Rules:

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Each fic will be around 1,000 words

We are writing for the 141 characters (Ghost, Gaz, Price, Soap) only!

We are doing character x reader fics only!

No dark/Dead Dove: Do Not Eat content, including but not limited to:

fauxcest/incest murder/violence/death/abuse underage or age play nonconsensual sexual content kidnapping bestiality, etc.

All fics will be in English

Prompts will go into a pool for writers to choose from. You do not get to choose/request who writes your gift. Our group of writers includes:

@anneofgreengabagool @warmfrequency @dragonnarrative-writes @saintquincy @girl-lostconnection @ghouljams @oceantornadoo @robin-feldt @ilium-ilia

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Send that screenshot, along with your prompt, into our ask box!

You should receive your gift in roughly 1-2 months!

Prompts should be easy to fit into 1,000 words! For example:

Character x reader date night on the beach with some fluff/smut

Childhood best friends meeting again at a coffee shop for the first time after being away from each other for years

Meet cute at (location) 

“Tags” like ‘hurt/comfort’ ‘there was only one bed’ etc helps loads!

Submission Template:

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Attach your proof of donation! What character do you want written?:  Do you want smut in your fic?: (y/n) Do you want angst or fluff?: What blog, if any, would you like to be tagged when the fic is finished?: Finally, put your prompt here! Feel free to get as creative as you want, just adhere to the rules and make sure it can reasonably be written in 1,000 words!

Writers will be posting on their own account. If you give the blog you want to be tagged with, they will tag your blog! If you'd rather remain anonymous, a complete masterlist of all fics written will be kept here on this blog!

you can see him from your couch when you close your eyes, watching him shove an eyeglasses screwdriver into the flimsy little lock on your mail cubby's door, twisting it just-so in order to snatch a brown envelope and shove it in his pocket. it's a jury summons, from the looks of it, which means now he has an excuse to come find you.

-just tell her that the mail was mis-sorted, that we got her summons, that we thought we should hand it over personally because it's important- ah, there he goes, plotting away. last night you'd heard him make all sorts of plans, scrapping some, revamping others, writing it all down in a little notebook with his perfect, slanty penmanship. it lasted all night, interspersed with couple of wank sessions starring that too-polished, too-perfect imagined version of yourself writhing around on her hands and knees, begging for kyle's cock.

best to do some recon, make sure it's just a coincidence, kyle rationalizes to himself as he strides back to the elevator and presses the fifth floor button. could be that a pretty face with a big soft body is some sort of spy. the place next door has been vacant for ages, never heard a peep- he stops to think. was there a sound last night? a movie or something playing through the wall? it's hard to remember, the book was so good it was hard to pay attention to much else.

he drums his fingers over the handrail, waiting for the elevator to open again with a soft ding! before launching back into strategizing mode, sliding his key back into his lock and throwing a glance at your door before he goes inside.

it would be such a shame if she were a spy, he thinks to himself before a supercut of brutal murders plays through both of your minds. a bullet to the forehead splattering brains and bone shards all over the wall. a shove pushing a man over a high railing, screams fading before ending with an abrupt thud. a slit throat pouring blood down the front of a woman's blouse, wet shirt clinging suggestively to her tits- and you realize her face looks like yours.

it's enough to bring your breakfast back up, your feet barely carrying you to the bathroom fast enough. you need to go, need to get out of here and clear your fucking head. this situation has suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and getting out of it is going to require a real plan on your part. it was one thing when he just fantasized about fucking and biting you (that was almost normal if you're honest), but it's entirely another for him to potentially plot your fucking murder. sliding on your shoes, you make an escape plan. kyle's one of those super healthy types that drinks a lot of water- it's only a matter of time until he needs to take a piss.

grabbing your go-bag, wallet, phone, and keys, you linger by the door for twenty minutes, hand hovering over the knob, waiting for him to go to the loo before you're able to dash out the front door and frantically press 'door close' on the elevator. kyle curses up a storm when he hears you, trying to make himself presentable and attempt to catch you on your way out- but he's too late. you're two floors down already by the time he even touches the doorknob- and you can't help the manic little giggle that slides out of you in relief.

that was a close one. you know he'll be keeping an ear out for you to come home tonight, so you won't be doing that. he's got two more days of leave before he's expected back on base- he'll be missing his mum's birthday because of it, you remember- so that's when you can come home. until then, you can just hole up in a hotel or something and wait him out. afterwards you can break your lease and move out before he comes back from deployment. that should work, right? he'll come back, realize you're gone, chalk it up to weird coincidences, let it go, and move on to terrorize some other fat girl- one that doesn't know about what a monster kyle 'gaz' garrick truly is.

