#firefighter!john mactavish

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley X Reader - Cherry Danish

Simon wasn't the talkative type. He was quiet, kept mostly to himself and rarely socialized with the rest of the crew. Save for Johnny. 

Johnny was as close to a friend as Simon could imagine someone being to him. Johnny always tried to talk to him, tell a few jokes to make him laugh, anything to crack that shell. He’d gotten close so many times but could never quite get there. 

However, when Simon returned from Riley’s morning walks, he always seemed a little different. Simon would have a soft look in his eyes, something warm Johnny had never seen before. He swore his lieutenant almost looked happy, if he was even capable of being happy…

One morning, Johnny caught Simon returning with Riley early in the morning, a little paper bag from the local bakery in his grasp. He had that warm look in his eyes again.

“Aye, LT,” Johnny called out. “Ye hev a good craic walking th’ pooch?”

As soon as Simon looks his way, Johnny can see his gaze turn stoney again, his grip on the paperbag tighten just slightly. “Dunno what you’re talking ‘bout Johnny,” he grumbled. 

Simon unhooked Riley’s leash, letting the Shepherd run loose in the station. He set himself down on the too-old couch in the common room and fished out his breakfast, a cherry danish. He found his thoughts briefly wandering to the little thing that handed it to him with that warm smile they always wore. 

“Dinnae take ye fer sweets, Si,” Johnny teased, settling next to him as Simon pulled down his mask to eat. “Ye bring me anyfing?” 

“No,” Simon answered bluntly as he ate. 

“Ye cruel bastard,” Johnny feigned his hurt as he dramatically dropped himself against the back of the couch.

“Too bad,” Simon growled. 

A smirk crossed Johnny’s lips. “Perhaps are shuid pay th’ bakery a visit,” he said, stroking over the stubble on his chin. “See what all th’ fuss is aboot.” He laughed as he felt Simon turn a sharp glare towards him.

[lethargicluv]

Firefighter Ghost Blurb 2

Part 1

Firefigher Simon "Ghost" Riley who didn't think he'd ever mess up a team training exercise until he's falling from the scaffolding to the safety mats below because his boot missed a rung when he saw your face smiling at them from your second story window. Soap is gaping down from the top of the obstacle course in disbelief because LIEUTENANT SIMON RILEY just fumbled so hard he actually fell, he never thought he'd ever see that happen. Gaz is still in position to start once Ghost made it to the top joining Soap but is now trying very hard not to laugh outloud so his face is buried in his arms and his shoulder are trembling slightly. Price has his clipboard to his forehead in exasperation because how would they even make it to regionals for the upcoming yearly firefighter team obstacle course competition if they were messing up in practice like this. Simon has never been more thankful for his mask because he's more red than the firetrucks in the station now that he knows you saw what just happened. He can see you giggling in your window from where he lies splayed out on the mats and he thinks that if he gets to see you laugh like this more often he wouldn't mind falling again. 

You find out that they've been training to compete next month when you bring today's taco tuesday dinner over to them. The recipe seemed to call for a bit too much spice and you get to witness Soap choke and splutter while Gaz brings the table more water. Simon muses that it can't be that bad and that Soap's just a wimp until he takes a bit as feels like someone lit his mouth on fire. Price jokes and tells you it's a good punishment for them for messing up training today. When Soap recovers from his coughing fit he asks if you'll come watch them compete and Simon wants to strangle him because he knows that Soap knows exactly what he's doing the cheeky little bastard. He's going have to discuss upping the level of training with Price after this because if you're coming there's no way in hell he's going to let 141 place anything but first place. They're going to nationals and that’s final. It's now non-negotiable. 

You tell him as he walks you back across the street to your house after dinner that you're thrilled to watch them compete and that you think he looks particularly handsome when hes moving. A week later he brings you a sweatshirt that matches theirs that says 141's honorary member, Hearth, and when you ask his why Hearth he says they all agreed that you remind them of Hestia the goddess of the hearth. You're hospitable and always by the fire stations side. Someone that takes care of them all. You make him what’s possibly the best shepard’s pie he’s ever had the next day.

[lunarw0rks]

wait wait lemme cook, firefighter!soap & baker!reader…because y/n will never be boring!!

there was a fire at the bakery, you’re pretty sure the owner burned it down for insure and you got caught in the middle of it.

johnny has saved dozens of people before but has the urge to visit you at the hospital everyday and he doesn’t know why (we all know why).

after you’re healed, you start swinging by every so often to deliver fresh donuts to him and his team and they all start teasing him, saying stuff like, “there goes your girl, johnny”

imagine firefighter!soap visiting you in the hospital and being so sweet :(( and not accepting praise for how he literally pulled you from the flames.

you're not seriously injured, aside from some scrapes, bruises, and a few fractures. if soap hadn't been so quick on his feet, he wouldn't have spotted you before the burning bakery collapsed. it was the definition of a close call.

and then, you let it slip that you believe the fire was all a scam. the owner has always been greedy, not allowing you tips, cutting corners, etc. and soap knows that his captain has already voiced the same suspicions to the arson investigators — so it's not an empty lie.

you shouldn't be moving much at all, let alone having him talk your ear off — so he dismisses himself, insisting that you get some sleep, that he'll see visit you sometime soon, etc.

...

immediately goes to the hospital room next door, where the shitty owner of the bakery is. slightly mangled by flames, barely conscious from whatever drugs they're pumping through him.

firefighter!soap leaning over the owner, gripping his jaw and whispering the vilest threats in his ear so none of the nurses/visitors can hear.

how you could've died because of your boss' scam, and it has johnny SEETHING !!! probably more than he should be, considering it's his job to save, not to get involved. soap thinking 'should've let the bastard burn' as he speeds down the hall.

and he's probably not even supposed to be visiting you.

but he'll be back tomorrow. with a card and flowers as if he wasn't on the brink of committing a felony for you.

[amazeingartist]

promare au thoughts because yes

soap & ghost are together and in their shared apartment, soap is letting his flames dance around ghost cuz happy + ghost thinks soap’s fire is beautiful. a flame touches ghost’s mouth and he then leans in to brush their lips together to blow the ember into soap’s mouth. needless to say the rest of the evening is spent on the couch, taking turns warming each others lungs with heated breath; soap thinks one of his favourite views ever is of his fire flickering in ghost’s mouth, on his tongue. ghost thinks the same of soap’s reaction to himself

btw don’t worry ghost’s safe to those unfamiliar, burnish can perform a kiss of life to share their sparks with one another and a non burnish can return a burnish’s flame back to them via this method too. in canon it’s for life saving purposes but it’s also used as symbolism for romantic love sooo

[lethalchiralium]

i’m so very easily convinced about firefighter!141

give me some business days fellas,,, we might have a new series

send me firefighter thoughts 🫶

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, mentions of death, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, etc.

A/N: This is based off of US Firemen just because that's what I'm most familiar with!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was an arsonist in the city, and you were going to catch them.

Getting out of your car, you slap the door closed behind you and rush out, heels clicking over the concrete as the roaring flames continue violently—orange and red going high into the air, all centered around an abandoned warehouse building. Through the darkness of night, everything was lit up like hell.

Your satchel hits against your thigh one fast step at a time, arms pumping as your eyes find the flashing lights beyond the glare, squinting. 

“MacTavish!” You shout, jogging to the line of yellow tape and slipping under it through a small crowd of locals who call to you sharply. Voices going in one ear and out the other, you only search for that familiar helmeted head and the Scottish accent that accompanies it.

“What is she doing?”

“How come she gets to go closer!?”

“Stop that woman!” 

Your white blouse does little to push back the gusts of molten heat on the roaring airwaves, and neither do your dress pants. You push on with stubborn righteousness, even as the mulling firefighters groan under their breaths when they catch sight of you, all pausing in their various duties and panic of grabbing the hoses and getting the water going. 

The iconic red trucks sit stationary, but the man beside one of the three vehicles has his head nearly snapped off when he darts it over to you in a fast instant. 

“MacTavish!” You call out again, locking onto wide blue eyes that blink rapidly at your appearance. 

An under-the-breath curse is leveled out, heard in between shouts and the spray of water, droplets hitting your hard face.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus. Not again.” Heavy boots jog over, tan and yellow uniform loose beside the places where the straps of his gear attach various items and tools to his body. “What in the hell are you doin’ here, Pencils?” 

“My job,” you call stiffly, your finger going out to tap at the small plastic card attached to your blouse. 

‘PRESS PASS’

“So be a good informant and tell me how much damage this is going to cause,” your hand is already inside of your satchel, flicking on a hand-held recorder, as your eyes scan about. “The fire was bigger here,” you begin without wasting any time, and the firefighter in front of you sighs in exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Was it because this place was abandoned unlike the last four scenes, or because there was a different accelerant used.” 

“I’ve told you, Hen,” MacTavish’s hand moves out in appeasement gestures, glancing at the fire and the rest of the teams that rush to get the rest of the hoses going. “Ya can’t be here when the fucking fire is still ongoing. Do you want to get burnt to a damn crisp?”

“I need answers,” you level, gaze darting back to stare into cerulean blues.

