#soap x everyone

[mactavishenjoyer]

Unlike Ghost Soap's family wasn't murdered. Just a series of advents. Suicide is what took his father. Alcoholism is what took his mother. She ended up passing after two years of dialysis. That's what soap remembers the most about her. That she didn't listen to anyone that tried to help her. That she was mean in those last two years. That he had felt guilty when he was just tired of taking care of her. Him and his brother ended up in foster care. Getting split up but finding each other surprisingly quickly when his brother hit 18. His brother died in a car crash a year later. 19 was too young to go but death didn't care. His brother was the only person Soap buried. He deserved to rest somewhere nice. Instead of sitting in a box shoved into some closet like their parents. Soap must have been around 27 when he had actually spread his parents ashes. It only took 15 years to do so but he did it. Something he'd never admit out loud was that he didn't care. It felt wrong but it just wasn't a big deal. The only time he remembered crying over his family was burying his brothers smashed and unrecognizable body. Soap doesn't talk about it. Not because he wants to keep it hidden but because he is tired of the train of "I'm sorry" that comes with telling people. It annoyed him. He would also never say that out loud. He'd never tell someone that it was a waisted sorry. That he truly didn't care that his parents were gone. Paired with his career people would think he was crazy. They'd think that he lacked emotions when that was far from the case. He knew his emotions well. He knew the feeling of dread that washed over him when Simon didn't finish a solo mission in the estimated time. He knew the fear that ran through him that he'll pick up a call just to hear that Kyle didn't make it. He knew the terror that coursed through his body when Price would go dark. He knew the panic that would set in when Gary would get split up from another member. He knew he loved his team. He knew this was his family. He knew that he'd be lost without them.

[soapppp]

Soap is alright with Gaz making fun of him for his puppy like behaviour. He’s okay with Price calling him a mutt when he gets dirty paw prints all over the base hallways. He’s more than happy to obey when Ghsot whistles at him to sit or lay or move. Soap knows that werewolves are, at heart, dogs. They play, they chew up couches, they whine and argue with yippy barks, they make a mess with their thick fur and drool in their sleep. Try as he might to hate it, Soap knows that it’s natural for him to want to chase the large blue ball Gaz rolls down the hall way. He doesn’t care that he once broke his tail from wagging it so hard when he stole Price’s hat and made the older man chase him around the base.

But then….

It was a simple mission, something they had all done a hundred times over. Only this time, Soap was without his captain and his fellow Sargent and his collar felt too lose without Ghost pulling it around. Soap was fine with that, until he found himself working with a Lieutenant Manes. The man was alright, a good leader and quick thinker, but even upon meeting him Soap had a bad feeling.

The man didn’t tug at his collar like Ghost did, instead he pulled at Soap’s chin hair and growled at him to “stay the fuck down you overgrown dog”. He let out loud whistles and expected Soap to know what they meant, pushing him down by his snout when he hesitated as he tried to get a grasp on what he was asking. Manes threw a Grenade at some point and pinched Soaps ear, “that’s a grenade, mutt. Not a fucking toy, don’t chance it.” Soap had wanted to snap back that he was a demolition expert and knew the dangers of a grenade better than Manes, but as he realised the man was mocking him for a dogs love of playing fetch…

Soap came home from the mission and instantly Price was taking him out back and letting him shift into his smaller form, cupping his maw and patting his ears. Apparently another member of the 141, a goddamn rookie, had sent word to Price on the way back from the mission of how Manes had been treating their star wolf. Price let him sleep in his office that night, curled up at his feet while Gaz brushed his fur.

He didn’t ask where Ghost was, already knowing the answer.

[bugb0yster]

Headcannon: Soap is a boob man. Soap is also very gay. He likes man boobs. specifically, he likes sticking his face between gaz/ghost/price/roach/whoever’s pecs and just sitting there. alternatively, he likes to use his partner’s tits as stress balls.

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[cod-dump]

After all of this I can't wait for Soap to revoke everyone's soap privileges.

Or Ghost does and just kinda picks Soap up and leaves with him in his arms.

Which ever is funnier

Rudy is the reason him and Alejandro had their ‘Soap Privileges’ as long as they did. Soap genuinely liked being with them, they both were very good at caring for their partners. Plus, Rudy was terrifying and no one wanted to piss him off by taking Soap, so Soap was with them for a month.

Then Ghost practically raided the place to steal Soap back. He missed his boyfriend, he learned his lesson about tormenting him. Soap had missed him, too, so Rudy and Alejandro let Ghost leave with him. They know if something happens again that Soap would come back. They know he will after the taste he got of the two.

[deadunderorbit]

Everybody loves Soap

Elle King - Ex’s & Oh’s

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Can we some more of soap with a fatty please? I just need more of people thirsting over his ass

Why does my tumblr not notify me of these??? Anyway! Anything for a fellow people simping over soap and his ass lover!

Also I’ve been put onto other ships like Gaz x Soap and Price x Soap so be prepared for everyone thirsting over Soap.

Ps. I got mad side tracked with this and Soap’s ass ended being like a side feature sorry 😭

The idea I’ve got in my head is the 141 have an event to go to yeah? It’s a formal event so everyone’s dressing up nice. Everybody’s in fitted suits and looking all neat and trimmed and proper. Even Ghost has left the usual balaclava for a simple surgical mask.

But the real surprise here (more so than Price abandoning his hat for once and Ghost the mask) is that Soap’s suit is tailored to near perfection on him. Now don’t get them wrong they had all seen Soap in fitted clothes, the man seemed to own nothing besides jeans and tight shirts, but they’d never seen him in something tailored to bring out all of his assets.

It sits tight around his biceps and tapers in at the waist and the colour of the jacket brings out his eyes. But the real shock is the pants he has on. They can tell he’s not happy about them, constantly running his hands along his thighs and plucking at the tight material but that just seems to accentuate them even more.

They look painted on with the way they cling to his thighs and ass, shifting with every step he takes and threatening to rip if he moves too fast.

Soaps grumbling about them, something about how the brass wouldn’t let him walk around in his usual kilt cause it’d upset the older folk or something, ‘fucking let the old bags cark it for all I care, beats having to wear this shit’

But everyone else is silently thanking the brass for blessing their eyes with this rare sight.

Gaz looks a little pink in the face but he still approaches Soap with a smug little grin, blatantly checking his best friend out as he talks to him, “You gotta admit the pants make your ass look downright sinful McTavish.”

The Scot scoffs but nobody’s missing the flush it brings to his face, and suddenly it’s a competition to see who can make him blush more from the compliments they lay on him.

Price, in all his old man ways as the sergeants like to call it, simply comes right up next to Soap and slings an arm around his waist as they talk to a couple of soldiers from another platoon. Nothing really happens at first but then they’re shifting with the crowd and Price’s hand is slipping down and resting on the curve of his ass, fingers brushing gently and threatening to squeeze but not quite getting there.

When he leans in and speaks his voice is low, sounding like gravel and sending heat up Soap’s spine, “You look good lad.”

The words and light brushes of touch make him reden to an alarming degree if the worry in the soldier’s eyes is anything to go off of.

Ghost doesn’t really say much, he was never really a words person but also he can’t actually make his mouth move in the face of everything. So instead he just blatantly looks his sergeant over, holding eye contact when he catches Soap’s eye and relishing in the way his ears redden under his stare. And if he’s trying to hide the fact that he may or may not be drooling under the mask?? Well, he’s doing a damn fine job of it.

