#i gave soap a bad day

[forestshadow-wolf]

Ok this might just be a me thing, but since soap is my projection baby it's also a him thing now.

So you know how sometimes there's just this person what could make like everything better no matter what. Like you could be haven't the worst day ever, someone spit on your hotdog kinda day, right? And then this one person comes along and just says hi, and immediately your bouncing up and down and smiling and giggling. But it's weird in a way that, after they leave you feel even more drained and worse than before they where there.

What if ghost is that person for soap. Like one day he's just having a terrible day. Just nothing going right, his hair was bothering him, he dropped his food at breakfast and lunch so he didn't eat, the recruits were being annoying, someone inventoried the demo. Supplies wrong and they actually had a lot less that was counted and now he's in trouble for it, and a million other little things, right? But whatever, you know? It's fine.

It's fine because then suddenly ghost is there, in the private 141 kitchen, grabbing himself a tea. Soap attaches right to him, bouncing along as ghost leaves. Suddenly it's a good day... until he gets back to his room that day.

He all but collapses on his bed as soon at the door closes. He can't muster up the courage to go take a shower, or even change out of his clothes. He just curls up on his bed, pulling the opposite end of the covers over him.

The next morning he just barely manages to call price and tell him he's not working the recruits that day. Doesn't give the reason, just that he's not coming in.

He's barely moved and he already feels worse than he did yesterday. Somehow.

Ghost comes by an hour later. Soap doesn't acknowledge him, almost hopes that if he acts like he isn't there than ghost will go away. God, look at him, can't even muster the energy to look at his favorite person.

He hears the door click shut, and it's a long moment before he hears anything else. Ghost doesn't say anything, doesn't touch him, hardly acknowledges him as he goes to sit at the desk. It's like he knows.

They stay like that for a long time, the only sound between them is their breathing. Mostly ghost's, even breathing feels like it takes work today. But still it's like ghost understands. It doesn't even feel like he's looking at the lump on the bed that is soap, maybe he isn't.

It's an even longer time before soap forces himself to throw the covers off. He knows the point of socially acceptable time has long long since past, but a for effort, right? It takes literally all of him to do that, and it leaves him feeling exposed, he wants to go back. He forces himself not to. Ghost still doesn't say anything, and soap finds that he was right in thinking that ghost wasn't looking at him, but he definitely knows that soap was up and moving.

He tries to force himself to say something, anything, play normal, but he can't. Ghost turns to him, and he freezes. A tray of food is silently pushed towards him. Even thinking about grabbing something from the tray takes work. Ghost picks something up, a grape, holds it to his lips. He takes it, chewing also takes work, and for some reason he feels awkward eating in front of him.

He pushed the rest of it away, somehow that was easier than pushing his covers off. It looks like ghost almost offers soap a drink of water, but stops himself. Ghost lets out a heavy breath, and goes back to not looking at him. Which somehow feels different from just a moment ago when ghost gave him the grape, not looking at him.

Ghost spends the rest of the day in his room, not acknowledging him. It's easy and hard at the same time.

The next day soap forces himself to take on his morning responsibilities, then leaves to his room again. And again ghost comes into his room an hour later. Food and drink in hand, he looks at soap.

He does manage more than a couple bites this time, and a small swig if water. Still ghost doesn't say anything, but he looks.

Today wasn't better. Or easier. But it was... less exhausting. And that's something. Sure he hadn't managed to shower, or do his hair, or change his clothes. But he pulled his covers off, he got out of bed, walked fown the hall, trained the recruits, ate some food, had a sip of water. Managed to be perceived. And that was something. And ghost didn't say anything, but it seemed like he understood. And that was something.

------

*not so eagerly waits for the psycho-analysis :(*

[inkyshark]

I am currently working at a Goodly William thrift store as a cashier and I have had a time of it.

Anyway, I was checking this customer out and she had two cds: a metal band I can't recall and Hilary Duff. I asked if she had checked the cds, she hadn't, so I checked and said that the Hilary Duff had a skip ring on it, but it wasn't bad and should play okay.

She said 'Oh, that's fine. I collect them for the aesthetics. They're so cool, like some sort of lost technology.' and inflicted psychic damage on me. I just paused for a second and I'm glad I at least had a face mask on to hide the confusion, read her total, and had to tell her we don't have a tap reader.

