For the anon that wanted some fluff and a little hurt/comfort, where reader crashes the car and is more worried about the vehicle rather than themselves, and our boys only care about reader's health and safety. Have some softness (and a little humor.)
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ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
John glances between you and the car and back again.
It’s unbelievable. Fucking bonkers. The car is completely smashed. Sandwiched. Hardly anything left to it. The fact that you’ve seemingly walked out of the car unharmed is a bloody miracle.
“It’s a shame. Was such a good car,” you sigh, wistfully.
John’s hand drops from his face. “You’re worried about the car?”
You shrug. “Of course. We’ve had it for years.”
With a heavy sigh, John drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to him. As your arms wrap around John’s middle, he breathes you in, savoring your warmth and smell. Just hours ago, you could have been gone. Crushed. Broken and unresponsive.
“Hardly care about an old car, love,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “Just glad you’re safe.”
“John,” you laugh. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”
“You’re goddamn infuriating,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss. “Thinking I care more about some fucking car.”
John claims another kiss. Another. You’re alive and that is all that matters.
“Bloody hell!” comes a low, masculine voice. “Get a fucking room!”
You pull away abruptly, tugging on John’s hand, leading him away from the burly tow truck driver.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“You’re back early.” Kyle emerges from under the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he sits up. He checks his watch. “You’ve been gone all of five minutes.”
That’s right Kyle. Only five.
Five minutes it all it took. That’s how the saying goes, isn’t it? Most accidents happen within five minutes from home. Or is it five miles? Fifteen? Doesn’t matter.
What matters is the god-awful bumper to bumper scrape on the side of Kyle’s new car. A gift from his rich uncle because he’s the favorite. That car is special to him, and you fucked it up. Bad.
“We don’t need it,” you say, lamely.
Kyle’s surprise at your unexpected arrival morphs into confusion. “You decided we don’t need what?”
Shit.
“That,” and you wave your hand in the air, “part you gave me. I mean, is it really that necessary?” You end on an awkward giggle.
Kyle’s confusion dissolves like smoke. “The part I gave you? Told you to take it to John at the hardware store. That part?”
You lick your lips. “Yes?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” you reply automatically.
It’s too sharp, too high of a crack. Kyle stares at you intently. Nothing gets past him.
“I won’t be mad,” he says, his voice calm and cool. “Talk to me. Something happen?”
Your stomach drops, twisting hard. Not like you can cover this up. It’s his car. You can’t drop it off at the shop and pretend that everything is fine.
“I might have scraped the side of your car,” you admit.
“Might?”
You feel them then, the tears. Hot and salty.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey. Hey.” Kyle tosses the towel aside and comes to you, encircling you in his arms. “Are you okay? No bumps or bruises?”
“No,” you sob. “Just my pride.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Oh shit.”
Symbols ignite on the dash. Some hold their glow while others flash violently in warning. There’s a consistent hiss you can’t locate, and the radio continues to blare “You Spin Me ‘Round” by Dead or Alive.
“Fucking Jesus,” comes Johnny’s voice to your left.
He’s bent forward slightly, one arm out. It’s pressed against your chest like you’ll fly out of your seat and through the cracked windshield.
“The car,” you breathe. “The car. Oh my God.” Johnny’s hand shifts to your face, grasping your head before moving downwards, checking you over for injuries. “And the cow! Did I hit it? Do you think it’s okay?”
Spawning next to Johnny’s window is the hairy cow in question. It moos, and you both jump. A few more appear behind it, and beyond that, a broken wooden fence where more Highland Cows gather, staring at the accident.
You sigh with relief, and then groan. “Goddamnit. How are we getting to your parent’s house? This is—I fucked this up.”
Johnny turns in your direction. “Ma will understand.” He reaches for you again, cradling your face. “It’s just a car. You’re more important.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Slow down, dove. You’re talking too fast.”
“I hit a tree! I ran into a fucking tree!”
Simon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I heard that. Not the last bit.”
Your words fire like a semi-automatic. Simon can hardly keep up.
“There was a kid and I wasn’t going to hit a fucking child with a two-ton car so I swerved—”
“Love,” sighs Simon, grabbing his keys and boots, ready to walk out the door.
“—then there was this llama wearing a pink party hat and a raccoon so I assume there was a birthday party or something because why would there be a fucking llama in the middle of the suburbs—”
Simon pauses with his hand on the front door, opened mouthed. “A what?”
“—and where did the racoon come from and why was it chasing the llama and why—”
“Did you hit your head?”
You go silent for a beat. “Did I—” and then, “are you even listening to me, Simon? The car is totaled.”
Simon rests his head against the wood door, eyes shut as he steadies his breathing. “I don’t care about the car.”
Simon chuckles, a twinge pulling at the corner of his mouth. You’re acting a brat, running your mouth, which means you’re perfectly fine, as least mentally. “Sure you’re not bleeding?” he asks, opening the front door. “No scratches?” And then, because Simon finds it amusing, “Impalements?”
“Very funny,” you snort.
“Love you,” smiles Simon, bolting the door. “Be there in ten.”
“Love you, too,” you sigh. “And stay on the phone, please. The racoon might come back.”
141 when his lil missus calls his name about a spider.
btw i guess reader has like arachnophobia i dunno. this is me in every scenario ever. i do not do bugs and i do not do spiders. so yeah.
soap is the kind of man to hear you scream his name and he comes running like full force to the kitchen, breathless and wide-eyed.
he’s convinced your dying, that maybe somebody is trying to get in the house, but once he assesses there’s no threats, he notices you scrunched up on the counter, tears in your eyes.
Before he can even open his mouth to speak your screeching again, pushing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “johnny there’s a fucking spider please get it out of here please please please.”
“this wee thing?” he stands still for a moment, hands on his hips as he nods down to the floor.
it’s just a little wolf spider, probably trying to escape the cold. but here his sensitive little baby is, crying.
“it’s not wee it’s fucking huge, please put it outside.” your breathing picks up, stuttery and choked.
“oh pretty girl your fine, i’ll get it, aye?” you nod, frantically, and pull your hands away to watch him. he grabs a paper towel, grabs a cup, and you’re moving back, hands around your knees.
all is well, he’s just about got the cup over the spider, until, in like 5x fucking speed, he’s gripping one of the legs between his fingers and bringing it toward you.
you’re off the counter in record time, feet pulling you as fast as you’ll go to your bedroom. he doesn’t even run, just strides heavily with his big, long legs, keeping in time with you as you go up the steps.
“it’s harmless, dinnae why yer so afraid.” and he’s fucking laughing, laughing while you practically scream bloody murder, locking yourself in the room.
“John Mactavish if you don’t put that thing out fucking side I will murder you.”
he can hear you sniffling, fear making your voice shaky. the little thing wiggles it’s legs, trying to escape, but he just holds it out, tapping on the door with his knuckles. “oh hush, ye little bairn, ‘m not gonna let it get ye, just come look.”
“john,” he hears the door unlock, watches it crack open a sliver. “if you don’t put that thing outside. we’re not having sex for a week.”
he should’ve stopped at the first john, but this one, oh fuck no. he doesn’t even bother to answer, just flings open the first window he can find and sits it against the outside of the house. “sorry wee chum, the bonnie has spoken.”
the window slams shut and he slowly pushes open the bedroom door, holding his hands out to show they’re free of any eight-legged creatures. when he sees you, your red-eyed and pouting, peeking out from inside the bathroom. “is it okay?”
