#kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader x johnny 'soap' mactavish

[disgustingtwitches]

Bad habits that would irk 141

Price- I call people "dude," "man," or the worst one, "bro." It comes so naturally to me that I say it to everyone, and he hates that. He's a captain, a sir, an authority figure. He'd be stern about it,

"I'm not a 'bro'. Watch your mouth before I remind you who I am."

Gaz- I eat the cartilage and marrow out of chicken bones... I was just raised that way. I was told it was good for me and I shouldn't waste any part of the animal. Please don't judge me╥﹏╥ He wouldn't say anything about it, but it would definitely be an ick for him, LMAO. I'd be able to tell because of his face though, the expressive man he is.

Ghost- When I complain without wanting a solution to my problems. Sometimes I just wanna get things off my chest, and God bless him for trying to resolve my issues. But when I say I just wanna complain, he just thinks, "Why bring it up if you don't want me to help you?"

Soap- I leave laundry piles in my room; they are clean; I just don't like putting them away... He's not exactly a clean freak, he just sees everything through,

"C'mon Bonnie, ye'r almost done wi' it. Juist gotta put it away."

[quillcraftconquer]

Task Force 141 and Foreplay

Captain John Price- All hands (and fingers. Lots of fingers.). Doesn't even consider foreplay for himself, those hands are on you the entire time. He's the opposite of selfish when it comes to foreplay. He's going to make sure you're well taken care of, multiple times.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick- Is pillow talk foreplay? For Gaz, it is (or he makes it that way). It'll start off just talking about your days, decompressing, really. Until his knuckles are grazing your cheek, eyes getting heated as his brain goes elsewhere while you talk. You barely even notice until his hand is snaking behind your head to pull you in.

John 'Soap' MacTavish- "What do you want me to do?" is his motto. Want him to go down on you? Absolutely. Finger you? No problem. Grab you by the neck and spit in your mouth? Yes ma'am. Nothing makes him happier than watching you come unraveled over something he did to you.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley- Grinding. Not something you would've expected, and something you didn't know you were into until he perched you on his thigh, moving your hips back and forth against him as he gazed up at you. It's not about the feeling, either. It's the wide look in your eyes as you grind all the way from the base to the tip, wondering how that fits inside.

[feralforfrank]

TASK FORCE 141 🌽 L!NKS

includes: ghost, gaz, soap, price / fem!reader

note warnings under the cut.

🧢 — gaz begs to film you during sex so he can have something of you while he's deployed. (little does he know the walls are extremely thin (if there are any) and your sweet moans reverberate. now the entire team wants to meet you!)

🚬 — when john is gone on solo missions, he trusts gaz to keep an eye on you, take care of anything you need. but john is gone for quite some time, you grow extremely needy. kyle updates him...thoroughly. (and if price cums harder hearing you whine kyle's name? then that's only for him to know.)

🧼👻 — blind dates are great, right? you expect one guy but two show up and in the end you're laying in their bed, with mohawk fucking your guts out and the beefy (scary-looking at first) one playing with your tits. cw: 3some

👻 — car sex with simon because you cannot resist each other to save your life and have to run out of whatever establishment you're in to fuck.

🧼 — this is so soap coded bc i know that man's dick is huge. that's it. that's the tweet.

🚬 — price coming home is always special because he pins you down on the bed and unloads weeks of frustration of not being close to you, all the while he's kissing you and whispering filthy things in your ear. (one of them being that he heard how loud you were with kyle, should we invite him back?)

🚬 — john fucks you like this after whatever social gathering you attended because you looked too pretty in that dress. (he whispers how he wanted to rip it off of you, crowd you in a closet and stuff you full of his cock right there.)

🚬 — mornings well spent with john.

🧼 — what is supposed to be a movie night with soap ends up being a messy makeout session and then this because the man can not keep his hands to himself.

🧼 — also very johnny coded, im a fat dick soap truther

👻 — simon loves shower sex. craves the inctimacy it provides. also, your moans are louder in here because you think the water conceals them and he loves seeing your boobs mushed against the glass. link 2

🚬 — he's just missed you so much. long periods of deployment with no contact make him very needy.

👻 — you ask ghost for the mask to stay on. who is he to deny you? cw: mask kink

🧼👻 — the video you receive after you text simon that you miss them.

🧼 — johnny loooves tits. doesn't care if they're big, small, heavy, light, or whatever. he. just. loves. boobs. i will die on that hill. cw: boob worship ig

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader x dog shifter 141

There's a pack of dogs that won't leave you alone. A Great Dane, a German shepherd, and two others you can't quite pin down--a foxhound and some sort of lab, maybe? You saw them while walking home one night, and though you'd picked up the pace out of worry you'd be mauled, first impressions turned out to be the opposite. You didn't even notice the man who'd followed you down the block--not until he'd dropped his knife and was screaming bloody hell. So after calling the emergency number, and filing a police report, you took the four home with you. And that was that.

Now your friends are convinced you've got a mini army. You have to admit that the dogs function like one, too, though you chalk that up to the instincts of a pack. The Great Dane calling the shots; the shepherd biting at heels if necessary. But the foxhound is a bundle of joy who keeps getting into your food, and the lab is the sweetest boy who loves to lay his head in your lap. And sure, they're plenty of mouths to feed, but you have a good enough job. And they seem to entertain themselves, sometimes whining when you have to leave. But never doing anything to mess up the house or rile you up. And they never follow you into the bathroom, instead running out when you're about to change. Not to mention that they're oddly clean.

"When do you think she'll realize it takes human hands for Soap to get all that food?"

"Eh, give it a few more days. Would be a shame to scare her so soon.'

_

Bonus Thoughts:

Dog pile naps. Dog piling in general. It gets cold in the winter, but you don't need the fireplace to keep you warm. You've got four dog-sized heat packs to snuggle up to. And they're always in rotation for who gets to play pillow.

The only issue is that they absolutely hate men. You're convinced they're sexist since they get along with your girl friends just fine, but any guy comes over? Gets within ten feet of you? B A R K. In reality, though, they just chase off all the guys who eye you like a piece of meat. Which is most guys. Poor girl. Silly little thing. That's okay--they'll keep you safe--because you're pack now, and you're theirs.

[codnasties]

part 2 of semi public soap but the rest of the 141! join the next few nights? 😩

GOD you put this idea in my mind and i just had to do it

gangbang w/141 🧼👻🚬🧢 [semi-public w/soap pt. 2] (🌽 link)

after that stunt that you and soap pulled, price decided to give soap a scolding, because, you know, there is a time and place to do stuff. however, soap decided to play a quite childish card and tease his captain, telling him that he was jealous and that he wished it had been him fucking you and making you moan like that. and price slipped, as a result of the mocking, stating that he did, in fact, wish that had been him, and so did gaz and ghost.

so soap just makes it happen because, unbeknownst to his mates, this is something you and him have discussed before and are on board to try. so quite literally the following night you have these four men in a tent that's way too small to house their muscular bodies.

having your beautiful body covered by a flimsy tank top and some barely-there patines is enough to get these men hard for you. but they let their captain call dibs first - since he's their superior, he's older and he's also the reason this is happening-, and all he asks for is to fuck your ass, because price fucking loves anal. so he just monopolies it for himself and makes sure that, regardless of the position that you three take, he's sheathed inside of your tight and barely touched hole.

good boy gaz let's ghost have a piece of your sweet pussy first. but make no mistake, it's just because he wants to be the first one to have your lips wrapped around his cock and wants to hear your noises being chocked out and the vibrations hitting his aching shaft. do not worry, he's gonna have a go at your cunt later. a blowjob is just the appetiser for the true main course: your walls tight around him.

ghost, unlike gaz, sees your mouth as the main course. don't be confused, he loves the feeling of his thick cock breaching into you and your walls fighting to accommodate him. but he just wants to cum in your mouth, and make sure that his seed paints your face and maybe even those delightful tits that you have -because he's a disgusting fucker and much to soap's discontent-.

and you may ask, and soap? nasty fucker is on the sidelines, jerking off to the sight of his mates having fun with you. he actually gave them a job: to cum inside of you, just so, as the munch that he is, he could use his mouth to clean you himself, all while he humps his aching boner against the air mattress in your tent until he cums.

now the ones having to put up with your loud moans and the squelching and sking hitting skin sounds for the remaining days of the trip aren't the 141, because they are the ones making sure to have you making those delicious noises sandwiched between them.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the end - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - You won't be cornered in your territory and that's final. You begin to make little presents for your trespassers should they dare to enter your woods. Meanwhile, the four alphas find something very interesting...