Alejandro is blatant about it because of course he is. He eventually manages to back Soap into a corner, leaning in close and relishing in the way the man stares back defiantly though there is a hint of a smile on his lips and the apples of his cheeks are starting to darken slightly.

“You look stunning mi amor.” It’s a blanket compliment but from the way Alejandro’s eyes dip, quick but with clear purpose, it’s easy to tell exactly what he’s talking about. Soap snorts at it but there’s no denying the way his smile turns shy and the redness in his face darkens even further.

Nobody’s entirely sure what Rudy had done. They had all watched him drag Soap out onto the dance floor, the two of them dancing with the other couples and exchanging quiet words and smiles.

After a bit Rudy had leant down, saying something or other that had the Scot tripping over his own feet, completely red in the face and trying to hide it away on the other man’s shoulder. Rudy had looked smug over it, shooting the rest of the guys a wink and little eye brow wiggle that they can’t help but find mildly adorable.

In the end it’s clear to see who won that little competition, but none of them really feel like they lost anything when they got to watch Soap blush up to his ears because of them. The tight pants and his amazing ass were a nice bonus as well.

[sai-int]

[ pt 1 ] fwb!simon pt 2

--

you blink at him. once, twice, four times over, trying to make sense of the words he just said.

i’m in love with ya.

the words hang heavy in the air, thick enough to choke on.

“oh,” is all you manage at first. then, when the silence stretches too long and he’s still looking at you like that—like he’s waiting for something, hoping for something—you force yourself to shake your head.

“simon, i’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, careful. “but i don’t feel the same way.”

you think saying it plainly will be best, will make it hurt less. but you watch his face, watch as the flicker of something in his eyes dims, and you realize there’s no easy way to crush a man like him.

he merely shrugs. nods. like you just told him it’s going to rain later.

so you nod, too, because what else can you do? you reach for your shirt, slipping it back over your head, shimmying into your shorts with hands that shake just a little. the silence is unbearable now, a thick, suffocating thing, and it only gets worse when you clear your throat and ask, barely above a whisper—

“do you want me to leave?”

his answer comes immediately. “yeah.”

you freeze for a second, embarrassment creeping up your spine, then you nod again (you’ve seriously got to stop just nodding) and scurry out of his room and to his front door, yanking it open and slipping out into the hallway. your heart is in your throat, your face burning as you rush across the hall to your own apartment, slamming the door shut behind you before pressing your back against it.

fuck.

fuck, that was so embarrassing.

you spend the night drowning in self-pity, staring at the ceiling as everything replays over and over in your head like a bad movie you can’t turn off.

why didn’t you stop it sooner? why didn’t you shut it down the second he started calling you baby instead of slut? why didn’t you flinch when he pressed his forehead to yours, when his hands stopped gripping and Çstarted holding?

you didn’t just let it happen—you basked in it. soaked it up like a sponge, let it fill you—let him fill you—and now you can’t tell if that was just muscle memory, a latent yet insatiable reaction to being wanted, or if it actually meant something.

fuck, if you weren’t already embarrassed, that would do it.

meanwhile, across the hall, simon doesn’t sprial. doesn’t even wallow in the face of rejection.

he pours himself two fingers of his finest bourbon, sits back on his couch, and sparks up a cig. inhales deep, lets the smoke curl through his lungs before exhaling slow.

he's got a plan.

the next evening, your phone buzzes.

simon: come over. door’s open.

you stare at the message for a long minute, heart thudding, stomach twisting itself into knots. this is it. this is where he tells you it’s over, where he curses you out for being a selfish cunt, for leading him on, for taking all he gave without giving anything back.

and you deserve it.

so you brace yourself, tugging on a light sweater, slipping into your shoes. every step across the hall feels heavier than the last, and by the time you’re standing outside his apartment, you have to take a deep breath before pressing your palm to the door.

you push it open.

instead of anger, instead of harsh words or something hauled at your head, you’re met with the warm, rich scent of something cooking.

what the fuck?

your brows pinch together as you step in deeper, looking around cautiously. “simon?”

no answer, but then you see him—standing at the small table in the center of his apartment, just finishing setting it. two plates, two glasses, candles flickering dimly in the low light.

what the actual fuck?

your stomach drops. maybe he poisoned the food. maybe this is how you’ll die.

“what’s going on?” you ask, wary, eyeing the plates like they might explode.

simon pulls out a chair. just looks at you, waiting.

you hesitate, then slowly pad over and sit. your hands fold in your lap, your throat feels tight.

he lowers himself into the chair across from you, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.

he watches you.

you both eat in silence.

the only sounds are the soft clinks of silverware against plates, the occasional scrape of a chair as one of you shifts. you force out a weak, “this is good,” because it is—really, it is—but also because the silence is suffocating.

simon just grunts. keeps eating.

so you do too. fork to plate, bite after bite. the food is great, but you barely taste it past the tight knot in your throat.

when you're both done, he wordlessly stands, gathering the plates and taking them to the sink. you watch him move—watch the way his muscles ripple under his fitted t-shirt, the way his blond hair is perpetually tousled, the way his face, bare of any mask, is set in quiet concentration as he rinses the dishes.

you don't even realize you're staring until—

thwap.

you flinch as he flicks your forehead, his thumb and middle finger snapping against your skin just hard enough to jolt you back to reality. you blink up at him, startled, as he stands in front of you, hand extended.

you hesitate, then slip your fingers into his.

he pulls you up, and before you can register it, he's on you—his hands firm on your waist, his lips swallowing yours entirely

you squeal at first, but his lips are so soft, so sweet and full of something heavy, something deep.

you melt into him.

and that's just stage one of simon's plan, to woo you.

that night he fucks you so good you can’t even think about leaving his bed, let alone moving. He splits you open on his cock, ravishing you to the nines. he takes his time, makes you feel it, makes sure you can feel every ounce of his devotion each time he makes you cum (6 times in one night, a new record)

by the time he's done, you're ruined. wrecked in the best way possible

when morning comes, you're knocked, body heavy and sore, limbs tangled in his sheets. you don’t even stir when he rolls out of bed, grabs your phone from where you dropped it the night before.

he types out a quick message to your boss

you: sorry, got covid. can’t come in for two weeks.

sent—delivered—read—probably fired, too (you won’t be needing a job with him around, silly)

you shift slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but you don’t wake.

simon smirks to himself, tossing your phone onto the nightstand.

(don’t ask how he knows your passcode)

stage two is integration.

the next time beckons you over to his place, you notice something’s… off.

your favorite coffee beans are sitting next to his cheap instant shit. your shampoo, your conditioner, your body wash—all neatly lined up in his shower. there’s a hoodie you thought the building’s dryer must’ve gobbled up weeks ago, just neatly folded on his dresser. The chapstick he’s tasted on your lips countless times now sits atop his bedside table.

you blink at the sight of it all, brows furrowed. you pick up the chapstick, turning to him with a questioning look.

he doesn’t even try to deny it.

