#kyle Garrick x reader

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

[mochroialainn]

Currently thinking about doing an interrogation with TF141 and being the lead interogator. They suspect keeps looking away from you and to John or Simon at the side, who are really only there as muslce, so you grab him by the chin and force him to look at you, voice honey sweet and condescending "dont look them, eye on me", pressing a knife to the suspects throat to keep him in place as his eyes widen, "thats a good boy"

John, Simon, Johnny and Gaz instantly straighten up and their eyes go wide as they realize you've just awoken something in them, be it a praise kink or a knife kink, they dont know but they'll figure it out later when you're not in the middle of an interrogation

[lay-z]

tw: 18+ | lactation kink; pregnancy

Every single member of the 141 has a lactation kink, whether they're already aware of it or not.

They will know as soon as they see you heavy and ripe with their child, though. Tits swollen and nipples straining, visibly darker, as you whine for some relief.

But don't worry, lovey, they won't have any problem latching on to suckle.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 11 masterlist

-

The ship is big enough to get lost in, just like your mind.

You open your eyes and you’re back in your room. The lights are off. You feel around the wall for the light switch and when it comes on, it temporarily blinds you; you wince against the burning light. The faint remnants of a dream on the verge of slipping away lingers on the edges of your conscious mind. 

A man stands at the end of a long corridor, shrouded in darkness.

You are powerless to stop him unless he wants to be stopped.

Shaking. When you look down at yourself, you realize you’re shaking, your pinkie trembling independently of the rest of your hand though the tremor soon spreads to your other fingers. 

How did I get here? You want to ask but there’s no one around to receive the question. The door to your room is sealed shut. Looking around the room reveals nothing amiss or out of place. Even your clothes are neatly folded on your desk, and you’re clad in your pajamas as if you’d already gone through your whole nighttime routine. 

The sheets are rumpled and warm from your body, meaning that you’ve been in bed for some time. The problem is that you don’t remember returning to your room or tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you remember is Gaz taking your face in hand and promising you—

Your brows knit together as you rack your brain.

—promising you something. 

You rack your brain harder, searching for a memory that slips further and further away with each passing second. You remember Farah and doubles and your ship hurtling through empty space, and then a sickle slices through your memories and lops it off. 

Your lips tingle when you press your fingers to them. Something here too, but it slips from you when you try to fit your hands around it. 

Sleep knocks at the door of your mind though, putting off anymore thoughts of what you’re forgetting. Maybe in the morning it’ll come back to you.

In your dreams, he appears again, hovering over you this time, thick thighs on either side of your hips. Skin darker under the cloak of darkness. His plush lips part when you touch your fingers to them and he kisses each pad delicately, reverently. 

Your body feels warm and weightless; sticky between your legs. A pulsing pleasure like nothing you’ve ever experienced, desperate for him to tuck his hands under your back and draw you up into his chest. 

I’ve been waiting a very long time for something like you, he whispers against your fingertips. 

And you want to whisper back, what will you do now that you’ve found me? But when you open your mouth, all that comes out is ash and dust.

By the following morning, Hadir is sick.

You find out in the middle of brushing your teeth when Graves summons you to the medbay over the intercom, giving you only the briefest of explanations before his voice cuts out with a crackle. A line of toothpaste and drool drips down your chin as you stare up at the speaker in the corner of your room, dread pooling in your belly. Even from the outset, you know this can’t be any good. 

That feeling follows you all the way to the medical unit, shoving your arms into your lab coat sleeves while speed walking down the hall and wondering what you’ll find waiting for you. That’s where you find the three of them—Farah and Graves flanking the examination table where Hadir is laid out, the flush and sweat on his face visible from across the room. 

“What happened?” you ask, hurrying over to his side. You drag the computer over with you, the arm it’s attached to gliding over to the exam table. 

“He’s been like this all morning,” Farah explains in a terse voice, not meeting your eyes. “I went to check on him when he didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“Hadir?” Speaking directly to him now, you soften your voice, trying to gauge his mental state. Pupils of uneven size lazily roam around until they land on you. “Hadir, how’re you feeling?”  

His lips are dry when he parts them, and though he stares at you uncomprehendingly for long enough to worry you, he eventually responds with a raspy, “…Bad.”

That gets a shallow laugh out of you. “Yeah, I figured.”

The fever is obvious. What’s less obvious is the cause of his fever. You run through your usual preliminary tests, but nothing seems to stick. There’s a waxy sheen to his skin and boils under his arms that make you think bacterial infection, but coupled with his other symptoms—the fever and nausea—you err on the side of caution and take a few blood samples, plugging in the command for a CT scan. 

“I can page you when his results are in if you’d like�� you let Farah and Graves know, looking at them from over your shoulder, the two of them still standing by Hadir’s bedside and watching you intently. “You don’t have to stay for this. It’ll be a little while until I know what’s going on.”

“Farah will stay,” Graves states. The look he sends her feels pointed and you don’t know if you like it. 

Something unsaid passes between their eyes. Excluded from their exchange, all you can do is focus on your work to quell the anxiety brewing in you. 

“Alright,” you assent, practically mumbling the word under your breath. 

Graves leans over Hadir’s prone form to whisper something into his ear before straightening and leaving without another word, not issuing you so much as a glance.

A tense silence fills the room. You try not to let it get to you at first, concentrating more on putting the blood samples into the centrifuge and setting up the scanner. After yesterday though, your tolerance for bullshit is low, almost nonexistent. You can only take Farah’s gaze boring into your back for so long before you snap. 

