#also as an aside on the price ghost situation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

velvetures · 9 months

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Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldn’t have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what you’d experienced in your “standard” military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which… often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didn’t get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.

The Lieutenant was particularly mean… he certainly didn’t give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where he’d come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else he’d have been just as mythical in his legendary life and would’ve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.

The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost… there was no choice you’d sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations… You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than ‘sir’. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.

Ghost however… didn’t like it.

Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd ‘sir’ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldn’t really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, ‘Cap’… Soap, ‘Johnny’… and Garrick, ‘Gaz’ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasn’t the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.

He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldn’t be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didn’t have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck… he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than he’d signed up for initially. Hearing you call him ‘sir’ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.

The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.

He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldn’t be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didn’t mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything you’d been asking for so the both of you wouldn’t face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best… but you’d kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.

Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasn’t a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when he’d found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn’t threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.

With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being “too fucking annoying to tolerate”, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.

It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. That’s what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how you’d been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadn’t been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.

The next two days were spent laying near motionless… not hungry or thirsty.

Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.

A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadn’t been made by you in over forty-eight hours. You’d not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything you’ve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasn’t hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, it’d been a long time since you’d spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldn’t tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasn’t necessary and the last time you’d stood up didn’t cross your memory clearly.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didn’t wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how he’d be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.

“Gonna say somethin’?” He sounded no less irritated than the last time you’d spoken.

It made your throat burn to even think you’d allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadn’t been a totally voluntary one. You’d not moved your jaw in days at this point.

“You’ve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.”

Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. You’d trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there weren’t enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic… yes. Satisfying to your own pride… undoubtedly. When you didn’t even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease him… please him even, with that little quip of ‘sir’ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.

“Goddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckin’ answer!” His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.

Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didn’t utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldn’t look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. You’d not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didn’t move soon. Ghost wasn’t as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers weren’t commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. You’d been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didn’t, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions they’d made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free will…? That wasn’t healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.

When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.

“Brass…” Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasn’t accurate. “It’s been five days.” His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.

You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility you’d lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasn’t leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.

“This’s Ghost. Get a bay ready now, I’m bringin’ someone in.” The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldn’t be established or wasn’t clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.

“Copy Ghost.” A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didn’t fucking matter or apply to him.

His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. You’d never touched Ghost once in all the time you’d known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldn’t be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenant’s chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.

He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.

The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but these are far different circumstances. You’re still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. It’s overstimulating, to say the least, and you’re worried they’re going to think you’ve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasn’t worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.

“Treat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,” The female voice states softly. “Being on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and she’s going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.” She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.

“You’ve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field… but you’re one tough lady.” She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. “We’re going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. You’ve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, you’ll be right as rain soon, sniper.”

Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost who’d not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. He’d been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason you’d shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. You’d been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldn’t stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldn’t wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.

You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.

But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didn’t know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’. Goddamnit Ghost knew he’d nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because he’d never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while he’d been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldn’t nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldn’t measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasn’t anything else he could do until you’d been considered healthy and strong again.

Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctor’s orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as you’d left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as you’d left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes you’d been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didn’t own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasn’t of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.

“Sir,” You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. “I expected you to be at drill.” You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.

“Should be,” He replied flatly. “But I’m not.” You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. He’s inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.

“Do you like the color green?” His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. You’re breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments you’d still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesn’t yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.

“Why do you call me that?” His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you he’d always held, and given you the instant to call him ‘sir’ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and you’d always been one wave away from drowning under him.

“You deserve the honor…” You answer, certain. Even if he’d broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure you’d applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.

“Brass,” He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. “I’m not what you think I am.” Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.

“What’s that, sir?” You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.

“Safe… Trustworthy… Honorable.” He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed he’d feel the most revered and… loved.

“You’re wrong,” You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. “You’re a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me you’re capable of inhuman things…” Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. “Yet you’re human. So much more than anyone sees. Because it’s not evil that keeps you going. It’s the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.” Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.

“You’re not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you ‘sir’, is because you’re a man unlike any other, Ghost.”

Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that you’d experienced. But Ghost… he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear can’t hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until it’s skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.

Yet he’s dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until he’s nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after he’d yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.

“Brass - I…” Ghost’s voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. “God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ignore you anymore… I’m losing my mind.”

You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenant’s form of apology came in the way he’d ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man who’d never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.

“You don’t have to…” You whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. “I’m so sorry…”

You smile sadly. “I’m sorry too.”

His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. “Say it again… please. I need to hear it. God, please.”

“It’s okay…” Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. “I’m right here, Ghost. We’re going to do this over again… Together, Ghost.”

Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. “Together… together, with you.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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sleepyconfusedpotato · 6 months

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MWIII Campaign Thoughts and Reviews

(Played in the recruit difficulty because I suck at FPS games, and I want to explore and spent time in the campaign without dying too much). Leave some thoughts!

⚠️SPOILER ALERT⚠️

So… that was devastating.

(+) To start things off, Makarov - Boy, holy shit. Yes. YESSS. They didn’t hold back with the new Makarov. He’s a mastermind, he’s a charming fella, he’s a psychopath lol. And the fact that he smiles a lot in this campaign just adds to the creepiness. I might get some side-eye here, but this Mak can go head-to-head with the OG!Mak. He’s always onto something, he’s proven destructive, had the 141 hauling ASS to chase him.

Makarov had stolen American missiles from ULF, caused false flag missile attacks on Russian Military base, and successfully orchestrated a false airplane hijacking, all under ULF's name - everything in the span of 48 hours since he got out of prison. I saw people saying that this Makarov ain't got nothing on the OG one has to be inhaling some shit copium because this is only in one single game and he's destroying shit.

I know just one game with rushed development won’t be enough for an iconic character like him, so I’m glad they didn’t kill him.

(-) I absolutely ABHOR, DETEST, LOATH the Open Combat Missions (OCM). It is so very not Call of Duty campaignesque. it doesn’t help anything with the narrative, and if anything, it even took away the narrative for us. The former missions in former games are iconic in their own way because the mission designer put a lot of thought into how the game will be played, the situations we found ourselves in.

But OCM's, we're like... Left to our own devices without any story-driven dialogues.

I think one of the reasons why MWII was so close to everyone's heart was because of the banters between the characters, especially in Alone. Here, because it's literally our choice and our time, it left us with no actual given time to know and love the characters more than we already did. Yes we love the characters, MW19 and MWII did that for us. But in this one? They said "character development is done, mate. Now go to war.”

Then again, is OCM a product and evidence of MWIII’s rushed development? 100% yes. I don’t give a shit if they cover it with “oowh we make OCM so you can play the missions differently each time without repeating the same mission over and over again!”. Let me ask you this, Activision - Have ‘repeating the mission over and over again’ been a problem with us campaign-enjoyers? No! I played the MWII campaign like 5 times, in all difficulty (except realism I still love my life), and I enjoyed it, because the mission designers took a lot of time and thought to it instead of just creating a map, putting a bunch of loadouts scattered around the area and throw us in it. So yes, it’s clear that OCM is a product of rushed development. It sucks the life out of the campaign missions.

Some people may enjoy it, but I play the campaign exactly for the linear style missions, not DMZ style.

(+) Look, I said it before that I will go to the campaign with the lowest expectation possible. I expected Mak to be sub-par, I expected them to play safe with the characters, and BOY WAS I WRONG. Setting aside the point above where the character feels stuck on the character development (which is a huge minus btw), all the characters have time to shine in their own missions, especially Price because I feel like we play him the most. However, I do also love the fact that the girls get shit done here. Farah and Laswell did their work so beautifully and apparently it was revealed that Laswell will be a MP operator, so that’s cool.

(+) Ghost being a menacing presence, can stood his ground. Price being level-headed though at the same time unhinged as usual. Gaz being the voice of reason throughout the entire fucking game LMAO. Soap being the brave man he is, the passion and fury is evident throughout the campaign. Farah being badass and dependable as usual. Alex being the main supportive guy to Farah (Faralex is canon at this point argue with a wall). Nikolai being our most reliable get-away guy.

And of course, Graves and Shepherd being the fucking goofy ahh duo I actually find interesting. The trial cutscene was such a goofy scene LMAO the fact that they backstabbed each other in the ass is real funny. I side with Graves though. However wrong and unhinged he may be, Graves is just a guy doing his job and did what he’s told to do.

(+) I love the fact that Mak tried to frame Urzikstan to pin the blame on them. It's exactly what the OG!Makarov did but in HD. The Passenger mission is phenomenal and more damn traumatizing if only it was a bit longer and more stretched. There are many more reference to the OG games and I absolutely love it.

Now…

Soap’s Death

Remembering all the MWII missions with Soap... It hits differently now, man.

(-) I've read a lot of people's arguments about it that the fact that it happened is just for shock value and kind of disappointing. Because let’s be real here, Soap is an SAS who got the name Soap because of how much of a slippery bastard he is. Granted, Mak is an ex-Spetsnaz and can fight with Soap. But how he went down in a goddamn takedown without any chance of fighting is just… it’s not it.

To add to that, the reaction from the boys is just... Underwhelming? Like I get it they're battle-hardened SAS soldiers, but let them show some damn emotions for fuck’s sake. One of the main reason why the OG!Soap’s death is really painful is because of Price’s reaction to it. How he said “NO. NO NO NO SOAP!!” While he shook Soap’s lifeless body in the table. At least let Price kneel to him, straighten his body, touch his vest. Close his eyes, gather Soap’s hand and PUT HIS GUN ON his chest all the while Ghost and Gaz knelt beside them. I do love the fact that they literally went to Scotland to let go of his ashes with Ghost holding the urn though. I cried in this scene.

