#because we always need more Gaz

[efingart]

[Shower Emoji]

Good at art very bad at titles. But here's Gaz in nothing but a towel! Thirsty Thursday anyone?

[devil-in-hiding]

John Price wouldn’t consider himself a possessive man. Never felt the need to keep a tight leash on former lovers, more so he would call himself protective, obviously.

However if you were to ask his men, which he advises you to not give those muppets the time of day, they would tell you he is possessive over what he deems as his.

Which includes you. You are the most constant thing in his life besides his duties and the team. You keep his head straight, at his side with a glass and a cigar, ushering him over to collapse onto his office’s couch on nights he feels as though if he types one more word his head might actually explode.

“I need to-“

“I will finish typing up this report, YOU will relax. You have bags under your eyes.” Never taking no for an answer, and he always gives in. It gives him a chance to admire you, the comfortable silence the two of you sit in whilst you type away, muttering to yourself as you go over his notes.

It’s one of the little things he adores about you, always seeming to find you having a conversation with yourself as you tend to whatever task he had asked of you, or, when you indulge them, whatever Soap and Gaz begged you to do for them before Price found out.

And that’s where it starts. If he finds you working on something he assigned to those idiots, he does not expect to find HIS pretty girl doing it. He has made it clear to you, multiple times, that you don’t have to do it just because they sweet talked you into it. Oh and help any young solider that tries to treat you as a glorified errand girl. One young man made the mistake of barking an order at you, the water was running low and he had seen you talking to Ghost, and you just about jumped out of your skin when the guy all but yanked you away, missing the way Ghost stiffens (he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, ever, but he also knows Price is watching, always.)

“You deaf or somethin’ you daft girl? I told you we needed-“

“Let go of her. Now.” Price’s growl has both of you spinning around, and he glares down at the recruit, who cowers.

“I was just asking her-“

“She is not a bloody errand girl. Now, I said let go of her.” His voice drops, and the recruit drops your wrist as though you had burnt him. “Captain Price-“

“A hundred laps. Get to it before I up to one fifty.” He barks, and the young man scurries away, eyes wide and Ghost watches the way John gently lifts your wrist, inspecting it.

“He didn’t hurt you now did he pretty? Bloody fuckin’ muppet, should make him scrub the toilets.” He mutters, tracing his finger over a vein.

“I’m okay John, really. I think you scared him enough as it is.” You smile, falling into step behind him as he strides towards his office. “Let’s get you away from these idiots.”

“Yes sir.”

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking about always offering the first and last bite of food to the boys, even if it's something small and just a snack. How do you think they react?do they reciprocate?

I hope you’re ready for Gaz to return the favor 😤 he literally thinks it’s so cute to share food and snacks, and you thinking of him like that… it’s peak “this is what we’ll be telling our kids about how we fell in love”. He’s a corny mfer.

Soap is putting your fingers in his mouth if you hold out food for him. I’m sorry, that’s just how it is. He’s gonna slobber on them and lick them clean. And he’s kinda expecting you’ll do the same thing when he tries to feed you.

Simon is about to fucking pass out from how hard his heart is pumping. I think of food as a major love language for him because he grew up food insecure. So the fact that you’re offering something so precious to him, and so freely? You’re gonna make a man get ideas.

Price will humor you sometimes, depending on how much you offer. But if anything? He’s the one who’s more aggressive about you taking bites from his plate. And once again, to the surprise of no one— it’s because he’s thinking of mounting you like an animal and how you need the extra energy for having his cubs. This man can’t be fixed.

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi! I would love an imagine for the boys that includes the reader getting held captive and they rescue her, maybe a little Angst to Fluff?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️���️❤️

Only a little angst? Friend, I may have gone and made this more angsty with just a sprinkle of fluff. I can't help myself sometimes. So, fair warning to y'all, that it is angst-ridden with a bit of fluff at the end of each. Sorry?

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): angst, canon-typical violence, swearing, reunions, light fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

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

John Price

John’s heart is thunderous, beating so loudly it’s like a bass drum in his ears.

To be successful, to execute this rescue with precision, he needs to remain calm, to be the leader he knows he is. It’s not a lack of confidence, but a growing dread that he might be too late. There is no room to show fear—to let everyone in on how important this is.

Because it is important.

You are important.

Not just to the team but to him. Maybe the team knows. Laswell likely does, but the boys might not. Sure, they have suspicions, but you and John have always been discreet, have always tried to keep the relationship between the two of you private.

Now, with the mission ahead, all those secrets and subversion might overflow. Become known to everyone.

John breathes in through his nostrils, and exhales through his mouth. Box breathing. It’s helping. But only a little.

“We’re ready, Captain,” says Gaz, crouching beside him, gaze scanning the land before them.

There’s open ground and then a building. Someone stands guard near the door, head on a swivel. Soap silently appears next to Kyle, taking a knee. Simon is somewhere in the dark, ready to snipe every enemy in sight before they enter the building.

Price nods, and then speaks into the walkie. “You’re clear, Ghost.”

“Copy.”

Seconds later, the man guarding the door jerks like he’s been electrified before crumpling silently to the ground. A few more moments and a body plummets from the top of the building, landing with a sickening crunch.

“No signs of life,” comes Simon’s voice over the comms.

Soap snorts. “Cheeky bastard.”

John wants to join in, but you’re consuming his every thought. It’s only been twenty-four hours since you were taken, yet it feels like an eternity.

“Let’s move,” murmurs John.

They advance in unison with Simon emerging from the dark to bring up the rear. Entering the building is easy, but they’ll have to go slowly and silently inside. Up close and personal is the way to go in a place like this. One wrong move might spook the rest.

Kyle and Soap take the front, breaking necks and slicing throats. It’s clean. Efficient.

John signals with his hand and everyone shifts down a different hall, heading toward the internal bunker. That is where they’re holding you, along with other hostages.

A few more quick deaths and then John is kicking in the door.

There are screams. Shouts. Rapid gunfire.

John is already searching, seeking your face.

“Targets are down, sir,” shouts Soap.

There are cages. Rows of them. He searches each one, looking at every face.

“Contact base and tell them we need civilian pickup,” says John.

“On it,” answers Kyle, already leaning his head to the side to speak into his radio.

John searches. And searches.

“John.” Your voice cracks but it’s soothing. Soft.

He murmurs your name, going down on one knee, reaching through the bars to grasp your hand.

“I’m here,” he murmurs.

“I knew you’d come,” you reply, smiling. “I knew.”

With his back turned to the rest of his team, John silently mouths three little words. “I love you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is on the mission, but he isn’t. Not really.

He’s watching it all on monitors at a safe distance. Others are taking the lead. Others are executing the mission. And Johnny must step aside because while he is physically capable, he’s too emotionally invested.

Too explosive. Too irate. Too volatile.

But this is about you. Of course he’s going to be angry.

Yet here he is pacing, gaze glued on the screens, listening to the chatter. Every muscle is primed for movement, ready for action, but Johnny cannot expel the energy. It’s building—shifting into anxiety.

“What’s taking so bloody long?” he growls.

Laswell glances over her shoulder at him. Though she appears calm, Johnny notices a small flicker of sympathy.

“They’re returning,” she replies. “Waiting on e-t-a.”

Johnny’s pacing worsens.

“You’re going to wear a path in the concrete,” says Laswell.

Johnny opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of helicopter blades reaches his ears. It’s not loud, just a hint of sound, but as it increases, his heartrate spikes.

Laswell doesn’t have to say anything. Johnny is already moving, rushing out to the landing pad, watching as the helicopter approaches and descends. The seconds pass in small eternities. Nikolai is in the pilot’s seat, and it is Captain Price who opens the sliding door just as the helicopter lands. Johnny is rushing forward, almost throwing himself inside in his search for you.

“Johnny.” It’s Simon, his large hand coming down on Johnny’s shoulder.

Johnny wants to tell him to move, to get the hell out of his way, but it is your voice that Johnny hears. As the helicopter blades slow, the air calms, and it is easier to understand—to recognize your familiar tone that Johnny has missed for all these days.

There’s a blanket around your shoulders and a sunken quality to your features that speaks to malnutrition. Other than that, you appear fine. Unharmed.

Johnny, no longer impeded by Simon’s hand, moves toward you, coming down on one knee. You immediately reach for him, and Johnny takes your hand. You’re cold, and it pains him. Placing both of your hands between his, he brings them to his lips, brushing kisses along the knuckles, attempting to warm them with his own heat.

You bend forward, and as Johnny glances up, you rest your forehead against his.

The fight is over. You’re here.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

There is a hunger in Simon.

Like the snake, he will consume his prey headfirst.

