I LOVE DAD PRICE I NEED MORE OF THESE

I LOVE DAD PRICE 😭😭 I NEED MORE OF THESE

Kid!Y/N : Do you think we’ll make it out of this alive?

Dad!Price : ……It’s a parent-teacher conference.

Kid!Y/N : That doesn’t answer my question. 😒

ATE THAT UP 😋😋😋

HIIII SO i have an ask

PLEASR MORE ABOUT THE WOMB TATTO WITH 141 IM OBSESSED 😭😭❤️

EHEHEH SINCE YOU ASKED SO NICELYYYY

Sweetheart gets more comfortable around her team that she wears shorter shirts now. She still wears long sleeves though, they haven't unlocked the tattoo sleeves she has LOL (I'm drawing all the tattoos she has and I can't WAIT TO SHOW YALL)

But she shows off her✨️ ICONIC✨️ yummy, womb tattoo constantly. Sometimes, even when she's training, she'll wear a compression shirt that she cuts. (Rookies don't know what to feel lol)

Soap dubs it his tattoo, Sud's Tattoo as he calls it, because he can't get enough of it. And he has to wrestle off Roach and König when he lays on it

Soap: BACK AFF YE FOOLS THIS IS MY TATTOO

Sweetheart, laying on the couch: Soap--

König: IT IS NOT YOURS GET OFF OF HER

Roach, stomping his feet: 😠 🥾💥🥾💥🥾💥

Soap: ROACH SHUT TH' FUCK UP YE TWO ALWAYS GET TAE DO THIS

Sweetheart, stressed: what the hell is happening--

Soap REALLY likes the tattoo 💀as I said, he's obsessed with it (like you, kiame HA) Everytime Sweets comes out with a cropped shirt, he fucking ZOOMS to the tattoo and just snuggles his cheek against it

Soap, smiling and sighing: Good morningggg~! I missed you, Bonnie.

Sweetheart: Are you talkin' to me or my tattoo?

Soap, opening his eyes:

Soap: uhm

He DEFINITELY talks to it sometimes

Soap: And how are YOU doing today, Bonnie?

Sweetheart, smiling: I'm doing good thank you- why is your face on my tattoo.

Soap: Because... I was talking to Bonnie...

Sweetheart:

Sweetheart, kinda offended: AM I NOT BONNIE ANYMORE??

Soap: UHM

I mean he just loves it so much. Seeing such a sexy design on rich, golden brown skin so low on a wonderful body... it's enchanting. He's not the only one who thinks that. He argues with Ghost alot on who likes it more, but they always agree when they team up on Sweetheart.

18+ MDNI

"Ghost, please..."

Ghost hums on her soft pussy, tongue swirling on her chubby lips. He kisses and sucks on them, thin strings of saliva connected to his chin and mouth. "Please what, love?" He eyes her as his fingers spread her open and glides his tongue slowly up, all the way to her pulsing clit and making her jolt. Soap groans on her skin, kissing each detail on her womb tattoo. "Y'need to speak up, St. Can't know what to do if ye'r tae wheesht." His hands travel up her sides, caressing and scratching her skin. Marking it as his.

Ghost sighs. "In English, Mactavish." He's getting tired of not understanding what the Scottish man is saying half the time. Soap grumbles, lips still attached to her tummy. "Simon..." Sweetheart whines out, hips squirming and eyes prickling with tears. The two men chuckle, knowing what she wants but not giving it to her quickly enough. Ghost reigns himself back, the lust and desire getting too hot for him when she whined out his name like that. He wanted to fuck her right then and there, but not yet.

"Say what you need, Sweetheart." Ghost mumbles, his tone low and caring. Hungry. His thumb does small circles on her clit, making her yelp, back arching off the bed and thighs squeezing Ghost's head to which he loves it. "Please! Please let me cum! I need-- I need it, please!" Sweetheart wails, overwhelming tears flow down her cheeks as her hand buries in Soap's hair and pulls. Soap's broken moan was heard by both of them, but his lips would not leave her tattoo. Teeth nibbling on the black ink, tongue sliding up to her bellybutton. He comes up for air finally, a lazy smile on his face. "Since we both agreed on liking this," his hand smooths over his tattoo on her body. "Beautiful piece of art, Lt., I think it's time we gave our Sweetheart what she deserves, aye?" Ghost grunts as he comes up from her legs and places a kiss on the tattoo, causing Sweetheart to mewl. "I think it is, Mactavish." Ghost says, both his and Soap's eyes turn dark and starved.