And the fact that it happened with the shortest campaign out of all the reboot MW games, it just felt rushed. Yes. It’s completely rushed, there’s no doubt about it. Again, the result of rushed developments.

(+) Now, with that said, I kind of want to shed light on how Soap is literally the youngest guy in the group. He had so much to live for. He's a sunshine in the middle of this gruff emotionally hardened man. He's such a joy to be around. He's brave. He's fresh. The fact that he's got so much to live for adds to the sadness and bitterness, which I actually like.

Sometimes I do kind of like those kinds of deaths, where the character is too soon to die, because it hit so much harder and in a different way than the OG! one. We got to see the OG!Soap went from when he was an FNG, turn to a captain, to a man of fortitude that earned Price's honor and sacrificed himself to protect Price. We saw how he developed and changed. We saw his entire career with us throughout all the OG!MW trilogy.

Reboot!Soap's story barely even started, and the fact that he's still so young, imagining how he'd be one hell of an officer, how he'd lead his team in the future.

OG!Soap’s death is sad because all the times and memories we’ve been through with him, but Reboot!Soap’s death is equally sad for the times we could’ve gone through with him.

I want to say this though, some people said that Soap's death is sudden, but I wouldn't agree with that. I think the telltales are all there.

In the helicopter scene after Price and Soap caught him in Verdansk, Mak literally SAID HIS FULL NAME. That is a literal pinpoint death sentence from Makarov. And how emotional Soap’s reaction is compared to the other boys when the airport blew up. The signs are literally all there! I saw it coming actually.

So is Soap’s death rushed? Yes. Could it have been executed better? Yes. Is it for shock value? Yes. But is it as sad? Yes. Honestly, I blame the rushed development and due dates for this. Activision is a cash grabber who wanted a yearly release so they can catch more money. I fucking bet my ass that initially they didn’t want to kill Soap, but it’s like a last-minute decision to make this game actually look like it’s worth 70 dollars.

Like by the end of the game, nothing has been accomplished. Big Bad Guy is on the loose, and we lost Soap. Yea we did stop some of Makarov's attacks, but we ended with a loss. It's a completely sad ending. I just wish we get to continue with more missions after Soap's death like in OG!MW3 though :(

WHAT'S NEXT?

Now. Shepherd is positively fucken dead. Price is now an actual criminal and a fugitive. He just killed a 4-star US Marines general in his own office. Price is entering his insane and unhinged era. I do wonder if he'll go even more unhinged than this.

The story will undoubtedly continue in the MP seasons (although probably only 2 seasons that mattered because it'll also undoubtedly be filled with skins and collabs and shit). I think it will also focus more on transitioning to the next CoD games, which will be Black Ops (It is confirmed that for the 2024 and 2025 CoD, it will be Black Ops games).

We're talking future here, so if there's going to be a CoD MWIV, It might be possible that this is the game where we'll finally defeat Makarov while the 141 copes with losing Soap. I do wonder if Price will become too unhinged and will get rid of everything on his way to kill Mak. Price's reckless acts will become too much for Gaz that it's starting to hurt other people and himself, and Gaz will do something against Price's command or wish - and Ghost will have to choose a side. Now that's the kind of drama I want to see.

What do I score this campaign, what do I score this campaign... The story is actually good, but because the development is evidently rushed, the packaging feels a bit hollow. It's a 7/10 for me!

---

Wait you know what

We get to pet a dog named Riley. 10/10, Game of The Fucking Year.

Reboot!Logan/Hesh (?) 👀

---

So there it goes! If you've read this far I love you and Activision will pay for my therapy (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

#call of duty modern warfare iii spoilers #call of duty modern warfare 3 spoilers #mwiii spoilers #mw3 spoilers #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #call of duty modern warfare III #call of duty modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare 2023 #task forc 141 #tf141

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angelfoxx · 8 months

Text

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “…US?”

…in which their feelings for you become apparent.

FEATURING: simon “ghost” riley, john “soap” mactavish, & keegan p russ I AM SALIVATING

WARNINGS: suggestive, but nothing nsfw. yet 😇 also so sorry i write k**gan’s name and i just get fucked up. i just can’t behave myself. so i lose my mind a little in his section eek

NOTES: excuse my rather small starting lineup; i’m still new to the game and all of its lore and i’d rather get to know the characters first rather than make horrible headcanons based off of their fanon interpretations. you know, like making a six foot ten war criminal dresses in a fucking executioner’s hood a little uwu baby

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY.

✧ Everything I see on TikTok regarding this guy makes him seem like a fucking demon in the sheets. I really don’t get that vibe. Especially not at the start of a relationship.

✧ The first time you meet, he thinks you’re attractive. And then he pushes that thought aside, because he’s a soldier. He’s actively at work doing a high-risk, high-stress job. You’re attractive, yes, but he’s not going to pursue you. This is not the right time for that.

✧ Things develop after…like, a long ass time. And it’s not sexual in the start. It’s, like…you’re cleaning your gun down after a mission, and you get a clean rag thrown into your lap. You look up into those hollow soulless fucking eyes and Ghost just shrugs, not meeting your gaze but instead just vaguely gesturing at your gun. “Your rag’s dirty. You’re rubbin’ dirt int’a the thing.”

✧ It’s small things like that. Things that are helpful but always laced with a comment that could be considered sort of rude or abrasive. He doesn’t notice; he only realizes that he’s coming off as rude and probably pushing you away after he makes a comment on your form being lazy and Price, sort of quietly laughing, asks why he’s so insistent on snarking on you. He replies that mistakes like yours could get you hurt. Which, they could. But so could everyone else’s, and he doesn’t make comments about them. So…?

✧ Phase two of him trying to…hit on you? Exist with you? Who fucking knows. Anyways, he just stops talking. He’ll still throw you clean rags, but he won’t make a comment about how using a dirty rag is ruining your gun. He’ll still make a point out of sweeping fallen food and shit off of your spot at the table after you eat, but he doesn’t grumble and scoff at you not to waste anymore. He resorts to silent acts of service to the point where it gets annoying. He’s always quiet, but now he’s unnervingly quiet and honestly, is it still him if he doesn’t catch you for random things every now and then?

✧ The silent stage can go on forever, so a catalyst really saves you. The catalyst comes when a new recruit gets a little too aggressive; a small argument about your ability on the field turns into a minor brawl. Aforementioned brawl immediately ends when the recruit dares to put their hands on you and shove you and Ghost, like some six-foot-one demon cast from the pits of hell, appears behind you and gets very up close and personal with them. Asking what the hell they think they’re doing, asking if they think that’s a good way to have a team on the field, et cetera, et cetera. Basically, he makes the recruit feel like absolute shit. Oh, and he doesn’t look at you the entire time.

✧ So, obviously, now you have a weird situation at hand. You’re getting ready to go to sleep and everyone’s sort of looking at you funny, because there’s no reason for a fucking lieutenant to jump in and break up an argument like that—pulling people apart, sure, but not so suddenly and not so aggressively. The recruit hasn’t spoken to you. Ghost hasn’t spoken to you. So, anyways, you pay him a visit.

✧ You go down to say thanks, and for some fucking reason, the guy can’t take a compliment. Or gratitude. He says you were slower than the other recruit, that it’ll get you killed on the field, et cetera. He can’t just shut up and take the thanks.

“I’m telling you, I…I came down here to thank you, of all things. Can you cut the criticism one time and accept it?”

Ghost stiffens. It’s not a thousand-yard stare anymore. It’s just a wide, pissed-off glare. For a long minute, he’s silent. And then…

“Welcome.” His voice is grumpish. “Happy?”

“Sure.” You manage a little smile. It’s sort of funny; he can’t just take your thank you and drop it. “It’s improvement.”

Ghost nods once, albeit stiffly. “Okay.”

“…so, you gonna tell me why you did it?” You ask it as a joke. You aren’t dumb. You know he wants you gone. You’re expecting a harsh “get out” or something of the like. You aren’t expecting an answer.

“Disrespect makes ignorance. Ignorance makes casualties.” Oh. An actual real, reasonable answer. Surprising. Ghost himself seems a little surprised; he blinks owlishly again, and he doesn’t say anything else. He’s just a big guy standing in a little room with a skull mask on.

“Oh.” You swallow. “That’s…rational.”

“Were you expecting irrational?”

“No. I wasn’t expecting anything.” You scoff. “You’re not exactly chatty.”

“I don’t waste words.” Ghost’s eyes narrow. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t call you dumb.” You shrug. “I’m just surprised you gave me an answer that wasn’t bitching at me.”

“I don’t bitch.”

“You do.”

“I’m not a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, recruit. I don’t bitch.”

“Even Price thinks you bitch. At me, at least. All the time.”

✧ Price thinks he bitches at you? And he’d told you? Oh, no, no. Externally, Ghost is stiff and stoic. Internally, Ghost is shitting bricks. Price had told you that? Straight-up told you that? Oh, no. You and Price talk and he comes up in conversation? Oh, no, no, no.

✧ He addresses this with Price, obviously. Storms in all puffed-out and pissy and asks what the hell he’s doing gossiping about his soldiers and Price just sort of laughs him off, asking what he’s talking about and then why he’s so upset that he’s bringing up one of his best men to one of the recruits.

