#cod mwii fanfic

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You get a call from your mother regarding your match. You are nervous to meet them, but they turn out to be a pleasant surprise.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI (no others for this chapter)

Word count: 4.1k (damn thats a lot for me)

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there.

A/n: Yo Yo Yo whatup. New fic dropping. This one is black/poc coded but anyone can read. I haven't seen any poc coded cod fics just yet (if you know any send them my way). If you do not like Omegaverse fics please do not read. Also I tried making a cute little mood board, i think it sucks but I tried my best. Konig art credit. (I couldn't find the art credit for the girl). König and reader are neurospicy. I got inspired to do an Apex Alpha König from @ghostlythunderbird go give them some love please. Also this is kinda what I imagine him looking like.

Next Chapter

Chapter One:

His back ached as he climbed the few steps to his door. The passage back to his home was uncomfortable. All König wanted to do with collapse on his bed. The duplex he resided in was decent, the little old woman who rented it to him was very sweet. König had a hard time getting anyone to rent to him. His status as an Apex alpha was concerning for most people. They believed him to be violent and inconsiderate. His landlord is an omega that lives with her alpha mate. König managed to convince her. She thought he was sweet and kind. He opened the foyer door that lead to both apartments. He glanced at the mailbox, wondering if he should wait until morning. Begrudgingly, he took out the small mailbox key and fiddled the metal box open. He grabbed the plethora of mail and closed the box gently. The box was filled up quite a bit as he had not been home in a couple of weeks. 

Heading up the stairs he filed through the mail. Most were junk coupons and magazines, some were credit card sign-up letters. One envelope caught his eye. It had no company name just a large white manila envelope addressed to him. He opened his door and stepped inside placing the mail and his belongings on his couch. He ripped open the envelope and took out a thin book. It had the circular logo of the AOMO, the Alpha Omega Match organization. 

König started at the cover his heartbeat sped up the longer he thought about it. He signed up for the program after a particularly hard mission he had in KorTac. He left and joined the 141 and decided he wanted an omega. A lot of the men in the 141 had partners they could come home to. König wanted that. Most people were too afraid to be in a committed relationship with him. König often settled for one-night stands with betas but it left him feeling empty. He opened the packet to the first page.

'Congratulations!' The first word read. His heart beat harder the more he read. 

'We have found you a match!' König's heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest. 

'In the plastic wrap, we've provided a fresh scent sample from your potential match. If you like the scent of your match, please send us a scent sample from you as soon as possible.' 

König gripped the packet and leaned over the table, putting his weight on the table. He took a deep breath, he felt a mix of fear and excitement. When he signed up he was not hopeful for a match. He assumed his situation was too complicated for them. He flipped through the packet before reading the rest searching for the scent sample. A plastic bag fell out onto the table. It was sealed and had a verification sticker assuring its authenticity. König picked up the bag carefully. It had a square of white fabric inside it. He took his hood off before opening the bag gingerly. The scent instantly made his knees weak. This Omega had a warm and spicy scent. Coconut and sugary vanilla with hints of sandalwood. König stuffed his nose into the bag inhaling the deep rich smell of this Omega. 

König sealed the scent sample wanting to savor it. He opened the packet back up to the first page. It said once he mailed his scent sample and was approved by his match, they would arrange a meeting with him and his match. There was more information about this Omega and their family along with the reasoning for them picking them. They informed him that this omega was a twenty-six-year-old female. Her father is also an Apex Alpha, he is retired American military. They did not provide a picture of any matches because they wanted the connection to be based on instinct rather than looks. Her mother is an Omega that works as a teacher. There is not much else about the Omega but, König is hopeful. He reads the instructions to send his scent sample. They provided a kit with a form envelope, a small square of fabric, and a plastic bag, almost identical to the one he received from his match. 

'Wash your hands, and rinse any dirt off of your scent glands.'

'Then remove the fabric from the plastic.'

'Rub the fabric on your clean scent glands for 20-25 minutes.'

'Seal the fabric thoroughly in the bag provided .'

He shed his vest and protective gear, the last thing he wanted was for her to smell dust and gunpowder on him. König tried to quell his excitement as he followed the directions. Rushing to his bathroom and then back to his dining room. The fabric square was slightly smaller than his palm. He cupped the crook of his neck, sandwiching the fabric between his hand and his neck. He rubbed gently filling it with his scent. He read the rest of the packet as he rubbed. The rest was mostly semantics about the company and its policies. He combed it a few more times trying to memorize every piece of information about his Omega. 

König smiled gently, he shouldn't think of her as his yet. She smelled so good, too good for him. He smelled the cloth every once in a while to ensure his scent was potent enough. When he was done he placed it in the bag and sealed it. He filled out the form and packed the pre-paid envelope neatly. He grabbed his keys and left his apartment to go to the mail drop-off on the corner of the block. He needed to send it today, he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't. He walked back to his apartment having long forgotten about his back pain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You looked at the list on your phone pushing your shopping cart. Buying the week's groceries had fallen to you this time as your mother was dealing with state testing for her students and your dad was on a hunting trip. You maneuvered the isles expertly collecting the items on your list. As well as some extra sweet snacks you like to indulge in much to our mother's chagrin. You were about to put a pack of Oreos in the cart when your mom called.

“Hello?” You answered but all you can hear was excited screeching. You held the phone away from your ear until she quieted down. 

“He accepted you!!!” She screamed. 

“What? Mom, you're too loud.” 

“The match company! The match they picked liked your scent.” She giggled. 

You were slightly stunned. Your parents signed you up for the AOMO when you were eighteen. You weren't that on board with it but you let them. You know they only want the best for you. You kept sending scent samples every year but they never got back to you about anything. Now, six years later they show up with a match for you. 

“I just got the call, they're sending a scent sample for you right now it's gonna get here in a few days.” 

“Wow...” That was all you managed to say. 

“Now I know this wasn't your ideal way to meet someone, but just please be open-minded sweetheart.” 

You sighed. “I will. I'm finishing up at the grocery and I'll head home.”

“Alright, I'm gonna be home soon too, bye sweetie.” 

You hung up the phone and stood in the aisle. You placed the pack of Oreos in the cart and moved to get the rest of the items before checking out. 

When you arrived home your mother was there waiting. She squealed and hugged you before helping you take the grocery bags inside. 

“I am so excited for you! I have heard so many good things about the AOMO. I bet whoever they picked is gonna be great.”

“Let's hope.” You say. 

The next few days went by quickly. You dove into writing your next few chapters to take your mind off of the match. The sequel to your best-selling fantasy novel was underway. Your days consisted of writing, planning, engaging with fans, and talking to your editor. You typed out the outline for the next few chapters when you heard a knock. 

“Come in.” You said. 

Your mother walked in holding a large envelope. “Guess what came today?” She said excitedly. 

 Your heart thumped with anxiety. She placed the envelope on your desk.

“I’ll leave you to it, let me know if you like them.” She sauntered out of the room happily. 

You picked up the envelope and opened it pulling out a packet of information. You flipped to the first page. 

‘Congratulations!’ It read. 

‘The match we have chosen for you wants to meet you. Once you contact us with your acceptance of their scent, we will arrange for them to meet you and your family with the chaperone of one AOMO agents to facilitate. The two of you will go on a date and get to know each other before deciding whether to move forward. If you do not accept the scent, we will put you back in our database to be matched with someone else.’ 

In the middle of the pages, there was a plastic bag with a white cloth in it. You picked it up and sighed. You doubted you would like the scent. Most alphas were off-putting to you, either way too strong of a scent of they smelled like dishwater. You opened the bag casually and took a whiff. Your inner Omega preened at the musk that erupted from the bag. 

“Oh my…” You inhaled deeply. 

This Alpha…smelled good? He smelled like chocolate and dark roast espresso. There were some hints of fresh baked bread and cinnamon. You caught yourself before you got lost in his scent. You sealed the bag up and took a breath. Maybe, this would be a good experience for you. You scanned through the rest of the information looking over what little they provide about this Alpha. He is a male Alpha, non-American but they did not specify what country. The only other thing they said about him was that his demeanor was shy and that he is military. The instructions said to call the number if you wanted to meet him. You reached for your phone a little too eagerly and dialed the number. A woman’s voice answered.

“Hi, you’ve reached the Alpha Omega Match organization how may I help you?”

“Hi, um I got an Alpha’s scent in the mail, and I want to meet him.” You said awkwardly.

“What’s your name and date of birth?” You told her, nervously. 

“Please hold while I transfer you.” 

The light piano hold music came on, you fidgeted with your sleeve. 

“This is Kara, how may I help you?”

“Oh hi, I got an Alpha’s scent in the mail and I would like to meet him.”

“Alright, let me get your file from reception she’s sending it right now…Ah got it. Oooh ok great I am your agent that will be facilitating this meeting. Your parents will want to meet him yes?”

“Definitely.”

“Ok so, what we will do is you and your parents will meet me at a public space of your choice then. I will bring you to meet the Alpha first, then your parents. We like to keep parent meetings brief as they tend to try and challenge the Alpha. I will have you know, this Alpha is an Apex like your dad. That is one of the reasons we chose you as his match, you have experience with an Apex. Will you be comfortable with all that?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Your head was reeling from all this information. Great, I see you guys are in New York City which is one of my favorite places to visit. Do you have anywhere in mind to meet?” 

“Um, we could do the Highline, there’s food, and it's pretty.” 

“Oh, that’s a great idea let me write it down here. How does September ninth at noon sound to you? A weekday so there are not too many people.” 

Your heart jumped, that’s in two days.

“Uh, sure.” 

“Alright, I will send you a follow-up email regarding our plans all you need to do is confirm. Your match will be notified, and his flight will be booked as soon as we receive confirmation. Do you have any other questions?” 

“No not at the moment.” 

“Ok, don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any concerns. I will see you in a few days.” 

“Bye.” 

You put your phone on your desk and walked out of your room. Your mother was standing a few feet away from your door. When she noticed you, her face lit up.

“So? How was the scent? Are you meeting them?” 

You smiled and nodded “Yup, in two days.” 

She squealed and captured you in a bone-crushing hug.

“I can’t wait! Let’s go tell your father!” She practically ran down the hall. 

You walked to your living room where your otherwise stoic-looking dad was watching TV. 

“Tell us about them, sweetheart.” Your mother said. Your dad turned the volume on the TV down and looked at you expectantly.

“Well, I don’t know much but, I know he’s not American and that he might be shy…He smells good.” 

“That’s important, I hope you wouldn’t pick someone who smells like shit.” Your dad chimed in. 

“He’s also military, and an Apex.” You added quickly. 

Your mother gasped quietly, and your father raised his eyebrows.

“Now that’s intriguing.” Your mom said smiling.

“You already booked a meeting with him?” Your dad asked. You nodded. 

“You should’ve asked me first.” He pinched his nose bridge in annoyance. 

“Well, he’s my match and I wanted to meet him.”

“Apex Alphas are dangerous. I would know.”

“Oh, please honey it’ll be fine.” Your mother ridiculed him.

“It’s my choice, Dad. You guys are the ones who signed up, I finally got a match, so I want to see it through. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll call it off.”

Your father growled lowly. “Fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your mother insisted to dress you in a cutesy outfit, so you let her have her moment. She dressed you in a dark floral dress that hugged your curves just right. She added dainty jewelry along with your protective collar. You didn’t usually wear it but again, she insisted. She did your hair half up half down. Your dad was waiting by the front door with your mom’s purse in hand. 

The train ride there was silent, your mother looked utterly content while your father was peeved about this whole situation. You arrived at the station and walked to the Highline. You got a text from Kara telling you what she looked like and where she was. She was wearing a dark blue pencil skirt and a white blouse. She stood up as you and your family approached. You stuck your hand out to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you guys, come sit.” She said motioning to the bench she was on. 

Your father stayed standing while you and your mother took a seat next to her. 

“So, there are some things I want to go over with you all and then I’ll talk to you privately and do the official meeting ok?”

“He’s here?” You said in an almost panicked tone.

Kara chuckled. “He is here but I left him to wait somewhere out of sight for now.”

She continued. “His name is König, he was born in Austria. When we did his psyche and personality evaluations, we found that he has neurodivergent tendencies, like you. Our matches with people that have a similar way of communicating have gone well.”

“Wait, neurodivergent?” Your mom chimed in. 

“Yes, your daughter did show signs of some behavioral abnormalities, but she is high functioning.”

“I told you that Mom.” You say giving her a deadpan look. Your mother looked down and gave a small ‘hmm’. Kara continued. 

“He does struggle with social anxiety so please be patient with him. Other than that, he currently lives in Amsterdam, if you choose to go forward that is where you will live.”

Your dad finally spoke “Is Amsterdam safe for people like us?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh yes, Amsterdam has many people from different places and backgrounds. It is one of the most popular immigration and tourist countries, don’t worry.”

“Alright, how about you come with me, and we’ll get your meeting started.”

Kara led you away, you turned and did a small wave to your parents your mom smiled back at you warmly. 

“So, I will be in contact with you the whole time. If you want to go just say the word, I am never going to be more than a couple minutes away. Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have any issues with him.” 

She led you to a restaurant below the high line, it had indoor and outdoor seating. There were a lot of people laughing and drinking. Your heartbeat sped up as you scanned the crowd. The scent of food entered your nose. Everyone’s scent in the dining area mixed into an indescribable concoction. Among the borderline overwhelming smells, you got a hint of something familiar, espresso. 

You scanned the large room trying to pinpoint where it was coming from or if you were just imagining it. I dark figure near the corner of the room caught your eye. He looked way too large for the chair he was sitting in. He was looking down at his hands, dirty blonde hair covered his forehead. He was wearing a black cloth mask along with a form-fitting black shirt. As soon as you walked in he raised his head. You looked away pretending you weren't staring at him. Kara led you straight to his table.

“This is König.” She gestured to him. 

He stood up to shake your hand still keeping himself hunched at the waist to appear smaller. You shook his hand and smiled as you introduced yourself. He nodded and said a small 'hmm' to acknowledge you. 

“Alright, I'll be near. Have fun.” Kara left swiftly.

You sat down in the chair across from him as he did the same. A wave of anxiety came as you did, not knowing how to break the ice with him. You picked up the menu and scanned it.

“Did you order yet?” You ask.

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“Well thank you, what looks good?” 

“The Steak frites look pretty good.” He glued his menu.

“I'm excited for dessert, they have chocolate cheesecake.”

He chuckled and it made your stomach flip.

“You like sweets?” He asked.

“Very much.” You smile at him. 

The waitress came over and asked if you wanted any drinks. König looked at you, waiting for you to order first. 

“I'll try the elderberry gin and tonic.” You said.

 Konig was about to order when the table next to us erupted in loud laughter. He jumped slightly before answering the waitress. 

“I'll get the house Lager.” He said. 

The waitress left to grab the drinks. The adjacent table was still very loud. The group of friends hollering and screaming obviously day drunk. Konig had his head slightly turned away from them in an attempt to lessen the noise. It was subtle but you could tell. You reached into your bag and brought out a pair of foldable headphones. You turned on the noise cancellation and gave them to him. He looked slightly confused. 

“Put them on.” You encourage him. 

When he did the noise muffled and the restaurant was much quieter. You could see the tension in his shoulders ease by the second. His scent sweetened

“Is that better? Can you hear me ok?” 

König swears he could've kissed you right then and there, but he settles on a nod. 

“Thank you, Leibe.” 

“No problem.”

The waitress came by with the drinks and asked if the two of you are ready to order entrees. You ordered the fish and König ordered the Steak. While you waited, you two had a pleasant small talk about his flight and how he is enjoying his visit. He hesitated to take off his mask at first so you focused on your menu to give him the space to be comfortable with you. You glanced up and took in his face. He was beautiful, he had scars on his face that added ruggedness to his chiseled features. König noticed your scent amplify as you gazed at him. His inner alpha pushed him to be closer, to know more about you.

“So, you're in the military?” 

He nods. “I work for a military contractor. Do you work?”

“Sort of, I'm an author so I work from home.”

“That is nice, are you published?” König was secretly very happy he'd get to have you at home all day. 

“Yes, I am. I'm working on my sequel right now. Do you like to read? Or, do you read in German?” 

He chuckled. “I have not had much time to read lately, but I will now.”