It is eerie how calm he is—how focused. A mission is a mission is a mission—until it isn’t. Until there is no target, no capture or kill, no sense of duty. This is all primal rage boiled down into a thick, viscus consistency. It is invisible, smeared over Simon’s eyes, drenches the world around him into a grey haze.

Simon could be the rapid dog let loose from a broken chain. Poisoned saliva. Bared teeth. Prone to biting.

The knife in his hand is bright and hot and burning. It itches for blood, for Simon to take these fuckers down a peg. He has it in him, but all Simon needs from his superior officer is the affirmative. And then, like the ghost he is, they won’t ever see him coming.

Come on, Price. Call it.

A part of him is missing—shredded. He did his best to protect you, to keep you secret from the world. Cruelty and deception move quickly though, and now your life is in danger.

Give the fucking word.

“Path is clear,” comes Captain Price’s voice over the radio.

It’s all the affirmation Simon needs. He is up and moving in seconds, a wraith in the dark, a silent shadow out for blood. His blade is his guide, sheering and cutting, leaving a trail of bodies behind him. There are no shouts, no cries of pain. Simon is clean, brutal, efficient.

But there is only one thing—one person on his mind. And that’s you.

A set of stairs. A hall. Rooms. More stairs.

Ascending. Ascending. Ascending.

The rest of the team isn’t far behind, but they stay back and leave Simon to it. They know this mission is for him. That he’s not only doing it for you but for himself.

It’s a wonder his knife doesn’t grow dull. It cuts true. Cuts clean. And it isn’t until the last enemy has fallen that some of the tension in Simon’s muscles melts away. He has consumed his prey, and there is only a singular door left to open.

There is the moment before he opens it, a space of breath that feels like eternity packed into single moment. The hinges creak, revealing a tiny room no larger than a walk-in closet. And there you are, on your side, ankle chained to the wall.

“Simon?”

You sound so broken. So…hollow.

As he sinks down onto one knee beside you, the unsteady confusion on your face gives way to hope. Simon’s arms reach out instinctively, wanting nothing more than to be around you. You throw yourself into him, and there is nothing sweeter in this moment.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

Your sobs of joy nearly break him, nearly fracture Simon into pieces. But the fact that you’re alive, that you appear unharmed—at least physically—is more than he expected.

“I’m here,” he repeats, even as your tears stain his balaclava. “I’m here.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It is impossible to measure the love you have for someone until they’re taken from you.

Kyle thought he understood. Yet for these last few weeks, he’s been a fractured creature. A small illusion. A flicker of a man.

But you’re not gone, just far away. Alive, he hopes.

Alive, is what he repeats. A mantra in his head. If he says it enough, it will be true.

Price, Soap, and Ghost are in front of him, moving like shadows through the building while Kyle brings up the rear. With them beside him, there is calmness in the chaos, a softening to his chaotic emotions. They are his support, the ground that he can stand on.

Price motions, and then Ghost kicks in a door.

There are shouts first. Then gunfire. Then silence.

Each of them enters, walking amongst the corpses.

Price digs around in the pockets of one of the men, and then tosses a set of keys over to Ghost. Kyle is already following, moving into position as Ghost unlocks a nearby door. He points the firing end of his gun inside, and then steps back.

He glances at Kyle, and nods.

Lowering his weapon, Kyle pushes the door wide, the light bleeding into the dark, revealing a shape he knows well.

Kyle’s surroundings melt away, leaving only you. He cradles your cheeks, thumbs rubbing away the dirt and blood and tears. You’re smiling, but there is red there, too.

“I knew you’d come for me.”

“Always,” he whispers, voice cracking in pain.

Captain Price appears at his shoulder, glancing down at the two of you on the floor, face grim. He speaks into his radio. “I need a med evac now.”

“You’re going to live,” reassures Kyle. “I promise.”

“Please don’t leave,” you murmur, fresh tears pooling in your eyes.

Kyle shakes his head. “Never. I’ll never leave again.”

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[readwritealldayallnight]

Home

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

wc: 1.6k words

warnings/tags: fluff, kinda barely angst

Soap has to bite his lip to keep himself contained, absolutely itching to make another comment, take another jab at the Lieutenant sitting next to him who couldn’t seem to sit still. Ultimately he decides he’s rather fond of keeping his nose intact, and refrains from teasing Ghost further, for the sake of not being punched with a little over an hour to go until they reach base, if nothing else.

As excitable as the Scot usually is in any circumstance, he does have a point though, even Price has never seen Ghost so antsy to return from a mission before. The skull faced man keeps checking his watch every other minute as though it would motivate the seconds to tick by faster, he can’t seem to stop bouncing his leg in impatience, casting quick glances out the window every so often. He wants, no, needs this jet to land back at base already.

“Somewhere you need to be LT?” Soap feigns ignorance, a smirk across his face, apparently having refrained himself long enough since the last joke all of ten minute ago.

“Don’t ask me to take you to the medics when we land, mate.” Gaz comments casually, not bothering to look up from where he’s fiddling with a deck of cards in his hands, equally trying to pass the time. “You’re askin’ him for it.”

“Ach, I’m just curious to know wha’s got the big man in such a haste to leave his dear ol’ mates behind, ya ken? Almos’ as if he has somethin’ waitin’ for him back at home.” The blue eyed sergeant replies, casting a mischievous sideways glance towards the man in question.

“Reckon it’s more about who’s waitin’ for him.” The Captain pitches in himself, sending his own knowing glance at the Lieutenant.

Ghost can’t be bothered to acknowledge any of the conversation happening around or about him, checking his watch again. Not when he’s on his way home after being deployed for three months. Not when this is the longest he’s had to be away from you yet. Not when it feels as if a piece of his beating heart was ripped out from between his ribs and had made a home for itself in the fissure tearing through yours, leaving him feeling as though he was wholly and irrevocably missing a piece of himself.

Simon thinks he could spend the rest of his life learning every language that’s ever been spoken my mankind, and never have the proper words to explain how much your absence has shaken him to his core, how much he’s missed you. Utterly and simply, missed you.

The first month apart, he found himself missing the more obvious things. He missed your smile, your laugh, making you laugh. He missed your voice, hearing you hum in the shower, sing in the car, recount your day, talk in your sleep (you refuse to believe him when he tells you this, but he swears it’s true). He missed holding you, you holding him. Missed your touch, your kisses, your body. Missed the way you feel, the way you make him feel. Missed falling asleep to you and waking up to you.

The second month, he found that he was really starting to miss the little things. He missed the smell of your hair fresh out of the shower. He missed the way you always ask him to crack the eggs when baking because you insist he’s just better at it than you are, gets less shell in it. He missed you teasing him about his driving, holding your hand over the console, opening the door for you to watch you smile and roll your eyes every time.

As the mission dragged into its last month, Simon found he just missed you. Simply you. He missed watching you get ready for the day, getting dressed, going about your routine. He missed existing in the same space as you, hearing you move throughout the flat, always there even if he can’t always see you. He missed seeing traces of you, finding strands of your hair everywhere, tripping over shoes left in the doorway, seeing both your mugs together on the drying rack. Evidence of a life lived, together.

The nature of the 141’s work meant that things had to be kept extremely tight-lipped and on the strictest need to know basis, especially in ensuring the men’s safety. This meant never being able to know where Simon was going or was at any given moment. It meant not being able to speak on the phone, because even with the very best protection and programming, phone calls can be tapped, and traced. And while that one isn’t a precaution that everyone strictly follows, taking the occasional quick phone call to a loved one on a secured line, but Simon has been through too much, seen too much to every put you at risk, no matter how minuscule the risk may be. He simply won’t take it. Not with you.

And so you take up the next best thing, a tried and true method through time. You write him letters. You tell him that you don’t expect him to write back, you understand that he won’t want to write down an address someone could track you to, you haven’t put down a return address either, adding that you’re not even sure when and if he’ll be able to read or receive them.

You love this man with every fibre of your being, but you really do know next to nothing about this part of his life that takes up so much of his time. It feels like they’re stealing your time when they call him away, stealing time spent with him. The no contact was especially difficult for you in the beginning of your relationship. It had been the cause of your first fight with him.

You’d told him the time apart (a month, the longest you’d gone through back then) was too much, you missed him too much. Seeing you hurt, and hurting himself, equally as tense about the periods of long distance, Simon had angrily lashed out. He wasn’t used to this, someone caring about him this much, caring about you more just as much. Not only was the intensity of these feelings foreign, but you were wanting to talk about them now.