✧ Oh.

✧ Ghost swears up and down it’s not like that. He swears and he bangs the side of his hand on the table and he curses on his own heart that it’s not like that but the whole time Price is laughing because in all of the years that he’s known Simon, not once has Simon broken through Ghost. But now, he has. The stumbling over words, the defensive aggression, the way he’s pacing so furiously—oh, Simon Riley is melting down inside that big mask and it’s equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious.

✧ Cue Price becoming a wingman. Ghost swears he’ll kill him every time he puts you two together to spar or puts you two on cleanup duty or god fucking forbid you’re in the doghouse doing some foul task and Ghost has to watch you. God fucking damn the captain, because he knows Ghost will grumble and complain but with you, he’ll eventually stop that in favor of helping you. And it’s sort of heartwarming for him to do his nightly rounds and it’s all quiet but there’s voices coming out of the kitchen and he can hear Ghost in that gruff, grumbly tone telling you how to mop and you snidely telling him that if you can’t do it right, then maybe he should do it instead. And he objects, of course, and then within ten minutes Price watches Ghost’s shadow come up to yours and he hears the mop change hands.

✧ It takes you a long time to realize that you’re really being assigned to Ghost’s side for every fucking thing you do. It takes you an even longer time to realize that Price tends to pass by you two on occasion, and every time he does, he’s smiling. And it takes you a ridiculously long time to realize that Ghost isn’t always radiating heat; whenever he takes the mop from you or takes the gun you’re cleaning from you, whenever he finishes off a task that you’ve started, it’s not that he’s always that hot. It’s that, under that mask, he’s flushed.

✧ It takes you a very, very long time to realize that the legendary Ghost has taken an actual liking to you.

— JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH.

✧ Thank fucking god this guy is next. Slow burn ass Ghost makes me want to rip my eyes out. Just have passionate angry sex and talk about your feelings after. Christ.

✧ It’s not exactly a secret that the minute you arrived on base, you gained an admirer.

✧ Soap isn’t someone who rarely gets hooked on someone else. The guy’s a walking heart eyes emoji. The difference with you was that it wasn’t the kind of attraction that had him sweet-talking you over drinks that night.

✧ This was different. Rather than chase, Soap wanted to impress — and, well, he tried. He tried his fucking hardest. He tried so hard the other higher-ups noticed. How embarrassing.

✧ Every time you’re in the room, he somehow gets even chattier. His voice drops. If he’s working out, he starts loading weights onto the bar he’s using to an almost comical degree. He loses his fucking mind. It’s like he short circuits. Which is ridiculous, because he’s a fucking soldier. What the fuck is he doing trying to lift five hundred pounds on a Tuesday morning? Why is he freaking the fuck out?

✧ The thing is, right, is you’re not exactly hovering over the guy. You have your own agenda to adhere to and also, it would be really weird if you just started laying praises on him, so you go about your day as regular and poor Soap is left heartbroken and also achy-armed because you literally could not care less that he’s lifting double, triple his body weight.

✧ Literally every higher-up notices. They make jokes about it and he borders on threatening friendly fire. It’s just a little crush. That’s all it is. Yeah. And so when you’re all doing team sparring and you keep winning, he’s just watching you like a lovesick puppy because it’s just a little crush. That’s all.

✧ Price can’t have his soldiers slacking off. Of course not. He can’t have them getting lazy — so he orders Soap to go up against you. Because, you know, he seems out of it and you’re the best of the recruits, so you’ll go against someone better. Yeah. That’s why he calls him out.

✧ God bless the poor guy. He panics for like three seconds and then makes a very thickly-accented taunt about how it’s unfair to you to go up against him. You, of course, in the spirit of good fun, reply to his taunt and tell him to prove it.

✧ He goes into the circle with you. He goes into the circle with you and he fucking falls apart.

You’ve quickly learned that talking is Soap’s weakness. If his mouth is moving, his feet fall behind.

“Get enough sleep last night, MacTavish?” You dodge a flying fist. “You look a little sleepy.”

“Got plenty.” A wry grin crosses his face. “Don’t worry about my beauty sleep.”

“I have reason to. You need it.” You wrinkle your nose. “Bad.”

Soap’s jaw drops slightly, and — there! — he hesitates. Probably out of surprise, but it’s enough. Deftly, you lunge in at his knees, swipe them out, and…hm. Simple. Almost too easy, actually, to pin him.

Soap’s heart is pounding under your hand. His chest is flat against the ground, but you can feel it through his back, which is wild in and of itself. He grunts when his cheek hits the ground; he mumbles something akin to “bloody hell”, but you can’t quite make out the words.

Grinning, you sit back and kick your heel up against his neck, keeping his head pinned down. The cheering you receive mostly comes from recruits who are impressed with your skill.

The minority is higher-ups, exchanging amused glances. They seem awfully humored with the sight of one of their own being pinned so easily by a new recruit. Hmm…

✧ From that point on, Soap somehow manages to watch more of your sparring sessions. He usually just watches, rather than critique; if you ask, he’ll just say you certainly seem to be doing fine. If you ask for help, though, he’ll help you. Christ, he’ll help you. He’ll genuinely spend time assisting you on whatever is troubling you.

✧ Eventually, after a long training day, you decide to ask Soap to join you in the ring. You genuinely just want to see how you stack up to a “better” opponent; you’ve apparently pushed beating him to the side. Or you just want to do it again. He doesn’t think of that, though.

✧ He’ll come in (after teasing you just a bit) and he will spar with you, just giving you advice and pointers mid-action. He’s whipped, but he’s also still a trained soldier. He knows what he’s doing, and once he gets through the brain fog you seem to weigh down onto him, he is genuinely helpful.

✧ Still, after you’re both hot and panting and finished and resting on the sidelines, you have to ask him why he helps you so much. You have to ask if it’s because he thinks you’re lacking, or bad, or if it’s some sort of personal vendetta for that one time in front of the recruits and the higher-ups.

✧ Soap just laughs and, rather awkwardly, rubs at his neck. He avoids eye contact, and he bites his lip, and he tilts his head around before he dares answer you, tone sheepish. “Consider it a, ah, personal interest.”

— KEEGAN P RUSS.

✧ SHITS MYSELF VIOLENTLY. SO SORRY

✧ i love this fucking man so very much and i don’t know jack shit abt him because i need to play ghosts and get the first hand experience like I don’t want to spoil his character but I URRRGHHGGGGG

✧ imma try to do him justice but sorry if im missing on important lore

✧ He’s not as uptight as Ghost, but he’s not as whipped as Soap. He’s somewhere in the middle; he’s aware that you’re attractive but he does push it aside. He’s working. You’re working. He doesn’t have time for that, and it’s also a safety concern. He remembers what they did to Ajax, and god fucking forbid they try to pull that shit with anyone else to use as bait.

✧ When he’s at base, he’s busy. He’s devoted to his work and he doesn’t cut corners to chit-chat. The most social he’ll really get is at dinner; he’s the kind of person who will eat with the group, but rather than talk, he’ll really just listen. he’s me fr fr

✧ Getting to know Keegan is sort of awkward because he’s just not super outgoing. He’s attractive (if your radio is on and you don’t buckle at the knees the first time you hear his sexy deep pantywetting voice over the thing, are you even real?) and he’s got the whole mysterious quiet guy thing down, and yet when you approach him to try and strike up a conversation with a simple question (“So how was your day?”) he’s prone to just looking at you and raising a brow and answering sort of flatly. (“Same as every other one. What, did something happen?”)

✧ Most of your bonding actually occurs when it’s just the two of you. You’ve bumped into him late at night before — sometimes he’s at the range shooting targets and fiddling with a variety of weapons, or sometimes he’s in the kitchen scouring the shelves, or sometimes he’s in the gym working out when nobody is there to bother him and ogle his fine ass fucking body holy shit his thighs. He’s a little easier to talk to at night, actually. Maybe it’s the lack of a crowd, but the first time you stumble into him making himself a pot of fucking tea at damn near midnight, he actually seems friendly.

“What are you making?” For a moment, you panic, thinking that you might’ve just scared the shit out of poor Keegan by speaking so suddenly and from behind where he’s standing beside the sink, a little humming kettle in front of him. His shoulders god his fuckinf shoulders i want to lick them don’t so much as twitch, though — and then you remember the guy’s entire job is stealth and observation. Hell, he probably heard you across camp.

“Tea.” Yeah, he couldn’t sound less concerned. His voice is as low and gravelly as usual; he sounds a little more relaxed, actually, not so brash and shout-y. “Chamomile.”

“Sergeant Russ drinks chamomile tea?” You laugh a little, sort of tentatively. You two aren’t strangers, but you’ve only had a few conversations…if you can call brief exchanges conversations, of course.

“…yeah?” Keegan actually sounds confused; it’s dark in the kitchen, but you can make out the outline of his head turning over his shoulder. “What, you got a problem with that?”

“No. No, sir. No problem.” You shrug. “I just didn’t peg you to be the chamomile tea type.”

“Didn’t you?” The short scoffish bark Keegan lets out is a brief laugh. “What did you peg me for?”

“Dunno. Black, I guess.”

“Are you calling me boring?”

“No.”

