#kyle gaz garrick imagines

[imaginedreamwrite]

Like My Father

Part 1: Introductions

Warm and deep brown eyes look at you from the doorway, a pair of arms folded across a chest that was all too familiar to you. You don’t have to turn your head to know who it is, all you would have to do is look at the reflection in the mirror.

He's standing there dressed up in a well cut black suit with a simple button down shirt beneath the jacket. You watch him through the reflection of the mirror, his brown eyes purposefully and ravingly studying you from head to toe. 

“You’re going to be late,” his smooth english accent is lilted with a toying nature, a teasing quality that you are far too accustomed to.

“I already got a lecture from my mother, Gaz. I don’t need to hear you droll on and on.” You turn your back to the mirror and stand a distance away from him. As you turn the skirt of your modern ballgown turns with you, and the motion captures his attention. 

The dress your mother chose for you is a deep red ballgown that’s fitted around your bodice and waist before billowing into a full tulle skirt. The material is embellished with delicate sequins that make the dress sparkle under the light, with a small amount of lace detail on the sleeves. The dress is beautiful and your mother had chosen a ballgown that was well suited to your figure with a sweetheart neckline and a thigh high split. It maintained it’s femineity while conducting the image that you were grown and ready for a mate—according to your mother’s own words.  

“I’m offended, sweetheart. I thought you liked the sound of my voice.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and began walking toward you, the scent of the alpha was enticing yet now overpowering like so many you’d seen met before. “Lying straight to my face, yeah?” 

“Come off it,” you rolled your eyes and scoffed at your friend and confidante, knowing that he was only here on behalf of your mother. Because she knew you wouldn’t listen to her and her nagging, not that you would exactly concede to Gaz either, but it was worth a shot. “You cleaned up nice, my mother’s choice?” 

“Yeah, you like it?” Gaz’s charming smile had always eased you, ever since you had met him. 

“You look great but your tie isn’t straight.” You make the observation, the silk tie slight off centered, not so much that it makes the entire suit look cheapened. “You did that on purpose.” 

“Gotta rebel somehow, love.” Gaz winks at you and closes the distance between you two, the sound of his shoes clacking against the marble floors was just one of many senses that you’d attuned to. 

Of the others, the lights of the incoming vehicles was another. The shimmering bright lights of imported vehicles and limousines as they approached the front doors of this castle, was nothing more than a reminder. 

Of what was going on tonight. 

Your father was the alpha and king of a thriving kingdom, mated and married to your mother, dedicated and helplessly in love with her. He was a good alpha, one that was respected by both the people and the royal court. Of course your father had done what most alpha’s were drawn to do, mating and raising a family. Your family was a small yet tight knit unit with your parents, two brothers and yourself, a perfectly balanced homelife that meshed with your father’s royal duties. 

Your brothers were older than you by five and six years, and had gone and mated with omega’s of your own—with members of allied kingdom’s. Your sisters-in-law's were inviting and wonderful, and any chance you had to visit them you would take it. They were successful in creating their own packs, loving families and respectful reputations that could have only come from honest and loved parents. 

However long and loving your parents were with each other, and how well they were at ruling side by side in the kingdom, you knew your father wanted to retire. He had been the king for many years, earning himself a reputation as a great king that was loved and adored. It was time, in his eyes, for him to enjoy time with his darling mate without the weight of the kingdom upon their shoulders. The decision was made to officially announce his retirement and the advocation of the throne. There had already been rumors, and the royal court was abuzz with which of your brothers would come home to succeed in your father’s place—never once giving the thought that the remaining child of your father’s could have taken over. 

But you were an omega, and in the royal court’s eyes, omegas were for marrying and mating, and ruling was something they had anticipated would be too much for an omega. And surely, the council wouldn’t expect your father to hand over the duties of ruling the kingdom to an omega. 

That would be too forward thinking for the members of the court that were so obstinate in their views. 

“Come on, the sooner you get down there the sooner you can leave.” Kyle’s warm hand upon your lower back is the catalyst that pulled your attention off the approaching guests of tonight’s ball. 

You had turned your head to look at him, to observe your closest friend and confidante, the alpha that had been there for you through thick and thing. Kyle Garrick, Gaz as he had liked to be called sometimes, had formed an instant connection with you from the start. The day you met, when you were shy of 18 and he was 20, was the first time you had felt so drawn and completely taken by an alpha. He was charming and warm, he was someone who had abstained from treating you like you were glass because you were a princess. Your friendship had formed and beneath the surface, lingering where no one else could see it, you had formed feelings for him. It was impossible to not feel drawn to Gaz, to be so blissfully enamored by his warm brown eyes. His bright smile and the air of sarcastic humor that made you laugh with little effort was undeniable. 

“Or we could just stay here...” You had countered his suggestion with one of your own, shirking your responsibilities your father had laid out for you, in favour of staying in your bedroom watching bad eighties movies. 

"Avoiding your duties, sweetheart? Not very princess like of you, is it?” Kyle teased you with that husky dulcet voice of his as the two of you stepped outside your bedroom. 

You could hear the sounds radiating from the party in one of the grand ballrooms, and the heady mix of scents that were overpowering in their own right was overwhelming. That was your real issue with going to these grand parties and having to mingle with the crowds of invites guests. The scents were too much, they were too stimulating, and they had resulted in your needed regular breaks where you could get clean and fresh air. 

Often you would slip out to the garden, choosing to be surrounded by the smell of nature instead of the cacophonous amount of scents binding together. It was enough for you to be an unmarked and unmated omega mixing among a crowd of various designations. However being unmarked and unmated had often left you vulnerable to the whims of alpha’s scents. The alpha’s who were unmated themselves, would make an attempt to lure in other unmated omega’s by intensifying their scents. 

Like male peacocks with their bright tails that were meant to attract mates, and steer away predators, their scents would unknowingly or unwittingly become headache inducing. 

Regardless of whether you wanted to go or not, you knew that this was one party you couldn’t avoid. It wasn’t just a gala your mother was hosting for no reason, it was about the fate of your kingdom’s future and you couldn’t avoid it. 

Your heart races as you start walking down the steps with the material of your dress gathered in one hand, with Gaz walking side by side with you. He was standing to your left, not just acting like your best friend but also as an alpha who was guarding you. It was his tall and strong stature that you had leaned into as you walked down the steps. 

The entrance to the ballroom where the party was held had been marked by two waiters holding trays of champagne. Before you had even made it to the entrance, your attention was drifting away from the party toward the newest arrivals. Of course there was security and they were standing guards as they checked the invitations, the slow crowd that had started to pool in were buzzing with conversation. It was exhausting more often than not, to have people whisper about you, to have tabloids and gossip networks talking about your family. 

It could be something as simple as the mundane articles about what you had for breakfast when you went out to get fresh air. Or the fashion ridicule you might have faced for not being completely put together when you wanted to relax. It was a part of being a royal and you knew that, you had to accept it, especially in the modern age. 

“You look beautiful, Y/N. Don't think about them.” Gaz had leaned into you, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand began slowly brushing up and down your back. It was a soothing gesture, one that you’d appreciated from an alpha like him, and you’d willingly followed him into the party. 

Once you had entered the party space, like you expected, the scents were muddles and heady. It was a mix that had already began to hurt your nose, causing the slightest sting in your nostrils as you contended with the assault. You had turned your head when passing a few alpha’s standing near the bar, giving yourself the slightest relief. 