“figured you’d be 'round more often,” he says, completely casual, completely simon about it.

like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like you’ve already signed a lease and are moving in next month (you are, you just don’t know it yet, doll).

you should argue. you should tell him ‘no, we’re not doing this’, but you don’t. instead, you swipe the chapstick over your lips, put it back where you found it, and pretend you don’t feel his eyes on you the whole time.

he smirks to himself, taking your silence for what it is. acceptance.

stage three of his plan? move out!

oh, but not him. 

you wake in your bed (for once) to find simon standing in front of your dresser.

your dresser.

he’s holding one of your shirts—some thin, worn-out thing you only sleep in—twisting the fabric between his fingers.

you rub the sleep from your eyes, voice groggy when you ask, “what the hell are you doing?”

he doesn’t even turn around. “doin’ you a favor.”

“a favor,” you repeat, voice flat.

he glances at you over his shoulder. “yeah. consolidating.”

and that’s when you notice—your drawers are open, half-empty, your closet missing key pieces. your things are gone.

panic flares in your chest. you throw the blankets off, stomp over to him, grab the shirt from his hands. "simon. where the fuck is my stuff?"

he shrugs, completely unbothered. "my place."

“your—” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath, hands clenched into fists.

“figured it’d be easier this way,” he continues, like he’s explaining something obvious. “y'know, since y’spend all your time there anyway.”

you gape at him, dumbfounded. “you stole my shit?”

he tilts his head, considering. “nah,” he says finally. “just moved it.”

“without asking me.”

he steps closer, towering over you, eyes heavy-lidded and knowing.

“would you ‘ave said no?”

you want to say yes. you should say yes.

but the truth is, you don’t know. because when you think about it, when you really think about it—you never liked sleeping alone. never liked waking up to an empty bed.

and simon—your simon—he knows that. knows you better than you know yourself.

so instead of arguing, instead of pushing him away, you let him tip your chin up with two fingers.

“mine. got that, pet?,” he murmurs.

you nod.

{ people that expressed interest/taglist }

@pyxrin @xxrsi @skeletonsucker @spaceinvadernelly @coeurbrule @forgotmypasswordagain

[simonbrain]

you rarely call price by his first name. it's usually just a very cheery cap! or a stoic price when you need to remind him of the objective, but whenever you do call him john—you tried jonathan once as a joke, and the piercing stare he gave you made that the first and last time—it's warm, earnest. you almost seem shy uttering it, judging by the softness of your voice, but he calms your nerves with a fond look and an affectionate squeeze on the back of your neck.

getting the privilege of calling soap by his first name, let alone johnny, was an accomplishment in itself. you noticed how ghost was the only one who called him johnny, and so you took that as a sign to never refer to him as anything other than his ridiculous callsign and occasionally an incredulous bloody hell, mactavish, whenever he says something outrageous.

until you did slip up one night, but soap didn't seem to mind too much. he quite liked how his first name sounded in your voice, and when he offered you to call him johnny instead, which you mumbled under your breath to test it out, his surprised expression morphed into a genuine smile, one so pretty a rush of energy zipped through you. now, he won't let you call him anything except johnny—pretty much threatens you.

gaz was the first one on the team who allowed you to call him by his first name. hearing you mumble a tired morning, kyle or a warning but unserious kylie... when he's being a little shit makes his day a little brighter. you'd think the two of you were good mates with many years of friendship under your belts with the way you mock and poke at each other—especially when he lets you get away with calling him the most ridiculous pet names, like pookie, of all things.

while you seem to maintain good relations with your team, close ones even, there's just one person who stumps you. one big, enigmatic bastard who gives you creepy looks and speaks in nothing but cryptic language.

it honestly feels like your lieutenant dislikes you; no wonder you're still stuck with calling him by his callsign.

(poor ghost has been waiting for weeks for those plush lips of yours to utter his name. not ghost, not lieutenant or sir, but simon.

it's getting painful how oblivious you are to his attempts at giving you the green light to use his first name; the hard stare he gives you after hearing yet another formal greeting fall from your lips only seems to make you straighten up even more, and the annoyance radiating off of him every time you call him ghost scares you further away from him.

you're so formal with him, and he doesn't know what else to do—he just wants to be called a cute stupid nickname, too.)

[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. 

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours

tf141 x fem!reader reader wants to get rid of her ex and tf141 might have the perfect scare factor

imagine that your ex simply can't take a hint and keeps creeping on your social media so in a desperate attempt to get rid of him the only way you know is gonna work is to scare him off with a new guy. someone he can't even think off challenging.

on a night out with your friends you are venting out your frustrations about it. while you are in the middle of retelling the last time he tried to slide into your DMs the door to the bar open and you can feel the air shift.

the group of 4 guys walk in. most of them have to duck their heads through the doorway. when they settle into a quieter corner that seems to have a great vantage point to overlook the entirety of the bar your friend nudges you. "looks like 4 possible solutions to your problem just walked in."

your eyes go wide and you sputter out that there is no way. the thought of sending a drink to any of them is almost as terrifying as shoving your head into a tank full of piranhas.

the night continues and with every drink, your fear gives into curiousity. what's the worst thing they could do? bring it back? you can just leave before that happens. the alcohol and your friends chip away at you for few minutes before you gather up the courage. you honestly don't even know which one of them you're sending the drink to.

there's a loud pretty boy with a slightly overgrown mohawk wildly gesturing and retelling some story from the looks of it. when the dim light catch his eyes just right they almost glint silver.

another one but great deal calmer sits opposite, he has a killer smile with slight dimples. just the sight of those dimples could make panties drop.

next to him is a possibly older guy around 40s you'd wager, you can't see his face clearly because half of it is hidden underneath a hat and the other under a very impressive beard. but even from the little you can see the rug burn from that beard would definitely be worth it. simply based on the commanding air around him.

in the corner next to the loud-mouth sits a shadow. honestly in your slight drunk daze you almost missed him in his dark hoodie, pants and face mask. you don't see him drink but the drink in front of him does magically disappear anyway. and whenever you turn around from gawking you swear you can feel someone's stare. but as you get the chills you tell yourself it's probably the a/c blaring.

imagine your surprise when the bartender sends 4 drinks to the table and when you look back to asses the situation you have 4 (well 3 as the big boy in the corner doesn't touch the drink but inclines his head at you) miming a clinking motion while sipping on the drinks.

the mortification doesn't end because when your friends abandon you for some more dance time and you turn to get up to the bathroom you walk straight into a hard chest of the pretty boy. he calms your apologies from running into him with a smile. "wanted ta thank you for the drink, bonnie."

heat rushes to your face as you try to somehow talk your way out of this mess because what seemed like a great idea when your head was swimming with 9 drinks is starting to seem a lot worse now that you are slowly sobering up.

