#Kyle garrick

[guhbwuh]

another gaz study ehe

[lay-z]

Your two favourite Sergeants get jealous.

Both Johnny and Kyle freeze in unison as soon as their combat boots step over the threshold to the reception area, feeling a shift in the matrix.

Two pairs of vigilant eyes fixate on you behind the reception counter and the man standing in front of it, leaning in way too close and too casually for their liking. 

And just like that, both bristle like a pair of feral kittens when they hear your angelic laugh echoing through the room—said stranger being the cause of it. 

“Ye seein’ this shite, Garrick?”

Kyle huffs with a curt nod, gloved fingers gripping the front of his tac vest in a stance of intimidation, even though neither you nor the man are currently paying attention.

“Aye, ‘m seein’ it, too, mate. What the fuck.”  

You laugh again, harder this time, throwing your head back like you’re present at a Comedy Club. 

“Tosser must be the funniest bloke on this planet,” Johnny growls, jaw clenching. “Ah’ve never heard her laugh like tha’.” 

Kyle clucks his tongue, frowning as if someone just insulted his mother. “The fuck he thinks he is? Comin’ in here, makin’ our bird laugh and fuckin’ swoon.” He scoffs, swallowing the urge to spit on the ground to underline his disgust. 

“Dunno.” Johnny narrows his eyes, fingers twitching to reach for his sidearm tucked into his thigh holster. “Looks like a bloody civvie, too–” 

Meanwhile, that strange feeling of being watched crawls up your neck, causing a shudder to tingle down your spine again—and it’s something you’ve been experiencing more frequently in the past few months, though you’ve never addressed it to anyone yet.  

“You alright there?” Christian inquires, furrowing his brows when he notices the odd look on your face. “You look like you’ve just seen a bloody ghost... or mum.” He quips dryly, chuckling at his own joke. 

You arch an eyebrow at Christian and purse your lips with a dismissive little wave of your hand. “It’s nothing. I just–” Then you catch some movement a few feet behind him, and when you tilt your head to look past, you spot your two favorite soldiers standing at the entrance to the reception, looking more menacing than ever and lacking their usual dazzling, toothy grins on their handsome faces. 

“Oh, hi! Good morning, Sergeants.” You greet them coyly, flashing them a warm smile of your own, which causes Christian to mirror your previous expression as he cocks an eyebrow before turning around to see who managed to make his younger sister act like a demure, little Disney princess. 

And when Christian spots the two glowering soldiers behind him, his heart nearly drops into his pants until he notices how their faces soften, sharp gazes turning into puppy eyes once they catch sight of his sister—and then he understands. 

“Jesus. I didn’t know you got yourself a pair of bloody guard dogs when you started working here.” He clears his throat, giving a friendly wave as he straightens his shoulders, though they don’t even spare him another glance before they turn on their heavy boots to leave. 

You can’t help but chuckle at their antics. “Captain Price joked that they’re my job benefits.” 

“Right,” your brother snorts, shaking his head. “They do look like they should be wearing muzzles.” 

“Bloody git’s nae even her type,” Johnny grunts as they walk through the hallways of the HQ. “Ah can tell.” 

Next to him, Kyle shakes his head, still in denial and disbelief.  

“Did’ya see his noodle arms?” He scoffs. “Motherfucker couldn’t protect her if he bloody tried.”

And Johnny hums in agreement, adding oil to the fire: “Wait ‘til Ghost hears about this shite. He’s gonna go fuckin’ mental.” 

[david-lynch-ate-my-son]

kyle "gaz" garrick moodboard

x price x soap x ghost

[matumogs]

Arghhhhh yes plz

little idea: poly!141 caring for a chubby reader who doesnt understand what its like to have someone care for them

like, Price makes sure that you eat, especially on the days where your body dysmorphia hits harder than normal. You always look confused while pulling out your own lunch, saying you brought it with you. Its a salad with no nutritional value other than barely any calories. John takes it and gives you the lunch that he got for you: a filling lunch with plenty of calories, carbs, and protein to keep you going for the day. Just listen to him. Trust me.

Simon who likes to workout with you: doing push-ups with you on his back, hip thrusts (😉) as you sit on his lap, etc. “Luv, I do my cardio at home” as he winks at you from behind the mask type shi

Gaz who loves to go shopping with you and will actually pay attention to the clothes you try on, complimenting you and even picking stuff out that he likes and wants to see on you. You blush from not having the same attention from exes and tell him that he doesnt have to be here while you try your stuff on. That you can find him if he wants to go look at stuff. He VEHEMENTLY denies leaving. “Why would I leave when I have a pretty darling to look at?”

Johnny who cannot get enough of your soft skin. His hands are always on you, always on the plush parts of your body. If you have hip dips, his hands like to rest there. He claims thats theres no better place for his hands to rest when he’s not groping at your tummy, thighs, rolls, tits- You blush every time his hands rest on the plusher parts of your hips or on your tummy, pushing his hands off just for him to put them back on. “Johnny, you dont need to touch that.”

“‘N why no’?”

“I know it can be-“

“Bonnie, Im keepin my ‘ands on ya until yer understand that I don’ want em off ya.”

Just a poly!141 taking care of you by also doing simple things around that house like chores when its your chore day, dishes when you cook, etc. JUST POLY!141 TAKING CARE OF YOUR STUPIDLY INDEPENDENT AND SLIGHTLY INSECURE SELF

[ivviannaa]

service top alex.... daddy dom price.... bratty sub soap.... switch gaz.... knife/gunplay ghost....

[niccolites]

sentinel species - ii. rose

victorian, zombie apocalypse au, kyle garrick x fem!reader. read on ao3 here or masterlist here

The horse slows to a stop once you reach a beaten path. Up until now, you have been crossing fields, open plains that allowed Mr Garrick turn his head to take in the landscape. You could feel the turn of his neck above you, while you hid your face in his chest.