Some alpha’s scents were stronger than others, some were so brazen and bold. It gave you the impression that they were attempting to push their scent upon anyone that passed for the sake of trying to stand out. 

“There’s your father,” Gaz’s voice was soothing and comforting, his hand was held tightly at your back, as he still acted as your escort and guard. “We should go talk with him.” 

Your fingers ran over the bodice and waist of your dress, running your fingers over them. You found the act of touching the sequins sewn into the dress grounding for you. There was so much going on in the ballroom, between the music and chatter, to the mixing pot of scents that would surely give you a headache. It was a lot, it was too much, and you were damn grateful that Gaz’s scent was so soothing. 

Upon reaching your father near the head table of the ballroom, you were momentarily confounded by the presence of three alpha’s you’d never seen before. Of course you could have pegged it on not knowing everyone who was in your father’s inner circle. However in the last few months your father had been stressing the importance of you attending the council and court sessions more often than not. 

And that had made you far more familiar with your father’s advisors and close staff than not. 

Before you could even say a thing, your father had begun introductions, starting with the alpha to your left. 

“John Price, an alpha who will be an advisor for you when you take my place.” Your father spoke his name and you looked over him quickly. His blue eyes were studying you just as you studied him, his eyes rakish as they took in the image of you. 

John Price was an alpha with a complex scent, the notes of cigar smoke from a habit he clearly had, had blended well with the faint aroma of some kind of aged wood. He had a muttonchop style beard that would have looked disingenuous on anyone else but it looked good on him. He was a broad alpha, tall with a solid and well built muscular frame, the kind of alpha that most omega’s would immediately cower to. 

However his size was nothing compared to the alpha on the left of John price, the one with his arms crossed over his chest. This second alpha had made John Price seem small in both broad width and size, and that was obviously no easy feat. Though you couldn’t detect the features of his face due to the black balaclava he wore, you could make out the colour of his eyes—brown and deep, yet not nearly as warm in tone as Gaz’s. 

“Simon Riley, known as Ghost, will be one half of your personal guard.” Your father spoke to you, addressing Simon with a wave of his hand in the direction of the beastly alpha. 

If John Price’s scent was complex, then Simon’s was rather simple in no less of an enticing way. Leather, cigarette smoke, bourbon and a glimmer of citrus, rich and consuming, had clung to the dark eyed alpha. 

“Johnny Mactavish, the other half of your guard.” Your father had introduced them all, all of them staring at you with an intensity that made your heart race. 

And the final alpha that you had never yet met was one that was just as broad as Simon Riley, just as tall as John Price, however he seemed to be far more relaxed than both. On his face was a cocky grin that reflected the lightness of his blue eyes, the playfulness that was just as natural as breathing. Unlike Simon Riley, you could see him clearly and you made out his features with curiosity—light eyes, a mohawk with close cropped hair on the sides, a slightly crooked nose, a scar above his lips on the right side, and a tattoo partially hidden on his bicep. 

This third alpha’s scent reminded you of the sea after a storm, the mix of freshness with the saltiness of the ocean was both addictive and relaxing. It was well meshed with the other alpha’s, even Gaz’s, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t nauseating as others. 

“Y/N,” your father redirected your attention to him as he pulled you into a hug, a familial and tender hug that you’d loved since you were a child, “you are such a beautiful woman. Your mother and I are so proud of you.” 

You had relayed your father’s hug with one of your own, preening under your father’s loving gesture. Once you had pulled away from your father and had stood amongst the three unknown alpha's, your mother was quick to join your father, beaming at him. The way your mother’s gaze had been focused on your father was endearing, it was a true sign of her devotion and absolute adoration. They were mates who were perfect for each other, an alpha and omega who were so closely bound and hopelessly in love, it was what you wanted to strive for. 

“Have you told her yet?” Your mother had leaned against your father’s side, her gown glittering in its own right, and the fabric designed to match your father’s eyes. 

“If you’re talking about the upcoming retirement announcement, I know.” You clasped your hands together, the knot in your stomach tightening. You got the sense that it was so much more than you had anticipated that there was more than just a retirement announcement coming. 

“Y/N,” your father had grabbed your hands, loosening one from the other, and slowly turned your body to face the alpha’s standing nearby, the ones that were so unfamiliar, “your mother and I love you. We want the best for you and the royal court will try everything in their power to undermine the rule of an omega.” 

Your father smiled at you, crow's feet by his eyes and the graying hairs were a sign of his age, of his tiredness and the willingness to just be with your mother. 

“An omega, even the future ruler, needs to be protected by mates.” Your father spoke softly, encouragingly and with all the love heralded for you. “They will be your guards, your advisors and friends, but also your alpha’s.” 

Your eyes immediately locked with Gaz’s, his brown eyes still brimming with warmth and the endearing charm that you loved about him. But now there was more, pride and a sense of unwavering dedication. 

It was clear now what your father was planning on doing, the announcement that was to be made was not just about the future of the kingdom. It was an announcement about you as well, the decision being made was meant for the betterment of your kingdom and yourself. 

You would rule the kingdom as an omega, and these 4 alphas would be mates to keep you safe, guarded and grounded. 

John, Johnny, Simon and Gaz... 

Your Gaz, with three other alpha’s, aiding you in taking on this role. 

You understand why it was necessary, once the council and the court had heard your father’s announcement, it would be an uphill battle for you. 

Without support, without the strongholds mates could provide, you would have no chance of success.

[ragingbookdragon]

It was supposed to be a routine Friday Pizza and Movie Night but for some reason Gaz kept fidgeting the entire movie. At one point, she’d rested her ankles across his thigh like she usually did, and he shot up, asked her to pause the movie and practically ran into the bathroom, returning moments later with an excuse of, “Was about to explode, sorry,” and a lame and awfully nervous smile.

After returning to the movie, it only took him fidgeting twice before she paused it again, stood from the couch, walked to the light switch, and flipped it on; she turned back to him and crossed her arms over her chest with an expecting look on her face.

“Okay, you’ve got ants in your pants. What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

Gaz reclined back on the sofa, rested an arm along the back and tried for his nonchalance but she also knew he did that when he was about to be blown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m solid.”

“You can’t lie to me, asshole,” she retorted and walked over, standing in front of him. “Seriously, you’re acting really fucking weird. What’s wrong with you?”

He pulled his arm back, hands in between his knees and he shifted on the couch. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Seems pretty serious to me.” She sat down beside him and leaned enough to catch his eyes. “Kyle, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Her voice was so sympathetic, so worried and he couldn’t help but feel heat blister behind his eyes and he squeezed them shut, jaw tightening as he shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Her face contorted in worry and she gently prodded, “Kyle, I’ve only ever seen you like this a few times. I know something is wrong.”

His mouth started to open, then it snapped closed, repeating the process a few times.

“Kyle,” she stressed. “Talk to me.”

He lowered his head in shame, a mumble coming out and she shifted closer.

“What was that?”

Kyle swallowed thickly and repeated a tad louder, “I’m in love with you.”

She blinked, a bit stunned, and suddenly it made sense. All the fidgeting, the past few phone calls and texts had seemed more sincere, more sweet, more intimate on his part and she felt foolish for not seeing it sooner—how easy it would’ve been to say it back.

Gently, she took Gaz’s face in her hands, tilting it up. “Kyle,” she murmured, and he shook his head, or tried to in her hands and she laughed softly. “Kyle, look at me, honey.”

