Call Of Duty X Reader - Tumblr Posts

König who leaves you little notes when he has to leave the house earlier than you. they're small colorful post its that he sticks on any surface he can.

the tradition started quite a while ago. back when he would leave for ops without telling you, coming back and missing you just by a few minutes. it took a toll on the relationship. he wasn't allowed to have his phone on during ops and there was no way of contacting him.

so one time you took out your old stationary stack and scribbled ' do NOT leave your muddy boots on my white rug when you come back', the pink post it was stuck to the entryway hallway wall. right where he meticulously hangs his jacket every time he comes back home in the dead of night.

when könig read the note a smile tugged on his lips. he took the steel toe boots and put them in the bathroom, deciding to clean them off tomorrow. after a long shower the sun was creeping up on the horizon and the austrian stood in your shared kitchen, ransacking the cabinets.

his strudel that he always buys from a small pastry shop had run out, the milk was turning sour by the smell and there was no more beer. looking at the clock and realizing that you will be up in 40 minutes to go to work he finds a post it and starts writing.

'i went to the store to buy some groceries. please if you eat my strudel leave some for me next time liebe'

the neon yellow note on the fridge caught your attention as you were frantically trying to put together a small breakfast to scarf down before you were late. with a quirk of your brow you picked up a different post it and stuck it right below his.

' you know i dont eat your layered pastries. you were the one that ate the remainder of it after getting drunk.

p.s please make some food for lunch, i'll swing by on my break'

the method worked for you. sometimes it was a list of stuff to get for the house, a little poem you would try to write in german, a reminder for an important date, but sometimes it was just a sweet ' i love you' written in cursive and stuck to the wall behind your bed.

' please stop trying to write in german schatzi, the grammar is hurting my eyes. at least use google translate'

' PLEASE DO NOT TAKE MY PANTIES ON YOUR OPS I'M RUNNING LOW ON UNDERWEAR!!!!'

' soup's in the fridge. get some baking soda when you go to the store'

' i love you hase! p.s sorry i broke your laptop it was an accident'

'how did you ACCIDENTALLY sit on my work laptop'

"Bite your pillow"

COD König / fem!Reader

Summary:  An innocent phone call derails into König using the opportunity of an empty dorm for some late-night fun with his girl, even though she's far away.

Content: phone sex, dirty talk ramped up to 100, mild dom elements/mentions, possessive König, praise kink, civilian girlfriend, long-distance relationships

Word Count:   1.6k

Notes: Pure filth for the follower special y'all voted on! Have some fun, kind of awkward, hot phone sex with König. NOT FOR MINORS.

Translations at the end!

"Are- Are you naked?" He asked, cringing at the way his voice broke with hesitancy instead of the smooth seductiveness he'd been going for.

She giggled on the other end, and the soft sound soothed his frazzled nerves and made him smile despite the burning heat in his cheeks and neck.

"Do you want me to be?"

König groaned, picturing her smooth skin all stretched out over the white silk sheets he'd bought her for Christmas. How she'd writhe against them, clench her much smaller hands in them as he-

"What do you do when it's just you?" He ground out between one breath and the next, phone pressed tightly to his ear as he stared up at the picture taped to the bottom of the top bunk.

Her smiling face shone back at him in the half-dark, back turned towards the camera, cute butt accentuated by the sundress he loved. Her thighs peeked out, shoulders bare, just like he remembered their last night on vacation. 

There was a hesitant silence, and König wondered if it had been the wrong thing to say. If he should just demand answers from her. Order his girl to be good and listen. She'd hinted in the past that she wouldn't say no to trying things like that, to see him in 'proper work mode' when he fucked her. But being unable to judge her reactions in person and read her body language felt wrong for that kind of fun.

"I usually just- I don't know. Leave my shirt on?" She whispered, suddenly shy now that the spotlight was on her. 

"I see," he answered, voice deeper as he felt his cock harden further against his sweatpants. König idly trailed his left hand down his stomach and played with the waistband. "And what about your underwear? Do you take it off or just push it to the side?"

"Schatz, oh my god," she laughed, the sound muffled from clapping a hand over her mouth. "Leave a girl her secrets, will you?"

König smiled back at the beaming face in the photograph. 

"I'd like to know," he said softly, as his fingers dipped into his pants, and brushed over the happy trail there. He tried to be gentle, as she would be, only a caress instead of a firm stroke.

Her breathing hitched and he heard her shift around, thought of the way he could trap her body with his hips and waist and make her beg if they weren't thousands of miles apart.

"I push them down," she answered quietly, then without him prompting her to go on, she continued. "And touch myself."

"Yeah?" König exhaled, slowly fisting the weeping head of his cock. "How do you like it, baby? You go nice and gentle or fast and hard?"

She made the tiniest, mewling sound. It sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine, and he bit his lip to keep composure.

"U-usually fast."

"And you read your little stories while you do, yeah?" He grinned like a wolf that caught the rabbit between his paws. "The ones where the bad guy fucks the innocence out of a sweet little girl like you, hm?"

The high-pitched giggle that left her made his grin widen as he pushed down the worn fabric of his sweats until the soft elastic framed his balls and cock from below, pushed them onto his stomach as he idly traced the veins running down the underside. 

"You promised we would never talk about fanfiction again," she protested, still laughing and breathless.

"I changed my mind," he purred. "Tell me, do you picture me doing all these things to you, too?"

"Always," she admitted, so quietly that he almost missed it.

"Never think of any other man you find attractive, do you? You know I don't like to share." 

"Oh my god," she breathed. "Schatz, please. I don't- No, just you."

"Good girl," König praised her, gripping his cock harder. It was a little awkward with his other hand clutching the phone, so he pressed the little speaker button and dropped it next to his pillow instead. "Have you started touching yourself, yet?"

"Yes," she whined, and he closed his eyes for a second, pictured her on her knees in front of the bed, how he'd hold her hair back as she swallowed him down in that way that no other woman had ever managed before. How her eyes would be locked on his face as she sucked his cock, how flushed and sweaty they would both be.

"Me too," he groaned, then moved his hand up and down slowly, firmly, spreading the precum over the soft skin. "Are you all wet for me?"

She hummed and then must have moved her phone lower because suddenly the soft sounds of slick skin sounded through the dark room. König had to take his hands off himself, or otherwise, he might have spilt right then and there.

"Du wirst mich umbringen," he swore, head pressed into his pillow, then smiled at her confused little noise over the German. "Use your fingers properly, like I would, hm?"

"I thought you wanted to know how I do it?" She teased him back, voice bolder now that she was slowly losing herself in their call that had evolved from catching up and sweet nothings into this. "I just like to rub my clit nice and hard, until I come. And then," voice lower, she whispered gently. "I go again, and again until my fingers are all wet and tired and my legs shake."

König would never forget the first time he had eaten her out, how he'd had to grip her thighs around his head because they were twitching so much, sensitive with every swipe of his tongue.

"Never push your fingers inside, baby? That why you always so tight for me?"

His voice was barely above a growl, and her desperate whine made him go again, faster, harder, jerking himself off as he panted. 

"Try it out for me tonight?" Köng begged when all he heard were more slick sounds and laboured breaths. "Two fingers, nice and deep."

He was able to pinpoint the exact moment she followed his instructions, the quiet hiss of pleasure and the much slower sounds of skin against skin. König spat into his palm, then circled his hand around his cock tightly, in a faint imitation of the wet heat he'd be pushing into if she were here with him. 

"Doing so well," he ground out as she whined again. "Want to know what else I would do to you, Liebling?"

Her answering hum was barely coherent, but König let it slide. 

"Turn you around on all fours, pull your cheeks apart and watch my fingers disappear into you. So wet and ready for me aren't you? Would bite the pillow so your neighbours don't hear how good your big scary boyfriend fucks you, wouldn't you?"

König wasn't sure if he was still speaking English at this point, his thumb brushing over the sensitive crown of his cock as his girl shuffled on the other end of the line, perhaps flipping over onto her stomach like he'd said. He could feel the telltale burn in his abdomen, the tightening of his thighs and butt as his body came closer and closer to climaxing from the lewd little sounds over the speaker. 

"I'd take it all," she murmured, barely audible.

"Yes, you would," he grinned, all sharp teeth in the dark. "And then you'd beg me to come inside, greedy little thing." 

"Fuck, yes," she laughed, desperate. He pictured her writhing against her own small fingers, not enough, now that he'd given her a taste of what it meant to be stuffed full. "And you'd grab my hair and s-suck into my neck-"

König moaned, eyebrows drawn together and his hand pumped his cock faster and faster, almost painfully. The mental image of her body, which looked so much more fragile and delicate compared to his own bulky frame, taking him all the way, messy and begging and-

"Going to come," he ground out.

"All over my face?" She asked sweetly, devilishly. "Want to taste you so badly."

With a deep shudder, eyes screwed shut, König flexed his hips up into his hand, violent. Hot semen dripped all over his fingers and abdomen, and the utter bliss of release made him see stars for a moment.

He swore, oversensitive as he rode out the wave of his orgasm, hold not as tight as he began to soften and milked out every last drop. 

"So good, baby," she whined, sounding somewhere between drunk and sleepy, breaths uneven in that way he'd come to associate with her convulsing walls sucking in his cock as she came all around him.

"Fuck," he laughed, hand pressed over his forehead as he listened to her climaxing. She giggled as well, breathless.

It was quiet for a few moments, then her voice sounded out over the speakers again.

"Almost as good as the real thing. Didn't realize you had such a mouth on you."

König felt all the blood that had previously deserted his brain in favour of his cock shoot back up, making his face and chest feel hot from embarrassment.

"I- I didn't-" he stammered but got cut off by her smug voice once more.

"I liked it," she confessed. "We should do that more often, don't you think?"

TRANSLATIONS: Schatz - treasure/honey Du wirst mich umbringen. - You'll be the death of me. Liebling - beloved/darling

Whew, I'm blushing. I thought I'd make good use of my day off and just let out some pent-up brain juices from the last two weeks 👀 Also couldn't resist slipping the little fanfiction joke in there, I'm sorry.