"nothing ta worry 'bout. come sit with us. it feels wrong to keep a bonnie lass like yerself all alone."

next up: simon's ver. // others are coming soon

[ghouldtime]

Soap who thought that when you called him "Dove", you were just being sweet and affectionate. No ulterior meaning

Soap who only realized that wasn't the case when you called him "Irish Spring" while upset at him one day

The realization finally Dawned on him

[moon-my-beloved]

neighbors (tf141 x fem! reader)

Introduction: the universe is never on your side.

wake up, go to work, eat, read, and go to sleep.

that had been your routine for the last couple months ever since you moved in to your new place. your new home.

it really didn’t bother you at all. the solitude, the quietness, the undeniable lack of socialization you had, it was okay with you even if might have looked like the most miserable life to others.

it was a great place to the say the least. your last resort to finally getting the fuck out of the apartment you had shared with your now ex-roommate. you couldn’t bare living there another day hearing her constant sexual acts with every guy she brought in like they were some kind of rabid animals. gross.

there was really no need to say goodbye either. jumping out of your bed in excitement when you got the message from the real estate agent that the place was ready for you to move in.

finally, finally after so many years of busting your ass and saving just enough, you had your own place. not hesitating to pack your things that same day and shove everything into your old but still functional car.

you were free.

the moving was tedious and exhausting, working your muscles out when your furniture finally arrived and giving an awkward smile to your next door neighbor which you later got to find out that her name was charlotte, but insisted on you calling her just auntie lottie. she was a nice old lady, mid 70s who frequently brought you some of her delicious homemade baking with every new recipe she came across. who were you to reject free food?

auntie lottie was probably the only person you had actually talk to ever since moving in, occasionally sitting on her porch just to chat or helping her out with her garden at times.

it was one friday afternoon where the weather was a bit too cold to sit outside and found yourself sitting on auntie lotties couch as she talked about her children, grandchildren, or just the latest gossip. you were more on the listening end of the spectrum, at times putting in your two cents when she asked of your families whereabouts and pointed out ‘how such a young lady shouldn’t be living by herself! you ought to have a husband by now.’

you knew she didn’t mean it with bad intentions but it made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment with the reminder that you were truly utterly unsuccessful when it came to relationships. sure, you had your fair share of partners and they never lasted longer than a few months before they were heading out the door when they realized your lack of intimacy.

it just never felt right and you really couldn’t blame them, despite it leaving an ache in your chest. you really don’t quite remember how the topic of conversation was brought up but she had mentioned that your other neighbors just across from you would be here soon.

“really? I thought no one lived there..” furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you brought the cup of tea up to your lips. it had been empty ever since you got here. no visible cars or sign of life making itself known for you to determine if someone actually lived there. you just figured it was empty.

“they’re an odd bunch but they’re sweet and handsome. most of the time they’re gone. no worries though, I’ll introduce you to them, dear.” you really weren’t fond of that idea and by the way her eyes wrinkled with that sly look she gave you, a worried chuckle made its way past your lips.

“sure, that would be nice.”

true to her word, they arrived the very next day.

the engine of a black SUV waking you up from your three-hour nap that had your joints popping back in place after stretching your limbs out of their locked positions with how long you had been lying down on the couch.

that wasn’t really what caught your attention though, fighting off the idea of just going back to sleep before your ears caught on the multitude of voices from outside. reluctantly, you get yourself out from the confines of your soft blanket and sit up on your knees to open one of the blinds with your fingers.

your eyes widened at the sight before you. four big men, all of them carrying a variety of duffle bags make their way out of the car. some of them stretching after what you presume a long drive.

you can’t quite get a good look at them but you could tell they were all pretty good-looking even from the distance. starting with the one who probably had better hair days with the way his mohawk was a total mess, leaning against the tallest man you have ever seen as he rubs the sleep off his eyes. skull mask doesn’t seem to be bothered by the shorter man’s tactics. an arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling face first on the pavement as they make their way to the front door.

flicking your eyes towards the other side of the car, you zero in on probably the most gorgeous guy you have ever seen. he wears a cap, the UK flag displayed on it and you almost gasp when he turns just enough for you to see how smooth his skin looks. totally not jealous. the last of the group finally gets out from the drivers seat. he looks older than the other three but his stance screams authority and respect once he adjusts himself. these were the neighbors lottie was talking about?

but before you could ponder the fact that you were living across four big scary men, mutton chops turns around towards your direction and makes eye contact with you.

you flinch away from the window a little too hard, tumbling your way over the couch and down onto the floor.

“shit!” you quickly cover your mouth, lying on the ground in defeat and your pride more broken than it already is for at least a few minutes before you slowly get yourself up and warily open the blinds again only to find that they had already headed inside.

letting out a small sigh of relief, you sit down on the cold floor. tilting your head back to rest against the cushion of your couch as you beg to any god out there that they didn’t catch you basically eyeing them down.

auntie lottie will definitely hear about this on your next ‘girls night’.

a/n: this is me forgiving myself after not uploading something for 2-3 months.? I’m sorry ;-;

[soapppp]

CW: past homophobia and transphobia, 141 x soap, mentions of smut

Soap grew up with a loving family. They all acted for each other, all have love languages of words of affirmation and gift giving, something Soap thrived in doing for others. He was praised for his skills in the military and, while he never cared, they were happy to show all his medals on display inside their living room. When he first got sent home for an injury they pampered him to the point he had to make a lock for his room just to get some peace. He was sure he was going to get a permanent dent in his forehead from all the kisses his mother would give him.

They supported him in everyone way but one.

When Soap came out as gay they didn’t care, happy he was finally out of denial, but when he mentioned going to a queen club they warned him of drag queens and woman who ‘pretend’ to be men.

Soap had sobbed that night, cutting up the pink skirt he had bought for himself a few weeks back. He didn’t care for drag, but the outfits he adored. But that was the one thing his family wouldn’t support. So, soap just gave up on those dreams and forced himself to stop staring at the pretty dresses in shop windows. He was scared of being hated by his family, and more terrified when he learnt how some people only let men wear skirts because it was a kink or fetish of theirs.

He felt alone, trapped in his body with no way to express himself without hate or depravity taking over.

Then he meet his partners.

It was Gaz who figured it out first, seeing his best friend and new lover stare at girls in skirts and mannequins in thrills skirts and realising what his partner wanted. He didn’t pretend that it didn’t arouse him at first, but that quickly changed when he saw the longing in his partners eyes shift to a bitter self-hate. He talked to Ghost and Price, making sure to clarify he was only speculating, and together the three of them began to casually mention how they liked drag race and thought skirts would be more comfortable than pants in the heat. Natural things that didn’t fetishise or make the other think they knew something, but it was worth it when Soap eventually cracked after Price made the final push.

Soap had looked at his lover with awe, shocked and amazed as he saw Price wearing a long brown sun dress in his office as he spoke to Laswel like it was nothing. He didn’t make a fuss about it, didn’t ask for attention or anything, he just wore it. The long puffy sleeves half rolled up on his hairy arms made Soap feel so seen despite the fact he wasn’t even the one wearing it.

Price called the others in and the three of them held onto Soap as he sobbed about how he thought it was wrong and illegal but Price, captain and bear of the 141 was doing it.

Price admitted he wasn’t big on the dress, seeing it as just simple clothes and a bit too vulnerable for his paranoid mind, but that he would be happy to wear it again if it would make Soap feel safer.

Not long after they took Soap for his first ever shopping spree, buying him over twenty skirts and seventeen dresses for him to try, all different styles so he could mix and match till he found something fitting. They stayed by him the first time he tried one on and kisses away his tears as he cried in joy. They sat next to him when he first went to the mess hall with a green skirt on, that only just went to his knees, ready to fight of anyone for their lover and they held his hand tightly when a private gave him a big smile and said he was pretty so he wouldn’t burst into tears.

Most importantly, they waited for him to initiate sex while he was dolled up so he wouldn’t feel sexualised. It took a full year for him to feel ready for that and Ghost made sure it was the most attentive sex he had ever experienced.