“What?” you finally ask, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Farah doesn’t answer for a moment, considering whether or not to broach the subject.

“You ran away yesterday,” she finally says. A statement rather than a question.  

You’d been bracing yourself for this exact moment, but when it arrives, you flounder a bit. Tongue heavy and nerves electric. Rooting around in your brain for an answer that doesn’t make you come off as paranoid and crazy when you’ve already revealed your hand to her. 

“I wasn’t feeling well.” You keep it simple. Tell her nothing that she doesn’t already know. 

“You went back to your room then?”

“Yeah. I just needed to rest.”

She lets the silence hang in the air, long enough for you to worry that you’ve miscalculated in lying to her. There’s no sense in telling her the truth though. Even now, you can’t be sure of who you’re speaking to. 

That thought sits like a stone in your belly. 

“We still need to have that conversation.”

She dislocates himself from your peripheral vision when she takes a step away, forcing you to turn your head to find her. “There’s more to talk about?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“You’re going around saying Gaz isn’t human and that we had conversations that I don’t remember ever having with you, and now my brother’s sick. I’d say there’s more to talk about.” 

“I made a mistake,” you lie, hoping that you can put on a convincing enough face. “The other day, I mean, when I said that to Hadir about Gaz. Obviously Gaz is a human. Maybe I was getting sick too.”

“That would be awfully convenient,” she responds blandly. 

“Convenient?” you repeat, frowning.

A sudden antagonistic turn to the conversation. Real or not, it’s been in the air for weeks now, maybe months. Your blood goes hot beneath your collar. Not once has she given you any semblance of grace or leeway. Like you can only do wrong; like she expects treachery or disappointment or worse from you. 

Then someone breaks the tension by coughing. 

“Can…you two…stop arguing?” Hadir rasps, dragging your attention back down to him on the exam table. 

“Sorry,” Farah murmurs to her brother. She slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze.

You apologize under your breath to him as well, shedding the last of your annoyance. There’ll be a time for that later. Now, you have a patient to tend to. 

The day does not improve from that point on. 

Though you spend hours pouring over Hadir’s blood samples and the cross-sectional images from his CT scan, you can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, all of his results coming back ostensibly normal even though his condition continues to visibly deteriorate. By mid afternoon, his skin is abnormally hot and you sponge his skin with lukewarm water to try and keep him cool while running more tests. His fever holds steady.

You order an MRI on top of his other tests, waiting impatiently for his results only for those images to come back normal as well. Test after test comes back with the same answer. Though Hadir’s white blood cell count is higher than normal, his body doesn’t appear to be fighting anything in particular. 

He becomes less responsive around lunchtime, which doesn’t worry you until it gets harder and harder to get him to open his eyes and grumble out more than a couple words at a time. 

You can feel Farah’s frustration and worry rise as the hours pass. For a time, she’s called away by Nikolai to help work on something else, but she comes back as soon as her work is done, the soft whoosh of the door behind you alerting you to her presence. 

“How’s he doing?” she asks quietly on her return. 

You breathe out heavily, your mask making your breath blow down over your chin. “He’s still running a fever. I have him on an IV to make sure he’s still getting fluids in his system in the meantime.”

Farah idles closer to Hadir’s bedside, gazing down at him almost tenderly. You can almost see the effort it takes her to keep her face neutral. “Is he…in any pain?”

That question is hard to answer. Though all of Hadir’s tests have come back fairly positive—no sign of infection or internal bleeding or anything that could account for his outward symptoms—you haven’t been able to elicit a response from him in hours, not since he was first admitted into your care. Every so often, he grumbles out a couple words, but that’s hardly enough to alleviate your worry. The only comfort you can offer her is that you haven’t been able to detect anything that would be causing him any pain. 

You’re not sure if that comes as much of a relief to Farah when Hadir’s brow quivers and sweat beads on his upper lip.

The situation bleeds from one day into the next. You sleep on a cot in the medical unit instead of returning to your room, setting multiple alarms in order to check on Hadir periodically throughout the night. You try to convince Farah to go back to her room to get some sleep, but when she doesn’t make any indication of leaving, you relent and pull out a cot for her as well. 

Hadir is no better in the early hours of dawn when you check his temperature and vitals again, but he’s not any worse either. Stable doesn’t mean good though. 

It’s only when Graves joins the two of you around midafternoon that the situation turns dire. 

“Well, doc?” he asks after returning from speaking quietly with Farah outside the medbay. “What’s wrong with him?”

His and Farah’s continued presence shouldn’t bother you as much as it is. You know it’s only natural considering this is the first time anyone on board has been sick since you departed Earth. It’s cause for some concern. 

“No prognosis yet,” you sigh. “I’ve done every single test I could possibly think of but there doesn’t seem to be anything actually causing his fever.”

Graves looks unimpressed with your answer. “How long’s Hadir been here—ten hours? And you still don’t have a single clue what might be wrong with him?”

You should’ve assumed his question wouldn’t be in good faith from the way he initially ignored you to call Farah into the hall for a chat. You bristle at his words though, stomach roiling. 

“It may not be a simple answer,” you say through grit teeth. “I’ll keep looking until I can figure out what’s causing this, but in the meantime, he’s getting fluids and rest and I’m making sure he stays stable.”

“Where are all of his test results anyway? Any x-rays I can look at?” Graves asks, meandering over to the counter running along the wall. 

There’s a stack of papers on the counter nearest him that he flips through. You bite your tongue to keep from asking him if he even knows what he’s looking at, choosing instead to just silently hand him Hadir’s scans. He inspects each scan for barely a few seconds before shuffling it to the back of the pile. 

He shuffles through the pile twice before slapping them back down on the counter. “Okay, maybe this’ll be easier if you just explain it to us.”

You’d laugh but it’s hard to find humour in the situation with the two of them staring at you with such obvious disaffection. Instead, you walk them through the tests you’ve ordered and all of Hadir’s results, taking the time to ensure that they understand the purpose of each test and your thought process behind it. 

Graves’ face says he still doesn’t get it. “Well, if Hadir’s fine, why isn’t he getting better? Not to point out the obvious, doctor, but he looks like shit.”

“…I’d tell you if I knew, but as you can see from his scans—”

“Which I’m still waiting for you to explain.”

“—as you can see from his scans, I haven’t been able to find anything actually wrong with him. Apart from his white blood cell count, which is a bit high—which could mean an infection somewhere, but I haven’t been able to find anything yet.”

“You know,” Graves starts, drawing out each word. “Back on Earth, they really sold me on your skills when I was picking through resumes for our staff media, but I gotta say, doc…I’m not seeing much to be impressed with now.”

You balk at his words, struggling at first to form a coherent response. “I’m…sorry to hear that, sir. I’m doing my best.”

“And none of this has anything to do with the other day?”

Your blood goes cold. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if something might be impacting your judgment.”

“Like what?”

Your raised voices must be audible from the hall because Alex enters a few minutes later, followed by Nikolai and Gaz, the latter of which you studiously avoid making eye contact with. 

Ever the blunt one, Nikolai is the first to speak. “Why all the yelling? We heard you from practically down the hall. Hadir is not dying, no?”

It’s so much worse to do this in front of a crowd; it’s like something out of your worst nightmare, all of them gathered on one side of the room and you on the other, divided even physically. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if there’s something the doctor isn’t sharing with us,” Graves says, eyes still locked on you. 

Your jaw hangs loose at the implication. “You’re not serious. Are you implying that I did something to Hadir? I didn’t make him sick,” you say, emphasizing the absurdity of the claim being levied against you.

“But you’re also not helping him get better. And that’s what we’re concerned about.”

“I can’t just snap my fingers and fix someone! It takes time—”

“You’ve had over twenty-four hours—”

Gaz takes a step forward, placing a hand on Graves’ shoulder to calm him down. “Commander, I know tensions are high but…you know she wouldn’t do something like that.”

You have a momentary lapse of gratitude in being defended before the anger rushes back up at the thought that Graves would hold Gaz’s words with more weight than your own. That Gaz would need to defend you in the first place when you half suspect that Graves’ distrust is by his own design. 

Graves’ nostrils flare as he exhales, no longer hurtling accusations at you but still deeply suspicious. 

“Can all of you just leave?” you blurt out, at the end of your rope. “I can’t keep arguing with you while I’m trying to take care of my patient. And it might seem like Hadir can’t hear us, but he’s still very much conscious and all of this is just going to put undue stress on him.”

The five of them stare at you with varying degrees of uncertainty, only Gaz’s expression remaining neutral. 

“I’m not leaving my brother,” Farah states, her distrust unambiguous. It stings. 

“You either have to trust me enough to let me do my job or lock me up if you’re going to keep second guessing me,” you snap. Probably unwise to plant that seed, but anger keeps your common sense at bay. 

“It’s probably not good for you to be here. It won’t make you feel any better,” Alex murmurs. Though it’s mostly hidden from view, you can almost make out the way his hand flutters over her low back.

“I’m not leaving him alone.” Even speaking softly, Farah’s voice reaches your ears from across the room. 

 Your hands clench into fists at your sides. Indignation like you’ve never felt before bubbles up, anger at being treated like the threat in the room. Your eyes cut to Gaz, whose stare hasn’t wavered since he arrived. Waiting for him to say something, to indict you like the rest of them. 

His brows bend in sympathy, but he doesn’t open his mouth. 

It’s Graves who eventually breaks the standoff. “Gaz, I want you to stay here until the doctor’s able to give us a better answer on Hadir’s condition.”

“Commander, I don’t know if that’s necessary—” Gaz interjects, but your fury drowns out his voice.

“You’re leaving me with a guard?” you ask in disbelief. “You can’t seriously think I’m keeping Hadir sick? That’s fucking insane, Graves—I’m a doctor. And moreover, Gaz isn’t even part of the crew—”

“First of all,” Graves cuts you off, a hair from shouting his words. “I won’t have anyone questioning my decisions on this ship. I’m the one who’s in charge around here. Second, Gaz has earned his place on this ship just as much as you have. Maybe more so because at least he’s actually done his fucking job!” 

His outburst stuns you into silence. Stock-still. Your bones creak when you rock back on your heels

Maybe because all this time, they’ve never said it in so many words, though you’ve felt the sentiment creep through the pipes and vents, the metal clanging with the sound of it hidden just behind a wall, just out of reach from you. 

For a second, you can see yourself the way they see you. A feckless, ineffectual crew member who hasn’t been able to pull her own weight. An extra bit of cargo for them to carry to Jupiter. Someone who, for some time now, they haven’t seen as equal to the rest of them.

The edges of goodness curl away from you. You’ve felt isolation before but never to this extent.

And not one of them comes to your defence. You stand there under the scour of their judgment and wait for someone to speak up and say that this has all been blown out of proportion, only for silence to reign supreme. 

“I’ll stay,” Gaz finally says, taking a step towards you and turning to face Graves. Physically putting himself on your side, though his words still align him with the commander. You try not to look as pulverized as you feel—you shouldn’t feel that way anywhere. You know he’s never been on anyone’s side but his own. 

The urge to say or do something you’ll regret is strong. Almost overwhelming. All you can imagine is grabbing a scalpel from the drawer near your hip and driving it right through your commander’s throat, revelling in the soft gurgles and flesh giving under the steel blade. The thought turns over your head until it’s nearly unbearable to keep your hand from trembling. Even the room seems to darken with your thoughts. 

Hadir breathes out shallowly from the exam table behind you. You blink and bite the inside of your cheek. This isn't right; this isn't you. Violence won't do anything out in space.

You know no answer will satisfy them, so you don’t even try, turning your back to Graves and his crew and focusing on your patient instead.

“Let me know if anything comes up,” Graves says, speaking to Gaz instead of you. Humiliation burns like bile at the back of your throat.

You hear Alex whisper c’mon to Farah before the whoosh of the door signals their departure. One by one they leave until only you and Gaz remain, and Hadir, still unconscious on the exam table. 

And all around you, the ship hums as it hurtles farther away from Earth.

[oscens-oceans]

Hybrid AU! Hybrid AU! Hybrid AU!

Hatchling.

Hi guys! Sorry it’s been a bit. I’ve been busy! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, and feel free to request anything!

——————

Dragon! Price x Baby Dragon! Reader x Werewolf! Soap (And a little bit of the whole hybrid crew :))

!!No Romance For Obvious Reasons!!

Angsty Fluff

Warnings: Death via gunshots

───♡───────────── Beginning

It all started when Price found an abandoned egg on a mission. It must’ve fallen out of the nest, or perhaps the mother must’ve left it behind to protect it from predators or hunters. But he took the egg, holding it protectively with one burly arm while the other held a gun to keep both him and the egg as he retreated to the helo.

His task force members were screaming for him to hurry up, their faces having a tinge of confusion at the sight of their captain with a giant splotchy egg that seemingly appeared out of the blue.

“I had to.”

Was all Price said as he got settled into his seat, the egg resting in his lap with both his clawed hands holding it in place.

With this sudden, out-of-the-blue, parental instinct that Price had when it came to this mysterious egg, he was put on indefinite leave. He spoke about how it was a dragon egg, and that he couldn’t leave it behind. Not without a parent.

Now, here Price was. The egg was in a makeshift incubator, under a heating lamp, and cradled into a pile of neatly folded blankets.

He was in his foldout chair, reading a book, right next to the incubator. He would glance at the egg from time to time, wondering if he heard the little dragon inside of it shift around. He would even just have one of his hands rest a top of the egg, thumb gently stroking at the shell. He could faintly feel a little heartbeat inside of it.

It made him smile.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price’s mates visited from time to time, checking up on the egg, checking on him as well. It was still strange how Price suddenly wanted to become a dad and with someone else’s abandoned baby too.

Gaz, being a harpy, would sometimes bond with Price over the fact that both of their kinds laid eggs. Gaz would share tips on what his parents did with him while he was a little bird, and Price would share stories of what he was like when he first hatched.

Soap was fascinated by the egg, his ears perking up whenever he watched it move slightly. He would bark at Price in excitement, “Price!! It moved! It’s gon’ae hatch!!” His tail violently wagged as he watched.

“Nope, little one’s got a few more weeks, Soap.” Price chuckled as he walked over to his comrade.

But for now, it was just Price and the egg in this moment. On this day, when it happened. You hatched.

It was a few days after your estimated hatch date, so Price was extra alert. He was walking out of his bedroom, he had woken up not even 5 minutes ago when he heard a tiny crack, and then a little rustle. Before he heard a faint, muffled, and quiet chirp.

He snapped wide awake and practically ran over to the incubator. A tiny crack had appeared and it was slowly growing. He didn’t want to interfere, you had to hatch on your own unless there were complications.

“C’mon, little one… c’mon, you can do it…” he whispered as he watched the egg wiggle and move about as you began your journey of entering the world.

The crack got bigger and bigger, branching off into other cracks all over the egg before your little fist finally punched out of the egg. Price nearly grinned from ear to ear at the sight, and waited for the rest to come.

Then the rest of your arm was pushed out, then your two feet kicked a good portion of the egg off of you. And that’s when you really began to wiggle and squirm about to get that damn egg off of you!

Price chuckled at the sight of your kicking legs and flailing tail as you tried to get the rest of the egg off of your upper body. Soon, you tore the eggshell away from yourself and you revealed yourself to the new world around you. Covered in membranes, blood, and other fluids that your egg held throughout your development. Now, Price took this moment to gaze at what a perfect little dragon you were.

You were scaly, like him, only your scales were a shade of coral red. Your tiny wings, still folded into your back, had little talons at the tips. Your horns were tiny, so tiny, barely budding out of your head from your slimy skin. You lay there, curled up and exhausted from the exercise you had to endure. Your eyes closed, and your tail tucked in around your body.

He stared at you for a bit, mesmerized. You were a beautiful baby, peaceful and comforted by the soft blankets and warmth of your heating lamp.

Price would reach for you, gently taking your little frame into his large, calloused hands. You squeaked at the sudden feeling of his sandpaper-like fingers. But as he pulled you to his chest, keeping you curled up and tucked away into his big arms, you adjusted yourself to the new source of warmth.

