#tells the rest of 141 that she's his favorite

[shyravenns]

John Price with the dog he absolutely did not want 

[wrestlingwithlife]

Task Force 141 Boys with Cowboy (Head canons)

Decided I’d write some head cannons for Cowboy!Reader with our main boys either that haven’t written about yet or have but are so cute I wanted to reiterate <3

Task Force 141 x Cowboy!Reader

—————————————————————————————————————

Soap :

#1 hype man fr 🗣️🗣️

Absolutely obsessed 😍

Will literally find any excuse to get Y/n to talk just to hear his accent

After watching Ghost get man handled by him he actually begged Y/n to spar with him

Looks up southern stuff to say to Y/n

“Y/n, will you take me to a Honkytonk? 🥺”

He tries his best but at this point he’s just doing it to get a reaction

Stumbled across the song “F***** by a Country Boy” and thought all country music was like that

Couldn’t look Y/n in the eye with hearing it in his head for a solid week

Never sleeps better then when his head is in Y/n’s lap

Literally will sleep like a rock

Soap is usually the one who falls asleep on Y/n

He didn’t realize how cuddly Y/n actually was until after one fateful night

Soap had came to watch old murder files with the southern male one night

Y/n fell asleep on Soap’s shoulder, slumbering silently

When Soap went to lean forward to grab his water he was yanked back into Y/n

Y/n bear hugged him to his chest and refused to let him go

Soap cherished that moment for the rest of forever

Added ‘Save a horse ride a cowboy’ to his Instagram bio

Has def stolen Y/n hat and tried it on

Y/n didn’t have the heart to tell him about the hat rule

But he’ll handle it eventually~

Absolute thigh guy

Has been caught staring so many times

Does not care

Continues to stare 👀

Has asked Y/n to crush him between his thighs

Y/n thought he was joking

He was not

#relatable

Ghost :

Absolutely whipped

Won’t even deny it if someone calls him out

He’s all about that Honkytonk Badonkadonk🤠

When Y/n says a word or phrase he doesn’t understand he just nods along until the male walks away, in which he will whip out his phone and immediately search it up

When Y/n mentioned there were times he missed his horses he made it his personal mission to find horses for him to pet

Ended up finding a place nearby that did horse therapy

He and Y/n both went and they absolutely loved it

The horses absolutely adored Y/n and smothered him with love

The southern male was happy to reciprocate

Ghost took a picture of it and now it’s his Lock Screen

Ghost was nervous the horses weren’t going to like him

Most animals don’t like his mask

Was elated when he realized the horses didn’t care about it

They really started to love him when Y/n showed Ghost how to feed them

Ghost was in heaven

He grew particularly fond of an old shire mare

She was all white and covered in scars but she was so impossibly gentle for her massive size

The worker said they called her Big Mama and she’d was a retired logging horse that had been rescued from going to slaughter

She adored Ghost and followed him everywhere

The workers explained she had a knack for taking the more nervous horses and animals on the ranch under her wing and making them feel a safe

Ghost almost cried when he hugged her 🥺

Now where Soap liked to sleep on Y/n, Ghost prefers to have Y/n sleep on him

Was laying in bed with Y/n one night while scrolling through his phone

Y/n was already snoozing 😴

Ghost went to put his phone on the nightstand only to get yanked back

Bro was shocked

Y/n snatched him back, burrowing under his arm

Almost cried again 🥹

Price :

Absolutely adores Y/n southern culture

Has a little notebook where he keeps stuff he learned from Y/n written down 🖊️

Occasionally uses southern slang around Y/n but unlike Soap he’s completely serious

Except the word Ain’t

He refuses to say that

When he finds out Y/n feels homesick he does everything he can to help

Gets Y/n all his favorite things

Favorite candies, books, flowers, even got Y/n a cow stuffie when he talked about missing his animals

Y/n put it next to his horse stuffie he got him last week

Price is a good cook but he doesn’t usually have the urge to do it that often

But when Y/n talked about a dish from his home town he missed??

Price spent two day’s learning how to make it and getting the stuff

Whipped that shit up like freaking master chef

The cowboy was elated and gave Price the most bone crushing hug

Snuck a little cheek kiss in there too 💋

Price’s cheeks turned pink so fast

I’m just going to say it…

Has drunk made out with Y/n before 🤯

The two got absolutely turnt on whiskey and just went for it

They never spoke about it after that but when they get close they still think about it

Price misses how the American male tastes

Something definitely awoke in him the day that he watched Y/n ride that mechanical bull

In a game of ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’ Y/n would Marry Price a hundred times over

I mean, me too 😍

Tried southern Cajun food that Y/n made once and his heart almost stopped

It tasted good and then all of a sudden everything was on fire

Did better at holding his spice then Soap tho so 10/10

Y/n’s go to after solo missions

Y/n will stumble into his office all tired and instead of pulling up a chair just plops on the floor and leans his head on Price’s leg

Price just plays with his hair while he finishes paper work

He’d be lying if he said his mind didn’t occasionally wander with how close Y/n was to his nether regions 😜

Gaz :

Trails Y/n like a puppy 🐶

I mean this boy hangs off his every word

If Y/n ever has to run an errand off the base you best believe Gaz will be going with him

Also looks up southern slang to understand Y/n better

Also listened to “F***** by a Country Boy” and couldn’t look Y/n in the eyes for a solid week

Always offers to help Y/n when he works out

Sometimes gets distracted when he’s spotting but no one can blame the poor boy

Acts of service is def his love language ❤️

Demands to know the names of every animal Y/n owns

Made a playlist of songs that Y/n mentioned he liked

Listens to it constantly

Likes to ‘help’ Y/n cook

Really just hands him stuff that Y/n asks for

Handles the spices the best out of any of them

When it’s just the two of them going out for whatever reason he’ll just grab onto Y/n somehow

Holding a hand, the hem of a jacket or shirt, or intertwining their arms

Y/n is happy to reciprocate

People will come up to Gaz while Y/n is distracted and compliment how cute of a couple they are

Just thanks them and doesn’t deny it ever

Sleeps in Y/n’s bed more then his own

Y/n will be working at his desk and Gaz will just wander in in and plop onto his bed to sleep

If Y/n takes to long Gaz will sigh loudly till he gets the hint

Always fights Soap for Y/n’s lap on movie nights

Besides Price he’s probably got the best sense of self control

He ain’t perfect though

Is Y/n isn’t watching him he is LOCKED ON

Always locked onto those cheeks 🥵

His mind does tend to wander

Y/n could ask Gaz to fake his death and run away with him and Gaz would do it in a heartbeat

[ghouljams]

Reverse fae au Ghost Words: 5.5k Rating: M (Minors DNI) Tags: Ghost x f!oc, fae!oc, Ghost pov, slow burn horror, magic, time loss, stalking, predator/prey, dubcon/noncon, manipulation, panic attacks, piv sex, gore, erotic cannibalism(?), Ghost's family lives, Ghost is in therapy too bad it's not gonna save him, (debatably) bad end Summary: Simon Riley saves his family, so why does it feel like he still lost them? Years later he sees a woman in a bar, one he can't seem to shake. a/n: thank you Ghost for infecting my dreams a year ago, I'm going to destroy your life now <3

Simon Riley stands, blood soaked, in a little apartment in the heart of Manchester. His chest heaves, panting as he stares down the beaten and broken body of his former brother in arms. Washington is dead on the black and white tiled floor of his family's flat. His blood pools under Simon's feet, and Simon tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut to avoid the overhead light, as he draws in a sobering breath.

"Simon," His mother breathes, "What did you do?"

He’s not the oldest, but he's the man of the house. He's supposed to protect his family from anything that would hurt them: his father, Roba, now Washington, someday maybe even himself. "My job," He tells her over the sound of his own frantic heartbeat.

-

Ghost stands at the bar while the rest of his comrades laugh. Their booth in the corner is full of jokes and gentle prodding. He checks his watch, fishes for one of the pills in his pocket and swallows it dry. These new SSRIs Beth's doctor has him on are helping. The nightmares aren't as bad, he's feeling things again. The days are long but they're not interminable, sometimes that's all he can hope for.

He glances over his shoulder at the men in the corner booth. Price claps a hand on Soap's shoulder as Gaz grins. It's warm over there, a family away from his family. He wishes- no, he's too greedy. He's happy with what he has, with the life he's built for himself. At the price of only one life he thinks it's well worth it. He should visit his mum while he's back in the UK, take advantage of some of the leave Price is always hounding him about. He's only glad he was able to convince his little family to move closer to base. Mum was hard to convince, but after Washington… It's hard to sleep knowing there's still blood rotting under your kitchen floor. Joseph didn't need to grow up watching people avoid half the kitchen.

“Jus’ a wa'er,” Ghost tells the bartender, “‘nother round for those sods though.” He nods back at the 141. He should grab something for the kid while he's got time. No sense being the favorite uncle if he can't spoil the bugger. Never mind he bought a whole house just so the kid could have a garden to play in.

“That's sweet,” a voice coos at him. Ghost glances left, following instinct to fix his gaze on a woman at the end of the bar. Despite the low lights and crowd she's glowing, in her element. Pretty, Ghost thinks, and sort of… pink. Her lips, anyway, are pink when they curve into a smile. He turns back to the bar, must not have been talking to him. And why would she be?

“You have a big heart,” her voice husks in his ear, her hands trailing down his back. He swats at the buzz, like shooing away a gnat and turns to look at her. The space behind him is empty. She's still at the other end of the bar chatting with someone, her pink lips moving in a dull hum of conversation. There's something about her, something that prods at the back of his eyes, like an incessant alarm blaring. She doesn't look dangerous, but then again the pretty ones never do. It’s the fuzz, he thinks, he must be tired if the edges of her are starting to get blurry, he’ll grab the next train after this round. The bartender sets three pints and a glass of water in front of him, and Ghost is forced to look away from the woman. 

“Cheers,” he nods to the bartender, setting a few notes on the bar and grabbing the glasses between his hands. No trouble getting them back to the table, people are too eager to jump out of his way. Although he's not sure if it's because of the mask or the size of him.

Ghost passes pints to waiting hands, nodding along as Soap gives his best impression of a joke. Gaz shakes his head, but his smile speaks volumes. Price keeps his eyes on the door despite his relaxed posture. Really all of them do. Even through the squint of laughter Soap and Gaz’s eyes scan the room, always on guard for a potential threat. It's strange, Ghost pulls the seat out and doesn't feel the need to glance over his shoulder. He angles it on instinct, but his eyes touch the men he’s with rather than the crowd. It's the first time he hasn't felt like jumping out of his skin with his back to the door. Must be the new meds working.

“Give your mum my love,” Price tells him and Ghost is forced to bring his attention to his captain.

“‘oo said I’m goin’ ta see my mum?” He replies, fingers itching against the cool glass.

“Ya always run off the see ‘er,” Soap chides.

“I think it's sweet,” Gaz chimes in.

“S’why I like you Garrick,” Ghost leans back in his seat, “ya stay outta my business.”

“Doing my best sir,” Gaz grins, clinking his glass against Ghost’s.

“My job to know your business,” Price smiles, leaning against the table.

“What's Mactavish's excuse then?” Ghost jokes, eyeing the scot. Soap balks, presses his hand to his heart like he's offended.

“Ahm yer best mate, ah cannae care about ya?” Soap says, doing a truly impressive impression of puppy dog eyes. Ghost snorts into his glass and shakes his head. It's easy to fall into this rhythm with them. The few people in this world he can trust, the few people who understand what it means when he says he has people to protect, people to get home to. Fighting the bad guys to make the world better, so he never has to see his family look at him like that again.

Ghost’s fingers tighten on his glass, splintering cracks running under his hand. Soap settles a hand on his shoulder and he takes a breath. Fine. He's fine. Anger is controllable, his emotions are controllable, he’s not ruled by fear anymore. He repeats it like a mantra. He lives, he takes another step forward and he lives. Soap pats his shoulder twice as his grip loosens.

“How's that new girl you're seeing?” Price asks, the false nonchalance sold for everyone else in the bar but no one at the table. The therapist, he doesn't need to add. Any direct acknowledgement of it, of the pills, tantamount to a discharge. Ghost is grateful, truly, the Price fudges his paperwork, for all of them.

“Be’er than the last one.” His answer earns a nod, a smile.

“Right, well, won't keep you from your family,” Price sniffs, “but I expect you in for morning PT at 0700.”

“Rog,” Ghost nods, finishing his glass and pushing back from the table, “Gonna enjoy sleepin’ on a real mattress.” Gaz grumbles into his pint while Soap glares at him. Ghost smiles, and gives a short two fingers wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading out.

The walk to the tube station is short. The street lights break up the darkness, the moon a thin sliver overhead, and the air is just at the edge of crisp. Spring is starting to break into summer. He always misses the stars when he’s in the city, misses the pinpricks that fill the sky in the desert. It feels too romantic to mention to any of the guys, anathema to the image he’s created. There are parts of him that still don’t feel like they fit, pieces he’s still trying to find in the wake of everything. It’s been a good few years and Ghost still can’t call himself whole, but he’s trying.

He texts Tommy from the train platform. It’s late, but neither of the Riley boys have ever been heavy sleepers. His phone buzzes with a message before the train arrives, Tommy letting him know he’s got a spare key. Ghost huffs a laugh, the hand in his pocket pressing fingers against the jagged teeth on his key ring. He sends a thumbs up, and switches to one of the stupid color games his mum convinced him to download. He’s just cleared level 1506 when he hears laughter drifting down the steps of the platform. 

A glance back, his phone closed as his shoulders draw back to attention. Old habits die hard, you can’t take the military out of the man. He relaxes minutely seeing the woman from the bar. She hangs off her friend’s arm, smile wide and eyes glittering. His brows draw down, a sharp pain hitting his temple. There’s a moment, when she opens her mouth to speak, that he sees the  peaks of sharp teeth. He turns away, presses the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to clear some of the fuzz away that seems to be infecting his vision. He glances at the woman again and finds her eyes boring holes through him, unblinking and unafraid of being caught.

Ghost holds her gaze, the fuzz tingling at the edge of his vision, black creeping into his periphery. His ears ring, and the train rushes to the platform. He turns to move out of the way of the doors, to check which line this is, and his ears pop. He winces, must not be used to the tube after such a long deployment. He slips onto the train, taking one of the open seats. He watches the doors close, and the train moves from the platform, the woman tips her head and he feels something pitch behind his ribs. It feels like avoiding a proximity mine, hearing the explosion behind him and knowing he dodged something big. He pulls his phone out to give the next level a go.