“fine lass,” you come out slowly, wary of him.
“i don’t believe you.”
he huffs, beckoning you to come to him with open arms. “sorry hen, no more tricks aye?”
you nod, falling into his chest. “scared me.”
“i know i know, yer alright, yer fine.” warm hands run along your back, soothing the tension, and when you finally ease up, forgiveness settling into your bones, he runs his fingertips up your spine, and around your neck, imitating the legs of a spider.
this results a chuckle from him and a scream from you as you slap him away, stumbling back. “John!”
he knows that look, and he’s feeling a little nauseous now.
he watches your eyes go ablaze, watches fire enter your veins as your sigh. “you’re not allowed to have dessert for a week.”
oh fuck. he fucked up. “no treats when you trick.”
sure, you sounded like you were scolding a child, but his treat wasn’t fucking chocolate, it meant no eating the absolute shit out of your pussy.
his breath was gone, eyes wide again. oh no. oh no no no.
“don’t even try because i’m being serious.”
you pushed past him, walked down the stairs with your hands across your chest. and once the words started making sense, he ran after you, socks sounding like boots on the hardwood. “i’m sorry i’m sorry, no more tricks, no more, i swear no more.”
after about three hours of listening to him say this on repeat, followed up with him cooking dinner and rubbing your feet, he was allowed just a little slice of dessert.
Gaz is soft, patient. he’s home and he’s tired, but he’s holding you off the floor with one arm wrapped around your thighs (bitch i don’t care how much you weigh, in my world, these men are strong as fuck)
you’d been in the living room, vacuuming the rug and doing some other little household chores. you wanted everything to be perfect when he got home, wanted things to be clean and precise. it had you frantically dusting all the furniture you could reach, from the TV stand and coffee table, to the ceiling fan that had seen one to many ladybugs. that’s when you saw it, mingled among the beetles was a big brown, giant of a spider, staring you right in the eyes.
before you could think it was swiped off with your duster and flying onto your foot.
kyle walked in just in time to hear you screaming at the top of your lungs, and he ran in to see you frantically removing your socks and throwing them across the room, his favorite pair of bare feet stumbling backward and flinging until your back was to his chest.
he had you in the air instantly, cheek to hip as he assessed what the actual fuck was going on?
“spider, it was a spider, it was huge and it touched my foot and it started running on my toes and-”
he laughed ever so softly, squeezing the meaty flesh of your thigh, “breathe, yeah?” as instructed, you inhaled the biggest breath you could manage, fingers gripping onto a little strap on his vest.
his vest? holy shit he was home. he was home and you were have a panic attack over a spider.
“i can still feel it crawling on me.” you shuddered in his hold, and he walked forward, keeping you lifted up and semi perched on his bicep.
you held on as tight as your hands would allow, cheek on the top of his ball-cap as he kicked aside cords and cleaner, rags and socks, even going as far as to scoot aside some of the furniture with his loose hand. “looks like the lad is gone, probably scared him away with all tha’ screechin’.”
he heard you huff, amusement trickling through his veins. “it’s not funny, it scared me.”
“no reason to be scared love, your big strong man is home now huh?” he heard you laugh, loved the sound of the sweet giggle as you nodded against his head. “and look ‘ere,” he grabbed one of your feet, one of his thumbs rubbing along your freshly painted toes. “no bug. just a few piggies.”
man, old Gaz would’ve cackled in his face and called him a fucking pussy at that. but your laughter, it was enough to make him satisfied. old Gaz was buried for a reason, and everytime he made you smile, a few more handfuls of dirt landed on that grave.
“i missed my big strong man.” he lowers you, carefully, making sure your feet are on top of his boots.
“missed you too,” how sweet it is when you smile at him the way you do, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying yourself into him as close as you can. “no more spiders now that i’m around yeah, kill every last one of ‘em.”
“we don’t kill them.”
sweet sweet love.
“we put them outside.” he says it unison with you, nodding against your head.
“yeah yeah,” he kisses your temple, leaving warm lips against the skin and inhaling as deep as he can, letting the familiarity of your scent engulf him until he forgets. until he’s home. “I know.”
Price is easy. efficient. he’s hearing his missus scream, he’s getting rid of whatever the fuck is making you afraid.
You’re in the shower, minding your business as you sing, he’s busy with some ‘homework’, glasses on and whiskey watered down from melted ice. he was mumbling beneath his breath when he heard it, the belting sound of your voice as it turned from care-free to absolutely fucking shackled with fear. his ears barely managed to hear the muffled sound coming from the bathroom, but it broke through, and he was stiff in mere seconds, boots pounding through the house as he took off in your direction.
the windows were locked, doors were locked, he was careful. everything was fine. this wasn’t the type of scream that ached his very bones, and so he calmed himself down, slowing his jog to a hefty walk.
“sweetheart? you okay?” just as he was opening the door, you came busting through, butt ass naked and crying.
immediately he was pulling you in, water soaking through his sweater as you buried your face in his neck. your skin smelled heavenly, all his favorite scents molding into the fragrance he knew so well, you.
“hey hey hey, what’s goin’ on?” he ran calloused hands up your wet back, trying to soothe the shivers and ease the goosebumps. you were breathing in staggered, shallow inhales, hands cradled to your chest as your fingers looped into his shirt.
“spider.”
aw fuck. he’d have to spray later.
he’d forgotten, so caught up and swarmed in his paperwork that it slipped his mind for weeks.
“poor baby.” he mumbled, lips against the crown of your head. all you did was nod, nose brushing softly on the underside of his chin.
you liked the way his beard felt, it was a soothing scratch, like somebody was lightly dragging their fingernails along your skin. like a lullaby to a newborn it soothed you.
he pushed you forward, grabbing the towel sitting on the sink and wrapping it around your trembling body. you were blinking up at him with these wide, innocent eyes, wet lashes fluttering as he dried off your cheeks with the corner of the cotton.
“all good?” he waited for your nod and then smiling, kissed your cheek with his scratchy mustache and sent you out to the bedroom to change. not before laying a hard ass fucking slap to your ass, making you yelp in a completely different manner. this one was teasing and riddled with laughter.
“john!”
“can’t help it, look so pretty when you’re all wet like that.” he didn’t have to turn around to see the blush forming on your cheeks, he knew, had that flushed out look engraved into his brain.
besides, he had other matters to tend to.
he flipped off the water, searching for what he was assuming a godzilla sized arachnid. when he discovered it in the corner of the tub, however, it was absolutely, utterly, tiny. no bigger than the fingernail of his pinky.
it had him shaking his head, sleeves of his sweater rolled up before he scooped the drowning creature. “c’mere you little bastard,” he let it roll onto his hands, sneaking past where you were supposed to be getting dressed in the bedroom to dump it outside.
when he came back inside, hands washed per your request, you were standing by his work at the table, still in the towel, eyes lighting up and lips curling into a seductive smile when you caught sight of him.
it fed onto his own features, and he grabbed your hips, swaying you as he pulled you flush to his body. “what’s this about?” the frayed edge of the towel slipped between his fingers, falling off your shoulder and dangling by your side. you pulled it off and let it glide to the floor, hands snaking up behind his neck.
“thought you deserved an award, you know, for being so brave.” a deep vibrato of a laugh erupted from his chest as he squeezed handfuls of your skin, trying to drag you impossibly closer to him.