“Well, you have to buy my book of course.” You giggled. 

König nearly fell off his chair at the sound. This Omega was everything he wanted. He prayed to whatever god was up there that you felt something with him. By the time the food came you both fell into a comfortable rhythm. He asked about your childhood and hobbies. It was a change of pace, most Alphas are very self-centered, but he is putting effort into getting to know you. The food came out and you both ate. He offered bites of his food for you to try which you happily returned the favor. By the time you finished your food, you hadn't noticed how much time has gone by. Kara texted you to check-in. 

'Hey, so I saw things were going well so I let you guys talk for an hour and a half but, your parents are getting antsy. Are you guys ready to see your parents?' 

“Oh, Kara is asking if we're ready to see my parents.” 

König fiddled with his fork. “I'm ready.” 

He paid the bill and you both left the restaurant. You took in the full size of the Alpha you matched with. He was no less than a giant. He held the door for you but stopped before he walked through. 

“I forgot something, I'll be back.” He walked back into the restaurant. 

Kara walked up to you. “How did it go?” 

“I...really like him...”

“I know, that feeling is scary. I think you guys are a wonderful match.”

König came out holding a small to-go box. He handed it to you, you could tell he was smiling under his mask. 

“What's this?”

Inside the box was a slice of chocolate cheesecake and a fork.

“We forgot to order dessert.” 

You were stunned, you didn't think there could be Alphas that were so thoughtful. Your inner Omega soared, this Alpha was courting you so well. 

“Thank you, König, that's really sweet.” 

“Ah, here they are.” Kara said. 

Your parents walked up to the three of you. Your mother had a surprised but happy look on her face. Your father kept his deadpan face from earlier, not a good sign. 

“Wow, sweetheart you caught a big one!” Your mom chuckled. 

“Parents, this is König.” Kara said. 

Your mother introduced herself and your father as he stood there sizing up the taller Apex. 

“Alright, let's keep things brief parents do you have any questions for König?”

“Well, as long as she likes him I don't.” Your mother said. 

“Can you protect her?” Your dad asked putting some venom behind his words. 

“I would never let anything happen to her sir. You have my word.” König answered without hesitation. 

Your dad nodded and looked at you. “You like him?”

“...Yeah I do.” 

“Alright then, that's all that matters.” 

“Well, I think it's safe to say that the match is made. I will contact you for the next steps. Parents, let's let them say goodbye.” Kara led your parents away.

You turned to König. “Thank you for meeting with me, I had a really good time.” You saw a faint blush at the top of his mask. 

“I also had a good time, liebe.” 

“What does that mean?”

“Ah...it means love.” 

“Oh well...” You motioned for him to come bend down close to you.

When he got close enough you pecked his cheek. 

“I'll see you soon, love.” 

#konig x reader #konig x you #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig fluff #omegaverse #omega reader #alpha konig #cod mwii fanfic #cod mwii #a/b/o fic #tw a/b/o #call of duty #call of duty fic #call of duty mwii #call of duty fanfic #könig #könig x y/n #könig x reader #könig call of duty #könig modern warfare #könig fanfiction

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Trust (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Summary: You and Ghost have been captured for questioning. Loyal to a fault, you'll do anything to avoid seeing his face before he's ready to show you.

AN: I'm not immune to military propaganda. Nor am I immune to the babygirlification. In a slump writing wise so I gave this a go. I might try one with Soap next but no promises since it'll probably end up on the never-ending pile of unfinished fics.

Content warnings: Descriptions of torture, injuries as a result of torture, moments of vulnerability (aka 141 care for each other).

Reader uses they/them pronouns and is part of 141. Fic can be read as platonic or romantic.

Masterlist // AO3

A palm smacked across your cheek; the sting brought you back to consciousness. Screwing your eyes up, you tried to settle them in your skull so that you could take in your surroundings. Your hands and legs tied to a chair was what you noticed first. A fold-out table was a few feet out of reach in front of you.

Then, beyond that, a sliver of light in the roof – a hole, not a light bulb – dropped onto a body, bound like yourself and twenty feet away. The carved mask hiding the face was illuminated.

Your body wrenched against your restraints, “Hey!”

Another slap silenced you. You looked up at the offender you had somehow looked over. A lackey. No one you recognised from any intel or manilla folder or briefing, so you surveyed their appearance for just how much this soldier was trusted with.

Single gun on one hip.

KA-BAR on the other.

Kevlar vest that was more slack on the right shoulder.

More weapons that you had, now that your arsenal had been torn from you.

With the clanging of metal, a rectangle of light broke into the room. Room felt like the wrong word. This was too empty, echoey to be a mere room. A silhouette appeared in that light then vanished as the door closed behind them. Footsteps, slow and steady, approaching you, and the lackey left your side.

Ronin Foster bent at the waist to meet your unwilling gaze. He looked almost identical to the photo you’d been given in your briefing about him. One difference was clear: the burn mark running parallel to the left side of his chin. You couldn’t fathom where or how he’d gotten that injury, nor did you have a lot of time to look at it before Foster turned silently and unrolled a sleeve of weapons onto the table.

You caught Ghost’s eyes, the whites stark against the shadows and black paint. He didn’t avoid your gaze. He held it, and even when Foster stepped in the way, you felt that conflicted comfort you had grown to know in the presence of your Lieutenant and his masks.

The rest of the 141 were possibly being held elsewhere. Or they could’ve made it out. But it would take days to reconvene and organise a rescue mission.

This was your new home.

Your training did not desert you as your captor removed his gloves, tugging at the fingers to free them. One reached behind him and withdrew from his belt a gun.

Following the arc of his arm’s swing, his body wrenched around. A slash of agony struck your forehead against the butt of his gun. Your ears rung around the hollow of your skull like the bells of Notre Dame. The room wobbled as you righted your head. You couldn’t make out the details in Ghost’s mask anymore, not as Foster pulled off the skull plate and tossed it aside. Its clattering on the ground punctuated the air. Your gaze wavered against the dizzying disorientation as Ghost writhed to get away. But Foster was still unrolling the balaclava off his face. The second you saw a hint of Ghost’s chin, your eyes snapped shut.

Boots strode across the concrete. Suddenly your chin was grabbed up, no doubt facing your captor. Ghost’s gruff grunts boomed across the gap between you as he struggled against his restraints – that’s what you presumed, your eyes still closed.

But Foster was ignoring that side of the room blatantly, his grip crushing your cheekbones like he could wrench it off and throw it alongside Ghost’s mask. You narrowed your breaths to control yourself. While you couldn’t see, you couldn’t predict what could happen. But your defiance refused to let this awful man dictate when you saw Ghost’s face for the first time.

“Who told you about this place?” Foster asked quietly.

Nothing was heard from Ghost now, besides his breathing. You tried to match yours to his, pressing your lips together, your nostrils flaring against the throbbing pain.

Sharp pain splintered through your big toe, up your right foot. Your body fought the restraints and channelled your masked yelps into the bindings. Slowly, your chest puffed out all the air before sucking some back in.

“You’ve got at least nine more chances to tell me,” and Foster tapped his weapon – presumably the butt of his gun - against the rest of your toes. “Now tell me, how did you find this place?”

Between internal screams, you prayed that Ghost wouldn’t give up, and that his presence would give you the strength to do the same.

-----------------------------------------------

“Gambit, you still with me?”

You let out a hum, since it was all that your throat would allow. A sigh emitted from your Lieutenant. You couldn’t tell if it was relief or remorse. Sure, Ghost cared for you. You were on his team; it was in his job description to give the bare minimum amount of shits about you. However you could only hope that he gave as many as you did him. Or maybe now you hoped he didn’t, so that the mental barrier holding back the intel didn’t break so soon – or at all.

Your eyebrows raised and scrunched to stretch your face, but your eyes remained shut. Ghost hadn’t said a word about his mask being replaced and you doubted that Foster been kind enough to replace it between sessions.

The sound of the door opening reached you again; you could tell by the pattern of the foot fall that it was Foster. So, you cracked a joke in your head, that you were privileged that a terrorist with a notoriously busy schedule had made way for you and Ghost.

The laughter in your head was cut off when a fist yanked at the roots of your hair, forcing you to face the ceiling. Your eyes winced but still did not-

“Open.”

You waited for Foster’s response to your inaction.

A gloved hand suddenly grappled with your jaw, which was as clenched as your eyelids.

“Your mouth. Open it.”

Eventually, Foster managed to get it open long enough to pour something in. You choked on the first splash but began glugging it down once you realised that it was water and that Foster wasn’t pinching your nose. This wasn’t waterboarding. This was survival – extending your torture to reap its potential benefits. Thus you didn’t savour any of it nor save any to spit back in Foster’s face. Your torturer threw your head aside, strain twinging up your neck. A few seconds later, you could hear similar sounds – Ghost’s turn. That other benefit of not having to see whatever Foster was doing to Ghost. Unfortunately, your shoulders could not reach high enough to shield your ears.

A scrape from the table told you Foster had brought back his tools. Last time he was here, he’d tried to use them on Ghost. However since you weren’t opening your eyes, the effect was not as intended. As a reflex, you attempted to dissociate. One might think the injuries and blood loss might make it easier to fade away from your body. But no, the pain grounded you in your body. So it only made things worse when you found your jaw getting wrenched at again.

“Let them go!” boomed Ghost, causing your heart to ripple against your ribs. Him showing an ounce of care scared you more than Foster did. It meant something worse than before was coming and you were both getting close to breaking.

A bang shattered against your ear drums; the darkness before your eyelids grew a tad bit brighter. Your neck was sharply encircled by Foster’s arm, and your chin struggled against the crook of his elbow. Airway trapped, you were immobilised and drowning on dry land. The grip on you tightened, squeezing your eyes out of their sockets but still you held strong. If this was the last thing you did, you would not betray your friend.

The shouting began, all blended together, overwhelming your fractured mind. It grew and grew into a crescendo of bellows that shrilled with its urgency. Your mind bubbled at the edges a

Then it stopped. A snap. Foster’s weight dropped onto you. Something metal clattered onto the floor. Wet dribbled down your neck.

Thunderous absence of noise surrounded you, your weak attempts to suck in a deep breath barely a prickle in it. You hunched under Foster’s weight. There was no energy left to make a pitiful attempt to dissuade him. You were so encompassed by it that you failed to notice the approaching footsteps right up until you felt the air punctuated into your cheek by this new person’s presence.

A hand wiped at your forehead, lifting gently as it went.

“Gambit, you with me?”

You let out a sigh crossed with a laugh, “Gaz?”

Gaz replied with a chuff of relief, “Let’s get you home.”

The weight on your shoulders was yanked aside; your wrists felt an inch of relief as the plastic bindings were severed. There was din all around again: radio chatter, mumbled remarks about the location, and echoes around the concrete.

You tried raising your head to see “Ghost?”

“I’m here,” and his voice was oh so close now, “I’m here. You’re ok.”

Then you felt the binds on your wrists slacken completely. Your body tipped forwards and your head knocked into someone else’s.

“Gotcha.”

Ghost’s.

“You can open your eyes.”

Your grimy, sweat-stained skin rubbed harshly against his as he instructed you to open your eyes. Your whimper could not be contained as you shook your head:

“No. I don’t want to.”

“You need to open your eyes, Gambit.”

“Your face,” Your arm wavered, preventing you from emphasising your point, “I can’t.” And your body slouched further into him. True darkness took over the edges of your eyelids. The last thing you recalled was being caught by three hands and someone saying your name – not your callsign, but your name.

-----------------------------------------------

Your feet were in bandages, bones reset, though amputation was not out of the questions just yet. Turns out three days with sprains, breaks, and no toenails were not beneficial to you. It was a good thing that you had been carried to the helicopter and not made to walk

Stiff with lack of use, you deduced, and you didn’t try to wiggle them as you opened up your eyes. The bulbs above your bed burnt your sight; you winced away from them. Curtains surrounded your bed. They protected you from the shame you might’ve felt had anyone seen the state you were in. With a sigh, you willed yourself to sink into the mattress a little deeper and return to slumber.

However a set of approaching footsteps caught your ears. Then a gloved hand peeled back one of the curtains to reveal Ghost, his other arm still in a sling that was stark white against his normal gear and the basic black balaclava that was back where it belonged.

“Gambit,” he said, hesitating in the gap between the curtains before drawing them.

You went to say his alias, but you were halted by a sudden coughing fit. Your throat had decided now was a good time to curl up into sandpaper. At your side, Ghost held the cup to your lips. Your weak hands tried to take over holding it; Ghost’s firm ones curled around yours steady. His gloves were worn and rough like the calloused skin beneath, warm against your feeble fingers.

Once the coughing fit had abated, Ghost sat back in the chair adjacent to your bed whilst not quite making eye contact with you. Normally, he had no issues staring you down. Perhaps he had been worried about you.

Sniffing behind his mask, Ghost said, “You did good not giving up that intel.”

A compliment. He must have been really worried about you.

“As did you, sir.”

His eyes wavered towards the passing clogs beneath the dividing curtain as a medic passed by your section. Remaining rigid, he adjusted the inside of his hoodie pocket before speaking again.

“You should’ve opened your eyes. It might’ve helped you with Foster.”

“He’d’ve seen how I reacted to you. Gauged better how to get us to give up.”

How to get me to give up, you thought.

You continued quickly, “It’s better that he just had you. You’re better at controlling yourself than me.”

Ghost was silent for a while, and you were too. It was only a tad uncomfortable; you chalked it up to your injuries, your elbows being the only thing that really felt relief in this hospital bed. Perhaps that was what compelled you to explain him your reasoning further.

“I didn’t want to see you if you didn’t want me to.”

“You’ve seen my face before.”

“Hardly.” That was true for the most part. All you’d allowed yourself to see was one hell of a chin when Ghost lifted his mask up to eat or drink something in a mess hall. You concluded, “Showing your face is your call, Ghost. Not Foster’s or mine or anyone’s.”

His shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. Then Ghost grabbed the neck and peeled his mask up in one smooth motion, his chin on his chest. A shock of dirty blond hair – an inch of it pure white at the roots – was flattened against his scalp, until Ghost’s fingers combed through it twice. It matched his dainty eyelashes.

He looked back up at last. Your sight was stuck mainly on his eyes, still surrounded by their superhero mask painted onto his skin where the holes in his mask had been. Then you started making concentric circles around his face. Scars cut from the corners of his lips through his cheeks. Little ones dotted about his prominent nose, eyebrows, forehead, lips. A few bruises highlighted where Foster had gotten him.

You realised that you were staring with your lips parted and eyes wide so that you could commit his face to memory. But you couldn’t help yourself either.  

In short, your suspicions were confirmed: he was goddamn gorgeous.

He was just about to hide it away again, his matching skeleton gloves going to pull down his balaclava when you sat up quickly.

“Wait.”

Stilling, Ghost waited for you to speak again.

Your outstretched hand closed into a loose fist, “Just… Can I touch you?”

His reply was staggered with a blink, “Yes.” And he leant forwards with his elbows on his knees.

It struck you then why he was so unlike himself: he wasn’t here as Ghost.

The backs of your knuckles clumsily made contact with his right cheek, dragging down his jaw. Simon closed his eyes. His head tilted a fraction against your touch. Tears sprung free and tracked down your cheeks, contradicted by your smile that was brimming with the delight of being trusted.

“You’re right,” Simon mused when he opened his eyes, “Good thing you kept your eyes closed.”

“Yeah,” You sniffled. “But at least now I can tell Soap you’re not ugly.”

Scoffing, Simon tugged his balaclava back over his face and adjusted it to fit properly, “Fuckin’ hell.”

“How wrong he was,” you almost giggled with glee.

Even as the laughter ceased, your smile remained. And you could tell by the small crinkles at his eyes that Simon was too.