I need a new job asap...

[lastoneout]

Like I know we all love making ADHD seem cool but like, don't forget it's actually a disability? My ADHD is bad enough I've nearly been evicted for forgetting to mail the rent check to the property manager, I've forgotten to pay the utility bills and had my water or power get turned off or had to pay fines bcs I missed a credit card payment. Once I was supposed to cat sit for a friend and I lost the house key she gave me but didn't realize until she was already out of town, and she had to call the apartment office to get someone to give me the spare so her cats would have food for the week. When I'm unmedicated I can't even get myself to shower half the time, forget eating or cleaning. Before I started living with my fiance I'd just like, not eat for days because I didn't have anyone to remind me to eat or go buy me food. I've forgotten to turn the stove off so many times and ruined kettles and tbh been DAMN fucking lucky the house didn't burn down. I've done stupid, impulsive shit that's nearly gotten me KILLED. I can't remember to close the shower curtain reliably even through my fiance points out every single time I forget, and he's almost out of soap rn bcs for the last MONTH neither of us have been able to remember to order more once we get out of the shower.

I've had such bad memory my entire life that to this day someone suggesting I forgot something because I simply didn't care enough is a legitimate trigger that, in the worst cases, makes me have a breakdown.

I get that for some of you this is just something that makes studying hard or you forget to take a pee break when you're playing Minecraft or whatever, that's still a valid struggle and you do deserve help and understanding, but like, ADHD is a disability. It's disabling. It's not impossible to improve and learn coping skills, meds help a lot, there are great accommodations out there(LIKE CLEANING SERVICES), but not every case of ADHD is the same, and a lot of them are pretty ugly ngl, and just because you managed to do something doesn't mean someone else is gonna be able to manage it too, or that they're being lazy for struggling. And that obviously doesn't mean ADHD people have a free pass to never work on themselves and make everyone cater to their every need or whatever, but we do deserve some understanding when we explain that our disability is actually disabling in ways that aren't palatable to you. So like, idk, maybe don't immediately recoil in horror when you find out that someone with ADHD can't keep their house clean. And for fucks sake don't ridicule them for it.

[veritasangel]

comforting love

ft. Price, Soap, Gaz, Simon

⋆ ˚｡⋆ fem pov ୨୧˚ warnings: none {wc: 778} ༄ I just love sweet tf141

Thinking about being Price's wife and the rest of the guys just love you. Honestly they adore you before even meeting you, just glad the Captain’s found someone that makes him gush like a teenager just talking about you to them.

And then when they meet you, they totally get the way he acts now. You were so sweet, even bringing them all personalised care packages based on things Price had told you about them. You had said you were bringing Price one and felt bad leaving his boys out, especially when they all probably missed home whilst at base.

For some, it was a cute gesture, one not too unfamiliar. But to Simon, receiving something made with such care from someone was foreign.

He thanked you and tried to act indifferent but as soon as he was in the barracks, he was studying everything inside. Some much needed snacks and drinks, a small cute hand painted cartoon ghost figure typical as well as a new journal and a fancy pen that he had no idea how to use. Price must’ve told you he’d began journaling to help his thoughts.

Everyone managed to move on pretty quickly from the thoughtful gifts they received but Simon really cherished it. He ended up having a heart to heart with Price one evening about it after one too many drinks, a few tears even making an appearance, that he claimed was allergies.

A night that Price told you about, the memory of it surfacing as you visited the base again and as you greeted them all, Simon just gave you a really long and silent hug. You didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, but you let him have this moment and he was grateful for it.

Then there was Gaz. Typical sweetheart. Always complimenting you, a kiss to your hand here and there, maybe even a friendly kiss on the cheek, earning a chuckled “Don’t try and steal my missus.” from Price. 

And when you returned a compliment one time, he couldn’t find any words for a good few minutes, cheeks burning hot before clearing his throat and mumbling an almost shy, slightly inaudible thank you. 

He’s always asking Price how things are with you and what you’ve been up to when the group doesn't see you for a while. 

He jokes that he can live vicariously through Price and hoping one day he can find someone as sweet as you. And when you hear about this, you’re tempted to set Gaz up with a friend of yours but Price convinces you that it’s an awful idea so you refrain.

And of course Gaz sends you flowers for valentines day along with a sweet note and a thank you for keeping their beloved Captain happy.