He’d asked you if you wanted him to leave you then, not wanting to go on hurting you if it really was too much, to which you replied that no, the solution to you being too sad when he’s gone isn’t to leave you permanently. Neither of you knew how to actually navigate this, and Simon was still harbouring deep, slowly healing wounds that made navigating this uncharted territory an endeavour that left him feeling vulnerable, exposed. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to leave you, but the thought of hurting you was equally as bothersome.

You two idiots in love had your first proper fight, had your first proper makeup, and eventually came up with a sort of placeholder solution. It wasn’t perfect, nothing about Simon being gone was ideal really, but for the two of you, it worked. While he’s away from home you write him a letter, not every day though, per his request (‘So that I don’t start to feel more like homework, yeah?’), only when something worth writing comes to mind. It winds up being about a letter every other day, anyway.

You mail them to their permanent base, and he either gets to read them when they’re delivered, or he’s rewarded with the sight of the envelope atop his desk upon returning from wherever else they may have been temporarily based for the time. He reads them, every single one. Over, and over, and over. He has them essentially memorized, as numerous as they are. Every squiggle of your pen, each little doodle you add in on occasion, depending on the story you might be telling. You usually try to keep them lighthearted, happy, something that can brighten his mood and reassure him you’re doing okay. But sometimes you’re honest, you admit when days are hard and his absence is especially difficult.

In turn, Simon writes his own letters. His process is a little different than yours is. While you’re writing yours as the days of his absence pass, he often arrives back on base to discover multiple envelopes piled atop one another, a sight akin to Christmas morning in his eyes. Still, he always diligently reads through each letter of yours, and for every one you write him, he takes his own pen to paper to write his response to each and every line you draft for him. He adds in comments, witty remarks, the occasional joke or fun fact, sprinkles in stories if he has any that fit. He tells you how he misses you too, wishes he could put these letters in your hands himself.

He will soon enough though.

He has his letters, papers that might seem so insignificant to anyone else on this jet, tucked in between a pair of extra clothes in his pack, in hopes of keeping them as safe as he can. The majority of your letters are carefully stuffed in there as well. The most special ones however, the ones you’ve written for him with your penmanship etched upon page after page of writing, with your lipstick stained kisses across them, with your perfume sprayed on them, those he has neatly folded and tucked under his vest, just above his heart.

Soon as his feet are back on solid ground and he’s dismissed, he’ll be making his way back to you. Where he’ll take out each and every one of those letters he’s written in response to you, and he’ll read them to you as he holds you in his arms, feeling your hearts beating against each others again, where they belong, and that’s how he’ll know he’s home.

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Extremely self-indulgent. For the neurodivergent girlies. English isn't my first language, so my apologies for any mistake. I also have no idea how to write a Scottish accent 🧘🏻‍♀️ bear with me

You knocked on the dark hardwood door as you've had done plenty of times before.

It has been almost six months since you've signed that contract. That one, the one where you forfeited 4 years of your life in exchange for stable wages and proper housing.

For someone with no life, no family and no friends (besides the online weirdos you'd talk to from time to time), that was kinda good, if you could say so yourself.

You had stability, even though it came with the cost of being tied down to a military base chock-full of people who didn't really understand you.

That was fine though. THAT, you were used to. It comes with the neurodivergence: the side eyes, the whispers and the isolation.

What you weren't used to, however, was how your heart would race like a rabbit on a run for its life whenever you knocked on that one door. And you had to knock on it quite a lot of times.

You rapped your knuckles against the hardwood once more when you got no reply, cracking the door open just a little bit to peek inside.

"Cap?" You said, voice almost a whisper. After a few seconds, you heard an answer.

"Come in, love. Didn't know it was you." A strong, booming voice came from inside and you swallowed the lump on your throat that always formed whenever you had to go to Price's office.

Not because you were afraid of him, no. On the contrary. Maybe Price and the rest of the task force were the only ones who didn't treat you like an aberration – probably because they were aberrations of their own merit.

Maybe it was stupid of you to get giddy over being treated well by some of your coworkers, but when the bare minimum was so rare, you latched onto it like a dog with a bone.

And in spite of yourself, you couldn't control your own heart. It would be racing like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever you went to visit any of the men from the task force. You gave up on trying to tame it.

"Hi Cap" you said, with a small smile, approaching his desk. On the corner of your eyes, you saw the other three burly men that made up 141 and waved.

"Hey, lass, good ta see ya!" Soap hollered, voice loud as ever. You could probably feel it vibrating inside your bones if he spoke for a little longer and you loved it; as much as you envied it. What wouldn't you do to be just a little bit outgoing like that? Maybe things would be just a tad easier.

"How can I help my favorite secretary?" Price asked, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, crow's feet getting a lot more pronounced in a way you probably thought of more than you should.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm your only secretary."

"Doesn't make my statement any less true."

You shook your head and placed a manila folder in front of him.

"I need your autograph, Cap."

"What for?"

"Because I'm your biggest fan and I wanna put it on my refrigerator...?" You answered humorously, and Price raised an eyebrow. You sighed. "We need to authorize the training of a few new recruits and they need your approval. So I need you to sign it."

Price huffed out a low chuckle and began leafing through the needlessly thick document. You poked your finger into the folder, fishing out the last pages, and walked towards the other men sitting on the other side of the office.

"I like today's dress, love." Gaz was manspreading on one of Price's armchairs, head resting on his palm as he gave you an once over. If it were anyone else, you'd probably hate the way you were being perceived – it usually made you feel like a bug being watched through a magnifying glass. But under his gaze, you just felt like a doll being admired.

"Do you, now? It's one of my favorites." You bowed dramatically while holding the hem of the dress. It was just another one of the black frilly dresses that you wore like a signature. It flew around you as you spun on your feet to show the black ribbon on the back.

"Adorable as always. If I wasn't selfish, I would say it's wasted inside this base, but I like to have you around way too much." His eyes gleamed with mirth and, in any other situation, you'd think he was secretly mocking you – but not Kyle. Not any one of them. You knew the compliments were genuine, even if they didn't understand why you insisted on sticking out like a sore thumb when it brought you so many problems.

You knew they would never really understand how masking could hurt you, but you were grateful they still defended your decision on just being yourself.

"Look at tha' key on yer neck." Soap pointed at your necklace. "I ken what's tha' for. It's the key to my heart, aye?" He said with an exaggerated wink and a smile that could blind you.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." You rolled your eyes, smiling, and pushed a paper into his hand and did the same with Gaz and Ghost.

"I need your autographs as well. You heard my explanation already."

" 'm not built for a life of fame, love." Simon grunted, shifting on his seat right beside Soap.

"Too late, the spotlight already found you. Now you gotta give me your autograph or I'm gonna cancel you on social media."

He huffed.

"Don't ya think I should have been canceled a long time ago?"

"Probably." You shrugged, and handed him a pen. "I like my favorites problematic, what can I say."

Soap barked out a laugh, mindlessly scanning the document and Ghost merely shook his head.

"Do I gotta sign this? Don't really feel like training new runts." The masked man muttered and you shrugged.

"Don't shoot the messenger. I don't really want new young men around me either." You walked back towards Price's desk after collecting the documents and placed them neatly inside the folder after he was done surveying every single fine print.

"What do you guys want for lunch?" You asked as you tucked the documents under your arm. Price clicked his tongue.

"You don't have to keep bothering with making food for us, love. We can all eat at the canteen like everyone else." The older man leaned back on his chair, folding his arms.

You looked to the side, with a small pout on your lips.

"But if I make you guys' lunch, then I can emotionally blackmail you into eating with me at the kitchen." You mumbled, avoiding any and all eye contact.

"So it was all a ploy to keep us nearby? I thought you were doing that because you liked us. I'm so hurt, dear." Kyle spoke up from his seat, a dramatic hand over his chest as he leaned his head back. You put a hand over your mouth, hiding your grin.

"Maybe I'm just learning a thing or two from hanging around tacticians?"

"Aw, Captain, come on. How can we leave the poor doll hangin'? And we get ta eat actually good food, not that canteen slop! Come on!"

Price sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Anything you make will be great, love."

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Ghost added from his seat and you snickered. He had already seen you eating your comfort foods before and, needless to say, he didn't approve of them.

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Price repeated, with a nod.

"Proteins and carbs, okay, got it." You said with a fierce nod, walking back towards the door to the older man's office. "Meet you guys at the kitchen?"

"1200, sharp." Price said, with eyes as soft as the smile under his moustache. You gave him a small salute on your way out.

"Yessir."

This will probably be a little anthology of scenes I think of, involving poly!141 x neurodivergent reader who works for them as a secretary. They might not have much continuity but I'm using this as a self-healing, self-indulgent blog, separated from my main. Expect mostly fluff and angst from me.