Keegan hums in response to that. He busies himself with pouring his tea and thank fucking god your eyes have adjusted to the dim light in here because god, his fucking hip to waist ratio under that gear is something wicked and you let your conversation slip. You’re in here for a snack, but you don’t want to bother—

“You come in here for somethin’ other than staring?” Oh. Good. This is the Keegan you’d expected after hearing him sass half of his team on comms. You can hear the edge of a grin in his voice; there’s a shuffle as he turns around and then a wooden groan as he leans against the counter. A short second later, you hear the almost exaggerated slurp of tea.

“Crackers. I’m hungry.”

A wooden scrubbing sound. He’s moved over, presumably to let you open the cabinet housing boxes of sort of dry, not particularly good crackers. He doesn’t say a word; he just keeps drinking his tea and pretends to ignore you as you make your way over, crouching down to fumble for a bag of crackers. Pretend, because you can feel that he’s watching you. His presence on the field is invisible; his gaze in the kitchen is not. Still, he doesn’t bother you; he lets you get your crackers and retire to the edge of the counter across from him to snack, and he doesn’t say a word.

“Are you always so quiet?” You gesture vaguely at the slight shape of him. “Is it just part of the job?”

Keegan laughs, more to himself than in response to you. “Sure.”

✧ He is, generally, pretty quiet. His usual demeanor is laid-back and observant; if he’s not under stress, though, and you start talking to him, he’ll respond almost always with something mildly sarcastic. You come to learn that he isn’t actually boring. He’s got a quick sense of occasionally-dark humor. Sometimes he laughs at his own jokes—usually after he’s started to walk away from you. He’s fiercely protective of the Ghosts and any recruits training near or with them. He also doesn’t seem to mind you.

✧ You’d hesitate to say you two were friends — it always seemed like there was something in between you, though you couldn’t name what — but you were friendly, and it was nice.

✧ During group dinners, he’d stand against the wall behind you. Or across from you, though usually doing that meant that he’d make a game out of trying to get you to squirm under his constant staring. He’d run into you late-night in the kitchen and make casual, not uncomfortable, small talk. Hell, at one point he offered you a drink post-training and made a sort of point to always offer you one whenever you had returned to base and were lingering around in the later hours.

✧ After a particularly long day, you find him in the kitchen, just drinking straight from the bottle. He offers you the thing — he seems more than a little tipsy, but when you decline (he’s been drinking directly from it, and…the fuck does army hygiene look like?) he sort of half-laughs and says, sarcastically, “What d’you look so horrified for? Too good to share a bottle, princess?” and then he immediately excused himself afterward.

✧ You know that saying, “drunk words are sober thoughts”? Yeah. Yeah.

✧ i need the fatty part of keegans thigh in my mouth right now i need to bite it i need to bite it and go rrrrrahrhrahrah like a fucking rabid dog

#cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty smut #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #IIIII NEED HIS HANDS IN MY MOUTH #IIIII NEED KEEGANS HANDS IN MY MOUTH NEEEEOWWW

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deebris · 1 month

Text

Seems like destiny

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After spending years in the bone marrow donation system, encouraged by the army, Simon was finally notified that they had found a match. He just didn't expect to find out that he would be donating it to his own son, who he had with his teenage love and never knew.

Warnings: Family problems, panic attacks, teenage pregnancy, swearing, mention of diseases such as leukemia, murder, archaic ideas, anguish.

Word count: 3.5 k

Any questions or errors, please let me know.

Simon always remembers how the army encouraged soldiers to be blood donors. There was a great concern within about it, as it was one of the ways the government found to help hospitals and people who depend on transfusions to survive.

Then campaigns for bone marrow donation began, but it was so rare to find someone compatible that after 6 years on the waiting list, Simon thought he would never find someone who would need him. But that changed two months ago when he received a call from the institute informing him that he should go there immediately.

He underwent more medical exams than he had ever done, and although he was a tough guy, he couldn't deny the pain he felt in the weeks following the procedure. Among so many people dying in beds waiting to find a donor, someone could finally heal because of him. It made Simon feel good about himself, as good as he hadn't felt in a long time. That had been one of the reasons why he joined the army: to help people.

Now he could only hope that whoever he donated to would improve. He found himself during the day thinking about it, wondering if in a few years it would affect him as much as it does now. It's not very fresh in his memory, but Simon is able to superficially remember the day he registered on the bone marrow donor list. He had been in the army for a short time, still a soldier, and "Ghost" didn't even exist yet.

He thought this would be put aside. He didn't understand if he would need to donate more often, not really knowing the process deeply. That's why when he received another call from the same institute, he thought there had been some mistake, or that they would need more, but the reason for the contact surprised him.

The recipient's caregiver wanted to meet him and was willing to break the standard anonymity by revealing their identity. Accepting the offer would mean that he would also need to disclose his personal information, which is why he hesitated so much. But as he constantly replayed the woman's words in his head, he grew restless.

"The caregiver wants to meet you," that's what she said. Could the recipient be a child? Or perhaps an elderly person? Or maybe someone who was already so ill that they could barely decide for themselves. He shouldn't have any information about this person, even something as empty as what that lady had let slip.

"You should accept. Everyone would like to have the opportunity to personally thank the person who saved their life," were the words of his Captain, John "Price." And it had been the push that Simon needed to agree to the idea.

Now, standing in front of the hospital room door, Ghost debated with himself whether he should open it. Just a few meters away was the little boy who had been haunting his mind for the past few days. And how did he know it was a boy? He had been directed to the children's oncology ward when he arrived at the reception minutes ago, as soon as he was cleared by the unit director, who already knew about the situation and the breach of anonymity.

Furthermore, the clipboard with the patient's information on the door also made it clear that it was a boy. The name "Lucas" was printed on the paper, accompanied by a surname that was familiar to him. There weren't many people in the UK with that name, which caught his attention.

All that separated him from the family was that door, dividing the cold hospital corridor from the room he could only hope would be less disheartening and empty. He didn't know if he would find a smile on the other side, or if he would be met with the sad gaze of the child's mother.

This woman had contacted him through a letter. On that day, he hadn't yet notified the institute that he was willing to speak with her, so the letter came anonymously since nothing had been filed. He read what she had to say, revealing some things, such as the fact that she was a single mother and was extremely grateful to God for sending him to save her son. Some paragraphs were difficult to read, where she recounted how she had lost hope before.

The little comfort he found in that text was when she talked about the boy. In those passages, her handwriting was less shaky, and he was sure she was happier when she wrote those parts of the letter. He knew that this had been her attempt to persuade him to come meet her, but without her knowing, he had already decided. Simon kept the piece of paper with him and reread it in his spare moments.

That stirred his emotions. He thought he had managed to harden his heart after everything he had been through, but he was wrong. Deep down in his soul, he was more emotional than he let on to others. He hoped that "Soap" would never find out, or he would be eternally tormented.

"Damn," he muttered softly, snapping back to reality. Simon began to bitterly regret agreeing to this. He should have declined and moved on. He could leave, but he was already here, so he mustered up the courage to knock on the wood.

He considered himself presentable in the civilian clothes he wore, accustomed to the heavy military equipment he carried all day at the base, and also missing the mask covering his face. Simon adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, as a way to occupy his sweaty hands, more nervous about the approaching footsteps he heard than his appearance.

Before the door opened, he had already told himself he would remain silent and wait for the boy's mother to start the conversation. If she asked who he was, he would state his name and explain why was there. But as the woman inside was revealed to him, he fell silent not because he had decided to, but because he was speechless. Suddenly, those seconds he spent admiring the child's surname on the door seemed like a scene from a comedy movie to him. How ironic it is considering he was just thinking about you moments ago and, like magic, you appeared?

It seemed like you took a few extra seconds to recognize him, and he doesn't judge you for that. Although you have changed and are now an adult woman, with a more mature face and body, he had changed much more since he was a teenager. Back when you two were in school, he was shorter and thinner, and he didn't have any of the scars on his face.

But it wasn't just that which changed in him. You stared in complete shock at how different the demeanor of the guy you were in love with was. He was more serious, more intimidating, very different from his brother, Thomas, whom you had seen years ago, just a few days before he was brutally murdered along with his wife and child.

Your legs went weak, and your eyes burned with tears threatening to overflow. You wanted so desperately to say something, but nothing could come out of your mouth. Was this real, after all? You withdrew your hand from the doorknob, not realizing you had been gripping it tightly until now, and sat in the nearest chair to avoid collapsing to the ground.

Your blood pressure had surely dropped, as you were sweating cold and seeing black spots. What were the chances, after so many years and after everything you had been through, of finally finding him just when you weren't even trying anymore?

Your memories since you found out you were pregnant began to flood back. You vividly remember your father's reaction when he found out you were having a baby; what he said when found out that the neighbor's son, Simon, was the father of the child; how you struggled to escape him after he took you away to another state, to cover up the shame of having a "prostitute" as a daughter.

You never managed to tell Simon, and when you returned to that town, the town where you two met, he was no longer there. You didn't have a penny in your pocket and only survived that week because of Tommy's help. He gave you a bed to sleep in, food, and clothes, both for you and his nephew. You remembered the perplexed expression he had when analyzed Lucas's appearance, it was impossible to deny that he was a Riley.

It was because of him that you found out Simon was in the army and that he hadn't come home in months.

You never managed to thank him properly. Just two days after showing up there, Tommy handed you half of the money he had in a bank deposit. He told you that a good part of that money belonged to Simon, and therefore, it belonged to your son too. You rented a hotel room so as not to continue bothering his wife, especially since she now had to cook and clean for five people.

