#gaz i need you

[goaskangel]

bedtime routine with john price mmm

nice and warm light hits your complexion just right as you get ready for bed in front of the bathroom mirror. in john’s much too big t-shirt and your panties, simple get up just to sleep in tomorrow on a saturday, as if this wasn’t your daily set of pjs. 

you see your man in the side of the mirror as he walks up into the bathroom. groaning as he stretches his arms up, standing just behind you as you giggle at his entrance. his muscles flexing so perfectly. filling his own sleep shirt, which he will take off later in the night, when he rests them back down, his hands finding their place on your hips. 

“what a beauty.” coming down to rest his chin on your shoulder, his beard scratching up against your face. 

“ready for bed?” he grunts a reply as you smooch a kiss on his jaw before he straightens his back. you continue to massage your moisturize into your skin while his hands never leave your body. tracing firm shapes into your body with his palms, pulling back the fabric to see the pretty dips and curves of your body. he hums in satisfaction as a result and goes back to hold your body in his arms. 

john’s careful not to slip his hands underneath your his shirt, knowing how warm his hands are, you’d jolt immediately to the sudden change. so he gropes your body through the little clothes you have on, massaging his large hands up and up to cup your breasts from underneath. “jus’ perfect, you are.” you press up against him, your hands pausing as you watch and feel his hands rub and soothe the swells of your chest. his own hips pressing to your ass, his boxers failing to conceal the bulge he’s got going. a throb aching behind your panties when he kisses your neck.

“bedtime can wait, yeah?” 

more cod!

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

(Part Two)

[kkusuka]

i would love to be john price's (141's) little bird.

(afab reader, you're lowkey a housewife, g/n pronouns, this was also a lot longer than i meant it to be-1.2k words- and i also wrote it entirely in class)

just the cute little thing he comes home to after long missions; ready to give him anything he needs to fully enjoy his time at home. barefoot and wide-eyed waiting for your bear of a husband to return from his long hard mission, keeping him fed and fucked as much as he needs. and he just loves you so much-- so much that he needs to show everyone how good you are for him.

it's not like he sets out to rub it in, but when his sergeant mentions not having anyone waiting for him at home-- john just can’t help but invite him over, you always talk about how much you love taking care of him, adding another man shouldn't be a problem! and what kind of captain would he be if he didn't take care of his subordinates?

and you aren't complaining! you love when john lets you see into his job! and gaz is just so sweet, saying please and thank you, offering to help clean the dishes, and politely refusing any leftovers even when you all know he has no food to go back to. so, you just have to keep inviting him over, night after night. and he's so good at conversations, even when he and your husband talk with all their military jargon, he makes sure you understand all of it; you just want to keep him in your house forever! so you kind of do…

you can't imagine making him go all the way home to his cold and dark apartment, it's so far and you know he's tired from his month of constant action-- so suddenly kyle has a bedroom set up right next to yours (close enough to hear how john thanks you for being so good to his sergeant, and just maybe a hand goes down below his waistband) a fully stocked bathroom and a place to put his shoes when you all come back your occasion dinners out. (they're dates, you don't think it but they do)

but kyle is not a man so stay silent about his blessings. you're too nice, too pretty to not tell soap about-- and trust john isn't going to complain, and he knows that you won’t either. 'the best roast i think i've ever had' and 'knows exactly how to make a man feel at home' and soap is not one to stray from his desires.

so you end up with your boys, and a bubbling scotsman in your dinning room with no warning. and you're upset, no one told you that you had to make more food and now there isn't enough to give everyone your usual heaping portion- and there is no way you're letting anyone go hungry in your home!

so you end up bouncing around the kitchen, trying to whip something up before the main course finishes in the oven and who but soap offers to help you out! he's got a hand on you at all times (two on your waist when you're chopping the onion, he just wouldn't know what to do with himself if you got hurt making him dinner. so he has to hold you steady, he has to run his hands over your hips keep you stabilized-- don't think too much into it, just stay focused on chopping bonnie)

and soap knows that he can talk for hours, but he can't help it when your eyes light up when he mentions his childhood in scotland and his missions around the world. and your small flinch and frown when he talks about getting hurt. their lass just can't help but worry about them. he just can't stay away from his captains sweet bird-- not when you send him off with a steaming pile of leftovers and a tight hug (pressed against him as hard as you can because you don’t want him to go)

johnny, a man to brag, never shuts up about how it took kyle three months to get a room but it only took him two. (sometimes when he comes back from the bathroom in the morning he can see into your room as you're getting ready. and he doesn't mean to do it but your panties are his favorite shade of blue and they look so amazing on you-- he wants to see them up close so bad.)

and so he tells ghost of all his troubles- unasked and randomly the next time they got sent out. and does ghost really care about johnny's playground crush on their captains bird? yes. how had he been left the only one not getting home cooked meals after being sent out? is he going to say anything about it?

not a chance.

so it takes a little while before the final place at your dinner table to be filled. but after a particularly grueling mission (and already wishing to come over), ghost is finally convinced he belongs with the rest of his team.

and you've never been happier to make extra food; you've been hearing for months about the illusive fourth man of your husband's battalion but having him stand in your kitchen with a cute little store bought dessert was certainly worth the wait. ( 'Ah didnae ken ye liked pink that much, lt' 'it was all they 'ad, can't show up empty 'anded, johnny')

and is he a little awkward and standoffish, of course-- years of military pressure will do that to a man!