[bi-writes]

Can't stop thinking about pregnant!reader constantly snapping at simon and being tired and him just being so understanding and everyone that sees them just don't get it? Because how is the Lieutenant that snaps at whoever being this soft🫡🫡

you've been bringing your own lunch to work because you hate the meals the mess hall makes. it makes your pregnant belly absolutely angry, and simon's held your hair up enough times to know that if he doesn't pack you something to eat before you go, it'll be hell on earth.

the rec room door slams open. everyone jumps, startled in their seats, and simon just stares, leaning against the wall by the open window as he puffs on a cigarette.

his eyes focus on you just as you angrily waddle your way over. he doesn't even flinch when you smack the cigarette out of his mouth, stomping on it with your boot as you glare up at him. all he does is smirk a little, reaching down and thumbing at your jaw.

"'ello, beautiful," he murmurs, his dark eyes roaming over your face. you let him touch for just a moment before you hit his hand off.

"don't try and butter me up," you snap, narrowing your eyes more. "you forgot...you forgot!"

he sighs, licking over his bottom lip.

"never seen anythin' prettier than ya," he whispers. he wants to shove down your pants and fuck your sopping cunt (he knows you're wet, you always are now), but instead he just lets out a soft breath and takes in how pretty you really are. just gorgeous--those big, pouty lips, all glossy and wet. those eyes--what drew him to you in the first place, that gaze that could stop a thousand bullets.

"you forgot my lunch, simon," you cry, and he cups your face, shaking his head. "i hate you. you're a sorry bastard! what's wrong with you?!"

he leans down and pecks your lips through the mask, and johnny, who's been slack-jawed and caught off-guard since you came into the room, turns to look at gaz--who's equally as confused.

"didn't forget, swee'eart," simon murmurs. "got y'some take-away. thought y'might fancy somethin' else."

your angry expression fades just a little, and you smooth both hands over your bump.

"you...you did?" you sniffle, and simon chuckles, nodding.

"y'r just tired, luv...aren't ya?"

you nod, closing your eyes. he soaks up your tears with the thumbs of his gloved hands.

"y'r feet oll swollen..." he kisses your jaw through the mask, and your eyes flutter a little. "c'mon, bubs. let's get ya off y'r feet, aye? get ya some food?"

you let him coax your face into his chest, and you settle there, taking a deep breath.

"you need to stop smoking," you whisper as you get a whiff of the scent on his clothes. "if i catch you again, i'll kill you."

"olright, luv," he agrees absentmindedly, turning you around to guide you out of the room. your food is in his room since he doesn't trust his sergeants not to pick at it if he left it in the shared fridge. "woteva ya say."

when you both close the door behind you, johnny blinks.

"i think i just saw a ghost, a real one..." he murmurs. "i must've just seen a ghost, gaz, have i gone mad? or did i just see our lieutenant with a lass? and did she just call 'im a bastard?"

"no," gaz turns back to their card game, dealing out another hand. "no, we didn't see anythin', soap."

"huh?"

"we didn't...see...anything."

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - They're starting to think maybe this omega isn't so sweet.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, injuries, masterbation

Masterlist

Patreon, Ko-fi and Throne

Now you were back in your little cabin in the woods. You had even lit a fire and dragged your mattress with its nesting contents into the small living room to get properly cozy. You sighed as you buried your face into the nest and relaxed further into the arrangement of blankets, pillows and dirty laundry.

Despite yourself, your omega whined and paced. She wanted their scent here too. You hadn't smelt them when they were up close because of the cotton up your nose but just that whiff on the wind had begun the beginning of the end.

You whined into the sheets and buried further into them. The idea of one of them surviving the traps sounded better with each passing moment. A feral alpha that was strong enough to withstand your defenses and persistent enough to find you. The thought made your chest warm and small purrs leave you.

"She has us running in fuckin' circles Cap," Gaz said to Price before he even noticed that he was upside down. "Trap get you?" He asked as if it wasn't obvious.

"Gettin' cheeky are you?" Price shot back and Gaz grinned as he grabbed the knife off the forest floor and walked towards his Captain.

"Nah, just takin' the piss Cap'n," He walked to the rope keeping him upside down and cut it. Price was fine, he was only a few feet off the ground. 

"Do you know where Soap and Ghost are?" Price asked as he put his beanie back on and took the combat knife back from Gaz.

"I found Ghost, he's stuck in a pit. And I don't know- oh speak of the devil and he shall come!" 

Soap emerged from the bushes, his hair singed at the ends and soot on his face. "Damn omega nearly blew me up!" He cursed and Gaz snorted which got him a dirty look. "Awa an bile yer head," Soap huffed and Price chuckled. "Where's LT?"

"In a pit." Price and Gaz responded at the same time. Soap let out an amused huff.

"So how are we gonnae get 'im out?" Asked the Scot and Gaz nodded to the rope.

"Reduce, reuse, recycle right?"

"Always ken ye were some kind o' hippie."

Ghost looked up into the snowing sky when he heard the rustle of bushes. A deer? A bunny? Maybe it was the omega coming to put a bullet through his head. "Oi, don't fall in too you idiot!" Gaz barked and Ghost laughed silently.

"You still alive in there Ghost?" Gaz asked as he peered his head into the hole.

"Unfortunately," Ghost replied and Gaz rolled his eyes.

"He's fine. Tie the rope to that tree."

After a few minutes the rope was tossed down and Ghost climbed up with a grunt. "My ankle is throbbin'," he grumbled to himself. It wasn't going to stop him or really slow him down significantly but it was a pride thing really. "Let's go get that 'mega."

Words spoken so easily are not actions done with ease.

They should've expected that it wouldn't be easy but some part of them hoped that you hadn't set up more traps. Gaz cursed as he fell into a pit and screamed, "Fuck!"

Price rushed over and his eyes darkened at the sight before him. This pit was not like Ghosts, instead it had sharpened sticks waiting for whoever was unlucky enough to fall in. Ghost pulled Gaz out, "You broken?" Price asked immediately even as he fussed over the puncture wound in Gaz's thigh.

"Negative," Gaz grunted. Ghost looked down at the two of them, a storm brewing in his dark brown eyes. "I'll be fine, just need to patch it up."

Price couldn't help the growl that left him when Gaz tried to stand. "No, you're gonna sit back down and we're gonna make camp."

You peaked outside as night fell and took in a deep breath then recoiled when you smelt them on the wind. They're closer warned your omega even as heat built up in your abdomen. 

You close the door quickly and wiped away the cold sweat. The near beckoned to you and you went back in, a dull throb from your clit making it harder to relax this time. 

You hissed defiantly and tried to ignore it until it became near painful. You growled to yourself and shoved your hand down your pants, no preamble or work up. Your body wanted an orgasm? You could give it an orgasm.

You were completely soaked, your slick coated your thighs and panties as you circled your puffy clit and bit down on your lower lip at the shocks of pleasure. Your mind wandered to territory where it shouldn't. That pretty one with his slender fingers toying with your clit while the one with a beard lapped at your gushing pussy like it was the fountain of youth.

You hissed out a breath and gyrated your hips against your own hand as you dipped two fingers down and sunk them in with embarrassing ease and a squelch. Your palm applied pressure to your clit as you pumped your fingers in and out. Petting that spot you could hardly reach and your legs tensed up as the pleasure built.

Your hips bucked and small moans left your mouth as you came on your fingers, slick gushed out around them and coated your thighs and soaked your panties. 

It was embarrassing just how quick you came from just those images, the other two weren't even in it but you refused to think about it. Your body hummed, the small waves of pleasure bringing you down into a cozy sleep.

[piggycyberwarrior]

Task Force 141 with a Reader that grew up in a ‚be an independent woman and never rely on a man‘-household >>>>>>

They immediately love you- such a pretty thing, always working hard, beautiful smile on your lips and so so kind.

They have enough money (a reward for putting their life on line) so why not spend it on you? Of course their wallet gets lighter when your gaze lingers on an absurdly priced jewelry. How can't they shower you with gifts, when you deserve this and so much more?

Buying you this, that- things you threaten to kill them over if they buy you a $2000 purse- because thats just so absurd- yeah you liked the design, but thats too much money for a piece of leather.

Their cash is yours now- even though you do not accept that fact. Green paper traded for clothes, accessoires, food, shoes, lingerie- oh how they love to buy you lingerie…

Always paying for your meals- snacks, getting pouty when you give them the glare while pressing your card onto the terminal, a tad faster than them- paying the food.

You were raised like this- to pay for your own things- standing up for yourself, never rely on men and that you don't need any gifts from them. They know that but oh boy- they do not care. In the end- they shower you with money because they love you, not because they want you too love them.

Soap and Gaz are the ones who do it the sly way.