-----------------------------------------------

AN: In my head, Ghost has Marie Antoinette syndrome, but before he had sandy blond hair.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x you #cod mwii fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mwii #cod mwii x reader #r: gn #wc: >2.5k #my writing

[floral-force]

hey babes!!! I loved that one of Simon and the meet cute, it had me melting 🥹♥️ I was wondering if I could perhaps request a Simon Riley x reader where the reader is part of the 141, but before working with them, she was apart of a special ops group that focused on stuff like infiltration/sabotage, and she’s almost like a black widow sort of character? seduces her targets and takes them out when they’re alone? she’s usually a ray of sunshine with the group, but Laswell presents the mission and everyone’s like “????” and the reader’s like “fine, I guess we’ll do this again” and she’s just COMPLETELY different once she infiltrates??? it gives the whole crew whiplash, but I’m particularly interested in how Simon would react!!! I hope this isn’t too much!!! thanks for always blessing us with your amazing work, and I hope you have an amazing day!!! ♥️

thank you for loving the meet-cute!! this request was fun to fill. I took some artistic liberties and this one really ran away from me...I hope you enjoy this!

(requests are open! search the tags #prompt requests or #prompts and send me an ask!)

Honeypot

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (code name "Honey")

summary: You’re Task Force 141’s newest operator, and everyone knows you as bubbly and sweet, earning you the code name Honey. How will the team react—especially Ghost, your stoic but sultry lieutenant—when a mission requires your espionage expertise?

words: 2.9k

warnings/tags: my blog is 18+ only. innuendo, canon-typical violence (fist fighting, gun mentions), bamf reader, task force 141 being buffoons, protective and jealous simon “ghost” riley, competency and size kinks if you squint, reader has a code name and uses she/her but no other descriptors

read on ao3 | masterlist

“The coup in Luxembourg is out of our usual bounds,” Laswell said, “but a covert agent working under the deposed Grand Duke has requested our aid.”

“They’ve been an ally to us in the past,” Price added, looping his thumbs under his tac vest, “so I expect you lot to execute this mission with as much precision and urgency as you would any other.”

“Country’s smaller than Scotland, innit?” Soap asked. “How the hell are we s’pposed to be discreet?”

“That’s where you come in, Honey,” Laswell crossed her arms and gave you a pointed look. “You remember your mission in Morocco?”

You smirked. “Is the sky blue?”

She gave you a small chuckle. “We need your expertise.”

“Fine.” You gave a dramatic sigh. “I guess we’ll do this again.”

“”M sorry,” Gaz interrupted with a scoff. “Do what, exactly?”

You turned to look at where he sat across the table from you next to an equally confused Soap. Ghost was twisted in his chair to look at where you sat behind him. 

You raised an eyebrow, your eyes flicked between Price and Laswell. “They don’t know what I did in the States?” 

“No,” Price muttered with a hint of embarrassment. He cleared his throat and shrugged like a tired parent as he said, “I suppose it never came up.”

Gaz gave an exasperated sigh, his impatience getting the better of him. “Well, go on then!” He urged. 

“I was a contracted espionage agent for the Department of Defense, and—”

“The Yanks used contracted agents?”

You rolled your eyes at the interruption. “Yes, Soap. Now, as I was saying,” you continued, shooting the Scotsman a playful glare, “I was hired for infiltration ops. Ones that required a certain…je ne sais quoi, a more feminine touch you lads wouldn’t be capable of.” 

When they all stared at your smiling face with blank expressions for a few moments—even Ghost’s eyes were narrowed with confusion—you jerked your head forward and waved your hands. “Guys, I seduced the targets.”

The confused silence persisted, and you looked around, giggling at each of the guys’ reactions, looking at Ghost last. His gaze pierced you the most, his brown eyes never leaving yours. Your teasing giggles faded, and you severed the eye contact with a roll of your eyes. You looked at Laswell again and crossed your arms, bored of the topic. 

“Now that that’s settled, can we please finish this briefing?” you implored. “I have to make sure I have a dress that’s fitting for a date with a dictator.”

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?”

“For the hundredth time—” you swung a heeled foot on a worn curb with a huff and hiked up the fabric of your dress—“yes, LT, I’ll be fine.” You adjusted the holster on your thigh and smirked at Ghost’s silence. “See something you like?”

There was a pause, and you looked up to see Ghost quickly look away at the street. Guilty.

You knew he felt some sort of way about you; whether it was good or bad was still unclear. One thing was for damn sure: Ghost had his sights set on you. You’d felt his skeletal stare linger on you ever since the briefing a week ago, and he wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was at stealing looks when you were at the range or sparring.  Anyone else might feel like his prey—trapped by hungry eyes and cornered by a hulking frame—but you were so used to being the predator that you didn’t let it get to you. It was a little…fun.

Sure, he gave you butterflies, but that was because you’d never dealt with seducing men like him—at least, that’s what you told yourself after thinking about him with your hand between your thighs.

For now, you’d innocently tease and poke and prod the masked man with Soap and Gaz’s support. For now, you’d holster your loaded M9 and leave your leg exposed in yellow lamplight as you made sure your clutch had everything you needed. For now, you’d pretend that you weren’t thinking about him trailing his hand up from your ankle to the holster and grabbing the meat of your thigh.  

“We’ll be able to hear everything through your earpiece. Soap and I will have eyes on you in the palace, but stay near windows,” Ghost said, interrupting your thoughts. “Gaz’ll be on the roof.”

You swung your leg back down, wobbling. Ghost clutched your forearm, and you gripped his, fingernails scratching the fabric of his sleeve and digging into it for stability. His large hand snaked up to hold your bicep right above your bent elbow, your ears heating up when you met his eyes and saw something akin to lust in them.

His grip lingered even after you were steady on your feet again, only letting go when you gave him a flustered smile. You busied yourself with smoothing out the full skirt of your dress and adjusting the discreet monitor in your right ear. 

“All you have to do is get ‘im to the roof. The lads ‘n I will take it from there, as planned.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “If anythin’ goes wrong, jus’ get yourself out alive, Honey.”

“Got it.” You adjusted your necklace, and sheepishly asked, “Is it centered?”

You could smell sweat and sandalwood when Ghost stepped closer, his broad armored chest just inches away from your body. His large, gloved fingers graced over your skin and hands, delicately centering the elegant piece with tactical precision. 

Brown eyes looked you up and down. “Looks good, Honey.” 

Ghost stepped back and his hands fell, one curling around his radio and the other limp on the rifle slung across his body. You burned underneath your dress.

After testing the comms and getting location reports, you gave Ghost a thumbs up and started walking to the palace down the street, rolling your shoulders back and taking a few deep breaths. You could feel his brown eyes burning a hole through you the entire time, so you made sure to sway your hips a bit more than you usually did while seductively strutting somewhere.

It hadn’t taken her long to reach the third floor and approach the tall paned window with the target, just as she’d been instructed to do in their final briefing. Watching Honey expertly navigate the gala and get the target attached to her side faster than the speed of light stirred something within Ghost. Whether it was admiration for her skill or arousal was unclear. Either way, he’d be lying if he said she didn’t look ravishing in her dress. He tilted his head and greedily peered through the scope one last time before tearing his eyes away and adjusting his position on the grassy hill.

Honey was as lethal as she was sweet, and if her saccharine smile didn’t instantly ensnare her target, her sugary tongue would. Instead of doling out compliments, she accepted them and kicked innuendos back; instead of making cringy puns and flashing finger guns, she bit her lip and tugged the target’s suit jacket. It was entirely different from who she was around the team on base, and Soap had made sure to emphasize that all bloody night. Even Gaz had chimed in a few times, both men trying to get him to comment. Ghost silently refused, skin flushing under his mask.

Now that she was closing in on the target, things had become even more heated. He looked at her through the scope again and listened. Ghost heard her laugh, the sound bubblier than the champagne in the flute she raised to her pretty lips. She took a sip right as Soap said the punchline of a joke, her shoulders rising and falling sporadically with a daintily covered cough. 

“Watch it, you twat, you made her choke,” Ghost snapped.

“Sorry, lass, sorry!” Soap crackled over the comms. There was a rustle. “In my final position. Eyes on Honey and the target, LT.”

“Gaz?”

“In my final position, LT, eyes on the extraction point,” Gaz replied, his voice set and sure.

“Captain Price will leave on your command to meet you and Sergeant MacTavish at the rendezvous point, Lieutenant,” Laswell buzzed in his ear. “Gaz, you go with Honey and the target.”

“Affirmative,” Gaz and Ghost responded.

“Affirmative. And, Laswell, you can call me Soap.”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“Aye. Copy that, loud and clear.”

“Shut up, Soap.” Ghost grumbled.

They heard Honey giggle in response to another one of the usurper’s idiotic compliments, and Ghost saw her flirtatiously tap his arm with her knuckles. 

“Y’know, if she heard one of us say tha’ in the pub, we’d never hear th’end of it.”

Gaz hummed in agreement with Soap, and he couldn’t help but shake his head and smirk. Honey laughed again and clearly echoed another awful line the target gave her. Ghost could tell the grin splitting her pretty lips wasn’t genuine—her nose didn’t crinkle like it did when he deadpanned the punchline to a stupid joke or when Soap had called Price “Pa” a few weeks ago.

There was snickering over the comms. Ghost boldly asked, “Honey, take a drink if you meant for us t’hear that shite attempt at flirting.”

Soap cackled when the rim of the champagne flute touched her lips and her throat bobbed with a long sip.

“Well?” Gaz asked expectantly.

“Was a yes, Gaz,” Soap responded.

Ghost saw her eyes flutter closed as she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, and he grumbled; hopefully nobody had heard him. He was itching to move, his finger hovering over the trigger and his jaw clenching each time the target touched her.

“Right, Honey,” Ghost said, focusing the team again and settling himself down. “Once you’re on the roof, I’ll call Price—Gaz, move on my word or Honey’s, or when Price arrives. Soap, get to the rendezvous when I call Price. I’ll watch Honey and the target. Understood?”

Gaz and Soap gave him their affirmatives. Honey nodded, looking out the window and winking.

She looked back at the target and seductively bit her lip. “Do you think we could go somewhere a bit more…private?” Her query was laced with something sticky.

The target gave her his piss-poor attempt at a sultry smile, resting a hand against her neck and disturbing the necklace Ghost had adjusted earlier. 

He’d be lying if it didn’t make him want to shoot the git dead where he stood.

There was a quiet yes, and Honey said, “I’ve always wanted to be kissed under the stars.” She forced a coquettish giggle. “Well, kiss, and…more, if you catch my drift.”

The target leaned in and pressed a kiss on her right cheek, the act on full display to Ghost.

“That can be arranged, my sweet,” the target murmured, his voice tainting their comms and making Ghost roll his eyes. 

When the target abruptly gripped her waist and pushed her against the window, Ghost heard the faint sound of glass breaking and heard Honey force a playful comment about dropping her flute. Now, Honey’s back was to him, one of her hands flat against the window, her fingers splayed out. His clear shot was ruined. Ghost swore and Soap did as well.

“Target moved too far to my right. Can’t get a clear shot. LT?”

“Negative,” Ghost answered. “Honey, make a fist if you need back-up.”

Normally, he would’ve already had someone storming in to help if he wasn’t already, but Price had made it clear that this mission required tact. Ghost was on edge, but he had to trust Honey, even if the sight unfolding in the scope of his rifle made his skin crawl.

Honey clenched her fist.

“Affirmative. Gaz, Soap, hold your positions. Comms are quiet unless absolutely necessary.”

“Affirmative, LT,” the men immediately replied.

“Extraction is ready on your word. Get out of there—alive,” Laswell stressed over comms. 

“Affirmative,” Ghost sighed, his trigger finger ready and aching to move.

“Not here,” Honey mumbled. Her fist remained clenched, the other hand still clutching her tiny bag. 

She squealed in surprise when one of his hands dropped to grab her ass and squeeze. Ghost sharply inhaled, and he heard Soap clear his throat, holding back from asking for a visual on Honey.

“Not here, Johann,” Honey snapped, the sweetness quickly melting off her voice. “I want you, but I want you to touch me on the roof.”

The target’s other hand grabbed the other hidden cheek, fabric bunching up in his grip. “Want you here, you lovely little thing. Roof can come later.”

Honey gave him the tinkling laugh she shared with the team after showing them a video of a puppy or some other baby animal. Sometimes, Ghost smiled under his balaclava when it was thrown his way—but he’d never tell a soul.

This time, the sunny bells were a warning, and if the target didn’t do as she said, Ghost had a feeling he’d regret more than the coup. 

“If you say so.” Her voice was uncharacteristically dark, its hidden sharp edges revealed.

“Gaz, Soap, be ready for my word,” Ghost said as Honey pushed forward, her heel pressing her dress’s hem against the window.

Just as they both responded, a howl pierced the comms, making Ghost wince. The target was doubled over, and Honey was kicking off her heels, sending them flying towards the windows across the hall. She took a lunging step forward over the broken glass and adjusted her body before throwing a punch to the target’s left cheek. He staggered up and took an angry, sloppy swing at her, but she dodged it and kicked her heel into his knee to destabilize him so she could gut-punch him. The target dropped to the floor. Ghost’s mouth went dry, and his cock twitched as she grabbed a fistful of the target’s hair.

“We’re going to the goddamn roof,” Honey gritted out. 

When the target gave her a sly smile, she took a step back and let go before punching him again. The corner of Ghost’s mouth twitched with a smile when he saw the target staring at her with fear. She’d literally punched the smile off his ugly mug.

“On your fucking feet,” she growled, and he obliged. 

Though he stood, he fought her the whole way to the stair entrance, and each time, his resistance was met with another blow to the gut. Ghost hummed in approval. This honeybee had a wicked stinger and wasn’t afraid to use it.

When she disappeared from Ghost’s sight—still swearing and commanding the target up the stairs—he made the call to Price, then barked over comms, “Soap, rendezvous. Gaz, be ready to assist if Honey calls for it—and, Honey, Gaz is ready to help restrain the target.”

“Negative, LT,” he heard her pant. 

He saw her push the target through the door and onto the roof’s hidden balcony. Gaz was crouching down where he hid, his feet ready to run and his gun in his hands.

Ghost heard her sharply exhale and barely tracked her hand fly up to the target’s bicep. Then, he saw the target slump down to his knees and fall face-first to the ground. 

“Is the target alive?” Ghost hissed, impressed but angry. “If you killed him—”

“Affirmative, LT,” she interjected, catching her breath and pulling an orange bag out of her clutch and depositing something in it. “Just a sedative. He’s gonna take a nice nap during the flight home.”

She hummed a random tune—her favorite song, Ghost noticed—as she put the bag back in her clutch. Honey waved at Gaz when he came out of hiding and walked over to her. Ghost saw her nudge the target with a bare foot and proudly put her hands on her hips.

“Bloody hell, Honey!” Gaz exclaimed, shaking his head. “Did Price know?”

“Affirmative,” Price boomed through the comms. 

The helicopter came into view and Ghost stood up with a huff, slinging his rifle back across his body. He could see them helping Honey up onto the hovering ramp, her dress blowing in the wind. He chuckled before turning running into the forest behind him towards the rendezvous point.

“Headed your way, Lieutenant.”

“Affirmative, Captain,” Ghost replied as he came to a halt next to Soap in the clearing. 

“LT!” Soap exclaimed, yanking his earpiece out, mouth agape. “Th’fuck I’d miss?”

“Ask Gaz,” he said simply, earning a groan from Soap.

The chopper thrummed overhead as it descended. They ran towards the ramp as it lowered, Honey’s triumphant face illuminated by the hold’s red light. Ghost climbed in and sat beside her with a grunt. 

Once they were airborne and starting their flight back to base, Gaz described the scene Soap had only heard. Ghost noticed her diamond necklace was askew from her skirmish and hesitantly centered it. She gave him a soft smile and turned her head so her chin grazed over his covered knuckles. The gentle hum she gave him coated him in sticky-sweet syrup. “Honey” certainly was a perfect codename for her, he reckoned, contrasting her innocent sweetness and cutesy smiles with her impressive—and, at times, lethal—infiltration skills. 

Yeah, Ghost was stuck in her treacly trap—and he didn’t plan on escaping.

masterlist

taglist (join here): @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations

#thank you for the request!! #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley fic #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii fanfic #my fic #filled request

[valiira]

his everything ◦✧･ﾟ

◦ tags; simon 'ghost' riley x reader, soft ghost, short and sweet, couple paragraphs, comforting, sfw, caring, heartfelt.

He never says ‘I love you’. Of course he, the Ghost himself, would show it in every other way he possibly could. Making your tea with two sugars in it, cooking your eggs just how you like them. He knows you like the little fork or how you like to sit on his left by the window to soak up the sun. He knows you prefer his black hoodie over is navy blue one. His love language was remembering everything you loved. Ghost didn’t have much in this world except for you and that’s all he ever needed.

