#Kyle garrick x you

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 8 masterlist

-

Another day passes. Sleep and wake again. Take the long hand on the clock and spin it back around, the same day starting over again. 

Coffee and breakfast in the galley on your own this time. It’s too early for anyone else to join you. Movement in needle-point inching, creeping through the hallways under the glare of the fluorescent lights. Everything feels too hollow and too bright. 

When morning briefing comes, you stand by the wall closest to the door and mask your anxiety as best as you can. 

Gaz is already in the cockpit when you arrive, chatting on the other side of the room with Alex, their conversation too low for you to eavesdrop on. He sits with an ankle crossed casually over his knee in a figure four and his hands resting on his upper thighs. One of the guys must have lent him a shirt because he wears one of their standard issue heathered grey long sleeved shirts, the fleecy material stretching a bit tight across his shoulders. 

The commander claps his hands together, tearing your attention away from Gaz’s shoulders.

“Okay, we’ve got a lot to get through today, so listen up.”

More of the same that you force yourself to pay attention to even though your mind keeps threatening to drift off. You didn’t sleep especially well the night before, tossing and turning over something that you can’t wrap your head around. You’re suffering for it now though, eyes burning from lack of sleep. 

“We’ve also got some good news, finally,” Graves says. “Cruise control is operational again, thanks to Gaz.” 

A smattering of applause and you can only stare. You clap along with the others, the gesture more instinctual than celebratory. 

Gaz’s smile is bashful, a classic, ah, anyone could’ve done it. But anyone didn’t and his faux modesty grates on your nerves. 

Amidst Graves’ usual rundown of the day’s tasks and schedule, you notice something. Or rather, the absence of something. 

With a fresh layer of petroleum jelly still clogging your nostrils, you can’t smell anything in the room. For the first time since Gaz boarded the ship, you stay rooted in your body, not swept away by the sense memory of another time and another place. If your mind drifts, it’s only because of what you’ve been ruminating on these past couple of days. 

You observe and take note. 

Then the briefing comes to a close, the crew dismissed for the day. You only stand up after Hadir and Nikolai take leave, still staring across the room from the corner of your eye.  Despite being dismissed, Gaz doesn’t leave his seat beside Alex, still deep in conversation. He doesn’t so much as glance your way as you step from the cockpit. 

You don’t know why that stings. 

Nausea hits you out in the hall. You stumble down the stairs leading up to the cockpit before you have to steady yourself with a hand against the wall and breathe until it subsides. Less than two days later and he’s already ingratiated himself to the commander. Graves isn’t a complicated man; he wears his favouritism like a badge of honour, happy to let his underlings fight for his approval. 

You don’t know why it bothers you, but it does. Deeply. In the months since you first met Graves, you’ve hardly graduated from lukewarm pleasantries, and yet somehow within less than forty-eight hours, Gaz has earned the commander’s praise and respect. It doesn’t make sense.

The door to the cockpit abruptly slides open and a figure breezes past you, quick legs taking them halfway down the corridor before your brain even registers who it is.

“Farah?” you call out, making her stop in her tracks.

Already at the end of the hall, she turns at the sound of your voice and waits for you to catch up with her, poised like a sickle-footed dancer. She holds a tablet in front of her, the edge resting against her sternum. Dark eyes follow you all the way. 

“Can we talk?” you ask when you’re close enough to speak at a clandestine volume. 

Her eyebrows pull together. “What’s that on your face?”

“What? Oh, it’s nothing—it’s just Vaseline. Can I ask you something?”

“About what?” 

“First just—” Quiet suddenly, head twisting around to stare down the long corridor behind you. There’s no one there. Farah seems mildly unnerved when you turn your focus back on her, but when is she not these days? Maybe you are fraying at the edges. “I’ll walk with you, okay?”

Instead of responding to that, she spins on her heel and keeps walking. You take her silence as permission to follow her down the hallway towards the cargo hold. You keep silent until you’ve descended below the orlop deck, the sheer distance from the cockpit making you lower your hackles. 

Finally, it feels safe enough to speak. “What’d you think of him?”

“Gaz?” she clarifies, and the question immediately irritates you because who else would you be referring to? Who else emerged from nowhere? 

“Yes.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes drifting back down to the tablet in her hands, taking her attention away from you again. Her fingers flit across the screen as she types up a quick message, not missing a single stride as you continue down the narrow, vent-lined hall towards the main cargo hold door.  

“Farah?” you prompt. 

Her eyes flick towards you again. “He’s…helpful,” she finally answers. “Nikolai walked me through how he fixed the autonomous navigation yesterday. It was an oversight on my part to not think of fixing the GPS receiver before, but it’ll be beneficial to have someone else around to catch those slip ups.”

You frown. “I thought you and Nikolai had already tried fixing the GPS receiver.”

She stops in her tracks so abruptly that you nearly trip over your feet as you skid to a halt as well, then stares at you for a beat. Her brow furrows. You’ve never seen Farah look lost before, but she comes as close as you’ve ever seen. Faintly foggy-eyed, lips unconsciously slipping into a frown. 

“Farah?” you prod again.

That snaps her out of it. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No. It was an oversight.”

You open your mouth to argue, certain that you recalled Nikolai mentioning it before, but decide to just let it go. Not worth arguing about. “Okay, fine, it doesn’t matter—look, I just…I know things have been…weird lately. I’ve been weird, but…” You swallow, nerves making your stomach turn. “I just think…that something feels…weird about all of this. And you can tell me if you think I’m crazy, but I thought…the other day you seemed…—it just seemed like maybe we might be on the same page.”

“About Gaz, you mean?”

You just nod. 

She levels you with a sidelong look, Mona Lisa without a smile. Inscrutable woman. She looks at you like she’s trying to communicate or understand something or study you or impart something on you, but you don’t know what. Or maybe she just means to look until you do the work for her; until your mouth opens wide and you pour your heart out—

She breaks your stare, looking away. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

That surprises you; you somehow expected more resistance. Maybe you expected her to call you crazy. “You will?”

“I trust my own judgment more than anyone else’s. And—” Farah bites her tongue at the last second, holding back whatever comment she’d been about to make. Curiosity nearly makes you question her further, but she finds her words before you do. “…It’s better to be cautious and diligent, even if it amounts to nothing.”

The relief of not being dismissed out of hand nearly bowls you over. “Yes. Yes, thank you. That’s all I’m asking.”

She powers down her device, turning her body to face you fully. “That’s all you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah. Yes—that’s it.”

“Alright.” 

The dismissal is clear in her voice. She doesn’t even have to say it for you to get the request to leave. Even though it comes as no surprise, it still stings. 