(poor thing. you hope this hypothetical future fat girl escapes.)

kyle's eyes scan the street below his window, eye on the front door where the majority of people come in and out of your building- so you slip out the back door usually only used by maintenance and security, leaving him scrambling and confused.

where is she? where is she? where is she? chants his voice in your mind as he peers down at the tops of stranger's heads, looking for your hair, your wide frame, anything familiar- but finding nothing. there's no suppressing the second wave of triumphant giggles as you power walk away, hiking your bag up on your shoulder as you put as much distance between you and your neighbor as possible, heading towards your usual haunting grounds.

~

two days and nearly two hundred quid in room service charges later, you finally slink home. it's blissfully quiet this afternoon, with just the low hum of your other neighbors thoughts, no louder than your refrigerator. it's nice to be back, if you're honest. even though hotels are still quieter than being home when kyle is around, the contents of the quieter thoughts are much more intense. after all, here people are home where they feel most comfortable, but hotels? full of homesick travelers, unhappy spouses cheating on each other, stressed businessmen, overworked hotel staff, and folks like you- worried locals trying to lie low. it's a lot to handle, and even more stressful when you're already dealing with your own problems.

collapsing on your bed feels rejuvenating, if you're honest. you'd almost missed the muted showtunes that play in a loop in 540's head, or the unfocused bright colors going through her baby's. this is as close to true silence as you'll get- and that's fine. it's like a more pleasant tinnitus in that way, you suppose.

"-ppy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear mu-um, happy birthday to you!" a woman with beautiful silver locs flashes a smile to her family, corners of her dark eyes creasing as her wife wraps and arm around her waist. she leans down to blow out the candles, the gold bands around her fingers glinting with candle light as she holds her hair back from the sides of her face. there's a small cheer as she gets them in one go, and she laughs good-naturedly when someone makes a joke about her cake being a fire hazard-

your eyes bulge open, legs flailing as you scramble to sit up in bed. what the fuck. that's kyle's mum- or, at least, his memory of her. but he's supposed to be gone. he was supposed to miss his mother's birthday. he's not supposed to be here, why the fuck is he here?

the memories get louder and brighter, and you know kyle is on his way back to his flat. you can hear the ding of the elevator play over the reel of his mother opening kyle's gift to her- a gold pendant necklace with a hummingbird on it. her favorite animal, and a pet name her mother had given her as a little girl. he'd been deeply pleased when he'd found it, and it pleased him immensely to watch her face light up when she opened the small velvet box.

"it's perfect, thank you," she says as she puts it on immediately, mummy beaming at him from behind her shoulder.

"well done," mummy mouths at him silently before she presses a kiss to her wife's temple.

the memories come to an abrupt halt as soon as he sees your door.

wonder if she's home yet.

the knock at the door is expected, but it still makes you gasp all the same. it's real. he's here and he's found you and he's waiting on the other side of the door right now. you could pretend not to be home- but you know he's not going to just drop it or let it go. you're going to have to give in and talk to him if you want this to end.

with a deep breath, you get to your feet to answer the door. through the peephole, you see him staring back at you, small smirk ticking up the corner of his mouth when he hears the metal scrape of your deadbolt sliding out of place.

when the door opens, he's smiling at you with a fondness that you know is unearned.

"uh, hello?" you ask, wary.

cute, kyle thinks.

"hello, sorry to bother, i'm kyle, i'm your neighbor-" he says instead, nodding towards his door,"-and i think our mail got switched up."

he flashes you his most dazzling smile as he pulls a brown envelope from his jacket pocket. the jury summons. he's been holding onto it all this time. "seemed too time-sensitive to have it go back through the postal system, so i thought i'd deliver it in person."

