#task: 2

[itsscaredycat]

the triangle obtains a mortal human body! and depth perception!

edit: AU created by @/waty_mot and @/LosanPostle on twitter!

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

naps to lovers?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mellosdrawings]

Post-OP crash out rkgk

[imreadng]

simon riley with a bilingual reader. grocery shopping is tough because—

“what’s the red thing called again?” you look up at him with furrowed brows. you swear you know what you're talking about, the word is there at the very tip of your tongue.

simon, on the other hand, is wracking his brain trying to guess the thing that you want. apples? meat? what has been missing in the kitchen lately?

“y’know, the thing in pasta...” you mumble with your head now hung low, gesturing with your hands as if you could feel the very thing on your palms.

ah. simon finds himself nodding at the realization.

“y’mean tomatoes, lovie?”

just like that, you’re clapping your hands and pointing at him with a “yeah, tomatoes!” and he couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle.

“wha’s it called in y’r language, anyway?” simon asks, and he would try pronouncing it to the best of his abilities.

there have been times when you have been too frustrated to clarify whatever you had in mind. you would either say it in broken english or abandon the cursed speech all together so you could murmur to yourself in the language you’ve always known.

it wasn’t easy having this barrier between you two, but man will simon give his all if it means being able to understand you. he wants to hear your every thought, need, and desire — to connect with you in a way that’s so personal.

you better believe that he’s working his ass off to get to that point. in the end, he will do anything for you.

even if that means having to utter words that are barely comprehensible.

“hey, you’re doing it!” you beam at him, eyes twinkling with mirth as simon tries muttering tomato in your native language. “you’re doing really good!”

maybe it isn’t so bad if you’re cheering him on like that.

next part : “it isn’t garlic, is it?”

[whateveriwant]

Ghost is the type of dad that, when his kids are driving him up the fucking wall, pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks to himself “I should’ve pulled out.”

Gaz is the type of dad that, when his kids are giving him attitude, drops them off at Nana’s house because he knows she’ll teach them a thing or two about respect.

Soap is the type of dad that, when his kids are being ungrateful little shits, takes all of the batteries/cables/chargers out of their devices and buries them somewhere in the yard.

Price is the type of dad that, when his kids are getting on his very last nerve, threatens to drop them off outside the nearest animal shelter like a box of unwanted puppies.

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]

Simon jerking off to an old video of yours

He scolded you when you decided to keep the video saved, gave you the cyber security talk and stuff, but he secretly copied it in an SD for his burner phone.

Now that he is miles away from you, surrounded by dirt and sweaty men in the mist of deployment, your video is the only thing that brings him joy.

Laying on the tiny bed, the little screen of his phone is the only light in his room. One of his legs is planted on the floor, making leverage to buck his hips in to his hand, currently wrapping around his leaky cock.

His eyes are focused in the phone, panting softly at the pleasure swirling in his gut, happy trail sticky with his need. The thought that he fucked you so good you decided to even recorded the whole thing for posterity make his pace quicken, finally milking his orgasm at the point of overstimulation, all body covered in sweat and his belly in cum.

Now don't get him wrong, he still is very serious about cyber security, is just that he is better at managing it than you, love.

Sorry if I had mistakes! English is not my first language and Im an insomniac Dividers are from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more Image edited by me Comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thought of this at work today lmao

[incorrect-quotes1]

You: Hey, wanna take a shower with me? Price: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

[journen]

I realized I never posted this here! Ghost portrait, to add to my series of MW and Black Ops character portrait arts 😄🧡 Hope you guys like it!

[giotanner]

Sgt John "Soap" MacTavish and Sgt Kyle "Gaz" Garrick post-mission finds themselves in a pub near the English countryside, still with their full kit on. Let it not be said around they are lightweight when it comes to drinking

(Support the entire video on TIKTOK) MY ART COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!!

[call-of-daydreams]

Price, entering Johnny's room: "Why are you naked??"

Soap: "I-I don't have any clean clothes"

Price: *opens his closet*

Price: "What are you saying? You have shirts, pants, socks, hi Simon, more shirts, jackets-"

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

something I do a lot without even meaning to is call people babe, honey, sweetheart, etc, but it's usually in a context that's a joke not like just in passing etc. it's the southern or the whore in me, idk. it's not even flirty, I just do it for the silliness. but when someone does something especially nice for me I occasionally go "you're the love of my life" or "we're getting married." no idea why I chose to express myself this way, but usually it gets a blush or a giggle (very rarely do I do this to a man).

however, I would do it to simon riley.

it's some small task that would only take ten minutes max. he brought you a sandwich from the mess or he finished up a bit of paperwork for you. so you forget yourself in glee and it slips out.

"Riley, we're getting married"

he freezes as you chirp out a "thanks babe!" as an afterthought and munch while filling out a health survey.

he just stares at you, nods, and heads off. you thought that'd be the end of it until he turns up an hour later with a bountonniere and a bouquet. he shoves the later at you.

"heard you say you liked these once" he mumbles as he sits down beside you. you look up confused at him.

"Riley, what are these for?" you say with a little grin. you've never got flowers from anyone before.

"my wife gets what she wants. always." he says, placing a hand on your thigh. "c'mon. not open much longer."

your eyes widen at his words. he tugs you up and out, asking if you have anything you want to wear or should you guys stop somewhere to pick up a dress. he swears he won't look beforehand, he'll just see you at the courthouse in it. he'll pay and he's got a dinner reservation afterward, sorry it's not before! do you want to take his last name?

please, doll, call him simon.

gaz is going to do pictures and price and soap will be witnesses. he's sorry it's rushed bird, but the quicker it's official the quicker he can start his husbandly duties.

[imreadng]

more simon riley with a bilingual reader ( prev ). this time...

“this can’t be right.”

you stare at the small notepad on the table, more specifically at what simon had written down. he observes the confused look on your face, how your finger hovers over the paper to point at each individual letter. for a moment, he wonders if he had heard you wrong. heard something else other than—

“the small, white vegetable you fry,” you repeat your words from earlier. “what do you mean by garlic?”

simon scratches his head at that, completely clueless. is it not garlic...?

the two of you agreed to start making a list of groceries to buy before going to the store. after all those incidents of forgetting to grab one thing or another, simon figured that it would be best to decide on what to get now. you’d tell him what’s missing and he’d write it down with a nod. it was simple enough.

“lovie,” simon breathes, “m’not sure what y’have in mind.”

as you look at him with a raised brow, he realizes that this might not be as easy as he thought it would be. he watches as you take the pen beside the notepad, clicking on it to reveal the shiny tip. you start scribbling on the paper with the black ink, and at first, simon couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

when he could finally make out the lines and curves you have drawn, he finds himself shaking his head. he has to try his damn best not to let out a snort of amusement.

“don’t know ‘bout you, sweet’art. but tha’ looks like garlic t’me.”

somehow, you still weren’t convinced.

“are you sure?” you question, your disbelief seeping through your tone. by now, simon was perfectly content with letting this whole thing play by itself. you pull out your phone and typed away in the search bar where images would soon pop up. images of the round, bulbous plant you called the “small, white vegetable you fry.”

you look at simon, then back at your phone. you look at simon again, and this time, he had the smallest smirk at the corner of his lips.

“mhm...” simon hummed, and you can clearly tell how much he was enjoying this. “found anything?”

you cross your arms and scoff, ignoring the warmth blooming in your face from embarrassment, but it did nothing to push it away. “i guess.”

a hand goes to cup your cheek, rough in touch but gentle in nature. simon angles your head and places a soft kiss on your temple, and you can feel the smile in it. for a second, you forgot what you were supposed to be doing, but simon doesn’t seem to mind. when he pulls away, you could hear the faint rumble of a laugh coming from him.

“think the list’s good now?”

prev. part : “what’s the red thing called again?”

[whateveriwant]

Ghost is the type of dad that would always be super blunt with his kids. So when his toddler asks him how her little sister came to be in mummy’s belly, instead of weaving a tale of magic wishes and baby-delivering storks, he says simply “We had sex”.

Gaz is the type of dad that would have his kid’s birthday entertainer cancel on him last minute. Good news is that the party store down the road is still open. Bad news is that the Spiderman costume he buys himself is two sizes too small.

Soap is the type of dad that would get kicked out of his kid’s football game because of his unruly behavior in the stands. Apparently, encouraging a group of six year olds to “Bloody kill!” the other team is frowned upon by most parents.

Price is the type of dad that would shave off his facial hair because he wanted to change up his look a little, only to end up scaring his kids (even making his ten month old cry) because they thought a stranger had broken into the house.

[parisoonic]

these effing guys

[girl-lostconnection]

Continuation to this post, that came down to me like a message from a god.

“Lieutenant, you have to let go”, the voice is muffled, all sounds are, like you are underwater. The blood pumping in your ears is so loud you aren’t sure if you can still hear properly.

You aren’t sure if the rapid ascend of extraction shuttle didn’t burst your eardrums.

“Lieutenant, look at me.”, the voice is closer and you can’t help but curl away, your whole body tensing, grip tightening.

Why are they speaking to you? Why- shouldn’t there be medic by now? Shouldn’t someone come out? What’s going on?

There is a stubborn nagging feeling in your chest — poking and prodding, fraying your nerves, sending twitch to your nervous hands.

Your wrists ache, tension coming through them to your fingers, every knuckle burning but the pain is dull.

You are just so cold. Why are you so cold?