Now, you are on a dirt worn track, designed for carriages. You lean back enough to peer up at him, taking in the considering frown on his face. The horse doesn’t stop, continuing its light, melodic walk. “Are we going towards town?” you ask, voice crackling as you use it for the first time in hours. The sun has long since set, and the moon was trickling its way into the sky in its place.

Mr Garrick lowers his head to look at you. “Do you want to?” he asks, eyes open and searching. Under his gaze, you are struck with the way that you are sitting. Your side pressed into his front, his arm around your back. Bare hand on the silk of your sleeve, warm even through the fabric.

It’s not proper to be sitting so close to an unmarried man while you are similarly unbetrothed. You are torn between the circumstances that you find yourself in, and the thought of what will come after this. After life reinstates itself, after you find your mother, there will be a stain on your reputation for this. You imagine that Mr Evans will not want you, something that kindles a hope in you as it also leaves you feeling a little bereft.

“My mother - if she - ” you start and then stop. Swallow. “If she made it out, she would head home. I would like to check if that is alright?”

Mr Garrick gives you a small smile, the slight show of his teeth. “Of course, we can,” he soothes and you lose a tension that you didn’t know that you had in your shoulders. “My family, I would like to check on them as well, if possible.”

You nod, fervently. “Of course,” you say, relieved that he finds himself in a similar feeling. His family hadn’t been at the dance, but you imagined it wasn’t a comforting feeling if he was unaware of what was happening elsewhere. It was too easy to isolate the incident to the Oakwood estate, but you remember the creature as it ran through the field. It had come from somewhere.

Kyle gives you another smile, wider, before he frowns back down at the track. It’s a winding path, still open enough like the fields that you have crossed so far. However, closer, trees bending inwards, hands outstretched above you to block out the sky. You shiver, and feel Kyle’s hand flex, tuck you further into him.

“Well, it’s decided then,” he says, and he clicks his heels to knock the horse back into a walk after it stops to idle.

You watch the back of his hand, curled around the reins. The back of his knuckle is burst, blood sluggish now but you can see the stain of it on the horse’s back. It’s been running for a few hours now, and you've only just noticed.

You pull your handkerchief out of your collar but hover with it, uncertain, in the gap between your hands. You twist your fingers in the fabric.

“You don’t have to waste that on me,” Mr Garrick says, startling you out of your mind after a few moments of ruminating.

You twist your mouth, caught. It’s a pristine white fabric, which is most likely what Mr Garrick thinks that you are worried about. It’s not, it’s that it feels very forward to wrap his hand in a cloth that you had tucked in your bosom. You find yourself wanting to prove that you are not vain about material things like the white of a cloth.

It’s not like there is anyone else around to see. You give a furtive glance around before you act anyway, just in case. You gently touch your hand to the back of his wrist, feel the heat of his skin even through your glove. He lets go of the reins and flattens his hand against yours, content to let you tie the fabric around his knuckles. His fingers are long and pretty like the rest of him. You can feel the caught strength in them, enough to cause a swoop in your belly that you ignore.

The blood will likely stain the fabric, but you don’t mind. You start to draw your hand back, but Mr Garrick catches it before you can, his thumb on the centre of your palm. You still, let him smooth his thumb over the silk of your glove. All warm, heat that catches and spreads up through your veins.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. More intimate than you think you can bear.

“It’s the least I could do,” you reply, clumsily fluttering your hand back at him before you withdraw it and tuck it back into your lap. He hums in response, and picks the reins back up.

You continue in silence, the only sounds the soft breathing from Mr Garrick beneath your ear and the rustling of the woods as you start to leave behind the open ground of the fields. You keep your eyes open, peer out into the dark, eyes burning as you almost refuse to blink.

You vow to say something this time. If you see one of those creatures in the distance, you will tell Mr Garrick, and you will save him this time. The thought is soothing, keeps you awake even as it gets steadily darker. The trees are getting thicker, until the open fields are choked out and forgotten.

“You can sleep,” Mr Garrick murmurs. His head must tilt down, because you can feel the edge of his chin as it grazes the top of your head. You’ve never been close to a man like this. It’s almost choking, like every sense you have is set alight at the slightest movement. You can see the faint hair that is starting to grow at the bolt of his jaw. That, too, another heat to add to your boiling point.

“That’s alright,” you respond, resisting the urge to rub at your stinging eyes. “I’ll keep watch with you.”

He shifts on the saddle as if wanting to disagree but ultimately keeps quiet. You feel the fingers of his hand flex on your arm, tendons pulled and relaxing. You resist the urge to watch it, wanting to see the delicate bone beneath his skin. Feel his thumb smooth up and down the soft silk of your sleeve, mesmerising.

You stare out into the dark until you can’t, lulled into a stupor by the rhythmic rub of his thumb and the sway of the horse. You blink heavily again and again until the crack of a twig has you startling back into awareness.

The horse huffs and stills, and you scarcely breathe. Mr Garrick doesn’t move, his chest like stone against you. Moonlight carves spindly fingers down between tree branches, lighting up the faintest tree trunks around you. 

A groan sounds out and you stifle a whimper, trying to see out into the dark. You think you see something move, but wonder if you are trying to make sense of the noise with some other sense.

What must have been a bark that started out in a human’s chest sounds out from behind you and you almost shriek when Mr Garrick harshly kicks his feet into the horse and you set off again. You cling to him as the horse runs with barely any care to his passengers, dirt kicked up behind you.

You peer over Mr Garrick’s shoulder and see it. A human face with blood around its mouth, haunted and hunting you. Its eyes are empty, soulless things that bore into you, mindless but certain. However fast it is, the horse easily outruns it, as not even seconds later, the woods eat the creature up and it is gone.