and simon is just too sweet, even if he doesn't know it. he's pulling your chair out for you, and running out in the rain to collect the mail that you'd forgotten all about. he even lets you drag him to the grocery store during your weekly trips. (it's not dragging, he'd follow you into the pits of hell if you'd asked him too so the grocery store is really not a big deal.)

everything is just so perfect when all of your the boys are all in the house together!

and suddenly everything in life makes sense again. that plate that you can never reach on the highest shelf in the kitchen, a body is pressed against you as simon leans over you to grab it leaving you with a squeeze to your hip and red face. the gossip that your husband just never understood in the way he should is studently being told to kyle over coffee every morning as your other boys roll out of bed. the soap opera that you rope johnny into watching every thursday night becomes facemasks and wine time.

and john just loves it. he just loves you so much; loves the way you smile at kyles flirting, loves how you cuddle up to johnny on the couch, loves how you let simon hold you so close when you make his tea in the morning, and he just loves teasing you about it. (teasing? yes. making you face the fact that you want your husbands men to run a train on you like a whore. also yes.)

i wanna keep going but i have to let it end at some point

[littleindulgences]

When they’re home with you, the boys are always touchy. They can’t get enough of you—it’s a simple fact. But there’s something about them coming home from months-long missions, worn and battle-weary, needing the kind of bone deep grounding you can’t get from a quick hug or peck on the cheek.

Simon prefers to recalibrate kneeling at your feet. He lays his heavy head in your lap, his thick arms winding around your hips to anchor himself to you. He’ll stay that way until his knees ache, half-dozing with your nails scraping over his scalp. Every once in a while he’ll nuzzle into the meat of your thigh and breathe in slow, deep enough that you feel his ribcage expand against your shins. Oftentimes he’ll fall asleep like that, mumbling nonsense into your skin until he drops off.

John likes having you on top of him, skin-to-skin, cocooned in the comforter of your shared bed. He’ll hold you close with his big hands smoothing up and down your spine like he’s grounding you instead of himself. He craves having your weight on him, your thighs bracketing his hips, pressing the reminder into his bones that you’re still here. That he made it back. He doesn’t talk much at all when you’re like this, but he will press a kiss to your hair every minute or so.

Kyle wants you to bathe with him. Doesn’t matter if he caught a shower at the base before he came to you. He can’t banish the feeling of grime from his skin—he’s convinced he’ll vibrate out of himself if he doesn’t scrub himself raw this instant. But you make sure that even if the water is scalding, your touch is gentle, smoothing various products into his body in slow, sweeping motions until he’s practically putty in your hands. You’ll stay with him until the water goes cold, before gently toweling him off and herding him to bed.

Johnny needs deep pressure or he’ll be restless and tense for the next two days. He’s kind of like John in this aspect, but he doesn’t just want you to lay on him, oh no. Johnny will make you wear one of his shirts that swallow you whole just so he can shove his entire head and shoulders underneath, pillowed against your chest. He very quietly asks you to put him in a full-body hold he probably taught you for this reason. You’ll pile on the comforter and the weighted blanket even though you’ll be sweating in seconds, because the way Johnny falls unconscious in minutes makes it all worth it.

[kortac-sweetheart]

thinkin abt: classic “traitor” sergeant you and tf 141, except you have a different trauma response

cw: angst no comfort (yet), mentions of torture and physical harm, derealization, reader believes they deserve their torture (honestly selfship coded sorry) shout out to hedgehog’s dilemma one of my favorite dilemmas, very VERY canon divergent, no use of (y/n)

pt 2 with kortac maybe? as they slowly rehabilitate you and you learn to open up again

for as long as you can remember you’ve been an outsider. never quite fitting in with your classmates or even your “friends”. your two acquaintances (more like) in elementary school would drag you along, like a glorified pet, wherever they went. only to turn around and ignore you, chatting happily with each other as if you weren’t there.

and when you were older, you didn’t have any friends in class. always electing to sit by yourself and disturbing nothing and no one. fading into the background, like a shadow.

eventually you wind up joining the military, efficiently climbing the ranks until you land sergeant in task force 141. for the first few years of you joining, it’s much the same. that feeling of being other always lingering in the back of your mind, only amplified when observing the others in the team.

how soap easily makes gaz and price laugh, and even coaxing a chuckle out of ghost. how effortlessly they talk to each other, to the way tackling one another in a bear hug in the base halls was no big deal. almost envious at how openly they interacted with each other.

witnessing it makes you feel like you’re in school again. forcibly reverts you to the younger you that endured your so-called friends ignoring you.

but you don’t bring it up. ever. being here and fighting alongside them is already treading thin ice in your mind. already impeding upon their well established relationships. an intruder. an outsider. a stranger. a nuisance.

you linger behind them in hallways, erring from their side and sight around base. sitting far from the others during briefings, eating alone during mealtime. absent from post mission celebrations.

you keep them at arms length despite them being your teammates. it’s not their fault, it’s yours.

if i let them in, it’ll only hurt again.

but they break down your walls slowly, oh so painfully slowly. johnny now jokes besides you in the break room and during meal times, conversation is always pleasant with kyle, whilst simon looks out for you, very, very quietly. and john isn’t afraid to tell you of the good work you do on field, ruffling your hair like a proud dad.

things seem to be looking bright for you.

until they aren’t.