Now all he whispered were those 3 little words into the frown of your hair. “I love you…” His raspy voice echoed out. Thick accent barely hiding the hurt behind his words. A previous mission gone bad and now you lay pretty messed up in a hospital bed. The way his voice and fingers trembled gave you the idea that he had feared he had lost you forever.

His hand was ever shaky as he gently grasped your own. And in this moment you soaked up every word he muttered. You don’t know how long you had been out for or what exactly had happened, but you didn’t care in the moment. The only thing that mattered was Simon being there with you. You squeezed his hand weakly, managing a hoarse response.

“I love you, too.”

#vivi writes ♡ #writing #fanfic #cod fanfic #x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mwii fanfic #soft simon riley #comforting fic #i know there's probably a million of these fics but it's just...so cute ugh #i love ghost he's my pookie bear

[isthatafuckinggayangel]

I wanted to continue this thing that I wrote for @cod-dump (hope you don’t mind me tagging you lmao), just kinda expanding upon the concept of Nik being Soap’s father and getting into more of the meat in the idea, so here

~~~

Explaining to Ghost and Gaz everything that had gone on between Nik and Soap, their relationship and all, was exhausting. The number of questions they had took forever to get through and made Soap think a little too hard about what why his mother had caused this.

At the same time though, it made him realize he needed to call her to get all the information straightened out here. He needed to know why she did it. Why she separated him from his father.

So, a few days after he had gotten everything sorted with Nik and the team was on the same page with everything, he made the call. He had both Ghost and Nik sit in on the call with him, he couldn’t get himself to do it without some support and he needed to have Nik there to make sure any lies didn’t slip passed him. The trio were sat around the dining table in the common room, Nik and Ghost on either side of Soap. He pressed the call button and made sure it was on speaker, holding it in his left hand still.

“Tha e math cluinntinn bhuat a-rithist, John. It’s been too long since ye called!” She answered the phone with.

“Sorry ‘bout that. It’s been quite busy out here, so I haven’t had the chance.” Soap rested his forehead in his palm and Ghost ran his hand along his upper back in a soothing motion.

“Is there somethin’ goin’ on, a chuilein? Ye sound a bit upset.”

“Yeah, um, I’ve been thinking a lot and had a few questions fer you, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, it is! Ask away.”

He took a deep breath then went for it. “Why did you tell me my da abandoned me?”

There was silence on the other end. The seconds stretched for what felt like forever.

“Well, that’s because he did. He made it very clear to me that he didn’t want to speak to any of us, and as much as it pained me, I knew we had to respect his wishes.”

Soap saw Nik’s fist clench out of the corner of his eye and looked up, seeing an expression of barely concealed rage. Soap set his phone on the table, reaching over and grabbing his father’s hand to try to help calm him.

“Ma, do you remember what he does for work?”

“…What do you mean, John?”

“I need you to be honest with me. Why did you lie?”

He was met with more silence.

“I dinnae lie, John.”

“Ma. I’m givin’ ya one more chance to be honest. I need you to take it.”

“I don’t understand, I’ve been honest-“

He let out a sigh before laying it all out. “I met him again, Ma. Ye seem tae have forgotten what he does fer work. We work together now. I read his journal, ma. I know what you told ‘im. I know you lied to both of us. So why? I just wanna know why you did it.”

“It’s a very complicated situation-“

“Bullshit. I know a complicated situation when I see one, and this is not one.”

“John-“

“Не лги нашему сыну, Elspet.” Nik growled. He’d clearly had enough of her avoiding the question she’d been asked.

“Nikolai, I-“

“You will answer the question the boy asked. You will not disrespect him or diminish his intelligence by acting as though you do not understand what he is talking about.”

They were once again met with silence. Ghost moved closer to Johnny, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and holding him against his side.

“I was tired. Your father’s job took a toll on me, on our family, and I couldn’t handle it anymore. The entire time you were away from me, every summer, I was so scared his job would follow him home and I wouldn’t know because you were so far away. I needed to have you close to make sure you were okay. That you were safe. I couldn’t think of anything else to be able to do it.” She paused. “Look at where that’s gotten us now. You enlisted for the same damn job and now ye work together. Guess it couldn’t truly be avoided.”

Soap was seething. While he understood being afraid for your child’s safety, he couldn’t get passed the manipulation. The lies. The fact that she didn’t just explain that that was the problem. He could have kept up with phone calls, letters, something so he wouldn’t lose his father. And yet, this was the decision she had made.

Nik squeezed his hand and Ghost hugged him a bit tighter.

“John?”

A deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m gonna need some time to process all that. I’ll call you again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, John.”

“Love ye too, ma.” He hung up the phone and rested his head against the table. “Christ, that sucked.”

“Are you alright, love?” Ghost asked.

“I’ll be alright eventually. Just gonna need some time.” He picked his head back up and looked over at Nik. “You alright? Cannae exactly be easy for you to hear either.”

He gave a light nod. “I’ll be okay eventually, малыш. It will take time, as you said, but it will be fine.” He squeezed Soap’s hand again and Soap did the same back. “У нас все будет хорошо.”

~~~

Translations

Tha e math cluinntinn bhuat a-rithist, Johnny. -> It’s lovely to hear from you again, Johnny.

A chuilein -> my lad

Не лги нашему сыну -> Don’t lie to our son

Малыш -> little one

У нас все будет хорошо -> We will be okay

Apologies for any incorrect translations, the Gaelic is done with google translate and the Russian is a different translation app, so chances are there’s something wrong with it. Let me know if you have any corrections on it!

#the initial direction I was going with the argument and reasoning for the lie felt a bit too much like I was villainizing her #and I very much didn’t want that #I think I landed at a decent point with this take #idk I didn’t want anyone to feel like an actual villain or be too bad because I don’t think it would feel quite as real #but also none of this is realistic at all lmao #idk if I’ll continue this further but I’m enjoying what I’m quickly throwing out there #anyway #cod mwii #cod mwii fanfic #soap mactavish #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #but like as a background thing #Nik is Soap’s dad #once again wrote this in like an hour lmao #also sorry to every Scottish person ever for that accent writing LMAO #I’m sure it’s actually terrible

[brewed-pangolin]

The Midas Touch

Gif credit to @collinnmckinley

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

This little fic is an extension of a Soap headcanon I did recently about Soap being sensitive to touch. Never judge a book by its cover. And if you ever want to get into Johnny's, it's easy. Touch him.

Warnings: Just a little bit of angst amongst an absolute heep of fluff. And ALL the feels!

Word Count 2.8k

--

If there were a more eloquent word to describe the afternoon before you, it was in a foreign tongue. Nestled into the cushions of your couch and surrounded by pillows and blankets, it was nothing short of blissful perfection. 

The soft ticking of the clock in the foreground like a rhythmic heartbeat of the day, accompanied by the echoing calls of birds outside your window, it combined into a soothing scene of comfort and tranquility. Even the dull sounds of the television seemed to add an extra layer of soft buffering to the world around you. 

It was all in the background as your focus was on the book in your hands; a twisted tale of romance and espionage that pulled at your heartstrings and made your body ache for more. Lost within the lines of dialogue your mind pushed out nearly all distractions as your mind flooded with imagery the endless words created. All except one.

That one distraction was him. Johnny. Soap. To be more specific it was his breathing. The longer you listened the more distinctive it became. Every inhale was labored. Every exhale drawn out to its last molecule, expelling whatever burrowing demon he had brought back from his last mission. He had barely said a word since coming home overnight, and even as he sat motionless next to you, his body language spoke volumes. 

Without taking your eyes off the pages, your hand instinctually traveled to the back of his neck, the sudden connection causing a hitch in his breath. Cupping your hand into the crook of his neck, your fingers danced across his flesh as he pulled his head back, begging for more connection. Your eyes withdrew from the pages and turned towards him as the tips of your fingers felt the tension beneath them almost immediately. 

“Jesus, Soap. You’re stiff as a board.” Your abundantly honest quip hit a silent nerve within him. 

“Aye. Sorry, hen. Jus’ tired. Las’ one did me in, yeah.”

Soap’s voice was quiet, somber, and riddled with silent regret wrapped within his usual jovial disposition. He slowly turned his head to face you. His distinctive bright blue eyes were dim, faded with a grayish hue encroaching from the softened edges. And you could see within the visible lines of his face he was broken. 

This had become your routine. Soap would leave you on a mission whole and come back in fragmented mental pieces of a Johnny you almost didn’t recognize. Some more so than others. This time was no different. He could never tell you the details of his deployments, and you preferred it that way. The less you knew the better, you had told him over and over again. You were his lover, and you knew your obligation to him through and through. Solace.

Softly you caressed the hairline on the back of his skull with your thumb, while simultaneously adding more pressure to the fingers along the length of his neck. A light squeeze to his flesh was all it took for a soft moan to escape his lips. 

His eyelids fluttered closed as he melded into the cusp of your hand, and with every breath you began to feel his muscles loosen beneath your delicate touch. There was progress here, but more needed to be done. 

Through years of deployments and countless trial and error endeavors, you had found the sequential breakthrough to get to Johnny within the reinforced walls that was ‘Soap in the field’. It took time, patience, and the delicate workings of your skilled hands to untether him from within the tight bindings of his tormented mind. 

Like the intricate workings of a corset, you began with the silken thread tied at the base of his skull; light pressure of your fingertips descending into the crook of his neck, a soft ripple of release flowed within their wake as your hands traversed their way up along the same path. The perpetual ebb and flow permeated beneath his taut skin and within a matter of moments the barriers of Soap began to crumble, and within their darkened crevices the bright light of Johnny slowly began to bleed through.

“Fuckin hell, bonnie.” His weathered voice was barely above a whisper.

“C’mon Soap. You know the drill.”

At the trailing of your words you released him from your soothing embrace, moving to face him within the corner of the couch and relaxing into an Indian sitting position. A whispered moan escaped his lips at the sudden detachment of your fingers, the soft sound reverberated within your chest and lit the fiery need to give him the relief he so desperately craved. Placing one of the many pillows that surrounded you into the gap between your legs you gave it a light tap before beckoning him to lay and relax beneath you. 

“C’mon now. Get comfy.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

There it was; your first tendril of Johnny had made its way through the concrete fortress. Those two words were the safety net to bring him back into the light and send Soap into the realm of protected hibernation. As he twisted his tophalf to face away and shuffle back, your hand shot up to quickly halt him in his progression.

“Wait, Soap. Shirt. Take it off.”

“What?” He asked in a baffled tone. 

“Just take your damn shirt off, Soap.” You were breaking from the usual narrative, and Soap was all but lost in your divergent undertaking.

As he turned his head you were met with a perplexed look with a questioning furrowed brow. You reciprocated with a tilt of your head and deliberate ‘go on’ gesture of your hand. Being the good soldier he was he followed your order without question, lifting his shirt over the crest of his head in one fluid motion. 

“What’ya got in mind, hen?”

“The usual, Soap. Just changing it up a bit. Now c’mon.” 

“Okay, okay. Donnae got t’be so bossy, hen.”

“Shut it. And toss me that blanket by your feet.” 

You were blunt, yet held an undertone of tenderness embedded within your words. It was an elegantly choreographed repartee that you used to counteract Soap’s use of humor as a smokescreen. There was a silent tremble in his skin as he passed the blanket and immediately you opened it up, laying it upon him as he shifted back towards you.

As his body descended into the softness of the couch, your hands moved to cradle the curvature of his neck and gracefully guided his head down into the plushness of the pillow. He tilted his chin slightly upward to meet your gaze, his crested head divoting deeper into the fabric of the pillow. And those cerulean orbs flashed a momentary brightness as more of Soap dissipated into the foreground of his mind.

“Hiya, bonnie.” 

“Hey there, Johnny.”

The bindings had come undone. The tight grip of Soap released. He laid before you open and exposed, a vulnerability you had earned and would never take for granted. 

“Close your eyes, Johnny. Just relax for me.” 

As much as you hated to part with his baby blues, you knew he had to close off certain senses to remain open to you. Touch was paramount to Johnny; as important as it was for him to his partner, it was just as influential to his own well-being. 

At the closing of his eyes he shifted himself further into the comfort of the couch, leveling his shoulders onto the length of your calves. Once you felt him begin to relax and deepen into your grasp your fingers gracefully began to outstretch over the circumference of his neck.

“You good, Johnny?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Now, focus on your breathing.”

You watched as his chest rose, he held the breath deep within his lungs before slowly expelling it through his slightly parted lips. It was a cleansing breath, you could feel it within the tips of your fingers as his skin loosened and muscles began to unwind beneath the veil of his flesh. Focusing on where you had left off, you applied light pressure to the back of his skull and in a languid motion moved up and down the curvature of his neck. 

Each pass up mirrored his inhalation. As he held the air within his chest you pressed firmly into his skin, gradually making slow concentric circular movements that melted away the tension beneath your fingertips. At the first sign of his exhalation you released the pressure and gracefully flowed down and followed your previous upward path. 

Like the constant rhythmic motion of the tide you worked out the vice-like grip of his muscles along his upper spine. Each steady pass removing layers upon layers of war-torn cemented sediment, and as the tenseness within him eroded your grip along his skin slowly began to relax.

“That’s it, Johnny. Loosen up for me.” You whispered, the quiet approval eliciting a soft moan from within his chest. 

Johnny’s neck was always the most difficult portion for you to work out. It was the reinforced base to the levee of his psyche. Yet within your skilled workings once there was even the slightest crack within it, he would begin to crumble within the palms of your hands. And just as expected as you chiseled your way through to his inner turbulent sea, the waves of regret and remorse seeped through before ultimately breaking into a deluge of comforting relief.

You read the waves of his release like braille underneath the pads of your fingertips, following within its wake as it traversed down into the curve of his neck before bellowing over the flesh of his broad shoulders. A cascade of goosebumps erupted over his bare skin, the change in tactile texture sending a satisfying surge of triumph coursing through your veins. 

“C’mon, Johnny. Come back to me.” You tried to quell the quiet desperation in your voice as you beckoned him, but it was of no use. 

It was nearly impossible not to react to Johnny’s progressive mitigation. The energy of the room began to shift, the very air itself lifted like a welcoming breeze following a summer rainstorm. 

Fresh. Clean. Rejuvenated.

Yet still held the sparks of electrical charge within its flowing currents of air.

You understood the transition, comprehended its meaning through years of study with him. This was his breakthrough. Figuratively and literally you forced your way into him, bending over as you delved your hands beneath the weight of his shoulders towards the muscular curve of his mid spine. Clenching your fingers your knuckles pressed into his flesh and with measured tenderness followed its path back up towards his shoulders. 

“Fuuckin hell, bonnie” He hissed through clenched teeth, turning his head towards you. His forehead becoming flush with the flesh of your right cheek, the tips of his mohawk caressing the soft skin of the back of your neck. 

You remained in your crouched position, cradling his head within the nook of your shoulder. Words were meaningless to you now. You spoke to him through the intimate connection of your combined skins. Coaxing. Pleading. Liberating.

As the tight coil within him began to unwind, your fists slowly relaxed. Opening and spreading over the curves of his supple flesh. The heat within them radiating, melting, smoothing out the muscular rigidity that densely wrapped around him. You studied him, watched for those tell tale signs to Soap’s restful disintegration. 

Your eyes paid close attention to the movements of his chest. The soft tremble within its descent, the silent quiver wrapped around his audible exhale. And as your focus shifted upward, you recognized the softening lines beginning to flow across his face. Clenched eyelids relaxing, jaw loosening from its tightly hinged junction, and a soft red hue forming within the apple of his cheeks.

This was your cue. The last hurdle towards Johnny’s final threshold.

“Come on, Johnny. Up ya get.” 

You moved quickly to resting on your knees as he reared himself into a sitting position. An audible moan of relief rumbled within him, followed by disdain at the loss of your delicate touch. Moving forward you cradled his shoulders within the realm of your chest, letting his head once more softly connect with yours as your hands traced down his spine to rest within the small of his back. 