-

Ghost is woken up in the morning by a four year old not even a third his size jumping on his chest with enough force he almost thinks he’s taken a mortar round. Only to hear the fit of giggles that follows him tossing the little bugger off of him. Christ. Ghost drags a hand down his face, feeling the scratch of stubble as Joseph climbs over him. Tommy walks past the guest room door, and then backpedals to raise a brow at his brother.

“Thought Beth took ‘im to daycare already.” Tommy flips one end of his tie over the other and tugs the tail through the knot he’s made.

“Guess she’s got me babysittin’.” Ghost grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Joseph drops down to sit next to him.

“You mind?” Tommy asks, peaking in the dresser mirror to adjust his tie. Ghost shakes his head.

“Long as ‘e doesn’t.” Ghost scratches his chest, glances at Joseph who stares at him. Little shit grins a gap toothed smile and Ghost pushes him sideways onto the mattress. More giggles as Joseph kicks at him and tries to escape his iron grip.

“Daddy help!” Joseph shrieks, earning a hum from his father and a grab from Ghost. The kid is hauled against Ghost’s chest and then grabbed around the ankles to hang as Ghost stands from the bed.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tommy tells him, patting Joseph’s stomach. Ghost follows him out of the guest room, swinging the kid as he goes. “Mum’s at her club today, and Beth’s got an event tonight.” Tommy says, half talking to Ghost, half talking to himself as he grabs his bag for work, “pub later?”

“Don’t see why not.” Ghost rumbles, lowering Joseph to the carpeted floor. The four year old kicks his feet at Ghost’s hand and rolls towards his father. Tommy’s quick to scoop the kid up with a grunt of effort.

“Gettin’ too big for this,” Tommy grunts, earning a hug around his neck and a soft ‘I love you daddy.’ Something about the scene aches behind Ghost’s ribs. A glimpse at the life he isn’t supposed to have, the broken cycle that he never thought he’d get out of. Maybe he got too far out of it. “‘Ow long’re you in town?” Tommy asks, setting Joseph down.

“Few weeks.”

“Welcome to stay as long as ya need.” Tommy pushes his kid towards the living room and Joseph wanders off to play. Ghost snorts.

“‘S if it isn’ my ‘ouse.”

Tommy grins, and holds his fist up. “Drinks on me then.”

Ghost bumps his own fist against his brothers with a smile. “I’ll ‘old you to that.”

Watching the kid is easy. Keeping a hold on him? So much harder. Being on leave gives Ghost a great opportunity to cement himself as favorite uncle. Which means taking his nephew out. Ice cream, playground, new loud toy that’s sure to piss off his parents. Swear to God this kid needs a leash though. Joseph’s little hand leaves Ghost’s big one as he sprints off down the street after something. Ghost swears loudly and makes his way after the booger. 

“Joseph,” He calls after the kid, his little head bobbing down the street, “Come on you little shit.”

It’s not busy, but there are enough people still dragging their feet from lunch to be a nuisance. Ghost’s never lost a target before, but most of his targets have at least three feet of height on Joseph. Someone bumps his shoulder and the sharp swear Ghost throws at them costs him a second of sight. His eyes dart back to the street and Joseph is gone.

The fear that grips him is unlike any he’s ever felt in the battlefield. It seizes his lungs, holds his ribs tight so he can’t take a breath. His eyes dart around for Joseph, for the little red jacket the kid insisted on wearing, the striped trousers, he can’t find him. A brainwashed soldier, and four years of Tommy’s parenting, Joseph could survive all of that, but one day with Ghost and he’s gone.

Ghost’s breath comes short, his eyes nearly vibrating with how quickly they scan the area. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers. Red coat, striped trousers.

The walls may as well be closing in on him. Dirt rains down from the sky. The coffin closes. The jaw bone digs into the palm of his hand. The worms and beetles crawl over his skin as he digs and digs, suffocating on the dirt that’s still loose in the grave. The road breaks into an open square and he stands watching the parade of people that filter through it. It’s open air, so why does he feel like he’s suffocating? 

He turns to look towards the road he just came out of, the buildings seem to wave and curve in towards the people walking its path. Back towards the square. The shops feel closer, the store fronts opening like mouths to lure in an unsuspecting child. Red coat, striped trousers. He eyes the fountain, the couples that sit on the edge of it unsuspecting that the shallow water could drown a kid Joseph’s size. Strangers brush past him, eye him, their coats and rushed steps might hide a squirming victim.

Ghost’s hand grabs a passerby by the arm, his fingers tight as he turns manic eyes upon the man. The older man startles, his eyes darting over Ghost’s form, obviously frightened by this sudden confrontation. He lets him go, his attention returned to the square. The man hustles away from him, his hand gripping the space on his arm where Ghost had grabbed him with a wince. Not that Ghost notices, his mind too focused on the thing he’d lost. He takes a step further into the square and the people in it part like the red sea.

Red coat, striped trousers, and a flake.

He breaks the surface of the water, his eyes landing on Joseph as a woman crouches next to him. She pushes his hair back, glancing around at the crowd as his nephew bites into the vanilla soft serve. Something hurts, pushes insistently, behind his eyes. It needles at his brain, scratches at some old wound. It doesn’t matter, nothing matters but making his way to his nephew. Damn everything else.

The woman glances up at him, her smile splitting her face, wide and toothsome. “Such a big heart.” She coos. The ringing in his ears grows louder with each step, louder and louder until it’s deafening. It hurts. A man passes in front of him and Ghost all but throws him out of the way. He scoops Joseph up off the cobblestone, pressing his forehead against the kid’s temple. Joseph squirms, his ice cream falling from his hands and down onto the ground. 

Ghost heaves in a breath, squeezing Joseph tighter against his chest. Christ he thought he’d lost him. The pressure seems to stop the kid from complaining about the lost ice cream, pushing instead against Ghost’s chest to be released. Ghost transfers him to his hip and checks him over, any cuts of bruises, a single hair out of place. He straightens the red coat, pinches his cheek, tips Joseph’s head to kiss the top of it. 

Almost lost.

“Where she go?” Joseph asks, twisting in Ghost’s arms. 

“Scared the shit outta me,” Ghost huffs, ignoring the kid’s looking around in order to take him back up the street. See if he sets the little man down until they get home.

-

The house is empty when Ghost wakes up the next morning. There’s no patter of little feet, no shout from Beth that Tommy’s going to be late, only the smell of coffee filling the kitchen. There’s a note letting him know who will be back when. He tugs it off the fridge and crumples it in his hand to toss into the kitchen trash. He’ll go back to base, look over some paperwork. It’s tedious work but at least it passes the time. 

Ghost sits on the tube, tapping at the bottles on his phone screen. It’s nearly empty, a few stragglers making their way into work, a few people heading home from long nights, and Ghost. The train stops at its next station. The doors open, there’s a slight pressure change, Ghost glances at the few people that board and goes back to his game.

A woman sits down beside him.

He doesn’t look up, but he does scan the rest of the train. Open seats galore. She crosses one bare leg over the other, the tip of her heel bumping his leg. If she expects him to move she should have sat somewhere else. He keeps his legs spread wide, his elbows on his knees as he taps away at his phone. One bottle filled with pink liquid sparkles upon completion. He stalls looking at the rest of the bottles, the colors mixed together in varying degrees. His mind pulls different possibilities, different patterns.

A manicured finger taps at his screen, one bottle upending into another. Ghost glances at the woman as she presses close, her eyes fixed on his screen. She doesn’t look at him, her finger tapping again and again as Ghost watches her eyes move. Long lashes and full cheeks. Pink lips. He winces, jerks away from her as her nail digs into his thumb. 

“Oops,” She blinks. 

Ghost looks at her, his heart feels like it’s about to pound out of his chest, his eyes ache like he’s attempting to focus on too many things at once. There’s a splitting pain in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut with a grimace and watches the colors pop behind his eyelids. He can’t control his breathing, it feels erratic, his brain is too focused on systems that should be involuntary. He forces his eyes open again, stares at his reflection in the window across from him. The woman beside him sits prim and proper reading a book three seats away. 

He can still feel her pressed against his side. Did he hear her move? Feel her move? There was no change in the air, no movement, no shifting, her warmth didn’t fade, her pressure didn’t fade from one moment to the next. She was beside him and now she’s not. His eyes watch her through the warped glass. Her reflection wavers, changing with the rattle of the train car. She flips the page in her book, tips it to read in the low light. Romance novel, Ghost notes. 

A glance down at his phone. Blood is smeared over his screen, streaked in fingerprints smaller than his own, his game boasting a completion trophy. His thumb is red, the congealed blood no longer contained to the shallow wound just below his nail. He raises the digit to his lips and cleans the blood with his tongue. 

Eyes bore holes into the side of his head, but when he looks at the car everyone seems to be minding their own business. It makes his skin crawl. The tension in his shoulders tightens. 

Ghost scratches his nail against the blood drying on his phone screen. His blood, dragged by an unfamiliar hand. 

The train pulls up to his station, and he stands. Phone locked and pocketed, he glances at the bird again before departing. She doesn’t look up from her book. 

His head is pounding as he steps out into daylight. A migraine, it must be. He hasn’t had one of these in a while, still as debilitating as the last one. Maybe he should go home. Ghost turns to head back down the stairs, he’ll text Price and let him know he couldn’t make it. He bumps into someone. Hands settle on his chest, holding him up, steadying him, and then-

And then they sink into his chest. Soft hands push past his ribs, push into his skin like dipping into water, his flesh non newtonian to the hands that hold him. His eyes hold the woman’s, as her fingers wrap around his lungs and squeeze. No. Not his lungs, his heart. Her fingers grasp his heart, holding on tightly, reverently. She presses close, her chest against his, hands releasing to continue their path through him and wrap around his spine in some sick impression of a hug.

“You’re lonely,” She breathes, “I can fix that.”

-

Ghost hands the guy at the gate his ID and waits for him to check the ledger. It seems to take ages. The man even radios Price to be sure he has the right man. When Ghost does finally get through the gate the migraine that had been building on the train is in full force.

His fingers hardly make a dent in the throbbing at his temple. The sound of footsteps drums against the inside of his skull. The blood pounding in his ears makes him queasy. His stomach flips, and he nearly upheaves his breakfast. Price catches him by the shoulders. Chill drips down his spine, mint fills his nose, then ginger. He swallows the magic his captain presses into him and sets himself right again.

“You broken?” Price asks, the low rumble of his voice just touches concern. Ghost drags his hand over his eyes, glaring at the recruits that scurry past the two of them. 

“No sir,” Ghost swallows again, and feels the sting of ginger creeping up into his nose, “Must’ve-”

Price grabs his face, his thumbs pulling at his cheeks, inspecting the whites of his eyes. He tips Ghost one way then the next, inspecting him. His eyes narrow, and Ghost resists the urge to swat his hands away. Ghost doesn’t pretend to understand his captain’s inspection, his mannerisms. “Magic”, “witchcraft”, he’s seen the jars that line Price’s office, read the briefs the military keeps redacted beyond legibility, and it still feels like bullshit. Until Price gets his hands on him.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Ghost asks when Price has been quiet too long. His captain’s lips have drawn tight, and lets him go. 

“What’s the date,” Price forgoes answering him. Ghost frowns but indulges him. Price mirrors his frown.

“By how much?” Ghost fills in the gaps in Price’s frown.

“A few days,” Price sighs, “Your mum called.”

“What’d you tell ‘er?”

“Nothing I can’t deny later.”

Ghost nods slowly. He can’t- the last thing he remembers was getting off the train, then making his way to the gate. Not unusual, he’s walked the route enough times he can shut his brain off, but it’s all black. He can’t remember a single part of the walk. He feels over his jaw, he’s shaved recently. A few days? His family knows better than to ask about his work, he’ll just tell them he got caught up in paperwork and crashed in the barracks.

-

It’s not a nightmare, Ghost knows that much at least. There’s no blood, no cramped space, no pain. There are soft fingers carding through his hair, humming. The pillow he rests his head on shifts slightly as the woman above him leans over him. She smiles, her fingers tracing over the scar that cuts through his brow, and down his crooked nose. The light overhead is soft, the air warm on his skin. Her hair halos her, casts strange shadows over her face. 

Ghost raises a hand to cup her cheek and she leans into the touch. He feels lighter, his chest, his limbs, the tension melted away under the careful touch that drags over his skin. Something sharp and teeth gnashingly dark batters against the back of his mind. It scratches behind his eyes. 

“They don’t understand, do they?” She asks. Who? Ghost wants to ask, but his tongue feels like lead. She drags her finger from his hairline to his chin, and back up, and back down. His head follows, nodding along with what she says.

“They never will,” She pouts, and Ghost’s brows twitch, “Poor thing.”

“No,” He manages to unstick his tongue, the scratching behind his eyes is growing more insistent. Ghost turns his head to look at the room, his cheek touches skin. So he’s on her lap. He takes a breath, something soft and floral filling his nose. It bursts pink and fluffy in his vision, clouding what he sees. The room feels fuzzy, he can’t focus his eyes. Dreamlike, he supposes. 

“I understand you,” She breathes, “you love with blood in your teeth.” She moves his head, turns him to look at her again. “I could love you, and you’d never be lonely again.”

His eyes focus on her face. Pretty, electric. Her eyes are too bright, her lips too perfectly carved, her skin looks like glass, she shines with some magic he’s never seen before. She’s fuzzy when he blinks. His heart clenches tight, his grief washing over him. He wants to see her again. It feels consumptive, like a fire burning through him. To love with blood in his teeth, to cut his lips on a kiss, to dig his hands into her thighs and carve his name into her, what bliss that would be.

“Stay with me,” She bids. Ghost swallows, she turns to kiss his palm, he forgot he was touching her. Her skin feels like it’s melting into his, she clings to him. Her lips part and he feels the sharp scratch of her teeth against his palm. The pain shudders through him, lights up the dark howling thing locked in his mind. 

She purrs as his hand wraps around her neck. Possessive, wanting. Blood in his teeth, he thinks to himself. Blood on his hands, on his kitchen floor. He can still see the look on his family’s faces, the horror, the fear in their eyes. Scared of him.

He’s just like his father.

Ghost jerks awake in the barracks. The spartan walls, painted in an attempt to seem more homey than the bare stone. The mattress is familiarly shitty. He drags a hand down his face. It’s dark. When did he drag himself away from the mountain of paperwork that had made its way onto his desk?

He sighs, pulls his knees up to rest his elbow against them as he scratches his head. His dream is already fading from his mind. Not that it made much sense to begin with. At least he wasn’t back in that damn flat. He’ll call his mum in the morning, let her know he’ll be home for dinner. She must be worried.

-

It’s still light out when Ghost leaves base. His back is killing him. Hunched over papers all day as Price piled more on isn’t his idea of a good day at the office, but shit needs to get done. Price had been looking at him strangely all day but hadn’t said anything. When he’d finally snapped at him to either say something or close his eyes, Price had threatened him with insubordination. It felt hollow, but the weight of it settled over his shoulders heavy enough to keep him from snapping again.

