#elsie writes

[pioneergirlsie]

Frickin’ Watermelon

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Summary: The 141 finds out about your skincare routine, and you wonder if one of your teammates might benefit from having one also.

A/N: This is my debut piece for the CoD fandom. I fell fast and hard for MW, and I thought this piece up while scrubbing my face one night, trying to keep the acne at bay. I hope you enjoy!

As a sniper, you have to keep your face out of sight. You prefer face paint, camouflaging yourself to blend in. You’d gotten quite good as quickly painting yourself and heading out for whatever mission was next.

Unfortunately, on this mission, they decide rather last minute to use your sniping skills, simply shrugging when you asked for face paint. They hand you a balaclava, which would do the job fine.

You slip it on, slightly peeved that you couldn’t use your paint. There is a reason you wear paint. The longer you wear that face covering, the more you feel like you were going to choke on your own breath. It is hot and humid, and the balaclava gathers sweat and oil and dirt and hot breath, keeping them all close to your face.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you force yourself to take a few deep breaths, lifting the mask a bit to let some fresh air in from time to time.

You spend several miserable days out on that mission. The final morning when you pull on the balaclava, it rubs painfully against some recently developed acne.

Mercifully, the mission ends successfully, and you return to base. After a quick shower to degrime from your time in the field, all you want to do was fall into bed, but that acne is just getting worse.

Half asleep, you reach for your bottle of face wash. It was watermelon-scented pink gel that works wonders for you. You scrub your face with it, put on some moisturizer, and stumble your way to bed.

—————————————————————————

“What do you even need face wash for? Isn’t water good enough for the princess?”

You might have hit Soap for his teasing if you hadn’t detected a hint of genuine curiosity in the question.

“There’s no way water is going to cut through all the grime on your ugly mug,” you tease back. “For a guy called Soap, you should use some a little more often.”

“Ouch,” Soap says with a grin.

After a long day of training, you, Soap, Ghost, and a few other members of the 141 have gathered to just relax. You don’t know how the conversation turned to your skincare routine, but here you are. These boys are oddly fascinated with the care you give to your personal hygiene.

“I’m honestly surprised you guys don’t get acne more often. That one mission a few weeks back, I had to wear a mask the whole time I was in the field, and I broke out so bad,” you said. “It was awful!”

You caught Ghost’s eyes after that remark. *He* wore a mask all the time. But it was different for him. The mask was part of him at this point. It was freeing, somehow, in a way you couldn’t quite grasp; for you, it was smothering.

If you got that bad of acne from a couple days with your face covered, you had to wonder: did Ghost ever break out?

“You know, if you ever want to try it, I can give you a full rundown of the routine. Face wash, moisturizer, the whole works,” you said, directing your comment to Soap. Then, meeting Ghost’s eyes, you added, “You can’t miss the face wash. Bottle of pink gel in with my stuff.”

Soap snorts, and Ghost doesn’t say a word. You didn’t want to straight-out say that he could use your wash if he wanted to. After all, “skin care” didn’t have the manliest connotations. His eyes reveal nothing of his thoughts on the matter.

“Pink? I suppose it smells all fancy, too?” Soap laughs.

“Well, of course! Nothing too girly, though. Just some light, fresh watermelon scent,” you reply.

“Ah yes, watermelon! The manliest of all scents,” Soap says.

This time, you do hit him.

—————————————————————————

After a few days away on a mission, you are glad to be back on base. It hadn’t been a bad time out in the field, but it had been boring. You guess that’s better than things going horribly wrong, but you’d like at least a little fun while you’re out.

After a hot shower, you move to the sink to wash your face. You reach for your bottle of pink face wash. As you lift it, you realize it feels slightly lighter than it had before you left. You level the bottle, looking at how much is left. It’s not much emptier, but it’s definitely less than you thought you’d had before this mission.

But maybe you just were misremembering. After all, the bottle was exactly where you’d left it. You liked to display it in the corner with the cute watermelon decal facing outward, and that’s precisely how it had been.

With a shake of your head, you dismissed the thought and washed your face.

—————————————————————————

Your strides were quick as you made your way toward Price’s office. He’d asked to see you, and while it wasn’t urgent, you liked to make a good impression by being as punctual as possible.

In your haste, you nearly bump into Ghost, who’s turning the corner.

“Oh! Sorry!” you exclaim as you check up, barely keeping from smacking into him.

