Gonna be honest, chief, it's gonna be mainly Gaz when it's done.
LMK if any trigger warnings need to be added to fics! I mention them before each story and in the tags below them <3
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Thinking about this bc I’ve got a little vampire of my own (he denies is but we know what he is).
Blood warning.
Price:
-Age gap but not really? Reader referred to as kid. Is it dubcon if the vampire secretes aphrodisiac?-
You swore there was something off about your captain. He's surprisingly pale, never trains outside unless it's evening, the dead night, or raining. He also didn't join the rest of the team for meals. Hell, you don't think you've ever seen him eat.
You started getting worried one duo mission with him. He was irritable, paler than normal, and constantly sweating. He looked like he was in a constant state of panic despite heavy insistance he was fine. Once you reach the safe house, he doubles over and what looks like pain. You rush to his side only to be grabbed and slammed into the nearest wall. It hurts a bit, but the view of two glowing eyes hovering over you steals your attention.
They're not his usual blue-grey, but a striking gold. A strange warmth overtakes you as Price's breathing finally seems to stabilize.
"Kid... I need a favor, but it has to stay between us..."
You hesitantly swallow before subtly nodding. You never expected to be bitten by your captain, but whatever aphrodisiac that's mixed with his saliva is enough to erase any concerns you may have had.
Gaz:
-Fantasy AU-
You've been navigating through these woods for far too long. The barkeep at the tavern in the center of the villiage you'd sought refuge at offered great reward for anyone who could slay the beast that murdered his son. Armed with no more than your trust blade, a lantern quickly running out of oil, and a smudged parchment depicting the creature you were after, you set off.
The woods proved to be more of a feat than you anticipated. There were no paved roads, not even a dirt trail or any sort of prints for you to follow. Just creepy, thick foliage that constantly snapped beneath your feat. The night grew colder, your light dimmer, an you can't shake the feeling of being watched.
A gust of wind makes you shiver, but you're thankfully soothed by a warm cloak being placed over your shoulders. Wait...
You whip around and see him -- the creature you're meant to slay. He looks... nothing like the picture on the parchment you were given. You know it as a heinous caricature now, as the vampire was actually kind of cute...
"Cold, darling?" He cooes, not-so-subtly eyeing your neck. Against your better judgement, you smile and agree as he leads you to his palace to "give you a warm meal, so long as you return the favor for me, my sweet."
Soap:
-Roommate/Childhood best friends AU-
You've known Soap for quite some time, so you noticed immeidately when he came back from an operation in Romania sporting two little puncture marks on his neck he insisted were moles he's "always had, bon, don't worry about it."
You let it slide at first, despite the fact you know he's lying. You're an avid vampire fiction fan, which the Scot knows, so you obviously pick up on his weird behavior: ordering his steaks rare when he prefers them medium-well, opting for the artificial lighting of the indoor track rather than the trail he loves outside, and only going on his monthly hikes at night, and the kicker? He stopped wearing the cross necklace he got from his granddad.
You stay up late one night to catch him when he gets back from a run. He's wiping his face on his shirt as he enters your shared home and immediately hisses when you turn on the lights and hold his necklace out to him You call him out on his reaction and he finally caves and explains, much to your amusement.
"You got bitten by a vampire... IN FUCKING TRANSYLVANIA?!"
"SHUT UP."
Ghost:
-Med!Reader, age gap? Reader referred to as kid-
Many rumors surrounded the masked lieutennant. Some think his face was mangled beyond recognition, others think his mask is purely asethetic. You? You never really cared. It his business, and you're not one to pry.
He is, however, known for evading medical treatment no matter what he falls victim to on the job. The task force returns one day all in rough shape. Yourself and your colleagues make quick work of the Captain and Sergeants, but Ghost is quick to make his exit after assuring his men were in good hands. You try to reach out to him and offer help, but you're met with a simple shake of his head before he turns away.
You let it go -- because what else are you going to do? -- and go about your day. Night comes quickly as you clean up your office and the previously used beds to make room for other patients. You make your way down the hall to retireve more cleaning supplies when you hear a crash form one of the other offices. Cautiously, you peek through the little window of the door to find Ghost hunched over an IV that had fallen and burst. Blood was everywhere, and assuming the worst, you rush in to help.
You don't accomplish much before fear paralyzes you. Ghost isn't injured, he'd popped open that IV to drink from it. His head snaps in your direction, mask raised just enough to reveal the sharp canines hiding behind thin, scarred lips.
"Kid-- wait, don't run." Quicker than a flash, Ghost is towering over you with his bloodied hands on your shoulders. "I'm not gonna hurt you, but you can't tell anyone about this, y'understand me?"
OMG, the way you’re writing is gorgeous! Love how you interpret Ghost and how you write his dialogues.