"oh. thanks." you flash a hesitant smile of your own, grabbing the letter from him.

an iron on the ironing board, steam billowing out and unsealing the envelope in his hands. he takes note of all the information given, most especially your full government name, which he repeats to himself over and over, whispered like a prayer within the privacy of his flat, testing how the mix of vowels and consonants feel in his mouth. he hopes you don't notice the slight warp still left in the paper by the steam.

"you know, i hadn't realized until the other day that someone was living here. did you just move in?" he asks casually, gentle gaze locked on your face, memorizing the arch of your eyebrows, the roundness of your cheeks, the way your cupid's bow dips.

"uh. couple years ago." you confess, and his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"oh, wow. you're the quietest neighbor i've ever had, then. i honestly thought this flat was vacant until i heard sir david through my wall the other night." he says with a little laugh, and despite yourself, you chuckle a little too.

"yeah, sorry about the noise. i normally try to keep it down when you're home." you tell him before cutting yourself off. holy shit why did you tell him that? he's going to think you're a fucking weirdo...

wait. maybe if you're weird he'll be put off by you. maybe he'll want to leave you alone. maybe-

cute, he thinks again, dashing your dreams completely as his curious smile grows and he cocks his head.

"what do you mean?"

"oh, uh. you're not here a lot so i assume this is just, like. a crash pad. so. i thought since you're not here enough to bother me i should. um. just let you crash in peace, i guess." you stumble your way through the words, mentally apologizing to every woman you'd silently rolled your eyes at for getting flustered in front of kyle. it really is overwhelming, having that beautiful smile and those gentle eyes aimed at you like a fucking gun.

what a sweet fucking girl, his mind purrs. i hope it's true. if she's just a spy i'll have to kill her myself just for stringing me along. i wonder if i can counter-honeypot a honeypot? make her fall in love with me and convince her to tell me everything. if anyone could do it, i think i could.

"that's very thoughtful of you. thank you." he leans in closer, smile strategically softening, and it still makes you feel almost breathless. "it's appreciated. i'm military, so time to rest between deployments is fairly precious to me."

please be a barracks bunny please be a barracks bunny come show your appreciation all over my cock, babes-

it takes all your strength to maintain your poker face and not flinch at his unspoken thoughts. instead, you smile and scramble to make an excuse to get out of this conversation.

"oh, sure. i'll, uh, let you get back to your nap, i guess." you tell him, taking a half-step back so you can close the door. kyle obviously didn't think you'd shut down the conversation so fast, and he scrambles to find a way to keep you talking.

ask her to coffee take her to dinner ask if you're bothering her do something do something the door is closing-

"actually, i was wondering if you'd like to come have coffee with me sometime. there's a little cafe a few blocks from here that i've found to be rather lovely." he flashes that smile again, hoping to reel you in the way it always does. instead, you decide to stomp on his ego a little.

"why?" you ask, schooling your expression into a suspicious one, and it brings you a mean little thrill to see prettyboy fail- but it only lasts a moment.

ah, a sweet girl who isn't shy. wonder if she's a brat in bed. i can break a brat, no problem. i would enjoy it, too- but it might be more fun to slowly soften her up, make her sweet just for me. his eyes drop to your hips and then slowly trail back up your body, an obvious once-over. bloody fucking hell, she'll be a lot of fun, i can tell already-

"because i don't have a lot of local friends outside of the military, and because you seem like a thoughtful person that might be nice to get to know." he bites at his lip with intention, and you nearly scoff and roll your eyes.

"i have a boyfriend." you lie, enjoying the way his smile falters.

"i didn't mean it like that," he lies back, putting his hands up in surrender. "i really do just want to be friends."

a tactical retreat, he thinks to himself, and you can't stop the small exhaled laugh that escapes your nose. fucking military guys.

"uh huh." you don't know why you haven't closed the door yet. some part of you just wants to see what a guy like this does when his plan of 'be pretty enough to get whatever he wants' doesn't work the way it normally does.