A little purr left your throat, your heartbeat syncing up to the one that held you. You accustomed yourself to the smell, the scent of protection, warmth, and safety. Your father.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had been a few years now, you were still tiny but were now able to toddle around. Which meant you were able to follow your father around wherever he went in the house.

Price would be in the laundry room, unloading the dryer when he would feel a pair of tiny, chubby hands grasp at his tail followed by the sound of your sweet giggles. Or if he was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for that night, he would eventually feel your tiny form hugging his calf. He had grown accustomed to this, it meant you wanted to be held.

As you had grown, so did your wings, tail, and horns. Your horns were slightly curling back toward your head, kind of like a ram, and you had gotten into the habit of incessantly flapping your wings as you tried to fly. To no success.

But your father would always hype you up whenever he saw you doing it, cheering for you even if you weren’t able to lift yourself off the ground even a little bit.

“Maybe next time, sweetpea. I know you can do it.”

His mates loved visiting even more now after you’d hatched. Soap would playfully chase you through the halls of the house, letting you pet and hug his fluffy tail. Gaz would try and teach you to fly, desperately trying to get you to watch him as he flapped his wings. Only for you to get distracted with something else and immediately toddle off to get a closer look.

Even Ghost liked being around you. He would hold you and pretend that you were flying around, calling you a ‘little chopper’. He would even tolerate you being a curious little one, who would tug his mask off and put it on your head. Only for it to be way too big and completely hide your face.

With you being a little more grown than when you were a fresh hatchling, that meant that Price was able to return to service. He had a nanny already in place for you, and of course, you loved her. She was Price’s neighbor from across the street, she was a harpy. That also meant that you would still get your flying lessons in while he was away.

When he was testing the waters with you and the nanny, he was more worried about being away than you were. He would only return to service for a week or two, small missions, just to make sure he could come back home to you as fast as possible.

Every time he returned home, he would find you playing with the nanny or sleeping on the couch. Either way, when you saw him after he returned home, you would squeal loudly and run up to him and nonverbally beg for a hug. In which he would happily oblige, holding you tight and petting your little head.

After a few months, getting the routine down of being away for a bit and returning to your smiling face, knowing you were safe and sound, Price began to go on longer missions, mostly lasting for a month or two.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Gunshots rang out throughout the battlefield, with no intention of stopping. Price ducking for cover behind a cracked, decaying wall. Moss beginning to grow on it from the floor, tiny white flowers blossoming from it. He looked at it, a smile flashing upon his face as it reminded him of you. That smile was quickly wiped off of his face when he heard a few members of the enemy team approaching. He held his gun near his chest, ready to fire.

He eventually turned around the corner and began to fire at the men, his teeth grinding against each other in his closed mouth. He didn’t stop firing until they dropped to the ground, dead, despite the sudden throbbing pain in his chest and abdomen.

Once he knew they were dead, he was finally able to feel the pain in full force. He dropped to his knees and leaned up against the wall he was previously hiding behind. His hands clutched at the areas he felt the pain, only for him to pull his hands away and see the blood that coated his gloves.

He had been shot in the stomach and chest. Close to his heart, too.

He reached for his radio, desperately calling for any of his men or a medic, his other hand clutching at one of the bullet holes in his abdomen. He let go of his radio and used the other hand to put pressure on the hole in his chest. He tried to control his breathing, feeling like his entire body was on fire.

Soon rapid footsteps could be heard approaching, and a familiar werewolf entered Price’s line of sight.

“Price! Price! Holy shit, don’t die on me, you bastard!” Soap barked at him as he dropped down to his knees to try and help him.

He held him in his arms, barking out into the field for any kind of help.

Soap looked down at him, seeing Price’s eyes grow tired and weak, similar to his breath which was short. The dragon reached a shaky hand up and gripped at Soap’s arm.

“Y-You… take- care of my- gh…my little one…that’s an-… order…” he choked out, blood filling his lungs with every second.

“N-No, I can’t! They- they need you! I’m no dragon!” Soap tried to control the shake in his voice, but the burning lump in his throat made it near impossible.

“Soap… ‘m not gonna make it…Soap… y-you… and the boys… t-take care of them…o-…okay…?” Price coughed, a bit of blood spitting up from his mouth and onto his tactical vest.

Soap stared down at him, trying everything he could to blink back his tears before he slowly began to nod. “Yes, sir… I’ll make sure the wee one never forgets their papa either…” he said through sniffles.

Price would smile, weakly, before a long, breathy exhale left his throat and he slowly went limp.

“Price? Price?? John!?” Soap called out to the lifeless captain that rested in his arms. It was then that Ghost and Gaz were finally able to get to Price’s spot.

Ghost stared at Price’s body, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. Gaz could already feel the tears stinging at his eyes, witnessing the lifeless body of his mentor who was practically a father figure to him in a small sense. He covered his mouth before turning around and holding his head in his hands, muttering small curses under his breath.

Soap would let out a shaky sigh, reaching for his radio.

“Watcher 1, this is Bravo 7-1. Bravo 0-6 is KIA.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Soap never thought he would ever approach Price’s home with such dread. The feeling of horror and anxiety locked into the pit of his stomach as he went up the steps of the front door.

He held his fist up and knocked on the door. His ears would slightly twitch when he heard, on the other side of the door, the sound of tiny footsteps rapidly approaching the door. Followed by more urgent ones, along with the voice of your nanny laughing at your urgentness.

She would open the door, but soon noticed that Price wasn’t there. “Oh, hello. You're one of Price’s friends, right?” Soap would nod before being interrupted by a tiny dragon hopping up and down.