John MacTavish, who everyone just calls Johnny or Soap, for some reason, had been a familiar face to you for upwards of two months. In that time, there had been an alarming amount of suspected arson cases—twelve, counting this one. There was an unprecedented spark-up, most taking place in older neighborhoods and abandoned buildings barring the previous four, of which two people had been seriously injured, and three had died. 

But now, it was back to out-of-the-way properties, and you wanted to know why. You needed to. 

Such an escalation just to suddenly drop back down to no casualties? It didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t for your career as a journalist, then it was for your morbid curiosity of which Johnny was intently familiar with.

 The Scot clenches his jaw, dark eyebrows under his helmet stuck into a line. Around him, the others were getting the blaze under control the best they could—there was no need to go inside to search for anyone and all that had to be done was keep the fire from spreading. So, he had no trouble trying to get you to see sense yet again.

“Do you ever give it a rest,” he asks gruffly, accent thick. “Christ, I’ll be gray before you learn to stop sticking your hands where they don’t belong.” 

“You’re not my mother, MacTavish,” you speak, lowering the recorder. “Do you have anything for me?”

Johnny moves up a hand and runs it over his face, groaning. A smirk flickers to your lips. 

“You’re worse than a fly,” he breathes, unimpressed eyes opening to stick to you. “I can’t say much right now, most of it is left for forensics. Just from the blaze alone,” he glances over, taking it in. “I’d make a guess that an accelerant was used. Especially with how fast it popped up and the intensity of it. I’d have to get the dogs down here for a sniff, but it’s likely.”

“Do you think it’s—”

“Connected?” Johnny interrupts, lips twitching at the annotated gimmer in your eye. “Aye. This was man-made. There was nothing here that could start a blaze like this.” 

You click the recorder’s button and move back with a sigh. 

“Lovely.” 

The Scot raises a slow brow, looking you up and down, confused. “That’s it?”

“It’s all you can give me right now,” you mutter, sliding a look at him as your eyes squint at the rabid flames. Pieces of screeching metal fall into a heap, a loud boom of spreading smoke and lifeless coughing of material in the air. 

“Fucking hell,” you murmur to yourself. “This had to be one of the biggest ones so far.”

It was getting held back from the surrounding buildings—slowly but surely in the morning, the entire place would be a smoldering pile of ash and metal, only more questions left behind. 

Johnny sets his hands on the collar of his gear, sighing. “Won’t be the deadliest, though, will it? I’m just glad there won’t be bodies to drag out.”

You send a side-eye his way, feet shuffling. “That, I can agree with. But the pattern doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, sorry, Hen, but you’ll catch me a bit more concerned about the potential next targets than the pattern.” He grunts, rolling his shoulders. “We need to catch this prick. Soon. Resources are stretched thin.”

“It’s like the guy completely switched his M.O.,” you ignore him, eyes narrowing. “Abandoned buildings, then to taking people's lives, then right back to where he started? That doesn’t happen overnight.”

Johnny grunts. “‘Cept here.”  

You sigh, tapping your fingers against your bag. The man at your side looks over, shrugging as he takes in the firmness of your expression—the same that he usually wears to any scene he gets called to. Determination. 

“I’ll get the report to you soon as I get it,” Johnny breathes, tilting his head. “Figured with all of your connections, you’ll have a better chance at piecing it all together.” 

“Thank you,” you nod. The man hums. 

“Now, get the hell out of here, yeah? Makin’ me nervous. Tape’s there for a reason Dearie.”

Scoffing, you toss up a hand and shake your head. “I live to make people nervous, MacTavish. You don’t help bust criminals and not make people nervous.” 

You begin backing back up, studying the land one more time. Johnny’s lips are thin, and he shifts his legs to stare after you. 

“Just be careful,” he calls, fingers tightening at his collar, strong jaw moving as he fixes it. His heart stutters in its course. “Don’t stick your neck where it doesn’t belong, Hen.”

You wave a hand, and then you’re off again, disappearing into the crowd with flames rising high behind you. 

The fireman watches tightly, licking his lips before shouting, “I’m serious!”

—

Your list of enemies was seemingly endless. 

Drug busts, criminal enterprises, hitmen—there was no shortage of stories you’d broken and your name being printed into the papers; you weren’t at all unknown to the city or the various police or fire stations. Many described you as a public nuisance, but…you were viewed with a modicum of respect as well—even if it was kept under breath. 

Yet, where there was respect, there was also the less savory emotion of contempt from the related individuals of those whom you’d landed into the eyes of the law and behind bars.

Perhaps you’d taken this arsonist for a disorganized fool…but you were about to get a very violent reality shift. 

“This is the report?” You ask, Johnny sipping from his coffee cup as you both sit in the park three days later, the bench stiff as your fingers play over the manila folder you’d been passed. 

“The public one.” Soap huffs when you slide him a look, his finger pointing at you as he holds his drink. “What? Pencils, I don’t care who you think you are, I’m not about to risk my career for something I can just tell you first-hand.”

You sigh, muttering before your hand pushes open the papers. “Go on, then.” 

Johnny smugly smirks, chuckling as his free hand goes up to fix the backward ballcap on his head. Under the tight hold of his athletic shirt, gray sweatpants sharply contract your put-together and professional appearance—like night and day. He still smells of smoke and metal. 

“You’re bein’ more snappy than usual. Publisher still on your arse, Bonnie?”

“Telling me I need to drop this goose chase,” you grumble, scoffing, eyes skimming down the printed words ahead of you. “As if.”

“Ah, he’ll come round,” Johnny’s lips flicker, flesh crinkling under that stubble of his. An overgrown mohawk leaks from the sides of his hat. “C’mon, tell me what ya need. I’ve got it all up here,” he goes to tap his head, taking another gulp of his coffee. 

The morning air is cold all around you, and people pass pushing strollers or jogging—Saturday just beginning to spread over minds and wake those who’ve slept in. Johnny and you weren’t quite like that. 

“Our theory about the accelerant?”

“My theory,” Soap grumbles but nods. “Gasoline. Dogs found traces all over—there was a damn lot.” 

You tilt your head, glancing at him. “Fits the profile from the other cases except the ones involving casualties.” Your lips pull into a frown, Johnny’s face going more serious. “Weren’t those all started with matches to the curtains in the living rooms?”

“Aye,” Johnny tips his chin to you. “Couldn’t figure that out until—”

“Until you found the matchbox out in the lawn at one of the crime scenes, plus the busted locks on the front doors. All exactly the same.”

The fireman grunts, lips flickering as his face goes a bit red. “Know my job better than I do.” 

You pause, a small heat coming to your cheeks, eyes pausing in their search for new information. “I’m not the one who willingly goes into burning buildings, give yourself more credit.”

Johnny leans closer, chuckling. “Was that a compliment, Pencils?”

“No,” you slide out. 

He hums a sound of amusement, moving back as his form slouches into the bench. A bird darts past overhead, chirping. “Goin’ soft on me. ‘Bout time—I've been waiting.” 

You roll your eyes heavily, closing the manila folder and shifting it into your satchel. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You face Soap head-on, taking in the deep blue of his eyes and the tease hidden in them. “The station? Home?” Your brow raises. “Animal shelter—I heard they take in strays.”

“Ah,” Johnny flinches, hand raising to his chest as he feigns hurt. “This how you thank your favorite public servant?” 

“You’ll live,” you grumble, standing and flattening out your long black coat. “Come on. Seeing as you’re not entirely lost to me, I’m getting breakfast today.”

Johnny’s beaming grin makes your lips pull in a low smile.

“And just like that,” he chuckles, standing up so that his boots hit the ground and his hand falls into his pocket. The empty cup in his hand is tossed into the trash. “I’m a picture-perfect specimen. Not that I wasn’t already, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you breathe, voice exasperated even as your smile breeds along the lines of your face. 

The both of you take off side by side, legs mirroring the others’ pace one slow movement at a time. Throughout your meetings for information, Johnny and yourself have grown close to one another—Violet’s Dinner one of the many places that was the unfortunate hub for your intel swapping. However, it was only unfortunate for the patrons, not you.

Soap gave what he knows about the fires and the ways they were started, and you gave over potential next targets based on whatever you can piece together from your police informants as well as others. 

You hum as you both walk the trail, slowly weaving away from the bench and down to the gated entrance of the park, slipping past the black iron as John holds it open for you. 

“Besides the ol’ fire-freak, then,” Johnny begins, smiling over at you as he itches at his neck, large arm reaching up and flexing. “Any other big breaks?”

Head turning his way, you speak easily. “In which article—the multi-generational money laundering bust at Warren’s Electrical or the murders near Fifth Ave? Or even the drug smuggling near the docks?” 

Blue eyes blink. “...Eh…any of ‘em?”

You snort, turning back to the sidewalk and shrugging. 

“You asked.” You slyly begin, before getting into the mental paper that you still had to type and send into editing. “Roy Laurence committed the murders near Fifth Avenue—my informant with the SWAT team says he was arrested and booked within an hour of the green light. DNA and fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim.” You raise a hand. “Now, I just have to try and get a spot in the courtroom when a trial date is released.”

“Well,” Johnny breathes, sending you a veiled look after a moment. “Don’t mean to brag, Pencils, but I got to help an old lady cross the street yesterday.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as Soap chuckles. The sidewalk continues, men and women passing at their slow paces as cars zip past; the fireman taking the chivalrous stance of the person beside the street unconsciously.

“And I’m sure she was very pleased, MacTavish,” you push out, shifting closer to him as an individual passes by, bumping your arm into his. 

“Aye, she was,” the man huffs proudly, puffing his chest. “Called me a handsome bloke and kissed my cheek. Blushed a bit.”

“Playboy,” you tease, eyes narrowed over at him. “Cheating on the mutts back at the station?”

Johnny gasps, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you call Mr. Spots a mutt, Dearie—that’s too far.”

“Christ,” you breathe, and an arm settles over your shoulders, shaking you a bit and squeezing your flesh before chuckles follow. 

Trying not to sink into the feeling of heat and the promise of fire, you live in this moment of nearly something. There was the close sensation of borderline affection—just brushing the sense of care and…pining. 

You knew the Scot was interested in you, or, at the very least, knew he had some modicum of attraction to you. Hell, the way he’d flirted with you when you’d propositioned him to be your link to the fire department was nearly laughable even today. All smirks and glinting eyes.

John was funny, no one was denying it. 

There was that firm push and pull between the two of you, a string attached to your wrists that wouldn’t snap—that had seemingly only grown stronger over the months of mystery. But the arsonist took precedence. 

Play can only come after work, and you were the picture of professionalism. Or maybe just stubbornness.

“The regular?” Johnny asks, letting you go as he pushes open the front door of Violet’s with his shoulder, keeping it there as you move inside and nod. 

“Sure. Same seats?” 

The fireman smirks. “Always.” 

You smile, walking off to the corner booth as John goes up to the front, waving down the familiar face of the waitress to let her know that the both of you are here. The two exchange pleasantries as you sigh and lean back into the red-cushioned seats, letting your satchel drop near your feet. Sending a text to your editor, you tell him that you’ll have an article written up about one of your ongoing fixations by Monday.

Johnny’s broad shadow soon graces you once more, carrying a plate of fresh bread with butter on it. 

“Lady’s a fuckin’ lifesaver,” he breathes. “Gave us free bread today.”

Your eyes dart over to Tammy, the waitress, who winks at you before disappearing to help another customer. Hiding the twitch of your lips, you raise a brow at John. 

“Don’t you usually get pancakes, too? Your stomach will explode,” you huff. 

“Ah,” his face scrunches in dismissal. “There’s always room for fresh bread.”

His large fingers are already around the body of a knife, slathering gooey butter on a steaming piece of the carb, chomping down and swallowing before he speaks—reaching for another.

 “So, spill it on me.”

Your fingers reach out, grasping some bread and bringing it to your lips. You chew, swallow, and ease out, “I think there are two arsonists.” 

Johnny pauses, wide eyes stuck on you as he stops his hand from bringing up the next piece of food. He blinks, his face tightens as he wonders over the information that you have, and then the groans out a long, “Fucking hell… one who’s doing it for kicks, the other who’s settling scores.”

“Precisely,” you shrug. “It explains the complete break in character, and we have enough fires to show that not only is the way the flames started different, but for different reasons as well. One wants to kill, the other can’t control it. Impulse.” 

“Makes sense,” Johnny grumbles, amused mood for the moment dropping to one of flashing anger. He taps his knuckles slowly on the table, thinking. “You tell the police this theory?”

“Nah,” you shake your head as your legs shift along the seat. “You know how the chief gets about me—I need to do some of my own leg-work. Get more evidence.”

The Fireman is already shaking his head with a chuckle that has no ounce of tease or jest in it. “Nah ah, no fuckin’ way am I letting you get involved with two arsonists—certainly not one that kills people, Hen.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking permission,” you smirk as your breakfast plates are brought over. Johnny’s is full of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, and you, your regular. You thank Tammy with a nod and take a sip of your small drink. “There has to be a connection between the victims. I’ve written about them before, my notes have the answers, I’m sure. I need to focus on one at a time—”

“Bonnie—”

“A possible Revenge-Motivated Arsonist is a far bigger threat than one that only has an impulse to light fires and not harm others. I’ll leave the ladder to you—”

A hand grabs at your own, grasping it firmly. Head snapping up to the square jaw ahead of you, which is tight, the stubble moving the scar along his chin one frown line at a time, you pause your quick rant. Face steadily heating as callouses run along your flesh like un-cut granite, your heart stutters.

“You’ll do nothing without me.” Johnny’s expression leaves no room for discussion. 

Mouth slightly parted, your eyelids blink before a squeeze is leveled out on your hand, and the Fireman shifts back. Your eyes follow, stuck on how his shirt hugs his large biceps and the gentleness of how he held you—how he always held you. 

Focus.

“You’re not getting dragged into this,” you chuckle, tilting your head seriously. “It could cost you your job.”

Johnny shrugs. “Only if I’m caught. If you're half as stubborn, as I already know you to be, Pencils,” he sighs, low smile coming to his lips. “Then I know you’ll be needing my level head.” Cobalt eyes twinkle.

You stare at him, blinking. Ignoring that skip in your pulse. As hard as you would like to try, you can’t say no to that face of his—that open expectation and firm choice.

“As level as a steep decline,” your grumble meets Soap’s ears, and the man’s face twists with an ingrained amusement that breeds the closer you are to him. It was easy to bounce jokes with you—like a pair of birds, squawking and puffing feathers, only stopping at strange intervals to preen one another before the loud chatter started anew. 

“And stop it with the dumb nickname already,” you glare. “It happened once.”

John drags his plate closer, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite out of it. “It isn’t every day you see a bonnie Hen with seven pencils in her breast pocket, is it? Hell of a first meeting with that serious face of yours and the sight of fabric practically ripping open.”

“I was in a rush,” your face burns, jaw rotating. “At least I was prepared, MacTavish.”

“Well, who’s sayin’ I wasn’t prepared?”

“Me!” Your fingers grab at your fork, pointing it at him. “You were practically covered head-to-toe in ashes!”

Red cheeks on his part, but always that adorning sheen to his expression.

“I was just in from a damn fire!”

Breakfast went as it usually did—good food and better company—but there was a deeper level to it now; a sharp edge of purpose. By the time the both of you were done, you’d already made up your mind to make it back to your apartment and gather the intel that you had. Find a starting point.

But, as mysteries like these always go, the good times came to a rapid cliff-drop. Johnny was muttering about his work schedule back on the sidewalk when he got the call. 

Phone to ear, you’d seen his face tighten—feet going completely still as you have to halt and look back at him, confused. A breeze goes by on the air, and your nose twitches to a sharp tang that leaves your fingers twitching.

“What do you mean, ‘fire on third street?’” Your body locks up, and Johnny’s face becomes devoid of pigment, watching yours closely. It was a strange emotion on his face; a hard and hesitant thing all at once. He was staring, brows pulled in as your lungs seemingly went to concrete inside of your ribs.

Third street? Fire? 

Soap’s voice goes even lower. Spine even more straight. “...Stillview apartments?” 

You’re already running before you can understand the severity of the revelation—dashing as Johnny yells after you to stop. 

That was your apartment building.

“Dearie!” The fireman shouts, his boots pounding after, but you had a head start, shoving through the crowds, dodging strollers and trash cans—bags and thrown curses. “Fucking hell, stop!”

Your form darts fast, heart hammering. Already your mind is running through every possibility and explanation. How could this be happening? Why? Has one of the arsonists found you out? But even then, it could only be the one intent on murder—countless others lived in your building; this was more than intent…it was a massacre.

Fires don’t just spark at a time like this to not be called connected.

Even over the air, you could hear sirens above Johnny’s loud pleas to slow down, moving as well as he could through the rush of people. 

He’s still on the phone, barking questions and the will of his legs to take him in the direction of the department building. But you. The back of your head in his black-sided vision. 

The man knows that if he doesn’t catch you, you’ll run straight into that blaze not only for the principal but your evidence. Your cork boards and their red strings—your pictures and printed articles. Johnny knew you had them, he wasn’t an idiot. 

You were too smart for your own good.

He was nearly there—just a few more steps and he could grab the back of your jacket like some stray cat, pull you back until you were in his arms. A fireman, yes, but he’d never get used to the inferno that was you; you consumed him utterly. It was an instant feeling for him, and even with the initial flirting, the immediate latching of his attention held fast. A bird to a wire. Hopeless, he was. Johnny was afraid at how much you trapped him in your ways—your looks and your…you-ness.

And you were only making him more afraid at this very instant. 

Soap was the only person ever supposed to be walking into fire.

“Hen!” The fireman barks, sharp and visceral. But you only take the next corner faster, satchel slapping against your thigh. 

“No,” you pant, legs dashing. “No, no, no. I left everything I need for this case in my filing cabinet!” 

This is what you get for trying to be organized for once.

You smell the smoke before you see it, and feel the heavy hand on your coat collar not a moment after you lock on it.

“MacTavish!” Your angered voice moves out, but it’s all strangled away in a fast moment of the screaming of sirens and the visible fire from your tall apartment building strikes you. Watching blankly, your face falls as strong arms reel you back into a chest. 

“Fuck,” Johnny growls, eyes wide as he looks on, phone clenched tightly in one hand. His jaw writhes with tension, vision darting from one fire truck to another and the men available to help. People were doing a myriad of things—screaming, running, watching—but through it all, there was the presence of fear coupled with a static anticipation. 