You left for the hotel with the promise to reward him someday and continued making visits while anxiously tried to contact his brother on his phone, but Simon never answered. You didn't have a cell phone and couldn't spend the money Tommy gave you so lightly, deciding to prioritize your son's needs.

Several voicemails were recorded, but there was never a response. You felt angry at Simon. You screamed into your pillow, frustrated for not being answered and repeating to yourself how stupid he was. But the possibility that maybe he was dead haunted you. Tommy had told you how complex his work in the army was, that it was more dangerous than usual.

You always feared what you would find when you saw him again. He could have a wife, a beautiful house, and everything you ever wanted to have with him one day but couldn't. He could have children, children who had the opportunity to grow up with him, unlike Lucas. And then when you found out that no, none of that had happened, a kind of happiness flooded your chest, even though nothing in the world guaranteed that he would want anything with you again. The last time you had anything, you two were barely adults, until one day you left without saying anything. You thought he hated you.

That lasted until one time, when you went to Tommy's house, there was nothing there but blood. You still remember how scared you were when you found the broken door and called the police, who surrounded the scene of the violent crime that had just happened. You waited so long, but so long for Simon to show up. What kind of person doesn't attend their own brother's funeral? That's when you decided to forget him and threw away the phone number you had written down.

Some more time later, when Lucas had just turned 7 years old, your life was turning upside down again. It all started with symptoms of a common virus. He had fevers, weakness, and got tired very easily. Then he started losing weight and getting pale. Many pediatricians said it could be anemia or hepatitis, but more symptoms kept emerging. Joint pains came, as did swellings, and after a year of medical investigation, the diagnosis came: leukemia.

You entered a state of denial. Was there something wrong with his diet? Or his lifestyle? It could be genetic, but there were no cases of cancer in your family. Maybe the Rileys had some?

Since that day, your life has never been the same. With each passing month, your son only got worse. You would give all your savings, live on the streets, or even rob a bank if it meant seeing your baby well again. Fortunately, the government offered treatment for free, but some medicines needed to be acquired more urgently than the hospital could provide, and medicines for such treatment were not cheap at all.

The only thing that could cure your boy was the marrow from a compatible donor. You prayed so much that you could save him, but when the tests were done, it was impossible. If no one in the family could donate, it was almost a death sentence. Your last hope was your father. You hoped to never have to see him again, let alone tell him where you had run away to, but now you were no longer the same foolish young girl who depended on his money.

Despite everything, you knew he loved his grandson, and a single phone call was enough to make him come running. In recent years, he had been worried about the two of you, not knowing where you had gone. He never had the courage to admit he was wrong, and apologizing was never his strong point, but he regrets every day what he did. That day he didn't know how to react. He wanted to kill Simon, the brat who got his only daughter pregnant, just as he was afraid you would become a joke in neighborhood for having such a young son. He only managed to think about leaving to avoid a disaster, never asking what you wanted or how you felt.

For the first time, when he saw you so tired and alone, he held his tongue to not say anything that could ruin everything. Instead, he hugged you tightly, and you were so craving someone's company that you curled up in his arms just like when you were a little girl. He was a grumpy and archaic man, someone who made many mistakes, who still makes them, but he still has humanity within him.

Unfortunately, he was not a match either.

You stopped daydreaming, and you didn't realize how bad you were until you saw an adult Simon crouched in front of you, shouting in the hallway for a doctor, but you tried to silence him by grabbing the nails on his rolled-up shirt sleeve, catching his attention. The last thing you want is for the doctors responsible for your son's health to be alarmed, thinking he's worsened. These professionals worked as hard for him as you did. Simon seemed to understand and went to close the door to prevent curious eyes from appearing.

Simon looked at you with sadness, and it crushed your heart. He was afraid you wouldn't be able to breathe properly again; he knew you were desperately begging for air, but couldn't draw it in. He hesitated to touch you, but gave in to the desire and placed both hands on your cheeks. He was incredulous. It was really you, the girl he loved most in his entire life, more than he thought he was capable of loving another woman. Simon had imagined so many times meeting you again, and he had so many doubts.

"Calm down," he repeated in a whisper, locking his eyes onto yours. He knew panic attacks; he had experienced them himself several times. "I know. I know, dear. It's a lot to process."

"You…" your voice tried to come out amidst desperate breaths, while also trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands grabbed both of his wrists, and your thumb smoothed over the skin, feeling his heartbeat. "It's you who…?"

"Yes. Yes, it's me, the donor," he quickly confirmed, even before you could finish the question. "Don't speak. Breathe."

You were managing to calm down and think more rationally. Understanding hit you like a bucket of cold water, and your embrace made the big burly man he had become freeze. The feeling was so strange. Of course, among so many people, the only one who could save your little son would be his own father. The person with whom he shared half of his genes.

"He's yours, Si," your voice sounded like a spell in his ear, the old nickname sending shivers down his spine. Your tone was so gentle that he barely understood the meaning of the phrase. But soon he felt his lips quivering, recounting the events of the past few months and how unbelievable this would sound if he told this story to someone. "I swear he's yours," you repeated as if that made it easier to assimilate.

The content of that letter invaded his mind again and again. He felt horrible.

Simon pulled you closer to him, your bodies almost merging. You were still beautiful, even in your disheveled state, betraying exhaustion. And even after so much time, it was as if nothing had changed between the two of you. He knew there was a small body behind him, sleeping peacefully in the bed, but he didn't dare to look. He could hear the sound of the machines, and then it all came crashing down on his shoulders at once: he had a son with you. By his calculations, the boy should be 9 years old. Wow! He hadn't seen you in over a decade.

"I have so many questions," he confessed with a choked voice, and you don't remember ever seeing him cry before when you were younger.

"I searched for you so much. I called so many times," the last thing you wanted was to make him feel guilty, but hearing that, he felt like he should have kept searching for you too. As soon as you left, he went asking where your father had gone. He worried and tried to find out something, until enlisted in the army, and then all he did from then on was just think about you; never seeking; never trying in any way to find you again because it seemed easier to accept that you had left forever.

You tried to distance yourself, even though you hated it, to look at his face one more time. Simon allowed you to run your fingers over his features until your eyes landed on your son behind him. He knew where your gaze had gone, but he didn't follow it. And of course, you would understand what was happening.

"Look at him," you pleaded with tenderness, but he shook his head while rubbing his eyes, as if they hurt. "You're hurting me doing this, Simon."

The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was rejecting the boy, so he stood up, fighting the weakness in his legs and slowly approaching the bed. The child's face was turned exactly in his direction, as if anticipating he would be there, but his eyes were closed, and his breathing was peaceful. It was only then that Simon realized how he was hyperventilating until he felt your hand gently pushing him closer.

His heart hammered in his chest, overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, as he watched his pale and still son. Each step was a journey through an ocean of uncertainty, each breath an effort to maintain composure in the face of the storm raging within him.

As he leaned over the fragile and inert body of the boy, a wave of emotions engulfed him. His broken heart cried out to stop the affliction that plagued his son, that beloved being he barely knew.

Tears blurred his vision as he stroked Lucas's hand, so small and vulnerable compared to his, so similar to yours. Each touch was a silent promise to stand by him in every moment, even in the darkest and most painful.

He found himself whispering words of comfort, as if each sentence could ignite a spark of life in his son's dormant soul. He pleaded to the heavens, to the stars, to any higher power that could hear, for a miracle, for a chance to see those childish eyes shine for the first time in his life. He was an identical copy of Simon at that age, and it made him wonder if the color of their irises was also the same, the same shade of brown. A sudden curiosity arose: what was his voice like? Would it sound like yours, so gentle and reassuring, or could it somehow sound like his?

There, in that moment, time seemed to freeze, the whole world disappearing. It was as if he were dreaming. There was no way all of this could be true, someone must be playing a prank on him. He wanted to look at your face again, to smell you while he ran his hands through your hair to make sure it was really you, flesh and blood. "He's going to be okay," he poured out the words, even though he knew the danger in promising that, and you dove into them, knowing you didn't have to face everything alone anymore.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod modern warfare #call of duty #imagine #x reader #simon ghost riley #mom reader #mother reader #task force 141 #angst #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #cod mw2

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krypticcafe · 3 months

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May I request call of duty boys with an autistic s/o? As an autistic person I think they’d all be very helpful with their partner and their needs. Their partner is having a bit of a rough day and they’ve gone nonverbal and just need the comfort of a safe person so they can unmask. (I totally hc Ghost as autistic so maybe he and his partner just vibe in silence together)

COD:MW boys w/an autistic partner

rating: general

character(s): GN!Reader, John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Hound

word count: ~5.2k

warning(s): possible inaccuracies, mentions of autism symptoms, mentions of masking, lotsa comfort 'n fluff

a/n: as per usual, feel free to tell me if I've misrepresented or misinformed. I'm undiagnosed, but extremely certain that I'm ND so I've included experiences I found that I share with autism symptoms :] On the other hand, idgaf about realistic military limits on medical issues and medication, this is literally fanfiction and not that deep.

beta reader: ChordataUtopia on ao3

Price

I'd like to think with his time in the military, he's probably had acquaintances, friends, or subordinates who are on the spectrum, so at the very least, he knows what to expect and has a few mental notes on it.

So it's not a problem for him when he sees it on your file.

It's when you become a thing that he actually starts researching about it, and really in-depth, the same way he would when doing background checks.

He's a pretty fast talker, so you have trouble keeping up with all the info he throws at you sometimes. At first, he thought you weren't paying attention, but then he realized you just had issues trying to process so much at once, which is vastly different when compared to how he can take in a bunch at a time. He's learned to be more concise, and surprisingly, it's helped some of the others on the team, too.

