#Kyle Gaz Garrick x reader

[connorsui]

“Damn, you must miss the sex, huh?”

A slow exhale. A pause just long enough to mean something. Then—

“I miss the intimacy after more than the sex itself.” His voice is quiet, almost reflective, as if he’s unspooling a memory thread by thread. “I miss the way I'd rest my head on her stomach, still trembling with the echoes of what we’d just shared. The way her fingers would slip into my hair, slow and aimless, combing through the damp strands with that quiet, knowing touch.”

His eyes flicker, distant now, chasing something just out of reach.

“And... there was always that stupid ceiling fan," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Clicking softly above us, slow and steady, like it knew the rhythm of our breathing. Like it belonged to us.”

His fingers twitch against his knee, as if recalling the ghost of a touch. “Sometimes, I’d press a lazy kiss to her lips—just because I could. Just because she was there, warm and real and mine in that fleeting moment between desire and sleep.”

A hollow sort of chuckle escapes him, more breath than sound. "And God, I loved watching her redress. The way she’d stretch, skin still flushed, still glowing, like she was carrying the last remnants of me on her body. I think I loved that more than watching her undress."

His voice fades into quiet, like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s hoping that if he lingers in the memory long enough, he’ll find his way back to you.

But the bed is cold now. The ceiling fan still turns, indifferent. And you're nowhere to be found.

[beloveds-embrace]

(a lil stress-written drabble of princess reader x guard 141)

The grand halls of your father’s castle are silent today. There should have been a glorious, blessed wedding- your wedding. Instead, there is only hushed gossip and veiled glances as servants scurry about, pretending not to discuss the tragic and untimely passing of Lord Davenshire. The fourth such incident this year alone.

You sip your tea, watching the garden from your balcony, a pleasant smile gracing your lips and a complete contrast to the angry, fearful cloud that has been haunting your father lately. It’s a beautiful morning. Birds sing, the sun bathes the palace in golden warmth, and best of all, there is no unwanted husband at your side.

No, your dear father will have to try again. And again. And again and again and again.

Soft footsteps approach, too quiet for the untrained ear. But you know them. You don’t flinch as strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, a familiar scent of leather and spice enveloping you.

“Another one bites the dust.” Gaz murmurs, his voice low and amused against your ear.

You hum in response, setting your teacup down. “Oh dear, how unfortunate.”

Strong fingers trace along your forearm, and you turn your head just slightly to meet Gaz’s gaze. His eyes gleam with something wicked and delighted.

“Unfortunate indeed,” Price says as he steps onto the balcony, hands clasped behind his back. He looks every bit the disciplined captain he is, but there’s a certain satisfaction in his gaze as he surveys the castle grounds below. “The poor man was simply riding his horse when it suddenly reared and threw him.” He shakes his head, feigning solemnity. “Neck snapped like a twig.”

“How dreadful.” You croon, feeling Gaz’s smirk against your neck.

“Dreadful,” Soap echoes as he lounges on the railing, twirling a dagger between his fingers. “Cannae imagine why these men keep droppin’ like flies.”

“They must be terribly unlucky,” Gaz adds, leaning against the stone wall beside you, his smile sharp. “Or perhaps they should have considered who exactly they were trying to take from us.”

Your heart flutters at his words, at their words. Loyal, deadly, devoted- the four of them have been your constant shadows, your protectors, your everything.

Your father calls it misfortune. He believes some curse has befallen your suitors, that fate itself refuses to see you wed. And in a way, he is right. Just not in the way he thinks.

Because fate has intervened, but in the form of the most dangerous men in the kingdom. Men who would see the world burn before they allowed another to place a ring on your finger.

You turn in Ghost’s direction, reaching a hand out until he obediently places his chin in your delicate palm. He doesn’t take his mask off, but you can nonetheless feel his mouth against your skin. His eyes darken as he looks down at you, and you feel the weight of all of them- the unyielding devotion, their willingness to kill for you, to ensure that no one ever takes you from them, not now and not ever.

And you? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You smile, letting your fingers brush over Ghost’s jaw before turning to the others. “It seems I am doomed to remain unwed.” You sigh dramatically, though your grin betrays your amusement.

Price chuckles, stepping closer, his calloused fingers lifting your chin. “A tragedy, truly.”

“Aye,” Soap agrees with a shark smirk. “Guess that just means you’ll have to settle for us, lassie.”

Your heart swells, warmth pooling in your chest. Settle? No, this is exactly what you want.

You lace your fingers with Ghost’s, leaning into Price’s touch as you glance at the others. “Whatever shall I do with four such devoted guards, hm?”

Gaz smirks, his voice a teasing whisper as he brushes his lips against your temple, hands dipping low to hold your waist. The warmth you feel now has nothing to do with the lovely weather, anymore. “Oh, Princess, I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

[this-actually-is-my-first-rodeo]

this is so sweet I may tear up 🫶 I’m just a girl (who wants to be treated like a girl and not like the muddy impression of a woman)

Thinking about Reader who feels like she's never feel like she was treated like a woman

I'm talking about getting flowers, good morning texts from 'guy friends', or getting a barrage of compliments on her pictures on Instagram

Growing up, you never fit what was expected of you, always heard how you were very unladylike, whether it was your attitude or how your appearance was not soft and delicate

I'm saying, resting bitch face, being tall, also muscular.

You're not insecure about it, but it would be nice if people just be normal about it and treat you like every other girls

And It's not like you were desperate, just thought it must be nice to be treated like a princess

Getting into the military at young age, following your oldman footprints

And then you met Gaz

Gaz who opened doors for you whenever you were walking around the base, being considerate when he touched you as he fixed your gear. You didn't want to think much of it, but it's kinda hard to when it seemed like he was looking for an excuse to touch you, with him standing behind you, hand on your hip, guiding your shot at the shooting range

Gaz who made you blush by slipping your hair behind her ear

Gaz who picked a small flower and slip it to your ear with that charming grin of his

Gaz who made sure to walk on the curbside when he was beside you as the team go out to hangout at a pub

Gaz who made you involuntarily tear up when he said you're pretty

Gaz who took candid pictures and sending it to you, telling you how gorgeous you are (the flirt)

Gaz who punched a recruit when he overheard him making an attractiveness tier list of the women in the base with his buddies, without you in it because you're 'don't count' (he thought the tier list itself is just weird, but their comment of you is what made him snap)

EDIT : Imma add that reader is STRONK, like- you could take down Ghost in hand-to-hand combat training. And Gaz would stare and thought to himself "I wish that was me"

tall&buff!Reader series

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Night Owl

Pairing:Task Force 141 x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, sleep-deprived soldiers, excessive love and affection, soft Task Force 141 boys, poly if you really squint

Author's Note: I had so much fun writing this (I work nights and this is what my family stumbles upon when it comes to me lol) also, you’re Simon’s Wife🙂‍↕️

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The house was quiet, save for the low hum of the television in the living room. It wasn’t late for you—not by your standards—but for your husband, it was the dead of night. The world outside was silent, the sky a deep navy, and the only light in the room came from the glow of your laptop screen and a few dim lamps you had turned on to avoid waking anyone.

You had been working the night shift for months now, your internal clock flipped completely. While your husband, Simon, along with his team—who you had definitely fallen head over heels for—was used to unpredictable schedules, it still threw them off when they came home and found you awake, fully immersed in some new project at ungodly hours.

Tonight was no different.

John was the first to stir. His years in the military made him a light sleeper, so the faint rustling of paper and the quiet muttering to yourself pulled him from sleep. Blinking blearily, he glanced at the clock. 2:47 AM. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting up.

Padding into the living room, he found you hunched over the coffee table, a pile of colorful yarn in front of you, fingers fumbling with a crochet hook. Your brow was furrowed in concentration, tongue peeking out slightly as you tried to master the intricate loops.

“…What are you doing, love?” he asked, voice gruff with sleep but laced with affection.

You looked up, grinning. “Learning how to crochet. Figured I’d make a blanket for the couch.”

John stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled a soft chuckle as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Of course you are.” His eyes softened, admiring how adorable you looked bathed in the warm glow of the lamp.

Just as he was about to sit down beside you, another presence shuffled into the room. Simon, still half-asleep, padded in wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and an old hoodie, his familiar skull mask nowhere in sight. His messy blond hair stuck out in different directions, and his eyes, though heavy with sleep, immediately found you.

He blinked slowly, taking in the scene—the pile of yarn, John sitting nearby, and you in the middle of it all.

“…Why?” he asked simply, his voice low and raspy.

You shrugged, giving him a playful smile. “Keeps my hands busy. Besides, the couch could use a cozy touch.”

Simon stared for a second longer before shaking his head with a soft, fond sigh. “Thought I was dreaming when I smelled coffee. ‘S too late for this, luvie. You’re mad.”

You rolled your eyes as he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. Moments later, he slumped onto the couch beside you, his large frame sinking into the cushions. Without a word, he pulled you closer, one arm wrapped lazily around your waist, his head resting against your shoulder.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his affection despite his sleepy state. Picking up the half-finished crochet piece, you shoved it into his hands.

“You wanna learn?” you asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Simon sighed deeply but didn’t push it away. “You’re lucky I love you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your hand.

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you replied, “More like I’m lucky I married you.”

Before Simon could retort, footsteps echoed from down the hall. Johnny and Kyle had apparently heard the commotion, neither willing to be left out. Johnny, with his hair a complete mess, rubbed at his face as he stumbled in, while Kyle trailed behind, wrapped in a blanket, his eyes barely open.

“Are we having a bloody crochet party at three in the morning?” Kyle mumbled, voice thick with sleep but tinged with amusement.

You grinned. “Technically, yes.”

Johnny plopped onto the floor next to you, peeking at the tutorial on your laptop. “Ah, hell, might as well learn somethin’ while I’m up.”

“Think you mean, fail to learn something,” Kyle quipped with a smirk, earning a shove from Johnny.

The room filled with soft laughter, the kind that warmed your chest. Simon’s hand absentmindedly traced slow circles on your back, while John settled beside you with a steaming cup of tea he’d made. Kyle and Johnny wrestled briefly over who got the bigger ball of yarn before ultimately giving up and sharing.

Hours passed, filled with quiet chatter, failed crochet attempts, and laughter. You showed them how to make loops and chains, guiding their hands when they struggled. Johnny’s project ended up looking more like a tangled mess than anything coherent, but he was proud nonetheless. Kyle managed to make a lopsided square, grinning when you praised him.

Simon, surprisingly, picked it up quickly, though he pretended not to care. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, watching how your face lit up when explaining something. John, meanwhile, stuck to sipping his tea, occasionally offering words of encouragement but mostly enjoying the peaceful chaos.

By the time the first rays of sunlight began to creep through the curtains, the living room looked like a cozy disaster zone. Balls of yarn were scattered everywhere, half-finished projects lay abandoned, and the boys were slumped in various positions.

John had given up and was leaning against the arm of the couch, his head tilted back, the infamous beanie covering his face. Simon was nestled against your side, his fingers still loosely curled around a tangled ball of yarn, soft snores escaping him. Johnny and Kyle were sprawled out on the floor, half-asleep, their attempted crochet projects tossed aside as they cuddled under a shared blanket.