Panting heavily, you watch your life’s work go up in flames, and feel the tight arms of your informant keep you close.

You learn that if you don’t adapt to this fire sooner or later, it’s going to consume you. And still, you can’t understand if you’re talking about Johnny, who murmurs quick words of comfort into your ear, or the case that just locked you in with chains of commitment and rage.

The real work had just begun as ashes fell like snow to the street; the spray of the firetruck’s water flew with sure aim. Your face hardens, and you feel that worried grip tighten, bringing you into a ramshackle hug.

You have an arsonist to catch, and not a single person would stop you now.

TAGS:

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[the-californicationist]

The False Alarm

TF141+/Reader TW: gangbang --- MDNI/18+ AO3 Link

Cleaning a long, hard pole was slippery business, and at your fire station, it was a particularly dangerous job. You had to be small enough to fit into the harness, but strong enough to self-belay, shining the gleaming gold rod as you traveled downward, repelling to the floor. 

So, imagine your frustration when you were left to clean by yourself while the rest of the house responded to a three alarm fire. You tried to make quick work of it, but there was a lot of pole to tend to, and you didn’t want to miss a spot. A dirty pole was bad news for everyone who needed to ride it. Safety first. 

It was all going pretty well until you neared the end of your job. You were about to lower yourself to the last section, your feet nearly able to touch the ground when you lost your grip on the rope attached to your harness. The clip liked to jam, so you tried to get it unstuck, but you realized pretty quickly that it was solidly knotted against you. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. To make matters worse, you were leaning at an odd angle, having tried to reach down to grab the radio that had been knocked to the ground when you lost the rope. But, it was flung too far, and you quickly discovered that it was way out of your grasp. At this point, you looked like a Christmas ornament, hanging loosely in your harness, swaying slightly around the pole. The only thing to do now was wait.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long for help. The three alarm fire had been a false one, and all of the men had returned rambunctious but unharmed. Your boyfriend, Captain John Price, was the first one through every door, and he was the one who discovered you in your trapped state. His eyes lit up in shock, and you heard his gravelly laugh as he approached you. Behind him, Sergeant Johnny MacTavish and his Lieutenant, Simon Riley, began to strip their gear for Gaz, the firehouse quartermaster. They were laughing right along with Price, jeering at you in your trussed up position.

Price spun you around toward him, and you came face to face with his bulging zipper. You were at the perfect height, staring right at his crotch, and he had to bend down to look you in the eye,

“In a bit of a predicament, pretty girl?”

You weren’t sure you liked his tone. It was lurid and suggestive, especially in front of his men. 

“Latch is stuck. I’ve been telling you to replace it.”

“Which one?” He knelt underneath you to fiddle with the harness, “This one?”

He tugged at the rope and moved it between your legs, purposefully shoving it out of alignment. 

“John!” You hissed, feeling the thick rope, as big around as one of his fingers, slip across your cotton pants and into the crease of your pussy, rubbing along your clit mercilessly. 

“Mmm, I kinda like you like this, love. Might have to make you a permanent fixture. What d’you say?”

“Get me down, babe. Please?” You resorted to begging. It didn’t help.

“Oy!” He whistled loudly, “Come look what we caught on the line today, boys.”

All six of the other firefighters sauntered over to you, jeering and laughing. 

“Wee lass is truly stuck?” MacTavish asked.

“Aye, look,” Simon smiled, showing him the latch, “She used the old clamp.”

As he stuck his finger underneath it, it tugged on the rope next to your clit, making you writhe.

Gaz laughed behind them, bending over from his glee,

“Ha! Guess the captain didn’t tell you he bought a new one.”

“Count your blessings, compa,” Vargas grinned, clapping a hand over Price’s shoulder, “Maybe we should leave you two here, hm?”

“I was about to dig into Johnny’s homemade chili, but now I’m hungry for something else,” Alex crossed his arms and shook his head as if in disbelief. 

You tried to look to Price for some guidance. The boys flirted a lot, but it was mostly harmless. This felt… different somehow. There was something predatory in their stares that made your body feel like it was ablaze.  

Price ran a finger along the rope that now stretched between your asscheeks and through the folds of your pussy, biting into your pants. 

“Shouldn’t let such a bloody good opportunity go to waste, huh, lads?” Price’s voice sounded like an invitation, and you felt all the air get sucked out of the room. 

You were parallel to the ground; face down, ass up, right in front of all of them. You were trapped, surrounded by seven enormous men, and all you could see were their legs from their belt buckles to their boots. You knew who they were; you’d been friends for years, after all, but it didn’t feel so friendly now. You felt like their prey. 

You watched Price kneel beneath you. He smiled sweetly at you and whispered,

“You trust me, pretty girl?”

You nodded, and brought your hands up around his neck to kiss him. His mouth melted into yours, sending static tingles of pleasure though the rest of your body. He kept kissing you while his men stood around you, watching like dogs as Price literally dangled their treat in front of them. 

Then, he pulled away, standing up in front of you. You felt his fingers digging under the bottom of your shirt hem, and he tugged off your tee shirt, exposing your body to his team. Your breasts were contained only by a thin cotton bralette, and at this angle, they hung away from you as you swayed in your harness. 

Price took the bra off of you and bent to suckle from your nipples, licking and biting them gently to make you moan with sharp desire. You suddenly felt a hand that wasn’t his on your ass cheek and you gasped. Price chuckled, fondling your breasts with his huge, callused hands, teasing you,

“Are you shy, baby? It’s just MacTavish. You know he gets handsy.”

“Sorry, lass,” you heard the Scot behind you as he squeezed your ass and thighs, pulling them apart from your center, “Couldnae resist. Look good enough to eat.”

“Dig in, Sergeant,” Price offered you up like an appetizer, and tossed Johnny his emergency shears. 

Your eyes went wide, 

“John! My –”

“I’ll buy you another pair, love. Now, let’s give you something else to do with that mouth, why don’t we?”

You felt the cold metal of the blunt shears as Johnny cut across your waistband and down the crease between your legs, letting the shears do the work for him. He knelt to slice around to the front and then pulled your pant legs off of you, leaving you hanging there in nothing but your flimsy thong. 

He situated the rope back into position between your thigh and groin so that it wouldn’t bite into you, and then you felt his mouth. You groaned loudly. You couldn’t help it. It felt like heaven to have him licking and sucking at your tender flesh, writhing his tongue into your already soaking hole. 

“Listen to that sound. So damn pretty,” Price pet you on your cheek and stuck his thumb into your open mouth as you keened, the pleasure building within you like a smoldering blaze. 

You heard his buckle rattle open, and the whine of his zipper led to the quick release of his cock, hard and smooth. He pressed his head to your lips and you kissed it gently, licking around its crown hungrily. Unwilling to waste any time, he pushed into your mouth, rubbing himself deep enough to touch the back of your throat. You listened to his delicious moans and tried to take him in as much as his girth would allow. 

Then, MacTavish added a finger, stretching the walls of your pussy with it ever so gently, and you felt yourself starting to come. You were shocked by it, and it overwhelmed you so suddenly you knew that you were in for a turbulent storm of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck, tha’s it, love. Come for us,” Price commanded, “Such a good girl.”

Your whole body trembled, unable to press or brace against anything as you hung suspended, and you heard Johnny moaning as he felt you contract with pleasure, listening to the muffled screams he was pulling from you as you were trapped around the captain’s cock. 

Price’s hand fisted your hair, guiding you down, grunting with each thrust. Then, he removed himself, stepping around to the side of you and placing one of your hands on his wet shaft. You started jacking him off, confused until you saw another pair of boots below your face. 

It was Alex.

Price’s hand was still in your hair, and you felt your face being lifted up to view Alex’s long cock. He let it rest against your cheek, its warmth teasing you in a surprisingly comforting way. You used your tongue to lick up and down his generous length. 

Alex moaned, 

“Fuck… No wonder you rush home from work, Captain. Holy shit.”

Price chuckled, releasing your hair so that Alex could do as he pleased with you, 

“She’s bloody brilliant, aye?”

You felt something tugging your body backward, and you knew Johnny had moved beneath you because his mouth was punishing your clit, making you want to come again. You moaned around Alex, making him cry out as well from the feeling. 

Then, you felt the tell-tale prod of someone’s cock nestling itself against your wet hole. Surprised, you tried to pull away from Alex to look behind you. Alex grabbed your head before you did, though and forced your mouth back down,

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, sugar. It’s just Garrick. Lookin’ like he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get to fuck you right this goddamn second. Ain’t that right, Gaz?”

“Fuckin’ right,” Gaz grumbled, feeding himself into you as Johnny ate you out. 

You thought you might die from the pleasure. You came around him as he entered you, forcing him to stop. You were bearing down so hard that you thought you might accidentally wet yourself. You tried to get it under control, riding wave after wave of your orgasm as Johnny sucked your folds and fondled your clit. 

“Tha’s beautiful, lass. Your poor wee cunt doesnae ken what to make of all this, hm?” 

“She’s being such a good girl, Cap. Takin’ me so well,” Gaz crooned, reaching forward to rest his big hands on your hips as he began to thrust in earnest. 

Every time he pushed you forward, you would swallow deeper onto Alex’s cock, and Johnny’s tongue would rush through your folds and across your clit.