“tha’ right?” you nodded, lips finding his ear and whispering shit that’d make a grown man fall to his knees in surrender. “what’re we waitin’ for then? got work to do, yeah?” he grabbed plush thighs and lifted them so they were around his waist, finding his spot back down in the chair as you peppered kisses along his neck, his shoulder, his lips.
“be good and i’ll give you a little somethin’ of my own.” it was heaven the way you whined, bare pussy soaking his jeans.
your eyes were already lidded and glazed when they met his, lips plump and ready to be kissed. so softly, so sweet, and your dirty tongue formed words as tempting as honey. “my hero.”
Ghost kinda likes it. Because like, what do you mean his sweet girl is afraid? C’mere baby and let him fix it. He’s strong and brave, he can protect you. Let him pick you up and hoist you high so it can’t touch you again.
He’s never far apart from you long enough to not know what’s happening, so he’s by your side when the little black creature runs across the counter, barely missing your hand as it takes off behind the cutting board.
You don’t even have time to yell before he’s got the thing trapped under a cup, big, burly arms pulling you close.
There’s been no time to register what’s going on, no time to even be afraid, he’s got the newspaper under it and it’s out the door, and he’s kissing your forehead, smiling when you whisper a hushed and breathless ‘thank you’.
cause yeah, it’s whatever, he definitely didn’t feel his chest puff out a bit when you squeezed his hand in gratitude. there totally wasn’t a warmth in his heart when you stayed glued to his back the rest of the night, making sure he was in front so “next time one comes you got it right? you’ll get it and take it outside?”
“yeah lovie, i got it.”
“okay okay, good.” you tried to be tough, but barely five minutes in he was chopping your vegetables for you as you followed him around like a little puppy.
“simon i think i see one, is that a-it’s a spider isn’t it? oh god i’m gonna throw up.” you were clinging to him, watching his hands oh so intensely while they pushed utensils and things out of the way to make sure it didn’t escape.
“all clear baby.”
you nod, you squeeze, and you scoot a little closer.
all night, until you were sitting at the dinner table on your knees right next to him in a chair because, “if i put my feet on the ground it could crawl on me and if it crawls on me i’ll cry.”
he wanted to laugh, almost did as he cut your steak for you, but then he saw as your eyes jolted back and forth from corner to corner, wall to wall, and he realized this was not all fun and games, you were terrified.
“‘ey, sweet girl,” the name had your eyes finding his lips, and when you maneuvered them to meet his soft hazels, you felt some of the tension melt. “‘m not gonna let ‘em get ya. you can relax,” he sliced the last bit of meat, pushing the plate toward you and handing you the fork. “now, eat your dinner.”
he watched you carefully, keeping his own eyes peeled for the little guys. maybe the house was clear for now, maybe there wasn’t any left. but you didn’t know that. especially not when he pretended to put one outside, you didn’t have to know that he was doing just that, pretending.
you didn’t have to know that he liked how you laid all spread on top of him on the couch after that, how he liked the way you sniffled into his neck.
you didn’t have to know how much he adored cooing in your ear, calling you brave and wrapping you up tight in his arms while you watched your favorite movie.
and most certainly you didn’t have to know how much he loved the way you made him give you a piggy-back ride up the stairs and to your room, and then proceeded to sleep on him once more the entire night.
he’d milk it for a bit, let it die out, and wait until the next spider.
he just liked knowing you needed him, that you wanted to need him. it kept him grounded and was a constant reminder as to why it was necessary he stick around, why it was necessary to come back whole.
cause the thought of you trusting somebody else to do that made him sick.
“i gotcha babygirl, i’ll keep those nasty things away. dont you worry.”
Pumpkin Patrol — Task Force 141 + König & Roach x Reader
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The air was crisp, carrying the smell of hay, cider, and woodsmoke. The pumpkin patch stretched across golden fields under a lazy October sun — a far cry from deserts and gunfire.
You tugged your scarf tighter as you walked between rows of pumpkins. “It’s called relaxing,” you told Soap, who was kicking at vines like they’d offended him.
“Relaxin’? This feels like work,” he said, squinting at a misshapen pumpkin. “Do they come pre-carved? I want one with a skull already on it.”
“Then pick that one,” Gaz said, pointing to a lumpy gourd. “Looks just like your head.”
Soap gasped. “Rude.”
Price hid a smile beneath his beard, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “You lot are hopeless. We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”
Ghost stood silently behind him, black hoodie pulled up, surveying the field like it was a tactical op. “Define enjoy.”
Before you could answer, a massive figure appeared from behind a corn maze sign — König, half-hidden behind a wool scarf and a ridiculous beanie with a pom-pom on top.
“Hallo, meine Freunde!” he called cheerfully, arms full of three enormous pumpkins. “I could not decide, so I took all of them.”
Soap groaned. “Show-off.”
König looked sheepish. “They are... for decoration,” he said, setting them down with a thump.
“Sure they are, big guy,” Roach said, appearing beside you with a smaller pumpkin balanced perfectly on his shoulder. He smiled through his mask’s clear visor — that gentle, quiet grin he rarely showed on base. “You picking one too, or just supervising?”
You shrugged. “Maybe. Depends if I find one that feels right.”
Gaz leaned in. “You’re one of those pumpkin people, huh?”
“Better than you, who picked one shaped like a kidney bean.”
Soap burst out laughing. “She’s got you there, mate.”
Even Ghost’s mask seemed to tilt like he was hiding a smile.
After half an hour of banter, König and Roach pulled the cart loaded with pumpkins, Ghost carrying one the size of a boulder like it weighed nothing. The team made a slow procession back toward the farm stand — passing families, hayrides, and kids clutching caramel apples.
At the stand, Price bought everyone hot cider. “No arguing, lads,” he said. “It’s good for morale.”
Soap sniffed his mug suspiciously. “Does it have whisky in it?”
“Not this time,” Price replied. “We’re off duty.”
The words made everyone relax just a little more. König hummed softly, tapping his cider cup against yours. “To peace and pumpkins,” he said warmly.
You smiled. “To peace and pumpkins.”
That night, at base, newspapers were spread across tables, knives laid out, and the 141 plus two honorary members prepared for pumpkin warfare.
“Rules are simple,” Price announced. “No explosives, no cheating, and for the love of God, no fire until we’re done.”
Soap held up a small carving knife like it was a weapon. “Aye aye, captain.”
Roach’s pumpkin ended up adorable — tiny eyes, goofy grin, little bat wings made of paper. König’s was… elaborate. He carved an entire castle scene with moonlight windows that glowed when lit.
Gaz’s collapsed halfway through. Soap’s was too ambitious — one wrong cut and the whole top fell in.
Yours turned out lopsided but charming, crooked grin and all.
Then everyone turned to Ghost. His massive pumpkin sat untouched until he silently picked up a knife. A few minutes later, he revealed a perfectly carved skull — symmetrical, sharp, and unnervingly realistic.
Soap groaned. “Show-off number two.”
Roach leaned over to inspect it. “That’s… actually amazing.”
König clapped loudly, eyes gleaming behind his hood. “We must make this tradition!”
Price lifted his cider mug. “Agreed. Next year, same time. No complaints.”
As the candles flickered in each pumpkin, shadows danced across everyone’s faces — laughter spilling easy, the warmth of cider and soft teasing filling the room.