As your fingers lightly caressed at the sensitive flesh, he turned his head and began to nudge his forehead into the flat of your temple. His soft lips grazed over the curve of your cheek, warm air quivering down your neck as he gently coaxed you to face him. 

He was searching. Desperately. He craved that final connection; to willingly fall apart within your arms and come undone to the soothing consolation of your welcoming lips.

“Bonnie.”

“I got ya, Johnny. Come back to me.” The tremor in his voice made your heart ache, and you reciprocated it with a loving verbal embrace. 

While his neck and shoulders were his levees that you so exquisitely chiseled away at, your nimble fingers on his lower back were the swinging wrecking ball that would ultimately set him free. And as they worked their final magic within the depths of his flesh, your lips at last touched his for the first time in months. 

“Open your eyes, Johnny.”

Solace. Deliverance within the blaze of a cerulean flame. 

Your hands immediately flew to cup the curves of his jaw, supporting him as his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. The connection of your lips was nothing short of explosive. A supernova of passionate energy flowed between you as your bodies molded together. 

You broke the kiss only to scrutinize his face, validating that your subsequent labor had been accomplished.

The exultant smile that danced across your face was thankfully returned within the brightness of his eyes. Their color unmatched and without explanation in a world of need and understanding. 

“Hiya, Johnny.” 

He didn’t answer immediately, choosing to take in the details of your face as though he hadn’t seen it within a milenia.

“How ya do it, bonnie? How ya get me outta my own head like that?” The tremble in his voice had all but disappeared. He was calm. Confident. Steadfast.  

“You were lost, Johnny. Sometimes you gotta be lost if you wanna be found.” Your quiet response brought a tranquil smile to his face, his eyes continuing to soften as they gazed upon you.

“Aye. And tha’ Midas touch a yers. Donnae think I’ll ever get tired a that.”

You couldn’t restrain the chuckle that left your chest. Never had anyone ever referred to your touch in such a manner.

“Midas touch, eh? How long til I turn you to gold, huh?” You were confident enough in him to begin your usual banter. Soap had all but disappeared into the nether regions of his mind, and your Johnny had returned with full force. 

“Bonnie, in yer hands I’ll turn hard as a diamond.” His playful quip went straight to the core of your lower belly. You knew he needed time, he could be playful in mind but his body required more to regain its usual strength. 

“We’ll test that out later, Johnny. C’mere.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down as you laid back into your cushioned palace. He buried his face into the valley of your chest, and never one to miss an impromptu moment he had to give his approval to the comfort they always granted.  

“Steamin Jesus, bonnie. Even th’finest Glasgowian pillows can’t compare ta this”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

His arms wrapped around you once more, his body relaxing against the radiating heat of your own. Your hands moved to the crested hawk atop his scalp and gracefully began to comb through its thickened mane. A quiet rumble of relaxation bellowed within his chest, signaling the last remnant being expelled from your freeing conquest. 

Effortlessly he closed his eyes and you slowly began to focus on the dull sounds that echoed around you; the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the quiet song of the birds outside, even the soft hum of the television was a welcoming reprieve. They all began to move into the background as your mind tried to recall the book you held in your hands earlier. But you were distracted once more by him. Johnny. Your Johnny. More specifically it was his breathing. Soft. Measured. Peaceful. You decided the book could stay lost for now, you had found your new twisted romance. And it was unlike anything you could find at any bookstore. It was your own.

 

@deadbranch

@sofasoap

@punishmepunisher

@d3athtr4psworld

#the midas touch #super soap sunday #soap squad #soap squad 🧼 #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod mwii #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mwii fanfic #soft soap

[kkvqwrites]

Team Building

The 141 attend a team-building exercise at Price's request.

Word Count: 589

Characters (in order of appearance): Johnny "Soap" Mactavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley

A/N: This is short and to-the-point, but I thought the idea was goofy and fun. Low stakes, no angst, just a silly day off for the 141 boys. Hope you enjoy!

The afternoon sun beat down on their heads as the four soldiers met in the parking lot of a strip mall.

"An escape room? Really?" Soap raised an eyebrow. "Are we in the right place?"

"We are - and it's gonna be great," replied the captain. "It's good for morale."

"It's our day off, Cap." Gaz didn't look up from his phone as he spoke. "Morale would be best served by a day at the pool or a pub trip." The captain swiped an exasperated hand down his face.

"Put that bloody phone away - this is exactly why we're doing this. On the battlefield we need to be in the moment and thinking as a unit; this is the perfect exercise to get us there. And besides, Laswell found something called a groupon." He opened the door and ushered the three pouting grown men into the lobby.

_____

"You can't be serious," came Ghost's voice. It was the first time he spoke all afternoon. Behind him, the sergeants echoed his protest.

"You heard me," came the captain's booming voice, drowning out the groans. "No weapons, no cell phones. We figure this out the old-fashioned way." The men reluctantly handed over phones, guns, knives, and one grenade ("You never know!" said Soap). None of the soldiers looked happy about it, but all complied. Gaz and Soap complained the loudest, but Ghost preferred to seethe silently. He found it was better to shut up and get it over with when Price had one of his "fun" ideas.

The setting: a room made to resemble a medieval dungeon that wouldn't be entirely out of place at a child's birthday party.

The objective: brew a potion in an enchanted chalice that will enable the magic mirror to grant a boon. The "boon" being escape from the medieval dungeon and a fun t-shirt. After the teenage employee finished explaining the premise, he locked them in the suffocating room with a rhyming poem of cryptic instructions.

"Right, then," said the captain, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get to it."

_____

The bickering began almost instantly.

"Cap, I think you're overthinking this; there isn't a vial of "moon water" in the cabinet for the spell. I think we need to take the moonlight essence and stir it into the water to make the potion," Gaz reasoned.

"No, no, it specifically says moon water - Soap! Stop mixing random shit together!" The sergeant rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me for thinking outside the box! Won't happen again! 'Course if I had my knife I could pick the lock and get us out of here!"

"That defeats the spirit, Mactavish!"

"Yeah Johnny, the spirit."

"Awa' an bile yer heid, Gaz. Fuckin' suckup."

"Language!"

"Sorry, sir."

Ghost's eye twitched. There was no clock in this room, but it felt like it had been hours listening to the back-and-forth. He'd made an effort to stay busy trying to find the pieces to the "magic chalice" but his patience was rapidly wearing thin. He looked back at his teammates, three grown men arguing in earnest about which gemstones to add to the potion to enchant the mirror for their next clue, and suddenly an idea struck.

Without thinking, he grabbed the pistol he kept on a calf holster and shot the shitty plastic padlock right off the door.

The room went silent behind him. He turned and saw the stunned gazes of the others, all frozen in the middle of assembling the chalice.

"What?" he asked. "I escaped."

#modern warfare ii #mwii fanfic #captain john price #simon “ghost” riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #task force 141 #task force 141 fanfic #task force 141 headcanons #cod mwii fanfic

[writingwarden]

Between The Second Hand Smoke and The Glass on The Street

John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary- What happened between escaping Las Alma's and Alejandro's safe house.

TW-Canon typical injuries, small amounts of blood, panic attacks, inaccurate medical knowledge

Word Count- 1,590

 [A/N]- Full A/n at the end

Slamming on the gas pedal the truck lurches forward, driving away from the sound of gunshots, from the Shadow Company’s bullets that tried to stop the two soldiers from getting away. Silence filled the cabin for the truck save for the sound of the engine and the occasional grunt of pain as the man in the passenger seat tried to get comfortable. Ghost wanted to ask him questions but there were too many thoughts in his mind. I could have lost him and Why did this happen? were the main two, although the feelings of anger and betrayal hung in the air like a thick fog. He knew he shouldn’t dwell on these thoughts. He should be focusing on getting to one of the colonel’s safe houses and plan their next move. And he definitely knew he shouldn’t dwell on the thought that he could have lost the only person that truly understood him. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by movement beside him. Glancing from the corner of his eyes he sees Soap pull something from his vest, a flask. Soap untwists the cap with his uninjured arm and takes a long swig. 

“Want some, L.T?” Soap holds out the flask to him. 

“Depends on what's in there Johnny.” He knew a small sip wouldn’t affect his ability to function in the slightest. But he was a very picky man when it came to his choice in alcohol. He was like that with every drink, if he was being honest. 

“It’s water actually, ran out of the good shit right before we blew up that oil rig.” he explained, still holding the container out for Ghost to take. Ghost hesitated before grabbing it and taking a sip. If he didn’t know any better he’d swear it was holy water. The liquid brought a small relief to him. He hadn’t even realized just how much he needed the water. He took one last sip and handed the container back to Soap. “Keep an eye on the road.” The cabin descends into silence once again as Soap leans back into his seat and shuts his eyes.

The quiet left Ghost in his thoughts again. The dark road provided no solace, Alejandro’s safe house still hours out, they most likely wouldn’t arrive until right before dawn. Exhaustion leads his thoughts back to their dark place. He had to leave Soap behind. Instincts had led him to take off by himself but not before yelling at Soap to get out of there. He knows Soap could hold his own but those slow ticking minutes between watching him go down the hill and waiting before he heard his voice over the comms were far from the worst but were almost the longest minutes of his life. When he saw Soap approach the church he could’ve collapsed to the ground. But he didn’t because he knew they had to complete the mission. They have to make sure Shepard and his Shadow would pay for this. 

It hit him like a freight train. He could’ve lost the Sergeant. He thought back to the city and the smoke despite the rain. All that blood stained glass that littered the street, some his and many from the Shadows he had to take down; how much from the innocent? How much of it had been Johnnys? He looked at the man who looked no more than a body in the passenger seat. His breathing shallow and the wound slowly leaking blood, staining Johnny’s clothes and vest. He couldn’t take it anymore, his mind in overdrive, vision blurred, far beyond reason. All the events of the past week were catching up to him at the worst time. 

Deciding he could no longer safely drive he pulled onto the side of the road. It was empty and he was sure they weren’t being followed. It was a stupid decision. They should keep going, they had a place to be. They were on borrowed time. His mind screamed at him; he was going against all logic. No longer able to control his panic, his ability to breathe escaping him now. Every breath he took was short and unable to fill his lungs. He turned to Soap, feeling half blind every time he had to look at him, and gently shook the man. Soap shot up and looked around. He looked at Ghost and concern covered his face. 

“What’s up? Where are we?” He questioned. 

Ghost had no solid answer for him. “We need to bandage that,” he pointed at the gunshot wound and hoped the scot wouldn’t notice the obvious panic coming from him, “Need you fighting ready.” 

Soap looked at the wound then back at Ghost, he swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, right. Let's get on with it then.” He shuffled so the damaged arm was nearest to the man in the skull mask. 

Ghost pulled the medkit from his gear and took out disinfectant, bandages, and tweezers. He knew the bullet hadn’t gone all the way through, meaning he’d have to dig it out. Looking at Soap's face, his breathing paused in his chest. The man was looking at him fondly. Why? 

Recovering from his paused state he looked away, “This will hurt.” He murmured, knowing the other knew this already but he still felt the need to warn him. Ghost ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to Soap, who bit down on the fabric and prepared himself. Ghost poured the disinfectant on the wound, a string of muffled curses came from the injured man. Ghost whispered an apology and took the tweezers into his hand. Knowing what would come next, Soap leaned his face into the seat. Ghost took the tweezers and dug into the wound, ignoring the muffled yelling and tight grip on his leg, he pulled the bullet out. They were incredibly lucky that the bullet didn’t break into fragments or cause Soap to lose the arms mobility. He quickly poured more disinfectant and dressed the injury. 

Ghost leaned back to observe his handiwork. It would do for now until they could actually get him to medical. Soap was still writhing in pain, a few tears escaping his closed eyes. “Johnny, How Copy?” He hoped to distract the man before they were back on the road. Hoped that talking to him would quell the raging anxiety stirring in his chest. 

 “Give me a minute and I’ll be right as rain.” Soap breathed out. Pain still ever present in his body language, the adrenaline and stim from earlier had worn off leaving sharp pain. Ghost turned back to the medkit and searched for painkillers. Finding some he ripped open the package and handed the small pills to Soap. The scot took them and downed them without water, face contorting now to a look of minor disgust at the taste. Soap reached for the flask and downed the last of the water. 

Ghost turned to survey the road and woods surrounding where he had pulled the car over. Rain was still a heavy constant against the windshield. The steady thunder as the droplets hit the roof of the truck. Taking slow shaking breaths he turned the keys over, the vehicle roaring to life. Taking another look at Soap he found the other man to be staring back at him. Soap had that look that he gets when he is running a diagnostic in his head. Those blue eyes staring directly into his soul. Ghost looked away, afraid of what the other might find if he looked into Ghost for too long. 

“It’s going to probably be another hour before we find somewhere to figure a plan out.,” He pressed his foot to the gas pedal and they were on the road again. “You should sleep until then. Try and get some of your strength back.” Ghost couldn’t stand the idea of being back in silence. He prayed the other man would stay awake and fill the air with chatter. Even if it was about what had just happened. 

“I don’t think I could even attempt to sleep right now.” Soap says, tiredness ever present in his voice. He turned away from Ghost and watched the trees pass. The silence was back. Why couldn’t he bring himself to talk. To reach over and grab Soap’s hand. Glancing over he watches the other man’s chest move up and down steadily. To hell with it all he thought. Ghost reached across the bench and grabbed the Scotsman's wrist. There was a steady pulse as Soap looked over at Ghost, slightly surprised. 

Johnny laced his fingers through Ghost’s gloved ones, realization in his eyes. “Simon…” the name so soft coming from him opposed to the harsh tone that it was usually used. 

Ghost kept his eyes on the dark road. The rain was slowing down, the first hint of dawn visible through the thin cracks in the clouds. A new day that surely promised stress and violence for the pair of soldiers. He said nothing. What could he even say? Feelings had never been his strong suit. He learned long ago that the things he loved would always end up mangled and full of grief. He couldn’t do that to Johnny. 

Soap didn’t say another word. Not a single syllable breathed into the early dawn. Only two scarred hands tightly entwined. The pressure in which they were locked silently said what the men could not. The grip was a reassurance. That whatever comes next they would face together in full.

[A/N]- Sorry if the ending seems rushed, I have been very sleep deprived and just need to get this out to y'all! Feedback is always welcomed!!

#soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #ghostsoap #call of duty #cod mwii fanfic #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john soap mctavish fanfic

[kieranwritess]

COD MWII x Cyberpunk 2077 AU Brainrot

Fandom: Call of Duty

Characters: 141, LV, Graves, Laswell

Notes: cw for graves /lh, perhaps a bit of implied soapghost, bisexual soap, bisexual johnny silverhand, probably ooc but i do what i want ❤️

a/n: inspired by @yeyinde and my midnight-fueled obsession :) I'll probably make a part two to this because it's now my baby. knowledge of Cyberpunk 2077 is recommended because I reference in-universe characters. yes it's very niche, no I don't care.

- set in 2077

- they would all hate Johnny Silverhand. no exceptions.