“How big was the bouquet?” John asks,

“I don’t know, normal size?” you question,

“Not bigger than mine?” he adds,

“No.”

“Good, can’t have Gaz upstaging me like that.” 

And of course, Soap. Shameless flirting right from the start and awful cheesy jokes on top of that. He was exactly the way Price described him, if not amplified about a thousand times more in person.

“I mean ma name’s John too, I’m like basically halfway to being your husband anyway.”

The guys appreciated his jokes but they could only hear them for so long before losing their mind. So when you were on base, he was running through every joke and story in his head so he could hear actual genuine laughter at his humour.

And by the end he was definitely addicted to the sound, a tiny bit jealous that Price gets to hear it so often, even if he would never admit it.

“So for her birthday, I was thinking we could get the second instalment of that book she loves.” Soap says with a grin.

“I know what to buy my wife Soap, I’ve got it covered.”

“Alright, well I know the lass well enough now to give you great suggestions, you should listen.” Soap mumbles as he adds the book to his basket, followed by a few more, earning a pointed stare from Price.

When you were visiting Price on base, you gave all of the guys a home away from home and they all appreciated you massively.

You visited for your husband of course, but you got to know them all, looking out for them as well. Making them feel loved even when you didn’t need to.

“So when do we get to see our girl-” Soap begins,

“My girl.” Price interrupts with a warning stare.

“Our girl.” Gaz repeats Soap's words.

“Yeah. They’re both right, Cap'n. Our girl.” Simon adds.

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴

[charliemwrites]

Part 7 is finally here! I only gave this a quick look over so if there are any glaring issues (like a random cut off sentence) please let me know! I was just so excited to get this one out.

Content: Brandon.

For all the power and influence it has amassed, SpecGru is a notoriously discreet and secretive operation. Mind, no one’s ever strolling down the street shouting their criminal affiliations for God and everyone to hear, but even by criminal standards, SpecGru is like a collective boogeyman. By the time most anyone knows they’re there, it’s already too late – and the rare (verbal) survivors only ever see masks and guns.

Granted, no small part of SpecGru’s prestige comes from whispered stories and unconfirmed rumors. Criminals are locker room gossips, the lot of them. Not that it’s completely unfounded. An execution is an execution, whether someone died with all their teeth and nails or not. (Usually not)

Few people know Price as more than a shadowy theoretical. (Someone must be in charge, that’s how the mafia works.) Even fewer know his face, never mind his name. It’s just good business that way.

In fact, SpecGru’s entire inner circle is shrouded in mystery. There’s not just the gray silhouette of the Don looming over their enemies’ heads. There are the lieutenants to contend with as well, acting on his direct authority, speaking on his behalf (with permission, of course) in his absence.

And then there’s Price’s right hand, the de facto boss should something happen. His heir, for all intents and purposes.

For those that have met Price in person, and by extension his few but devoted confidants, there’s always debate.

Is it Soap, loud and brash, but sharp as a whip? A decisive man, affable with a hidden mean streak?

Or is it Ghost, the quiet and calculating figure always at his side? A deadly and brutal enemy, shrewd and observant?

Kyle lets them stew in their assumptions and reminds himself that they’ll learn eventually – or they’ll be dead. He’s not fussed either way. It would suit SpecGru just fine if a few of those knobs keeled over sooner rather than later.

If only they knew that the hand that would one day grip their leashes was currently holding your purse so that you could pet a cute dog.

Not that Kyle minds; you have good taste. In purses, that is – though the dog isn’t half bad. A fluffy white and grey thing with a stumpy tail, practically crawling onto your pretty blue skirt as you coo and fawn. He started recording the minute you handed him your bag. (Price owes him for this.)

“His name is Mister Beans,” the uni girl enthuses to you.

You practically sob. “Mister Beans!”

He’s loath to hurry you along, but he’s supposed to meet up with Price for a Business meeting in only a half hour. Thankfully, you’re a considerate sort and don’t linger for long.

“Thank you so much, have a great day!” you cheer to the young woman. Then you turn back to Kyle, smiling huge. “Wasn’t he so cute?”

He chuckles. “It was. Wish I could have pet him, but white hair on this suit…”

You hum sympathetically. “I have a lint roller in my apartment.”

“I’ll scratch the next one,” he promises, offering your purse back.