You caught Ghost’s rare chuckle. Roach nudged your shoulder, König offered you a cinnamon donut, and Soap tried to stick googly eyes on Gaz’s failed pumpkin.
For once, no one was a soldier. Just friends, safe and whole under the amber glow of autumn.
141 x Clown Girl!Reader is eating my brain <3 (Also thank you all so so so much for helping me achieve more than 100 followers, I love you 💜)
Thinking about 141 who babysat Johnny's little nephew together ONCE and somehow ended up invited to his birthday party. The non-related men would have declined were it not for Mrs. MacTavish's insistence on feeding them something good (and perhaps have them introduced to some of the single women from the MacTavish clan.)
When the day comes and they show up with gifts, they're quickly separated by a swarm of Johnny's relatives who are curious about the friends he brought in.
Price ends up in the kitchen and volunteers to help with making lunch to which Mrs. MacTavish objects at first, but he manages to persuade her into at least letting him keep her and her sisters company. He swoops in here and there to hand one of them an utensil, spice or just a cup of water, gradually taking over each of their tasks and having them rest while he simultaneously keeps an eye on the beef and potatoes in the oven, mixes the cookie dough and casually chats with the women watching him, charming each and every one of them to the point one of Soap's aunts seriously considers poisoning her husband just to have a shot with John.
Gaz, meanwhile, was asked by Soap's sister - the mother of the birthday boy - to help with blowing up a couple more balloons for the little ones to play with. He obliges, spurred on by all the pretty cousins cheering him on, realizing after about half an hour that they've been staring at his arms bulge the entire time he's been operating the air pump (not like he's complaining, he's proud of what he's rocking).
The other half of the female relatives who weren't currently drooling over Gaz's body were in the living room swooning over Ghost, specifically the fact all the kids flocked to him like curious kittens. Last nail to the coffin was someone handing him a baby - although he looked as if someone just gave him a ticking bomb, he tried his best to entertain the tiny wiggling thing in order to keep it from crying, even gave it an awkward little bounce (call him The Ovary Whisperer the way the women who swore did not want another child suddenly changed their minds).
Johnny watched all of this occur with a wide grin, eventually taking pity on his buddies - though Price didn't seem too bothered - and plucked them away from their respective tasks to lead them out into the garden, picking up a few beers from the cooler and handing the cans to them.
While enjoying their break, they notice the kids rush from the blow-up castle to you, a Clown Girl that Soap's ma hired to entertain the kids in the afternoon.
Price arches an eyebrow, glancing at Johnny who seems just as surprised.
"Strange, usually my uncle Thomas dresses up as clown for the bairns."
"Maybe he wanted to be a part of the audience this year," Gaz hums, sipping his beer. Ghost doesn't say anything, only watches as you crouch to the kids' level and smile at them brightly, chirping about something that he's too far away to hear. On the enigma spectrum, you'd be on the opposite end from him; donned in a white button up with a flower in your pocket, rainbow suspenders and a frilly tutu accompanied by silly shoes, you're a picture perfect goof. You pick up the birthday boy and tickle his sides before making a show of not knowing your way towards the house standing just a few feet away, causing the children to giggle and tug on your sleeves, dragging you to the backdoor. The closer you get, the more the men notice what a cute little thing you are. Your make-up's not too heavy, some white foundation, pink cheeks and, of course, a big red nose. As you pass them, you flash them a bright smile and honk it, making the children giggle and nearly stomp over one another with how they skipped and begged you to let them have a go too.
The four men exchange a look and then gaze back at you, so lively and sweet. Neither says anything for a few moments before Soap speaks up:
"Ye think her titties honk too?"
The only reason Price hadn't smacked him on the back of the head was because Ghost was faster.
They quickly finish their beers and go back inside, following the trail of confetti and glitter that Johnny KNOWS is going to be a pain in the ass to vacuum later (he likely will pester Gaz into assissting him). They find you in the living room, expertly twisting long balloons into dogs and giraffes and whatnot, making sure every child has one to play with. It's sweet, the way you try to include everyone in your silly games, letting every child have a turn sitting in your lap and talk your ears off. You even get to hold the baby that Ghost was handed earlier, naturally softening your voice and calming your bouncy gait while maintaining your image as an entertainer, shoes squeaking loudly as you go round jokingly asking the parents whose pet bean it is.
With every passing moment, the men find you more and more adorable; you're funny, obviously good with children and your costume does very little to hide all your assets. And the way you smile so warmly? It makes Gaz want to go back to middle school, retake his geography test and change the answer to the question about the cause of ice caps melting to your full government name.
For the second time that day, the men's eyes meet in an unspoken agreement. They've shared pretty things before; and you'll certainly be the prettiest one yet.
i told myself i'll take a break in my failing attempts to write a couple things on Karlach x Soap in english and go back to writing a couple other things in my first language for the upcoming fandom combat deadline
so here's a thing i wrote instead and it's neither of those :D
Very much inspired by my precious friend that is obsessed with some datesim I know nothing about and talks my ear off about her sexy chinese dudes while I make her listen to me simping for my dead scottish ADHD meow meow. We don't know shit about each other's fandoms but we're so excited for each other... Also excuse me if this idea has already been done (I swear I thought of it on my own, but I will tag anyone who's done this before if you send me a link) + my English writing still sucks.
I also encourage you to check out these smaus, they're brilliant and I somewhat looked at them when wrote Kyle's text messages and this wonderful thing about Ghost and Animal Crossing that also inspired me to look into these silly military men and mobile/video games.
Task force 141 and their reaction to their S/O playing dating simulator games
CW: 5073 words, gn!civilian!reader (if I slipped into one or the other gender somewhere, please tell me & I'll correct), suggestive fluff (MDNI), pet names, mild cursing, unserious jealousy and banter, long-distance (Gaz), describing nudes and mild sexting (Gaz), soft Ghost, mentioned spanking (Price), mild dom!Price, alluded reader recieveing fingerng and oral (Soap)
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
That silly app you downloaded because its (very compelling) ads were repeatedly shoved in your face became surprisingly convenient when Gaz got deployed and wasn't within reach for weeks. A slightly clay-looking guy on your screen didn't hold up in comparison to the smoothest bastard sergeant with the tightest grip on your heart, but a cute feature with app notifications stylized as loving text messages from the virtual boyfriend somehow helped cope with the radio silence from Kyle. You knew he would be fine, how could he not? You gave him a very proper goodbye kiss (and goodbye sex that was a bit more improper) for luck, and he was too damn good at his job to fail. You weren't going insane from worry, at least not more than usually.
But the loneliness, the fucking loneliness was a little bit more bearable when you still got your "good morning beautiful xx" and "thinking about you before bed" even though the font was wacky and some phrases were clearly poorly google translated. To unlock these little snippets you opened the app every day, usually tapping mindlessly on all the required interactions before going to sleep and eyeing some of the ingame wardrobe options that wouldn't work too bad on your man. In fact, you even took a screenshot of a nice suit - if tailored right, Kyle would look in it sharper than the tactical knife he knew so well. You just needed an opportunity to show it to him.
And the opportunity barged in with a sudden surge of texts right when you were already getting ready for some shut-eye.
Three weeks of muffled unease wiped out and replaced with that never-tiring giddy feeling bubbling inside as soon as you saw Kyle's name pop up on top of your screen.