It’s not supposed to be so cold on the ship, you just paid for an upgrade, just fixed the ventilation and heating, just —

Another Helldiver crouches in front of you, their eyes unusually soft — glimmering through the visor of their helmet. You don’t know them, they probably came through on the SOS beacon you deployed, just a little too late. The mission is done.

You are out.

But you are wet and cold, lighter armour that let’s you run faster, that lets you get to the exfil as soon as possible is now clinging to your body — wet and sticky in a way that makes your skin crawl.

God, do you hate sweating that comes with running like a mad fucking chick through the terrain that’s never on your side.

“Lieutenant”, the voice of commander — their rank shining like a fucking supernova — is practically gentle. Almost soft.

Unusually so. It grates down on your nerves. Helldivers aren’t soft. You aren’t made to be soft, it gets trained out of you. You can’t be if you want to survive.

“Lieutenant”, but they are soft and you want to scream at them, rage and despair coiling in your belly, your wrists ache, your fingers burn. “You need to unclench your fingers”.

Your mind is so blank, so painfully empty but you just grip harder, your knees joining in, boxing in your valuable cargo against your body, your vision blurring for some reason.

“…Why?”, is a broken quiet whisper, your voice hoarse in a way that makes commander carefully cover your hands with theirs.

Prying your fingers open.

“They are gone, lieutenant”, their voice is just as quiet as yours when they get your right hand uncurled.

Off the vest of your teammate.

The notion hits you like a dumbbell, your eyes sliding to them, your whole body instinctively tries to curl harder around the diver you managed to shove into Pelikan-1 before it got off the ground.

It’s impossible.

You got them inside, you got them out, you two got back, what do they mean?

You saved them, you brought them back, medic will just need to patch them up, why isn’t medic there, why is no one here?

You don’t realise you are shaking until commander physically pulls you off the ground, their gauntlets cold against the torn fabric of your armour.

You don’t notice. You aren’t sure you remember how to breathe.

There is a small persistent sound, that reverberates through your chest, that rises to your head and your mind is so blank and you are shaking.

Sound just gets louder — raw and wet, broken wail no human should be able to make, no human should be made to make.

You realise that it’s yours only when commander forces your head in their shoulder, muffling it effectively.

“You did your due, lieutenant. Democracy’s dignity is protected”, they murmur the script you both know too well.

Words echo through your skull as another wail rocks your body with a force enough to make your knees buckle.

Whats good is your due right now? What’s use of this protection if you couldn’t save the young diver that answered your SOS beacon and bought you time?

“You did good. We’ll be able to bury them. You did good, lieutenant, you didn’t leave them behind”, the voice above your head is thick with something you can��t place and hands around you just get tighter.

Uniform clings to your skin, your body still shaking, awful sticky feeling making your skin crawl.

You don’t realise why until you get back to your quarters, mirror making you lightheaded with panic, suddenly clicking that it’s not sweat.

It’s blood

Gaz looks over your ship with the same excitement young cadets usually have, his eyes shining when he turns to you.

“This sure is something. You keep your bird in prime condition, captain”

You hum, helmet in your head shining with metal detailing in fluorescent lights of your ship.

Prime is an understatement. You poured all resources and money you earned into this ship. You still do.

“I was just wondering…”, sergeant starts carefully with the wariness of someone who knows that it’s not up to him to wonder. Not when it comes to things so much higher his pay grade. But you nod, encouraging him to speak his mind and he continues. “You don’t have med bay around here. Seems like you could use one in your line of work.”

Gaz smiles, lips curling wider and god, he’s so young.

Young and brilliant, eyes so bright you can feel the phantom feel of the blood seeping through your uniform again.

“Had one. But command pulled the funding and pulled the stuff while we were deployed. Said that it’s not profitable use of resources”, your tone is carefully level, your helmet covering your whole head. Nothing to give you out. Nothing to report.

You are a picture of devour Helldiver.

But Kyle’s eyes still sharpen.

Like he can sense years-old rage and despair under your breast plate.

Like he can see the blood seeping though your uniform.

(It’s impossible, you washed it so much skin on your palms started to peel. You washed it so much you no longer smelled anything other than bleach when you wore it)

“Must’ve costed you a lot of good soldiers”, he muses carefully and something in your chest snaps painfully.

Something important. Something soft.

“Well, you know how it is, sergeant”, you say and there is rage in your chest and years-old blood in the threads of your armour (you will need to wash the bloody thing again until you can’t remember how sticky it was).

Kyle’s eyes are sharp and he’s brilliant and you never wanted to get someone off your fucking ship this quickly.

Your voice strings higher but you push through it, turning away, your words coming out more of a script than human speech.

“We do our due, sergeant. We protect democracy’s dignity”

You don’t add that the same can’t be said about your own.