you fall asleep peacefully in your bed only to wake up strapped to an uncomfortable metal chair in the base’s interrogation room. a mole, unbeknownst to the rest of the team had planted evidence framing you and accusing you of betraying them. taking advantage of the thin fault line in your relationships, vulnerable and unsteady, compared to the stalwart trust they already had in each other. then, subsequently tearing that fault wide open, in order to break the team from the inside out.

your tenuous and fragile relationships finally blooming, only to be crushed under heel in a single night.

the light strains your eyes and the tight ropes dig painfully into your flesh, back aching and head throbbing as you await your fate.

three sets of eyes that only started to gaze warmly at you are now long gone. replaced with a plethora of emotions, betrayal, ire, resentment, bitterness, distrust.

you try to plead your case, that you have no idea what’s going on or what they’re talking about. you’ve never heard of any of these people in your life, nor have you ever heard of that operation at all.

but all of it is futile. you can see it clear as day in their eyes. they glare at you with such distain, it’s akin to what they gave their enemies on the field; except much much worse. this time it’s personal, someone they thought they knew.

they don’t believe you.

you realize that quickly. and after that you become borderline unresponsive. shutting down, physically, mentally, retreating into your mind, a desperate attempt to keep yourself safe from your allies-turned-tormentors.

you no longer scream your protests, all cries of agony quieted down until there wasn’t a single peep from you. although your tears never cease.

it angers them. they yell in your face, demanding answers to questions you haven’t the ability to answer. why were you being so difficult? if you’d just answer it’d be easier on you and them.

they subject you to a whole torrent of horrors. the restraints tightening and digging into your flesh, blood seeping into the rope. ghost slashes a knife up the side of your face, from your jaw to above your eyebrow bone. your eye just barely making it out unscathed because you shut it in time. then they start to rip your nails out, painfully, one by one. each time you don’t answer them, another one is torn out.

(they remember what you said offhandedly. that you didn’t like others being pushy, that you valued your autonomy highly. and what better way to break you than to rid you of it? stripping you of your nails, slashing at your muscles, tightening the ropes until you bled. anything, everything to ruin what little sovereignty you had left.)

despite being swathed deep in the recesses of your mind, you can still hear them. their voices muddied and muffled, as if underwater and you’re left unable to discern who’s words are who’s. not that it mattered anyway. the venom in their tone remained the same no matter who spoke.

“disgusting fucking traitor.”

“you’re such a pathetic piece of shit.”

“aww, cry some more.”

“should’ve never trusted you.”

“what an utterly worthless burden. only served to drag down the team.”

their words seep into your mind like poison through blood. it leaves you doubting, frantically questioning all moments you’ve shared with them. leaves you spiraling deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of your mind. your safe haven, and your cold prison.

did they always think this?

did they always hate me?

what did i do wrong?

i must’ve done something wrong to deserve this.

i deserve this.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

i’m sorry.

you still remain motionless, and they scoff, looking down at you as they ash their cigarettes on your bruised skin. you don’t react. soap, frenzied, aggravated and wound up, lands a hard punch straight in your jaw. your head flying back with a sickening crunch before hanging low over your lap, face obscured.

gaz violently yanks your hair back, revealing your battered face. the lighting of the room casting long, tired shadows across it as he forces you to look at them. and you do, but not quite at them.

you don’t stare at them. you stare through them. like they aren’t there, like YOU aren’t there. they see nothing behind your eyes. it was like you were already dead. and maybe, at this point, it would’ve been better if you were.

hours blend into days and days possibly into weeks. your life has been nothing but torment and agony for who knows how long. never allowed a moment of rest or respite, being violently slapped awake if you’ve ever got lucky enough to grasp at increasingly ephemeral shut eye. time slips away into nothingness when your whole life has turned to pain.

they’re starting to grow more desperate for answers; despite everything they’ve thrown at you, you still haven’t “cracked”. and so they turn to more.. permanent methods of harm.

by the time price barges through the door, alarming everyone that you were innocent and you were falsely framed by a mole, your pinky is already severed and falling to the floor.

as if it were only a cruel nightmare, everything ceases immediately. and you pass out as you’re rushed to the base medics.

you’re awake once again, but you’re not quite all there. still safely tucked away in the depths of your mind. everyday is still a blur as your battered and beaten body tries to heal, ignoring the pity in passersby eyes’ and forced to rely on the kindness of base medics for hygiene. as if it wasn’t humiliating enough to end up in such a state.

even in your semi lucid state you still recognize them, the weight of their gait and their footfalls against the floor. always bracing for further injury whenever they draw nearer, clenched eyes, hunched posture, and a deep grimace. turned away out of fear for an impact you can’t ever guarantee is truly gone.

you silently reject their help, withdraw in on yourself to a state they’ve never seen before. you stop talking to them entirely, stop talking to everyone for that matter. whenever they try to sit next to you, you always flinch before scooting away from them, or most times you hobble away from them entirely. they never stop you. and you never look back.