"hi baby"
"finally can text, miss you terribly 😘"
"what are you up to angel?"
You could feel your own cheeks strain with the stupid smile plastered on your face. No doubt, Kyle texted you at the first opportunity - he was there, he was okay and he missed you. All sleepiness in your body withered away, leaving you energized at eleven pm, squirming in your bed as you rolled over to start vigorously typing back. You never knew how much time you both have to chat, unstable signal or simply never-ending duty could interrupt you at any given moment, so you had to get your fill of premium class Garrick right there and then - no matter how drowsy it would make you the next morning.
Eventually you sent him the screenshot you took without second thoughts:
"btw thought you'd look good in smth like this baby, what do you think?"
Instead of a normal reply on the topic, though, you recieved an immediate jab followed by short pause:
"the fuck is that baby? 🤣"
"wait i think i know"
"replacing me with a vr boyfriend already? jesus fuck angel i haven't been away even for a month"
"i'm wounded, truly. he doesn't even look that good and can't spell correctly. what a downgrade 😔"
If only you could communicate the muscle-straining eyeroll you had through text. Chuckling and snorting, you immediately came to defence of your pixel prince charming, simply for the sake of it.
"how dare you. he's not a mere replacement, this is true love, garrick 💕🥰❤️✨"
"look at the top, we're already level 29 intimacy"
"gonna get him to send me nudes soon, they unlock at lvl 30"
Gaz could probably hear your bratty giggles on the other side of the globe, sheets rustling as you wiggled in your bed, absolutely proud of your impeccably fine-tuned wit and properly excited for the upcoming smartass comeback, since Kyle would rather die than let you have a win. But you've already calmed down with your cheeks mildly flushed, and the messages were still left on read.
Weird. It wasn't the first time your chatting ended abruptly, but usually Kyle had time at least to tell you he had to go - maybe even exchange little "ily"s. Did the signal cut off? But it was good enough for him to download a picture even, surely he'd notice if it started lagging and tell you. Did something bad happen? An emergency? An ambush?
A slight frown etched in your face as you started unwillingly thinking of the worst. Then - in a moment - that little green circle signaling Gaz was online came back. And still no answer.
Did he... get actually upset? Over a fucking datesim app?
It was hard to believe. Impossible, even. Kyle was never prone to jealosy fits, smug bastard definitely knew how secure you two were. But maybe... maybe it was the fact that you were seeking comfort he couldn't provide? Being told you needed a whole ass app simply to tell you goodnight while he was god knows where, unable to hold you and cuddle you to sleep - that could sting.
Shit, you shouldn't have started this. Gaz wouldn't outright admit he felt even the slightest bit insecure over an unblinking 3D monstrosity with a sexy Korean voice. He'd think it was stupid - and he would be right, frankly, but in this case this wasn't completely unreasonable.
Already anxious, you put your thumbs back on the phone to type out a careful question, but before you could even think of a right way to formulate it the chat chirped and loaded in a bunch of attachments.
Absolutely scandalous. Hastly unndone uniform, sweaty shirt pulled up and - you knew it even if it was outside the frame - clutched in his teeth, bared in a self-assured smirk, belt unbuckled and hanging from the loops of pants pulled down just a bit; just enough for his hand to slip inside and gather into a delicious grasp around the bulge you knew was straining against his boxers. Fucking tease, pulling the elastic band with his thumb to let you see just the base of his cock - you had to swipe several mouth-watering closeups on his chest, v-line beautifully adorned with dark hair and that bloody hand you already ached to feel on your thigh, before you finally got your reward. Hard just from the thought of you, tip glistening with the pre-cum he definitely smeared all over specifically for that picture.
"wanted to ask if your pixel bf can beat these"
"but i think your silence already says enough 😏"
You groaned, belly warm with the familiar longing. What an angel of a man, finding time to somehow snap packs of perfect nudes in the middle of wherever he was. Already turning over to slide your hand down your body, you sent a very sulking "hate you garrick. first made me worried and now horny, shameless bastard" and got an obligatory "sure you do. i'll fuck that attitude outta you as soon as i get back angel".
Somehow all the need in a virtual replacement vanished after this chat. Not only did Kyle text you more regularly - sensing a competition maybe, huh? - but you also got yourself enough material to be comforted before sleep. Sure, you'd rather have your man there in person, but no perfect-looking anime prince could offer a view better than Kyle's flexed arms or a cheeky sneak peek of his plump ass and a smooth back arch snapped over his shoulder.
No wonder you two threw yourselves at each other when Gaz finally showed up home, tired and a little roghed up, but very much alive and pent up for you. Once you were done relieving some of that frustration and cuddled up after a nice, hot shower, though, Kyle nipped your earlobe teasingly.
"No such level to unlock this experience, huh, angel? Something your app boytoy can't provide."
He caught your arm before you could elbow him playfully and grasped you tighter aroung your waist, using his free hand to get his phone and hold it in front of your face.
"Besides, I think he likes me more."
"How the fuck did you get to level sixty, Garrick?!"
Simon "Ghost" Riley
"Twilight was peaking how many years ago? And they still have this stupid choice everywhere."
Simon, the unmoving domestic shadow spread in a comfortable sitting position on your couch for the daily quiet together time, turned his head lazily and gently squeezed your thigh, careful not to disturb your legs thrown over his lap as he leaned a bit closer with a mildly interested "Hm?"
"It's this dating game. They're making me choose between a vampire and a werewolf. Can't think of another conflict for the last decade, really? Why not elves versus orcs? They never make stories about sexy orcs. But there's a market for it! Why stick to the same broken record all the time? Or, I don't know, invent beef between fairies and mermaids!" You huffed in exasperation, waving your phone in a vague gesture meant to express your disdain for the lack of creativity in the supernatural romance visual novels department. Ghost's usual intense stare boring into your face could mean anything - from him silently judging you for lacking respect for the culturally impactful vampries-werewolves feud to a wordless question whether you were in the sexy orc enjoyers market.
But when he finally spoke, scarred lips slightly curled upwards in a hint of an amused smile and eyebrows raised, he asked what seemed to catch his attention much more than what fantasy creature you would like to bang.
"A dating game?" His smirk became more prominent, eyes narrowing as an indicator of him looking for a way to quip in the most unbearable way possible. "What's all that about, love?"
The fact that he didn't know wasn't that surprising, you'd be much more astonished if Ghost did know what a dating simulator game was, but the need to explain still caught you off guard, forcing you to pause with the expressive phone gesturing and actually try and describe the phenomenon.
"Well, it's a mobile game, where you, like... have to play through a story with the main thing being befriending and romancing characters. It's mostly reading a story, really, but you get dialogue options to unlock special scenes with your chosen romantic interest or you can give them gifts..." A stolen glance at Simon told you that he was surprsingly paying attention. "But there's often a plot too. The one I started recently is about, well, vampires and werewolves... a Twilight ripoff, basically, but the player gets to be Bella." You paused, gauging his reaction, but other than his calloused fingers kneading the meat of your thigh Ghost didn't even move, leaving you to look at him with suspicion mixed with amusement. "Want me to show you?.."
Finally, his hand stopped its methodical massaging, only to pat your thigh approvingly and help you sit up, cozily snuggled up to the man whose hoodie you shamelessly stole just to wear around him. Wrapping his muscular arm around you, Ghost leaned his head against yours and prepared for the highly educational lecture on the world full of opportunities to get turned down because of having too low approval with the character.
