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Childhood friend - @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

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Soap x Male Reader - @rodolfoparras

Brain rot - @embry-garrick

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[COD MW2 HCS] 141 + Los Vaqueros + König with a Neutral Gender! Writer! Reader

A/N : How come we never see a Reader as a writer in whatever fandom - or am I blind - in headcanons ? I mean... So many people writing amazing fanfictions or headcanons on this platform or everywhere else and... No ? Really ? We’re talking about a military Reader here, by the way. 

TW : none (for once) except the ugly typos you may encounter. Only one very little mention of smutty litterature 

John “Soap” MacTavish 

So... Let’s start with our lovely Scottish sergeant 

It is apparently canon that he likes to draw on a small notebook he keeps with him dearly. 

So he knows. He is acquainted with the ‘writer’s zone’ we flee into when inspiration holds us within its graceful arms. When the images of action flood through out brain when a stroke of genius light up our features and how we appear lost in some kind of parallel universe only us are able to interact with (well... it’s how it looks like for me, feel free to comment - writer or not - how your imagination works) 

However, Soap is mostly aware about the tropes and what we can consider as the technical side of writing such as relashionship dynamics for your characters - if it implies the said relashionships - 

I think he is the kind to prefer roomates universes because of the domesticity he is able to find there and friendship warms his heart. Although, that’s just an impression. 

He is actually the biggest help out of the 141 because when he draws he also uses the codes of his type of creation for his cute doodles you suspect him to scribble on the yellowed paper of his little diary. 

He knows what it is to lack of insipiration, even though he tends to throw his thoughts on the paper and reproduces his surroundings. 

He appreciates the smallest details that compose his world. He notices them all. 

But I digress. 

You two share a world not so accessible for the rest of the team. When you talk about [Insert fiction character of trope here] in a very specific context, the others gaze at you confused. 

More than writing, it is a little sweet thing you two share and you would never lose that for anything in the world.

Simon “Ghost” Riley 

He... Understands... Not like Soap. He doesn’t have that much imagination. 

He gets it is your hobby. It is as valuable as any other activity. 

Simon thinks it’s cute in some way. You, lost in thought, next to him, about and into something he can’t quite grasp. And a sheet of paper or the blank screen of an app on your tablet or whatever device you judged comfortable.

At first, you asked for his help about some details, or his opinion, or his advice. Then, you understood he was too down-to-earth and wounded by his abusive past to allow himself to relax this way next to you. 

Yet, you used your hobby as a way to stay with him as a support. He had just to tug a bit at your sleeve and all your attention would be on him. 

It was the first step. 

You understood quickly that your writing might be able to help him unwind and finally get comfortable. 

You write him silly stories, made for him to laugh, or to smile at least. It wasn’t a big deal, just fables. You have no idea what he does with it. You just hope it enables him to dream even if just during the day like a fleeting thought clinging to him. A distant echo of something nice his heart and his memory agreed on keeping dearly underneath his leaden shell. 

You also may be the one reading your own stories to him. But the mistakes, the inconsistencies or the lack of meaning and every little flaws in your writing may appear much more visible once clearly uttered. 

By dint of effort, you manage to soften him a bit. He doesn’t want to ask you if he could read either what you are writing or if you have something for him. However, he eventually hopes within the depth of his heart that he can flee from reality for a few minutes. 

He is so grateful to you even though he is bitter on the fact he can’t bring you much constructive criticism. 

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick 

Another one who understands one might have such a hobby but he may not relate. 

I don’t see Gaz as someone who reads a lot. It’s just not his thing. He’ll read for sport news or something related to one of his own hobbies. 

I guess he doesn’t have the patience to sit somewhere comfortable and allow his mind to wander this way thanks to your words. 

Except maybe when he desperately needs to unwind and his thoughts are too noisy so he needs to occupy his plagued mind with something totally different. 

However, he is curious about the creation process. 

He’ll ask about your ‘tools’ after you explain to him that your scenario and elements of the story doesn’t entirely pop out of thin air and you may have to rethink and to shape your ideas to make up a story both understandable and enjoyable. 

He laughs when he notices about your nonsensical Internet history. How can it be so weird ? And then, he remembers what kinds of research he does when the night isn’t kind to him and he doesn’t laugh anymore.

Sometimes, your brain amazes him. You sound so cool when you take the time to explain some of your ideas. 

Kyle is awesome at helping you for worldbuilding. He has a lot of imagination when he manages to leave his military universe on the side and peeks at yours. 

He is an excellent beta reader since he is actually very neutral about writing in general and he’ll try to give you the most help possible when you ask him. Too short ? Too long ? Not enough or too much emphasis on a detail ? He just aims at your betterment ! 

John Price 

You are a writer ? Well... As long as you do your duty you can be whatever you want. 

He is neutral with the idea of you being a writer. He is a soldier before anything. And a leader at that. He’ll support you because Captain Dad... I mean... Captain Price always supports his team but sometimes the said team gives a hard time to his comprehension and patience. 

You’re mostly quiet, with music for your ears, typing or penning something on a sheet of paper. Moreover, it seems like you have some sort of natural distance with Soap’s or Gaz’s - or both - usual chaos. 

Price has to say that it amazes him how you are distant of everything when you are in what Soap would call a writer’s fever. 

By the way, he happens to watch over you both when Soap draws and you write on the couch of the common room. If you both eventually show him what you created - if you don’t he will not force you - he’ll gaze at you like a proud momma duck despite his best behavior. 

He is mostly the one staring in disbelief as you use vocabulary, tropes, imaginary events for your own type of art since he can’t understand it even though you all speak the same language. 

Price notices very early you are a skilled writer, or at least you have some experience. The reports he gets from you are probably the best from the soldiers he got under his orders. He might have something to say about the spelling and the shape of your letters if you give him handwritten reports. Depends on you I guess. 

He will not ask to read what you write. You can call that the appropriate distance induced by hierarchy. You remain soldiers. You may as well act like it. 

Sometimes, you’d like his opinion. An outside point of view about your work is always good, no ? Well... John Price has a Ghost syndrome. He is annoyingly ass deep in his military life. Hence, he faces a very limited imagination except when it comes to interrogate an enemy. 

The worst about him is that he could be an amazing beta reader. Constructive criticism and probably giving you ways to improve yourself in what you already are so good at. 

Just give him time. He’ll get interested one way or another. First, you may try to be closer emotionally to him. Might be a good start to go past this military hierarchy and to know what his tastes are to get his heart beat only at the tone of your phrasing with your unique talent 

Rodolfo Parra 

He thinks it’s so cool to have a hobby as enjoyable as he thinks you have just by the way you act when you are writing. 

Rudy doesn’t have the time to delve that deeply into a hobby. Los Vaqueros constantly demand his attention. However, when he gets the time he - like Gaz - tries to ask about the process of writing. He even tries to write by himself. 

You explained about the tropes and dynamics and he seemed to get it immediately. Childhood friends to lovers is his favorite one by the way. 

It was just a little story he came up with. It was the first thing that stuck to his imagination, appearing out of an obscure place of his brain. It was uncertain, somewhat shaky but simple and, in a way, adorable.  

He almost took it personally when you said this small piece of text was just like him. 

However, before you sink even deeper in awkwardness, you dismissed this last interaction and tried to correct him the best you could. 

After that, he was looking forward the little time when you could write with him and he could learn. Another thing, it’s quiet around you, focused, relaxed. Alejandro knows where to find him when he is looking for his right hand. 

He could be an amazing beta reader if he wasn’t so kind. He forgives you everything. “Have you noticed inconsistencies or flaws ?” you’d ask. “Maybe a little something here but I’m sure it’s me” he’d reply. Unnerving, right ? The gentlest reader but you don’t need him to be so nice. You need him to be observant. 

He also comes up with very simple ideas when it comes to writing but his way of apprehending things has something one can’t quite describe. My closest synonym would be a vibe, something like raw talent that only needs to be explored thoroughly. It resembles to cutting a diamond, sharpen the edges to make it glistening and precious. 

His imagination is not too chaotic but his thinking and reasoning develops and fill in the gaps of his originality. 

Anyways, Rudy is amazing. As always. 

Alejandro Vargas 

There has to be one who does not take you very seriously. Well... It is Alejandro. The Mexican colonel is... something else, to say the least. He considered himself a man of action and not a man of words. So, to him, whatever you were doing with those scraps of paper during your free time was none of his business. 