Mr Garrick doesn’t let up for the better part of a few miles before he finally stops, the horse huffing out big breaths. You’ve passed through most of the woods, you recognise the path at last, as the trees start to thin out and the smell of smoke starts to drift upward to greet the two of you.

You were pressed against Mr Garrick before, without much space between you given the size of the saddle which was meant for a single man. Now, you had your arms wrapped around his waist, you could feel his hand on the bend of your neck, skin on skin. Silly, to care about something like that after the creature that you saw. However, you can feel the calluses on his fingers and feel gooseflesh erupt over your body when his hand shifts and you feel the drag of them. Rough on soft skin, your mouth dries out as you realise that you want to arch into his touch like a cat.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shifting until you’re sitting a little more up than you were before. Mr Garrick’s hand tightens for a moment, and you feel your heartbeat ricochet as you imagine that he will not let you shift away. Then the moment passes, and you ignore that rabbit of your heartbeat, his grip lessening and sliding back into the safe territory of your sleeve.

“That’s alright, it’s been a long night,” he assures you, giving you a small smile that has you flushing. You feel breathless, even though you hadn’t been the one running. You smooth your hand over the horse’s mane, fruitlessly trying to soothe it as it continues to huff and slowly meander down the hill towards civilisation.

“What do you think those things are?” you ask.

Mr Garrick looks grim, giving a glance back over his shoulder to see if anything may be following you out of the trees. There isn’t, you were already watching. “I don’t know. They seem like men, but possessed. It’s not a sickness that I’ve ever seen.” You hum in contemplation, mouth twisting.

You wonder if you should be more hysterical, start shaking and shrieking about everything that has happened. Instead you feel a level of numbness that you observe with a clinical detachment. Like you were underwater, and watching yourself drown from the cliff edge.

You were telling yourself that if you found your mother, then everything would make sense again. The extreme violence that you had witnessed would be undone, unravelled until you were alright again, mind a clean slate.

It was a life raft that you were clinging to, a reunion with your mother was a distant island that you could see. Brought closer and closer with each step.

You can see the distant chimneys and roofs of your town. You crane your neck, futile, as if to see your mother through a distant window even though you were still half a mile away.

“Where is it that your family is?” you ask, turning your head to look at Mr Garrick. You lived in the centre of town, buried amongst cobblestones and all the other houses that belched up acrid smoke.

“Around there,” he tells you, pointing his hand out until you lean over to follow his line of sight. “Right along the edge of town.” Certainly easier to reach than your home, you think.

“Who will be there?” you ask, eyes tracing the faint outline of the houses that made up that section of town. More rooftops there than there are in your section of town.

“My father. My older sister - Isabella - and her husband, Theo. Their baby, and my younger sister who is also a baby,” he says. He gives you a boyish smile that you reciprocate, bashful in the wake of it. “Penny isn’t actually, but she acts like it most of the time.”

There’s so much warmth in his voice that you find yourself leaning towards it instinctively. Fire after a long chill. You turn back to the town and squint at the houses there again. “You don’t think what…what happened has reached here, do you?” you ask, eyes darting around again. Here it was open again before you reached the streets, easier to see anything coming.

“I hope not,” Mr Garrick answers. “But, I’m not sure. You live nearer the middle, don’t you?” You nod and he hums, thoughtful. “We’ll check your house, of course, but I think we should be careful. My sisters have spare clothes, or a cloak you can borrow. You’re…very bright,” he adds. You look down at yourself, at the bright silk that your mother had picked so that you would glow under lamplight.

“I suppose I am. The current situation wasn’t taken into account when the fabric was chosen,” you muse, startled when Mr Garrick laughs. You feel it, deep against your side. You give him an unbidden smile in return.

His house isn’t what you expected it to look like. Huddled in a street with other homes, no faint flicker of candle light in any of the windows. He points out the house that is his before the two of you stop at the end of the street. Wind whistles, dragging across roof slats and singing an empty song. No one is here, there isn't the hush of sleep here, it is the hush of desertion.

“We should go inside, if you would like to check,” you say, although he hasn’t made any move to leave. He nods, and leads the horse until you both come to a stop in front of his house. 

He slides off first, reaches a hand up to help you down. He stands silent, hand still on yours as he watches the house. The polite vacuum that allows him to extend this touch to you is shrinking around you as the seconds drag on. You don’t want to disturb the moment that he seems to be having, and console yourself with the excuse that there isn’t any around to catch the two of you just now.

“Apologies,” Mr Garrick says, giving your hand a squeeze before he lets go. With a smile spared for you, he starts up the steps and unlocks the door.

The place is empty, that much is clear when you cross into it. Emptiness clogs each corner of the sitting room, collecting in the chairs that are gathered together in the first room you step into.

Mr Garrick takes the stairs, voice light as it calls out for his father. You hover just in from the doorway, letting it shut behind you. You want to light a candle, the faint light that can worm its way in from the window is not enough to illuminate the dark corners of this place. 

Everything is closer than it is in your home. Wealth is defined by how far apart one’s belongings are, you realise. Your mother wasn’t as wealthy as she once was, however your home was an exhibit of a time that has since passed, to showcase money that you no longer had. All of your chaise lounges and settees were distant, spaced apart to show off how wide each of the rooms were.

Here, nothing is more than an inch apart. Standing just in front of the door, you can reach the first chair with your hand, feel the rough catch of fabric under your palm. You pull your hand back and frown at the layer of dust that you have picked up. You dust yourself off and stretch out your hand again, drag a finger down the side of the table sat in front of the chairs. Dust kicks up, a solid mass on your finger, which you find odd.

Mr Garrick reappears and shakes you out of your musings. “No one is here, hopefully they have gotten themselves somewhere safe,” he says, striding towards you with a bundle of fabric in his arms. “My father has a cabin out in the woods that he fishes at sometimes, he must’ve taken the girls there, potentially. There would’ve been some sign of…an altercation here, otherwise.”