You take it with your far hand and another mumbled “thank you,” then loop your closer arm through his. Don’t even seem to think about it, just accept the escort automatically. Kyle tries not to beam with pride. He used to have to prompt you, holding his elbow out at an awkward angle for you to get the hint. Now, you reach for the arm of whoever you’re with on instinct – as you should. (Another thing Price owes him for.)

“Do you like little dogs?” you ask, strolling with him for your apartment.

In the office, you’re a speedy little thing. Zooming from your desk to Price’s and back at velocity deserving of a ticket. Soap calls you a busy bee and it’s apt. Fluttering to and fro with stacks of papers or your tablet (“Reginald” you call it) everyone knows to make way at the click-click of your smart heels.

Outside, though, your purposeful stride slows to something less awe-inspiringly machinelike. Little Miss at work is a much different creature from Little Miss off the clock – but Kyle quite likes both.

“My mum had a little white dog while I was growing up. Crusty old thing,” he explains. “Prefer medium sized myself. Like a corgi.”

You giggle. “Like the royal family?”

“Oi, I liked ‘em before that.”

You just laugh harder at his defensive tone, patting his arm. He’s always impressed by how fearlessly you joke and tease him and the others. Have taken everything in stride from the beginning, didn’t even flinch when you first met Simon. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think you had no idea just who you arched your eyebrows at this morning because of a “scheduling disagreement.”

“Speaking of dogs…” you mutter, mirth disappearing.

He follows your gaze through the clear glass of the building’s entry vestibule. Your ex is standing inside, already spotted you and fluffing up like the cock he is.

“Mind keeping back, doll?” Kyle murmurs.

You make a noise of protest even as you hand him your keys. “He’s not going to do anything after what Soap did.”

There’s an ugly black cast around his hand and up his wrist. Kyle smirks at him through the door.

“Rather not take any chances,” he replies.

You huff a bit, but quietly slip your arm from his, letting him take the lead into the building. (He still holds the door for you of course – he’s not a numpty.)

“Get the fuck out, mate,” Kyle says as soon as the door opens.

Brandon looks downright taken aback. “And who the fuck are you?”

“None of your business,” you interrupt, stepping up beside Kyle.

“The hell it’s not!” Brandon replies, taking an angry (stupid) step forward. Kyle mirrors him, making a point of loosening up his shoulders. In a surprising display of good sense, Brandon stops there. “Look, bunny, a high-value man needs a high-value woman.”

Your voice comes out flat and unimpressed. “And that’s you, is it? A high-value man?

Brandon rolls his eyes but sighs, as if he’s trying to be patient with you. Kyle’s fingers twitch. His piece is burning a hole against his back.

“Obviously. I have a degree, a six-figure salary, and two properties – all under forty. I’m objectively attractive, work out regularly, don’t smoke. I’m a good catch, don’t kid yourself that you can do better.”

At Kyle’s elbow, you go very still. The type of still that precedes blood and screaming. He’s seen it in Ghost before.

“Then why are you here?” you ask, tongue dripping acid. “Since you’re such a catch.”

Brandon sighs and shakes his head, trying for fond exasperation and only achieving constipated.

“I’m not willing to just throw away two years. I’ve invested a lot in this relationship, and we can still make it work.” It actually starts to make Kyle nauseous, the way he talks about you like a business decision. “I mean, you have some things to make up for but eventually, we can go back to the way we were.”

“And what,” you say through gritted teeth, consonants sharp enough to pierce skin, “do I have to make up for?”

Kyle listens, flabbers absolutely gasted, as Brandon answers.

“You ran off to play desk bunny for a man I don’t know. God only knows what ‘favor’ you did to land that job. You’ve lowered your value as a marriable woman but there are ways to make it up to me—”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

Kyle’s ears ring like the first time he heard his mum curse.

Brandon looks taken aback too. You don’t give either of them a chance to respond.

“I know it’s not fucking me. Because if you were talking to me, you’d be stupider than you look.”

Brandon’s face flushes with anger. He takes another step forward. Kyle takes two in return, shaking his head in warning. Unfortunately, Brandon doesn’t know how to read his face any better than yours.

“C’mon, mate, it’s common sense. A lock that opens for any key and all that.”

Kyle’s heard it before. “Women ain’t locks, mate.”