(they wish you would yell at them. slap them, lash out at them, anything would be better than your numb indifference towards them now. with your anger they know for sure that you’re still in there, but, now. now it’s like a wraith is haunting the halls, more of a ghost than the man fool himself could ever hope to be.)

you return to the field as soon as you can. and everyone is surprised that your performance hasn’t suffered as much as they thought it would, considering��� everything.

you’re already burdening everyone enough. if your performance were to decline then they would surely toss you aside, and everything would be for naught.

but the higher ups can see the mental toll it takes on you. to be besides them, as if this never happened. everyone can see the way they inadvertently hurt you more, can see the writing on the wall if you continue to work with them.

and so, they set up a transfer. to kortac.

you certainly have no complaints, but your ex-tormentors undoubtedly do. up in arms about the whole thing until they’re told to stand down. to follow orders.

just like they did before.

things were the same in the days leading up to the transfer. you avoid them, taking different hallways around base. never interacting more than the bare minimum, efficiently finishing missions without small talk or celebration. and always rejecting their offers of help with a faraway look and shake of your head.

and on the day of the transfer, they still try to plead for you to stay. to apologize for what cannot, and can never be undone.

you’re fed up with all of it.

clearing your throat and murmuring just loud enough for them to hear,

“forgive me if i’m speaking out of line, but who was the one to call me quote, “an utterly worthless burden?” was it lieutenant riley or sergeant mactavish? perhaps it was sergeant garrick? well… it doesn’t matter anyway. you’ll be better off without a detriment dragging down your team.”

they look heartbroken, stammering out apologies after apologies, but it all sounds so empty to you. until johnny whimpers out “god, we’re so sorry. you didn’t deserve what we did to you, not at all. we’d— we’d do anything to take it back!” he’d go on and on until you cut him off.

“didn’t deserve it? of course i deserved it, i must have done something worth punishing. otherwise… otherwise…” you were trembling, your hands painfully clutching your arms. your head bent over and face obscured from your hair, eerily similar to when you were being tortured. the sight of you so battered and broken burned into their mind.

foolishly, someone reaches out a hand towards you and you jerk back violently, as if burned. hyperventilating and quivering as you dig your painfully throbbing fingers into your arms, eyes wide like a frightened animal. the sight of them, looking at you so concerned, the sight of your missing pinky and your bloodied fingertips, it’s all too much. the room in spinning, the floor is collapsing underneath you and your head feels like it’s underwater, “don’t— don’t touch me!”

your voice feels like it doesn’t belong to you, and you can’t take it anymore. blindly rushing out the door as fast as your feet can carry you. running away from the room— away from them, they don’t move to stop you, rooted firmly in place.

they knew they fucked up immensely, but it was only then that they understood the magnitude in which they ruined you. unintentionally led you to believe that you deserved the hell they put you through, only confirming and fortifying your feelings of being an outsider.

unworthy, burdening, all of those hurtful notions you held about yourself that they had once tried to erase, back a thousand fold.

and they had no one but themselves to blame for it.

(they nearly buckled under the weight of their actions. realizing that they’d never get the chance to even attempt to atone for what they’ve done. that you’d leave forever believing that they had hated you the whole time. and that you hate them now, too.)

pt2

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

sorry im back lol. thinking about 141 sleeping habits!! (not sexual)

price has a tried and true bedtime routine. so much so he gets extremely grumpy when it's not followed to the letter. wants to be showered and cuddled by a specific time. price likes to watch you play games on your phone/console while he lays on your shoulder before he decides he wants you to himself. price will pull you into his chest and kiss your neck and back softly until he gets you all soft and pliant. whispers how he loves you into your ear before he puts his head between your shoulder blades. grabs one of your hands and interlaces your fingers. can't sleep well without having his little love all wrapped up.

i feel like ghost would be inconsistent in bedtime. he sometimes goes to bed after you do, rather than with you, so he'll wrap himself around you. he likes to rub your back sometimes and smell your hair. when you guys go down together, he faces himself towards you and holds your hands. simon is very reverent and will worship you at any given opportunity. however, on the rare occasion he's out before you, simon LOVES when he wakes up as little spoon. makes him so soft knowing you want to touch him as much as he wants you. (extra: simon loves it when you have one of his big tees on. feel like he'd "get you sleepwear" and it's just a well worn shirt of his.)

johnny... the sudsy boy. i know he just sprawls all over the bed. loves for you to be on top of him or him on you. can't stay consistently still so you both move around a lot on the bed. probably will be on the other side of the bed when you wake up. however, he gets pissy when you try to separate from him during the night. you're his, bonnie, stop trying to get him off. needs to have a handful of you at all time for peace of mind. johnny loves you so much and needs that physical reassurance!

gaz is so romantic. i feel it in my blood. def takes several pages out of prices book, yet is still distinct. will always go to bed when you do unless he can't, doesn't matter if he's wired from caffeine or drowsy when you're not. he loves to sit on the toilet seat while he watches you ready for bed. kyle loves when you lay nose to nose beside each other with the lights out. loves it when you card your fingers through his hair and whisper little praises to him. mumbles them back, placing little kisses on your face as he wraps you close to him.