Let me explain.

They shop with you- making you try on all different kids of clothes- because you just look so pretty in them :( ... how can you not say yes to their begs and pleads.

pretty pretty please with sugar on top..?

Seeing how your eyes light up in the mirrow- Soap and Gaz share a glance- an unspoken promise. (One slowly getting up- making his way through the endless option of clothes- softly talking to an employee, pointing at your happy form- and everything you seemed to like is bought in a matter of seconds.)

"Are you serious??" "Aw- do nae be like tha', bonnie" Soap laughed quietly- carrying the shopping bags with such a proud smile. "Yeah, we had to buy you them, you looked so good, sugar" Gaz said- pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before his warm hand on your lower back pushed you foward gently. "But-" you tried to reason, being shut up with a tut from the two men. "Just accept it, baby, yeah?"

You don't even argue when it comes to Simon. He just buys it- and when you try to obliege- one of his intimidating looks is enough and you fold. You tried outsmarting him by not going shopping with him but the gifts just stack to the ceiling in your home so you stopped that aswell..

So when you did go outside with him you had to literally threathen him "Simon, I am going to staple your large intestine to your nose if you even think about buying me that" you growled while looking at some mannequins while strolling through the city.

"but do you like it?"

yes "No, its ugly"

He doesn't buy it then and there but again- he has enough money so why not spend it on you? yada yada yada- in the end you have some strange bag that you do not recognize on your bed- with that ugly pretty dress you saw while walking with Ghost.

Stubborn man

The worst one in the group must be price tho- he never and I mean neverrr lets you pay for anything. The others gift you many things, but this man? When he is around you don't even have to bring your wallet with you of course you do because fuck them (...please)

You‘re struggling to pay rent? Paid. Wanting to relax? Spa Appointment booked. Feeling hungry? Meal's already on the way. Flat not that cozy? Lets go shopping decor, love.

This man can read you so good- its creepy. And he won't accept a 'no'"

He randomly transfers money onto your bank account- "Luv, I have enough" "John.. I cannot accept that! Thats too much"

-

Oh yes you can. They will make you accept it all...

Everything.

!please do reblog!

My mutuallsssss ✨🌷: @stargirlstabber @cricricorner @captain-of-caption @enfppuff @missroro @peachy-aisha @thelrina @gaiagurl05

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART NINETEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not many for this chapter :p masterlist a/n: wanted so badly for this chapter to be longer but just as i finished a 60-hour work week, i fell down with the flu. boooo.

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Price kept his promise when the time came, the next morning shifting to evening, the sun resting along the horizon. You’d spent the better majority sleeping off the pain, unable to stay awake for long while the parasite ate away at you from the inside and out.

Waking to a booming ‘Land ho!’ was the relief you needed to relax properly, the potential of you receiving urgent attention easing your worries momentarily.

You hadn’t had a proper moment alone, always waking to another man in the room watching over you, appearing just as tired as you. Gaz was often the one who took over, or in his place it was Soap. The Captain was making haste in steering to landfall in order to guarantee your spot in healing. He was wasting no time, keeping all hands on deck to make it happen.

You weren’t expecting Ghost, however, when you opened your eyes. He was lounged in Price’s chair at his desk lazily, eyes blinking sleepily at the floor, his fist on his cheek. He looked oddly comfortable, sat at ease rather than a man who seemed to always have a target on his back.

“Ghost?” you croaked, habitually attempting to sit up. It knocked the air out of your lungs immediately and you settled back down once you noticed Ghost tense up.

He grunted in response, eyes darting up from the floor to you. You’d hardly seen him since Graves’ unsettling show, and you were sure he was only in the room because he thought you’d be asleep long enough for him to switch shifts with somebody else.

“Y’alright?” he asked, gaze flickering down to your side where the bruising was becoming a disgusting black, almost resembling rotting flesh.

“We are almost there?” you asked instead, shifting the blanket over you subconsciously.

He nodded, taking his fist off of his cheek and leaning back in the chair. “Not too long now,” he responded. “Just sit tight.”

You fiddled with the hem of the sheets, picking at a loose thread. The air felt heavy with awkwardness, and it nearly suffocated you. You hated how strange it always felt in Ghost’s presence, like a force between you condemned you away from one another, but you weren’t too sure if it was you or him creating it.

Judging from previous actions, it was definitely him. He wasn’t an easy person to talk to—even after his apology.

“You don’t like me, do you?” you asked without a second thought. Once it came from your mouth, you instantly regretted it. If you were able to move on your free will, you’d have slapped yourself by now.

“What?” he grumbled.

You swallowed, peering up at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. “You do not seem very fond of me. Even after everything.”

You felt his stare on the side of your face. It was burning into you. “Is that so?”

You nodded once, a curt movement that was stiff and uncomfortable. Now that you had bitten off more than you could chew, the only solution was to continue gnawing.

“S’not that,” he answered. He shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the table. “You’ve already forgotten our talk? I’m not the type to repeat myself.”

“I have not.”

“Then why are you always stressin’ ‘bout it?” he huffed, almost like a child. At times, he surely acted like one—a rather rude one, but you digress.

“You seem tense with me,” you replied quietly, wondering why the conversation was brought up in the first place. It was never easy speaking of feelings with Ghost, and you were learning that the hard way. You didn’t understand why you felt compelled to begin something with no finish.

“I’m tense because you’re hurt,” he corrected, albeit a bit coldly. “S’not you.”

You gnawed on your lip as you stared into nothingness. Ghost was always an enigma, a puzzle piece you couldn’t quite fit anywhere, and the more you spoke with him, the more difficult it became.

You wanted to understand him, but how could you understand somebody who didn’t want to be understood? Then again, perhaps he thought the same of you.

“Has Graves done this before?” you asked, tone growing soft.

You knew Ghost was at the hands of Graves more than once. The unspoken trauma he held was evident simply in the way he fueled his hatred for the evil captain. If there was anybody who knew Graves for who he truly was, it was Ghost.

“Worse,” he said shortly, as if the matter was so simple to understand. It made your stomach twist up, imagining the horrors that lie along Graves’ past.

“Worse?” you murmured to yourself in disbelief.

Truly, what had Graves done? Surely, he had killed plenty. He held the card of death, dealing it to those unknowing. He played the game until he grew bored, tossing his pawns aside when he wanted a new one.

Were you simply his plaything for the time being? What would happen when he sought out a new one?

You turned your head to look at Ghost. You studied the skull ring that glistened on his finger, as well as the matching mask that locked up his true identity.

Ghost was just as much a pawn as you were—he was simply the last one standing.

“Why do you wear it?” you asked, and when his eyes simmered with confusion, you continued. “The skulls. They are his, yes?”

Ghost glanced down at his ring, wiggling his finger for good measure. “It angers him,” he explained calmly, toying with the ring with his thumb. “He takes pride in his ship. The skull flag on his ship is his staple—he thinks only those deserving are allowed the opportunity to flaunt it.”

“So… you wear it because he does not think you’re deserving, and it angers him?” you finished.

“I consider it a game,” Ghost shrugged. “He took what was mine. I take what’s his.”

You blinked, trying to piece together the puzzle. It made sense in your head, but you felt you were missing something.

“What did he take from you?”

Ghost finally looked at you, pupils blown with that familiar hatred you’d seen all this time. Now, though, you know it’s not for you.

“Everythin’,” he muttered. “I’ll be sure to do the same for him."

Ghost left rather quickly after that. You hated to see him go, but you knew a nerve was struck and he wanted to be alone—it was something he preferred. You could respect that.

Soap was the one who took charge, talking your ear off while you drifted in and out of sleep. He was lifting your spirits as always, trying desperately to get you out of the funk you’d been stuck in.

The conversation with Ghost took enough energy from you that it left you lifeless, resuming to your exhausted state and only offering an occasional hum of acknowledgment to Soap. You felt horrible for seeming so uninterested, but Soap didn’t seem to mind. In fact, if anybody were to understand, it would be him.

“After all this is over, I say we take a li’l vacation, aye?” Soap piped in. You glanced at him blearily, silently nodding in agreement. “Ye ever drink before, dove?”

You shook your head, causing Soap to gawk at you as if you’d just offended his entire family. “Never? Well, we’ll have to change that the second yer all fixed up. Get ye to a nice pub and drink yer sweet heart out. Yeeeah, that sounds real nice ‘bout now.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, shoulders slumping. Soap, ever the sweetest, always kept a peppy attitude for you, even if you could see the exhaustion lines forming on his face. He was so compassionate with you, and you feared you didn’t deserve it. It was your fault for all this mess.

“Yer first drink’s on me, aye? Hell, once yer back on yer feet, I’ll pay for all yer drinks, how’s that sound?”