He’ll try some kind of joke with you writing nasty things in the secret of that little head of yours. Two answers now. “No, colonel, I’m not into writing that kind of litterature” would be the first reponse with a hint of scorn hidden behind your deadpan aspect. 

The second answer though... “Yeah ! I write smut ! Now that we’re talking about that, do you mind if I use your features for my next...” and then you proceed to make a very descriptive, thoroughly explained speech about your imaginary Alejandro and what you planned him to do in this small story of yours. The point was to make the colonel embarassed. Although, it worked better on Rudy who went blushing like a tomato. 

If you choose the second option, it will end up in nasty jokes each time you meet each other. This silly game is absolutely unsufferable for everyone making the mistake to listen to you. 

If anything, your relashionship suffers from this disregard. You didn’t ask Alejandro’s appreciation, hardly tolerance even but it left a sort of bitter taste. Rudy is... Kinder. More understanding. 

However, what happens is that you tend to be consequently more distant from Alejandro. It may have been a silly joke about a pastime of yours but writing is so personal that it was as if he made a joke about your own self and this was intolerable. He had no business disrespecting you this way. 

Beyond that, you banished him from your writing process. His opinion, his hypothetical help, what he might like to see within a story - doesn’t matter how silly it may be - he was no part of it. 

If he changes his mind, you’d tend to retort him something alike “Let’s stay in our own field of expertise colonel. Let me dream about my stories. And you, dream about chasing El Sin Nombre. Good fences make good neighbors as one says”. 

Something that also might happen is that Rudy’s new habit of unwinding with you quietly in the common room and having long conversations with you about that hobby you were now both sharing made him feel weird. Alejandro was surely passionate and admitting he’s wrong - at least for this - was no part of his character but this was the proof he should’ve acted differently. The realisation took its time but he eventually accepts the fact he made an asshole of himself. 

He’ll apologise when he catches you alone, writing. Now the question may be about how much time do you want to play with him for having been such an arse. 

Eventually, Alejandro learns his lesson and he even asks you to read what you write. When he’s done, he is so silent, gawking. You laugh at him. 

König 

Our gigantic, adorable Austrian operator is a book worm. It’s horrendous. The heavy bullying he has been a victim got him to be safe between the shelves of library. The scent of old paper and the calm of the library got him out of his skin, journeying between worlds out of his appalling daily life. He was typically the dreamy, lonely kid who had characters inside his head as sole company. 

So yeah. Books mean relief, respite, getaway for him as well as a way to heal himself from the pain he received from his classmates or whoever hurt him in his younger days. 

He doesn’t have much time for reading anymore and these books are a little too bulky for the small package he was allowed to have. So having you near him is like a blessing. He can talk out his thoughts.  

Beyond writing, it is the vibe around you that convinces him to sit next to you in the common room. He tried to make himself small, to not take too much of the couch but you couldn’t deny his thigh touching yours. You raised your head and smiled at him. König did not utter a single word, already flustered to fail at conversing. But, as time goes on - and after numerous times he just sat next to you enabling himself to move a muscle - you made most of the conversation. He felt almost immediately at ease. 

You two daydream together now, talking about little things always related to writing or reading. It is also a way to relax after close calls and the danger of being killed. 

He is the KING at worldbuilding. König has always several ideas coursing through his brain. His mind is sometimes chaotic, full of details. He gave you the impression once that telling the history of one of this world would create a great saga on it own. Moreover, König is so passionate about these little bouts of thoughts put together. 

He is also very aware about tropes and dynamics. His favorite of the latter is the small protector x the big shy character because he can relate. And he also has a soft post for a good ol’ mutual pining or a hypothetical love at first sight - as unlikely as it seems in real life - 

He doesn’t try to write with you though. He knows he is not too good at this, which is weird considering the tremendous amount of time he can spend while reading. Although, König knows he may have a chance if he writes in German. It depends on you being able to understand him or not.

König is also a dissatisfactory beta reader, different from Rudy though. He doesn’t dare utter what he judges as flaws because he thinks he’d lose you. He is so happy to be the first reading whatever you are working on because it makes him feel so special. 

He always supports you and tries to relax you when pangs of frustration creeps inside your mind because your writing doesn’t go the way you plan it to be. 

Just like with Soap, what you two have is not understandable by the people around you. What’s more is that König’s anxious nature tends to keep you both distant from the people outside of your little bubble. 

Just a Little Lie: Prologue

Think about it: Imagine a reader that meets the boys of 141 as a “civilian”. They don’t want to run off yet another man that finds them intimidating because of their military background. So they act dumb, assuming they can keep their career secret at least long enough to make a go of this new situationship. Until it gets them into trouble once they’re assigned to a new taskforce.

A/N: I know Ghost and Soap only show up from MW2 onwards - just let me have this!

Keeping this deliberately vague until character specific chapters start. Think of it like a dating sim where you choose your route after the prologue I guess 😛

Also I can almost guarantee setting up the context for this here in the prologue is going to be so much longer than chapters going forward - I apologise in advance darlings!

*All* Y/Ns in my fics are GN! unless requested otherwise - pet names inbound but nothing specifically gendered. Slow burn - eventual smut. Canon Typical Violence starting from Chapter 1.

Word Count: 3925

MINORS: DNI (I swear to god)

—-

It had been going on for maybe three or four months now. And almost a month at least of back and forth banter over text, of coffee dates and dinners when his schedule allowed. A month of thinly veiled flirting and touches that could almost be taken as friendly as you got to know each other. Or, as you got to know him anyway. He’d been upfront that his work was in some way attached to the military (most likely an active service member), and while you knew he couldn’t really discuss more - he didn’t know you knew that. So with a look of awe and confusion you’d been innocently fishing. Purely innocent of course.

When you initially met at the cafe round the corner from your flat you didn’t know he was a fellow soldier. Which is precisely how you had gotten to this point. Perhaps if you had known you could have avoided the pretence and half truths you’d fed him with a head tilt and a smile. You couldn’t find a man within your own unit, that was beyond unacceptable for multiple reasons. And far too often you found yourself opening up to someone new when on your brief stints of leave only for him to go quiet and disappear once he knew you could handle a knife. Or a gun, or even a grenade if need be. Completely understandable in hindsight - though no less disheartening in the moment once you realised messages were either being left unread or in some cases blocked from delivering. So you found yourself wanting to get to know this new guy first, at least a little while before dropping the proverbial bombshell on him.

He was well built, that’s for sure, and held himself in a rigid posture that you should have noticed right away from your own days standing to attention in front of your captain. But his eyes caught yours instantly when you met - a startling intensity that held you rooted to the spot as you both reached for the same cup sitting on the counter that afternoon. You hadn’t been paying much attention in fairness. Far too caught up in a conversation that was clearly going nowhere fast, and somehow too in your phone to even realise that you weren’t the only patron waiting for your drink in the quiet shop. Hands collided and you found your eyes darting from the cup up to his face, apologies rushing out of your lungs as you lost your breath suddenly, barely managing a pathetic “Oh”.

“Sorry Y/N, machine is acting up - still waiting on your shots.” you vaguely heard from the older woman behind the bar, sounds a little muffled against the sound of your own heartbeat.

“No, not at all! Was away with the fairies I think.” a quick glance back to the mystery man in front of you “Apologies sir”.

“No problem, Y/N was it?” The last part came with a chuckle that sent an embarrassing tingle down your spine, barely contained by the tension you were still holding in your shoulders.

You couldn’t remember quite how the conversation had gotten started from there. But you did learn that he was also a regular to this little spot as you took up a seat near the draughty doorway. It was frankly surprising how you’d both missed each other up till this point really. It was a totally friendly chat about the quality of the cafe for the low price, and some of the other places to eat and drink around the local arena, but it was nice. Comfortable even. If you hadn’t received a call from your captain to check in on you while you were on leave you’d have stayed longer. You honestly didn’t expect to see him again as you stepped out to take the call, and it seemed he had places to be given the way he looked down at his own phone. Yet there he was when you walked in only a few days later. You aren’t even sure now who joked that you should swap numbers if you were going to keep bumping into each other like this, but you’re glad it happened.

—-

And that was how it started. A quick message from one of you to say you were out and about that day, and a reply from the other to suggest either your cafe or somewhere else to catch up. A text to say you’d gotten home safe after seeing him for an hour or so (at his insistence), followed by at least a dozen texts talking about the fun you had seeing each other and how you needed to do this again. Questions asking when you’d each be free next - and total understanding that work got in the way and you might be away for a few days from you both. You were purely on a first name basis, and you were comfortable with that. Work began picking up again and you hadn’t assumed he would be anything but a casual friend. No need to get too attached in your line of work. Especially if your prior romantic endeavours were any indication.