“Yes,” you agree, shaking the dust off of your gloves. “The street does look abandoned, maybe they left with everyone else, too.”

Mr Garrick nods, smiling at your reassurance. “Yes,” he echoes, gazing down at you. A cut of moonlight arcs across his face, like a slice of a benevolent god who favours you for reasons that you don’t understand. “I brought you a cloak, stop you from shining in the dark.”

You take it, feel the weight of the fabric. “Thank you, are you sure it’s alright for me to have this?” you ask, uncertain about taking someone else’s belongings. 

“It was left,” Mr Garrick points out, plucking the fabric back out of your hands and draping it around your shoulders, cinching the tie across your clavicle. You let him fuss over it, taking the time to blink up at him. It feels secret, like when you had watched him from the top of your stairs. Impossible to reconcile these two moments of the same man.

Unbidden, you have the urge to tell him that you saw him, that you heard his proposal. Like you’re deliberately hiding something between the two of you. You bite down and chew on the words until they crumble in your mouth, worthless paste. You decide not to bring it up until you know what your answer would have been.

“Shall we check your house?” Mr Garrick says, snapping you out of your reverie.

You nod, roll your shoulders to familiarise yourself with the new heavy weight that you have on them. “Yes, please,” you reply. Mr Garrick’s smile is just beneath the cut of moonlight, but you see it anyway.

//

Your house is equally as empty, but you stand in your drawing room, still, as if to lure movement back into the walls. You twist your gloves off and wring them between your hands. Twist, until you can feel the stitches pull.

You think of your mother, alone at the Oakwood’s estate. Try to put yourself in her perspective, try to figure out where she could have gone. Would she have gone with someone, the way that you have? Or stride out on her own, perhaps just with your footman to operate the carriage if she could find him?

It’s impossible to think that she may have been butchered like Mr Casings. So, you don’t. A page ripped out of the book, not even blank, but gone entirely.

It’s worse here than it was at Mr Garrick’s home. In the heart of town, you can hear the growls of something inhuman outside. Distant enough to not cause too much concern, but close enough that it was an oppressive force. Something was alive out there, and you didn’t understand it beyond its eagerness to kill and bite.

“It doesn’t seem like anyone has come back,” Mr Garrick reports, startling you as he approaches. He catches your shoulder mid-jump, cradles it in the palm of his hand. “There doesn’t seem to be any food missing, or clothes, if she came back here and left again.”

You twist your gloves even tighter. “I don’t know,” you say, uselessly. You know that isn’t a proper response, but don’t know what could be.

Mr Garrick watches you for a moment, face contemplative. Still beautiful, you wonder how your mother didn’t give him whatever it was that he wanted. “We could stay, see if she comes back. There’s a chance that she may have gone with some group, and they could be making their way here. Not everyone else was foolhardy enough to travel in the dark like we were,” he says, smoothes his hand around your shoulder until you give him an uncertain smile.

“Alright,” you agree, relaxing your hands and letting your gloves unravel. It feels like inaction, but the thought of doing anything that involved leaving now that the idea that she may be coming back has been planted was enough to have liquid fear shot through you. “Alright, yes, we’ve been up…all night, we could use the rest, right?”

Kyle nods, and you push your hair out of your face, suddenly energised.

“Alright, we kept all of Father’s clothes, so there are clothes that you can change into. We have a spare bedroom for whenever cousins or the like visit, so you are more than welcome to stay there, let me show you.”

You flutter around your house, in the world’s poorest tour. Mr Garrick is indulgent with you, letting you ramble, even when you are showing him the pantry and displaying the new butter churner that your cook recently brought in.

You leave him in the guest room and stand, listless, in your bedroom. You take off your new cloak with care and delicately lay it over your armchair. Your own dress is ripped off without care and thrown into the corner. You feel both exhausted and wired, like you need to sleep so bad that you never will.

You find a nightgown, pressed and left in a neat folded pile. An echo of another life. You pull it on and slump into bed, your body is stiff and unyielding.

There is a crack along the edge of your wall and you trace it with your eyes, wondering what you will do tomorrow. You imagine staying in this house, night after night, waiting for your mother to come and get you. Monsters prowling along the edge of your townhouse until they break in. 

There is a howl from outside and you whimper in response. You’d make good prey, you can play the part well. You cry into your pillow, and imagine that your tears shine so pretty in the faint light from your window.

You finally fall asleep thinking of the bite of teeth and they glow like moonlight until they hit flesh.

//

You think you wake up a moment before you hear the scream. You sit up, body locking as if in preparation as the yell bounces in from outside.

Passivity freezes you before you are propelled into motion, discarding your blanket and darting over to your window. You peer out into the dark street, trying to find any motion.

The yell sounds again, but you cannot see where it is coming from.

Your door throws open and you whirl around, finding Mr Garrick standing there with a blade in his hand. He breathes your name, relief colouring it like something familiar. “You’re alright?” he states, but it comes out half a question.

“Yes, are you? Do you know who that is?” you ask, watching as he steps towards you, looks out the window over your shoulder.

“No, I can’t tell if it’s…one of those things,” he says, frowning out into the dark. “They sound human enough, even though I don’t think they are anymore.

Gooseflesh dimples your skin as the yell rings out again. You’d assumed it was a shout of pain, or someone signalling for help. Now, it just sounded like the sound of an animal. Humans reduced into madness, howling in the night. “What’s happening to them?” you ask, folding your arms around yourself.

“I don’t know,” Mr Garrick murmurs. He looks at you, about to say something when another yell cuts through the air. This one is distinctly human, a shout of pain that sets you jumping again.

You peer out of the window, feel the heat of Mr Garrick at your back as he does the same.