“Bargainin’ to a sick bird, am I hearin’ that right?”

Both you and Soap looked to the door where the Captain stood, hand on the knob. He was so silent as he came in, presumably not to wake you in the case you were asleep.

“Ach, the girl deserves a drink after all this. M’just tryin’ to make her feel better,” Soap defended with a huff, shooing his hand.

Price snorted in amusement, stepping into the room. He made his way to your bedside where Soap sat, peering down at you and observing.

“How’s my dove doin’ today?” Price asked, his tone affectionate.

You caught a glimpse of Soap’s side eye towards the Captain’s behavior, evidence of confusion washing over his expression. He said nothing, only blinking slowly. You could practically see the gears in his head clogging up the workings in there.

Price looked a bit more hopeful that day, albeit sluggish. His smile was tilted as if his lips were too heavy to lift fully, his eyes were dimmed from the light you’d seen recently. You knew he was pushing past his limit, hardly sleeping and overriding his brain with too many steps in his plans.

“I’m fine,” you assured quietly, though you prayed he couldn’t see through it.

You weren’t fine at all. You felt like a vessel while your soul floated above your body and watched on as you slowly crumbled to ash. You no longer felt completely present, only forced into living from the consistent wakings for meals or check-ups.

The mess on your ribcage had blossomed into a murky pool of black, only spreading rather than weakening. The poisoned veins were like a wildfire, untamable as they slithered their way through your body and organs as if making them its collection.

You were a disastrous mess on the inside. On the outside, though you were gray and sickly with sunken bags beneath your eyes, you tried to present yourself as anything but, mustering up the strength to converse with each and every one of them when you weren’t sleeping.

It was easy for any of them to see it, though. The spark in your eyes had vanished and you resembled more of a corpse than a woman.

Price tilted his head, staring at you for a moment. His hand lifted and he brushed the back of his knuckles across your forehead, resting them there. What met him was warmth. While it would’ve been a comforting feeling, it made him more worried than anything.

“You’re still hot,” he murmured, more to himself. “Have she been like this all day?”

Soap shrugged, frowning. “She’s been asleep for half of it.”

Price glanced at Soap before sighing through his nose. “We’ve got just a couple of more hours. Think you can wait it out a bit more for me, dove?”

You nodded sluggishly. What more was another hour or two? You had already dealt with it for days. The pain wouldn’t subside regardless.

Price attempted another smile, one you couldn’t return. It pained him to see you in a state so depressing, but it wouldn’t be the last that you and his crew would go through hell. He’d seen Ghost in far too similar circumstances before.

He gave your cheek a soft squeeze, frowning to himself when even that didn’t wash away the hollow expression you wore. He felt like he was looking at the shadow of a person that once existed.

“We’ll come and collect you when it’s time,” he told you softly. You only hummed through a sigh, feeling the unfortunate taste of exhaustion once again.

Soap and the Captain shared a look before they exchanged a few quiet words you couldn’t hear. Price seemed reluctant to leave but did nonetheless, slipping the door closed with such gentleness that it didn’t dare disturb you.

Soap remained where he was, studying your every feature as you slipped back into that unforgiving dream state, unable to take his eyes off of you—not when they were so close to getting you to a healer.

He feared if he looked away for even a moment, you might just slip through his fingers.

You’d loved helping people ever since you were a child. You couldn’t remember much, but you knew for certain that you’d been that way all your life—the simple aid of carrying items for the elders in your village, helping the merchants set up for the day, caring for the younger children if they’d hurt themselves or scraped up a knee or two.

It was something you’d always known that soon developed into a bigger dream the older you got. An obsession, some would say, to the idea of being your village’s healer and curing them of their misfortunes. Medicine was a calling, and you listened to its guide, working day and night to learn and discover all new possibilities that you’d never seen before.

Yet, that love for helping others labeled you crazy. The village slowly lost their affection for you, turning their backs as if you’d never been apart of them, disgusted by the fact that a woman of your age was unmarried and childless.

You knew you were meant for more, yet the people who you’d spent your entire life becoming apart of had shunned you over your mere dreams. There was a great, big world out there to discover, but they wished to keep you confined to their little home and grant you misery for the sake of keeping tradition.

Women didn’t have dreams. They didn’t have hopes. How silly of a world was that?

You still wanted to pursue them. You had the whole world ahead of you, and you were angry that there was a possibility of it being snatched away from you, all because of one man. He was ruining the work you'd spent years prioritizing, and you'd be damned if you didn't get what you wanted.

Even as you lay, rotting away in Price’s cot, that desire never went away. It only blossomed, the need nipping at you like an aggravating tick.

It was a wonder how you hadn’t succumbed to the vile venom that Graves’ had slipped under your skin when he bashed his boot into the workings of your ribcage. How you were still alive was unfathomable, something even you didn’t understand after working for years to do so.

Was it simply will that people needed to survive? Was it determination? Or was it just you, the lucky one?

Your mind was muddled with these screaming thoughts as you remained in your unconsciousness. Yet, even asleep, you could feel your body being jolted, like somebody was slipping their arms around you and carrying you to a place unknown. You tried to wake up, but you were trapped in your own world as if needing to seek answers before escaping.

Your ears pricked at the sounds of voices. They sounded far away, muffled as if underwater, and inside your cafe of your mind, you fought to hear, to get a glimpse of your reality that you were missing out on.

“I don’t know, Cap. There are rumors swirlin’ that this woman works wonders, has the hands of the Gods workin’ with her,” a voice exclaimed. Gaz, as clever as ever. You’d know his voice anywhere.

“You speak nonsense,” another voice said. You recognized the gruffness as Price. He sounded closer than Gaz did, but you couldn’t pinpoint why. “We cannot get our hopes up over stories. She’s a medic, just as the others. We will not rely on foolishness to fuel our hope for dove’s recovery.”

You heard Gaz scoff, and you could nearly picture the tightening of his jaw and the slight downward curl of his lips—like a child pouting.

“You do not find it strange, Captain, that our dove hasn’t perished to the willingness of Graves’ curse?” Gaz asked. “Perhaps the rumors are true. Maybe this woman knew we were comin’, and that’s why dove’s held out for so long. Don’t you think a li’l extra hope is what we need?”

“We will know it when we see it,” Price retorted, clearly still unbelieving of Gaz’s claims. “I will not believe in such sorcery until it has been done to dove. What matters is healin’ her.”

“You have seen what Graves has done to others,” Gaz tried once more. “Sorcery is always possible.”

The captain didn’t reply, and you knew that meant he was stumped. You wished dearly to wake and speak with them yourself, to hear of Gaz’s story and to understand where Price is coming from. The desire to meet both their needs felt heavy, and it only grew the longer you went without it.

“Sorcery is what got us in this situation in the first place,” another voice joined in. You were surprised to hear Ghost chime in his own thoughts. It made you wonder if he spoke more when you weren’t around. “If you do not recall that, Gaz.”

You heard another scoff, one could only assume from Gaz. A tempered one, he was.

“Ever the so positive one, aye, Ghost?” Soap. There was no mistaking that heavy accent and chirpy tone.

You heard a snort, then Ghost speak, “Always.”

The world fell silent after that. If you listened close enough, you could hear the shifting of clothes and the crunch of dead leaves. You hadn’t a clue what was happening, though your best bet was that the ship had made landfall, and your path to getting healed was closer than ever.

So why did it feel like something else was beginning to unravel out of control?

[beloveds-embrace]

More roomate!au thoughts because, again, my brain never stops. When you move in with them, dont expect to be able to do anything by yourself ever again (unless its housework and their away), your car needs fuel? Dont worry Simon will go with you and fill it up for you and dont even think about trying to pay for it yourself, you tried once and Simon just glared at you so you tucked your card back into your purse. You need to go get a few supplies for college, Price and Gaz are joining you and giving their opinions about the best laptop to get or the best stationary (they fill out enough paperwork that they know the best ones). You're cooking them dinner, Johnnys right by your side following your every order and helping to wash up while you go relax on the sofa waiting for whatevers in the oven. And you will want for nothing, you see a pair of shoes you want while out shopping but their outside of your price range, they arrive at your door a week later just after the boys deploy, you see a pretty necklace on TV and comment on it, Johnnys there behind you fastening it just before your next night out. You lament that your mattess and bed are uncomfortable, a new one arrives the next and it just so happens to be big enough to fit all 5 of you on it.

Yeah, the boys would 1000% give you princess treatment

My mind is still on that drabble so i absolutely love this so so so very much god yes….

Original post

It doesn’t end there, of course. God, they do so, so much for you.

