#Kyle garrick

[girl-lostconnection]

So..forgive me you're the first person I'm ever asking anything on Tumblr (Kinda new and I usually like to describe it like hiding in the corner and just watching everything quietly and leaving likes and I love your work) but I was thinking about your concept with 141 and reader dying and the notebook. Would there ever be a case where the others stumble upon it? Whether Price forgets (somehow) to put it away or someone's in the midst of searching for something and stumbles upon it?

Again, love your work, feel free to ignore this tho

Yeah, I think this type of readers people call “lurkers” which is cool🙂‍↕️you guys are usually the backbone of the audience, I enjoy you tremendously.

And that’s a really good question, anon!

You know what? Why not turn the heat up a little more for this pot with the frogs.

I can imagine Price not exactly forgetting it somewhere but harbouring it so close to himself that people start to notice. This specific notebook is always with him — under his armoured vest and in the front pocket of his shirts, on top of the stack of documents, edge of it peeking out of his pants pocket.

It’s always there when before he didn’t carry it with him. It’s small and simple, technically it shouldn’t rise any questions but Kyle is the first who notices it. Maybe because after your death he’s so sharply attuned to everyone else on the team, it’s practically unhealthy.

Kyle who watches John fumble with the leather bound corners of the little thing and wonders…what’s inside of it? They have been all grieving but your things have been taken by them all and shared fairly.

Simon doesn’t withhold your pictures or books with your annotations. Soap doesn’t say no when Gaz asks for one of the keychains. Kyle himself lets Simon and Johnny take one of your things each. Simon takes the big oversized T-shirt and Soap whisks away one of your hoodies, clutching it hard to himself, knuckles white with tension.

(Kyle will never admit but when he walked in on Johnny in hoodie with your name and rank on the back of it his knees buckled. For a moment a traitorous part of him thought you were there. For a moment he could breathe again)

So Price keeping something of you to himself almost felt unfair. It wasn’t, of course, no, Captain had every right to grieve and mourn in a way that made it easier for him.

But-

But Kyle missed you. Everyday and every morning he’d wake up, realisations hitting him again that you aren’t coming back. You are never coming back.

You disappeared so suddenly you were now everywhere.

The unwashed cup they couldn’t bring themselves to wash, the clothes and trinkets, the books and pictures. The notebooks.

Kyle remembers how you two played games in it, drawing X’s and O’s when debrief would get too long and your brains too sluggish to keep awake without external stimulation.

Kyle remembers you writing in them, so focused you oftentimes wouldn’t notice him getting closer until he’d plop himself down in front of you, pretending to pose. Your favourite model, wasn’t he?

Kyle remembers you smiling at him, eyes flickering to his face for a moment, your gaze so impossibly soft he feels like choking and burying himself next to you.

There is a whole life ahead. Kyle isn’t sure how to live it with a hole in this chest the size of your love.

It’s a selfish thought, maybe. Maybe he is selfish.

Maybe he should have been content with what he has been given. But he wasn’t.

So now he slips the notebook off Price’s desk when the man himself is so wrecked he can’t see straight. John’s drinking got worse after your death. Not yet enough to cause disciplinary action but enough to make them all worried.

Gaz has never seen him like that.

Why were they all lucky enough to meet you but not lucky enough to save you? Would the outcome be different if one of them went with you on that deployment? Could they save you if they knew how it ends?

Could they try?

Kyle’s fingers skim over the pages, your hoodie on him and if he pretends hard enough it almost feels like a hug. It almost feels like his body heat seeping through fabric is yours. Like you were just wearing it.

Like you didn’t leave at all.

Like you are coming back.

Kyle flips through the pages, gurgling wet laughter in his throat when he notices that you have been writing Simon’s jokes down and coming up with your own. (The “just got hospitalised due to peekaboo incident. They put me in ICU” joke almost makes Kyle choke).

Some part of him gets why Price has been guarding this specific journal so hard. Why he wasn’t letting anyone else close to it, because this right here is you.

Everything that’s left of your thoughts and feelings, of your humour and love, of your plans and scribbles.

It’s tangible proof that you were here. You lived, you loved, you thought. You were there and you were a person. Their favourite person. Their beloved one.

Maybe that’s why your small note hits him harder than he could have ever expected. A small resigned “I’m not sure I fit in. I’m not sure I’m not second…or fifth best in this case. Don’t even know if I wanna talk about it. Just plain stupid” splits Kyle’s scull open and leaves him bleeding and aching and shaking.

What…what did you mean “fifth best”? Why would you say that? What- no. Nonononono. No, it’s not fair. It’s not true, it has never been true.

Kyle feels like driving back to the cemetery and wrapping his car around the poll.

Kyle feels like clawing at the ground and sobbing-sobbing-sobbing.

Kyle feels like begging.

Please, no. Please, come back. Please, let him fix it, let him tell you the truth, let him tell you.

Kyle understands why Price was guarding the journal this fiercely. Kyle is so mad he feels like demolishing John’s office and yelling until his voice is raspy useless thing, vocal cords damaged, headache pounding inside his head and he’s burning from inside out.

Kyle looks at the page, his whole core so hollowed out you could feel an echo if you’d knocked.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do because you are gone.

Because he wants to say “I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry, I’d be better if I knew”, he wants to say “come back and scream at me, come back demand attention, come back and hurt me in return just please please come back”.

He wants to say “I love you” in a hundred different ways, he wants to kiss it better, he wants to hold you again, he wants you back, why can’t you come back, why can’t he get you back? He will change, he will do better, he will pay attention, he’s sorry, love, he’s so sorry.

Soap finds him just blankly staring at the page and he doesn’t understand at first, concern sharpening his features like one of the razors he uses for his drawing pencils.

Johnny sinks down next to him, lips pressing to Kyle’s temple, breath panting when Gaz doesn’t respond because he can’t.

He doesn’t know what to say.

How do you live knowing you may never change what already happened? How do you keep going knowing your tenderness is decaying six feet underground, that your love is springing with flowers when they should have stayed above the ground and picked them? How do you get over it? How?

Johnny’s eyes skim over the page and Gaz can feel when the realisation sinks in, when the body next to him is getting poured full with raw ache and ice sharp panic.

Johnny asks “Gaz whose journal is that”, Johnny pleads “Mate, talk to me, where did you get it?”, Johnny whimpers “Kyle tell me it’s not theirs, Kyle please, Kyle say something”.

Kyle doesn’t know what to do other than wrap himself around Soap and hold him despite the thrashing, despite the disbelieving laughter that descends into gasping for air and clawing at his back and shoulders.

Kyle doesn’t let him get out and do something stupid, like drive to the cemetery and wrap a car around the poll and curl near your gravestone.

There is an awfully loud gulp and the journal is getting carefully taken off Kyle’s lap, Simon’s fingers long and scarred — things broken too many times to grown back straight and narrow, calloused pads of his fingers catching on the paper of the notebook.

Kyle has to drag him down to them, he has to practically kick the ground from under Ghost’s feet because the man looks like he will get the shovel and get you out of the coffin.

(Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon refused to let them bury you, how he sat with you for days, until the decomposition became evident. Kyle doesn’t want to think how Simon placed a phone in your coffin despite knowing that you are not coming back. Kyle doesn’t want to think that Simon was terrified the 4 of them might bury you alive).

Ghost looks like the sky just fell on his head, crashing his spine and grinding down his nerves. Ghost looks like he wants to cry but doesn’t know how.

Ghost looks like how they all feel.

Kyle forces the man into their cuddle pile and forces his hand to wrap around Johnny, because Soap digs his fingers into them like he’s falling-falling-falling. System crashing, bomb ticking, Rome burning down.