A moment of stillness, quiet. Then -

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

At the edge of the street comes a figure, hurtling down the cobblestones. Screaming the same thing over and over, spinning to shout it out at each of the houses directly. A shrieking plea, a desperation that you have never heard in real life.

You go to move, and bump into Mr Garrick. He catches your shoulders, and it feels more intimate that it’s your nightgown, the fabric thin enough that you can feel the heat of his palms onto your skin. “Where are you going?”

“That man needs help,” you say, confused. “He may be hurt, we should bring him in.”

“I’ll go, you should stay here,” Mr Garrick says, already letting you go and stepping away. “I’m not risking you.”

They are kind words, and you know you should listen, but you feel stricken at the idea of him going downstairs without you. You follow, but keep quiet. Kyle turns his head and doesn’t seem surprised to see you but his mouth pinches.

“Stay behind me,” he tells you and takes to the stairs, quick that has you scrambling after him. He has spent most of the night trying to soothe you, that you forget that this is the same man to tackle one of those creatures and crack its head into the floor.

Your courage wanes, but you try to keep pace, lingering in the hallway when Kyle reaches the entrance. The door opens and the shouting shoulders its way in and you reel back from it. “Over here man!” Mr Garrick calls and the shouting ceases for a moment as the figure darts towards safety.

You step out of the way as the man barrels inside and almost falls to the ground with his momentum as Mr Garrick shuts the door behind him and bolts it shut. You turn to him, hands out to console when you pause. “Mr Evans?” you ask, baffled.

He looks worse for wear. With blood staining his shirt, his trousers torn, he barely looks like himself. His hair that had been perfectly combed back at the ball only hours ago was a mess with dirt caked in it. He blinks at you as if he cannot see before your face seems to register. “Thank God,” he says, leaning heavily against the wall. “A welcome sight you are, my lady. The world has gone mad, there are devils wearing a man’s face out there.”

“We’re aware of what’s happened,” Mr Garrick says, stepping towards you. His arm brushes yours and he doesn’t step away. You look up at him and he has an odd look on his face as he watches Mr Evans.

Mr Evans doesn’t seem to notice, looking moments from collapsing onto the floor. “Are you hurt?” you ask, stepping forward as if you would be able to catch him if he did. Mr Garrick echoes your movement, still close enough to brush against you.

“Nothing that a strong drink and a night's rest wouldn’t fix, if you were kind enough to oblige,” Mr Evans responds. He limps over to the bourbon that your mother kept in the corner after you gesture towards it. 

Mr Garrick makes no move to follow so you sway forward before you say, stuck at his side. Mr Evans’ shouting has ceased but there is still the occasional howl or growl coming from outside, quieter but still present. “What is it?” you ask, glancing over at Mr Evans as he downs a glass and immediately refills it.

“We should leave in the morning,” Mr Garrick says, frowning. “It isn’t safe here, you can hear them, can’t you?”

You can, but you don’t know if you can bear leaving. “Where would we go?” you ask, trying not to look too against the idea, and likely failing.

“We could make for my father’s cabin, it should be enough out of the way to try and wait this out.” You blanch at the idea of going somewhere so remote with an unmarried man.

A thud snaps you out of your conversation, Mr Evans slumps against the wall. You think he may have been more hurt than he said, but a moment later a loud sore emits from him. “Do you think that blood is his?”

“I don't know what I hope it is,” Mr Garrick says, grimly. He doesn't say anything else, but he does help you drag Mr Evans onto one of the couches, at least.

//

The next morning finds you in a similar situation to the night before. Standing in your sitting room, waiting for someone who isn't there.

You hear someone approach you, and you turn to see Mr Garrick, watching you with a soft look on his face. “What if she comes back?” you ask, and his mouth turns down even further.

“We can leave a note, so she’ll know where to find us,” he offers, reaching out to smooth his hand over your shoulder. You can barely feel it through your cloak, but you shift out from under it. It was different when it was just the two of you, but Mr Evans is standing in the doorway watching. Attention was always such a stifling force, you hadn’t realised how much it lingered on you until it was back.

Mr Garrick lets his hand hover in the air before it drops back to his side. His face is fine and still. “Could you write the directions for me?” you ask, hating yourself for asking.

“Yes,” he agrees, and follows you towards the desk in the corner where you were taught to write and read.

You pen something short, tell your mother that you love her and that you will find her if she tries to find you. You leave a blank space for Mr Garrick to pen in the directions to his cabin and turn away as he writes them.

Letting Mr Garrick write this out, you walk over to Mr Evans as he leans against the wall and stares down at his shoes. It’s impossible to reconcile that this is the same man who was boring you at a party the night before. He is like a ghost of himself, already haunted. He looks sickly, blanched of any colour in his cheeks. He had at least washed off some of the blood that stained his skin. It hadn’t made him look any more well.

“How are you feeling this morning, Mr Evans?” you ask, slipping your gloves on.

He barely seems to hear you, blinking heavily for a moment before his head jerks up. He seems startled at the sight of you, as if you were a stranger. “Apologies, are we setting off then?”

You swallow harshly, crossing your arms around yourself. “Yes, Mr Garrick knows of somewhere safe that we can go until this blows over.”

Mr Evans’s slips off of your face, trickling down to your collar and lingering there. Thick like molasses, his blinks stretching out until they linger, half-masted over his eyes.

“Mr Evans?” you ask.

“Alright,” Mr Garrick says, startling you as he approaches. “I’ve left the letter on the desk, your mother should see it if she returns here, and she will be able to find us. We can also come back, if we can, to check,” Mr Garrick offers. You give him a tremulous smile, which he seems to lean into. “We only have one horse, I say we return to my father’s house, the lady can wait there while we find another.” This is directed at Mr Evans, who barely seems to comprehend. “There was a footman that lived near us, he was permitted to keep a few horses for his master, he had a stable just outside of town for them.”

Mr Evans blinks blanky in response, which sets Mr Garrick scowling. “A good plan, you said that the cabin was that way out of town, yes?” you interject. Mr Garrick’s gaze returns to you and the frown slips off. “We should go then, it seems quieter outside.” You were also starting to lose your nerve and knew if you stayed for a moment longer that you would climb back upstairs to your bedroom and refuse to leave until you saw your mother again.

Dawn has chased away everything frightening in the world, and restored it to life as it was before. Eerily quiet, still, but you would welcome that over the senseless growling that echoed down the streets only hours before. You wondered if these new creatures had some sense of time, any semblance of the signifiers of the day.

Either way, you step closer to Mr Garrick as he holds your horse by the reins to guide it down the streets. Mr Evans took up the rear, head down as if to make sure his feet were where he left them. 

It was a quick journey in the dark on horseback. On foot, with the sun starting to crawl out of the sky, it was a good chunk of an hour.

“You could take the horse, you don’t have to walk, “ Mr Garrick offers, offering his arm to you just after you set off.

“It feels rude,” you reply, but you take his arm which earns you a smile. It was cold, this early in the morning, and you would take what heat you could get. “Should we name her?” you add, watching the horse as it huffs. There had scarcely been any hay, given there wasn’t a traditional stable to keep the horses in, only a section to the side of the house for any carriage to linger. Your mother wasn’t fond of horses, but you liked the sway of their heads and the sound of their hooves on stone.

“I don’t have much practice with naming animals, my sisters always said I was rotten at it,” Mr Garrick muses, tucking your hand further into his elbow to ward off any chill. You bite back a smile, shy at his attentiveness.

“Why, what did you name them?” you ask. You pass by a baker’s and see the windows are all smashed, the tray that displayed fresh bread is empty. You suppress a shiver and shift closer to Kyle.

“My mother found a stray cat that she left a tray of food out for every night. The cat had a white circle around its eye, so I used to call her ‘Circle’,” Mr Garrick admits, regretfully. “Isabella used to smack me around the head if I called the cat that in front of her. She said it was the stupidest thing that she had ever heard.”

You giggle, trying to keep yourself hushed. “It isn’t the best,” you admit. Kyle gives you a grin, his head tilted down towards you.

It’s impossible to think that you are smiling again, after the way that you had felt as you left your home. Kyle seems to coax something out of you, a thread of sunlight into the open mouth of a cave. Luring, yet effortlessly.

The journey feels quick as Kyle entertains you with more stories of his childhood. You feel lighter, the streets are dead but nothing alive walks them besides your group, and you will take what you can get. Mr Evans doesn’t say anything, but you comfort yourself with the sound of his light but consistent footsteps behind you.

He’s survived something just like the rest of you, and if he needs peace, you want to give that to him.

Finally, you reach Mr Garrick’s home again, and you let him guide you up to the door. “We should only be gone for an hour,” Kyle assures you, leaning around you to open the front door. Then, he stays, half-curled around you as if to hide you from sight. “Don’t come out, for anyone, just in case.”

It’s an odd instruction, but you agree anyway, just to see him relax. His hand lifts and he only hesitates for a moment before he brushes a stray hair out of your face and behind your ear. Gentle, like you’ll blow away if he’s not delicate enough with you.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises and you nod again. Agree, making a vow the truth.

You linger in the doorway as he turns down and joins Mr Evans, as they continue down the road. Mr Evans turns his head to look back at you, pallid skin that shines faintly with sweat in the morning light. You have the strangest feeling that he doesn’t even recognise you.

The door clicks shut and the sunlight is cut off.

[clancycatears]

gaz knows he’s pretty, but he loves it even more when you tell him so.

it was a perfect saturday morning, a rare occasion where you and kyle finally got days off of your professions. so that meant sleeping in ungodly amounts of hours tangled in each other’s limbs.

it was just a quarter to 11 am when you both finally stirred. he hummed, opening his eyes to find you already looking at him. his lips split into a gentle smile. “mornin’, lovie.”

your hands reach up to frame his face in your palms, and you mirror the smile he gave you. “good morning, pretty boy,” you murmur, peppering his face in the softest of smooches.

heat rose to his cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears, a slow sigh exiting his nostrils as he accepted your affection, eyes shutting so he could only think of your kisses. “your pretty boy.”

he listens as you snicker quietly, his smile widening. “mm. my pretty boy,” you correct yourself, before pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

nudging his forehead against yours, he inhaled a nose full of your scent, and returned your kiss with his own. “can we have waffles today?”

“of course we can, handsome.” another rush of heat to his face. he pecks your lips once more, before you both roll out of bed to start brunch together.

but of course, it’s your day to treat him. after he pulls out the bacon and lays them out in strips on the baking sheet, he turns to you. “anything else i can do, sweet’art?”

“just sit there n’ look pretty f’me, love.”

so he hops onto the counter, looking to you with heart eyes as his legs dangled and kicked like a giddy child.

gaz masterlist

© clancycatears 2025. do not copy, steal, translate, or feed my works to ai.

[abusivegymrat]

😮‍💨

This boy has no right being this angelic

🌻

[localgoblinlad]

ciggy break

edit: hey just adding this on my ref was actually a render by @shadow0-1 and not a screenshot from the game (thats what I get for using Pinterest) my bad pls go check out their dope renders and find out where your reference is from before you post lol!

[mixingandmelting]

If you haven't already, can I request a scenario with the Task Force members 141 reacting to their s/o referring to them as their husband? Like, they could be on a date together and when someone comes over to talk to them, their s/o would casually refer to their partner as their husband. And the members have to do a double take because there's no way in hell they heard them being referred to as such

I think it'd be funny but cute simultaneously

John Price:

Everything that happens during his double-take takes place behind the glass he drinks out of. Eyes widening then snapping towards you as he pauses from the sip he’s taking for a second. And you nor the other person doesn’t realize it.