One of the perks of dating a captain is getting to know the plans and schedules ahead of everyone and being one of the first to know about any last-minute alterations.

Whenever you're starting to feel overstimulated on base, Price has an eye out for you and calls you to his office. It's a subtle and easy way for him to take you out of a situation and pull you somewhere safe. After all, no one bothers to question the captain's orders.

Although the military doesn't really have quiet rooms, the two of you found that his office is the only place aside from your shared quarters where you can feel safe and sound. Everyone respects Price's office space, so it's always nice and tranquil there. He's used to this one-on-one time so he keeps your favorite drink in a mini-fridge, something for you to fidget with quietly, and an extra comfy chair for you, along with medication if you need any.

Turns out, the voice of a captain is also helpful for keeping you grounded. It isn't aggressive, it isn't demanding, it's firm. He helps keep you in the moment when you feel your mind drift from your body, whether in private or on a mission. He's also direct and doesn't beat around the bush, so misunderstandings are rare.

If you take medication, it used to be difficult for you to get it restocked. Healthcare system and all its perks. But now, after dating John, strangely enough, it seems you get it on time almost always and hand-delivered by him. Hm.

His favorite thing to do is to listen to your rambles while he does his paperwork. You're worried you're bothering him, but he just responds with, "Not at all, love. I wouldn't trade this moment for the world," and tells you to continue discussing whatever you are particularly interested or fascinated about.

John doesn't tell you, but he sometimes wishes he had more paperwork just to spend more time with you in the office.

Gaz

Probably has had neurodivergent friends or family, and doesn't know a lot about the matter, but he's open-minded from the start.

He's a quick learner, too. Not just in combat but with your relationship. He notices your little habits, what makes you tick, and what keeps you in the zone.

And thank whatever being above that you were blessed with such a patient man. If you're having difficulties wrapping your head around a concept or directions, he'll explain it in a way you can understand. Sometimes, people talk too fast, too quietly, or too vague. Gaz finds that there's no shame in it.

One of the things he notices is that sometimes you mimic how he talks, like certain phrases or words. Especially if you're non-UK. Some of your repeated phrases are "oh my days", "cheers", or "takin' the piss". Fluent accent and all. He doesn't find it insulting or strange, he thinks it's actually pretty cute and doesn't poke fun at you for it.

Usually, he's not a fan of when people get too chatty with him, but it's you. He can't find himself getting irritated when you're talking so passionately about your special interest, latest hyper fixation, or whatever got to you because he knows you're being your genuine self and not talking out of your ass.

Your eyes light up, you're no longer using the tone of a soldier with all its formalities, yet you articulate the more and more you converse with him. Your hands even start to fidget and flap when you get deep in discussion.

"Keep going, love. I'm listening." He smiles at you from the corner of his eye, reorganizing his locker. It's meaningful to him, being the one person you trust to listen and engage when you need a break from masking.

He's got an eye for when you're having an out-of-body experience, helping you keep your head in missions without belittling you for feeling elsewhere.

Overstimulated or overwhelmed? Don't worry, he's got you. Kyle has his headphones on him a lot of the time whenever he can. When he sees your eyes looking in the distance or darting around while you feel your skin itch and your mind's a blur, he pops them on you and turns up a playlist he's made with your favorites.

In other cases, he's either scouting a spot for you to retreat to or verbally guiding you until you can unwind.

Sometimes when he can't immediately stick to your side or assist you, he'll take his cap and put it on you with a gentle smile. It's his way of saying that he notices you and to hang on just a bit, he'll be right there as soon as he's done, love.

Ghost

Autistic Ghost truther right here!!

I like to think Ghost always suspected he wasn't neurotypical, and would eventually get diagnosed. But ever since meeting you, it's only sped up his realization. Especially when he saw the difference between whether you're masking or not. It really hit him like a barrel of trucks that day.

He came to you first about it, trying to play it off as curiosity and just wanting to be more informed, but even if you aren't well-versed with body language or small cues, you could just tell that the gears were starting to turn in his head.

While you knew numerous factors led to your blossoming relationship, you like to think the trust you two built after you helped him come to terms with his autism kickstarted it all.

You quickly realized how much of it has gone unnoticed, how eerily good he was at masking himself. He claimed he was more comfortable with the 141 and that outside of that, he was just fulfilling his role as lieutenan- oh my god, you're right.

He gets ticked off when there's a change in plans if a last-minute decision is made but he bites his tongue about it, despises it when people aren't straightforward, prefers bluntness, sits in the far and darker corners of the mess hall where it's calmer, or just avoids it altogether and eats in his room, doesn't understand when people think he's being rude or mean, the list goes on.

There is... a lot to uncover.

But it's all worth it for the little things.

Like when you two created a subtle way to tell each other "I love you" when the words won't come out, three little taps on the inside of the wrist.

Or when you both need to unwind after a particularly triggering mission and you just can't articulate yourselves. No one else notices it and passes it off as you two just being quieter than you usually are, but the two of you catch onto each other like wildfire.

You'll retreat into your quarters and sit on the bed, back-to-back in the dark, where Simon can pull off the mask to just breathe and you can just feel. A comfortable silence lingers in the air while your hearts sync until one of you breaks the silence.

"Absolute trainwreck that one was, huh?" One of you dryly chuckles.

And the other mutters back, "You can say that again."

There's this one particular memory he has of when you surprised him with a gift one day. He wasn't much of a taker than a giver, but seeing how giddy you were, he couldn't decline.

Opening it, he was surprised with a custom butterfly knife, an obsidian-black handle with silver engravings of skulls, thorns, and roses, along with his initials on the blade. You remembered his interest in knives and how he tended to mess with them as a stim, so you bought him a knife he could flip around smoothly and quietly while still keeping up appearances.

With the way he looked at it, someone would've assumed you just proposed to him with a diamond ring or something.

You expected him to put it in his collection, but he uses it a lot in his spare time.

He keeps it in top condition and never leaves it unless he has to.

Soap

He's heard of it, met people with it, though he doesn't quite understand it yet. Johnny's tried to look into it but finds most sources sound contradicting to each other or just don't make sense compared to the experiences you describe and the ones that others have.

You tell him it's fine, you appreciate the effort, and it's okay if he occasionally asks questions when appropriate.

If there's one thing about him, it's that he's quick and creative when it comes to accommodating you. He carries extra earplugs with him on missions and comes up with signals for you to use when you have trouble expressing, so it's easier for him to figure out what you need (turns out he's a visual learner, too).

He makes it ridiculously easy to unmask, too, always so happy to see you, to listen, to talk—he just loves you so much. Something about his energy and how he can slowly and gently open you up like a treasured, well-kept, and well-loved book with just that sweet tone of his.

Sometimes when you're stuck in your head, he pretends he's performing surgery to remove your brain or something, making little silly little noises and tracing your forehead like he's cutting it, a little pop! and he's all "Now you cannae think 'bout anythin'", and it's so stupid but works.

You find the best thing he can do is just hold you. He's got this firm hold that makes you feel like you're wrapped in a warm blanket and a strong heartbeat that reverberates through you. You'd tend to count the beats in your head and just allow yourself to be absorbed in his embrace.

It's all just a few of the numerous things he's done to improve your relationship.

But you have to be real with him for a moment.

You guys know that one tiktok audio? The one that's like:

"I ain't sure what HD is but the doctor said I got 80 of them bitches! WOOO—"

Yeah, Johnny, don't think we haven't noticed.

One day, he lightheartedly jokes that he relates to some of what you go through and that maybe he's autistic, too.

"Well... you're not too far off."

"Haha, what?"

So turns out the MacTavish family has a whole history of ADHD and ADD. His family's always had an inkling, but Soap's natural personality just really blurred the lines.

To be honest, it was so obvious. The way the two of you would parrot each other and your teammates, how he banged his fists on tables whenever he got really excited or antsy, couldn't stand still when he'd constantly be shifting his weight between his feet, popped his lips to break silence, all the impulses that get him in trouble a lot of the time, random bouts of eery calmness, his hyperfocus when working on a new project, the time you caught him unconsciously imitating the sound of the heart monitor after he nearly blew himself up in an accident, you get the idea.

Soap's love language, from physical affection and words of affirmation, is gift-giving! The moment he sees something that reminds him of you, what you like, or something you've been talking about a lot lately, he gets so excited to see your reaction when he surprises you with it and is practically bouncing with anticipation.

Definitely made you cute little cue cards with silly doodles, and even some with Scottish slang. He was especially proud of these.

Roach

He gets you. He really, really, really gets you.

Roach, are you perhaps neurodivergent?

You wouldn't be surprised. You figured he was ever since he explained how he wasn't Deaf or completely mute. He just said he felt nonverbal a lot of the time, selectively mute. That was something that really clicked with you.

In fact, you found he was the easiest to talk to about it. He didn't have many questions other than asking what made you uncomfortable and if you wanted him to teach you some ASL.

You said yes, of course.

Before you were a couple, you were best friends. Practically inseparable with energies complimenting each other. No one was surprised when you guys became public, much to your own surprise.

Learning ASL has been one of the most helpful things Roach has done for your guys' relationship; you don't feel as isolated in your nonverbal state. It also helps clear up misunderstandings with the rest of the team sometimes when one of you can communicate on the other's part. You still struggle with some expressions periodically, but you're pretty fluent!