[kortac-sweetheart]

pt2/finale traitor!tf141 au

cw: some angst, hurt with lots of comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic, flashbacks to past torture, mentions of violence, military inaccuracies, reader tears 141 a new one (we all cheered), we're overcoming hedgehog's dilemma with this one boys (four times you saved them, one (and a half) time(s) they saved you) realllllly fckn long

(it's the finale part yay! i don't have any more ideas to continue this au, but asks abt it are always open)

in the months since you've joined kortac, you quickly cemented yourself as efficient, capable, and reliable in their eyes. as fundamental to the team as the very foundation of a home. your hard work in the field even earned you a new call sign, one gifted by könig himself.

wraith.

a harbinger of death, the final phantasmal apparition any enemy would have the misfortune to see. sweeping, practically dancing, through swaths of men, leaving them dropping like flies in your wake.

but if that was true, the why were you back under intensive care in the med bay again?

the latest mission had gone sideways. a simple recon mission that had went belly up due to an enemy ambush. reconnaissance turned into rescue instead. and kortac's new target?

you.

it wasn't pretty. the way they tore through the field to reach you, nearly trampling over friend and foe alike, guns blazing all the while. leaving nothing but blood and carnage in their wake, blood lust only temporarily abated before they realized the state you were in.

on the verge of passing out, bound and bloodied, battered and bruised all over again. you had certainly looked like your callsign then, pale from exhaustion and the fabric of your very being fraying once more. despite the strength of your bonds and your faith in them, doubt still gnawed at the edges of your psyche. the pain from the physical beating imposed by your captors was nothing compared to your own mental flogging.

will they come?

i hope they do.

they shouldn't come.

it's not worth it.

the mission is compromised.

i'm sorry.

the sight of könig kicking down the locked door and the feeling of someone gently bundling you into his arms was the last thing you remembered before passing out.

they came.

despite your ceaseless tears and aches, there was a small smile on your face, too.

waiting for you to wake up again was agonizing.

the four of them, huddled around your bed in the base's med bay, with only the incessant ticking of the clock and your steady breaths to break the silence. they couldn't focus on any paperwork they had brought either, too agitated, too restless, too worried, to focus on mindless bureaucracy.

horangi sat at your bedside, bent over from exhaustion and boredom, his hand clasped with yours. he remembers how you used to be, those few months ago. quiet but strong, withdrawn but not entirely cold, he could sense the smallest flicker of warmth--wanting in all your movements. despite it, you hadn't uttered a word to him at all, barely met his eyes, carrying yourself admirably, independently in action.

he remembers it as if it were yesterday, when you first spoke to him.

he was too caught up in the heat of battle, tunnel visioned whilst carving a path into enemy territory and leading the charge with you as support. you had felt the chilling, piercing gaze before you ever saw them, all but shoving horangi's head down and missing the sniper's bullet aimed for him. he had looked at you, bewildered, before you summoned the strength to speak.

"enemy sniper in the vicinity. watch your six, horangi." your comm headset then crackled to life as you relayed the message to the team.

in the grand scheme of things, it was a small gesture. a teammate saving another's life is common place on the field, but horangi still felt grateful all the same. your sharp senses, your quick thinking, your presence and the safety it brought only emboldened him on the field, knowing that you'd be there to drag him out of harm's way.

outside the field, he knew that even if you couldn't express it fully aloud, you still cared for them very much. one day incidentally, you had noticed horangi picking at his food, dissatisfied with grey slop from the mess hall. (and you were too, to be quite honest.)

eventually, you found yourself and your team stationed off base for once, waiting around in temporary housing for the start of the mission. it seemed like the perfect time to have something other than MREs.

it was a very simple meal, grilled meat, storebought kimchi, savory steamed eggs and some freshly cooked rice. but when you called them in for lunch, horangi nearly dropped to his knees and proposed to you on the spot. he had to hold himself back from positively bear hugging you into his arms, instead eagerly complimenting the meal you prepared and squeezing your hand in appreciation.

"did you like the meal hong-jin?" he could barely hear you over the running faucet of the sink whilst he helped with the dishes, but he still beamed at you regardless. (he thought that meek voice of yours asking for approval was downright adorable.)

"of course i did! thank you. i really appreciate it." he couldn't remember the last time he felt so... content. so cared for and seen. it made him feel warm inside, heart full and fuzzy and soft around the edges from your quiet attentiveness.

that's why, when you all return to base and he spots you in the early morning light, sipping on coffee all alone—he joins you without a second thought. settling down next to you on the bench in the rec room with his own cup, no words exchanged but it's warm and comforting all the same.

you don't bat an eye at his presence, as if he was always meant to be there. you carefully lean into him, your shoulder's a hair's breadth from touching his. one hand holds your steaming cup and the other gingerly fiddles with his own free hand.

(you can sense his gaze too, burning into you and hong-jin as he watched from the hallway. mactavish. burning up with jealously, regret, remorse, as he watched you two.

watched the way you slowly scooted closer to hong-jin, leaning into his side as he casually swung his arm up and around your shoulder. watched as the tension bled from your body and left you utterly relaxed and open.

he couldn't remember the last time he saw you like that. if ever. he couldn't stomach the sight anymore, stomping away from the rec room with clenched fists and a deep scowl on his face.

that should've been him.)

(whether hong-jin sensed him too, he didn't say. if he did, or if he didn't, hong-jin didn't give a shit either way. all that mattered was being in the moment with you.)

krueger sighed as he glanced at the wall clock again, only five infernal minutes since last he checked it. he then glanced over to horangi, who was now soundly snoring in his seat, his head resting in his arms. then, a shadow of a smile graced his own face as he looked at you.

he remembers how the roles were reversed before, that time you went out of your way to save him. he remembers it clear as day.

the first ever mission where you two had been assigned as partners. he had respected you immensely, your silent intensity and lack of fluff, efficient, strong, a damn good partner. the mission had went off without a hitch, until the end of it.

you didn't know how to turned out like this. one moment the building was eerily quiet and still, and the next it was a raging inferno. just moments before, you had been separated from krueger looking for the documents. and now you were running, panting as you made it outside. but, something was off when you looked around.

where was krueger?

you hesitated only for a split second before running back in, while your teammates all shouted for you to stop. but you tuned them out, focusing, clearing your mind and remembering the layout of the building, where krueger said he was headed.

you found him in the hallway leading to the security room, crawling along the floor, his leg injured in the blast. clutching the documents with one hand, and using the other to drag himself forward.

when the smoke had parted to reveal you, he thought he was already dead. your silhouette blurry and grainy around the edges, the roaring fire illuminating your face in an ominous orange. an angel of death. he felt you take the documents from his hand, resignation filling him as he thought you'd turn and run.

he didn't resent you for it. not at all, take the documents, focus on the mission, leave the baggage behind. but you didn't. you didn't leave him there. you hauled him up single-handedly, adrenaline pumping through you as you fought to remain calm and steady, whilst rushing him and yourself out of there.

you spoke to him just loud enough to hear, keeping him awake and alert.

"c'mon krueger, i'm getting you out of here."

"keep moving, this is no place to die."

"you can sleep when we're safely back on base."

"i'm not leaving without you."

and he couldn't help but wonder, why?

for a man like him, one you barely knew beyond being teammates.

why? as you two narrowly escaped the building as it completely collapsed.

why? as you dragged his half unconscious body to the evac point, as you waited with him, patching up his wounds with what meager medical supplies you had on you.

why? as you fitted the oxygen mask over his face in the helicopter. his vision fading to black from exhaustion.

you sat with him as he laid in med bay, waiting for him to wake up. you remember what it felt like, to wake up all alone with no one around. how harrowing and disorienting it was, near tears when one of your old teammates had finally gone to check on you. through his (quite insincere) apologies, you sensed his piss poor excuses.

"oh, you're awake... apologies. we were busy." he didn't look physically exhausted at all, no sweat or sign of training.

paperwork, you realized.

they were too busy doing paperwork to stay by your bedside. when it sunk in, you had merely swallowed, staring at your bandaged hands.

"it's ok." you managed to mutter, after a beat there was a small click of the door. and the sterile room faded into suffocating silence once more as his footsteps led him away.

krueger, now awake, studied your face as you glared at the wall opposite you, hands clasped together and lost in thought. watching your tired eyes growing glassy with unshed tears, he decided enough was enough.

you startled slightly when he waved his hand in your line of sight, immediately snapped out of your trance. looking to him a concerned look that crossed your face, you murmured, "how're you holding up?"

"could be worse off... thanks. for saving me back there." he can see how you melt, a little less guarded with a small smile crossing your face. even under the sterile med bay lights, eyes tired and skin a little dull, you still looked like an angel. his saving angel.

he doesn't care why you did it. all it matters is that you did, he didn't need to know why when it was written all over your face. your actions, your presence besides him spoke more than words could.

(garrick had noticed you from the hallway, watching you intently.

green with envy as you tried to stifle your giggles before breaking into a real, honest to god, belly laugh. watched as you held onto krueger's hand so you wouldn't keel over in your seat from laughter.

watched as you wiped away happy tears-- so different compared to the terrified ones he remembers you shedding before. watched as your guarded demeanor melted into something softer, full of big smiles and genuine laughs you shared with krueger.

not him. it should've been him.)

(yes, krueger noticed him. didn't see him directly but he could tell in your eyes. how your laughter flickered and dimmed slightly as you glanced at something-- someone, before he redirected you back to himself. making you laugh at his jokes, and forgetting all about garrick. good. garrick could go to hell for all he cares.)

even when krueger was able to get up and walk around, you still stuck by him. doing work in his med bay room and telling you when and where you'd leave to. whether by pure happenstance or good fortune, krueger had been awake one morning just before you'd leave for coffee.

"oh, good morning, seb! i'm going to go have coffee with horan-- er, hong-jin..." a brief nervous pause, you were considering something.

"do you... do you want to join us?" asked with such tender hope in your eyes that he couldn't possibly say no. (frankly if you told him to jump he wouldn't even say "how high" he'd just do it.)

despite the sudden appearance of sebastian, hong-jin didn't look surprised in the slightest. they shared one look with each other and they immediately understood; watching as you happily prepared coffee, humming beneath your breath with your back turned to them. that morning, and for the following mornings after that; you enjoyed your coffee happily squished between the both of them.

back in your temporary room in med bay, sebastian had now drifted off in his chair. lulled to dreams by the quiet room and pleasant memories you shared.

nikto had elected to lean on the far wall of the room, opposite your bed. muttered something about being able to see the whole room for safety. but he now surveyed the tranquil room, seeing both krueger and horangi asleep in their chairs, and you, hopefully peacefully asleep too. his eyes lingered on the teddy bear that sat dutifully at your side, as if to protect you from night terrors. the teddy bear that he got you.

it was supposed to be like any other sleepless night, awoken from fitful slumber by nightmares both real and imagined, past and present.

rest would not visit them again tonight it seems.

with practiced ease they had made their way to the base's rec room, searching for tranquility in the stillness of night. peace, away from his restless mind. sitting quietly down at the table, waiting out the night until you happened to stumble in.

there hadn't been many words exchanged between you before. but there was mutual respect-- anyone would always appreciate a hard worker like you. but now he watched quietly as you tottered over to the empty seat besides him in the rec room, attempting to muffle quiet sobs as you slumped in the chair. they weren't the only ones to have bad dreams tonight it seems.

nikto didn't know what overcame him, they shouldn't of pried. everyone on base has their struggles, but between you, it felt different; his body overcome with the urge to help, to comfort.

he spoke quietly. "night terrors?" the question hung in the air for a bit before you sniffled, and nodded. he didn't ask about what aloud, but the offer was there. there was no judgement in his gaze, but understanding. even if he didn't cry, even if his own nightmares came night after night, he understood deeply.

they sighed, standing up and went to get a pot of coffee going; if he was going to stay up all night, might as well enjoy it. but after they set a fresh cup of coffee in front of you, the dam inside of you broke and you spilled everything, with nikto and the night as your only witnesses.

sobbing into your hands and sleeves about what they put you through. how they slashed so painfully at you, spat at you, how they imprinted themselves deep into your psyche.

you told nikto you despised looking in the mirror because it reminds you too much of them and what they did to you. how you can feel the phantom edge of riley's blade glide up your face, or how mactavish punched you so hard you nearly blacked out.

how you can still feel garrick's hand gripping your wrist, holding it still as his knife comes down on your pinky, severing it with no remorse.

nikto's care for you wins out against their new found contempt for task force 141 in the end. he gets up from his chair across you, and sits besides you instead. a single palm, placed soothingly on your back.

"allow us to show you something." their hands reach their mask and, they slowly, unhurriedly undo all the buckles and belts that secure it. methodically laying piece by piece of their mask down on the table, carefully, as to not startle you. the last piece of nikto's mask comes off and you're granted a front row view of his face.

they easily read your expression, no surprise, no disgust, no pity either. they see recognition in your eyes, familiarity. it's different from all the other looks they've gotten. you don't scream or cry (anymore), nor do you try to run away, instead you sit quietly memorizing their face.

for once, they feel as if they don't hate their own face either.

"the past comes for us night after night. but we cannot allow ourselves to wallow in it anymore. what's done has been done, the best any of us can do is simply move on... and keep living." the words settled into your mind.

nikto is right.

you can't allow the 141 to rob you of your life more than they already have. you want to thank him. for his advice, for his trust in you, and you tell him to wait for a moment.

he's left alone in the dark again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore. even he didn't know the weight they were carrying until it was gone. although your presence is momentarily absent, he-- they trust that you will return.

and you do. they note you look a little embarrassed, but you move to sit down next to him again before handing them a little well loved teddy bear. it's plastic eyes a bit scratched and cloudy, the ribbon around the neck is loose, and the stuffing a bit lumpy. well adored.

"here." you start. he takes a moment to give it a soft squeeze, and he doesn't know why but his heart sinks and soars at the same time.

"i always hug my bear when the nightmares are too much. it makes me feel better when i hold him... so i.. i want you to have it. so that he can help you too." you can't help but feel a little childish, fiddling with your fingers as you await his reply, but no such chiding or scoff ever resounds from them.

instead, a soft "thank you. we will cherish it." falls from their lips, and that's all it takes for you to truly relax. they expect you to return to your room but you don't, staying put and keeping them company through the silent night. sometimes you talk some more, sometimes it's just your breathing that's audible, they listen intently either way.

but they watch as your eyelids grow heavier, your words slurred and drowsy, and before you can fall asleep on the hard table; nikto tucks your body into their side instead. a warm arm and a strong chest keep you securely in place, blissfully asleep.