He opened his eyes, a starting red beginning to rim them and he gazed at her pitifully. “‘m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she whispered and thumbed beneath his eyes and across his cheeks. “Now what on earth made you think that I wouldn’t look at you and feel the same?”

Gaz shrugged weakly and she leaned forward, nuzzling his nose. “So confident and strong in the field and yet to meek at home.” She pressed her forehead into his. “I love you too, you silly boy.”

“Yeah?” he replied, voice full of relief as his body began to sag against her, adrenaline beginning to fade.

She smiled at him. “Yeah.”

[justanoasisimagines]

Home Sweet Home

Summary; Kyle has spent the last thirteen months deployed. He's had one regret, not asking you out. Now as he returns he's on a mission to right that wrong, but is he too late? Pairing; Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Female Reader WordCount; 1,523 Trope used; The character returns home A/N; Hey my lovelies, today starts off the 7 weeks of Hallmark fics. I hope you enjoy! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Thirteen months. Thirteen months since Kyle last stepped down on British soil. The last time since he'd been to his apartment in London. Last time he'd enjoyed the bustle of busy London streets. Last time he'd enjoyed a decent couple of tea. Last time he'd seen you.

Should have Kyle gone to rest his aching body which protested with every step as he made his way towards your cafe? Yes. Yet it wasn't an option.

Memories of you kept Kyle going while he was deployed. Every fight, every mission, you were always there lingering in the back of his mind. Reminding him of what he was fighting to get back home to.

Often at night, Kyle experienced a swirling tornado of questions; Are you okay? Was everything going well back home? Your business? Have you met someone? That often left a sour last in his mouth. His mind twisted with deep regret.

If only he'd gathered the courage to ask you out before he was deployed. In truth, he hadn't wanted to burden you with the harsh reality of being involved with a soldier.

It's why he'd backed out at the last second. He hadn't heard the last of it from Price. He'd been going on about it non-stop. Life is too short. You'll regret it. Price was right, Kyle had regretted it for the past thirteen months.

Now as Kyle turned into the street he released a heavy exhale. He'd done wasting time. Kyle only hoped you would be happy to see him. Could only hope someone hadn't swept you off your feet while he had been away.

Kyle was met with warm comforting scents of freshly made bread and warm pastries, as a bell dinged over his head. A muffled 'just a sec' came from the back. Kyle's hands found their way into his pockets. Unsure what to do as he waited.

Kyle smiled when he caught his glimpse of you. You looked well, almost as if no days had passed at all. Yet time had, plenty could have changed and plenty had. Suddenly Kyle felt sick to his stomach as your eyes met his, almost widening almost comically.

"Your back." You moved around the counter, quickly knocking yourself into a nearby table. In a rush to get to him. Kyle moved to meet you half way wrapping his arms around you tightly. At least you were happy to see him. That was something.

Both of you melted into each other's touch. Everything was familiar yet different, Had Kyle gained yet more muscle? Have you changed your hair? Both of you took each other in, attempting to document every little change the two of you could locate.

"Got back a little while ago. Had to come see you?" Kyle wasn't surprised when he was met with a playful slap into his bicep. He could barely feel it.

"You didn't have to come here. I would have come to you." Kyle pulled back enough to see your brows frown. Always worried about him.

"And miss out on your baking, no chance" You rolled your eyes as you pulled away. He knew you would have brought him something. Besides the look on your face had been worth every painridden step.

"I didn't just come here for your baking. I was wondering if you were busy Saturday night?"

"Yeah, I am why" Kyle stopped briefly. This was it. All he had to do was ask. He'd battled in hostile warzones and yet this was more challenging. If you were to say no, Kyle could lose everything.

Kyle was at risk of losing you. Losing your friendship, Losing one of the reasons he fought so hard to come home.

Kyle couldn't experience the last thirteen months again. Not knowing had found someone who makes you happy. Kyle wanted to be the man for you.

He would be the man for you.

"The Christmas lights are being turned on this Saturday, wanna go?" Smooth. However, Kyle had taken that leap. It was out there now, Kyle waited with bated breath.

"Are you finally asking me out?" Kyle nodded unable to look at you directly. Christmas Tree, Santa's and Snowman cookies were decorated beautifully in your glass cabinet.

Kyle finally mustered the courage to meet your gaze as he answered. "Yeah, I am." Your eyes sparkled like the North Star as a shy smile graced your face.

Then I look forward to seeing you Saturday,"

Kyle rubbed his hands together attempting to battle off the cold. The streets were bustling as people flocked to witness the Christmas lights. Stands and activities for all ages littered around the street. Christmas music played overhead.

There is magic in the air tonight. A warm welcoming feel as Kyle waited for you. Kyle was full of anticipation searching through the crowd desperate to find you.

You appeared like a Christmas Angel as Kyle began to maneuver through the crowd eager to get you. Thirteen months and five days had been leading up to this moment. Kyle wanted to enjoy every single second.

"You look beautiful."

"You don't look so bad yourself."

"Do you want to grab a drink first? It's bloody freezing out tonight." In agreeance, Kyle walked beside you, hand twitching to take yours. Hesitation halted him one more, yet it was you who bravely tested out the waters.

This was new for both of you. New boundaries are being explored. You two walked through the street catching up as you both shared details of the last thirteen months. Kyle wasn't able to tell you much but he had plenty of stories of Price, Soap and Ghost.

Kyle was already planning to introduce you to them as soon as possible. It was time they met the woman he couldn't stop talking about.

Two hot chocolates later, you two wandered through the streets exploring various stools. Handmade crafts, whimsical snowglobes, delicious handcrafted food. The street had suddenly become a winter wonderland.

"You know I wanted to ask you out thirteen months ago."

"Why didn't you? I would have said yes." Kyle looked out into the crowd of people admiring how lighter everything appeared. People smiled as they emerged through shops, bags in hand wrapping paper poking out of them.

Parents pointed up at the twinkling lights showing and enjoying the children who stared back in awe. Magic and wonder existed behind those eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget how magical this time could be.

"Being with someone in the military isn't easy. I didn't want to put that burden on you."

"Kyle that's not your decision to make. Do you think I don't worry already? Every time you've been deployed I know there's a chance you're not coming back, but I hope that you do. That was my Christmas wish this year." Kyle stopped looking at you as you stopped several steps ahead.

"What was?"

"For you to come home safe." Kyle moved swiftly pushing past anyone who attempted to get in his way, before cupping your face in the palm of his hands and kissing you tenderly.

Your eyes widened for a second before fluttering shut. Your hands moving to rest on his chest. The world around you suddenly disappeared because nothing else mattered. Just you and Kyle.

As Kyle pulled away, his hands moved to wrap around your waist, holding you in the busy streets of London.

"Come with me to John's Christmas party? I'd like to finally introduce them to the woman I won't shut up about." Kyle pressed his forehead onto yours, both of you surrounded by a bubble no one could penetrate.

"Would John mind you bringing me?" Kyle shook his head, having to part as the crowds began to get busier. Taking your hand, you both proceeded to wander down the street once more.

"No Angel, he'll be more than happy to have you. He'll finally get to meet the woman I keep talking his ear off about." Kyle observed you as you nibbled on your lip.

"You have nothing to worry about. Price and the others. They're good men and I already know they're gonna love you."

