#kyle gaz garrick x johnny soap mactavish

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Kinktober 2024 Day Five

Glory Hole

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/John 'Soap' MacTavish

Soap burped without bothering to cover his mouth. “You know, I think I could guess who it is.”

“How many times have you gone, then? Must be a lot, if you’re that confident about it.” Gaz set his empty bottle down on the turned over crate everyone pretended was a table, before collapsing back onto the sofa and rolling his head around to look at Soap as he debated whether or not it was worth getting up to grab the last beer before Soap did. They were the only two left in the breakroom at this point, (perks of being in good with the captain), and therefore the only two who could undertake the responsibility of finishing the beer, which they were taking very seriously.

“I mean, not that many, but… feels like it should be obvious.” Soap lounged back on the other sofa, resting his arm over his face, because even though he’d switched the overhead lights off, the lamp light still made the room ‘too bright’ for him. “Like you know it’s not the captain. The guy doesn’t have any facial hair.”

“You’ve thought about this too much.” Gaz dragged himself up and grabbed the box, sinking his arm into it to grab the last bottle, clutching it tight as he tossed the box over his shoulder in the vague direction of the recycling bin by the door.

“What, Price doesn’t suck dick?”

“Oh, he does.” Gaz chuckled and opened the beer, shifting as he spread his legs. “But only when he gets the credit for it.”

“Fuck me, you’re getting more than me.”

“S’not more, just better quality.” Gaz sipped the bottle and winced. Why the hell did he let Soap be in charge of buying the beer again? “And, since you’re the expert, could it be Ghost?”

“Simon?” Soap frowned, chewing on his lip. “You know, it could be. He’s kinda mean like that. You know, you’ll take what he gives you, damn you if it’s too much.”

“He’s gentle enough with me.”

“Yeah, cause your pretty ass demands to be handled like fine china.” Soap sat up looking for the box, scowling when he spied it lying empty on the open floor behind Gaz. “Some of us can take being manhandled.”

“We’re aware.” Gaz sipped his beer again, fuzzily realising that their chat had got him hard. He shifted in his seat again, moving a cushion onto his lap.

“Oh, eh. Am I going to see pretty boy in action?” Soap sat up and lunged for Gaz’s bottle.

“Not if you keep calling me pretty boy.” Gaz pulled the bottle back out of his reach. “You know who I think it is? Graves.”

“Fuck- What? What – and why – do you know about how he sucks dick?” Soap half fell off the sofa, pushing himself up to stare open mouthed at Gaz.

“Fuck all, but like… It would suit him, right? Like, the only fucker around here that is that desperate for dick, but has enough of a shit reputation that he can’t get any through normal means, is him.”

“I hate that reasoning.” Soap sighed, struggling back up to lie down on the sofa. “But I’m never getting that image out of my head. Him, crouched behind a wall and taking everyone like a champ, one after the other.”

“What’s it called? Oral fixation?”

“Jesus Christ…” Soap laughed. “But he did nick all my fucking gum that one time. Never paid me back, neither.”

“You threatened to air strike him.” Gaz switched which hand he was holding the beer with as Soap stood up and came over to sit next to him.

“Still. He owes me at least a quid.”

“Tell him that next time we see him. I know I’m not going to fucking to be able to get this out of my head when we do.” Gaz sipped the beer, aware that Soap had moved with his eye on the bottle, not him.

“As long as you still shoot straight while pissing yourself laughing.”

“I’m good. I can be professional. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Aww, I’m flattered.” Soap swiped for the beer again, this time grabbing hold of it and successfully prying it from Gaz’s grip.

Gaz laughed, letting his head fall back as he tried to think about how to change the topic. “You know… how do I know it’s not you?”

“Huh?” Soap sucked in a breath, glancing over from his mission of draining the bottle. “Not me what?”

“The glory hole. Since, you’re the one so eager to talk about it.” Gaz sat up, hugging the cushion close to him as he stared over at Soap. “Checking to see if your cover’s holding up?”

“Oh, that’s rich…” Soap chuckled.

“All this about Graves having an oral fixation, yet it’s you who’s always keeping gum around.”

Soap drained the last of the beer, setting the bottle down at the table. “I’m way better than that secret pissant, whoever he is. I give good head. And I’ll prove it.”

“You what?” Gaz watched as Soap stood up, pushing Gaz’s legs open to stand between them.