A data analyst, that’s what you’d decided to tell him when he asked about your work almost a fortnight after meeting him. You were called into different places as part of a rolling contract so you were never sure exactly where you were heading next. And it wasn’t too far off from the truth in all honesty. You’d always been skilled with computers and your ability to notice patterns in seemingly nonsensical data sets had been noticed not long after you enlisted. While you were trained for the front lines, you quickly found yourself pulled back by your superior officers at the academy. A sergeant for sure, but you often found yourself behind a screen coordinating units and monitoring traffic from the other side. Not too much of a stretch to some sort of number jockey in an office somewhere you felt. And you were certainly starting to enjoy this new man’s company. No need to scare him off. Though as time went by you were quickly coming to the realisation that very little seemed to faze him.

You thought about telling him, truthfully. You had been sitting on an admittedly damp bench outside a kebab shop late one evening, both of you back in late from work and neither of you in the mood for anything other than quick and greasy food. He beat you to the punch though. And oh how it sent you spinning as you realised what you were getting yourself into.

“So, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he paused as he shovelled in another mouthful of donner meat with one of those crappy little wooden sporks, “about what I do for work I mean”. You were caught a little off guard, having been waiting for a moment to come clean yourself, your own spork full of curry covered chips halted precariously half way between the styrofoam container and your mouth.

“Yeah? You’ve been a little vague on that one” you murmured after a short pause, quickly blowing on your food and taking a bite as it threatened to fall off the disposable utensil. You got a small “hmph” and a nudge from his thigh for that one, a cheeky smirk falling into place for both of you. He had mentioned travelling for work himself, and combined with some oddly familiar tendencies he was showing, you had a gnawing feeling that you knew where this was going.

“Well yeah, I can only apologise for that. Didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

“You make it sound like you do something scary when you say it like that. What are you, some sort of assassin for hire?” The joke earned you a half-hearted glare and a full but playful shove from his shoulder, sending you too far to the edge of the bench as you slid across the wet surface. The size difference was most notable in moments like these - this wasn’t the first time he almost sent you flying in playful moments when he pushed you around.

“Oh shit, sorry” he linked a quick finger into the belt loop of your jeans and hauled you back next to his side with ease before you even had the chance to begin to topple over in what would have been a hilarious fall into a cold puddle.

“Really though, I didn’t want to scare you off when we were getting on so well, but I’ll be off for work again and gone for a while soon enough. Didn’t want you to think I was ghosting you or something.” The quirk of his lips as he mentioned that last part gave you the feeling that there was meant to be an inside joke there, but nothing you could place. “I’m involved in some military shit, and I’m shipping out in a few days. Only getting a few days break then back at it again.”

“Military?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that the surprise in your voice could be played off as you recovering from your near tumble, “Should’ve guessed I suppose. Normal guys aren’t built like you unless they’re in the gym 24/7, and I take up far too much of your free time for that” poking your spork into his upper arm as if to indicate what a brick wall it was. The joke seemed to disarm him somewhat as he broke into a wide open-mouthed grin, his tongue pressing against his upper canine in the way you had come to realise meant he was trying not to laugh.

“That you do Y/N. Between that and all the food we eat it’s lucky I fit in my uniform.”

“You suggested the kebab shop, I could have been convinced to cook tonight.”

“Oh? I could have had you cooking dinner for me tonight? I’m devastated.”

You turned your face away quickly at that, the way you always did when the flirting became a little too obvious. Internally though, your mind was reeling. Fuck. While he may have been a little vague on his profession he hadn’t outright lied, you had. The idea of admitting that to him felt like a terrible idea right now. The moment was nice, and you were hardly about to ruin it by telling him you were a soldier.

But the pieces were clicking into place. The way he stood ramrod straight next to you as you placed your order, shoulders back and chest out with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The way he kept his eyes moving around as he surveyed the drunken uni students stumbling into the kebab shop behind you. They way he almost jumped out his own skin when a car had backfired in the next street over as you found a place to sit, moving in front of you as he searched for the source of the noise, head practically on a swivel. This man had seen combat.

Not a part of your squad though. There was no way you would have missed him if you had spotted him out in the field or in the barracks. No way in hell. This was fine, wasn’t it? If you weren’t on the same team then nothing had to change, not really. Your work was classified, sure, but if you explained that then really nothing had to stop here. Couldn’t be counted as fraternising if you didn’t actually work together.

You realised you were being too quiet though, too caught up in your thoughts, and you could feel his hot stare on you as if expecting you to find a reason to bolt. Quickly turning back to look up at him and tilting your head in just the right way that your hair fell in front of your face you said, “I’m not sure dragging back an attractive military man to my flat for dinner is the best idea,” the way he froze in that moment had you quickly continuing “especially only a few days from shipping out. I can’t imagine giving you something to be distracted about while you’re meant to be working is the best idea.” That one was certainly a home truth. Far too often he had been in your mind at the most inopportune moments behind your screen lately. The pause felt like it was stretching on into eternity, and you really worried you pushed too far over whatever invisible line you had both drawn between the two of you.

“You say that like you haven’t been enough of a distraction already Y/N.” the softness in his voice had you breathless. His food sat on his lap, held so loosely in his grip that you were sure it was going to spill onto the cobbles at your feet. Fuck indeed. You could feel the words rising up in your throat the way a sob would, desperate to get out that you understood far too well what he meant. That your captain had been ready to pull you aside after one too many daydream towards the end of a meeting. But the words caught and you couldn’t say a thing, not when he went back to stabbing mindlessly at his rapidly cooling food. Not when he was already being far more open and raw than anyone else had been in such a long time.

There wasn’t much more said between you as you ate, stolen glances between you conveying more than words could in that moment. Something was brewing between you both tonight that was clouding the air, thick tension that seemed all too easily snapped if you so much as breathed too loudly. Something had changed in just a few words that was sending you down a new path in whatever this was. Casual friends didn’t find themselves staring at each other from the corner of their eyes, that much you knew. All too quickly you found yourselves finished with your food and walking down the road to your flat, and you had barely spoken more than a few words to each other in that time. Any chance you had of telling him tonight flew out the proverbial window and was replaced with a sinking thought that you should have done so earlier.

“Well then,” you hated the way that your voice practically croaked its way out of your throat as you stood outside the door to your building, “I guess unless either of us get called in early we’ll need to meet up again before you ship out.”

“Of course. It’s uh, it’s getting late though I suppose. Going to leave you here and get back to mine.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I had fun again tonight, by the way.” Practically a whisper against the wind. His hands twitched at his sides, the way they would as if wanting to reach out and grab something, stopped only by great effort if the way his jaw clenched was any indication.

“You did?” A deep breath and a near shuddering exhale.

“I always do when I’m with you.” Your hand came up to rest on his arm, squeezing gently against his bicep as if daring the tension to break.

“Good.” Was all you got before he practically dove in, lips to yours with a searing heat that almost knocked you back against the door. His hands were on your jaw, pulling you into him, desperation practically rolling off him in that moment. Like you would slip through his fingers at any moment if he didn’t hold you right here. You broke contact for just a split second to take a must needed breath before kissing back with equal intensity, you weren’t entirely sure who made the “mmph” sound as your lips collided again. I have to tell him, you thought - pushing further into the kiss.

And as if the universe had planned to ruin the moment, you heard your phones ring. Both of them, with the insistent ringtones you both knew to be from your respective employers. The same employers apparently. He pulled back as if stunned, slapped back into reality by the shrill mash-up of your phones against the quiet of the late night street. Phones were pulled from pockets as you both stared down at incoming calls. A near hysterical laugh ripped itself from you as you slumped against the door behind you. Four months to get a kiss from the gorgeous man in front of you and you get a call right now?

“I have to take this-”

“Gotta take this call-”

A chuckle from him, and he steps back, the cold swirling up your front as his heat leaves you.

“Later?” He holds up the phone to you, you know he can’t just not take this. Neither can you to be fair.

“Definitely later.” He smiles then turns to head down the road to his own flat as you turn to quickly let yourself into your building, your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you fumble with the keys. You manage to get inside and answer your call before it goes to voicemail.

“Sergeant Smith? Is this a good time?” You get the main door closed behind you.

“Yes Captain Harrison, what’s happened?” Taking your stairs two at a time to put distance between yourself and the world outside.