He nods at you as he continues on. As he passed, you swear you catch the scent of watermelon. You whip around, watching him walk away, but saying nothing before continuing to Price’s office.

—————————————————————————

You clutch the brown paper bag in your hand as you make your way to your lieutenant’s room. After slowly watching your face wash deplete seemingly on its own for several more days and catching a few more whiffs of watermelon whenever you were near Simon Riley, you were fairly confident you knew where it was going.

You didn’t want the man to have to keep using your face wash forever, though, so you’d gotten him a bottle of his own. Unfortunately, the stuff only came in the cute bottle with the watermelon decal, so you also bought a plain opaque bottle to put the pink gel in. You couldn’t resist adding a label with a skull and crossbones on it that read “Poison” just for fun.

The rest of the contents of the bag were some more intense acne treatments for breakouts and stubborn spots along with wipes for the black paint he used around his eyes and moisturizer. You’d also written a note with detailed instructions on how and when and what order in which to use the products.

You were just going to set the bag outside his door and maybe knock and run. The moment you bent to set it down, however, the door swung open to reveal Ghost.

His eyes met yours, then traveled down to the bag in your hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

You blushed. Why did he have to catch you?

“It’s… um… for you,” you finally blurt and shove the bag at him.

Ghost gives you a suspicious look. He takes it and opens it before you can run. His eyes quickly scan the contents, and he pulls out the “Poison” bottle of face wash. He meets your eyes again. His eyes are nearly unreadable, but you catch a hint of curiosity there.

“Face wash,” you explain. “I thought maybe you’d like your own. And I put in some extra stuff, too. And instructions. If you want. Or if you… don’t.”

*Why* had you thought this was a good idea?

Ghost stares at you for a few more seconds, making you wish the floor would open up and swallow you. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“It was the frickin’ watermelon, wasn’t it?”

You blink. “What?”

“That day we met in the hall. You smelled it, didn’t you?”

“I… I thought I did,” you admit.

“You did a whole three-sixty after I passed,” he accuses. “Shoulda stopped using it then.”

“No!” you quickly say. “No, I’d hoped you’d use it. If you needed to. Or wanted to, even. I didn’t know if you’d really take me up on it.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. He stands there, face wash and bag still in hand.

“I can show you how to use the rest of the stuff if you want,” you suddenly offer.

Ghost gives you a sharp look.

“I mean, I’d do it on my face and explain it. You wouldn’t have to take off your mask or anything. I just thought…” you trail off.

You’ve stared down armed enemies before and not been this nervous. Now you are practically oozing awkwardness. The confident soldier was reduced to a bundle of nerves over a discussion about skin care.

“You wrote instructions, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

He hesitates a moment, shifting the bottle in his hand.

“Better run through it once so I can keep it all straight.”

You give him a bright smile, immediately turning on your heel and making your way to your sink where you keep all of your products. You look around carefully before entering with Ghost, making sure no prying eyes spotted you. Locking the door behind you, you arranged all of your bottles and containers, beginning the lesson.

Ghost listened intently as you explained what each product did and how to best use them, giving a nod here and here. You demonstrated and gave tips, like dabbing the face with the washcloth and towel instead of scrubbing it to avoid further irritation. You went through each step, making sure to take your time.

“And then you take about this much moisturizer,” you say, dabbing a bit on your finger and spreading it. “And you spread it evenly. If you have dry patches, you can give those a little more. But after that, you’re done!”

You turn and give him a smile.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment. “Thanks for… this.” He holds up the bag. “And for this.” He gestures vaguely, probably meaning your little lesson.

“Of course,” you say. “Can’t have my favorite LT going without proper skincare, can we?”

You both stand there a moment more. The silence is not uncomfortable. There’s something there, something unsaid, but you don’t mind. This is enough.

It takes you a moment to realize, but his eyes are smiling back at you.

[hyakunana]

"Were you even listening? How many reports, Ikora? How many times did I tell you what I saw?"

