#gas garrick x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

Note

What if prompt for the 141: In the Rain

"It's pouring rain, why are you here?" Or something to this nature. I love a confession in the rain, stuck in the rain, kissing in the rain, all of it! Lol

I too love a good confession in the rain. That final scene in Pride & Prejudice is still peak confession in the rain trope for me. I think about it all the time. I think about it on repeat. I want it tattooed on my eyelids. When I think "in the rain," I think of that scene.

So, these aren't smutty by any means but one (maybe two) have some spice to them. They are full of love and longing. There are emotions, angst, and lots of kissing. It's our soaked to the bone 141 boys confessing their hearts in the pouring rain.

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

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief mention of alcohol, suggestive themes, grief/mourning, love confessions, kissing, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings, intimacy, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 3k

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

John Price

There are few things that John Price indulges in.

Cigars. Whiskey. The thought of you as his woman.

That last one plagues him. It burrows in. Makes a home every night to flood his dreams with images of you. John awakens each morning with you on his mind—and then you linger the rest of the day, crawling forward to say hello when he least expects it.

John sits on a barstool in a dive bar, contemplating life in the bottom of his whiskey glass. It’s the middle of fucking nowhere, but that’s the point. This isn’t a celebration or a job well done. This is a “thank fuck it’s over” drink.

The dive bar is dark and smoky. A jukebox in the corner endlessly rotates between eighties rock and country music. Next to the jukebox is a pool table where a group of three play. Otherwise, the place is entirely empty.

John knocks back the rest of his whiskey, signaling the bartender for a refill. He’s only half-listening to the conversations around him.

Laswell, MacTavish, Garrick, and Riley are all here. Simon is silent, staring off into space as the other three have an animated conversation. You’re here too, sandwiched between MacTavish and Riley. You’re not speaking, but you are listening, nodding your head at all the right moments.

But you look tired. Like you’re about ready to pack it up and call it a night. It’s deserved. This mission sucked. It was brutal. Tough. A complete shit-eating stink of a job. You aren’t part of the team. Not really. Laswell dragged you in last second, and John is happy that she did. Otherwise, he’d never have met you.

And that would be a tragedy.

John only has eyes for you. It is a sweet tooth that cannot be satiated. He’s been a bit reserved in how he’s approached you, but you always have a soft smile for him or a cheeky remark. It’s devolved into flirting at times, and at points so blatant that everyone else chimes in.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” you yawn, pushing your empty glass to the edge of the bar. The bartender walks by and snags it, whisking it away to be deposited into the sink.

This is it. You’re about to walk away. John will likely never see you again unless Laswell decides to call on you. This might very well be his only chance.

You slip off your barstool, and John abruptly stands, his leg smacking into Laswell’s stool. Everyone—including Simon—turns in John’s direction.

He coughs. Clears his throat. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he says quickly.

MacTavish smirks and elbows Gas in the arm. The two men exchange a knowing glance before they both raise their eyebrows at John. MacTavish even shakes his shoulders a bit. John shoots them a cold look over your shoulder. They stifle their laughter behind their glasses.

You don’t notice at all. Your focus is on John, and that’s exactly how he wants it.

The entrance of the dive consists of one interior door, a small entryway, and an exterior door. As the two of you enter the small entryway, a crack of thunder erupts overhead. You pause, staring out the small window on the exterior door. It’s not pouring, but the rain is steady. Getting caught it in for any period of time will likely result in soaked clothes.

You turn slightly in his direction, and John is suddenly aware of how cramped the space is.

“You don’t need to walk me to my car,” you say softly, gesturing toward the downpour. “Not with the rain.”

John shrugs. “I want to.”

It’s true. He does. But there is an ulterior motive here. This is his one chance to have a final goodbye or a new start.

You smile softly, gaze flicking down to the floor before returning to his face. John’s cheeks heat—and it’s ridiculous. He’s a grown fucking man. He doesn’t get flustered. But this space is small. It is far too cramped. John is nearly on top of you.

Beneath those long eyelashes are your gentle eyes. It’s a look you only give him. Your lips part slightly. They’re gorgeous. You’re gorgeous. He wants nothing more than to lean down and close the distance.

“Okay,” you reply with a teasing laugh, opening the door.

The earthy scent of rain hits him first and then the pattering of the falling rain comes next. You slip out the door and stand close to the building under the small awning, attempting to stay out of the rain. John follows behind, coming up next to you.

Your smile is sweet as you gaze up into the dark sky. But then you turn to him, and that smile morphs into something devious.

“Should we race to the car?” you ask, as if conspiring.

John grins. “Think you can beat me?”

You laugh. “An old man like you? Absolutely.”

John can’t help but smile back, nudging you with his elbow. “Not that old.”

“What do I get if I win?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“A kiss,” says John automatically. It rolls right off his tongue. There is no way for him to take it back. And he doesn’t want to. “What do I get if I win?”

You wait a beat. And then answer.

“A kiss,” you reply slowly.

A kiss.

John blinks, his mind momentarily stuttering out. Your grin widens, and then you’re off, sprinting into the rain and to the car.

John nearly trips as he jogs after you. The gravel is slick and the rain splatters against his jacket. He isn’t all that interested in racing. John is only watching you, and the way your ass bounces as you make for the car. Your curves are lovely. He imagines opening the rear door and pushing you into the back seat, only to drag you into his lap to take whatever he wants.

You make it before he does, but John is right behind, nearly sliding to a stop in the wet gravel. You turn toward him, grinning. Pieces of hair stick to the sides of your face. John cannot help himself. He grabs the back of your neck and draws you in.

You don’t resist. You surrender.

John’s mouth crashes against yours and you open beautifully for him. There is no one kiss. There are many. Multitudes. It is endless. It is rain-laced. Whiskey-drenched. John might have the buzz of alcohol in his veins but you are quickly replacing it.

Your lips part and John slides his tongue inside. Your hands grab at him, fingers digging in. The two of you are pressed together, rain falling to drench clothing and skin.

With a low groan, John pushes you up against the car, intensifying his kisses. You eagerly greet him, accepting them all, returning them in equal measure. You are just as desperate. Just as hungry. Time is an illusion—and it isn’t until you shiver beneath him that John pulls away, aware that the two of you are now soaked through.

“Why are you still here?” you ask.

“You don’t know?” he replies, his hand cupping your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

“It’s pouring, John.”

“I know.” You smile, and John goes in for one more kiss. “Do you not feel this? Am I the only one?”

You shake your head. “I feel it. Everywhere, John. I feel you everywhere.”

“Let’s go. Get out of here.”

“Right now?”

John’s grip tightens and you gasp, hips pressing against his.

“Right now.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The rain is light but steady. It falls from the cloudy sky to patter against your umbrella.

The graveyard is empty, and yet you knew Simon would be here. He always is on the anniversary of Johnny’s death. Like clockwork. It’s routine for him. A ritual.

Simon’s back is to you, his head bent as he stands in front of Johnny’s grave. There is no body there. It’s ornamental. Something for family and friends. There are fresh flowers next to the headstone.

You have no idea how long Simon has been out here. Simon has no umbrella with him, and the hood of his jacket is off. He’ll catch a chill like this, which is why you came. Seeing him like this is always difficult, and since Johnny’s passing, Simon has grown more attached.

He is always checking in on you—always near. You’d call it protectiveness but it feels more like obligation. A duty. Most days, Simon appears to be on the cusp of telling you something, revealing a secret that he’s itching to confess. You don’t know what it might be. Couldn’t take a guess. But you have thought about it. You have imagined all sorts of possibilities.

The two of you are always finding the other. Always reconnecting. Always reaching out. If it’s not him, it’s you. Perhaps it’s Johnny’s death that has brought this on. Whatever it might be, Simon is closer to you than he’s ever been, and sometimes it frightens you.

It feels like more.

“I brought you an umbrella,” you say to Simon’s back.

He turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. Simon’s gaze sweeps from the ground and then lands on you. His hair is wet and droplets of water speckle his face like freckles.

Simon fully turns toward you.

The rain picks up a bit, soaking Simon further. You rush to him, holding your umbrella over his head, cutting off the rain. The two of you stand under it in silence, simply staring at each other. Time stretches, and then Simon’s hand rises, wrapping around your own where you hold to the handle.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

You swallow, and gather your courage. “You shouldn’t grieve alone.”

Simon’s brow softens. “I’m supposed to be the one looking after you.”

“I never asked you to,” you reply.

“But Johnny did.”

You start, eyes widening slightly. “What do you mean?”

Simon licks his lips. A droplet of water drips from the tip of his nose. “I made a promise. To Johnny. I made a promise to him.”

“What promise?” you whisper as the rain picks up more. The rain strikes the top of the umbrella in loud patters that nearly drown out your voice.

Another droplet falls from Simon’s nose. He leans in slightly, and the movement is confusing. It’s too intimate, like he wants to close the distance.

“I promised that I would—” he abruptly cuts off, swallowing. Simon’s gaze darts from your eyes to your lips and then back again.

“What is it, Simon?”

He sighs. “Fuck it,” he growls, shredding any distance there might have been between your bodies.

Simon claims your lips, kissing you so completely that you’re momentarily stunned. You taste the rain. Mint. A slight hint of smoke. You return the kiss, not pushing him away or pulling back. You open for him, accepting it all, and Simon continues to take, his free arm wrapping around your waist to draw you closer.

Even though he’s drenched, Simon is incredibly warm. It’s unfair how he can be an inferno in this downpour.

The graveyard is forgotten. The rain is a distant. There is only Simon’s lips, and the groan he makes when you return each kiss in equal enthusiasm.

Simon goes in for a quick nip before drawing away. It leaves you breathless and wanton.

“Was that part of the promise?” you ask, only half-joking.

Simon shrugs. “In a way.” You arch an eyebrow and Simon smiles softly. “I told Johnny I’d make a move. And now I have.”

“Yes,” you agree, heat blooming in your cheeks and your core. “You have.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

There is no turning back.

You made a choice. Kyle made a choice.

This is how it is.

You don’t want to be at the airport. You don’t want to leave. This entire situation is shit. But Kyle seemed willing to let you go. He’s not here. He didn’t beg you to stay. He didn’t try to convince you that all he wants in life is you.

That’s all you need. To be wanted. To be loved.

After all of this—after everything, and Kyle isn’t here.

You’re not mad. Not really. You are both adults. You both have made a choice. Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean you don’t understand. Because at the end of the day, you do. Truly.

Sighing, you haul your suitcase over the curb and on the sidewalk. The Uber that brought you here is already pulling away to go pick up someone else. The airport is packed on the inside, and the rain that falls from the sky in sheets. You have a coat, and the hood is up, but what you really need is an umbrella.

Already, you feel the water seeping into the unprotected places. Rain does that sometimes. Trickles in where it isn’t wanted.

You start to pull your suitcase behind you. A wheel catches in a small crack, and it nearly takes you down with it. Stumbling forward, you put a hand out to catch your fall. You expect your bare palm to land on concrete. To burn with pain.

But you don’t make it to the ground. You don’t touch it at all.

There are arms around you. They are strong. And somehow so damn familiar it’s frightening.

Then, you’re being lifted, guided back to your feet. Those strong arms ease you onto solid ground, and then you’re turning to thank the stranger that’s saved you from falling face first into the concrete.

But it is no stranger.

“Kyle,” you breathe, staring into the face of the man you’ve loved for years now.

Something breaks. Shatters.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Kyle hasn’t let you go. His arms are still around you. Your hands grasp his biceps, and his jacket is slick with rain. His hood is not up. And yours has fallen at some point. Already, the rain is soaking your hair. Strands of it stick to your face.

“Coming to right a wrong,” he says. Your lips part but Kyle shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t fight hard enough. I let you slip through the cracks.”

Kyle draws you in a bit closer. The people passing by and the cars are distant.

“I should have told you ‘I love you’ every day. I should have been present.”

“Kyle—”

Your next words are stolen. Kyle closes the distance, and then you’re wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, sinking into the kiss.

You can’t leave now.

You can’t.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The rain falls gently from the sky.

Johnny grins, staring up into it, opening his mouth. His tongue is out to capture the droplets. You laugh, and wrap your arms around his shoulders, going in for a quick kiss on his cheek.

As you draw back, one of Johnny’s hands shoots out, snagging your arm. You playfully yelp, and swat at him, thinking that Johnny will let you go. He’s flirty, and sweet, but there is nothing more to it.

At least, you didn’t think so.

But Johnny’s gaze is heated, and the way he holds you against him is far too intimate to be anything other than what it is.

“Johnny,” you laugh, trying to play it off, but he remains firm.

His smile faulters slightly but it’s not a frown. It’s a heated stare. His gaze is on your lips, and you can see the desire there. What would happen if you went for it? If you kissed him?

“What are we doing?” he asks. “Can’t I have you?”

Startled, everything leaves your head. “What?”

Johnny’s gaze flicks up, and those gorgeous eyes drown you—submerging you in his depths. “Why are we stepping around this? We want each other.”

You do want him, but you thought it was mostly one-sided.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, softly.

Johnny smirks, and then he’s lifting you up into the air, placing you on top of the low stone wall. “Should I use my words?” he asks, fingers sliding underneath your rain-drenched shirt. He is warm, and his touch heats your skin. “Or should I show you with my body?”

Johnny nips at your bottom lip as his hands ascend. One slides between your breasts just as his lips meet yours. Your core clenches, and then you’re grabbing for him, touching him as much as he’s touching you.

The two of you are in the Scottish countryside. There are no people around. Just the two of you, and rolling green hills.

Johnny slots himself between your legs, and you reach beneath his kilt, finding him hard and wanting. He hisses, and then groans when you stroke him.

Everything is warm. Everything is rough.

It doesn’t matter that it’s raining, or that it’s a bit cold. You allow Johnny to shove articles of clothing aside, to find the places where you’re needing him to be. His touch is a brand, and you love how it feels, pulsing through your loins like an overheated engine.

“Johnny,” you gasp into the rain, fingers threading through his hair as he goes to his knees to taste between your thighs.

There is only heavy breath. A twisting of pleasure.

When he finally brings your bodies together, there is nothing but him. Nothing but you. Just two people finding each other.

The rain is nothing.

It isn’t even cold anymore.

Johnny is all heat. And you are burning for him.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@arrozyfrijoles23 @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

935 notes · View notes

flowermiist · 8 months

Text

A warm heart - I

Click here to read the prologue if you haven’t ♡

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn't something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you'd stumble upon one of them.

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: I would like to start off by saying thank you for all the kind comments, likes and reblogs the prologue has gotten. I was going to make this chaper longer but wanted to leave some intrigue. I’m currently working on the second chapter as I post this. Again, thank you so so much. Don’t forget to like, reblog and comment please. ♡

“Didn’t know you were that much into cooking, cap.” Garrick says, hiding a smirk and almost teasing as he sits across the captain who simply gives him a small cranky huff and his tired eyes stick back to the screen of his phone with the video playing.

Only one of the wired earbuds is connected to his ear as he watches every single detail almost carefully –

“Improving my cooking skills, somethin’ the lot of you should start doing.”

It was by far clear that John wasn’t in the best of moods after a stressing mission, his voice much hoarser and raspier than usual – the scent of the cheap cigar he had gotten from a gas station fills the tent as Mactavish sleeps with arms crossed, his head hanging low and Simon keeps guard – his eyes moving towards the conversation from time to time.

“Been trying to get the hang of it…” He speaks again with a sigh and an attempt not to be too grumpy, trying to remain as composed as he can while wiping off the sweat from his forehead, the lines on his rough skin becoming accentuated as he slightly frowns.

“And how’s it going?” Gaz asks with more curiosity now, looking at his captain and placing his elbows on the wooden table.

“Good, ’s far as I can tell.” Is all John responds, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he tries to sink deeper into the folding wooden chair tapping his cigar against the makeshift ashtray (which was simply an empty can of tuna) as the already weak string of smoke dies away.

You quickly scramble out of the bathroom, uniform already displayed on your bed. Stopping in right front of your vanity and placing a hand against the wall as you lean closer to the mirror to get a better look, trying to be as careful as possible not to mess up your lipstick – the moment you can’t find your shoes, you just get more irritated and the irritation mixing with yesterday’s hangover is not a pretty feeling, especially at this time of day.

You know you no longer have time to find your comfortable shoes the moment you look at the watch on your left wrist so you move towards your closet and take out a pair of nude stiletto heels, not the most convenient or comfortable ones but better than going barefoot to work or using one of your “I’m only here at the club to dance and get laid tonight.” pumps.

The moment you step into your car and try to start the engine, it makes that funny noise you hate but know too well to ignore.

“C’mon… let’s not embarrass ourselves, will you stop acting up before a neighbor notices and calls me broke?” You mumble to your own car like a crazy woman as the engine struggles to start.

Three days, three whole damned days since the engine of your car has been struggling to start and has started getting on your nerves – you tried to contact Harrison, your mechanic and the asshole has been completely ignoring your calls, he not only overpriced every little thing he did to your car but also thought you were some sort of stupid woman who didn’t know anything about your own car.

Sure, you could just drive to his garage and tell him the problem right away, but you were loaded with work these days and this man’s policy was to book in through a phone call to get your call fixed – otherwise, he refused to fix anything. And knowing him, there was no way he’d pick up any of your calls anytime soon.

A sigh of relief escapes your lips the moment your car decides to cooperate and the engine starts. “Good girl...” You whisper through your teeth with a smile, moving your finger towards the screen of the radio to start it.

“Well damn! Doesn’t someone look sexy as hell this morning?” Zaila says as she looks at you up and down from her desk – obviously noticing the shoes you chose this morning, you smile at her as you walk towards the reception.

“Well, to your information, I was actually thinking about bringing the leopard print ones you love so much…” You speak with a playful tone while you put your purse on top of her counter.

You give her a sly smirk, checking in with the fingerprint scan she places in front of you.

“I know I’m late… I’m hungover and my car is acting up again and that asshole won’t-” before you can even finish, Zaila moves her hand up to stop you, her various bracelets jingle on her wrist when she does this, stopping you from opening your mouth to explain any further.

You sigh as you already know what she’s about to say.

“Don’t think about it, alright? I was late too – stayed up fighting with that annoying witch living next door. Barely got any rest.”

Zaila says and you smile.

“Somethin’ to laugh about?” She asks, raising an eyebrow and giving you her best warning look.

“No ma’am.” You say with a thankful smile, getting a hold of your purse again before lightly squeezing Zaila’s soft hand and walking away towards your consulting room.