“Shift the cushion.” Soap stared down at him, and when Gaz didn’t move, tossed the offending décor item aside, dropping to his knees. Once there, between Gaz’s legs, he looked up at him, eyes softening. “Y’know. If you want.”

Gaz cupped Soap’s face, tilting it up as he widened his legs to accommodate Soap. “Go ahead mate.”

“Love you.” Soap mumbled, smiling, grabbing hold of the waistband of Gaz’s joggers.

“Love you too.” Gaz smiled too, before dropping Soap’s face as Soap tugged the waistband down so he could pull Gaz’s cock out, moaning at the sight.

“Jesus, you’re pretty.” Soap mumbled, before bending his head in to kiss the head of Gaz’s dick.

Gaz sighed and let his head fall back, moving one of his hands up to Soap’s head and tugging on his mohawk as Soap mouthed at his cock. His rubbed his tongue at the underside of the head of Gaz’s cock, closing a hand around the base, squeezing slightly, bobbing it up and down so it smacked against Soap’s lips. As it bounced back, Gaz could see saliva trailing from his cock back to Soap’s lips, that Soap chased down before closing his lips around the head, making Gaz groan and buck his hips into Soap’s hands.

“Easy. I’m working.” Soap patted his hips down, lightly flicking the head of Gaz’s cock with his thumb before sinking it between his lips again, little by little. Gaz sighed, running his hand over Soap’s head as his sank deeper and deeper into Soap’s warm mouth, groaning when he felt Soap’s throat twitch when he was pushed in a little too deep.

Gaz immediately pushed Soap’s head back, pulling his cock from between Soap’s lips as he patted Soap’s forehead. “Easy, easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Soap nodded, and Gaz removed his hand, allowing Soap to slowly take him back in his mouth, compromising by bringing his fingers up to work the base instead, grinding a circle out over a vein that bulged out of Gaz’s cock. The pleasure spasmed through Gaz’s body, sending him back onto the sofa cushions into a mindless stupor, gently running his hands over Soap’s cropped hair, huffing his breaths out when Soap took him deeper again, swallowing around his cock, cupping his balls in one hand and holding Gaz’s hip with the other, swallowing as Gaz came, his hips jerking up as Soap pulled his mouth off his dick, replacing it with his tongue as he eagerly licked it clean, only stopping when Gaz pushed his head back, even as Soap pushed back against him, tongue still peeking out between his reddened lips.  

“That’s it. Come on up.” Gaz pulled Soap up into his lap, cuddling him close, chuckling lightly as Soap pushed his hands up inside Gaz’s shirt.

“So, you still think it’s me?”

“No.” Gaz tucked Soap’s head into his neck. “No, you’re much better. You know how to treat a guy right.”

Soap chuckled, squeezing Gaz’s sides. “And, next. How do I know it’s not you?”

“You’re cheeky.” Gaz kissed Soap’s forehead. “Give me five minutes, I’ll blow you, and you can give me some pointers.

“You do fine.” Soap pressed his nose into Gaz’s neck.

“And I want to do better.”

“They say practice makes perfect.”

“Oh, sod off. It is you.” Gaz laughed, watching Soap’s head rise up in indignation.

“Have we not just—”

“I’m kidding. Ah, sit still, you kick my dick I’m not going to touch yours…”

“Alright.” Soap griped, but settled down. “You’re doing me, though.”

“I will. Just, five minutes.”

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

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?

[writersdrug]

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

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

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

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

[swordsandholly]

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

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

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

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

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

[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

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: This is just a reminder that all psychiatric and therapy services are covered by the SAS health insurance plan Simon, being restrained by Gaz and Soap: STOP LOOKING AT ME WHEN YOU SAY THAT

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[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.

[cinnammonfairy]

poly141 & f! reader ♡ | slight somno, smut, squirting, a whole lotta cum, piv ༝

"pretty thing welcoming us home like this."

"been teasing us so much 'fore we left, 's only right that we fuck you good now hm?"

barely comprehending your situation in your state of lethargy, your bones still weary with sleep, your eyes blinked open to price sitting next to your curled frame on the spacious couch. his hands grabbing your flimsy camisole to push the cotton fabric down, exposing your tits. you gasped as you lumbered slowly awake to gaz peeling your shorts off and down your legs, price lifting your upper body to rest your head upon his lap.

"w-what?"