You smiled, heart full, and pressed a gentle kiss to Simon’s temple. Setting your own project aside, you stood, grabbing pillows and extra blankets. Carefully, you placed them around your boys, tucking them in. You made sure Johnny and Kyle were cozy, pulling the blanket up to their chins. John, half-awake, murmured a soft, “Thanks, love,” as you placed a pillow behind his head.

Finally, you curled back onto the couch beside Simon, his arms instinctively wrapping around you. His face, even in sleep, was peaceful, the usual hard lines softened. You buried your face in his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and calm.

“This is perfect,” you whispered, though no one was awake to hear it.

Even if it meant crocheting at three in the morning, it was moments like these that made everything worth it—surrounded by the men you loved, feeling safe, cherished, and utterly at peace.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[cod-indulgences]

Hear me out reader in a sundress no panties.

TF141 x female!reader, poly tf141, no panties, blowjobs, denial, oral, outdoor/public sex, light humiliation, shower sex, light Dom/sub, multiple orgasms

John greets you in the morning with a kiss, and when you cheekily flash him, lifting your skirt to show the little hidden slice of your pussy, he sets his coffee down and pulls you into his lap.

"Trouble," he calls you, and drags you down hard against his groin, making you whine at the friction of thick denim on your bare flesh. "No, no getting up- you're the one who wanted some attention," and he pulls your hips back and forth, your folds spreading open, and kisses you hard to muffle your moaning. He does this until you're gasping and leaking, a damp streak on his pants, straps of your dress falling down and a breast almost exposed, then kicks you off his lap and onto the floor. You suck his cock there, his feet between your legs to keep them apart and his big hand holding your wrists together, the other pumping your head up and down, unable to touch yourself. Your pussy is wet and throbbing with slick as you choke, taking John's cock hard and fast before he groans and comes, pulling you back to take the last spurts over your lips and chin.

You're dazed as he stands you back up- you'd been planning to seduce and tease, not the other way around- and he pats your ass and sends you out of the room.

Kyle is in the living room, reading, and when you stumble in with come on your face he gapes, the book dropping to the floor. He's on you in an instant, popping your tits out of your dress and sucking your nipples, making you moan as more pleasure joins the heat in your body. He's so good, teasing your nipples with his teeth, squeezing your breasts together, sucking on the round undersides. You recline on the same couch he'd been reading on as he goes to his knees.

He flips your skirt up, and stares, seeing not the damp panties he expected but instead a bare and soaked pussy. He grins, delighted, and promptly begins sucking your clit just like he did your nipples- fast, wet, flicking with his tongue and teasing his teeth around it. You buck your hips, keening when he slips a finger inside and pushes up and in. You're soaking his chin, so close to coming, thighs trembling over his shoulders when Kyle pulls away.

You moan, reaching for him, and he shushes you and rolls you over. "Calm down, just getting you where I want you," he says, and lifts your hips so your ass is in the air. You wiggle it, and are rewarded with his cock slipping through your wet folds and inside you. Big, hot and heavy, perfect as he pounds into you, his balls slapping against your clit. You're brought right back up, and moan in gratitude as your orgasm rolls over you.

Kyle doesn't stop, picking up speed as your pussy clamps and gushes around his cock, and you feel his hips stutter as he gets close. You clench down deliberately, squeezing his cock, and he shouts as he comes, holding you down onto the couch as he spurts inside you, pulling out to decorate your ass with more of his come.

He gathers you up in a hug, kissing you, licking the drying come off your cheek. "Soaps outside," he murmurs, "who not go say hello," and before you can stop him he's whipping you around and all but throwing you out the door. It shuts behind you with a click of the lock, and you shriek and try to fix your dress, tits bouncing as you yank the straps up and straighten the skirt.

Johnny is standing at the edge of the big flowerbed, laughing, and comes up to cuddle you. "Aw lovie, did you get a little fucking already?" He peers at the remaining come on your face, and smirks. "Who's got you so far?"

"Uh, John, and Kyle," you mumble, cheeks flaming. Johnny gets his hands on your ass, and you squeak. "Johnny! We're outside!"

"So what? You're the one who came out here. Practically begging for it, really," and he squeezes your ass. You feel the moment he realizes there's only skirt and skin, and he slips his hands under, smearing Kyle's come. You stand there, hiding your face in his chest, as he gropes you, making your ass bounce as he lifts and lets go, spreading your cheeks apart and rubbing his finger on your hole, around your pussy. You're dripping again, legs forced open by his just like John had, and whine and whimper as he teases you. It's insultingly easy how fast you don't care about being outside, your hips rocking back to get more from him, and Johnny just laughs and steps back, leaving you gasping.

He puts you on your back in the flowerbed, next to the big bushes, and you cover your face in humiliation as he gets his shorts down and fucks you right there, the leafy branches all that keeps you from being fully seen by the road. You're so wet and sloppy with your own come and Kyle's that Johnny can just slide right in, fucking you with the sort of loud squelches that make your belly tighten. He gets one of your legs up on his shoulder, fuck, you know that's visible, and grins at you as he thumbs your clit, moaning when you shudder and come. The dirt under your ass sticks to you with sweat, and you can feel something caught in your hair, but you don't care at all because Johnny is still playing with your clit and you're coming, coming, coming.

He groans and finally spills inside you, and you whimper when he pulls out and a gush of come squeezes from your pussy, joining the damp mess already sticking to your groin and thighs. "Need a shower, sweetheart," Johnny asks, and props you up on your knees. Slick and come hang in thick ropes from your cunt, and you pant up at him as he swipes it up with his fingers and smears it over your throat and breasts. His fingers are dirty, and you can feel the itch as soil scrapes onto your skin with it.

You don't bother hiding yourself when he stands you up, too dazed, and Johnny fixes your dress a little. You stumble back to the house as he kisses your cheek, a flower bud tucked behind your ear, and try the door to find it unlocked again.

Simon is waiting for you, raising his eyebrows at the sight. Hair wild, dirt and mud on your legs, back, ass; your face still has a stubborn bit of come stuck to it, more on your thighs and wiped across your chest. Your pussy throbs when he holds up his phone, the camera shutter clicking rapidly. "Shower?" You beg, and he nods and picks you up, letting your bare feet dangle as he carries you upstairs.

The shower stall is big enough for three, and Simon turns you under the spray, rinsing off all the evidence of your very energetic morning. You sigh and lean on him as he moves your body, lifting arms and legs, and moan when he points the spray between your thighs.

"Good, baby?"

You nod, half-drunk on sensations, and he cuddles you up against his big, warm body and holds you, letting you pant and moan. The hot spray is divine against your pussy, sore after two cocks, and you feel your clit throb as the stream of water plays over it. Simon doesn't let you move though, keeps you right there, his cock rising up hard and hot against your belly. He kisses you, sucking at your tongue, and when you moan and arch your back he urges you to sit, back to his chest, and works his cock inside as you whimper. He's too big, you're too sore, but he holds you with those immovable hands and puts himself inside anyway.

You whine and moan around him, pussy fluttering, and when he gets the showerhead back and aims it at your clit you nearly thrash right off his cock again. Simon catches you around your waist, keeping you all the way down, and you clamp and squeeze as the hot water suddenly begins to pulse, a sharp, needle-like spray over your little bud. He groans and squeezes your breast as you come, eyes rolling as your pussy throbs and gushes slick, washed away by the spray, angling your hips up as he sets the showerhead down to fuck into you properly.

You let him use your poor aching cunt like a fleshlight, whimpering when he bottoms out, and limply drape over his body when he comes, staying deep inside. Only a little trickle follows his cock when he softens and pulls out, and Simon gently wipes it away, turning off the water.

He carries you into the bedroom still damp, and you slide under the sheets with a grateful sigh.

TikTok was right, the no-panties challenge was very fun.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiiii love your work <3

Was having a bad day so I was wondering if u could write a headcanon about Simon or any of the 141 comforting you because college is difficult 🙇🏾‍♀️

If you don’t feel like it or don’t wanna write about this prompt, no worries <3 hope u have a great day :)

Hello! I can absolutely do a few headcanons about this!

@/desert-fern also requested this so I’m going to combine yours with theirs. I’ll also be covering all the 141 in this! Thanks for sending it in!!

written w/ gn!reader

John Price

Incredibly supportive but keeps a respectful distance.

Does not have your schedule save in his phone but he has it memorized.

He knows not to bother you during class (or lab or technical, etc.) and keeps to the promise until you’re available again.

He won’t force you to take breaks, but he will heavily suggest that you do until it become an annoying pestering that you can’t ignore.

If the two of you are married, John is happy to carry the financial load as well as pick up some of the domestic labor if it alleviates stress.

If you’re working on your PhD, John will insist on introducing you as “Doctor” to everyone.

If you’re going to school for something more hands on, John is happy to be your guinea pig. Need to practice a blood draw for nursing school? John will offer his arm with zero hesitation.

If college is starting to feel incredibly overwhelming and like you can’t handle it, he’s the reassuring voice that calms you down and emphasizes how important this journey means to you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Has your schedule saved in his phone.

Goes out of his way to bring you breakfast and coffee (or matcha or chai) in the morning because he understands the importance of starting the day with a fueled body.

If you’re someone who is sometimes disorganized, Kyle doesn’t mind dropping in a reminder about when you need to go to class or when something needs to be completed.

Will hold you accountable if you think you need someone else to keep you committed.

Doesn’t care if he has to rearrange plans last minute or cancel plans entirely if you have a last-minute assignment or exam to study for.

Forces you to take breaks and will physically remove you from what you’re working on if you don’t.

If everything feels a bit too overwhelming, Kyle is right there with a warm embrace and comforting words to help soothe the stress and anxiety.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Supportive but is a bit hopeless about how to help you.

Doesn’t have your schedule in his phone and doesn’t have your schedule memorized.

Absolutely calls and texts during class/lab/clinicals/etc. because he knows you’ll see it eventually. You’ve had to put your phone on Do Not Disturb because it’s nearly nonstop.

Never tells you to take a break because he’s so used to just pushing through stress that he doesn’t always recognize it in you.

Confuses bachelors, masters, and doctorate, but absolutely knows what you’re majoring in. Same goes for technical school.

Will take up the financial burden if married. Won’t even blink or bat an eye over it.

Absolutely treats you to gifts, dinner, or something special after a test, exam, or practical. He enjoys celebrating each accomplishment.

When it comes to feeling overwhelmed, Johnny doesn’t see the breakdown coming. One moment you’re fine, and the next you’re not. At first, he’s surprised, and not sure how to help.

If anything, Johnny is reassuring and gentle with you if you’re struggling with the responsibility that comes with college life. Lots of hugging and affirmations.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Has your schedule memorized and has it in his phone. Simon knows where you are at all times.

Completely supportive of your desire for pursuing higher education or even a technical trade. He joined the military as soon as he could and never had the opportunity to try out either.

Whether you’re dating or married, Simon is covering the financial cost of life while you take care of business. Now, he’s not paying for your schooling (unless married), but he’s covering the mortgage/rent, groceries, and everything else so that you can completely focus on getting your degree or certification.

While he’s not always one to give compliments, he does brag endlessly at work about you and how proud he is.

Absolutely forces you to take breaks while studying. If he’s not there, or away because of work, bet on the fact that he’s texting or calling or something to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

Sometimes he’s blunt or overly honest, and when you complain about stress or feeling overwhelmed, he might offer you a suggestion about how to manage it instead of simply listening.

When he’s off work, he will insist on driving you to and from campus.

If things prove too much, and you breakdown over the stress, Simon will completely shift gears. If all you need is to be held, he’ll hold you, and if you need to talk, he’ll listen. After the tears have dried, Simon will do his best to cheer you up, having an evening with just the two of you.

main masterlist

[quarterlifekitty]

Feel like we need more dark!Gax x Reader with omegaverse — like tell me that guy isn’t carefully manipulating you into a situation where you need an alpha after endearing you to him and showing you he’s not like other alphas :(

((Except he is and can’t wait to feel you stretched on his knot))

Lmao Gaz is definitely “not like other alphas.” He has restraint. He doesn’t think with his knot, see? He respects you and your self sufficiency!

I totally also see a dark!Gaz as being willing to throw his mates under the bus a bit if it means getting what he wants. If he can make himself look good by comparison, he’s gonna point out how soap has no respect for personal boundaries. You wouldn’t wanna spend your heat with someone like that, right?

He’s whatever the omegaverse equivalent of “I’m in a women’s studies class” guy is.

[stellewriites]

wip wednesday

tagged by @red5tars <3

snippet from a personal piece; aromantic gaz and asexual reader, qpr’s and learning to figure shit out at your own pace

his phone pinged on the coffee table in front of you and you snickered when you saw johnny's name. "looks like you'll owe johnny fifty quid in about an hour," you said and kyle groaned into his hands.

curled over with his elbows on his knees you rubbed his back

"guess pizza's on me next time then," you said and he looked up at you with unimpressed eyes.

"you're meant to say my team will pull through, babes. win at the last second," he huffed.

"i don't like to lie to you," you simpered sarcastically. you nudged him playfully when he rolled his eyes.

he looked at you then, your glistening eyes and teasing smile, and leant down for a soft kiss, his tongue making an eager appearance but barely brushing against your lips before he was pulling back.

he hovered close and you giggled quietly, cut off when he dipped back in, firmer this time. you kissed him back just as encouraging, held him close by the shoulders and licked into his mouth before he got the chance to tease.

you didn't know how long you sat there for, separating for quick moments to catch your breath before going back for more, magnetised and desperate to be close.

when you finally took a minute to break free, breathless and giddy, you gained the courage to joke with him. "so what are we?" you asked with a put on voice and an exaggerated expression. you broke after a moment and snorted a soft laugh.

kyle however had frozen. "uh, friends still?"

hope you guys like this one when it’s out!!

npt (sorry for any doubles!): @3amfanfiction @syoddeye @ohlawdthebirds @400badrequest @pricegouge @tempfrangit @dwarvenagenda @gloard :3

[skyvalii]

Kyle Garrick and his florist Husband who could take Kyle in a sass off. aka, I wanted to write something for the guys. CW: None, it's just fluff.

It's known Kyle has a partner. He's always been very vague on you, not cause he's ashamed, but because he didn't want to have to tell the story about how he met you because he had to buy flowers to apologize to his captain before he was on the task force, the context for why he was there was worse than your meeting. But Kyle can never keep you away for long, not when you send flowers to the base, a note attached signed 'your loving husband,' which he can NOT hide fast enough. So now the team knows, and they are relentless in wanting to meet you. (Read: Johnny is pleading.) So, he says yes. It's only fair, since the team is so important to him.

When the team shows up to his house, they're greeted by beautiful garden beds, and it's a cute little house. Once they step inside, they're greeted with Kyle in an apron. What?

Before they can ask, you come in through the sliding glass door, basil and garlic in your hands as you stomp mud off your boots. Looking up, you meet the wide eyes of three military men. "What are you looking at?" It's an instinct really.

Apologies happen once Kyle introduces you, although you aren't groveling for their forgiveness. They were the ones staring!

Johnny makes a comment about Kyle cooking, and you can only laugh, assuring him that if you were cooking, it'd be takeout instead. You grow the ingredients, and Kyle cooks with them. It works for the two of you.

You take them out back, showing them your little garden. It's fun to grow vegetables when you spend all your time around flowers anyways. You love your job and your hobby and are beyond grateful that your husband supports you as well.

The whole night you are keeping up with Johnny's quips, snorting at Simon's dry puns and talking about whatever with Price. Kyle starts to wonder why he didn't bring you around more often, especially as you come up behind him and kiss his cheek.

[ryuzakemo128]

Can the Living Haunt You?

Pairing: Poly141 x Loser! Welsh! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, Cussing, Female Reader is a loser, not relatively known, a tomboy. John Price, John 'Soap' MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, Simon 'Ghost' Riley are popular, well known, well liked, and did I say popular? Well they are. College au!, polyamorous relationship. Female reader in this is an artist in college with sex work defined as a broad defined 'side hustle' (If you don't like this topic I suggest you read something else). Graphic descriptions of injuries and traumatising events.

Note: Female reader has defining traits like: Tomboy, height of six foot ten (to make it clear she is a giant in this), gothic, heavy metal, & punk mixture of an aesthetic. I also like to this she's plus sized with a large chest in my own personal headcanon. Female reader also has body pircings and piercings in general.

Note 2: If you don't like how this female reader looks. Please turn around and leave. There are many, many writers out there that can cater to your tastes I am sure of it.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7,311

Divider Credit: @Cafekitsune

Summary: You always bid on yourself, so you didn’t have to suffer through the awkward conversations between you and another person.

The college charity auction wasn’t something you had interest. You donated money to it. But you never did it to bid on the popular guys or women there. No. You always bid on yourself, so you didn’t have to suffer through the awkward conversations between you and another person.

You were more than happy to decorate both the canteen and the auditorium. To leave at that and that alone. You didn’t have someone to ‘talk’ you into attending. It was through your own curiosity and to see what kind of chaos you could weave in. The brand of chaos you were known for, that is.

You didn’t account for Nikolai attending one of these. You hoped you could find something inside your closet to wear that radiated ‘Don’t come near me’ vibes. You hoped you could go there and still have people mind their own business like they have in the past.

You knew your roommate would be staying at her boyfriend’s apartment. You would have the place to yourself for the night at least. Or at least until the couple decided to change plans again.

As you were about to get settled for a longish night of being alone and getting drunk from your homebrew cocktails. You didn’t account for the five hundred pounds you would spend on welsh gin, mixers and other things.

Nikolai finally saw you in person, you were four cocktails deep and three burgers eaten. You were enjoying yourself at the college auction, a rare event where the most popular guys went up for a date. You didn’t know why you were here; you were the kind of person that didn’t get noticed, didn’t get picked, and certainly didn’t get asked out. But here you were, in the middle of it all, a sea of glammed-up girls and guys dressed to the teeth. And you?

Black Sabbath shirt with the sleeves cut off. Black high rise denim straight jeans with a belt with a white gold skull metal belt buckle in the middle. Knee-high black leather steel capped combat boots lined with metal studs on the sides. The studded choker with a pentagram pendant.

Black smudged eyeliner with a Smokey eyeshadow with black ombre lipstick. Combined with your nose ring on the left side and the 9mm black gauges in your earlobes. The industrial piercing in your right ear too. The stainless-steel tongue piercing. Your hair in a long wolf cut with your hair dyed jet-black.

Your fingerless leather gloves with studded spikes along the knuckles. Along with a few other things like the coffin shaped bag and the studded black bracelets with spikes on the outside. Your wallet, motorcycle keys and coin purse inside your bag too.

You weren’t planning on staying there longer than maybe an hour to two hours at the most. This type of thing amused you a little bit. But not enough to make you stay too long. You didn’t want to give them the wrong idea. The idea they were what you were there for. As you drank the gin you brought in there inside your bag.

Your art usually gets displayed on the screen when there is an intermission for auctions. Last time it was tiny, small, palm sized obsidian breathing red glitter fire and demanding flamed grilled chicken every Halloween.

You weren’t going to be picked at this kind of auction. You thought people wouldn’t care if you got drunk and started drawing on your massive tablet with your stylus in your right hand. You started off with drawing a strawberry shaped frog, the demonic bunny wooing his angelic bunny lover, a love fairy trying to pull a sword from a boulder, a beaver smoke a cigar who is a loan shark demanding its money paid back with huge 25% added interest.

The addition talking carrots you added in a cultist formation in the redwood trees you slowly added into the background. The lingering footprint indents of poltergeists still walking around unseen in the foreground. Making the art piece slowly eerie. But the gothic witch cottage with a version of yourself drinking hibiscus tea in the doorway.

As you were about to leave for something rather sweet and pleasant like pancakes. A six stack of thick pancakes smothered in hot butterscotch and chocolate fudge sauce. Whipped cream and strawberries on top. The type of thick souffle style pancakes that tasted so good that you never had any other type ever again.

You didn’t think about whether someone might have cared if you left so abruptly or not. In your mind. No one cared either way, and you preferred to keep it that way. While you were eating, you had a cartoon style video of a cat hanging onto a wire with a Welsh flag jumper, with ‘Be right back’ and ‘Artist food break in pastel pink bubble writing. Enjoy some cat videos’. Which were all of your own cats from the backlog of videos you have already. Including some of the older ones you have shown them already.

As you were delving into your pancake desires at your table. As you were eating your favourite kind of dessert, whenever you drink copious amounts of gin. In the moment of pure ecstasy, someone decided to interrupt you. You didn’t think you could pull such erotic looking facial expression. But according to the person interrupting you?

To him? It was one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen. You were enjoying yourself a little too much and someone wanted to make sure you were tamed. As if someone could ever do such a thing as to ‘tame’ you to begin with is laughable. Most guys love to brag about that kind of thing to your face or behind your back.

It didn’t annoy you as much as people loved to assume. It amused you more than anything. The thought of you being domesticated. You wonder how that would even work and how that would even look. And the person interrupting you? John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and John Price. You heard they had the knack for ‘brat taming’ whatever that means. You never asked for more details. You never plan to either.

You were too busy thinking, ‘I hope no one can see the nipple piercings through my shirt’ to really notice them approaching you. You wonder how someone react if they did see them, and she didn’t notice. A warm feeling blossomed on your cheeks at the mere thought of it occurring.

You were dead certain you placed on nipple covers before heading out this afternoon. Now you’re sitting there while you eat pancakes thinking about it some more. You were so sure you made sure that you were dressed and ready to leave your dorm too.

As you continued to ponder whether you had remembered to place on the nipple covers. Nikolai smirked as he watched you haphazardly ponder the question mentally. He automatically knew one of your many weaknesses were your boobs. How did he know this you ask?

Well, it’s simple, he touched your breasts once by coincidence and you whimpered accidentally. You didn’t mean to. It just………slipped out of your mouth. “Pretend……... Pretend you didn’t hear that.” You stated at the time your face heating up.

Nikolai still remembers how you left so hastily afterwards. You weren’t going to let that accident happen a second time. That would make YOU look bad. But Nikolai wasn’t the type of man to keep that to himself for too long. Especially since he hung around Price a lot. There wasn’t a moment when he isn’t around Price.

You hoped he would have forgotten that you exist or ever existed. But apparently. Luck just isn’t on your side this week. Though, luck is rarely ever on your side when you want it to be. You didn’t think how it would affect the guy long term now, did you? That whimper is now engrained into the back of Nikolai’s mind like a saucy, sultry catchphrase.

When they spotted you at the gym swimming pool the next day? The two-piece black bikini you always wore when you did your morning swimming routine? The routine of fifty laps in breaststroke, backstroke, freestyle and butterfly. And that is what she calls a warm-up rather than a plain exercise.

And the stretches you usually warm up before you swim? The ones you learned through gymnastics, hot yoga and your love for MMA? As you were doing the rest of those stretches as they walked in? Perhaps it was when they walked in while you were midway through your morning exercises.

As yesterday, you pushed yourself a little harder than usual with the bicep curls and the  deadlifting amount and the sparring. You hoped swimming wouldn’t be as intense on the body as the gym. But, oh boy, you were wrong by the time you reach in Backstroke. You were about to take a break for fifteen minutes to thirty.

You were resting on the chairs beside the pool drawing in your art journal, sketching a few new ideas to bring to life through ceramics or pottery. You often looked up to make sure they haven’t spotted you, you hoped the divider you made from recycled wood, black fabric and a recycled plastic sheeting in the middle of the wood. The over-all design of a gothic cathedral blocking the line of sight of anyone who might want to ogle you.

As you switched back to reading your Lovecraft book collection on your waterproof tablet. While you sipped your cold water. Ignoring the people around you as you normally did first thing in the morning. You were happier at this time of day because no one is usually brave enough to approach a giant like yourself in this state.

Especially considering you haven’t eaten your breakfast yet. You hoped the calorie deficit would be enough to keep you going through the exercise. You were resting and thinking what you should be having for breakfast. Would it be better for you to eat Semolina porridge? Would it be better for you to have soft boiled eggs drowned in a sweet & sour sauce with paprika, salt and pepper? Or maybe just a bowl of porridge with honey? Or perhaps something more substantial like a full English breakfast with extra black pudding.

Your stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast. You were already planning the recipe in your head. Semolina porridge with a side of fruit and two cups of sweetened coffee. Though it after you were finished your morning exercise routine. Heading straight to your dorm with a dark blue beach towel wrapped around you.

Taking your homemade divider with you too. As you were about to leave the pool area to have breakfast inside your dorm. You heard the gruff voice. You ignore it. Obviously thinking the person behind you was either coughing or talking to somebody else. Either way. You weren’t sticking around.

Breakfast on the brain. You couldn’t think about anything else. No. You refused to think about anything else. Determined to have your breakfast. In peace and quiet. Like your father does at this hour. Though he is a night shift working as a line cook in a diner open 24/7. His need to try out a different type of breakfast each morning is just another one of those things you got from him.

Your walking pace kicked up a notch. Maybe two. The premise of food always won you over. Far more times than the whispered promise of sex. The statement alone is usually met with judgemental snickering from women. The ‘then maybe you haven’t had good sex’ grated on every nerve in your body. Sometimes sex isn’t the end all, be all of someone’s personal journey, Linda. Maybe you would have learned that if you weren’t so busy sucking cock all the time to actually take care of yourself, LINDA.

But that conversation is for another time. At least one when you’re not already hungry. You didn’t think about them talking to you. Food is on your mind, and you were ready to get it. You were keen on your breakfast. Too keen according to some. A real grouch without food too. Not as grouchy as your ex-boyfriend Damien. And you haven’t spoken to that guy in months.

And the last time you spoke to the guy in almost a year. You would reach out more if he weren’t so much of a cunt to contact most of the time. Part of you missed the guy something fierce. Not like you would admit it out loud. Not like you would admit it even if someone waterboarded you either. Keeping all your personal things wrapped inside yourself until it hurt. Till your bones ached.

You didn’t have to speak to get your point across. He didn’t have to lecture you about picking up after yourself. You don’t know why you don’t find yourself liking others as much as you did for him. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that his father murdered him out of spite. The kind of spite you only ever read in Shakespearean Plays or Greek tragedies. But it happened to you, didn’t it?

And now, you’re a recluse that enjoys the company of animals more than people. You weren’t going to find another Damien. Yours is long dead. Mourning for someone who you wouldn’t have again. In your eyes. In your mind. You wouldn’t have that again.

But that’s your business, right? Yours and yours alone, right? No one else’s. You don’t expect people to fix you. You don’t want to be ‘fixed’.

People, most people, love the idea of ‘fixing’ someone they deem ‘broken’. But you don’t like the term or the idea you can ‘fix’ a living human being. You never had. Flaws are flaws. Inherently human nature. Defined by innate nature of being born human. People forget we are still learning new things about the human body.

The ringtone you were listening to on your phone. Damien’s voice. Even when he’s dead was enough to keep you going a little bit longer. A taste of the past amongst the pointless lingering in the future. You don’t know why you still had it. You had a feeling it was a way to keep a part of him with you.

You call it a breakup, in reality, he was ripped from you one night and his father didn’t have the guts to turn himself in for six months. You don’t know what snapped in his father’s head when he found out Damien was going to move out into the apartment you were living in at the time. You don’t have the guts to ask.

You have the scars to remember. To ache. To writhe inside your own skin. The night he was killed. You were both nineteen. It’s easy to forget it wasn’t just yesterday. Sometimes it feels like it was a lifetime ago. Sometimes it feels like it was only minutes. The cold steel of the knife on your throat. The warm blood splatter on your face. The way your heart stopped in your chest.

John price saw you texting your ex-boyfriend, despite the fact you knew you wouldn’t get an answer. It was something to keep you from dissociating entirely. The friends you had weren’t yours in your mind. They were your boyfriends. And you stopped talking to them because in your heart you believed they were never YOURS to begin with.

Religious people pissed you off now. More than they had before. It was like the way dismissed your pain as part of their ‘god’s plan’. Like some kind of sick joke. The kind they loved to repeat. Again. Again. Again. As if your life was some sort of sick joke to be played at their whimsy. You didn’t believe in that shit anymore. Not after one of their own did something as heinous as murder.

People love to say they like helping people. But when it comes to actually helping them? Especially those who aren’t religious. They say things like, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “It’s all part of God’s plan.” As if that’s supposed to make you feel better. As if that’s supposed to justify the fact that you’re now left with nothing but a dead body and a shit-ton of guilt.

You didn’t believe in that shit anymore. Turning to the absurdist philosophy did more for your life than any religion had ever done. Once you started living it? It was like a weight is lifted from your shoulders. A weight you hadn’t known existed there. You didn’t know what to do with your newfound freedom. Thus, you pursued things you wanted to try out without any meaning behind it all.

You didn’t believe in destiny or fate anymore either. You believed in chaos. In the chaos of life. In the randomness of the universe. In the cold, unfeeling abyss that swallowed you up whole. But you liked that. You liked that there weren’t any strings attached to your life anymore. No expectations. No one to live up to. No one to disappoint. Just you. Your thoughts. And your art.

You suppose it’s when you started going to brothels. Or in your case when you started working in brothels for £1000 a night. Setting it credulously high on purpose. If someone couldn’t afford you. You’d be able to sense it from a mile away. Besides, setting it that high made sure you had the cream of the crop. You weren’t going to deal with anyone who didn’t respect you or your boundaries.

You made sure they were tested for STDs, vaccinated, background checked, no criminal record of previous criminal activity, and that they had the money in full ahead of time. You weren’t going to risk your health for anything less.

He must have heard about your side hustle or something, you didn’t think it could have been anything else to give that part of you away to them.

Simon overheard rumours about it, the rumours you were a ‘lady of the night’ or something equally ridiculous. Until he heard you charged £1000 a night for it. Solidifying truth from supposed fiction. He didn’t know what was worse. The fact that you had a side hustle or that you were good at it.

As you were showering, you were thinking about whether you should just get dressed straight away or take your time this morning. As you were washing your hair in black shampoo which helped your dyed hair keep its dyed black colour to it. As you were washing it out a second time.

Slowly adding in the black conditioner into your hair, started at the tips of your hair and ending midway. Leaving the conditioner to soak into your hair follicles. You were about to pick up your goat’s milk body wash to wash yourself with the black loafer you bought from the discount store yesterday to replace your old one.

You weren’t expecting anyone, your roommate is usually having breakfast with her boyfriend in his apartment at this hour. The freedom of not having to be modest first thing in the morning has always been a blessing in your opinion. Often walking to your room naked sometimes to get dressed there after you got dried in the bathroom.

You weren’t worried or fussed with the concept of modesty when it came to your own place, your own space or your own dorm. You had your porridge ready to cook and you were keen on getting straight to eating breakfast as soon as possible.

Yet, even as you were getting dressed in your bedroom, you didn’t exactly clock the fact that Simon just saw you walk into your bedroom naked as a jaybird. You weren’t particularly shameful in doing so, either. He didn’t expect to see you in such a state. As you slipped on your black lace underwear and shorts.

Slipping on an Iron Maiden shirt. It used to be a stark white until you ultimately decided it would look better tie died in deep purple and blue. The shirt had seen better days, it had stains of various art projects and paint splatters all over it. It remains to be one of your favourites. You didn’t bother with a bra today. Letting your heavy chest breathe a little. You weren’t expecting anyone to see you today.

You also didn’t expect the two johns frowning and trying to figure out how to cook semolina porridge. “Do you need a hand with that genius and shorter genius?” you asked raising an eyebrow at the pair. “I thought you were gym bros into calculating all that healthy stuff and cooking.”

“Semolina Porridge is Semolina flour, milk, water, salt and butter.” You added in. “There is more than one type of porridge in the world my confused puppers. Cute, confused pups I might add.”

“I have the recipe typed out, laminated and held with magnets in case I forget how to make it.” You pointed to the side of the fridge. “It SHOULD help you.”

You didn’t think you would have to help two buff guys how to cook as something as what you thought was simple like ‘Semolina Porridge’. But here you were helping them out like they were lost puppies in the middle of nowhere.

You eventually took charge and showed them how you made it from scratch. The hot plate you bought ages ago still working luckily. You didn’t expect to use it today, but here you are. You combined the milk, water, butter, and salt in a saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, stirring gently with a whisk.

You then removed it from the heat. Pouring in semolina flour in a steady stream, whisking constantly to prevent lumps.

Afterwards, you placed the saucepan back over medium heat; whisking until porridge comes to a boil, for about 2 minutes. Reducing the heat to low, covering with a saucepan lid, and cook, stirring occasionally, until porridge thickens. It takes about 20 minutes.

You didn’t miss the glances exchanged between the two Johns. They were clearly out of their depth. It was like watching two hunks try to navigate the art of cooking without burning down the place. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself, feeling oddly superior in your kitchen skills.

“Now we stir occasionally for the next 20 minutes.” you remarked, adding things like cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar. It was your own little twist to the recipe. Soap sniffed the thickening porridge with a nod of approval.

You then removed the saucepan from heat; stirred in sugar. Only to let it sit on a cold plate for five minutes before serving it with a dollop of cream.

“Make sure to tell me if you liked it or not. I’m not a mind reader. If I was, I would be making at least ten grand a week.” You remarked setting a bowl in front of each of them. “And before you ask, no, I have no intentions on adding eggs to my porridge.”

As you were about to make a head start on your second breakfast because classes didn’t start until later. You were cleaning out the porridge to get it ready to make some soft-boiled duck eggs. Kyle wandered over after he showered in the gym lockers.

Kyle remarked with a grin on his lips, “Someone’s got a big appetite this morning.”, he cooed.

You raised an eyebrow at his comment. “I eat four duck eggs a morning.” You reminded him. Just in case he forgot how much of a high metabolism you still have.

You placed the duck eggs in the saucepan and filled the pot with cold water. After you placed it onto the hot plate you went back to getting back into your normal routine of cleaning your bedroom, cat litter boxes and general garbage from the bins.

Bringing out the steam mop however, John Price decided to say why they were there. As if the mop suddenly just reminded him for some reason?

“We noticed you didn’t go to bed with anyone last night.” He began awkwardly. You looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted another head.

“What’s your point? I don’t work if I’m drinking all night.” You remarked. Thinking this was about why you didn’t ‘work’ last night. Your work that allowed to be able to get things you normally wouldn’t have been able to afford otherwise. “And in terms of dating, I haven’t dated anyone else since I was 19.”

You didn’t mention the fact that you had a mishap that ended up with in the hospital and getting at least 45 stitches in your arm. You didn’t think they would notice either. You were certain of it. Too certain perhaps?

As you were about to eat your duck eggs, Simon spotted the bandage. You were mixing the sweet and sour sauce with soy sauce into a small saucepan, combining crushed garlic, finely sliced ginger, and dried sliced jalapeños.

“What the fuck happened to your arm?” Simon asked, growing a little. At least it sounded like he was growling according to your own ears.

“I tried to jump a wired fence after having one too many drinks last night. I didn’t account for any loose wires in the fence.,” You answered his question. Silently hoping this answer would be good enough and they wouldn’t ask further questions about it. “Technically, this is my fault and mine alone.”

There. You have admitted it was no one else’s fault but your own. That should cover everything. Right? They can’t be mad if you admit the truth first. They can’t be mad at you if don’t have something on you to get angry about.

They can’t find something to get mad at you for.

You have won their little game.

Whatever that game was.

You don’t know.

But you like to think you won anyway.

As you continued to make the sauce. You weren’t sure who brought up the subject first or why it was brought up in the first place either. But the topic polyamory is brought up up and the look on your face made Soap snort.

You looked like you had decided to suck on sixteen lemons at once. “What you get up to is not my business.” You reminded. “Its like you enjoy torturing me.”

“Ok why did you want to talk?” you asked John Price this time allowing Simon to taste one of the duck eggs. “Is everything tidy?”

You were rather suspicious over their need to talk to you now. You were content with how things have been in your life so far. Things didn’t have to change. Things were fine the way they are. Change brought in potentially being abandoned and left behind. You don’t want to take that risk like you had the first time.

John cleared his throat, looking a bit nervous. “We were wondering if you’d be interested in a polyamorous relationship with us?” He said it so casually that it took you a moment to process it.

Now you were just rather confused. No, you weren’t offended by the idea. You were more or less confused because this is the first time you ever heard of such a thing. “How does that even work?” you asked frowning deeply. You knew a lot of things. It became blatantly clear that you haven’t dated someone in so long that you have forgotten what it's like to be in a romantic relationship.

“You’re going to need to write this down. I won’t be able to understand otherwise.” You added in. Hinting at your learning disabilities this time. You handed him your tablet which is larger than he expected it be.

The tablet wasn’t what John expected you to have. The screen size of 16 inches, a thickness of 8.2 inches, weight of 718 grams, storage capacity of 1TB with a micro-SD of 1.5TB, Moonstone Grey coloured, and a battery that lasted for 16 hours. It came with a 2 year warranty and 16GB of memory.

You used this when you were going on the train, and your professional artist display tablet is too expensive to risk breaking just by carrying it everywhere. Soap looked around your office part of your dorm. The vintage porn movies posters hung on your office walls. The Welsh flag on the door to your office and the shark themed foot mat to the office.

Other things like the Welsh gin inside of a black and white bar fridge. There is a jug of mead fermenting in the corner of the room. There is a black coffin shaped bookshelf with Absurdist philosophy books, a lava lamp and many art history books. Beside the art easel from the 1980s.

The walls are painted a midnight blue with black trimmings. The vintage posters brought out your absurdity far more. Though it was the 3D printer, the 3D printed figurines around the room you made for yourself that were more than a little raunchy in theme.

Figurines of busty women in different stages of undress along the top of your coffin shaped bookshelf. The other figurines you had displayed? Some of which were of women in playboy bunny costumes with the character names on the base with small décor items like a bouquet of flowers. Something to give more personality to the character.

It was how you got comfortable with your sexuality, sexual orientation and how you looked on the outside. It happened to be pansexual. You liked whoever you liked regardless of gender. You had your preferences, everyone did. But when you found someone. Someone you liked, you liked them for them.

Other small things Soap noticed was the desktop computer with a giant mechanical keyboard with LED lights that changed colour and the mouse pad that had a dragon on it. It was like something out of a gamer’s fantasy. Though the only games you ever play on the thing were all soulsborne games, Doom Games, Fallout Games, and Skyrim.

Which inspired most of your art. Whether some could say it was on purpose or not is purely conjecture because some of the normal people around you are stranger than you are sometimes. So much so, that most of the art you sold were inspired by those same people.

Not like they noticed. Much to your own relief.

As John continued to write down the fundamentals of a polyamorous relationship. He knew you weren’t easily swayed by charm, you were someone who preferred actions rather than just the simplicity of words because talking is easy. Everyone can talk. But it’s the actions that speak louder than words.

They scream louder than words from somebody’s lips. They were more telling sometimes through someone’s body language at any given time. Plus, it was easy to ignore somebody’s words. It was harder to ignore someone’s actions.

Perhaps this is why they were drawn to you to begin with? Your actions were always closely tied with your words. It also meant your face gave away what you were feeling all of the time, and you weren’t going to be ashamed of it either.

“I am very surprised you didn’t go for, what was her name again? Was it Linda Paulson or something?” you asked the five of them. “Because she is the type I see you being into.”

They looked at you with a puzzled look. “What makes you say that?” Soap asked.

“Blonde, chipper, bright in aesthetic, Five foot three, cute as a button, bubbly in personality, nerotypical, untraumatised. she doesn't look 'dirty' with all her tattoos. Obsessed with baking cookies, the typical girls girl. The whole nine yards and far better suited to you.” you answered. “People like to think they want different. But in reality they just want the kind of different with the same cover on the outside.”

They looked at each other, unsure how to respond. It was clear your words had struck a nerve. “You don't think we'd be into someone like you?” Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In truth, I don't think anyone would be. I am more of an artist watching, like a perverse creep watching art pieces walk and talk around them. Never able to participate in any kind of meaningful manner.” you answered. “Absurdist theory on life made things easier to understand. Removed the mystery rug from over the top and left it bare-bones enough to see what it actually is beneath those layers.”

Nikolai replied, noticing you have taken the absurdist philosophy to heart, specifically philosopher Albert Camus' notion that life is inherently absurd and the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s idea that one must embrace the chaos and live life to the fullest. Both of which you read before bed each night according to the lines along the spines of the books on the coffee table.

Nikolai knew you were more or less weren’t going to take things at face value or just because they ‘found you intriguing’ or ‘unique’. You more or less looked like you despised those two terms and loathed the idea you can slap those two things together to win you over.

Nikolai walked out of your dorm to speak to John in private, you didn‘t think much of it. As you cleaned up and started writing down questions you had in your notepad. As you were writing them, Soap decided to take a look at the books on your bookshelf. “Camus and Nietzsche, huh?” He murmured, holding up 'The Stranger'.

“At the moment, yes, I haven't had the time to read more than those two so far.” you answered.

Soap nodded, looking thoughtfully at the book. “I can see why you'd be into that. Life is pretty absurd, isn't it?” He said, flipping through the pages. His thumb brushing over the words that you had underlined, the ones that had struck a chord within you during your late-night reading sessions.

“Innately. Sensually. Romantically.” you stated.

The questions you wrote down were the following:

1. How do want to deal with living arrangement?

2. Do any of you have any allergies?

3. Are any of you allergic to cats? (I have eight this is why I asked you this question specifically.)

4. How do you feel about someone who has a past with the sex work industry?

5. What are your expectations of me in this relationship?

6. What are your intentions with me?

7. What are the rules? (If any)

8. How will we handle jealousy? Is there a preferred way? If so what is it?

10. Are you willing to get tested for STD’s?

You passed them over to John. Who then gave to Nikolai to give a look over too. They both read over them. They weren’t expecting you to be so straightforward. You didn’t bother with the fluff and frills that came with these kinds of conversations.

“We can manage living arrangement. We’re not allergic to cats, thankfully.” Soap spoke up as he put the book down. “But we do have a dog and a snake, so I hope they get along with your clowder.”

“Lovely.” you stated trying to be nice, but you have a phobia of dogs, a phobia running so deep and thorough.  

Soap looked at you with a bit of a smirk. “Oh, you're afraid of dogs?” He said, his tone teasing. “Well, we'll just have to introduce you to ours gently, then.”

“Fear is a rather tame way to say the word phobia.” you stated. “And before you ask. I don't hate dogs. I just don't particularly trust them.”

Soap saw the scars on your left leg. The chaotic mess of teeth marks that you got from a large stray dog when you were only six years old. When your mother wasn't paying close enough attention to where you were. That was when you learned not to trust dogs. It was when you couldn't trust your own mother because she would rather continue her affair than be an actual parent.

You had taken upon your to call that day, ‘The Mauling & Blatant Disregard’. A day where you have etched so deeply into your memory that you remember it vividly even years later. You were just a child, and your mother was too busy with her lover to hear your screams. The skin, flesh pulling away from your leg like it was nothing but chucks & pieces of meat to the stray feral canine biting its teeth into your leg.

The way the fact you could feel the dog's teeth on the bone of your leg. it was a miracle that the dog hadn't bitten through. The way the pain had shot through your body and how you had screamed until your voice had gone hoarse. You were certain it would have. You feared that it did.

It was the neighbour that saved your life, not your mother like she wanted your father to believe at the time. He didn’t say much to her face, but he most certainly made sure to get everything in writing and stored away in the big metal filing cabinets he always kept in the garage at the time.

You had to get surgery. Relearn how to walk properly. You were put through therapy to learn how to cope with things after the traumatic event. Fundamentally it was the reason why you didn’t trust dogs, even if they were just pets. They had teeth. They could bite. They could kill.

Soap's opinion of you changed a little, a giant afraid of dogs, spiders and enough emotional trauma to sink a proverbial ship. It was a new layer to your onion that he wasn’t expecting to peel back so soon. But his opinion of your mother? He had none. It was clear she was a shit parent.

“Well, the dog is pretty friendly. But we’ll definitely keep her on a leash until you’re comfortable around her.” John Price assured you, his eyes sincere as he took the list of questions from Soap. “And as for the STD testing, we’re all clean, but we can get tested again if it makes you feel more at ease.”

“Probably for the best.” you answered.

Nikolai nodded, looking over the list with John. “We’re looking for someone who’s honest and straightforward. Someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things or play games.” He said, his gaze meeting yours. “And we can tell you’re all of that and more.”

Nikolai looked at your own answer for that question, ‘I want someone who can take accountability for their own actions and instead of just simply stating the word sorry. They should be able to put in the action of trying to be better about it afterwards. Another thing, they should be ok with the possibility of being wrong because being right all the time is border line impossible and implausible. Not mention. The definition of being an automated system. Thirdly, I want a conversation. A conversation requires two people not one. This includes any philosophical discussions. A discussion requires two people’.

They both nodded at your answer. “We can manage that.” John said, a hint of a smile on his face. “We’re not perfect, but we’re willing to learn and grow with you. And we’re definitely open to discussing anything, especially philosophy.”

Simon noticed how your shoulders relaxed further at the last part. It seems philosophy is far more ingrained in your mindset. How ingrained your reading is right now.

The answer for your expectations for them. The detailed answer of, ‘I expect you to be kind to yourself when you fail at something. I expect you to count failure as part of the learning process and to be kind yourself when or if it happens. I expect you to be able to cry when you’re sad, scream when you’re angry, laugh when you feel joy and to let those emotions be. To allow yourselves to feel things.’

‘To allow yourself to just exist as you are. I expect you to be human. That’s all. I expect you to be human. Nothing more nothing less. I expect you to be you. And for that I expect you to be honest about your feelings. I don’t want to be with someone who is going to hide their emotions from me. It’s exhausting. And I won’t lie, it’s incredibly annoying when people do that to me.’

‘If you can do that. If you are willing to do that for yourself. Then I can do the same for you.’ you added in the cursive writing.

You listened intently like your feline Walter when he was high on silver vine, Soap noticed how the weed incense made you this calm and collected. The rules and expectations they laid out were straightforward, much like you. Honesty, respect, and open communication were at the forefront of their relationship guidelines. You nodded, scribbling down notes on your notepad, the tip of your pencil tap-taping against the paper as you thought.

“What's your take on personal space?” You questioned, your voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. You had your own quirks, your own need for solitude and chaos, and you weren't about to compromise that for anyone, not even the likes of them.

Gaz looked at you, his eyes serious for a moment. “We respect personal space. We won't invade it without your consent.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. It was clear that they had discussed this before, had thought about what they were getting into, and were ready to meet you on your terms.

John saw the design of your future disconnected office for when you moved into the family house your father left to you in the inheritance when he passed when you were twenty-seven years old. He then saw the pictures of the place you were going to move into with monster trucks, motorcycles, dirt bikes, and the rock-climbing wall you had painted with glow in the dark paint.

Alongside other many, many things people consider typically masculine. But you also had things that were feminine like the seamstress area which used to be your mother’s work-from-home office. The sewing machines and fabrics that smelled faintly of her perfume, the one she used to wear before she left your life.

Not like you missed her like she might claim to her many friends of her new husband. You weren’t interested in getting to know her again or the man she married. He was a good man, you had to admit. He took care of your younger brother, and he was kind to you. But your mother was never going to be the woman she was before she had you.

John flicked through the images of the house. You call it house. But it seems incredibly clear that he didn’t think it looked like a house at all. Which amuses you because this is the same place you grew up inside. “That’s not a house. That…. that is more like a compound combined with a circus and a garage for those who like to play with fire.”

“Do you see the image my father wanted to cultivate?” you asked. “The chaotic side his art works have in common with in terms of theme and homage.”

John answered, “Yeah, I see it. It’s like he knew what kind of artist you’d become.” He handed you back the tablet. You took it with a smile, feeling a warm sense of pride for the space you’ve created.

“My grandmother oddly enough wanted to be buried there too.” You revealed.

Soap raised an eyebrow, “In the house?”

“No. In the backyard underneath an apple tree.” you clarified pointing to the gravestone underneath the ominous looking apple tree.

Note 3: If you want to see more of this female reader. Let me know and I will write a part 2.

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x protective reader) | Part One | Part Two

You leave them resting.

It had taken time to get them there, settled into the quiet comfort of home after the hospital had finally deemed them well enough to leave. You had guided them through the front door one by one, careful with their injuries, watching the way they moved, the stiffness in their limbs, the exhaustion that clung to them like a dark shroud. You had spent the past few weeks devoted to their care, pouring yourself into it, because it was easier- safer- to focus on them than to let your thoughts spiral elsewhere.

You had taken on the role with practiced ease, slipping into it so naturally that they never questioned it, because it was something they were already so familiar with. Of course, you would be the one to tend to them, to ensure their wounds were healing properly, that they were eating enough, that they were sleeping, even when rest came fitfully.

They never fought you on it, never turned you away when you hovered, when you smoothed fingers through Simon’s hair as he dozed on the couch or curled up against Johnny while he recovered from his own injuries. Kyle would let you fuss over him, let you press your lips against his brow while you checked his bandages, always murmuring something soft, something reassuring. They’d give you little, soft promises of making it up to you, even if you’d always tsk and tell them there was no need.

And John had let you take care of him, had watched you with quiet eyes that never quite missed the exhaustion you thought you had hidden well. He had let you curl up beside him in bed when he was too tired to fight sleep, had hummed low in his throat when you traced the bruises along his ribs with careful fingers. But he had watched you, always. And you knew, knew, that the wheels in his head had been turning ever since they had come home, ever since you had first sat beside his hospital bed, gaze distant, thinking too hard about something you had refused to share- ever since you knew Laswell had told him to rest and recover before she’d send him information about the “extraction team” that’d been sent for them.

You had kissed him before you left.

Just a soft press of your lips against his temple, the warmth of him steady and solid beneath your hands. He had shifted slightly in his sleep, exhaling a slow breath, but hadn’t woken.

They had let you care for them. Had leaned into you, into your warmth, into the soft words and steady hands you offered so willingly.

And it had been easy to play that role.

To be their sweetheart, their lovely girl, the woman they knew, the woman they needed right now.

So you had smiled and fussed and let them think that was all there was.

But tonight- tonight- you were something else.

And so you slipped into the night.

The bullet sits heavy in your hand now, cool between your fingers as you stand outside Shepherd’s office. The engraving catches the dim light- his name carved into the metal, a promise of the end that was always coming for him.

The engraving catches the dim glow of the overhead lights, the name carved into the casing a reminder. A promise.

Shepherd.

Your thumb brushes over the letters.

He deserves this.

No alarms blare as you slip inside. No guards stop you. Security is lax- too lax for a man who should have known better, who should have felt the inevitable creeping up behind him. He had slunk back into his cushy office, behind paperwork and excuses, behind bureaucracy that would let him slip away unscathed. He had been counting on it.

A mistake.

He looks up, startled, as you step into the room, his mouth parting as if to speak.

He never gets the chance.

The shot rings out, sharp and final.

His body jerks, head snapping back before he collapses forward, the force of the bullet slamming him against his desk. Blood splatters across the scattered papers, soaking into ink, dripping onto the polished wood floor.

It’s done.

Just like that.

There is no satisfaction, no thrill, no catharsis- just the weight of something that had to be done settling deep in your bones. You lower the gun, taking a slow breath, ready to slip back into the night, to disappear before anyone is the wiser. You have no fear, and no regrets.

But then-

“Christ, love.”

Your breath catches, and you freeze. Slowly, slowly, you turn.

John stands in the doorway, dressed in a hastily thrown-on jacket, boots barely laced, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows. But his eyes- his eyes burn with something heavy, something knowing, something gentle in a way you hadn’t expected.

You should have known.

I should have known.

The way he had watched you when you thought no one was looking. The way his fingers had lingered against your wrist when you passed by, a touch grounding you as if he had felt the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way he had known you weren’t just tending to them out of love, out of worry, but because you were stalling. Because you were waiting.

He must have been suspicious-

And now, he was here.

Standing in the aftermath of your vengeance, staring at the blood pooling across Shepherd’s desk, his jaw tight.

“…You’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Even. No anger. No accusations.

You force yourself to meet his gaze. “Yeah.”

His expression doesn’t change. His gaze flicks to Shepherd’s limp body for only a moment before settling back on you, sharp and unwavering. You brace yourself for it- the reprimand, the disappointment, the something that you know must come.

Everything you’d been clinging to, now ripped out of your hands-

But John only exhales, slow and heavy, dragging a hand down his face.

“You didn’t have to do this, love.” His voice dips, rough around the edges.

Your jaw tightens. “No one else would.”

He nods, just once. “I know.”

And that’s what hurts- because he does know. He knows why you did it.

Knows what it felt like to be abandoned, to be left to die. Knows the failures of authority, the way the world would have let Shepherd slip through the cracks, unpunished. Knows that you were the only one willing to put a stop to it.

And he knows that you would do it again, given half the chance.

You glance down at the blood staining the papers, staining your hands. It should feel final. It should feel over, the silence after the guillotine falls.

But it doesn’t.

Then, warmth.

John steps forward, his hands finding your shoulders, solid and steady.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters, but you go. You let him pull you close, let your forehead press against his chest, let his warmth wrap around you like an anchor. His arms are firm around you, fingers smoothing over the back of your head, his heart a steady thrum beneath your cheek.

“This doesn’t change anything.”

His voice is softer now, aching. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re still ours. Still our sweetheart. Our lovely girl.” His fingers brush over your cheek, wiping away something you don’t even realize is there. “This doesn’t make you any less of that. I just hate that you were… forced to do this.”

Something inside you breaks. Because deep down, some part of you had feared it would. That once he knew, once he saw, he would look at you differently.

But he doesn’t.

Of course he doesn’t.

Because this is John, and you are still his- still theirs. Their precious sweetheart. The heart of their home.

Still loved.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he says nothing about the way your shoulders tremble, just holds you- steady, warm, solid. Just presses his lips to your forehead in something reverent and grounding.

“Let’s go home, love.”

And this time, you let him.

(John holds you like you might slip away, once you are back in the familiar comfort of your home.

Like if he lets go, even for a second, you’ll disappear into the night again, off to put another bullet in another bastard who deserves it.

And he can’t let that happen- not to you.

Not ever again.

He tucks you against his chest, one arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other smoothing up and down your back in slow, steady strokes. You’re warm, soft against him, but there’s a tension in your frame that hasn’t fully faded, your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt like you’re still grounding yourself.