Could you please write another ghost x medic? I was hoping for some age gap, so like ghost x f med student? She could be making her practice in a military base 😄
You’re great, can’t wait to read more from you!
thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou
My med!Reader stuff is very self-indulgent (cos I'm a med student hehe) and I haven't written much age gap before but I'm down to give it ago :) it may end up being more of a subtle thing, tho
After a long, long sleep, I trudged back to my office a skeptic. I wasn't entirely sure what happened last night. There's no way it wasn't a dream, right? I mean, I've been reading down internet rabbit holes about demons and mythical monsters for weeks after I found that journal, it's only natural I manipulate my dreams to reflect that... right?
I cross my arms as my gaze sweeps over the room. Unfortunately, the salt circle is still there, candles had melted into dark sludge on my hardwood floor, and a heaviness I wish I didn't recognize sat upon my collar. My necklace was gold. Solid gold.
I force myself to clean that mess up. Demons... I scoff aloud. Who'd have thought? Biblical creatures most would probably assume fictional whether they're of faith or not. And the things he said. What was all that mess? His words still ring in my head...
"I don't bite... unless it's specifically asked of me."
"What is with you? I can't decide between fuckin' yer brains out and tuckin' you into bed."
"Easy, lovie. I'll take care of you, yeah? Make you wanna be mine for more than one night. No strings attatched, honest."
The worst part? The way my body grew hot at the thought. Exciting and shameful, actually falling for the charms of a demon. In my defense, he looked exactly like Elliot Knight, but with braids, and we all know how hot that man is. I briefly wonder if Gaz has the ability to appear as any attractice form, like a siren would.
Gaz.
I shake my head. Now I'm casually using his name as if he's more than a creature I'd accidentally invited into my home.
"Didn't feel like an accident to me, Lovie."
I yelp, whipping around to face the voice. There he is. He said something about returning soon, but I didn't think it would be this soon.
"Awe, still so jumpy. You're scared of me, Lovie?"
Gaz pads across the floor, sandals clacking softly against the finished wood, until he's close enough to take my hand and deliver a delicate kiss to my knuckles. The kiss is not without its own magic, as a golden ring appears on my middle finger exactly where his lips touched my skin. It's beautiful.
"Wasn't sure you weren't a dream," I mutter. It was meant to be snarky, but his growing smile told me my word choice could've been better.
"A dream, huh? Tha's real sweet of you."
He tugs me closer before moving his hand from mine to around my waist. He ushers me into a gentle embrace, gently swaying us like a dance.
"I know our meeting was a little awkward, but I wanna make it up to you. Yer lookin' to learn more about magic an' all that, right? Let me help."
My suspicion only grew. He sauntered up to me yesterday with sexual promise, saying something about claiming me before others could, and now... what? He wants to be my study buddy? He might as well have had three heads. Well, he is a demon. He might.
"Right. After threatening to 'fuck my brains out' yesterday?" I scoff. Gaz only laughs.
"Were you hoping for that?" I shove him.
"Just takin' the piss, Lovie. Though, I am here if you ever do wanna... experiment~"
"What exactly do you want with me?"
"Honestly, Lovie? I wanna figure you out." He moves us toward my desk, prompty lifting me onto the finished oak surface before crowding between my legs.
"There's something about you that's gnawing at my core. I need it. I don't know what it is, but I'm cravingi it, Lovie. Let me find it..."
drives me absolutely bonkers crazy that simon ghost “two goldfish are in a tank, one turns to the other n says ‘do you know how to drive this thing’” riley is so frequently characterized as a rapist alpha male dom who wears the mask for sex appeal like he’s a biketok influencer
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or how you and Kyle fell in love over doing his hair
kyle “gaz” garrick x reader
a/n: is this entirely self-indulgent? yes. is it my personal belief that if kyle garrick joined the military at 16, like canon suggests, this man would’ve relied on two-in-one for most of his young adult life? also yes!
You know as soon as the door opens.
Kyle stands in the entryway, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, boots heavy and worn, whistling as he drops his keys into a bowl.
The hat is what gets your attention.
He freezes when he sees you on the couch. Kyle has never performed guilt well; his mom claims he learned how to charm his way out of anything by the time he was speaking full sentences.
“No,” you say.
“I didn’t say anything.”
You narrow your eyes and a smile flashes across his face before he forces his face into something serious.
“Which is how I know you’re up to something. You have that look on your face.”
“What look?” he asks, crossing his arms.
“The one that says you did something that I’m going to be pissed about.”
His face goes even guiltier, and you stand up.
“It’s not that bad, I promise.”
You sigh.
“Just show me.” you say, and he lifts his hat up.
His hair is gone.
His hair is tapered low to his head, buzzed until only a faint stubble remains, and you try not to gasp.
He rubs a hand over his scalp, grinning.
His hair is also faded, which lets you know he stopped by his barber after work rather than impulsively grabbing some clippers during his lunch break.
“It’ll grow back” is the first thing he says after your prolonged silence.
You wish you could say you hated it. It would be so much easier if you hated it.
However, this is Kyle and somehow the low cut brings out the contours of his face, highlighting sharp cheekbones and an angular jaw, further proving your theory that there’s nothing in this world that could make Kyle Garrick ugly.
“Love,” he says, shifting on his feet. “You’re kinda freaking me out.”
“You cut your hair,” you say.
“Yes.” he sighs, as if he’s relieved that his decision didn’t also end his relationship.
You lift your hand before stopping. He grabs your wrist, lifting it to his head and the short black stubble tickles your palm. Your nails lightly scratch his head out of habit, and his eyes flutter.
“You’re so spoiled,” you mutter and he grins.
“Got you to blame for that.”
You suppose he did.
But how were you supposed to let him walk around using two-in-one shampoo?
You had seen it during the first time you slept over at his place, popping your head out of his shower to show him the bottle.
He looks over from where he’s standing at the sink, toothbrush half out of his mouth, as his eyes slowly move over your body before focusing on what’s in your hand.
“Yeah?” he asks, leaning over to spit out his toothpaste, towel low on his hips.
“Is this what I think it is?” you ask, and he continues brushing his teeth.
“It’s shampoo.” he shrugs.
“Kyle, how is your hair not dry?”
He rubs a hand over his hair, looking at himself in the mirror above the sink.
“Looks fine to me,” he says and you blindly reach your hand out.
“Let me feel. I don’t trust you after seeing this,” you say, and he smiles around his toothbrush, leaning his head over so you can feel his hair with your soapy hand.
You hum thoughtfully, and Kyle can almost see the pinched look you get on your face when you’re thinking hard about something.
“It’s not the worst,” you decide, and reach your hand back inside the shower. “But you should really use a leave-in.”
“Not a ton of time for a wash day when you’re doing surveillance in Lebanon, love,” he says.
Your stomach twists, lips pressing into a tight line as you stand underneath the running water.
Kyle’s told you the bare minimum about his job. His friends call them “first-date” stories. The ones that leave a girl impressed just enough that she’ll want to see him again.
But you’ve never thought about what it must mean to join the military as a boy and learn how to become a man.
“Come over to my place on Sunday,” you say, turning the shower off and grabbing the towel he brought for you. “I have some products for you.”
“Yeah?” he says round his toothbrush, pulling you to stand in his arms. “Gonna make me pretty like you?”
You laugh.
“You don’t need any help with that.”
It becomes a routine after a month.
You start at the kitchen sink since that’s easier with his height, a towel wrapped around his neck and your nails scratching over his scalp as you clarify, condition, and work a hair mask in while you both catch up on a TV show.
You’ll then shift towards the couch, candle burning and music lowly playing through some speakers.
You’ll part his hair, layer on creams and oils until his scalp tingles pleasantly from the herbs and he can barely keep his eyes open.
It’s at that lazy, content smile that you realize Kyle Garrick loves being cared for.
Even if he refuses to admit it.
But after a few weeks of studying your hair products and watching as you do your own hair care routine every night, he shows up at your front door with a grocery bag full of products and big eyes.
You smile.
“Did you get a spray bottle?“
He scoffs.
“Of course. What do you take me for?”
For whatever reason, that makes you laugh, and you open your door wider to let him in.
“I’ll clear off a shelf.”
“Kyle Garrick!” you shout from the bathroom, and he freezes.
He says a quick prayer to whatever god may be listening that you all you need is help killing a bug and that he hadn’t forgot about a date you two had scheduled.
You suddenly appear at the door of the bathroom.
“Have you been using my conditioner?”
Oh.
Oh shit.
In your hand is your favorite conditioner that leaves your curls softer than a dream and smells so good that Kyle would linger in hugs just to sniff your hair.
You’ve only caught him once or twice.
It’s also become his favorite; he chooses that conditioner on the nights he washes his own hair, which are truly few and far between.
“Just once or twice,” he says, rubbing a hand across his curls. While he’s been prone to fidgeting with his hair when he’s anxious or bored, he’s almost constantly putting a hand through his hair since you’ve altered his hair care routine.
“It’s almost halfway gone. This is like fifty dollars, and I bought it two weeks ago,” you whine, and he wraps his arms around you.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, placing a kiss to the top of your head.
“Buy yourself one too. I’m not sharing anymore,” you grumble and he laughs against your head.
“Whatever you want, love.”
Kyle becomes spoiled quickly, trusting you to style his hair and even letting you braid his hair when you’re bored or find inspiration somewhere.
“Hold still,” you say and he shifts under your parting comb.
“You’re so heavy-handed,” he says, and you sigh, zooming in on the photo of the back of Lewis Hamilton’s head on your phone.
“You’re the one who said you liked his hair.” You begin braiding, and he shifts one more time.
“Only because you wouldn’t stop bringing it up!”
You roll your eyes, scratching his head gently and he shuts his eyes, leaning into your palm slightly.
“We’re almost done,” you say, parting his hair into three more sections.
He nods, wrapping his hand around your ankle, rubbing a lazy circle on your skin.
He couldn’t stop looking at himself for the next few days.
It was only after he had mentioned needing a haircut and you had looked at him with big eyes that he drew the line.
“You are not coming near me with clippers. I have a barber for that,” he says immediately and you laugh, kissing his cheek.
“It was worth a shot.”
You really shouldn’t have been so surprised that he was going to get it cut.
“How long until you leave again?” You sigh, and his gaze softens.
“Should fly out in a few days, and the helmet’s bad enough without all the creams and oils in it,” he says.
“It’ll grow back?” is what you say, but something else lies underneath it.
Okay, this is incredibly self-indulgent but let me cook, okay—
CW: Toxic Ex
————————————————————
You’re working on base. You’re just a civilian contractor going about your usual duties without much issue. You know the 141 guys, not closely, but enough.
You’re turning down the corridor when you come face to face with your ex. It’s not just awkward, it’s downright terrifying. Your ex is a bodybuilder, tall and noticeably buff and during your relationship made comments alluding to how easy it would be to hurt you.
So, you do the wise thing and immediately retreat the other direction. They follow you. You get enough of a distance between you to disappear from their line of sight for merely a moment, and you run head first into Ghost.
The lieutenant steadies you, notices your panicked expression and quirks a brow behind that skull-printed balaclava he’s always wearing. You explain your situation while slightly out of breath, and you both shoot your attention towards the door when you hear footsteps approaching.
Before you could react, Ghost removes his mask, yanks it down over your head, and ushers you into his side. Ghost is an absolute unit himself, so his muscular frame almost completely shields you from your Ex’s view when they enter the room. Ghost’s scarred face and angered expression are not a kind greeting, so your Ex moves on quickly. They’re still searching for you, but they’re smart enough not to mess with one of the lieutenant’s soldiers.
When the coast is clear, he pulls his mask off you and quickly adjusts it. Because he didn’t really ensure the mask was on you properly, your eyes were obscured by the fabric and you remain clueless as to what Ghost looks like.
However, appearances don’t matter when your heart flutters at how quickly this gruff man who seemingly hates everyone outside of his quad came to your aid.
Yeah, you had your little main character moment. But when his brown eyes met yours and his voice seemed to soften when he asks, “you solid?”
Maybe there was a little more to it than just helping out a colleague.
It’s just something small that reminds them of you whilst they’re away
Price has your lighter. Metal, casing a little scratched from your partying days and the letter of your first name barely visible, but he sees it. Sees you. It clips shut with a satisfying click. Whenever he takes it out of his pocket he’s reminded of the first time he met you. Lost his lighter, asked you. Later found out you’ve never smoked but always carried a lighter so you can break the ice with whoever you meet.
“Won’t need this,” John says, shoving the lighter in his pocket as he bids you goodbye. “Got me.”
Simon only has one picture of you. None that reveal your identity, just you wearing his mask. It’s slightly baggy on your face, fabric bunching around your jaw. Your eyes barely visible, but he sees them. Damn he dreams of them each night, your soft gaze following him as he settles down in his bunk.
And the first time he puts on that mask, all he can smell is you. It grounds him, keeps this one particular mask to wear in his free time in hopes your scent will stay with him.
Kyle’s known for his array of caps when he’s not in his military gear. No one knows that they’re actually yours. He’ll send you pictures of him wearing the latest cap he’s taken from your collection. Likes that your work colleagues are looking over your shoulder and complimenting your hot boyfriend.
Cue cheeky gym snaps with him wearing your hat and the bastard’s cropped his sweaty chest out of the picture. Such a tease, but he promises to show you more later. Hat covering his dick picture late at night.
Johnny has a tattoo of your kiss on the inside of his thigh, just for him to see. Your letters to him are all covered with your lips, he had to get it permanently on him. That one favourite colour lipstick he likes you wearing, jokes that you don’t have a hairy upper lip like the one his thigh. Sleeps in his boxers so he can catch of glimpse of you between the sheets.
He traces his lips wishing he could press his own against yours. He definitely makes you kiss his thigh when he gets home to make sure it matches.
Gaz was supposed to be doing paper work, supposed to be clocking in for a boring meeting, supposed to be doing anything but having you under his desk with his cock in your mouth.
He gripped the edges of his desk as you bobbed your head up and down his length too fast for him. Your hands digging into his thighs. He was resisting the urge to thrust into you, but you pushed him back anytime he did.
"Please- fuck, love. Slow down." He groaned. Sounding so desperate. He fisted your hair, not pushing, only resting. For now.
You hummed, the sound vibrating through your throat and up his cock. He gasped and his head fell back. He looked so preety like this.
His jaw worked, teeth grinding so hard they might crack.
Your hand slid to cup his balls and he nearly lost it. A sharp thrust had you gagging. Instantly you pulled away, his pre cum salty on your tongue. "Wait wait please," he choked out. "I'm sorry, lovie, you feel so good."
"Don't do it again, Kyle." You warned, giving a less then soft squeeze to his heavy sack. He flinched. Cheeks hot.
"Yes ma'am." He breathed, settling back in his seat.
"Good boy." You said with a smirk before taking him in your mouth again. Pushing until your nose touched his pubic bone and the coarse curls there. A strangled moan escaped him.
You pulled back slowly. So painfully slowly. Making him suffer. Your tongue circling the tip, tasting the salty and musky pre-cum. "Please, please, please." He whispered.
He hated how you reduced him to a needy and begging thing. Turning him into your play toy for the time being.
You had him teetering on the edge. His cock jerking. Then the door opened. You froze.
"You got them reports finished?" It was Price. He had no clue you were there.
Something was going to get finished but it wasn't paper work. Gaz inhaled sharply. "Not yet, sir. I'll get to it."
Price nodded. "See that you do."
The door clicked shut. Gaz looked down at you. Mouth gaping as you rose up, taking your warm hands and mouth with you. "W-what? You have to finish." He sputtered.
"Mmm, I think I'll wait until reports are done." You said, wiping off your mouth. Knowing the denial was going to drive him crazy.
"You fucking tease." He groaned, shoving himself back into his pants.
You started towards the door but his voice made you pause. "When I'm done, you better be on my bed waiting."
vampire kyle gaz garrick who has never gotten to see what he’d looked like in mirrors or photographs after turning, whose own face had been a stranger to him for over a century x you, the painter who is determined to show him the beauty that he never got to see through your portraits
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Price:
This man will take any opportunity to claim you as his. He's a territorial man who makes sure no one messes with him, his team, and his partner. Still, he's classy. He's leaving marks that only he will ever be able to see. Hips, thighs, chest, and his favorite? Your collarbone just below where your shirt cuts off. He'll be able to see them if you lean down for any reason, and the thought of someone else catching sight makes him smug. It does something to him to know you're walking around covered in his marks and everyone else is none the wiser. It's no secret you two are together, but your relationship seems pretty tame on the surface. You're not one to show off everything to others, so no one knows how the Captain likes to ravish you behind closed doors.
Gaz:
He might as well be a damn vampire. I mean: hypnotically beautiful, captivating eyes, and the fact he cannot be trusted with your exposed neck. He'll play nice if you have an important meeting the next day or if you'll be seeing family, but otherwise? You might want to invest in some good conealer. Kyle loves seeing his partner sporting his marks. He can't help it, babe, you taste so good. He's most likely going for the neck, but isn't one to ignore your chest, stomach, and thighs as his mouth ventures to other places.
Soap:
Honestly, Soap is more on the recieving end in this category. He doesn't entirely feel right putting bruises on you even if he really wants to. Anything he leaves on you fades by the next day. However... he's not too shy to beg you to to gnaw on him like your (or maybe his) life depended on it. He will proudly show up to drills the nect morning looking like he survived several bears -- much to the dissatisfaction of the rest of the team. But hey, he knows who he belongs to and he has no problem showing that off.
Ghost:
The first time he leaves a mark on you is purely accidental. At first, he feels terrible about it. The idea of leaving any kind of bruises on you hurts him to his core. While he's wallowing in regret thinking he's royally fucked up, you're in the mirror 'ooo'ing and 'ahh'ing over your pretty little hickey. It takes some reassurance to get him back in a romantic mindset, but once he knows for sure that he didn't hurt you and that you like the marks, he starts giving a little more. Nothing dark purple or highly noticable. If you wanna give him some? Sure. He wears a mask 24/7 anyway. No one's gonna know his sweetheart has a knack for biting.
Age gap. Price is canonically 37 I think? So we’ll imagine he’s around there, maybe even 40 or so. Reader is early twenties.
The 141 went out for a “team bonding experience” — at least that’s what they put on paper. In actuality, it was a pub crawl to reward themselves after a rough operation. Price heads to the bar to grab the guys’ next round and you happen to be at the next barstool over.
You’re minding your business, sipping your drink, casually looking over at the attractive man to your left ordering four glasses of whiskey. You can’t help eavesdropping when a girl about your age approaches the him and starts chatting him up. He entertains it a little, not entirely paying attention until the girl asks him his age.
“Eww— what? No. I don’t date old men!”
Finding the comment incredibly rude and the man incredibly handsome, you chime in to his aid.
“I do.” You turn to completely face him, leaning on the bar top.
“What’re you drinking, sir? I’ll cover it.”
Price isn’t normally the type to blush, but your bluntness catches his interest. The other girl is quick to leave after learning Price’s age, leaving his attention entirely on you.
“You… always this upfront, luv?”
You simply shrug. “I have a type. Bet you’ve got tattoos older than me, right?”
Therapy dog, Missy and you that visits base twice a week and wanders down the hall to Tf141.
Price leaves his office door ajar on every other Tuesday in hopes of the old dog pushing it open with her nose. He pretends not to see them till the dog’s squeezed between the desk and his chair, head on his thigh peering up at him.
“Oh, hello Missy,” Price says, pen dropping to the desk and his hand patting her head. He can feel the thump of her tail wagging on his boot as he finally acknowledges her.
He always shares half a biscuit with Missy too, known to make her a cup of tea as well. John’s kinda looking forward to the knock on the door and you walking in too at the end of the day. He ends up helping you carry Missy back to your car as she’s falls asleep before you find her.
Simon seems to have gained a shadow around his office. The mutt following him around as he leans over the printer and waits for his notes. In the beginning he used to push her away, finger hooked in her collar and guide her out of his office.
“Go on,” Ghost says, pointing down the hall. “Back to the infirmary, got all those sick patients you like.” A celebrity down there apparently, just a lot of hair shredding that Ghost’s not fond of.
Now though he settles with letting Missy be a constant in his life every Thursday at 4pm. Doesn’t talk to the dog, a pat or scratch on her head every now and then. He thinks maybe he’s sick too when the dog sticks around for three hours. He has to go find you and then there’s the awkward moment Missy sits on his boots and ignores your commands of home time.
Kyle knows you and searches for you both on base. He’ll meet up during lunch, Missy having a Power Nap on him before she goes to search for her next patient or victim. Gaz was introduced to you and Missy when he was recovering from a bullet wound. He looked forward to each visit, secretly hoping you’d stick around too.
Missy seems to think so too. She nudges the back of your legs and you stumble closer to Kyle. You’ve even both been tangled in her lead when she’s on a walk with the two of you.
And again he sees you before you leave for the day. The last hour when Missy’s steps are sluggish and she settles beside him. He gets the opportunity to talk to you, get to know you more.
Johnny always got the good treats, Missy goes to him first before going to see Simon on Thursdays. Nine times out of ten he’s in the gym, but he makes sure he cuts his workout short so he can bump into you and Missy on the way back to the main building.
He gets lunged at, dog making a beeline for him as soon as Missy sees him. Wet nose prodding his trouser pockets for treats, tongue licking his hands. She playfully nips him when he asks which hand has got a treat.
Play fights with her too. Although not too rough, “gotta look after the little lady.” He jokingly asks if you would like a treat too, which means a watered down coffee at the nearest vending machine.
Not because you say anything—you don’t. You’re efficient, steady, reliable. But Price is observant, and he’s been around long enough to read the things people don’t put into words.
It’s small things.
The way you stiffen—just slightly—when he gives you a congratulatory pat on the shoulder after a clean op. The way your breath catches like you weren’t expecting it. Like your body doesn’t know what to do with something that gentle.
He starts watching closer.
Soap slings an arm around you once, laughing about something, and you freeze. Not pulling away. Not leaning in. Just… still. Like if you move, it’ll end.
That’s when it clicks.
He tests it carefully.
A hand on your shoulder when he passes behind you. Brief. Grounding. Always visible—never sudden. He doesn’t want to startle you.
The first time you lean into it—barely, just a fraction—he feels it. And God, it does something to him. Price doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t make it a big moment. He just lets his hand stay there a second longer than necessary.
“Good work today, Sergeant.”
His voice is rougher than usual.
After that, it becomes… routine. Casual touches that aren’t really casual at all. A hand at the middle of your back guiding you through a doorway. A firm squeeze to your shoulder before a mission.
And eventually—eventually—
When you come back from something rough, something that left your hands shaking just a little—
He opens his arms.
Doesn’t say a word.
Just waits.
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John “Soap” MacTavish
Soap is the opposite of subtle.
He’s touchy with everyone—shoves, shoulder bumps, ruffling hair, dragging people into side hugs whether they like it or not. So when he throws an arm around you the first time, he expects you to either laugh or shove him off.
Instead..
You go completely still.
Not tense. Not angry.
Just… still.
He pulls back immediately. “Ah—sorry, lass, didn’t mean—”
But you look at him like he just… took something away. That hits him harder than if you’d yelled.
After that, he dials it way back.
At first.
But Soap’s not the kind of man who can ignore something like that.
So he starts small.
A nudge with his elbow. A quick tap to your arm when he passes. Always watching your reaction.
And slowly—slowly—you start responding.
Not big. Not obvious.
But you stop freezing.
Then one day, he tests it again.
Throws an arm around your shoulders, lighter this time. Careful. Ready to pull away.
You hesitate.
Then—just barely—you lean into his side.
Soap goes quiet— For once in his life.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “There she is.”
After that? He becomes your biggest menace and your safest place. Half the time he’s got an arm slung around you, dragging you into conversations, grounding you without making a big deal of it.
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Simon “Ghost” Riley
Ghost doesn’t touch people.