You only make it a handful of strides down the hall before her voice stops you again. 

“And, doctor?”

You pause, looking over your shoulder. “Yes?”

“I’m doing this as a favour. So don’t get anyone else involved with this unless we absolutely need to,” Farah advises. “Okay?”

“Okay. I won’t.”

And then she disappears into the cargo hold without a glance back, the doors sliding shut behind her. 

At half two, there’s a knock on the medbay door and you pause in the middle of your sentence, stylus poised in midair.

It only occurs to you why someone might interrupt your research time when they knock again and a tinny, familiar voice calls out from the other side of the door, “Doctor?”

Your stomach clenches. You put the stylus down and rise to your feet. 

He’s there when you press the button to open the door, all smiles and fulsome charm, cloying like overripe fruit. Pungent and on the brink of spoiling, perfuming the air with a sickly sweet aroma, saying in a different language, this is your last chance, so take it while it’s still here. It won’t be long until this is all gone. 

But you step to the side and let him in because you promised him you would.

“I’m not too early, am I?” Gaz asks, giving you an out, and you almost take it. 

It’s tempting just to say yes and send him on his way, no follow up appointment scheduled. Maybe you’ll always be too busy to see him. Why invite him into your sanctuary after all, the only place on the ship meant just for you?

But you’ve hardly kept him out, a little voice in your head reminds you. Hasn’t he been here before? 

Again, that lingering suspicion. No evidence to back you up and yet your gut is firm in its conviction. You think of walking into the medbay the day before and stopping in your tracks, overcome by the sense that someone had been there just before you arrived. 

“Nope,” you reply with a tight smile. “Come in.”

The room feels a lot more cramped with another person in it. Particularly a man of his stature. Though you’ve treated other men before, some even more formidable than Gaz, he has a certain enigmatic quality to him that seems to take up a room. 

Your eyes subconsciously track the sway of his hips as he walks over to the exam table and takes a seat in the middle of it, waiting patiently for you to join him.

“What first, doctor?” Gaz asks, hands clasped in front of him. 

Hesitant, you smooth your hands down your lab coat and move towards him. “Um. Just—just sit for a second and I’ll grab my things.”

His stare is a physical weight on your back, but you have to keep it turned to him while you gather all the requisite equipment. 

“Sorry if I caught you at a bad time. Were you busy?” 

“…No,” you answer, shaking your head. “I wasn’t. I’m—well, honestly I’m probably the least busy person on the ship. Half the time I’m just twiddling my thumbs in here.”

You say it blithely, almost a joke, but when you turn back to Gaz, you find him staring at you with sympathetic eyes, as if sensing a deeper undercurrent to your words. “You wouldn’t be here if that were true.” 

The sudden shift to earnestness makes you feel almost awkward, embarrassed. You distract yourself by ripping apart the velcro sleeve of the blood pressure monitor. “Can you hold your arm out, please?”

He does, letting you wrap the sleeve around his arm, his bicep bulging around it. 

You conduct the litany of routine tests in silence, careful to avoid eye contact or conversation. The silence feels too delicate to break.

The evaluation consists of a series of standard tests that you’ve performed countless times before: measuring his height and weight, taking his vital signs—blood pressure, heart rate, temperature—which all come back normal, listening to his organs—which all sound, to your ear, perfectly fine—and a visual and physical examination. 

You’re not exactly sure what you expect to find. Hypotension from dehydration; decreased skin turgor; weak and thready peripheral pulses. Anything at all that might indicate the fact that he just spent the last few days stranded without food or water. Anything to indicate starvation or dehydration or lack of oxygen. 

But with each successive test, you find yourself less and less sure that he experienced any hardship at all. Everything looks fine. 

Even with the examination table lowered as much as possible, he’s still a bit too tall for you to properly perform your evaluation, necessitating that you pull up a stool at one point. It forces you to get far too close for comfort, only a hair's breadth from being pressed up against Gaz’s side when you hold the otoscope up to his ear, peering into the canal. Acutely aware of the heat emanating off his body and your nipples beading under your shirt.

He’s quiet too, for the most part. Breathes heavier when you touch your hands to his skin, but you chalk it up to reflex. Ignore the way your hands tremble and your sex aches from his presence alone. 

His lips part in a crooked grin when you switch to palpating his lymph nodes. The exhaled laugh makes your hands twitch against his neck. “Sorry—that tickled.”

“It’s fine.” Ignoring the way your face heats up, you feel around the nodes again, digging your fingers in enough to be sure that all seems well. Still nothing jumps out at you.

It’s a hundred times worse when you have him lie down on the table so you can feel around his abdomen, checking for anything abnormal. You shake a bit when the muscle doesn’t give under your questing fingers, rock hard. Beneath the shapeless spacesuit that he always used to wear his bulk was mostly hidden, but you feel it now, the solid muscle of his core undeniable. 

Enough. It doesn’t become you to objectify your patient, but there’s not much you can do besides ignore it and hope the impulse goes away on its own. 

When it finally comes time for his blood test, you step down from the stool and leave his side to go fetch a fresh needle and syringe, a couple vials, and adhesives for after. His eyes never leave your back. 

You tie off his arm and study the crease of his arm until you see a vein, cleaning the spot while keeping your gloved thumb pressed against the skin. 

“Okay, deep breath if you need to,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t flinch or wince when the needle presses in, lips not even twitching. Calm always in spite of the situation at hand. 

It’s oddly intimate, standing so close to him with your fingers resting against the inside of his arm while you fill vial after vial with his blood. Lulled by the sound of his breath, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. Almost a dreamlike space. You find yourself avoiding his eyes again, lest they distract you. 

When you’ve drawn enough for your tests, you extract and discard the needle and syringe, bandaging the prick. Your hands linger on his arm, finger still tracing over the delicate skin of his cubital fossa. 

“Anything wrong with me, doctor?” Gaz asks teasingly.  

Surprisingly, no—at least, nothing you’ve been able to detect so far. That leaves you with far more questions than you originally had. He’s the picture of health as far as you can tell from your cursory exam, though his blood tests will reveal more. 

“Nothing so far. I’ll let you know when your bloodwork’s ready though,” you let him know with a brittle smile. 

His gaze drops to your neck, half-lidded eyes watching the way your throat bobs when you swallow reflexively, suddenly nervous. Avoidant disposition; you’ve always pulled away from things that have tried to pull you in. You don’t know why that thought comes to you now. 

“What’ve you got there, love?” Gaz asks in a low, purring voice, staring at you intently, and suddenly it’s like a bubble has formed around the two of you. The outside world melts away, fades into the background. A faint hum fills the space between you. 

“What?” you reply, a bit doltish, breath catching in your throat when his eyes narrow and he leans in. 