If you enjoyed this, you can find my COD masterlist here! Feel free to slide into my ask box or dm's with requests or ideas anytime, or if you just want to chat!

Until next time! - A✨

Seventeen Going Under: Tommy

Image One | Image Two | Image Three

Pairing(s): Neighbor!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Single Mom!Reader Word Count: 7.0k+ Summary: After leaving your abusive husband, you and your 17 year old son, Tommy, move to the U.K. from the U.S. for a fresh start. He's less than enthusiastic to be moving countries, having to be the new, weird American kid on the block. He's even less enthusiastic about his new neighbor who seems to be making moves on his mother. POV: 3rd Person Omniscent; No use of "Y/N" or "You"; Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. Rating: Mature/Restricted - MDNI; Ageless Blogs DNI Categories: HEAVY ANGST- PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING, slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers CWs: Scenes and depictions of domestic abuse and child abuse in the form of slapping, kicking, and punching. One scene of implied sexual abuse happening to the reader via rape. Illegal age gap between reader and her ex-husband (age difference of 14 and 21). Depictions of violence between Tommy and his father. Underage alcohol consumption and implied dubious consent via alcohol. Reader gets disowned from her family. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Note: Thank you guys so much for being so patient with me as I worked through some writer's block. Here is the first chapter. I know a lot of people were asking about a taglist, however, I have chosen to not include a taglist because they overwhelm me lol. I'm sorry. Please let me know if I have missed any CWs that you believe should be added. Thank you. Also, my depiction of the UK/Manchester and Simon's accent is probably very inaccurate lol.

MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST

“An embryonic love— The first time that it scarred, Embarrass yourself for someone, Crying like a child… And the boy who kicked Tom’s head in Still bugs me now.  That’s the thing—it lingers, And claws you when you’re down.”

There were a lot of things that Tommy didn’t understand. For instance, he didn’t understand how stars were formed or why he had to take an astronomy class. He didn’t understand why cat lovers claimed that dog lovers didn’t have a sense of consent or boundaries, as if dogs don’t have clear boundaries of their own? Speaking of dogs, why didn’t that dog like him at the park last week? All dogs love him. 

He could go on and on about the mundane things he didn’t seem to understand, though his astronomy grade would be plenty of testimony that he clearly didn’t understand the formation of stars. However, none of that would ever compare to the constant state of confusion he found himself in as he grew up. 

He had the American dream. A two-bedroom home in the Indiana suburbs with a white picket fence that had been bought all the way back in 2007, just before the recession hit. He had a mother and a father. He lived in an area that was well-off enough—he wasn’t rich or poor. It should have been a comfortable life…

But as his mother nervously drives down the road, heading off to their new home in a new country, making a comment about how “the infrastructure in this country is absolute dog shit, and I hate driving manuals. We should have just moved to Canada,” Tommy cannot remember ever being comfortable in his home for the life of him. 

What he does remember is his first memory. He wishes it was something beautiful, like seeing his mother smiling and cooing down at him. Instead, it's a vivid image of his dark bedroom with his "Cars" bed sheets pulled up to his chin. The sound of someone crying and wailing spills through his sky blue walls and into his ears. There's a pressure that pushes insistantly against his chest. His tiny feet pitter-pattered against the tan carpeted floor to open his door just a smidge to investigate. He sees a tall, dark figure towering over one cowered low to the floor. It doesn’t take him long to realize it’s his mother and father. 

He didn’t understand it back then, but as the memory flashes through Tommy’s mind, he knows what had happened very well. His father’s hand was clenched into a fist, tugging on his mother’s hair as she screamed and kicked at him. "Stop," she cries. "Danny, please, stop!" His entire body lay on top of hers. Tommy wants to throw up as he remembers the ripped clothing, the tears on his mother’s face, and how his father looked at him. 

“Go back to bed, Tom,” he said. “Mommy and I are just playing. First day of school is tomorrow, so you need to rest.”

When Tommy looked to his mother for confirmation, she only nodded. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't quite understand it. "Why is mommy crying?" He asks with a soft and timid tone.

"It's okay," he mother whispers, looking at him. "Just go to sleep, okay? Mommy and daddy love you... Goodnight," she grunts.

So Tommy goes to bed, and he tries to block out the sounds coming from the hallway.

It wasn’t until Tommy turned 12 and entered middle school that he understood the abuse his father gave to his mother. She had suddenly decided to enroll him in soccer, telling him that he needed to be out of the house and active more; he needed a hobby and a space to make new friends. Truthfully, he loved it. He enjoyed the game and the adrenaline rush it gave him, and he loved the people he met because of the sport. 

But one time, practice had gotten canceled. The coach’s daughter had gotten sick and needed to go to the hospital, and even though Tommy loved the sport, he was excited to be home early, before dinner for once. Maybe he’d have some extra downtime after finishing up whatever assignments he had for the night. 

He could hear sobbing when he got to the front door, and his stomach turned. It reminded him of that night, of his first memory. Only this time, he was older. He knew better; he knew that something was off. 

With shaking hands, he pushed the front door open, and then he saw it. Right in front of him, his father was standing over his mother, one hand holding her down while the other relentlessly made continuous contact with her face. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating. “Please, stop. I’m sorry.” 

Without thinking, Tommy rushed in, placing himself between his parents. “What are you doing?” He shouted at his dad. “Leave her alone! Stop it!” He didn’t sound intimidating or convincing in the slightest. His small frame and cracking voice certainly didn’t help. 

His father only grunted and grabbed onto him instead, throwing him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother diving for him, screaming at his father to once again stop, and before he could react, he felt the side of his father’s boot make contact with the side of his head. 

It was like a scene in a movie, a montage of sorts. There was ringing in his ears as the blurry vision of his mother pushing his father away filled his head. She’s still sobbing, screaming at him, begging him to leave Tommy alone. “Danny, stop it!” She screams. “No! Don’t touch him!” 

He blinks just once, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his room, a bag of ice sitting on his head. “Tommy?” A voice calls out, dulled and echoing through his brain. “Baby… Wake up…” He turns to his side and sees his mother’s tear-stained, bruised-up face. 

“Mom?” He grunts. “Are you okay?” 

The question makes her break down. Her son, the boy she loved more than anything in this world, had just been kicked in the head by her husband, and yet, here he was, asking her if she was okay. It makes her sob into her hands as she kneels down by his side. “Baby,” she whimpers. “Promise me that you will never, ever step in like that again…”

”But mom—“

”Thomas Daniel Fletcher, you promise me,” she insists. “Don’t make your father angry like that, okay? You let me handle it. I don’t want you getting hurt again… And don’t ever speak of this to anyone… He’ll only make things worse for us.”

Looking back at it now, Tommy thinks he only agrees because he was possibly concussed. However, he silently made a promise to both himself and his mother that day. He swore he’d make himself stronger, strong enough to stand a chance against his father one day. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand by, knowing exactly what his father was doing. 

From that day forward, he ate more meat and drank more milk. He begged his mother to buy him protein shakes whenever she went to the grocery store. Every morning, at 6AM, he took the neighbor’s dog for a run and did pushups in his bedroom before school. 

Once he entered high school, he finally hit a growth spurt and spent almost all of his time in the school’s weight room. If he wasn’t at soccer practice, he was lifting weights. By age fifteen, he was 6’3” and around 215 pounds of muscle. While he was lean, he could put his arms to work. For years, he’d been training his body to be bigger and stronger, using the sounds of his mother crying and wailing as motivation. 

It’s a Tuesday afternoon in October. The hot summer sun was no more. Instead, a cool autumn breeze ran through Tommy’s hair. However, his back is still wet with sweat from soccer practice. He’d played extra hard today. Kicked and dribbled every ball with extra precision, his brows low as sweat dripped down from them. Before he’d left, his coach clapped him on the shoulder, telling him to go home and rest–he’d earned it after working so hard today. 

The sweat, body odor, and sore muscles are all telling him to hop into the shower as soon as he gets home, but his brain and the adrenaline coursing through his veins tell him that as soon as he sees his father, there’s no holding back. He’d kill the bastard if needed to. He can hear his parents arguing before he even reaches the door. Well, his father does most of the yelling while his mother begs for mercy. His large hands push the door open, sending it flying into the wall, the knob putting a hole right through it due to the amount of force he uses. He sees his mother jump at the sudden noise. 

His father glares at him, almost snarling. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He turns his body towards Tommy. They’re just as tall as each other now; their eyes sit at the same level. This intimidation tactic wouldn’t work anymore. “You don’t ever walk into my house, slamming my door like that. You will show me some respect, boy.” 

Tommy can see how his mother grabs his father’s arm, trying to pull him away. “It was an accident, Danny,” she says. “Just let it go, okay? We’ll get it fixed.” Her eyes flicker at him; this is the first time he has looked at her since getting home. She wasn’t wearing makeup today, nor was she wearing long sleeves like she usually did. She must have not left the house today. It wasn’t like her to keep her bruises so exposed. As his eyes cascade down the yellow and purple marks, it only fuels his rage even more. 

Without a word, Tommy suddenly lunges at Danny, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt. He shoves him harshly up against the wall. His timing is impeccable, giving his father no time to react. Then, he pulls his arm back as much as he can before he begins to ram his fist into his father’s face over and over. He can hear what sounds like a delicious and deep-toned crunch when he makes contact with his nose. He thinks he can hear his mother gasp and call out his name, but he can barely hear it. 

Danny grunts as he takes each blow. He can see Tommy’s endurance draining fast, and when he finds the opportunity, he shoves his son back, sending him into the cabinet beside them. He swings back at his son, hitting him in the jaw so hard that it practically spins the teenager’s head right around. He smirks victoriously, blood spilling from his nose. He then throws the boy onto the floor before lifting his foot and forcing it into the boy’s gut. It knocks the wind out of him. However, the evil smirk wiped off his face as Tommy tackled him to the ground with a grunt. The younger man is much faster and has better reflexes, giving him the upper hand in this fight. 

At this point, Tommy catches a glimpse of his terrified mother. His left hand wraps around his father’s throat as he sees her shaking, frozen in place, with tears dripping from her swollen eyes. He can’t look at her. If he keeps looking at her, he might actually kill his father, and he couldn’t leave his mother alone. He’d stood by, witnessing the torment his father put her through for long enough; she would need him to stick around. “Call the cops, Mom,” he says to her. 