You check your phone while the computer on the desk turns on, you check your channel and smile to yourself while reading some of the comments from your lasagna recipe.

You definitely worked hard for that video and your subscribers seemed to really like it – you were aware that the ages of your views were something quite varied. From teenagers learning how to cook for themselves to middle aged adults improving in the kitchen.

Looking back at the computer in front of you, you put your phone down and begin organizing and checking some files from your patients.

Coming here with Zaila for lunch break was a good idea as always. Both of you laugh, gossip and enjoy lunch break while you sit at the small fancy restaurant that’s right across the street from the clinic.

Zaila went to the bathroom as the two of you waited for the food you ordered to arrive, leaving you alone at the table. You looked through your purse to grab your small mirror when your phone started buzzing from the call you were now receiving.

You grab it and look at the screen, reading the name of the contact, “Harrison - Mechanic.” – you huff and roll your eyes as you answer the call from the asshole that had been ignoring you for the past three days.

“Am I speaking to my favorite client?” The mechanic says, his tone sounding almost cheerful, you’ve known this man for some time now and you know him well enough to know he’s probably drunk.

“So you ignore your favorite client’s calls for three days straight now?” You reply to him. It sounds too rude, you know that but this man is an asshole too and him ignoring you was three times worse than your words.

“Oh c’mon… I’ve just been… uh…” – you wait in silence and look at your nails, already wondering what excuse he’s going to give you.

“–that doesn’t matter now since I’m talking to you, aye? What seems to be the problem with your lady?”

“What makes you think I’ll go back to your garage?” You speak, almost irritated, then catch a glimpse of Zaila from the corner of your eye while she talks to one of the waiters on her way back to the table.

“I’ll give you a discount, how ’bout that, doc? No need to make this call any longer, just, eh, come over and I’ll check on her.” Harrison speaks and you swear you can almost see that annoying smile of his as he speaks.

“You sure you won’t “forget” about your promise when I get there?” You speak, your tone almost sarcastic.

“Would I ever lie to my favorite client?” – Yeah he definitely would, but your car needs a mechanic now and as big of an asshole Harrison can be, you have to admit he’s good at his work when he wants to be.

“Alright, I’ll try to be there after work.” You finally say, ending the call to look at Zaila who is now sitting back on her chair.

John walks through the cereal aisle, gripping the steel handle as the wheels roll. He wasn’t in such a bad mood now that he left base, with the leave he got, he actually felt more relaxed.

The man would not deny he was more used to walking through the halls of a military base than walking through the long aisles of a supermarket – maybe he’d go for a few drinks after this, not wanting to spend his time isolated at home for too long. John clears his throat and rubs forehead and eyes with his fingertips, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He has the essentials in his cart, some milk, vegetables, juice, meat, rice and the three-in-one shampoo he has grown used to.

As John moves his cart towards the register, he glances at two adults and a child – the boy no older than five years and throwing quite the show as he cries and squirms on the floor while he grips a box with children’s toys. He looks at the adults that seem to be his parents, a man and a woman with worried and irritated look on their faces as they try to calm him down.

Was this the reason he never looked forward to starting a family, ugly temper tantrums? No, that would only be another excuse – Maybe the demands of his job? It would be too selfish to leave a woman whom he’d call his wife by herself taking care of a kid while he was in the middle of god-knows-where.

Had he given up the idea of starting a family of his own? Because it surely seemed late for him to try.

Did he want that life? Was he getting tired of going home to an empty house? He didn’t really know if he could call his house a home, it didn’t exactly feel like the concept of a warm family waiting for him, some kids, a wife and a dog – but at least, no children or a wife would be missing him and suffering while waiting for him to get home. To get back home from a job that has his life on the line between life and death, between doing terrible things to accomplish a greater purpose and getting his hands dirtier than ever.

His bubble of thoughts are popped with a sharp pin as the cashier looks at him and speaks, clearing her throat and almost giving him a dirty look for staying so still while glancing at the family – “Sir, you’re next.” The woman speaks as he looks at her.

“Right, sorry.” The rugged man says as he starts moving the things of his cart to the register.

You didn’t drive to Harrison’s right away after work, you stopped at home and took a shower, changing your clothes and then stopping at the grocery store – It was supposed to be a quick trip but you almost throw your bags on the floor of the store’s parking lot as you notice your rear left tire almost entirely flat.

“Fuck…” you mumble as you approach it, your breath hitches and you try to remain as calm as possible, lowering the grocerie bags on the floor, not caring about them getting dirty anymore.

You approach the tire and give it two small kicks to check how soft it was, it would be impossible to drive to your mechanic with a tire like this.

You knew how to change a tire, sure – your father had shown you a long time ago after a nail punctured one of the rear wheels of his truck. But that was too long ago for you to remember step by step and you knew the mechanic would not pick up if you called him to come here and help you. Even if he did, the man would overcharge you as always and you were not about to tolerate that, not after he promised you a discount to fix what was wrong with the engine.

Opening the trunk of your car, you search for a way to lift the liner carpet knowing the tire tools might be underneath it – You grunt as you lift the heavy box and see the spare tire underneath it. Right as you struggle to lift it a voice interrupts you.

“Need any help with that?” You turn around towards the husky unknown voice you just heard just to see a man standing there with his own grocery bags.

The silence is almost palpable as you look at him.

“Changing a tyre by yourself can be hard.” He says again, you huff after hearing his words –

“Are you suggesting I can’t do it by myself?”

you blurt out, immediately biting your tongue as you realize how rude and bitchy that must have sounded, but before you can even correct yourself the man speaks.

“Wasn’t making any suggestions, miss, just trying to lend a helping hand.” The man doesn’t seem phased in the slightest by the tone you used. He speaks with such eloquence and calmness that you are surprised he didn’t get offended and leave right after you spoke.

“Sorry, I- That was really rude of me.” You say, almost blushing from the embarrassment you just put yourself through with your own words, you didn’t mean to take your frustration out on a man offering his help.

“All is forgiven, miss.” He takes one step closer and looks at the trunk of the car where the spare tire is. What you didn’t know is that he recognized you the moment he heard your voice and saw your face, it had to be you – the girl from the cooking videos he has been watching for the last whole month; yet he was not about to comment on it because if for some reason it actually wasn’t you then it would make things too awkward, he thought.

“May I?” You immediately nod and stop staring.

“Yes- But… I wouldn’t want to bother you though.” He shakes his head and lowers his grocerie bags onto the floor.

“Not a bother at all, miss. I was just heading home. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes to change it.” You clear your throat and nod as the man speaks, the embarrassment going away.

“You sure?”

“Quite sure.”

You step aside as he lifts the spare tire with such ease only using one of his arms and using his other hand as he grabs he handle of your car’s toolbox with the other hand.

The man moves to kneel down right in front of the tire and you take a moment to inspect him. By the accent, he is clearly from here. Icy blue eyes and a masculine rugged look, not to the point he’s too intimidating but nearly there. The navy blue t-shirt he wears looks a bit tight on him, he seems older than you by a few years not too many though – you can clearly tell that by the few lines on his forehead and the few grey hairs on his dark brown beard. Last time you saw someone wearing such interesting mutton chops beard with that moustache was during a disney movie.

You try not to stare when the muscles on his arms flex the moment he grips the wheel brace as he loosens the wheel bolts by twisting them.

“You’ve got experience, I reckon.” You say as he carefully aligns the scissor jack under the jacking point of your car, he looks at you and nods with a very small smile.

“Not to brag, miss. Done this many times.” His voice rumbling on his chest, the two of you make some eye contact for a single second and he breaks it by moving the wheel brace to the jack. – “Had any trouble with your car ’fore?” He asks as the tool begins to lift up the car slowly when he twists it.

“I was about to drive to my mechanic’s after he spent three days ignoring my calls, some engine problems.” The man listens to you carefully.

“I believe three day’s enough to know your mechanic might be too irresponsable – Not to intrude with my comments though.” He moves to take out the old tire.

You sigh and nod “He’s an asshole, I know.” Your chuckle makes him sigh and give you a small chuckle of his own as he places the wheel down, shaking his head slowly.

He still can’t believe he’s seeing you in person – Well, that might sound weird but the man has seen too many of your cooking videos to deny it’s you.

“Mind giving me a small class?” You ask, taking a step closer – how ironic, he’s been the one watching your cooking recipes and learning from them and now he’s the one teaching you?

He nods.

“Wanna try?” He suggests and you oblige by grabbing the tool. “This is the lug wrench, right?” You ask and he nods again.

“We call them wheel braces ’ere but yes – It is.” He moves to grab the replacement tire and aligns the holes of the bolt with the lugs and begins to tighten them.

“These are the wheel bolts, you twist ’em with your hands as much as you can ’fore you lower the car with your jack and tighten them again usin’ the brace.” The way he explains it to you almost makes you blush as you are leaning forward and looking at the tire like a child at the aquarium.

You glance at his arms as he lowers the car using the jack again, making that twisting movement that makes the muscles on his arms even bigger, and the veins on his rough hands more noticeable.

The english man tightens the bolts before fully removing the jack from under your car, he lets out a quiet, deep grunt when he gets up again. You help him by grabbing some of the tools as he grabs the old wheel that was apparently pricked by a rusty nail.

“Good as new now, eh?” He says and you realize your mistake after be places the old tire in the trunk of your car. –“I’m so sorry- uh, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Y/N.” That clicks in John’s head, it really was you and he was almost amused to say the least.

“No need to be sorry. ’m John, John Price.”

You shake his hand, not caring in the slightest about the dust on his hand from manipulating all those tools and both tires – his hand feels rough, calloused as if he’s too used to doing these type of things often, the heavy work.

“Forgive me if this sounds strange but ’m pretty sure I’ve watched your videos a few times. Cooking, right?” John says after your hands separate.

You are immediately surprised, almost in awe and he can tell by the look on your face. You try to keep your jaw as tight as you humanly can – almost as if it would comically fall to the floor is you dared to open it.

“Yeah, that’s… me, yes.” You smile at him widely. “You’ve really watched my videos?” You ask, amused, all your worries go away as his words make your whole week, it’s the first time something like this has happened to you.

“Could say ’m a bit of a fan, actually.” He gives you a smile of his own before he continues talking and looking into your eyes, deeply.

“Wanted to start improving my skills and happened to watch one of your videos, the food I prepared turned out surprisingly well – subscribed ’bout a month ago and… been watching ’em ever since.” That raspy and collected tone of his almost soothes your nerves.

“I’m shocked- I’ve never met any of my subscribers…” You admit with a smile full of excitement.

“Well, ’sppose there’s always a first time, innit?” – there is a comfortable silence after you nod but is broken by John looking back at your car.

“You mentioned there was a problem with the engine, that right?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Mhm, it stops sometimes and it can be tricky to start it.” You speak with a sheepish smile and the man crosses his arms as he stands in front of you.

“Want me to take a look?” Honestly? You’d like to talk to him more but you have to get to Harrison’s befoee he closes and you don’t want to keep John here forever, as happy as you are right now. His grocerie bags are on the floor with yours, completely forgotten and you wouldn’t want him to waste his time.

“Don’t worry, I was on my way to the mechanic anyway. Wouldn’t want to keel you here forever.”

“You sure?” John looks at your car then back at you – you give him a nod and he sighs.

“Well… If the engine’s been playin’ games with ya and stops on your way there. Let me know, I mean-” He scrounches up his face in annoyance when the excuse of giving you his number gets too obvious but the sound of the giggle that escapes your lips makes it go away.

“Could use your number for that.” You say quicker than you expected and he immediately smiles, clicking his tongue and taking out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

“Right.” John says with that deep husky tone rumbling on his chest and a small smile on his face, almost a shy one.

After getting his number, you glance at his brown boots as he lifts up his bags and gives you a small goodbye nod, you wave your hand at him and smile almost stupidly.

“It was nice meetin’ you, Y/N.” John says and you nod too.

“It was nice meeting you too, John.”

As he makes his way to his own truck, you lift up your long forgotten bags and put them in the backseat of your car before you start the engine and sigh in relief since it didn’t give you any trouble this time.

“Well that was hot…” You mumble with a smile as you reverse the car.

Taglist: @bumblebeesfromvenus @thesevi0lentdelights @zekes-beard (Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be added! ♡)

#captain price #john price #call of duty #john price x reader #cod #cod mw2 #captain price x reader #captain price x you #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #fanfic

384 notes · View notes

crossed-starbound · 4 months

Text

❝ 𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓜𝔂 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓼 ❞

141 X M!Reader

Main members of 141 x American M!Reader.

NSFW; Suggestive Interactions between 141 and M!

Reader, nudity segments, male on male intercourse.

Goofy ass Gaz and Soap in this Imao - will also be ongoing, maybe.)

Y - You

SR/Gh - Simon Riley/Ghost.

JM/S - John MacTavish/Soap.

JP/Cpt. P - John Price/Captain Price.

KG/Ga - Kyle Garrick/Gaz

▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

You sat on the couch, legs crossed over Price’s lap, both of you watching the TV as the other three go back and forth while doing their own things. You eventually got up and got dressed, meeting up with a dressed up Price at the front door with both of you giving the other guys sneaky grins. You and Price headed out to a restaurant, dining for a while and chatting about topics besides the military as you both enjoyed your time together. Once you both left, he took you into a nearby alley, feeling your body while he also softly put his lips to yours. His hands were moving around your body, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants as his right hand slipped into your soft and comfortable underwear, his hand wrapping around your slowly erecting penis while his other hand unbuttoned your shirt and he took to a nipple of yours after separating his lips from yours. He turned you around, playing with your nipple he isn’t sucking or gently biting on with his hand, his other hand pushing your underwear down as he begins to masturbate your cock. He let go of your cock and undid his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, him slamming his erect and hard penis into you before he began to masturbate your cock again. He moved back and forth in your rectum evenly and consistently as he now started to kiss, bite, lick, and move his teeth against your neck while his hands still messed with your penis and nipples. His cock kept being slammed into you, from head to hilt at an incredible speed before he slammed into you one last time, hitting your prostate as goes fully into your rectum, sperm rushing out and getting spread around in your ass. You then release your sperm, shooting it out with a few hitting your own chest, most hitting the brick wall, and some of it just running down onto Price’s hand. Price moved, licking your cum off his hand and off your chest, swallowing it before kissing you on the lips, soon taking you back to the house.

Once you were back with Price, Gaz and Soap helped you onto the couch since you very much drained from getting fucked heavily by Price, who went to his room which seemed more like a damn study, with Soap and Gaz helping you with your needs before Gaz ended up leaving so you and soap were left alone with one another, the mischievous prick took the opportunity and fiddled around with your clothes, getting you left in just your underwear as he straddled your lower half and fondled your pecs, playing with your nipples in the process. He wasn’t giving you ample time to actually recover after you and Price having sex, maybe it was because he was jealous Price got to fuck you first before deployment instead of him, but who knows, all that matters is the right now, and in the right now, Soap is jackhammering his penis in you after pulling your underwear down by using his waist to cause friction and tug it down far enough for him to comfortably start fucking Price’s sperm out of you. He knew you were spent but didn’t care, he just wanted you full of his liquid lust since he wanted no one else in you, even the one commanding him, Price. He kept a steady pace while jackhammering himself into you, and once he reached his climax, he let a steady stream of spunk flow into you, enough so that it started seeping from your anus and getting Price’s sperm out of you in the process.

You and Simon sat there on your bed, him cuddling you as he actually helps you rest since Soap and Price did what they want to your body. He kissed you all over from the forehead to all the way down to the waist before going back up to around the neck and face. Simon having his hips straddle you as he kissed your neck repeatedly, his left hand rubbing your back, fingers going back and forth in the natural divot of your torso. His right hand running through and messing with your hair on your head as he just gives you nonsexual affection, a smile on his face before he gives you a kiss on the cheek. After a while you began moaning as he started running his teeth down your skin and gently moved his fingers down your body, his fingernails leaving little white but quickly fading lines before they are dug into the skin of your ass after his hands slid into your pants. He moved his hands and undid your pants and pulled your underwear down, and did the same to himself, having his cock and yours out as he begins rubbing his and yours together, frotting. He put his lips to yours as he moved his hand up and down on his and your moving back and forth cocks, you and him making out in the process with your hands gripping his ass in response with that smug look in your eyes because of ghost now bucking his hips as he frots you and himself with a bit of red on his face. At this point, Ghost laid on the bed with his backside to you, your cock going in him as you begin kissing his body, fucking him slowly and full of affection. You kissed his back as your hand moved up and down on his throbbing penis with your other hand fondle his balls, gently squeezing and playing with them making Ghost moan out as he slowly starts just becoming a moaning mess from you messing around with his body and seeing what will turn him on even more. Once he moaned out again, you then began thrusting and slamming into him after going slow for a while, you slamming into him with your erection making him moan loudly with him bucking his hips to push your cock into him further, after one more exhilarating slam into Ghost you moaned out, releasing your sperm into him as his spewed out onto the sheets and ran down onto your hand, your hand moving up and down his erection, keeping it stiff and throbbing in a painful way, getting all of him out through his cock before falling asleep after adjusting yourselves to sleep more comfortably with one another.

Gaz was on the couch as you walked through after having a good sleep, you resting most of your body on the couch with your legs and feet dangling over the arm of the couch and your head is resting on his lap. You fiddled with his pants strings, unable to go back to sleep which your surprised that you even slept that long considering the guy you fucked had been laying on top of you and you still somehow managed to get up. You and Gaz watched the TV, Gaz scrolling through channels with you sighing at how many military movies are currently being shown but you deal with it, sneaking your right hand into Gaz’s shirt making him squirm at very cold flesh touching warm flesh from under a piece of cloth. You then move and begin kissing Gaz’s chest, slowly moving down until you get to the bulge of his pants, your hands undoing his pants with your lips immediately kissing the reactive bulge of Gaz’s underwear with his hand soon on the back of your head. You then pull his underwear down, kissing and licking his cock until it’s eventually fully erect, but you don’t let him climax as you put your lips to his. You wanted to savor his penis and he begrudgingly allowed you to, but when you began to frot him before shoving him in you, he went wild. He began spanking your ass, running his teeth along your body, and bucking himself into you, trying to get his cock further in you while you kept moving up to keep him from fully being in you which just makes him a whining mess. You kissed him along his neck, face, and anywhere you could easily reach with your lips without crouching or lowering. Once you got him whining heavily for the lust of your asshole, you slammed down on him, making him shake and having him grip your asscheeks, his hands roughly gripping your ass as he begins to slam his penis back and forth in you while his balls slap against your ass. Gaz was just a moaning and whining mess as he fucked you while his and your lips were repeatedly touching and not touching as you both made out. He let out a loud moaning whine after a while of fucking as he orgasmed, his “cream” filling you up as you made out with him after his climax.

It had been a few days after all that and you were laying on the couch, Soap slamming his penis back and forth in you as you fuck Gaz, your hands gripping and squeezing his asscheeks while also making out with him, your tongue in his mouth as presses himself hard against your body, the friction between the two of you being rough but it is increasing his and your sensual desires for one another. Ghost and Price giving each other handjobs as they watch the three of you “get down and dirty”. The two eventually giving in once they felt like they were close enough, in their opinion, to climaxing. Price filling up Gaz harshly, leaving barely enough room within Gaz’s asshole for movement between the two penises now in him. Ghost and Soap being a moaning mess as Ghost roughly and dominantly fucks Soap, having Soap press into Price’s hairy, but not exactly too hairy, back. You got flipped over, being on top of Gaz and Price now as Soap begins to kiss your back, dragging his teeth slowly and gently as he wasn’t trying to cause any damages to your skin, your skin had goosebumps on it as he drug his teeth against your skin. He while doing all that, even inserted his right hand’s middle finger and ring finger into your ass as he fucked you, opening you up more before he released his spunk into you. Price moaned loudly as he, to your own interpretation, was shooting his sperm into Gaz. Soap moaned out he has his ass spanked roughly, and while his mouth was open, Ghost took the opportunity and shoved his index and middle fingers into Soap’s mouth, getting the mohawk haired male to moan out sounds around the fingers while sucking on them. Ghost took another opportunity but it was with you this time, his thumb harshly pushing against your lower back, near your ass, making Soap’s back and forth slamming into you that he is still doing along with his two fingers up your rectum even more invigorating, you biting down on Gaz’s shoulder but not hard enough to make him bleed as you convulse and begin ejaculating your sperm into Gaz, your cock rubbing against Prices making you just that more lustful as you continued to release your essence into Gaz. Ghost eventually did one last slam into Soap, groping Soap’s ballsack and gently biting Soap’s neck as he finally came, licking Soap’s neck as he continued releasing himself into Soap from the walls of Soap’s anus squeezing his cock, wanting all of him in his asshole. After a while, all of you were laying on the couch, overlapping with one another’s naked bodies, you eventually getting up and heading to your room and getting yourself ready and dressed up in your gear and stuff. You hopped out the window and paged into your Walkie Talkie, being sure to be loud enough for the other person to hear you but not loud enough for the gang inside the house to hear you. A smile on your unmasked face, and your cock throbbing a little at the thought of having sex with the gang when you’re back from duty or when you finally retire.

#141 x male reader #ghost x male reader #gaz x male reader #price x male reader #soap x male reader #soap x male reader smut #ghost x male reader smut #gaz x male reader smut #price x male reader smut #141 x male reader smut #[ — ; 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃'𝐬 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 ]

162 notes · View notes

mistydeyes · 1 year

Note

Hit the showers with Soap? 👀👀 he’d 100% do something like that! He’d definitely get chewed out by price or ghost lol

YES ANON 100% he is literally such a shithead this was so written for him

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: hit the showers (18+) - a prank ends with you getting your clothes and towel stolen

pairing: Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, mild nudity, sexual depictions

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

"Alright I'm gonna hit the showers," you called as you exited the sparring and training room, "put some ice on that Garrick." You turned and smiled as you saw Gaz flipping you off in the corner of your eye. Another successful training session where you kicked Gas's ass and then were absolutely taken out by Ghost. Your body ached as you walked into the locker room. The gym showers were practically empty so you walked to your locker and grabbed a fresh change of clothes and your shower caddy. You placed your clothes on a bench adjacent to the stall and peeled off your issued shirt and threw your shorts to the side. You rolled your sweaty shoulders before turning on the warm water and savoring the sensation. You were accustomed to quick showers or lack thereof on the field but you always took your time when back on base.

As you shampooed your hair and faced the shower head, you could hear the thud of feet entering. You knew it was a public space so you were unbothered by the interruption. "Water's hot today," you called out to the other soldier but they didn't reply. You shrugged as you continued your routine, tying your hair up after you conditioned and using the bar soap to clean your bruised body. Eventually, after 10 minutes, you turned off the shower and cracked the curtain to reach for your towel. As your damp hands felt only the cold tile instead of the fluffy object, you assumed in your haste you might have left it on the bench. However as you exited with a cloud of steam, your eyes fell on the bench with no clothes or towel in sight. "What the fuck?" you said aloud and walked towards your locker leaving a trail of wet footprints. After angrily throwing it open, you found that it was empty. Now you know someone was really fucking with you and you had your suspicions. You angrily grabbed a damp towel from the laundry bin and stormed off to the men's barracks.

Your first arrival was to Soap and Gaz's room. You pounded on the door as you heard Gaz yell that he was coming. The minute he opened the door, you shoved past him and stood with your towel wrapped around your body. "Who the fuck took them?" you yelled as your angry gaze shifted from him and Soap who was leisurely sitting on his bed. "What are you talking about?" Gaz asked as you felt his gaze on you. "Can it, Garrick," you commanded, "where the hell are my things?" Soap couldn't deny how hot you looked at the moment, clad in a small towel, dripping wet, and absolutely fuming. "You fucker," you whispered as you saw your gym clothes haphazardly sticking out underneath his bed. You ran over and bent down to grab them, not caring that your towel slowly dipped as you reached under the bed. As you looked up, you couldn't help but notice something new growing in his shorts. Now, you were extra pissed. You then proceeded to hold your clothes in one arm and smack Soap with the other. As he yelped in pain, two more individuals joined to see what the commotion was about.

"What's going on here?" you heard Price shout as you stopped your attack. You turned around as you held your towel around your figure tighter. "Mactavish thought it was a brilliant idea to take my shit while I was in the shower," you fumed as you could feel his eyes stare at your ass. You took the opportunity to turn around quickly and plant a slap on his cheek. There was an audible groan following that. "You and me, tomorrow, in the ring," you spat before you walked towards the door. "Now if you excuse me, I'm going to take another shower," you said politely and walked past the staring eyes of your team.

As you walked down the hallway, you could hear the lashing the Sergeant was getting. First, it was Price reprimanding him for sneaking into the female quarters and stealing your clothes. Then it was Ghost who yelled about the fact you had to walk through the halls in a dirty towel. In between the loud voices, you could hear Gaz laugh and reply. You couldn't help but smile when he said, "She should've slapped you harder after that."

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mctavish #soap mctavish x you #mw2 #izzie is writing #izzie celebrates 1k

429 notes · View notes

soapybutt17 · 1 year

Text

You Are My Sunshine

Summary: In which a year into your relationship, you began wandering if it's time to tell your father about your secret relationship. Characters: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Price!Female Reader. John Price. Simon Riley. Soap MacTavish. Word Count: 2,441 Chapter Warnings: None A/N: Got Carried Away and just turned it into a whole ass one shot series.

for @glitterypirateduck's GazFest 2023 Category: One-Shot Prompt: "I always knew this day would come"

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open

“Really sure I can’t drive you up to your boyfriend’s house?”

Trust your father to make things more complicated than it needs to be. You know what his true intentions were and you weren’t about to bite—yet. You shared a knowing look with the man that was not just your father (step-father, but it was beside the point anymore) but was also your Captain. So much was riding out on his offer and you weren’t about to deal with the mess that would come after.

“I’ll be fine, Dad.” You reassured hugging him hoping it was enough to distract him. “I’ll call you when I get there, I promise.”

With a sigh, his arms wrapped around you in his resignation for the topic. You truly didn’t know until when you could keep this charade up with him. Especially with the man he was hunting down so close to the both of you. Maybe it was time to finally come clean and maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as you think it would be,

“Maybe bring him in for the New Year? I’m sure your Mum would love to have him over.”

You rolled your eyes realizing your father wasn’t relenting on this topic just yet.

“When I’m sure you’re not gonna threaten him—or kill him, I’ll think about bringing him to meet you and Mum.” You gave him the option instead.

“Fine.” He muttered finally pulling away from you. “Keep safe and if you change your mind, I’m one call away, I’m sure your Mum and brother and sister would love to have you for Christmas.”

You sighed.

“Maybe next year, Dad. Please bring the gifts I’ve sent to them with you, okay?”

You heard a knock at the door and the sight of one Kyle Garrick had interrupted the little moment you had with your father. You shared a knowing look with the man and knew his reason for coming to your father’s office. It’s time for the both of you to head out.

What you father didn’t know and hopefully the rest of the people in the base, was the small fact that the boyfriend your father and both Ghost and Soap were more than willing to hunt down was within arm’s reach. The cheeky bastard even played the part so well in having his own ideas of beating the living shit out of himself with the rest of the team. Oh if only they knew.

“Ready to go, Nyx?” Gaz inquired.

You noticed your father’s brow raising in question.

“Gaz lives nearby my boyfriend, Dad.” You explained so easily. “Thought I’d save gas and drive with him to my boyfriend’s place.”

“Alright.” He nodded before his attention slowly turned towards your secret boyfriend. “You know what to do for me, Sergeant?”

“Yes, Sir.” Gaz answered so easily.

“No, Gaz. You will do no such thing.” You snapped turning your attention to your father. “Don’t drag Gaz into this mess.” You muttered making your way towards Gaz.

“Send the coordinate to me when you can.” Your father continued but the smile on his face was enough of an indication that he wasn’t serious about it anymore than he really was.

“Dad!”

“Have safe drive you two. Call me when you get there, understood?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Take care of my daughter, Gaz.”

“Yes Sir.”

Walking out of your Father’s office, silence had enveloped the two of you as you walked further away. When you were certain the distance was good enough, you finally held onto your boyfriend’s hand, how easy it was for him to hold onto your own in a firm grip.

“You think we should finally tell your father about us?” He inquired turning his gaze towards you for a moment before his eyes turn back in front of him as you two continued walking.

“I always knew this day would come.” You groaned rubbing your temples with your free hand. “Think you’ll be ready to deal with my Dad?” You inquired.

“More than I already do? I think I am.” He snorts. “If it means not having to lie to everyone’s face and we could be less—secretive and I think the reward would be better for everyone.”

He was right.

You know your father had this unprecedented rule in the base that so many other base have enforced with an iron grip. Relationships within the base were allowed to a degree, for as long as no one would let it hinder with their jobs or missions. It was a small little change that had so much impact for the entire team. Ghost and Soap were also few of the people that made the most out of it with their own significant others working in with the Medic Team.

But amongst the leniency that Captain John Price had decreed, there was an open secret that every single personnel was informed off, some even say that it was one of the first rules given to the new recruits when they arrive. No one is to date his daughter.

“After the Holiday?” You offered hoping it would be enough time to prepare for the inevitable chaos that would happen after the holidays.

“Enough time to enjoy the last days of my life, I think?” He teased.

“Kyle.” You warned, already worried for his safety now.

“Everything is going to be alright. We can ask Nikolai for help if we ever need it.” He continued earning a light nudge out of you.

One mission that had you, Gaz, and your father, it was somehow prophesied by one Nikolai that you and sweet Gaz would have cute babies together just to get a rise from your father. But that somehow, you end up getting together with the Sergeant just a few months after and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Eventually, with your bags gathered and the two of you now shoving everything you have onto the truck it was time for the couple of hour long drive to the Garrick Household for Christmas.

“You think they’d like me?” You inquired leaning against the door of his red Opel Corsa car he got with his first paycheck.

“They’ve been pleading to meet you for months now since they learned about you. I doubt anyone would hate you.” Gaz reassured cupping your checks.

You took a moment to check your surroundings for anyone that could possibly recognize you before you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend. His own arms pulled you right into his chest.

“Even if I’m a Military Brat?” You asked, knowing it was the preconceived notion everyone had on you when they found out about your association with the Captain. You wouldn’t be surprised if his family would also share the same view the moment they meet you.

“Far from it. Mum and Dad are already planning our wedding and how many kids we would have. So I doubt they think so lowly of you.”

You laughed at the statement. You did envision yourself with Gaz and the little family you could have in the future. But it was all too soon to think of in the present. But it was a certainty that you hope would happen in the future you have together.

“Can I named the babies or do they already have name planned as well?” You asked nuzzling your cheeks against his chest.

“A few name suggestions were thrown, but we can veto some as far as I’m made aware.”

“Kyle Junior would also be a good name for a baby boy?” You continued hands rubbing his back knowingly. “You’d like that don’t you?”

“We’re not playing this game in the middle of the parking lot, Love.” He groaned.

“Inside your car would seem a better setting then?” You egged him on.

“Nyx.” He warned, hands falling to the curves of your ass.

“I’m joking.” You giggled pulling him in for a quick kiss before finally letting go.

You tensed as you looked out into the base, the sight of Ghost and Soap gaping at the sight of the two of you.

“Let’s go.” You muttered opening the door immediately giving Gaz a whiplash for the sudden shift in your attitude from a few seconds ago.

“What?” He turned and from the window of the passenger seat of the car, you could see the shock also written on his face as he made beeline to the driver side of the car.

Without another word, Gaz had started the car without turning back or even acknowledging the fact that your secret was now exposed to two of the last people you would have allowed to know about your relationship now.

“We’re fucked.” You muttered under your breath as soon as you heard the familiar ring tone of your phone and the all too family name of your father that was now made aware of the little interaction you had with one Kyle Garrick.

“Now I understand why you love her so much.” His mother was quiet for the most part, allowing him and the rest of the members of the Garrick Family and extended family to bring life to the childhood home he had grew up in.

Kyle could only nod, watching you as you continued on with your conversation with his sister and brother-in-law about some TV series that you’re excited to begin watching again while off-duty. It brings so much warmth inside of him to see you like this, so comfortable and in peace in a place that was his own.

All the worries of his family not liking you or the chaos that came with Soap and Ghost finding out about your secret relationship was put in the backburner for the time being. All that was important was the moment where you two were.

A time where he wasn’t out in some isolated country or in knee deep shit looking for enemies alongside you. You both were in a normalcy that doesn’t come often with either of you anymore because of your chosen profession.

“Hey Mum,” Kyle finds himself turning his attention back to his mother. The smile on her face as she caught him looking at you was all the sign he needed to push forward with what he was about to ask. “Think I can cash in on your offer about your wedding ring in the near future?”

Christmas in the Garrick Household was a success and true to Kyle’s words, everyone loved you. It was just like you to be loved by anyone and everyone you would meet. Contrary to your call sign of Nyx, you were a ball of sunshine that constantly lights up the room, only dimming at the most frail state of mind or during missions. You gave him the sunshine he had thought was lost in him throughout the time of blood and gore he had experience in his career.

Who would have ever thought the incident in Piccadilly would not only shape his career, but the future he never thought he was still allowed to have in his life when all was said and done.

“No funny business.” You had teased him the moment you both settled into his childhood bedroom for the night.

“Never said there was.” He teased you right back, pulling you into his bare chest.

The single bed wasn’t really good for either of you to stay in, but it was better than having to sleep in separate rooms for the night. He maneuvered the two of you until you were now resting completely under him. A smile was on your face, eyes a little glazed over from the few drinks you’ve shared with the rest of his family and your skin tinted a few shades of red because of it. But you were still the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on.

“I’m happy.” You spoke plopping your face onto the crook of his neck. Arms wrapped around his chest.

“Meet too.” He admit. He was happy with you in his life, happy that there would come a time in his life that he would want to hang his boots and throw his uniform down the deepest depths of his closet but he would still have you in his life. It was worth being happy about for him.

“I never thought they’d actually like me.” You continued.

“Didn’t I say that a few good too many times throughout the car ride?”

“You did. But still. Actually seeing that they would like me was something I never thought would happen.”

“I can’t see a reason why they won’t like you if I’m being honest.”

“You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Touché.”

“Now I’m actually excited for you to meet my Mum too.” You pointed out, heading lifting up to meet his own. “My Mum would love you. She already has an idea of you from Dad but genuinely meeting her in person, I know for a fact that she would love you just as much as I do.” You beamed.

“Will she now?” He smiled, surprised by the sudden shift. “And your Dad?”

“It might take a while for him, but I know he’ll come around. He’s just always been like that growing up.” You shrugged.

“How about we head to your place for the New Years?” He inquired.

With his phone shut off and your own turned off after sending both of your parents a quick text of arriving in your boyfriend’s home safely, he thought it would be a better time as any to finally have clean slate and throw the cat out of the bag.

“Really?”

“Better to rip the bandage off now than when we’re back in the base.” He shrugged, he could only imagine the drills he will be thrown in because of this.

“If you’re not up to it, we could wait a little longer.”

“We agreed that we’d do it after the holidays but since the jig is up because of the two bloke, I think it’s a good time as any. Good to also meet your Mum and siblings while we’re at it.”

The smile on your face grew bigger as you slumped right back to him and peppered his face with kisses as you continually thanked him for dealing with you and for anything that your mind could come up with.

But what you didn’t know was the small little box hidden deep inside his bag and the question that he was about to ask from your father when he meets him—after a good beating if he’s lucky enough to come out alive from.

Part Two: Light of My Life

259 notes · View notes

southernbluebellereader · 2 years

Text

MASTERLIST

Who I write for: Call of Duty (Preferably MW2 and MW3); Star Trek (everything up to Enterprise + Strange New Worlds); Slashers (Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers); Jack Reacher (Alan Ritchson); SIX (coming soon)

REQUESTS: Closed | INBOX: Open | TAG LIST: Click Here | (*) = WIP

Last Update: December 29, 2023

{JACK REACHER}

| JACK REACHER (Alan Ritchson) |

General Headcanons

General Headcanons Part 2

X Fem! Southern Waitress

Peach Pie and Cream

{CALL OF DUTY}

| IMAGINES/HEADCANONS/REQUESTS |

Imagine Dancing with Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Imagine Dancing with John Price, Ghost, and Soap

Do They Know How to Take a Bra Off? (COD 141 + Alejandro, Rudy, & König)

Routines (Taskforce 141 x Southern Hairdresser Reader (PLATONIC))

Routines Part 2 (Taskforce 141 x Southern Hairdresser Reader (PLATONIC))

Tenderheart Bear (141 x People Pleaser F! Field Medic (PLATONIC))

How would the 141 react to you getting your nails done? (COD MW2) (Task Force 141 - Semi-NSFW)

(18) Request: Imagine Ghost & König with an anal vibrator

Request: 141 x Reader w/ Psoriasis & Vitiligo (SFW & Platonic)

Request: Taskforce 141 x Reader with rumors of being a slut

(18+) Request: Kvinlig Demon (141 x F! Reader w/ Womb Tattoo)

| CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE |

Requests

(18+) NSFW Price x Younger S/O & he is wrapped around your finger ;)

(18+) NSFW Daddy Price x Wife (this a little *spicy*)

Family Day (x Wife Reader; y'all and the 141 go to Disney World as a family)

Personal Nurse (x Nurse F! Reader)

Leg Warmers (x Reader w/ misaligned knee caps)

*Price begging - collar - sub!Price

X Female Escort Reader

[PART 1] Don’t Look At Me Like That (FLUFF/LITTLE ANGST)

[PART 2] Excitement in Patience (18+ MATURE)

[PART 3] Cup of Coffee (Kinda of a prequel)

X Female Wife Reader

Gray Hairs (FLUFF)

X Young Reader with Facial Scars

[PART 1] Bruised Apple (Platonic, Angst, Facial Scars, Mention of Violence)

[PART 2] Apple Slices (DITTO [Mention of Violence & Trauma])

[PART 3] Apple Pie (Platonic, going on slightly romantic, Angst, Fluffity Fluff)

X MILF Single Mom

Forbidden (Fluff, Innuendos, Brief mention of violence)

| LIEUTENANT SIMON “GHOST” RILEY |

Requests

Drake (x AFAB Teammate w/ Tattoo; Simon seeing their tattoo for the first time)

Turquesa (x AFAB Latinx Nurse Reader)

Midnight Dining (x AFAB Civilian Reader (leather jacket Ghost))

Emergency Snack Run (x AFAB Gas Station Clerk)

Personal Mechanic (Mechanic Ghost x AFAB Reader)

X Female Southern Cook

[PART 1] Midnight Snack (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 2] Tomato, Tom-ah-to (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 3] Bag of Peas (FLUFF & PLATONIC)

[PART 4] Hash Browns (FLUFF & MOSTLY PLATONIC)

[PART 5] Prickly Pear (FLUFF & DEF NOT PLATONIC ANYMORE)

[PART 6] Peaches and Cream (FLUFF, ANGST, LOVEY DOVEY)

[PART 7] Chicken and Dumplings (VERY ANGST, A LITTLE VIOLENCE)

[PART 8] Hot Links (FLUFFITY FLUFF FLUFF LOVEY DOVEY)

X Female Reader

(18+) Hot For Teacher (Simon's S/O gets a teacher costume for Halloween)

Being Chosen…By A Baby (Single Mom Reader)

| COLONEL ALEJANDRO VARGAS |

X Female Wife Reader

Forehead Kisses (FLUFF)

Alejandro and His Big Ol' Forehead - One, Two, Three, Four

| SERGEANT KEEGAN P. RUSS (COD GHOSTS) |

Fun and Games (x F! reader) (PLATONIC) - His name is said in a funny accent

| SERGEANT KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK |

Requests

A little nosy, aren't we? (x F! Reader gets caught looking at his social media)

(18+) Car Shenanigans (x F! Reader giving head/getting fingered)

Post-Mission Angst (x AFAB Reader)

X Female Signaler/Radiowoman Reader

Guardian Angel (bubbling relationship)

| KÖNIG |

How he likes to show affection by holding you close (xGN Reader)

| COMMANDER PHILLIP GRAVES |

X Pregnant Wife Reader

First Time Husband (first-time pregnancy; little angst, fluff)

| SERGEANT LOGAN WALKER (COD GHOSTS) |

Requests

Headcanons (Both SFW and NSFW)

What would Logan be like as a Father? (fuffity fluff fluff)

Headcanons Part 2 (Both SFW and NSFW)

| SOBIESŁAW "GROMSKO" KOŚCIUSZKO |

General Headcanons (SFW and NSFW)

Supportive Soft Friend (SFW Fluff)

| KATE LASWELL |

x Wife Reader

My Wife (fluffity fluff fluff)

| ALEX KELLER |

x F! New Yorker Medic Reader

Polar Opposites (Golden Retriever Alex, Black Cat Reader; Fluff)

| SERGEANT JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH |

Requests

*Dilf! Johnny x Babysitter

x F! Reader

Calling Him "Stud"

{STAR TREK}

| IMAGINES/HEADCANONS |

Kirk, Spock, & Bones x Southern Reader (SFW)

Do They Know How to Take Bra Off? (Kirk, Bones, Spock, Scotty, Chekov)

| DOCTOR LEONARD “BONES” MCCOY |

X Female Nurse Practitioner

Medical Couple (FLUFF LOVEY DOVEY; TOS/REBOOT MOVIES)

| FIRST COMMANDER SPOCK |

Requests

Pop of Color (x F! Betazoid Quartermaster/Seamstress; STRANGE NEW WORLDS)

{SLASHERS}

| JASON VOORHEES |

X Female Camp Counselor

Instinct (stalking)

{SIX}

| JOE "BEAR" GRAVES |

Requests

Request: Joe Graves X Younger Wife/GF Headcanons

#master list #fan fiction master list #call of duty #Star Trek #slasher #slashers #Jason voorhees #Jason voorhees x reader #jack reacher #SIX #Joe bear graves #bear #Joe graves

1K notes · View notes

mikichko · 5 months

Text

cod masterlist

Task Force 141

aggressor - you let your hands talk for you english || ficlet || .3k words

the veil - poly!141 + closed off reader english || multi chapter

cozy cuddling - home is safe again english || ficlet || .8k words

John 'Soap' MacTavish

helper - a helping hand from a kind stranger english || ficlet || .4k words

piel - your scars show up on your soulmate's body english || one shot || 1.6k words || angst

family matters english || ficlet || .6k words

milestone english || ficlet || .4k words

chao mi niño - adoptive parents!ghoap x reader english || multi-chapter series

reassurance - are you sure you want to be with me? english || ficlet || .6k words

🧼 suds - not full fics but bits and pieces on leave cachorro rebirth squishy

John Price

caretaker - a provider to you, unknown to the rest english || ficlet || .3k words part 2 - when he spots you english || nsfw || 1.3k words

flashback - john is reminded of her english || ficlet || .4k words

walkthrough - she catches his attention, he doesn't catch hers english || ficlet || .3k words

invisible red line - fate's only real when it benefits him english || fic || 1.6k words

🚬 smoke - not full fics but bits and pieces tba

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

helper - a helping hand from a kind stranger english || ficlet || .4k words

miedo - wary of an unmasked man english || ficlet || .2k words

bun's world - single dad kyle english || multi chapter add ons: favorite

uncommitted - no strings attached english || blurb

stress relief - kyle asks about relieving stress english || nsfw || 2.2k words

roomates - unhinged dubcon ramblings part 1 - cold part 2 - keeping warm

model - gaz poses for you english || nsfw

⛽ gas - not full fics, just bits and pieces reader's care package to gaz washday early arrival slobber

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

uncommitted - no strings attached english || blurb

soft - summers are hard. simon takes notice. english || ficlet || .4k words

chao mi niño - adoptive parents!ghoap x reader english || multi-chapter series

permission - ghost hates the feel of hands on his skin. english || ficlet || .4k words

home - you meet simon in the weird lull of space right before his 18th birthday. english || ficlet || .6k words

feel - your body feels even when you don't english || ficlet || .3k words

brand - leaving a mark on each other english || blurb || cw: self imposed cutting

👻 spirits - not full fics, just bits and pieces angsty carton of juice

#.txt #.cod #.masterlist

100 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

SNAIL & THRUSH (II)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death, thoughts of violence, banter but it’s more just straight up attacks

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

“Can you—” An aggressive sigh sounds out over the air as your fast-walking form continues on; the earth molding to your shoes. “The area isn’t locked down this far out, Ma’am. Can you just get in the bloody car, please?”

Your eyes stare straight ahead, half-lidded, and could probably melt a sheet of metal if they had to.

Not answering, you continue to walk back into town, ignoring Gaz entirely as he attempts to coax you into the large car he’s driving. The window is down, his accented voice hitting your ears and bouncing off the invisible barrier you had put there to block out his prattle about a mile back.

You utterly refuse to enter the vehicle, even if you were already as tired as a marathon runner. The person driving followed you at a snail’s pace at his wit's end.

Stepping on gravel that crunches under your weight, your fists swing clenched beside you in small clipped arches. If volatile had a picture attached to the definition page, it would be you.

Not only had you figured out Samson Row was dead before you could kill him yourself, but now you had to deal with weapon and drug lords who had it out for you and your mother.

Under your breath, quick worded mumbles are missed over the car’s engine, the slow forward motion of tires that stir the dust and leaves you blinking quickly.

You’d both been at this ever since you’d forced your way out of the garage back on Base and had restrained yourself from making a scene because they had refused to give you your laptop back.

“Protection detail,” your lips curl, thinking over Laswell’s clipped sentences. “Like I want your help after all of this. Just open your home, why don’t you?” Sarcastic flails of your hands leave Gaz groaning and rolling his eyes at the childish scene, a hand going to rub over his neck soothingly. The attempt to bring clarity back to himself only barely works. “Just accept that we can’t keep our own operatives on a leash—but here! Just take the one that forced you into the back of a van and put a revolver to your forehead—God!”

“Are you done out there yet?” Kyle calls, single grip over his hat as he glares out the windshield, no longer wanting to look at you as your teeth bare else he’d get to the end of his rope before he even started climbing. “Bit of a walk back to town, y’know. Not exactly how I’d want to spend my morning, copy?” He mutters the last sentence under his breath.

Don’t want to spend any bloody mornings like this.

“If you tell me one more time to get into the car,” you level as you crush a weed in your way, “I’m sprinting off into the field and making you run after me.”

A long scoff and an exasperated shake of his head later, Gaz is growling an acknowledgment; tapping his fingers over the wheel. Did you not understand the severity of the situation? Hell, it was like you didn’t even care! This was his job, and he took it very seriously. There was no room for fuck-ups.

The car continues to waste gas and slug along, even if the Brit wanted to hop out and drag you into it like the stubborn brat you were acting like.

“How many years overseas?” He asks himself as your form stomps farther away before he presses his foot to the gas lightly and hears the gears squeak. He pulls up beside you moments later, lips tight. “Fuckin’ hell mate. Have a go at this.”

“I can hear you, idiot.” Your voice sounds off, face turning slightly his way. The mid-morning sun was warm, but the breeze from the not-so-far-off Lake Michigan was a welcome feeling as it went over heated skin. “Talk quieter so I don't have to.”

Kyle didn’t understand how you could wear that thick jacket, though. It was slightly chilly, sure, but not that bad out. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not when you were acting like you were going to shank him in the kneecap for breathing in your direction.

“Brilliant.” He spreads his digits from where they curl over the steering wheel, shrugging his shoulders to himself mockingly. “Anything else I should know, Ma’am?”

Drive into a tree, you want to snap, but refrain. Even if seeing the Brit’s eyes go small and jaw go tight was a smirk-inducing sight, what you wanted was silence. A silence that you would probably never get now that your house was being invaded without your say.

At least it’s only him, trying to find light in the situation was your father’s specialty–not yours. Your body forces out a tight breath to calm down. Could you imagine what would have happened if Laswell had forced the one with the dead eyes to watch me? Ghost?

Your body shivers tightly. If Price was at the top of your list of people you feared, Ghost was second. You couldn’t stand to feel those blue orbs lock on you in the rear-view mirror when they’d brought you in. You already had enough ghosts living at the mansion, you didn't need another.

A few seconds later, the car beside you comes to a fast halt with a ruckus of crunching gravel. You hope for a moment the car will turn around and disappear into the background.

“...Y’know what, yeah? I’m solid walking.” The clashing of keys being ripped from an ignition makes you blink in horror, head whipping to the side to watch as the car door is shoved open.

Sergeant Kyle’s tall form greets you as your legs stall, shock coating your lungs.

“The hel–” you stop your sharp tongue. Gritted words fall instead. “And what are you doing?”

Gaz’s body goes to the back of the car, popping open the trunk and throwing out bag after bag as your jaw drops. He grasps one of the largest—a duffel bag—and slings it over his back. Two more are taken in one hand as his muscles writhe, though it looked like the apparent weight doesn't bother him much.

The Brit ignores you, striding past as his long fingers go to his right ear.

“Actual this is Bravo 2-6, I’ll be needing a pickup for a vehicle about a mile down-road. Parked near the edge. You copy?” A pause as you watch him continue on, looking back and forth from the still metal to his clenched fist over the straps of his belongings. A small sound escapes your throat. “No,” Gaz huffs a stiff laugh in response to the conversation you can’t hear. Your ear tips burn. “No, there’s not a damn thing wrong with the bastard, believe it or not.”

“Hey!” Calling loudly, you stare at the figure as it gradually gets farther away, feet spread apart and the air smelling of corroding anger saturated in lake water.

“Affirm, Actual. Will do.” Kyle smoothly utters, taking his hand off his earpiece and fixing the black cord that descends from it so it won’t get in the way of his shirt collar.

Not thinking much of your absent footsteps, the Brit’s head tilts. His ball cap blocks out the sun from his eyes yet they still squint at your practically vibrating silhouette.

“You coming then, Love? Long walk.” Your hands snap to your pockets, the one finding the small coin immediately and bringing it into a tight grip. Suddenly, Gaz’s dark Adam’s Apple was the most offensive sight you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Best get to it, then.”

You can no more say you were fighting off a string of curses more than you were struggling against the rampage of your heart. Kyle just turns back around with a small smirk growing at the apparent slackness of your jaw; brown eyes crinkling. His internal scoreboard marks a point under his name.

Staying stationary for a good minute, stance tight and mind running, Laswell's words come back to encompass your consciousness in between the seething hatred you hold as the two of you become more separated. The price on your head—the threats to your mother’s safety as well as yours.

Your thighs tighten.

For better or for worse, you had to stick close to Kyle for the simple fact that he knew more about this than you did. Trained to be a killer and not hesitant to pull the trigger of a gun for the sake of his precious orders. Even now your eyes snap to the open expanse of the military base’s outer fields; the long grass and the dark ruts in the dirt. Blinking, your tense feet slam the ground as you start forward begrudgingly.

Fine. I’m an adult. I can handle it. But…maybe getting in the car would have been better than walking beside him. Your jaw clenches, not willing to admit that small fact to the man ahead of you.

“Do you get tired of being a piece of work?” You call loudly, catching up quickly at your pace as though the man was hanging back purposely, also knowledgeable of the situation.

He couldn’t just abandon his charge.

Kyle glances at your side profile, quirking a dark brow and sloping his chin. Being this close to him made your nose scrunch at the smell of his cologne, the scent not unpleasant but ultimately still attached to him.

“Actually, Ma’am, I take it as a compliment. Means I’m doing my job.” A pause as he fixes the hold on his gear, grunting. Not able to help himself now that the opportunity presents itself. “Do you?”

Keeping a wide berth between you too, your face tilts to the sky, finding the whizzing forms of water birds and growling like a dog choking on a bullet. The hatred in the air was palpable; none too eager for the job ahead.

My protection detail, you send long glances at Kyle thinking over the title again, studying his strong back and the sharp stab of his nose as it twitches to the scent of native switchgrass seeds. Keeping your studious attention far away from his brown orbs, you peel at the sides of your nails inside your pockets. The person I need protection from is already right beside me. How ironic can my life get?

But you can’t really be surprised, after all, you had expected to see him and the others again someday. Just…not like this. In the ground would have been preferable.

As you both walk in a strangling silence, your thoughts go back to your mother; wondering if she would be okay. The woman was far more stubborn than even you—there were few things that pulled her away from her work in helping others.

Taking one hand to itch at the skin under your left eye, you stifle a yawn.

At most, you’d text each other perhaps once a month. Quick updates and brief conversations about the weather like strangers. You couldn't talk about your nightmares or your father even though she’d been informed about the accusations on her deceased husband.

You didn’t know if the CIA agents had told her the specifics about how he died when they delivered a detailed condolence letter and forced signatures of silence. It would destroy her if they did.

Maybe I’ll call her when I get my phone from my nightstand back home.

You narrow your vision. An urge to hear your mom’s soothing voice hit you like an anvil. She couldn’t make this better, but she’d certainly be able to help.

Gaz’s eyes rove and observe the land, his combat boots leaving prints behind him. But his inspections always lead him back to you. His charge. The phantom from his past that had never really been forgotten just pushed to the side in between missions. The girl who seemed to not give a damn that he was the only person able to keep her alive at this point.

The line on Kyle’s forehead deepens.

Part of him was completely fine with keeping his voice in his throat; listening to the chatter of birds and the clink of his bags’ zippers as he carried the great weight of them with no complaint. Another piece, the loose, reliable, part of him that followed procedure was hesitant to try and articulate how dire this was out loud to you because that wasn’t how this usually went.

The target on your back was no joke, even Laswell knew it. But the soldier carries the burden of detail.

Would she take me seriously if I don’t try to tell her, is the question. The Sergeant makes a noise in the back of his throat.

First impressions are a lock and seal as he was sure you were well aware.

His lips part, half a word formed before the skin gradually falls shut again. Kyle takes a glance at you once more, looking at your wound-tight form and the utter mental exhaustion on your face. Despite his reservations about you, a sliver of regret finds his heart.

You hadn’t asked for any of this, and while you weren’t giving him much slack, his dry sarcastic nature hadn’t helped either. The two of you were just good at making the other go insane, no matter how much time you did or didn’t spend together.

Kyle would never admit it, but it slightly impressed him.

“Should be back in town near o-twelve-hundred.” He clears his throat, trying to lose the bleeding of his stoic words. Make them lighter; airier. Attempt to be cordial. “If we keep this pace, of course. Then I can set up and be out of your hair for a bit.”

Your feet had come to a slow drag-legged stop. Gaz blinks, noticing from the corner of his vision, and does the same—his tightness immediately going to confusion. He looks around the area, though spots nothing out of the ordinary.

Hell, what did I say now?

But he sees your distant gaze with a stilling of his facial features, gaze falling to what you were staring quite hard at.

You blink down at the corpse near the side of the road.

Its small body was covered in dirtied feathers; colors of orange, gray, black, and white speaking through despite the obvious decay. A beak so long it took up larger space than the skull.

Belted Kingfisher.

When an animal dies the eyes are always the first to go—maggots and flies, whatnot. Soft and squishy. You don’t know why, but looking down at that small, dead, bird you longed to know what its eyes had looked like. The color, the intelligent sheen of them. Now only a black eye socket gives its voided opinions like a mute judge.

You’d spotted it quite by accident, just looking over the landscape as the Brit tried to speak to you. A breeze ruffles the feathers that are left over the frail being and you find for the first time in a long while your head is completely silent.

Your muscles loosen.

“...Ma’am?”

Violently flinching, the brief contact to your shoulder is snapped back in an instant, Kyle going to splay the offending hand in a sign of no harm. Dark eyebrows tight. Taking down a full breath, you miss the concern in the Sergeant’s expression, the steady look. There’s a moment when the world holds its air; the animals nearby fall wholly still as the wind carries every unsaid word better than you can annunciate it.

Your stomach rolls at the reminder of his touch, even through layers of clothes. Gaz murmurs a question of which you ignore.

Shoving past him, on your way past his tilted face you growl upwards, “Keep your hands off of me, Garrick.”

You increase your walking speed, trying with all of your might to fight the impending explosion of anger and anxiety. It was like your hands wanted to grip him by his neck, shove him down to the floor and let him know what it felt like to hurt the way you do. For a moment glimpse the life draining from his amber optics.

But any sort of physical pain, or even death, could never amount to knowing what you’d gone through. Not to mention you’d probably get your ass handed to you in mere seconds.

Staring after with wide, creased, eyes, the Brit waits for a moment before he looks down at the small bird carcass you were entranced by moments prior.

His head tilts, lungs filling.

“...Poor bugger.” He frowns and observes the way you quickly walk on with emotion on his lips. Gaz sighs and shakes his head, raising a brow back down at the now-soulless body as the telltale signs of a migraine start to pulse. “Recon I’ll be ending up like you in a bit, Mate.”

He catches up easily, even with the weight of his bags and you have to wonder how anyone thought that this was a good idea.

The devil beside you walks so far removed from normal life that it astounds you, and the rest of the trip is stuck in an uncomfortable silence reserved for those who dislike one another.

Town can’t come soon enough, and you’re stopping at Hector’s Café along the way to your Estate.

“It’s best to go straight back,” you thin your lips and slip into the building, the door creaking behind you as Gaz waits at the entrance. “I need to secure the property ASAP.”

“You’ll get to wreck my home all you want in an hour.” Your backpack was on the main counter, and you walked to it slowly; drawing out the Sergeant's annoyance as much as you could. If you can’t hurt him physically at the moment, mentally was just as good a substitute. “I need my backpack.”

“Oh, you mean the one that left a dent in my skull.”

“Yes. I think I’ll end up keeping it as a family heirloom. Frame it maybe.”

“Ah, Lovely. Glad I can be a part of such a defining moment.” Strap in hand and a sarcastic retort on your breath, a great ruckus sound off from the backroom.

Before you can react your jacket sleeve is being pulled sideways, a form shoving itself in between you and the kitchen door. Your eyes widen, feet stumbling to a stop before adrenaline stabs itself into your heart.

“Son of a bitch!” Rushing out, Hector wields a skillet in one hand—raised halfway above his head with a rabid snarl. “You!” He points it at Kyle, who has a small pistol gripped in his hands; bags haphazardly dropped back near the entrance. Your lips pull to a smirk when the Brit’s ready stance lessens. His wide shoulders lower like a dog’s neck fur. “You think I don’t know a government conspiracy when I see it! I lived in Jersey, motherfucker! What have you done with ‘er?”

“Hector,” you peek over Garrick’s shoulder as the Sergeant spares you a look. “Easy with that, man….Aim for the throat, though, would you?”

The skillet lowers, bright eyes landing on you while yours stick to his growing smile and twitching mustache.

“Kid!” Loud laughs echo. “Holy hell, you scared the shit out ‘o me this morning. What was that all about?”

“Misunderstanding, Sir.” Gaz tries to explain, placing the pistol back into the belt of his pants as you clock it before stepping out from his shadow. It looked like an X12 to you.

When did he get that, your eyebrows tighten and store that thought for later. There might be a chance to use that against him if you could get your hands on it.

The Café owner glares at the Sergeant as you fix the backpack strap over your shoulder. “Did I ask you, Son? I’m speakin’ to the lady.”

“An Ex.” You lie smoothly, feeling Kyle’s shocked eyes on you instantly. Itching at the back of your neck, you feign embarrassment. “Cheated on me in high school. When he showed up, well…I did what I’d wanted to do for a while.”

Letting the sentence trail, you were excited for what came next. Genuine giddiness builds in your lungs; fighting a smile as the Brit stutters beside you. Gaz’s eyebrows pull up even higher.

“Cheated…” Hector’s accent becomes more prominent as you twist on a heel and begin heading to the door—only then do you anchor a hand to your mouth to stop the belly-deep laughter. “Oh, you’ve some nerve, showin’ back up, Son. How dare you make her see your face—!”

“Sir, I, bloody hell, I’m not—” Gaz grumbles, shooting heated glances at your disappearing form. “This isn’t….” Stuttering like a rookie. Everything in VIP Protection Training and his copious years in the army was pulling null.

But no one was ever pulling his strings like you and it’s only been a few hours.

“See you, Hec!”

“Hey! Come get this piece of trash out of my building.” Your face turns sideways, and Kyle notices the smirk immediately. His chest goes heavy with a wave of seething anger.

“C’mon then, Kyle. You heard the man, didn’t you?”

If looks could melt people like gold, you would be a puddle of great Midas's curse before your skin hit the air outside, kicking the Sergeant’s bags away with a foot.

Oh…she’s wicked, she is. The steps he takes are firm, a great cloud over his head as he re-situated his cap with taut fingers and grunts aggressively under his breath. Insulting him directly was one thing, but the chips at his character were cruel. Can I even do this? Hmm, Laswell might still be able to pull me out, let me join back up with the boys.

But everyone was counting on him for this and his stubborn side knew that he’d gone through far worse than a few verbal attacks. Physical strength was needed for this job, but many overlook the larger aspect. And if there was a single thing that Kyle Garrick was prideful about, it was his mental fortitude. Rare were the times that rigorous interrogation even put a dent into his psyche.

“Just hold out,” he grumbles, ignoring the Cafe owner’s now-known disgust and picking up his bags. Gaz almost felt regretful for being so swift to place his body in front of a possible threat but scolded himself for thinking that immediately. This was his job. “She’s just scared, yeah? Doesn’t want to be around the bloke who,” he slightly cringes and lets the building’s front door close behind him, seeing your jacket ahead and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Who shoved her in a fucking van and put a gun to her head…Christ, Kate, what were you thinking assigning me to this?”

For the remainder of the small journey, Gaz stayed behind you, calming down as your enjoyment of his torment swiftly ended. Small victories weren't worth it, especially when the Brit says nothing in retaliation. Did your little dig at his character really insult him that much? It wasn’t the worst thing you had thought you could say. Not by a long shot.

Sure it seemed that you could piss him off, even if he never snapped and exploded with anger—he didn’t seem the type beyond back-handed comments—but if he didn’t respond it made no difference.

You…you wanted to hurt him. Make Garrick suffer. You just didn’t know how to do it effectively, or if you could. Now you knew, though, that attacks on his person and morals were the way to go for quick results of muteness.

The iron gate of your home was up ahead, and with a delving of fingers, you produced a key from your back pocket, moving your wallet out of the way to grasp it firmly.

I want them all to suffer. Your mind wanders as you twist the lock, hearing the metal shriek at you in figurative suffering. Blinking, the shadow behind you causes your body to be hyper-aware. A plan forms grimly, and you have to think if you even have the courage to try it.

“Hm,” you huff, shoving open the gate and calling over your shoulder. “Close it behind you!” Tossing back the key.

Kyle catches it, you know, because of the small thump of material meeting a ready palm. A moment later you’re walking through a path of weeds and overgrown bushes, eyes scanning the hedges blandly. You hear the gate close and a moment later, footsteps.

Gaz twirls the key in between his fingers, trying not to say something about the state of the place. But his brown vision roves from one area to another with muted shock.

Didn’t expect this.

Everything was falling into disrepair, even the gargantuan mansion of white and black coloring which normally would have been a grand sight to anyone with sense. Windows were all shut, the lawn looking more like a forest; the concrete underfoot was layered with dirt and insects—grass bleeding into the cracks.

What should have been a multiple-million-dollar home was looking more like an abandoned lot.

Kyle turns his confused stare to the back of your head, looking down at the key in hand.

“Past its prime, I’ll say that.” He speaks to himself, keeping his manners despite the discourse between the two of you.

It was one thing to bark back and forth like animals, but another to involve the place where one lives. But, your family was well off. There was no reason for it to look like this.

“Any staff I should be aware of, then?” he needs to ask as you ascend the front steps to the double doors. “Gardeners,” Garrick glances quickly at the greenery and coughs, “or, butlers, maids…anything like that”

“Everyone quit because of the publicity.” Your voice is unusually distant, and you push aside a raggedy welcome mat to produce another key. This one is smaller and rustier, belonging to the main entrance. “Shocker, people didn’t like being harassed on their way to work by camera crews and news anchors. Didn’t hire after that.”

Kyle’s feet shift, a strange feeling entering his skin as he blinks at you.

You slip through the doorway first and immediately dart to the side table to the direct right—dropping your backpack dismissively with a quick, yet silent, slam. Heart jumping, your adrenaline spikes.

Normally the small table would be reserved for purses and other small belongings, but before Gaz can come into the mansion you grab the slick body of a penknife and shove it into your sleeve with twitching fingers. Eyes snapping to the corners of the large foyer and looking over the gray walls and navy curtains. Creaking hardwood.

“Nice place you got ‘ere,” Kyle tries to lighten the mood, if not for your stubborn sake than for his. Easier to get the job done if at least one person was willing to engage, and he’s willing to attempt it again. The bags in his hand are carefully placed down.

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards.

“Been in the family forever.” You slowly slip the blade out, trading weight from one hip to another and keeping it hidden. “Not really mine, at the end of the day.”

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting.

A slight relief at the non-confrontational action lets Gaz force out a chuckle.

“Lots of places like that over in England—you have to wonder how they’re still standing, eh? Solid foundations.” A pause. “Proper interesting pieces of history.”

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows.

You stop fidgeting, all thoughts for a moment stilling. What had he said?

“You—” Stopping yourself, you turn and tilt your head in his direction, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks around the stairs to the second level and the small seating areas. Your voice echoes like it usually does; like a ghost unwilling to go to rest. Kyle closes the door behind him with one hand, only looking at you directly when it’s fully shut.

“What’s that, Love?”

Your feet rearrange over the rug.

“You’re…interested in that kind of stuff?” Kyle sees your hands clench but thinks nothing of it. His curiosity fills his lungs when he becomes familiar with the deadly expression on your face.

The material of his clothes moves as he shrugs, turning his gaze away when he knows it makes you uncomfortable. Gaz wasn’t ignorant—he knew you didn’t like looking people in the eye. As his orbs find the dusty and dim chandelier hanging dangerously above them, he notices your eyes now settle back on him.

“Not overly, but I can say History was one of my best subjects back in Secondary Education—erm,” his lips pull tight, a tiny pinch of a smirk on his face, “high school as you call it.”

You fiddle with the weapon secretly, unblinking vision stuck to Kyle’s feet. His comment made you think about the assignments you still had to complete for college; the papers to write. After all, if you flunked out of all the courses, you’d never be able to take your father's place at the museum. It was your ultimate goal, at the end of the day. Become like him.

The inability to move made your teeth bite down, but common sense won over. You place your hand into your pocket and slip the penknife inside, your other holds itself out loosely.

I have to be smarter than that. Discreet.

But you really wished you could have slid the blade home.

“Key.” Gaz nods, moving over and dropping it into your awaiting clutch before you rip it away and toss it to the side table.

“Ma’am,” the Sergeant’s face twists, but you’re already stalking past him, going off deeper into the house. Brown eyes follow. “I know you don’t want me here,” his voice bounces at the stark emptiness of the mansion, “but the only reason I’m staying is to keep you safe. I’m not expecting you to—”

“East wing is all yours.” You’re halfway up the stairs and still going, feet silently stomping over the various moth-eaten rugs. But the man cannot see your face as he’s left with a line on his forehead and a blunt frown on his lips. So much for your few seconds of compliance. He’d thought he was getting somewhere.

“I’d rather be closer. Encase there’s—” Again, he’s cut off. There’s going to be a lot of that.

“Keep to it after your little exploration. And don’t try anything, my father installed security cameras.” You didn’t give away that you didn’t know how to operate them, but that was beside the point.

Reaching the top, you head to the west and disappear down a hallway. Kyle hears one last comment bounce.

“I leave at eight every morning!” He’s left alone with only faint light and silent walls.

But, with a shake of his head and the grabbing of bags at his feet, he can’t say he’s surprised.

Looking about, Kyle takes in the lack of personality and blandness all around, forgetting for a moment that this home once belonged to a late museum director. He had expected more character—more expression. Certainly more light.

This place was at a stand-still, like time didn’t begin or end in this house and it simply was.

He sighs, nodding. He’d just have to work with it. “East wing. Brilliant.”

His mind still held doubts about this—had ever since Price had given him the order straight from Kate. How can you protect someone that rightly hates your guts? You had more of a chance of tearing him a new one than he did of getting you to cooperate. And that was saying something, considering he was professionally trained in hand-to-hand.

Again, Gaz had to ask himself if he was capable of doing this job. He thinks back to that mission three years ago, expression pulling tight as he jogged up the stairs and took a swift right.

He regretted what had happened, yes, but at the end of the day, it was just another target who had gotten what he deserved. It was what the Sergeant did—got his hands dirty to clean up messes and keep everyone else safe.

Your father couldn’t have been any more of a good influence than a bad one. Gaz had seen the file on him. The countless dead.

He wasn’t a good man, how couldn’t you see that?

“Mate, that was her fuckin’ father.” Growling, that sliver of civilian common sense slithers back in like a rope around his neck when he goes deeper into the house, past various open doors that show meeting rooms, libraries, offices, and art rooms. No bedrooms yet. “Christ, you’re losing it. Man got his bloody head blown off right in front of ‘er.”

When had he become so desensitized to this?

His brown eyes glared at the floor when he realized he couldn’t remember being horrified by anything he had seen in the last few years.

Death was death—didn’t matter how bloody it was, or how drawn out. At the end, all of it was just red.

But he’d never taken a moment to think about how that would be for someone like you. Unused to violence. There was a grand question that Garrick still didn’t know the answer to. Were you a hostage in that little stunt, or were you just leverage?

The Captain knew the answer—leverage. There was never any intention to actually pull the trigger on you. Kyle would have flatly refused if there had been, as would Soap. Ghost was still an enigma, but part of the Sergeant wanted to believe that he didn’t want that either.

Samson Row.

An overwhelming hatred struck the back of his skull as he entered the first room he saw with a bed in it, setting his bags on the covers and pushing his fingers to his nose bride. Eyebrows pull in.

No use getting like this over a dead man. Stay focused.

His fingers had only just begun to toss off the duffel bag from over his back when he first saw it.

His hands paused, body going as still as a stick when he breathed in tightly.

It was a portrait of your family. Picturesque. Mother on the left father on the right, and you—younger, of course—in the middle. Gaz blinks away to study the rest of the room.

It was incredibly large, with chairs and a couch covered by white cloth to imitate oddly-shaped ghosts and the same navy curtains over a wall of nearly all window panes. And yet no personal belongings other than the picture.

Brown eyes filter back, staring long at the small girl with a wide smile; the mother with a hand on her shoulder, and the father looking down at his daughter with a nearly missed look of adoration. Garrick half expected the image to bed down and kiss you on the forehead.

Looking away with a clenched jaw, he huffs.

Wordlessly, the Sergeant once more grabs his belongings and walks out the door.

—

You shook above the bathroom toilet, your breaths a heaving mess of warring instincts. Take down air or let the swirling of your gut cease—the offers were tempting. You’d been in here for most of the day, knees grinding into the tile with the efficiency of a blunt chisel; clothes ruffled as your jacket lay tossed on the floor back in your dark room.

Throwing your empty stomach up.

Struggling to think over the day, you force yourself back from the white porcelain, shuffling on jerking legs to rest your back on the opposite wall.

“He’s in my house. Oh, Dad, one of them is in your house.” Fingers weave through locks and clench tight, hitched words loud in the silence you’d grown to comply with like an old God. Cryptid horrors that stalk the hallways that you see from the corners of your eyes, ghosts that won't leave. “I couldn't do it, why couldn’t I just try?”

The penknife. It would have been instantaneous.

But you knew deep down you’d never even be able to get close.

Sweating and panting, you can almost hear him walking the halls, studying the layout with invasive digits. A parasite. And you’d just let him in.

The price on your head was scary, sure, but there was already a threat in your very home; learning the rooms like he had any right to be here—like he knew the memories that lived in the walls. Holidays were spent in the main living room, meals made as a family in the kitchen as the butlers watched with happy eyes. The man-made pond in the back behind a wall of green trees because your mother loved to watch the birds.

This house was generations of your very bloodline. Stories along every surface. History.

“He can’t be here.” You gasp, curling inward as you try and suck down larger breaths. Trying to calm yourself down with reassurance. “He’ll leave soon. He has too. He will.”

Just wait until Mom gets back, she’ll make them go away. The thought makes air return to your lungs; shaking come to a drawn-out ceasing point. Blinking, you let your hands fall to your lap, body slouching forward. She’ll make it all go away.

When you find the strength to rise, your feet only stumble slightly, propelling you out of the bathroom towards your bare-bones room. A bed, nightstand, dresser, and couch are the only articles of furniture seen outwardly; a fireplace set into the wall with a rug by it. Curtains drawn closed and smelling of charcoal and old linens.

Peeling back paint, you stare heavily at the nightstand’s drawer, seeing the copper handle and thinking. But you shake your head and dispel the thoughts.

The acidic taste in your mouth made you smack your lips, almost enough to make you want to gag again. But as easily as the high of injected panic came, it went with a low of immeasurable depths. Still, though, your fingers twitched with unruly nerves; anxious at every creak in the wood outside the door.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Exiting your room, your socked feet know where to step so the wood doesn’t talk back at you, one hand rubbing up and down your face to bring the aliveness back. You needed coffee. Something with caffeine or an immensely high sugar content to keep the rest of this at bay.