“I know you were meant to be on leave for at least a week but something’s come up. We’ve had a request for a temporary transfer from the higher ups. They need a fresh pair of eyes on information coming out of the Middle East and your file was pulled. Just warning you now,” You were at your flat door now, key in the lock as you waited - your Captain took an uncharacteristic pause, “you’ll be receiving a call within the next 10 minutes from a Kate Laswell from the CIA to discuss briefing and your flight out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been loaned out to another unit Sir, even if they were American. I’m not sure why you sound so apprehensive this time around.” You were inside your small flat at this point, jacket shrugged off and thrown over your duffel bags, still unpacked from your flight earlier today. Looks like they would be staying that way.

“I don’t know much about this unit, Sergeant, in all honesty. More of a task force from what I understand. By the sounds of it, it will all be heavily classified.” Well, if your interest wasn’t piqued before - it was now.

“What task force Sir?”

“141, under Captain John Price, SAS.”

—-

The next few days were a whirlwind. Briefings were had and official transfers were sought and approved. You barely had time to hit the ground running as you found yourself on a rather nondescript hangar base. Which, to be fair, was entirely understandable given the classified nature of task force 141 as you came to realise. You barely had time in all the madness to text your apologies to your man (your man?) that “later” would have to be once you both got back from whatever work you both had. He had been slow to respond, but knowing now that he was likely getting ready to go back out into the field you could understand. You really hoped he was as equally patient with yourself. Your access to your phone was going to be severely restricted once on base. Highly classified information and all.

You found yourself walking alongside Laswell following a quick but firm handshake, duffel over one shoulder and military assigned tablet under the other as you marched away from the helicopter that still had its engines running as it powered down on the tarmac. Soldiers were running across the field and between outbuildings. Whatever was going on had everyone in a rush, and that was never a good sign.

“You’ll receive a full briefing from Captain Price inside Sergeant, but just to get you up to speed,” her blue eyes squinting against the sun as she turned her head to you, “we lost custody of chemical gases in Verdansk less than a week ago. We have reason to believe they will surface again in the Middle East but there’s too much chatter in our communication channels to be sure where. You’ll be both here and in the field getting those chemicals secure before they hit friendly soil.”

“Understood - just tell me where to go to get set up.” She pointed her arm to a tent to the right of you, pace never slowing as she led you through the flaps. Inside were a group of three standard issue white folding tables in a “U” formation in front of a large screen, and you set your bag and tablet down on the one closest. You straightened as Laswell made her way to the front where a group of four uniformed soldiers stood huddled around said screen, shoulders back, feet apart and chin high. You could barely make out the hushed voices of the men ahead of you but held position, ever the good soldier. Ahead of you, you could see a tall imposing man in some sort of mask, though with his back to you it wasn’t obvious if it covered his full face. Next to him stood a man with a mohawk, his short sleeve shirt a major contrast to the full tactical gear of the man next to him. Off to the right stood a black man with short cropped hair, his baseball cap pulled low. Finally there was the man you assumed to be Captain Price, if the way the men kept turning to him was any indication, boonie hat covering the top half of his face and an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth.

Out of the four men standing ahead of you, you recognised one of them far too well for comfort, having had a good look at his back as he walked away from the door to your building only a few days ago. After he kissed you like he was scared to lose you, after he told you he was a soldier outside a crappy little kebab shop and you just sat there and let him keep believing you were just a data analyst. Shit. The rising panic in your chest threatened to bubble over into fear, and you found your knees beginning to shake. Not that you were given much time to think about the impending consequences.

“Captain Price,” the man with a boonie hat tilted his head in acknowledgment of Laswell as she reached him, “Sergeant Smith has arrived and is waiting for briefing.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, but you only focused on one. Pleasant professionalism turned to surprise, then shock, and finally grave understanding as you stood there, near shaking like a leaf in the wind in front of him. You felt far too small in your standard issue boots, and your hands that were clutched to the front of your tactical vest longed to wrap around you at that moment. If the ground could have opened up and swallowed you whole in that moment you would have been more than happy. You could tell the colour had drained from your face, that you looked like you had just been shot, again, a more pleasant idea than the current situation you found yourself in at the moment.

“Y/N?”

Shit.

(This is another one of those random things that just insert into my brain for no reason at random times. A few sentences of smut at the end so MDNI) Imagine you just got married to him and basically you're still on your honeymoon/holiday thingamob. And you're making soup but you accidentally drop the hot bowl on the floor and you accidentally cut your hand. He rushes up to you, helps you clean and cleans up the little cut- it's not too serious (but he's still overreacting). Anyways, after doing that, he just sees you in your little pyjamas, and the next thing you know you're bent over the counter and he's inside you, kissing the cut on your palm as he thrusts into you, :)

(Should i make this into a fic or not?)

JJK: Yuuji (aged up), Gojo, and maybe Geto (not Kenjaku) CoD: Konig, Price, Gaz, Soap, (probably anyone from tf141 tbh)

knights in shining tactical gear | 1

s. 'ghost' riley x f!reader x j. 'soap' mactavish

Summary: After the undead apocalypse has destroyed most of society, your main goal is to survive and take care of your baby niece. At a moment of utter desperation, two veterans come to your rescue.

Warnings/Info: Zombie Apocalypse AU | 18+ | tw: suicidal thoughts; angst; dark humor; cussing; tw:blood and gore; fluff; hurt/comfort; found family; strangers to lovers; protective!Ghost and Soap

💀》 Masterlist

You grit your teeth until your jaw nearly pops with every step you take. A sharp pain shoots through your ankle, up your leg whenever your body weight shifts to your right foot.

Your ankle...it's broken, at least badly sprained. You're not sure, you didn't have any time to check since you tripped up and twisted it during your escape from your previous shelter. Plus, you're neither nurse nor doctor.

The garage was dark, a clusterfuck of boxes upon boxes, cartons, a broken car, and tools everywhere, and then it happened, but you had to get out of there fast, or else you would've been trapped.

You gulp down the scream caused by pain and frustration bubbling up in your throat and blink away the tears of fear and agony running down your dirty cheeks as you clutch the bundled-up baby closer to your chest. She's still sleeping, even while the dead are chasing you.

Now you're limping down the road towards the gas station. The large front windows had been broken in, that's why you passed on taking up shelter there when you came through the small-town initially, but the heavy door to the storage room behind the counter was intact then, so perhaps you can barricade yourself in there.

It won't be of any use though, the voice of reason is screaming in the back of your mind, but the pain and hopelessness are making you act haphazardly.

You're out of food, meds, baby formula. You lost your handgun in the previous house, and you'll be trapped again once the dead have caught up with you.

"I can't do it...I can't do it, Derek", you whimper as your arms now begin to ache and tremble from exhaustion. "I'm so sorry"

The snarling and groaning becomes louder as the herd of undead starts closing in behind you. You're a couple of feet ahead of them, but you're getting slower and they keep marching relentlessly.

You'd promised your brother you'd take care of his baby girl as he died in your arms.

"Promise me, Y/N, whatever it takes."

You did. You tried. It wasn't enough.

The dark, scary thoughts come back to you. You could've ended your misery when you still had the chance. A quick, merciful death for Sadie, and a bullet to your head afterwards.

No. God, no! You squeeze your eyes shut as you begin to move faster, and you scream freely then, from the top of your lungs to overshadow the pain.

Sadie jerks awake in your arms and you feel her big inhale of air before she starts crying and wailing with you.

You try to coo at her, try to calm her down while you make your way inside the gast station, but it's little to no use.

Broken glass crunches beneath your boots as you walk inside the building. A quick scan of the store, there's no time for looting or making sure it's deserted. The shelves look empty anyway, and the storage door is still closed.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, sweetheart", you hush her as you spot a crowbar on the counter, caked with dried-up blood at its curved end. You grab it in a haste, carefully securing Sadie close to your chest with your other hand.

"Come on now, please"

You limp behind the counter, your blood now rushing in your ears as adrenaline continues to be the only factor keeping you from crumpling.

There's movement behind you, the glass crunches again as the first undead pool into the store, and when you reach the door handle your heart is violently beating in your throat.

This is it, if the door is locked, you will die and Sadie, too.

But as you push the handle down, the door proofs unlocked and while there seems to be something blocking it from the other side, you manage to push it open just enough to throw the crowbar in and squeeze through afterwards.

You kick it closed behind you and brace your back against it as you try to catch your breath.

Sadie is still crying and clinging to your shirt, so you start rocking her in your arms, leaning in to so she can listen to your voice as you hum a random melody for her.

You flinch when the undead start knocking and throwing themselves at the door.