"Okay, should I bring anything?"

"They're gonna love you regardless, but if you bring any of your baking. I might get some competition."

"No one could come close to you." Kyle wrapped his arm around you, holding you close as you walked through the street. Feeling the lightest he had in months.

Kyle thought he was doing what was right at the time, but in reality, nothing could compare to everything going through his mind. Happiness, Relief, love, anticipation. Kyle couldn't believe you were finally his and he couldn't wait to introduce you to everyone.

From now on Kyle would go away knowing he'd have you waiting for him. He could return home to you his slice of happiness. His piece of the world.

Price had been right, life is too short to consider every possibility. Sometimes you have to take a risk and step into unknown territory. Kyle would always be grateful to Price for giving him a well-needed push.

Now it was time to enjoy being home.

[forsworned]

Being the only female on TF141 is like Simon constantly scolding you for getting into sheningans with Johnny and Kyle while Price sits on his arm chair with a good book, whiskey in hand and him puffing out smoke like a chimney from his cigar like the daddy he is.

"Delete it."

"Why?"

"Cos I fockin' said so."

You cock an amused brow at him as you look up from the embarrassingly cute photo of the skull-masked behemoth fast sleep and cuddling your Hello Kitty plushie. "Cos y'fockin' said so?" You mock his gravelly Manchester accent and it sends Johnny and Kyle into a fit of giggles. And even Price is chuffed by it. It's contagious really.

It lets your guard down enough for him to yank your phone out of your hand deleting the picture with a swiftness that made your eyes ream and your heart jump. You all groan and jeer at him for being a poor sport but he's quite satisfied with himself. Little does he know, you have a few copies of it in your desktop.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Arranged marriage to duke john price except it means you married four instead of one 👁️👁️)

Your marriage to Duke Price is one out of necessity: you need a husband before high society begins rumoring you to be a barren woman and too old to be married off, and Duke Price needs a wife who is able to take on Duchess duties of his duchies.

You do not expect love, though you suppose it’d be a nice bonus. You are merely glad that Duke Price is a reasonable handsome man, and he informs you on your wedding night that he will not force himself on you, and there is no need to immediately begin attemtping for an heir.

You take admirably to your new duties, have been raised practically for this purpose though the head butler Kyle is wonderful in helping you as well- actually all the servants have been wonderful towards you. You have regular dinners with John, though they are a bit stilted but at least Chef Johnny’s food is good enough you can easily forget the tense atmosphere. You can tell your husband is hiding something- you are sometimes barred from going to his office to him, certain rooms are not allowed for you, and you are not allowed anywhere near the letters addressed to him- but as long as it isn’t hurting you, why should you bother him? So you never ask, and he seems happy enough that you don’t.

Until you accidentally stumble upon him and Duke Riley exchanging tongues. Very heatedly, hands grasping and tugging on each other’s clothes and Duke Riley sat on your husband’s desk.

It’s hot.

What’s not so hot is the way they both look at you when they realize you are there. You stutter, face a red so fierce it’d put a furnace to shame, and bolt out of the room despite hearing John call your name.

And you also skip out on the dinners for now, pretending you are sick with the help of your maids and their makeup skills.

But suddenly, it’s like your eyes have been opened. It’s not just Duke Riley who seems to hold a part of your husband’s heart; the one time you gather enough courage to maybe go speak with John and address the situation, you see Kyle stumbling out all disheveled and flushed, though he has a very satisfied air around him. He freezes when he sees you, and your jaw drops.

“My lady-“

“I- I’ll just- I’m taking a walk! Alone!”

You go to the kitchens instead, hoping that Johnny would have something delicious you can eat. Maybe something cold enough to wash away the blush on your cheeks.

Johnny is weirdly silent, however, even as he whips up chocolate mousse for you. His silence is not normal, it feels… almost guilty…

You sighs, take in a deep breath, and gather your dress. “Johnny… are you too…-?”

“Aye, m’lady. But-“

You can’t take it anymore. You leave the kitchens, and go straight back to your bedroom to bury your face in your bed. It’s not as if you are upset! It’s just- a rather befuddling situation?

Two nights later, it’s John himself who comes to you. You had assumed it was one of your maids returning with a new jar of oil for your nightly hair routine, but it’s your husband. You are glad it’s winter, and you aren’t simply in a thin nightgown.

“Wife.” He says, voice steady yet strained.

“John.”

You can’t call him husband. You’ve spent the last two days thinking and you were… rather sad. You were in the way of whatever they had (you saw Kyle and Johnny kissing, Johnny specifically sending food addressed to Duke Riley), weren’t you?

John sighs, sitting down on the settee while you remain on your vanity. After a moment of awkward silence, he opens his eyes and looks at you. “…what do you want to remain silent about this?”

You blink, raising an eyebrow. “…huh?”

John’s fists clench. “How much do you want in return for your silence?”

Frowning, you set your brush down and fully turn to him even if you feel exposed despite your thicker nightgown. “Is this about your… partners?” You say the word delicately, then shake your head. “I want nothing, John. If you are worried about me starting anything, I won’t. I just… hope this doesn’t mean you will divorce me?”

Being a divorced woman might as well be a death sentence on its own.

He looks at you, shocked into silence, and you quickly explain; his relationships have nothing to do with you and you aren’t a petty woman, who are you to come between what he and they have? You only hope this won’t take away the protection this marriage gave you.

That night, thus, you and John reach an agreement you are sure both of you are satisfied with.

Except, months later, John is no longer satisfied.

With the ice broken between the two of you. The dinners have become so much more… relaxing and comfortable, far less than they had been. No secrecy was needed when you were around anymore, and you only giggle and look away, feigning innocence when they share tender kisses between one another… and the less polite kisses.

John can’t remain satisfied with this arrangement. You are such a sweet thing, now that he’s become to know you far better. He can see the way his men are looking at you now, something between fondness and hunger and want; Kyle helps you far more often now, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. Even when you do it yourself, he stays by you and ensures you are comfortable.

And he joins your evening walks, arms looped as the two of you speak, laughing and giggling.

It’s similar to your late night chats with Johnny, where he plies your full of sweets and desserts until even your dreams are full of sweeter kisses you are sure will never be for you. Johnny, who cooks your favorites on hard days and who you heard from Kyle is even more serious about only having the best of the best in vegetables and meats and seasonings.

And Duke Riley… for all his stoicism, he is gentle with you. Even when he’d stared at you with doubt and mistrust, no doubt believing you to be lying to John and simply waiting for the shoe to drop and for you to ruin them. Yet it never happens, and now, during the galas you attend all dolled up on John’s arm and ignoring all murmurs about still having no children, you even dance with him and giggle at his terribly dry jokes, even share a few of your own with him.

Steadily, slowly, obliviously, John has watched each of his men fall for you. This, obviously, made you theirs. It made you his, more and more than you already were.

It’s why your current request is making him clench his glass in his hand, with Kyle looking on in displeasure as well, giving him subtle glances.

“-So that’s why I was asking, John,” you remain sweetly oblivious, adorned in a pretty dress Simon had gotten for you recently. “He will not spread any rumors, I’ll personally make sure of that-”

Your cheeks darken then, and you glance away. “I- I am… merely a bit- unsatisfied, if you understand my point. And the stable man is loyal to you, he wouldn’t say anything.”

It’s clear he needs to keep a better watch over you. Where and when did you even interact with his stable boy, Graves? Though he focused on your words.