Then he glances back down at his father. He hates him. He hates that they share the same nose and eyes. He inherited his hair texture and body composition. They both metabolize protein better than they do carbohydrates. In so many ways, he and his father were the same. Even now, Tommy begins to believe that he was only capable of the violent act he was committing because it was in his father’s blood, and therefore, it was in his own. Unfortunately for Danny, his son can’t seem to care about all that right now. 

As he holds his father down by the throat, Tommy brings his fist down again. Again. Once more. He thinks he can hear his mom finally speaking to the dispatcher on the phone. When he sees his hands stained with his father’s blood, he decides that he’s done his job. He stands up, hunching forward a bit as he feels a stinging sensation in his abdomen. His solid but tired arms hook themselves underneath his father’s underarms, and he drags him out the front door, leaving him a bloody mess on the lawn. He huffs and puffs, trying to catch his breath as he returns to the porch step and sits down. 

“Tommy!” He hears his mother cry. He lifts his head slightly as she kneels before him, immediately reminding him of when he had just started middle school. Instead of being kicked in the stomach, he’d been kicked in the head, and his mother was kneeling by his side, crying with regret permanently sewn into her facial expressions. This time was different, though. This time, he was actually able to protect her, and that’s all that mattered to him. 

“I’m okay, Mom,” he grunts as she feels him lifting his shirt to inspect his wounds. The sounds of police and ambulance sirens start to ring out, growing louder and louder as they get closer. 

When the police arrive, they are greeted with quite the scene. A young mother, her teenage son, and a deadbeat father on the lawn, all of them looking either bloody or bruised. The EMTs immediately get to work, doing checks on all of them before allowing the police to speak to each of them. 

However, as they’re taking statements, one of the EMTs walks over to Tommy’s mother. “We’re gonna need to take him to the hospital. It’s likely he’s got some internal bleeding going on,” he says. “We’ll need you to come along.” The officer closes up his notepad, stating that he’ll follow them to finish getting her statement there. 

After that, it’s a long legal battle. Unfortunately, the right to a speedy trial is loosely defined. It’s definitely not as speedy as the Constitution would like its citizens to believe. It took around 90 days for any of them to step into court, and it takes even longer for a proper sentence to be given. Having a group of state-appointed lawyers trying to prove that your father was an innocent man while watching your mother sit on the stand, photos of the bruises and scars that had been accumulated over the years was one of the most challenging and most rage-inducing things he’d ever gone through.

It resulted in a divorce, Tommy’s mother being given full custody, and 38 years in prison total for his father under felony charges of child battery, sexual battery, rape, and domestic battery—Tommy swears he should be getting more. Still, due to the lack of documented evidence, most of the sentencing was minimal. He sincerely hopes that his father dies in that cell. He heard plenty from Reddit forums about what happens to people who commit crimes against children. Many would tell him it wasn’t right to wish death upon someone. Tommy doesn't give a single fuck. 

Of course, just because his father was now out of the picture didn’t mean that things would be easy for Tommy and his mother. Just because he was in prison doesn’t mean that the two weren’t almost always on edge, scared that he’d either escape or be released early on “good behavior.” They were both left with heavy amounts of PTSD. Tommy especially continued to struggle with the fact that his bare hands could have easily ended a life, and he struggled even more with the thought of not caring if he’d killed his father. He was scared that there was something within him that made him violent, like his father, and he was afraid that it could fester into something more. 

Because of this, his mother enrolled him in therapy. It wasn’t hard to see how much it weighed on his mind. Her quiet son is even quieter and more distant. While he was still on the soccer team, his chances of becoming captain became less and less likely. His grades were beginning to slip, putting him at risk of needing to attend summer school. He stopped taking the neighbor’s dog for runs in the mornings. He simply was losing himself to the storm that consumed his mind. 

When Tommy gets the news from his mother about the move, he doesn’t seem to be thrilled at all. He believes that moving solves nothing. A fresh start solves nothing. All it means is that his high school credits are gonna be a bastard to transfer over to the UK’s education system; he’d have to leave his soccer team behind, and he’d have to establish himself with a new therapist. If anything, a “fresh start” is the last thing that he needs. He was only one school year away from finishing everything up; he wished she could have waited until then. 

His lack of enthusiasm shows now as he rests his head against the window of his car, trying to block out the noise of his mother continuing to complain about the infrastructure. She’s been going on about it for the past thirty minutes. He really wishes he hadn’t tossed his carry-on luggage into the trunk of the car without grabbing his headphones first. Instead, all he has to entertain himself are the raindrops that fall down his window. “This place is a shit hole,” he mutters. 

“Thomas,” his mother warns. When he says nothing else, she sighs. Her eyes glance at him briefly before focusing on the road, a frown pulling down at her lips. “Listen, I know that… our life hasn’t been very easy for you, and I’m sorry. I wish I could have been stronger for us both back then,” she says remorsefully. “I just want us to be safe, to have a home where we don’t have to constantly look over our shoulders.”

Tommy loved his mother. Indeed, he did, and despite the nightmares, the somewhat unhelpful therapy sessions, and the constant fear of becoming his father, he wouldn’t ever hesitate to protect her. He’d relive the day he finally beat his father over and over again if it meant the safety of her. That didn’t change the fact that this move was irritating. “He’s the one who did wrong,” he grunts. “There’s no reason why we should have to be the ones running.’

”I know, Tom,” she says. 

But truthfully, they had nowhere else to go.

She was 14 when she got pregnant with him and 15 when she gave birth. Her parents had already told her that she was forbidden from seeing and being with Danny, considering that he’d been 21 when they met. They didn’t find the age difference to be appropriate, and rightfully so. They’d gotten into an hour-long screaming match about it when they found out how old he was. 

“There is absolutely no need for a man that old to be with you! How did you even meet him?” Her mother shouted. “What kind of creep that old tries to get with a girl who has just started high school?”

“You and Dad have the same age difference, so what does it matter?” She argued back. “Danny loves me, and you guys should be happy for me!”

”The difference is that your mother and I were both adults when we met!” Her father said back to her. “You are way too young to know what loving someone like that even means.”

She had been grounded for three months after that. After school, she was meant to march straight back home, and she could forget about hanging out with her friends, using the family computer, or using the family phone to speak with anyone. Of course, she’d also been forbidden from seeing Danny ever again. 

That didn’t stop her, however. All that resulted from the grounding and forbiddance was her skipping out of class to meet her precious Daniel at the park. They’d make plans for her to sneak out of her window so he could drive them back to his apartment, where she would spend the night.

She wishes she could have seen it back then. It wasn’t at all acceptable for a twenty-one-year-old man who had graduated college and had a full-time job to be picking up his juvenile girlfriend. What adult dates someone who has to sneak out of their parent’s house? Not a normal one, that’s for fucking sure. 

She’d spend the nights in his home, drinking each and every beer that he’d handed to her until she was just the slightest bit tipsy, giggling at everything he’d said. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day, you know that?” He’d teased her one night as they lay on the couch together. He was on top of her, slotted right between her legs as his hands gripped at her uncovered thighs. The second she stepped into the apartment, he’d taken off her clothes and tossed one of his own t-shirts on him, just to remind her exactly who she belonged to. 

She giggled as she felt his lips pressing against the skin of her neck, groaning as he began to suck on her pulse point. “Danny,” she whined. “Nothing visible. My parents could see it,” she reminded him, but she made no discernible efforts to push him away or stop him. She never did. 

And it madehim smirk against her skin. He liked the amount of control he had over her and liked that she was willing to listen to him only. She didn’t seem to care about what her parents thought, and she was more than willing to defy them just so that she could be with him. His teeth grazed against her before he bit down, causing her to gasp. A chuckle slipped from his lips as she cried out for him again. 

He felt no guilt whatsoever for any of his actions, and when she had gotten into his car with tears streaming down her face as she broke the news to him that she was pregnant, it was as if everything had fallen into place for him. He finally had found the opportunity to keep her with him forever. 

“We’ll figure this out, baby,” he promised her as she cried in his arms. His hand trailed down to the top of her stomach. “I promise I’ll be with you every step of the way…” He looked deep into her eyes before kissing her. “I love you.” 

“You do?” She wondered, wide, teary eyes looking right back at him. “I love you too.” She kisses him back, clinging onto him for dear life. 

“My girl,” he thinks as his kisses grow hungrier. “All wrapped around my finger.”

She breaks the news to her parents the following day. 

When they found out that not only had she gone against their wishes but also ended up pregnant without much of a plan, they kicked her out. Not only had they been furious with her, but they had also feared what their small community would think of them as parents.

”How did they not know?” “Where were they?” “Did they even pay attention to their child? How could this have happened?” 

The whispers around town had spread far and fast. She had to drop out of school once she’d started to show, and as she began to work at the local grocery store, she could see the parents of her former classmates make eyes at her, full of either pity or disgust. 

She moved in with Danny. It’s not like she would have anywhere else to go. Her parents had disowned her after all. He was happy to have her around. It meant he got to come home to the mother of his child and a warm, home-cooked meal. He would spend all of his time with her rubbing at the baby bump and feeling the kicks beneath his hands, and though she’d been sad that her parents had been so cruel to her, he made their life feel like a fairytale. 

Just before Tommy was born, Danny bought a house for the three of them to share, and it made her hopeful that things would get better. This feeling of hope only increased when the two had married only a year after their son was born, the second she’d turned 16. 

But then things started to change. She had to quit her job to take care of Tommy; she couldn’t just leave him home alone, and they had moved so far from Danny’s parents, so they had no one to babysit. They sure as hell couldn’t ask her parents to help out either. 

Being a stay-at-home mother meant there was only one income to contribute to the household. Bills got harder to pay, and the grocery prices had increased. On top of all that, Tommy was quite the fussy and busy child. 

To cope with it all, Danny began to drink more than he usually did, and one night, when he’d gotten home after a long day at work, he reached into the fridge and cracked open a beer. He grew angry after finding the lack of a hot meal on the stove. The sound of his son crying rang throughout the house, and his wife was nowhere to be seen. 