Funny how Ghost never understood the phrase “going mad with grief”, always felt like it was a bit of dramatisation. People die every day after all, don’t they? It’s statistically impossible to never lose a single person.

Funny how Soap gets it now perfectly. The shift of tectonic plates in his brain, the rewiring of the whole system, pain so intense he might have ash for heart now.

Funny how it’s not funny at all but Gaz still laughs, face wet when Simon tightens his grip and pulls Kyle in, letting him hide his face.

Taglist: @synthe4u

[lxvvie]

Welcoming Kyle home.

Cornering your soldier, never taking your eyes and hands off him, partly because you’re checking for injuries, and partly because you missed him. You missed him so fucking much it hurts.

Your soldier who welcomes your enthusiasm with open arms, a breathy laugh, and a boyish grin because he’s missed you just the same. Cheeky bastard.

Your soldier whose chuckle turns into a breathy gasp when you get on your knees in front of him, unbuckle his pants, and—“Fuck, darling, wait—“

It’s not too much—Jesus, it’s not enough. Your soldier who missed you, who needs you so fucking bad, wants the moment to last longer, doesn’t want to cum so soon but you can’t wait.

And neither can he.

Your soldier who absolutely comes apart one orgasm at a time as you welcome him home like you always do, darling.

[cod-indulgences]

TF!141 x female!reader, implied poly!tf141, oral, blowjobs, deepthroating, breathplay, messy facials

You love sucking cock.

Simon's cock is the prettiest one you've ever seen. It's almost cute when it's soft, draping over his balls, pale pink and the head just peeping out of his foreskin. You love crawling into his lap while he's still mostly soft and sucking the head into your mouth, rolling it over your tongue like candy while he swears and fists your hair. He gets thick so fast for you, fattening up in your mouth, precome drooling from the tip as his foreskin pulls back. He blushes too, face and dick both, a pink flush that darkens his cheeks and the head of his cock. You tease him for it when you get your mouth on his balls and suck on them, rolling the sac in your palm, and he moans and leaves wet streaks on your cheeks. You're in control with him, sucking him off as fast or slow as you want, drooling so it's wet and sloppy and making a mess. He loves coming in your mouth so he can lick it out of you, sharing it back and forth with kisses, until you're panting and ready for him to get his own mouth on you, eat you out until you're giving him your come to enjoy instead.

Kyle is a shower, not a grower, and you love to kneel and nuzzle into his groin, licking around his balls and the base of it, feeling his cock get hard as he rubs it over your cheeks, smacks your open mouth with it. You hold your tongue out and let him jerk himself onto it, suckling on the head before you relax your throat and take him in, slow and deep, bottoming out with your nose to his skin and your eyes looking up at him. You hold him there for the space of a breath and then release him, swallowing around his cockhead, before going down again, a steady pace that makes him moan. He loses control at the end, grabbing you and fucking your face for the last few thrusts, smearing your chin with drool as he comes down your throat. He always apologizes for being rough after, even when he knows you can take a lot more, fingering you as slow and deep as you'd sucked his cock until you come.

Johnny is fucking filthy. Anything you do, he has a smart comment, a tease, drawing attention to how your clit throbs when he bottoms out in your throat, the way you whine and wriggle your ass, playing with your nipples so you squeak and moan. He loves making you come while you're sucking his cock, and gets you on your back, sucking your clit and fucking your hole with his fingers while thrusting his cock over your tongue. You come so fast for him, overwhelmed, and he doesn't stop- when you finally shove at him, he drags you to the end of the bed and fucks your throat standing, watching the bulge in your throat, telling you how good it feels, how this sweet little mouth-pussy sucks him off so good, doesn't it feel nice when he gives you his come? You moan and choke on his cock, come spilling out of your mouth when he pulls out, perfect for him to lick up and share with Simon.

John doesn't need much from you, just a throat and a warm body. He likes you best on your knees, head resting on his thick thigh, his cock wedged into your mouth, popping into your throat just enough you struggle for a full breath. One hand on your head, heavy, holding you in place. There's no sucking or fancy work from you, just a wet hot hole, and when he shifts your head over and settles your mouth at the base of his cock, plugging up your throat, you relax and let your eyes flutter shut. The burn in your lungs matches the ache in your pussy, the stretch in your throat, and he lets you up for a moment before putting you back down again. On his own pace, for however long he wants to be wrapped in your throat, letting the spit and precome bubble up around your lips. When he's ready, and you're limp and drooling, he fucks your throat so hard you come untouched, feeling your throat bulge and belly convulse, a moaning cocksleeve to be used as needed. He fucks you through his orgasm too, come frothing up and forced out of your nose, a slick mess of snot and drool and semen that you choke on, lungs straining to breathe around the come drowning you, until John bends you over and smacks your face, forcing you to breathe, letting you shake through a second orgasm as oxygen returns to your body. You get cuddles after, soft kisses, warm strong arms to hold you until you come back to earth.

You love sucking cock, love all the ones you get to have, sweet and thick and brutal, the way they fill up your day (and mouth, and throat, and pussy) and the men attached to them fill up your heart.

[gothicflowers]

Gaz who leaves your doorstep before dawn sick to his stomach. When he got dressed quietly he admired you as you laid in the bed asleep, still naked and covered in love bites from the passion of the night. He couldn’t believe he finally got to hold you, yet here he was, fleeing. Leaving knowing you’re everything he wants. He walks with his hands in his pockets trying to remember the warmth of your skin that you had allowed him to touch, warm and soft. It wasn’t just fucking, he finally experienced passion and love… true intimacy.

You wake up later that morning sore and satisfied. You roll over to see if he’s awake, only to find his side of the bed cold, you walk through your home hoping to find him but he’s gone. Was the sex that bad that he left without a word? You showered and scrubbed your skin raw from the disgust and embarrassment. The man had spent months getting close to you. You finally opened up and let someone close enough to be intimate with and he used you.

You calm down a few hours later and send a text hoping that maybe you’re reading the situation wrong.

“Good morning, I was hoping you would have stayed for breakfast. Did you make it home?”

Message undeliverable

Oh… he blocked you.

Pt.2 pt.3

[sai-int]

mmmm i'm thinking poolboy!gaz thoughts

you hear the sound of the gate creaking open, the faint scuff of shoes on concrete. you're stretched out on a lounge chair, barely covered by your stringy bikini, a popsicle between your lips, when a shadow moves into your peripheral vision.

you push your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose just enough to take him in. he's standing near the pool, hands on his hips, surveying the water with an air of quiet confidence. you'd be annoyed at the intrusion, if he weren't so damn easy to look at.

"who the hell are you?" you ask, voice lazy, syrup-slick from the cherry ice melting on your tongue.

he turns, honey eyes lingering on you as he flashes an easy smile. "i'm kyle. your parents hired me to take care of the pool."

you blink. they hadn’t mentioned that. but then again, they hardly mentioned anything these days, too busy hopping from one business trip to another. you shrug, taking another slow lick of your popsicle.

