before, it stirs a tumultuous heat in your belly. part of it, you think, isn’t so much the physical sensation as it is the taboo of it all. despite the beach being virtually empty, void of any life but hermit crabs and the two debauched humans at its centre, there’s a delicious thrill that curls with the risk of being caught. not only being conventionally raunchy, but having your ass gaped by your best friend. what a sight you must make, pinned to the ground, having your sense pared off you in slow, painstaking layers.

one finger becomes two, and two soon turns to three.

the sound is so lewd, borderline disgusting when set against the natural ambience. you squelch and suck around him, lube smacking between your nates. and you lament it in slow, drawn-out breaths. embarrassed, wailing, soughing with the briny wind. kyle’s determined to get you ready for something much bigger, it seems, because four digits cram into your hole and scissor apart.

“is that re- really necessary?” you pick your sand- dusted face off the towel to huff into the thick air.

you feel him jostle atop your legs. shrugging, likely, in that deferent way he does when he realises acquiescence will better serve his purpose.

“whatever you want, mate.” there’s the sound of wet fabric scratching against itself, his trunks shucked down to rest mid-thigh. “i was getting impatient, anyway.”

if the excitement in his tone isn’t enough of a forewarning, he soon makes you regret saying anything at all when he notches his cock against you. it’s fat even at the end, the head too hefty to fit between your spread cheeks. it slips as it searches for purchase, rubbing against the excess lube he pours for aid, before pushing in. not in one fell swoop, but with five short, strong thrusts to finally anchor into your asshole.

you squeal, grasping behind you, onto his wrists for stability. you feel capsized, heeled over, thrown off kilter. shells and sparkling horizons dot the backs of your eyelids, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins. nothing about it is romantic, momentous like firsts should be. rather, you liken it to soap scum. spume. salt crusted hair. natural conclusions to things you overlook.

“s’fuckin’ tight, soft. can’t breath when you squee-eeze me like th-that. loosen up… up, mate.”

“k-kyle. fuck. ah! i c-can’t, you’re so… yersobig.”

“tried, didn’t i? b’you wanted to complain. next time i’ll make you t-take it dry… teach you how to count your, your blessings.”

and that turn of phrase – next time – is what sticks as he thrusts into you. not the implication that it’ll be painful, or that he intends to punish you for whatever it is you did wrong – but that this isn’t the last incident of its kind.

you had excused his homecoming – that first time he rushed you with a hug and came in his pants – as incidental, weeks of pent up energy. you try to excuse this – this, taking your ass on a vacation he probably booked precisely for the two of you – even while it unfolds, searching for justification in the distance between here and home.

but you’re not stupid. what becomes increasingly clear, as kyle fixes your waist in place and cants your hips higher, balls slapping your greased thighs, tightening with his looming orgasm, is that this was never meant to be a one time thing.

(won’t be, if he has any say in it.)

you resolve to think about it later. later; the coil in your stomach ripping a blinding release.

[mikichko]

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick whose daughter, bun, decides that her signature animal to be obsessed about is: frogs.

she has a froggy bath towel, slippers, covers, stuffie. all in different colors too because the first thing she learned was that frogs exist in so many colors. her room is painted green because a lot of frog habitats are green. though not the exact pastel green shade of green that kyle lets her pick out.

ghost lets her draw little frogs on his face with eyeblack. soap takes her to the aquarium so that they can see the new south american frog exhibit. price sits with her and together they read frog and toad. she makes sure to remind him its not totally real because that not how frogs walk, but they are all very good friends

[springsylph]

// pictures at an exhibition

photographer!gaz x reader. there was this rlly funny moment during the met where this dude was like “don’t look at him, look at me” and i was like that’s so gaz?? it has to be. it must. super short and i wrote this on my phone plz don’t look at me

blah blah blah you and gaz are photographers on opposite sides of the red carpet. it’s been six hours. you’re dead on your feet, and sweating through your slacks, and you’ve got thirty minutes to catch the shot that might pay your rent this month since your ex decided to up and leave.

you’re technically not supposed to be here; an acquaintance of yours couldn’t make it, but they’ve seen the way you’ve been skimping on groceries—so they play up your skills a bit to get you in the door.

but this sack of shit has been fucking with you since you got here.

flashing perfect teeth the moment an adorned wrist peeks through the entryway. voice gliding over the cacophony of barks and hollers. winking so rarely that these people think they’ve struck gold each time they pose for him just enough, just right.

can you look at me? right over your shoulder, love. that’s it.

gorgeous.

it makes you squirm. and it turns their heads away from your side of the carpet far too easily. you’re stapled to the corner by elbows, sight obstructed unless you’re looking through that damn viewfinder. you’re shown how he counts your losses, glows over his wins: a single camera shutter once the stars have passed and you’re looking dejectedly in their wake.

adjusting the flash might be a reasonable excuse, but this often? that was just negligent. and it didn’t seem like this guy knew the meaning of the word.

so during the next five second interlude, you shrug at him. make the what’s your problem face that tends to land you in hot water. except the water is everything but hot—there’s no water at all, in fact. because this bitch is mouthing at you to speed up and pay attention.

you hear the shutter go off when you give him the bird, and he laughs. if you weren’t so pissed, you might’ve noticed how he just barely misses the next flock of celebrities pouring through. they’ve come and gone by the time you’ve found your bearings, but confusion still stitches your brows together while you fidget with the buttons on your camera.

click.

your head snaps up, and you unconsciously straighten out your shoulders. he’s doing it again. you call out from behind the crowding of cameras; they won’t care—haven’t been listening, anyways. “can i ask what the hell your angle is?”

and he seems almost childishly giddy when he looks down at his lcd. flips it toward you, which is ridiculous, because he knows you can’t fucking see that far.

“money shot, darling.”

[ah-bloody-hell]

Might as well drop some more petty art, try to kick off a but and introduce myself. My name is Slash or Parisa (first is a nickname my friends gave hehe) I'm Persian and live in the U.S. I'm very new to Tumblr, I've been on it before but I've never really done anything on it before and this is my first account. That being said, hello world!

[pricesugarwife]

My mutuals and I with men of call of duty ❤️