“If you don’t get out of this building right fucking now, I will ruin your life,” you snarl.

Brandon does a double take. “Is that a threat? You can’t—"

“You bet your pasty ass it is,” you reply without missing a beat. You raise your voice every time he tries to interrupt, barreling through his weak protest like a train. “Fifteen fucking minutes. That’s all it would take to destroy you, your stupid sister, your bitchy mother, your pervert father, and that fucking slag you got pregnant twice.”

Kyle’s eyebrows rise with each word until he’s fairly certain they’ve floated up to the ceiling somewhere.

Brandon, though… Brandon’s face is ashen.

“How… how did you…?”

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

Kyle doesn’t give him the option to refuse. He scruffs Brandon by the back of his bland suit and shoves him out the first door of the vestibule. It closes and locks just as he turns around, a rebuttal finally juddering to his bloodless lips. You haven’t even turned to watch him go.

Kyle approaches you feeling a bit like he does coming to Price with shit news when he’s already pissed.

He almost says, you sure know how to pick ‘em – but thinks better of it. There’s practically frost forming beneath your feet, the air around you is icy.

“Walk you up, little miss?” he asks, offering his arm.

You gently take his arm and exhale heavily. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

You invite him in at your door. Your hands are shaking a bit. He politely accepts, shooting Price the others a text that he’ll be a bit late. He’s not about to leave you in a state.

As usual, you step out of your shoes at the door, leaving you in your shimmery stockings, then pad to the kitchen.

“Tea?” you ask as he follows.

“I haven’t the time, doll, I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re alright before heading out.”

You turn, expression softening. Just like that, you’re back to your usual self, sweet as honey.

“I’ll be alright, I think,” you reply, sighing. “That was a long time coming.”

He leans his shoulder in the doorway, unable to help chuckling at the memory of your ex’s gobsmacked expression. The corners of your mouth curl up in shy amusement.

“Seemed like it,” he replies. “We should weaponize those f-bombs you dropped.”

That coaxes a giggle out. “Graves would be first on my list.”

“The boss’s too.” And oh, Kyle can’t wait to tell Price about this. (As if he needed another reason to hate Brandon and adore you.)

“Christ,” you groan, “you’re going to tell him about this, aren’t you?”

He’s at least able to muster an apologetic grimace. “You know I have to, sweets.”

“Suppose I’ll get the really good tea tomorrow,” you muse.

“He liked those pistachio scones from the corner café, too.”

You light up. It just so happens that they bake your favorite muffins too. “Good idea.”

“I’m full of ‘em.”

You snort, but there’s a fond smile on your face. Regretfully, he notes the time on the stove clock behind you.

“You’re sure you’re alright here by yourself?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” you promise, crossing to give him a warm hug. “I lock the door and windows like Simon told me.”

“Atta girl,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“Seven sharp!” you chirp.

He pauses at the door, “You call if there’s any trouble.”

You poke your head around the corner. “You don’t sign my paychecks; you can’t tell me what to do.”

He points right back at you. “That’s from the bossman direct.”

“Then he can tell me himself.”

He arches his brows. You blink.

“Don’t tell him I said that.”

He chokes back a chuckle. “Sweet dreams, little miss.”

“Get home safe, Kyle!”

As far as business meetings go, one with Los Vaqueros is almost pleasant. Sure, they always try to overprice their products, but haggling them down is practically a game between Price and Vargas by now. The shipping agreement between them and SpecGru is long established by now, a major link in the international arms market.

“Negotiations” are relaxed enough that Rudy and Valeria are playing cards with Ghost and Soap at the sitting table, whiskey glasses at their elbows. The plan for the next six months is all but set when Price suddenly jerks. In an instant, his face goes dark, shoulders tense.

“Something wrong, hermano?” Vargas asks.

“I’m getting a call.”

Soap and Ghost snap to attention.

There are only a handful of people that can reach Price during a meeting. All but one is in this room.

As he brings the phone to his ear, Kyle sees your name on the screen.

“Yes, love?” he answers.

Even from a couple feet away, Kyle can hear your voice through the receiver – high and panicked. Kyle’s already reaching for his keys.

“He fucking what?” Price barks.

Soap and Ghost jump to their feet, cards and drinks forgotten.

“Barricade the door, get a knife. We’ll be right there.”