He called out her name, and she rushed out of the bathroom. “Hey, babe,” she greeted, exhaustion written all over her face. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get started on dinner soon. Tommy has just been so fussy today, and he still needs a bath, and I haven’t had the chance to clean the house or—“

She was cut off by the sudden feeling of stinging on her right cheek. Her ear rang as she stumbled back a bit, trying to process what had just happened. It hurt; why did it hurt? What’s going on? Tears welled up in her eyes as she was finally able to move her head again, looking back at her husband. “Danny, what—?”

”I spend all day at work to provide for us,” he growls. “And all you have to do is take care of the goddamn kid and make some fucking food, and you can’t even do that fucking much?” He exclaims. “Fucking grow up. You have a loving husband who provides for you and takes care of you. The least you could do is repay him by having some goddamn food on the table!” 

She’s stunned, unable to move. Had he really hit her? What was he even saying? What happened to the sweet, doting man she’d fallen in love with? Where was he? 

Without another word, she moved to make dinner, and once he was done, she flinched as Danny wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she continued to flinch whenever he moved near her. 

The morning after, he had gotten down on his knees and apologized to her, telling her that it would never happen again. “I was just having a hard day, baby,” he said. “You know I would never hurt you on purpose. It was an accident. I love you; you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he cried out. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t take away my son. I love you; I won’t ever do it again.”

She wished she hadn’t believed him. The first time is never the only time; it’s never the last, but what choice did she have? Who did she have? Her parents kicked her out, and she didn’t have any friends. All she had was Danny and her son; she couldn’t lose all she had. 

Since then, she hadn’t spoken with her parents, and she refused to. There was no way in hell that she would let such cruel people near her son, especially considering what he’s had to witness the past seventeen years of his life. If she’d gone running back into their arms now, she knew all she would get was a lecture about how they were right, and she was wrong. She swore she could hear their voices in her head. “How could you let him do that to your son? You’re a horrible mother for keeping our grandchild in that situation!”

 What they needed was to completely disconnect themselves from their old life. 

“But let’s try to make the best of this, alright? We’re in a new place with new people. There’s a whole new culture for us to explore, and everyone out here loves soccer,” she says, trying her best to cheer him up. She knows her efforts are likely to be futile. “Though, they’ll probably punch you if you call it that over here. It’s football.” 

Tommy doesn’t respond. His eyes just continue to stare at the raindrops. In his head, they’re racing each other. It’s the only thing that he can find entertaining right now. He’s silent for the rest of the bumpy car ride, and before he knows it, they’re pulling into the driveway of their new home. 

He steps out of the car and looks up at the building. It’s a semi-detached house made of old red brick. It’s a stark contrast to their home back in Indiana—a completely detached house made of white siding and a large front and back yard. He’s unsure if he even has a front yard here, and there’s no way the backyard could be much bigger. 

“Tommy, come help me with our stuff,” his mother calls out to him.

He turns around to find her struggling with the luggage and sighs before walking over to her, taking them from her hands. “Mom, I told you to let me handle all the bags and stuff,” he says softly. “I can lift all this stuff. You’ve been driving and taking care of everything else. Just relax.” He may be a grump, but that wouldn’t stop him from being a good son. 

With soft eyes, his mother watches as Tommy takes the bags from her hands, along with the keys to the house, and walks up the sidewalk. He pushes the key inside the keyhole, and before they know it, they’re on their way to settling into their new life—a safer life. 

Meanwhile, the man next door—tall (an understatement) and well built (another understatement), blonde with dark brown eyes that cut right through whoever he’s looking at—watches from his window. He’d never taken an interest in his neighbors beforehand. As long as they didn’t make too much noise or cause any trouble, he felt no need to pay them any attention, but as he gazes through the glass panes at the woman who seemed to be struggling to reach into the boot of the car and pull out even more heavy luggage, he can’t help but to move his feet right out the door. 

She jumps at his voice. “Need help, miss?” He grunts, looking down at her. 

She pulls herself out of the trunk, and her neck cranes as she looks up at him. Her eyes flicker all around his face, over every scar that seemed to be present before they finally settle on his eyes. “Yeah, if you could,” she finally manages to stutter out, in awe of the absolute giant in front of her. A handsome giant at that. With a smile and an outstretched hand, she introduces herself by name. 

“Simon,” he tells her, voice low and raspy. He then begins to reach into the trunk, and he easily pulls out the luggage. He pretends to not notice the way she gawks at his large arms. “I live righ’ next door,” he says. “Not the house attached to yours, but the other one.” 

The woman looks over to where he seems to motion. The house on her right side looks exactly the same; it is just attached to a different unit. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she tells him. “I’m not from around here, so it’ll be nice to get to know everyone around here.” 

Simon’s interest piques at this statement. “Can tell from the accent,” he says. “S’why move ‘ere? Much nicer places in the country to be.” Was that rude of him to say?

”Well,” she says. “Just… Trying to get a fresh start. Manchester was in the budget.” A small chuckle leaves her lips. “This place just seemed like it would be a good change of pace for my son and I.”

Her son—right. The young man that Simon had seen briefly. He glances down at the woman’s left hand and sees the absence of a ring, nothing to indicate that she was legally tied down to anyone. Then, he glances back at the house. The door is still open. “Righ’,” he says. “Jus’you and your son then?” He asks. 

She knows exactly what he’s hinting at, and a tight-lipped smile pulls at her lips as she nods in response. “Yeah, the father’s not in the picture anymore,” she tells him. “Good riddance.” 

Simon chuckles. “Well, seems like it’s his loss, aye?” 

Before she can respond, the sound of a cleared throat pulls them out of the conversation. When they look over to see where the noise is coming from, they see Tommy standing in front of them, clearly apathetic to the fact that he’s just interrupted whatever conversation they were engaging in. 

“Tommy, honey,” his mother says with a smile. She reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, bringing him closer. “This is our new neighbor, Simon.”

It’s a bit awkward now, isn’t it? Simon knows exactly what this looks like to her son, and while he did find the lady attractive, very attractive, in fact, he didn’t know her. It’s not like he’d make moves so early on. Hell, he didn’t know the last time he’d made moves on someone in general. Nonetheless, he tries to push past all that as he holds his hand out for Tommy to shake. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he says. “Just helping ‘er out with the bags. Looked like she was having some trouble.”

Tommy eyes the man in front of him. He sees the rugged exterior, the short, grown-out buzz cut, the tattoos, and the scarring across his face and body. Though he’d always been taught to never judge a book by its cover, it’s not as easy as it sounds. When he sees this Simon character, he can only think that he’d be trouble. This man shouldn’t be anywhere near his mom, and he’d be damned if he would let it happen.

So, he says, “Right,” without shaking his hand, not caring that he’d be scolded by his mother about it later. He puts his hands to use by grabbing more of the bags instead. “Well, bye,” he plainly says before walking back towards the house. 

His mother frowns and gives Simon an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about him. He’s not very thrilled about moving out here.” 

As Simon watches Tommy drag his feet against the sidewalk, lifting the bags with ease, he can sense something more from him—something familiar. “‘S’all righ’,” he excuses. “I’m sure ‘e’ll come ‘round in time. Don’t know much about kids or teenagers, but I know they can’t always be the easiest. ‘E seems like a good kid, though.” 

The woman has a look of melancholy on her face when she looks over at her son, but the way she speaks seems to be filled with fondness. “Yeah, he’s the greatest,” she tells Simon. “Best kid I could have ever asked for.” 

She feels a sense of shame and embarrassment. Even after everything Tommy had been through, he’d managed to be such a good kid; he didn’t seem to hold any resentment and anger towards her, and she never understood why. She knew that the second Danny had laid his hands on her son, she should have gotten them out of there, but she didn’t, and there’s never a day that goes by where she doesn’t wish she’d done things differently. With every glimpse of her son, she regrets not being more assertive. Instead, he’d been the reason they were able to leave. 

Before she can spiral even further, she turns back to Simon, who has taken the rest of the bags out of the trunk. “Well, thanks,” she says. “Tommy and I will get the rest of them. Obviously, he’s not too keen on meeting new people right now, so…”

Simon nods. “Yeah, I get tha’,” he says earnestly. “He’s probably just tired; try not to give him too much shite for it, yeah?” He chuckles. “Jet lag and all...” 

It makes her giggle, and she gives his hand another shake, saying goodbye before Simon retreats back into his house, thinking about the lovely new neighbor and her son. It wasn’t like him to be so forward and outgoing. He was the coldest grump around. Sure, he’d talked to his neighbors before; he wasn’t wholly reclusive. Mrs. Davies, the quaint old lady who lived in the unit connected to his, often needed help with her groceries, and he was always happy to provide assistance, but this was different. This was a woman near his age, with whom he found himself completely enamored. There’s something familiar about her, and he can’t quite place his finger on it; it's the same thing with the kid. There was something about the family of two. ‘

Meanwhile, the woman begins to drag some of the bags inside. Once she’s in, she places a hand on her cocked hip and looks at her son with a look of annoyance. “That was rude, Tommy,” she states. “We’re new to the neighborhood. We should be making a good impression.” 

“Mom, can we not talk about this right now?” He sighs out. “Let’s just get our bags inside and start unpacking—“

”No, Thomas,” she protests. “I know that you are upset with me and the fact that we have to move away from home, but it wasn’t safe for us there anymore. All I’m trying to do is protect us—“

”I’m not mad about the move, Mom!” He argues back. “I’m not mad at you at all, but…” He huffs. “I get that you’re my mother, and I know that you feel like you have to protect me extra now to make up for all of those years, but I want to protect you, too,” he confesses.

His mother frowns, eyes full of sorrow. It hurt to hear how much he felt the need to do such a thing. She knew that, in reality, Tommy had lost a lot of his childhood, being hellbent on finding a way to kick his father to the curb. She knew that he was tormented by what had happened. She would never be able to even begin scratching the surface of what life was like for him growing up. 