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ ANYWAY

YEAH EVERYONE STILL LIKES IT LMAO

I NEED TO SEE DILF/MILF READER SO BADD AHAHSJSJ AND LIKE U TALK ABT UR KIDS OR SUM?? 😭😭😭😭❤️

got me thinking things idk I MIGHT JUST WRITE FOR ONCE

I just got this thought so randomly 💀 ok so how about cod mw2 guys x hot dilf!mreader

like their being DOWN BAD and thirsty for mreader like, who wouldn't? Even price (you can make mreader even older if you want to!)

Guardian Angel!Reader x Task Force 141: The Reveal

part 2 to this post! I got a lot of requests to try and expand on this idea so here we go! there will be a part 3 so you won't be in turmoil forever!

no real description for the angel themselves but I think it would be cool to have eyes and halos that looks like glass or diamonds 💎 🤩 maybe I'll draw it when I get the chance

cw: guardian angel reader au, gn!reader, relatively platonic, angst, interpersonal feelings, feelings of betrayal, mention of death, I'm not religious, this has no truth to religious lore, mention of abuse, mention of sacrifice, cod violence, drabble/blurb/headcanons all in one lol, cliffhanger for pt 3

while you are tasked to keep 141 alive, the Vaqueros get caught up in your protection as well. unfortunately, you are just 1 angel, and 4 men is more than a handful, but you manage to do your best to keep Alejandro, Rudy, and their men alive.

there weren't any real rules about explaining the real you to the team you've been assigned to, you would just have to explain the existence of angels and gods.. and that's a lot for military men who are already on the brink of losing their patience 80% of the time.

its generally fairy odd parents rules. they can know about you, but the world cannot.

instead of swallowing the horse pill of explaining all of this over a few beers and scotch, you're forced to do it in a safe house after saving everyone (again) from a helicopter crash caused via ambush.

these helo crashes have really got to stop happening.. you're starting to think it's one of those "toughest fights to gods strongest soldiers" moments.

you didn't have a choice but to use your wings to get the 5 of you out of the helo plummeting to the ground. you set them in the safest place you could find, hurrying to find Alejandro and Rudy, who were thankfully not in the same helicopter, without so much as an explanation about your new.. attributes. just a very panicked but apologetic look.

"steamin' jesus.. what the fuck was that!"

blocking bullets with your wings to save Alejandro because you know I love that shit. wings probably aren't fully bulletproof tho so expect a few injuries. "what good is a guardian angel that can't take a bullet" "what the fuck?"

generally the entire mood now is "what the fuck"

Price has been pacing for what felt like hours. you'd been sat on a rickety chair in the middle of the room stripped down to your khakis and t shirt. all your weapons and gear set on the table. it felt fair, honestly. you had just whipped out wings, a glassy halo without warning you couldn't blame them for making sure you weren't wearing a costume or something.

poor Rodolfo has been intermittently praying for as long as John has been pacing. he stopped praying when his abuela passed and now, coming with the realization of angels, he felt almost obligated to. you nervously reassured him you had no ties to his grandmother. he is not sure if that made him feel better or worse.

Ghost genuinely has removed himself entirely from the situation. you werent even sure if he's IN the safe house anymore. he almost took it personally that there was a guardian angel looking after him. like everything he had ever accomplished was because he had the literal power of the gods on his side. he also felt very.. sour at the same time. this whole time, there was access to guardian angels? he could've really used that as a kid, you know? has to sit and think about this alone.

Soap and Alejandro had asked you to explain the origins for the 400th time, and, again, you can't blame them.. as frustrating as it was. you walked them through it all again, the system for who gets what kind of guardian and when, how much power certain guardians are given, etc. you assure them there is no predestined future for them, and you're simply there to help, not keep them alive for some weird sacrifice.

"¡venga ya!" Alejandro had that frustrated growl in his voice. "how the hell are we supposed to believe this?"

you gestured vaguely to the wings coming out of your back and the halo. what other proof could you ever need honestly. Gaz had inspected the spot where your wings connected to your body and there weren't any fancy tricks he could pull at. you moved your wings and your muscles in your back moved right along with them. wasn't any room for debate unless they were going to cut you open and even you had limits on just how far this interrogation would go.