"anyways, just wanted to give you your letter and introduce myself. i'll see you around, i suppose." he says, taking a small step backwards, waiting for you to take the bait, to call him back and ask him something-

"okay. bye kyle." you say, finally shutting the door, loudly locking it and setting the chain as he hovers outside.

fuck. bloody fucking boyfriend. he grouses to himself. nothing that can't be fixed. bet anything he doesn't fuck her right, remember her birthday, or buy her flowers. there's no way he's better looking, either.

as soon as he's back in his flat, a memory flashes through his mind.

your full government name, typed into various search bars. social media, telephone listings, professional websites, the dark web, porn hub, all of it, just looking for any sort of match. he grits his teeth in frustration when the handful of results he gets are blatantly not you- too old, too young, living on the wrong continent, etc. each lead is a wild goose chase, a waste of time that takes him two straight days.

fortunately for you, playing poker with very bad men has led you to be extra careful with your digital footprint. there is nothing under your real name, nothing tying you to this address aside from your government paperwork and utilities, nothing he can access without committing some serious ethics violations- and once he realizes that he won't be able to find you with conventional and legal means, kyle makes a phone call.

"hello, sergeant." a gruff voice says over the phone, fondness apparent in his tone.

"captain, i need some help." kyle admits, dropping into a chair in the kitchen.

"that right?" you can hear a door open and shut on the other end of the line. "you remember i'm retired, don't you?"

"it's about a woman, actually." kyle clears his throat. "saw her while i was out getting coffee, got home later and realized she's my neighbor. i did what little digging i could in an unofficial capacity, and found absolutely nothing. it might be coincidence, but." he chews his lip. he's going to think i went completely mental-

no, he won't, a corner of his own mind interrupts. this is price we're talking about. there's a reason we called him.

"but?"

"she is suspiciously my type." kyle confesses, and your eyebrows rocket towards your hairline as you drop onto your couch. "big fat arse and a pretty face. a reader. sweet without being naive or a pushover- didn't give me an inch when i talked to her."

"ah. you think you caught a honeypot." you catch the smile in the 'captain's voice, but kyle doesn't. "why don't you talk to your new captain about it? have ghost run background-"

"i'd rather leave ghost out of this, actually." kyle cuts him off, wincing in embarrassment at the responding silence and cringing even further when the captain responds with a low chuckle.

"ah. you think if she turns up clean that ghost will want her." the captain observes, and you can hear in his thoughts how much it bothers kyle that 'price' can read him like a book, even after all this time. "but you want her all for yourself, don't you sergeant?"

"yes sir." kyle admits through grit teeth.

"no need to be embarrassed, lad. felt the same way when i first laid eyes on my missus. there was a reason i had called you for help and not soap, you know."

trailing a broad-hipped woman through snow-dusted streets, streetlights throwing blue shadows over everything. kyle yells something at her, pretending to slur his words, stumbling as if drunk, staying just far enough away to hide his face in the dark and just close enough to make her panic and move with haste, grinning to himself as he watches his captain's familiar shape 'bump' into the poor girl, 'saving' her. he watches her leave with the captain as price holds a thumbs-up behind her back- mission accomplished. lamb scared back to the arms of her shepherd.

"how is she, by the way? your wife?"

"oh, fine, just fine. she's baking blueberry scones at the moment- or rather, attempting to. crab bucket- that's the tortie cat- she keeps getting underfoot, i think in hopes that something will be dropped that she can eat." there's a strange quality to his voice, like he has something wedged between his teeth- and it doesn't make sense until you hear the click of a lighter and a crackling inhale. kyle supplies the image for you- an older man with a thick, dark beard, cigar firmly wedged in the corner of his mouth. his eyes are steely, a no-nonsense expression on his face.

"does your girl have pets, kyle?"

"not that i know of- she's so quiet that i didn't even know she was living next door."

"mm. it's harder when they have animals- if they don't like you, getting her trust will be that much harder." price says thoughtfully. "what's your plan, kyle? you need me to pretend to be drunk and follow her home?"

a flash of your face again, half-hidden in your doorway, expression suspicious. kyle exhales a laugh.

"i think she'd likely just tell you to sod off." he says with a fond smile, and price laughs.

"no meek things for you, eh kyle?"