“What? There’s no way you’re taken. You don’t even have a ring-”

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite.” He wraps an arm around your waist, shuffling closer to you. “My significant other is very much taken and we’re happily married.” 

Just like that, the guy leaves without starting a fuss though the two of you don't take your eyes off him until he’s actually gone and away from the bar counter. 

“So, husband?” 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to put you on spot-” Your quick to turn around, voice guilt ridden until you notice the expression he’s wearing. “Er-Well…”

His heart melts at the sight of your flush going further down, past your shoulders while you try to distract yourself. You love him where you’re subconsciously thinking of him as your husband. You think of him as your husband. 

Smile full of warmth, eyes matching it with adoration, he presses a kiss on your temple and tangles his fingers with yours while you’re nuzzling your burning face into his shoulder. He does make note on the diameter for your ring finger, after all he tends to make it his mission to make your wishes come true while having also been on a window shopping adventure for a ring to get you. 

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish:

His ears perk up, the term you called him heard clearly and echoing inside his head. 

“Husband?” 

If anything, rather than disappearing, his smile continues to grow impossibly bigger at the exasperation you let out as you realize your slip up. 

“Johnny, please. Don’t--“ 

“Don’t what? Say I’m your husband?” 

Wrapping his arms around you, he easily lifts you up and places you on his lap, chuckling when you yelp and warn him you still have food in your hands. Not that it matters, his eyes flickering between you and the other person I.e., your friend he’s meeting for the first time, making sure he wasn’t the only one to hear what you called him. 

“Well, you called him your husband.” Instantly that earns your friend a stink eye from you and complaints how you have no one on your side.

As for him, his chest is about to burst, the fuzzies and warmth of the love you have for him spreading all over his body.  It makes him giddy and want to kick his feet like a kid, just so damn happy he’s not boyfriend, he’s husband. Your husband. 

The rest of the time is spent with you stuck on his lap because he refuses to let you go. No matter how much you tap his forearm, tug at him, he’d whine how your hurting your husband’s heart. He also ends up becoming besties with your friend who joins in and acts as his wingman much to his delight and your disappointment. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick:

The drink goes down the wrong way and he starts coughing. 

“Kyle? Kyle? You okay?” 

No, he’s not. Absolutely not. His heart is racing, his pulse is pounding. He’s really, really hoping his face is not flushing. 

You patting his back makes matters worse, him suddenly hyper aware of you and your existence. The same hyper awareness he went through when he first realized his love for you was more than mutual. 

It was an accident while you gave the waiter his and your order. A fumble. Yet, in as much as he knows it was- 

“H-husband?” 

He swears, it’s because he can hear his voice still sound scratchy that led to him to stutter and clear his throat. Not from shyness or being bashful. 

Though, it didn’t seem like it mattered. Your lips in the shape of a small “o” with your face fairing no better than his when he turns and looks at you. 

For the longest moment, the two of you struggle to hold a normal conversation with you struggling to form a sentence while he tries to assuage you that it’s fine at the same time.

Food appears and a few bites in he and you are able to speak somewhat coherently.

“I,er, it was a passing thought. What it would be like with you being my husband...” 

“I’m your husband,” was his smart reply, stating matter-factly than a question. 

Needless to say, you both didn't let go of each other's hand when walking out afterwards nor did the matching dopey smiles disappear. 

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

“Ghost”.exe stops working, a hand with the glass in the air except he’s not drinking out of it. 

Husband. You called him husband. And not any husband, your husband. Loud and enunciated that it leaves no room for any misunderstandings or mishearing. 

“He’s your husband? Him?” 

“Yeah, my husband!” Blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil, he tenses when you wrap an arm around his and pull it closer to you. Tensing because he’s trying to hold back from squishing you, smother you in affection. But it’s not helping when you’re being so fucking cute- 

“Pfft. Yeah? It doesn’t seem like he thinks that way-“ 

“You got a problem with it, mate?” 

He doesn’t need to say anything else, the girl quickly turning around and leaving with her tail between her legs. He assumes you’re keeping your hold on him in case she comes back. Until he looks down and catches the sight of your neck a dusty pink. 

He’s about to say something until you suddenly jump out of your seat and let go of him.

“I’ll be right back.” You further confirm his suspicions, seeing your ears hold the same hue as you head towards the restroom. 

“Didn’t think you’d like being a hubby.” 

“Shut it, Johnny.” There’s no bite in his words, the corner of his lips twitching. 

Catching this, the rest of task 141 take turns making jabs at him, all which he has no choice but to endure as he grunts it’s husband not hubby. 

[gazstations]

There is/will be more than these five drabbles. Check the series masterlist for more.

TW: mentions of dead bodies???

You were going to do it.

You were halfway across the yard.

Johnny's reaction never left you, and now you were actually curious. What was in Price's workshop? You never bothered to go back there. It was a trek across the yard, and someone was usually occupying your time. You had four doting men. It was hard to get alone time.

Now, you were noticing little things. Like how they never left you alone at the house. They claimed it was for your protection, but maybe you should've paid attention.

Hell, it didn't even have to be dead bodies. They were hiding something, if Johnny's nervous posture was anything to go by. And it bothered you. Surprises were one thing. But it was apparently 4 against 1, and you just felt left out.

And maybe you had a bit of main character energy. You wanted to be the one to figure shit out. Though, a lot of the time, it was the side characters that did all the work. The main character just took credit for the plot.

John was taking his afternoon bear nap, Kyle was in the shower, Johnny was out getting food. Simon? Well, maybe you should've paid a bit more attention to that one.