(nikto does not move an inch the whole night. not while you're still peacefully asleep, nor when the light of dawn illuminates the room and chases away the dark, and most certainly not when a certain lieutenant walks into the rec room.

the certain someone doesn't notice you peacefully sleeping in nikto's arms until he turns around and is greeted with the sight of your peacefully sleeping face. blissfully unaware to who was in the room besides you and nikto. he looks confounded, envious even, and nikto can sense he's itching to say something. but he sends the lieutenant an icy glare, lifting a finger to his lips.

the man doth protest too much, they think. making a talking motion with his hand, before pointing at him and then making an ominous throat slitting motion with their thumb. he seems to get the memo the second time around, quickly exiting the rec room with only a single final fleeting glance towards your peaceful face.)

(your sleepy visage belies your awareness to his presence. even in sleep your body still remembers, subtly awakening when he entered the room, feeling his burning gaze lingering on you despite being in nikto's arms.)

the second visitors to the rec room are much more welcomed ones. hong-jin and seb were surprised to see nikto there, but more importantly with you curled up peacefully in his arms.

any surprise is quickly replaced with adoration as they watch you peacefully snooze for a few more moments, before they sadly have to wake you. a simple "wakey wakey sleepyhead" and a small shake from hong-jin is all that's required to wake you. (nikto and seb do give him a teasing side eye for that.)

their hearts collectively squeeze as you gradually come to, looking at all of them with a fond glint in your sleepy gaze, a soft yawn and an even softer smile.

you now share your mornings with hong-jin, seb, and andre after that. the more the merrier after all. sometimes they fight over who gets to sit next to you, and the loser of three way rock paper scissors always sulks a little, but the smile you give all of them makes up for it.

in the quiet room nikto can feel his head nodding, drowsy with sleep, so he leaves the wall. laying down, horizontal to the foot of your bed to sleep.

(rest may not so easily visit nikto, but rest is within reach wherever you are. whether that may be right next to him, or a just few feet away in your room.

he had also gone and gifted you another teddy bear. after you so graciously gifted him yours, similar but not quite the same. with big round eyes, and cute ears and a neat bow that he tied himself, along with a little heart in one paw.)

when könig looked up from his paperwork to check if you woke up yet he was met with sound of soft snores in the room. looking around, he sees his trusted teammates sleeping peacefully and lets out an amused hum.

he feels his focus slip away, paperwork long forgotten when he stares at you.

he always liked you. long before you even joined kortac, when you were still with them. he saw himself in parts of you, like how it was so hard for you to connect with your team, and how you opted to close yourself off. he liked your tenacity, your readiness to work, it was a shame that they had gotten to you first.

which is why the 141's biggest blunder was the greatest thing they ever inadvertently did for him.

he almost pitied them, those fools. they did what they did, they chose to do it, and made the biggest mistake of their lives. no where did it ever say that he couldn't benefit from their self inflicted misery.

welcoming you to kortac was one of the best days of his life. you took to the new work like fish to water, always offering to pick up the slack whenever necessary. always finishing more paperwork than required of you, training the new recruits, you ran around non stop to help others. but he didn't like how you overdid it, even when you were on the verge of collapsing asleep in the hallway you still trudged on.

he remembers being up at ungodly hours doing work when you knocked on his office door and requested for more paperwork to do, despite the bags under your eyes protesting otherwise. when he questioned you, all you could respond with was a stilted "can't sleep." and that was that. he'll let you do paperwork until you tired and then he'd return you to your room.

but he watched in abject horror as you sat there long past him, completing reports and filing things away. and you were STILL awake and doing things even after he went to bed and woke up again. (he did place you on bed rest for a few days after that, as much as you silently complained about it.)

when this behavior continued, he knew that he had to question you about it. and so he waited until your brain was a little fuzzy from exhaustion, you inhibitions giving way to the more primal parts of your psyche. when your guard was down and you could be a little more honest.

"lieutenant." his voice broke the ambience of his still office, cutting through the sound of flitting paper and scribbling pens.

you head snapped towards his immediately, despite the way your eyes fought to stay open.

"may i ask why you work so hard? you do realize you don't need to go above and beyond, ja? you're only exhausting yourself doing this."

a pregnant pause lingered in the air as you stared at the floor under his feet. your grip tightened on your pen, and he thought that you'd get up and leave entirely.

"if you don't want to answer you don't have to. i won't force you--" his sentence was cut off abruptly when you looked directly at him.

"because i have to." your voice, despite being a whisper was more akin to a bomb. he was confused, going to question further but you then continued.

"if i'm not useful anymore. then i'll be discarded again like before." your voice was the weakest he's ever heard it, vulnerable and scared. your eyes were downcast again, avoiding his piercing gaze whilst unshed tears built in your own.

the sight of your tears glimmering under the warm lamp lights quickly roused him to comfort you. corralling your shaking and sobbing body into his arms, holding you tight as you sobbed your heart out.

he didn't tell you to stop, only letting you continue emptying your emotions where it was safe. one arm around the back of your neck and the other soothing up and down your back, "it's ok, sweetheart. it's ok. i promise you will never go through that again. so long as i live, i'll be right beside you. they won't ever touch you ever again, i'll make sure of it."

right there, in that cramped office of his during a frigid night, being consoled and comforted by your colonel, what else could you do but believe him? he sounded so self assured, his tone kept soft and low, cradling you against him until you fell asleep.

(price wasn't envious of könig at all, he was the man that put you into that position in the first place. executing that god forsaken order that ruined your life and theirs.

so why couldn't he will himself to walk away when he heard the two of you talking?

hell, he could hear your sobs being muffled into könig's chest. could hear you murmur the smallest "thank you"s towards him too. but no, he was most certainly not envious of könig at all.

how silly would that be.)

(könig had most certainly known that price was outside. if not for his footsteps breaking the still night, then most certainly the camera recording would've told him. bastard just doesn't know when to stop does he. god, if you weren't positively sobbing yourself into exhaustion in his arms he would've stomped outside to tell him to go fuck himself.)

a few days after you confessed your troubles to him he awoke with a sigh, needing to talk to horangi. but he wasn't in his room. and neither was krueger. or nikto for that matter. and when he checked your room, you weren't there either. it left him scratching his head as he wandered through base in the morning until eventually stumbling into the rec room.

there you all were, on the rec room bench, bathed in the glow of early morning all sharing quiet conversation. his heart lurched in his chest at the sight of you, so happy you were practically glowing, squished between horangi and nikto.

when he was about to turn heel and flee you noticed him, calling out to him and so politely asking him to join. he froze before stiffly turning around and tottering over to an empty seat near you.