“Tommy,” she sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder. As she looks up at him, her eyes dart over every aspect of his face. She runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve done plenty of protecting,” she tells him. “If it weren’t for you, we’d still be there with him, and I will never forgive myself for not fighting back the second that he touched you.” Her thumb brushes over a deep crater on the side of his head. The image of a large, black boot against his youthful skin flashes through her mind. “But it’s not your job, and it’s never been your job to protect you. It’s the other way around, okay? Just let me do this.” 

Tommy’s jaw clenches as he feels his mother’s hand on his scar. His head shakes in response. “I will never stop protecting you, Mom,” he tells her. “And I just… The neighbor—I saw the way you looked at him, and I just—“ 

”I get it, Tommy,” she interrupts. “I wouldn’t ever make a decision like that without considering you. No man or woman will ever step into my life like that without your approval.” She brings him into his arms, and his large frame has to hunch over just to hug her back. “He’s just the new neighbor. Nothing more.” 

Tommy nods. He wasn’t ever much of a hugger, not since he’d turned twelve. Once he’d gotten old enough to understand the dynamic of his mother and father’s relationship, she’d made an apparent effort to keep him at a distance. She’d hoped that keeping him far away would mean that Danny would leave him alone, and it had worked. He kept the promise to his mother that he wouldn’t ever step in ever again, not until he was strong enough to kick his father’s ass, of course. As a result, his father hasn’t laid a hand on him ever again since that fateful day. 

Still, it was hard. It was hard to know exactly what his mother was going through. It was even more challenging to stay silent in fear of not knowing what the result would be if things had been reported. Not being able to comfort his mother at all was a challenging task. It had also been hard to wake up with nightmares every night and crave the warm, comforting touch of his mom. 

Because of all this, hugs weren’t his forte. They felt awkward rather than comforting now, and even after years of therapy, he still didn’t know how to process comfort or any emotions other than anger, but he had to admit, this hug made him feel safe again. Maybe it was just the first step to healing what his previous therapist had called his “inner child.” Whatever it was—he liked it. 

He’s the first to pull back. “Gotta go get the rest of the bags,” he grunts, moving towards the door.

”Tom,” his mother calls out, causing him to stop and look back at her. “Thank you… I love you, baby.” 

Tommy gives her a tightlipped smile. “Love you too, Mom,” he says before walking back out the door. 

So this would be the beginning of their new lives. Tommy, his mother, and the mysterious neighbor next door. As his mother stands in the house, the sound of the sprinkling rain and the calls of blackbirds seem to drown everything else out. All she can hope for is that she’s made the right decision.

cw // mentions of abuse, hurt/comfort, angst, she/her pronouns used for reader, alcohol use; idk if i like how this ended but here u go anyways give me feedback I am desperate

Simon’s high school sweetheart is a girl with a guitar and big dreams to get out of the shithole they call home. After she cleans his face up from yet another beating from his father, they settle underneath her sheets. He lets out a sigh of relief as his teenage muscles release tension the second his back hits the mattress. He pays no mind to the throbbing pain in his face as he tangles his fingers with hers, letting her kiss each of them with her soft lips.

“Promise that I’m gonna get us out of here,” she sleepily mumbles, her head resting on his shoulder. “Gonna make it big, then we’re out of here. Get a nice big house and a couple of dogs. They can have their own rooms,” she muses. Then, she falls asleep.

Simon doesn’t have the guts to tell her that he’s enlisted himself in the military. He leaves next week.

And she doesn’t find out until she comes home to find a handwritten letter on her pillow. With a curious look, she picks it up in her fragile hands, calloused fingertips brushing against the thin sheet of paper.

Hey love,

I wish I’d have told you that I was leaving, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. Ironic, yeah? Considering I’m supposed to be going to put my life on the line. Can’t even tell my bird that I’m leaving. The rage that I’m sure you’ll feel will be far scarier than any national security threat the world has seen. I don’t blame you though.

I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I promise that I’ll look for you the second I do. If you don’t want to see me, I get that. I know I won’t deserve it, but I hope you’ll give me a second chance anyway.

I love you, angel. I’ll have your songs on repeat in my head every night. I’ll never forget you.

I’m sorry.

Simon x.

And she tries so hard to forget him. She gets well into her twenties, feeling a bit silly for still thinking about her high school boyfriend. It’s not like she wants to be stuck for the rest of her life, but how do you forget about the only person you’ve ever truly loved?

She moves to Hollywood a year later. There’s a fancy record deal, and all she has to do is sign her name on the dotted line. No need to worry about the fine print that gives away her rights to her own music, all the songs that she wrote about the tall blonde brute of a boy that still hold her heart. It doesn’t take off. She reaches a small audience, but she doesn’t come anywhere close to playing sold out stadiums, even three more years into her deal.

By the time the fourth year is over, her contract ends, and her record label keeps her songs. She feels so alone and lost. She decides that the best choice is to get on the first flight back home, packing up a small suitcase and her guitar. Then, she’s back in the town she swore she’d pull herself (and Simon) out of, living with her parents, disappointment heavy on her shoulders.

She plays at the local pub every Tuesday and Thursday night, bartending every Monday through Saturday. It’s not a bad job. Some people recognize her from her failed career. Others recognize her as her father’s daughter.

He recognizes her the second she gets on the stage. She looks different than he remembered. Her hair is longer, and she’s just a smidge taller. Just a smidge. She’s still as beautiful as he remembers though. The second that her fingers strum against the strings of her guitar, her melodic yet soulful voice ringing through the pub, he knows he’s gonna be spending the rest of his life on his knees, begging her for forgiveness. She’s his deity.

He knows some of the songs. He mouths the words as she sings them. His mind flashes back to the day MacTavish and Garrick had caught him listening to her music, the little icon of her album on his phone screen as it played through his earbuds.

“Thought you’d like something a little louder,” Garrick chuckled. “A bit more aggressive.”

“Ye, L.T.,” MacTavish added. “Dinnae take ye for a big softie.”

But they didn’t know how much her voice brought him back down to earth. It soothed him, slowed his heartbeat. All of her songs were about him, and even if they were filled with angry and mournful lyrics, it still brought him comfort. She made him feel a little more human.

When her set ends, she packs up her things and heads behind the bar to begin her second job. His heart skips a beat as she walks over to him. “Need another?” She asks, nodding to his empty glass that once held whiskey.

He sighs and taps the glass on the bar top, nodding. When she turns around the grab the bottle, he grabs the fabric of his balaclava and tugs it off. Once she’s turned back around, she’s met with the sight of his scarred face. His hair is shorter. His eyes are somehow darker. They resemble the eyes of a man who’d seen so much more than anyone could comprehend. The bottle of whiskey almost slips from her hand.

“I’m sorry, dove,” he says, low and soft. Sincere. It’s all he can think of. “Wish I’d told you sooner, but I’m a coward.”

Tears brim her eyes as she looks at him in disbelief. She immediately puts the bottle down, and she’s scrambling to move around the bar. Once she’s in front of him, she reaches out to hold his face in her hands, as if he was a precious relic. He was. He was her precious relic. An artifact worthy of protecting with your life.

“Simon,” she whispers, her thumbs tracing over every scar she can find. Her mind thinks of every worst case scenario. “Simon…”

His hands reach up and take a gentle hold on her wrists. “I’m here,” he tells her. “I’m back home. You’re my home.”

She doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she crashes her body into his, her arms coming to wrap around his large body. He’s bigger. Much bigger. She imagines he’s been eating a bit better, working out much more than the boy she knew in high school. Tears fall down her face as she remembers the last time she’d seen him. “Don’t leave again,” she begs. “Not without warning.”

He wraps her arms around her waist, holding her like she could slip away any second. He won’t let her. “I won’t. I promise.”

Texts w/ Your higher ups in Task Force 141

Getting caught skipping training sessions

Don’t hesitate to ask me for more 💖

Reincarnated Simon who has trauma surrounding fires.

he can't pinpoint why, but every fire he sees he feels an overwhelming pit in his stomach. he needs to put it out or run away. he triple checks candles, sets matches and lighters in the kitchen sink before heading to bed.

if he's looking for a flat, he directly asks for no fireplace, no wood burning stoves.

keeps no gas cans even near his home and absolutely never carries lighters in his pocket. he even quietly stresses about Price's lighters, but he trusts his captain.

I made a new Tumblr account for C.ai bots where you can submit prompts too, and it's specificly for Call of Duty. I already have a couple posted.

https://www.tumblr.com/caiobsessed?source=share

Hello everyone! My inbox is open! What I do and my rules are on my pinned post! I'm not that strict, and I'm actually pretty desperate for literally any requests.

Octo!konig spying on his prey

Stranded - Octo!König (Part 4)

Hello! Here's Part 4, as promised even though it's the next morning for me :)

1.5Kwords, 18+ non-humanoid sex toys and obsessive behaviour in this chapter

AO3 link

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

---

(stole pic from google sorry)

Once again, you were going weeks without properly seeing König. You’d catch his shoulder disappearing around a corner or the sound of suckers echoing in an empty hallway but no actual sightings of a giant man or bright octopus. For you, life was mostly normal. Patching up soldiers, bandaging up Soap after he gave himself happy tail again and hanging out with the rest of the taskforce while on downtime,

“Soap, you cannot rocket jump in real life. You. Would. Die.” If this had been the first time you’d had to explain this to the canine hybrid you might have had a little more patience but seeing as it was not, you were ready to throw something at him,

“But whit if we weren’ human?” Soap’s enthusiasm at least was endearing. So giving him an exasperated smile you just shook your head and moved on while noting to refill your supply of painkillers and burn salves. 

It was currently just you and Soap in the small kitchenette in the taskforce’s assigned rooms, you had no patients to see and Soap had the day off given his ‘extensive injuries’ so the two of you had taken over the games console and were having a competitive tournament in Mario Kart, loser has to steal a piece of clothing from Ghost. Currently it was 2-2 and you were on the last match so now it was getting dirty,

“So was the LT around when you broke your tail?” you teased, hoping for him to take his eyes off the screen,

“Oi! At least I wasn’ the one wi’ hickeys all o’er their neck,” he fired back, smugly like he’d been expecting your teasing.

“They weren’t hickeys! …They were bruises…” you refused to look at him, knowing exactly the expression on his face having seen it far too much for your liking,

“Isnt that what hickeys are?” you decide that driving off the edge of Rainbow Road was the better option, take the loss and deal with the consequences later. 