[ssscatola]

task force 141 headcanons because I have free will

soap wears nothing but adidas slides when he's on leave. he's sick and tired of getting blisters from his military boots that he refuses to wear any other shoe when he's back in scotland

ghost's favorite season is spring. he loves hearing birds chirping and singing (would never admit this out loud) and enjoys hiking when the weather is just right.

gaz will cook a mean roast and is a snob about what herbs and spices go with what meat and vegetables. (this goes for soap as well bc i headcanon he was raised on a farm)

price is so fucking tired all the time but hides it really well. he'll fall asleep standing up in a heli without a problem

speaking of price, he's a loud ass cougher and sneezer and the rest of the force mimic and tease him about it

ghost has every member of the force's phone number. Price is saved in his contacts as 'Captain Price'. Gaz is 'Kyle Garrick'. Soap is just /insert scottish phone number/ and he refuses to change it just to piss off Johnny

to continue that adidas slides thought for soap, i like to think he's dripped out in any sportswear brand. DEFINITELY has a Napapijri jacket and at least three nike puffer jackets. every item of clothing for the gym is either nike or under armour and every running shoe he has is by asics

Gaz has five colognes he rotates. Soap has three (used to have four but lost one??? where the fuck is it?). Price has one that he's been rebuying for the past fifteen years. Ghost also has one (stole the best-smelling one from Johnny)

Gaz really likes board games while Ghost enjoys card games

Price knows some russian and soap is learning spanish

Ghost grew up with nothing and is now insatiable. doesn't spend that much on decorating his apartment or clothes but he sees a weighted or heated blanket on amazon with raving reviews? doesn't even check the price; it's in his cart. A new mattress made out of memory foam for his shitty back? added to cart. He sees a commercial for a 70-inch flat-screen tv? he needs it to watch soccer in 16k 240fps and 480p re-run episodes from youtube of 'how it's made' when johnny visits him.

price types with one finger (sorry to this man)

ghost rarely types out a response to a text. or if he does respond, it's just a thumbs-up emoji

soap gets down NASTY to 2000's and 2010's music. Like girl this man is breaking his neck and back and ankles on the dancefloor after three-four drinks and nobody can stop him

continuing for soap, he once got wasted and borrowed a cigarette from someone at a club and turned into a hired assassin for the night. the guy who gave him the cigarette got jumped and soap dislocated the attacker's jaw with one punch

gaz has every allergy under the sun while ghost gets the flu every five years or so

ghost has a sharp left canine and johnny nearly flatlines when he sees it

price has freckles on his biceps and shoulders

ghost notices soap is always chewing gum. they make stops during missions so the sergeant can buy (more like swipe) a pack. always the same brand, always the same flavor, and he always offers a piece to ghost. for his birthday, ghost gifts him two mega packs (that's like 400 pieces?) of his preferred gum and soap's heart swells in his chest

these are all over the place but i'm writing a ghoap fic and my motivation is dwindling so i just had to write this :')

if anyone wants a part 2 let me know bc this was a lot of fun to write!

[hatsbuckets]

price | gaz | ghost

John Mactavish who is restless after missions.

John Mactavish who talks his teammates’ ears off on the ride back, not caring an ounce if they’re listening.

John Mactavish who fills the space, the silence, the leftover tension with words, jokes, stories that tumble out like they don’t need to stop just for the sake of keeping the air from settling too heavy.

John Mactavish who laughs too loud, too easily, who tries to make them laugh too, because if they’re laughing, they’re okay.

John Mactavish who keeps talking, keeps moving, keeps the energy up. Who should feel tired but doesn’t.

John Mactavish who follows an antsy Sergeant to the locker room, lets himself be dragged into banter, back-and-forth, sharp and familiar. And throws a wet towel at one Kyle Garrick's head and dodges when it’s thrown back.

John Mactavish who lets himself be normal, lets himself be loud and easy and himself and feels the buzz of adrenaline settle—not gone, just quiet.

John Mactavish who moves again, because stopping isn’t an option yet.

John Mactavish who finds his lieutenant, sitting stiff, sitting quiet.

John Mactavish who crouches in front of him, grinning, teasing, nudging at him like that alone will shake off whatever is brewing in his head.

John Mactavish who doesn’t stop when the man huffs, rolls his eyes, glares—just keeps at it until the weight in his chest starts to feel lighter. Talking, teasing, waiting on one Simon Riley.

John Mactavish who watches Simon’s fingers twitch, watching for the moment Simon actually listens. Then pretends not to notice when Simon exhales, slow, steady, a release of tension that wasn’t meant to be noticed.

John Mactavish who grins just a little softer, who leans in just a little closer. And taps Simon’s knee as he stands up, as if to say, You’re with me, yeah?

John Mactavish who lets himself be stopped when he turns to go when a gloved hand catches his wrist. glances back, eyebrows raised, breath caught as the hand squeezes his own, just once, firm and grounding.

John Mactavish who lets himself be grounded and settled—drowned—in those beautiful, grease marked eyes that look up at him.

John Mactavish who swallows hard when Simon lets go first. And nods, just once, and walks away grinning like nothing just happened.

John Mactavish who finds himself at his Captain's office, where the door is unlocked, and the sight of one half-asleep John Price behind it with Gaz on top.

John Mactavish who makes his way in like he belongs there, because he does.

John Mactavish who grins at them both, full of mischief, before shoving his way onto the couch without a word, forcing himself into the space he belongs.

John Mactavish who burrows in, leans into the warmth, lets his body finally slow down. He closes his eyes, exhaustion creeping in now, welcome and familiar.

John Mactavish who is knows Simon isn’t far behind.

John Mactavish who is restless after missions,

but never too restless to be lulled into calm with the boys.

John Mactavish who groans at Price's snoring, but smiles, because he's undeniably comforted by the sound anyway.

price | gaz | ghost

[readgoods]

poor gaz

[nekrosmos]

Gaz locker room mirror selfie ✌️​ He's probably gonna send it to the group chat and make everyone feel bad

[parkersbliss]

the 141 and their obsessed girlfriend

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

synopsis: you love your boyfriend, maybe a little too much that some of the things you say are... concerning to say the least.

warnings: kind of gory for simon, sexual innuendo, death threat, reader is just unhinged and in love with her man fr

a/n: if you get it, you get it. these all may or may nOT be things I've said to my boyfriend to which he said I was "batshit crazy but in a sexy way"

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

—

Ghost:

You sigh, laying your head down on Simon’s chest. His reaction is instinctive, an arm wrapping around you and pulling you closer. You snuggle further into him, his warmth radiating onto your skin. A reminder to you of where your home truly was. 

You can hear his heartbeat in his chest, pumping at a steady pace. You count each thump, rhythmic and soft. Faintly, you hear the sound of air moving in and out of his lungs and the slight bubbling of his stomach from the food you had eaten earlier. 

Simon’s hand strokes your lower back, drawing circles as his eyes focus on the rugby match. He’s unaware of his actions, something he’s too used to when he lies with you. He likes feeling the warmth, the subtle pulse, and shivers. It’s a reminder that you’re real. 

You’re too lost in his heartbeat to hear the narration of the game. There was something so comforting to listen to him, affirming what you knew was true. Your boyfriend was alive, his heart circulating the blood through his body. You push yourself further into his chest, wanting to be closer. You couldn’t get any closer, you knew that, but you needed to be. There was some part of you that kept urging for it. 

“Simon,” You call out. 

He looks down at you. “Hm?”

You meet his eyes. “I want to cut through your skin, open your ribcage, and feel your heart.” You said it casually, not faltering and maintaining eye contact with him. You needed to crawl into his chest and live there, be one with him. Closer. 

Simon doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink at your words. “I’d want nothing more than to have you cradle my heart in your hands.” 

You move to straddle him, resting your legs on either side of his hips and leaning your chin on his sternum so you can really look at him. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

He scoffs. “Quite the opposite.”

“Even if I want to live inside your chest?”

“If I could make that happen, I would.” He runs a hand through your hair, tugging gently at the knots. 

You smile at him. “I’d let you live in mine and use my lungs as your personal trampoline.” 

Simon chuckles a beautiful sound to you and lets his hand rest on your hips. “I would be honored.” 

You trace patterns on his chest, huffing. “I just want to live in you.” 

“Unfortunately, you’ll just have to settle for my dick in you.”

You purse your lips from on top of him. “I guess that’ll do.”

Gaz:

You set your phone on the bedside table, lying on your side to look at your boyfriend. He was shirtless, with nothing but his briefs on in bed. Your eyes trace up and down him, taking in all the curves of his muscles and the lines of his abs to the slight stubble of a beard and the downward slope of his nose. God, he was so pretty. 

As if on cue, he turns to look at you. “What?” He murmurs in that voice of his. Kind, but a hint of grit to it. He made it so easy for your thoughts to run wild. You wanted to have his kids. See his eyes in them, the curve of his nose. Actually, scratch that you wanted—“I wanna get you pregnant,” You blurt out. 

Kyle laughs, loud. He isn’t sure he quite heard you correctly. He hopes he did, but then again, you did have a knack for breaking silence with something worth talking about. “What?” 

“I wanna get you pregnant,” You repeat. 

He stills, staring at you and how your face is unwavering. He’s not quite sure what to make of that sentence. He stares at you, your lips pursed in thought and eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. “That’s simply not possible.” 

“I know,” You said. “But I just want to be able to like fuck you for once.” 

“Oh my god.” 

You shake your head, suddenly aware of how unhinged you sound. But that’s just what Kyle did to you. You were downright obsessed with him. Everything about him made your thoughts melt into a pile of mush and goo. One look at him had you practically reeling. You couldn’t fathom how he was real and yours, nonetheless. “Sorry! You’re just so fucking pretty and it’s like I need to bend you ov—,” 

“Babe,” He cuts you off. “Okay! I get it.” 

“No, but like—,"

He raises his brows at you. “It’s not biologically possible.” He restates, emphasizing that he was not letting that happen and neither was the world. Thank god, he thinks. 

You flop down onto your back on the bed with a groan. “So unfair. We should be like seahorses.” 

Kyle hums, choosing to humor you. “Uh-huh, sorry babe.” 

“I’m just so obsessed with you. I have so many feelings I just… I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Kyle’s hand traces up and down your arm. “Well, we could start with not getting me pregnant.” He moves to situate himself on top of you, pressing his nose into your neck. “But maybe there’s a compromise here, hm?” He kisses the soft skin, and once again, your brain melts into nothing. He was so good to you. He made it easy for you to forget everything in the world but his name on your tongue. So you couldn’t get him pregnant. There was a better idea ahead. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Soap: 

You sat at the table next to Johnny, coffee in hand. You both sit in silence, observing the people passing by on the street. You make note of a man frantically texting on his phone, a little girl chasing after a bird, a couple clinging on to each other. 

People watching. A favorite pastime for the two of you. 

You watch as a girl walks by, her gaze lingering on your boyfriend a second longer than you’d like. Her eyes rake up and down his figure, and she pulls out her phone, no doubt texting someone. 

You turn to Johnny, who’s oblivious to it. “I’m going to fucking kill her.”

His head snaps towards you. “What, love?” 

“That girl,” You gesture with your head. “I’m going to kill her.” 

“Why?” 

“She looked at you.” 

Your boyfriend nearly spits out his coffee. “So you’re gonna kill her?” 

You glare at him. “That’s merciful.” 

“Oh really?” He jests you. 