"knock yourself out."

and he does. he gets to work, and you watch. you shouldn't, but you do. because a few minutes in, his shirt comes off, and it's like the universe personally cursed you. he's built like sin, muscles flexing and skin gleaming under the relentless sun, beads of sweat trailing down the cut of his torso like something out of a fever dream.

you bite your straw instead of your lip, refusing to give yourself away. but it's useless. he notices. of course, he does.

for days, it’s a game. you, sprawled out under the sun, barely clothed, practically purring in satisfaction when a cool breeze ghosts over your skin. him, pretending not to notice, working diligently.

until the day you offer him a snack, something to keep him going for the rest of the time he's cleaning.

it's innocent enough, just a throwaway offer when he finishes skimming the pool, shoulders flushed from the heat. but when he steps inside, the air shifts.

he leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his broad chest as you rifle through the fridge. "you always this generous?"

you glance at him over your shoulder. "you always this nosy?"

he smirks. "only when i'm interested."

that does it. that one little confession flicks a switch in your brain. you turn, the fridge door swinging shut behind you, and before either of you can second-guess it, you're on him.

it’s reckless, desperate, the way your hands slide up his bare chest, nails digging into firm muscle. his mouth crashes against yours, all heat and hunger, and he hauls you onto the counter like you weigh nothing, pressing himself between your thighs.

"been teasing me for weeks," he mutters against your lips, hands dragging up your thighs, fingers toying with the thin strings holding your bikini together. " knew exactly what you were doing, hmm?"

and if his idea of a midday snack is his head between your legs, who are you to complain?

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (9)

previous | next

cw: poorly executed accents

Hours later, you're staring at code, but nothing is penetrating the fog you've been in since you met Kyle. His words reverberate around your skull and you wonder how you missed the signs. How was it not clear in those long conversations that they were feeling something for you?

You struggle, too, with the knowledge that they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together. How do they even think you can compete with the years they have and the bonds they forged?

Though your instincts screen not to, you reach out to Laswell with a simple text: "Did you know?"

You don't expect a response right away and so turn back to the papers in front of you. Transport manifests and heat maps, threads from various dark web servers. You have to brief the boys tomorrow, and they leave two days after that. Kyle's words hit you again: a mission they might not all make it back from. Your heart skips a beat at the idea that your boys might not all make it home. You know it isn't fair to ignore the information Kyle dropped in your lap, but you're not ready to face them with a response yet.

You trust him when he says they want you. In conversations with you, John and Simon and Soap had made their desire abundantly clear. And you decided long ago that if you planned to be honest with anyone, you needed to be honest with yourself always. So you refuse to lie and say that you don't want them all. But this? Multiple partners? Committing to a relationship that would always come second to the job, that would always put one or more of your potential lovers in harm's way, was a hard pill to swallow. Never mind the fact that you're only in the UK temporarily. How would this work when you're back in the states?

The clock creeps closer to dinner, and you're panicking. You have no answer for the boys, despite how you feel about them all. The weight of their stares is going to make any meal uncomfortable until you can give them some sort of response. The worst part is, you can't even escape to your room because it's in their barracks. There's nowhere to go to avoid the uncomfortable conversation to come. Just as you're about to log off and catch a bus into town, stalling a little longer while you collect your thoughts, the classified line in your office rings.

The only people with the number are ones directly associated with the upcoming mission: Laswell, Nikolai, and your boys. Unless Laswell has given the number to other operators, you know the call isn't Nikolai. Your boys know how to find you on base, so there's no need for them to call you. Maybe Laswell decided you deserved more than a text in response.

Picking up the phone, you ask, "What do you wish in the Emerald City?" cringing a little at the way your call sign has manifested an entire mythos. However, you know that the trappings of your call sign serve as the first line of defense for anyone who may find your number. An incorrect response to your question is the first red flag that something has gone wrong with the mission. So while it technically hasn't started yet, you still anxiously await the response.

Sure enough Laswell's voice comes through the line, "We came here to see the Great Oz."

"Laswell," you reply, voice clipped to avoid pouring too much emotion into your words. You have to know what she knows. You can't let her know how much their desire rattles you.

"Got your text," she replies, voice equally neutral. If the situation were any different, you'd laugh. Two of you are acting like alley cats trying to avoid a fight. You know your frustration isn't really with her but with being caught off guard, so you allow a trickle of warmth back into your voice and say, "Got some, interesting intel from the boys today."

There's a long pause on Laswell's end, and you wonder what she's thinking. You're grateful for the phone call but wish you could see her face. She doesn't like to admit it, but you're one of the few people who can read her emotions, and you're dying to know how she's reacting. All she does is respond with, "Oh? About the op? Or something else?"

To give yourself something to do, you pull up what records you have access to of the 141: task force service records, commendations, op histories - at least what's not redacted - and a handful of photos. One photo in particular catches your eye, the four of them in a desert somewhere standing with a few other operators, including a beautiful Middle Eastern woman who has to be Farah Karim. Though she has her arm around Kyle's waist and he's smiling wide, it's not the same smile he gives you. Scanning the photo more closely, you notice how Simon's and Soap's hands are hanging side-by-side, nearly brushing one another. John has his bent, forearm resting on Kyle's other shoulder, his hand hanging over Kyle's chest. Now that you know what to look for, it's impossible to miss the closeness the four of them share.

On the other end of the phone, Laswell clears her throat. "Oz? That intel?"

From the way she says it, you're sure she knows you learned nothing about the op and everything about the 141, but you know better than to charge ahead without proof. For the first time, you hesitate. Does Laswell know the boys are together? If not, is it your place to tell her? You have to believe she knows because of how close she is with John, how long she's takes them with missions around the world.

Besides, if they've told you because they want you to be part of whatever it is they have together, even if Laswell doesn't know yet, she would have to. Either because you'd be looking for a permanent transfer or because communication between you and the 141 would dramatically increase.

If you accept what they're offering, that is.

So you charge ahead, hoping you're not sticking a foot in it, and ask, "Did you know the four of them are romantically involved?"

True to form, Laswell's answer isn't really an answer. "Yes. I know they have personal lives outside the ops and that those personal lives include significant others."

You hate having to be so straightforward, but you know you won't get clear answers any other way, so you ask, "Are you aware that the 141's romantic partners are the remaining members of the 141? That the four of them are some sort of polyamorous thing?"

"Instead of answering that," Laswell says, "I think I should be asking how you know that."

You tell her as much about the boys and what they've told you as you feel comfortable with before you drop the hammer with your final statement. "They've asked me to be part of that relationship. Did you have any idea that would happen if I came here?"

There is no mistaking the sharp inhale Laswell makes on her end at your declaration. She doesn't respond when you finish. The quiet on her end stretches like taffy until you're so worked up waiting for her to break her silence. And still you wait. This is as delicate a situation as diffusing a bomb. In fact, Kyle dropped a bomb in your lap at the cafe, and you've reached out to Laswell for help in making sure it doesn't blow up in anyone's face.

When she does finally speak, you're surprised by her response. "How does their desire make you feel?"

You and Laswell aren't really the type to talk in depth about your personal lives. You know her wife and have been to several work-related events where you shuck some of the formality of what you do, but you're not the type to talk about your romantic partners.

"I need to know, when you picked me, did you know?" you plead. To her credit, Laswell doesn't push for an answer to her question.

"No, I didn't know. But John was definitely pleased when I told him who I was sending. Makes sense given what you said."

You latch onto her comment. "How did you know John was happy about it?"

"Work long enough with someone, Oz, and you can tell a lot from what they say and their silences without ever needing to see their face. There was something about the way John responded when I told him you'd be the one taking forward point on this. I can't tell you exactly what, but I know it meant he was happy with the situation."

You bite your lip, wondering how things would have been different if you'd stayed back in DC and Laswell had sent someone else in your place. "Did you ever think to send anyone else?" you ask.

Again, there's a long, weighty pause on Laswell's end. "Do you want an honest answer? Or do you want me to tell you what I think you need to hear?"