[perfectfeelings]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf

[thoughtkick]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf

[quotefeeling]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf

[resqectable]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf

[night-dark-woods]

*stumbles out of the wip covered in blood* single paragraph of dialogue written :thumbsup:

[thehopefulquotes]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf

[flyingwide]

is this the point where i admit i'm writing it? because i think, with several thousand words now, i have to admit i'm writing it

The room had long since gotten dark around him as he sat staring into the fire, brandy still in his hand. The scarlet he had dropped into it had curled like a drop of blood, twisting like smoke until it had faded into the deep auburn of the drink. Oblivion beckoned invitingly. It would be so easy to give into it, to drown decades of sorrow. But he didn’t want to forget. Not today. A locust crept closer and closer to the fire. He felt when it died, when the heat eclipsed all. From his study, he heard the front door open quietly. He closed his eyes for a moment in regret. Elsie. He had forgotten to tell her… forgotten to make up some lie about why, today of all days, she should leave him to his own devices… “Raj?” she called softly across the dark and empty (too empty, so empty, just him now, the only one left) house. He couldn’t reply but she found him easily enough. The door wasn’t closed and the only light came from his fire. He knew the moment she spotted him; the sharp intake of breath gave her away before her steps did. Elsie knelt at his side, taking the cup from loosening fingers. She sniffed delicately, her lips pursing. He braced himself for yet another fight about what he did to himself when she wasn’t looking but she only set it aside, the glass clinking when it hit paraquet floor. “Are you alright?” she murmured, taking his empty hand in hers. He looked down at her earnest, worried face and attempted a smile. “Little bird,” he said, voice rusty with disuse. “My darling. The only life left in this graveyard of a home.” That only seemed to upset her more. Firelight played over her face, casting long shadows over skin that seemed to grow paler by the day. She likely thought he hadn’t noticed. “What happened?” she asked, clutching his hand tighter. “Please talk to me.” Perhaps it was the way she begged that loosened his control. Perhaps it was the day or the drink or the drug. Perhaps it was the buzzing under his skin. Perhaps it was the misery that had dogged his steps for so long now. “It’s my birthday,” he told her with false levity. “Our birthday.”

[lightlysketched]

I’m aware I haven’t shared art in a year but enjoy my page of Men

Feat Kitten and Markus because I watched the new episode last night

Also my buddies oc on the bottom right, hims Atlas and I love him dearly

[imaginary-things-nothing-else]

I forgot how good it feels to get nice comments on fanfics 😭😭 thank you stranger for making my day

[pioneergirlsie]

The Little Things

John “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Summary: While Johnny is home on leave, you share a quiet moment together.

A/N: I am such a Soap girl. This is based on a post that I cannot find back about coloring Ghost’s tattoo sleeve. It’s lived rent-free in my head ever since I read it, and this was born. I will link the post if I ever find it back!

Modern Warfare Masterlist

“Hold out your arm,” you commanded.

Soap gave you a suspicious look. You’d been quietly working on a coloring book on the couch beside him for a while now, the scratch of the marker on paper the only sound besides an occasional chuckle before Soap showed you a meme.

“What are ya doin’, lass?” he asked with an amused grin.

“Just let me see your arm,” you said, giving him a pleading look.

He tried to give you a stern look and refuse. He really tried, but he could never say no to you. No, after the horrors of battle, you were what he came home to, his comfort and his safe place to land. You were his everything, and he’d never deny you anything, not if he could help it.

You’d been dating for two years, but the time you’d actually physically spent together had been drastically shortened by his deployments. You both treasured the time you could spend in each other’s presence.

“Johnny,” you teased, drawing out his name. You wanted his arm.

He rolled his eyes and held out his right arm, the one with the tattoo. Your face erupted into a bright smile as you got comfortable on the couch, moving his forearm to your lap.

You uncapped a blue marker and steadied your canvas with the other hand.

Soap raised an eyebrow.

“It’s too plain,” you said, gesturing to his tattoo. “Needs some color.”

You waited until he gave you the slightest hint of a nod before you touched the tip of the marker to his skin, delicately brushing it over his arm.

He laid his phone aside, intent on watching you work. Soap was enjoying the attention you were focusing on him, and the brush of the markers was intensely relaxing.

As you carefully worked and chose different colors to best suit different areas of the tattoo, Soap couldn’t help admiring you. Beautiful, kind, innocent. You were as untouched by war as someone dating a special forces soldier could be. You cared about him in a way few others did. Even on his worst days, you *wanted* to be there for him.

Too soon, you capped your last marker.

“What do you think?” you asked, a twinkle in your eyes.

At some point, he’d stopped watching you color and focused on your face instead, watching you bite your lip in concentration as you worked. Now he looked over your handiwork.

“Excellent work,” he said with a grin.

“Should get it tattooed like that,” you commented, trying to tease.