Gaz had taken to calming down the captain once confirmed you really did have wings. "bloody angels exist now, sargent!" Price had thrown his hands up in disbelief. "what's next? for fucks sake- ghosts!? werewolves?!" (lol)

the mention of real ghosts had Rudy on edge again.

"I feel like we would've encountered a werewolf by now, sir," Gaz was genuinely trying to be a mediator with all of this tension.

"were you just protecting us for a job?" Soap asked from his spot on the sofa. he sounded a bit wounded and looked the part. he was hunched forward, elbows on his knees.

"What? no! I was assigned, but I wanted to do this! you guys are my whole world"

Johnny's accusation, though a question he had every right to ask, was hurtful. you had created so many good memories with all of them. it felt like a punch in the gut for him to feel like they were a job. a chore. you would do anything for your team and that wasn't a side effect of being a guardian angel. it was a side effect of being part the 141 task force and Los Vaqueros team.

"look this is all a lot to take in. you all rest for the night. I'll take watch and look for Ghost.."

VALERIA AHEHSJWKEJJD SHES SO FINE ALSO I LOVE THIS CONCEPT

Y/N is everyone’s boyfriend/girlfriend/partner. They just share them with no trouble. People on the outside who don’t know see Y/N with a new man/woman everyday and they’re like “They get around”. Anyone who’s rude about it has a practical army at their throat within seconds. Also, if there is someone who hasn’t been approved by the masses as another partner and this person flirts with Y/N it is also on sight.

Y/N, squished between Rudy and Alejandro, watching some poor sod be chased by a feral König with Horangi egging him on: How many does that make it this week?

Valeria (the one who edged König into going feral): Lost count, they’re all so insignificant

I NEED MORE

Only Human

Pairing : Monster Task Force 141 x reader

Cw : canon-typical violence, bodies, death, blood, cannibalism?, wounds, trauma.

Wc : 3.2k

Note: the designs for the Monster 141 came from @bluegiragi .

When Laswell, a known figure in the Intel gathering ranks of the CIA and military, had called you for your new transfer, you were ecstatic about it. You showed up casually, still in your vest and whole attire from your deployment, you were told that Laswell was waiting for you in her office once you took your first step. You only had time to drop off your weapons in the armory before going straight to her office.

You were personally asked to join a Task Force, not another squad or team under a Captain, which you hadn't expected; an international Task Force to boot, it shocked you, even more, to have been asked to have you on a Task Force that spanned nations wide. The radar must've been wide for it to be an international one, important and specialized soldiers were probably the ones who were invited - green berets, if you guessed.

You were excited, though, to have the honour of joining specialized soldiers with only being a corporal.

"Which Task Force, ma'am?" you asked, back straight with your hands crossed behind your back.

"The 141, Hunter."

Your composure almost slipped, your mind buzzed with excitement and confusion at the notice. The 141 was a reputed group, having members from the United Kingdom to the Americas and allies in the south, around Urzikstan, and perhaps farther. They took down Major Hassan, killing the heart of Al-Qatala and weeding out traitors like General Sheperd and Graves' PMC, the Shadows. A closed group with secrets only they knew and would take to the grave, a tight-knit Task Force.

You've heard of some members, none being human. The Ghost - or Ghost - a wraith hybrid of some sort, as dangerous as he was respectable. He was the better known one, a popular topic from one's lips to the other, gossip and rumors about him being more monster than human. While some were harmless, others were made to be racists - or xenophobic in some rarer cases - most were gossip, exaggerated depictions of the man people feared and admired.

You were jumping under your skin for the day to pass faster, for your transfer to happen more quickly. You couldn't wait to meet your new teammates, you've heard good and bad things about them. Some were sociable, others shy or downright menacing to look and interact with (perhaps they specifically meant Ghost).

You've always wanted to work with monsters, the majority of the military was made up of human men and women with a low, low (around 5%) being monsters, creatures of the night that made them stronger, faster, and better than humans, but they were often hunted until the last decades.