- Soap's a little sad he shares a name with that fellow bi disaster bastard tho

- in a similar vein, they'd probably not be too fond of River; Price would envy him for his naivety and Gaz sees himself in River

- fanon Rogue and Price would 100% bond over being mother hens to a ragtag group of idiots

- Graves but Meredith Stout

- no questions asked

- the bitch would work for Militech or some other arms corp

- probably Militech because it is very American™ and he's a little yeeyee boy

- i might have Rudy's characterization wrong, but I feel like he'd have started in the NCPD like River

- poor boys only wanted to make the world better but instead Rudy became jaded and is sort of resigned to his job like Han

- Alejandro would be his buddy from Heywood who was always trying to get him to quit the force

- Ghost is probably the most like V in terms of skills and attitude

- but he's not some gonk kid who wants to make it big, he's made it big

- fixers either love him or they hate him

- one of those "going down in a blaze of glory" dudes

- would never work with Dex, though, and is especially relieved he never did after he hears about the Arasaka heist

- Price: veteran, but in a Mitch way and not a 6th street way. I feel like he had the potential to be a fixer, but wanted to try to have a quiet life after the war (Price bbg, there is no such thing as a quiet life in NC)

- is kind of like Takemura in the sense he'd love to run off and join a nomad clan (because fuck this place, honestly)

- but NC is all he knows and he has people he cares about there (read as: poor dude is attached to the 141 boys)

- Johnny (Silverhand) respects him, even if Price wants to rip him a new one every second they're around each other

- he could definitely become a mentor figure to V and would consider joining up with them if they take The Star ending

- honestly, i can still see Laswell working for the NUSA government

- but I'm not sure how we'd get a connection between her and the 141

- fuck logic, Price and Kate are still besties

- Soap and Panam get on like a house on fire

- a propensity for a little rule breaking and an affection harbored for an authority figure (i'll let you decide in what sense) brings them together

- I probably hc Gaz as younger than he actually is, but he gives off baby solo vibes

- brb thinking back to Jackie and V at the food stall outside of H10 and crying about it

- anyways

- Gaz would probably be the most like streetkid V

- bro knows his way around local fixers

- hc that Ghost and Gaz met on a job before Ghost made it big time

- and Ghost is all "I work alone >:(" but they discover that they work well together

- again thinking back to the streetkid intro, albeit Ghost is nowhere near the same as Jackie personality wise

- they probably grew apart after Ghost becomes a solo

- but Ghost is the first one to suggest Gaz when asked to put together a team for a big job (i.e. the heist but it doesn't go sideways)

- and yeah imo that's how c77!141 is put together

- Ghost knows Gaz, Gaz grew up around Price, and Price knows of Soap through the grapevine

- I guess to "convert" each of them into ttrpg factions, Soap is a techie, Ghost is a solo, Price is prolly a fixer, and Gaz might fall under lawman (as a PI or something)

- i am making less and less sense so I'm gonna stop here for now

#kieranwritess cod #kieran's cod au #cod mwii fanfic #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw headcanons #cod hcs #cod mw2 fanfic #i'll probably fix tags later i just don't know what to put for this fandom

[credince--writes]

One of my favorite scenes in Jitters

For some of my wonderful followers who have been ride-or-die since the start of Jitters, I'd like to reshare one of my favorite scenes from the entire book.

From MacLovin':

"Walk fast." Jitters eyes were wide, striding past Ghost in one of the pathways between slot machines.

He didn't question it, turning to follow her and keeping up a striding pace pretty easy.

"Hey! Hey you- Stop!" A security guard tries to keep up with them, but with Jitters weaving in and around people, and Ghost naturally causing people to veer away from him, the two quickly navigated away.

"What'd you do?" Ghost leans forward- just enough to shift his shoulder forward as if he were ready to shield with his body as she passed in front of him.

She pulled him off to the side, behind a wall to some kind of exit. "Technically? A felony. No problemo' tho. I got one of these." She held up a golden card, engraved with the casino's logo.

"And that would be..."

"It's a bottomless drinks card." She grins. One of those evil, youthful, get so drunk it fucking hurts grins.

"How'd you manage that?" He asked.

"Do you really wanna know, or do you wanna go get a drink."

The two, did indeed go get a drink. Many drinks, to be exact. The copious amounts of alcohol the two consumed was a monumental peak in Simon's life. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten this drink under good pretenses.

"It's free!" she whisper yelled to him.

"Have another one!" She whispers and laughs as she wiggles the card at him.

They were somewhere- apparently, the fucking place had an aquarium. Build into the hallway to the hotel.

"We should get to bed." He comments.

"God what are you my father?" She asked, sitting down on and ledge and staring at the aquarium across from her.

"Someone has to fuckin act like it." He grumbles, fidgeting with the hem of the mask rubbing against his neck

"You know." She slurs.

"Know what."

"You look like you could hold up a convenience store." She glances at him.

"Who's to say I hadn't?" He slightly slurs back.

"You're too much of a softie." She replies back. "Like a sponge."

"Sponge?" He echos.

"Yea. Fuckin' sponge. Or one of those explodey-fishes."

"The fuck are you goin' on about?"

"Uhhh. Puffy. Puffing? No. No. Pufferfish. You're a pufferfish." She agrees with herself.

"I am a man. Not a fish."

"Nah. You're a fish." She keeps going.

"I'd say you're somethin' like a dolphin but they rape baby seals to death."

"What?" He asks.

"Brutal bastards." She agrees.

"Hm."

"Betcha I could swim in there." She comments.

"I'd let the dolphin get ya'."

"Fuckin' brutal."

"Alright, Get up." He says, standing up.

"We going to beddie-bye?" She asks.

"You are, at least." He says, softly leading her towards the elevator with his arm.

"If there is a woman, that isn't me, in my bed. Or any bed, for that matter, when I get into that room. I'm gonna jump."

"Just go to my room."

"Don't know your number."

"546."

"I'm not going to rem. Rem." She pauses. "Gonna puke."

His eyes widen slightly, looking around.

No trash can- no bathroom.

There's a large planter, next to the start of the fish tank.

He all but picks her up, carrying her 6 large long steps to the panted to where she grabs the rim of the planter, and throws up- violently- into the planter.

"Smells like sex on the beach." She comments, rubbing her mouth.

"I've seen worse."

"Just doing my duty to fertilize the plants, Spook."

"You should take up gardening."

They made there way to the elevator, Ghost punching in the floor, slinging her arm around his shoulder while he dragged her to her room. Digging her card out of her pocket and scanning into the room. Pushing the door open and finding a silent, empty room. He dragged her into the bathroom, filling up a cup of water and forcing her to at least wash out her mouth before she went to sleep.

"You'd make a great dad." She comments, after spitting the water out into the sink.

"Why's that."

"You've even got the shitty jokes."

"Hm."

He leads her to the bed, removing her shoes and laying her down on the bed.

She was essentially already out cold. So he glanced around, trying to find a pen. When he did, he grabbed for it, lifting her deadweight arm and writing his room number and floor down on it.

And with that, he turned off the lights and left the room.

#simon riley #Simon Ghost Riley #Jittersverse #cod mwii #Simon 'Ghost' Riley #Simon 'Ghost' Riley imagine #Cod Fanfic #Cod mwii fanfic #simon ghost riley fanfic

[the-froschamethyst4]

Viking! König

————

Viking! König Headcanons

NSFW

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Viking König who starts making sharper weapons to slaughter his enemies

Viking König who has a soft spot only for his wife. You came from a different village, one that König is known for “collecting their tax” for his protection. You were part of an arranged marriage because your family couldn’t pay him, so you where the payment

Viking König who won’t let anything happen to you. You both grew to love each other

Viking König has a bit of that dad body with a bit of muscle to him

Viking König who is covered in traditional tribal tattoos for his bravery as a warrior and clan leader

Viking König who lives kind of secluded from everyone else but everyone knows where to find him if anything happens

With that being said Viking König like to take baths in the river with you naked joining him in the same river you both washing dirt off each other and it leads into something more

Viking König has started to like walking around his home naked or half naked and likes for you to join him

Viking König who loves seeing your face, moaning his name or placing your small hands on his lower stomach knowing he is way bigger than you and you look sexy as hell under him

Viking König who’s favorite position is missionary because he loves seeing your face while you are under him taking him so well

Viking König who carries you on his arm showing you off in a way, you are all giddy when he flexes and you are slightly raised up

Viking König who treats you like the Queen or Princess you are. You sit on his lap in the great dining hall with the entire clan. He let’s you eat from his plate that was more of a feast than anything

Viking König who eats you out on the big table with the clan members acting like nothing is happening

Viking König loves being home and sees his wife walking around the home nothing but bare skin

Viking König who loves you laying on the warm furs on your shared bed

“How could you look so beautiful?” You just shrug at his comment

Viking König who loves seeing you get off with nothing but your fingers, your warm bodies finally getting close to each other and he starts to help you out

Viking König who hates being interrupted while his time with you

“Someone better be dying!” König yells.

Viking König who is intimidating, buff, cold, ruthless, and cruel, the little time he has with you and it gets interrupted by someone he’s pissed

Viking König who sits on his throne as a traitor was amongst his clan

Viking König who lets the traitor take an axe to the face and head and then goes back to you

Viking König who starts wanting a child

Viking König who takes his time with the baby making till you were comfortable with the idea of having to carry a baby around in you for 9 months

Viking König who treats you like you were glass. His hands always holding you as you tried to move around the clan

Viking König who scares off all the man who thought you looked even more sexier when you were pregnant

“How dare they look at you?” König growls while looking down at you

“I’m okay, König,” you tell him, patting his arm.

Viking König who becomes a tad jealous of your baby always latched to you

Viking König who is seen as the best father

Viking König who takes your sons hunting for the first time. He shows your son how to shot a bow, it started out with fish and he made his way to start hunting turkey and deer next

Viking König who sees your daughters making things out of leaves and flowers. Flower crowns, and woven baskets, he like carrying them around for her as she collects her materials for more things to make

Viking König who sends his kids to bed early because he loves to have his time with you, making love to you and kissing every square inch of your body just hear your soft moans

Viking König who loves having date night in a stream of water naked with you, you two drinking and it became very heated in the water

Viking König who likes to play with his children, having a lot of kids and he spends all of his time with them the best her could

Viking König who gets caught in the middle of his daughters braiding his hair, putting flowers in his hair, curling his hair with pinecones and they pretended to give him more tattoos

Viking König who plays 'hide and seek' with his sons, showing them how to not get caught by the enemy and how to be sneaky when also hunting.

"I found you Leon," König says, pointing an arrow at his son hiding behind a tree.

"Dad~" he groans, coming out from behind the tree.

"I saw you Claus," he comes out from the tree, that Leon was behind.

"Felix, go wash up, your mother will hate seeing you covered in mud. If I can see you, your enemy will too," König says as he walked back to his home with his boys behind him.

Viking König who starts training himself to get ready for when he has to leave you and his children for a battle

Viking König who hates when he has to leave, he's leaving you to handle 5 kids on your own

Viking König who started a big feast before he has to leave

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #könig mw2 #könig smut #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig #konig x you

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You find out König's birthday is coming up.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI, Arousal (does that count as a warning?)

Word count: 2.9k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there. Smut.

A/n: ok, ya'll go feral for domestic Konig. Honestly same though. I love a slow burn because I want to watch you guys suffer! Mwhahahahaha. I hope you guys enjoy.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three:

Over a week, you and König fell into a comfortable routine. You felt like a middle schooler with a crush around him. Every morning, one of you would wake the other and greet each other with a kiss. You'd be lying if you said you didn't look forward to it. Konig made an effort not to be too forceful with his affection, but he can't help it sometimes. 

“König! I have to work, move!” You giggled.

He currently had your arms pinned to your sides tightly. He held you down on the couch as his face inched closer to yours. 

“No, one more kiss Liebe.” 

“I gave you so many!” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

“One more before I go.” He looked at you sadly. 

“It's just the grocery store König, you'll live.” 

He looked at you with the sweetest puppy dog eyes he could muster. You gave in and pecked his lips quickly. He chased your lips as you pulled away, capturing them once again before releasing you. You sat up and pouted at him as he put on his mask. He waved to you cheekily before leaving. All the laughing made your bladder urge you to go. You walked into the bathroom and did your business. As you washed your hands something on the edge of the sink caught your eye. His dog tags were there, probably placed there this morning. You picked them up curiously. They had just his name König, no last name. Was that his real name? His company and date of birth were also on there. It read October 4th. Your eyes widened. His birthday was in a couple of days, why didn't he tell you? 

You rushed out of the bathroom and to your computer to make a note on your calendar. You knew Konig was a private person, he barely talked about his childhood or any family he might have. You didn't pry for these things, he would tell you in his own time. But his birthday?! That was unacceptable. You decided to plan a little surprise for him, an intimate surprise party. Honestly, he didn't seem like the type to celebrate his birthday. Now that you are here, that's gonna change. 

You sat at the dining room table doing a little bit of research on what you could do for him. You got lost in researching cute little decorations and food, you jumped when the door opened. You quickly changed tabs and pretended to be writing. Königset the groceries down on the table and took off his mask. You looked up at him and smiled. He walked around the table and put his phone and wallet on the table while kissing your cheek. You got up to help him put the groceries away eyeing his phone. You didn't know how to get him to leave you for a couple of hours to execute the surprise, but you had an idea. After the food was put away he went to his room. You moved quickly grabbing his phone. It was a flip phone, you didn't know those still existed. His most used contact was you, but under that two other names popped up. Ghost, and Soap. Military names... You decided to take Soap's number down, too intimidated by the name Ghost to ask him. You hoped this person could help you out. You put his phone back in the same spot he placed it and sat down inconspicuously. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You said goodnight to König with a kiss and closed your door. Sitting on the edge of your nest you nervously composed your text to whoever soap was. 

'Hello, Soap! I know this is weird but I'm König's Omega. I got your number from his phone. I have a favor to ask you if you're up for it. I hope this isn't too unprofessional for him.'

You sent the text, immediately placing your phone down to try to forget about it. You brainstormed other ideas in case this one didn't work out. Your phone buzzed and you gasped quietly. You picked up your phone and looked at the notification, Soap had texted you back.

'Definitely weird to hear from you lol. I hoped to meet you in real life before we spoke but this is ok as well. What kind of favor?'

'I'm sorry about that. The reason I'm contacting you is because König's Birthday is in a few days on October 4th. I was hoping that someone can get him out of the house for a few hours while I set up his surprise. He never leaves my side, so I just need some time. He doesn't seem to have any friends outside of work so...'

'I see, that's no problem love. It takes him about an hour and a half to get to the base. So I'll make him come in for something little. That should give you about 3 to 4 hours.' He responded.

'Omg, that would be great! Thank you so so so much! I'll be sure to get you something when we meet Soap.'

'You're welcome. I could already tell you're a sweetheart doing something like this for the colonal'

'You flatter me :)' 

You went to bed that night proud of yourself. The plan was underway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was hard keeping König out of the loop. He was over your shoulder constantly interested in things you were doing. He almost caught you ordering a cake. You planned to have an at-home movie night for him. You'd have to get snacks, the cake, and balloons, as well as make the pillow fort. You made a meticulous list of what to buy at every store and your walking path to optimize time. Making the pillow fort was gonna take the longest. You were gonna make a nest inside and invite him into it. You haven't let him into your bedroom nest officially but you'd like to soon, this could be a good introduction to that. When the day came around Soap warned you that König might be a little upset on the day. He explicitly told his soldiers not to contact him while he was on leave. 

Pissed was an understatement. König was fuming. He tried to hide it from you but his scent was so sour it was hard for you to be in the room. 

“What's wrong Alpha?” He rushed through the apartment almost stomping. 

“Nothing Schatz.” He responded shortly. 

You almost felt bad making him this upset. You hoped it would be worth it. König told you he would be gone for a couple of hours and promptly left. You looked out the window, watching him get into the car and drive off. You texted Soap asking for the all-clear. 

'Is he on his way?' 

'Yes, he's gonna kill me. I told him that he needed to come in but it was only for some paperwork Ghost could've done.' 

' I'll tell him that it was all me and to let you off the hook. I'm gonna bake you something you like cookies?' 

'Love them.' 

'Good.'

You grabbed your bag and headed out the door. The first stop was to get his gift. You wanted to get him something he needed but also something sentimental. You landed on a leather briefcase. Although he was on leave, there were still things he needed to sign off on as a corporal. His documents were always splayed out on the table only to be messily placed in a folder. The shop that makes them does hand embroidery. You requested them to put your's and Konig's initials' on it with a heart in the middle. It was in a beautiful font on the front corner of the bag. The bag pick up was fast as it was only a ten-minute walk. Next was the party store. You weren't going to overdo it with the decor but you wanted it to be a little festive. It took you a little while to pick out things but you eventually settled on simple green balloons and a happy birthday banner. You also got a box and wrapping paper for your gift. 

You checked the time a little over an hour went by so far. König has to be close to the base by now. Soap will text you when he's on his way back. The next and last stop was the grocery store. You were gonna make him a classic American dinner, save for the red dye 40. Burgers and American-style fries were the way to go since you were sure you wouldn't be able to find much American food in Amsterdam. As you were gathering the ingredients Soap texted you. 

'König is on his way home. I couldn't convince him that he should stay for a few more minutes. It should take him 2 hours because of traffic.'

'Shit ok, thanks for the heads up. I appreciate you Soap.'

'No problem, Love. Take pictures for ghost and I please.'

'Of course.'