At least he let him go at a decent time. Ghost checks his phone, barely five. So why is the tube station so empty? There’s no one on the platform, and there was no one going down the stairs. Suppose that’s good. When he’d tapped his card it didn’t work, felt like a kid hopping the turnstile, be pretty embarrassing if someone had seen him do that.

There’s a woman on the other end of the platform. She wipes at her face, the sound of her sobbing carrying to his end. Ghost watches her for a moment. Her shoulders shake, and he can just barely hear the short sniffles that come with tears. It’s a strange feeling being the only two people in the station. It doesn’t feel real. The air doesn’t touch his skin, and there’s no sound save for the soft crying. 

“You alrigh’ love?” Ghost asks, his voice booming in the small space. He grabs his head at the sharp throb of pain. The space warps, his vision swimming. He closes his eyes, to try and stem the wave of vertigo that washes over him. Maybe he should have stayed on base, gotten examined. 

Christ what is he talking about?

He opens his eyes with a shake of his head, some of the pain dissipating. He looks down at the crying woman. He shouldn’t have yelled when she’s so close. She looks up at him with watery eyes and sniffles. Her pretty pink lips curve down into a pout, almost comical how exaggerated it is. He’s only ever seen Johnny wield that level of frown.

“I’ll be ok,” She tells him. Her manicured fingers swipe at the tears that roll down her face, “Thank you.”

Something in her voice makes his blood throb, and push against his circulatory system. He feels stuck, like his feet are glued to the platform. He can’t move his head to look away from her. She’s pretty when she cries. That must be it. She makes him want to hold her down and see what else he can do to make her sob and beg.

“You’re welcome,” Ghost mumbles. Hands around her neck, he’d bet she likes that. 

The thought itches against the inside of his skull. 

“Would you walk me home?” She asks, “You get off at -” how does she know his stop? “-it’s not far from there.”

She touches his arm, drags her nails up and down. His head follows. 

-

He remembers Price telling him once that magic is about exchange. You can’t get something from nothing, he’d been told. Which seemed like bullshit. What’s the point of magic if you can’t do the impossible with it. Only human, Price had griped at him, you want a miracle try religion.

“What do you want?” The woman in his arms whispers, her lips dragging along his jaw. His hands grip her hip, pulling her up and down his cock. She feels like a furnace, her soft gummy walls clinging to him desperately as he thrusts into her. Her hands squeeze in his chest, pluck at nerve endings and drag nails down his lungs. It hurts. He tips his head to kiss her. He’s never tasted anything sweeter than the honey that drips from her tongue.

What does he want? He wants to fuck her, and keep fucking her. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go. He doesn’t want to be lonely anymore, always hovering on the outside of humanity. He wants his family to be safe, to never worry about anything ever hurting them again. He wants to be an asset to his team. He wants to lick her cunt. He wants to bite bruises on her thighs. He wants to melt into her. What does he want? What doesn’t he want? He’s greedy, sinking his teeth into any meal he can stomach.

His teeth press against her throat. He wants to feel her blood between his teeth. 

She’s laughing, bright bubbly giggles that pop against the walls with a spark of something. She pushes him back into the mountain of pillows, her hips rolling against him with a fluidity that feels unnatural. He stares up at her, his skin buzzing with her, his mouth, his teeth aching to latch onto her again.

“Say my name,” She grins, her teeth sharp and her nails cutting.

“Love,” He breathes.

“What do you want?” She asks again.

“You.” Ghost’s heart pounds, his voice feels weak. Damning.

“That’s right,” She tells him,

And rips his heart from his chest.

[existentialgaybirdnerd]

How the 141 show love to each other

Ghost:

He sends Soap random pictures of flowers and stuff, the sunrise when he's up for it, or even a bumblebee he found resting on a flower. Knows how his coffee is made perfectly when it's homemade. Gives little forehead kisses when they're alone or with the 141 only. Will hook his ankle under Soap's feet and stay there for hours if necessary, anything to keep the contact.

He hands Gaz small things he likes, a particularly pretty leaf or a loose bolt he found on the ground. He also gives him samples of teas he thinks he'll like, makes sure to pay attention to if he needs a blanket.

He'll sit next to Price on a rough day and say nothing, just be a grounding presence. He'll save him his favorite foods from the mess hall and put them on his plate when Price comes and sits down.

He includes Laswell during team activities when possible, making sure she can take a call and face timing her so she can see the dumb shit that's happening, putting the phone in the best position to see the chaos. Sends her and her wife their favorite candies for holidays.

Soap:

Makes and fixes things for Ghost, sends him pictures of the stray cats he sees on his walks and while he's making his way around base. He knows Ghost's cafe coffee order by heart so he can order for him while they're in public. Cheek and nose kisses, likes to gently bite Ghost's cheek when they're alone, claims it's to "show dominance" but does it so softly that it just feels like a love nibble. Puts his hand under the mask at the back of Ghost's head and plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

Cuts Gaz's hair for him, Gaz once got a bad cut at the place he went to because they had a person who was new to styling do it hair so when he got mad about it back at base (not at the person, never at the person) Soap fixed it for him and made it better. Kicks his feet when he's nodding off in places he shouldn't be.

Steals Price's hat at least once a month to make sure nothing is falling off or tearing or ripped. During these inspections he'll add another bobble to the collection, something light and small to its unobtrusive. Draws little cute pictures and slips them in his vest pockets when he gets close enough.

Will send selfies and pictures of the group to Laswell, texting her a fun fact or a pun every day, telling a funny story about the recruits or what Gaz or Ghost or Price did that day too if there is one.

Gaz:

Gets Soap new drawing journals when he runs out, new pencils too. Gets him socks with dumb ass designs for Christmas and Halloween, the latter one because he thinks it's hilarious to give gifts then. Listens to and talks about special interests and really pays attention, even educating himself on aspects he doesn't know about.

He'll do the same thing for Ghost that Ghost does for Price. He'll sit next to him in silence and do his own thing while Ghost is having a bad time, waiting until he wants to speak. He learned sign language and taught Ghost so they could speak easier on days where his brain felt too heavy to conjure up the right syllables. Keeps every leaf Ghost gives him and puts them in a scrapbook with a date and location, shows Ghost after it's done.

Hugs Price almost religiously. He's Price's most common hugger, being the majority of where he gets his touch (platonic) so he's not touch starved. Will drag Price out of bed on a bad day since Price asked him to if he deems it an appropriate day to do so, will talk Price through boring paperwork and make it more fun so it goes faster.

While everyone else texts Laswell every day, he does every other day if that, leading to barely any exchanges but when there are some, they're meaningful to both of them. He's her vent partner, the person she goes to when she needs to complain about someone or something, he gives advice and is an overall good listener.

Price:

He gave Soap a fitbit once, something he won one time and never wore himself, he has the account linked on his phone so he can keep track of his heartbeat and sleeping habits, making sure he's getting enough rest and enough time to himself so he won't lose himself trying to be a people pleaser. He also gives him chocolates he knows Soap likes, orders them and stockpiles them for a bad day and then goes up to Soap and hands him a few wordlessly. Trying to silently tell him that he knows what he's going through and it's ok to break sometimes, to stop being strong sometimes.

When Ghost gives him his favorites from the mess, Price exchanges for Ghost's favorites. When he sees Ghost getting overwhelmed he tells him he needs to see him in his office and gets him out of the situation, handing him a blanket when he gets inside and telling him to lay down for a second because Ghost is so overwhelmed he's on the verge of giving himself a migraine.

He gives as good as he gets with physical contact with Gaz, hugging him just as hard, a hand on the back of his neck here and there to make sure he's emotionally balanced, fingers brushing his shoulder to remind him he's not alone. Will make sure he's having a good day or not based on how badly his hands shake. When Gaz gets too into his own head, he makes a game of giving Gaz his hat and telling him to play keep away with Ghost and Soap, knowing leading them into a game will help.

He sends cards and videos and pictures of anything and everything he can think of to Laswell, he's her second vent partner and will be the "beat his ass" version rather than understanding like Gaz. He shows he cares by being willing to burn the world for her and her wife and she appreciated it immensely when he jokes about taking her to a bar fight to let off some steam.

Laswell:

She doesn't like showing that she cares too much with physical things, so her care for Soap is mostly sending him tv show and movie recommendations.

She sends Ghost pictures of plants she found on the internet and what they're useful for. They have a "plant a day" thing where she has a whole list or book detailing various plants in alphabetical order and she picks one to send its information to him.

Give Gaz music recommendations and lets him vent back to her, she has a Spotify they share where they put random music on it if they like it.

Tells Price specific updates about her home life and how her wife is doing over the phone. Nothing too revealing but enough to make him feel like she truly trusts him.

[charliemwrites]

Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.

#11 "You tricked me."

I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)

Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap

Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.

The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.

Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.

The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!

There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.

Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.

“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”

He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.

Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.

That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.

You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.

He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.

It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.

Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.

“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”

You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.

Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.

He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.

You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.

When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.

For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”

You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.

Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.

Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.

A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.

“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.

“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.

“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.

“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”

It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.

“You’re gonna be late.”

“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”

“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.

You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.

You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.

You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?

“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.

You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.

How?

When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.

“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.

You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.

The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.

Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.

But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.

“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s too quiet.”

To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”

“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”

“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”

There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.

“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”

You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.

“Almost there,” you report.

Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.

---

It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.

You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.

Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.

The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.

Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”

That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.

“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”

Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.

Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.

Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.

Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.

You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.

That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.

You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.

But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.

Given the choice, you would want him here.

You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.

Anything?

It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.

“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”

“You called?”

You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?

“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”

“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.

“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”

You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”

His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”

You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 

“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”

“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”

Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.

His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.

He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.

He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”

The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.

Johnny is…

“You tricked me,” you sob.

He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”

His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.

“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.

“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.

“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”

“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”

You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.

“Yes to what?” you ask.

“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”

You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.

There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.

“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”

“Eternally.”

Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.

“Yes. Please.”

“Good girl.”

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Mike Schmidt, Hobie Brown, Miles-42 x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Suggestive Content with Miguel, A Little Bit of Angst with Miles

Summary: How would the boys treat you on your birthday?

A/N: In honor of my birthday (WOO)!

Word Count: 1.7K (Unedited)

Miguel O'Hara

You hang out with him in his office at HQ all day. He has your favorite food delivered to base, and you spend the whole day talking his ear off as he works. Today is the only day he doesn't mind people coming in and out of his office, as long as they do so to wish you a happy birthday.

He has LYLA keep you company, finding her only a tad bit less annoying, even as she randomly breaks out into happy birthday and makes birthday memes pop up on his screen like a virus. He only wants to strangle her when she keeps making birthday sex jokes and hinting a little too much at the gifts waiting for you at home.

When the two of you do make it home, you're excited to see the pile of gifts overflowing in the living room. Some of them are from the spiders in HQ, but more than one is from Miguel. You guys get take out, and spend the rest of the night opening gifts. You guys laugh at the ones from the younger spider-people, and try not to cringe at the more questionable ones (a difference in universe maybe?).

When the two of you finish going through the gifts and ate all the food, Miguel pulls you up off the floor. He gives you a cheeky smile, leading you towards the bedroom for one last birthday present. Huh, I guess LYLA was right about the birthday sex.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

As much as he wants to, he can't ask to go on leave in advance. Even if he did send in the request, it would be hastily denied. Going on leave because of a singular day and for a non-emergency cause? The higher ups would laugh in his face. So, his only hope is to not be deployed during that time.

If he is deployed during that time, he'll keep his eye on the clock, counting down the seconds until it hits midnight in your timezone. Then, at exactly zero hundred hours, your phone will light up with a message from Simon. It's a simple "Happy birthday. Miss you." text, but it makes you smile nonetheless. If you're lucky, you might get a voice message from all of 141 wishing you a happy birthday, horrible, off-key singing from Soap included! And if you're really lucky, you might even get a call if Simon's in a good, secure location where he knows his cellular usage can't be tracked or intercepted.

He already got a gift for you in advance. He'll tell you where he hid it, or tell you to keep an ear out for the doorbell. If he hid it, you rush over to the hiding spot, setting your phone up to record a video for him. You make a big show of it to keep him entertained, and at the end of the video you thank him repeatedly for the gift, adding in that you miss him and you'll see him when he comes back home. When he gets gifts delivered to you, it's usually flowers and maybe something extra like an Amazon package. You put your new flowers in the nicest vase you have, sending Simon a picture and heart emojis.

If-by the grace of god- he's home on your birthday, you get spoiled silly. Today is all about you and what you want to do. Breakfast in bed? Okay, waffles or pancakes? Movie night? Okay, it's your pick. Drinks at the pub? Let's stop to get a pack first. Simon does prefer to stay in with you on your birthday, but again, if you want to have a night out on the town, he's happy to follow along. Though, if you do stay home, don't look in the fridge! You don't want to risk taking a peak at the cake he bought, do you?

Mike Schmidt

Called out of work the day before. He wakes up super early, slipping out of bed to wake up Abby. She complains a little, and you have to pretend you weren't awake the second Mike got out of bed and you have to stifle your laughter at her grumbling out in the hall. The smell of breakfast is strong, and you wait a good 11 minutes (it would be too perfect if it was an even number), before slipping out of bed. You act all surprised when you walk into the kitchen, catching them making you breakfast. They instantly drag you into a chair, making you sit as they plate your food and slide over your coffee. You have to fight your tears when Abby gives you a hand drawn birthday card. Just for that, she can steal a bit of your bacon.

The three of you just spend the day at home. You draw with Abby, thanking her for all the birthday drawings. The three of you make a mess in the kitchen as you make the birthday cake, and somehow frosting gets stuck in all of your hair. You sing happy birthday after dinner, which of course is your favorite meal, and the three of you settle onto the couch to watch TV. You allow Abby to stay up until she falls asleep on the sofa.

Once she's gone to bed, Mike pulls you close to his side, pressing a kiss to your lips and muttering another happy birthday. You smile at him, and it grows wider when he pulls your gift from his pocket. The two of you are silent as you open it, and you gasp when you see what's inside. You thank him with a million smooches on his face, that makes him chuckle. Then, when it gets too late and the both of you remember he has work tomorrow, you retreat back to the bedroom for some much needed rest. Clean up is for another day.

Hobie Brown

Is it really a surprise that he forgets it's your birthday? Hey, in his defense, time and dates are just a social construct made to control the natural world!