He doesn’t like being touched either.
So he doesn’t notice at first.
Not until he sees you flinch away from someone else.
It’s quick. Easy to miss.
But he doesn’t miss things like that.
He starts paying attention.
The distance you keep. The way your hands stay tucked close to your body. The way you watch other people interact like it’s something… foreign. Something you’re not part of.
It bothers him more than he expects.
The first time he touches you, it’s deliberate.
Two fingers against your wrist.
You go still instantly.
He almost pulls away.
But then—
Your pulse jumps under his fingers.
And instead of recoiling… you don’t move.
He doesn’t say anything.
Just leaves his hand there for a second longer than necessary before letting go.
But after that?
He does it more.
Always controlled. Always intentional. A hand at your elbow guiding you past him. Fingers brushing yours when he hands you something instead of dropping it into your palm.
He watches every reaction.
Catalogs it.
Learns you.
One night, after a mission that went sideways, you’re sitting alone. Quiet. Too quiet.
He steps in front of you.
Doesn’t ask.
Just reaches out—and rests his hand on the back of your neck.
Firm. Grounding.
You fold.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
But your shoulders drop. Your head tilts forward just a little, like your body finally found something to rest against.
Ghost’s breath catches under the mask.
“…easy.” he mutters, brushing his thumb gently on your neck.
His hand doesn’t move for a long, long time.
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Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
Gaz notices in a different way.
He notices what you don’t do.
You don’t initiate touch. Ever.
Not even accidental.
No high-fives. No shoulder bumps. No casual brushes in tight spaces—you always adjust first, always give space.
At first, he thinks it’s just preference.
Then he realizes—
You watch it.
Other people. Their easy contact. The way they exist in each other’s space.
Like you’re studying it.
Like you don’t quite understand how to step into it.
Gaz is careful. He doesn’t test you like Soap. Doesn’t analyze you like Ghost. Doesn’t guide you like Price.
He gives you control.
The first time, it’s simple.
He holds his hand out.
Palm up.
An offer.
Not a grab. Not a surprise.
“C’mon,” he says lightly. “You’re allowed, you know.”
You stare at his hand like it’s something fragile.
Then—slowly—you place your hand in his.
Your fingers barely touch his palm.
Like you’re not sure you’re allowed to take up space there.
Gaz doesn’t move.
Doesn’t close his hand right away.
He lets you decide.
When your fingers finally curl—
hesitant, unsure—
he gently closes his hand around yours.
Warm. Steady.
“See?” he murmurs. “Not so bad, yeah?”
After that, he’s your safest introduction to it.
Always asking without words. Always giving you the chance to step in—or not.
Thinking about Soap with a reader who's new to working out
You just got a job on base. You're not even explicitly military, you just work there. However, your low-level starting job comes with some pretty sweet perks: housing and utilities paid by the government, home and work are both within walking distance to the grocery store, and you have access to the base's facilities.
Said facilities include a full gym and recreational center. Sure, it's full of soldiers most the time, but it's a generally friendly environment that also includes the soldiers families and other civilians such as yourself. You start going, looking to engage in a new hobby and maybe better yourself some.
One day, you're struggling with some free weights when a handsome stranger gently holds your elbows to help you through the last few reps of your shoulder presses.
"There ye go, Bon! Didn't even need me."
You drop the wieghts and remove your headphones to properly greet him. You can tell by the look of him he's a regular gym-goer, and his friendly smile says he has no issue helping out a newbie.
"Thank you, uh...?"
"Johnny." He extends his hand for you to shake. "Mah mates call me Soap."
"Soap?" You chuckle, finding the nickname you'd later learn to be his callsign kind of funny.
"Aye. Ye knew here? Like to think I know all the regulars."
You nod, explaining your new job and learning Johnny is a sergeant with the 141. He offers to help you through the rest of your workout and proves to be an attentive spotter -- especially when he shows you how to do hip thrusts. And yes, he does gently ask you how much you weigh only to show off he can rep your weight with ease.
Look, the rest of us can't judge you for giving him your number in case he ever wants to do cardio...at home :)
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You had worked beside Price for well over three years now, following him across the world on countless missions. In fact, you started off as a nobody. Barely a kill to your name, and then the troops started to lose numbers, and all of a sudden you were forced to learn too fast and instead fight to survive rather than win.
And then he came along— Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, though you secretly nicknamed him “pretty boy” and not in a good way.
Still, you’ve been with Price for three years, so how come he’s still better than you?
However, when he gets injured for the first time, you instinctively take it upon yourself to haul him all the way to exfil, his limp body hanging on your back, blood dripping from his leg and leaving a smearing mess.
“Sorry- I— didn't mean—“ He coughs harshly as he holds onto you, feeling guilty of his slip up as you now march through the uneven land.
“It’s fine.” You say quietly in response, because truthfully your anger has simmered down since you heard his voice falter over the comms. Price barely got an answer in before you announced your change of action.