There is so much open communication in your relationship, it's just a fresh breath of air, holy shit. But the negative part to that is when there is a misunderstanding, it can get a little messy, not horrible, but just kind of overwhelming for the both of you where you need to take a breather and just tune out in your heads for a bit before you can approach each other again.

Overstimulation comes more easily to you than it does to Roach, so you often find yourself either going to him or him leading you somewhere more private where you can quietly wind down.

On a more positive note, you guys have the most energetic of conversations. You'll both be spewing out hyperfixes, random thoughts, and interests, some of Roach's being random facts about zoology or history facts (his favorite are the world wars, unsurprisingly).

"The Egyptians believed that the most significant thing you could do with your life was die."

"Sick."

You two jump from subject to subject, then return to one only to forget what you were supposed to talk about, then move on to something else before remembering what was supposed to be said, and then dropping the conversation altogether like nothing happened.

The entirety of Task Force 141 and SpecGru has given up on trying to interrupt these moments for any reason besides work, it's been proven fruitless. You guys are simply too far in the deep end, there is no saving from hyperfix hell.

Gary's also like a crow, he memorized your interests and whenever he sees something related to that, like a trinket when he's out and about, he'll buy it for you. You two do this to the point where it's kinda getting cluttered in your quarters...

Alejandro

Yeah, I'm afraid he's a little undereducated about it, growing up in an environment with a stigma over mental health issues type of deal.

Don't worry, he's not bigoted by any means, just confused about what it's exactly about because of how much misinformation is out there. I think there was a time when he might've believed in some stereotypes and acted rudely about it, except that was when he was really young and dumb.

When he told you this, it broke your heart, but for a different reason. You told him it wasn't his fault, he was raised in an environment that provided little awareness on the issue, that's just how many people are raised. As much as you hate to admit it, that's just how the majority of the world is. What matters is that he acknowledged he was wrong, and that he was just a kid.

"You're too kind, mi sol," He murmurs, pressing a kiss on your knuckles.

"And you're too hard on yourself, love." You respond, cradling the side of his face with a smile.

Unintentionally or not, meeting you led him to realize he might have his own difficulties with his mental health. After all, being colonel would take a toll on anyone, and after the events involving the Shadows? He needs a break above anyone else in the Vaqueros.

Much like Price, he's learned to create as much of a supportive environment for you and the rest of his soldiers with a general no-tolerance policy on ableist bullshit.

Sometimes, it can be a little challenging for him to reach out to you or vice versa, largely because of his busy schedule and job as commander. He can't indulge you as much as he wishes. Patience was something the two of you had to learn and overcome in your relationship.

But if you really need him, or if you're having a difficult time while he's preoccupied, you give him a few taps on the shoulder, and he gives you a nod mid-conversation with a subordinate. At the end of the day, he comes and finds you, and asks you a few questions you can answer with a simple nod or shake of your head. You trace a heart into his palm, a straightforward reminder, and he smiles and kisses your forehead.

It takes a while, but he carefully unravels you with gentle comfort, just holding you, and taking your time. He's not the most patient man, but for you, he certainly tries. When you finally start returning to yourself, no longer the soldier or the "different one". Just you. He greets you with a kiss and listens to whatever you say for the rest of the night.

It's worth the wait, so long as you're in his arms.

Rodolfo

Rudy has a similar situation to Alejandro. The only difference is that it never quite sat right with him as a kid. Ultimately, it led him to educate himself and seek out actual resources.

He could never understand the stigma, too naive as a child only to find out the truth when he was older. Somehow, it hurt him too, maybe because of how he shared some qualities.

He figured he wasn't autistic, but he knew he wasn't neurotypical either, tiny impulses here and there constantly proving him right, ways that he didn't connect with other people. Meeting you had only confirmed it for himself.

At first, he never noticed it, you were usually masking in front of them all anyway. But when he started to spend more time with you in between missions and get to know the real you, he started to see how vastly different you were when he first met you.

The comment slips out and he apologizes, but you laugh it off as his friend and closest confidant. It's hard to really put it into words, but he understands, he always does. You learn that early on in your relationship.

Instead of words, he uses gestures to console you. Acts of service is his kind of love language. Helping you with your work, doing all the chores you couldn't bring yourself to do that day, the simple things. Mugs of warm drinks, a little mazapán or gansito, a treat to quell your mind a little. A small nostalgic snack break always helps him in hard times between all the work, so he hopes you enjoy them, too. Expect him to join you whenever he's feeling a little out of it.

You worry that it feels like an excuse to hog him to yourself when it isn't. He's always willing—even if it was a ploy, he wouldn't mind it all that much. Seeing you ease up makes him come out of his shell, too. It's something good for both of you.

"Need a refill, cariño?"

You shake your head, "No, just... stay? Please?"

"Of course." He beams in a way that has your heart nearly skipping a beat despite how long you've been together. Maybe you should marry him on the spot.

There are moments when he holds you that you hear him humming his favorite songs. You tell him he has a wonderful voice, but he bashfully denies it. However, it doesn't stop him from humming, not when it helps bring you back down to earth or get a compliment out of you after some silence.

König

Doesn't exactly know what it is, thought it was like a bad trait or something because someone called him autistic once as a kid, but in a derogatory way. Made you go 'yikes' and explain the whole thing. He apologized for his initial shock when you told him you were autistic and felt disgusted when he realized why he was called that back then.

He's quick to pick up on your cues, mood differences, or how you process things. After all, he gave himself a trained eye from all that sniper training.

The first time you were nonverbal around him, he was slightly worried. It was after an arduous mission that had you completely knackered, mentally and physically. He thought you were in a state of shock or something, and he was about to call a medic before you dragged him away and had to physically force him not to. Later, you had to explain to him what happened again, but he was still a little concerned for your wellbeing.

You're well aware and so is he that he probably has ADHD and social anxiety, but to be honest, you wouldn't actually doubt the idea that he could be autistic either.

You both noticed it when you were ranting about how annoying some of your habits were, whether it be an inability to properly express emotions, an inability to understand social cues, the need to mask around others, or how much certain sensations bothered you when they shouldn't because it's so stupid that they do. He'd often respond with, "Oh, I do that too!" or "Yeah, I have that sometimes." At first, you thought he related to some of the lighter symptoms shared with people in general, but then it came to a point where he related a bit too much that you had to let yourself think about whether your boyfriend just happened to have the double whammy of ADHD and autism.

Chances were likely.

One thing that surprised König when you two discussed how he could help comfort you is lying on top of you.

"But Schatz, I'm too big, I would crush you, like a weight or something."

"Oh sweetheart... that's the point."

Genuinely, he's a wonderful makeshift weighted blanket with the great addition of being your boyfriend. It's the perfect distraction for your mind to focus on something and someone else—the weight of his body weight distributed on yours, your breathing synced with his, his heartbeat against your chest, and just having someone to hold.

Loves it when you start parroting and picking up some of his phrases, especially the German ones. He'll ignore the pronunciations if they're bad, but he's just gleaming with pride when he sees you taking out an enemy and spitting German curses at them the same way he does. Practically makes goo-goo eyes on the battlefield.

Horangi

Same thing about being brought up in an environment that isn't the most informed nor supportive about neurodivergence. He's not the proudest of his younger self, and he knows he's made some mean remarks about it as a dumb kid, but he's long since moved on. Getting out into the world has taught him to grow more tolerant and understanding, but he's still ashamed of the ignorant stuff he did.

He worries that you'll hate him for it, despite it being ages ago. He's used to being reminded of his mistakes and failures, such as his gambling addiction and delinquency.

What he struggles with most is trying to find a way to comfort you or help you unwind. He's not great with words since he's worried about screwing something up, so the most he can do is pull you somewhere the two of you can be alone and give you space.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't try. He tries several things, like keeping your favorite snacks on hand, doodling on your skin with his markers to distract you, getting some music playing, earplugs on hand, and stuff that he knows he can't royally fuck up.

You propose that he creates some cute cue cards for you so that it helps him figure out your needs, and you don't miss how he tries to hide his eagerness. He presents you with the cards all connected on a metal ring, red, blue, and black doodles with words in both English and Korean, acting like he just did it on a whim when the amount of care and love put into it is obvious.

One of the cards only has a single phrase on it in Korean, and you already knew it. You still asked.

"Hong-jin, what does this say?"

"Ah- uh... 사랑해요 (saranghaeyo)."

"Mind telling me?"

"... good job?"

"Uh-huh... so why are there so many hearts?"

"Because you think I did a really good job..?"

Again, he's not great with words. That includes letting you know that he wants to be told "I love you" more.

Lightheartedly calls you a nerd once when you ramble about your hyperfixations or special interest, only for you to fire back with a comment about his K-pop collection of albums, signatures, fancams, photocards, lightsticks...

"That's not the sam- no... dammit, no."

Face the music, Horangi. Your special interest is K-pop and each new album is just another hyperfix. You're just as much of a nerd.

Hound

Autism? Okay, but the fuck does that have to do with you blasting the enemy with an RPG right now?

Honestly, he thought you just had some strange quirks and issues. Maybe you were like him. He figured he was just "broken" in some way, that they were "weaknesses" of his. The more he spent time with you, the more he questioned why he is the way he is.

Yet he doesn't judge you because he most likely knows how it feels to be in that position, and he wants to be the support he doesn't have but wishes he had.

Actually, that's the real glue of your relationship—how easily Hound adapts to your structures and needs without question. If it conflicts with theirs, they won't hesitate to directly address it and work it out with you. You return the same energy and reassure him he's not alone in feeling this way. Hell, you make him feel normal for once.