You practically ran through the grocery store to pick up the last items and checked out. When you got home you were sweaty and out of breath. You had two hours to cook, set up the fort, wrap his gift, and decorate. You had your work cut out for you. You didn't bother putting the groceries away, placing them on the kitchen counter, and running to your room. You grabbed extra blankets that you didn't use for your nest and put them in the living room. You hung a sheet with thumbtacks and lined it with pillows. The fort didn't take as long as you thought it would. You chalked it up to your nesting skills. You hung some fairy lights on the inside making sure you still had a good view of the TV. You went to the dining room table and began wrapping the briefcase. you brought a simple brown paper with moons on it. After you finished you started blowing up balloons. After you blew up a few balloons you froze. 

The Cake! How could you forget! You called the bakery telling them you were on your way. You checked the time. You only had an hour left. You left the door unlocked and power walked down the street. You kept checking the time watching the clock run down. It took you seven minutes to get to the bakery. They handed you the cake and you power walked back to the apartment careful not to bump the cake. You placed the cake in the fridge and preheated the oven before blowing up more balloons. You had forty minutes left and you still had to cook. Once you were satisfied with the amount of balloons you placed the fries in the oven and started making the burgers. You had 25 minutes left. 

While the burgers were cooking you got the toppings ready and took the cake out placing it on the table. The burgers were cooked you assembled them on a plate and piled fries on the side. You made very American concoctions of condiments. Mayo and ketchup, ranch and mustard, ketchup and ranch. You placed the plates on the table. You ran to change into PJs and turn the lights down. You found some candles to use on the table making the mood romantic. Movement outside caught your eye. You pulled the curtain back seeing König's car pulling into a parking space. You glanced around once more making sure everything was in order. You stood near the dining room table waiting for him to open the door. The key turned and in walked a very annoyed-looking König. 

“Surprise!” You said sheepishly.

König's eyes widened. He had his sniper hood on but promptly took it off. He looked around at the decorations and then toward the table. 

“You...Schatz, what is this?” 

“Your birthday party! Happy birthday Konig.” 

König closed the door slowly his eyes taking in everything you set up for him. He had an unreadable expression on his face making you a bit nervous. 

“Do you like it?” You asked.

König's face dropped. He covered his face with both of his hands. He tried to hold back the tears but they fell anyway. You grabbed his arms trying to soothe him. 

“Oh no! I'm sorry Alpha please don't cry. Did I do something wrong?”

König chuckled through his sobs. “No Schatz. I'm just...very surprised.”

He pulled you into a hug. “Thank you, Omega.”

You hugged him back. “Why are you crying, König?”

“I've never celebrated my birthday. My parents never did anything for me. This is a nice surprise.”

“Come, let's eat.” You guide him to the table.

His plate had a bigger burger with more fries. He sat down the tears still dropping occasionally. 

“Don't be mad at Soap.” You said. König looked up and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You know Soap? How?”

“Well, I had to find a way to get you out of the house for a few hours so I kinda got his number from your phone and convinced him to make you come into work for something stupid so I had time to set this all up.” You said without taking a breath.

“Wow, what a plan liebe.” He chuckled.

“You didn't have to do all this for me.” He said

“I know, but I wanted to. So please let Soap off the hook colonel? ” You smiled. 

“Sure liebe.” 

The two of you ate as he asked you about your sneaky plans to make this happen and how he suspected nothing. After you were done you cut him a slice of cake and sent him to change into PJs. You formally invited him into the fort you built making sure he was cozy. 

“Ok so we have a few options, but I also wanted to surprise you with the movie. Pick a number between one and five.”

“Hmm, four.” 

“Ok close your eyes.” He covered them and you searched for the movie. He chose 'V for Vendetta'. Once the movie was on you told him he could look. 

“What is this?” He asked

“V for Vendetta. I love this movie.”

“I have never seen it.”

“Good, you're in for a treat.”

You cuddled him tightly in the nest fort. He fed you your slice of cake so you wouldn't have to move. Suddenly you gasped and grabbed the remote to pause the movie. 

“Ugh, I forgot again! My brain is all over the place today.” 

You ran to your room and grabbed his birthday present. back in the fort, you gave it to him. 

“Happy Birthday Alpha.” 

“This is too much Liebe.” 

“Just open it!”

He tore the paper and opened the box, taking care not to make a mess. When he saw the briefcase his lips parted slightly taking in the detail you added to it. The urge to cry was overwhelming to him but he held it back. 

“I don't deserve you.” He said.

“No, you deserve more.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down into the nest resting his cheek against your forehead.

“How can I thank you?”

“There's no repayment for a birthday gift König.”

“There will be for you.”

“No no, it's not my birthday.” You insisted. 

“I don't care.” He gave you a stubborn look.

“König-”

“Be quiet, I won't say it again.” He said sternly.

You nodded. When he put his foot down it was extremely difficult for you to defy him. The Apex rarely used his authority over you like that but you supposed he didn't know how to simply accept someone doing something nice for him. Despite his stern tone he caressed for face giving you sweet kisses on your cheek and forehead. You smiled and leaned into him. You hit play on the movie holding him until you both fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stirred awake feeling weight on your waist. You looked back seeing König sleeping form. He almost looked boyish, hair messy, and a König's until he woke up naturally before moving, not wanting to wake him from his peace-filled rest. It didn't take long before König's eyes fluttered open. You turned to his and smiled. He kissed you deeply. You returned the kiss with passion, his tongue slipped into your mouth licking yours playfully. When he pulled away s a string of saliva was connecting the two of you. 

“Good morning to you too.” You giggled.

You sat up and stretched. You cleaned up the fort a bit from last night putting his gift in his room. He followed you around sleepily trying to help you tidy up. After you finished you went back into the nest fort and turned the TV on. König followed you in, collapsing beside you. 

He grabbed your hips pulling your ass against him. His hand trailed up your front resting loosely around your neck. König has been keeping his sexual urges at bay, his resolve was starting to chip away every day. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing against your scent glands. You shivered and clenched your legs together. You tried not to let his ministrations get to you but it was proving difficult when he knew exactly how to get you going. 

König pressed a kiss to your scent gland and you moaned softly. Encouraged by the small gasps and moans you gave him, he nibbled and licked the same spot.

“König...” He stopped.

He pulled back and smiled. “Sorry, Liebe.” He got up and headed to the bathroom to shower. 

He left you with a hot face and a puddle in between your legs. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: I hope all the tags worked

@that-fangirl-1106 @itsryuken @midwesternwitchery @hiken-no-stark @rouge-swears @the-chaotic-cow @a-gay-cryptid @wybwtjmiadz @somanyminidragons @tizylish @smutslutsposts @y2katsuki @thychuvaluswife @gxdsmonsters

#konig fluff #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig x you #konig x reader #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig x y/n #könig fluff #könig #könig cod #colonel könig #cod mwii fanfic #cod mwii #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #alpha konig #tw a/b/o #a/b/o fic

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Unwinding (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader)

Summary: After a particularly tough mission comes to a close, Ghost requests your immediate assistance - not as his subordinate, but as his partner. 

AN: Got inspired by the things that I want but I’m still training myself to accept them when they happen. Plus *slaps Ghost* you can fit so much trauma in this bad boy. He deserves a bit of healing.

Reader is GN, referred to as Y/N a few times, established relationship with Ghost

Content warnings: Allusions to a bad mission and trauma, Ghost struggling with coping.

Masterlist // AO3 // Another Ghost fic I wrote

Your name: submit What is this?

“On me.”

That’s all Ghost’d said before stalking off out the briefing room. And, although every inch of you ached for bed, your eyes threatening to close, you followed sharply a few feet behind him.

From how he ordered you just now, you could tell his head was still on the battlefield. Even Ghost had issues severing himself from what he did out there sometimes. This mission had been arduous and weighed on the mind as much as the body. Everyone dealt with it in their own ways: Gaz went for a run; Soap bench-pressed; Price smoked a cigar in his office; you listened to music, and Ghost did whatever he did in his room.

He hadn’t spoken to you about this sorta thing before. The guy was very private – just look at his mask and all the back-ups he has to avoid showing his face. So, as you rounded the corner that led towards the sleeping quarters and caught sight of Ghost leaving his bedroom door ajar, your trepidation took over. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of letting him down, doing something that would cause him to retreat into himself after letting you in this moment.

You closed his door behind you; this part of him, you had been allowed to be a part of since last month. During that time, you’d learnt his rigid routine. Every evening, he would stack his equipment on his desk. He folded his clothes, even if it was going into the washing basket for laundry the next day. He’d barked at you once for attempting to lie down on his sheets before having a shower. He kept the mask on. Apart from the last night together where you’d woken to take a sip of water and seen the back of his head exposed. It took all your willpower not to reach out and stroke through his curls – half an inch overdue for a haircut. When you woke up next, it was quarter to six and the mask was back on as he kneaded out a knot in his back.

Those same hands were no longer steady and precise as he ripped off his helmet.

“Ghost?” You called out tentatively.

He didn’t answer. He continued to struggle with the vest’s buckle, failing to adjust the strap enough to free him.

You spoke firmer this time, “Ghost.”

Your Lieutenant grunted and gave up on the buckle. His restless hands tugged hard at the front of his vest instead. You removed your helmet and squatted to place it on the floor, beside the desk.

“Simon.”

That got him. His rattled ruckus faltered and he stopped fighting with his uniform. His ramrod spine held him in place, like a like a coil running a current throughout his body. You felt him watching you through his peripherals as you approached him, slowly and openly with your hands up.

“Here.” Let me help you.

With perseverance powered by sleep deprivation, you pried the accused buckle upwards. It came loose and its twin on the other strap followed suit.

Without looking in his eyes, you asked, “What do you need?”

“I need…” Ghost trailed off. Then he huffed and turned his head away whilst fidgeting with one of his skeletal gloves. You didn’t interrupt his thought process. Your feet took you back to give it some room.

“I need…” His knuckles cracked as he flexed them, “You.”

“I’m here.”

“No,” His eyes screwed shut, his head dropping in frustration. He gave his glove a harder tug.

“Take your time,” You reassured, sure to plant yourself in his line of sight.

“Don’t want to.” His teeth were gritted as he forced himself to speak, still without looking at you. “I need you, without all this” - and he gestured up and down his body - “In the way.”

You took inventory of what he’d indicated to: his thick vest carrying spare magazines and a variety of grenades, the thick raincoat that hid his other layers, the boots that had his trousers tucked into the laces, and (of course) the skull plate mask sewn into his balaclava.

“Ok,” You nodded, even with a devil on your shoulder telling you to just curl up on his bed and deal with this tomorrow. You choose to continue: “Can I help you get it off?”

A quieter grunt permitted you to remove the vest from his torso. It found a home on his desk, adjacent to his helmet. Removing the garments one by one, you hung up his coat on its peg and folded his jacket over the desk chair. When you faced him again, he’d rolled his mask up and bit his fingertip, yanking his glove off. He repeated the same with the other. His fingers were spread out in the cool air of his room, ready to hold onto whatever part of you they could find. But they were hesitating.

He broke into a swift march and began pacing the length of the room. His breathing heavily punctuated the boom of his boots against the floor. When he got like this, after being so stoic and calm on a mission, you knew not to press him - just guide, that's how he put it afterwards. It was like you were guiding him to make the right choices for him, when he couldn't. Trust to unwind him from this state to recover when he needed it.

Suddenly he was on the bed and yanked at his laces. His entire body jerked and groaned with the effort. Despite your sleep-deprived mind, you still had to restrain the urge to sprint to his aid. Your sluggish pace allowed his panic to trickle out into nothing when you knelt in front of him and begun weaving the intricate laces out of their tangled web. He watched you closely like you were his next target for a rapid knife throw.

His boots were paired at the end of the bed, ready to be polished tomorrow. His belt buckle was undone with the same knackered but patient hands; his own shifted his jeans down to his midthighs and hid his head in his hands whilst you did the rest.

“I don’t know why I can’t do it.” There was no growl, no underlying rasp that usually accompanied his speech. Just barely whispered words. “I want to. I do.”

“I know you do,” You replied, bundling the jeans into his washing basket. Why he wore denim on a mission, you had no clue and you wouldn’t question it now.

He continued his train of thought, “I want to hold you against me in our bed and sleep just like that.” His socks were off next and stretched over the rest of the dirty laundry. “I’m trying.”

You nodded again, feeling your weariness weighing down your forehead like a lead ball rolling about your skull. However, it was halted in place as Simon allowed his fingers to overlap yours once you’d sat beside him. That first hurdle was always the hardest; seeing him instigate it mad your heart leap into your throat. You didn’t speak - only watched - out of fear of bursting into loving (if exhausted) tears. Still, you struggled to hold them in when he pressed your fingers to his masked lips. Through the fabric, you felt his deep inhale, like he was trying to breathe in your very essence. You hoped the scent of his socks hadn’t stuck to you and wondered if he could feel your cool finger tips through the mask.

With a syrupy stare, Simon asked, “Will you take it off for me?”

“Of course.”

He kept your hand, held it daintily in his as you stood up and moved between his spread legs. Instead of letting you go, he placed his hands atop yours to follow as you gently rolled the balaclava up his neck. You could feel the goosebumps spiking along his skin. Carefully, you lifted it out and over his chin. His breath fogged out of the fabric, into the space between you two. The plate was taken away from his face, defying all rumour and reputation that he was merely a phantom. Now, the face of the man you loved greeted your adoring gaze. You didn’t stare at one spot for too long, even though you wanted to more than anything. His cheeks, rosy as if they’d freshly fallen from the Tree of Knowledge, tempted you to take a bite. Instead you skilfully tossed the mask onto its usual spot.

With a sharp intake through his nose, Simon lurched forwards and locked his tree-trunk arms around your middle. You read him, like you always did, through his body – how it sagged against you, his spine curved over. Carefully, you rested your lips against his sweat-soaked hair. 

You weren’t sure who was holding onto who the tightest. The deep pressure seemed to soothe Simon though. Even better, you felt like you could fall asleep like this and you’d be more than happy to do so.

Pushing him for a shower was probably not a good move – even though you both reeked. There was the risk of giving the impression you wanted him to let go, that you’d scare him off. This was vulnerable enough; you weren’t sure whether full-nudity ranked higher than taking his mask off.

But you knew how important his routine was to him.

You settled on saying, “What would you like to do?” It came out mumbled so it was good they emerged right beside his bat-like ears.

“I want to be clean and I want to hold you,” was his answer.

Clean, not “have a shower”; that was doable.

It took every ounce of willpower to slip out of his grip to get the packet of wet wipes you knew resided in his bedside table. Still, Simon held onto your hand and resumed his tight hold once you returned to him. He was ready, head tilted up, eyes shut. Soon enough, you could pick out his wispy white lashes that glinted in the low lamplight.

Whilst you mopped up the grime that had gathered beneath his balaclava, tears spiked in your eyes and pressure ballooned in your chest. Simon had kept his eyes closed the whole time. His thumbs were circling around your hips.

You cradled the back of his head to fish out the dirt in the crevices of his larger scars and the lines that formed by his eyes from squinting down a scope.

“There.”

When he looked at you, you could feel your gaze reflected in his eyes, his warmth mirroring what he saw in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

His finger and thumb gently pinched your chin. You welcomed his touch with a sigh and you finally gave your eyes permission for a moment’s rest.

“Y/N?”

Your eyebrows raised, though your eyes did not open, “Hmm?”

“Lie down with me?”

You moaned in relief, “Yes please.”

That loophole of doing things for others that are much more difficult to do for yourself, it was well and truly exploited as you let him mould your limbs around your clothes as he had done for you, everything besides your undershirt and underwear. Then he guided you to rest beside him.

“Sleep,” He said simply once you were both tucked under the blankets.

“Y’ok?”

“Hmm. Sleep.”