You showed him the exact story that got you so riled up, explained the quite primitive mechanics behind gaining attraction points with the characters and rehashed the entire plot up to the point where you were stuck now - the one where it was obvious the game wanted you to pick a side. Simon listened carefully, gruff chuckles at some of your grumbling and a lot of very insightful commentary on each and every character ("that one's got Johnny's fucking mighty schnotz" and " 'course he's a fucking twat, look at his bloody necktie, a hemp one would be an improvement on 'im"), inculding your own avatar that you spent considerable time making to look like you wanted.
"That supposed to be you, love?" He didn't even try to mask the snarky tone, and you definitely prepared to be offended. You put so much thought into the character looks! So what if they didn't match your real ones fully? It's the game limitations, not your fault. "Hmph. Maybe good enough for these two muppets to fight over. But I reckon I like my version better. Comes with high-quality visuals."
His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you up for a short and sweet kiss, rough thumb stroking your jawline tenderly and pressing up under your chin when Ghost pulled away with a crooked smirk, shattered with scars into an artful mosaic.
"Trying to get your approval higher, sir?" You teased, eyes darting between his smiling - what a view, honestly - eyes and ready to be kissed again lips. His response was predictable. "It's working, innit, love? Think there's enough for a special bonus scene yet?"
Despite you clearly pretending to think and count his imaginary attraction points, Simon already started pulling you up into his lap, holding you securely and running his fingers along the curve of your back. "Might need a little more convincing, gamer. You didn't even bring a special gift to this date." Ghost's half-lidded eyes sparkled with hidden competitevness and his chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as he reached out to take your phone out of your hand softly.
"Gave you the hoodie. It counts." Ignoring your not very convincing protests ("It's mine already, of course it doesn't count!"), he tapped something on your screen and then put the phone away, wrapping his arms back around your form and slowly leaning into a tangled cuddlepile in an almost lying position. All your squirming successfully restrained with a bearhug, you huffed and placed your chin on Ghost's chest, looking up at him. He was there, with you, but deep in his gaze you noticed a certain swrling cloud of thoughts. Reading Simon's eyes was a must with him, he knew you could and didn't ever hide them from you.
"What are you thinking about?" You carefully inquired, running your hands over his shoulders and squeezing gently, a habit helping both of you to ease some tension. Simon blinked, tilting his head slightly, and let out a small sigh, seeking the right words. "You're not playing that game because I'm not doing enough, are you, lovie? 'Cos if you are, I'd rather you tell me what's wrong."
Always straight to the point. At least, when he finally decides to speak up. The big, scary dog worried about a silly mobile game as his competition? Cute. But the seriousness in his eyes called for a proper answer, not a teasing joke or a simple "aww, don't worry".
"You're doing more than enough, Simon, and you know it. It's a game, just living out my fantasies as the main character. But I can delete it if it makes you uncomfortable, it's no big deal, you know?" The tiniest bit of tension you felt underneath your fingertips disappeared, leaving Ghost sinking even further into the couch with you properly wrapped in his protective embrace.
"Nah, gorgeous, you keep playin' whatever shite you wanna be playin'. Just promise to keep me updated on the bloke so I can upstage him in every way." His voice got muffled since he buried his face in your chest, eyes closed peacefully and pure bliss written in all the relaxed features. Cradling his head, you hummed in agreement, but then perked up again.
"Wait, what bloke? You picked one of them for me?" - "Mhm." - "Oh come on, Simon, what happened to the freedom of choice!" You could feel his smile get more prominent despite being hidden in the softness of your chest covered with the thick hoodie material. "Which one did you choose? The vampire 'cause he's wearing all black?"
"Nuh-uh. The other one. The mutt."
You giggled at his choice of words and let out a quiet "oi" when Simon pinched you for disturbing his calm enjoyment of a "bonus scene" with the chosen romance option, that being you.
"Why? You're a Wolf Man fan or something?"
"'f course I am, love. He's British."
Captain John Price
When you saw the notification that the game you got sucked into with the active help of your friends got a "sound update", you knew what that meant - they finally added English voiceover lines for every single hunk of a man you had in your virtual harem, and you couldn't wait to hear what voices they gave your favourites. Given the nature of the game, you decided to put your earbuds on and started listening through the whole voicelines library, busying your hands with mundane tasks like folding laundry. John was sitting in the kitchen, fully immersed into his reading - potentially work-related. Or at least enthralling enough for him to miss your flushed cheeks or periodical giggling.
But no matter how important his reading was, what he couldn't miss was the sultry male voice coming out of your phone with a whispered "Wouldn't you love that, bunny?". Of course the parinig connection between your phone and the wireless earbuds had to get interrupted exactly when you were pouring yourself a cuppa and couldn't even drop the kettle in order to shush the suggestive purring of your digital fave.
You could feel Price staring at you. You could practically hear his bushy eyebrows slowly rising as he patiently waited for you to say something first. You were fully contemplating brewing yourself some poison instead of tea to avoid getting confronted by your man who just heard someone call you bunny on the phone.
So when you didn't start first, John, more amused than anything - he knew you too well to read through all your tiny microreactions and conclude that this wasn't hardcore evidence of an affair, but something much more suitable for future teasing (were you listening to porn or something? a naughty audiobook? oh so many golden opportunities to make you squirm under the steel gaze of the captain) - asked very nonchalantly: "What was that, darling?"
"What?" There was no point in pretending you didn't know what he's talking about, but you still tried. If anything, it allowed you to stall while you very hesitantly turned around and saw John and his smile, not even a hint of sterness in the round plumpness of bearded cheeks and little crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. "What was what, honey? You want some tea too?"
A futile attempt at deflecting and bribery rolled into one. You were lucky you were not his subordinate. You were unlucky the voice of some other man, dripping with mirth, came back into your ear once the next voiceline loaded in and the connection with your earbuds got restored. This was equal to admitting your crimes in front of the judges, but you slowly took your phone out of your pocket and hit pause.
"Does the tea come with an explnation who's the bloke whispering in your pretty ears, bunny? 'Cos if so, I'll take a cuppa, thank you very much."
He was beaming. Leaned back in his chair, knees wide apart and burly arms folded on his chest, Price wanted to have a wee little pause in his serious reading, and watching you squirm was the best distraction and brain-reloading he could ever get.
"I-it's not like that, I promise." Was that a bead of sweat running down your nape? John grunted, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his chin into his chest to stare at you from an angle that best conveyed that "I am not convinced, love" look. "It's just a little game, John, promise. Not a real man, just a made-up character."
Those piercing eyes narrowed even more, silently measuring you up for potentially bullshitting him, and then a heavy hand patted the broad thigh. An order, not an invitation (an order you could always disobey, though...)
"Show me."
Forgetting the option to disobey with little consequences, you hung your head down and dragged yourself and your fresh cuppa over to John, settling in his lap. The tea didn't even make it to the table, he snatched it from your fingers, careful enough not to spill, and sipped loudly, patting your side condescendingly. Any more stalling could result in various stages of burning buttocks, so you complied with the demand without Price repeating himself and opened the app, disconnecting your earbuds in the process.
He clearly wanted to hear that embarassing shit.
Your explanations of what a datesim was seemed to amuse John greatly - knowing his love for farming games, you made sure to mention all the best ones mixing the two genres, clearly trying to sweeten the deal.