It strikes you how naive you are not to realize the two could be separate things. Your fingers idly tap against the keyboard, writing nonsense code while you think. If you put yourself in Laswell's shoes, it's clear there are a number of other tech operatives she could have sent, people more senior than you. But is there anyone else who cares enough about the 141 to do everything in their power to ensure the boys are successful and come home whole? Other than Kate herself, you know the answer to that is no. It comes out barely louder than a whisper when you reply, "You could have sent any of us, but you know I'll do my damndest to protect them."

You can practically hear Laswell's grin. "That's why you're there and not here. And I'd wager a bet that it's why they want you, too."

Much as you hoped a conversation with her would give you some clarity, you're almost more conflicted after the phone call. You thank Laswell for her time and hang up, slowly packing your things. It's after 7:00, and no one has come looking for you. Clearly the boys are waiting on your next move. Instead of heading for the mess or the barracks, you follow your earlier plan and take the bus into town again. This afternoon, you'd noticed a little greek restaurant a few doors down from the bus stop in town, so you head there.

Like many other restaurants on the street, almost the entire front is open to the sidewalk. You sit yourself at a small table for two off to the side. Menus are scattered about, so you snag one, only glancing through the options half-heartedly. When a good looking man in his thirties comes over, winning smile already on his face, and asking in accented English, "What would you like, lovely lady?", you find yourself stuttering over an answer.

What would you like?

Sitting here alone, watching the crowds pass, it hits you exactly what you want. You have an answer, for yourself and the boys.

You utter an apology to the waiter, vowing to yourself to come back later, and hastily grab your things. As you round the edge of the shop, you see a bus coming down the road and recognize the line number as the one you need. Your heels click faster as you race to the bus, hopping on just as the driver is shutting the door. You meander down the aisle, taking a seat near the back and stewing all the way back to base.

Your leg jiggles, foot tapping a nervous staccato as the bus makes its stops. The drive back feels agonizingly longer than the ride to town. By the time you see the base through the front window, you're nearly out of your skin with nerves. You scurry across base and throw open the barracks door open with more force than you intended. There's sound coming from the rec room, so you turn your feet in that direction. You only hope they're all here. You don't know if you have the nerves to do this more than once.

When you open the rec room door, sounds cut off almost immediately. Four pairs of eyes whip to you from various spots around around the room. Simon's eyes rove over you like a starving man at an oasis. Between his watery eyes and the guarded way he's holding himself, Soap reminds of you a hit dog, waiting to see if the next blow will land. John assesses you like a potential threat: what damage might you do to him and his boys? Kyle takes a glance at you and breaks out into a grin as if he knows what you're about to say.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 10

"Uh, hi," you stammer. "Um, I know I've been avoiding you, and I wanted to apologize." You pause and are shocked no one jumps in with a comment the way they usually would. Perhaps they all recognize this for what it is, a defining moment in their lives where they will either get what they've been wanting or lose a chance at it forever.

Your gaze drifts over each man, and you take a deep steadying breath before continuing. "Kyle gave me, well, all of you, really, gave me a lot to think about. About what I want and what you want and what it all means." Though this confession is hard, you try to be as brave as your boys. "I don't know what to do because you're right. I do like you all. I have feelings for you all. And if it were just one, my answer would be easy."

This time when you stop, John says what's already on your heart. "Life is rarely easy, dove. But the best things are worth fightin' for." He gifts you the ghost of a smile.

You nod, "Yes. And you're right. I shouldn't be scared of something just because it's hard. And I'm not, not really."

"Then what?" Simon's voice cuts in, barely restrained agony lancing the words.

"I want to be with you all, but it's going to be hard for me. I'm going to need you to be patient," you tell them.

A smile breaks over Soap's face like a wave crashing ashore. "Bonnie, fer ye, we'd do anything."

Kyle's off his seat and in front of you, hands hovering over your arms. "Does this mean you'll be ours, Oz?" he asks tenderly. Your chin dips slightly, only once, but it's enough. He wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear, "Always knew ya were meant for us." He presses a kiss to your temple as you feel the others moving around you.

John's lips kiss your cheek again as he says, "That's our girl."

Simon's massive build radiates heat behind you, his hands a warm, comforting weight on your waist as you feel the fabric of his mask press against the crown of your head.

Soap crowds in between Simon and Gaz. His hands cup your cheeks and turn your head to him. He rests his forehead against your and mumbles, "Ye dinnae ken hoo happy this makes me, make us all, tae call ye oors," as he drops a featherlight kiss on your lips.

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21 @lil-writer-523 @mordacioust @echo9821 @yunho-leeknow @aria-writer @chaosundcoffee @boogeysmoth

[niccolites]

need gaz in like a. meet cute where you bump into each other once and he's so handsome and charming and sweet. talks to you for a few minutes where you're blushing the entire time

it ends too soon and you spend the rest of the day cursing yourself for being too shy to just ask him out yourself like you wished you would

a few months later, and someone new is moving in next to you and you can't believe it when it's kyle ! and he's just as excited to see you, perfect smile and perfect teeth. swoops you in a hug, hands very respectable on your upper back. pulls back with bashful smile as he apologises that has you rushing to hug him back

it's like a romcom has spit him out at your feet, like something has gotten mixed up. this isn't meant to happen to you. gaz tucking your hair behind your ear with a cheeky grin to see you stutter

gaz doesn't tell you that he's orchestrated meeting you, caught sight of you bustling around your day once and found himself caught up in the thought of knowing you

he'd been in your flat into the double digits before you 'met', familiarising himself with your life, keeping little facts about you tucked away for a rainy day, used for you to swoon over 'how much the two of you have in common !' he's your perfect man, he means to be

he has severely overpaid the lady that used to live next door to you, buying out her place and getting her somewhere new. but he has to be close to you. god there are some sick people out there, and he has to keep an eye on you

i mean, my god, he's jerked off into and returned more pairs of your panties than he's willing to admit and you haven't even noticed ! someone has to look after you, he's willing to step up

[gazsluckyhat]

Denial is a River in Egypt

I'm sorry I keep disappearing, my mental and physical health are really bad and life keeps kicking me. I promise I haven't forgotten any of you or my stories. And thank you to everyone who follows and supports me.

tw: kidnapping, dub-con, slapping - please take care of yourself before and after reading. Your mental health is more important than any story.

Everyone knows that what belongs to Simon belongs to John. Of course that includes you, too.

or

Denial is a river in Egypt. Everyone knows that.

You didn't dream as you slept. It was the kinda sleep that came after pushing yourself too hard, after working yourself to the bone. It was deep and left you feeling dizzy when you awoke. The sun was still up, though you didn't know what time it was. Your clothes had been replaced with an oversized shirt that belonged to John. You could smell the smoke and his cologne all over it. No doubt he put it on you to stake his claim.

You stood up slowly, your head spinning for a minute. You needed to eat and drink some water. And a bathroom. A door off to the side revealed the latter. After using the toilet and washing your hands you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were puffy and there were marks along your cheek that proved how deep you'd slept. Dark marks littered your neck from Simon. The memory of John and him rushing back to you, your thighs clenching subconsciously. Bending you wet your face before taking gulps of the cold water. Standing you wiped the rest of the water from your skin before looking back at the mirror. You screamed and turned around, Simon standing behind you. Just watching.

"I got you somethin' to eat, love." He held his hand out, wanting you to hold it.

"Where are my clothes Simon? I'm not going anywhere like this." You grabbed at the too big fabric. He nodded, stepping back into the room and motioning for you to follow.

"In the drawers, love. Johnny and I grabbed everything." You shivered at the thought of that mutt going through your underwear drawer. Simon grabbed a set of sweats and a t-shirt out before handing them to you.

"My bras?" The shirt was thin, one of your at home ones. Simon knew it when he grabbed it too.