Suddenly, your other hand was being given a task to complete. It was Alejandro. He had taken your hand in his and bent to kiss your knuckles, soft and sweet as if you were a princess. Then, he let it rest on top of his uncut cockhead, allowing you to find a similar rhythm for him as you had for Price, rubbing his rod as steadily as you could manage. 

Alex increased his pace, grunting like an animal as he fucked himself into your throat. Price encouraged him,

“Don’t feed it to her, Keller. She wants it in that sweet cunt of hers, don’t you, pretty girl?”

You felt Gaz and Alex pull away from you at the same time, and you gasped, agonized by the hollowness that you were experiencing. Then, a warm hand braced against your ass cheek, squeezing you fiercely, and Alex pressed himself in where Gaz had been steadily putting in the work. 

The new sensation of another man’s cock was incredible, and with Johnny eating you like he was starving, you had no trouble coming with Alex as he pounded himself into you mercilessly. His guttural screams were tantalizing, and you wished you could see his face. 

“Fuck! Oh, my God – Fuck!” Alex grunted through gritted teeth, holding onto your body as tight as he could, filling you full of his come.

As he fell away from you, Gaz replaced him, getting back to his mission dutifully and with renewed vigor, slipping through the other man’s come easily. Johnny moved up your body, kissing your belly, sucking on your skin, finding your nipples as they jiggled while Garrick was fucking himself into you, and you watched someone new come up to your face. 

Simon bent down to kiss you, biting your lip and tasting his friends on your tongue. He licked your neck, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a bruise. He joined Johnny at your breasts, suckling from the opposite one as the eager sergeant. 

Just as you were being lulled into an orgasmic trance from their ministrations, you felt Gaz shudder. He came breathlessly, gasping out quiet moans and little yeses and pleases and wordless prayers as he started to spill out into you. His cock reached further than Alex’s, and you felt a different sort of fullness as he held himself inside of you, throbbing against your cervix, tickling the entrance to your womb. 

You felt his plump lips leave a trail of kisses along your bare back, and then he pulled away from you, letting his and Alex’s come drip onto the concrete floor below you. 

Simon and Johnny stood, each taking their place at your throat and your pussy, entering you at the same time and letting out similar groans of agonizing pleasure. Johnny was stuffing himself into your cunt, and Simon was dragging his cock down your throat, going much deeper than you had ever taken anyone before. 

MacTavish was almost too thick, and he had to stretch you more than Gaz or Alex. He wasn’t particularly long, but he was curved in just the right way, and you started to scream, muffled by Simon’s dick in your mouth. 

It made Simon wild. He spoke to his sergeant in staccato’d bursts, 

“Fuck, Johnny. Just like that, mate. Makin’ her scream around me. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

“She’s so tight, Si. Shite! I’m gonna come so fast,” MacTavish groaned, pulling your ass cheeks apart as he fucked you, watching your asshole gape open as he did, “God, Cap. How do you last?”

Your captain chuckled darkly, petting your breasts as they swung freely, 

“I fuckin’ don’t, mate.”

Johnny was now sheathed in your pussy to his hilt, grinding into you rather than pounding, almost as if he was massaging your walls from the inside, making you feel so full. His hand found your clit that he’d been punishing, and he used your own fluids to smear lazy circles around and around. 

You could feel your legs begin to shake involuntarily. You tried to stop it, gripping onto Alejandro and Price for dear life in your hands, and crying out around Simon’s cock in your throat for relief. 

All four of the men were noisy now, basking in your rolling pleasure, watching you writhe and tense beneath them. Gaz returned to you, kneeling down to lick your breasts, sucking on them harder than Johnny did, taking more of your flesh into his mouth. 

Gaz looked up at your face, stuffed full of Simon’s cock, and he talked to you even though you couldn’t respond, drool dripping out of the sides of your lips,

“Are you havin’ a good time, babe? You’re so damn pretty. Look at these gorgeous fuckin’ tits.”

The way he was sucking on them was so intense that you felt yourself clench hard around Johnny, hearing him moan. 

He slapped your ass, grunting,

“Fuck! Again. Do it again, lass.”

You tried to oblige, bearing down on him and squeezing with all of your might. 

“Yes, yes, yes, gonna make me come - fuck!”

Johnny grabbed ahold of your harness and threw himself into you at a breakneck pace, the fluids inside of your core splattering you and him as he crushed himself into you. Simon pulled out of you, commanding you,

“That’s right. Scream for it. I wanna hear you.”

You let out a long, trembling whine, and then, 

“Oh, fuuuuckkkkk…”

Johnny ground himself into you again, painting your pussy with his come. There was so much of it that you could feel it now, settling in your belly. 

The sergeant pulled himself out of you with a slick pop, and bent to lick his own come off of your folds. You screamed again, feeling as if you would be shoved into another wild orgasm if he kept it up. But, then, Simon came to your rescue, grumbling, 

“Out of the way, mate.” 

Simon moved into place behind you, grabbing Johnny by his mohawk and shoving him back, and hungrily rubbed his cock through your ass checks, massaging himself. Alejandro took his position at your mouth and used you easily. Simon had done a good job of getting you used to his roughness when he fucked your throat, and his treatment of your cunt was no different. Johnny had been big, but he was a lamb compared to the lion taking you from behind now. 

Simon had pulled your legs around his waist, holding you in place there, and he was eager to fuck you hard. You felt your bones rattle as he slammed his length into you, making the most animalistic sounds as he did so. 

“Tha’s how she likes it, innit, Captain? Like a dirty little slag,” Simon observed, able to feel how your walls fluttered around him, excited and anticipatory.

Price smiled down at you, and you could see his hand leave your breast and search for your ass. He grabbed your ass cheek and pulled it away until your hole was wide open for him, and he used his thick finger to tease you within an inch of your life. You were transported to another dimension of pleasure, and he knew exactly how to turn you on.

“This is how she likes it, Simon. All her pretty holes filled.”

“We can do tha’, can’t we? Proper stuffed.” Simon laughed, understanding what you liked and fully happy to give it to you. 

Price removed his hand and Simon replaced it, spitting into his fingers and rubbing two of them just inside of your asshole, stretching you out. He then put them deeper in and pressed downward, feeling his own cock through the thin membrane between your two holes, groaning in a deeper, darker tone.  

Alejandro got your attention then by holding himself inside of your throat for a three-count, and then a five-count, and then for a period of time when you lost count. You were choking so much that your body was convulsing, and as he ripped his cock from your throat, rivulets of drool fell out of your mouth and onto the concrete. 

“A la chingada! Dame tu boca, mi linda.” Fuck it! Give me your mouth, pretty one. Alejandro lamented, kneeling in front of you and kissing you through your mess of spit and drool. He smiled and stood again, rubbing his wet cock all over the outside of your face, making you sticky with his precome and with your own fluids. 

He gave you just the head of his dick and you swirled your tongue around it, suckling from it like it would feed you, and he cried out in pleasure,

“Fuck! Are you gonna come or not, pendejo? ‘Cause I need to.” 

Simon didn’t answer. He just fucked you even harder. It was as if he had been holding back this entire time. He grabbed your hair and forced your body to arch high into the air, pounding into you with wet, slapping noises and grunting over your screams. You couldn’t continue rubbing Price’s cock, nor were you able to suck Alejandro’s head. You were at Simon’s demonic mercy. 

He came without halting. He fucked you right through his own pleasure, listening to you moan and feeling you bearing down around him, pushing his seed as deep into you as it would go. When he finally let go of your hair and removed himself from you, it felt like he was taking your insides with him. You felt so empty, it made you whine. 

“Shh, shh. I know, love,” Price soothed you, moving to your face to kiss you and lick your neck, “You’re doing so good. You ready for me, hm?”

“I need you so bad, John,” you told him through pleasure-wrought tears. 

“I know, baby. I know. Be a good girl for me.”

You nodded, feeling Alejandro push himself through Simon’s wet spend. It only took a few thrusts for him to coat your walls as well. There was so much come in you, your belly felt swollen. 

Finally, it was the captain’s turn. You and he were alone at the pole, and you felt him cut your rope in one quick slice. He caught you before you fell, holding you to him, knowing you couldn’t stand on your trembling legs. He lifted you up and made you turn to face the group of men who had just finished pleasuring you. They were all in states of undress, panting and laying on the firetruck or on the ground. Simon was jacking off again, as was Alex, thoroughly enjoying the show. 

Price fucked you like this, holding your body in front of him, letting you face his team as he struggled to fit himself into you. You had forgotten how big he was compared to normal men. Your eyes reflected your shock. Encouraged, the men began to stir, despite their exhaustion, nearly every one of them had his cock in his hand. 

You felt yourself come again, no warning this time, and Price let out a long, threatening growl,

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful, love. Did so good for us. Takin’ my men so well. I knew you could do it. Good girl. Such a fuckin’ good girl. My fuckin’ girl. Whose cock do you like best, baby?”

“Yours, John,” you cried out. 

“Whose?” He demanded, shouting at you through gritted teeth.

“Yours! Yours. Yours.” You chanted, feeling him begin to pulse inside of you. 

“Tha’s fuckin’ right.”

Price came in you so much and for so long, you thought you had mistaken what was happening to you. But, it was dripping out of you and onto the floor in little white splatters. 