He only remembers when one of his (current) band mates or a Spider in the society ask him what he has planned for your birthday. He knows he's fucked the second they ask him. He has nothing planned, he has yet to say happy birthday to you despite talking to you just this morning, and to top it all off, he has only just realized you were hinting about it throughout your morning conversation. And do you want to know what he said in response to your, Hobie, baby, do you think something important is happening today? Trust me, you don't because his answer may or may not have been, Unless 10 Downing is fist bumping a wrecking ball today, then no. Yeah, did he mention he was fucked?

So, in true Hobie fashion, he's gonna think quick and get himself out of trouble. What could he use as the perfect excuse for completely forgetting your birthday? Make it seem intentional! And how do you make it seem intentional? Throwing a totally killer surprise party that would give the PM a heart attack! He recruits the help of his band mates and Gwen, setting up your favorite venue that the band played in for a previous gig. He gets you a cake, a funny card, and some random trinkets he sees along the way. He'll have the band play anything you request or the night. Oh, don't forget your own friends! He'll let them know before he picks you up.

He's totally casual when he returns to the flat, all nonchalant as he tells you to get dressed up. When you ask why, he just shrugs and says riot. You stare at him like you expect him to say something extra, but you sigh when he doesn't. With your back turned to him, he allows himself to briefly flicker red. When he gets you to the venue, you're happily surprised, bumping into him and teasing that you thought he forgot. He chuckles nervously in response, finally wishing you a happy birthday. At the end of the night, after you got the celebration you deserved and the two of you lay at home in a half-awake state, he admits the truth to you when you're too sleepy to get mad at him. Hey, real men admit to their mistakes and fear the wrath of their partners.

Miles 42

He does the thing. You know, the obnoxious thing where you show up to school, and then suddenly you have a brightly colored birthday stash over your shoulder and a gift bag attached to 50 different HAPPY BIRTHDAY balloons? Yeah, he does that shit, and he does it with PRIDE. He will be damned if you aren't walking the halls and a stranger randomly yells out a birthday greeting to you in passing. You better hope you don't have any classes with him, because every class you guys share, he's making them sing happy birthday. Even if you get embarrassed and melt into your chair. At lunch, he's already got a birthday cupcake waiting for you and he did, in fact, skip the last period just so he could go get your favorite takeout to make sure it's still hot.

Rio definitely invited you over for dinner, and he spends the whole meal telling his Ma all about the things he did for you today. It makes her laugh, and she playfully swats the back of his head when you whine about how embarrassed you were all day.

When dinner is done, Miles drags you out of his house and walks you down to the familiar streets to the car lot. He helps you in, and you gasp when you see the inside of the car. He has candles placed carefully around, and a cake sits in the back seat with plastic forks and more gifts. Your smile is goofy as he quietly sings happy birthday to you, and you blow out the candle as he whoops and hollers playfully. The two of you dig into the cake, having quiet conversation until you feel like you'll throw up from all the sugar.

But as you're about to open the last of your gifts, his phone begins to ring. Looks like your birthday wish didn’t come true after all.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

OH GOD YOUR REQS R OPEN, i would rlly like to request something, could you write an one shot of price with a little daugther reader? just like, him coming home and spending some time with his little girl, she tells him about her school, he tells her some funny stories that happened while he was at work, he cooks her favorite meal, just a big fluff, i love this man more than anything and i just need some paternal love LMAO, feel totally free to deny! do everything in your time and remember to take good care of urself!

Memories of Youth

Pairing: Father!John Price x F!Daughter!Reader

Synopsis: It was hard being away from his little girl, but warm mornings spent in each other's company were blessings - even if they were far and few in between. It didn't matter the form.

Word Count: 4.5k (short and sweet)

Warnings: Angst (just a little cuz I can't help myself), a lotta fluff, banter, just good platonic/paternal relationship in general, etc.

A/N: Didn't specify if the reader was adopted or blood-related, so that's really up to you! Enjoy, Anon!

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

He got the call at the halfway point of crossing the English Channel, Northern France behind him and Southern England just on the horizon line as the sun began to spread its orange glow over the waves. Sitting high above the water in a slick black Heli, John Price’s hand snaps to his side pocket, fingers deftly peeling back the layers as the overwhelming sound of helicopter blades shakes the hull. 

The rest of Task Force 141 watch with varying interest, only Gaz taking notice of the sudden frown that mars his Captain’s face; the furrowed brow, and the spark of concern in his eyes. A call was unusual. The Sargeant tries not to intrude, but can’t help the way his body lightly shifts so he can have a better view.

John doesn't bother to look at the contact when he takes the device out, rapidly pressing the answer button and slotting the phone at his ear, tilting his head so his opposite rests at the junction of his shoulder. It only stops a fraction of the noise, even so, it would have to do for now. But with how his ears were already straining to find a sound over the line, he may not need to force out the jarring racket after all. 

Inside his chest, John’s heart is racing – confusion laces his mind. This was abnormal. 

I told her only to call if it was an emergency. What could she have gotten herself into now? I said to stay out of trouble…

“Where are you?!” The Brit has to shout down the line, his familiar deep accent loud and guttural. 

His mind flies through every possibility. An intruder had broken into the house, you had broken your arm falling down the stairs again, or a fire had broken out in the kitchen. Fuck…he was too far away to help if anything bad had happened. John’s jaw clenches, eyes looking out over the water as the bucket hat on his head flops in the wind. It was only a product of his job that made him think like that; years of intuition and thinking on the fly leading to his mind making up the worst scenarios. 

Especially when you called on a secure line when he told you it was only appropriate for life-and-death situations. Especially when it was his little girl.

I told ‘er about the Pistol in my office, yeah? The Captain asks himself with a steel-like resolve. And gave her Laswell’s number?

John’s fingers tighten over the phone when he hears your breath over the line, a shuffling of clothes, and a deep exhale.

“Sunshine!” He tries again, sitting up straighter as his pulse gets faster. Why isn’t she answering me? “Where are you right–”

“We don’t have anything for breakfast.” Your voice is heavy with sleep; fatigue drowning the syllables and holding them under the very waves that rage under John only separated by thin sheets of metal. 

The Brit stops. His body freezes, and as the tense minutes go by his panic falls away and leaves a thick stain of annoyance resting behind his eyelids. Of course. John brings two fingers to his nose bridge, digging into the skin until tiny crescent moons are left behind; he has to take a deep breath before answering, but his tone leaves nothing to the imagination.

“...Breakfast…?”

“Yeah, Old Man, you need me to spell it for you? B-R-E-A-K-F-A–”

“Enough!” John barks stiffly and has to hold back his anger as you laugh from the other side. Ever the jokester – did you not realize how serious this was? How fast your father’s heart was racing with adrenaline? 

Fuck, he had just about been ready to radio the cockpit and force the pilots to fly faster.

Across the way, Ghost locks eyes with the man, and with a tilt of his head and a loud call he asks, “That the Mutt?”

The Captain’s eyes slip back into a firm blank slate.

“Affirm.” John tilts the phone away from his mouth, ignoring your sarcastic comments to catch his sanity for a moment and respond to his Lieutenant.

Simon blinks as Johnny perks up at his side, looking in from the view in favor of the Captain with newfound interest. A bright smile forms over his scruffy cheeks

“She all good?” The skeletal man asks, and Gaz smirks lazily tapping his fingers over his knee, immediately noticing your shenanigans and the way the Cap was so worked up. 

But anyone would be when they had a daughter thousands of miles away.

John simply nods once with an exasperated expression to Ghost. MacTavish snorts out a laugh, knowing the context of the situation without having to think hard.

“Is that Uncle Simon?” You ask, and with a scratch at his beard, your father hums in confirmation, letting the sound of your voice put him more at ease. She’s just fine. “Tell him I want him to come over and play Mario Cart with Gaz, Johnny, and me again! He wiped the floor with ‘em last time!” 

There’s a clinking of pots and pans as you move throughout the house. 

“Sweetheart,” Your father grumbles, sighing through the call. His voice takes on the authoritative tone that works for both soldiers and teenagers – but it rarely works on you, despite that fact. Took after your dad too much, is what John would say. Never listened until it was absolutely necessary. “What did I tell you about callin’ this phone when I’m away from the house?”

He hears your scoff and raises a warning eyebrow, though you can’t see it. You know your dad enough to know he’s doing it despite being separated. It was pretty common.  

“Not to, unless it’s an emergency…But I’d say food is a big enough reason, y’know? Unless you want me to eat the leftover cake for breakfast – which I haven’t thrown out as a possibility yet, honestly.”

“You’re not eatin’ bloody cake for breakfast. You’ll get sick.” Gaz snickers, turning his face away to hide the amusement at the comment. 

It hadn’t been a surprise that the Captain’s daughter was such a familiar creature – they saw traits reflected every time the two were together. Everyone had expected her to take after her old man in nearly everything, and when she had they had bumped fists and prayed for the brown-bearded man. But it was funny nonetheless, considering they got along better than most fathers and daughters; practically reading each other's minds when everyone was playing poker. Johnny was still pretty ticked off about that – he’s a good deal deep into the sweets debt he owes you because Price helps you win. But where they really shined was with the shared deadpan attitudes, bottom-of-the-barrel sarcasm, and knowing how to command a room without even trying. Safe to assume that the rest of the team would do anything for you.

“Will not.” You grumble in retaliation, and John’s lips threaten to tilt into a grumpy smile when he hears you put the cake plate back into the counter. 

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, the brown-haired man takes a glance outside, watching the waves go bright orange as they lap and writhe like great sea serpents. 

“How long have you been up, eh? The sun’s barely risen. Thought Sunday was when you always slept in?” 

There’s a pause in what John believed were fingers digging through a cupboard, and he narrows his eyes in confusion as the silence grows long. He frowns when you speak again, words so quiet he has to place a hand over his other ear to hear properly. Having half a mind to go and tell the pilots to hurry up and go faster so he can just talk to his little girl in person, he refrains, knowing that’s not how this works. But something was wrong – it had been laced in your previous words, as tiny and unnoticeable as it may have been. Only a father would notice it.

“You said you were gonna be home last night. I stayed up.” It takes a moment of halted breathing before John’s eyes widen, blues full of realization.

Oh. 

…Damn it. He lets out the tense breath of air from his lips, shifting in his seat as the gear around his body weighs him down. His gun digs into his chest. 

He hadn't seen you for over a week – leaving you in the care of a close and trusted neighbor, Mrs. Lilly, just as he always had when he needed to leave for work on short notice. But seeing as you were older now, it became apparent that, with your learned independence, staying at the house by yourself was alright as long as you checked in with the neighbor every morning and night. You had been waiting for him to come home. All alone. In the dark. 

Fucken’ hell, John thinks in a deep layer of guilt as wrinkles overtake his forehead, I did tell her I’d be back yesterday. I forgot to call and tell ‘er. Shit! He didn’t want to imagine the stress that had been put on your shoulders. God, what’ve I done?

Not checking in was something he had never missed before – he always told you when he was about to come back. What had gone wrong this time? How had something that important just slipped his mind? Sure the Op had been tedious, but he was trained to handle it. It was no excuse. 

“Sweetheart,” John starts and then pauses the soft and gentle endearment, knowing that an apology didn’t fit into what you were looking for. You didn’t want an ‘I’m sorry’ right now, you wanted your father. Flattening his lips into a line, he continues, wishing he was with you more than ever so he can press a kiss to your forehead. “...I should be back before 1200. How about when I get back I’ll cook you up somethin’ myself, yeah? Or we can go to that Cafe you like down on Newman Street and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

“...When do you have to go back?” You don’t answer his question, and yours makes his heart hurt. 

John clears his throat.

“None of that, now. We’ll talk more when I get back, Darling, alright?” You don’t respond, but he hears you sigh and quietly scoff under your breath. “Alright?” He tries again, head tilting forward and eyebrows rising as if you could see him. Maybe you could.

“Fine. But you better make me pancakes. I don’t care if it’ll be noon.” 

“Pancakes it is.” The Captain looks up in time to see Johnny mouthing words to him, and with a blank face and stiff lip, your father mutters with a grunt, “Johnny says ‘hello.’” 

Your shocked snort makes him feel better, but a layer of guilt still stays. You were awake all night waiting for him, and he never showed up. Did you sleep on the couch? Damnit, he hoped you didn’t…but in his rattling chest knew you had. He found you like that every time he came back from a long stay away. Huddled under blankets, no pillow under your head. Sometimes you steal one of his shirts and hold it like a stuffed bear to your chest, shoving your face into it. 

How could I forget to fucken’ call her?

Your voice takes him out of his growing self-resentment. 

“Tell him to watch his back – I’m getting better at Rainbow Road. Soon enough I’ll be able to beat him in a 1V1!” John can’t help the slow chuckle that bounces in his throat, mind, for the moment, at ease as long as you continue to speak to him.

“I’ll be sure to pass it along. But, eh,” The Brit makes sure he speaks slowly, letting you hear every syllable of his next words. “Promise me you’ll stay at the house until I get there. No goin’ out with friends, yeah? You know how I worry.” John ignores the teasing look from Gaz and peeks out again to see how close they were to the mainland with narrowed lids. “‘Specially when I’m not there.”

Getting back to the Base wasn’t the problem, it was the damn reports coming in that would wring his neck before he could get out the door. But he’d push it off for however long he could; call in favors from Laswell to get him more time with his little girl so he can fix his mistake. As a dad, the only thing that counted was seeing his daughter after a seemingly unending Op that he didn’t want to relive. The hardest part wasn’t the blood or the guts – it was being away from you. Nothing would ever change that, even if he was the one on the ground gritting his teeth at the bite of a bullet.

“Scout’s honor, Old Man.” The happiness in your voice makes him smile to himself. 

“Stop calling me that, Muppet.” John grumbles affectionately, rolling his eyes, “I’ll give you a call when back I’m in town, Sunshine. Make sure the door’s locked–”

“--Locked, the windows too, plus, if someone knocks on the door I need to look through the peephole and if I don’t recognize them don’t open it…Am I missing anything?”

“Mind yourself, now you’re just being cheeky, you are.” John teases, scoffing, but proud that you remembered his rules. It made all of this just a bit more manageable.

“Who do you think I got it from?” You laugh, but it tapers off sullenly, “Just…get home safe, okay, Dad?”

John’s beard pulls back into a soft close-lipped grin, eyes crinkling as his heart warms. He so desperately wanted to ruffle your hair. 

“Of course, Hun. But, eh, take a nap. It’s still early, and I know you’ve got schoolwork to do later. You sound like you’re about to keel over where you stand.” You scoff before agreeing with a muttered grumble, most likely already stumbling to the living room couch, and then the line goes silent and is replaced once more by the whirring of the helicopter blades. 

The man peels back the phone and pockets it, hand unconsciously brushing his breast pouch where a picture of the two of you always sits. It was a baby picture, with your little form held in his grip delicately; looking down at you with soft eyes and an easy smile on his lips that always formed when he was with you. From under a soft blanket, your tiny hand reaches out to try and brush his stubbily cheek. 