You, however, expected that half of the Task Force was made up of humans, and the rest monsters. You were wrong, really wrong. The moment you stepped out, you realized how unfortunate - maybe fortunate to be stuck with broad, strong, and handsome men - you were to be the sole human. Perhaps it was the shock or the honour that made you freeze and shy away, but neither of them could make you feel as prepared as you should be for officially joining them.

"Welcome to the Task Force, Hunter!" Price yelled over the beating blades of the helicopter, blue eyes staring at you with a - sinful, you found it sinfully handsome - smile hidden under his beard. He also had a green tail that followed behind him, a long, strong tail, you mustn't forget that.

The first ones you talked to were Soap and Rudolfo, two jokesters within the group. Soap was cute, having almost a puppy-like excitement at meeting you with the way he greeted you, smiling and laughing boisterously. He was loud and warm when you first talked to him.

Rodolfo, or Rudy as he told you to call him (you stuck with Rodolfo, feeling too intrusive to call him by his lovely nickname), was Mexican, a special forces, just like everyone else in the TF. He was as warm as the Mexican sun, funny, and soft-spoken.

They had an accent, one a light Mexican and the other a deep Scottish slur in his words. Rudolfo incorporated Spanish words in his sentences, easily understood but adorable nonetheless. Soap's Scottish accent was thicker, deep with his jargon that you sometimes questioned if he was even speaking English.

You only found out that they were monsters when they were training outside. You watched Soap turn from under the shades, eyes keen on his rippling muscles and cracking bones. His jaw shifted, it grew longer and his ears pointed up, light brown fur sprouted from his skin and his mohawk traveled farther, turning into a mane. You could hear the whines and grunts from his transformation.

A werewolf, you learned. He had enhanced strength. He became more durable and agile. He had accelerated healing, almost ten times the speed of regular men, and his senses seemed to have heightened significantly. It looked painful, you concluded so from the bodily sounds and his moans. The heat he exhumed was searing hot, it turned the air around him into mist, burning the water in the air and turning it into gas.

Soap had heard you gasp and awe at his form, broader and taller, he towered over you when he stood on his hind legs. His eyes glowed a vibrant blue when they met yours, waiting and gauging your reaction, but he could only see awe and admiration, perhaps a dash of excitement beneath your gaping expression.

He padded towards you, lurching forward and sending you tumbling on your back as his tongue lolled to the side and hung from his panting maw. His shoulders shook, abdomen flexing rapidly, it looked like he was laughing. At your reaction, or you, you didn't know, all you had in kind wa the urge to touch him. He looked so soft.

It was ironic in some sense, for the man - now creature - who feared dogs to be a werewolf, a larger, more dangerous, and fantastical counterpart to the domesticated dog.

"Can I pet you?" the words fell from your lips before you knew it, your face flushed and your body seized in embarrassment.

Soap huffed and pushed his snout to your shoulder, lowering his head in approval. He would let you pet him, and you took it without complaint. His fur and mane were soft, maybe the softest you've ever touched (you grew up hunting with your father, you knew for as well as any other hunter). It was soft and silky, he had taken great care in his grooming.

He let out a satisfied rumble when he saw you smile, a childish wonder in your eyes. You were so captivated by Soap's looming form over you that you almost forgot about Rudolfo - keyword: almost. Something wet had nudged your elbow, you turned and saw a smaller dog, ghostly pale with glimmering, blue gems for eyes. It looked like a mix of a lab and a shepherd, the combination making this white dog adorable.

Your eyes observed the whole length of it, from its head to its tail, a long whisp-like swirl that turns blur at the end. It connected the dog to Rodolfo. You didn't know what the dog was. Was it a spirit? Or was it a familiar?

"Cadejos, Hunter," Rudolfo answered your silent question, smirking at your petting the spirit with one hand while the other scratched behind Soap's twitching ear. "Dog spirits. I'm their vessel."

That meant he was more human than Soap was, perhaps almost as you. You still gave him an awed look, amazed by the possibility of becoming a vessel for mythological beings and spirits.

You only truly found out whether or not Ghost was human or a monster on a mission. You were sent along with a team led by your Lieutenant to capture a standing AQ cell, one of the few that still stood without their leader.

You were, along with other sergeants, corporals, and privates, separated into two teams, Alpha and Bravo, one led by a sergeant and the other by Ghost. He had you follow him close, a way to watch how you did on the field. You made quick work of them, they were weak, disorganized, and fought with each other when they had no one to lead them. A pity for what used to be a big problem.

You were left on your own, Ghost having gone north to search for something. You had taken down the surviving men, pouncing on them in the dark. When you were done, you wiped your blade on your forearm, cleaning it from the iron stench of blood.

"Could've left one alive, Hunter," Ghost's deep growl made you jump, twisting to meet his dark eyes. They seemed endlessly black, like a void of darkness. "I'm bloody hungry..."

He crept closer, steps slow and purposeful, as if trying to spook you. He stopped before a fresh body, one you muffled and stabbed. The body was still warm, blood pooling from the wound and eyes glossed over with death.

"Hungry, sir?" you asked, unsure of what he meant or if he had muttered it to himself.

He hadn't replied, head turning to examine the rest of the corpses, strewn around you like a gift. A growl rumbled in his chest, mist rolling off his body like a crashing wave. It filled the area around you and tickled your feet in its cold, dark embrace. You watched the fog cover the laying corpses, dissolving and swallowing them into its murkiness.

When he meant by hungry, he actually meant eating humans, you shouldn't have been surprised, a was a wraith hybrid. Spirits of the dead that hate and haunted the living. It made more sense when he told you to let one alive, wraiths preferred living souls, dead ones were still filling but tasted lesser.

"Clean kills, " he finally spoke, his voice a timber lower than it was before his dinner. "Good job, corporal."

You nodded at him, stomach fluttering with his compliment, a praise from such a man - monster - was a prize, something he rarely gave to other soldiers. You smiled under your gaiter, you wore it for better protection in the sandy deserts of Al Mazrah.

"I'll remember leaving some alive next time, L.T."

He craned his head to look at you before he left, eyes squinted in what seemed like a smirk - devilish, you hoped - and gave you a firm nod. You scrambled to follow him, watching his broad, dark back as you walked a few steps behind him. He hadn't spoken a word to you since you got to exfil, but once you landed at the base, he motioned for you to follow him with the jerk of his wrist.

Ghost wasn't so bad if you got past the glaring image of danger he portrayed and the growls he gave. You couldn't wait to work with him again or with the others.

Gaz was a harpy, a very interesting and useful monster to have on your team. He was nice, not as chatty as Soap was, but he talked to you and smiled your way. His caramel-dipped smiles were to die for. He was easy to talk to, by far easier than your lieutenant had been at the start.

You saw him a lot in the rec room, sipping on tea or scrolling through pages on his phone. He was comfortable with you as you were with him, he let his talons out, lounging with his wings across the couch or over your lap as you cleaned them for him. The ever-so-teasing gentleman had a way with his words and his wits, often leaving you flustered or annoyed at his jabs.

Being a harpy meant he was light, bones hollow yet sturdy enough for a human body fitting his strong and slimmer frame. He could fly, and he became much more agile, more so than Soap's werewolf form (birds were naturally more graceful than canines) and he had a telescopic vision, razor-sharp and precise, more than any humans or monsters could have, it rivaled the falcon's keen sight.

If he was so light, agile, and all-seeing, without forgetting he could fly, how did he manage to fall from a helicopter not once, but twice? That question bothered you often, lingering at the back of your mind like a ghost (more so than the wraith himself that kept appearing at random and old moments behind you).

"You can fly, right?" you stared at his face, blank of any expression after finally mustering the courage to ask him.

"These wings aren't just for show, " Gaz hummed, leaning back into the chair that he brought out to watch Soap and Ghost spar. You would have your turn with the wraith after their matches.

"Then how do you manage to fall from a heli twice?" you shot, brows scrunched in a frown, confused.

His wings jerked, black feathers twitching at the reminder - an embarrassing one - of falling out, smiling sheepishly. He simply shrugged, every limb stretching, his wings lengthening to his whole span and toed talons stretching and curling. You were struck by its sharpness, his long nails and claws could cut a man in half, or completely sever a limb off.

You guess you'll never have an answer to your question, he could keep his pride and you could keep your question to yourselves. You wouldn't mind doing so, he let you preen his wings, you could touch those soft feathers and pluck dead or broken ones from his perfect plumage.