Keeping his wits about him, Price whistled to Johnny and he came over with a big blanket, helping Price wrap you in it to keep you warm. You couldn’t stop shaking. 

Price smiled, bending down to kiss you as you were wrapped in Johnny’s arms, surrounded by the whole team, 

“Go get some rest, love. Your pole-cleaning duties are on hold… for now.”

[eldritcmor]

Taskforce 141 x Eldritch!reader requested by: @fc17 Inspired by: crows warnings: none that I can think of

SImon "Ghost" Riley Ghost watched from his post as the private crouched down in the grass of the field. The private seemed to shiver in the wind and stiffen for a moment before s scratchy caw rang in the air above them. A crow landed near his feet as he took a drag of his cigarette. He attempted to shoo it away only for the thing to squawk in outrage as it jumped and fluttered back to the ground. He glanced back to the private only to see that they were crouched among a massive flocks of crows. Crows that were wandering up and snatching something from their fingers. John "Soap" MacTavish Soap hummed as he wandered by the mess, taking a quick peek inside to check for stragglers for his team. For a second, he thought he saw a giant hunched over mass of glossy black feathers and talons sitting on the tables in the darkened room but that couldn’t be right could it? A shake of his head and Oh. It was just “Crow” sorting through various piles of little trinkets. He knew they liked to feed crows around base as just a little past time. He had asked about it once. they said that the crows had gone through the effort of following so might as well reward their flock. he kind of just brushed their answer off after that. He thought they spent too much time around birds. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Gaz sighed as he leaned against the wall of the safehouse. Today had been grueling. A drug ring bust turned into a firefight turned into a long night of moving safe houses to stay one step ahead. A tap at the window and guns were up and ready, Only for “Crow” across the room and slowly slide the window open. In flew a single crow, landing on their shoulder. In seemed to glance around the room before letting out a horrible croak as if clearing it’s throat. It’s voice was scratchy and unhuman as it spoke. ”Unsafe unsafe unsafe. Flee flee flee.” ”Crow” seemed to stiffen before reaching for their go bag and gun. They don't speak, just strapped their gear on and move towards the door. Gaz caught their shoulder. ”Where are you going?” Crow looked at them sharply, and for a moment he wasn't looking into the eyes of a person but something far more old and ageless. He swallowed a lump and spoke into his radio as he grabbed his gear. “Our safehouse has been compromised. Crow and I are on the move.” He followed them out the door. John Price Price started as something kicked and clawed at the door of his current cell. His squad had been sent in to clean up after an operation only to find that the enemy still lurked. The enemy that apparently had their own tangles with what the world was calling cryptids. He ducked and attempted to scramble away as the door buckled under the force of whatever the fuck was on the other side. He stared as a mass of feathers and talons. entered the room before seeming to notice him. The feathers shifted and shrank. Beast became gave way to reason. scale and talon to flesh. Before him stood Crow, one of the privates from base. “You alright sir?”

[ohworm-writes]

✰☆★—Call of Duty: Modern Warfare—★☆✰

"All the coldest, hardest people you once meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of LIVING."

✪ MULTIPLE CHARACTERS ✪

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Character Family Outlines

John Price, Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, Kate Laswell, Valeria Garza, Vladimir Makarov, König, Phillip Graves, Rodolfo Parra, Alejandro Vargas, Alex Keeler, Farah Karim, Nikolai

✪ TASK FORCE 141 ✪

Station 141

Station 141 x Hairdresser!Reader

✪ CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE ✪

Veteran!Neighbor!Price x Reader headcanons

Firefighter!Price x Reader - Coming Home Late

✪ NIKOLAI ✪

Nikolai Headcanons

Honey and Molasses

As Good As I Do

✪ VLADIMIR MAKAROV ✪

Pistol Whipped

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Locked Out Pt. 2

Johnny drags you inside the station, ignoring the confused looks he gets from the other men inside. He walks you over to the oldest of them, a man with a beard sporting a hat, and introduces you. 

“This is oor captain, Price,” Johnny says, his arm still over your shoulder. “Cap, bonnie ‘ere lost their keys doon th’ drain. Can we gi’ them a hand?”

“I’m sure Gary could get to them,” Price says, offering a warm smile and his hand to shake, which you do. “You rest here mux.” He turned to the couch where a man with dark, curly hair sat. “Kyle, keep our guest company, we’ll be back.” He pats Johnny on the shoulder and the two leave to find Gary and retrieve your keys. 

Kyle stands from the couch and walks over. He’s handsome, pretty you think. He definitely knows it too as he catches you staring, giving you a smile. “Hungry?” he asks.

---

Simon emerged from the showers, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his damp towel slung over his broad shoulders as his blond hair was still dripping wet. The station house was quiet. Johnny must still be out walking Riley. 

A quiet laugh broke that silence though. One that made his stony heart skip a beat. Simon made his way towards the common area, finding the one thing he never expected. You. 

Kyle was sitting with one arm on the couch behind you, the other on his leg. You hadn’t noticed Simon yet, too engrossed in Kyle’s story about the time Riley climbed into the open window of a cop car to get into a bag of treats the officer had hidden under his seat.

“So Riley was hanging halfway out this cop’s car, an’ Johnny’s trying to get him out before the cop gets back,” Kyle said. “Turns out, the cop had a bag of treats in the car. Found out when Simon called Riley over. Rascal had the bag hanging out his mouth.” 

The sound of your laugh makes Simon’s heart race and he finds himself jealous of the way your fingers gently scratched behind Riley’s ear as the dog’s head lays in your lap. 

Simon can’t help but stare. He’d always known how pretty you were, but seeing you here in the station.. He only wished he was the one you were sitting with. That he was the one making you laugh so easily. 

“Bonnie! We got yer keys!” Johnny calls, coming up behind Simon. 

Your head whips around, catching a glimpse of Simon as he turns on his heels and retreats deeper into the station. 

---

In his room, Simon’s heart pounds in his chest. He runs a large hand through his blond hair, his mind racing. All he’d wanted these past few months was to know you better, though he’d never been able to bring himself to speak more than a few words to you. Never had he thought he’d see you in the firehouse, much less cozied up on their couch. What were you even doing here? 

A knock on his door brought his answer. Simon quickly pulled on his privacy mask, some part of him hoping it was you. Instead he saw Johnny. 

“Aye, Si, did ye see we git a guest?” Johnny asked with that cheeky grin of his. Ah. That was it. Johnny brought you here. 

“I saw..” Simon said, keeping his voice measured despite his urge to to tear Johnny in half for getting up the nerve to talk to you before he could. 

“Ye never told me tha’ wee thing wis so cuit,” Johnny pressed. “S’already git Kyle wrapped ‘round their wee finger.”

Simon’s dark eyes sharpened. Johnny always knew just how to get under his thick skin. 

“Am sure they’d lek t’ see ye,” Johnny continued. “Looked a might fash when ye stormed off.”

“Didn’t ‘ave m’ mask,” Simon muttered. “Wasn’t expecting them..”

“Aye, ha t’ git Gary t’ rescue their keys,” Johnny explained. His blue eyes briefly looked Simon up and down. “Y’should say ‘ello. Am sure they’d lek t’ see ye.”

Johnny was dense but he wasn’t stupid. He knew Simon could get anyone he wanted, he had the looks to make just about anyone, including Johnny himself, melt. If only Simon had the confidence to actually talk to anyone. 

When Simon didn’t budge, Johnny decided to push further. “Aye wis think’n, LT,” he started. “I might ask ‘em oot fer coffee.” Johnny shrugged as he watched Simon tense. 

Simon shoved past Johnny, making his way to the common area again. Leaving Johnny grinning at his door.

---

“Coffee.”

Simon’s gruff voice startles you. You hadn’t seen him enter the room, much less hear him walk up behind where you were sitting on the couch. 

You blink those pretty eyes up at him. “What?”

“With me.” He doesn’t seem to be asking by his tone, but his eyes are almost pleading. 

“Uh.. sure,” you say, unable to keep the smile from your lips. 

The tension in Simon’s shoulders melted away. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.

[gazs-blue-hat]

Chapter 3 of my King Johnny MacTavish x Siren Reader!

Warnings: mild mentions of a brewing conflict. Political strife. (If I missed anything, please let me know)

AN: Dedicated once more to @sprout-fics who enables all my winding Johnny thoughts.

Word count: 2,170

The winter months had parted ways for spring a few weeks after Johnny had gone out on the water alone. The icicles on the castle had started to thaw, filling the air with the soft sounds of dripping water and the occasional crack of ice giving way. The people in the town below had started their springtime gardens, working the soil with their tools to plant seeds that would eventually grow to nourish their families come fall. The children had started running about outside once more, their squeals and laughter flowing like a joyous river through the valley.

Johnny wasn’t able to enjoy the spring. He wasn’t able to feel the warm sun on his face, or listen to the children that were playing. He wasn’t able to even watch the icicles dripping outside his windows. He was stuck sitting in some delegation meeting with his council. He sat restlessly in his chair, feeling the plush blue fabric under his fingers crease as he tightened his grip on the armrest. He wasn’t built for this! He wasn’t meant to sit in on political affairs like trade negotiations and which of his neighbors wanted more land or…

“Your highness? Are you feeling alright?” His spymaster had paused her briefing to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. He perked up, straightening his posture that had been distinctly unkingly. He cleared his throat and nodded, looking down at the map before him. He recognized the kingdoms before him, and he frowned as he saw the lines that had been drawn on the parchment.