Unsatisfied.

Well, he can’t have that, can he? You’ve done your wifely duties so admirably, it’s about time he took care of you as well… and maybe dealt with the baseless barren rumors as well. A baby would keep you nice and content and focused on them alone, wouldn’t it?

Oh yes. Yes, it would.

dukedom au masterlist

Part two

[abusivegymrat]

Think of a reader who can’t fucking sit straight even the manliest men are anxious fucks while they consider manspreading near her, before deciding against it.

Think of a reader who could and would have her feet on the table in front of the fucking president or something.

Think of a reader who puts her feet on Simon’s shoulders while sitting behind him in briefing, while the entire room freezes in fear.

Think of a reader who nudges his temple with her boot when he opens his mouth to object behind the balaclava.

Think of a reader who got uncomfortable in a vehicle during a co-op mission with some other team, and even though she’s reckless, she knows her limits and shows respect. So she’s not sitting weird, not when everyone’s trying to fit.

So think of the reader’s reaction when the men near her finally take this chance to manspread as if it’s a competition.

“Close them the FUCK up, your dick isn’t even that big. It doesn’t need more space than me.”

haha this happened to me in metro today, the woman saying that was so badass omg😭

[gloomwitchwrites]

Oh please, please, please something short, funny with 141 where their wife calls them on their way home from work “yea, I think I’m having contractions!” And by the time they rush home, she’s sitting in the bath tub with their new baby. And she’s all casual like ‘Hey! Look at this cool thing I’ve got!’ And it’s their baby.

(My Grandmother had this happen! Each kid under an hour. My grandfather nearly had a heart attack! He’d always hesitate to leave her alone. Suspicious she was ‘purposefully’ going into labor when he wasn’t there to help her. Lol…)

Okay, that is so funny and adorable! Hehe, omg, I love this. Dad!141 is my favorite. I love writing them as fathers or as potential fathers. And this prompt is just an excuse to do that! Thank you so much for sending it in. Enjoy!!

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

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): married life, pregnancy, childbirth, domestic fluff, swearing, humor

Word Count: 2.1k

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

John Price

Price rubs at his temple, releasing a deep sigh.

It’s late. The base is nearly empty. Another late night filled with paperwork.

His phone buzzes, the cellular device vibrating on the desk. Price reaches for it, checking the screen. It’s you calling him, and his stomach flips.

“Cabbage,” he greets with a smile, answering the phone.

You’re pregnant, due date just a week or two away. Price doesn’t like leaving you home alone, but this is the last push. After tonight, he can come home early.

“John?”

His name is a question. There’s a hint of worry—of nervousness—and Price immediately picks up on it.

“Everything okay, love?” he asks, slowly standing, paperwork suddenly forgotten.

“John. I—I think—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m having contractions.”

By the time the words leave your mouth, Price is already grabbing his coat. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He swallows, pushing down his own anxiety, smothering it so he can be strong for you. “Stay on the phone with me. I’m coming home.”

On the other end of the line, you breathe heavily. Each whimper worries him.

“John,” you gasp, voice strangled as he throws himself into his car and turns it on.

 “I know. I know. I’m coming.”

Price is doing his best to stay calm, to stay alert as he drives off base and heads for home, but all he can focus is on you.

“Keep talking to me, love,” he says, attempting to sound encouraging.

“Okay,” you reply, but then go quiet.

 “Cabbage?”

When you don’t answer him, Price uses your name. Nothing. No sound at all as if the line’s gone dead.

“Shit,” he mutters, holding the phone out to check.

Call Dropped.

“Fucking shit,” he says, louder.

Price continues to dial—continues to call. Every time, he expects you to pick up, but you never do. The worry grows, becoming deafening as the seconds tick by. Traffic laws are broken, but it gets him home faster.

He’s throwing himself out of the car, dashing to the house, not caring if he forgot to put the vehicle in park. In the front entryway, he calls out to you, using your name.

There is no response.

 “Fuck,” he whispers as he dashes up the stairs, heading for the bedroom. He enters, and it’s—

Empty.

“Where are you?” he breathes, turning away to check the rest of the house.

But then Price hears your voice, soft and soothing. Frowning, he checks the bedroom again, only to head toward the bathroom.

You’re sitting on the floor, back pressed against the tub. There’s blood and a fluid Price doesn’t recognize smearing the floor between your legs.

You glance up. Smile. “Hi,” you laugh as Price drops to his knees beside you.

There’s a baby in your arms. Its hands are tight fists, face pinched like it’s annoyed to be here.

“No wonder you didn’t answer the phone,” sighs Price, placing his hand against yours that cradles the infant’s head.

“A bit busy,” you chuckle.

Price laughs with you, taking his phone out his jacket pocket to dial the hospital.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine, Simon. Really.”

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “The last time I left you this close to your due date, you gave birth while I wasn’t here.”

You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “That’s not going to happen again.”

“It might,” he growls.

“It won’t,” you insist.

As you start to walk away, Simon blocks your path. “You’ve been complaining about your lower back all morning.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I always complain about my lower back.” Simon begins to object but you continue on. “And we need milk. And eggs. And bread.”

“Fine,” mutters Simon. “Fine. I’ll go. But you call me immediately if anything happens.”

 “Okay, dad,” you reply, mocking him.

Simon drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you in to kiss the top of your head. “Pumpkin,” he replies, and you hear the smile in it.

“The sooner you go the sooner you’ll be back. You can worry and fuss over me all you want then.”

Simon pulls you in for another kiss before heading out the door. The trip to the store isn’t peaceful. In the back of his mind, Simon stews, a little voice telling him that you’re going to call him any second and tell him you’re in labor. That’s what happened with your first, and Simon came home after you’d given birth.

He was devasted. Upset. Not with you—never with you. He was upset with himself for not being there to support you through it. To hold your hand. To encourage and shower you with love.

Simon is standing in line at the meat counter when you call him.

“Don’t be angry,” you say when he answers the phone.

“Are you having contractions?”

“…Yes.”

“Goddamn it.”

Simon abandons the shopping trolley, apologizing to the workers as he rushes out the door and to the car. When he enters the house, he hears your labored cry. Dashing up the stairs, Simon enters the bathroom at the same moment you cry out, clearly pushing. You’re on your hands and knees, sweat beads your brow, hair sticking to your face.

He dives to his knees, arms outstretched and reaching beneath you as the baby’s head emerges.

“I’m here,” Simon says, keeping his voice calm and soothing.

You start crying, head tilting to lean against his shoulder.

Another push, and then the rest of the baby is out and in Simon’s hands. The infant is silent at first, then releases a cry of displeasure.

“Bloody hell,” exhales Simon, “I’m never leaving you alone again.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I’m having contractions, reads the text.

Johnny’s mouth drops open, gaze growing distant.

You’re having contractions. You’re having contractions, and he is on the other side of the city. With traffic, he’s likely an entire hour away from you.

“Soap?” asks Gaz, waving his hand in front of Johnny’s face.

“I have to go,” says Johnny quickly, shooting up from his chair, almost knocking it over.

Gaz and Ghost both stand abruptly, clearly startled by Johnny’s sudden panic.

“Everything good?” asks Ghost.

Johnny shakes his head. “The missus is having contractions.”

“Oh,” replies Gaz, eyes growing a bit wide. “Damn. Go. You should go.”