You stop halfway through, finding an abandoned settlement before you continue your journey. He’s settled on a worn couch, the soft sounds of clatter as you look around for any clean clothes or other things to help. Eventually you manage to get some clean water, bringing it over as you start the routine of caring for his wound. The gash is rather deep, and it takes you careful precision to pack the gauze properly and wrap it after.
“Ow..” He groans as you hoist him up and let him lean on your body, continuing the way. “I shouldn’t have moved forward and risked that- I could’ve—“
“You gave Price the opportunity to enter and get what he needed. The choice you made brought a great reward.. besides, you’ll heal quickly.” You don't mention how when you had been stabbed deep in your leg, no one came back to get you. Who looks for the unskilled soldier in charge of practically just keeping a good eye? You dragged yourself out of that hell with injuries that could’ve had you discharged forever.
“Thanks to you, I will.” He murmurs, voice close to your ear as he leans heavily against you, wincing every time he moves the leg too much. “I'm not going to lie.. I thought you hated me.”
That gets something out of you, close to a scoff, but more of a snort. “Trust me, I do.”
That makes him chuckle too, now putting in the effort to push himself for each step too. “Then why’d you run to help me? You could’ve let someone else come.”
“I’m not stupid— I don't leave soldiers behind. Besides, Price likes you too much, I can't let you die out on him.” You make sure Kyle gets back safely, right beside him in the helicopter all the way back to base, even then you escort him to the infirmary too. It’s annoying how easily he worms into people’s hearts, practically sneaking inside like it’s infiltration.
Given your initial disliking for the newer Sergeant, you found yourself in Gaz's company often. He catches you on your way too and from Price's office. It can be argued that you started the friendship, following up on his healing once or twice. Once the spring got back in his step, he's spending all his free time with you.
Meals? "Save you a seat, mate."
Training? "Fancy a go? Gotta make sure I can still beat ye."
He catches you working late? "Let me take some o' this off your plate. You work too hard anyway."
He did find his way into your heart, but not just from the quality time togther. He's sweet, validates your thoughts and feelings, voices your concerns to the 141 when you're unsure. He sees you. Sees you the way you spent the last three years wishing your Captain did. It's strange; this guy you once saw as nothing more than a workplace rival was now ingrained in your heart. He's cute, admittedly. Smart, funny, kind, and a beast in the field.
"I never properly thanked you."
His comment breaks the long silence that had fallen upon you both at the late hour. You're on a stakeout, already two days into the week-long operation and fell into comfortable silence watching a nearby building that intel believes is being used as a secret Koni base.
"For what?"
"Saving my arse that day." You turn, meeting his eyes to find them and his smile softer than you're used to. "Didn't expect you to come back for me. An' stayin' with me after? Meant the world."
Your head tilts. To you, leaving no man behind is the bare minimum. Sure, you didn't have to literally hold his hand the whole ride back to base, but you also didn't dare to let go.
"Got your back, Garrick. No matter what happens."
"Please, just Kyle is fine." He offers you a bite from the granola bar he'd been snacking on. "Here. Gotta take care of Cap's favorite."
You scoff. "Thought you were the favorite."
"Compared to you? Tha's like comparing a spark to a firework, Luv."
He motions to the bar once more and you lean forward to take a small bite, maintaining eye contact. You didn't mean to come off flirty, but you don't deny the way he nibbles on his bottom lip under your gaze is pretty damn cute.
"You think that highly of me?"
"We all do." His eyes move between yours and the granola bar -- or maybe, your lips -- seemingly unsure of where to look. "You're not in the dirt as often as we are, sure, but you do twice as much behind the scenes. We'd be lost without you."
Your own smile grows at his words. You did feel undervalued considering all you've accomplished in such a short amount of time. Then with the creation of Task Force 141, you're not even a member. You just 'help out' sometimes.
"Thanks, Kyle," you say earnestly. "I needed to hear that."
"Of course, Luv."
Comfortable silence returns, only Gaz scoots a little closer to you. It's already past midnight and sleep was surely calling your name. Before you can ask his preference on taking the first shift, Gaz is wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. His arm lingered, protective, like he planned to pull you closer as you relaxed.
"I've got you this time, Luv." He smiles.
"Since when do you call me 'luv'?"
He only shrugs. "Once I was sure you stopped hating me enough to let me get away with it."
You roll your eyes at the tease. Truly, you don't think that hatred was genuine. You were just jealous that he was so quick to recieve the praise you were after. Gaz being the one to start giving you that praise quickly rewired the way you thought about him.
"Ugh. I should've let you bleed," you groan, though it was clear Gaz understood you didn't mean those words when he let a little giggle slip through his pursed lips.
"You wouldn't," he jokes back before softening once more. "That's why I like you. Honestly? You carryin' me like I weighed nothing was the most attractive thing you've ever done."
You snort, much like how you did that day you carried him to safety. "Shut up."