As you turn a corner, your stomach grumbles, sweatpants bunched at your ankles. Food too, you decided.

Walking through the large, arched, entry to the kitchen, you make your way through in complete blackness. You frown, though aren’t surprised you’d spent most of the day inside your room—past the fabric barrier, the hidden French doors to the patio let in the faint light of a dying sun.

Around seven, if you had to guess. The loss of time to you should have been concerning, but you had in fact grown used to it.

Year number one after your father’s death was…really nothing more than a blank slate. But you didn’t want to remember any of that, truth be told.

Stumbling to the fridge, you grip the handle and pull.

“Bit late for supper.” Yelling, you jerk your hand back and whip to the shadow in the entrance.

The light snaps on with a flick of a finger, and the sheepish smile on Gaz’s face leaves vexation perforating the large room.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Do you mind, Garrick?” Your eyes go to his chest, looking away just as quickly when you spot he’d taken off his outer later and was only in the white t-shirt that hugs his physique. The army pants still remained. “What are you even doing down here? I told you to stay on your side.”

“Not really able to do my job from the corner, yeah?” He walks closer, noticing the layer of dust over the gas stove, and raises a brow; wisely knowing not to comment. “Heard you comin’ down, thought I’d make sure everything was solid.”

“I’m fine.” You take out an old carton of milk, nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the interior. Kyle’s eyes narrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now leave.”

You were too tired for this.

Slamming the milk back into the fridge and closing the door, you plan to make the trip back to your room on an empty stomach. Kyle clears his throat, seeing an opportunity presenting itself.

I have to get her to at least tolerate me.

He’d take every occasion he could get.

“How about I have a go at it?” He speaks quickly as you freeze in the entryway, light from the kitchen spilling out into the hall. “Sandwiches?”

Your gaze stays dead ahead, numbly stuck to the paint of the wall as if it was going to move and entrap you. Lips pulling back you feel your heart skip a beat.

Kyle continues, hopeful.

“Can’t say I'm an expert at it, but I spent a good few weeknights fixin’ my own meals on Base.” You can hear him moving behind you, opening the fridge back up, and grabbing the few items you had that weren't expired. Opening cupboards that your father opened. Grabbing pans that your mother made eggs in. “...Ma’am? That alright?”

Your eye flinches minutely, cheek pulling upward in response. Yet the churning in your stomach was volatile, and if you went another hour without food you’d probably be passing out every time you stood up. What harm was there in taking advantage of the man? A meal was a meal, and you’d only had coffee today anyways.

Saying nothing, you take one step backward and pivot.

Gaz watches in shock, not expecting you to take him up on his offer. By the heat in your eyes, he supposed you wished you didn’t.

I didn’t see her at all after she disappeared into her room—not even when I was doing a sweep. The Sergeant had memorized the entire mansion layout in only two hours, going into every room except the one that had been closed tight. Yours.

It wasn’t hard for him, though it was tedious the fourth run of the place. He’d counted every window and every entrance or exit door and had locked every one that led outside.

But he kept re-walking past that closed door; his feet taking him back even as his mind stayed focused.

Gaz’s hand had been poised to knock at one point during that time period but had only stayed stationary before it fell back down to his side. It was best not to push too hard. Inch before the mile.

In the kitchen, he sees you slip onto the island bar stool, always keeping a side-eye on his hands as they dig through sparse ingredients.

Egg sandwich it is, then.

Your voice rasps out, “I don’t remember ‘cook’ being in the detail description.”

“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Kyle chortles. His brown optics spare you a quick dart, seeing your form tense over the marble countertop as he swishes away dirt from the stove; placing a pan on top. You seem subdued…fingers twitch over the handle before his eagerness to earn your favor slowed. Sickly.

Your skin is sunken, eyes blinking fast and snapping back and forth at every sound his body makes as if he’d pounce on you. Keeping an ever-heavy glare to where his pistol was sitting in the clutch of his belt—visible from over his shirt.

The Brit swallows and looks back.

“My job’s just to make sure you live another day, yeah?” The man’s voice lowers and you look to the coffee bar near the abandoned family table. “I’ll be in the background the entire time.” Leaving the chair, you go to it and speak as the sound of cracking eggshells hits your ear like a caving skull.

“I have rules.”

Garrick nods firmly, but you don’t see it as you open a bag of fresh grounds and grab a mug.

“Copy, Ma’am. It’s your house—I’ll follow what I’m told.” He shifts his arms into a crossed position and leans back against the island as the eggs sizzle. You know he wants to say more, and too tired to care to give a retort or interrupt him, you let Gaz continue. “But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my mission. Any order I’m given’ll override what you tell me if it has to, even if it’s dodgy.”

You watch dark liquid fill the coffee pot in a deluge of blackness like a wave of ink, and with that inkiness, the pit in your stomach gets larger.

You could always poison him. Your eyes blink, hearing the slight beep of the machine in front of you as you grip your mug.

Nightshade.

“Well, then,” Kyle looks for plates and finds a stack in a cupboard near the entrance. “What do I need to know, Ma’am?”

Hemlock.

“I don’t like people messing with my things,” you level, filling your cup to the brim as Gaz takes the pan off the heat; putting out the flame. “Stay out of my room and the room next to it if you insist on walking around.”

Choosing the opposite end of the wide island, you put your cup down and sit. A plate with a piece of bread with the yellow and white sight of scrambled eggs is slid into view. Kyle does what’s best and goes as far away from you as possible to eat his fill as well.

The built man stands.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, “I’ll be taking a look around every day, but I doubt anyone would try and break in.”

The fingers which had picked up a small piece of egg paused with it halfway to your mouth.

Castor Bean.

“Why do you say that?”

“The curtains.” You spare a glance at his nose, watching him take a bite out of the bread and act like the answer was obvious. He swallows and you follow the action with a tight throat. “Erm, no offense, Ma’am,” you raise a brow slowly, “but am I safe to assume you never open them? Least, not all the way?”

“What do you think?” You eat your food and take a long sip of your drink, downing half the mug in one go. You really just wanted him to disappear like a bad dream.

Large quantities of Daffodil.

“Less of a chance of anyone else knowing where your room is—would take too long to figure out. Wasting time like that isn’t how foreign cells operate…quick and easy, y’know?... Any others?” Kyle finishes his plate quickly, moving to place it in the sink; not wanting to dwell on the comment.

You take a few bites of your own, wondering silently how he can eat so quickly, and nod.

“If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, leave me alone.”

The air thickens.

Kyle blanks as you continue eating slowly, taking brief intermissions between bits to sip down more coffee. The tired moments of your sluggish eyes and twitching fingers. You don’t think to explain further, content to hear in those few moments absolutely nothing besides the beating of your own heart.

Rosary Pea. Induces tremors, high heart rate, and burning in the back of the throat. Fatal.

Your mother also liked her plants, though you doubted the fauna in the back garden was still alive. You hadn’t bothered to keep it up after the gardener quit.

“I’m…not following.” Gaz scratches at his chin, face pulled back in confusion, lightly shaking his head. “Screaming?”

“Screaming.” Taking the empty plate, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “In the night. I was quite clear.” A devious smirk whittles itself over your flesh like wood. “You’ve heard my scream before, you’ll recognize it. Sound carries.” Dismissively you toss your free hand. “As I said, it’s an old property.”

Gaz tries his best to not engage, but the words he’d been wanting to tell you slither off his tongue after a moment's thought. He had to make you understand. Strain forms again.

His head shakes with a slight parting to his lips. No matter what, every conversation always led back to an argument. “Do you think this is a joke?”

You’re walking back to your seat with the coffee pot in hand, scooping up your mug with the intention of bringing both back to your room.

You don’t answer right away, causing the man to call your name sternly; seriously.

“I hate you. That’s not a joke.” Your words bounce, not at all hollow like the wound in your heart. Violent and utterly true.

You didn’t want this man around—you didn’t want him in your house, you didn’t want him in your city, you didn’t want him living.

Walking off, the suffocating air trails after you as you disappear into the darkness, avoiding the truth.

But this situation is not a joke. Not at all, but you can never say that out loud. Where would your thin bit of control go? The brief moments of pleasure when you make Kyle’s patience and lax nature devolve into annoyance—even anger.

The words follow after you in a deep, aggravated, sigh.

“Yeah, trust me, Love, I’m well aware.”

Cold was a day in hell before you admitted to this boy you were terrified.

But how many more days could you keep that act up? Three? Five? Ten? How long was this even going to go on?

Your mind was scattered, torn between duty and self-preservation. Killing the Sergeant would lead you down a dark path, one you weren't sure you could take by yourself. But was that justice?

Is that what Dad would want? You have to ask yourself as you make your way back to your room in pitch blackness, guided only by the old walls of a home even more dented and destroyed than you were.

But the worst part was that you didn’t even know the answer anymore. And everybody who could help was limited to a stray cat that didn’t like you and a mother who left you here alone during your darkest moments.

The house was filled with ghosts, but you’d never felt more alone.

TAGS:

@fatunn, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @untitled69555, @babybooday, @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @karnellius, @latteisaqueen, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @renaich, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld, @wasteland-babe, @330bpm-whiplash, @anna-banana27, @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar, @doggydale, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328, @blueoorchid, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls, @vamqyr3, @lavalleon, @nebula67, @urfavsunkissedleo

426 notes · View notes

obsolescent · 1 year

Text

This Side of Paradise - Part One

Part Two

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x GN!Reader

Summary: Kyle and you are roommates–flatmates–while you study abroad in the UK. He’s usually gone due to his work and it doesn’t bother you, at first. You like being alone and like little company, but you start to feel an odd pang after a traumatic event happens that causes him to come back from base early.

Category/Prompt: Two-part series | "I'll take care of you."

Author's Notes: Ahhh I'm so excited to be participating in @glitterypirateduck's GazFest! I've been meaning to finish this and this has given me that push. This is also the first event I've participated in on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy!

Content Warnings: Swearing, mentions of a fire but not very descriptive, reader is from the southern US, reader is more introverted, Kyle is worried for your wellbeing.

Word Count: 1,267

Another night studying, another night alone. You don’t mind, being more on the reclusive side. You really don’t mind having to interact with others, you just prefer not to. Speaking of which, you quite enjoy having a roommate–flatmate, as he would say–that’s hardly home. He doesn’t correct you in a rude way, more like he’s trying to teach you to use more of the dialect here. He’s gone for months at a time every once in a while, typically it’s just a few weeks, then he’s back for a month and the cycle repeats. It has to do with the military, but that’s all he would say about his line of work. You have a part time job at a gas–petrol, he would correct you again–station. The cultural difference between home and here is a lot more than you were expecting, having been in America your whole life to suddenly being “across the pond.”

Though the interactions you have with people here are very amusing, the double takes when people hear you at work has you “hooting and hollering”, so to speak. Most ask for you to keep talking, interested in your accent. It’s led to a few good conversations, if you’re being honest. There’s a handful of some, though, who’ve heard you speak and think you’re dumber than a bag of rocks and let you know so. Those aren’t as amusing. Regardless, it’s been a pleasant experience overall while staying in the UK, especially with the one you’re rooming with.

Meeting Kyle was by chance. He had listed his…flat, on a website that helps students around the world find accommodation close to colleges and universities. You had seen in the listing that he wasn’t home often, and being more of an introvert, that seemed like the best option for you. You had reached out and agreed on a time to chat. He was more than what you were expecting in every which way. Charismatic, kind, funny, and definitely including looks. He’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. You’re glad he’s away for the most part, having someone around looking like that would surely be a distraction for you.

After that first initial conversation with Kyle, you were sure he would be the one you would be living with while studying abroad. After getting everything sorted out, between speaking with your advisor and obtaining a passport, you were set to fly out. Kyle practically demanded he pick you up and take you to your shared quarters, since the airport was quite a drive away from the apartment. He also mentioned wanting to show you around some. Ever the gentleman. Thankful for his offer at being a free tour guide, you take him up on the offer. You were glad to have met someone willing to help out and be so generous towards you, it was in his nature and you knew just by his interactions with you that he did this for everyone that came into his life.

Back to the present, it’s a Tuesday night, and there’s not much going on for you. After leaving work, you came home and made a quick dinner for yourself and settled down on the couch for a study session. You slide your earbuds in, unable to focus if it’s an actual song, and listen to sounds of nature, rain and the like. Hours have passed since you’ve immersed in your college work, sounds blaring through the speakers in your ears. You don’t realize the fire alarm has started blaring.

What finally gets you to notice is the sudden phone call that cuts the sounds out, a call from Kyle. He must’ve received an alert. “Hey–woah–I just noticed that–” “Bloody Hell! Are you still in the flat? Get outside! Christ!” You don’t even think, your brain going into panic mode, you snatch your shoes from beside the door and run for the stairs. You’re on the fifth floor, happy that you can see so much of the city, but not so happy in the event of a fire, like now. You’re not sure where the fire is located, you’re just hoping it won’t prevent you from reaching the exit. ‘What the hell would I even do if it is? Don’t think like that, just keep running, just keep going don’t think about it–’

“Are you there, love? You alright? Please say something–” Kyle’s frantic voice finally breaks through your internal monologue, earbuds still secured in your ears. “S-sorry, Kyle, I was just…I’m on my way down, I’m on the third floor now.” Your feet carrying you faster than you’ve ever ran before, you’re not seeing anyone else on the stairs…God, how long has the alarm been going off? What about the sprinkler system, why hasn’t it turned on already?’ “Thank God, it’ll be alright, just take some deep breaths and keep pushing, yeah? You’ll be outside before you know it. I’m right here with you.” His reassurance is welcomed, taking his advice, you begin some breathing exercises the best you can while scurrying down the flights of stairs.

Second floor, almost there. You feel like you’re flying down the steps, everything numb. You round the corner, about to hit the top step of the next flight when you see it. Fuck, that’s smoke. “K-Kyle, the fire, it’s on the second floor.” You begin to cough, covering your nose and mouth with your sleeve. “Fucking hell. Go back up to the previous floor. The hallway windows should have an external fire escape. Try those, yeah?” You nod your head even though he cannot see, trying to breathe like he told you to. You push the door open into the third floor’s hallway, the window to your right just a few feet away. You rush to it, having to yank on the window a few times before it pries open.

It’s one of those ladders that retracts, the end of it about 20 feet from the ground without the extension. You try releasing the mechanism that will release the other part to extend fully, but it won’t budge. You toss your shoes to the ground below, beginning to brace yourself to drop the rest of the way. “Did you get it?” You hear him ask, shuffling coming from his side of the call. “Y-yeah I got it, the ladder won’t extend all the way, fall’s maybe 20 feet.” “You can do it, love, just tuck your chin and lower your head when you drop. May be bruised and cut up some, but you’ll be alright, you can do it.” You get to the last rung, letting yourself dangle for a moment before taking the leap, literally. You take a deep breath and let go.

You hit the ground with an explosion of pain in your left arm. Letting out a cry of pain you hold onto your arm, moving other limbs in different directions to check their conditions. Kyle yells your name, “Hey! I need you to answer me, are you alright? What’s wrong?” Kyle cuts through the fuzziness in your brain. “F-Fuck. My arm, I think I broke it.” You begin to stand on shaky legs, testing the rest of your endurance. You falter and collapse to the ground, absolutely exhausted. The adrenaline must have worn off now that you’re no longer in immediate danger.

You lay your head back against the concrete, staring up at the night sky. The moon is bright and beautiful, hanging low. It’s the last thing you see before you slip into unconsciousness, Kyle calling your name over and over again lost to oblivion.

Tags: @sofasoap, since you tag me in your Gaz fics!

#gazfest #o fics #gaz my beloved #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz x gn!reader #call of duty x reader #gaz call of duty #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x gn!reader #call of duty x you #call of duty #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x gn!reader

159 notes · View notes

honey-riley · 2 months

Text

Love You To Death || S.R. || 4 || NFWMB

WARNINGS: This contains two war crimes (whoopsie) but so does Modern Warfare, so don’t fry me pls and thanks 😛 I don’t want to spoil anything, but the war crimes are: Execution without trial/ability to surrender, and opening fire in a civilian congested area (idk the proper term for it), death, minor gore, betrayal, HEAVY MENTIONS OF DV.

wc: 2.1k

A/N: Ben, am I right? 🙄 I had to put the cut in a different place bc it starts out pretty rough. Anyway, I love y'all, my ask me is open if you have any requests or questions about literally anything!! And a big big big thank you for almost 250 followers!! I didn't even realize that I had so many lol. Thank you so so so much.

3 || 4 || 5

In the morning, Honey woke up with a pounding headache, a black eye, and a few other bruises. She opened her sore eyes, watching Ben’s chest rise and fall. Tears pricked her eyes as she tried to move, but her body was far too sore to want to work. She powered through, gritting her teeth and getting out of bed. She went into the bathroom, shutting the door. Glancing down, she noticed the dent in the wood of the door, from where her head had been slammed into it months ago. She glanced in the mirror, taking in the bruises and marks. The broken blood vessels that wrapped around her green irises, the purple that marred the skin around her eye, going up onto the bridge of her nose. There was no way of hiding this.

She shed her clothes, starting the shower, getting it warmed up. While she waited, she looked at the big bruise on her upper thigh, which would be easier to hide. She let out a sigh, stepping into the shower.

As the hot water pounded against her skin, leaving it red and irritated, she sat down on the floor, curling her knees to her chest. Tears stung her eyes before rolling down her cheeks, mixing with the water that poured down around her. She rested her forehead on her knees, tearing herself apart internally.

Was zum Teufel habe ich getan, um das Universum so zu verärgern? (What the hell did I do to piss off the universe like that?)

About 20 minutes had passed before the water had started to run cold. She got out, got dressed, and put her uniform on. She covered the bruises on her face to the best of her abilities, but the broken blood vessels in her eyes were a dead giveaway. She shook her head, trying to get her mind in the right place. She had to go to work. She needed to get ready. She went into the bedroom, gently placing a soft kiss against Ben’s cheek before leaving. She got onto base, and into the briefing room. The rest of the team was already there and waiting, so Honey found a spot away from the team as much as possible. “Good morning, Sergeant.” Laswell smiled softly. Honey gave her a nod in response, mumbling a greeting back.

“So, to start the briefing, we have intel that there has been a connection between Makarov and someone close to the team. We aren’t sure yet, so whatever you do: do not point fingers.” Laswell started. Everyone in the room looked over at Honey, and it made her gut sink. This was the last thing that she needed.

Honey choked back the whimper that was threatening to escape, closing her eyes.

“Now, because Makarov is eliminated, we are unsure who the intel is going to and who is in control. The Konni group has attachments, and we are aware.” Price said, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms. Honey could feel everyone's eyes digging into her, and that’s when she broke. She stood up, leaving the room, tears racing down her cheeks. To the team’s surprise, Ghost was the one to stand up and go after her. Chasing after her, he quickly caught up, grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her to the cold, brick wall. The back of her head slammed against it as she was forced to look up at him. “Fuck you. Fuck you.” Ghost growled, his voice deep and full of hurt. “I didn’t do anything!” She whimpered, trying to push him off of herself. “That’s bullshit! You fucker. I knew we never should have recruited you. Fuck you.” Ghost yelled, making the team rush out of the briefing room. Soap immediately shoved Ghost off of Honey. “Back the fuck up! We don’t know if it’s her! We don’t have any proof!” Soap growled, grabbing Ghost by the shoulders.

Ghost let out a growl, pushing Soap off of himself. He grabbed Honey by the jaw, making her look up at him. That’s when he noticed the bruising around her eye. He let go of her, stepping back. “You’re not off the hook.” He muttered, walking away. The team checked up on Honey, but she was too shaken to explain everything.

“What happened to your eye? Was that Ghost?” Gaz asked, gently guiding her jaw upwards to look at him. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “No, my.. My boyfriend.” She sniffled softly, wiping her tears away. “I’m sorry.” She added, starting to sob. Gaz pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly and running his hand along the slicked back portion of her bun.

“Why don’t ya move in wit’ me fer the time bein’? Just till ye get back on yer feet.” Soap offered softly. She looked up at him, desperately wanting out, but not wanting to be a burden. She slowly nodded, letting out a breath. “I’m so sorry.” She sniffled, wiping her tears away. Soap gently brought her into a hug, rubbing her back.

About a week later, Honey was moving out from her house. She was packing her things, grabbing her stash of money that was under the mattress. Ben was at work, so she had a little bit of time to get her things packed and ready. As she lifted the mattress, she saw a few manilla envelopes that were new. She grabbed one of them, opening it up.

Ben.

The next words she saw were Vladimir Makarov.

Her breath caught in her throat, grabbing all of the files and immediately calling Soap.

“Hey. Can you come over? Please.” Honey panicked, her breaths coming in heaves.

“Aye, I’m on my way. Jus’ gimme 10 minutes.” Soap replied, standing up and rushing out of his house. He barely had time to put his shoes on or anything, but he got there within the 10 minutes that he promised. When he got there, Honey answered the door, leading him upstairs.

“Ben and Makarov.” She whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

"Alrigh’. Let's grab those files and get out of here. I'll call tha others and have them meet us at tha base. We cannae stay here any longer." Soap says calmly, trying to reassure Honey.

She nodded, following Soap out. They grabbed what little she had packed, got it loaded into Soap’s truck, and made their way onto base. An emergency briefing was immediately planned, and as soon as they stepped foot on base, they were sent to the briefing room.

“Alright. This changes everything. Honey is now a walking target, as well as the rest of us. Because Ben has been found out, that means he’ll be after Honey.” Laswell stated, looking at the files. “How do we know she doesn’t have a part in this? She could have planted the files. They could be faked. She could be trying to get us off of her ass.” Ghost muttered, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He had an intense look in his eyes, something was simmering under the surface, and they all knew that dam was about to break.

“You’re right, we don’t know, but we don’t have any proof of that. We will get the files authenticated.” Price replied, leaning against the table, his weight on his knuckles as he stood. Soap nodded, looking over at Gaz, who agreed. “Please, get them authenticated.” Honey replied, wanting them to see the truth. She wanted to be believed.

“But what.. How did he know that you were joining the team?” Ghost questioned.

“He’s the one who landed me the job.” Honey whispered. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as everything lined up and played out in front of her.

The team went silent, the air thickening as they thought about that response. Was she telling the truth? That was the most pressing question in everyone’s mind. It all lined up almost too much.

“Well, we’ll find out soon.” Price sighed, putting the files together and putting them in another envelope.

The following days, tensions got thicker and heavier, all of that weight pressing down on Honey’s chest. She laid in the bed in Soap’s guest bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. It felt like there was this ten ton weight constantly on her chest. She hadn’t really moved out of bed since Price excused her for the time being. She blinked away tears as bile bubbled up in her chest, threatening to spill. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she fought the urge to puke.

There was a soft knock on the door, drawing her attention away from the ceiling. She glanced over as Soap came in. “They were authentic. No foul play or anythin’. Ye’re right.” Soap said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Honey nodded, staring up at the ceiling again.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” He added, rubbing his forehead.

“At least ye’ll be out of here soon. You’ve got wha’? Three months left ‘ere on the team?” Soap asked. Honey nodded, choosing to stay silent. She felt hurt, betrayed, but she understood. She was the newcomer on the team, they had every right to think she was suspicious. But at the same time, she was sick of always being voted against, vetoed, thrown away at the last second. She just wanted to stay in one place for once, but everything felt so impossible. “I might leave the military.” She whispered, rubbing her forehead. Soap tsked at that. She was a good soldier, a good person, and she knew what she was doing, so for her to leave the military, that would be bad for everyone around her. But, he couldn’t be selfish. She had the right to choose what she wanted to do with her life, and he couldn’t choose that for her.

“Hon, I understan’ but think about all the missed opportunities. Ye could get paid to see the world.” Soap said softly.

“No, what I get paid for is taking the lives of people.” Honey replied, letting out a sigh as tears pricked her eyes. This was always the hardest part of the job, knowing that you’re a government assigned murderer. She knew that she only took out bad people, but one person’s enemy is another person’s hero.

“These people have families, Soap. Just like you and me.” She whispered, her German accent getting a little thicker as she got emotional.

“I understan’. And I think about tha’ a lot.” Soap replied, resting his hand on her arm.

During the passing week, Honey laid low at Soap’s house, and they kept each other safe. The team had announced that Ben was now a target — and targets needed to be taken out. Honey was assigned with taking out Ben, which was a hard thing for her to do.

This was the man that she loved, the man that also treated her like shit, but she loved him. They had been together for so long, but now, here she was, sitting on a roof with Ghost right next to her, watching as Ben made his coffee rounds.

“Let me take the shot. You sit back.” Ghost murmured. “I was assigned to take the shot, I’m supposed to take it.” Honey replied, shaking her head as she looked through her scope.

“I don’t care. You’re not going to shoot him. It’s harder than it looks.” Ghost replied. She let out a long sigh, feeling like this was a nasty game of ‘you took my kill, I’ll take yours’. She complied, scooting back a little. They waited until Ben sat down, focused on his phone. They waited for all of the civilians to move out of the way and clear before Ghost took the shot. Screams erupted as Ben’s head was literally blown off, and Honey let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. Tears pricked her eyes and she put her head down, resting it on the roof, next to her rifle.

"Heilige Scheiße. (holy shit.)” She mumbled, taking a deep breath. Ghost watched the area, making sure that there were no other possible threats before he slowly looked over at Honey, putting his hand on her back.

“Time to move.” He said, guiding her to stand. She took her rifle, standing on her feet, looking down at Ben’s body that was across the street.

“Don’t look.” Ghost grunted, grabbing her bicep and leading her away. Honey felt sick to her stomach, her face paling as she let out a deep breath. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, but she kept moving. This was her job, Ben was a target, and this was necessary for more people to live and be safe. That didn’t get rid of the pain, though. It still hurt her.

13 notes · View notes

isabella-kr · 2 years

Text

Chapter Nine: Housekeeping

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: Captain Price and his team comb through a townhouse in London in hopes of finding the stolen Russian Gas.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, injuries, gun violence, terrorism, death.

Word Count: 4k

Note: Really sorry it took me so long to update; I was going through a rough patch and didn’t have the energy to write! But I’m back now :D

Note 2: Special thanks to @deriley whose work was the inspiration for the Gaz joke :))

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

Splashes of colour danced behind her eyelids like those of a firework on a cloudless night sky. The pads of her tired fingers pressed into her sensitive eyes and an exasperated sigh tumbled past her dry lips as her elbows dug into the soft skin of her thigh. The force no doubt left a circular mark underneath the thick material of her cargos, but she paid the tension no mind as she continued to rest her head in her palms.

Despite securing her place inside the building, the cold, late October air continued to leave an uncomfortable prickle against the apples of her cheeks and tips of her ears. Right now, she wished for nothing more than to have one of the hats Price adored so much covering her own head.

“You good?” Came Thomas’ croaked voice.

The sergeant sat beside her with a packet of sweet chocolates in his hand. He offered some to her, and although she often refused the treats, this time she could not help but accept. She reached for the packet, and feeling it crinkle around her hand, she pulled out a small number of star-shaped chocolates. Placing them on her tongue, she hummed in delight as the sweetness gracefully crowned her tastebuds.

“Just tired,” she told him, rubbing her hands over her face once again.

“Me, too.” Thomas hummed, “Hope I get shot and sent home.”

Her head snapped in his direction with a furious look. With a sharp swing, she slapped her hand against his forehead, watching amused when his head was flung backwards. His palm soothed the sore, red spot that was quickly growing on his assaulted forehead, and the scowl that formed on his face showed just how little he appreciated the gesture.

Hesitant footsteps coming their way caused them both to turn before any more words were exchanged, their eyes landing on a very uncertain Gaz. He was biting on the inside of his cheek, and his hands moved from his pockets to cross over his chest in an unsure manner. The nervousness was practically radiating off him in waves, and so the two decided to take pity on him.

“Garrick,” called Thomas, his hand gesturing at the young Sergeant.

He approached the two with a stiff smile as his hands fell limp at his sides. He sat on a small bench opposite them, a sigh leaving his parted lips when he rested his back against the cold wall.

“Gaz, right?” No-Face asked with a gentle tilt of her head.

He confirmed with a nod.

“Cat got your tongue?” she raised a brow with a teasing smile.

“Sorry,” he suddenly straightened his back, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Really keeping up those formalities, eh?” Thomas chuckled, “Why the nickname? You gassy?”

The young sergeant looked taken aback by the question. His brows raised and eyes narrowed slightly.

No-Face almost laughed. Almost. She caught herself just before the sound escaped her lips, and sent a fake, scolding look in Thomas’ way.

“Wiz,” she warned.

“I’m only asking,” he defended with a grin, “Come on, tell us.”

“It’s Gaz, not Gas. Ga-z,” the youngest of them all retorted.

Thomas puckered his lips, “So you’re not gassy?”

“No,” he stated. After a short pause, he spoke once again, “When’s the brief?”

“When Price gets here,” No-Face decided to answer, cracking her neck as she leaned against the wall, “He was on the phone with Laswell last time I saw him so it might take a while. You can go inside if you want,” she gestured at the room the brief was to take place, “The others are already there, I think.”

He nodded with a hum of acknowledgement, “You two known him long?”

“‘Bout five years,” Thomas revealed.

Kyle looked to her then, and she let out a breath before replying, “Almost a year now,” she said, “Don’t worry Gaz, he’s a good Captain. Might look intimidating, but he’s nice, really.”

“Speaking of the captain,” Thomas manoeuvred in his seat to face her, “Since when do you call him Price?”

Her brows knit in the middle, “What do you mean?”

“Before you went on leave, it was always ‘captain’, and now it’s ‘Price’,” he pointed out with wild eyes, “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she denied with a shake of her head, “You’re overthinking it.”

“Am I?” he raised a questioning brow.

She nodded, “Yup.”

“Alright, then,” he exhaled sharply, “Keep your secrets.”

“There’s no secret.”

I just don’t want any false rumours to spread.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching caused their mindless bickering to cease. Speak of the devil.

Price approached the three with a quizzical look. His brows raised and arms lifted to hold onto his vest before he spoke, “Why aren’t you inside?”

“That’s on me, sir,” No-Face quickly replied, “I had a headache and wanted to wait out here before having to sit in that stuffy room. Thomas decided to join me and then Garrick somehow got involved, too.”

He only nodded, and then gestured for them to enter the crowded room. Gaz was the first to walk through the door, closely followed by Thomas, and then No-Face who was almost at the very back of the group. John was right behind her, his hand gently squeezing her shoulder before they entered walked through the threshold of the door.

She decided to stand at the back and lean against the cold wall, whilst John moved to the very front. He placed his jacket on a chair and began to speak, his gruff and stern voice making sure all were paying attention to his words.

“Alex and Commander Karim’s forces have destroyed General Barkov’s Forward Operations Base, temporarily limiting Russian air capability in Urzikstan.” He explained to the large group, wordlessly congratulating the CIA agent and Commander, “We need to move fast.”

The captain then looked towards Gaz and sent him an acknowledging nod, “Sergeant Garrick, thanks to your intel, we’ve tracked the Al-Qatala cell responsible for the Piccadilly attack to a townhouse in North London.”

He half-leaned against the desk that stood behind him, “Three SAS teams will get inside and connect the dots. If the Wolf is in possession of the stolen Russian gas in Urzikstan, we need to find him. Be advised: there may be non-combatants on target. Check your shots.”

The helmet felt heavy on her head, and if she wasn’t already used to the extra weight, she was certain she would have struggled to keep her head up. The engine, although powerful, was quiet as they drove throughout the empty side-streets of London. Or rather, as quiet as an Army vehicle could really be.

The moment the car came to a halt, silence settled upon the soldiers. Thomas and No-Face shared a look, and she pulled the black mask up until it reached over the bridge of her nose. Upon Price’s signal, the door was opened, and the captain’s voice echoed throughout their comms.

“Targets are up, boys. Let’s kick this off,” he said as his boots slammed against the stone pavement.

Price and Gaz took their positions at the front of the group, their guns held securely in their tight clutches as the others followed behind them. No-Face found herself just behind Thomas, her eyes scanning the area for any danger they might not have anticipated during their plans. She found nothing. The area was clear.

The group of soldiers stopped as they approached a metal gate, only resuming in their march once Gaz cut the chains which held the gate secure with a pair of bolt cutters. The chain dangled from the metal, but thanks to Garrick’s careful movements, it made little noise to alert any civilians of their presence.

“Bravo 6, moving on the rear garden,” Price spoke through the comms once they reached a small, wooden gate before pushing it open.

The soldiers were quiet as they moved in, their guns aimed at the brick house whilst infiltrating the back area of the house. The wild barking of a dog echoed in the distance, but the soldiers were much too focused to pay the otherwise distracting noise any attention.

“Bravo 6, this is Alpha 2,” a male voice answered through the comms, “About to enter the west alley.”

“Copy.” Was the captain’s reply.

As Price and No-Face took their place at the back door of the house, the latter moving to her knees to unlock the door, Thomas and Gaz stayed in the back. The newest addition to the then opened up a ladder and positioned it at an open window above him.

“Bravo 6, moving interior.” Price announced once the lock clicked, and the soldiers began to move in.

They remained quiet as they gathered in the kitchen, only the voices of the hostiles filling up the space in the house. “I’ll put the kettle on,” a female voice said from the other side of the door, but once the door was opened, a soldier grabbed and pulled her to the ground before she had the chance to scream or let alone gasp in surprise.

“Attacking Russia’s the wrong move,” One of the hostiles spoke, his voice almost getting overshadowed by Alpha 1’s order to remain quiet.

“It’s what he wants,” another hostile replied as the soldiers began to move into the corridor.

Price and No-Face were first in line to engage, prowling through the dark corridor as the voices continued to speak in an urgent manner.

“Won’t that encourage them to align? We’ll be fighting everyone,” one of the Hostiles said.

“We’re working with an ultranationalist group,” a woman replied, “They’ll handle operations in the East after the attacks.”

“Trust the Wolf,” a man retorted.

“You know I do,” another male hostile spoke, “But this operation failed, so why are we doing this?”

It was difficult to not alert the hostiles of their presence, but the darkness aided them in their mission. “Take the front room,” the captain told Gaz as he and No-Face sneaked in further, only stopping by the steep staircase. “Drop ‘em.”

“It did not fail,” a female hostile argued, “Your dead brothers made sure of that.”

“We were supposed to have double the body count,” a male hostile raised his voice at the woman, “It’s all over the flippin’ tele-!”

“That’s the point!” a man yelled, “This is the United Kingdom. Do you think anyone walks around worried that they’re gonna get blown up? Well now they do.”

No-Face and Price exchanged a look. The former assassin moved up one step and aimed her gun at a male hostile who sat comfortably one of the chairs. He looked relaxed, and if she wasn’t as good at controlling her emotions, his demeanour would have made her snap.

She didn’t understand; how could one knowingly cause so much pain and suffering? She was in their place once, she had to remind herself. But then again, she never knew the aim of her missions. It was ‘kill or capture’, and return. No questions asked, no further information given.

If she knew, she would never have done the things she did. But they knew what they were doing, and it made her blood boil.

“Al-Qatala is a household fucking name,” the hostile spoke again, “We need to coordinate with the other groups. Paris, Moscow, Munich...”

“And the Yanks?” the woman questioned.

“Soon.” He paused, and a certain silence enveloped them all. “Where the hell is that tea?”

That’s when they struck.

Pressing the trigger of her gun, she shot the man sitting at the table. His body went limp in an instant, and before havoc could spread in the dining room, the soldiers shot all the other hostiles present in the room.

“Secure,” Garrick announced through the comms.

“Alpha 3, entering through the front door,” A man from one of the squads spoke.

“Mark?” No-Face pointed her gun upwards when a panicked voice sounded from the first floor, “Mark, what’s going on?”

The front door opened and the hostiles on the floor above began to panic. The bedroom doors slammed and hushed voices gave out urgent orders. John moved in front of her, gesturing for her to move behind him as they waited for the others to join.

As she placed the night vision goggles over her eyes, Thomas and Kyle joined the two on the stairs, standing behind the captain and the lieutenant. Only once everyone was ready, did they begin to move forward.

“Bravo 6, moving to the first floor,” Price informed the other squads.

The hostiles’ yelling was muffled from inside the rooms, men and women arguing in a panic as they contemplated their next moves. Before they could come up with a clear plan of action, the soldiers infiltrated each and every room.

With her gun securely in her hands, No-Face pushed open one of the doors and stormed into the room. A man, with a woman held tightly in front of him, aimed his own pistol back at her. Unfortunately for him, she was better trained, and before he could even think of injuring her, she aimed her gun at him and shot him right between his eyes.

He fell to the ground, and with a fearful scream, the woman fell on her knees and crawled away to hide from the intruders. “Hostile down. Careful, there’s a civilian here.”