Seeing as you have 24 hours to steal from Ghost you left Soap to his gloating and went off to find out where Ghost was before breaking into his room. After finding out from a passing corporal that Ghost was in a meeting with Price, and double checking the hall was clear so no one else would catch you breaking into your superiors quarters, you picked the lock on his door before quickly running in and grabbing the first item from the laundry basket, a shirt with his name on it. Perfect for your bet, not so great if anyone else sees however. Ignoring all of that you run back to Soap, completely missing the seething bright orange octopus attached to the ceiling above you. 

-----

Retreating to you room after dinner without having to take a mountain of paperwork with you was a luxury but seeing as the 141 hadn’t been called out in several weeks, you’d had plenty of time to catch up on it. Which means your plans for the night were finishing your current read and maybe starting a new one if there was time. Of course those plans depended on you getting to your room, it seemed like every four or five steps you were stopped by a Kortac soldier,

“Do you know where the colonel is?” “Do you think you could look at something for me?” “I want a second opinion on this rash,” “Could you..?” “Would you..?”

By the time you escaped them your plans of finishing your book were out the window. However as you approached your door, all your plans went out the window. There was a box outside your door, plain brown, not small but also not massive. It looked like it held a water bottle or something. The hallway was empty and there wasn’t anything to tell who had left it but given that you were on base you were pretty sure it wasn’t anything dangerous so as you closed your door you decided it could wait until after you’d gotten changed into comfier clothes and out of your uniform.

The nondescript box didn’t have much weight to it so you were expecting it was maybe mislabelled bandages or some other medical dressing so when you scored open the box you were surprised by the nice stationary. High quality textured paper, a subtle peach colour with typed lettering;

Think of me My Heart

An odd note but what was even odder was the other object in the box. A bright orange tentacle. About as big as your fist, with a marbled look of orange and teal, and made of silicon. Someone had left you a tentacle shaped sex toy. Upon recognition a yelp leaves your mouth and you’ve thrown the box across your room before you had even realised you’d moved. You know exactly who sent it, you just couldn’t understand why. You barely know each other, you don’t even think he’s said more than 10 words to you outside of missions or commands. You’re the medic on base with the most aquatic hybrid training, that’s the only reason you see him so often so why would he do this? Or maybe he didn’t, maybe it’s a prank? It could be Soap getting back at you for teasing or even Ghost for stealing his shirt or maybe even a Kortac soldier trying to rile up their colonel or something. It could have been anything, it was probably just a prank because you didn’t want to even entertain the thought that König had sent you this. He was a friend, it was a tentative relationship but you called it friendship as after everything you’d been through with him it was a little hard to just call each other acquaintances. It’s a prank, so you boxed it back up and shoved it to the back of your wardrobe to be never seen again.

Trying to get to sleep was difficult. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and every time you turned around it felt like the blankets were suffocating you. After an hour of this you decided to check your room, turning on all the lights, opening all the doors and doing a well-known routine to you. Unlock, open and check, relock. You did that with all the cupboards, you pulled your bed apart and reorganised your desk, kit bag and wardrobe. Nothing, there wasn’t a thing for you to be paranoid about and you’d made sure of it. Climbing back into bed exhausted, you settled into the blankets and closed your eyes. The blankets no longer heavy on you, the hairs on the back of your neck were soft and yet, you still felt watched.

-----

In the bright light of the morning the box looked no different and thankfully your paranoia had waned, so there was no interruption to your morning schedule. Not until you had you leave your room, which is where you found another sheet of peach coloured paper, folded next to an envelope. The fear stopped you in your tracks. Once again there was no one in sight, no noises to indicate a person either and you hadn’t heard anything while getting dressed. Deciding to deal with it before breakfast seemed like a smart decision at the time because if you’d known what was in the envelope after breakfast you were sure you’d never have kept it down;

My Dearest Heart, 

You must think me a cowardly man for this but I felt this was the best way to approach you. I could not hear you last night, were you holding in your heavenly sounds so that no one else might hear? You need not worry Heart, I would never let anyone else near you. Not even the feral Lieutenant you seem so fascinated by. I do hope you liked my present and that you enjoy this one too, although I admit these were more for my pleasure.

With all My Love,

Your Soul

You could feel your heart escaping from its cage with every word you read. You were a soldier, you’d been in battle, you’d nearly died. There had been scarier moments in your life than this. So how was it this is the only time you’ve ever wanted to curl up in the back of a cupboard and never face the world again? You didn’t want to open the envelope. You never meant to open the envelop but your hands were shaking as you moved to stuff the letter with your first unwanted gift. It slipped and that’s when you discovered it wasn’t sealed and its contents had spilt all across your floor. Pictures of you were scattered across your floor. You; eating, working, training, in the gym, in the shower and even in your bed. You had been watched. Someone had been watching you for months.

Seriously that was so fcking beautiful. I love it!!!

Beautiful. John Price x Reader Drabble

Thousands of words in the English language could be put together to describe the man known as Captain Johnathon Price. They could be listed for hours upon end, strung together in endless paragraphs and sonnets, and yet they would pale in comparison to describing the magnitude of the person he truly was. Hundreds of thousands of words have been spoke about him, but out of that whole list, you had one favorite word to describe him.

Beautiful.

To put it simply, John Price came as close to the human characterization of the word as far as you were concerned. He exemplified every letter and syllable down to the last curved line of it written.

He was beautiful in how he fearlessly pursued those who were evil incarnates in the world. Even those who were much lesser, he relentlessly chased with no lesser dedication. The passion that blazed in his veins shone like a wildfire in his eyes as he tore them apart, showing them the same merciless cruelty that they had shown others.

He was beautiful in how his endless loyalty knew no bounds when it came to those who he cared about. Should he be told that the sun had met its demise and the whole world was due to end, he would've personally done what he can to fight it bare handed until the bitter, burning end.

He was beautiful in how he would sacrifice himself at any given moment at the drop of a hat. His life came second and the rest of the world's came first. Though his methods might be what others defined as dirty, underhanded, or wrong, he took it into his own hands and sacrificed his own morality and sanity with it - all for the greater good.

He was beautiful in how he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without so much as a complaint. So often the burden of saving the humanity as we knew it rolled back onto his shoulders, weighing him down once more, but he took it with grace and humility. Carrying the burning beacon of liberty and freedom alike came at a great cost but he carried the torch with his head high, never ceasing to set it down.

He was beautiful in how he lead, without hesitation or fear alike. Such words weren't foreign but they were forgotten when it came to unraveling the red lines of fate itself, unsure when the end would finally untangle and fall in front of him. His everything was put into every breath as he carried onwards with his head high and weapons drawn, not just for himself, not just for his team, but for those whose life would otherwise cease to exist if he didn't keep fighting.

Yes, he was beautiful to you in every sense of the word. His perfect imperfections that sculpted him made him perfectly perfect - perfectly human, perfectly the John you so loved with every ounce of your mind, body, and soul alike.

Yet arguably, he was most beautiful in the totality of his existence. He was the most beautiful when he existed as himself, without the expectations or rush of the outside realm pushing for yet another busy day. Such moments were scarce but you found them in your bed in early mornings when the sun had yet to fully rise.

Early morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, dappling the room in the faintest spots of warm rays. Small slips of silver tinged his brown, short-cropped hair and beard alike. While he wasn't even remotely old (he was only thirty eight, for Christ's sake), carrying the stress that he did was bound to age anyone faster. The few wiry stray gray hairs here and there stood as testament to his maturity and his seasoned nature, as far as you were concerned. Besides, it gave you yet another feature to count on him and to memorize among the many others that made him, well, himself.

The pale golden light highlighted the crease of his brow and the expression lines etched into the delicate skin of his face. Crow's-feet gathered at the corner of his eyes, and the deeper frown lines etched into his slack jaw. Sun spots here and there decorated him like marks of reward after having spent so much time outside. You couldn't help but to trace them with your eyes, unwilling to lean in and press a kiss to each and every bit in the way you desperately yearned for in fear of waking him up.

Sleep scarcely got along with John, as you discovered. Many nights it evaded him, leaving him to scrape together the bare minimum of rest needed to function before exhaustion claimed him as its next victim. Last night, though, he hadn't stirred the slightest bit and instead had finally let some much needed sleep claim him whole as it dragged him under.

Soft snores rumbled from his furred chest, the slight chap of his lips having worsened in the night as he parted them in deep breaths. His side rose and fell in a steady, even rhythm as he rested among the plush sheets and fluffy bedding draped around his lax form.

To many, they might see the sleep addled noises as an annoyance or a disturbance, but to you there was no greater reward and giddy feeling than knowing he was finally, finally resting. In the land of sleep, the burdens placed upon him evaporated at least temporarily. How his fingers occasionally twitched and the mumbles that escaped him suggested that wasn't fully the truth, but it was better than constantly living in the waking world and fading further under the inconceivable pressures life itself forced down his throat.

Your heart warmed further in your chest when he nuzzled closer to you in his sleep, the arm loosely thrown around you blindly grasping for your warmth in his unconscious state. How it was possible to send your heart even more into a fluttering tizzy, you didn't know, but he managed to do it with that one simple motion. The familiar heart of a blush dusted your cheeks, turning them a rosy hue that complimented the early pink of the sunrise as you obliged and moved closer.

Unable to help yourself, you brought your lips to his forehead, kissing between the subtle knitting of his brows before you drew him closer, mirroring his hold on you, right down to the thigh pressed between your legs, tangling you together.

Memorizing this moment alone wouldn't be enough, you're sure. You wished you could live in it forever, basking in his warmth that outdid that of the rising sun above. Alas the inevitable constraints of time would usher you out of bed and urge you to go about your day, but for now you didn't need to think or worry about it. That would be a later issue when he too finally roused and stretched, deciding to start the day on his own terms.

An issue you that you didn't want to come anytime soon.