He didn’t say what he was thinking: if he got it tattooed like that, you wouldn’t be able to color it again when the ink washed off.

“My turn,” Soap said, holding out a hand for your arm.

You looked at him, puzzled. He knew you didn’t have any tattoos.

Soap grabbed the black marker and motioned for your arm.

“I’ll sketch you something.”

You gave him your arm quite happily, and he held your wrist lightly to keep his canvas still. You couldn’t stop a shiver at the touch of the cold marker on your skin.

He started working immediately, painting his vision onto your arm. The attention he focused on you and the feeling of the marker was relaxing. He could draw on every square inch of you if he wanted to and you wouldn’t mind.

You found your eyes wandering to his face. The way he held his jaw told you he was concentrating hard. His blue eyes never wavered from his work.

You loved him. He was your protector, your confidant, your partner-in-crime. You hated that he had to be away so much in such a dangerous line of work, but you were also immensely proud of his service. You wanted to support him through everything.

Your eyes flickered back down to what he was drawing. It was a wild violet.

One of the first times you’d spoken, you’d been crouched near the edge of the sidewalk. Soap had assumed you needed help. Why else would you be in such a position?

When he asked if you were okay, you looked up and smiled, assuring him you were fine. You’d blushed at his attention, having hoped to go unnoticed in the few moments your task would take.

“I just thought these violets were pretty, growing out of the sidewalk cracks like that,” you’d said. “They’re my favorite.”

You were taking pictures of a beauty that few others would ever notice, and that was one of the things he loved about you. You found good everywhere.

Soap finished coloring in the petals.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” you whispered, in awe that he’d drawn something that lovely in mere minutes.

Soap smiled at you as you admired his masterpiece. You were radiant. You were everything good and wonderful and beautiful. He loved you.

“Will you marry me?”

It slipped out before he could stop it.

He wasn’t prepared for a proposal. He would have planned a fancy dinner and taken you somewhere romantic. Instead, his proposal was accidental and spontaneous, born in a moment of pure love.

You froze and looked up at him, shocked. Had he really just proposed?

As you looked at him, his heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe. *What if you said no?* Why had he let that slip?

“Johnny,” you breathed, and he prepared himself for your gentle rejection.

“Yes.”

It was his turn to be stunned. “Yes?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, tears in your eyes. “A thousand times, yes.”

He cupped your face and kissed you sweetly. Your hot tears slid over his thumb, but he didn’t mind.

As you broke the kiss, you both started laughing in disbelief.

“Are we getting married?” Soap asked, gazing deep into your eyes.

“Yes,” you said and smiled, running a hand through his mohawk. “Yes, we are.”

He looked a little embarrassed then.

“What?”

“I dinnae have a ring for my fiancée.”

You were about to assure him that you didn’t mind. You could go ring shopping at any time. Still, you knew he just wanted this proposal to be perfect for you.

In a moment of inspiration, you grabbed a thin-tipped Sharpie and held it out to him, along with your left hand.

He quickly caught on.

“May I?”

You nodded. He took your hand and the marker and began his work. While he drew, he told you how much he loved you. Every reason that he adored you, he let himself say.

You wiped tears with your other hand, trying to keep steady for your fiancé.

Once he had designed a ring as special as you, he capped the marker. While he was still holding your hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it.

“I love it, Johnny.”

It was truly a work of art, an elegant design with a Celtic twist. You didn’t say it then, but you wondered if you could get a jewelry-maker to craft you a ring following his design. The ring was perfect, and it was created out of the love you had for each other.

You kissed him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You were going to be his, his, his.

You were his.

[hyakunana]

The traditional seasonal visit to the Beyond to report the news of this timeline.

[perfeqt]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf

[writingisartdarling]

I've been writing some fanfiction and all of sudden my brain formed this on the page:

"Every time I look at him, I'm reminded of how much he must be hurting because of me. Do you know how much that alone hurts me? If I could take away all the pain this causes him, I would in a second. So don't you dare accuse me of selfishness when all I can think of is him. I'm scared of dying, it terrifies me. It really does. Still, most of the time it's only second on the list of things that keep me awake at night and haunt me during the day. And, thus, it pains me to know that's not how he sees it as well." - from the wip chapter 14 of my Downton Abbey fanfiction "Till Death Do Us Part"

Sometimes I surprise even myself.

[quotefeeling]

I am going to make everything around me beautiful - that will be my life.

Elsie de Wolf