"s okay darling, we'll take good care of you."

simon manhandles you up on your knees on the soft cushion, your knees pressed open wide by gaz revealing your panty clad cunt to his and soap's gaze. you blinked up at price, tears now pooling in your eyes. he smirks and presses a soft kiss upon your forehead, strong fingers cupping your cheek to keep your gaze firmly on his, he must find your reactions to this unexpected foray amusing.

"i- i didn't know you guys would be home s-so soon!"

you exclaimed exasperatedly, tone rising in pitch when soap takes hold of your panties and pulls to reveal your pussy lips, the minuscule fabric now only covering and pressing tightly against your clit.

"and what a pretty gift we got waiting for us here at home."

"we've been waiting so long to fuck you baby, and we come home to you like this sweetheart..."

tears spill from your eyes, as john chortles and rubs them slowly away.

"nothing to be 'fraid of darling"

you jerk in simon's grasp as you feel fingers slip your panties to the side, baring your pussy to the cool air. fingers that are wending it's way to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the nub as your legs trembled at the unexpected yet pleasant stimulation.

"can see your little hole clenching sweetheart, does she need something baby? she want my fingers and my cock yeah?"

gaz dips his fingers slowly in your now weeping hole, and thrusts shallowly, johnny's thumb now engulfing your clit rubbing firmly, drenching gaz's fingers with more of your slick.

"already so wet darling, so ready for my cock."

tears cling to your lashes as you feel the blunt head of gaz's cock rubbing over your slit, gathering your wetness and tapping harshly against your clit. your face still held in price's grip, looser now that you can turn your head to watch gaz as the head of his cock enters your hole, easing his way in one thrust, engulfing his cock in your tight, wet hole. he groans at the warmth suffusing his cock, your pussy's grip on his thick cock tight as a vice. you moan at the intrusion, your hole stretched to forcibly take the entirety of his manhood in a solid thrust.

price brings your face up to his as gaz starts thrusting, bottoming out in every thrust, the wet sounds of your pussy accommodating his cock and the plap of skin against skin, price slotting his lips over yours to get a taste of you an effort to appease you, to get you even more pliable than you already currently were. your pussy clenches tightly gripping gaz's cock as price pries his tongue into your mouth, johnny's fingers back on your clit as if impatient to witness your release.

"go on darling, come on my cock sweet girl."

"such a good lass."

you felt the twitch of gaz's cock as you came, him following not long after, his milky cum gathering on your hole and dripping down his balls with the force of your orgasm and his continued thrusts to ride out both your highs. pressing a kiss on your shoulder he eases his cock out of your cunt, the spill of his cum obscenely pooling out of your hole and down your thighs, making a mess of the couch.

your legs still firmly in place by simon, who's bulge is at your eye level, your eyes widened at the sudden feel of another cock, undoubtedly johnny's if the sudden handful of your ass that he was currently grabbing to pull you and fill you with his cock was anything to go by. the frantic thrusts and fingers that never left your clit and continued toying with your pebbled nipples, grabbing every inch of your skin that he could fondle. his moans a surprising delight as you mewled when his cock reached particularly deep parts of you in his eagerness. drenching his cock in your cum, he didn't hesitate to pump you full of his in return.

now limp yet still alert in simon's hold, he handed you over to price his fingers digging into your hips, his pants and boxers open just enough for his cock to be out. sinking you down on his cock and elevating you so he could thrust from below, deep into your pussy.

"good girl baby, such a good girl f' me."

"taking my cock so well yeah? pretty pussy feels like it was made just for us baby."

price's thrusts were slower, making a point to reach your more sensitive spots that made you moan so pretty on top of him. you cried out in overstimulation, the mess of cum spilling from your messy hole lubricating his fat cock, the filling stretch making you whimper and wail, docile on his chest.

"oh don't cry baby, just a little bit more. pretty pussy gonna make me cum. gonna fill you up sweetheart."

you came at the rough scratch of his happy trail over your clit, a quivering mess on his chest as he pumped you full of his cum.

you were a disarray who was put back together again the moment simon stuffed you full of his cock in a mating press, his cock the thickest and most filling of them all, you felt stretched wide yet he was ever so patient in feeding you every inch. kissing you, as his heavy balls slapped against your ass with every deep thrust of his cock, the vulgar stretch of your hole to take his cock. it was no wonder that you squirted over the sheer stimulation of his thrusts, making a mess of his abdomen at your release over his thrusts, the slick pool of cum a lewdly gathering mess over his cock and your cunt.

"such a pretty girl squirting on me like that, pretty cunt loved my cock so much she couldn't help but make a cute mess."

the mess of cum and squirt dribbling out of your gushing hole they'd contend was their greatest masterpiece.

ᡣ𐭩 idk guys .... i was just itching to write smth even though i know this probably isn't the best i hope you guys will enjoy it all the same though <3 should have a longer fic up sooonnn! this was mostly written for those who were looking for gaz in my other drabble actually hhehe

© cinnammonfairy.

[buttdumplin]

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

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

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

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

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Thinking about neurodivergent!secretary!reader who absolutely despises when there's new, young soldiers at the base.

Your base instinct is to run whenever there's a teenager in front of you – it doesn't matter if you're almost 30 years old. The scars of the bullying you suffered when you were young are still tender, and you hate when their scrutinizing gazes lock onto you, tongues sharp and ready to pick and pull at every loose thread of insecurity you have; hammering you down until stop sticking out like a bent nail.

Your boys see that. And they hate it.

They just love their little doll, their favorite (only) secretary. It's the highlight of their days to see you all pretty with your dresses and your soft but purposeful steps, calling out to them with a quiet voice. You're like a little bunny – small, scared, and cute. Their nerves flare up with the desperate need to just keep you safe in their hands, always within their reach.

And when they find out that some good-for-nothing recruits are intimidating you and talking shit about you behind your back, trying to bully you for the way you chose to live your life?

Price doesn't think twice about ruining their military careers. Who cares about some stupid runts? All that matters is your pretty smile, love. Maybe bullying doesn't call for a dishonorable discharge, but hey. A little abuse of power is absolutely nothing if it means keeping you happy.

Ghost will be more than happy to beat up all of the scum that had the gall to whisper nasty comments about you whenever he's training them. You're his little piece of heaven. The only bird that has ever looked at him with loving eyes, and not fear. He wouldn't stand for anyone who badmouths the one soft thing he has going on in his life. And if he punches their jaws until they dislocate so they can't talk about you? That's on them for not blocking. And if he breaks their finger so they can't type anything? Oh, lovie. That's on them for not dodging.

Soap is a lot less subtle. He'll just knock down whoever's near him if they so much as whisper something about you. No one talks about his bonnie. Not when you're the sweetest little thing that's ever been around him. Soap sometimes daydreams of getting a nasty toothache just by biting you, so sweet you are. And no one can ever hurt you beside him and his mates, when they eventually show you the sugar pain of their affections. Interestingly, Sergeant MacTavish just never seems to face disciplinary action despite how openly aggressive he is to those new runts...

Gaz is the one with the information. He's all tight lipped smiles and fake laughs when he's talking with a new recruit and they dare to poke fun at you. Sometimes they even know you're 141's secretary and openly expect Kyle to agree with them. As if he could ever think anything but the absolute best about you, his precious doll... He wouldn't let this slander go on for much longer, though. Just a few words with Price or Ghost and the recruit would be swallowing their words with blood and bile. You can always trust him to be your knight in shining armor, love, just like you're his princess. No harm will ever come your way, if it's up to him.

[rejectedbytheempty]

actually, ykw? imagine if simon had a civilian s/o and bc he’s constantly away and the partner is there most of the time anyways, he lets them decorate the place.

they make it so cozy with a million lamps with stained glass lampshades and tapestries on the walls and an unexpected number of stuffed animals on the bed.

one time, simon invites tf 141 to his flat and their jaws dropped, bc ofc simon didn’t warn them about the absolute pinterest board that his place was.

in fact, he hadn’t mentioned a partner at all, or to you that his team would be coming over so you’re still in one of simon’s raggedy old t-shirts with a handful of dry cereal halfway to your mouth.

it’s generally a shock for both parties, simon excluded, who seems to settle himself right in, kissing the top of your head, eyes crinkling slightly as he grins, looking rather like a cat showing off the bird he dragged in.

you had some choice words for him later, but for now, you brushed the crumbs off your face and wiped your hands off on your shirt before sticking your hand out to the team to introduce yourself.

surprisingly, it goes rather well. all things considered. the team is charmed by you and your ability to make ghost blush and smile endlessly. and you’re absolutely enamored with the fact that they keep complimenting your decor.