“That…right there…” he murmurs, leaning in closer to you, a hand coming up to rest against the side of your face. “Under your nose.”

Body rooted to the spot, you don’t do anything when he drags his thumb under your nostril, wiping away the mess of petroleum jelly jammed under your nose. There’s nothing you can do but let him clean it off, your arms dangling by your sides like lead weights, each pass of his thumb wiping away more and more. 

“There, that should do,” he hums, wiping the excess off on his shirt, leaving a dark, oily stain behind. Dark eyes flick up to meet yours again.  

You can’t think of anything to say; your mouth goes dry instead. He lets another low chuckle out, eyes crinkling at the corners. As if your distress were written across your face. 

It’s like he can see right through you sometimes. 

“I—” you choke out. “T-thank you.”

“It was a good try, but…something like that isn’t going to help.” It’s said like a fact, not a warning. “I’m already up here.”

Two fingers tap your forehead, lingering there for a second. You tremble under his touch. 

And then, in the back of your mind, something moves. Something of you and not of you. It’s there and then gone, so fleeting that you barely notice it. But you do. 

Ice all the way down to your core. There’s a fear in your heart slowly leaking out, clotting in your veins. Aware that maybe he isn’t just speaking facetiously, that even now you can feel something slithering around in the back of your head and maybe it isn’t just your anxiety speaking to you. 

“What do you mean?” you whisper. 

His smile splits into something wider than his face. Your fingers are numb against the inside of his arm. “You still trust anything just because it’s right in front of you?” 

Nimble fingers brush yours aside to peel off the bandage you just applied, revealing smooth, unblemished skin. 

Your breathing goes haggard. You can’t answer him. Any coherent thought has been ripped from the soft tissue of your mind, replaced by a cold, churning fear. 

Gaz lifts himself off the table quite gracefully, righting his shirt when he’s back on his feet. The fluorescent lights make everything seem so flat. Even he seems flat, towering over you like a monolith, an obelisk from deep space. Reality sloughs off him when he stands at full height, like he can’t help but shed it. 

You stare down at the plaster crumpled up on the exam table. No trace of blood on the soft middle pad. 

Right before leaving, he looks at you from over his shoulder. “Let me know when you have my results, doctor.”

All you can do is nod, and then he’s gone.

[sigh-tofm]

when they come home drunk…

… price

- thinks it’s important that he loudly tells you he’s married while you steady him upstairs to bed. points to his ring incessantly, slurs on and on about his perfect wonderful wife with the big ass and soft tummy. you roll your eyes and can’t help but smile when he doesn’t let you hold on to his arm to support him. something about protecting his virtue for his wife, as if you’re not standing right beside him. proceeds to lock you out of your own bedroom when you finally get upstairs, telling you his wife will be home soon so he can’t have a strange woman in their bedroom (but still remarks on your wonderful ass). you decide it’s too early in the morning to persuade your drunk husband to let you in, so you go down to sleep on the couch. you wake up with price sleeping soundly on the floor beside you, having gone to find his wife when she never showed up in his bed the night before.

… kyle

- gets sappy and apologises for being away. loses all concept of time when he’s drunk, says he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to be away so long, he was thinking of you the whole time, the guys pulled him along and he couldn’t say no. while he’s on his knees at your feet, pressing his face to your thighs and mumbling into your marbled skin, almost making you lose your balance with his fervent apologies, you gently remind him that you were the one who made him go out with the boys because he needed to unwind after a stressful weekend of combat drills, and that he had left with them less than two hours ago. he refuses to hear and only hugs your thighs closer, so much so that you have to support yourself on the wall. turns out all he needed to relax was you.

… johnny

- is horny. almost starts drooling when he eyes you at the top of the stairs, after struggling to close the entrance door for a good minute, causing you to investigate what made all the noise. gets a wild look in his eyes when he sees you in just his t-shirt and makes you scream and giggle as he chases you back up the stairs and to the bedroom. being absolutely shitfaced, he has the coordination of a tranquillised moose and stumbles head over heels across the floor, catches his foot on the doorway and narrowly misses the edge of the dresser with his head as he falls. still, his little soldier is courageously tenting his pants when you worriedly lean over him and he gets a good look right into the collar of your shirt.

… simon

- is emotional and clingy. can’t get enough of you, won’t leave you alone. you can’t make out half his words when he’s had this much to drink (and the mancunian in him breaks out too, making it ever harder to make out the words), but you play along, smile and nod and let him sit on the closed toilet seat and talk and talk while you do your night routine in front of the mirror. so lucky to have you, luv. how could’a lug like me get a pretty one like you, luv. his melancholy statements of love become comfortable background noise for you as you remove your makeup and apply moisturiser. lets you wash the sweat and grime of the day off his face with a washcloth, closes his eyes while you massage your floral-scented moisturiser into his skin, never once stopping his little speech. ambles after you out of the bathroom, holding on to the hem of your shirt, when you’re all finished and ready for bed. his devoted mutters only let up when be falls asleep next to you.

[v1x3n]

[parkersbliss]

you lock the 141 outside your house (I know my rights tiktok)

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x american!female reader 

synopsis: you lock them out of your (their?) house, claiming you "know your rights." based on a tiktok trend with soldiers.

warnings: none just fluff and humor :)))

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour and I think it's the funniest thing EVER thanks

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Ghost: 

You watch as your boyfriend gets out of his truck in the driveway. He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door, a smile twitching under his mask at the sight of you waiting for him. 

Just as he steps to the porch, you close the door and lock it. “I know my third amendment rights!”

Ghost stops at the door, dropping his bag. Rights? What were you talking about? “Your what?” 

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner,” You reply, reading off your phone. 

Ghost sighs. Third amendment? Of course, the one American he dates is the one that has them all memorized. You could probably recite them in your sleep. Patriotism, or whatever. Which makes zero sense. You were living with him in Manchester. If all went well and you got married, he was making sure he changed your status to British. 

“You fucking Americans.” He grabs the key from his bag, going to unlock the door only to find you locking it. “Are you serious?”

You show your phone at him through the glass, the third amendment displayed on a Google search. He stares back at you from his mask, unamused. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters. 

You giggle from behind the door and give him a few more minutes before going to unlock it. You knew Simon’s limits. You only needed a few seconds of fun anyway, but by the time you unlock it, he’s gone. 

“Simon?” You call out, poking your head out the door and checking around the house. His truck was still there, so he didn’t turn back around. You don’t see any movements or even hear anything. Was he picked up by aliens? 

A thud sounds from behind you, and you yelp, shutting the door and turning around. 

Simon stands in front of you, arms crossed and his duffel bag on the floor.