The skirmishes in the south have been steadily growing more and more intense. That particular nation had always been hungry for conflict, and they above all else desired the small nation that Johnny had found himself king of. The spymaster had been giving him a report on the subtle events occurring in the courts to the South and he had spent it daydreaming.

“I’m alright Kate. Please continue.” He watched as Kate nodded and began to gesture once more at the map, speaking on the recent union between two families in the southern court. Johnny did his best to pay attention, even going so far as grabbing a piece of parchment to write notes on. He did well, at first, listing a few ideas he had to perhaps smooth things over. He knew that the southern lands were locked from the sea, perhaps he could open his ports and allow them to launch ships from his territories on the sea.

“What if we opened the river to them? Allowed their trade ships to exit there and to the ocean?” His statement caused the people gathered at the table to freeze and look at him. Kate straightened for a moment and looked down at the map, nodding to herself. His military officer, a man named John Price, shifted in his seat, his plate armor clicking softly as he puffed on the cigar in his mouth. “I don’t see why not. We have outposts on the rivers near the largest settlements. If anything happened, we’d know about it in minutes.” The gruff man looked at Johnny and nodded his approval.

Johnny smiled to himself, pleased that he had come up with a solution to a possible problem. He wasn’t not intelligent. He knew the seas as well as the fish themselves, and could maneuver a massive ship in the middle of a firefight. He could muster a crew so fearless that they were willing to face the coldest and most dangerous seas with him. He was intelligent, just not…politically intelligent.

Johnny picked up his pencil again, the tip dulling from the notes he had been scribbling. He picked up a knife and sharpened the tip, not really paying attention to what was being said until there was a quiet mention of her. He coughed and the tip of the knife slipped, catching against the callused end of his thumb. He cursed and shook the appendage, slipping a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to the wound. It was only then that he noticed all eyes were on him.

“Alright there Johnny?” His knight captain, the perpetually helmed giant of a man leaned forward, head tilting to the side as he inspected his king. Johnny nodded, grumbling under his breath. “I’m fine, I’m fine. What was that you were just mentioning?”

The tradmaster sighed and crossed his arms, looking a bit concerned but also irritated. “Ships, MacTavish! Ships. Smaller trading vessels belonging to the eastern kingdoms have been going missing! Shipments of luxury goods haven’t been making it to their destinations and the magisters wanted to know if the same thing was happening to us.” Johnny never liked that man, his face always twisted in a scowl.

“I would have assumed you would know about this already, seeing as you can’t tear your gaze away from the sea for ten bloody minutes.” Johnny turned and gently whacked his other advisor, Kyle Garrick, on the arm.

“Shut yer mouth! You know as well as I do the stories about the sea! If ye don't-“ Kyle interrupted him by waving away his comment, a smile on his face. “I know, I know. But it does draw into question a few things. Who’s out there hunting ships? It sure as hell isn’t us, and the most aggressive state is landlocked.” Kyle leaned back and looked at Kate, who shrugged and looked at Price, who then exhaled a plume of smoke and looked at the surgeon. The surgeon shrugged and looked over at Johnny who was doodling on the paper before him.

“Johnny? Are you paying attention?” The words of the surgeon snapped him out of his drawing and he looked up, blushing slightly. Price sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got to get a grip on this obsession son. You haven’t been sleeping and your attention span is out the window.” Price sighed heavily and stood, chair groaning against the wooden floor as he pushed back.

“We can implement the shipping idea that his majesty gave us. That should buy us enough time to figure out more of a permanent solution to the conflict and the sinking ships.” Price’s words were strong in the chamber, spurring the others into action. Kate gathered the maps with the help of Kyle, the Knight Captain and the Surgeon snuffed the candles while Johnny stood and gathered his notes. As people filed out, Johnny nodded and mumbled his thanks for their patience and his assurance that he would be back to normal soon.

Soon it was just himself and Price sitting in the dimly lit room, a single candle illuminating their faces. Johnny rested his head in his hands, shaking it gently. “That was a shite meeting and you know it.” Price’s grumbling baritone echoed off the stone walls, filling Johnny with more shame than he already felt.

“Aye…I know. I just…” he looked up, a pleading expression on his face. “Can’t you do this? Take the crown and rule in my stead? I don’t mind abdication, in fact I’m all for it! I ju-“ Price cut him off by exhaling deeply, a cough settling in his chest.

“You know I can’t. You know the laws of the land, your birthright-“

“I dinnae care about that! I just want to see the sea again! I never wanted this life and you know it! You were with me on that fuckin’ ship! You know what happened and what I had to-“ Price slammed his hands down on the table, interrupting Johnny’s train of thought.

“It doesn’t bloody well matter what you wanted! You’re here now and no amount of bitching and moaning will get you anywhere!” Price stood, pushing in his chair and stalking over to the seated king. He leaned close to Johnny’s ear, his fingers plucking the cigar out of his mouth so he could speak unobstructed. “You need to get your head on straight Johnny, before someone comes up here and takes it from you.”

Price stood, gripped Johnny’s shoulder tightly and then exited the room, leaving Johnny alone with his thoughts. With a heavy sigh he reached into his pocket and pulled the pouch of scales from inside. He removed one and rubbed it between his fingers, feeling the tension leave his shoulders almost immediately. The scale seemed to glimmer from an internal light, something he was desperately missing in his life.

Johnny stood up himself, heading to the balcony that had been left open during the meeting. The salty sea breeze flowed into the room, tousling his hair and almost pulling him to the slickened stone. He stepped out into the cobbles, resting his forearms on the salted stones. The ocean was particularly boisterous today, acting almost playful as the wind pushed the waves into breaking over the rocky surf.

He thought back to what Price had said and he frowned. His old friend was right. He needed to let go of the past and start living in the present. He placed the small scale back in the pouch and sinched it closed. He then drew back his arm and tossed the bag as hard as he possibly could, watching it soar through the air like a bird set free from her cage. The bag arced beautifully through the air before landing in the surf, sinking like a stone.

Johnny sighed softly to himself and turned to head back inside when he felt something wet and heavy slap against the back of his head. He turned quickly, drawing his saber once more before looking down at the projectile. It was the pouch! The pouch full of scales had been returned to him.

With a scoff and a shake of his head, he launched it again, further than before and watched it sink below the waves. He kept his eye on the waves this time, watching a figure hoist the bag and then launch it back at him. He caught the projectile as it hit against his hand, water splashing across his face. The figure didn’t disappear beneath the waves, staying up and…coming closer.

The siren from before drew closer, her scales glimmering in the setting sunlight and form shimmering under the golden waves. She bared her teeth at him but didn’t hiss, treading water and staring up at him with her impossibly beautiful eyes. He dropped the pouch again, watching as she caught it. She opened the bag and looked at the scales inside. Johnny’s heart pounded like a war drum in his chest as she furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head, emptying the bag of scales into the sea. Was she disappointed he kept them? Was she angry?

He felt a lump swell up in his throat as he watched her pluck a few loose scales from her tail and hips, placing the shiniest and largest ones in the bag. She gently closed the bag, pressing her teeth against the top to really be sure it was closed. She then angled herself so Johnny could see her magnificent tail. It was still a bit tattered but it had clearly been healing from the damage it had sustained in the storm. She set the bag on the flukes and then with a mighty shove, she flipped the bag into the air and into his awaiting hands.

When he looked back into the water, she had gone, but he had this new batch of scales to tide him over until he saw her next. His siren…

He returned to the drawing room, a new determination settling in his soul. He would be a good king. He had to be a good king. If not for his people, then for her. He’d protect her from conflict, he’d protect her from seeing warships in her oceans. He pushed the doors to the castle open exiting the room and causing a breeze to lift the notes he had taken into the air and over to the balcony.

The sea breeze ruffled the edges of said papers until they gracefully lifted up and fluttered over the side of the parapets. The twisted and turned in the air, being buffeted by gales of fated wind. The papers floated down and danced in the sky until they settled into the water and the awaiting hands of…you.

You, the siren who washed up on his beach during the storm of the century. You, who had gifted him riches and bared your teeth at his presence. You, who played catch with him and gifted him some of your scales. You looked down at what once had been notes on the meeting but now had become drawings of ships and strange figures distorted by what looked to be sketched water.

You turned it in your hands, the water ruining the paper and lifting the charcoal off the face of it. Before the sea could remove all trace or Johnny MacTavish from the paper, you caught a glimpse of yourself. He had sketched your face so clearly and you couldn’t help but bare your teeth in a smile.

Until next time, my Captain.

[lunarw0rks]

can we get a little more of firefighter soap-

firefighter!soap not having a date to one of the fundraisers at the firehouse, so he invites you!!

definitely didn't sneak into his captain's files to find your contact information — that would be silly. but luckily, you find it amusing, and sitting in that hospital bed for days was agonizing.

you'd be daft to pass this up.

showing up to the firehouse, seeing families of the other firefighters, civilians and their children, tables of food, and prizes for the raffles. it's not packed full of people, however a higher turnout than you expected.

and then, most importantly, soap.

wearing his uniform; black slacks that hugged his thighs tight, and polished black boots that gave him a clean-cut look. a fresh shave on his face, still emanating aftershave. and his shirt with the sleeves rolled, to expose his biceps. and over his heart, displaying his badge and the three digits on the outside of the firehouse.