You nod your head, setting down your coffee and pulling out your phone. “If I really wanted to fuck with her, then I could find her home address and slightly misplace all the objects in her flat and watch her go insane.”

Johnny stares at you, concern etched into his face. His eyes sweep your face for any ounce of joke, but he knows you’renot. He always wanted a possessive girlfriend. “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy about you,” You correct. “If I ever see anyone look at you like that again, I’m going to call an airstrike on them.” 

He grabs your hands. “Love, you never have to worry about anyone else.”

“I don’t worry. They should worry. If they wanna stare, then they can stare at the ceiling before I gouge their eyes out.” 

Johnny sighs. He loves you, truly. But to say you weren’t sometimes a little unhinged was an understatement. You always had a jealous streak about you, it’s what initially drew him in. That fire he saw in your eyes, dangerous but beckoning him closer. The idea of a possessive girlfriend really did turn him on. It was just moments like these that he wished he could carry around a giant sign that said “Please don’t look at me unless you wanna die.” 

“You’re something else, you know?” He asked, running his thumb over your knuckles. 

You melt a little at the gesture, and he can see your shoulders relax. “You’re mine.” 

He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “True, and you never have to do that. So please stop threatening random people on the street in public.” 

You smile at him. He was so sweet. “You’ll never find a bitch crazier than me, baby.” 

“I never want to,” Johnny insists. “Though, you can show me crazy in a different way…” 

You can see his eyes sparkling with something and you bite your lip, grabbing his hands. “Let’s go home.” 

Price:

You’re sat next to Price on the couch. He’s got a hand slung over your shoulder, keeping you close as you lean your head into the crook of his neck. He was warm, a giant teddy bear covered in rippling muscles. His beard scratches the top of your head, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, you love the feeling of it when you’re kissing. The soft pinch of his hair against your face. 

But honestly, you loved everything about him. There wasn’t one thing about him you could dislike. Well, maybe that he was gone so long sometimes. In reality, it just made you want him more though. It created special moments like this, where you knew time was futile. 

You sigh, playing with the hairs of his beard. You feel like them against your fingertips, pinching and prodding. 

You gaze up at your husband, his blue eyes focused on the screen and dark lashes contrasting with his pale skin. 

“Honey,” You murmur.

He hums, looking down at you. “Yes?” 

You cock your head at him. “I want to take your beard hair and make it into matching sweaters for us.” 

Price, unfazed by most things, is fazed by this. He could take a bullet, and wouldn’t flinch at a grenade or a gun pointed at his face. But that. 

That was a sentence he wasn’t sure how to unpack. 

“What?” He asked. 

You giggle a little. “You know, the clippings in the bathroom. What if I started collecting them to make a sweater?” 

Price nods, humoring you. “Darling, please don’t do that.” 

“Why not?” You pout, sticking out your bottom limit. 

“That would be itchy,” He insists. “My beard is already itchy enough. You don’t want to wear it too.” 

You don’t, he’s right. You just wanted to say something to see his face contort. He was so comfortable around you that it made it easy to catch him off guard. And really, a part of you was that obsessed with him. 

“Fair point, I suppose,” You concede. 

He’s surprised you surrender so easily. “You don’t already have a collection going, do you?” 

You laugh, patting his chest. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

He pauses. “No, I would not.” You snuggle closer to him, going back to playing with his beard. His arm drops to your waist, giving it a squeeze. “You’re insane, my dear.” 

You grin up at him, planting a kiss on his lips. “In more ways than one.” 

Price kisses you back, sneaking his hands under your shirt and higher. “Amen.” 

He was never religious, but that man did get on his knees for you.

-- END --

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🏷 taglist: @trxpslxt @looking1016 @the-kakawshi-bird

[sai-int]

mmmm i'm thinking poolboy!gaz thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

"knock yourself out."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[inkbybambi]

gaz bites when he kisses you. he’s not as aggressive as ghost or soap, not as intense as price but this boy will bite you until your lips are puffy and he swears he can see the indents of his teeth on your pretty mouth.

[spurbleu]

my darling i think i'm gonna need you to expand on mr investigator gaz because i haven't stopped thinking about him since your post...

based on this- private investigator gaz and the girl he corners. cw. stalking, manipulation

gaz doesn't really meet you, so to speak. not at first. rain on concrete, foot over ankle, shoulder to shoulder with a leather jacket in a crowded sector of London when he smells you.

distinctly vanilla. sunscreen and polish. brightens the rim of winter until he swears, swears, the storm quits.

he searches for you in the resulting sunlight.

follows the shine that clips your heels. hat pulled low. footsteps lower. all from safe distance, watching you fumble for your keys. unmistakably human, despite the glow that seems to follow your silhouette. it dies when you close the door.

the rain starts again.

he hopes you understand. you surely bewitched him, from your perch at the receptionist desk. teasing him with your silk, the gossamer that has since glued him to windows that reflect your simple living.

he pays attention. clearly no one else does, given the confusion that passes over your face at the first set of chocolates. the ones you eat at lunch. your horror of being perceived snuffs gratitude.

he licks at it like a dog. starving, before he sees you gawk at the bouquet- built from the flowers you lingered by on your way to work. or when you read his notes with a bitten lip and wild, trapped eyes. dove helpless as the cage is built around her.

winter starts to build its casket. you break like a dam.

he's sorting through weekly mail, boredom nearly surpassing obligation, before he catches it. looped e. gentle t. crooked p. your handwriting.

reading the letter is just as exhilarating as finding it.

he bloats. surely, the world wasn't this kind, he'd never known it to be. but here you are, request glassy and sweet, scared witless and in need of safety. protection. answers. things he can give you, if you let him.

it's sunny when he introduces himself.