It never failed to bring him ease when he realized the photo was there. A reminder that if everything else in his life went horribly wrong, you would still be looking up at him with those eyes of yours. At the very least, he had managed to do one thing right.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a good kid.” Gaz calls at him, and John spares him a glance out of the side of his eye with a raised brow.

“I know she is. I’m the one who raised her.”

—

You remember eating a piece of toast before you made your way over to the couch, throwing your phone to the coffee table haphazardly before tossing yourself onto the cushions. Still in your pajamas, you can’t find it in you to go and grab the homework in your backpack this early. The sun had only just risen, and the bags under your eyes reminded you how late you stayed up last night. 

But your father had never shown up.

Frantic was too light a word to describe the feeling you had when your eyelids had peeled back to the empty living room and the TV still playing. It had been second nature to snatch your phone and call the secure line – half of you had said it was better to call Laswell, just in case, but your adolescent brain had wanted nothing more than to hear your father’s voice.

He would make it better. But you needed to hear his voice. 

Dad, you remembered pleading to yourself as the sound of the dial tone echoed in your ear, please answer the phone. Please. Answer the fucking phone. 

Your heart was pounding; hands shaking. He never just didn’t show up when he said he was going to. Never. Your dad was punctual – always on time no matter what – and he had ingrained the same sentiment in you as well. 

When his deep voice finally bounced in your eardrums you nearly started to cry, missing the first hurried and concern-filled inquiry of where you were. Hearing his voice put you at ease, and after a week of missing your father’s strong presence and his warm hugs, it was hard not to take a shaky inhale when he seemed so close.

You just wanted him home; you wanted him to make you pancakes and help you with your schoolwork. You wanted him to read a book to you on this couch like you were a toddler again while his old record player was on in the background. 

It was childish, getting so worked up about it, but your dad meant the world to you. Not having him here felt wrong. 

Sighing, you rub at your eyes and revel in the darkness before letting out a strained yawn, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over your body. It didn’t take long before your eyes were flickering shut, a calm quiet settling over the house as cars passed by outside in the street. You pull the blanket closer and breathe, inhaling pine needles and ash. 

You don’t know how long you were there, twitching in your sleep before the scent woke you up – it makes your nose scrunch, eyelids blinking away fuzz. There was a pillow under your head, the blanket wrapped tight around your neck to keep out the London chill, and a clanking of pans in the kitchen. Scraping spatula over cast iron, you knew, the sizzling of batter. 

The haze of that in-between state, sleep and consciousness fighting in the back of your skull and under your hairline, stays even as you try to force it away. It was like a wave – it constantly pulled you under when you thought you were getting to the surface. Your eyes would blink open and closed; comforted back into sleep by the deep humming, the waver of an old record player. Feet over hardwood and the smell of fresh pancakes. 

Dad’s home. 

A delirious smile slides over your sleep-hot face. That was why you were so content. This was what home sounded and smelled like. 

Dad’s home. You repeat it once more, nuzzling farther into your father's travel pillow he brings to and from Base. Pine needles. Ash. Cigar smoke.

Dad’s home! Your eyes snap open wildly, your body shooting up from the cushions as the blanket falls to the floor. Angling your head to the separated kitchen, you swipe the drool from your mouth with a heavy hand and listen. 

Your dreams had tricked you before, but no. Not this time. 

He was humming along to some old tune under his breath that mirrored the record player behind the couch; the antique turned low so it wouldn’t wake you. Blinking in shock, your mouth morphs into a rich smile instantaneously. 

Throwing yourself off the couch, your feet slam to the floor, rushing and almost tripping over the blanket on the floor as your body slants forward. Giggling, you push on, righting yourself with no second thought other than welcoming your dad home the same as you always did. Zipping around the corner, a shadow is already turning your way, a plate of pancakes ready to be put on the table and devoured. 

“Dad!” You yell loudly and launch yourself at him, hearing his chest let out a grunt and his hands splay around you so he won’t drop breakfast food all over the floor. 

A velvety chuckle is wrung from his body, and his free digits go to rest heavily on your head as you shove yourself into his hold. Gripping his shirt tight between your fingers, you try not to cry when that scent that had been fading from the house comes back tenfold. Your eyes burn, but you only let one tear out when your dad’s finger begins stroking your hair just like he did when you were little.

You had been so worried. 

“There’s my girl,” His voice whispers out, “I’m here, Sunshine. Easy now.” 

“I thought you died,” You can’t help the helpless gasp that rips from you. Your father’s hand freezes; body going rigid around your smaller, desperately grasping frame. The atmosphere of the room flips. Digging into the fabric of his shirt the full flood of tears finally comes forward. “W-when I woke up and you weren’t here I… I thought you were never coming back home, and that I would have to go and live with the neighbors and I’d have to bury you in the cemetery. I don’t-don’t wanna have to put you in the ground.” You’re rambling, but you can’t stop the words. “I don’t want you to leave me alone, Dad. Please don’t leave me alone.” 

At some point, the plate of pancakes had been tossed to the counter without care for if the porcelain cracked from the force, and both of your father's arms hand scooped you into his hold effortlessly. Your breath was hiccuping violently, tears making his shirt wet and sticking to his skin. 

But John didn’t care. 

He wrapped his arms around you and curled his body in, taking you into a hold so warm and tight you couldn’t leave it even if you tried.

What’ve I done? The man feels his lips tense, blinking down at your shaking body with guilt as you sob. Oh, my Little Girl, I’m so sorry. What’ve I done to you? 

Had he never noticed the toll that this job was taking on you? John asked himself this in disgust as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, whispering words into your hair under his shaky breath. He hated when you cried because of him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Love, alright? Look at me.” You don’t move your bruising grip, face still held away from sight as you gasp down frantic breaths. John’s voice gets firmer, “Sweetheart, I need you to look at me, yeah?”

Your tight fingers stutter, and your head barely shifts to the side, one red eye peeking up as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster without looking incredibly broken. He never wanted to see you cry again but knew that would be an impossible feat to accomplish – but he’d do his damndest to try.

“There she is.” John’s hand goes to your cheek, brushing away the saltwater with a calloused thumb as you sniffle. “Just keep those eyes on me, Little One.”

“...M’ not little anymore.” You grumble out, your cheeks heating even as your pulse slows as you focus on your dad's eyes. So soft the edges were nearly liquid; water that held your attention as they lapped across your form. 

“To me, you’ll always be little. Can’t change that I’m afraid.” The man grunts out, tilting his head down at you and letting his eyes travel from concern to comfort. But that doesn’t change the present. 

“I’m so sorry, Love,” Your father mutters, eyes flickering away from yours in guilt so rarely shown to others. He always prided himself on being strong, you knew, bearing the brunt of the weight. Apologies weren’t often verbally said until it truly mattered. “I should have called you. That’s all on me, that is. Bloody stupid to forget about, knowin’ how you wait up for me.” 

Your lips thin to mimic your dad's, brows pulling close. But in your chest, your heart couldn’t be larger. You didn’t hold it against him, but you wished he could be here more often; not put himself in dangerous situations. Knowing as little as you did about your dad's actual job, you still knew it wasn’t entirely safe. 

Maybe the two of you protected each other from the things unseen. 

Your chest aches.

“...You’re funny lookin’ when you have to apologize. Like a kicked bear.” Pulling back your lips, a tiny smile lighting your face, and you look up at your dad with a sniffle in your nose. 

His visage snaps to yours, eyebrows going high on his head in surprise, and hooded blue eyes widening. It takes a moment, but a smirk pushes back his beard when he sees the tears have stopped falling. 

“Yeah?” John asks you, a grumble reverberating in his chest, “Now, y’know, that is just bloody rude, Sunshine. Thought I raised you better…And after I made you pancakes.” 

Laughing, you pull back, stomach rumbling and nose twitching at the prospect of the nearly forgotten food. Slithering past your father, you snatch the plate and fork before rushing into the living room. Jumping on the couch you begin to cut into the carbs, piling pieces into your mouth and smiling at the taste. No one else could make them as your dad could. 

The Brit comes not seconds later, a cup of tea held in his hand before he sits down next to you with a groan, stretching out and laying his socked feet on the coffee table next to your tossed phone from hours earlier. You giggle, suddenly leaning to his large frame and hearing him grunt in retaliation. 

“Tell me a funny story,” You demand, listening to him sip his drink in the mid-morning glow that spreads outside the house and leaks in through the opened curtains. Birds sing outside, heard from the street. 

Your dad hums, his beard tickling your scalp as he leans into you in turn, making you chuckle before he nuzzles against you kissing your head; leading to a larger exclamation of glee before you elbow his gut. 

He laughs and answers with a smile in his voice.

“Hm, did I tell you ‘bout the time Gaz fell out of the Heli?” 

You laugh, eating the rest of the pancake remnants; feeling incredibly happy and warm. There were many memories you loved of your dad and his recounting of stories fit many of them. He always kept out the gory bits – promising himself that he would never lead you down that path no matter what – and always opted for the many downright hilarious situations the rest of the 141 always seemed to get into.

“Yes, but tell me again. It’s funny, especially when you describe his face afterward! Like he–”

“Like he had shit his pants and didn’t want to tell me,” John chuckles, eyes squinted, looking down at you as you snuggle into his side. He wraps an arm over your shoulders, taking your empty plate with one hand and putting it on the side table before pulling you close and making sure his tea won’t spill. He feels your tiny, bird-like, heartbeat on his ribcage and knows that nothing could ever take you away from him. You would always be his little girl.  “Yeah, Love, I remember that one. Now, let me start from the beginning…”

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07, @shoe1412, @jaimiespn

[mistydeyes]

lavender secrets and whispers

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

summary: You'd laugh when your civilian friends would crush on your team. You've seen them at their worst, tear-gassed, sweaty and disgusting from days in the field, and beyond drunk from the pub. That's why when your female partner is revealed, the boys step up as your older brothers.

pairing: 141 x platonic! wlw! afab!Reader

warnings: SWEARING, mentions of homophobia

a/n: i love my 141 boys but women are just UGH CHEFS KISS

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

You tried to keep your personal life to yourself, not wanting to risk the dangers associated with revealing it as well as wanting to avoid the offers for a threesome

Eventually, your partner was revealed when you landed in a hospital back in the UK

It was just a minor gun shot to the thigh but of course it needed proper care to heal

Your partner joined you by your bedside, holding your hand and keeping you company

After your first day in the hospital, the 141 boys showed up to see how you were doing

“The rest of the mission went smooth- well hello there, miss” Price began to say, locking eyes with your partner. Only Price had known her existence, just in case something ever happened to you.

“I’ll leave you alone, it’s time for some tea anyways” your partner said and exited the room

“I didn’t know you had a sister” Kyle commented before you rolled your eyes and replied, “She’s my partner idiot”

Suddenly it all clicked, your disinterest in all of the offers for romance from young recruits and people from all over the world was because you were in a relationship

They felt stupid, realizing the flags they missed—what straight woman would get Sappho’s writings tattooed?

Suddenly you had an onslaught of questions from Soap and Gaz

“Where did you meet?” “Cambridge, she was on exchange from the states”

“How long have you been dating?” “Six years now”

“You gonna marry her?” “Eventually, definitely not now with my leg”

“How long have you uh—“ “It’s okay Gaz, I’ve liked women my whole life really, I’m not afraid to say it”

Finally Ghost asked, “Why didn’t you tell us?” “Well, some people get weird about it and making some inappropriate comments. You're my teammates but my personal life is, well, personal”

After what seemed like forever, your lovely significant other returned with a tray of drinks

“It’s not much but the local coffee shop was still open so I got you all something”

She handed them to each of the men, remembering how Price likes his coffee strong, Gaz enjoys floral teas, Soap takes it with bucket of sugar, and Ghost always orders earl grey

“Thank you, ma’am” they said and she smiled giving a quick, “welcome home, soldiers”

Eventually after some more friendly conversation, the men were ready to return into their own homes and bed—your so said goodbye and thanked them for generally keeping you safe

As they walked out, Ghost said, “She’s a good one, keep ‘em close Y/N”

During your free time, they always ask to see pictures of her

You’ve shown them a few of your favorites—the two of you at pride, her with your pet cat, and ones from the few dates you went on

Price confides in you as to what to get his fiancée at home, you gladly help him knowing the troubles of finding the perfect gift

Gaz points out every rainbow to you, you can’t help but laugh as you joke about rainbow capitalism that companies do every June

Once Soap asked if you ever had double dates with Laswell and her wife

“No Soap, I know we both love women but gay people aren’t friends with every single gay person”

You do have to tell them that you don’t wanna hear about their rendezvous, you like women but not the sex talk

When you go to bars, the boys make sure to protect you from anyone—knowing your partner would have their heads if something happened to you

One time, a man came up behind you and tried to hold your waist

Ghost whispered in his ear “get your fucking hands off of her” before punching his lights out

He quickly became your girlfriend’s favorite out of the squad

Just know they’ll clock anyone who makes a homophobic comment to you or outs you

Price made one of the recruit’s life a living hell when he heard him say, “Dumb bitch probably doesn’t like dick because she can’t handle it”

Let's just say everyone knows not to mess with you now

If you aren’t close with your family, Price is more than happy to walk you down the aisle and the boys will definitely be in attendance

Soap and Gaz = flower girls! No one questions when two strong military men are stoically throwing flowers down the aisle

It was a beautiful day and you have a picture on your mantle of you and your wife along with your boys surrounding you :)

[sopiao]

hii! hopefully you’re not swamped with requests or studies 😓

but can i request a hyper fem reader (uses she/her) that also wears a mask just as much as ghost? always wearing pink, gets her nails super long and glittery, pink gun, pink knives with stickers. like she is only ever seen in a mask. only way she can express herself is through make up and the 141 always notices little details or changes. even after killing and enemy and there’s blood across their face and mask but still mange to look so cute and bubbly.

could you use the callsign you use? i feel like shark would totally fit this!

have a good day!! ^^

-🧸

OMG???? LIKE?? YESS???????

I FUCKING LOVE RHIS IDEA SM!!

(dw bbg- studies r getting better :))

141 with a hyperfem masked female reader

When your first recruited and joined the task force everyone just stops and stares when you walk into the room.

They’re confused when your face is covered, only eyes being visible, makes them even more intrigued with you.

They’d 100% unconsciously move to the side to make a path for you when you walk by.

I feel Soap would be very interested and excited whenever you get new nails, always super sparkly, pink, pastel, and covered in charms and pearls.

Soap is always the first one to see and the one to pick out your next colors. His favorite combo being pink and green.

Shark would call everyone baby girl when they’re all grown men with balls (hopefully y’all saw that tweet).