"It'll hold, honey. We're safe here, they can't get in", you whisper repeatedly, until you start believing it yourself.

There's a wooden chair to your left, and it must've been the object blocking the door before. You reach for it and set it down in front of the door before you sit. You let your gaze wander around the room, your heart still beating fast as you try to take it in. It's not big, but mostly dark. The only source of daylight coming from the tiny window at the top of the wall across from you.

Your left leg bounces nervously as the noise outside becomes louder. You don't know how many of those monsters have followed you. 20? And all the hubbub will only attract more.

Sadie is still fussing as you chew your bottom lip raw, zoned out for a moment as you try to comprehend the situation. You'll crash soon without water and pain meds, when the adrenaline has worn off. You can feel it already as your brain registers your hurt ankle. It's fire licking up your leg now, up to your spine.

You let your head fall back and rest against the, but the permanent knocking and guttural snarls make you sit up straight again.

You can't be taking breaks now.

You don't know how long you've been sitting on the chair, rocking Sadie back to sleep in your tired embrace while the dead continue to try and break in.

They can smell you, sense you, even if you stay perfectly still. Once their only instinct gets triggered, they won't stop hunting a human until you have successfully destroyed the remains of their rotten brain.

You look down at the baby sleeping in your arms; she looks more than peaceful right now, but you know she'll demand some formula soon. You smack your dry lips together and exhale slowly, wincing when you try to wiggle your toes. The pain has subsided a little now that you had a moment to rest, but the numbness of your limb worries you. What if it's broken? You don't know how to fix a broken ankle. Hell, you don't even know if you'll be able to keep the both of you alive through the night.

"Lord, just give me one more day and I'll find someone who can take better care of her", you whimper into the darkness as your eyes well up with a fresh wave of tears.

Suddenly, the steady, sharp firing of gunshots cuts through the familiar noise of guttural snarls and moans. You perk up on your chair as the hammering on the door becomes less and less when the undead abandon their hunt to focus their attention elsewhere.

There's some shouting, more gunshots, closer now too. Sadie wakes up again and wiggles in your arms as new noises echo through the store.

You duck instinctively when some shots are directed at the door.

"Knives out, Johnny. We neeed'a safe our ammo"

"Roger that, Lt."

There's more ruckus outside, some kind of hassle, more snarls, then bodies dropping to the floor. Your heart rate drops and your breathing goes shallow as you press your ear to the door.

"Ugly bastard that one", one man says and chuckles. His accent is thick and Scottish, his voice friendly and eager. "tried'ta take a bite o' me hand."

There's another voice, deep and unfaltering. His accent smooth and British.

"Be quicker next time then. Ya done it a million times now, Johnny."

Sadie babbles then, tugs at the fabric of your shirt to get your attention.

"Shh, sweetie. Be quiet...please, be quiet", you coo at her desperately. Perhaps they'll leave you alone if you stay put.

"Ya think she's in there?"

"Must be. It's the only place she coulda gone"

Your stomach drops then. Dealing with the undead was one thing, but running into men as a lone female was quite a different story and you haven't had one good experience yet.

"Lass uh miss...yer in there? We just want ta help ya, thought ya might be in trouble"

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from making a sound while you gently rock Sadie to keep her quiet.

"There's, ah - shit. Uh, we don't want to harm you, miss. We uh we just wanna make sure you're okay"

His deep voice makes a shiver run down your spine and the way he's fumbling with the right words to not scare you, makes you less tense.

"Very smooth with yer words there, Lt. Is that how you used to talk to the ladies? No wonder yer one lonely, ol' bast-"

"Shaddup, Johnny! Bloody hell...the lass is terrified, I'm trying ta make her trust us"

"D'ya even know how you look with that mask on? Blood and guts all over? Fuck, I'm terrified of ya right now"

Their sudden banter makes your brows furrow and your fear of them cease somehow, but a sudden, timid knock makes you jump again.

"Hey, miss? My name is Sergeant John MacTavish, me and Lieutenant Riley here just wanna make sure yer doing okay. We, uh, we heard ya scream and...we heard a baby. The baby yours?"

You're not entirely sure why, but as soon as the sergeant drops his voice to that gentle tone, Sadie's eyes light up with joy. Perhaps she thinks it's her father speaking to her, and the thought makes your heart clench with grief.

"She's -"

Your voice is hoarse as you try to speak up, so you clear your throat before you start again.

"She's my niece. Her name is Sadie", you say and your throat becomes thight as you choke back tears. "She's only eight months old."

"Alright then", John says and lets out a relieved chuckle. "And what's yer name, miss?"

Sadie giggles in your arms, tries to wiggle herself from the blanket and her sudden eagerness calms you down.

"My name is Y/N, Sergeant."

"Have you got any weapons on ya, Y/N?", the other man, the lieutenant, butts in and it makes you suspicious again.

"What if I do?"

"Way ta go, Lt! Make her distrust us again...Jesus fuck"

There's a moment of silence, before the lieutenant speaks up again. More coherent and suave this time. His voice runs down your spine like oil, and you can't help but be curious about his appearance.

"I'd say you're lying, Y/N, but that's fine. I'd probably lie too if I was in your situation. You're a sharp woman. Tough as nails, too"

"Well, I'm trying", you mutter under your breath before another, sharper knock follows.

"So, will ya attack us if we come inside now, Y/N? Aye or nay?"

You snicker at John's choice of words and your throat hurts afterward. Meanwhile, Sadie continues to wiggle and move in your embrace.

"Fine, sweetheart. Don't make me regret this"

You wince again as you slowly lift your aching body from the wooden chair, only to limp towards the wall across from the door.

"You can come in. I'm unarmed", you call out to them as you lean against the wall to keep your weight off your injured ankle.

There's some mumbling, some words shared between the two and you immediately regret your decision, but it's too late now and then the door door is pushed open.

They walk in slowly with heavy boots and steps, obviously armed to their teeth with their rifles raised and the tactical lights pointed at you, and when your gaze falls upon the giant man with the skull mask, your legs nearly cave in.

"All clear, Lt.", the shorter one says and drops his rifle, though it dangles on a sling at his side. His eyes light up as they meet yours and he offers you a friendly smile.

"See, we ain't so bad, huh? We're the good guys", he jokes, then shrugs. "sort of."

You nod eagerly and swallow thickly as he walks towards you. It's too quick, too familiar and you crouch down at the wall even though your ankle punishes you with searing pain, and you hug Sadie so tightly to your chest, you fear she might suffocate.

"Easy there, Soap", the Lieutenant barks, but stays at a reasonable distance. Now you know what the sargeant meant with the mask, the blood and gore.

And John listens to him, backs away immediately to give you space with his hands raised.

"I'm sorry, lass. Didn’t mean ta scare ya right away"

You nod and try not to hyperventilate. Sadie cries out and ease your hold on her at once.

"That's a baby", John says in awe, shooting his lieutenant a look of his shoulder. "a real baby, Lt."

You think you can see him roll his blackened eyes at the statement before he drops his rifle at his side too. He crouches down, but still looks huge, and he points at your legs.

"You hurt?"

Now John gets down on one knee too when he notices the way you're gripping and pawing at your injured ankle. You didn't even notice you were doing it.

"I...I tripped and twisted my ankle. I've been running with it since"

"How long?", he asks soberly while John pulls something out his tactical vest and grabs his canteen from his belt.

"A couple of hours? I'm not sure"

He clicks his tongue while John sucks in a breath.

"Ouch. Sorry, 'bout that, lass. Here...can I give that to you? It's water and some pain meds"

"Only one, Johnny. She's weak and we need her awake to...to care for the baby"

The lieutenant clears his throat then and lets John take care of you for a moment. You're less intimidated now, but still wary; you must be.

"There ya go. Good job", he praises you as you swallow the white pill and drink eagerly from his canteen. John watches with an enchanted smile as you hold the flask to Sadie.

"She's a cutie, eh. I just want'ta squish those chubby cheeks"

You laugh breathlessly and when John has another close look at Sadie, she reaches her little hand out to him. The sight makes you tear up and melt simultaneously.

"Alright, ya finished? We need to get going. Get somewhere safe before nightfall"

John coos at Sadie, who giggles at the attention, but he nods and his eyes shift back to you.

"Think ya can walk?"

You press your lips together, suddenly afraid they might leave you behind after all if you say no. But you shake your head reluctantly nonetheless.

"Her ankle's looking pretty grim, Lt. It might get worse if she continues to walk without any support"

The lieutenant has his back turned towards the room as he looks outside into the store with his rifle up again. He peeks over his shoulder, dark eyes assessing yours before he drops his rifle with a sigh, marching towards you.