“We’ll cover your tab,” adds Ghost.

Johnny groans. “Her due date isn’t for another bloody week.” He grabs his jacket.

“You’re going to be a father, Soap,” chuckles Ghost, punching him in the shoulder.

“Fuck. What if she has it while I’m not there?”

“Don’t these things take forever anyway?” muses Ghost. “Contractions don’t mean anything. Right?” He glances at Gaz.

Gaz shrugs. “I think you should worry if it’s close together.” Gaz holds his hands close to indicate the lack of time.

“Shit,” mutters Johnny, tapping away at his phone.

Are they close together?

It’s a few seconds and then the three little circles pop up, indicating that you’re typing back.

They’re close. A few minutes apart. I’m on the phone with the midwife.

“Oh fuck,” mutters Johnny, elongating the vowel as he tugs on his jacket.

Gaz grimaces. “It’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure as Johnny rushes past him. “Congrats!”

Johnny hardly hears him, he’s too focused on getting to the car. Every second is agony—not knowing what’s happening while he’s driving. When he pulls up to the house almost an hour later, there’s a car Johnny doesn’t recognize in the drive.

As bursts through the door, he hears calming music. Rushing forward into the living room, he finds you on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, propped up by a nest of pillows. The midwife putters about as you gently rock back and forth, cradling an infant in your arms.

You glance up. “Look,” you laugh, lifting the infant that you’ve just birthed, presenting it like you’ve completed a fun DIY craft project.

Johnny almost faints.

“Oh, babe,” he exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The midwife makes a sound of annoyed agreement and Johnny winces.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “She came quickly.”

“I should have been here,” he groans, sliding to the floor next to you, draping an arm over your shoulders.

You lean into him. “You’re here now,” you sigh, eyes closing as you snuggle against him.

Johnny looks to the midwife, and she smiles at him—a reassurance. You’re fine, and so is his daughter.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Ignoring it, Kyle keeps his attention on Captain Price, focusing on the briefing for the upcoming mission. The phone goes silent. Seconds later, it starts up again. Frowning, Kyle reaches into his pocket, sliding out the phone just enough to see the screen. Your name and picture appear on the screen, your smile bright and lovely.

“Need to answer that?”

Kyle’s head snaps up at the sound of Captain Price’s voice.

“Sorry, Captain. It’s the missus.”

Price inclines his head, the middle of his brow creasing slightly. “It’s she pregnant?”

“She is,” affirms Kyle.

“Then you should answer it.”

Kyle gives him, Ghost, and Soap a brief nod. “Excuse me,” he mutters, standing and heading for the door.

When the meeting room door slams shut, the phone starts up again.

Kyle answers, his words falling from his mouth quickly, sounding like one solid word instead of several. “What’s going on, love?”

“I’m having contractions.”

You sound panicked.

 “You’re—are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” you gasp. “Water broke earlier—"

Kyle’s voice rises slightly. “Your water broke and you didn’t call me?”

“I wasn’t feeling anything,” you reply, as if that makes it okay. “But now, it’s constant.” Your sigh is labored. Tired. “They’ve come on so suddenly, Kyle. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, love. Don’t apologize.” You have nothing to be sorry for. He’s just happy you called. “I’m coming home. Right now.”

“But you have that meeting. You can’t—”

“I’m coming home,” he reiterates. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hang in there, dove. I’ll be there soon.” Kyle disconnects the call and bursts through the meeting room doors. “It’s happening,” he announces.

Soap blinks, confused. “What’s happening?”

Ghost side-eyes him. “He’s about to become a dad.”

“Fucking shit. Really?” Soap turns to Kyle, beaming. “Congrats.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest, a look of pride on his face. “Go, Sergeant.”

Kyle nods, giving a half-wave as he backs out through the toward, heading toward the parking lot. He’s practically running—rushing to turn the car on. Taking off, Kyle hardly cares if he hits anything, and he doesn’t blink when breaking nearly a dozen traffic laws.

He makes it home in half the time he usually does. Every second counts. Every moment important. If the contractions are coming quickly and close together, it means the baby is ready, and he needs to get you to the hospital.

As he enters the front door, he calls out to you. Your answer comes, but it’s distant. Upstairs. Kyle takes the stairs two at a time, walking into the bedroom to find it empty. But the bathroom light is on.

A few steps, and he pushes open the door.

You’re not standing at the sink putting on your makeup or getting ready to leave. You sit inside the shower on the tile floor, the glass door wide open, pantless, and cradling an infant in your arms.

“Shit,” he breathes, moving forward. “Shit.” Kyle crouches just outside the shower door.

You grin sheepishly, lifting the baby like it’s an accident. “She came minutes after I got off the phone with you.”

“Oh, bloody hell, love,” laughs Kyle.

There are tears in your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t be, my love.” Reaching out, he grasps the back of your neck. Leaning in, he presses his lips to your forehead. “She’s beautiful.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @glassgulls @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Ghost wasn’t even looking for you two. He just needed to grab a goddamn med kit. That’s it. A simple in-and-out trip to the supply closet.

But the moment he opened the door, he knew.

Grunting. Breathing. Whispers. The thud of something hitting metal.

He paused in the doorway, completely still, staring into the dim room as his brain registered what he was seeing.

Soap. Shirt halfway off. Neck covered in bite marks. Mouth open in some silent, stunned expression of praise the lord and ruin me more. Hands gripping the edge of a crate like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

And you? Pressed against him. One hand buried in his hair, the other dragging slowly down his back, nails scratching like you were claiming territory.

You didn’t even look away when Ghost appeared. You just kept your body flush with Soap’s, breath brushing against his ear as you looked directly at Ghost and said,

“Occupied.”

Soap finally realized they weren’t alone, eyes wide as he choked out, “*Ghost—fuck—*this isn’t—”

Ghost held up a hand. “Nope.”

Just turned around and closed the door without another word. Stood in the hallway for a moment. Processing.

Then muttered, “They’re gonna burn this place to the ground and call it foreplay.”

He walked away. Found Gaz.

“Don’t go in the supply closet.”

Gaz blinked. “Why not?”

“They’re in there.”

Gaz paused. “Doing what?”

Ghost didn’t stop walking. “Pick a verb.”

[disasterofastory]

After a mission, you sit with the guys. They are still shocked by the fact that you managed to haul an unconscious Ghost onto your back and got yourselves out of the building before it collapsed.

Soap just stares, trying to figure out where the hell you are hiding the strength to lift a man like Ghost; all muscle and gear.

Gaz shakes his head. “It’s the adrenaline. Mothers lift cars to save their babies.”

You glance at your LT. His eyes say it all, but you say it anyway, grinning too.

“YOU ARE MY BABY”

Price is just tired.

[skyrigel]

Reader who doesn't speak English as their first language and Simon being so in love !!

Over the dinner course, you leaned forward confidently, like you were sharing a secret.

"I think we should buy a baby wheelchair for them."

Price's missus was going to have a baby shower next week.

"Wot?" Simon blinked.

"A baby wheelchair—" You pulled your fist into a punching stance and moved it back and forth, mimicking a tiny car. "Like a baby car… phew phew."

"Oh, that's a stroller." Simon raised a brow, watching your head bobble in a self-absorbed nod.

"Exactly, baby car… stroller."

And it was so cute when you looked up at him whenever you forgot certain words.