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. The reader is officially a bad ass

Prologue

You stared down at the nest you had created and suddenly felt disgusted and angry. These alphas have stepped onto your territory and made you react like this. Three years of near bliss, despite the struggles, gone. The anger rolled over you in waves, it boiled your blood to the point you felt hot all over your body.

No. You weren't about to cower in your cabin and let some stupid alphas wander all over your territory. You were going to do something about it. You marched back towards your living room and opened one of the closets on the side of the hallway. You grabbed the bag full of supplies and swung it over your shoulder then looked at the shotgun leaned against the wall.

You hesitated only for a moment before you grabbed it too. Even in the times before the world ended you hadn't been one for conventionality. You preferred to be alone on your own property living your own life. And no alpha or beta, whether back then or now, was going to take this from you. You shoved the extra ammunition into your pockets and unbarred your door.

The cold winter air nipped at your skin and distantly you could still smell their combined scents. You pulled stuffing from a torn apart pillow and stuffed it up your nose. Happy hunting indeed, you thought as you stepped off into your piece heaven that would become their hell.

"Hey captain," Gaz said as they wandered through the very small town. It had likely been abandoned for ages. The first thing Gaz had noticed was that the windows were smashed in but the doors boarded up. Then he noticed the marks, spray paint in different symbols meaning something or another. "I think this place has been completely stripped bare."

Price hummed thoughtfully and turned to look around at the other buildings. All of them in similar states of disrepair but all with symbols sprayed onto them. He turned to his team, and contemplated their next steps. "Do you think they might still be around?" Ghost spoke up finally.

Price glanced at his lieutenant. They had stuck together when the entire world had completely gone down. First the electricity and then a disease. It apparently didn't take much else to throw the world into chaos. People killed people all the time before but not even Ghost had been prepared for the level of depravity some people dove to. Kidnapping local omegas, killing betas or hunting alphas for sport. Blowing up buildings and ransacking stores.

They had all stuck together as a pack since that was what they had always done. They wandered from place to place and it had taken them a little over a year to make it back to the UK. Bonds grew stronger and their ruts continued. They were all each other's support. Price considered the facts in front of them.

"Negative. I don't think whoever did this is still around," Price said as he eyed the pharmacy. The only building not having been closed off or marked with an 'x'. "Soap, Gaz, go investigate the pharmacy, me and Ghost will try to find any other buildings not marked."

They wandered around the town for a bit with Gaz and Soap meeting back up not long after they had departed. "Over tae counter medicine like Advil but nae much else," Soap tossed Ghost the bottle who looked over it.

"Not expired yet. Good find."

"Wait," Gaz suddenly said and sniffed the air. Everyone paused, Gaz had the best nose of them all. Able to sniff out any scents even days old. He walked over to a telephone pole that had a red smear on it and sniffed with his nose almost on the old blood.

He felt his cock chub up his pants immediately at the scent. At first it smelled like sweat and dirt but underneath that was a tangy, sour then sweet like a granny smith apple or a green grape, scent. An unmistakable smell of omega.

Gaz turned to the three other alphas, "There's an omega around." He grinned.

Hehe I'm gonna have fun writing this

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I do not give any permissions to repost my work, use it in AI, translate my work or any other thing. All rights reserved with me.

[novemberheart]

{overview} You meet someone from Johnny’s past. A worst case scenario becomes a reality

{warnings} fem reader, poly 141, very Johnny-heavy chapter, cursing, mentions of drug use and alcohol, abandonment, abusive parents

Chapter 26 <- Chapter 27 -> Chapter 28

It had been more than a week since Kyle and John had left. A week and three days to be exact. You peered over at the clock on Johnny’s nightstand.

Make that four days. You had been having a hard time sleeping. Since your nightmare about Kyle, you've had two more. At least they were about you dying. That was easier to think about than a member of your pack passing. To make matters worse Simon had to leave last night to do some vague solo mission. Well, every mission to you was vague. Still, there was a heaviness in the air and Johnny felt jittery. Simon was going somewhere dangerous by himself. He seemed to prefer that though. Not that it offered you any comfort.

You wished you hadn't turned down a sleeping pill. It was too late to take one now. You sighed, rolling over, wrapping your arms tightly around Johnny’s middle.

At least you weren't alone.

“Come on, Bon,” you jumped as Johnny patted your bottom. He grabbed a few things out of the cabinet- specifically your favorite snacks. “Grab Vernie and change- casual. We’re going on a little trip,” he winked, throwing the snacks into a backpack and beginning to fill up your water bottle. You grinned, heading over to your room to change. It was officially summer, much to your dismay. You decided on a pair of shorts, a tank top, one of John’s flannels, and Kyle’s baseball hat. Johnny made a mental note to snap a picture for them.

You didn't bother to ask where you were going because you knew he wouldn't tell you anyway. The man loved his surprises. Wherever it was it was off base- making you even more eager. You and Johnny had similar music tastes, which made making you DJ less hard for him. You didn't make it too far before he pulled over at a store.

Your giddiness increased as he led you over to the swimsuits.

“Are we going swimming?” you questioned, already digging through the rack. He said nothing, a familiar glint in his eyes.

John and Johnny were more similar than people ever gave them credit for. It was easy to compare the betas and say they were the most similar, but the more you got to know them the more you recognized the similarities between John and Johnny and between Simon and Kyle. John and Johnny took charge. They were providers and made it known to everyone around them. They were both reactive. While John was a captain and had a higher expectation of controlling his emotions- when he was unhappy, everyone knew. Johnny operated the same way. The bark before the bite so to speak. You could easily imagine Johnny being a Captain one day. Kyle and Simon were both the bite after the bark. There was something mysterious about both of them that made people want to get to know them- for different reasons. They were both quick-witted and spent more time observing than speaking.

“How ‘bout this?” Johnny smirked holding up a bikini you weren't even sure could cover a nipple. You rolled your eyes, a smile etched onto your face at his antics. The perfect swimsuit finally caught your eye. A low whistle sent a shiver up your spine. “Quite like that, peaches,” Johnny hummed. It was decided.

You had figured you were going to a pool, so when you started seeing signs for a beach you couldn't help but shriek. You leaned over into the driver's seat, pressing rapid-fire kisses against his cheek.

“I’m so excited!” you cheered.

Johnny unloaded the car, a large duffle and a backpack. The sand was chilly but you didn't care. You and Vernie ran along the sand dunes. You came back to help Johnny set up a large towel and umbrella. You weren't even sure where he had gotten all this stuff. He even packed a few empty containers for sand castles. There was a breeze that reminded you of your childhood- and for the first time in a long time, they weren't bad memories. The beach was fairly empty, with just a few joggers and random families on holiday. Johnny grabbed a spare towel, tying the two ends and placing it around his neck so Vernie had somewhere to rest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, Vernie crushed between the two of you.

“Thank you for doing this,” you smiled, pressing your lips against his. He moved forward to deepen this kiss, until you pulled away racing towards the water.

“Ya’ Mommy’s naughty,” he chuckled to Vernie, racing after you.

You yawned, your eyes slowly opening. You could feel hands against your skin and you slowly lifted the baseball cap away from your eyes, chuckling as Johnny was rubbing your third coat of sunscreen into your skin.