Once again, his giant hand caressed over your cheek. There was enough cognition in you to turn and kiss two of his rough fingertips before your head, filled with cement, sunk into the pillow. His chapped lips against your forehead were your last point of call as you drifted off to sleep.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x you #cod mwii fanfic #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 x reader #cod mwii x reader #r: gn #wc: <2k #my writing

[floral-force]

Lay Me Down to Sleep

Simon "Ghost" Riley x GN!Reader

summary: Insomnia plagues you during your first night on-base with Task Force 141. A little midnight stroll leads you to the imposing masked lieutenant you'd been warned about. Maybe a common struggle can lead to comfort...

words: 1.8k+

warnings/tags: just really soft stuff here (but my work/blog is always 18+ only), this one goes out to my fellow insomniacs, insomniac!simon "ghost" riley, pride and prejudice mention, all fluff, technically pre-slash, soap is a lil shit

a/n: hi, hello, I am back (sort of). I took a long hiatus bc of work/life stress but I cranked this out a while ago and finally feel confident enough to post it. thank you for reading and sticking with me &lt;3

masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist

You stared up at the ceiling of your room, rubbing the heels of your palms into your tired eyes. Hours had passed since you’d gotten into bed to rest up before a briefing in the morning. Sleep still hadn’t found you yet. Maybe it was the time difference—you had flown into England from the States not even 12 hours ago—or maybe it was the stiff mattress. Or maybe it was the way you still thought of the masked lieutenant at Price’s side when you’d gotten off the heli. 

Whatever it was, you needed to get over it. You’d read online that sometimes leaving bed to do something other than try to sleep helps, so maybe it was the perfect time for you to check out that tiny little excuse for a kitchen the Scottish private—nicknamed Soap, he’d told you with a wink—had shown you earlier. With a sigh, you got up and wiggled out of your sleep shorts and into more modest sweatpants, anxiously pulling at the hem of your shirt as you stepped into your crocs and walked out of the door.

Your eyes finally adjusted to the bright fluorescent hallway light as you reached the kitchen, surprised to see a light on when you opened the heavy door with bated breath. You peeked inside and saw a broad man sitting at a table, absolutely dwarfing it with his size. 

“Can’t sleep, eh?” 

You jumped at the deep voice and nearly let the door slam, catching it right before impact and slowly closing it. “Uh, no.” You chuckled, walking behind him to the right side of the table.

You reached the chair, then stopped in your tracks when you lifted your gaze off the floor. 

It was him—the masked lieutenant. 

You could barely make out a quirked-up eyebrow under the shadow of his sweatshirt’s hood as he took a sip from the mug his large hand dwarfed, his fabric mask scrunched up over his nose. Your heart raced and you looked down at the seat of the crummy plastic chair in front of you. The kitchen was now the last place you wanted to be, but you were too tired to make up some shitty excuse to flee. 

So, you stood awkwardly in front of the chair, hands in your pockets, biting your lips.

“I’m—” you cleared your throat, “I’m guessing you can’t either, Lieutenant?”

“Never can these days,” he replied gruffly. 

There was the sound of another sip from his mug, a thump when it was lowered to the table, and then silence. It was heavy and awkward, and you were certain you’d never felt more embarrassed in front of a commanding officer before, even though you’d fainted in front of one during a basic training run.

There was a heavy sigh. “Christ, ‘m not gonna fuckin’ bite ya.”

“Soap told me you would,” you quipped back.

Soap had warned you about the masked man—Ghost, he’d called him—and told you not to bother him much. “That’s my job,” he’d laughed. 

Right now, you felt like you were definitely bothering him.

“Figures,” he grumbled. 

You finally looked back up at Ghost, meeting his brown-eyed gaze for the first time since you’d entered the room. He looked at you with curiosity, not malice; somehow, that made you feel a little better, even if it still made your heart race and your palms sweat. 

“I just—I can’t stop thinking,” you blurted out, finally responding to the question he’d asked when you’d opened the door with a solid answer beyond your meek “no.” 

“I get nightmares.”

It felt like a confession, and you pulled out the chair, cringing when it squeaked across the linoleum floor. You sat down to hear more, crossing your arms on the table and resting your chin on them. Ghost’s eyes tracked your movements, even as he took another leisurely sip from his mug. Now that you were closer, you could smell that its contents weren’t coffee, but tea, the herbal notes reaching your nose. 

Before you thought better of it, words rushed out of your mouth. “It’s stupid, but when my insomnia is really bad—like it is now—I call my best friend and ask them to read to me. I’d do it now, but they’re at work.” You shrugged your shoulders. “Gotta love the time difference.”

Ghost shook his head. “Tha’s not stupid at all.” He took a long drink from his mug and set it down. “Whatever works. I jus’ make myself a cuppa, then see what happens.”

“And what’s happening next?” you probed.

He nudged his thumb against the mug and tilted his head. “I think ‘m gonna try reading.”

“Y’all keep books in the kitchen?” you teased.

“Hell no,” Ghost scoffed. “Did’ya bring any wi’you?” he asked.

You pursed your lips and squinted as you thought. “I think I brought Pride and Prejudice with me. I told myself I’d start rereading it since the plane ride over here was the perfect opportunity…but I fell asleep.” You sat up and smiled at him. “Why do you ask?”

He shifted in his seat and his hood fell, revealing short hair and red-tinged ears. “Could I read a bit of it?”

You blinked, a bit stunned at his shy question. Ghost, a man with a taste for Jane Austen? Something about a man like him wanting to read a period romance novel lit a tiny fire in your chest.

“Um, sure.” You stood and took a few steps, pointing at the door. “I can go grab it—”

“No, no, I’ll go wi’you, save you the trip back, yeah?” He rushed to his feet, and you stopped in your tracks at his side, gulping at the way he towered over you. 

“If you say so, Lieutenant.”

“Ghost,” he nodded.

“Ghost,” you repeated with a soft smile, leading him to the door.

The walk to your room was silent except for your footsteps tapping on the floor; his boots and your crocs mixing into a twilight harmony. Ghost kept up behind you. Your cheeks burned at the thought of him seeing you in your ratty sweats and shirt and crocs—fucking crocs—as you finally reached your door. You fumbled with your keys, swearing under your breath.

You unlocked the door and hurried across the room to flick on the lamp at your bedside. Ghost closed the door, then loomed over you as you crouched down and rummaged through your backpack. You hummed in triumph when you finally pulled out the beat-up and well-loved book, turning and reaching up to hand it to him. You stood and sat on the edge of your bed, expecting him to leave. Instead, he pulled the chair from the desk across the bed over to your bedside, settling in as he read the back cover. You were suddenly aware of his musky, amber scent because of the short distance, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t feel inviting, much unlike the person it clung to.

“Making sure you like it?” you asked with a nervous chuckle.

“Do you like it, love?” Ghost’s eyes flitted up to meet yours.

The pet name and Ghost’s suddenly soft voice caught you off guard. You reminded yourself it wasn’t personal, that it was a common British thing, that he didn’t mean anything by it, that it was colloquial. It didn’t feel bad or gross—it felt like a warm hug, a gentle kiss on the forehead, a thumb softly stroking across your cheek. 

You swallowed and dug your nails into the mattress. “Yeah, yeah! I’ve—I’ve read it, like, twice now.” You silently cursed yourself for stumbling over your words.

He nodded. “Have you ever listened to someone read it?”

“No,” you answered hesitantly.

“Would you like to?”

You nearly choked on your breath. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening and your lips from parting. Having Ghost read to you would be absolutely unreal—his voice was strangely soothing, washing over you with a gentleness you didn’t think he’d be capable of. And yet, here he sat, staring you down as his thumb stroked the front cover of one of your favorite books, his offer dangling in the air.

“You said being read to helps you fall asleep,” he continued. “You’re gonna need the sleep to handle Price’s brief, I promise you that, love.”

“I mean, yeah,” you replied. “But I don’t want you to think you have to or need to. I’m a big girl, I can force myself to fall asleep if you say Price is really that bad.”

Ghost shook his head. “Nah, I want to.” He reached for the lamp and jerked his head at you. “Get settled, love. You can still get a decent amount’a sleep in.”

“What will you do?” you asked as he dimmed the light.

“Me?” he shrugged as you lay down. “I’ll live.”

“Then I should stay up too.”

“No, sleep. That’s an order,” he said, the command stern yet playful and stoking the fire in your chest. You swore he winked at you, but it could’ve been a trick of the light. 

“Fine,” you huffed. You closed your eyes so you could focus on the silky tones of his voice.

“Now then,” he cleared his throat. “Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.”

You smirked. “Off to a great start already, Ghost.”

There was a low chuckle. You smiled, hoping he was looking at the page, but also secretly hoping he was looking at you. Maybe he was, but you could already feel your mind relaxing even though he’d only read the title. There was something in your gut telling you that Ghost was softer than he seemed. The imposing, threatening lieutenant was just a man that enjoyed tea and struggled with insomnia—and apparently, he was a bit of a softie underneath his vest and mask.

As he read, you began to let your mind drift off into dreamland, lulled by Ghost’s dulcet tones and the way he tried to engage with the text, varying his intonation and even chuckling at some of the dialogue and sentences. If he truly didn’t care, you couldn’t tell; he seemed to get more wrapped up in the book the more he read. 

“..but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, and noble mien, and—”

“Hm, like you,” you mumbled to your pillow, thinking of Ghost.

There was a pause, then he continued, sounding amused. He probably hadn’t heard you. He was probably just smirking at the next sentence about Darcy’s money, not your sleepy comment. You yawned, your eyes heavy and brain finally quiet enough for sleep to overtake you right as Darcy commented on Elizabeth’s appearance, Austen establishing their complicated and dramatic love-hate relationship.

Ghost wouldn’t tell you he’d blushed at your comment. That would be his sleepy secret.

masterlist | taglist

taglist: @tizylish @dheet @sinfulsalutations @oliviagreenaway @johfaam0 @sofasoap @nickangel13

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty fic #cod fic #soft simon riley #soft ghost #cod mwii fanfic #fluff #did I mention this is fluffy? #absurdly fluffy #my fic #gn!reader

[valiira]

♡:･ﾟ✧: Mornin' Love

prompt; john price helps you out in the garden and gets stung by a pesky wasp ♡

tags; john price x reader, sfw, anon request, soft price, lil short & a lil sweet.

— You were thankful for Price, especially when he was home from work. Even if the two of you never really had a lot of time to spend together, due to said work, you enjoyed every moment you could. This morning he woke you to a nice cup of coffee and some wildflowers he had picked just outside the fence on your shared farm. Of course you two would rather stay in bed the entire day, sadly the garden needed tending today.

So begrudgingly, you two got up to begin the task. The garden was slowly becoming more like a hot spot for weeds than that of a pretty field. And of course, Price just had to make a comment on it.

"I've only been gone a few months love," He starts to say, gesturing to the obstacle before you two. Smirk on his face as he slips on some gloves to help with pulling the weeds out. "What'cha do while I was gone, huh?" The sarcasm very apparent in his gruff voice.

You rolled your eyes, lovingly of course, and shrugged. "I don't know John, count our savin's?" You reply jokingly as you put your own gloves on.

The two of you began your work of removing some of the more stubborn weeds. Things went smoothly for awhile, snarky comment here and there, but suddenly Price was muttering in discomfort. Come to find out, the big oaf was stung by a wasp. You chuckle at the thought of this man getting stung by something as small as a wasp. Even though, wasp's kinda sucked.

"That's what you get for all that sarcasm," You say, making your way to his side. Gently grabbing his arm and turning it ever so slightly to view the sting. It was of course just a little swollen and a lot of red but no stinger in site, which was the most concerning thing at the moment. "C'mon baby, let's go get some ice for that swelling." You kindly speak, leading John by the arm back to the house.

Of course, he replies simply in a grumble. Managing a shake of his head at his predicament. The military man had been through hell and back but it was certainly a wasp that was making him feel the worst.

Once back inside, you adoringly take care of John. Making sure to dress the wound and put it on ice. Listening to him gripe about being taken care of , but you truly wouldn't have it any other way. The morning coffee, the sarcasm, the loving caress, the complaining old man, you wouldn't trade it for the world.

#vivi writes ♡ #anon answered #anon ask #anon request #for that one anon! #john price #call of duty #cod mw2 #x reader #writing #captain john price #captain price #i love this man so much #cod mwii fanfic #fanfic #s//f//w #a cutie patootie #it turned out a lil longer but i hope you enjoy! #john price x reader #captain price x reader

[isthatafuckinggayangel]

Soap's Birthday

Angst. Just so much angst. Tw for brief references to child abuse, alcoholism, and neglect (a couple short sentences in a couple different spots for all of those). No comfort cause I feel like being mean. Might write another part, might not. We'll see.

Read under the cut.

- - -

The entire team struggled with birthdays for various reasons. Most of it was rooted in how their parents treated them, but the treatment behind the struggle was vastly different.

Price’s father was a rampant drunk who would ignore any holiday that didn’t warrant more drinking. Gaz’ siblings all took precedence over him to his parents. Any time Ghost’s mother would try to celebrate his birthday with him, his father would ruin it, always inflicting some form of violence on him, his brother, or his mother.

Soap, on the other hand, was born on a day that was difficult for him.

A day that’s always so overshadowed by a major tragedy that he hadn’t known peace on his birthday since primary school. He never asked for parties, never requested a trip, gifts, or even a small cake. He refused to ask for anything, feeling like it was wrong to ask for something when so many people had suffered on the same day.

He watched others have birthday parties with envy and guilt in his heart. Watched people open presents with even worse guilt because he wished so much to have something nice.

His parents had never been well-off, poverty making any form of celebration, let alone gift-giving, a struggle. They outwardly acted like they wanted to give him something, but always made it feel like more of a burden than something they’d truly wanted to do. Like an obligation they wished they could be freed of.

So he stopped asking for a celebration of any kind.

Stopped asking for anything, regardless of the time of year or how necessary it truly was. Even if he was starving in his own home because there wasn't anything he could cook and he couldn't get groceries himself, he would never ask. He claimed it was him wanting to be independent, that he could make do just fine, that he didn’t actually want anything in the first place. He managed the act well, almost convinced himself of the lie a few times, even. Decades of practice lying about the same thing over and over again does that to you.

Any time someone asked what he wanted to do or receive for his birthday, he would feel his heart drop. He denied any answer, simply saying he didn’t want anything or just wanted to stay home and relax.

He both yearned for a proper celebration and felt guilty for that yearning. The constant thought of ‘how dare you even consider asking for anything’ circled his head, even long into his adulthood.

Joining the 141 and not having birthdays be a big deal for anyone was both a relief and a disappointment.

The hope that he might be able to celebrate amongst people who might understand was quickly squandered when year after year, each birthday passed without even a small “happy birthday” spoken. Each birthday made him endlessly more upset, which only made him feel more guilt.

That’s all his birthday was now. An infinite sea of guilt. Guilt for wanting a celebration. Guilt for wanting presents. Guilt for wanting to be happy, even on a day that’s supposed to be just for him.

It was never his day, and he knew never would be.

It would always belong to tragedy.

Always belong to guilt and yearning.

He simply was meant to be tortured by that event’s passing.

Even still, he always put effort into other people's birthdays. Always getting or making a small gift. He would buy a cupcake from a local bakery and put a small candle in it for people who didn't have a gathering for their birthday. He would always say 'happy birthday' to anyone who was having one. Even recruits he didn't know would get a small 'happy birthday', and those he knew more than just in passing would get a small card. You could lie to him about your birthday being that day and he would always give a huge smile, say 'happy birthday', and offer a hug if you so desired.

The team didn't reciprocate this effort, simply thanking him with a bowed head and moving on with their day when their birthdays came about and not doing anything for his own. He couldn't fault them. He maintained that he didn't want to do or receive anything the few times it had come up in conversation. He claimed he much preferred giving gifts.

On one hand, it was true. He did prefer giving. But it wasn't because that was his natural disposition, rather that receiving anything made him feel like he needed to pay them back. Made him feel guilty for making anyone feel like they had to get him anything.

He purposely never told recruits his birthday, so they couldn't celebrate it even if they wanted to. Hell, the team only knew it because they'd all read his file. At least, the parts that weren't heavily redacted. He kept it on a need-to-know basis, and as far as he was concerned, no one needed to know.

No one needed to know. He would take the day and the sea of guilt that came with it to his grave, regardless of when death came for him.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mwii fanfic #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #mwii #mw2 #cod #john “soap” mactavish #angst #drabble #hurt/no comfort #fanfiction #guilt #tw child abuse mention #tw alcoholism mention #tw child neglect mention #yeah I think that's everything #totally not inspired by my own experience lmao #we’re gonna act like it’s not and move on with our days #yeah? okay. great