“What the hell?” You said, looking him up and down. 

“I should be asking you that,” He retorts. “You should really lock your windows, love.” 

“Are you… did you climb through one?” 

“You locked me out.” 

“I went to unlock it!” 

“Third amendment rights, my arse.” He grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. “We’re in England.” 

You shrug, tracing up his arm. “Thought it was funny.” 

Simon just sighs. “Americans.” 

Gaz: 

“Oh, hell no!” You exclaim as Gaz approaches the door. “I know my third amendment rights.” The lock clicks. 

“No fucking way,” Gaz said, strolling up to the glass storm door. 

“No soldiers in this home.” 

He stares at you, his hands on his hips and that signature scowl on his face. There was no way he was coming home to this bullshit right now. “Open the door.” 

“No quartering soldiers without my permission,” You replied. 

Gaz rolls his eyes. Your home? He was pretty sure his name was on the mortgage, even if you were living in it 90% of the time. “I own the fucking property! I live here. You’re the guest.” 

You shrug, grinning. “Not anymore.” 

He runs a hand down his face. Sometimes just sometimes he regrets finding your stubbornness so damn attractive.  “I’m going to crash out, actually.” 

“Crash outside? Yeah.”

“Let me in!” He shouts, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it. 

“No!” You shout back, holding onto it and preventing him from entering without your permission. 

Gaz leans against the glass. “Remind me why I chose to date an American?” 

You smile at him. “Because we’re funny, and we have better Chinese food.” 

He glares at you, trying to unlock the door again. He groans when there’s no avail. “Babe!” 

You say nothing, finding his annoyance quite amusing and a change of pace for once. 

And then he actually crashes out, grabbing the handle and pulling, twisting, pounding at it. He yells a string of curse words and then starts banging on the doorframe. He gives up, frowning, and leans his forehead on the glass. “Please?” 

You unlock it. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He storms inside, throwing you over his shoulder. “You are so in for it.” 

“I like where this is going,” You giggle as he throws you on the couch. 

He raises a brow, hands coming to your waist. “Yeah?” He starts tickling you. You yelp, laughing under him and trying to push away. 

Gaz doesn’t relent and continues tickling you even after you’ve pleaded with him to stop. “You lock me out of my fucking claim it’s your right,” He mutters. “Consider this my very reasonable punishment.” 

Soap: 

“I know my rights!” You shout, watching Soap approach the door. 

He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. He had no idea what you said. The poor guy could barely hear from all the bombs going on around him, and you shout through a door? Good plan.  “What are you on about?” He asked. 

“There will be no soldiers in my home!” You close the glass door and lock it. 

He approaches the front door, staring at you through the glass. His expression is clueless, brows furrowed. “You mean our home?” He knocks on the glass. “Can I come in?” 

“Nope!” 

He frowns. “Why?” 

“Third amendment.” 

“Amendment?” He scoffs. What the hell are you talking about? Is this what he gets for dating an American? You start proclaiming your rights? What’s next, the pledge of allegiance? “Are you taking the piss? Does this look like the land of the free?” 

You giggle at him, his accent thickening with his frustration. “I’m still an American!” 

“Trust me, I know! Can I please come inside?” 

“No soldiers allowed.” You tape up a piece of paper displaying those words. 

Soap continues frowning at you and realizes he isn’t going to be let in anytime soon. It’s a good thing he knew how to easily change that. Americans and their rights. More like Americans and their feelings. He sits down on the porch steps, facing away from you, rests his chin in his hand, and sighs loudly. 

You don’t budge. 

He sighs again, kicking his boots on the porch, turning back at you with sad eyes. Still nothing. He concludes there was one last option to get you to let him in. He grabs his phone, and you watch with furrowed brows as he types something in. Suddenly, music is blasting from his phone as he looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Not just any music, but the sad hamster violin music. 

“Oh my god.” You unlock the door, opening it up to him. “You’re such a baby.” 

He practically skips inside, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your baby.”

Price: 

Your husband stands on the porch, rolling his eyes at you.

“I know my rights!” You shout at him through the window. 

“Do you, now?” He asked, playing along with your prank or whatever this was. If it brought you this much amusement to lock him out, he might as well indulge in it. That was the kind of man he was. Until he started freezing of course, then he would demand you let him in. 

You nod your head. “As an American, amendment 3 of the Bill of Rights says that I don’t have to house you if I don’t want to.” 

Price hums. At least they taught you something in American schools. “Does that extend when you’re in another country?” 

“It does to me.” 

He huffs, grabbing something from his pocket and displaying it to you. “You know I have a house key, yes?”

“I’ll just lock it again.” 

He tilts his head at you. You were really trying to sell whatever rights you thought you had. “Really?” 

“I’m taking this very seriously.” 

Price strokes his beard. “I can see that.” An idea pops into his head, and he steps away from the glass and in front of the door. You didn’t want to let him in? That’s fine. You wanted to lock the door? No problem. He’s got methods of entering from being in the military, after all. “Guess I’ll just have to kick down the door.” He raises his foot, fully intent on doing it. You were going to repaint the door anyway, might as well get a new one. 

You swing open the door. “Are you crazy?” 

He strolls past you. “Did I lock you outside our home? Besides, crazy would’ve been bombing the house.” 

Your lips parted, unsure if he was joking. You assume he is, but his expression says otherwise. “Are you being serious?” 

He laughs at your face, grabbing your hand. “Only if you start proclaiming your rights again.”

You put your hands up. “What rights? Suddenly, I’m feeling like this soldier can stay as long as he likes.” 

Price presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thought so.” 

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hey 😊👋 I love your Task Force 141 Imagines and finally had the courage to request one myself:

How would they react to the trend where their partner makes dinner but gives them the bigger portion and gives themselves only a small one with the excuse that "That's all we had left" ?

(I hope you understand what I mean)

I'm about 99.9% sure you're talking about the viral TikTok trend. That's what I interpreted the ask as (which is how I wrote it). Most of the time, those videos are pretty wholesome. Sometimes they aren't. But with regards to 141, they're gonna be wholesome about it. No body shaming. Not dismissive. Just walking green flags who are also done with your shit (because pranking them is just hilarious). Anyway! Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, pranks & practical jokes, humor, fluff, married couple, mild suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Love, what is that?"

"That's all we had left."

"That's all we had left?" repeats John.

You shrug nonchalantly. There's plenty of food, enough for each of you and leftovers for tomorrow, but John doesn't need to know that...yet.

"It's fine,” you shrug. “I'm not that hungry so I gave you a bigger portion."

John's concern only worsens. "You did what?"

"I wasn’t hungry so I—"

“I heard what you said,” interrupts John. He points at your plate. “But there’s nothing on it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

"No," he says firmly, waving his hand. "No."