“I’m going to get cancer from all the chemicals before I do the sun,” you stretched. Hours had flown by before you had known it, your stomach wanting more than just snacks. You and Johnny packed up the car (the worst part of the beach) and went on the hunt to find a restaurant for an early dinner. It would be a crime if you didn't order the fish and chips. Vernie was happy chewing on her puppy chow underneath the table.

“What are you doing?” you questioned, peeking next to you at Johnny’s phone. “No those look terrible,” you whined watching as he sent practically a whole new photo album full of pictures to their group chat.

“The only thing that's terrible is your eyesight, Bon,” Johnny shot back, his lips pressing against your hairline.

“Can you at least send me the ones with you, me and Vernie?” you pleaded. You felt your phone chime a few seconds later.

“Johnny?” a voice questioned from behind you. He stiffened, his body instinctively moving closer to you. Even Vernie could sense a shift as she drifted closer to Johnny’s feet.

“Fia,” Johnny greeted coldly. His hand gripped your knee. You weren't sure if it was to ease you or him. Your fingers wrapped around his arm in solace. They were related. They had to be. Her eyes were identical, and you suspected they had the same hair color before she dyed hers red. They stared at each other. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something. He remained silent.

“How have you been?” She asked slowly. She was Scottish.

“Why, so you can fill Dad in?” he shot back. They were related. Your eyes widened at the iciness in his tone. She swallowed, drifting from foot to foot.

“I’m Sofia. Johnny's older sister,” She offered you a polite smile. You started to introduce yourself but Johnny cleared his throat. “We didn’t know you were here. Shannon thought about texting you but”- she trailed off. Johnny slid out of the booth, urging you to follow. You quickly did, his hand reaching out to grip yours. Sofia followed behind the two of you, pleading for Johnny to stop. He opened the door for you, plopping Vernie in your lap.

“There’s nothing we have to say to each other,” Johnny growled, slamming the driver's door shut. He didn't bother putting his seatbelt on, pulling out of the parking lot. You sat in your seat nervously, his normal soothing scent of cinnamon turning spicy enough to make your throat burn. He rolled a window down. His hand reached for yours, holding it up to his mouth. His nose pressing against the pressure point of your wrist. He breathed you in like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it- it may be.

“I’m sorry, Bonnie,” he whispered against you. You quickly shushed him.

“There are people that would get that reaction out of me too, Mac,” you soothed. You pulled your hand away, your fingers scratching at his scalp. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you whispered, his head pressing against your hand.

He had picked up some fast food. Despite him being shaken to his core he still had to make sure you were taken care of.

“I haven't seen her in seven years,” he said finally. “My parents are purebreds. When I presented as a beta it caused quite the shock. One in a million chance that’ll happen. My father kicked me out and that was that,” he sighed, making you gasp. Your throat tightened, your hands gripping onto his shirt sleeve. His own eyes welled- against his will, as he offered you a slight smile. “Don’t be sad for me, pretty girl. It’s fine now.”

“No it’s not,” you gasped. “How old were you?”

“I was thirteen when I presented but I was able to hide it for a little over a year,” he cleared his throat. He couldn’t look you in the eyes, knowing he would break under their caring glint.

“Where did you go?” you asked finally. You didn't want to know the answer.

“Everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Got roped into a crowd that wasn't the best, but it was my safest chance at the time,” he explained. His knuckles brushed under your chin, his thumb rubbing against your cheek. You pressed a kiss against his hand, holding it in yours.

“Tell me, please. I want to hear,” you whispered. He sighed heavily and you wondered if you had pushed your luck.

“We would crash in barns,” he nearly chuckled. His face fell. “There were drugs and drinking- all of which I did. When I was fifteen I overdosed, they were at least kind enough to call the police before fleeing. I was put into rehab and they put me back with my parents. My dad made my life hell until I left again. I ended back with the same crowd and when I was seventeen I got caught with a bag full of opioids. I was thrown back into rehab. It was good for me though. I was able to finish secondary school and I showed enough promise that they wiped it off my record. By then I was eighteen and joined the military when I got out,” he explained. His chest felt light, his shoulders relaxed against the seat. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but the silence was making him uneasy.

“No one in your family helped you?” you mumbled sadly. Your grip on his arm was tight, your cheek resting against his knuckles. He shook his head.

“They all sided with my dad. Can't say I blame them- but I do,” he grumbled. “My eldest sister Shannon reached out to me a few times the past few years. I just couldn't bring myself to answer,”

“You know I just see you as stronger now,” you spoke softly. “I’m proud of you.”

His jaw clenched, his head turning to face the window as he shoved back the tears. He took a deep breath, his fingers pawing at his eyes.

“Thank you, beautiful.”

Something wasn't right.

You could feel it deep within your chest, a heavy uneasiness. You stayed tight-lipped. It was just you and Johnny and you didn't want to seem like you were feeling into every thought you had. Simon had called this morning. You had been asleep. John and Kyle being gone is what worried you. They have been gone for two weeks now. They were only supposed to be gone for one.

Even though you didn't voice it- Johnny could tell you were feeling it.

It was your first night of peaceful sleep.

The phone blaring on the nightstand changed that.

Johnny groaned, his hand patting your back like he was already trying to lull you back to sleep.

“What happened?” he groaned as soon as he answered. He rolled you off of him and sat up quickly. “Where are you?” he questioned. You sat up abruptly, your body moving faster than your mind. It was like your body had already prepared for this. The other line was quiet. You couldn't even make out anyone's voice. Johnny reached under his bed, grabbed a bag, and shoved a few of his shirts in. He made his way to your room, your legs moving on their own accord after them. “Pick out a few comfortable things. I'll get your stuff from the bathroom,” he whispered to you.

Tears fell from your eyes. You couldn't help it.

There was only one reason you would be pulled out of bed in the middle of the night.

Someone from your pack was hurt.

Hi friends! This chapter was a bit of a doozy, but hopefully you enjoyed it! See you in three days for chapter 28!!! 🧡

[gloomwitchwrites]

I absolutely love your stories they’re so amazing! Can I please request the task force and pranking them by telling them a guy did your Brazilian wax

Thank you! I can't take all the credit. I might be the writer, but the Imagines Series couldn't be what it is without all the amazing ideas people have submitted. I'm honestly blown away by the amount of creativity and ideas sent my way. My inbox is full of wonderful requests, and while it's going to take me a bit to get to them all, I'm eager to complete them!

The amount of prank requests I've been getting has been so fun. Not just this one, but telling mom to shut up, and the premium air prank, etc. All of these make me giggle and have been a blast to work on. Thank you so much for sending this in!

Presented in four double drabbles.

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, established relationship, pranks, non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

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

John Price

John briefly licks the pad of his thumb before counting out the appropriate amount of pound notes.

“This enough?” he asks, presenting it to you.

It’s more than enough. “Plenty. Thank you, John.”

He leans forward a bit, and you eagerly greet him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Drawing back, you give him your best smile. But beneath the grin is a trick.

You want to mess with him a bit.

“I have a new waxer,” you shrug, adding the cash to your wallet. “Cheryl put in her notice.”

Cheryl did not put in her notice. That woman probably won’t retire until she dies.

John inclines his head, already turning away. “That’s too bad. You liked her.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, grabbing your purse. “They’ve put me with someone new. A Mark? Mike? No—Marcus? I think.”

John freezes. He slowly turns back, cheeks bright red. “What?”

“It starts with an ‘m’,” you muse.

“Your new waxer is a man?”

“Yes,” you shrug. “And?” John’s face resembles a beet. “Everything good?”

“Where does Cherly work now?”

“John—”

He grabs his phone from his pocket and starts tapping away at it. "I want to know if she accepts walk-ins."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle's hand slowly runs over your newly waxed skin. "Look at you. So soft and smooth." His touch makes you shiver.

"You paid for it," you murmur.

"I did," smiles Kyle, head dipping.

His tongue makes contact, and you release a moan. It’s slightly distracting, but not enough to detract from you poking at him.

“Had a new waxer,” you sigh as Kyle goes in for another taste.

“Did you?” he asks absently, more interested in your new smoothness.

“A man, actually. Undergoing training. There were two of them in the room.”

Kyle's head snaps up. "What?"

"Why'd you stop?" you whimper.

"There were two men that waxed you?"

“No, Kyle. Just one.”

A series of emotions pass over Kyle's face. His mouth opens. Closes. And then his hand forms a fist, fingers flexing and relaxing as he mulls over something.

"Everything okay?" you ask, suddenly worried.

“Can’t be that hard.” Kyle pushes away from the couch and reaches for his phone. “Or expensive.”

“What can’t? Kyle. What are you talking about?”

You lean forward and see him adding a waxing kit to his online shopping cart.

“No,” you say firmly. “You’re not putting hot wax anywhere near my vagina.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Oh, what's this?"

Johnny's hands are on your thighs and then beneath your skirt in a moment.

"Johnny!"

"Is this for me? You don't have to. You know I like a good adventure through the woods."

"Johnny!" you say again, slapping his arm playfully as his fingers lightly squeeze, making your squirm in his grasp.

"Was this on my dime?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"Oh, aye. Am I gonna find an unknown charge?"

"With a tip. A large tip. My waxer deserved it. He did a good job."

"Oh, they—he?"

"Yes. That a problem?"

Johnny's hands don't retreat but he's staring at you—hard. You arch an eyebrow and he finally speaks. "Your waxer is a man?"

No.

"Yes."

Johnny nods and then he leans in, lowering his voice. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m—”

“I saw your location. I checked it out. They don’t have a single male employee in that place.”

Your face grows hot.

Johnny’s hands squeeze a bit harder, and then he lands a brief smack against the curve of your ass. “Lying to me, love?” Johnny tsks. He palms the curve of your ass where it stings. “Suppose I should punish you.”

“Maybe you should.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You reject the call and clutch your phone to your chest. You've messed up. Royally. Pranking Simon is always a terrible idea.

The texts were just a tease. Just a way to push Simon’s buttons.

I have a new waxer.

I thought it would be one of the other ladies.

But no!

It was a guy!

Your phone buzzes again and you nearly throw it across the room. It’s Simon. You decline the call. Everything is quiet for a few brief seconds before a text message from him comes through.

Answer your phone.

You click out a reply.

I'm in the car!

His reply comes instantly.

You're at home. I know your location.

Another incoming call. This one you answer.

"Simon,” you say flatly.

"What location did you go to?" he asks, voice rough with tension.

"Why?" you counter.

"What's his name?" he snaps.

"I know what you're doing, Simon.”

You always forget just how deep his possessive streak goes.

Silence. Then, "I just want to talk."

"Simon.”

He growls your name in warning.

"You don't need to go there. Just...come home. You can see the results for yourself."

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten. Be ready for me."

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@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @greeniegreengreen @certainlygay

[tradgedyinwaves]

Touch - Ch. 10

READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS!

-This chapter is very heavy, but we’ll get you home, yeah?  -I’ve never written an action scene and action isn’t really my strong suit, so be kind please.  -So many military inconsistencies and just overall incorrect military vocabulary. I’m sorry. 

tw: hostage situation, torture, sensory deprivation, sexual harassment/abuse, battlefield type elements (ie: explosions, gunfire, little bit of murder)

Food was deposited in your cell again and while you were concerned with being poisoned, you were also starving and would be unable to fight back if you didn’t get some calories into your stomach. You ate the packaged items as you stared at the hot pasta, the granola bar turning to dust in your mouth as you grabbed the water and chugged down half of it. 

You didn’t stop counting though. When you reached 190,000, two days had passed since you’d been taken. You restarted at one, using your finger to drag through the grime on the wall and create another tally just above the top of the cot. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, able to see large shapes. 

Until they opened the door again and blinded you. 

Despite never being able to find him before, Moses’ compound was easy to locate. Well, the one in the UK anyways. Of course, it was a trap and the 141 knew this. It was too obvious. But the issue was in finding where they were keeping you and what the actual trap was. 

Another video dinged on the laptop, immediately garnering everyone’s attention as they huddled around the small screen. 

The lens was dirty, being wiped clean by Moses’ sleeve. As he backed away with a wicked smile and a small knife dangling from his fingers, he revealed you behind him and your current situation. Tied to a chair, cloth in your mouth and tied around your head. That wasn’t what had the team concerned. It was the rivulets of blood that trailed from the clean, shallow cut across the front of your throat. 

“You boys better hurry up. I might decide that I prefer her dead. She does look so pretty covered in her own blood.” Moses came to stand behind you, lifting your head and pulling your hair back from the wound on your neck. “Do you think they’ll come to save you, precious? I think they will. Too bad they won’t make it.” Your eyes opened wide as you found the camera, shaking your head in a panic. In your mind, if you died, they would move on. But you couldn’t bear the thought of a world without them in it. Then the screen cut to black. 

“Fuck, he’s going to kill her just to get under our skin,” Johnny anquishly moaned out, his fingers pulling at the cropped mohawk on his head. Simon’s fingers slid over the other man’s, gripping them tight in his fist and pulling them away from the delicate hair. “We’ll find her and we’ll end this,” Simon grunted, looking down at the sergeant. 

“Alright boys, let’s get our girl back.” 

The slice to your throat stung, burning as your blood now dribbled from the wound as it dried up. You’d expected to be sent back to your cell, but was instead taken to another room. Two women stood in the back, holding garments of clothing and medical supplies as you were shoved into the room and the door locked behind you. 

They were silent as they cleaned you up, getting a bandage on your throat and unzipping your pretty dress just to shove you into a scratchy beige shirt and black cargo pants. Ones that matched every other person you’d seen in this camp. They wanted you to blend in, harder to find that way, you supposed.  

When the door opened again, it was Moses. Leering at you as he came to circle your weak body, hand on his chin with the other on his elbow as he inspected you. “You clean up so nicely, my dear. Though I will miss that pretty dress of yours, made these look oh so delectable,” his words only cut through the static in your head when his hands groped your breasts from behind. Your elbow then met his ribs only for his fist to come down on the back of your neck and force you to your knees.

“Little bitch thinks she can fight,” your captor growled, lifting your chin just to let his fist collide with your temple. Two more hits to the side of the face and you finally crumpled on the ground as he dusted off his pants and made for the door. “Leave her here. She can die with her beloved boys,” he commanded the other women, who scurried behind him as he sneered down at you before slamming and locking the door. 

At least, you could see where you were now as you started counting again.

The sky was dark, not a star in sight as the clouds covered them with their looming grayness. Coming up from the back of the compound, they split into three groups; Price with Johnny, Simon with Kyle, and the third team of specialists to extract Moses. It was quiet and they were silent as they took down the scattered guards. 

With the path cleared, Ghost and Kyle slipped into the darkness where intel told them the cells were. Price and Johnny disappeared into another building that could possibly be holding you, while the third team slipped out into the darkness in search of Moses. 

That’s when the first boom rocked the earth. “Bravo-6, do you copy?” Simon’s hushed whispers filled the silence of the cell they were standing in. “Soap, the hell was that?” Price’s voice cut through the static of their radios. “Detonation. He’s going to blow the compound with us in it.” 

Another boom rocked the ceiling and then the entrance to the cells collapsed with Simon and Kyle inside. Coms were suddenly cut as the building Price and Johnny were in shuddered with another boom. 

You felt it too and were suddenly very much aware that you needed to get up and try to get out. You tried the door, tugging on it but of course, it was locked. You started banging on it when the next boom came and you wondered how many buildings had been taken out already as the one you were in shuddered and a wall blew out next to you. Taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself, you scurried out the hole the explosion created and headed for the stairs, taking two at a time. 

Price and Johnny were working through the levels, clearing the building as smatterings of people ran past them. Innocents. Civilians that Moses had kidnapped to fill the compound. All dressed in scratchy beige and black cargo. In your hurry to get out of the building, you ran smack into Price who grunted, staring down at the apparent civilian that had tried to plow through him. 