"So wha', sum muppet in your phone callin' you bunny and you like 't? Maybe I should start too, huh?" You had to close your eyes to stop the internal screaming, and John's gruff chuckle hit your burning ear with a gentle puff. "But these, erm..." - "Companions." - "Riiight, these companions, they ain't whispering something... naughtier, are they?"
There was a hint of seriousness in his question, so you opened your eyes again and turned to look at him. His face was still smiling calmly, but the expectation was that of an honest and direct answer.
"Well, they do have more explicit scenarios and voicelines..." - "They talkin' dirty to you, eh? Guess I should step up my game." He flexed his jaw and leaned even closer, brushing his slightly chapped lips over the tender shell of your ear, soft beard tickling you and leaving you helpless. "Can't have my sweetheart wooed by sum app game fockers, can I? C'mere you little bunny, Imma show you sumthin' to hop on."
He stood up suddenly, lifting you with a soft grunt and dragging you away from the forgotten phone and empty cup. No amount of "John!" squeaked out could save you from that bear of a man groping your ass before throwing you onto bed and climbing on top. His weight squeezed the air out of your lungs as he roamed his big palmes all over your sweet body, even more enthusiastic about the impromptu break in his work.
"Ugh, fine, Johnathan Price, I won't be listening to the spicy dialogues! Just let me finish my-" Absolutely futile, your plea to get back to housework you had planned got cut short by a deep kiss, John's tongue sliding in your mouth as the most efficient (okay, maybe, second most) gag he could use on you. Your hands, previously pressed against his furry chest in an attempt to push him off, relaxed and buried themselves in his thick hair, ruffliing it and tugging him closer by the strands. A low grunt let you know what you already knew and felt much lower - John fully approved both that and your promise to keep away from the horny digital harem.
"Why even bother with 'em bloody games when you can 'ave the real thing, huh?"
John "Soap" MacTavish
"Whit are ye smiling at there, bonnie?"
Before you could even process the question and come up with any answer (excuse) about the silliest giddy smile that a cutscene in your chosen romance route got out of you, your massive - the only way to not be thrown off by Johny "Can't Sleep Still" MacTavish - bed creaked underneath the impressive weight of a fine Scottish specimen. Like a curious pup, Soap squeezed his head through the loop of your arm, earning himself a choking cuddle in the process, and stared into your screen.
"No, Johnny, piss off! It's personal!" You scrambled to turn your phone away from him and held it to your chest, a traitorous warmth in your cheeks threatening to give away what kind of personal it was. Of course, Soap caught on immediately, playful glint in his eyes as he simply yanked the phone out of your grip and turned over onto his back, shamelessly using you as a pillow while he unlocked your screen (why the fuck were you two so trusting and shared passwords!) and looked at the animated cutscene.
And why did it have to be the first spicy one you finally unlocked?
"What's tha'? Didnae peg ye fur a hentai type, bonnie." Soap watched the looped animation for a few more seconds while you wrestled against his heavy fucking carcass helplessly. With a single tap he closed the cutscene and let out an amused hum when met with the continuation of your unlocked chapter. "Och, so ye're reading smut too? Naughty."
You squirmed visciously, fighting for your dignity as he started reading aloud through the desciption of what didn't make the cutscene. The experience was downright horrible, humiliating and arousing at the same time as Johnny's thick brogue and mocking tone killed every ounce of spice in the steamy scene and somehow added new ones. Along with his stuttering. This lad... you even tried to grab his arm and chew on the meaty muscle in hopes of distracting him, but he didn't even flinch, simply pulling his limb out of your grasp and putting it behind his head comfortably. Outraging.
"Slender aristocratic fingers squeezing supple..." he smacked his lips so loudly that you groaned, "...flesh nae hard enough tae leave marks, but enough tae el... elicit pleasure, his breath hot in yer ear, whispering... Hauld yer horses- how come is yer name 'ere, bonnie? Who's writing this fur ye?" You nearly bounced off the bed when Soap suddenly sat up straight, relieving you from his (quite welcome, to be fair) burden, and frowned at your phone, scrolling through the erotc piece as if he could figure out who was the author just from reading it carefully enough. The pout he turned to you with was nothing short of absolutely heartbreaking. "Who's tha' "Laird Sebastian" prick writing a' kinds of nasty shite he wants tae dae tae ma' leannan? Am ah nae enough fur ye, bonnie? Dae ye wanntae leave me fur some posh bastard wi' a stick so far up his arse tha' it pokes outta his yapper?"
It was so obvious that Soap was just taking the piss, but his bottomless puppy eyes with the longest lashes fluttering as if on the verge of tears were working their dark magic, crashing your train of thought like a whole gang of outlaws from the Wild West and coercing you into making an apologetic expression and reaching your arms pleadingly for a hug. "Aw, come on, Johnny, it's just a-"
"Ah dinnae think tis a good idea, love. Ah dinnae have slender aristocratic fingers, wha' if a'm awful lot o' a commoner tae yer tastes..." Soap tilted his chin up, a perfect depiction of dignity suffering horrible offence, and turned away defiently, immediately peeking back at you from the corner of his twinkling blue eye. You knew those little smiling creases too well to miss them forming despite him holding a pout quite successfully, so you scoffed, still slightly flushed from being caught red-handed, and rolled your eyes, snuggling up to Johnny from behind and starting to kiss behind his ear.
"I'm so, so sorry, love of my life. No posh bastards come nowhere near you, you're my favourite commoner. Fuck Lord Sebastian-" You realized you chose the wrong wording when Soap couldn't hold back a snort. "Aye, well, seems lik' ye were planning on doing exactly tha-" - "Oh shut the fuck up, MacTavish!"
Shut the fuck up he did, turning back to face you abruptly and tackling you into the sheets, lavishing kisses with his searing hot lips all over your face. A real mutt pouncing the handler he has no respect and all the love for. There was no choice left for you other than wrap all your limbs around Soap and writhe underneath him, nearly missing that very inconspicuous way he reached his arm out and dropped your phone on the nightstand before cradling your head for much deeper, sloppier kisses.
"Gonna show tha' laird sod how tae fuck mah bonnie real good, aye? Mak' ye come wi' thae fingers right 'ere, nae aristocrat bullshit." Lapping up your neck with his wet tongue, Soap planted a greedy kiss right underneath your jaw and sucked at the soft skin until it showed a little pinkish hue. The bastard was set on making you sing for him, big rough palms grabbing handfuls of your flesh, squeezing and massaging while Johnny kept decending down your body with clear determination. "C'mon, leannan, let me hear ye. Say yer ol' Johnny's better than tha' bawbag Sebastian."
Sliding your hands over his broad shoulders, you held his nape before tugging on his slightly outgrown mohawk, your own head falling backwards in an exhausted yet adoring sigh.
"You know it's just a game, right, loverboy? A dating simulator, not a real thing? Oi, watch it!" A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Soap chomped on your side and immediately nuzzled into your stomach to blow raspberries into the soft plush, catching you once you started squirming and giggling. No intention of letting you catch your breath until he heard what he wanted. "Fine! Fine, Johnny, you are so, so much better than Lord Sebastian."