"You never wear a bra at home. No need to start now." He took a seat on the bed, waiting for you to get dressed. "Go ahead love, I've seen it before." Huffing you slipped the shirt over your head and pulled the new one on. The sweats slipped up your legs easily. Simon grabbed something from the closet before bending toward your feet and grabbing one.

“What are you doing?” His answer was to slip your feet into a pair of slippers.

“We’re still doing construction. Don’t want you to get a splinter, love.” He placed a kiss against your hair before taking your hand and leading you downstairs. You couldn’t deny that the inside of the house was beautiful. The wallpaper had been peeled off but the windows alone would be stunning. The original wood floor had been restored, showing the age. 

“When we get done you’ll love it. Think we’re gonna paint the walls a dark blue.” It’d be pretty. Add a wainscoting to the bottom and it'll be your dream house. 

“Are you doing it all yourselves?” There had to be a ton of work needed. The room you’d woken up in needed a good paint and airing out. Simon smiled at you and nodded. 

“John knows construction. Plus I know you’d want everything to have a personal touch.” He stopped at a window and pointed at it. You gasped. The window had been redone, and etched in the glass was the tattoo Simon had gotten for you. A bee and a poppy flower. “Nikolai apparently does glass work.”

“Simon..” They had been planning this for a while. Simon’s initials were carved into the corner. “I can’t stay here. I have family and friends.” He faced you.

“Love, you quit talking to your family years ago. And you threw yourself into your job after I left. No one's gonna look for you.” You’re heartbroken, because he was right. Your family had been nothing but hateful to you once you decided to move. You didn’t want to be like them so you left and decided to better yourself. It was one of the things you and Simon had bonded over. 

“This is wrong Simon. You have to know that.” He only smiled and touched your cheek.

“We love you. We’re doing this for you. This way you’ll be safe and taken care of. No need to work. We can support you. Anything you want, say the word and you’ll have it.” You wanted to scream. You couldn’t blame Simon fully. His traumatic past coupled with his abandonment issues made him obsessive. And the team he was part of only played into it. They were all way too close. John was the worst. 

“Please Si.” 

“C’mon. The boys are looking at blueprints and paint swatches. We want you to help us pick while you eat.” He tugged you into a finished kitchen. The cabinets were light wood while the countertops were a mix of white and grey marble. A built-in microwave and double oven, a stove top built into the island and a farmhouse sink that overlooked the yard. The fridge itself was built to blend in with the cabinets. It was stunning and everything you’d ever wanted. The boys were looking at papers strewn on the island but looked up when you walked in. 

“Look who’s awake. Wear you out did we?” John smirked at you and you looked away to hide your warming face. 

“Simon described what you wanted and Johnny drew up the plans. I picked the yellow paint to match the wood.” Kyle smiled proudly. The yellow of the walls made everything light and sunny. 

“Ya’ like it bon?” Johnny had a bright smile waiting for your approval. You couldn’t lie, Simon knew your tell.

“It’s beautiful.” You confessed. John pushed a plate your way.

“Eat. We’re mapping the master and attached bath. It’s your room too, so help us.” Commanding as usual. Even when you and Simon had been together he’d always been in the background commanding him. Your belly grumbled as you sat at the counter. Fruit and eggs lined the plate. Toast covered in butter and jam on the side. Kyle handed you a glass of water, kissing your head as he did.

“We already ordered the bed and frame. So let’s start with the walls. What would you like?” Were you gonna play into this delusion? It might be the safest option right now. Just bide your time until you can get out. Johnny slid a book of swatches and wallpapers your way. Simon watched over your shoulder as you flipped through it.

“What kinda frame?” You wanted something that matched. You loved to decorate. You played The Sims just to build and furnish. Mainly furnish, building wasn’t your forte. 

“A nice wood one, mahogany I think.” You could work with that. Tilting your head you studied each page. Your eyes caught sight of a swatch, and you smiled at it. John caught you staring and ran his fingers over it.

“This one?” You nodded before finding a matching wood toned boarding. 

“We could frame it with this board, almost like paneling maybe?” Simon grunts before pointing to another color. 

“I think an accent wall, framed by the board and then this to finish it off. The light blue he’d chosen would actually look beautiful against the bee themed wallpaper. Bee’s were just your thing. 

“Carpet or wood?” You met John’s eyes. Just play into their hands. Make them think you want to be here. 

“Wood, with fluffy rugs.” He raised a brow but looked away. 

“We need to figure out the closet. Between Kyle and Love here they have more than that closet will hold.” Simon said, sending a wink your way. Kyle chuckling beside you.

“We could just knock out the wall into the next room and make that into a closet?” Johnny offered, pointing at the blueprints for the house. John nodded.

“ We can move everything around and make the walk-in in there now just a bit bigger to fit the bed, knock the wall down and open it into the room. Then just add a door into the new closet. Then there’s space for a vanity or anything else we want.” Johnny sketches as he talks, the image coming together. 

“We could do built-ins in the closet. For shoes and stuff. Add racks for hangers. Maybe build something for her jewelry?” Kyle pointed to the wall. He smiled at you. “See, we do care, dove. All we ask is that you be good.” The taste in your mouth turned to ash and you pushed the plate away. Shame filled your cheeks. You had to find a way out. Standing you go to walk into the attached dining room, but someone follows you. Johnny is at your heels, bumps into you when you stop. 

“What are you doing?” He looks at John. Who crosses his arms. “What? I can’t walk around my new ‘home’?” You use quotation marks for home. 

“Not until we can trust you. Until then Johnny will watch you. Now be a good girl and let him do his job.” You scoff but walk away. The dining room is home to a circle table that needs refinishing. If you could get the paint off and touch the planks you could re-sand it and stain it. Highlight the age of the wood.The chairs don’t match but you could always find a set of simple wooden ones and make them match. The windows are huge, allowing for sunlight to flood in.

“Simon said you love sunlight.” Johnny says standing way too close to you. You could smell him that close. Feel the warmth of his skin. “Mmm. You smell so sweet Bon. Like candy.” His lips graze the shell of your ear. 

“I need to go to the bathroom. Can you show me?” He nods and happily leads you there. It’s clear it’s being worked on. The window is open, an escape. Johnny follows you in, leans against the door jamb. “Can I not pee alone?” He smirks. Rolling your eyes you pull your pants down and sit. Kyle and him had watched you cum all over their Captain’s fingers last night anyway. Simon shouts from the kitchen, Johnny turning away to answer when you take your chance. You yank your pants up and grab the brick from the floor, turning you slam it into the back of his head with a loud thunk before climbing out the window and taking off. Your slippers struggle to stay on your feet as you rush through the yard. Simon was right. No one was around but there had to be a road. And it had to lead to the main road or a town. You just had to keep going.

“Johnny?” It was Kyle. You had seconds. “John!” If you could just find a spot to hide. There were trees and rocks and bushes but you were a city girl. There had to be something. Tears flooded down your cheeks as you rushed around. There is a crack between a tree and rock you could slip in. Hide easily. You don’t have time to think, only to react. It’s tight but you get in and duck down, hoping the grass around you is enough to protect you. 

“She’s gotta be around here somewhere.” Kyle murmurs. 

“Find her. She has me to answer too.” John was angry, his voice so steady. The feet passed you and then went back. You kept quiet, biting into the skin of your hand. Tears soaked into the fabric of your shirt. Seconds turned to minutes. You don’t know how long you’d sat there, but they’d quit coming. Hopefully they were looking elsewhere. You crept out and stretched, looked both ways and went to creep away. Hands grabbed you, one holding your mouth closed as you screamed. The body you were pressed against only chuckled. 