Alejandro Vargas, an unmarried and very eligible bachelor with a smooth tongue and a growl of a Mexican accent. He seemed almost too real to be true when he smiled charmingly your way, his perfect, white teeth glimmering under the yellow bulbs and his shiny, sweat-coated skin glowing golden after a mission.

Alejandro's a chivalrous person - and they said chivalry was dead - he's caring and protective. The Los Vaqueros, cowboys, were his team in Las Almas, a family that grew with every new batch of recruits and men and women devoted to the small village they grew up in. Mexicans were a tight-knit community from what you've seen in Alejandro's and Rudolfo's stories.

He was good, handsome, and strong, maybe too perfect to be human, and human, he wasn't. He's a shifter, like Soap, a full-bodied shifter from human to monster. Not unlike his human side, his Nagual side was mighty and honorable, a greater man and an even greater Nagual.

Although solitary by nature, Alejandro was a sociable character, the life of the party if he could, but he was also a responsible man. He was tall, but taller when shifted, claws sharp and a tail helped him balanced.

Once, you'd seen him shift, yellow and brown-dotted fur sprouting from his skin. His lower jaw had protruding canines, standing proudly over the ridge of his nose. He looked like a jaguar hybrid, wearing his golden fur like a crown

His other one, a panther, a jaguar born with more melanin than the usual one, was just as majestic. His fur was a darkened grey with black spots dotting his back and tail. He tended to use this form in darker places, or at night, hitting for efficiency and silence.

Captain Price, you knew he was a monster since your arrival, his long, green tail dragging behind him. You never bothered asking whether he was a lizard or a dragon, you only knew that his scaly tail was reptile-like in origin.

His smoking habit, girthy cigars burning and smoking at the edge, his chapped lips wrapped around the base of it as dark smoke leaked from the sides of his lips, curling in the air and around his beard.

Sometimes, there would be smoke without his cigar being lighted, a dry and unlit stick that still smoked. Charred gas, too dark to simply be cigar smoke. It came from him, inside, you concluded. Dragons could breathe fire and smoke, create it from within and push it out. Stirring around the mass of heat could feel overwhelming, warm, and uncomfortable without a release.

"Why cigars?" Price coccked his head, bro lifted at your question. "Helps me curb the need to burn." He breathed out another cloud, watching it swirl around his golden eyes. He explained it well and simply. Though he also liked the taste of it, an authentic, earthy texture.

Other than the occasional scales here and there that popped out, you've never seen his shift. Did he turn and grow like Soap and Alejandro? Did he change like Ghost and Gaz? Or did he have a dragon spirit? You were, albeit worried about prying, curious about your Captain's change.

Your chance appeared when he called you to his office, wanting your help with something related to his wing- wings? You weren't expecting much, maybe seeing a glimpse of the tip of his wings or the sharp edge of his horns.

He was leaning against his desk when you knocked on his door, letting you in with a sharp grunt. He was hunched over his desk, his wing, green and wide, stretched out. His bucket hat laying on his table, letting his horns grow out and curve upwards, both green and shiny. His tail was violently and anxiously swishing back and forth, hands and arms overturned with scales. His fingers turned green and callused, his nails became sharp claws and tinted green.

"You've got softer hands than any of those blokes, Hunter," Price said, his reason for calling you was for your talented hands, skilled at massages and with the knife. "Lost it in a crash, 's fine."

Although for a reason, you still got to see every part of him, hear the story behind his missing wing, and share a few pleasantries. He groans and grunts during your sessions, but the muscles on his back were less tense and strained.

Price wasn't one to brag about himself, tell his exploits to others, but yours, he did, how skilled your hands were at loosening the knots on his back and shoulders, turning them putty under your palms. Soap had come rushing, following your scent until he found you, for a massage like the one Price got.

You sighed, this wasn't what you signed up for, the sudden rush of adrenaline or scares they would cause, popping or jumping out of nowhere when you had your back turned. Some - Soap, Rudy, and Gaz - were mischievously childish, loving pranks as much as they did them. You'd get white hair before you hit your late 20s.

Fortunately, the three others were far more mature, one charming, one broody, and one proud. You don't regret joining, even with being the weakest and only human in the Task Force, the 141 was your family, a dysfunctional one with an occupational hazard, but still a little family.

After all, big, broad men working by your side on a daily had its perks, and brought a big, horny problem.