Without asking, he swaps your plates.

"John. Stop."

"I'm not that hungry," he says, repeating your own words back at you. "Ate more than enough at work. I don't need all this. You do."

You reach for the plate but he lifts it off the table, holding it out of reach. Part of you wants to scold him to carry on the rouse, but instead you're giggling.

"Not sure what's funny,” grumbles John.

"There's more,” you laugh, covering your mouth.

"There's—” John glances between you and the kitchen. John rolls his eyes but he's trying to hold back a smile. “You naughty fucking thing."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You place a plate piled high with food in front of Kyle.

“Thanks, babe.” He glances up at you, grinning. His gaze shifts to your plate, smile fading into confusion. You purposely gave yourself less just to see his reaction.

“I forgot forks.” You walk back into the kitchen. “You want a fork, right?”

“Yeah,” replies Kyle slowly, now pointing at your plate. “But…what is that?”

You return to the table. “That’s all we had left.”

Lies. There’s plenty left.

“But why is mine full and yours—” He gestures at your plate.

You feign confusion. “You work really hard. You need it.”

“This,” says Kyle pointing at his own plate. “Is a lot.” He then points at your plate. “That’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re taking some of mine.”

“Kyle—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

You pick up your fork, intending to eat, but Kyle is quick, snatching your plate right off the table and swapping it with his. He keeps your plate in his hand, shoving you away when you try to reach for it.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Kyle.”

He ignores you, clearing the plate in a couple of bites.

“Kyle,” you scold, but you’re giggling, dropping the guise.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, glancing around.

Unable to keep control of your composure, you point in the direction of the kitchen. Frowning, Kyle follows your index finger. He takes a few steps into the kitchen and comes to a dead stop.

He slowly spins on his heel, his expression so exasperated that you burst out laughing. With a loud sigh, Kyle returns to the table, swapping the empty plate for the full one.

Dropping into his seat, Kyle shakes his head. “Get yourself a real portion and then come join me.” Then, with a smirk, “You little terror.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny reclines on the sofa, completely absorbed in the rugby match on the television.

With you, is dinner. Two plates, one for each of you. You’ve loaded Johnny’s plate, but have hardly filled yours. It’s just a prank. A test to see if he notices anything.

He has a knack for not paying attention to the smaller details. Sometimes Johnny is so distracted whenever there is a game on that he's oblivious to everything else around him. One time—just to see—you walked around completely naked. It took nearly a full fifteen minutes for him to realize it.

You casually take a seat next to him, offering Johnny his plate.

"Thank you," he says, taking it without removing his gaze from the television.

You keep your plate in your lap, casually moving the few bites of food around while taking incredibly small bites.

Johnny chews. Watches. Still oblivious to your tiny portion.

You purposefully bang your fork against the side of the plate.

He does a double take. "What’s that?"

"What’s what?"

"That.”

You shrug. "It’s all we had left."

With a growl that’s more groan, Johnny starts pushing his food off his plate and onto yours.

"Johnny. No. That's your food." He tuts, not saying anything. "I'm fine." you insist, trying to push his plate away.

“No, love,” says Johnny. He settles back onto the sofa and gives your cheek a quick peck.

You wait a beat. "There's plenty of food."

Johnny turns. Blinks. "Oh, aye?" He grabs your plate and dumps the food back on his.

"Johnny!"

"You’re having a right laugh.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “Go on.”

As you stand, he gives your ass a light smack. When you turn to swat his hand, you’re greeted with his cheeky grin.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The plate you set before Simon is nearly overflowing.

"Thank you, love," he murmurs, placing his hand at your back.

You lean in, giving him a quick kiss. He accepts it with a soft smile, lightly squeezing your thigh before you step away to grab your own plate.

Compared to Simon’s portion, your plate is practically empty. It’s really only a few bites, but it’s just for kicks. There is plenty still left in the kitchen. You just want to fuck with Simon.

When you set your plate down and fall into your seat, Simon’s attention immediately focuses in on the lack of sustenance.

He leans forward a bit, staring you down, silent.

“What?” you ask, pretending that this is all perfectly normal.

He keeps staring.

“What is it?” you prompt.

“No.”

No. Just—no.

You blink. "No? No what?”

Simon sucks his fork clean and tosses it onto the table, still shaking his head. You’re losing. It’s hardly started and you’ve lost.

“It’s all that’s left!”

He shakes his finger at you, walking away and into the kitchen. “I know you,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re taking the piss.”

Goddamn it.

Simon sees right through you. Always does.

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[inkbybambi]

vampire gaz that likes to sit you on his lap when he feeds from you. hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing softly over the skin he finds there. nose in the crook of your neck, intoxicated by the smell of your blood lingering just beneath the thin stretch of skin. your body knows he's a predator, knows you should run. but you're nothing but a fawn in his grasp, teeth at your neck, and you're addicted to the way it feels when he sinks them into your flesh, splits you open with fire and venom, makes you warm and pliant in his hold. you never thought being fed from would feel so good, a certain sort of calm overtaking you as he drinks, slipping deeper into him the more he takes from you. you let him, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt, trusting he knows his limits.

you don't even realize you've fallen unconscious until you wake in his bed, blood smearing his mouth as he unlatches from where he bit into your thigh. the throb of the mark is nothing compared to the embarrassing need between your legs, wet and warm and wanting. he smirks like the devil as he crawls over your body on one hand, the other going to his belt as he settles between your legs.

"don't worry, darling," he rasps, throat thick with your blood and eyes dark as the night, "i'll take care of you next."

[pricesprincess]

from this ask

price's eyebrows immediately go up and he gets a small smirk and wraps his arm around your waist when you call him your husband as you explain to people the things he does for you and how good of a man he is and how lucky you are to have him in your life, what a great husband indeed he is. he opens all your doors. helps take your shoes off. buys you your favorite things. surprises you with gifts.

kyle would stop mid whatever it was he was doing which was thankfully just walking around the store when you called him that as you asked a general question with husband tacked in on the end, his face feels all warm as he teases you about it and starts looking for rings the next day to propose soon because he couldn't think of a better way to spend the rest of his life hearing you call him that.

soap literally is all smiles the moment you call him that when you were talking to someone on the phone, he ends up calling you his wife from now on and he can't stop talking about it either and makes sure to get engraved rings as well. is blushing too when he gushes about you to everyone else in the task force and anyone who will listen, he is very excited because he loves you!

simon already thinks you both are married anyway so when you called him husband as you welcomed him home that only confirmed that it was okay for him to finally pull that velvet box out from his dresser a few days later doing it in a private setting away from prying eyes because he has plans afterward you can't do in public.

[luminni]

Most desperate things the 141 boys have done for sex because I can't stop thinking about it <3

(sorry for this being a 3rd repost, I had an account called Lumi_bunsblog but that one got deleted for some reason so this is the new one now ig lol)

John's begged for it. I mean on his hands and knees begging for a taste. I know this man is an avid pussy pronoun user too. He has been on his knees in front of you as you sit pretty on his couch, trailing kisses up your soft belly to your tits and then back down to your thighs.

"C'mon sweet girl lemme' 'ave a taste of 'er yeah? Know she fuckin' needs me hm? Just look at tha'" as he runs a thumb of the wetness that's seeped through you thin panties, just waiting for you to say the words and let him tear them off.

He knows if anybody else in the 141 or if any of his fellow soldiers could see him now, the Captain Price practically drooling over you and sweet talking your cunt like it could hear him they would have a fit. But he couldn't care less because you looked so fucking good right now so "just let 'er 'ave what she wants alright sweet thing?"

I just know Kyle has spent 70% of his last month's pay check on hotel room because the 5 star pent house suite was the only hotel room in your area left available during the holidays. He played it cool with an arm around your waist assuring you it was fine, acting like this was the room he wanted to get, not the one he was forced to have. But if he was being forced to do anything thank god it was spoiling you.

"Don't worry 'bout it love. Just make 'urself comfortable" He'll say in a sultry sweet tone, planting kisses up the side of your neck before excusing himself to the lavish bathroom to check his bank account. He had to make sure he still had enough to buy you a nice breakfast in the morning.

And you're already layed out so pretty for him on the bed so he's not complaining about anything. Especially not the mirror situated on the ceiling right above the bed. Oh and don't you dare suggest splitting the cost, "just split your legs for me hun, 's all ya need to do"

Johnny is eager, like so so eager. When a passionate make out session on your couch got even more heated than either of you had previously expected and he now had his fingers playing with the waistband of your skirt, letting his cold finger tips splay themselves just below. When he got to the hem of your panties and began to hook a finger into the lace you had to stop him,

"Johnny"

"Yea?" He was breathless, chasing your lips when you pulled away to talk. You almost felt bad for separating but if he was going to touch you, there was one request you needed to make. You had felt his nails drag across your thighs moments earlier, it felt wonderful but they were...a little long.

"Do ya nae want this hen?" He'd ask, looking at you like you were a piece of art. Pleading with his eyes, shining like they'd spill tears if you said yes.

"No, no I want this, I want you so so much. It's just..." you trailed off

"Tell me what's wrong bonnie and I'll fix it, yeah?" his hands kept you grounded to his lap either a soft grip on you ass.

"It's just- you're nails, they're a little long" your request was nothing more than whisper.

'Oh' Johnny knew he probably should have just asked for clippers, but you felt so damn good on his lap. He could feel your warm cunt through the zipper of his jeans and with your tits brushing against his chest he couldn't bring himself to move.

You watched in shock as he just began to just tear his nails off with his teeth. Without a second thought his pointer and middle finger nails were bit off to the skin. He paused and looked at his right hand before ripping off the index finger as well.

"Johnny what's gotten into you-?"

But he's already got his hands back down your skirt. Soft finger tips slipping between your folds. "Feel better now eh?" And when you just nuzzled your nose into his neck and let out a little whimper he chuckled "I'll take tha' as a yes"

Simon swallows his pride for the first time in his life for a chance at hitting it raw. You tell him it's okay to not use protection, that you're on birth control. But you needed to make sure that he didn't have any stds seeing as they're even more of a pain when you're on birth control. Not that you don't trust him you just want to make sure and it's not a problem for him seeing as he has to get tested every other week being in the military.

He doesn't, however, have his records on him at the moment and with a girl already lying in his bed telling him he can cum inside. Plus a raging hard on, he doesn't exactly feel like running back to base to get the paper work. So...next best thing.

"Price-"

"Rare for ya to call on leave Simon, whatchya need?" Price responds, his voice cracking through the face time call, a cigar dangling from his lips.

"Sir I need..." he looks back at you, your eyes expectant and shining. You wanted him and he wasn't going to fuck this up. "Can you send me a picture of my last med check results?" He rushes out the last part, elbow on his knee and hand dragging over his face.

Price quirks one eyebrow but doesn't look like he's going to ask any questions. Unlucky for Simon though, Johnny was also in the room. His voice distantly coming through the phone,

"The feck ya need those for l.t.?" He questioned

Simon just groaned, soap's addition to this call just made it even more frustrating. But he snapped out of his frustration at the sound of price opening his file cabinet. "What part?" Price asked, dismissing Johnny with a wave of his hand.

"The-" Simon began, this was fucking embarrassing but when he looked back to you, now perched on your hands and knees, the plush of you hips resting on your ankles, he'd do anything at this point. "STD results." He responded plainly.

"Aye! No fuckin' way mate!" The sound of a chair scraping the floor could be heard as Johnny began to clammer over to his captain who pulled the sheet from his files.

"Ya didn't tell me he was in the room" Simon growled

"Ya didn't ask" Price droned

Johnny's head popped into frame "show me what she looks like ey l.t?"

"Not happening" Simon deadpanned

"Aw c'monnnn" The sergeant whined "just proud of you for finally getting some action!"

"Enough." Simon could see you biting your lip to stifle a laugh out of the corner of his eyes, a curious look in your eyes at his reddened face.

"Sent a picture to ya Simon" Price huffed, letting Johnny give him one last "good luck!" Before hanging up the phone.

You were a mess of giggles as he just shook his head and shoved the phone results in your face for you to look at. "See. Clean."

"Okay okay" you giggled, finally letting his form eclipse you back onto the pillows

"Went through a hell of a lot of trouble for ya, sweet girl" he whispered, nipping at the shell of your ear.

"I'll make it worth it" you said, kissing the corner of his lip and tangling your fingers in the back of his hair

"Christ woman" he groaned, feeling his cock twitch at your promise, "gunna' be the death a' me"

[lxvvie]

Gaz who stops mid-thrust and refuses to fuck you silly until you look at him, and no matter what you say or do, he won’t move, not until those eyes are staring into his soul.

“Want those pretty eyes on me, darling. Look at me…”

[ink-n-shadow]

*keysmash* ABO pack!141 is chef's kiss amazing! I especially love how you made Johnny the Omega. Maybe reader is the good girl Omega to counteract Johnny's brattiness? (I would love you forever if you wrote that pretty pretty please)

don't mind me, just leaving another slightly self-indulgent a/b/o smut

BAD DOG

𝜗𝜚 the one where omega!johnny's been bad

𝜗𝜚 pairing: pack!141 x reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), brat!johnny, punishments, fingering (reader!receiving), oral (reader!receiving), johnny referred to as a dog, leash/collar use, you're being rewarded

johnny (just like reader) has his good days and bad days. some days he’s the sweetest and most patient boy, like sometimes simon doesn’t even have to breathe a word for johnny to do what he’s told—simon just gives him a slight quirk of the brow, and johnny’s scrambling to be at his side. these are the days johnny’s rewarded handsomely, bundled up against simon’s side or nuzzled in price’s lap and practically melting at the feeling of blunt nails scratching at his scalp and the gruff sounds of praise dripping from one of his alphas lips. sometimes when he’s been this good, he gets to either fill you up without consequence or play with you to his heart’s content.

but these good days (at least for johnny) are usually few and far between because lets face it: johnny’s a masochistic brat, especially when he’s in heat. he acts like a feral mutt whenever the muzzle comes out, but the second it’s as secured around his mouth as the cage around his cock is, he’s sitting pretty and trying not to drool at the way his sensitive tip presses against the metal with each throb of his cock. he secretly loves how quickly his brain shuts off, eyes growing heavy and tongue lapping at his chapped lips with every heavy pant of breath.

the only punishment johnny doesn’t like is when he’s slotted between simon’s thigh, tethered to the alpha’s large hand with a chain leash and collar and forced to face forward towards one of the beds in your shared bedrooms. price has you splayed out with your back against his chest, your thighs wrenched apart by his own and his hand stuffing three fingers inside of your slick hole. there’s a creamy froth surrounding where your arousal ended and price’s fingers began, the only evidence of johnny’s misdeed. with each twist and roll of price’s fingers deeper and deeper inside of you, a silky mixture of your slick and johnny’s cum drips from between your thighs, and if it wasn’t for kyle’s tongue lapping earnestly at both your slick skin and price’s drenched fingers, the sheets beneath you would be more ruined than they currently are.

johnny hates having to sit there and watch, held in place by the leash and simon’s heated gaze on the back of his neck. he can’t help himself sometimes and tries to inch himself closer to the footboard, only for simon to pull harder on the leash and send him fumbling backwards into the alpha’s lap.

“the fuck you think you’re doin’, mutt? been a bad dog today, ‘member? bad dogs don’t get treats, so sit,” and the gravel to simon’s words have johnny sitting up straighter, keeping his sniveling to a minimum as he watches you fall apart around price’s fingers and against kyle’s tongue.

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[sigh-tofm]

if you still sleep with a stuffed animal…

- price makes sure you don’t feel childish for it. you’re a little reluctant about admitting it first, but there’s no hiding it once you move in. you grip the edge of your shirt and stare down into the floor when he asks you about the well-loved teddy in one of your moving boxes. he embraces you and reminds you of your age and your big girl job, your degree, your car. none of that changes because you sleep with a stuffie, he mutters as his hands find your wide ass. goes on to tell you all the grown up things he wants to do you.

- kyle finds it endearing, even when you’re a little embarrassed to tell him about it. you’re already the most important person in the world to him. a stuffie only makes you more adorable in his eyes. and frankly, he gets it. it’s nice having something soft and warm to hold when you go sleep, he says and winks at you. still, teddy gets turned the other way when you two start undressing each other.

- johnny finds it a little odd, but only because he can fall asleep standing up in a chopper mid-flight, and therefore doesn’t quite understand that you have specific requirements in order to sleep well. but doesn’t tease you for it, instead always making sure teddy’s around for you. brings him out to the living room when you two (now three) are watching a movie and even borrows him for himself when you’re away. claims it’s because he smells like you, denies it’s because he’s growing fond of him too.

- simon treats teddy with the utmost respect. he probably had one too, long ago, until his father destroyed it. he understands your feelings about your stuffie and places him carefully on the floor next to the bed if you two get busy. stitches up his torn seams with his balaclava-thread. slides him gently back under your arm if you’re already asleep when he comes to bed. puts his own arms around you in turn, protecting your back while teddy has your front. still, slips a hand under your shirt to feel the soft skin of your tits to fall asleep to.

[v1x3n]

COD MENS FAVOURITE POSITIONS

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY — lovesss doggy style! loves having you on all fours, preferably your head shoved into a pillow while he pounds into you so fast and hard you start to see stars! loves seeing the fat of your ass bounce with each thrust and he adores when your back arches due to him grabbing onto the strands of your hair - forcing you back while you mewl and whine out!!

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MCTAVISH — missionary, call him a basic bitch or whatever but you don't see how your tits jiggle with each thrust, how if he leans back he can see your full fucked out expression, the slight bulge in your tummy and your swollen nipples. red from how harsh he was sucking them earlier that day. call him vanilla but he doesn't care when you look so fucking perfect.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK — cowgirl by far, or once in a while reverse cowgirl, he loves seeing your tits jump as you do too, or if its reverse he loves seeing your arse bounce while you hop on his thick cock. his favourite part is seeing you struggle to continue, your legs weak but you need to finish so its the only option! your thighs shake and your body growing limp when your done is like a reward to him.

JOHN PRICE — loves mating press, holding your shaking legs up so high your legs are next to your ears! your pussy spread wide open for him, your puckered hole on show and your smushed up stomach is all too much for him! your body makes him go crazy, he loves it when he holds onto your plush arse and your legs dangle in the air in front of him. your tired face moaning, screaming out as he uses the position to his advantage - shoving his fat cock soooo deep inside of you!!

PHILLIP GRAVES — as much as he loves every position, his favourite one is 69. he loves your sloppy tongue on his cock, giving his long stripes up and down his length as he kitty licks your sensitive cunt. spanking your arse when you squirm too much. he can feel you gag on his dick as he shoves his tongue into your hole, you choking on his dick due to the pure surprise!!

[2kiran]

Hi‼️ lurker here‼️ just wanna say that your works are awesome‼️‼️ and that your dash always looks so cool and pretty every time I come around to check up on you‼️ your works are so good and you’re such a talented writer‼️

also… can I…can I ask for a tired reader being surrounded by a very demanding and needy 141? Like I’m not all that creative like the other anons but like I just really like the reader satisfying the 141s in any way his tired form can‼️ whether it’s by letting them ride his dick until they’re satisfied or having them being cock warmed as reader falls asleep‼️

sorry for this‼️ just thoughts and brain worms are weird rn and I thought that you would carry these out well… back to lurking now‼️

p.s. the ‼️ are just here to show excitement not to be scary or anything I’m sorry

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: bottom 141, top male reader, consensual somnophilia, cowgirl position, cockwarming, fingering, dividers

The weight of the missions and daily tasks being distributed made your limbs slack, eyes droopy, body boneless and desperate to pass out for even a week. You’re dozing off the second you sit down or rest against a wall, jerking awake when shaken by your mate. It isn’t your fault that you’re hardworking when needed, and everything was becoming a necessity to put your full attention on.

You need a break.

On the other hand, your team doesn’t seem to agree.

They’re clingy, more than usual. When you’re in a room with them, it seems as though their presence is the only thing that matters. Unabashedly acting like animals in heat, they’d sometimes even gently rut against your thigh.

Their excuse? You’ve been neglecting them, rarely glancing or facing towards their direction. Sometimes, you’d fail to acknowledge them in passing which evidently piles up their frustration and need to turn the source into the outlet.

And you’ll let them. They know you will.

Soap is the first one to snap. The man’s too needy for his own good. He can’t stop thinking about you, your hands wandering along his body, allowing him to take a sniff of pleasure before you’re shoving him away. But now? Now you’re doing it unintentionally.

He’s concerned, knowing damn well that he shouldn’t bother you. And yet, he can’t keep it within his pants. You’ll be good for him, right?

“Shit, tha’s it, love...” Soap groans, face contorting with blissful relief. He rolls his hips, desperate to feel every inch of your cock - the one that had him dreaming about it, waking up with his boxers damp, and hole twitching from being so empty - “Y’can get some shut-eye, ‘s alrigh’.”

You’re hanging onto your consciousness by a mere thread, the promise of slumber darkening the edges of your view while simultaneously heightening the sensation of slick, twitching warmth wrapped around your length. Small moans left him, thick brows knitted together in concentration.

Soap cannot remain still for the life of him. He sinks further down, enveloping you in his tight heat and squeezes you with it. His jaw hung open, mouth agape, and his thighs are quivering in a poor attempt not to fuck back against your cock with his desperate hole.

-

The second is Price. He may be a responsible and patient captain, but he’s still a man with lustful requirements. He needs to let off stream, you know?

“Hhang... that’s a good man.” He ruts his hips against yours, the plushy thickness of his scarred thighs rippling with each bounce. If you’re comfortable with it, he’ll take a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke slip through his teeth as a breathy moan rasps from his throat.

God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feel of you. Your tip meeting the spot that has him high with squelchy smacks, the scratchy stubble spread on his chin making the firm muscle of your shoulder raw whenever he angled himself forward to make you pound into him deeper.

Such a good soldier, you are. “Stay still, m‘fuckin’ close.” He huffs. Your cock twitches in response, and his lips curves in a self-satisfied grin. It has him riding you harder, rim taut, his pace fast and it makes the both of you dependent on chasing that point.

The Captain isn’t afraid to milk you for all you’re worth, either. It’s your own fault for making him needy. – “C’mon, you’ve got more in you, don’t you?”

-

Gaz is the next one. He heard your ‘interaction’ with the other men, smelled how Soap and Price practically reeked of well-deserved sex. It has arousal pool in his lower belly, dick twitching to life at the possibility of finally being satiated by you.

He’ll praise you for it; “Good boy, letting me use you like this.”, “Th-thank you, my love. Fuckin’ me so well.” and “Shh, I know. Go rest. I’ll just suck your pretty dick off, yeah?”

You think he’ll prep himself because you’re melting into the sheets to nap? No, you’re terribly wrong. He’d grip your wrist firmly, lubing your fingers up, and gently make them breach his tight hole. He gasps, immediately clenching from how intense it felt.

Gaz smiles fondly at how you seem to battle sleep, nodding mindlessly. When you do succumb to the urge, he’s biting his lip to contain his pathetic noises. You look so peaceful, and here he is fucking himself on your fingers. He’s holding onto your forearm, guiding you back and out. The murmurs of slick ringing through the room as he throws his head back.

“Fuckkk...” He’d mutter, fisting his own cock with rough jerks. Leaning down, he peppers kisses all across your jaw. He’s unbelievably turned on, rocking his hips to take in your digits completely. He’s getting desperate, but he will wait for you to wake up before he shoves your cock down his throat.

-

Ghost corners you. Sure, he’s got better self-control than the rest of the men. But hey, he’s still a human with very human needs.

Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a broader and hulking figure or a shorter stature, he’s guiding you with his frame until your knees hit the edge of a bed or a threadbare seat and your aching back is laying down. His mouth twitching in a mock snarl to have you submit. All with your consent, of course.

One of his favorite things to do to tease you? He loves to keep on asking you “This okay, luv?” and “Hmm? Y’want me to touch ya here?” until you’re begging him to finally fuck himself on your leaky dick that he’s been either playing with his roughened digits or warming with his inviting heat the entire time.

Rides you so slowly, hips rocking ever so slightly, and his soft walls pulse as they give way to your length. And it’s all to keep you awake, tightening up when you’re about to fall asleep on him. He wants you to be completely aware when he’s in the heights of arousal and he has you balls deep inside of him.

“Wake up, swee’art. Fuck– eyes on me, yeah, there we go.” / “Oh, you like tha’? Uh-huh? Good boy, you do.”

–

Or you have Price behind you, one of his arms slung around your waist as he thumbs at your slit until it’s coated in your pre. Soap’s tugging at your shaft, his fist enclosed and tight, consistent and oh so whiny like you’re inside of him. “Ye can fuck me harder, (rank), jus’ like this.”

Gaz on his knees, his tongue flicking at your sensitive veins. They’ll be toying with your cock as you lean back against the captain, letting sleep overtake you until you feel someone familiar climb into your lap. The other men supporting Ghost’s weight as he takes your dick in his skull-gloved hand, guiding the head to meet his rim and he sinks down with a low groan.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[alwaysshallow]

gaz steals a girl from a guy methodically. partially, acting like her best friend, keeper of her secrets that she can't tell her boyfriend because of her insecurities; because she thinks that no one tells each other everything, right?

wrong. gaz wants to know everything, including your relationship problems, how your boyfriend doesn't look at your needs in bed. how he always acts like sex is about him.

gaz is first to tell you that the relationship should be 50/50 — and he's first to show you, too. it doesn't matter that you're in a relationship with your soon to be ex-boyfriend.

it happens on a particularly sad night for you — you two are drunk, you're attacking him with pillow maybe way too hard because at some point, he stops you and flips you to your back.

and before you know it, his lips are on yours, and his hand is in your pants, to show you how to be pleased by a real man.

also he might beat up your boyfriend two days after that, but. he just might.

[inkbybambi]

john “take it like a good girl” price

simon “ride it just like that” riley

kyle “feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart” garrick

johnny “please let me cum inside” mactavish