“Untle Johnny!! Untle Johnny!” You called out excitedly, your wings fluttering rapidly to fly up to him. But only lifting yourself up about a centimeter off the ground. He looked down at you and soon slapped a bit smile on his face.

“Agh, look a’ you! Already flyin’??” He chuckled and rubbed your head. Before he looked back up at the nanny, his smile slightly weakened as his voice softened. You didn’t need to hear that your father was dead. Your little ears didn’t deserve such ugly words.

Your nanny’s face turned to one of horror, sadness, and shock. You noticed and soon began to climb up on her to wipe at her eyes. She noticed and held you in her arms.

“Don cry!” You squeaked out, your little hand rubbing at her face. “Why you cry?” She looked at you, a solemn look on her face. Soap looking at you the same way. “Just… some people leave our lives too soon, sweetie.” Your nanny spoke softly, petting at your hair. “Why dey leave?” “‘Cuz it’s their turn to go to heaven.” Soap spoke up. “Tha’s where your daddy is. Heaven.”

Soap knew damn well that Price wouldn’t be in heaven with the atrocities he’s done throughout his military career. But no toddler needs to hear that their father is suddenly in hell for murdering people.

“Will daddy come back?” You asked, blinking your eyelids over your big, innocent eyes. Soap and the nanny glanced at each other, Soap being the one to take a small, sharp inhale.

“No, lil one… when daddy goes to heaven, daddy stays in heaven…” “Why?”

“Because he has to take care of his own mum up there, but that means he can’t stay here… so he sent me, and uncle Simon and uncle Kyle to keep you safe. But, you need to always remember this, lil one…” “What?”

“He loves you. Forever and ever.”

───♡───────────── End

[rosegolden13]

How TF-141 acts as your ex!!

cw: stalking/cyber-stalking (but not malicious)

Soap is going to all your old haunts. The little coffeeshop you would always send him off to get you both coffees in the morning? He’s there nearly every morning. The gym you’d both go to together? Yup, he’s maintaining the same schedule. Your favorite farmer’s market? Every Tuesday like clockwork he’s stopping there and buying your favorite sourdough. He’s not exactly trying to run into you, though he does miss you like a dog, but he’s a creature of habit and, as many people have aptly headcanoned, super sentimental. A little reminiscing never hurt anyone. It’s near impossible but he doesn’t reach back out, gives you your space, even if he’s going to all your old spots. And when he finally does bump into you… “Is tha’ my hoodie, bonnie?”, delivered with a smirk, of course. 

Price still checks up on you. An occasional text or call just to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. He can’t just make himself stop caring. That’s not in his nature. So even if it is for the better (he doesn’t think it is), he can’t go no contact. Good luck moving on when he’s sending you sweet little texts every week or so. His texts are formatted almost like an email and they would be formal like one, too, if not for the slew of pet names: “Hey love, I just landed back in London. What are you up to, pet?” And if you block him or don’t reply… he won’t personally show up at your door but he will send one of the boys to check up on you. This man is nothing if not a meddler. Whatever you do, don’t let him find out about the new guy you’re seeing. He will use whatever military issued overrides and confitatnial data he has access to in order to find any and all dirt on the guy then send it to you. “Love, this James bastard is paying for five different OnlyFans subscriptions… Shame, that is.”

Simon leaves without a trace after the breakup. You don’t see him ever again. Not kidding. Once he’s gone, he’s gone for good. He’s not one to stick around where he’s not wanted. He’ll miss you but mostly it’s too hard to think about. He’s well aware he’s a hard man to love and he wouldn’t force that task on anyone, never mind you, his once sweet love.

Gaz is a cyber-stalker for sure. Despite the fact that you both unfollowed each other, he still views all your stories. He won’t call you, won’t beg you to take him back, but he will drunk text you (“What uu doing tonite?”, “Miss my babyygirl”, insert any pathetic and poorly spelled text here) which is essentially accomplishing the same end goal. He’s charming enough to get anyone he wants and likely will in order to try to move on. It’s not the same as what you had together and he knows it.

[teletubbyinlipstick]

Human reader x vampire poly 141.

They lure her into their cabin in the woods, feigning cries of a child asking for help, and poor sweet reader can't help but answer the cries, not wanting to leave a kid afraid and calling out in the dark woods.

Too bad it was a trap :// she felt drawn to the creepy cabin, still hearing soft sniffling from inside. It was only when she stepped over the threshold that poor reader realized her mistake.

The cabin door slammed behind her, and 4 vampires descended...

...

...

...

...but they can't use any of their abilities on her, and it physically pains them to try and feed from her without her consent this awful burning behind their eyes and it feels like a metal clamp takes hold of their throat everytime they try...what a mystery and oh no! reader can't leave the forest either. Only able to get a mile before a magical force yanks clear through the woods and plops her right back on the porch.

The house is trying to tell them something, the crows circle longer; vultures in their habitat.

And the boys are very interested in finding out what's tying them to this little human.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guys idk what to say lmao this popped into my head and I'm sleep deprived and giggling.

[secretlysimpash]

Werewolf!141 + scenting the reader

Warning(s): some nsfw on Ghost's part, reader's gender is not specified, werewolf stuff, MDNI

Price is fairly discreet about it...He'll give you something of his to wear. A hoodie, one of his shirts, might even say yes if you ask to wear his hat. If he's had a shift recently, you'll be wearing his fur on your clothes. Do not try using a lint roller to get it off. He'll just go back into his wolf form and roll on your fresh laundry out of spite. You need to smell like him.