You push back into the wall, spine stiff like an arrow as he crouches next to John. His mask looks even more frightening close up, with small splatters of dark blood scattered over it. Even his black gloves have a white skeleton print, and you kind of admire the dedication to detail. He still towers over you, but you feel like he tries his best to be on eye level.

"Soap, you take the babe, I'll carry her and then we move fast", he explains factually before adressing you directly. "That alright with you?"

You gulp, biting the inside of your cheek as you nod at him. Meanwhile, John holds his large hands out to you with a look of encouragement in his eyes.

"Promise I'll take good care of her", he assures you before you hand her over to him. He looks down at her with a smile and rocks her gently as he stands up.

"Aye, now your turn", the lieutenant chimes in and your attention is on him again. You want to ask him how he wants to go through with this, but before you can do so, you yelp when he picks you up bridal style like you weigh less than a bag full of feathers.

You awkwardly cling to his tactical vest, unsure how to position yourself in his strong arms while he keeps his gaze straight ahead. You feel his hand on your back, the other resting on your knee, squeezing ever so slightly as he moves.

"Alright, Johnny, moving out."

Just a little turned around.

Honestly, it wasn’t as if Y/N was defenceless.

It just so happened that on this one damn day, some asshole had managed to pickpocket her pouch. Not her wallet (that was back at the hotel), not her phone, just her money pouch, which contained the currency of the foreign country she was in. Being prepared and somewhat responsible, Y/N had only put in a day's worth of money into that pouch. In fact, it amazed her how he hadn't gone for her passport or even her phone. No, just the thing that would be most inconvenient for her.

Staring a hole into the ground, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead in an attempt to calm herself down and gather her thoughts. She had chased this slippery bastard all the way to this street where he turned the corner and into a dead end. Then he-, wait.

Y/N straightened up and her eyes darted around frantically. Where was she?

Nothing was familiar. A cafe on the cobbled stone street, a flower shop and a bakery. None of which she had seen before.

Wonderful, now, as well as having no money in a foreign country, she was bloody lost.

“Fuck me dead and sideways till Monday morning.” She huffed, while once again rubbing her forehead with her hand. Honestly, at this point, nothing could particularly get worse.

“That coul’ be arranged!” An accented voice called out from behind her. Scottish perhaps?

“Has a mouth on her.” Another replied in amusement while another voice just grunted in acknowledgement.

Y/N turned around to spit back a witty retort that quickly died on her lips.

“Uh..” She stuttered out intelligently.

Three men, each a prepossessing sight. One was wearing a cap, a blue denim jacket and some black jeans. He was brown eyed and dark skinned, nothing short of a model. His friend was leaning on him, crossed arms, a short mohawk, blue eyes, scruffy looking beard and a cheeky looking smirk. He donned a biker jacket with the small Scottish flag where his breast pocket would be and seemed to be wearing dog tags over his grey t-shirt. The last of them was a hulking man dressed fully in black, his face was obscured with a face mask akin to those of celebrities, however his presence was less of a star and more intimidating. Almost menacing. Maybe he was their bodyguard?

Y/N shook her head and replied,

“Yeah no thanks mate, I’ve got a bit on my plate at the moment, maybe in another life?” She nodded at the three before turning back around and walking towards the coffee shop.

“Oi, Bonnie, we can help ya if ya need. Besides, yer lookin' a bit peely wally.” The man with the mohawk called out.

“What the bloody hell are you on about mate.” Y/N asked, bewildered clearly not understanding the Scottish man's accent.

“ He thinks you look pale.” The large figure behind him rumbled helpfully.

Y/N blinked,

“Is he saying I look sickly?” She turned around and glowered at the man.

“No love, what we mean to say is, you look like you need some help?” The man with the baseball cap stepped forward carefully, as if not to spook her.

“Well, unless you’ve got a tracker dog, a body bag and a large metal pipe, I don't think you’re going to be much help to me.” She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Tha’ can be arranged bonnie.” The mischievous looking man grinned, stepping up while the man behind him followed while giving a non committal grunt.

“I’m Kyle, the annoying one is Johnny and that’s-”

“Simon.” The masked man grumbled while the other two threw a quick look at the third man.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you.” She nodded at the men before sighing, “Alright, I’m here for a holiday, trying to feel out if I wanna move out here for work. I was just takin’ a look around when some asshat came up and fell on me and grabbed my money pouch.” She spoke quickly, somewhat embarrassed that she was admitting to three strangers that she had been duped so easily.

“Ah lovie, unless you remember what he looks like or what he was wearin’ s’ gonna be hard for you to get it back. Do you remember how much you had in there?”

She shrugged, “It was meant to get me lunch and dinner before I checked out of my current hotel to find another one. The rest of the cash is in my hotel room.” She hung her head and sighed.

“Honestly I just need to find my way back and then I can sleep over things. I can skip a meal or two.”

“Gonny no dae that!” Johnny exclaimed, “Yer look like yer already skippin’ meals lass. We’ll take you to lunch and dinner! We got nothin’ ta do anyways!”

The one dressed in all black, Simon was it? Grunted out an agreement.

“You ain't gonna find much around here. You’re not far away from the military base.”

“Whaddya you say love? Let us show you around?” Kyle hummed, cocking his head akin to a begging puppy.

Y/N quirked her lips in thought. Would it be a smart move to let these strangers escort her around? Was she hungry enough to make a questionable decision?

“Well…”

“We’re not strange men, we promise miss.” The taller Brit offered.

“That's exactly what a strange man would say LT.”Johnny quipped, earning a light bonk on the head from the taller man.

Y/N shoulders relaxed when they saw the playful display of banter between the men. Surely this meant they were safe. Right?

Holiday Season

pairing. obsessed!141 / polar bear-hybrid!reader *scenario/headcanons

note. gender neutral reader. reader is physically described to be 6ft or over. common hybrid features such as animal ears, tail, nose, claws, and paw pads.

cw. unhealthy relationships/yandere themes, meat and blood mentions, a lot of eating from hands mentions, a weird type of infantilization, big bad bear is called cute a stupid amount of times, dangerous but passive reader, vague made-up base because i watch too many movies.

Holed up in the middle of fucking nowhere, Alaska, the white wasteland. That's how the 141 were going to spend the merry month of December. Endless snow in sight and no family to be found. A complete and utter joke of a holiday season.

It scarcely matters, the food that's been stored, the dense furniture they've been given, even the solace they find in each other. It's miserable out here. The freeze is always licking at their skin, seeping through their layered clothes to cling to the exposed nape. It's their constant company.

Yet, something else bothers them. A hint that only their trained eyes could catch in their misery. An entity, perhaps, something that follows the men without rest. It's a shadow of winter, blanketing itself around the base and leaving its warmth with no trace to its next destination. Only something another human could pull off.

Dishes left strewn on the counter are returned to their cupboards, clean and scrubbed. Leftovers are consistently missing a bite more than what Soap remembers wolfing the night before. If a blanket or pillow goes missing, best bet it doesn't come back. It doesn't take much convincing for Price to round up his boys to find out the root of their question. Not when they've nothing else to do.

It's Soap who finds you first. Rummaging through the fridge with a plastic container in your hands, that adorable black nose covered in spaghetti sauce. He wonders how they didn't hear you sooner with the way you carelessly scarf down the contents. You remind him a little of himself...

Little round ears perk up at the sound of his gasp. Soap freezes in place as your head cranes back to inspect him. Eyes staring at him with indifference, a lone noodle stuck to your cheek and tomato red staining your considerably large teeth. Sharp and big, enough to poke out from your mouth and dig into your chapped bottom lip. A similarly large grayish-blue tongue swipes out to clean the damning evidence.

So. Fucking. Cute.

Johnny is thanking the names of every God he knows when you let him lead you by hand to his team. A new warmth flows through his body, lighting up his dormant nerves in the winter night, your thick black claws prodding into his rough skin. You must be a docile ol' thing, obediently following him to his buddies, though only after he bribes you with more meals to come. He'll cook up the whole damn kitchen if it means you trail him like this daily.

Ghost is sure that Johnny's the one hiding furry ears and a tail when he rushes over like a dog with a fresh new bone. That, and he's more crazy than he imagined dragging over what looks to be a six foot something polar bear hybrid right his way. Ghost doesn't forget things easily, and he's confident that said bears are known to be the most eager predators in the presence of flesh. Not just by circumstance, no, by nature.