“Please don’t hurt me!” You cried, covering your face and cowering on the landing. But the pain never came. Just arms wrapping around you and lifting you to your feet. Fingers and a thumb pinched your chin, lifting your face to meet the man’s eyes you ran into. “They really did a number on you, little bird. Let’s get you home, yeah?” Price’s eyes burned into yours and you couldn’t help the sob that tore from you as you nodded in response. If you’d not literally run into him, you’d have been lost in the sea of civilians trying to find safety.

Getting back to the extraction point had been difficult. An explosion blasted apart a building the three of you were next to and unfortunately for you, you’d been in the path of a rather large piece of wall that knocked you out. When Price, Johnny, and your unconscious body met only Kyle at the extraction point, you were left in the care of Laswell who waited in the helicopter.

Meanwhile, Simon and Kyle were digging themselves out of the cells. The explosions that had followed the one that caved in the entrance had created a small hole big enough for Kyle to get through, but Simon, the massive man he was, wouldn’t fit without making it bigger. So Kyle dug from the outside and Simon from the inside. Finally, when it was big enough, Simon started to haul himself through the hole, only for another explosion to collapse it around him.

God, this is so not the story I'd intended to write, but this is where the muse led me.

Thank you to everyone who keeps supporting this series!

[franabz]

★ Band 141 AU !fem user (part 2)

(part 1)

Ghost wasn't very sure why he was suddenly so drawn to the absolutely bonnie young woman on stage, but something about her was like a moth to a flame to him in ways he couldn't really understand.

Maybe it wad the way she seemed absolutely terrified, practically hitching with every step she took on stage in front of rows of (mostly drunken) bar patrons. You'd almost feel sorry for how she was practically shaking like a leaf as the stage manager handed off her own mic and her eyes nervously darted over the crowds with a tremble in her knees.

The lead vocalist, Vixen, didn't seem as amused as the rest though. She subtly took a step back and nudged you with her elbow, snapping you a "Don't fuck up" look that made you swallow thickly. One by one each member of the band got to their respective places, then Vixen's voice pitched into the mic through the speakers. "Thank you all for having us here tonight!" She grinned widely, obviously thinking highly of herself in the moment.

"How 'bout tae brunette? She looks like'a bonnie lass." Soap commented, resting his forearms over the wooden table as he nodded towards one of the other female band members, the bassist stage named Robin. "We're lookin' for a vocalist, not 'nother bassist." Price sighed, taking another drag of his cigar before tapping it against an ashtray to take a sip of his whiskey. Gaz and Ghost were mostly silent, simply observing the potential candidates. At least Gaz seemed alive in his thoughts, his brows raised slightly in curiosity as the music finally began. Ghost however, ever the stone-faced man, was completely unreadable, per usual.

An upbeat and funky rhythm sounded through the speakers as each band member performed their parts with practiced ease, everyone giving it their all. Vixen's captivating alto voice being the main focus. You did your best to stay on-par with the rest of the band, yet remained significantly quieter. Ghost kept his eyes trained on you with laser focus, seemingly keeping a mental note of every flat, shaky note you managed to spew out like he was some sort of critic. "She's good." Gaz uttered quietly while resting his chin in his palm, subtly head bobbing to the beat. "Ah dinnae ken... Ye can barely even hear 'er over the blonde." Soap gestured a hand towards Vixen, watching as she was blatantly trying to steal the spotlight over the other band members, her voice considerably louder than the instruments. Price simply watched with a critical eye. You could practically hear the gears moving in his head.

Little by little you finally started breaking from that timid shell you were curled in and your true colors began to shine, your captivating soprano vocals mixing with Vixen's alto tone rather nicely, though it was obvious she was still trying to overpower you. Nonetheless you delivered with such soulful grace that rang out in the ears of patrons even after the song ended. Almost like a siren drawing in unsuspecting victims.

Though Price didn't say anything, it was obvious his face said it all. "I have to talk to her."

"Soprano and baritone? Not a bad combo." Gaz chipped in. "Wot's what mean?" Ghost finally spoke up, gruffly scowling as he tapped his foot against the wooden flooring below.

"Bloody 'ell, pipe down." Price grunted, waving away his smoke as well as waving away the chatter of the boys.

The rest of the performance the boys were relatively quiet, each going through their own inner turmoil. Well, everyone but Soap. He couldn't care less who joined as long as they were a decent person. As the band finally finished and the final notes rang in the air, the band roared in applause and cheers, some drunken bar-goers even going as far as to throw catcalls. As soon as the band finished and Vixen began addressing the audience while the others began loading off stage— "Be right back." Price put out his cigar and took one last swig of his drink before weaving his way through crowds with a small occasional "S'cuse me" or "Pardon me" just to get a chance to talk with you.

Sure she was as timid as a butterfly, but nothing some good practice and encouragement couldn't fix.

As Price disappeared into the crowd, Soap stood up to head back towards the bar to order some more drinks, leaving just Ghost and Gaz.

"So, what'd ya think, Si?" He smirked, his eyes flickering back up to meet Ghost's own gaze. Ghost stayed silent for a moment, avoiding Gaz's gaze slightly. He actually did enjoy the performance, though he would never admit that out loud. "T'was fine." He replied quietly, tapping a blunt fingernail against his empty glass. "Fine? That's all you can say? The girl gotta voice of siren. Bloody captivating."

He leaned back in his booth, the slight sound of denim rubbing against leather could be heard over the distant bar chatter. "Only the first band n' Price already has his eyes on a bird." Ghost subtly eye-rolled and met Gaz's brown eyes for a second, before drifting his gaze away as his eyes roamed over the crowds again, trying to find the girl Price went to talk to.

Meanwhile with Price, he managed to stop you in your tracks with his usual straight to the point charm, one that made you cock a brow subtly.

"Hey- I jus' wanted to say you hav'a lovely singin' voice, mate. A true talent." Price smiled respectfully, tucking a hand into his jeans pocket as his gaze stayed trained over you. "Ah... Thank you, sir." You replied with a small sheepish chuckle, idly fiddling with a loose string on the hem of your jeans at the compliment. Price could notice your unease and chuckled gruffly, finding it a bit amusing how sheepish you were. "Don' worry, lass. I don't bite." He reassured, a small amused huff escaping his lips. "Look, I won't sugarcoat this. I thin ya 'ave true potential, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in a little meeting, eh?" He pulled a small business card from his pocket and held it out for you between his rough fingers.

You glanced down at the card and could feel your face warming at the offer. "A business offer? Hell- I could barely hold a steady note..." You thought to yourself, before quickly snapping out of your stray thoughts and swallowed thickly, hesitantly reaching for the card. "We're currently lookin' for a secondary singer 'nd thought you'd fit in nicely. All of my details're on the card." Price added, handing the card off to you before folding his arms over his chest, watching your reaction.

You accepted the card in shaky hands, your eyes roaming over the "141" label in jagged fonts. "Right... I'll think about it." You muttered, before placing the card into your own pocket and looking back up at the man, exhaling deeply to release some nerves. "Thank you." You added quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"F'course, lass. Hey, you have a true talent. We could use s'meone like you on our side." Price hummed, satisfaction crossing over his face at your acceptance.

You both respectfully bid farewells and went your separate ways, Price returning to the secluded booths and you being left to stand against the wall with your own thoughts. You couldn't lie, the offer was something that definitely caught your attention, but then again you were still technically in a band. Would they even notice if you left? You were barely even noticeable on stage anyways... Maybe if you—

"Y/N!" A familiar voice snapped you out of your inner turmoil, that of Vixen; better known as Crystal. "Where were you? We're packing up for the night." She sneered, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at you, almost silently judging you. "You're lucky you didn't completely blow it tonight. Everyone was too focused on me to care, anyways." Her comments definitely tugged at your gut, but you decided not to say anything about it.

"Right, sorry." You sighed, silently resenting Crystal for her constant jabs, though you couldn't say you didn't expect it. "Damn right you are. Now hurry up, Jayce is paying our tab." She stuck her nose up subtly, before turning on her heel to walk away. Your expression stiffened as she walked away, a small exhausted exhale leaving your lips.

You took one last look around the bar, your eyes falling over the booths where 141 was currently sitting, laughing it up and sharing drinks and smokes while other bands were loading on stage, before your eyes returned to the front of the bar where Crystal and the others were waiting. You patted the pocket that Price's business card was in and let out a controlled inhale, before slowly weaving through the crowds to get to them.

Though the thought of the offer hadn't left your mind yet.

[splendsay]

COD FIC // Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 15: Someone Should Feel It

surprise shawtayy you get two chapters today <3 hope u enjoy

..................................................................

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 15 // Someone Should Feel It

CWs: Explicit language, Canon-typical violence, HEAVY THEMES (acute trauma response, self-harm and self-loathing, extreme despair)

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Reader (You), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John Price

Chapter Summary:

Actions always have consequences, and Gaz's might've just cost you and the team everything. In the wake of his choice, you find yourself grappling with the unexpected emotional fallout of the mission as a whole, and what it all means for the future.

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[ryuzakemo128]

Goodnight & Sweet dreams

Pairing: Poly 141 x Australian Female Reader

Content Warnings: Cheating, Affair, remarriage, no mention of y/n or the variation of 'you', Possible prequel?, third person written. Angst.

Words: 1707

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Credit for the Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Note: You have many code names. Many. Many of them are used by certain people. Like the devil. You have many names. Boomer, Opal, Crimson and Emerald are the main ones used to refer to you. As your real name is covered in layers of black ink and confidential files restricted to the higher-ups.

Note 2: The only defining factors, I will give you, are the following: Codename. As labelled. Height. You are not small. You are rather tall, at least six feet and four inches. Roughly the same height as Ghost. Your voice is also quite deep, for reasons you can come up with yourself. As no answer is wrong or right. Might make an oc version sometime.

Note 3: I suggest listening to Moon Shadow by Cat Stevens when you read this.

Summary: “I don’t see you the same way anymore. I don’t respect cheaters, no matter the reason you might have had. You ruined this home by yourself.”

Boomer grew up on a farm in the Australian outback. Her father is an Australian Commando. Thus, she didn't see him nearly as often as her mother, who happened to cheat on her father while he was deployed. Her excuse was the lack of affection making her cheat with his older brother, Marcus. The CEO of a tech company he started up in America.

“I don’t see you the same way anymore. I don’t respect cheaters, no matter the reason you might have had. You ruined this home by yourself.” Boomer told her mother once her father came back on leave. He was immediately told by her.

Boomer decided to stay with her father, even though the divorce, and she hadn’t spoken to her mother since the end of the divorce had taken place. Her father, even though heart broken about the affair and the eventual divorce, he tried to keep a positive attitude through it all. Boomer saw right through quite often.

Pulling things apart, fixing them regardless of what it was, became Boomer's silent mantra as she grew older, mirroring the tireless work ethic of her father.

The farm grew quiet without her mother's laughter, but it grew stronger with the echoes of her father's footsteps and the occasional clank of tools as he taught her the ropes of being a true Australian commando.

She took to the training like a natural, her determination fuelled by the anger she felt towards her mother's betrayal. Each push-up, each mile run, every target hit, was a declaration of her loyalty to the truth and the man who never abandoned her.

“I don’t want to become my mother and cheat on any potential spouse, man or woman.” Boomer, adamant in wanting to be reliable regardless of any circumstances she would encounter in her life.

Her father often came home to small things fixed like the broken tractor, a leaky sink, and even a few upgrades to the farm’s security system.

Even reading into carpentry DIY projects like the bee aviaries she built from scratch. Her dedication to self-reliance grew, and so did her skills, a silent promise to never become what her mother was.

Her aunt, Alyssa, came over a few times a month to keep the house from going up in flames. Boomer showed her all the DIY things she made, often wanting to rescue bees from abandoned areas, unwanted areas and sometimes even from people’s backyards.

Her father had a slight smirk on his face when she brought home her first queen bee, a rare breed she had found in the forest. He knew she had her mother’s charm and beauty, but he was proud she had chosen a path of honesty and reliability.

Alyssa’s work as a beekeeper rehoming bees from areas where they aren’t wanted became an unexpected bonding point for Boomer. Her aunt’s gentle nature with the creatures and the way she spoke about them as if they were soldiers in a grand army, protecting the future of the planet, sparked a fascination within Boomer.

She began to see the world through a different lens, one that valued every creature’s contribution, and the delicate balance that needed to be maintained.

Her father noticed the change in her, the way she had found peace in the buzzing of the bees and the precision of their movements. He knew this was something more than just a phase; it was a piece of her soul finding its place in the world.

The farm grew not only in crops but in life as well, with more bees thriving under Alyssa’s guidance and Boomer’s care. It became a sanctuary for those who needed a second chance, a reflection of Boomer’s own spirit.

Boomer took the bee’s safety and health seriously, researching how to take care of the bees better and what ways to keep them happy as well as healthy.

Setting up a mini lab to study the bees in their natural environment without disrupting them became a weekend routine. The bees had become more than just a hobby; they were her silent companions, a symbol of her resilience and unyielding spirit.

One thing her father noticed was the ebony wood varnish on the bee aviaries, making them look more like a piece of art rather than a simple shelter for bees.

He knew his daughter had a creative side to her, but he never knew it would be expressed in such a way. Her creations weren’t just functional, but aesthetically pleasing, a reflection of her respect and admiration for the bees.

Each aviary was named after a character from an X-Men comic she loved as a child. She had found solace in their stories, in their struggle for acceptance and fighting for what they believed in despite their differences.

Her favourite, the Wolverine aviary, housed the most aggressive bees, which she found quite fitting. Each name was engraved in a small brass plate at the entrance, adding a touch of whimsy to the otherwise utilitarian structures.

She would then sell the honey on the farmer’s market for her pocket money. As she grew older, her love for bees remained as she got more invested in the military. She enlisted at seventeen, she told her father she wanted to because it felt like it was the right thing to do.

“I’ll give it my best shot, I promise.” Boomer pinky swore, her eyes gleaming with excitement and determination as she held her father’s hand tightly. His calloused grip returned the gesture, a silent promise of support and belief in her.

Her expertise in heavy weaponry like heavy machine guns, grenade launchers, rocket launchers, miniguns, anti-material rifles, and even the rare use of the Predator drone grew from her time in the military. She had always been a good shot, something her father had noticed when they used to go hunting together back in the outback.

Boomer dove into electrical engineering, electrical technology, nanotechnology and even robotics. During her military training, it was an eye-opener to an even bigger world. A world she is more than a little keen on learning more about day by day. Even reading more about in her downtime.

Growing up, her pets were bees and the blue Merle Shetland Sheepdogs that her aunt brought with her, which grew into a small pack over the years. They became her loyal companions, protecting the farm and the bees from predators. The dogs had an uncanny sense of when Boomer was upset, and they’d often sit by her side, offering comfort with their soft, warm presence. Her father named her first dog, Blue, after her mother’s favourite colour, hoping it would bring some peace to their lives.

Other than beekeeping and pulling things apart. The extracurricular activities she got into before she turned seventeen were gymnastics and ice skating.

Gymnastics was a way to keep her body in tip-top shape, she was always a fast learner and had a knack for acrobatics. The strength and flexibility it gave her were surprisingly useful in the field, allowing her to navigate tight spaces and pull off stunts most wouldn’t dare.

Ice skating, on the other hand, was her escape. The cool rush of the wind against her face, the sound of the blades cutting through the ice, it was her silent battlefield where she faced and conquered her inner demons, pushing herself beyond her limits.

Boomer, at sixteen years old, rescued a nine-month-old blind cat on the way home from school once, her father saw her with it. She was determined to care for the blind cat and named her, Shadow. The cat's full name is Moon Shadow. Naming it after the song Moon Shadow by Cat Stevens.