You put your hand on the door to the workshop, frowning when you saw there was a keypad lock. Wow, John must've been really worried about the birds stealing his wood. There really was nothing else out here.

A large hand enclosed around your shoulder. "Luv," Simon's voice rang out. You stiffened. "Wantin' to explore, eh?"

"Just curious is all," you deflated like a kid caught with sweets. Getting caught by either John or Simon was never a good feeling. Their disappointed stares killed you.

"Don't need to be curious about that," Simon said lowly.

"Why not?" You questioned.

"C'mon, luv. Johnny brought grub."

You blew out air in exasperation. You hated being ignored. Simon was good at it. Not answering questions. It made you want to wring his neck sometimes.

"Johnny was right. You do have dead bodies back there," you declared, and you watched Simon pause.

You were baiting him. He didn't have to know that Johnny didn’t actually say anything. Sorry, Johnny. But someone had to be the fall guy.

"He said what?" Simon's voice was calm but definitely had an edge.

You rose an eyebrow. Simon looked... apprehensive, maybe. You saw the faintest droop of his lip. Now, that really was interesting. You had caught him off guard. And he didn't just do one of his amused snorts and carry on.

No, he paused.

You were really locked in now.

But so was he as he crossed the yard, leaving you behind.

[codnasties]

https://x.com/domnkittyxo/status/1908405835904036891?s=46

this is gaz with his soft missus omg!!! like maybe after deployment and he comes home to her ejsjjssnsnsn

gaz's soft little missus 🧢 (🌽 link)

there are a lot of things a soldier may miss when he's away from home for a long time. it's those exact same things that keep them going and that they count the days left to come back home

for gaz, it's you. your are his favourite thing about coming back from deployment and just thinking about you allows him to will though eny inconvenience. getting to see you, touch you, hear your voice once again. his perfect soft lil' missus. so good for him.

he thinks he's about to lose his mind when he walks into the house, tiredness weighing him down and grime still stiking to him after three diffrent showers and he's greeted by you in one of his shirts looking all pretty. just that view is enough to get him - and his dick - all excited and fully awake.

just like having you on top of him, plush ass bouncing on his hard leaking cock as you ride him. he just sits back and enjoys the view, the way you are so good for him and the way you are fucking yourself dumb. having to stop for a second before you overstimulate yourself by mistake.

the man is so fucking in love he has heart eyes

[corpsypher]

I'm crying because can you imagine meeting Gaz at like a bar or whatever and falling for his charismatic, chivalrous act, and suddenly you find yourself fooling around in the bathroom, about to be stuffed and loaded.

Unfortunately, you forgot your tatas are taped up, and I mean taped up like a crime scene, so you panic and try to deflect his wondering attention from your chest.

But It's Gaz, there is no way he ain't getting what he set his mind to. So when he exposes your flesh and comes faces to face with all that pink tape, all he does is smile like a Cheshire cat.

Oh honey, he's gonna enjoy watching you hiss and cuss when he rips it off of you while he fingers your tight little hole. 'Cause there's nothing he loves more than taking on a challenge to get what he wants.

[sweetstrawberryys]

"She’s in Labor (Again?!)"

– Part 3: Babysitters From Hell

Summary: You and Price finally get a night out. The team swears they’ve “got it covered.” You should’ve known better.

Rating: Fluff, chaotic uncle energy, baby shenanigans, and lots of love.

“Alright,” Price said, handing off the diaper bag. “Feed her at seven, bath at eight, no loud noises, no sugar, and don’t let her eat anything off the floor.”

“Mate,” Soap grinned, bouncing the baby on his hip, “she’s in great hands.”

“You say that like I should be comforted,” Price muttered under his breath as you tugged him toward the door.

“Enjoy your night!” Gaz called, waving. “We’ll call if anything explodes!”

“Nothing’s going to explode,” you said nervously.

“Y’know that’s not reassuring, right?” Price added.

The door shut behind you.

Ten minutes later:

“Okay,” Soap said, turning to Gaz. “Where’s the manual?”

“She’s not a toaster, Johnny.”

Ghost stood in the corner like a cursed babysitter, arms crossed. “She’s staring at me again.”

“She’s a baby,” Gaz sighed.

“She knows things,” Ghost replied seriously.

The baby gurgled happily from her playmat.

Thirty minutes later:

Soap was lying on the floor making dinosaur noises.

Gaz was reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar with the intensity of a Shakespearean actor.

Ghost was still standing guard like a human security system.

And somehow… it was going okay.

Until.

“Um.” Gaz froze. “She pooped.”

“I got this!” Soap declared, running for the diaper bag.

Five minutes later: “I don’t got this.”

“Why is it up her back?!” Gaz yelped.

“I don’t know!” Soap yelled. “Do babies do that?!”

“She’s climbing you like a tree,” Ghost muttered, watching Soap panic as the baby latched onto his shirt mid-cleanup.

“Help me!”

“Absolutely not.”

“GHOST!”

Meanwhile, on your date…

You and Price were mid-toast at the restaurant when your phone buzzed with a photo: Soap covered in baby wipes, the baby giggling in the background, Gaz holding up a onesie like it was biohazard evidence, and Ghost sitting on the couch flipping off the camera with a baby sock on his head.

You turned the phone to Price.

He stared for a beat. Then sighed. “They’re alive. That’s what matters.”

You grinned. “Told you they’d be fine.”

Masterlist

[skauni]

As he should

Gaz:"I'm so hungry I could eat Tommy Riley."

Ghost:

Ghost:"I don't know what kind of sick mind games you and mactavish are playing but I will blow your damn brains out."

Gaz:"it's just a saying, calm down."

Ghost:"it is not!"

Gaz:"it is tho. I'm so hungry I can eat Joseph Riley."

Ghost, silently walking out of the room:

Price:"you and soap might wanna run. He's going to kill you both. Painfully."