“Copy,” a man replied through the comms.

“Two X-Rays down,” Garrick’s voice echoed in her ear.

“The floor is secure,” Wiz added.

“On me.” Price said.

Everyone once again gathered by the staircase, and it was only once everyone was back in their earlier position that they began to climb further.

“Bravo 6, moving to the second floor,” Price announced.

They moved as quietly as they possibly could through the house. Their footsteps were feather-light despite the weight of their boots, and if it wasn’t for the creaky wooden panels, she was sure their whereabouts would not be exposed.

“Outside the door!” And angry voice yelled before a series of bullets flew their way, creating a large hole in the door that separated them.

As though it was instinct, No-Face took hold of the flash grenade attached to her waistline and threw it inside the room. The white flash that lit up the room blinded the hostiles, temporarily proving them useless in the fight.

“3-1 get up here, now!” Price yelled through the comms as the soldiers barged into the room.

“Roger! Moving!” The other squad leader replied, their boots stomping against the wooden floor as they rushed up the stairs.

Still blinded, a man ran out of a room. His shots were aimless and erratic, most bullets lodging in the walls and missing any soldiers standing near him. Gaz was quick to react to the man’s yelling and shot him before he could cause any injuries to the special forces.

Another man rounded a corner, half-hiding behind the edge of a wall as he shot at the soldiers. No-Face hid behind a turned over table and shot back, ending his life on the spot.

The areas turned quiet, then, with no bullets flying and no yelling echoing throughout the house.

“Floor secure,” She spoke over the comms.

“Rally at the stairs.” Price ordered.

Just as she was about to step out of the room and join her superior, the injured body of Captain Davies was pulled across the corridor. He groaned in pain as blood gushed out of his wounds, staining the floor beneath him a bright red.

The corners of her mouth curled downward at the sight, but she shook off any feeling of sympathy and marched towards the staircase. She was back behind Price, with Thomas and Gaz lining up right behind her.

“Bravo 6, taking the third floor,” John spoke as they stalked up the creaky stairs.

The concerned words of a woman echoed throughout the old house, “They will kill you!”

“I swore an oath!” a male voice replied, “I will not betray the wolf!”

“Then let me help!” the woman argued, “I don’t want to be here if you’re gone...”

The rest of the conversation fell upon deaf ears. No-Face tuned out the hostiles, and tightened her hold on her gun before looking over her shoulder to check up on the sergeants behind her. Thomas sent her a small nod, but Garrick was much too focused to even notice her looking in his direction.

“Check your shots,” Price warned with a deep voice as he stopped on one side of the door, No-Face mirroring his action on the other.

Garrick then kicked down the door, the end of his gun coming face-to-face with a frightened woman. “Hands up, now!” he yelled as she ran to the side of the room, where the loud cries of an infant bounced off the walls.

The frightened mother took the baby into her arms and clutched it tightly against her chest. Thomas was first to approach her, yet had to remain cautious and kept his gun aimed her way. “Don’t move!” he ordered and helped the woman get on her knees.

“Secure ‘em,” Garrick spoke, “Shut that kid up.”

“Wiz, escort her out,” No-Face ordered. He followed in an instant, helping the woman back to her feet and leading her out of the room.

He covered her eyes with his hands as they descended the stairs, assuring she would see no dead bodies or blood that littered her home. She was crying all the way down, but the sounds of her sobs and the infant’s screaming slowly grew fainter as they made their way out of the townhouse.

Garrick was quick to burst down another door, but hid behind the wall when a series of bullets came his way. The room looked empty, with no person in sight. That is until she saw him; a head peaked out from under the bed, and handgun was aimed in their direction.

Taking the chance, No-Face looked through the scope of her gun and with one easy shot, she killed the man before he could kill them. His hand went limp then, followed by a loud thud of the metal gun slamming against the wooden floor.

“Secure,” she told her team after infiltrating the room to find no-one else there.

“Last floor,” Price’s voice spoke in her ear, “Take point, sergeant.”

Kyle enjoyed breaking down doors, she realised. Every single one that blocked their entryway was torn down by his skilful hands, and then he was swift to run up the steep stairway. She was close on his trail, staying right behind him when he stopped by a metal door. He attempted to burst this one down as well, but when that didn’t work, he groaned in displeasure.

“Locked,” he complained on the comms.

“I’ve got it,” Price appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and made his way up towards them with large piece of metal that he slotted between the door and its frame. The door groaned as the metal pushed it apart, a loud crack almost causing her to flinch when it finally opened. “Try and take ‘em alive.”

A dim light escaped from the newly opened room, allowing them vision they did not previously have; it wasn’t bright, but it allowed them just enough vision to no longer rely on the goggles. It was a relief, really, and No-Face was happy to push the heavy goggles up from her eyes and over her helmet.

They entered the room with slow and calculated steps, their eyes scanning the room carefully in case a sudden hostile decided to take their chances with them. Aside for the clutter of old books, and unwanted rubbish, the place was mostly empty.

“Down! Get down, get down!” Kyle yelled when a woman came into view, but before she had the chance to answer, or move out of his way, his bullet was lodged in her body, and she fell to the floor as papers flew into the air around her. “Clear!”

“No-one else here, sir,” No-Face eventually spoke, looking over her shoulder to lock her eyes with the captain. She attached the rifle to the waistband around her hips and ventured further into the room, crouching beside the woman and placing her fingers against her pulse. She was gone. Dead.

“All teams, townhouse secure. Commence SSE,” Price spoke into the microphone connected to his earpiece.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the sound of Kyle’s gasp caught their attention. No-Face cautiously made her way towards him and analysed the metal box that he was suddenly holding in his hands, “She was going for the bloody detonator.”

Placing a laptop on top of the desk which the detonator was previously sitting upon, Price stepped beside them, his shoulder briskly brushing past hers, “Good job we dropped her, then.”

Garrick’s brows knit together, “We made the right call, sir?”

“Bet your arse,” Price hummed with a nod of approval, “We got a location on the wolf.”

He turned the laptop their way, and the two immediately began to scan its contents.

“Ramaza Hospital?” she voiced.

Price nodded, “In Urzikstan. Alex and Commander Karim are planning their attack now. We should know more soon enough.”

The late-night air felt chilly against her exposed cheeks. Being back at the base brought her a certain type of comfort yet sleep still refused to find her that night. She had been granted much more freedom in the past weeks, and one of them included being able to move around without her shadow; the soldier previously ordered to keep an eye on her at all times seemed to be gone, and she couldn’t have been happier.

She smelt the smoke before she even heard him approaching her. Price leaned sat down beside her on one of the few benches located on the base. It had to be way past midnight at that point, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he was still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

He hummed, and despite not touching him, she could practically feel the vibrations rolling off him, “Paperwork.”

“It’s a nightmare,” she admitted, “If you told me I would have to do so much paperwork, I would never have agreed to being a lieutenant.”

He laughed. His eyes crinkled as he brought the cigar to his lips and blew the smoke away from her. She could still remember, in the early stages of their relationship, when he cared little about smoking around her – he would even smile smugly, she recalled, when uncomfortable coughs would leave her throat in his smoke-filled office. But now, despite them sitting outside in the open air, he made sure the smoke would go nowhere near her.

“What are you doin’ up?” he asked with a raised brow.

She shrugged, “Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.

“You look exhausted,” he pointed out.

“Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcastic tone, “Just worried. If the missions are too much-”

“They’re not too much,” she cut him off, “Really, Price, they’re not. I’m fine.”

Despite the sceptical look in his eyes, he nodded, “Alright. Never sleep past six.”

“Sorry?”

“You never sleep past 6am,” he said, “Never fall asleep before 3am either. You get three hours of sleep tops; that’s not healthy.”

“And you’re the definition of healthy,” she sent him a look, then glanced at the lit cigar between his fingers.

Silence. Their eyes locked, and she wasn’t sure whether he was going to scold her for her attitude, and for pointing out his obvious hypocrisy, or laugh at her words.

“Fair point,” he licked his lips and then stood back up. His hand was held out towards her, and after staring it for quite some time, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help pull her back to her feet. “Gotta get some sleep.”

She exhaled sharply, but nodded nonetheless.

“Don’t give me that look,” he told her with a small laugh.

She couldn’t stop herself from mirroring his expression, a smile growing on her own face. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight,” he squeezed her shoulder.

She wasn’t certain when the change happened; when his touches were no longer fleeting, but rather lasting. When his fingers remained on her clothed shoulder or upper back a little bit longer than normal. She wasn’t certain when they became so comfortable with touch. She didn’t know when, or why, but a part of her was happy it did.

Tag List: @jxvipike @smoggyfogbottom @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @boniscute @ohgodthebogisback @konigbabe @tapioca-marzipan @randomchick546 @jaimiespn @no-one-anon @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @the-sky-writes @urminebutidontwantyou @copiasratscheese @duskwo0d @bowserowser @ilovemoneyandcheese @boxofgasoline @freyjasfenrir @jimmorrison13 @carlyi @ramadiiiisme @honeyr4ven @gills-lounge @makastaco @chloeforde @ofmenanduhhhwellmen

#john price #captain john price #call of duty john price #cod john price #john price x reader #John price x you #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #cod captain price #cod captain john price #price #captain price #call of duty captain price #x reader #x you

153 notes · View notes

blnk338 · 2 years

Text

COD HEADCANONS 3

COD HEADCANONS 1

COD HEADCANONS 2

REAP WHAT YOU SOW | GHOST X READER ON AO3!

Price:

Generally grew up with a pretty dull family life; parents were distant, especially his dad

Made a vow that he would not only be a good father, but he would remind those around them that they are watched over, whether they liked it or not

Dad taxation like it’s the end of the fucking world.

Oh you got a little sweet drink? Better not look away, he’s taking a sip

Buy candy at the gas station? His arm’s already careened around the side of the driver’s seat, asking you for some

Big on movies, but will absolutely fall asleep while watching them, then shoot up and tell you not to change the channel when you even touch the remote

Struggles a lot internally trying to deal with the fact that every mission might be his last with his boys, mulling over the loss of Alex, wondering if the same will happen to Gaz

Genuinely sees Garrick as the son he never had and knows that the kid admires him

It’s not often Price gets a hug or a pat on the back, but it’s hard for him to hide the wide smile that spreads across his lips when one of his team wraps an arm around him or pats his shoulder.

Survivor’s guilt to the max, man. Every mission is a mental preparation for the worst, and the very idea that he could be responsible for any one of the 141’s deaths weighs on him like all hell

Couldn’t decide if he wanted to get ordained or be the best man at Laswell’s wedding, so he did both. He sobbed as he read out his lines, then threw dad ass during the after-party.

Has a habit of calling his team, especially Gaz, “son” and has just gotten so used to it that he’s stopped correcting himself, and not a single member has brought it up seriously (aside from gag gifts for the holidays)

The warmest, most loving hugs out of the entire 141. The other's hugs are great, but there is so much genuine care put into every single bear hug of his. Each embrace holds you like it's your last, enveloping you in warmth as he mutters a few words of comfort, thanks, or both.

Wishes he could be a better father to his own daughters, but continuously finds reasons to stay in the military

Because of that, he is the absolute worst at discipline when he's on leave. He can scold as much as he wants, but his kids know he’s not being serious. Spoils them to not end.

His daughters also love Gaz and see him as an older brother

Gaz:

Like Price, there’s a lot of internal blame for everything.

Maybe if he shot first, or got to the site faster—maybe if he was better... those soldiers, those people, could’ve been saved.

Sees himself often as a shield, a hand in battle, and with that, sees himself as expendable. If it means seeing his team come back alive, he’d do anything to make sure that they’re okay.

Selfless to a fault. He’s taken more bullets, more stabs, and more punches than anyone else on the team during TF-141’s active timeframe. Price worries like hell over him because, on most missions, he comes back with at the very least a swollen cheek.

Considered smoking to take the edge off, but hates the taste of cigarettes and cigars, and prefers edibles over it all.

Even with that, he still tries to handle it “naturally,” insisting he’s alright and doesn’t need anything to cope, that the stress and anxiety will just pass eventually.

Refused therapy for a long time because he was afraid of getting worse, but eventually started going and has overall enjoyed his time

Was a parkour kid and then just… never lived it down.

Because of this, it’s nearly impossible to get away from the guy. Soap’ll pull pranks on him and have the guy in a dead sprint across base, leaping and vaulting off of boxes, crates, and other soldiers just to catch the Scotsman.

Bit people when he was a kid, too

Says “bruh”

“A woman? The only woman in my life is Joann Fabrics.”

Knows how to sew, patches up his clothes all the time, stitching his initials into the tags.

What can he say? He likes to keep his stuff to himself (plus with all of the stuff that Soap steals, if he doesn’t put a label on ‘em, they’ll be right in the lost and found)

Bit his nails pretty far down to the point where they hurt, so he tried out different nail polishes to keep himself from biting. When on the field, if he feels like he needs to bite them, he just sharpie’s them in (it works well enough for the guy)

Is completely content with drinking things right out of the fridge, regardless of who’s home. The milk you got yesterday? He’s just takin’ a quick swing, no worries, no really, it’s fine—just a sip, JUST A SIP—

Soap:

This guy plasters on a smile to cover up his crazy anxiety and intense paranoia; the responsibility he feels for his team, especially his lieutenant, is fucking crazy

He’ll take a bullet for everyone, but he’s more than willing to take whatever is needed for Ghost or Price, knowing they’re a higher rank, therefore sees them as more important. He holds Gaz in the same way, but he can't act the same because he's supposed to see him as equal; yet he would willingly take an RPG for the kid

Loves giving himself and his teammates spa days; face and hair masks, deep conditioning, threading eyebrows

Big on physical affection, but really relishes in the idea that he can do things for the people he cares about instead of hugs if preferred

The guy’s filled with so much love, it’s hard to contain, but he’s really really good at waiting and holding back for those who aren’t as into touching.

Like he knows Price loves hugs, so he’ll take any chance to pat his shoulder or include him in the fun, wrapping an arm around him, engaging him with the rest of the team’s shenanigans

Gaz loves the silly stuff with Soap, so they’ll pretend to make out or make fake moaning sounds, smacking the walls to make it seem like they’re fucking or something just to mess with any poor bystanders on base; adores how much shit he can pull with Gaz, so at the drop of a feather, he’s up and ready to fuck around and find out with the younger Brit. They are responsible for thousands of dollars in property damage.

Quality time with Roach is a big thing for the two of them since Roach seemingly always has something he has to do, and Soap can’t always help him (paperwork and such); just sitting in the same room, making light conversation, or doodling on the scratch paper while his fellow sergeant files papers is enough for him.

He knows Ghost isn’t huge on physical affection, so all of his touches never go past a short, half-embrace; usually landing on things like a clap on the shoulder or punch to the arm. Otherwise, Soap’ll run around doing tasks for him, helping him with the privates for the day, and other mundanities for his lieutenant. If it makes his life easier, Soap would tell him to consider it done before he even starts.

Sometimes wonders how good the team would be without him; if it all came down to it, what would he need to do to make sure that the 141 could manage without his support?

Big overthinker. Spends hours sometimes just cleaning the same knife over and over again, staring off into space, eyes blank as his mind tries to click puzzle pieces together

Thalassophobia

Still calls it a “slumby” instead of a slumber party

“It’s not a slumber party”

“YES IT IS WERE HAVING FUN AND WERE STAYING THE NIGHT IT’S A SLUMBY”

Its an abandoned warehouse in the middle of no where, there’s leaks in the roof, and the ground is damp.

Ghost:

Was a really anxious kid that ended up trying to cover it all up in his teens. Was actually kinda popular in high school; athletic, good-natured, and genuinely tried his best in his courses. There was always something sort of off about him though, he’d sit in class with a faraway look, spacing out, sometimes coming into school with eyebags for days.

Bit people as a kid

Wanted to go to college for computer engineering, but was highly discouraged and ended up getting into the military instead (as well as other reasons)

Still sometimes wonders about working with tech instead of using firearms, but those are just dreams, nothing more. He has a job to do now, it’s useless to think about anything but that.

Trusts every single member of the 141 (eventually Alej and Rudy) with his life. Is absolutely terrible at actually saying it, but would take a tank to the teeth to make sure they all end up alive. He isn’t willing to let them be selfless—he isn’t willing to give anyone up.

Milk drinker

Raw egg eater

Likes almonds, does not like cashews. Has never given a reason why.

Does not care for bugs.

“Why are you screaming, it’s a beetle.”

Doesn’t really get the whole deal about insects because they're usually so easy to take care of, but will remove them once everyone quiets down, taking a little piece of paper and cup, scooping up the little thing, and placing it outside. If someone's got a fear, he respects it and will take care of it, but he does it all with a neutral look on his face.

His main party trick is that he can swallow a cup of jello without blinking.

Just bottoms up, down the hatch, and done

Soap tried to do the same thing once and it ended up with him making a HOUGH sound and the jello, still fully intact, shooting across the room and splatting against the wall

Likes to write down jokes he thinks of on his arm; carries a pen everywhere

On that note, his arm and hands are his notepads. You can easily find random numbers, dates, a few mismatched words, and a small grocery list all on his non-dominant hand

Feels like he can’t ever get married or have kids because he’s so afraid of what happened to his parents will happen to him, and he never wants to do that to anyone, especially someone he loves

Still struggles with a lot of self-worth, denying the idea of a family or a stable future. It’s easier to not think about the future when you aren’t sure if you’re going to make it through the next mission

Is Normal British Guy #81 in his civvies, unless with the 141. He’ll wear a scarf or a mask for hunting or for winter, but he genuinely doesn’t wear shit during normal hours. If he's with one of his teammates, he'll wear a face mask of any sort.

One time, Soap was down south to pick up a specific brand of coffee he likes (yes, he’s particular), and Simon, who was getting some last-minute groceries, just stared at him for a good nineteen seconds before walking to the back of the store.

Soap didn’t know it was him.

... and he never will because Ghost’ll never tell him

Nosey nelly, this one.

Knows everyone’s info, for some reason.

He knows your address, and your social security number, oh, tell your mom “happy birthday.”

The team’s gotten used to it because he’s gotten better, but they all know that he’s seen their files.

it's all precautionary, doesn't intend for it to be creepy

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #john price #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #soap mactavish #call of duty #mwf2 headcanons #headcanon #cod headcanons #yes these all apply to Reap What You Sow #rwys ff #rwys #rwys soap #rwys price #rwys ghost #rwys gaz

201 notes · View notes