One of her father’s favourite songs. Thus, it became one of her many favourite songs as well. A classic ‘60s song amongst the many she would listen to on repeat. She listened to it when she got ready for bed, even after he passed months after her 24th birthday.

Her father’s death was a blow she never saw coming. A heart attack in his sleep, the doctor’s said it was peaceful. But for Boomer, it was anything but peaceful.

Her entire world had crumbled around her. The one constant, the one person she had always relied on, was no longer there.

It took a while to mourn her father, taking on many short term to keep herself from going off into the deep end. A distraction to keep her moving, both in mind, body and soul.

The farm remained her sanctuary, but now it was filled with the echoes of her father’s laughter, her aunt’s gentle guidance, and the ever-present hum of the bees.

She continued her military service with renewed vigor, channeling her grief into her work, seeking solace in the structure and discipline it provided.

Most of her dead dad jokes were made to help her cope with her father’s death. If he were around to hear them. He would most likely face palm himself. Followed by an even darker one in return.

“I loved my father. He’s got a darker sense of humour than I did and possibly ever have.” Boomer told her therapist. “I have my pet cats and my dogs. But I live on my own on the farm now.”

The therapist nodded, scribbling something down on her notepad. “How has that been for you?”

“Too quiet. I don’t particularly like the quiet as much as I used to. Maybe it was the fact I had other people around me?” Boomer answered, her voice filled with a tinge of sadness.

The therapist, Dr. Krovic, nodded thoughtfully. “It’s common to feel that way after a loss. The quiet can be deafening when you’re used to the noise of a loving home. Tell me, have you considered getting involved in any social activities? Maybe reconnecting with your mother?”

“If she wanted to, she would have made the effort ages ago.” Boomer replied.

The thought of her mother still brought a bitterness that lingered in the back of her throat. She knew the woman had moved on, living a life of luxury with her aunt’s husband, Marcus. It was a life that didn’t have room for her, not anymore.

[moondirti]

back on my bullshit soapgaz x gn! reader

Kyle has his tongue halfway down Johnny's throat when the petulant knocking previously on the other side of the wall migrates to his front door.

It's not like he didn't hear it before. Just that he didn't care. And really, if it were up to him, he'd continue rutting their leaky cocks together until he were gratified enough to deal with whatever bullshit problem the neighbour's have this time. Being pent up off the end of a bad mission does that to you, you see. Wears you down until you're all instinct, aggression, sybaritic once you taste death on the barrel of an M-16. He doesn't have any propriety left in him. No patience.

But that's exactly what does it. The banging gets too loud to ignore, and Soap, bless his heart, isn't exactly quiet either. His moans meet the cacophony of knuckles rapping on wood. In the clamour, Kyle's remaining sanity wears infinitesimally thin. His nerves spark like frayed electrical wires. His balls ache with a climbing release that only grows steeper. And he's running on frustration that's been impossible to burn off. (It was his fault the op went to shit, no matter how his team insists otherwise.)

His fault. His fault.

God, can they fucking shut up already?

He rips away. A thread of spit still tethers him to Soap, swollen lip to lip. The man in question is flushed, blue eyes more watery than usual. Dazed, briefs shucked halfway down his lap, his shirt creased in all the commotion, exposing the hair-dusted planes of his muscled abdomen. Kyle can tell he isn't as bothered by the disruption. For all his acumen, Soap's always been the first to loosen up. All it takes is a hand down his pants by someone he trusts not to stab him.

He looks up at him now, blinking stupidly, saying nothing when Kyle gets up and steps into the closest pair of sweats. Wider pant leg, shorter inseam. Johnny's. The lining is soft enough not to chafe his balls as he scrambles for the speaker remote, and he thinks he starts to understand the appeal in going commando.

The knocking persists until he pauses the music.

When he swings the door open, he expects to find Agnes, or Gerald, or one of the other ten geriatric tossers living on his floor. They all like him well enough. Sending them away would be as easy as promising a day's worth of labour, dusting the shelves they can't reach, or some other menial task he can drag Soap along to do with him.

What he doesn't expect is you.

You. Pointedly not old, endearingly unkempt, and enraged enough he's surprised there isn't steam whistling from your ears.

If he's in any way moved by the novelty, he doesn't have the energy to show it. In many ways, he feels like an expanded version of the vein throbbing at your temple. Whatever complaint you have, he's sure he can match it with a hundred more, each distinctly worse.

"What?"

"Have you no fucking courtesy?" You snarl, twisting a sore fist in the scratchy fabric of your scrubs. Your knuckles look raw, scratched up. He half wants to kiss 'em better, half wants to huff a serves you right. "You're not the only person in the world! You share walls with three other people, and I'm sure you know how thin they are! That music is way too loud to even defend! You'll go deaf by 50, you bloody lemon! And that's not counting what you're doing to the poor sods who have to share a space with you, since you've clearly demonstrated a lack of care in that regard! Honestly, I should just call the cops to deal with this. Or the landlord, see how you like blasting your shitty playlist on the streets!"

The words don't mean much to him. Perhaps they would, if he properly digested them. But you're way too cute when you're mad for him to take you seriously. Your lips purse in a way that screams put my mouth to better use, and his fingers itch with the urge to pinch your nose shut, shut off your airflow, as your nostrils flare with heat. In the end, the only response he can muster is a lame:

"I've never seen you around before."

"I don't live here!"

"Then..." He trails off, looking back at Johnny on the couch, then the speakers, then you.

"I'm Maureen's caretaker. You know, your next door neighbour? Her Alzheimer's makes her sensitive to the racket, and she hasn't been able to calm down all day! Because of you! I've about had it up to here–" You raise a hand above your head, waving it wildly to emphasise your point. He has to bite his cheeks to stop himself from smiling.

"That's unfortunate." He says, and tries really hard to mean it. It seems you have a keen ear for apathy, though, because you cross your arms and tense your jaw and harden your glare until he's sighing, all dramatically, "Fine. Music down. Got it."

He means it, too. Despite all the awful things he's done — twisting a knife into the throat of a soldier pleading for their mum and using their corpse as a shield through the ensuing crossfire, most recently — he isn't heartless. He knows he isn't the only person in the world. The casualties that fell on his hands in the past month alone will haunt him to a point where he remembers that fact like it's a second skin.

But you turn your nose up, up, all self-satisfied, downright pompous if you ask him, and that brief flame of empathy flickers out like a candle held under rain. It's made worse when you walk away without so much as a thank you, and you really do need to be taught a lesson, don't you?

He never liked Maureen, anyway.

Malicious compliance is an ugly game, but to his credit, he doesn't turn the music back on.

Soap hasn't moved an inch, though his briefs lay over the arm of the couch now. One scarred, rough palm cups the mass between his spread legs, kneading his balls carelessly as he waits for him. Pillow princess. Kyle wonders if he's this laid back with Ghost, or if their brutish lieutenant makes him work for a fuck.

"They're bonnie." He hums, hugging his knees up and apart when Kyle slides a finger between his cheeks.

"And you're loose."

"Aye. Ye didnae think Ah’d turn up without gettin’ maself ready for ye, did ye?" Soap smiles crookedly, cocking his head to the side in that way he does. It narrows the gap between human and dog to an uncanny degree, and he's struck with the realisation that yeah, Ghost probably gives him whatever he wants with enough whimpering.

"Slut." Kyle says, without malice.

"Yet ye're pumpin' me."

He's got him there.

His hole is slippery, hot around his finger. He could probably get away with fucking him like this, no extra prep needed, and the Scot would enjoy whatever burn comes as consequence. But he uncaps the lube anyway, squirting it between the iron-firm canyons of Soap's ass and a little over the head of his own cock before lining them up.

And as he pushes in, he swoops low to whisper in his ear.

"Be loud."

Johnny loves a good challenge.

It's part of the reason they get along so well. Kyle seeks stimulating experiences like Icarus to the sun, and no one rises to the occasion better than his twin sergeant. He'll be the first to place bets over a deck of cards, or contribute to trivia nights at their frequented bar, or hop on the game with him when neither can sleep. He's even down to test all those sick fantasies that frighten birds off. Including, it seems, exhibitionism.