"Simon, how do you say in English? The takka-takka-takka—"

"Helicopter," Simon said fondly, earning himself a sweet peck on the lips.

The task force enjoyed it immensely. When Soap said, “Break a leg !” and you raised up a fight at why Simon should break his leg.

Or when Kyle couldn't stop laughing so much with the way you pronounced, “Bitch” to the bird who was hitting up on Simon.

And Simon loved it all, felt love in your eyes through your words, especially when you used his vocabulary—God, it did something to him.

Saying "bugger" when you put too much ketchup, and "bloody freezin’, innit?!" with that corky little smile because you knew how much it wrecked him.

"Bollocks," you would curse, and he’d already be losing his heart and mind, dragging you to the bedroom.

The way you would slip into your native dialect when you were upset, voice rising as you made frustrated noises—Simon would forget the argument entirely, just watching you with that pretty face he’d go to war for.

And something, something about the way you said "I love you" in your native language first, just as softly, and how you called him "my love" in that same way too.

Bloody hell, he’s so in love.

Masterlist

[disgustingtwitches]

threesome with Kyle and Johnny and you are reminded that Johnny is so smart he's stupid:

Soap: can I finish inside you

You: yeah I have an IUD

Soap: you got a bomb in your pussy?

Kyle: that's an IED you absolute clownshoe

...

Kyle: you are a demolitions specialist

[drgnflyteabox]

Fem!reader x 141

Honestly might be able to to something with the gross stuff I saw at the hardware store I used to work at (except make it hot and 141)

Imagine you're a cashier, the only one with early morning availability so you're there at 5:45am for the 6am start. It's always the worst kinds of contractors there: rude, tired, dirty, leering gazes and sexist comments

You're pretty sick of it, but you get paid a bit more than minimum wage and you're done by 11am so, you take it with a cheery smile and fast service

The 141 contracting company starts spending at your store. So much, in fact, that your manager personally takes you aside to mention just how much they do - nearly a million a year - and how no matter what, your job is to be nice and please them

Well, you can do that. You've dealt with crazy, awful old contractors screaming in your face about lumber prices at 6:30am more than once, heard them talking about your tit's or your ass right in front of you - you can handle it

Until the masked one comes in first and hes huge, dark hoodie and cargo pants hanging low on his hips. He hands you 3k in bills only there are bloodstains on them and he watches you closely the whole time you count them out

It's... not a first, but the look he gives you makes you shiver. Pale eyelashes, tall, intimidating

The second is nicer. Too nice, in fact. He charms you before you're even fully awake, and your shift goes by quickly thinking about that winning smile and the way he'd touched your fingers while he handed you a stack of bills... not to mention those soft brown eyes

The third is... intense, for 8am. He rolls on the balls of his feet, stares at you harder than the masked one. He offers to buy you a hot chocolate at the coffee shop next door and grins like you made a joke when you decline

Their boss is fucking dreamy. Even you have to admit it, trying not to look up at his mustached, frankly porno-esque face. He's huge, as tall as the others but thick, with a little pudge around his belly. He trudges in with thick workboots and a stained t shirt, pays for 24k worth of material with a lazy smile on his face like it's nothing

You might ask head cash to move you to the garden center after all...

[ragingbookdragon]

My Lord! A Snappin' Turla!

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: New OC foks!! :) Thorne

**********************************************************************

It’s an ordinary Tuesday morning at the 141 base when Laswell walks into the room with a rather annoyed looking woman in tow. The guys look up from their breakfast and tea, to Laswell, to the woman, then back to their breakfast, and it’s only Price who breaks the silence.

“This her?” he asks and Laswell nods, shoving her forward.

“This is indeed. Introduce yourself.”

“I’d rather not,” the woman mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.

“There are a lot of things I’d rather not do and babysitting you is one of those,” Laswell retorts. “Introduce yourself.”

The woman rolls her eyes, lets out an exaggerated sigh and greets, “Name’s Snapper.”

At this, Soap looks up from his eggs. “Snapper?”

“That’s what I said, William Wallace.”

He ignores the swipe. “Why do they call you ‘Snapper’? Bonnie lass like you should be called something nicer.”

Snapper blinks, eyes hardening as she answers, “I once got attacked by a drunk guy who though it would be a good idea to stick his hand in my face. Three guesses as to what I bit off and how many.”

“And there goes my desire to ask you out,” Soap jokes and she turns to Laswell with a glare.

“I’m gonna hurt this boy’s feelings.”

“Play nice, niece,” she sighs and this time, Gaz looks up.

“Niece? You have a niece?”

“My wife’s.”

“Ah,” he nods and looks to Snapper. “Kyle Garrick. But everyone calls me Gaz.”

“I cannot physically believe you’re sticking me in a base full of men.”

Laswell rolls her eyes. “As much as I hate to actually admit this, you’re one of the best information specialists I’ve ever seen. The 141 can benefit from your help.”

“Men. I’m stuck on a base full of male soldiers. Who shit and fart and laugh loudly with no regards to their surroundings. Why would this be enjoyable for me?”

“Consider it punishment for hacking into the Pentagon and changing the official records to say that Clinton did in fact have sexual relations with that woman.”

Snapper glares at the floor. “You just can’t appreciate good humor.”

“I appreciate my wife not being beside herself in tears that her only niece is in federal prison.”

“Had to get your attention and entrance to the CIA somehow,” she griped.

Finally, Ghost meets her gaze. “You hacked into the Pentagon so you could prove you were good enough to join the CIA?”

She glares at him. “Yeah, kinda how you joined the army so you could find a family that actually cared about you.” She looks at them. “Anybody else want their feelings hurt or just the obviously PTSD-ridden, antisocial, masked freak?”

“You’re out of line, Snapper,” Laswell hisses and she turns her glare onto her aunt.

“I didn’t ask to be here. You could’ve put me anywhere else. You control where I go but you sure as shit don’t control what the fuck I say or do.”

The two glower at one another before Laswell shuts her eyes, breathes deeply for a few moments, then opens her eyes and looks at Price. “Her file is on your desk, her bags are outside the door. She’s a handful but she’s good. If you need me, call.” She turns to Snapper. “You piss me the hell off, I want to kill you, I love you, I’ll call you when I land. Goodbye.”

“You can’t just leave me here!” she shouts in return but doesn’t follow, instead she cocks a hand on her hip and looks at the four men at the table. “So…what’s on the agenda first?”

Price lets out a breath. “Manners, for starters.”

“Kiss my left ass-cheek,” she retorts. “I’m not letting a forty-five-year-old man tell me how to be ladylike.”

Soap and Gaz both snort into their drinks and Price falls stricken with a look of disbelief. “I’m thirty-eight?”

“Uh huh, and I’m the fucking Queen of England.” She gestures to them. “Have fun in your circle-jerk club. I’m gonna go wander.”

“No you’re not, lass,” Soap says, jumping up to grab her arm and she pauses, looks down at his hand, then back up.

“You wanna play this game with me?” Snapper asks coldly. “Because I’ll win.”

He points a finger in her face. “You keep your hands to yourself and your teeth off people.”

“I find I don’t like men telling what to do particularly pleasant. Let go or you’ll be two fingers less than you were five seconds ago.” He glares but lets her go and follows when she turns around. “I don’t need a babysitter. Fuck off.”

“This base has sensitive information you’re not privy to.”

“Yeah, like how you take the lieutenant up your ass every night?”