For now, you were content to wrap yourself up in his embrace and the sheets alike, letting the rhythmic beating of his heart and the constant white-noise of his snores to lull you back to the realm of unconsciousness. While others might chide you for being lazy or for not getting up and greeting the morning or for daring to start your day late, you saw no need and no rush. What point was rushing the day when it would be without the one you valued more than the rest of the world itself? There's no place you'd rather be than with him and if it meant laying in bed for an extra hour, so be it, that's a morning you'd take any day - and hopefully for the rest of your life.

The sunrise outside may paint a kaleidoscope of colors that seeped through the gaps in the blinds and promise a view like no other as a treat reserved for those who woke up early enough, but considering moving to see it was out of the question. All the sunrises left as the earth kept spinning, even those up until the end of time, would still pale in comparison to the one you loved more than life itself. Nothing would ever come close to being as beautiful as John, your John. You're sure of it.

You didn't doubt it for one second as you stole one last glance at his sleeping face through your lashes, permanently etching the faintest hint of a smile that curled on his fine features in the heart that skipped yet another beat for him.

god blessed me today. 🤞🏻

price would be strangely possessive over his assistant.

referring to her as things that really aren’t work appropriate at all. “swee’eart,” “dolly,” “sugar.” once, a “baby” slipped through his teeth, but he was switching the subject before she could really catch on.

it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it was he started tacking “my” in front of his pet names. “my angel,” “my love.”

even when she wasn’t in the room — it was impossible to know he was talking about a colleague with the way he spoke about her. “my woman’s always on my case abou’ shit like that — cholesterol levels, sugar intake. fuckin’ bullshit, but i do it to make ‘er happy.” or “can’t stay long, lads — got my lady waitin’ on me.”

in the summer months, her skirts get a bit shorter and her tops a bit tighter. he doesn’t blame her, the AC is shit and the heat can be suffocating. what does bother him, though, is the way his men ogle her as they stroll past her desk. how they’re coming up with excuses to visit her throughout the day.

it’s an easy enough fix. “why don’t ye come work in my office for the day, lovey?” he’s already collecting her paperwork. “keep an old man company, would ye? i’ve got a nice little fan too, keep ye nice an’ cool.”

though the job came with benefits, perhaps more than an assistant should be getting, price didn’t think it was enough. when her phone started to slow and the screen cracked, he left a new one on her desk. didn’t bother mentioning it came out of his paycheque. if she complains about her outfit — all my good clothes are in the wash — he’ll take her shopping, doesn’t let her worry about the totals. and, hey, if they end up at a lingerie shop, no one has to know, right? he’s just being a good boss. it’s only crossing a few boundaries when he gets her to model it for him in the fitting rooms. when she disappears behind the curtain, john adjusts himself in his slacks — it’s a natural reaction. on that note, it would make too much of a fuss if he were to correct the worker when she asks if his wife needs any help.

when day turns to night and she’s refusing price’s suggestion of hitting another shop, he pulls into a nearby restaurant, insists on treating her to a glass of wine to end the night. finding out she’s a lightweight is a pleasant discovery — two glasses in and her skin is warm to the touch, she’s giggling and hanging onto his every word. he likes her like this, he decides — but it’s not safe to leave her alone. no, she should stay with him tonight. another few sips and she’s agreeing, changing into one of her new lingerie sets and falling into john’s bed, dozing off with his hand splayed over her tummy, beard tickling the back of her neck.

it’s been too long since he’s had a woman in his life. his wires have gotten a bit crossed. you can’t blame him, can you?

Ghosts in the family

Synopsis - aka all the times The Riley siblings have talked about eachother, and all the times Soap should’ve connected the dots but didn’t see the constellation.

cw/tags - MDNI 18+ making out, grinding, no piv or smut guys sorry, swearing, mentions of female anatomy, military inaccuracies, fanon versions of cod characters, threats, mild violence, mentions of guns, innuendos, etc. you’re dealing with grown men in the military that is your warning

Pairing - Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Afab!Riley!Reader, John Price x Riley!Reader (Platonic)

Author's note - Soap is about 26, Reader is 24, Tommy is the name of Simon’s canon younger brother who later scares him with masks and anyways, just beware of that background. Pt.2 of this au, just this just shits and giggles background for later bc I dont know how to flesh out that cliffhanger I left in my Drabble, see you at the bottom! - Moon

Requests are open!

© moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

1. Simon knew that Johnny’s intention wasn’t to piss him off, but yet he still managed to feel a migraine pool behind his eyes. All day, every mission just asking question after question. Simon wondered if this is what it was like to have a stable home. All he had was you from day one his baby sister. His lips jerk upward before he cuts off the muscle reflex of what we know as a smile. He’d rather keel over and die than let Johnny see his eyes krinkle.

“I have a sister.” He grumbles. Everyone in the truck goes silent. Johnny’s jokes stop, Gaz smirks to himself, even Price manages to watch through the rearview mirror.

“Really? And you waited so long to tell me. Oh my god what’s the like. Oh is she pretty- wait don’t answer that, that’s weird if you agree…” Simon sighs to himself as he tunes out Johnny again. Oh he wishes holiday would come faster.

2. Holiday was tough. Even worse was being stuck alone over holiday break because your only family was stuck in an operation. Especially since you just got the news after putting up Christmas decoration.

“Really Simon? I got football on the telly, your presents are all wrapped” you whined. Simon grinned under his balaclava, oh how he wished he could be there to receive your annual gag gift.

“I know I know I know, assignment came late and everyone else has families to go home to so I just suggested myself-“ he tried to calm you down knowing this would only add gasoline.

“Dammit Si, I’m your family too! Im gonna give you a new buzz cut when you get home at the rate you’re going with all these sudden plans.” Your voice cracked at his name, you know he didn’t mean to break your heart. But Simon couldn’t bare to see Johnny, Price, or Gaz not go home to their big happy families.

“Yeah I know. Im yer brother. No getting out of that one.” He said. “Why don’t you stay with Price again this year. You know he loves you around”

“Because he is the only friend of yours that I’ve met-“

“Yeah you’ll meet the guys someday. promise.”

“Maybe for this holiday present?”

“Maybe.“

“yeah yeah yeah. I love you Si”

“Love you too, and I hope that second date of yours goes well this Friday” oh if only he knew how well that date went with your mysterious Scottish man.

3. “I thought you said you don’t kiss on the second date” Johnny grinned into your lips. Your hands all in his hair.

“Only if they don’t show promise” you remarked back. You could feel his bulge grinding through your pants in the back of this telephone booth. A soft groan leaving his lips as Johnny responded

“Oh so I show promise.” You could practically hear the grin as his lips trailed down your jaw and neck, the slight friction of his scruff following as he moved aside your dogtags.

“Yeah promise that if you don’t hush up, you won’t be getting anything” you quipped back as equally as smug

“Thought you were gonna call that brother of yers” he slurred back as he smelled your perfume. The man practically drooling as your nails trailed down his neck scratching. If he had a tail it’d be whipping the air. A whimper passing through the air as his bulge caught the right part of your fabric rubbing your clit in a delightful direction

“he can wait, I have something else to call for now” you said as you opened the door of the telephone booth and whistled (or yelled if you can’t) as loud as you could do to call a taxi. Johnny had a light in his eye that he never thought would spark until he met you.

Soon you would find out later that Simon actually COULD wait and he did, 12 whole hours he stayed up staring at your apartment door to be let in - fresh on holiday too. Maybe being motormouth’d by Johnny into the window of a hummer didn’t sound so bad now

4. Simon kept a photo of you and him in his pocket everywhere that you went. I mean everywhere. No matter the place. And a lighter too incase he was captured by enemies so as to not compromise his location. But it was a photo from a holiday in France. You were both pillow fighting in the bed. Messy hair, toothless grins, back when Mummy was alive and Daddy hadn’t shown his true colors. Tommy took that picture,. Simon holds it to remind him what he’s fighting for.

“Oh is that yer little sister, she’s missin a few teeth there” Johnny grins looking over the sniper’s shoulder.

“You’re about to miss some bones if you ask about my sister again” Simon growls. fuck. Johnny is the last person he needs around his sister. It’s not like Johnny was a womanizer - he was the opposite. Johnny was perfection. He was from a happy home, a stable home, a place where you wouldn’t have to remember what happened at that old house. It scared Simon to death imagining you forgetting about him. Then he’d really be alone.

“She must’ve gotten the good genes.” Gaz pipes into the coms, what an instigator.

“Wonder what she looks like in jeans” Soap hummed as he cleaned out his gun.

Ghost hummed to himself as he secretly folded up the photo and put it right back in the pocket over his heart. Maybe you could wait another year before meeting them.

Authors note - I made a part 2, this is unedited. Im so tired. I will flesh more of this out before I take another break I promise!! Xoxo - Moon

WHY HAVE PEOPLE DONE A COD HYBRID THING OF NEARLY ALL OF THE COD MEN

NOT ALEJANDRO VARGAS

A/n(It is time everyone for me to do headcanons cause I feel silly

Also, this will be abt alejandro vargas (he's my baby)

TW: smut , p in v, (pussy eating?) Missionary, breeding , spanking , bondage, swearing, biting, praise, squirting

Let me know if I missed something cause I feel tired asg

This is with chubby reader btw cause I think we need more of these

I do apologise if it is horrible I'm still new

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖- THIS MAN. AND WHEN I TELL YOU HE WILL GO IN BETWEEN UR LEGS IF U ASK NICELY HE WILL LIKE SJDNDND

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖- he will honestly grab Ur thick , voluptuous thighs only for them to be littered in bite marks and hand prints

☆- That's it

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖-now why do I have the feeling this man loves bondage and/or spanking. Like my brain cannot handle this brain rot anymore

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖-enjoys calling you a beautiful ángel or a gorgeous princesa along with him spanking Ur sweet, sweet round ass with him saying that Ur doing so good and he's going to take care of you

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖-this man wants to breed u.

☆ - That's it.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖-Him having the thought of you waddling around along with leaking breasts and thinking he managed to make you like this , GETS HIM GOING

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖- WHEN HE DOES GET LIKE THIS , HE DOESNT WANNA HURT THE BABY SO HE EATS U OUT AND TRIES TO MAKE YOU SQUIRT AS MANY TIMES AS HE CAN

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖

♡ ∩_∩

(„• ֊ •„)♡

|￣U U￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣|

| (bye bye and thank you for the support♡...) |

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Hello everyone

Seems like werewolf!soap won!