Gaz just tries staying by you as much as he can. You can't lose his scent if he's practically right on top of you at all times. So he'll always have an arm slung around your shoulders or around your waist, keeping you tucked at his side. During his shifts, he'll aggressively lap at your face, neck, and hair to groom you and to keep his scent there. Expect little love bites and nibbles here and there too.

As usual, Soap is not like the others. He'll shift just to rub his face against you, keeping his scent on your clothes, hair, skin. And did you plan to take a shower? Well your shampoo and soap and everything else is suddenly...Missing. Don't give him that look, bonnie. No showers this close to a full moon, you need to smell like him. Plus, he likes your natural scent. You'll survive one or two more nights.

Ghost will also tell you not to shower, but he's reasonable...Reasonable-ish. You'll be able to shower, but immediately after you get out, Ghost is dragging you to his room and pinning you under him. He's scenting you inside and out, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he ruts into you. He needs everyone to know that you're his mate, his scent is all over you, and the rest of the pack needs to know.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Kyle shaves. He shaves meticulously.

He doesn't admit it, but he's a mild neat freak. His hair is perfect for a reason, he pulls ingrown hairs.

He shaves his balls carefully, he likes being clean. He likes how it looks.

His cock isn't girthy? It's nice, though. Thinner, and it's what, 7 inches?

His dick looks pretty. Like actually pretty. You've been sent nudes and they look bad, but his? They look... Good.

He also waxes his ass I'm sorry. He does. He has to.

I think he's uncut, though. I don't think you'll find a cock quite like his.

Imagine Johnny coming back from deployment and he goes to open 'er (your legs) up and then all you see is horror on his face.

You shaved. That's it. No period, nothing scary down there. But to him?

Guys he's fucking BAWLING. I think if this was his first time since coming back from deployment he'd lose his shit AND ACTUALLY CRY.

"bonnie... Ye shaved 'er bald," he says, having to keep from crying, "what'll keep 'er warm in the winter?"

[girl-lostconnection]

This is just Selkie/seal Soap

IM CRYING. That’s the type of things Kyle would send to the group chat, because Soap looks like a fucking fat noodle with antenna on his head and bat!Reader laughed so hard they accidentallly snorted a grape up their throat and Simon had to do a heimlich to resuscitate them.

[leyavo]

💘 Wife/girlfriend series masterlist

Simon Riley

- Wife

- On my way: being there for him after a mission

John Price

- Wife

Kyle Garrick

- Girlfriend

- Coming home to you: helping him after a bad mission.

Johnny Mactavish

- Girlfriend

- Piercings

Asks:

How they met

Wanted a separate masterlist so I can add more - Leya

[drgnflyteabox]

John Price x Gaz x fem!reader, cults, unwanted pregnancy, implied noncon, creepy, pictures for vibes only > not as size indicator for reader

The taskforce is sent to a remote, densely forested area. Kate says reports of a group, cultlike, are planning something big.

Soon as they arrive, somethings off. It's dead quiet, empty log buildings and homes hastily vacated. They have to make their way deeper into the wood, further away from comms and further still from where the helicopter can reach them.

They split into twos, though it might be foolish and inadvisable. Gaz and John head one way, Soap and Ghost another.

Only they lose comms with Soap and Ghost a couple hours in. Nothing, not even static. They have to keep moving.

It's on foot or nothing, leaves them stranded for ideas except moving deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Until they come across you.

You're running- you've been running. Barefoot and dirty, the whites of your eyes shining, terrified, a little doe in the woods escaping a wolf. Wolves.

The small swell of your belly speaks louder than your panicked breaths, louder than the desperate scream that comes out of you when Gaz catches you, trying to convince you we're here to help, sweetheart!

It's clear what you're doing here – where you came from, and you're the only way to get back to them.

[fanficfav]

Love this! So funny

Oh Price is having a field day with this. He got you to join the TF141 and so far none of his boys have figured it out.

Granted, your build like a fucking tank, towering over even Ghost. He's caught Johnny staring at your chest more times than he can count, yet Johnny doesn't seem to figure it out. Instead salivating over you when he watches you bench press more than his body weight, figuring that's where your large pecs come from.

Ghost doesn't pry, granting you your privacy. Not necessarily chatty, it's not the easiest to get to know you. He only knows you've got a pretty voice. Smooth and soft, so pretty he envies you. He wishes he had a voice like that instead of his gruff and hoarse one. A pretty boy voice.

Kyle is friendliest with you. He might ogle you as much as Johnny but he doesn't grow tongue tied around you. When Price catches him calling you "dude" and "bro" he has to hide his laughter behind a fake cough. He catches Kyle checking out your behind and can't help but silently agree. You're build like a dream.

It's for his own personal amusement that he doesn't tell them, snickering to himself as he watches these grown ass soldiers not realize the obvious.

It isn't until you're all taking a shower at the same time, after a particularly gruesom mission, that the muppets figure it out. Having been in the military your whole life since you left high school, you long since learned not to be squeamish about your body. But when Soap doesn't stop gaping at your chest and between your legs you level him with a flat stare.

"Got a problem Soap?"

The scot blushes a bit. "Dude!? You're a woman?!"

You blink at him utterly confused. "Yeah. Wait you thought I'm a guy?!"

All of you whip around when Captain fucking Price breaks out into the ugliest snorting laugh you have ever heard.