Both of you have issues verbalizing, so you'll be tracing hearts, question marks, checks, and x's on each others' palms. They even teach you Morse code to tap little phrases. You never need to worry about miscommunication if you're direct with them. They're always direct with you, and they hate when people aren't specific.

Hound's not much of a talker, but they're definitely a listener, and they could honestly listen to you talk for days. If someone dares to interrupt you or criticize you for talking too much because he "seems like he's not interested" and you're "taking up his time", he shoots them a glare to fuck off.

Most likely, your interests will become his interests, too.

You notice they mask almost constantly but act much more natural, tender, and less structured when they're around you, showing a side of themselves with a variety of emotions no one else would ever see either. More human, and less war dog.

You both like to be alone, but alone together. Hound used to ask you to leave him alone whenever he needed to self-isolate but started to let you stick around when they needed a moment. The two of you are much more physically affectionate and even more talkative, and you both value the trust you grant each other to show the more vulnerable side of yourselves. You guys are woven like thread; the moment one unravels, so does the other.

Sometimes, all it takes is a weak smile from you or his hands interlocking with yours to find the calm in the storm.

a/n 2: I'm back, teehee :3

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brightjimini · 3 months

Text

some recent fanfic recs☑️

for: moonknight, batman/battinson/ jason todd/ cod

some are 18+ (please just dont read if you are not):***

the link is my short amazing *sarcasm* review, jokes aside go read them and show them love. also most of these are longer fics! (i think all are x fem!reader if yall want a gn!reader let me know)

moonknight 🌙

this whole series is 10/10 by @januaryembrs

the way jake is portrayed *heart eyes* by @phantomspiderr

just dropped their whole mlist here so you can binge read by @st4rymoon ***

i am a sucker for hurt comfort by @vintagemulti

batman 🦇

most prob already read this series BUT ILL NEVER GET OVER IT by @jangofctts ***

i just love sad bruce by @the-wintershade

nightwing longtime friend reader x bruce on pollen need i say more by @imaginedisish ***

the way bruce is portrayed A M A Z I N G by @vigilvntes

normally im not really into pregnancy fics but this one ooooh the tension, the angst, the buildup… by @afro-hispwriter *** (just read everything she wrote while your at it)

jason todd ♦️

recently did not read that many red hood fics😞

i actually have not read this one yet bcs of school but it is long and it sounds good by @lightwing-s

cod 💀

this series has me in a chokehold zombie apocalypse universe reader x single dad ghost with a KID now that i think about it its so genius to put ghost who is always kinda cold with a kid in a situation like this and reader by @nsharks

now the legend cod writer made a merman price fic.. im sold ofc by @halcyone-of-the-sea

i hardly see colonel reader fics and i found out i like them (x ghost and angst) by @bits-and-babs ***

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koenigsbleachedshirt · 7 months

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Please I need some emotions...I need how all three would react to finding YN beat up or something. The emotions, the angst, the possessive and protectiveness....PLS I BEG OF YOU

Bet 🙏🏻

TW: graphic violence, fighting, shooting

y/cs = your callsign

initial situation -> you were out on a mission with your team to deal with a no-name terrorist group. Everything had gone well until the last standing member managed to slam the butt of his gun against the back of your head. You toppled to the ground in pain, vision peppered with black spots. "Fuck... you piece of shit." You hiss when he gets you on your back and starts beating down on you.

Ghost

He hadn't seen or heard of you after calling through the comms, so he grew worried. "Cap', y/cs hasn't responded to my inquiries, I'mma go 'ave a look." Ghost informs Price, who nods in return.

He was decently close with you, so it left a bitter taste in his mouth when you didn't respond. What if someone had managed to mortally injure you and you were laying somewhere and bleeding out?

Ghost hurried through the rooms of the mostly cleared building and came to a stop when he spotted one of the terrorists on top of you, his fists continuously beating down on your, by now unconscious, body. Then he saw red.

Simon ran towards the fucker who dared to touch you yanked him up by his vest, literally throwing him a few feet away from you before proceeding to punch his living daylights out. "Ya fuckin' dare to hurt one of our mates?! I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya, damn cunt!"

He doesn't stop bashing his face in until it's a bloody mess, his fists dripping with the man's blood. He doesn't spare him another glance before going to check on you, blood running cold when he sees the state you're in. Simon's heart is beating out of his chest at the sight; your lip is busted and still slightly bleeding. There's also a laceration on your cheekbone and a nasty bruise forming around it, and not to forget the black eye you're starting to get.

Ghost exhales a shaky breath and gently scoops you up into his arms, careful not to hurt you any further. That bastard has probably beaten more places than just your face.

And he's going to kill them all by himself if he has to.

König

He had just finished absolutely obliterating five of the terrorists in another room and was about to check up on his team when he heard your pained cries from across the hall. König didn't waste any time, running to the source of the sound and kicking open the slightly ajar door.

The man was sitting on your stomach, violently beating you up; you try your best to kick him off, but he's too big. All you can do is try to shield your face, but it doesn't do much because he still got a few good hits on you.

But then you see your Colonel behind your attacker, distracting you enough to catch a fist to the jaw, and suddenly, you're out cold.

The giant colonel did not enjoy that. He picks the asshole up by the back of his collar and puts him in a chokehold. "You made a giant mistake here, du kleiner Bastard." König says into the terrorist's ear, sounding almost demonic, before he manhandles him around.

And then he breaks his back, like a stick that's being snapped over his knee. The man screams bloody murder, but König isn't done. Next, he breaks the arm he used to beat you up with, snapping it so hard the bone broke through the skin. And then the man went limp, either fell unconscious due to the pain, or straight up died.

He couldn't care less, though, as he tossed him aside and moved to kneel down next to your knocked out form. A pang of panic went through him as he hurriedly picked you up to evacuate and get you to a medic as soon as possible.

König is not going to lose you. Not when he finally found a new purpose.

Keegan

He witnessed it all through the scope of his sniper rifle, jaw clenched tightly. How dare this terrorist scum hurt you?

"Sergeant Russ here, I'm going in." He says into the comms before quickly making his way to where this man decided to touch something that wasn't his.

When Keegan arrived, you were already knocked out, his blood running cold. "You dare hurt my y/cs? Oh, you've made a grave mistake there." He says, voice dangerously low as he raises his assault rifle.

The terrorist on top of you freezes, arm raised back for another punch, but not plowing down again. "Get the fuck off of them, hands in the air."

The man does what he's told, but right when he's back on his feet, he moves to take out his gun, probably trying to shoot Keegan.

But instead, he aims it at you. Keegan's eyes widen, and without thinking, he shoots the terrorist straight through the forehead. The man's aim falters but still pulls the trigger, and the bullet lands inches from your face on the ground.

Keegan drops his rifle from the shock; that fucking man almost killed you right in front of him. His whole body is shaking as he flops down next to you, one hand gently caressing your cheek. "You're safe now. Let's go back to base." He says before slinging his rifle around himself and then picking you up and carrying you out of the building.

#ask - answered #cod mw2 #cod x reader #konig x reader #könig x reader #ghost x reader #keegan x reader #konig angst #könig angst #ghost angst #keegan angst #tw violence #tw guns #tw injury #tw shooting

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prismuffin · 11 months

Note

Ghost, König and Price with male reader who has dermatillomania please 🙋

I wrote this as an ask ok? Also from my limited research I hope I was accurate but if not let me know and I'll fix it up! Slight romantic implications? Anyways, I think that-

Ghost would notice it, how you'd constantly be scratching at your neck, cheek, or arm. He would just eye you for a while before telling you to "stop picking at your fuckin' skin". You apologize and explain that you have dermatillomania and can't exactly help it. He does his research on his own and searches for ways to help. Tries to use cognitive therapy to help you and makes you trim your nails. Whenever he's around you he's holding your hand and often observing your off one to make sure you're not harming yourself unintentionally. He gets you gloves to wear for when he's not there, they're skull gloves that match his own. When he gets back he'll check you for any new cuts or bruises on your skin and cleans you up with some affectionate scolding if he finds any. He knows it's not entirely your fault so he doesn't actually get mad at you.

At first König would think you had bad acne but with closer inspection he'd realize they were cuts and bruises, and that they stretched down way farther than your face. He'd worry that maybe you were self harming and he'd confront you about it slowly as to not upset you. Hearing the worry in his voice you feel a bit guilty and you quickly clarify that you have dermatillomania and can't exactly help it. He asks you to explain it to him and after developing an understanding he's glad you're not doing it intentionally. Now aware of your condition, he strives to stop you every time he notices you start to pick at your skin. He'll often remind you not to even when you're not doing it in the moment, hoping it'll stick with you. Buys you ointments for the wounds you often create.

Price would see the signs and would watch you closely for the next few days to make sure it wasn't just bruises and cuts from training. After a while he'd pull you aside and confront you, asking about your current mental state before bringing up the scars he's been seeing. You'd immediately shut him down, stating that it's due to dermatillomania and that you weren't self harming. He'd be glad and would ask you to explain your situation and how severe it was for you. After getting a base understanding he'd prepare a few things for you to help with your condition. Ointments, Chapstick, gloves, and an alarm watch that reminded you every few minutes not to pick your skin. If he sees it happening in action while he talks to you he'll grab both of your hands as a way to stop you, casually slipping in a reminder to stop before continuing his prior statement.

———