“Big mistake, love.” Simon licked a stripe up your neck. “I can’t save you this time.” You kicked and squirmed and tried to get him to let go. He only tightened his grip and bit your cheek to shush you. He uncovered your mouth when you got to the porch, using both hands to carry you back into the living room. 

“Set me down! Get off me Simon!” You screamed. He dropped you at John’s feet. Your body smacks into the hardwood. A groan escapes you before you sit up and realize where you’re at. “I want to go home.” You growl at John. He laughs at you. Actually laughs at you. 

“I told you to be good. Good girls get rewards, doll. Bad girls? They get punished.” He leans down to your level. “And you have been very bad. Poor Johnny was just doing his job. He just wanted to make sure you were safe.” He grabs your foot and drags you closer to him. 

“Fuck off.” You hiss before he slaps you. You taste blood, you’d bit your lip. 

“Talk back again. I’ll make your punishment even worse.” He leans back up, the chair squeaking. 

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do? Spank me some more?” He chuckled. 

“You’d wish I had by the end of it.” Motioning to someone behind you he speaks again. “You’re gonna wish you never ran.” Hands wrap around your upper arms and tug you up, before a hand is shoving its way into your pants and roughly rubbing your clit. You jerked but the body only stayed firm.

“Johnny, she’s all yours.” John smirks as he says it. You make eye contact with Simon. He’s not looking at you. Kyle is chuckling. 

“Simon. Simon please!” You beg but he doesn’t budge. Johnny laughs as he pulls you against him. 

“Hmm. All mine. Get to ‘ave you to myself.” He nibbles along your neck before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“And Johnny?” He turns back around. “Don’t hold back. Take everything.” 

Johnny was all but fucking you by the time you reached the bedroom. He was knuckle deep, his pace would put a racehorse to shame, and still held you tight to his shoulder. You sobbed, his touch rough and overstimulating already. It was all too much and he hadn’t even really started yet. He tossed you on the bed, your body bouncing twice from the throw. The look in his eyes made your blood run cold. Simon had told you once that Johnny was like a dog. He was loyal to a fault and obeyed every order given to him but that deep down he was wild. A mutt he’d called him. And you had to agree, because he looked at you like a rabid dog. His pupils were blown wide and his mouth open. As he unbuckled his belt and started tugging his jeans down the only word that came to mind to describe him was simply feral. 

“Wanted to fuck you since Si mentioned ya’.” He mumbled, throwing his shirt over his shoulder. Your mouth ran dry when you looked over at him. The whole team was well built and Simon had barely fit the first time you’d fucked, but Johnny? He wasn’t quite as long as Si but made up for it in girth. He hung heavy and his tip was red, the slit leaking. 

“J-Johnny.” You stuttered, fear dripping off your lips. He was going to fuck you and it was going to hurt. At first. You hoped. His hands wrapped around your ankles and he yanked you down the bed, his mouth latching to your clit instantly. You squeeked. The pressure was almost painful but you couldn’t move. He had an arm holding you in place, his other was finger fucking you. He was bringing you the edge too fast, it wasn’t even enjoyable. You tried to push his head away, to get him to stop. Even as the pleasure pushed you over the edge and your legs tightened up, he kept sucking and forcing his fingers into you. He let up enough to growl out,

“Taste so feckin’ sweet bon, I could eat it forever.” Then he was back to licking you clean. You sobbed as he shoved three fingers back into you, your pussy clenching them tight. His lips drew circles around your clit. You yanked at his hair.  “Hmmm do it again.” He looked up at you, watching how your features switched. The pleasure is blinding. You’re gonna cum for a second time in the span of minutes.

“Too much.” You said trying to crawl away but he only pushed you down harder and grinned wildly. His fingers went faster and he laughed as you cried, your toes curling as the orgasm ripped through you. He crawled up your body, his lips latching to any skin he could find. Your clothes had been torn from your body, red marks staining your skin from the pressure of them. 

“Feel so good. So tight. Gonna fuck you until you can’t move.” His lips tugged on your bottom lip, a cry escaping as he shoved two fingers into your mouth and down your throat. “Gonna cum in this pussy then I’m gonna use this mouth.” He licked your cheek before slamming himself into you. His fingers muted your sob. The pain rippled through your veins as he began to hammer into you. His pants reminded you of that documentary you saw about baboons mating. He was in fact an animal. 

“Please.” You mumbled. He took it as a sign to go harder, faster. He bit your shoulder, his teeth leaving deep purple marks behind. Another orgasm was crawling to you. This one felt deeper and more primal than before. Your fingernails dug into Johnny's shoulder. “Go-nna cum.” He smiled and kissed the tears off your cheek, slipping a hand between the two of you to press hard on your clit. The pressure built with the pace of his cock had you screaming out as you came. Stars danced across your line of sight, your body going slack in his hold. His cock still pounded into you, the feeling becoming too much too quickly. But he clearly didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. 

John chuckled as he walked into the room. Simon and Kyle on his heels. The sight before him made his brain swoon a bit. Johnny’s back between your legs, lapping up cum from your slit. Whose it is they had no idea. You're covered in a mixture of cum and sweat, your hair sticking to your face. There’s dried jizz around your mouth, your breasts are covered in teeth marks. Your thighs match them, your pussy is swollen and every time Johnny’s lips touch your clit a jolt shoots through you. Simon’s heart clenches at the sight. His need to gather you in his arms and care for you tugging at him. But John was right, you needed to understand the rules. Still, seeing you laid out and clearly fucked within a inch of passing out pulled at him. 

“That’s enough Soap. She’s had enough.” John cocks a brow at how you don’t say anything, just pull your knees to your chest and roll over. Your cold, Johnny’s body heat had done enough but you were sweating and damp. 

“Simon, drag him away if you have to. Toss him in a cold shower. Kyle and I will tend to doll here.” Simon nodded and grabbed Johnny by the scruff of his neck, yanking him through the doorway. “Kyle, go start a bath. We’ll be there in just a minute.” Kyle walked off, the sound of running water breaking the silence. John stripped before bending and pulling you into his arms. A whimper left your throat as you tried and failed to pull away. 

“Enough of that.” He huffed pulling you against him carefully. “Kyle started a warm bath, let me clean you up and then we’ll go to sleep. You’ve had enough.” You nod, too tired to speak. John climbs into the massive claw foot tub and sits down, placing you between his legs. Kyle leans against the ledge, a loofah in his hand. 

“We should wash her hair first, John. So the conditioner can set.” You move slightly, so your back is against John’s. You can feel him against your back. He is big and thick. Hard too. Fuck, if three out of four were big, you hated to see Kyle’s. “Here dove, tip your head back.” You listen and tilt back into John as warm water cascades down your shivering torso. Deft fingers begin scrubbing your scalp, you feel the bubbles slipping down your back. “Once more.” Then more warm water. 

“Have you learned your lesson, Doll.” A whimper and you press your arms around you. “Good girl.” John hums a light tune as Kyle washes your skin, his fingers soft. You almost fall asleep, until that soft hand touches your pussy and you jolt. Eyes shooting open. Kyle smiles at you. 

“Need to make sure you’re clean, dove. You were awfully dirty.” There’s a bite to his tone. You know exactly what it is as he plunges two fingers into your sore, aching cunt. A cry as you try to pull away but John holds you open for Kyle.  “Just one more and we’ll go to bed. Promise.” You give a weak nod as Kyle pumps his fingers, and despite the orgasm before you climb that peak. John places soft kisses to your cheeks and neck. When you start getting close you tighten up, a hand wrapping around Kyle's arm. He distracts you with his lips, plying yours open and exploring as you arch your back and cum all over his hand. He chuckles and finishes washing you, John washing the conditioner out. You are done for. Seconds from falling asleep in their arms. John lifts you easily, Kyle drying you off, avoiding the apex of your thighs when you cry at him touching your thighs. No one dresses, instead John carries you to the bed where Kyle is laying, they settle you between them. The warmth is enough to pull you under, your body secure between the two mad men.

tags: @miss-vanta-likes-to-write

[baohanhanesel]

Totally fine if not your thing, or a bit hard with all of them. But like prices office he is just doing work, and the other three are just on his couch, because it isn't his office, it's their office. :3 love your art!

Especially after a long mission!

Price's happy to have them here but he might need a bigger couch...

[thechaoticcheese]

Whenever Cheese is sad, they find someone to hug. It does not matter when or where, if the feeling is strong enough they will just bury their face into one of the 141's chest. The following scenarios have happened-

Price being in a very important meeting and Cheese just latching themself to him and Price just carries on, telling them softly when he's moving so they could walk together, or when he stops. Price keeps a straight face the entire time and no one in the meeting says anything until the end when Cheese finally leaves. Price just shrugs and leaves too.

Ghost is training the recruits about self defense and sneak attacks when Soap is supposed to do it, not only does he not get the chance to cause he's trying to stop Cheese from bear hugging Ghost's back and failing. When Cheese does manage to wrap their arms around Ghost and before he could react, Soap runs into him and the two are now in a dog pile on the floor with the recruits trying not to laugh.

Soap was once trying to disarm a fake bomb but had to let it go off cause Cheese wedged themself between him and it. Thankfully it wasn't a test and just practice. They both got covered with flour because that's how it "explodes".

Gaz was relaxing on his bed when Cheese just flopped right onto his ribcage by accident and knocked the wind out of him. It also gave him a bruise which Cheese profusely apologized for for about a week or until the bruise went away.

König was bench pressing and it was the first time Cheese ever did something like this so he froze mind lift, just holding the bar out because he had no idea what to do. It took a bit before Ghost and Price noticed what was happening and helped König put the bar down(his poor arms were shaking when they found him) and Cheese had somehow fallen asleep.

Cheese has found their way between cuddles and neither party, except for Cheese, knows how they got there.

When it comes to Cheese and needing emotional support contact, the boys have just learned to let it be and continue with their day. Unfortunately the rules are also kind of like a cat, unless said cat is comfortable with you moving around, you ain't moving.

[clancycatears]

SHOOTING STAR (Gaz x GN!Reader)

gaz masterlist

a one night stand with gaz ends up turning into countless stolen moments, though you long for more. one night under the velvet sky, a shooting star seals your fate after you make an important wish.

cw: implied sexual activities (nothing described), subtle pining from gaz, fluff, your callsign is "pillow", second-person pov.

a/n: this is my first EVER proper write so please don't mind any mistakes or fumbles. i'm new to this! this short story is inspired by a bot authored by cigarettecowboy on c.ai! show them some love. <3

; 1.2k words.

The night wraps around you like a blanket—soft, cool, and quiet except for the rhythmic lap of water beneath the pier. You can hear the ocean breathing, rising and falling in endless sighs, the way it always does when the world slows down enough for you to notice. The crescent moon hangs sharp above the horizon, casting pale light across the worn wooden planks beneath you. Barefoot, you dangle your legs over the edge, toes just grazing the cool water.

And Kyle sits beside you.

He’s sitting with his legs stretched out, arms braced behind him, head tipped back to watch the sky. Moonlight catches the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat, and the faint stubble along his face. His shirt is creased, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms dusted with fine hairs.

He looks… soft. At ease in a way you rarely see. No tension in his shoulders, no sharp-eyed wariness that usually comes with the job. Just Kyle.

Your chest tightens. How the hell did it come to this?

One night. That’s all it was supposed to be. A stupid, impulsive decision after too many hours running on adrenaline from an unsuccessful op and not enough sleep. You hadn’t meant to fall for him.

But one night became two. Then three. Then so many you stopped counting, because counting made it real. Counting meant admitting that you weren’t just warming each other’s beds out of convenience. It meant acknowledging the hand-holding that lingered long after you’d both woken up, the way he pressed his lips to your forehead like it was instinct, the glances across briefing tables that lasted just a little too long.

It meant facing the truth: you were in love with him.

And you were terrified he didn’t feel the same.

"Y'alright, Pillow?" Kyle’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and warm. He tilted his head toward you, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight.

You smiled, hoping it didn’t look as conflicted as it felt. "Yeah. Just… enjoying the view."

His gaze flicked toward the horizon, where the ocean swallowed the sky in an endless stretch of black and silver. "Can’t blame you. Beats the hell outta sandbags and floodlights."

You chuckled, the sound catching in your throat. It was peaceful here—miles from the base, from the noise, from the world that only seemed to spin faster with each passing day. Just the two of you, barefoot on the edge of nowhere, pretending like the morning would never come.

You follow his gaze, finding comfort in the familiar scatter of constellations. Your eyes instinctively searched for Orion, the hunter etched into the sky by ancient hands. There he was—belt sharp and bright, shoulders proud, bow held firmly at his side.

"Orion," you said quietly, pointing. "My favorite."

Kyle glanced at you, brow lifting. "That right? Why him?"

You hesitated, the answer sitting on your tongue before you could think better of it. "Because no matter where you are in the world, you can always find him. He’s always there. Constant. Reliable."

Like you. You bit back the words before they could come out.

Kyle’s quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice gentler than you’re used to hearing from him, he says, "Didn’t take you for the sentimental type, Pillow."

You glance at him, and for a brief second, you lock eyes.

His gaze is deep, unreadable, dark brown turned nearly black in the low light. The space between you feels smaller than it should—smaller than it ever has before.

It would be so easy to reach for him. To take his hand, to lean in, to let your heart finally speak after months of silence.

But you hesitate. You always hesitate.

Then, as if the universe itself is urging you forward, a streak of light cuts across the sky.

A shooting star.

Kyle exhales a quiet breath, his head tilting back to watch its descent. "Well, would you look at that."

You tear your gaze away from him, fixing it instead on the dying light in the sky.

"Make a wish," he murmurs, his accent curling around the words like warm honey.

You close your eyes, just for a second, and wish for the only thing your heart has ever truly wanted.

I wish you could love me like I love you.

When you open your eyes, Kyle is looking at you. Not the sky, not the ocean—you. Your heart pounds against your ribs, your hands flexing against the wood of the pier. His gaze doesn’t waver. He’s waiting.

"What’d you wish for?" He asks.

Your wish felt selfish, too raw, too vulnerable. So you swallowed them down and whispered the next closest truth.

"I wished for this night to last forever."

Silence.

The air between you thickens, heavy with the weight of your admission. Your chest tightens, and you swallow down your lump of nerves as you look away briefly.

When you look back, Kyle is still staring at you. Staring like he’s trying to see through you, past all the careful walls you’ve built to protect yourself.

Your throat goes dry. "What about you?"

Kyle doesn’t look away. His fingers flex against his knee, like he’s debating something.

Then, in a voice quieter than the tide, he says, "I wish I’d kissed you sooner."

Your breath catches.

The world seems to stop, the waves, the stars, the wind—all fading into the background as his words sink in.

Slowly, carefully, Kyle reaches up, fingertips ghosting along your jaw before sliding back to cup your cheek. His touch is warm, grounding. His thumb traces a slow, deliberate path along your skin, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You don’t give him one.

Instead, you lean into his touch, your pulse hammering as you let the words you’ve been so afraid of finally take shape.