"look at ye, up and walking." he'd say, giving you a friendly side hug while clasping one of your hands. twirls you around slightly, as if to examine how well you've healed.

still, there are small bandages on your body, bruises that finally started to fade, and the soft cast on your wrist. but none of it diminished your beauty.

spending the entire fundraiser at his side, introduced to everyone on his team, and their families. you were out of your element but buzzing with nerves — and as cliché as it was, butterflies. every time you look at him, you remember the relief of seeing his face for the first time; how he cradled you in his arms and pulled you from the flames.

by nightfall, it was mainly the younger crowd left or the older couples without children needing to sleep. through the speaker, top hits played faintly, echoing off the tall walls of the firehouse. there were string lights lining the industrial staircase, attempting and succeeding to give the space an inviting feeling.

each time you looked at the banners and homemade signs, you imagined which ones johnny worked on. picturing him up on one of the ladders, making sure his strips of tape were straight. most of the raffle prizes had been claimed already, leaving miscellaneous home items, or overpriced bath kits.

"are they supposed to be drinking? aren't they on duty?" you chuckled, pointing a finger at two of his fellows, trying their best to hide the beer they smuggled into the party.

johhny shook his head, flashing the whites of his teeth warmly, "aye, they're in for it once all the guests leave."

"oh, is that what i am? just a guest?" you cocked a brow, taking another sip of the punch. he shakes his head, refusing to take his eyes off of you as you walk side by side through the firehouse as if giving you a silent tour of the place. as if he wanted you to show up more, which you wouldn't mind.

"don't do tha' sad face," he finished off his own red cup, tossing it into one of the trash bins. of course, you couldn't resist exaggerating your frown, just to prove your point.

you both made your rounds again, reaching the nearly cleared raffle table. "you know what, i'll get you a prize. how about that?"

intrigued, you tilted your head and nodded, waiting to witness his offer. "lay it on me then."

"let's see..." his fingers roamed along the slim pickings. beer-themed socks? you weren't in a frat. a fuzzy throw blanket? hm, slightly better.

he picked up one of the promising prizes. "oh, what about this? something to add to your beauty routine, eh?" he held up one of the cheap sample kits, sure to irritate your skin more than help it, so you scoffed and acted more unimpressed than you actually felt.

his effort was endearing, and frankly, it was entertaining to watch a tough guy scramble to appease you.

he mumbled a hm, extending out another box to you, which only resulted in more faux disappointment.

"a pressure cooker?" you chuckled. "a fundraiser at a firehouse, and they're giving away pressure cookers..."

he contemplates, clicking his tongue in agreement. he hadn't thought of how hypocritical that was until now. "it's good business, besides, putting out fires is good for the ego." he set the box back down, meeting your gaze for a few seconds.

a small grin appears on his face, "especially if something beautiful comes from the flames." he adds, waiting for the inevitable hitch in your breathing that you try to hard to conceal.

you do just that but end up giving his toned arm a light smack, reminding yourself that there are indeed still people around. and that flirt was as cheesy as the dip bowl you were standing next to.

"what? too soon for that joke, love?"

[amazeingartist]

I caved. I caved into making a promare au. I couldn’t stop the rot. anyway, burnish!soap who’s on the 141 fire rescue team. honestly following the movie and have him and ghost fight like galolio is also very very good.

[lethargicluv]

Masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Firefighter AU Blurbs 1 2

John "Soap" MacTavish

Farmer's Market AU

John Price

Veranda Neighbours AU

Astarion Ancunin

Lace and Embroidery

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Locked Out

“Riley! Bad dog!”

You don’t have time to look up before a familiar German Shepherd barrels into you, knocking you to the ground and sending your keys skittering across the sidewalk. 

You sputter as the dog licks your face before a hand grips Riley’s collar and pulls him off you. You wipe the dog slobber from your face and look up expecting to see Simon, instead you see a broad man with a short mohawk, attempting to reign in the overexcited dog. 

“Sorry leannan, dinnae mean fur ‘im tae get away from me,” he said as you started to get back on your feet. 

“S’alright,” you say, brushing off your pants. You give him a quick once over. He's wearing jeans and a tight fitting navy T-shirt with the fire department’s emblem on it. 

He gives you a lopsided grin. “Lek whit ye see, bonnie?” He teases. 

Your face feels warm as you attempt to stutter out a response. 

“I'm only joking, lasso,” he chuckles at your embarrassment. He glances at the bakery door. “Gett’n off yer joab? Ye must be that wee thing the LT acts so sweet aboot.”

You stare at him for several moments, having little idea what he's saying. “I uh… I was just getting off work yeah,” you finally say. “Bakery's closed for the day, sorry.”

“Oh naw, I wasn’t look’n tae buy anyfing,” he said warmly. “Jus’ walkin’ Riley ‘ere.” He stuck a hand out. “Ye can call me Johnny.”

You shake his hand, giving him your name as well. “It’s nice to meet you,” you say. “I don’t mean to rush off, but I need to get home.” You stick your hands in your pockets, finally registering that your keys weren’t in their usual place. You pat your other pockets before looking around at the ground. 

“Whit ye look’n fer?” Johnny asked. 

“My keys,” you say. “I think I dropped them when Riley ran up.” Your eyes scan the sidewalk before spotting the storm drain by the curb. Johnny seems to read your mind as he walks over and looks through the grate. 

“Wee charm oan it?” he asks. 

You groan. Of course your keys had fallen into the storm drain. How were you supposed to get into your apartment now? Your landlord was away on holiday and he hadn’t left a spare behind. He wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night. You’d just spend the night in the bakery, but you’d already locked up for the night and no one would be back until morning. 

Johnny seems to sense your distress as he claps you on the back, knocking you from your thoughts. “Ye can stay wi’ us at th’ station house,” he suggested. “We can even get yer keys oot th’ drain fur ye.”

“I don’t wanna be a both-” you start to say but are cut off by Johnny. 

“Dinna fash!” he beamed at you. “ Nae trouble at all.”

Before you could protest, Johnny wraps a muscular arm over your shoulder and starts to guide you back to the station, grinning to himself as Riley trotted happily next to you. Simon was going to love this.

---

As a treat, here's a second one today <3

[thelaisydazy]

We find out it’s everyone’s favorite puppy’s birthday and bake a dog friendly cake for the best baby

and some cookies for the 141 too I guess

mostly for everyone’s favorite firefighting puppy

The goodest boy NEEDS HIS CAKE

----

It was well after closing and you were still at the bakery. You’d heard through Johnny that it was Riley’s birthday today and you wanted to drop off something for the pup. Luckily, your boss was more than happy to let you use the bakery to prepare a little doggy cake and a tray of cookies. 

Covered in flour and icing made from greek yogurt and peanut butter, you admired your work. You weren’t exactly skilled at cake decorating, but even you had to admit the little cake looked cute. It was simple, just some nice icing swirls. The cookies were even simpler, just a batch of plain sugar cookies.

You loaded everything into boxes and balanced them in your arms as you locked the door. You spare a look at the gray sky, you had to hurry up and drop everything off before it started to rain.

It wasn’t easy, but after a while you finally managed to reach the station house. Using the heel of your shoe, you knock on the side door. 

It’s Kyle that greets you, that beautiful smile on his face. “Hello luv,” he says warmly before his eyes flicker to the boxes in your arms. Without asking he reaches to lift them from your arms. “What’re you doing here?”

“Johnny mentioned it was Riley’s birthday,” you say smiling back at him as he takes the boxes. “I wanted to drop off some goodies. There’s a dog-safe cake for Riley and some sugar cookies for the rest of you.”

“Gaz!” You hear Johnny call from further inside. “Is Simon back wi’ Riley?” He rounds the corner, spotting you with a wide grin. “Bonnie!”

“Our sweet thing came to drop off cake and cookies,” Kyle said, shuffling back as Johnny came running up. “I was about to invite them in.”

“Oh, no I don’t wanna impose,” you said. “Besides, I should head home before the rain starts.”

Almost on cue, the sky opened up, dumping buckets of water outside. 

“Or maybe I could stick around..”

“That’s th’ spirit!” Johnny laughed. “C’mon, we’re get’n set upstairs.” 

You follow Kyle and Johnny upstairs, greeting Price and Gary with a smile. Price was standing at the base of a ladder, cigar between his lips as he held the ladder steady for Gary, who was at the top hanging some blue and yellow streamers. “What have we got here?” Price asks, looking you over. 

“Cake for Riley,” Kyle answers, placing the boxes down  on a counter. 

“An’ cookies!” Johnny piped in, opening the cookie box and swiping one for himself. Kyle shooed him away before he could take any more. 

A few moments later, the door opens and Simon comes trudging in, Riley in tow. They’re both soaked, but they perk up as soon as they see you. Riley’s leash slips from Simon’s hand as the dog runs for the cookie in Johnny’s hand.

You grab a dish towel from the kitchen and walk up to Simon, tossing it over his wet hair. “You got rained on,” you giggle. He hums in response, bending so you can dry his hair more easily, just happy to be standing near you.