It’s Simon who stands right outside the bathroom door when you get sick late at night, trying to be quiet and not bother anyone yet when you tell him he should go to sleep, you’ll be fine, he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“Don’t need sleep,” he grunts, pulling you against his body. Despite your protests, his warmth alone makes you melt. “Jus’ tell me what you need.”

It’s Gaz who gifts you with a surprise spa day kit after he notices how exhausted you look during your exams, gently pushing aside your laptop. “You look knackered, lovie,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, alright? You always spoil us when we return anyways, this the least we can do.”

It’s Johnny who immediately knows your day has been shit just from listening the way you shuffle in, shoulders slumped and head downcast.

“Someone steal yer sunshine, hen?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny,” you mumble tiredly, yet you have no energy to refuse when he leads you to the couch. “Bad day. I’ll just go to my room-“

“Nah, none o’ that,” he shakes his head, taking your bag. “Sit down, aye? I’ll fix you up something warm.” Though he makes sure to drap a blanket over yours shoulders before he goes into the kitchen, muttering about food.

It’s Price who goes hand in hand with your safety. All of them do make you feel safe but John is just- a bit different.

Once, you were being followed after you finished shopping and like an idiot, you’d forgotten your usual pepper spray you carried. You knew you were being followed because you could feel the eyes constantly on you and you circled the same area several times. Your hands are shaking when you text him, praying to every god-

- john

- Yes, love?

You are too afraid to even crack a smile at his serious punctuation.

- someones following me idk what to d

You don’t wait for him to reply. Just nervously, with too many typos, you tell him where you are and if please can he come or any of the men-

When John appears by your side in no less than five minutes, he just pulls you close to his side.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He ushers you along. “Bloke’s been dealt with. Give me your backs, yeah? Next time tell me or any of the muppets to join you.”

Too late you notice the blood splatters on his knuckles.

Also, remember when I said the original ad had been because they wanted someone to keep the place tidy when they are away? That doesn’t apply when they are home. If they see you cleaning or cooking, they are helping- nu uh, no complaints allowed, they are not about to let you slave away when you have four very capable men at your beck and call.

Hell, once it was Johnny who saw you scrubbing the kitchen floors and he just picked you up and placed you on the counter, tsking at you.

In a few hours, John returned to find all of them cleaning the kitchen; Soap was now dusting, Gaz vaccuming, and Simon wiping the counters.

And you were bundled in the couch corner, cozy and cute.

“What’s all this?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and you shrug.

“She was tryin’ to clean.” Johnny grumbled from the corner.

“And you didn’t stop her sooner?”

“Bloody stubborn bird,” Ghost was the one who replied this time, not even looking up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look John fixed you with made you shut your mouth with a click.

“Good girl.”

The warmth on your cheeks was definitely not from overworking, at least.

You mention needing new clothes? You wake up to Simon’s credit card on your nightstand with a note ordering you to use it. “Strangely”, you can’t find neither your own card nor your wallet.

You also can’t find him, but Kyle’s there and oh wow! He has nothing to do so he will in fact be joining you (and making you model the dresses and outfits and send pictures to the others so you can be drowned in compliments)!

Also i like to hc that john(s) are both huge coffee lovers and they do in fact have those huge, fancy coffee machines yk? They are insulted when they see you drink the cheap, shitty, tasteless instant coffee you are surviving on and from then on, you will wake up every day to warm, fresh coffee made for you <33

Anyways gods i love them sm can you tell 😩😩

[alkaline-wtr]

141 x sick!reader headcanon

Description: They take care of you when you're sick. Genre/Warnings: 141 x sick!reeader, fluff, comfort, headcanon

** This is bad, oops. But here is a little bit of sick comfort because, I am sick right now and procrastinating Chapter 6 of 'We Will Survive' Enjoy.

GHOST: Whenever you're sick Ghost jumps straight into his 'doctor' role.

Rather than giving you a hug and rubbing your back soothingly like you hoped he is up poking and prodding you, asking you more questions than you care to answer.

"Yer not warm."

He says placing his calloused palm on your forehead.

"How 'bout yer head, does it hurt? Throat sore? How 'bout here does it hurt when I do this?"

He asks pressing on your side with his fingers.

"Si."

You groan swatting his hand away.

"Can't you just... Will you make me tea?"

Ghost sighs and kisses the top of your head.

"O' course love."

GAZ: The morning you wake up with a scratchy throat and a relentless sinus headache, is when Gaz is quick to take over the daily chores and responsibilities.

Cleaning and cooking are his top priorities. Anything that can keep you in bed and stress free he's on in.

Sometimes you think he's trying to heal you through food and drinks alone.

Bringing you teas, water, and softer food or soups for breakfast and lunch. For dinner he'll order takeout from your favorite place and ends the night in bed with ice-cream and your comfort show or movie.

Gaz is a sole believer in resting both your body and mind during days like this and he takes his domestic duties seriously in order to guarantee you a comfortable and clean space to relax and recover.

SOAP: Soap is known to be a bit overbearing when you're not at your best. Smothering you in affection, fluffing your pillow, and crowding your space on the couch with anything he thinks might help you feel better.

You're restricted to the couch, surrounded by water, juice, snacks, plushies, and even objects of entertainment like a game, or a book to read.

Any move you make to shift into a more comfortable position or get up to use the bathroom Soap is by your side immediately asking what you need or how to help.

You always appreciate his care and concern, but it would be nice to use the bathroom for a couple minutes in peace, without Soap knocking lightly on the door to ask if you want him to run you a bath.

PRICE: Price isn't the type to go overboard and tend to your every need. He'll start the day off giving you a simple breakfast in bed, and some medicine before bed rotting with you the rest of the day.

You both nap on and off all afternoon. He holds you in his arms brushing your hair with his fingers gently and leaving plenty of kisses on your cheeks.

It is a slow and quiet day, the TV plays softly in the background as you laze around curled into Prices chest. Curtains pulled shut to leave the room dark and obscure any sense of time you might have. As far as anyone is concerned the world is on pause and it's only you and John today.

You being sick, means he's sick too. He won't be leaving your side, and you will be resting and recovering together.

[quarterlifekitty]

Desperate times

Based on the results of this post and poll

cw: dark content. Kidnapping, threats, drugging, noncon, restraint, the whole shebang.

❌ Gaz is starting to feel a little disheartened, babe. You don’t seem as committed to making this work as he is… But that’s okay. He told you he loved you, and love means always being willing to put in the effort, yeah? So if the public approaches aren’t working, maybe you need something more private. It’s easy to get one of his mates to follow you around bars, wait for the perfect moment, and slip something in your drink. It’s easy to know when on the walk home there won’t be any witnesses. The hard part is going to be training you out of hissing and spitting when he gives you sweet words and gentle touches. That’s no way for a bird to treat her man, not when he’s gone through so much for her.

❌Soap is starting to feel a little… restless. This was fun at first, this game of trying to win you back, of cornering you like he was some kind of creep, but now? He just wants his bonnie. He needs you, and he knows you’ll never be as happy with anyone else as you are with him. He starts right from when you wake up after that night of reigniting your passions. You’re saying things you don’t mean, things you’ll regret— and he’s never been able to keep his cool when you get emotional. So if he wraps his hands around your throat and squeezes until you still, he can’t be the only one to blame. Now, he’ll be the first to admit that his worship of your body last night was just a wee bit lackluster… he was too excited for the main event. When you wake up, tied to his bed and gagged, he won’t be making the same mistake. In fact, best start on it now.

⭕️ Ghost doesn’t keep it casual. He doesn’t take baby steps. Just as soon as you return one of his calls, you can barely say hello before he says “I’m comin’ over, dovie.” You’ve never seen him smile like he did on that day before, and quite frankly, you never want to see it again. He looks sick. Drunk on just his proximity to you. He attacks you with his mouth once you answer the door, grunting between heaving breaths that he knew, knew you’d come around, knew you were a good girl, knew you’d never wanna force him to do something he didn’t want to do. He takes you on a few surfaces before he can finally pull his mind together enough to take you to a real bed. Tells you he’s gonna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly so this can’t happen again, because honestly? He doesn’t wanna tell you what will happen if it does.

❌Nikolai thought it was cute at first, seeing you try to play at being the big, strong, independent girl. But while his love for you is endless, his patience isn’t. The longer he lets this go on, the more training you’ll need when you come back. So he decides to do the merciful thing, and take you home. It’s a shame you didn’t behave— he would’ve let you sit in the passenger seat with his hand on your thigh the way you used to love. Instead he had to drag you into the back, chemicals soaked in the cloth he put over your mouth and nose. It doesn’t do well for a princess to be out of her tower. No, it isn’t good for anyone, least of all the princess. You don’t realize the dragon is collared and chained to you, that’s okay— he’ll just have to put you in a collar and chains of your own while you get used to things again. Maybe you’d be a little happier with your life inside if you had something little and sweet to take care of, like he does? He could get you that, malýshka. You don’t even need to ask.