"they're all right for a night." he shrugs, even though price can't see it. "i don't know, i'm still trying to make sure this isn't a trap before i set my heart on anything. like i said, she's suspiciously my type."

she's so big and soft, if she got on top she'd pin us down to the mattress, he thinks to himself. we wouldn't be able to get up or move, we'd just have to take it as she jiggles and bounces on our cock-

suddenly, there's a vivid image.

fantasy-you moans and sweats and writhes on top of him, his fingers dug deep into the plush jut of her hip, leaving indents in the fat. she bats her lashes down at him, sweat running down her face, breathlessly telling him how much she loves his cock, how much she needs it, how much she craves it when he's gone- "mm. and if it comes up she's clean? then what?" price asks, but it's rhetorical. you don't need telepathy to tell he already knows the answer.

kyle thinks about the leave paperwork he filled out and emailed off two nights ago, the phone call he had with a deep-voiced manc about needing 'family time'. after years of doing multiple tours in a row just to stave off boredom, he's got several months worth of leave saved up, and he's planning on using them all.

now.

on you.

"then the hunt begins, captain."

the smile in kyle's voice paired with the proud sounding chuckle on the other end of the line make your blood run cold and your breaths grow shallow. they're talking about you like you're a particularly fat pheasant or an extraordinarily wiley fox, not a human woman with her own thoughts, feelings, agency, and made-up boyfriend.

an idealized version of you, with longer lashes and perfect lip gloss lounges naked in kyle's bed, parting her legs coyly under his crisp white bed sheets, hickeys and bite marks littering her neck, chest, and shoulders. there's a gold ring on her left hand, the diamond bright and huge.

"come back to bed, i need you," she pouts, voice sounding vaguely like yours. "please? please, kyle? i need you so bad."

tears you hadn't even realized were accumulating fall over your lashline, racing down your face to drip off of your chin. a line has been crossed, and there's no going back. after all, he's bringing in a third party to, what, dig into your past? under the guise of proving you aren't a spy? his excuse is flimsy and you know he knows it.

the googling you could forgive- god knows everyone does it, yourself included- but this is far, far more than that. you know he thinks of it as recon before a mission, and the fact that he thinks of pursuing you as a 'mission' makes you utterly disgusted. he really thinks he'll dig up enough information to, what, trick you into wanting him? into loving him?

it's a horrifying idea, made even more wretched by the fact that you know if you weren't privy to the thoughts of everyone around you that it would very likely work. he is, after all, extremely good looking, well-dressed, charming, and with a respectable job. were you and your mother still on speaking terms, she'd be begging you to get pregnant with his baby and lock this man down for life.

thank fuck you don't talk to her anymore.

"there's a lad. now send me what you know and i'll see what nik and i can dig up." price says, cigar in his mouth audible. "we'll just keep this between you and me for now, alright?"

"thank you, sir. i appreciate it."

their conversation ends in well-wishes and promises to get together that you can hardly hear over your own pulse. all you can do is stare at the wall you share with kyle, watching through his eyes as he stares right back, unaware that you know anything about his plans.

mate, you're going mental over a fat arse, kyle chides himself as he gets to his feet, slowly striding towards the wall that separates you. you've seen her three times and talked to her once, and already you have price doing untraceable background checks on her.

to see if she's a spy, one corner of his brain argues as he presses his forehead to the paper calendar, staring at a circled date that sits right in front of his nose. it's a safety precaution. it's bad enough we can't stop thinking about her, if it turns out that it's by design, it'll be humiliating. once we know it's not some sort of setup, we can move forward.

he sighs, thudding his head lightly against the wall, staring down at the date circled in red, eyes tracing over the address and time written there- and you see a flash of the contents of your envelope pass through his mind.

oh. oh no.

with trembling hands you open your jury summons, staring at the instructions as to when and where you're expected to arrive.

it matches the circled date and details written on kyle's calendar.

it's a trap. a failsafe way for him to 'bump' into you later if all else fails. you're trapped, cornered in your apartment by the man next door. he's listening for your door to open, waiting on any sound as an excuse to knock, keeping tabs on your movements and strategizing the best way to catch you alone without raising your already sky high suspicions.

there's no clear way out of this mess, no blatant answer how to escape from kyle's attention unscathed, but one thing is obvious now in hindsight: