#soap x

[mimskytried]

people-pleaser!reader who enlisted as a desperate minnow you never thought you ever would be working side by side with the task force 141. They never really considered you, but it didn't bother you since it just meant you got an extra to your paycheck. their lives eventually engraved into your brain, a non-stop obsession with these four iconic, European men. for example, every time you killed shot someone you looked at Price for validation, buying him his fancy cigars and doing reports after mission with splendid detail and pictures to receive a grunt, never fully acknowledging you. when hed be too constipated you'd send him 'links' to relieve himself, foolishly jerking to it. Not realizing it was your own home-made video of fucking yourself on a cyan dildo.

or re-stocking simons favourite tea. sometimes washing his clothes, tending to his dying plants. going as far to allowing simon to ram his chubbed up cock inside of your mouth, taking his stress, letting it burn and taint your throat. curling his fingers into your locks, holding on. he would see how your throat would bulge. but he wouldn't ask about the fresh marks he left the next day. gaz wasn't any different, providing massages, doing reports, cleaning his guns after everyone had departed to their quarters. whispering softly to him when he once was too fucked up after downing bottles of alcohol. His cock twitching in your hold as you squeezed and stroked, waking up the next morning with his head ringing and bed cold. You were meant to replace soap. it didn't help that all they could ever see you was as an asset and never really a person.

[mimskytried]

continuation of this and this

Simon and Johny watched you eat that fucking sub out like a man starved. You took bites bigger than your fist, swallowing without a second thought. Snatching the pop they offered without hesitation. Johnny had to step in to take away the food, almost biting his bloody hand off in the process. “Easy lass, jus’ make sure ya don’t accidentally choke yerself.” He quietly said, glancing at Simon, jaw clenching slightly. “Jus wanna ask you some questions.” He waits for you to finish swallowing before continuing. “Name?" "____" "How old are you?" "thirteen" For the next four days, that was all the interaction you possibly had. They gave you a room, a bath, a hygiene kit, and food. You learned that the big brit name was Simon and the keen Scot was Johnny. But the affection began to show, first through Johhny. The small chatter he did when he handed you a bundle of clothes your first night there. He wouldn't call you runt like Simon did, instead called you ___, by your name, but he wasn't surprised when you said you hated it. So instead he called you Biscuit. Johnny helped you wash your hair, with your consent of course. Rubbed the suds of soap into your scalp, helped you get rid of the acne on your face, helped you fit into the clothes he offered and a bunch of hair ties. He scrubbed your body, fingers warm against tattered and bruised skin. You saw how his eyes went soft and empathetic, careful around the scars that tainted your skin. Some cuts were old. Some were fading. a lot of them were pink and angry slashes, like they were done the day before they met you. He held you through your first episode. Simon, didn't seem to care much. He probably crushed vitamins into your morning cereal, since you avoided fruits and vegetables. Maybe slid small bottles of perfumes and small containers of lotions beside your nightstand when you slept. He stopped calling you runt and adapted to 'biscuit', although not sure if that what he wanted to call a kid. Simon acknowledged how you sometimes didn't seem to rise out of bed, gently coaxing you out of it. A word he'd never thought to describe him, gentle. He'd make soup his Mama would make him, feeding it to you while you clutched pillows. A tight hug he never expected from someone a third of his size. A thank you card left on the counter when you left.