I was thinking of making this the last in the series, but maybe we can push it further?

[gloomwitchwrites]

His teammates call you because he isn't handling the break up well.

I'm gonna be honest, Anon. I went a more humorous route with this (but some angst in there too because why not!) I'm just imagining all of them being completely pathetic and the one calling is on the phone like "come get your man please." So, with that being said, I hope you enjoy this!

Presented in four double drabbles.

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

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, some angst, established relationship, breakups. brief humor

Word Count: 800

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

John Price

“You have two minutes,” you say immediately after answering your phone.

“You need to call him,” comes Simon’s gruff voice on the other end.

You’ve only met Simon a handful of times, but he’s always been your favorite of John’s team. He has consistently treated you with kindness and respect, and he never oversteps boundaries.

“Why?” you ask, glancing at your nails, pretending you don’t care.

“He fucking misses you.”

“That’s not enough of a reason,” you reply.

It isn’t. Not really. Even if your heart aches and your stomach flips from hearing it.

“Captain isn’t taking the breakup well.”

You want to say that you aren’t either, even though you’re the one who ended things. In reality, you miss John. It’s agonizing.

“And?” you ask, trying to hide the slight crack in your voice.

“He has us running laps around the fucking track, love. Haven’t done that since I was a grunt who couldn’t properly tie his boot laces.”

You sigh. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Yes.” Simon’s response is immediate.

Rubbing your temple, you decide to take a leap. It wouldn’t hurt to talk. Not really. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“This is absurd,” you mutter, rubbing the middle of your brow, irritation building in the back of your head.

“Just give us a few minutes,” comes Captain Price’s voice. It’s Kyle’s boss, but he’s not the only one on the phone.

“Oh, aye. Hear us out.” Soap is there, too.

For all you know, Ghost is lingering on the call, a silent entity listening in but not saying anything.

“Why? Give me a reason?”

“Kyle misses you,” says Price.

“He loves you, lass.”

This isn’t new information. You’re aware of how Kyle feels but that doesn’t change things. The two of you are not together anymore. He needs to move on.

“He’s not handling the breakup well.” This time it’s Ghost. The silent man speaks.

“What do you want me to do,” you sigh.

“Talk to him,” says Price.

“No.”

Your phone buzzes and you hold it away from your ear. It’s a text from Price. You click on it, revealing a photo.

It’s Kyle. He’s curled up in his bed in the barracks, clutching a teddy bear he won you at a carnival on your first date.

“We can come get you,” says Price.

“Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“I’m sorry, John. But you shouldn’t have called. I don’t want to hear it.”

There is a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. You respect Captain John Price. The few times you’ve met him, he’d been pleasant, and he was always the first one to greet you whenever you visited Johnny on base.

“I understand that you broke it off with him.”

“John—”

“Listen. Please.”

He genuinely sounds concerned, and that gives you pause.

It’s not like you and Johnny ended things on bad terms. His life is busy. It’s dangerous. You just don’t fit in it, and the stress of never knowing when or if he’s going to come home is something far to difficult a thing to carry with you.

“He’s been struggling. Had to corner him in my office to get him to talk. He’s really hurting.”

You swallow. Lick your lips. “Why are you calling me, John?”

“I want you to talk to him.”

“John—”

“Soap is currently facedown in his bed in the barracks. Sulking.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“In person,” says John. It sounds like a command. Not an ask.

“Fine, John,” you reply, grabbing your car keys.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You need to talk to him. Simon is a bloody mess.”

“He’s fine, Johnny. He’ll get over. There was no reason for you to call me.”

Johnny snorts on the other end. “You don’t think so? I thought he was going to crush a new recruit’s skull in this morning.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not interested in talking with Simon right now.”

Is it really a breakup? No. Not really. More like a separation. Simon has your whole heart, but he’s stubborn and cold. His shell is difficult to crack.

“That’s too bad. Because I’m here.”

“You’re—what?”

“Aye. Walking up to your front door right now.”

You blink. Aghast. “John MacTavish you better not—”

There is a sharp series of knocks at your front door. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter.

Growling, you storm to the front door, phone still pressed to your ear. You unlatch the deadbolt and yank the door open. Johnny is standing on the other side, his phone also held to his ear. He gives you his biggest grin.

You want to smack it right off his face.

“What are you doing?”

Johnny ends the call. “I’m taking you to Simon.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @greeniegreengreen @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[sunalee]

at the supermarket

summary: usual grocery day with your husband.

with: 141 task force.

a/n: getting more and more interest in doing a domestic series with this men. I cannot help, they scream husband material.

⊛ john price

Every errand with john resolves feels like a teamwork task, it's natural for him to be supportive and most of the times, lead; in this case though, you're the captain. He was never very familiar with shopping for the amount he's away serving the country, so to optimize time — groceries isn't something very funny to spend time on — he gladly follows your lead.

He's a high skilled observant, which he uses to find the hidden sales and promotions, and the faster line to checkout (his wallet appreciates it).

John is more subtle with touching outdoors, so you'll feel his hand gently brush your side or hold your waist as you move around the store, his nose inhaling your shampoo scent when he's behind you on the line, among other small gestures. But the eye contact is a must, especially since John enjoys making you flustered as he admires you.

what he usually says: "yes, ma'am", "found it.", "don't get shy on me now, sweet thing, can't I look at you anymore?" "you open the car, I take the bags, got it?"

⊛ kyle "gaz" garrick

It's really rare for Kyle to not join you with grocery shopping whenever he's home, even when he's feeling tired to help: he wants to be there for you, always. And he's such a good company to do that, your eye candy of a husband made his efforts to now know the best brands and products to buy. You trust him to do all by himself at this point, but you both think that it's nice to turn such a common task into a couple activity.

He's the supermarket charmer. It's really alarming the amount of times some old lady asked for his help, only to praise him to you. "He's a keeper darlin, you're a lucky girl." They say to you, which you answer with a growing smile as you turn to look at your kind man. Sometimes he even gets small gifts from them!

Kyle has a need to keep contact with you as much as he can. He takes your hand from time to time to leave a small kiss on the back of it or on your fingers; he's also very keen to caressing your hair and putting some strands behind your ear while you're talking with him. And let's not even mention the cheeky grins and winks he throws in your direction whenever you call him out.

what he usually says: "flower, how about some wine?" "you're so pretty, you know that?" "haha, sorry ma'am, but I'm happily married." "c'mon, I was just helping, don't look at me like that!"

⊛ john "soap" mactavish

johnny doesn't like grocery shopping that much, but even if you ask for his help, he's driving and helping you, end of discussion. He's like your dotting knight, assisting your needs, lifting heavy stuff and making sure you're pleased with everything you need. He can even read aloud your shopping list for the whole market, anything but his wife getting angry.

It's almost contradictory, but sometimes you caught Johnny distracted with groceries, especially when you guys approach the snacks and beers section. It's funny to watch him, out of nowhere, asking your help to choose between one or other (none of them really necessary to buy). He's also a samples hunter, proving everything that has samples just because it's food or booze, and it's free.

Soap walks with one arm wrapped around your waist while the other is driving the chart around. He's not as clingy as he is at home, only giving you some small kisses on your temple, or letting you hold his arm: but the arm wrapped around your waist is a must. He wants to let everybody know that you're his girl.

what he usually says: "oooh, samples over there!" "na ah ma'am, it's heavy." "wait, let me help sweetheart." "baby, can we buy this?"

⊛ simon "ghost" riley

Simon's the least keen to grocery shopping. First, because he doesn't like going out in public; second, because it's so boring and stressful, two combinations that explains his frustrations. But you're the one who asked his help, and anything his wife asks, goes.

Even though he's not a expert in healthy food, Simon doesn't like to spend his money with junkie food and sweets to the brim: he's cautious with what you eat, so he always add more healthy options. He also doesn't like the way people stare at him because of his balaclava, but who can blame them? He just hope they don't think he's a criminal.

He's not good with PDA, but this guy needs to have you near him every second of the time, or he'll grow paranoid with worry. To prevent that, he has a habit of guiding your body with one of his hands at the middle of your back. He also looks at you to check in, but mostly checks the area, not wanting to get caught by surprise in case something happens.

what he usually says: "tsc.. this place is a mess." "woman just stay beside me" "why do you need so many chocolate bars?" "you're gonna be the death of me, woman."

© sunalee 2024 — all rights reserved.