A strange thought does pop up in head. That fluffy white tail you sport catches his eye for longer than he'd like to admit. He wonders. If he offered up a nice, raw chunk of seal to you, would it wag in anticipation? Would your ears twitch at the sounds of his boots crunching in the snow, bringing you yet another delicious catch? He could be the perfect provider for you, he thinks. Maybe even have you hunt alongside him, a bonding ritual of sorts. Blood all over your mouth, allowing only Simon to dab away at your chin with a towel. What a sight to behold. Two predators in the same room.

Gaz takes a step away before doing the exact opposite a minute later. You're not just some wild animal, and he's half worried he just disrespected you to your face (you didn't see it). Any bit of nervousness he had melts away when you gently push your nose into his warm hands. He was going for a handshake, but this is surprisingly preferred. Seems he missed wiping some the cocoa from a recent pot of hot chocolate. He hadn't expected you to be so... soft. If you want more, he's got a heap of cookies hidden away in his room. No issue with you visiting him for a late night snack. Christ, he'll even handfeed you if you're feeling lazy, no worries.

Captain Price nearly drops the flimsy cup of coffee held in his gloved hands. Fucking giant thing you are. He nearly drops it again when your nose takes a sharp turn to the smell of his beverage. Not picky, are you... He'll keep note of that for later. From the looks of it, you're adapting well to the chaos of his batch, sniffing and patiently waiting for Soap to release you from his iron grip on your paw pad. He also takes note of what your wearing almost immediately, Arctic grade parka wrapped around your waist in favor of standard workwear, more akin to a jumpsuit than winter gear. Unbelievable. However, that does explain it now. You work here.

It makes sense, considering you're one of the more volatile hybrids. So many people, including your bosses, are uneasy about the predators. It must've been particularly bad for you. Hiding you away in a big and lonely base to eat dinner at an empty table. The world unable to appreciate you for what you are.

Price on the other hand, he knows his boys like the back of his hand. They understand your type. Would take you in without judgement or fear. Indulge you. Feed you fat red meat from calloused palms and let you lap at the warm blood still dripping on the snow. Gladly clean the droplets that stain your pure white parka. Make you warm.

(⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)

Delay, turn on and afterwards for soap please! 🖤

delay — do they like having their orgasm delayed/denied? do they like delaying/denying their partner(s)' orgasm?

Johnny loves both having his orgasm delayed and doing the same to his partner. When it comes to himself, if you take the lead and deny him the chance to finish, especially because he’s been giving you attitude, it drives him wild. If you ask him to finish himself off, he’ll do it but you better believe he’ll come after you, pinning you against every available surface until you’re spent.

For him, it’s less about power play and more about what led up to it. He’ll delay your orgasm too, especially if you made him jealous, stopping right when you’re on the edge and asking if that other guy could make you feel this way. He’ll wait for a clear answer and tease you, saying maybe he shouldn’t let you come at all until you learn your lesson.

turn on — what turns them on?

Everything turns Johnny on, tbh. He's always ready to go. But there's something about the way you sleep so peacefully, your face soft and innocent, lost in some dreamland while he’s next to you, so hard it hurts. With your back against him, your ass pressed against his bulge, he has to resist either sneaking off to jerk off in the bathroom or waking you up by eating you out. He’s obsessed with hearing your sleepy voice grow deeper, your eyes barely open, your body reacting to his every touch as you wake up, still half in a dream.

afterwards — what kind(s) of aftercare do they like being given? do they like giving their partner aftercare? do they fall asleep quickly after sex?

When it comes to it, he is more on the lazy side. He won’t jump up to grab a cloth or a glass of water, instead, he prefers to hold you close, asking if you’re okay and just basking in the mix of your natural scents and fluids. He’s filthy like that, finding it both erotic and intimate and he doesn’t want you to clean up until morning. Though if you need something, he’ll definitely get it for you so all you have to do is ask.

As for himself, all he wants is for you to stay close, caress his hair, give him soft, lazy kisses and whisper sweet nothings until he falls asleep.

HOLT SHIT OMG

If you worked for the SAS you would one day find Soap's notepad and think you'd find cute doodles in there. WRONG. He has a page assigned for each person on base with fucking stats inclusive of things like arse peachiness, bruisability, handles (hips or hair). There are, you realise with some horror, tasting notes. And they're not just in his handwriting, this is a joint venture with his team. Who they want to fuck, who they have already, lewd details about gangbangs and kinks. They've fucking labelled anyone they know has a pussy as "self-lubricating".

It's a bit of a relief you're not in there. Well that's what you tell yourself anyway because deep down you're disappointed they don't think you're worthy of being in their dumb, awful book.

If you had snooped just a little longer maybe you'd have found that the reason you aren't is because a page wasn't enough, they have a whole other notebook dedicated to you complete with illustrations of what they think you look like under that uniform and detailed fantasies about you with tactical plans on how they're going to fulfill them.

This resonates with me on a spiritual level 🫠😭🥹🥹

Not being used to the princess treatment or being taken care of. You're not one to rely on others, so when you get in a relationship with Soap, you don't realize how independent you are, relying on yourself to do things, not going to him for emotional needs. Sometimes, even taking care of physical ones on your own because you don't want to bother him or seem clingy.

He gets upset, naturally.

You don't let him open doors for you, nor do you let him pull out your chair at the dinner table. If you're sick, you insist on sleeping in the guest bedroom and taking care of yourself until the illness has passed. When you're on your period, he's excited to give you anything you need, but then you don't ask him for ice cream, or chocolate, you don't even ask for cuddles??

Not to forget the times when you didn't wake him up to help take care of you because you didn't want to 'disturb his sleep'. Fuck his sleep, he could've gotten that later, he would've loved to have a sleepy fuck with you. It almost feels like a betrayal that you snuck away to the guest room to get yourself off. If you'd asked, he would've happily taken care of you.

He needs to feel needed. Needs you to need him. Wants you to need him. Has he not shown you that he can provide? That he can take care of you?

But then think about finally giving in, and slowly letting him take care of you. He breaks down your walls, coaxes you into accepting his help, spoils you with affection. Peeling away that hard shell, and revealing that soft underbelly that didn't know how much it wanted and needed to be treated so sweetly.

It's a process, but Soap will get you used to the princess treatment. You don't have to be so strong all the time. He'll give you what you need if you give him the chance.

("I just don't want to be needy."

"Hen, I'd give anything for you to be needy. Let me take care of you.")

I love smut but sometimes I just want fluffy cheesy romance

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

— MODERN WAREFARE REBOOT.

𝐢. INTEL FILES BELOW ARE CONFIDENTIAL. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

READER : PRICE x MALE READER FILE. GHOST x MALE READER FILE. SOAP x MALE READER FILE. GAZ x MALE READER FILE.

GHOAP x MALE READER FILE.

SHIPS : GHOST x SOAP FILE.

OTHER : ACTION FILE.

Wearing your brother’s dog tags brings a lot of questions, which meant problems. Especially from men, especially at a bar where said men try to pick you up. Or strike a conversation about the mysterious dog tags. Lucky for you a certain Scot lovingly doesn’t think to ask too many questions. Not until Johnny “Soap” Mactavish’s tongue is down your throat in the back of his car on holiday do the gears begin to turn. But only, yes only after, a few odd weekends of small dates and letters when he can write, he finally decides to ask who your tags belong to between deep kisses and pants. You frown as you pull away to respond, the mood dampened.

“Oh I really shouldn’t say..” you sigh not wanting to explain the long story typically because it ruins the mood “my brother gave me these so I wouldn’t worry about him when he leaves on missions. His call sign is Ghost and…” Shit. Johnny’s whole body seizes up as his heart makes a pitfall down his body. His hearing stops as his brain repeats your joined last name over and over and over; Riley, Riley Riley Riley. Fuck why didn’t he connect the dots. Ghost always was secretive and protective about his younger sister, everyone knew he always declined to bring you as his plus one or even show photos to the rest of the 141. Damnit he knows somewhere down the line if Gaz or even worse Price hears about this that he’ll never live it down. If Ghost hears about this - shit he’ll never live. He finally zones back in to hear you say

“…but that doesn’t matter because you guys don’t run in the same circles, right?” Soap’s nervous smile gives you all the time for your heart to join his in dropping down below. But as your phone rings both of you are sure your hearts have dropped down to hell as the caller id reads: Simon Riley.