Soap stalls. “H-how?”

“I’m very good at what I do,” is all she tells him, then pauses and turns back to the table. “I want that one to lead me around.” Her finger is pointing straight at Gaz, who looks like he’s about to shit a brick.

He looks at Price in terror. “I do not want to be her friend.”

“Fuck you,” she barks, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m a great friend.”

Price glances between the two glaring at each other. “Gaz, give her a tour of the base.”

“Price—”

“That’s an order,” he adds and Gaz grunts, getting up from the table to follow her.

“C’mon,” he says, and she clears her throat with exaggeration, getting in front of him.

“Oh no, I’m not being led around like a dog.”

“I’m not treating you like a fucking dog,” he gripes, opening the door. “Just go.”

“Make me, princess,” she retorts and the two start arguing as the door shuts behind them.

No one breaks the silence for a few moments, then Price groans, lays his head on the table and swears. “Fuckin’ Laswell. When she said she had a specialist in mind, I thought it was gonna be someone enjoyable.”

Soap tipped his head side to side. “I dunno, Price, she seems like an…acquired taste.”

“More like sour,” he bites back, sitting up to run a hand down his face. “God help Gaz.”

“He’ll be fine,” Soap says. “What’s the worst that could happen? They hate-fuck?”

“Exactly. I’m too young to be a grandfather,” he says, looking at Ghost. “They’re not allowed to sleep in the same room. Ever.”

“Who fucking died and put me in charge of them?” Ghost snaps.

“Because I trust you.”

“You don’t trust me?” Soap asks, hurt.

“You’ll encourage them, Simon won’t.”

“But don’t you want Gaz to be happy?”

“I want Gaz to not be arrested for killing a CIA agent.”

“Think she might bite his head off before that happens,” Ghost says.

“She’ll bite somethin’,” Soap snorts.

Price grunts, rising from his seat, tea cup in his hand. “I’m going to my office. Come get me if they get into a fistfight.”

“Still questioning why I’m in charge of them,” Ghost gripes.

“Because I fuckin’ said so. That’s why.”

“Permission to not be nice to her.”

“Granted. Lethal verbal decimation allowed.”

“Copy.” Ghost rises, pointing at Soap. “You. Come on.”

“You?” he sputters. “I have a name, ya fuckin’ reprobate.”

As the two argue while they leave, Price leans against the table and frowns at his feet. “I need a partner…or a fucking hobby…or both.”

[justanoasisimagines]

Friends to Lovers

Hey lovelies back with another headcanon, my requests are open and my guidelines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

❀Kyle has always know you were special to him. hen the two o you met something clicked. The two of you were fast friends.

❀Kyle calling you a special nickname relating to your friendship. Even after you've taken the leap, he'll still use the same nickname.

❀You've been friends for yours before he begins to realise he's fallen for you. Over the years the two of you have gown close. You're affectionate with each other, hugging, kisses on the cheek. Kyle's caught him himself holding your hand more than once.

❀Kyle and you being insperable. The other's notice and make jokes about you two being joined at the hip.

❀When Price meets the two of you he insists you both join the task force. He makes a point to regard you as a package deal.

❀You and Kyle always looking out for each other. Both of you a fiercly protective of each other.

❀Both of you dating other people, yet each relationship fails. Through each breakup the two of you lean on each other.

❀It takes one day when things turn. You two are the closest you've ever been. You get injured in the field. Kyle's usually a composed person, but seeing you hurt courses him to go on a downward spiral.

❀He's by your bedside, refusing to leave. The other's have to bringg him food and force himself to look after himself. John reminds him he'll be no good to you, if he doesn't.

❀It gives him time to think. To realise he can't live without you. This is what forces Kyle to realise, he's in love with you.

❀When you wake, Kyle confesses his feelings at the nearest possible convience. With new realisations, and a new relationship, you two begin a new future.

[superhoeva]

the 141 boys with a crying reader is eating me aliveee

the first time you cry in front of gaz is an accident and that man turns into the softest thing you'll ever meet. maybe it's a bad day at work. or a rude dick at the store you stopped at on the way home. regardless, he's allll sweet cuddles and coos. shushing you while kissing your wet cheeks, mumbling that it's gonna be alright, lovie. 'm here, 've got you, yeah?

silence. that's the first thing that comes when soap realizes you aren't faking it. those are real tears falling from your eyes and he's got to do something about it. there's an ache in his stomach when you lull against him, and the man's got to pull himself together before you're both blubbering messes. with no idea what to say, he opts for physical comfort instead. holding you almost too tight, hoping that you can't feel how fast his heart is beating at the sight of you so sad.

price spots the tears before they come. senses the energy in the air as you walk to him with slumped shoulders. what's this now, hm? the question rocks something inside you–breaks the dam–and collapses you straight into his awaiting arms. he ignores your whine when he pulls away, cradling your face and reminding you to breathe. in and out, darlin'. that's good, just breath with me for a bit. whatever it is this time, he'll fix it. make it better, and do the same thing the next time you come before him with a wobbly lip and watery eyes.

what's happened? who did this, i'll kill em. you can't find a break in your cries to answer simon, and this makes him sober a bit. finally, it takes him a second to realize that that's not what you need to hear right now. that version of him isn't who he needs to be right now. so he stuffs down the anger and replaces it with a palm against your back and cradling of your head with the other. he stands completely still, as if you'll break, and stays that way until your sobs revert to soft sniffles. don't 'ave to tell me right now, love, okay? just don't pass out 'n me, alright?

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[beloveds-embrace]

Imagine 141 moving into a quaint little town post retirement and you’re the only baker in town. You love making sweets, breads, and desserts and own a cute bakery to show for it, know everyone in your town so these four new men who come early morning to try your breakfast deal immediately excite you because- new perspectives and tastes and opinions! It’s become a habit of yours to share bites of whatever new item you plan on adding to the menu, so the more diverse opinions the merrier in your opinion.

And you are glad you didn’t let their demeanor- big gruff men, especially the one with the black surgical mask- scare you away because they are sooo nice, calling you sweetheart, doll, birdie, and bonnie. So many nicknames, it has you blushing the sweetest pink shade. And they are all too happy to help taste-test for you, giving you lots of praise.

(Though you never quite notice their immense disappointment at seeing the little ring on your finger.)

Still, at the very least one of them comes over to your bakery once a day. Sometimes they come together, sometimes only two of them- but they come anyways and tip you every time despite you insisting otherwise. It’s a lovely friendship you build with them. But they do note you never mention your partner much.

Until Simon drops by one day, intent on buying one of your apple pies and maybe fluster you enough to turn the same shade as an apple, and he sees the bruises that peek out just so from your sleeves and the collar of your outfit. Puffy eyes, more makeup than usual, your smile not quite there…

And he understands. He knows this all-too-well. And the fact that it’s happening to an embodiment of sunshine like you? Unfair. Unbelievable. Unacceptable.

Simon gently takes your hands, squeezing them so lightly. “Everything’ll be well, luvie. Promise.” And that’s all he says.

And maybe it’s cruel of you to be happy when you receive a call a few days later, the sherrif of the town telling you your husband was found mauled to death by one of the bears that roam around the woods occasionally, but you just… don’t care.

A week later, when it seems appropriate enough, you open up the bakery again and your smile is blinding as you greet the 141 men and tell them for today, everything’s for free.

part 2

Other works + help me choose a title for this 😩