“Is you LGB? cuz your gun pink” -Gaz

Constantly leaves glitter everywhere you walk.

Definitely gave everyone ‘1 whore 1” pins with a hello kitty with a pink AK behind her for Christmas. Which they all wore on their vest.

You would give out stickers as a form of praise and reward like teachers would to kindergartners.

Price would keep all the stickers you give or just leave behind in your path.

—

“Soap!” You walk into the rec room, not even bothering to look for him, just calling out his name (not the obnoxious loud kind of yell). He immediately would drop whatever he’s doing, a conversation, a game, a task. Knowing by your tone and excitement in your voice that you already have a new set.

“Oohh! Even better than the last” He says, smiling when you lay your hands out for him, he smiles even more when he sees that you picked charms that he recommended.

“I liked last weeks better, had more glitter” Ghost sudden appearance made you both jump. Almost bumping into him since he was leaning over your shoulder behind you.

Sometimes during briefing, you’d rest your head on one hand and the other would be around Soap’s shoulders, ever so often scratching his head and ruffling his hair like a dog. Some recruits would mistake you two as a couple, they’d comment how they can tell you’re the more dominant one.

—

Ghost would always be next to you, sometimes by coincidence, but mostly by preference. Whenever you two walk into the room together you always call him your twin or your mini-me.

“Can’t tell the difference, huh?” You asks the latest recruits, elbow resting against Ghost, pointing between the two of you. Even though there’s a very obvious height difference, your dramatic lashes and pink eyeshadow boomed through your balaclava, you had pink guns and knives in your holster, pink and yellow glow sticks on your belt, and Ghost was a 6’4 built like a Greek God british man.

But the rookies are too intimidated by both of you that they’re too scared to even disagree. Just nodding vigorously as you skip away with Ghost following behind.

—

“Take cover!” You yell, tossing a grenade across the barrier, signaling you’re teammates about the blow. Within seconds the ground shakes and you can hear bodies being thrown due to the impact. Unexpectedly to them a cloud of pink and glitter exploded along with the grenade.

“What the fuck?” Gaz looks up after a light layer of glitter dusts on top of him. The rest of them looking up and seeing the pink in the sky.

“Rest in pink” You bow your head to pay your respect.

—

“Shark..” Price speaks up beside you, the rumbling of the truck going on rocky terrain constantly rocks your body against his. You immediately snap to look at him, almost making jump from your crazed but happy eyes.

“Why don’t you wipe all that off, sweetheart?” He asks, holding out his handkerchief for you, motioning to the blood that’s splattered across your mask and whatever it could touch on your uncovered part of your face.

“No”

“Why not?” Gaz asks, from your other side.

“I don’t wanna smudge my makeup :(“

—

“Shark, did you do something different with your makeup?” Gaz asks once you walk into the meeting room to meet the rest of them. Yes, you did do something, there are little white and magenta accents in your eye lashes. Gives your eyes and lashes a highlight of color.

“Why yes I did. Thank you for noticing, sweetie” You pinch his cheek and sit on the empty seat next to him.

“You changed your highlighter too” Ghost speaks up from next to you, he can tell with your eye shadow and slight nose contour that you switched to a more finer and brighter highlighter.

“Did you change how you do your eyeliner? Looks bolder” Soap asks, inspecting your eyes closer.

“I think you look nice overall, hun” Price chuckles at how they inspect and comment on every little change of your appearance. Your just proud that you’ve taught your boys well, being able to know the names of every makeup technique and step.

—

“You got a little bit of Shark on you” Price interrupts Ghost mid sentence to point out the small patch of glitter on his shoulder.

A couple days later Ghost stops him for the same thing.

“Cap, you got a lil Shark on you” He taps him on the back and shows a small strawberry sticker that was stuck on his vest.

[undeadcannibal]

Summary: Subspace headcanons of Task Force 141!

Pairing: Price/Gaz/Ghost/Soap/Reader

Genre: Smut, headcanons

Warnings: Subspace, slight(?) pet play content as well ( they refer to you as pup every so often, whoops), rough oral sex, rimming (female receiving), multiple partners, ‘nsft’ content, AFAB reader, no use of y/n, spoiler free, not beta read

A/N: *tosses this into the trenches* Listen... I’ve no excuse for this over than it’s very self-indulgent. Don’t judge me. Or do. Whatever floats your boat. I definitely got carried away with this and I apologize lmao. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! ( gif credit: xxx )

So, I couldn’t get the idea of Price asking you - his submissive - if you’d be open to the idea of letting the rest of the 141 crew have their way with you during a fake briefing. After you and the rest of the crew agree and go over everyone’s terms and limits, all bets are off.

Price is sitting down in his favorite lounge chair at home. Leisurely enjoying a cigar as he has you get prepared. Having you dress down to only your underwear and collar while he watches. Afterwards, he orders you down onto your hands and knees. “C’mon, pretty girl. You know your place...”

Just as you hear the door open, you’re crawling forward towards Price till you’re sitting between his legs. Straddling one and then wrapping your arms around his calf, hugging yourself to his form as your cheek comes to rest on the top of his knee. Soap is the first one to break the silence.

“Steamin’ Jesus...” Seeing you in nothing but your underwear and a collar was a sight he wasn’t going to be forgetting anytime soon. Sorry, Price.

Despite you being there, they all do their best to act as if it’s any average debriefing they’ve done. Although, neither Soap or Ghost can look away from you nuzzling at their Captain’s thigh. Gaz, however, isn’t afraid to take the first few steps forward. Taking a seat on the couch to admire you for now.

“Gorgeous as always, love~” Gaz doesn’t do anything right away. Content with watching for the time being. Soap and Ghost though? Oh, those two are glued to the spot. Unsure of what to do and where to even begin. Excitement and tension thick in the air.

Price will gently nudge you and tell you to help get things going for everyone. Looking down at you and giving you a look that lets you know exactly what he wants. Even so, you don’t leave his side right away. Price will rub your cheek as you nuzzle into his palm. Only after you’ve had your fill, you’ll crawl over to where Soap and Ghost stand.

Smiling up at both of them as Soap breaks first; reaching down to pet the hair on the top of your head. Ghost, however, watches like Gaz and Price as you kneel before Soap so you can begin to undo his belt and pants. By the time you’ve his pants halfway down his thighs, he’s helping you with the next part. Pushing his boxer-briefs down till his semi-flaccid cock springs free.

You lick your lips as you lean in and begin to kiss and nip at his muscular thighs. Wasting no time in moving over to his groin so you can kiss and stroke his member. Working him up till he’s hard enough to take within your mouth.

“You weren’t kiddin’ when you said she’s an eager one, were you, Cap?” Soap doesn’t push you to go faster or take more than you can handle. Instead, he’s appreciating the view of you on your knees before him, your plush lips sealed around the tip of his cock. Just as he releases a pleased groan, your taking more of him in your mouth till your confident enough to work up a good pace with him.

All three of the men that you aren’t tending to are watching you care for Soap till he’s grabbing the hair at the back of your head and pulling you off of him. Soap’s grinning down at you as you clean the saliva and pre-cum off of your lips. “Heh, good girl~” He praises, then glancing over to Ghost.

“Go on, pup. I can’t wait to see the Lieutenant use you.”

Moving over to Ghost, you take your time in working your way up to the front of his pants. Starting from his calves, you slide your palms up his strong legs till he’s smacking your hands away. Beating you to undoing his pants till his hard cock springs free. Smacking against your cheek as you giggle and turn your head, lapping at his tip before sliding your tongue down the length of him. Unlike Soap, you work him up in a different way. Kissing and gently taking his balls within your palm to fondle him. You can feel yourself become wet with arousal when you feel his dick twitch against your face.

Before you start, he’s pulling you back by your hair and taking himself into his own hand, pressing his cock against your lips till your mouth opens to welcome him in. “Take a deep breath.” Is all the warning Ghost gives you before he’s gathering your hair in a ponytail. Pushing your face down after you take a deep breath, he doesn’t bother asking if you’re alright with it. He’s heard enough from Price. Knows you can take it all and much, much more...

He face fucks you mercilessly. Using the grip on your hair to pull you back before he’s pushing you back down on him again. Making you take more and more of his length despite the drool and pre-cum spilling past your lips, even thrust he makes you take making you gag in the process with his pace and intensity of his thrust.

Just as your eyes begin to water and you begin to moan around Ghost’s unrelenting throat fucking, your eyes widen when you feel a sudden pressure against your mound. Soap had taken it upon himself to indulge a little. Pressing the toe of his boot against your clothed cunt. Digging it in directly against your clit and then wiggling it so he was roughly stimulating you. Making your thighs quiver and shake.

“Fuckin’ hell, Soap...” Gaz can’t help but speak out as he watches both men work you over. Although, admittedly, the sight of Soap jiggling his boot against you till your crying out around Ghost has him twitching within his pants.

He's stepping forward, not even bothering to ask what exactly Ghost and Soap have planned for you. Instead, he takes it upon himself to drag your panties down, exposing only your ass since Soap was having too much fun with his boot and your pussy. He could even see the crotch of your panties were already sporting a wet spot from where Soap's boot had been digging in. Hot as it may be, he has other things on his mind for this evening.

Ghost finally relents just as you feel your ass being spread apart by Gaz, pulling you off of his cock with a lewd and audible ‘pop’ just in time for Gaz to lean in. Lapping at your tight ring of muscle and causing you to whimper and push back against his face and Soap’s boot in the process. Overwhelmed and surrounded by the trio of soldiers.

Price takes his time finishing his cigar as he watches the boys take you apart bit by bit. The sounds your making as Ghost fucks your mouth with little care, Soap’s slick toe of his boot squeaking against you, the moans and sighs you gave as Gaz ate your ass... All of it had him nearly bursting out of his trousers at that point. Though, he chooses to hold off for now. Instead, the Captain was temporarily content with appreciating the view, as well as giving the occasional order or two.

“You’re being such a good girl for us, love. I think we might need to get a new tag for your collar... ‘Property of 141′ ”

If you had a tail, it’d be wagging non-stop.

Needless to say, they all come to enjoy using you till you can’t even think straight. Each taking their time in indulging everything they’ve thought about doing to you leading up to the event.

After it’s all said and done, they each take turns giving you their own form of aftercare. Having asked Price what would be best for you to help you come down from everything. Reassuring you your the best submissive/pup they could have asked for~

[live-love-be-unique]

And I’ll buy you the world

Summary: You had made it a rule to never get involved with a soldier, but what happens when one of them won’t take no for an answer?

Parings: Soap x f reader

Warnings: none.

Chapter i. Of Scotsmen and Morphine

Joining taskforce 141 months earlier as team nurse, you’d made it a rule to never get involved with a soldier, but there was someone who made it very clear he wanted to be the one to take your rule and blow it into a million pieces.

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish.

With his bright blue eyes and that accent…oh god, that accent…and his endless supply of nicknames for you, his particular favorites were the ones in Gaelic that you had to translate to know just what he was saying. Those were the ones that made you seriously consider taking the flirty Scot up on his numerous offers for a date, come on caileag ghrinn; you, me and a bottle of wine…

With 141 off base on a mission you busied yourself running medicals on the new recruits. A dull task but it had kept you busy.

You’d heard that the taskforce had come back to base but you weren’t expecting Soap to drop by the medbay so quickly, but there he was; being held upright by Gaz, blood pooling on the shoulder of the gray shirt he wore.

Gaz gave you the rundown of what happened. A bullet had entered Soap’s left shoulder from a shooter who was positioned above, a sniper more than likely, you thought. Gesturing toward the gurney nearby “can you get him on the table? I’ll need to cut the shirt away to get a better look” you ask Gaz, turning to find the trauma shears so you could cut the shirt away from the wound site.

“If you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask, beautiful” Soap slurred. Oh goodie, you thought, the medics have already dosed him heavily with morphine.

You rolled your eyes and smirked as you helped Gaz drag the injured Scot towards the gurney in the room.

“I would be good to you, hen” Soap said, looking up at you with his crystalline eyes.

“Could you, huh?..How good?” Normally you wouldn’t entertain the patients, but Soap was definitely different. You had to admit, you did enjoy the flirty banter.

“Oh I'd be so good, I’d make you forget about all those other men” he whispered loudly causing Gaz to snort with laughter.

“Alright loverboy, let’s get you on the gurney so she can take a look” Gaz smirked as Soap fell face first onto the bed.

“She so wants me” he mutters to Gaz as he awkwardly climbs onto the gurney. “Say the word bonnie, say it and I’m yours” he declared to you as he settled himself against the pillow.

Gaz laughed heartily, muttering “he’s all yours” as he backed out the door and Soap looked up at you with a soft lopsided smile gracing his lips.

Carefully cutting the fabric from his shoulder and exposing the wound, thankfully it was only a flesh wound, the bullet had pierced through the muscle of Soap’s arm but would not cause any lasting damage.

You made quick work of suturing his arm and pulled the blanket at the foot of the bed over his legs. “You should rest” you say, moving to pull the screen closed to allow him to sleep off the morphine.

You bumped into Captain Price as you close the screen “how is he?”

“He’s well enough to be an incorrigible flirt” you say, sharing a laugh with the captain. “He should be up and causing my nurses trouble in no time” you chuckle to yourself.

“Just the one nurse” Price mutters pointedly to you as he shuffles himself into the ward.

You let Price sit with him for a while as you update Soap’s file, passing it to Price to sign as he leaves.

“Bonnieeee” you hear Soap pout like a petulant child.

You peek behind the screen, expecting to see he’d managed to pull his stitches or something. Soap was leaning back against the pillows, a bright, dopey smile on his face "I love you!”

You chuckle "tell me that when you get off the morphine, darling." Laughing as you’re met with soft snores in response.

[miniwheat77]

Family pt 2. (141 x Reader.)

!CW! flashbacks, PTSD, mentions of SA, depression, violence, blood (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): Reader is struggling after the incident and 141 is trying to pull her away from her dark thoughts.

Blurb? Kinda? Mini fic? XD



Since the incident, you locked yourself in your room. Only coming out for an occasional meal and whatever your Captain needed you to do. He asked the others to leave you alone for a while, give you some time to adjust and feel better about everything. They worried about you so much, worried about your well being after you’d opened up about what happened. Price didn’t tell the others much, other than you were assaulted and you were going to need time to adjust because these were dark times. Everyone was there for you, you knew they were. But your favorite thing about them was the fact that they didn’t change how they treated you because of what happened. They joked with you, talked to you like normal. They didn’t tip toe around you or anything. They didn’t make you feel like an alien for something that happened to you.

The only thing that really changed was how protective they were over you. On missions, you were surrounded by a few members of 141, they kept you safe. When you met Los Vaqueros, it was no different. Every single one of them kept you safe and took to you right away.