And Lord is he good at it.

Kyle is almost embarrassed, despite being the one to start it. Soap, on the other hand, has left shame with his shoes at the door. The air hangs heavy with sex and noise, the lewd slaps of skin on skin, his balls swinging to hit the cleft of his ass, just as his cock hits the same spot within him. Over and over.

The Scot moans with abandon, head thrown and back arched. He really doesn't need to slam his fist into the wall repeatedly, the mangled sounds tearing from his throat (an arbitrary pattern of Gaz, fuck, ye're huge, jist there, dinnae stop) more than enough, but it's a nice touch. By now, it's practice that assures him he's hitting the right spot (the dramatics are appreciated, not reliable). He knows just how to angle himself, where exactly Soap likes it, to make this worth both their time.

Though, with the way his cock is twitching untouched, he looks to be getting off on this too.

His mind is split between the delicious sight underneath him and an imagined picture of you. Are you more furious or turned on? Is your charge giving you a tough time for their transgressions? Did you sneak off to the bathroom to relieve your frustration in a productive way? Fuck. He wonders what you look like when you cum, drawing a picture with the very limited references he's been given.

Your brows scrunched, lips twisted, eyes screwed up. Still in your uniform, undershirt rolled up to your elbows as you slip a hand down the waistband of your pants. Unable to let yourself go completely. Shamefully indulgent. Fingers tensed over the lip of the sink, goading yourself along, pulling out and washing up the second you cum. Refusing to ride out the waves of your orgasm, but going home with a sticky mess between your legs.

Equal parts furious and turned on, he decides.

Soap grabs his hand to force it around his dick.

"You gonna cum so soon?" He asks — more shouts, really — even though it's a stupid question. Whatever helps you paint the scene...

"Uhuh! Uhuh!" Soap catches on, huffs trailing into whines as Kyle tightens the grip over his tip.

They're both one corny porn line away from bursting into laughter (which, the more he thinks about, the more he's sure Johnny is parroting the last film they watched together). He has to bite his tongue to keep the amusement from making itself known, jacking the length in his hands to the same tempo of his thrusts.

"Then cum, you needy whore. Make a fuckin' mess of yourself."

And it's terrifying how well they execute it. As though previously rehearsed, Johnny shoots ropes all over his chest, ending his act with a loud, punchy "fuck!"

Kyle follows not too long after, pulling out to coat the back of his thighs. Cum gets everywhere. That's fine. His couch is overdue for a wash, anyway.

"Good work," He chuckles. Quiet this time, the praise genuine.

Soap grins. "Steamin Jesus, ye'r th' best shag A've ever had!"

"Alright, enough." He taps his cheek in a mock slap, smearing their combined fluids all over the stubble he'd begun to grow. The man is undeterred, sticking a tongue out to polish his palm. "That's overkill."

"That's gonnae git ye leid. Jus' watch."

"Us laid." Kyle corrects, because who would he be if he didn't grant his best mate a portion of the prize?

In the afterglow, he forgets all about his anger.

It's late when you come by again.

Well. Not late for anyone with a healthy circadian rhythm, but he's been living at his Nan's old place long enough to know that light's out is 1800 hours. Maureen is definitely asleep by now. And even then, the timing is odd. They've both bathed, stripped the couch of its cushions, ordered takeout, played a round of Mario Kart, finished the last of their reports, and emptied an old vape cartridge (after running out of cigs).

It's been hours since the last time they made any significant amount of noise. Your appearance is unfounded.

The knocking is subdued this time. One, two. Pause. The shadow beneath the door retreating, then waddling back again. He watches it occur over a minute or two, fond of making you wait, before rising from his place on the floor.

The door swings. Hinges squeak. You look worse for wear.

Kyle pouts, mustering every condescending bone in his body to suppress the true pang of sympathy he feels. "Awe. What is it this time, baby? Turned down the music, didn't I? And we've been so good all night."

"Y-You're... A foul, despicable human being. You know– i-it didn't mean– I didn't need to–" Your eyes squeeze shut, but that doesn't stop a hot tear from leaking down your cheek. "If you get off to making people miserable, then congratu-fucking-lations, you're one of 7 billion."

He listens. Takes you in, properly this time.

Blotchy face. Stained scrubs. Plain hands. Messy hair. Heavy backpack. Beat up sneakers. And a darling little face that really shouldn't be so affected.

Unless it's in pleasure, his brain supplies.

"Rough day at work, huh?" He pushes his shoulder off the doorframe, opening his stance up to something more sincere. Maybe it feels wrong to rub it in your face any further. Maybe it's because he recognises the signs a little all too well.

And it must be bad too, seeing as you don't resist. Nodding weakly, you keep your eyes shut and take deep breaths. He's worked his frustrations out already, patience back in stock, so he waits as you wrangle back the waterworks.

"No thanks to you." You whisper hoarsely, crossing your arms and looking down at his shoes.

"I'm sorry." He says, and actually means it this time. Johnny comes up behind him, body heat a flame to the fuel coursing within him. It's all the confidence he needs to ask: "Allow us to make it up to you."

And the way you look up — a little too quick, hopeful, pretty — he knows you know what he means.

You really were there, then. Listening.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Kyle smiles, sharp-toothed, careful not to appear too eager. "I know just the thing to help."

[writersdrug]

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

[buttdumplin]

yeah simon is the one to scare people away when they get too close you, using his size and movement to intimidate, simultaneously shielding you behind him

yeah soap is the one barking loud, creating a spectacle and calling people out, and warning them away

yeah kyle is the one humiliating people, mocking offenders until either their own actions dawn on them or they finally recognize the venom in his eyes

but price is the one that launches into swinging. there is no warning, no hesitation. taking a step, even a single word against you, warrants immediate action in his mind. it's no laughing fucking matter. you are a top fucking prize, his prize, the best the world has to offer. john is rabid in his protection, bearing tooth and boot and claw and fist. there’s no point in talking to him or trying to negotiate, an offense is an offense and he won’t meet it halfway. someone looks at you the wrong way? they won't be able to see out of swollen eyes after headbutts them, crushing their nose. someone whispers something nasty about you? good luck even eating with that jaw wired shut. god forbid someone touches you, the other three boys can barely hold him back. john will break countless bones in every way he knows and beat his knuckles bloody if your smile starts to drop. 

[swordsandholly]

Been thinking about the 141 boys coming to visit your southern family…

Price ends up out back with your papaw and uncles staring at a riding mower that they haven’t been able to get back up and working. Beer in hand, hip cocked, mimicking their ‘uh-uh’s and ‘yep’s. He tries to help with grilling but your dad won’t let him anywhere near it because “damn brits can’t cook out to save their lives. I’ve seen what y’all eat.”

Ghost gets a little overwhelmed by the women fussing over him. He’s on his third plate of food and your mimi is still loading him up with more mac n cheese because “He’s just such a big boy - he really needs to fill up! Are you sure you’re feeding him enough?” Luckily Simon is a literal human vacuum - a total garbage disposal. He drinks about a pitcher of sweet tea by himself because you can’t tell me that man doesn’t have a deadly sweet tooth. You have to drive home after the food coma they put him in.

Gaz is the decided favorite son-in-law (never mind that you aren’t married yet.) He’s just so polite, happily helping wherever needed. Quick witted and more than prepared to participate in the small town gossip. Giving genuine, dramatic gasps at the news that the preachers son of your family’s rival church took a trip (went to prison). It just makes sense that boy always had a screw loose, after all. He picks up on the cooking easily enough, asking your mom for all her recipes to make both you and her a lovely custom cook book of family recipes.

Soap goes absolutely hog wild on the four wheelers with your cousins. Regaling the younger ones with stories of his ‘adventures’ (pranks on the other 141 members.) He picks up some of your slang for the fun of it. After all, sigogglin’ just works with a Scottish accent so well. Unfortunately he can’t handle the jalapeño corn bread - it’s just too spicy for the poor boy.