So I'm gonna do another but with different characters, and if you'd like to suggest fandoms (such as tokyo Ghoul, tokyo revengers, cod, haikyyu)

And etc

Just let me know in the comment's:)

(Side note I only do aged up characters such as 18+)

Hey everyone

This is just an apology and I'm gonna keep it quick and simple

I've injured my right shoulder and won't be able to write

I'm so sorry everyone, and pls take care of yourself

I can't stand when a character in a fanfic starts smoking, even if the character can't die of cancer cuz they're powerful or sum shit I DON'T CARE. Do y'all realize that cigs give you YELLOW TEETH, and BAD BREATH. Getcho crusty mouth out of my face bro.

Whenever i see character smoke even if the character cant die or sum shit i still think to my self (Bro prob got the worst breath😔).

I really be posting the most random shit huh💀

EDIT: I FORGOT TO MENTION WHAT IT DOES TO TOUNGES PLS SEATCH IT UP I AM HORRIFIED.

Hospital

John Price x Reader

Summary: You go visit your husband in the hospital after his latest mission.

Tags: Wholesome, Fem!Reader (but could be read as Non-Binary!Reader), They/Them pronouns, Not Beta Read.

Notes: Y/N = Your Name, C/N = Child's name.

Authors Note: First of many COD man related fanfics. I'm going to do my best. Have a nice reading.

John got injured quite badly in his last mission. Nothing that bad, just a few broken bones, mainly his left arm and right leg. Y/N decided to visit him on their free afternoon. 'C/N gets out of school at 16:00.' They thought. 'Now it's 14:56.' They thought in the waiting room. A couple more minutes and the front of the desk calls their name. They get up with their basket full of fresh fruits, sandwiches, drawing and letters from C/N. "Greetings, I'm here to visit Jonathan Price." "Alright, wait a minute." The lady looks through her computer and looks back Y/N "Mr. Price room is the number 14. May I know your relationship with him?" "We're married." She types that down. "Very well. Have a nice visit." Y/N thanks her and precedes to his room. There it was. They knock and go into the room. There he was. He lay in his bed watching the tv 'Probably soccer she thought.' He noticed them coming in and smiled at the sight of them. "You came!" 'Goddamn it!' They thought, his smile always made their knees weak. "Yes. I came." They said and put down the basket on the shelf nearby. They proceed to pull a chair and plot it down near his bed. "How's C/N?" "They're fine. Well, missing you, but, fine. I brought their letters and drawings." "Ah, sweet!" He says with a big smile. Y/N takes some letters and gives it to him. John looks through them smiling and giggling. Y/N observes his face. It was bruised and swollen, they looked down, his left arm wrapped in a cast and on his shoulder a new knife wound. They looked down his right leg also wrapped in a cast and also with new scars and scrapes. "What's wrong?" They look at his face "Huh?" "You look... In thoughts." 'Oh' They put on their "I'm fine" voice. "Nothing." "Don't lie to me love, I can see from a mile away you're in thoughts. What are they?" Y/N sighs. "I'm just... Relieved. No, I- I don't know... This time, you came back worse." He laughs "Oh? These? I'm fine! They don't hurt! Don't worr-" Y/N glares at John. "No. Don't tell me not to worry about you. Never. I will always worry about you. That's the least I can do. Other than praying for you to come back to me alive and not just your clothes and dog tag." John sits up and with his right hand he brings her closer to him. "I'm sorry my love. I know it pains you to see me injured like this, but, trust me. I'll always come back to you and C/N." They look at him feeling their eyes tearing up. "John..." John pulls Y/N closer and kisses them. It was a gentle and tender kiss, but full of passion and assurance. They both pull away and rest their forehead against each other. They stay there for a while just taking in each other's presence. Time passed and they both spent it talking about C/N and the 141. But, the time for them to leave came. John was probably sleepy from the meds, so they kissed his forehead. "I have to go and pick up C/N. I'll come back tomorrow with them, ok?" He nods. They pick up their stuff and bids John goodbye. They can't wait to come tomorrow with C/N.

Fin.

Authors Ending Notes: I hope you guys liked it! I actually wrote it down fisically and changed it a bit while transcribing it. Please do give me criticism on where I can improve. See you next time I decide to write, lol.

Task Force 141 X gn Reader

Task force boys meet a myth in their field. Simply a legend.

pt.2

You are a legend. One that does not exist. Simply a myth. You were one of a kind, known and unknown. They’re bets on your existence if you were real or not. You look down at the crowd below you, you have your target in sight. You pull the trigger and the man falls.

You hid behind the wall crawling to the exit and leaving. The crowd below you were freaking out. You slip through the crowd gun dismantled in your backpack. You stroll Through the city and back to your station.

‘The deed is done,’ you text before throwing away the disposable phone into the rumble of a building. You continue walking back to your hotel room. You drop off the backpack and walk away.

Your hair is pulled back and your hands are gloved. No one will remember seeing you, you’re simply a legend. You climb onto the train and travel back to the airport. You pick up the backpack you left in your hotel room.

“How was your business work trip?” You look over to see your roommate on her computer a little preoccupied with school.

“It was good.” You smile setting your bags down and walking to your room. Your room best put it is clean minimalistic, and nearly barren. You unpack your stuff throw all your close into the washing machine and step into the bathroom.

You set a nice warm bath for yourself dropping one of your bath bombs as a little reward for your mission. You lean back and let out a sigh, as the water around you turns a nice shade of red. The floral scent hit you and reminded you you’re home.

“Hey, there’s people here for you.” Your roommate cautiously calls into the bathroom. The door opens and big tall men walk in guns pointing at you.

“Hands up!” One barks at you a glare on their face. You slowly put his hands up and turn to them with a cold bored expression.

“Stand!” You slowly stand up and turn to them, water dripping off your naked form.

“Can I finish my bath? Or do you like staring at my naked body?” You asked with a smirk. The man turns around and sighs.

“You have five minutes!” You roll your eyes and sit back down in the water and sigh. The first minute you sit relax the second minute you get up and unplug the bathtub. You dry yourself off and change clothes.

You open the door to find four men waiting for you. You slowly scanned them, and then turned to your freaked-out roommate. “It’s work related I’ll be back.” You tell her she nods and goes back to her computer and steel glances at the men.

You knew them, of course you did. These were Laswell’s dogs. You scratch the back of your head still damp from the bath. You gesture for them to lead. “John,” you greet them with a nod. The man turns to you a little surprised.

“Lead the way.” You instruct he gives you a cold glare and sneers at you. He took the lead and all three other men walked behind you staring at you with such intensity you thought your heads going to explode.

They shoved you into a car and had one point their gun at you. You fold your arms and look at the person right of you. “Johnny MacTavish. Or should I call you Soap?” You ask him. He looks at you a little shocked.

“You know me?” His Scottish accent is strong and confused.

“Of course, I do my research.”

“For what?” The skull-wearing one asked.

“I was paid to take you all out, paid even more to let you live.” You answer honestly.

“Who?”

“A Russian militia group, your governments paid a hefty penny for your lives.” You explain, they understood.

“You’re a contract killer?”

“I guess. I do the illegal missions the governments don’t want their military to know of.” You explain with a smirk.

They drag you into a warehouse there waiting for you is the woman you know as Kate Laswell. You nod to her and look down at your hands. She looked serious.

“Can I make a call?” You asked. She looks at you with a cold form gaze.

“No.”

“Alright,” You hum and smile at Kate. Kate a woman who you knew of a woman who’s been chasing you down for three years straight.

“Hello L,” she states.

“Hello Kate,” you smile back. She frowns and looks at the men.

“You know us.”

“I do, do you know me?” You smile looking at them with a slight smirk.

“You go by YN, don’t you?”

“It’s a name.”

“Don’t be flaky, is that your name?”

“Of course not, it’s just a name.” You smile crossing your legs and leaning back in your seat.

“Kate Laswell, and Task Force 141, what can I do for you?” You asked tilting your head. They all frown.

“You don’t have any leverages.”

“I believe a single phone call is all I need to change that sentiment.” You spread your arms a sense of calm sets in on you. You had nothing to worry about, everything was perfectly fine.

“And what will a phone call do for you?” Price asked stepping into the light.

“I believe your government wouldn’t want me dead, or in prison.” You mock back with a big frown on your face.

A phone was placed in front of you. You simply called it and told the receptionist the code. She quickly forwarded you to the man you needed to talk to.

“Hello? Yes, I’ve been detained by your task force, end this.” You handed the phone to Kate who took it. Her cold expression changed into one of pure frustration. She silently confirms the caller.

“You’re free to go, YN.”

“What!” Soap yells from behind you. “How is that even possible?”

“Because they’ve been cleared.”

You didn’t move and sat happily in the seat with a small smile, it was content and amused. You look behind you to find all three glaring at you, how did you get out of this? How aren’t you going to jail? Confusion was well in the air.

“Now,” you begin, “what can I do you’re your?” All of them turn to you a little shock.

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t take me in without a reason so, let me ask what do you need from me?” They turn to each other and let either Price or Kate speak up.

“One of your…. Target was a target we needed.”

“Oh?”

“Was it the one in Urzikstan?” You ask tilting your head.

“Yes.” You nod slowly.

“What do you need?”

“Who was he talking to?”

“Russian ultranationalists.”

“How did you know?”

“I recognized their symbol. Their patch.” They nod.

“So you just killed him and left?”

“Yes because my job was done.” From the back, you hear a sigh and turn to see the famous Ghost looking at you with an annoyed look.

“Anything else you notice.”

“Yes, there were missiles being sold and traded.” They froze.

“Too who?”

“Urzikstan terrorist got some missile, while I think the Russian ultranationalist getting support from another source.”

“Anyways I need to get back to my apartment, my roommate must be shitting herself.” You smile standing up.

“Wait.” You turn around to see Kate’s hand outstretched to you.

“I like to commission you.”

“Oh?”

“You want to contract me to this task force?” You ask with a slight smile, a little amusement glint in your eyes.

“What can the legend do for you? Kate Laswell?”