“Emergency mission, everyone pack up right now.” Price barges into the mess hall. “What’s going on Captain?”

“4 American Soldiers were kidnapped from a military base a few hours away, Cartel. Took them to a warehouse in Mexico. Alejandro and Rudy and some of his men are meeting us there. This is personal.” Everyone gathers their gear in a hurry, meeting at the infil chopper immediately. It doesn’t take long before everyone is awaiting orders as the chopper lands. “Alright. Alejandro and Rudy are finding a way inside from above. They’re going to give us a signal and tell us which ways to get inside. We cannot rush this, there’s hostages involved.” Everyone nods their heads and wait patiently for some kind of signal from Alejandro or Rudy.

“There is a door and a window on the south side of the building. There’s a kitchen, no one inside. I can cover you while you come in.” Rudy says through their radio. Everyone forms a line, walking quietly along until you’re pressed up against the building, Rudy opening it. Everyone creeps their way inside. “Nobody downstairs, assuming they have them upstairs.” You nod your head, each of you creeping upstairs. “I came from there, didn’t see anyone.” Rudy nods to a window.

“Cover a door each of you.” Price orders and everyone moves along. Soap behind you as you aimed your pistol at the closed door. “3…2…1-“ each of you kick the doors open, guns pointed at the members of the cartel.

What you see in front of you makes you sick. A girl is lying on the bed, tear stained cheeks. The man is half naked and her shirt is ripped. You came in the nick of time. You freeze, gun pointed at him.

It happens in slow motion. Soap’s eyes are wide. He tries to get you to put the gun down, he’s surrendering. Your eyes burn into him, the innocent girl suffering on the bed would never forget this day. She’d never forget his face. But him being dead, is the only way she’ll rest at night. No other gunfire is heard except for you. Your finger squeezing the trigger, his head jerks backward, a bullet right between the eyes. “Y/N- he was surrendering!” Soap says. “Him being dead will only bring peace to her.” You mumble, finally stepping forward. You quickly work to pull off your jacket, passing it to the American Soldier. She was dirty, dirt and blood covered her skin. Shirt torn. Pants still in tact- thankfully. You grounded her with a heavy hand. “You’re okay now. He can’t hurt you.” She nods her head. You’re pulling your first aid kit out of your bag, patching up her wounds. “Cmon, we’re taking you home.” You help her up. The rest of the men gathered the rest of the soldiers, who were battered. After saying your goodbyes and shipping them out to the nearest healthcare facility in the United States, you were on the exfil chopper, heading back to base.

Your eyes bore into the side of the chopper. Elbows resting in your knees as you stared ahead. His head jerking back, the bullet right in his forehead.

As fucked up as it was, it’d bring peace.

“Why did you shoot him if he was surrendering?” Captain Price stands in front of you. “He was trying to rape her.”

“He was surrendering.”

“He’s a rapist.”

“Y/N-“

“He’s a fucking rapist.” You seethe. “He kidnapped them, beat them and tried to rape her. Which is the worse war crime?” You growl. “Y/N.” Your Captain kneels down on one knee in front of you. “Look at me.” He grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I will cover this one up for you. But you have to pull yourself out of this okay? You’re completely unstable. I worry about you and your health, but if you can’t get this together, I’ll have no choice but to send you home. Do you understand?” You look him in the eyes, it’s unsettling. Almost as if you look straight through him. He sighs. He places his forehead to yours, eyes shut as you take a deep breath. “We’re your family Y/N. We’ve got your back. Nobody can hurt you while we’re around, do you understand?” He says. “Yes.” You close your eyes. “You’re okay. We have you now. Nobody will hurt you like that, not ever again.” He holds your hands in his. “I’m putting you on another break. A week. If you can’t handle it anymore, I’ll send you home.”

“I’ll be better Captain. I promise.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you now love, we all agree. We want to kill rapists too. But.. there are rules. We’re on your side of this.” You nod your head.

“You’re going to be okay Y/N. 141 has you now.”

@ellouisa17

[starboykel]

Pretty tears... 💧 Pt.1

Vladimir Makarov's daughter! Reader x Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

!!warnings: angst then comfort, manipulation, kidnapping, violence, threatening, reader is russian or partly-russian, reader is 21 years old

English isn't my first language! I apologize for any gramatical mistakes

part 2

Gaz was used to this. To the mission, go somewhere, kill some bad guys, do what he needs to do and go to a party to celebrate after, but...this is completely different.

The Task Force 141 had found out that Vladimir Makarov had a daughter, (Y/N) Makarov. She lived in Moscow, in a small apartment, she wasn't aware of what her father was going but even like that, the TF141 thought they could get some kind of information about her father. Where he is? Where he went? What were his plans? Maybe she knew something...

The plan was: Gaz would seduce her and make her fall in love with him then they would kidnap her and interrogate her, easy, isn't it?

The first part of the plan was easy, she was protected her whole life by Makarov and was unaware of the bad part of the world, she knew it existed but never saw it, so when Gaz first approached, talking in a broken russian and trying his best to talk to her, she found it cute and quite charmous but for his luck, she knew English.

The plan was suppose to be just one month long but they were already in the second month and just now, they managed to get a date. Gaz convinced her to go to his hotel, so they could have a time alone together...and she accepted.

Now they're here, in the interrogation room, she was cuffed to the chair. It was heartbreaking to see. She was crying, scared and even shaking a bit while Price was trying to get some kind of information out of her...

"Tell us! Where is your father?!" Price yells, at an angry tone. The captain was never a patient man when it came to interrogation and she was getting on his nerves.

"I don't know! I don't know..." She cries, her voice shaky and shaking from fear. Gaz felt the urge to interrupt, he knew her better than anyone in the room. He saw her smile, cry, get angry, scared and maybe, just maybe, he had started to genuinely like her...

"Captain, stop, she doesn't know anything, it's obvious." Gaz says in a softer tone, putting a hand on Price's shoulder. Price takes a deep breath and sighs, they weren't going anywhere with this interrogation.

"Two months goin' to the trash, how amusing." Soap rolls his eyes and snorts. "Do you really don't know anythin'?" The scottish asks, frowning slightly. She shakes her head, still crying. Ghost was indifferent, he knew the plan wasn't going to work since the beginning but no one listened to him.

"What do we do with her now? We can't just let her go, she'll tell her father." Price crossed his arms and looks to the rest of the team. Gaz gets closer to her and wipes her tears, she was heartbroken, he was too, he felt bad for manipulating her. She was so gullible and naive, she fell so easily on his trap, the littlest amount of affection made her fall in love and feel like a high schooler again. Poor girl.

While the other operators discussed, Gaz stayed on her side, trying to distract her from her hand cuffed and her situation. "Hey, what's your favorite color?" He asked in a softer tone, putting his hand on her head and caressing it softly. "W...what?" She asks, her voice shaky, confused, she saw the soft and warm smile on Gaz's face and nods. "Uh...pink?...no, blue....? I don't know..." She says in a low tone.

Gaz chuckles softly and nods. "Those are great colors, my favorite is blue...and what's your favorite animal?" He asks, again in that soft tone, trying not to scare her. "I like...dogs...and cats..but, i think sheeps are cute...i had a sheep plush when i was a kid.." she smiles weakly and Gaz smiles back.

"Oi Gaz, we decided that we're done here. Put her in a cell, we're going to the cafeteria." Price says and throws the keys to Gaz, Gaz grab them and nods, he still feels bad so he uncuffs her.

He make sure to pick the best cell...well, one that wasn't destroyed and moldy, he picks the softest mattress and the fluffiest blankets and pillows.

"I'm sorry, alright? I was just following orders." Gaz says, guilty on his eyes as he looked at her. She nods and rubs her watery eyes.

"I understand..." She says, her voice now back to normal but the sad tone was still there. "You were...my first kiss, you know?" She says with a weak smile. Gaz feels even worse now and nods, embarrassed of his acts. "It was nice while it lasted." He says and looks downs, she nods and looks away.

"I have something for you." Gaz says and takes a phone out of his pocket. Her eyes lights up slightly as he gives her the phone, it was old yes, but it was something. It was tracked and he could see everything she did, so no contact with Makarov. "Don't tell anyone i gave you that, my contact is already on it." He says and smiles weakly, looking back at her. She grabs the phone and nods. "It's our little secret." He says with more playful tone, making her chuckles softly. He sighs and leads her inside the cell and he locks it.

They exchange one last eye contact before he leaves. Were they still in love with each other? Only time will tell.

┄┄ ︰ ┄୨୧┄ ︰ ┄┄

🌸

[ghouljams]

I wish to hear more about Murphy the feed store guy who is apparently getting freaked out by König paying full price

Murphy is like 70 years old and owns the feed store. The store has a name but nobody uses it because the sign is so old and the paint is so worn that everyone just calls it by the owner's name. "Murphy's" easy. The only thing that's really of note about Murphy or the store is that Murphy loves to haggle.

See every item in the store is slapped with a hilariously high price tag, so high that any farmer with half a brain would look at it and go, "Now hold on, that don't look right to me." But this is Murphy's design. Everyone in town knows that if you go to the feed store you gotta be prepared to haggle, gotta be prepared to stick to your guns and not wilt under Murphy's overgrown catapillar brows and eager grin. It's Goose's favorite part of shopping, and the rest of the 141 find out on their first trip to Murphy's what is expected and why.

One man in town has not gotten the memo. One man is trying to be polite and just pay Murphy for his wares. One man is 7 feet tall and stares Murphy down in a way that makes his stomach churn when he tells him he is happy to pay full price.

"You're sure I can't interest you in a discount?" Murphy asks hesitantly. König tips his head forward looking at the neatly notated order list and the prices. He looks back at Murphy, eyes boring holes into him, expression unreadable behind the bandana mask.

"Nein, I am sure you are asking what is fair." Murphy feels his stomach drop, is this guy trying to intimidate him? Is he trying to say something about his pricing practices? Murphy dabs his forehead with a handkerchief.

"You're a loyal customer, a discount would be-" König holds up a hand to stop him.

"You are very kind, but I am sure you need the money more than I do." Jesus christ. Murphy is starting to sweat. Is this guy trying to say the store is in disrepair? That he thinks business is bad?

"Hey buddy, you a fuckin' moron or what?" Moon asks behind König. Murphy sweats more watching König turn to face her. His eyes sweeping high and then tipping his head down to look at her. König's eyes narrow.

"Ah, hello sister." König says pleasantly, Moon stares up at him with all the patience of a woman parked next to a fire hydrant, "I did not know nuns were allowed to swear."

Murphy tries to motion for Moon to absolutely not respond to that. She blows a bubble with her gum and snaps it at König. "I'll say a Hail Mary later," she tells him, "Who are you supposed to be? Zorro?"

Murphy says a quick prayer: please dear God do not let your disciple start another fight in his store, not with this giant man.

"König, and you are?" The giant asks, tipping his head to the side, his fingers twitching too close to his holster for Murphy's liking.

"You like moonshine König?" Moon pulls a flip phone from her pocket, ignoring König's question.

"I do not know what that is."

"Fantastic." Murphy motions again, desperately, for Moon to maybe stop with the sales pitch. Just for his own health. König turns to look at him mid gesture.

"This is very rude," he tells him, mimicking the gestures Murphy had made, "we are trying to have a conversation."

"Of course," Murphy tells him, holding his hands up placatingly, "don't mind me." König nods, Moon raises a brow at Murphy. It's weird seeing him like this, he's usually so commanding. She looks up at König who is waiting patiently for her to continue their conversation.

Oh she is going to upcharge the hell out of this dumbass.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Secondhand News

John Price/ plus size F!OC

John Price chases after his sergeants sister, a soft and sweet wildlife rehabilitator in the rural south.

Tags: domestic fluff, critters, poor flirting, and eventual smut. There is also some background romance between the rest of the 141. Please Enjoy <3

Price bounces gently in the back seat of the old SUV, his hand curled over the rain guard from where his arm hangs out of the window. Content to let the warm wind wash over him as they speed down the bumpy gravel road to Darren’s home.  Pleased to see the landscape shift from seemingly endless plains of agricultural fields and miles of 2-lane highway, to dense and muggy bottomland filled with oaks and hardy cypress.

Ghost is sitting passenger, mask temporarily pulled down, scarred lips pulled into a knowing smile as he watches Darren fuss stubbornly with the worn out radio. Ghost eventually grows tired of the annoying swap between static and too loud classic rock, giving the knob a quick smack. He reaches over, tugging at Darren’s ear. “Jus’ listen to the wind.” he chastises warmly. Rolling his own window further for added effect. Darren wrinkles his nose in displeasure, growing antsy in his excitement to get home, but holding back his chatter. Price gives him about 5 minutes before he touches the radio again. 

This was a well needed “vacation.” Rather, they had been bullied into taking temporary leave, signed and expedited by Laswell herself before the boys could get swept up in another ultranationalist regime. They had been running for months, beaten and exhausted after Makarov. The near miss with Soap had worn heavily on them all, and another group was being pulled online to clean up the aftermath. After a few weeks of huddling with Soap,  John had intended to go home to his empty flat in Liverpool, drink himself silly and wait for a call, maybe binge the football games he'd missed in the chaos. Pay his mum a visit. 

However it had been Darren’s casual offer that brought him to this portion of the rural united states. Darren, the last to join his task force. A good friend and former teammate of Alex Keller. Price had been pleased with the man’s skills, stealing him like he had done with the others, and Darren’s presence had been invaluable in the hunt for Makarov, securing himself as part of the team as well as snuggling him in just as nicely with his other teammates.

Darren spoke fondly of his home, particularly of his baby sister, whom he fretted for and praised in equal measure. “Ruby’s sharp, smarter than me by a long shot,” he tells them, the 5 of them crammed into their favorite booth of the local pub, “She’s just on her own out there, I know she does just fine, but still.”

Price knew of her, had met her before, years ago at an awards ceremony. She was a pretty thing, all big soft curves and dark freckles on her round cheeks. He’d stolen her to his side most of the night, dancing and laughing, but circumstance had them parting without exchanging contact. Their time together had been brief, but he’d be lying if hadn't layed in bed that evening, hand on his cock as he thought about how the pretty warm thing would sound mewling underneath him. 

And maybe some more nights after that. 

Price had listened intently when Darren spoke of her. From what he could gather, she was in fact doing just fine. Having been the first to snag a college degree, something to do with animal sciences if he remembered correctly. According to Darren she ran her own small scale wildlife rehab. “Nuthin’ crazy, mostly just the critters folks find hurt or without their mommas” he’d explained in his soft southern drawl. Showing them videos of a fawn trying and failing to walk over his home’s hardwood floors, as a familiar feminine voice encouraged the babe to give it another go, biting off giggles somewhere off camera.