"hello, sweetheart. 'm Kyle. heard someone's been giving you trouble?"

[soap-ify]

nsfw , minors dni .

okay but what if poly!141 with owner!price and hybrid pets!reader, ghost, gaz and soap

price adored his taskforce a lot. operating alongside powerful and trained dog hybrids was surely an experience, especially when he himself was just a human and the others treated him as if he was their owner. he started having a thing for it too, especially since ghost, gaz and soap were just so ruthless in the battlefield but with him? they were just some pups needy for his attention!

price thought that he didn't need anyone else other than his three beloveds, but that all changed when you came along.

you were recommended into the team by laswell herself — your reports are nothing short of outstanding and guess what? you also happened to be a hybrid. you were a great fit for the team.

you felt confused and anxious when you first met the whole team. price was more than welcoming, stern yet warm in his greeting as he introduced you to the others and went over the expectations. you were somewhat relieved to find hybrids like you — especially ones that were trained in similar harsh environments in order to be perfect for the military. humans seemed to either despise or fear hybrids — but price wasn't like them.

it didn't take you long to finally be aware of the dynamic they all had.

soap was the first one to be all comfortable and touchy with you amongst the other two hybrids. he was energetic and a menace, wagging his tail while he had trapped you beneath him, your gaze all confused and shy. "ye are such a sweet wee pup." he cooed, smothering your face up with kisses while simultaneously grinding his hips with yours. it wasn't long until you had started to hump against him too, feeling just so horny and warm, puppy ears twitching happily.

gaz had caught you and soap grinding against one another like some damn dogs in heat — which you guys technically were. he was all pouty and moody about the fact that you two were having all the fun without him. how cruel! he was quick to pounce onto the bed, grabbing your face and pulling you into a sweet kiss, eager to taste the adorable new pup in their team. he was more gentle than soap, but playful in his own way too, nipping on your sensitive puppy ears to watch your eyes glisten up with unshed tears while you were lost in this blissful tangled mess you were trapped in.

the night had ended with both of them rutting into you — gaz laying on his bed with you on top of his, his chest pressed against your back while his cock was nicely stretching your tight ass whereas soap was on top of you both, his cock ramming into your soaking cunt so desperately while his hands pawed at your tits through your shirt, both of the pups already so lovestruck by you, their cum dripping out of your holes.

ghost had always kept his distance from you ever since you had joined the taskforce about two months ago. you had started thinking that maybe he loathed you or something, but that all changed when you had sheepishly made your way to him in the middle of the night, visibly shaken up from an awful nightmare you had, your cheeks streaked with tears. you didn't even know why you had come to him out of the other two hybrids or even price. maybe because your room was the nearest to his. ghost would have initially kicked you out, but seeing this new pup so vulnerable pulled at the strings of his heart.

he had scooped you up in his big, strong arms and let your face nuzzle into his firm chest while you laid on top of him, soft sobs leaving your lips while you vented on and on about how the nightmares never stopped ever since you were initially rescued from the place where they tortured and trained the hybrids. a damaged pup just like him, he thought while his large hand gently rubbed the back of your head. your cries had slowly died down into soft sniffles, those teary eyes of yours gazing at his face so fondly — unmasked and fully bare for you. it was the first time he didn't bother putting a mask around you after all.

he had let you stay in his room for the night, his sweatpants lazily tugged down as his cock dragged in and out of your sweet tight cunt, his thumb playing with your clit to make you forget about all your troubles, your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. he didn’t bother pulling out even when you had fallen asleep, relishing in the way your warm wet walls were wrapped around his shaft, unconsciously clenching.

price had waited until you were nice and comfortable with all his pups. of course he knew about the naughty little things you had been doing with the other three. and even though he had wanted it to happen, he didn’t let the opportunity of teasing you pass away.

he had you splayed on his lap, your mouth clumsily sucking on his cock while his large callused hand delivered firm slaps on the soft flesh of your ass, the sting causing your tail to flinch and straighten up while you whimpered around his cock, sobbing. “tsk, such a bad pet. getting stuffed with my pups’ cocks without me knowing?” he would huff some smoke out after taking another hit from his cigar.

he wasn’t a big meanie though! he kept caressing all the slap marks on your ass after he was done spanking you, his other hand giving you the head pats that you craved so badly from your owner, his cock still stuffed in your pretty mouth.

“be a good girl f’me, hm?”

you eagerly nodded, his hand pulling your head up from his cock to give you a kiss.

sometimes, price would let you all have fun together with him. you and soap would messily be sucking on his thick cock while gaz would be clumsily rubbing his angrily flushed cock on price's hand, pleading to cum since price had been edging him for hours. ghost on the other hand was given permission to fuck you since he was price's good lieutenant — always quick to finish tasks. so while you were on your knees sucking price's cock, ghost was already behind you, working your sweet cunt open with his fingers so he could fuck you later, soap whining besides you since he also wants to be fucked by his lt!

they all were smitten for you, and it was only a matter of fact until you'd fall in love with them too — unless you already were.

[reds-skull]

Messy Cyberknights sketches because I am tired of everything+the English and Scottish banners of the respective knighthoods

I can't choose a favorite I love them all <3