Drabble Drabble, I’m tired and I wanted to put this on paper before it slipped my mind. I’ll expand upon this later but this is mostly an idea for @glossysoap to enjoy because Glossy loves Soap as much as I do. So I hope you enjoy btw not proofread so toodles xoxo - Moon

©️moonriseoverkyoto 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

Reposts are 100000% appreciated. Also my inbox is open for requests!

Masterlist 🤍

©️moonriseovertokyo 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works without my permission.

banner credits @ioveartfilm

Clinking Dogtags and Afterthoughts - pt.1 , pt.2

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Riley!Reader aka That time when Soap got a little too involved with Ghost’s little sister before asking who the dog tags around her neck were for..

Save a horse, Help a cowgirl - pt.1, pt. 2

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Southern!Medic!Reader aka the two people with the heaviest accents on base fall the hardest for eachother

Drabbles & Untitled Misc.

Secret Admirer! Ghost x Medic! Reader - pt.1

Btw you can also just click the tag #moonwritesstuff to find all of my writings in one place if I have not updated this in time

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

ᥴᥕ/𝗍ᥲgs: sᥙggᥱs𝗍і᥎ᥱ, mᥱᥒ𝗍і᥆ᥒs ᥆𝖿 gᥱᥒі𝗍ᥲᥣs 𝗍һᥲ𝗍's ᥲᥣᥣ і 𝗍һіᥒk

ᥲ/ᥒ: 𝗍ᥲkᥱ 𝗍һіs ᥲs ᥲᥒ ᥲ⍴᥆ᥣ᥆gᥡ 𝖿᥆r ᥒ᥆𝗍 һᥲ᥎іᥒg mᥡ k᥆ᥒіg sᥣᥲsһᥱr ძ᥆ᥒᥱ ᑲᥙ𝗍 ȷᥙs𝗍 𝗍᥆ 𝖿ᥡі і ᑲr᥆kᥱ mᥱ ᥲᥒkᥣᥱ ᥲᥒძ һᥲძ 𝗍᥆ һᥲ᥎ᥱ sᥙrgᥱrᥡ ᥲ ᥣіᥣ mіᥒᥙ𝗍ᥱ ᥲg᥆ ᥲᥒძ s𝗍ᥲr𝗍ᥱძ ⍴𝗍 ᥲᥒძ і𝗍's r᥆ᥙgһ s᥆ ᑲᥲrᥱ ᥕі𝗍һ mᥱ і'm ᥲᥣm᥆s𝗍 ძ᥆ᥒᥱ ᥕі𝗍һ і𝗍,⍴ᥣᥱᥲsᥱ 𝖿᥆rgі᥎ᥱ ᥲᥒᥡ grᥲmmᥲr ᥆r s⍴ᥱᥣᥣіᥒg mіs𝗍ᥲkᥱs, і𝗍 іs ᑲᥣᥲᥴk!rᥱᥲძᥱr ᥴ᥆ძᥱძ ᑲᥙ𝗍 ᥲᥒᥡ᥆ᥒᥱ ᥴᥲᥒ rᥱᥲძ і𝗍 ᥲs skіᥒ 𝗍᥆ᥒᥱ іsᥒ'𝗍 mᥱᥒ𝗍і᥆ᥒ, і'm ᥆⍴ᥱᥒ 𝗍᥆ ᥒіᥴᥱ 𝖿ᥱᥱძᑲᥲᥴk ᑲᥙ𝗍 ძ᥆ᥒ'𝗍 ᑲᥱ mᥱᥲᥒ ᥆r rᥙძᥱ ᥲᑲ᥆ᥙ𝗍 і𝗍. rᑲs arᥱ ᥲ⍴⍴rᥱᥴіᥲ𝗍ᥱძ!

Captain.John Price

Ghost

Gaz

Soap

bonus:Konig

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.

masterlist

smut is tagged with ☆

harry potter:

call of duty:

könig

first time w könig blurb ☆

sub! könig riding blurb ☆

simon ‘ghost’ riley

rough mission? give your bf some head! ☆

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish

john price

lust for life (professor price x student reader) ☆

alejandro vargas

alejandro vargas x thiccckkkk reader ☆

philip graves

oneshots + hcs

141 + könig react to you wearing thigh highs ☆

141 + könig, alejandro,n rudy with thick thighed s/o

141 + alejandro rudy konig graves with plus size s/o

house m.d:

dr gregory house

robert chase

your houses kid and he just wants to treat u good

james wilson

u just wanna have fun but james is mean :(

clear your mind ☆

allison cameron

house is spying on you, cute lovey dovey w my girl

spider-man atsv:

miguel o’hara

a jealous man ☆

riding miguel drabble ☆

brat ☆

hobie brown

music to his ears ☆

peter b. parker

miles morales

earth 42! miles x reader fluff

pavitr prabhakar

the outer banks:

rafe cameron

141 + konig reactions to seeing reader in thigh highs?

141 n koni babys reaction to seeing u wearing thigh highs

nsfw under cut you’ve been warned

john price is a simple man. even old fashioned, if you will. so he does what any normal man would do. sat you on the bed and began kissing down your thigh all the way to your ankle. savoring how beautiful your skin looked in the elegant fabric. he eventually began leaving sloppier kisses against your inner thighs. by the time he got to your dripping heat, the lacy garments were off.

simon riley basked in the sight for about a minute before tearing them off. something about how gorgeous your thighs looked drove him insane. your legs are fully spread apart, taking his full length as if your life depended on it. while tears are forming at your eyes due to his sheer size, he scolds you. he scolds you for wearing such a slutty thing, basically asking to get ravaged.

johnny mactavish tried his best to ignore the fact you had been walking around your shared kitchen in nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of white thigh highs. the way the delicate material wrapped around your thighs made his cock twitch needily. you stood over the countertop making a simple lunch for your boyfriend, johnny let his arms snake around your waist and let his hands wander. he began softly humping you through his sweatpants, whining for you to come to the bedroom.

kyle garrick tried his hardest to pretend he didn’t notice that sexy lingerie sitting atop of your thighs. but he did. he noticed it all. the way you shuffled between him and the coffee table when the two of you were watching a movie, ass moving right across his face. the way you had sat on his lap while texting your friends back, ignoring the way his throbbing dick was proding against you. he eventually gave in. bending you over the sofa and softly lecturing you about how it’s naughty to tease him all day while wearing tight lingerie around the house.

poor könig couldn’t contain himself for that long. the way your thighs looked so perfect killed him. he pulled you onto his lap facing him. whining about how you made him so needy by wearing something so cute. he used giant hands to rock your hips back and forth on his hard length, leaning down to your ear whispering about how he’s fuck you stupid while watching the lacy fabric hug your plump thighs

141 + konig, Alejandro, and Rudy with an S/O that has thick thighs

141 + koni, alejandro, n rudy with a s/o that’s got thickkk thighs

a/n: im so sorry for the delay in posts but i trust have sm to post yall don’t even worry

mainly cutesy stuff with some suggestive moments

john price loves how your thighs hug any pants you wear. he loves to keep a spare hand on them whenever he’s next to you, whether that is in a meeting or just relaxing on the couch. he believes that your thighs make your body just that much more perfect.

simon riley is obsessed with the shape of your thighs. he believes that they’re plush pillows that were made specifically for him to lay on. not even in a sexual way, he loves kissing up and down your thighs. the soft skin makes it a luxury experience for him.

johnny mactavish thinks your thighs are the best part of your body. of course he adores your face, but the way your thighs get bigger when you sit down, almost welcoming him to use them as pillows. he loves the way they grip around him when you’re on top.

kyle garrick believes being between your thighs is heaven on earth. in a sexual and non sexual manner. he loves sitting between your thighs and letting you stroke through his hair. he listens to you talk about your day but tends to get distracted by thinking about what your reaction would be if he flipped his head over.

könig LUUVSSSS how your thighs look in shorts. good lord omg. like you’ll just be walking around base and it takes everything in that tank of a man to not put you on the countertops and. i mean what omg lol. but he’ll also love up on you if you ever get self conscious about stretch marks, reassuring you it just adds to your perfections.

alejandro vargas is a slut for your thighs, sorry. the way they’re like the foundation of your body’s shape drives him insane. especially if you’re going out to an event and decide to wear a risqué dress, exposing the plush skin to everybody there. when you get home he’ll make sure to teach you a lesson.

rudy parra loves massaging your thighs. you’re not sure how it started. whenever he gets home from a particularly rough mission or if he just needs intimate time with you, he’ll make you lay down and allow him to massage them. it’s stress relieving for both you and him. rudy can’t help himself, not his fault your build is perfect.