He knows you- knows you- and he knows you’re still thinking about it. About Shepherd. About what you did. About how it doesn’t feel different, how you don’t feel changed, even though you thought you would.

John presses a kiss to your temple, lingering, and breathes you in.

He hates that you had to do it.

Not because Shepherd didn’t deserve it- God knows he did- but because it should have never been you.

You, with your gentle hands, your soft voice, your heart big enough to hold all of them in it. You, who tends to their wounds and kisses their scars and still winces when you see them bloodied. You, who they swore to protect.

And yet, it was you who had to pull the trigger.

Because no one else would and because no one else could.

And John hates that.

He hates that you had to bear that weight alone. Hates that you thought you had to, that you couldn’t trust them to take it from you because of their injuries, to stand beside you, to do what needed to be done so you wouldn’t have to.

That ends now.

He tightens his hold, burying his face in your hair, exhaling slow and measured.

“Never again, love.” His voice is low, rough and raw. “You hear me? You’ll never have to do that again.”

Your breath stutters, and he knows you’re about to argue, about to say that if it comes down to it, you’ll always do what has to be done.

But John shakes his head, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up, to make you look at him.

“No.” There is something like a promise in the way his thumb brushes over your cheek. “Not when you have four men willing to do it in your stead.”

You stare at him, lips parted, searching his face like you’re trying to find something- some hesitation, some doubt. But there isn’t any. There never was.

Because this is who they are.

This is what they do; they get blood on their hands so you never have to.

And will never let you carry that burden again.

“You’re ours to protect, sweetheart.” His voice softens, low and sure, a vow sealed in the space between you. “Let us do that, yeah?”

You swallow, eyes shining, fragile and exhausted and relieved.

And then, finally, you nod.

John exhales, pressing another kiss to your forehead, gathering you closer, letting your weight settle fully against him.

“Sleep, love.” He whispers it against your skin, a gentle murmur, a reassurance, a promise. “You’re home now.”)

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[ghouljams]

Absolutely cannot have fresh shaved/waxed pussy around the 141 boys.

Soap will cry over it, mourning the loss of your bush and "talking his girl(your pussy) through the loss" ie fingering you until you're soaked and sore as punishment.

Price will make it his mission to give you beard burn, shaking his head like a damn dog while he's eating you out, scratching the hell out of your pussy and thighs with his beard. He's trying to bleach the damn thing you just know it.

Ghost is the worst. Taking the opportunity to leave his dental imprint in the soft flesh surrounding your clit. He's going to bite until you're sobbing just to see the dimpled marks he's left.

At least Gaz is sweet. Pressing little kisses over the newly shaved/waxed skin, giving your clit soft little licks and pulling back to rub his fingers against your clit with gentle praises. Until you realize he's been doing that for the last hour, giving you just enough to keep you making those nice breathy noises but never giving you more. Maybe you should try Soap again...

[notquitecanon]

Search History // Poly!141 x Reader

A continuation of this thought

Summary: Reader (based loosely on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds) has to be face-to-face with the boys for the first time since they started including her in their late-night fantasies. They've decided it's time to take it off-screen and move in IRL.

I'm taggin the peeps who replied to the last part bc I'm desperate for attention lol (in all actuality y'all really encouraged me to actually write thank you!!)

CW: allusions to porn, allusions to female genitalia, they're all horny in the workplace, this is basically workplace harassment but we're excusing it because they're hot and fictional and I say so, no outright smut

Still nsfw though so MDNI pls and thanks

“The 141 just touched down. ETA twenty minutes.” 

Your eyes flicked up from the muted video on your monitor, cheeks flushed red but masked by the light radiating off your screen in your dark office. Thank God, your monitor faced away from the door. A young private was standing in the doorway with a tablet, looking at you for an acknowledgment, probably running about starting preparations for their arrival back on home base. 

“Thank you, private.” You murmured, teeth toying at your thumbnail, chipping the polish. The young soldier gave a short nod at the quiet dismissal and disappeared once again. Your eyes, with embarrassingly blown pupils, flicked back to the video. 

After your discovery two weeks ago, the sites and links you had to review furthered down the rabbit hole. And this video you were currently watching had been one that all the men had been visiting, and revisiting, and revisiting… 

By god, they’d done it. 

Similar build, skin tone only a shade or two different - you could probably share foundation and it wouldn’t look too bad. Hair and eye color so close it was uncanny. And when the woman looked over her shoulder at the mountain of a man hitting it from the back, the angle made the resemblance almost scarily uncanny.  The Had you had a porn career and simply forgotten?- kind of uncanny. 

Sure there were differences- she was a little taller, maybe a bit leaner, with boobs that had definitely had some work done. Tattoos where your skin was bare and vice versa, different piercings. Her voice was pitched different, and her accent was completely different from yours but within three minutes of the video she’d stopped speaking words, so accent didn’t matter much.  But as far as porn actresses went- she might as well be your twin. 

It seemed the 141 had perused her entire.. filmography. Different videos, different scenarios, different partners. They all had videos they seemed to like better than others. Soap seemed to particularly like the POV video where the man had a thick Scottish accent. Gaz had bookmarked a soft-core bondage and forced orgasm scene. Price, a shorter video of an unseen man pushing the actress under a desk for oral, and Ghost… the only link he’d visited was your instagram. It was hard not to let it stroke your ego a little bit. 

God, if you told anyone about this… They’d tell you to file a workplace harassment suit, and maybe a police report.  To start job hunting, and therapist hunting. Distance yourself. You should have been embarrassed or uncomfortable- you knew you should be. That you should feel objectified or disrespected, disgusted. 

But hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t send yourself the links and watched them in your free time at home. It was hot- turned you on in an almost concerning way that would set feminism back twenty years if you told anyone. 

The video kept playing on your monitor, one of the videos that Soap had visited more than once (little did you know it was one that Ghost had picked out). A gloved hand smoothly glided down the actress's spine before curving around her throat and pulling her upright on the man’s lap, filthy praises in a British accent playing through your single AirPod. 

“Holy shit…”  You muttered, thighs clenching because if you squinted it really did look like you, even some of her mannerisms. And the rough accent was like a mix of Ghost's and Price’s. 

Abruptly, you shut down the entire monitor completely, ripping out the AirPod and tossing it on the desk. Pressing slightly shaking hands to your too hot face. You needed to get it together, because Price was your boss and the others were your superiors. They’d been gone for a month and a half, and it’d been your voice in their ears guiding them through missions, and you knew you had a flirty disposition, especially from the private safety of your dark little office half way across the world. 

It made sense that their wires got a little crossed, but your wires- like those off all your monitors and hardware- needed to stay neatly organized and separate. Focus. Focus. 

Your nails were bitten to the quick, the bitter taste of old nail polish on the back of your tongue. The skin around your nails was raw from your teeth toying with it as your so intensely focussed on the videos. You needed to get out of this too small, too hot room.  Which is how you found yourself, twenty minutes later, in the communal break room fighting with the vending machine. It was withholding the ice cold water you were desperate for, despite your curses and attempts to jostle the machine. Right as you delivered a frustrated kick to the machine-

“Just the bird we were looking for!” 

It was Kyle’s voice first, that tipped you off to the herd of men entering the space. You almost jumped out of your skin- brain flitting through several scandalous snippets of the videos he’d replayed. His smile was dazzling as always as he came into view, tapping the yellow warning stickers that instructed people not to jostle the machine, with the little illustration of the stick man getting crushed, “What’d the machine ever do to you? It might start fighting back.” 

A gloved hand reached between the two of you, skeleton fingers curled into a fist that delivered a blunt strike, and, like magic, the water bottle fell in to the receptacle. You peeked over your shoulder at Ghost, standing just slightly too close and looking down at you intensely, but not meanly. An easy to miss bit of mirth that was usually reserved for Soap. Thank god you’d bitten your nails to stubs or they would’ve drawn blood from how they were digging into your palms to distract you from the gloved hands and the brutish display of strength. 

Kyle put the drink sweetly in your hands after cracking it for you, like he would do when bringing Ghost or Price something, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t.  Another hand, warm and large clapped gently on your shoulder, pulling you back a step, almost directly into Captain Price’s chest. 

The men shared a look over your head before focussing back on you. 

“Your intel was good.” It was a simple statement, but delivered in a warm, proud tone that felt so much like praise that your stomach flipped a bit, with that warm smile that made him look soft despite the fact he was still in full tac-gear, “They didn’t even see us coming.” 

“They never see you coming, that’s kind of your whole thing.” You tried a joke, your voice a touch strained. His hand was lingering, right on the curve where your shoulder became your neck, fingers flexing into the flesh just so. Just like it did on the boys when he thought others wouldn’t noticed. focus, focus, focus. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was Soap that interrupted the kneading of Price’s fingers. 

“Don’t be so modest, bonnie!” He was laughing as large arms caught you around the waist, lifting and spinning you slightly. His voice so similar to that one Scottish co-star that had done such filthy things to your lookalike, it made your head spin.  Despite your startled yelp and squirming, his grip didn’t waver, “Couldn’t of done it without our lass in the chair.” 

“ ’nough, Johnny,” Ghost called firmly, leaning against the vending machine that they’d all but cornered you against, “Put ‘er down.” 

Soap’s laugh was still good natured as he set you on your feet again, a little roughly for the heels you had on to match your skirt, you wobbled only for Ghost himself to steady you, giving you another intense look, that you had trouble meeting, “ 'e’s right though. Intel was good.” 

They were all staring at you, varying degrees of smirks, eyes a spectrum of mischief and something that was dizzyingly close to hunger.  Unable to keep still, you were squirming, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, fiddling with the wrapper on the bottle. You found your eyes flitting around settling anywhere but their own gaze, cheeks feeling hot, mind full of vile images that you knew they’d seen and enjoyed- ceiling, the exit sign, Johnny’s tac-vest, the floor, the water bottle in your hands. You gulped, eyebrows raising as you puffed a breath, trying desperately to reign yourself in.

“Glad to be of service.” You smiled tightly, nodding meeting each set of eyes briefly and hoping your foundation masked your blush (it didn’t). Jesus Christ, you couldn’t do this.  You couldn’t tell if you felt turned on or awkward or both, but you needed to go. Preferably before you did something that would cost you your job. Your voice was rushed as you squeezed between Gaz and Price, double timing it to the exit, “Enjoy your leave, boys, you deserve it.” 

As you all but fled the building, you typed out a mass base-wide memo email, language formal as you professionally reminded every soldier, specifically four of them, that any website visited by government devices was subject to internal review. 

You swore you could hear them laughing as the memo went out. But maybe that was just your overactive imagination. 

____

You’d gone home for the evening, and then clocked back in the following morning. Surprised to find all of the 141 was still there, debriefing must have ran long. 

“Morning, love.” It was Kyle that greeted you, pressing a cup of coffee into your hands. He looked tired but happy to see you. Soap was with him, eyes bright and grin wide as he whistled lowly, fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt as you passed his seat. 

“Looking good, bonnie,” He smiled devilishly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before letting go, “Tired of all the green, black, and beige tac gear. Missed seeing something a little… softer.”  