"so... this is where you all are in the mornings?" he spoke quietly, trying not to break the relaxed atmosphere.

and you piped up from your comfy place on the bench before anyone else could. "yeah! we're all here every morning. why don't you just join us from now on könig? i'm so sorry we didn't say anything earlier, you we're just really busy all the time and i ah... i guess i didn't want to bother you."

his eyes widened a fraction while his hands tensed around his coffee cup, taking a moment to mull it over. "sure. why not."

the bright grin you gave him in response rivaled the sun.

but he quickly woke from his reverie when he heard you sob. the sound still haunts him in his nightmares, blind and deaf he would still be able to tell when you were crying. the four of them snapping to attention as you contorted painfully on the bed.

you were back in that godforsaken interrogation room again.

where the lights blinded you in the darkness, where the cold nipped at your fingers and nose, where the ropes bound your body and where fear and hunger made themselves uninvited companions to your misery.

what would they take from you this time? hacking away at you more and more and more until nothing was left. your body, your mind, your pride, your soul, all fit to be chopped up and tossed aside.

what had you done this time? spoke too loudly, too much? didn't speak enough? looked at someone wrong? stood out too much? or did you try and fade into the background? it didn't matter anyway, they would hammer you down like a bent nail until it wasn't even visible on the wood's surface anymore, with only a crater left in it's wake.

oh, look. ol' skipper is here too this time. what a party it is now! the more the merrier of course, yes, why not allow price to blindly stick you with pins as if it were a mere birthday game?

what's the matter cap'n? got jealous just watching from the sidelines and wanted to join in on the fun now too? there's more than enough to play with and to discard before you get bored.

look at all the fun toys you have at your disposal! used syringes with mysterious unknown liquid, rusty pliers and nails, broken glass, a hot branding iron, and whatever other indistinguishable horrors lay on that table!

what fun will we have together today?

"sweet--" what? what was that? that didn't sound like any of them.

"sweetheart-- sweetheart wake up" were they talking to you? who was talking to you?

it was as if the ropes had melted away with no resistance when you stood up, stumbling your way to the door with warm light behind it. the torturous room falling away into the white void behind you with each further step you took.

"wake up sweetheart." the voice was coming from behind the door. with little hesitance you turned the knob on the door and with a gasp you awoke with a start. you were safe.

warm and safe. safe and warm. far, far away from that room. far away from them.

they had all deflated like a balloon, rife with heartache when you finally woke up from the nightmare. your panting and whimpers of "help" and "stop" and "please" had distressed them, watching you flail around haplessly made them want to cry. it was only when könig started to utter "sweetheart" to you that you calmed for a bit, then finally rousing from that horrid memory.

when you had registered that they were all there, at your bed, waiting for you, you nearly burst into tears again. a small wobbly smile gracing your face as you pulled them all into a tight hug.

"i'm happy. i'm so happy to see you all again. i love you all so much. thank you for waiting for me." they melted into your touch, your hug, until you pulled away and wiped at your eyes.

you muttered what had happened without any prompting from them, all too shaken up from the dream to keep quiet. "i saw them again. in my dream. i was in that room again. i think something will happen soon. it.... it felt different this time. my captain was there, too. he's usually never present in them."

they had made sure to be hyper vigilant around you that week. nearly pouncing on any of the 141 whenever they got too close or looked at you for too long. barring their teeth and snapping their jaws, before ushering you far and away from them.

but even the most hyper vigilant of hounds can't protect all the time.

it happened after you went to the bathroom during dinner. one way in, one way out, no where for you to run. at first it was mactavish, of fucking course it was mactavish. cornering you in that hallway to beg for your forgiveness, asking for you to return. what emboldened them so much this time around? oh you definitely knew. seeing you happy, oh so happy without them.

they knew their window to get you to return to them was closing, and fast. but they hadn't realized that it closed a long, long time ago. instead, your tolerance for them was dwindling, slowly, slowly draining until you'd finally explode.

mactavish just wouldn't let you go, kept sputtering on and on about how sorry he was until garrick and riley had showed up as reinforcement. at least garrick had enough balls to look you in the eyes as he begged you to return. riley didn't even look at you, staring at the tile above your head instead. allowed mactavish and garrick to do all the talking for him, the despicable bastard.

as if it wasn't bad enough to be hounded by the three of them, their ring leader had finally showed up too. strutting onto the scene with a stride far too casual to be appropriate. the man who you saw like a father, the one who tossed you to the dark without a second thought, the one who was too cowardly to show up and do the dirty work himself.

you didn't want to say anything. didn't want to give them the satisfaction of your reactions, your emotions, anymore of your life that they'd taken from you without remorse. but you had more than enough.

"don't you know when to take a fucking hint? haven't you done enough already?! when the hell did i ever say i wanted to return? what sort of message did you manage to delude yourselves into thinking was real?" you barked at them. they had looked taken aback, not expecting your outburst.

"but-- bonnie, i promise this time we'll be better! we promise! we'll take care of you--" if looks could kill, frankly, mactavish would've been a pile of ash on the floor.

"what makes you think you can take better care of me better than my own team can? where was this attitude when i first joined, huh? where was it? you don't even feel bad about what you did to me! you're just saying sorry to absolve yourselves from the guilt of what you did. like doing that could fix anything you did to me. you don't actually care and you never did! just-- all of you can go fuck yourselves."

mactavish looked like a kicked puppy but you couldn't care less at all. until price spoke up, just had to open his fucking gob didn't he.

"ye don't mean that." he muttered as you attempted to leave.

you turned abruptly to level him a nasty glare.

"oh i'm sorry. did you become a mind reader all of a sudden, price? what the hell do you even know about intention anyway? i'm pretty sure you didn't give any second thought to whether i actually intended to "betray" you all, now did you? well listen to me when i say this, if you ever try to pull this fucking stunt again i intent to make sure that no one would've ever even heard of you. i will make damn sure, that it was like you never even existed in the first place."

you had been gone for suspiciously long, their food trays abandoned without second thought as they went to look for you. rounding a corner near the bathroom they saw you muttering something to price.

they all watched as your eyes lit up when you saw your team, eagerly scampering over to them. horangi had pulled you into a hug, asking if you were ok, if they touched you all the while glaring at them. from the corner of you eye you could still see them, standing still as if you couldn't.

"what the hell are you all still standing there for? either use the bathroom or leave already, jesus christ."

as they were leaving, now, now riley thought it was a good idea to finally speak. the gall of these men is ridiculous.

"sergeant--" he started.

"that's lieutenant to you, riley." you barely spared him a glance before you turned to talk to könig once more.

"lieutenant.. we just--" could they seriously not take a hint? it's not even a hint, it's as obvious as a stop sign.

"are you that dense? do i need to sound it out for you? leave. me. the. fuck. alone. riley." he stood stock still for a few moments, looking at and searching for something on your face.

"you heard them, leutnant." he didn't even bother to look at könig, only shaking his head as he drifted down the hall.

you let out a deep sigh when they were all finally out of sight. practically collapsing boneless against könig's chest as he rocked back and forth soothingly. he patted your hair adoringly, cooing at you as they led you away, back to their barracks.

they lay you on top of konig's chest, with krueger and horangi holding you from each side, whilst nikto lies on top of you like a weighted blanket.

squished between all of them, you've never felt more content and loved. the 141 had their chance, but with you in their hands now? kortac would never, ever let you go.

one man's trash is another man's treasure after all.

taglist: @erintaro @trulovekay @rainingkatzen @blackcats-and-witchcraft @callsofthesky

[wishfuldivine]

The 141 kissing Gaz's nose every time he cringes at something?

John can't contain it much. Gaz looks absolutely fucking adorable when his sergeant cringes at a movie that is so cliché for his liking. The captain leans forward and pecks his cute nose.

Johnny does anything to make him cringe. Even goes as far as eating with his mouth open, the Scot knows how much he despises it. The sergeant laughs and coos, planting a kiss to his cute nose.

Simon is more subtle. He says the most cringe dad jokes ever, and the sergeant just STARES while cringing to no end. The lieutenant chuckles and presses his lips onto his cute nose.

[klaart]

The gangs all here👍

Edit:// hurt no comfort :)

Edit2: I lied part 2 is posted‼️