"Kyle, I—"

He cuts you off with a kiss.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just right. His lips are warm and sure against yours, the taste of salt and something distinctly him lingering between you. It’s slow, drawn-out, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s afraid this might slip away if he moves too fast.

Like he’s trying to make this night last forever, too.

When your lips parted, they didn't go far. Kyle rests his forehead against yours. Heat flushed your cheeks, timidity prickling down your spine. "I didn’t think you—"

"Didn’t think I what?" Kyle interrupted, voice steady but gentle. "Didn’t think I wanted more than sneakin' kisses and holdin' hands like a couple of teenagers?" He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Christ, Pillow. I’ve been yours since the second night. Maybe even the first. Just didn’t wanna push you somewhere you didn’t wanna go."

The world tilted.

All this time—all this time—you’d been drowning in doubt while Kyle stood on the shore, waiting for you to reach out.

“You mean that?” you whisper, afraid to believe it.

Kyle's voice drops to a low murmur. “Every bloody word.”

And then he kisses you again—and it's just as careful as the first.

For the first time in a long while, you believe in wishes. Because it's already here, fingers entwined with yours.

[femalefemur]

price making the 141 like

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Lazy Mornings with You

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff, lots of cuddling and sweet talk

Author's Note: I love writing soft, cozy moments like this—especially for someone like Kyle, who deserves all the love and rest in the world. Hope you enjoy! 💜

Summary: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick and you enjoy a cozy, lazy morning together after a long mission Kyle had just returned from, wrapped in each other's warmth and affection. With soft kisses and sweet nicknames, you both savor the rare peaceful moments, fully content in each other's arms

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The first thing you notice when you wake up is warmth—Kyle’s warmth, wrapping around you like the coziest blanket. His body is pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath your cheek. The scent of him, clean and faintly musky with lingering traces of his cologne, fills your senses. It’s familiar, safe, home.

You hum softly, shifting just enough to nuzzle against his collarbone. His arm tightens around you instinctively, pulling you closer, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he lets go.

“You awake?” he murmurs, his voice deep and laced with sleep.

You smile sleepily, eyes still closed. “Mmm, barely.”

His lips curve against your temple as he presses a soft kiss there. “Good. Means you’re still relaxed.”

Neither of you is in a rush to move. The morning light spills through the curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. It’s the kind of morning where time slows, where the world outside doesn’t exist—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Kyle shifts slightly, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. His dark eyes are warm, filled with something tender that makes your heart ache in the best way. His fingers trace lazy circles on your back, dipping beneath the hem of your sleep shirt, just enough to feel the softness of your skin.

“Missed you so much,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more serious.

You open your eyes, reaching up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “You’re here now,” you whisper, thumb grazing his cheek. “That’s all that matters.”

His gaze softens even more, and for a moment, he just looks at you like he’s memorizing every detail—the way your hair is tousled from sleep, the sleepy curve of your lips, the way your hand still rests against his cheek like you never want to let go.

Then, he leans in, kissing you slow and deep, as if trying to pour every ounce of his love into the gesture. You melt into it, hands sliding into his curls, pulling him impossibly closer.

When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, a small, content smile playing on his lips.

“You know, Kyle,” you tease with a playful grin, “I think we should get up sometime today.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Not a chance. I’m keeping you here all day.”

You giggle as he buries his face in your neck, peppering kisses along your skin. “Kyle,” you whine playfully, trying to squirm away, “you’re never gonna let me go, are you?”

“Shh, just let me love on you, lovebug,” he mutters, his arms caging you in. “Need to make up for lost time.”

Your heart swells at that, and you stop resisting, instead wrapping yourself around him like a koala. “Fine. But only because you asked so sweetly, handsome.”

He chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that, the two of you sink back into the sheets, tangled in warmth, love, and the quiet promise of forever.

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

[lostintransist]

"Even in my specificity, people still misunderstand me; the only option is murder."

"Will murder make you feel understood?"

"No, but then the motherfuckers will stop misunderstanding me."

[gothicflowers]

Pt.3 Continuing this Gaz blurb

Pt.1 Pt.2

MDNI 18+ only

“So like a date?” you replied to Kyle’s text asking if you wanted to go to this fancy steakhouse downtown.

Kyle smirks down at his phone “Ya, like a date. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven if you say yes”

“Of course” you quickly respond.

“What’s got you all happy” Price asks from his desk.

“Ah it’s nothing” Kyle nonchalantly responds.

Price chuckles “It’s a girl isn’t it”.

Kyle nods “Maybe sir”.

“Oh to be young again” price sighs.

You were buzzing with excitement. You had picked out a prefect outfit the accentuated your favorite parts of your body. This steakhouse was definitely fancy. Kyle who is sitting across from you is dressed in slacks and a fitted button up. He looks great, now if only he’d roll those sleeves up so you can see his forearms. He orders a bottle of your favorite wine and before you know it dinner is over and you’re both walking towards your home with arms linked together.

Your back was arched and your fingers weaving in Kyle’s hair as he placed little kitten licks on your clit. A breathless moan escape your lips as his tongue moves down and dips into your tight hole, fucking delicious. Your soft silhouette illuminated by the vintage glass lamp in the living room. The bottle of white wine on the coffee table was empty alongside the two crystal glasses.

“Daydreaming during training, come on now Gaz” soap smirks down at Gaz who’s laying on his back trying to recapture air into his lungs.

“Fuck off soap” gaz wheezed out. Two days ago Kyle failed in his attempt to gain you back, only to discover his own captain was warming your bed. The man that he had deeply trusted. Someone that Gaz to have considered a father like figure, fucking his precious girl. Gaz stands up after regaining his composure, noticing his captain in the corner his eye.

“Fancy a round Captain” Gaz crosses his arms, puffing his chest.

Price looks up from his clipboard “only if you insist Sargent”. Price knows that Kyle is pissed, and as much as Price wants to establish dominance he knows that maybe this isn’t the best idea, to egg him on while on duty. Fuck it he thinks to himself.

They meet in the middle of the sparring mat, Gaz being frustrated makes the first move to which price catches his Sargents hand. Price then twists Gazs arm but he lets go, just so Gaz knows he’s toying with him.

Price rolls his shoulders forward and get back into stance with a smirk “Poor girl was all by herself dolled up just reading a book at the speakeasy. Little angel got real red when I asked if I could buy her a drink.”

Gaz growls “You fuckin knew she was mine”

“Yours? Bold of you to say when my cum was spilling out of her this morning. Boy, you fucked and fled a month before I met her. You were long gone, not as much as a photo left of you in her phone. After all from what you said before, she was never yours.” Kyle throws a swift punch to which Price promptly dodges “I gotta thank you though, you fucked up so perfectly she needed a older man to come in a be her price charming” price smirks as he watches Kyle grit his teeth as he lunged forward towards his captain.

The move catches price off guard causing him to stumble back a few feet. “Atta boy there you go” price mocks him. “I could see why you’d be angry at me of all people for going after her, but Understand this boy shes mine now. Every tight little inch of her is” that’s when Gaz lunges at him, sending them both hurdling towards the ground.

“Oh so you’re enjoying the woman I fucked first” price launches Gaz off him.

Price scoffs “Oh don’t worry, not like you’re big enough to have stretched her out. Sweet thing is like a vice grip”

Gaz sits on the bench of the locker room sore beyond belief. Price had pinned him down into a submission, and it hurt his pride more than it did his shoulder.

Soap walks out of the shower area wrapped in a towel “so… what exactly was that about with price. Because that was a little more than sparring”

Gaz sighs “I went to go talk to her”

Sop cocks a eyebrow “ok, what exactly does it got to do with cap”