You somewhat doubted that. He seemed to appreciate military khaki when it hugged Gaz’s ass, and he sure didn’t seem to mind an all black tactical ensemble when it was on Ghost. But the compliment still brought heat up your neck, which you coupled with a sip of the hot coffee Gaz had brought you- fixed perfectly the way you liked it. It elicited a pleased sigh as you swallowed, humming in content. 

“Price wants to see you before we all leave. Brought you some new stuff to work on.” Kyle smiled, watching how your expression softened at the taste of the beverage, clearly proud of himself for drawing out that reaction.   

“A present? For me?” You smiled sarcastically back at the prospect of more work added to you caseload, “It’s like Christmas.” 

“You been good this year?” Kyle grinned back, accompanied by Soap chiming, voice low and chiding, “Nah, she’s definitely been naughty.” 

Both Sergeant’s shared a look as you almost choked on another sip of coffee. 

“I’m leaving now.” You shook your head, turning on your heel away from where they were hanging around the rec room, clearly waiting for Price to dismiss them, “Y’all should shower. Or take a nap.” 

“You want us naked?” Kyle questioned, raising his eyebrows at you, leaning back against the wall, standing so very close to Soap, who was sprawled out in his chair, long legs splayed and spread before him as he waggled his eyebrows. “And in bed?” 

Now that was some imagery. Taking the lord’s name in vain you didn’t dignify that with a response other than a huffed, “Leaving now.” 

____

The good thing about Price and Ghost was they were business first. So if you really focussed you could almost ignore Ghost's thigh pressed against yours as you sat beside him in the dark room, reviewing body cam footage. They pointed out different things to you, things to include as you started your next dark web deep dive. 

You could almost ignore how Price’s fingers grazed and lingered on your palm as he gave you a thumb drive to decrypt and analyze, how he stood close enough to you that you had to look at him through your lashes. 

“Has a self destruct program that Gaz didn’t want t' aggravate. Figured it needed your... soft touch.” Price smiled down at you as you curled your fingers around the thumb drive. You had to try pretty hard to ignore the slight emphasis on soft. Ghost seemed to chuckle lowly at your expression at the captain. 

“What’s on there'll point us in the next direction of our next target.” Ghost nodded to you, his leg shifting so it pressed harder against yours. In the guise of stretching out, he’d draped an arm over the back of your chair, the cotton of his gloves half tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your bicep, where the flesh was soft. 

“So don’t screw it up, got it.” You swallowed thickly, shifting so you couldn’t feel his thumb against your skin- it was making it hard to think about hacking and terrorism and military operations.  He took it as an invitation to spread out more, his fingers grazing the exact spot only seconds later. 

“Precisely,” John laughed lowly, his hand moved to your shoulder, back into that sweet curve that was partly your shoulder and partly your neck, and gave it a lingering squeeze, that kind of made you want to melt, “You won’t screw it up, love.” 

The captain gave his Lieutenant a nod, and Ghost quickly stood, his boot giving the toe of your pretty heels a slight nudge as a goodbye before silently stalking out. Price took a seat across from you, leaning back and his arms cross comfortably over his chest.

“I’m having the boys over at mine tonight. A couple of drinks, I’m gonna grill, put the footie on, celebrate another successful mission to start our leave.” Price listed out their plans casually, noting how you squirmed a bit, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you tugged at the hem of your skirt before continuing, “We want you to come. Couldn’t have done it without you, so you should celebrate it too.” 

“Oh, uh-“ You started before you could think of a good excuse, “I’ll be really busy… with.. with the flash drive. And stuff.” 

“What stuff?” Price rose a single brow, his stare pinning you still as he reached across the table and took the flash drive back, “This can wait.” 

“Files. Coding. Security checks.” You mumbled the first couple aspects of your job that came to mind, the intensity of his gaze making you want to adjust your collar or shrink in your seat. You figured you’d have a couple more sites to clear off their devices, if they’d been sitting around base all night. Your cheeks heated just at the thought. “I’m a little behind. Been… distracted lately."

“Everything all right, love?” He ‘asked’ with at signature warm smile and amused eyes, he seemed to already know the answer to his question, “You’ve been… skittish, since we got back.” 

Your teeth worried the seam of your lips as you considered the question. Skittish, was one way to put it- fidgety, fleeing rooms, avoiding eye contact, barely speaking as opposed to your usual chatter and banter. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze again, swallowing dryly again- geez when did you get so shy, “ ‘m fine. Absolutely fine. Never been better. How’re you?” 

Cringing at your own rambling, you sighed shoulders drooping as he fixed you with another look, and muttered your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that expected obedience, as his legs shifted into a natural man spread. Your brain flitted back to the video of your look alike being shoved under a desk… 

Him saying your name again, slightly louder but just as bemused drew you back to him, realizing you were staring at his legs, debating if you could fit between his knees and you almost sputtered as you cleared your throat, “I’m fine, really.” 

“Either lie more convincingly or tell me what’s bothering you, sweet.”  Price chuckled, leaving forward against the table, drumming a knuckle against the table. Sweet, that was new. You’d have to add it to the laundry list of nicknames and pet names the boys had for you. You’d always told yourself that it was nothing personal, that British/Scottish people just did that. But this on wasn’t as easy to write off as ‘love’ or ‘bonnie’, average pet names in the UK colloquial, no sweet seemed personal. 

“I’m not bothered.” You glanced away again, nose wrinkling, even though you were bothered- hot and bothered. John Price had a way of drawing details out of people with just a look and a couple of well prodded words.  With a deep breath, you tried to keep your characteristic rambling to a minimum, a losing battle as he starting stroking at his beard with those long fingers- two parts of him that you’d been thinking about way too much lately-, “Listen, I’m not judging, you’re grown men, watch what you want to, but just a reminder that it’s my job and obligation to review every link and site that government devices visit. Which includes at least skimming videos.  In case you didn’t know or maybe forgot that I can and do see these things, so maybe you could pass that along to the boys-“ 

“You can tell 'em yourself. ’s your job, sweet.” Price said firmly. The girlish part of your brain corrected ‘firmly’ to dominantly. Before his demeanor relaxed again, giving you an amused, appraising look again, “At my place. Tonight. 8 o’clock. Not a request.” Shrinking in your chair a bit, hoping the chair hid the way your thighs involuntarily clenched, you couldn’t help but nod and squeak, “Yes, sir.” 

___

Part Two

Was supposed to have actually smut in this but I got carried away on the build-up, laugh out loud. Maybe a part three or you can just imagine how the little dinner party goes (hint, she's the meal)

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Hello Gloom! If you wouldn’t mind, what are your headcanons about the 141!boys and how they’d be with a partner who has Tourette’s syndrome or tics? Happy holidays ❤️

Hello! I don’t mind at all. Also, the fact that your ask says “Happy Holidays” just goes to show how behind I am on working through my inbox. I’m more than happy to drop a few headcanons on this. I will say, if any of the 141 had a partner with Tourette’s or tics, they’d be completely fine with it, otherwise they wouldn’t be with them to begin with. So, I want to take this time to maybe highlight some specifics for each of the guys.

written w/ gn!reader

John Price

Spends a lot of time learning. He wants to understand how he can support you without expecting you to do the mental and emotional labor of teaching him.

Strongly advocates for you, but only when needed. John won’t overstep his boundaries but will make sure you receive the help you need.

For those days when your tics exhaust you, John designed a room in your home that you can escape to. All you need to do is give a word or a non-verbal sign for when it’s bad, and he understands. No pressure or hard feelings.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Never compares your experience with that of others.

Great about having reflective conversations and helping you work through what your stressors are if you’re struggling with identifying them yourself, but never forces the conversation.

Constant affirmations. Never makes you feel unsupportive. Kyle makes sure you know that you are loved.

Spends every evening massaging any afflicted muscles you might have. You might see it as a big ask but Kyle doesn’t.

Will defend you in any situation. He’s not afraid to call someone out or correct someone who is being rude and/or insensitive to you, especially if it’s acting as a stressor or trigger.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Laughs with you and not at you.

Never mocks or mimics (not that the others would, they absolutely would not.)

Makes sure that you have a calm environment somewhere at home. If the two of you are in public, Johnny goes out of his way to make sure there is a safe space for you to retreat to if you need it.

Doesn’t criticize or try to control your tics. He’s good at ignoring them entirely, and only quietly checks in with you if he notices something unusual or if you appear to be in distress.

Believes in open and clear communication. He always tries to be sensitive and empathic, but he’s also a yapper. (Johnny isn’t always perfect.)

Lots of physical affection as well as verbal affirmations.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

While support is crucial, Simon is also respectful of your boundaries and allows you to manage your own life choices as much as possible. He rarely steps in unless he thinks he needs to.

He doesn’t see you as someone who needs to be “fixed.” Simon has his own experience with people seeing him in that light due to trauma, and he never wants you to feel that way.

Never discusses your tics in public or talks about them with others behind your back.

If the two of you are in public, and someone is staring at you for too long, Simon is quick to stare them down until they become uncomfortable.

main masterlist

[quarterlifekitty]

One thing that makes me go feral is when in the middle of fucking, one person gets overstimulated and tries to crawl and squirm away from the overstimulation, and the other person drags them back by the hips like "Where do you think you're going?" 😩 which of the guys do you think is most likely to do this?

(Can you tell I'm ovulating... 🫣)

ALL

cw: daddy kink adjacent stuff for Nik, as per usual. Just a hint of aggression, and marking dubcon just in case

Gaz is literally so sweet about it. Like you’re a little kitten about to walk off the edge of a table and he’s just redirecting you. “No, no, love— this way,” he coos as he puts his hand beneath your hips to cup you and pull you back.

Soap is about to lose his mind, it’s so hot to him— “Ah’m just givin’ it tae ye so good, huh, bonnie? Cannae take it anymore? Too bad,” he tuts, his fingers sunken into your soft flesh as he pins your kicking legs and tugs hard.

Ghost reacts with some real aggression. He’s not mad at you— he’s mad at the idea. The concept of you being separated from him. He’s bruising and yanking your body, manhandling you under his weight. “Don’t fuckin’ run from me, birdie— don’ wanna know what’ll happen if’m pulled outta this cunt—“

Price can’t help but smile. Such a sensitive little thing. “If you’re already in this state— doesn’t bode well for the rest of your night, darl’— cause I ain’t near finished with you.” He’s prepared to wait upon you like you’re his ailing, bedridden queen suffering from the consumption tomorrow, cause you’ll have about as much energy left when he’s done.

König is holding you too tight to let you even begin to squirm away— he can just feel the tense and strain of your muscles against his hands. It makes him kiss you as deep as he can manage— he just thinks it’s so cute, like you’re a little moth with wings beating against his cupped palms.

Nikolai laughs. He laughs at you. You’re just so silly— thinking papochka will show you mercy. He’s not a merciful man, malýshka. He’d best remind you of that— not that you’ll ever really learn. He wouldn’t want you to, really. He likes playing this little game with you. It’s like ballroom dancing to him— very romantic and sweet.