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

as a cheeky birthday treat to price, the force makes the drive to the nearest hooters. they're in the states for a mission and the restaurants dot many of the towns they drive through. sure there are a few back home, but it's an experience. one they want to enjoy thoroughly.

when their waitress comes up, they stare wayyyy to long for her comfort. which is how you get swapped with her. you're known for being able to handle customers like this. you don't balk when they stare down your shirt, just turn and ask if you can get them anything else. they're pieces of work tonight, but they're polite and keep their hands to themselves.

they become regulars after that. they have to after seeing you smile wide (although not at them) during the birthday song for price. they always ask for your section and make small talk while flirting. one of them usually leaves their number on the receipt with a healthy tip, but you don't budge.

they show you how good and capable they are for taking care of you. they know its wrong to solicit someone during their work, but it's just this once (they've decided to not approach you elsewhere, no matter how much johnny pouts. doesnt mean they arent watching). simon breaks the fingers of the man who groped you saturday night, kyle knifed the fucker hiding around the side of your car, and johnny slashed your touchy manager's tires. you don't really know about these things, but john's tips alone should show you how well they can take care of you!

you slowly warm up to them. you learn their names and where they're from. they don't come on as strong anymore, but its obvious they're still interested when one of them walks you to your car. sometimes you'll wear their jacket and an arm will be around your waist. possessive glare on any another man who dares to look your direction.

when they come in after longer than normal time away, they see you with a little crown with pink fuzz around the bottom and "birthday girl" written in diamonds on it. youre obviously unhappy about the kid's crown so they don't say anything, yet their smirks tell it all. price buys you a dessert when you're finished with your shift. to their surprise you squish in beside price. you let them call you "love" and "doll." johnny even feeds you a spoonful and gaz wipes your chin when you get a crumb.

it's about time you come around to their affection. they've been waiting so long and so faithfully. they have everything you need in their flat, so why don't you quit on the way out the door. call your landlord and tell him that you're moving out soon. you're truly theirs now. happy birthday, darling.

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[ilibelle]

Imagine that your uniform is made up of several layers of different types of fabric and bulletproof shields. In addition to the extra fabric, you wear a mask and helmet that cover your entire face. Your costume makes it impossible to identify whether you are a woman or a man, and to top it off, you never speak. This leads people who aren't part of your squad to believe that you're just a short man who never speaks.

You work for the squad led by Colonel König. Recently, there were some situations that resulted in Kortac temporarily joining Task Force 141, two squads united to capture a terrorist.

You are not and have never been a sociable person. You don't talk to people you don't know and you always let someone else do the talking for you. As much as you are an adult woman, mature enough to make decisions on your own, you are shy. Very shy.

It's not unusual for other people to ask your teammates about you, always wondering why you don't speak up. They ask about the many layers of fabric that make up your outfit, whether you don't suffocate from the excess cloth and pockets.

And these people always refer to you in the masculine.

Always.

Soap is a bit of a curiosity when it comes to mysterious people who don't interact much with others in the room and who just stand in a quiet corner, far away from any living thing in the room. No wonder he made Ghost his best friend.

So believe me when I say that he's intrigued by you. The mysterious, masked guy in the dark corner of the room, who so far hasn't interacted with anyone since he arrived. You've caught his attention, but he won't talk to you because something inside him tells him not to come up to you out of the blue.

Something inside him tells him to take it easy this time, because that something inside him thinks that the outside of that guy should be molded slowly to reveal the inside. Does that make sense?

The first person Soap will ask about you is König, because them strangely hit it off, much to the unhappiness of Ghost, who didn't like König. Perhaps it's because he's taller and has stolen the role of being the tallest in the room from Ghost.

And also because he saw König talking to you about something, but you didn't use your voice and just nodded. Which led him to think that maybe you were mute.

Soap approached König with a smile, bringing up some other subject before starting to ask questions about you. He doesn't want to sound weird.

"Hm... You know, I keep asking myself..." Soap begins, waiting for a signal to continue.

"What is it?" König asks, crossing his arms and smiling beneath his mask.

"That guy in the corner... Why doesn't he join the others?"

"Oh." König straightens his posture and looks at you, standing in the corner of the room and staring at an interesting spot on the floor. "She's a bit shy, don't worry."

The gears turned slowly in Soap's head after this information.

"IT'S A WOMAN?!!??!!!!?"

It wasn't Soap's intention to draw the attention of everyone in the room, Including you, to him and König. But it just happened.

Hello:)) it's my first time posting something written by me and my English is terrible, but I tried my best with a translator 😞