Her laugh was just as sweet as Price remembered, and he’d decided then and there that he would travel to the asscrack of southern america just to hear it again. 

It had already been discussed that Soap and Gaz would go to London, spend some time with Gaz’s family while Soap waited for his checkup with a neurologist.  Darren would return to his shared home with said sister, Ghost in tow. “You should come too Cap, take a break for a while, it’s outta the way, and we got plenty of space. Ru won't mind!” he’d beamed. 

Price had pretended to contemplate before agreeing in mock reluctance, hiding his smirk behind his glass as he downed the rest of his scotch. Sure, why not?

Price’s attention is pulled again as Darren makes another turn down an unmarked road. They trundle along the long gravel drive, through the trees until a house blooms into few. 

It’s a two-story, rustic looking thing, with off-white paneling, and dark shingles. The paint is chipping and weeds grow tall around the foundation. What looks to be tractor tires lay on their sides in the front yard, acting as makeshift flower beds for soft purple irises and yellow coneflowers. He figures the place has been around long enough to see several generations come and go. 

Price watches curiously as a gaggle of guinea fowl mosey around the front yard, pecking at the ground, unperturbed as the 3 men pile out of Darren’s vehicle. It’s quiet, save for the sound of rustling trees and the soft clucking of more fowl in the back. However, it only takes one slam of the car door to shatter the peace. A loud and vicious snarling and barking comes from inside the home. Something large and apparently very displeased knocking itself against the windows and door of the old house. Price half readies himself as the front door opens, a bulky gray pitbull barreling out and launching over the steps entirely in its haste to reach the men. 

The slobbering dog’s demeanor rapidly shifts from violent snarls to whining excitement as he recognizes Darren.  Lacking a tail to waggle, the dog’s whole ass-end shakes wildly as it bounces and sneezes around the sergeant, leaning against Darren’s legs bodily.

“Hey, Blue” Darren chuckles, leaning down to give the goofy dog a pat.   

Blue breaks away, wiggles turning shy as it snuffles carefully at Simon and Price’s boots, dodging away intermittently at any shift in movement, only to get distracted and start bouncing again as Darren coos. Simon is the first to earn the pup’s trust, angling his body away slightly and crouching. Hands clasped in front of him as he lets the dog get some more sniffs of his t-shirt, eventually Blue settles his heavy head on Simon’s tattooed forearm, trembling slightly in excitement as Simon gives him a rub between the ears. 

Next was John, who also crouches, offering a hand palm down for the beast to sniff. The dog obliges, standing stock still as it investigates very seriously. Snuffling with the fervor of a hog at every inch of Price. Eventually Blue sucks in one long drawn out whiff, gears turning as he processes.

The moments tick by as Blue finalizes his decision. Giving an answer in the form of a big bodily sneeze to the captain’s hand. 

Scan complete: Test passed. 

Pleased, the goofy mutt circles him happily, leaning most of his weight onto John’s legs as he stands. The white’s of Blue’s eyes visible as he cranes his head back to stare at John, wishful for a pat. Of which John obliges after wiping the snot from his hand with a good natured laugh.

“Blue!! Sorry he's a slob!” comes an apologetic call in the distance.

John looks up, heart fluttering like a teenager at the sight.

There she is. His pretty thing, swinging her way out the door and into the yard, looking slightly embarrassed. John tries not to stare at the way her soft body bounces as she trots down the steps. 

Darren is quick to snag her up in a bear hug, squeezing her hard enough to knock the wind out of her. She returns with equal fervor, the pair of them grunting with the force of it before setting her down, ruffling her hair to be a shithead for added effect.

She's just as he remembered her, standing a foot or so shorter than her brother. Bulky in the shoulders like him too, albeit much softer. All of her is really, with round freckled cheeks framed by wavy red hair that spilled down her back. Full frame on display in a plain tank and shorts for the humid summer air. 

She fixes her hair with a huff, elbowing Darren sharply before grinning at the men with an innocent smile. Fucking adorable. John can't help but smile back. 

Darren makes reintroductions, gesturing between them. 

“I’m tickled to see you boys again.” she chimes, and John wastes no time, stepping closer and offering a hand.  

“We appreciate the hospitality, Miss Martin” John replies warmly, his eyes crinkling in the corners as she accepts. Price’s hand engulfs hers, and he gives her a gentle squeeze, holding on a bit longer than necessary, taking brief pleasure in the way her cheeks flush. 

“Ruby’s just fine” she corrects with scrunch of her nose, pulling her hand away to greet Ghost as well.  “Sorry about this, I promise I got manners. Darri just told me you guys would be in later.” she says pointedly, giving Darren a look. The soft drawl of her accent was more prominent than her brothers, melodic and laid-back in a way that put Price at ease. 

“But I did fetch groceries” she chimes, jabbing a thumb to the black SUV. “Just got back with em’, just need them loaded inside and I can fix us some lunch. You okay with sandwiches Captain?”

“Just John” he corrects easily, “And that sounds perfect.”

“Well alright ‘Just John’, gimme a hand?” she fires back, “You two also, more hands is less work and this midday heat is the worst”

John gives her a curt nod, glancing at Darren who is giving him an unreadable look, and Simon who eyes him knowingly over Darren’s shoulder.

-

John stares at the back of the SUV. The woman had quite literally bought enough groceries to feed a whole army. Not to mention the extra large sacks filled with various feed for the animals. John wasted no time loading as many plastic sacks along his arms as he could, Darren and Simon following suit.  Hauling them in without a sound and dropping them on the kitchen table before fetching more. Ruby hurriedly putting away groceries as an assembly line of men deposited plastic bags along the floor. 

John also loads the bags of feed over his shoulders dutifully, trotting back inside, Simon close behind. 

“Oh, hey! I just needed the groceries in, I could’ve got that!” she exclaims upon seeing them, eyes wide as both men stand there. Carrying the bags with easy expressions, as if they weighed nothing at all. 

“Well I’ve got them, now where do they need to go miss?”

“Ruby” she corrects again, moving closer as if to take them herself. Neither one of them budge. 

“Okay, where do these need to go Miss Ruby?” he tries again, cracking a smile at her exasperated expression. 

Ruby shoos them outside, pointing to a corner of the porch for them to be deposited, before herding them back inside and to finally sit down at her small round kitchen table. 

The kitchen is outdated, with old floral wallpaper, and several well worn rugs placed over scuffed laminate flooring.  Faded red plaid curtains hang in the window, illuminating the plethora of cherry themed knick knacks and kitchenware she has displayed along the tops of her cabinets and countertops. He finds himself charmed by the cozyness of it, a welcome change from off white walls and overhead lights. 

Darren sits between them, chatting lightly about how the place was once his aunts, passed down to them after she met that fella in vegas. Price's eyes flicker between Darren and the pretty thing puttering around in the kitchen beside him. He loses himself a bit in fantasy, thinking how she would look with a ring on her finger, or wearing his clothes. He wonders if she loves antique malls and shady hole-in-the-wall burger joints. 

One step at a time. If Price could do nothing else, he could certainly execute a plan. He would just need to tread carefully. This was one of his sergeant’s siblings after all. 

He continues his scan, looking for more clues when a rather curious sound hits his ears. He shifts his attention behind him, watching Ruby pluck store bought grapes from the vine and into a bowl with various other cut up fruits. She examines each one, placing the grapes she deems suitable onto the tray and lowering the unwanted grapes into what he assumed to be a trash can at first. However, shortly after she brings her hand back, a loud and intense smacking follows, seemingly coming from the kitchen floor.

For a split second he is about to tell her it isn't good to feed dogs grapes before Blue comes waddling around the corner, looking properly dejected. The smacking, however, continues, making his brows furrow. 

What the hell?

Was there another dog he hadn't spotted?

Price sits up straighter in his chair, straining to see around the little mobile kitchen island. By now the noise has caught everyone’s attention.  He gives Darri a questioning look, who only meets him with a mischievous grin, shrugging his shoulders. Look for yourself. 

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Price eases himself up, leaning around the kitchen island carefully to finally spot the noisy offender. 

Chomping messily on the kitchen mat is a chubby little thing, with wirey white and grey fur, tinges of pink painting the tip of its little black ears. Its white mouth stained pink from its fruit eating. Is that a bloody possum?  It rises to its haunches, tugging at Ruby’s pant leg insistently before she lowers it another piece of fruit. It’s tiny pinky fingers snagging it clumsily before it shovels the fruit into its maw, chewing with comically loud smacks and tilting its little head back to help the food slide down.  Blue sits around the corner moping,  waiting patiently for his own grape that Ruby forbids in a soft voice. 

Price watches Ruby wrinkle her nose as pieces of fruit fall in a sticky mess to the floor before clearing his throat politely.

The redhead jumps at the noise, whirling to face him with wide eyes. She stands sheepishly, frozen as her eyes flick between Price and the very obvious possum sitting on her kitchen floor. 

She presses her lips together firmly, trying to seal in her laughter as she takes in Price’s bewildered expression. He raises a brow at her, tilting his head to the side in question, and stifled giggles break into a laugh, full and loud, the force of it making her soft body shake. Price laughs too, easing a little closer to get a better look.

“Y’gonna tell me what you got there? Or was I not supposed to see em’?”

“Well you see” she drawls, like a child trying to explain why she shouldn't get in trouble. ”I was gonna give a more formal introduction, but the little shit snuck in once he heard the plastic crinkinlin’.” she laughs, scooping the animal up with a flourish and stepping closer to Price. “This is Cotton, got him when he was just a baby. He’s not fit to go back into the wild, so he just stays with me, does ambassador stuff for the Game and Fish when they need him.” she explains, bouncing the giant rat in her arms like a baby. 

She shifts him to her soft hip, its pink tail twisting around her arm for security as it snuffles the air.  Ruby scoots close enough for Price to smell the shampoo in her hair, flashing him a grin and swearing Cotton doesn't bite (most of the time). Price studies the animal with an amused expression, letting it sniff his hand before scritching between his ears. He’s much softer than Price expected, the critter grabbing at his hand with cold little fingers, presumably looking to see if he has more fruit to part with.

Price watches as she takes a little tour to the table. Darren giving the possum a familiar, too rough scrub to the head before Ruby rounds to show Ghost. As she approaches the little bastard wiggles from her arms and onto the broad soldier. Scrabbling onto Ghost's shoulders and snuffling in his ears and hair. 

Ruby begins to panic, reaching for Cotton frantically, but Ghost holds up a hand, utterly unphased. He sits still, letting the little beast inspect him for a moment before snagging Cotton by the scruff and plopping him in his arms. There is a little amused huff from the large man, who lets the possum settle against his chest as if it were a house cat and not an oversized rodent. 

Price smiles at the sight. 

What a fun stay this will be.

[blingblong55]

Hello! I am new to your tumblr, so I would like to give you a request

So the one TF141 had come back from a real rough mission and reader gave them gifts to cheer them up (price and his cigars and ghost and his bourbon) what if that was reversed?

Reader had a solo mission and it was rough and draining and she comes back to the base almost looking lifeless and the 141 boys decided to come up with something for her. Either all together or on their own.

yessss this is what feeds meeee

Antidote- 141

Three days ago you had been assigned to a solo mission. Price would be on comms but all of your skills and training had to be on display. It was by far the toughest mission you've had to yourself, so many hours spent on the woods, hunting. When you encountered the enemy, it was far from being over. For two days you fought. Giving the enemy no rest.

Today everything was over, you eliminated the target and left no witnesses. "let's get you home kid." price's voice over comms interrupted your short nap.

You got back to base around 8 in the morning. The team waited for you at chow hall. But you never showed up. When price went to check on you, you had disappeared from your room. Eventually Gaz spotted you doing drills with some rookies.

Soap and Ghost didn't believe you were running around with rookies, they checked for themselves and there you were. Running along side, you a few steps ahead. "she needs to rest, c'mon tell 'em." Gaz nudged at Price. "I have something better." The three men followed price. They went to your quarters and started to fix you room, soap left to clean your equipment. Gaz had to go out and get some of your favorite meals,(snacks and what not) he had a whole list that the other men filled out.

Price was organizing your room, he knew how much you hated when everything was a mess, but then Ghost had the idea to build a fort, he had remembered that one time on a tough mission, you had told him how you and your siblings would build forts, eat snacks and watch movies. "it was our safe place. Free of everyone." Your eyes teared up and he for the first time ever, hugged you.

When Soap came back, he helped build the fort, he knew how to build them, unlike Price and Ghost. "you two get on her netflix account and start looking at films." he instructed.

Then Price with the help of Soap, snuck the projector and more pillows into your room. Gaz soon arrived, bags of your favorite foods, snacks and your favorite drink dragged his arms down.

The four men organized the pillows never leaving anything of the floor under uncovered. Gaz and Soap went to check on you, while Ghost was still deciding what movie felt appropriate for your mood today.

"C'mon, you can't tell me you don't have a favorite movie!"

"fineeee, its Matilda."

"thats a sad one." Gaz commented,

"its a comfort movie!, I love it for the fuzzy feeling it gives me,"

Matilda it is, Ghost thought. He and Price found their spots and waited for the other men to lure you in.

----

Back with some rookies, you stood there. Your soldier mentality still giving its last moments of life. It was all your training, once you had set your mental state to a soldier, it was hard to snap out of it. That's why you ran, did drills and sparred with them. Because deep down, your own mentality was awaiting to cry out for help.

Soap tackled you, then Gaz tried to grab you by your hips, but you fought back. They looked at each other, and made the perfect plan.

Gaz held you by your underarms, meanwhile Soap had a hold of your feet, and they walked back to your room. "seriously this isn't funny, put me down!" you said,

----

After a minute of struggle they made it to your room. You were let down, and as you slowly stood up they all watched you.

"What is this?"

"its r/n's day!" Soap hugged you from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, "I don't understand."

"You always said you wanted a r/n day, where we pamper you and well, the day finally arrived." Price answering you.

And for hours until dusk you all stayed in your room, watching movies, telling stories and laughing at something the other says.

----

You never needed forts, or mountains of pillows, all you needed was your boys. Them being there for you. You did cry a little, the attention to detail they all had to your old memories was immaculate. You for once understood Ghost actually listened to you when you blabbered for hours on end.

"Thank you." you whispered as your eyes slowly closed. Gaz tugged on your waist as your settled around them all. Soap was there, his hands on your hair, so delicate, so sweet. "Anytime." Ghost said, his raspy voice, making you finally close your eyes.

Maybe it was the comfort they all brought to your life, or maybe it was the fact that you were sleeping in the most safest room in the world.

REQUEST ARE OPEN!!

Tags: @technically-not-a-loner

A/n: I have to confess this is made my sad little heart jump with joy, I just need someone to illustrate the four men around reader...pleassee