[dollsbite]

husband!gaz thoughts... ⭑.ᐟ

husband! gaz that couldn't be more of a perfect match for you.

when you first announced your engagement, the snide comments under the guise of, "we're just worried about you!" nearly put a damper on what should be an otherwise happy moment. of course, in every family, there's always one relative that just has to to make their opinion known — no matter how unwanted it may be. in their eyes, how could such a relationship stay afloat? he was gone for months on end; how could you maintain a marriage with someone that was rarely home?

oh, they couldn't have been more wrong.

even while he was overseas, kyle did everything in his power to stay in touch with you. sending you letters in the mail, recording tender voice messages to your inbox, video calling you on his down time. he could be exhausted, his feet aching and his eyes drooping, the weight of a strenuous day heavy on his shoulders. yet, he always manages to make time for his sweetheart. and well, uh... let's just say he's fallen asleep on call more than once on occasion. not that you mind. he looks pretty cute when he's drifting off, even if he's likely drooling on his pillow.

there's no denying just how excited the two of you get when he's finally coming home. your presence is a soothing balm to his weary soul and he makes it known when he bursts through the front door of your home, tossing his duffle bag onto the floor and enveloping you into a tight bear hug. he's burying his face into the crook of your neck, savoring that warm smell of yours that he had been craving for weeks on end. you have to essentially pry him off of you to get him to sit at the dinner table to eat dinner.

i'd like to believe that garrick is such a green flag, a man that treats you so tenderly, that he would even make friends and relatives of yours absolutely jealous. even on the rare occasions when the two of you argue, he's always willing to communicate, sitting with you for hours just to solve the issue at hand. never, ever have you two gone to be angry with each other. he just wouldn't let it get to that point.

even with his hectic schedule, kyle never uses his job as an excuse to worm his way around helping around the house. there's no way in hell that he's going to watch you work yourself to the bone, not on his watch. what's the point in marriage if you aren't a team together? somehow, it always manages to surprise you when you come home after a particularly grueling day at work to find the whole house spotless, a delicious, home-cooked meal waiting for you. he'd move mountains for you if it meant getting to that pretty smile of yours. <3

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Harpy!Gaz who...

-Has the softest, warmest feathers you've ever felt—mostly dark brown and black, with subtle hints of gold in the sunlight. He preens them meticulously, but he secretly loves it when you help, smoothing your fingers over the downy ones near his neck.

-Uses his wings to wrap around you protectively—whether it’s cold, you’re scared, or he just wants to be close. His wings are massive, easily engulfing you like a living blanket, and they smell like the fresh air and the faintest hint of gunpowder.

-Is ridiculously fast and agile in the air—he’s built for speed and precision, just like in combat. If you ever get into trouble, expect him to swoop in out of nowhere and lift you out of danger with ease.

-Has talons instead of feet—but he’s surprisingly gentle with them. He can perch just about anywhere, and sometimes, when he’s feeling playful, he’ll hook a claw around your ankle and gently tug to get your attention.

-Is a natural scout and tracker—his keen eyesight lets him spot movement from miles away. He always knows when someone’s approaching, long before they get close. You never have to worry about being caught off guard with him around.

-Struggles with small human things—buttons, shoelaces, tiny zippers? Absolute nightmare. He’s dexterous in flight but clumsy as hell with delicate human tasks. If you help him with things like fastening his gear, he’ll puff up in quiet appreciation.

-Chirps and trills without realizing it—especially when he's comfortable or happy. His soft noises are subtle, but they become more frequent when you're around. Sometimes, when he’s napping with you, he’ll let out little contented chirrups in his sleep.

-Prefers high places—rooftops, cliffs, anywhere with a good view. If he had it his way, he’d build a nest somewhere high up and keep you there with him, safe and sound. He definitely has a habit of carrying you places, even when you protest.

-Gets super protective during storms—high winds can be dangerous, even for him, but his instincts scream to keep you safe first. He’ll keep you close, wings shielding you from the elements, grumbling about how fragile humans are.

-Loves it when you run your fingers through his feathers—especially the ones near his scalp and along his spine. It makes his wings shudder and his eyes flutter shut like he’s in absolute bliss. If you scratch behind his ear? Immediate purring.

-Can and will carry you while flying—but only when necessary. He’s strong enough to do it easily, but he doesn’t want you to think he’s treating you like cargo. That being said, if you ask him to? He won’t say no.

border by-sister-lucifer 

[ghostsforghosts]

Imagine being King!Gaz's knight.... Seeing how benevolent and pretty he is in person... Being able to touch him, but only in the appropriate places at the appropriate times...

You stand behind his throne while he deals with conflicts his subjects are having, hearing his smooth voice never waver but always having a tone of authority. His crown his heavy on his head but he seems to wear it with ease, solidifying your faith in him. With each subject he soothes and compromises with, your loyalty to him grows and grows.

You walk behind in as he takes a trip around the palace gardens, the sun shining down on him and illuminating his heavenly presence. Your eyes catch the way the sun twinkles in his brown eyes and the way the shadow dance across his face every time he turns away from the sun to smell a flower. His smooth fingers reach out to stroke a flower's petals and you wish he was stroking your cheek instead.

And oh how torturous it seems to stand beside the bathtub as servants wash him, knowing that your presence here is solely to protect him in his vulnerable state. The way you have to fight the urge to take a longer look at his body than the glimpses you accidentally see due to the natural way your eyes draw towards him whenever he moves in the bath. You long to set your hands upon him and take over the servants' jobs, yearning to pick up the wash cloth and wash him gently.

Being King!Gaz's knight, while the highest honor you could ever have, is a curse in and of itself. You have so much love and yearning for him, but decorum dictates he is never yours.

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