Satisfied, he loosened his grasp on you and lifted his head, grinning like he's just won you over from somene actually threatening in terms of romance. Hooked his fingers into your housewear bottoms, slowly tugged them down and started trailing hot-mouthed kisses down from your solar plexus, sky blue eyes glazing over with the never-satiated hunger for your taste on his greedy tongue.
You held your breath. A joke was itching inside your mouth, begging to be let out, dancing on the tip of your tongue...
"You're lucky I didn't choose Duke Aaron's route. That's some serious competion."
"Och, away 'n bile yer heid, bonnie!"
Thank you for reading! I appreciate all interactions, likes, reblogs, comments and requests (send in anything for now! I can filter them myself, but I am open to smut, including rare kinks and some dark themes. Keep in mind though that I am limited by my skill & overall prefer sugary fluff. I will write for any of the task force 141 and baldur's gate characters, including parings, poly, x reader and x OC), I will write drabbles, headcanons and whatever else formats you can think of.
Also any corrections are welcome as long as you're not being mean! Thank you <3
Hi! I keep seeing price or ghost with their son's and they have a relationship like this! Lol
Obviously, they'd never say the "n-word" so just ignore that part lool. But i thought this was so funny, I cant help but imagine they have some mischievous twins 😭😂
CWs -> fluf, angst, drugs, death, obsession, blood, torture, harassment, mental issues, eventual smut, Possessiveness, manipulation, kidnapping, themes related to cannibalism, drinking blood, Dark themes, among others.
->English is not my first language, there may be grammar or spelling errors.
W/c: 1,3k
The mist had turned into a drizzle as they entered the village. The streets were typical of any English town, just like the houses’ architecture. Modern designs were nowhere to be found; the predominant styles were Tudor and Cottage. If she happened to spot even a single house or building with a modern or industrial design, she would hit the accelerator and leave the place without a second thought. The style left a bitter taste in her mouth due to the memories it brought back.
She glanced at the rearview mirror again. The two children were pressed against the window, watching the place as they moved along. From their body language, she could tell they weren’t entirely uncomfortable, which was a good sign.
“Make sure your blankets are secure,” she said, turning a corner. The blankets she had wrapped them in were almost on the floor. “It’s cold, and we’re not used to this weather.”
“Nor to such an… open environment,” one of them replied, looking at her through the mirror. “Where are we going?”
“He marked a place on the map; I think it’s an inn.” She stopped before an intersection and looked at the map again.
“And is it safe to go there in the first place?” the other one asked. “Won’t people look at us strangely?” He touched his shaved head unconsciously, feeling uneasy. In fact, all three of them had shaved heads. “Can we trust him?”
“It’s the only option we have, considering we don’t have any papers. A hotel would be more complicated,” she answered the first question as she moved forward and turned right at the intersection. The inn had to be further ahead. “And as for him... we have no choice but to trust him. For better or worse, he got us out of there.”
The car fell silent for several minutes until they reached the inn’s parking lot. The White Horse—the white cursive letters contrasted with the Tudor design of the building. The two children shifted uncomfortably in the backseat. The second child’s question lingered in their minds.
“Will people look at us weird?” the second one repeated.
She turned off the car, folded the map, and left it on the glove compartment. Then she grabbed the bag from the passenger seat and began searching for something.
“Not necessarily. Plus, we have these.” She pulled out three wool hats. The two smaller ones had animal ears—a rabbit and a bear. The largest one, which would be hers, was plain. Turning in her seat, she showed them the hats. “We can hide the lack of hair, and since it’s cold, it won’t look suspicious.”
The children took the hats and put them on. She did the same, placing the bag on her lap again, searching for some identification—anything that could help them blend in. It would be suspicious if she had no documents for herself or the kids. She rummaged through the items absentmindedly, deciding to check more thoroughly later.
Finally, she found a woman’s wallet. Tossing the bag back onto the seat, she hurriedly searched it. Inside, there was cash, three bank cards from unfamiliar banks, and the item she was looking for: an ID card. Her photo was on the front, along with a name and surname.
“What about her?” the first child asked.
All three turned their attention to the baby carrier between the two kids. She slipped the ID into her jacket pocket.
“We’ll cover the top with a blanket to protect her from the rain.” She unfastened her seatbelt; the children did the same. Pulling a portable umbrella from the bag, she closed it. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
She stepped out, making sure to close the door properly before opening the umbrella. Inside, one child grabbed the bag from the front seat, while the other unfastened the baby carrier’s straps and covered the top with a blanket.
The oldest opened the door, letting the first child out. She handed him the umbrella and leaned halfway into the car to retrieve the baby. She lifted the carrier with one hand and took the umbrella again with the other, waiting for the second child to get out.
After confirming the door was securely closed, the children pressed closely against her, trying to stay dry and unwilling to stray far from her side.
“There’s a car,” one of them said as they walked toward the entrance. She glanced at what appeared to be a gray SUV with tinted windows, parked a few meters away.
“They’re probably waiting for someone or looking for the same thing we are. Don’t think too much about it,” she reassured them. Once at the entrance, she carefully set the baby carrier on the ground and closed the umbrella. “Here.” She handed the umbrella to the child who wasn’t carrying the bag.
Lifting the carrier again, she opened the door for the children to enter first.
A wave of warm air greeted them, making the younger ones sigh in relief. The place looked clean and spacious. The reception desk was made of beautiful brown wood, with a sofa set and a small central table in the middle of the room. Plants adorned a few corners, soft lighting filled the space, and a fireplace with several wooden ornaments added warmth.
“Let’s sit down first.” She guided the children to one of the larger sofas. Carefully placing the baby carrier beside her, she lifted the blanket slightly to check on the sleeping baby. Her breathing was normal, and her expression was peaceful. She lowered the blanket again—she didn’t feel comfortable letting others see her.
The reception area was empty, but she was sure that if she rang the small bell on the counter, someone would come. Which, of course, she did.
After a few minutes, an older woman appeared behind the counter.
“Welcome to The White Horse,” the woman greeted, typing something on the computer. “I’ll need any document with your name and registration number, please.”
“Of course.” She reached into her jacket pocket and handed over the ID.
The woman paused for a moment, staring at the identification. Her black eyes lingered on her for a few seconds before glancing at the children and then back at her.
“Calliope…” The woman looked at her closely when she said the name before offering a warm smile and resuming her typing. Calliope tensed slightly. The woman’s gaze suggested she knew things about her.
“I have a reservation under your name. It’s a large room with a king-size bed.”
“For how long, if I may ask? I made the reservation while half-asleep and don’t quite remember.” She lied. He must have made the reservation in a hurry without mentioning it.
“The system says two months.”
From a hidden drawer, the woman retrieved a key with the room number.
“The room is on the second floor. I’ll need you to sign this form.” She handed her the key and a sheet of paper.
Calliope took the pen the woman offered and began filling in the blanks. Every now and then, she glanced at the children, who sat on either side of the baby carrier.
A door opened somewhere behind her, likely another guest arriving. She paid it no mind.
“Mary, I’ve stocked the room with firewood,” a dark-skinned man said, approaching the corner of the counter; Calliope stood in the center.
“Thank you for coming despite the weather, Gaz,” the woman replied, handing him a coat.
Calliope remained silent, finishing the form and taking the key.
“Say hi to Price for me.”
“No problem, Mary.”
The children stood up as she approached them. She felt the man’s gaze following her as she turned toward the stairs, thankful the woman kept him distracted with a conversation about someone named Price and his wood.