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Masterlist

[swordsandholly]

Little Death

Incubus!Soap x fem fat reader | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI | cw: dubcon, noncon, drinking, biting, afab reader, blood, PiV sex, cunnilingus, anal, monsterfucking, size difference, kidnapping, dead dove

Word Count: 4.5k

You sit in your apartment on your worn out couch, sipping a glass of shitty gas station wine at some godforsaken hour in the morning. Just like you do nearly every night these days. Love Island plays loudly on the TV while you try to drown out the overbearing silence that seems to cling to you. It surrounds you at all times, everything just a little too quiet. A little too distant.

You knew getting divorced would be lonely. You didn’t expect it to be this bad.

Your eye connects with a piece of paper that’s been living on your side-of-the-road coffee table for the past… who knows at this point. The friend that gave it to you meant well. She intended it to be a funny, light hearted gesture. Instead, you just feel pathetic. The pitiable fat girl that can’t get a date. Not that she’d be wrong. Out of drunk boredom, or maybe sheer desperation, you grab the stupid cut out article. It’s some plasticky, cheap print with the title ‘How To Summon A Lover’ which is probably the laziest headline in the world for a supposed spell.

Are you lonely? The summary asks, Do you need some special company? Just follow these steps and get exactly what you’re looking for!

It’s stupid. It’s corny. Luckily - or unfortunately - you are just drunk enough to take part in stupid and corny. Your eyes graze over the materials list - paper, a red marker, a metal baking sheet, and a stick candle. Your brow scrunches. You suppose you can sacrifice one of your outdated, unused decor candles that sit on your mantle. You gather the supplies with clumsy, uneven steps.

Fuck your ex. Fuck him for making you this sad and pathetic. Fuck him for piling on the insecurity, for isolating you and taking nearly all your friend group. For all of it. You plop down on your rug, items in hand and thoughts swirling angrily.

Step 1: Place the paper on the baking sheet

Step 2: Draw a pentagram

You roll your eyes. Of fucking course it’s a pentagram. You do it, still.

Step 3: Write “I Light The Flame of Desire” on each side of the page

Step 4: Place the candle in the center of the paper

Step 5: Light the candle and concentrate on your intention until it burns out.

You regret picking up such a big candle.

When you wake your mouth is dry and your back aches. The sunlight offends your eyes when you attempt to crack them open. You must have fallen asleep on the floor at some point. You look down at the mess in front of you. The candle burnt the paper into almost nothing at some point. Thank god the article told you to put it on a baking sheet.

You feel so fucking stupid.

You stumble into the shower, allowing the hot water to help rouse you from your hungover, groggy state. That feeling of stupidity tickles the back of your mind. It’s not like you expected it to work - really, what’s making your heart twist and shame crawl up your back is the disappointment, is that it didn’t. At least you don’t have to work today. You don’t particularly feel like being around people. Not that you do the rest of the time.

As you turn to get out, fear strikes through you at a shadow in your periphery through the fogged shower glass. Just as soon as you see it, it disappears. You shrug it off, heart still thumping wildly as you towel off. Something in your gut churns as you do your best to get ready for the day. An unease that won’t leave as you make yourself at least appear like someone with their life together. A feeling that someone is watching makes your hair stand on end.

You send up a thank you to the universe that you managed to get up early enough to make it to the grocery store during quiet hours. While buckling your seatbelt, that shadow comes back. Right behind you, in the back seat. It’s gone as soon as you check the rearview mirror. You let out a shaky breath. It keeps happening. While you get your shopping cart, while you choose produce. Every time you turn an isle, it’s there. It sends shivers down your spine. Some black, effervescent shape that follows you worse than a shadow. That catches your eye even when you consciously try to ignore it. You really need to lay off the drinking.

As soon as you get home, you toss everything from the night before - including the baking sheet. Some superstitious part of you rears its head, telling you to walk the damn thing all the way to the outside dumpster rather than leave it to fester in your personal trash. You don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. You’re sure you just drank too much, that you slept strangely and it fucked with your head. That not speaking to anyone besides brief interactions with coworkers and customers for weeks on end has left you jumpy and off. Maybe you really should see that therapist your lawyer talked about. She’s expensive though, and not covered by your insurance…

You turn over another bottle of wine in your hand, wrinkling your nose. Not tonight. Not when you turn to put the bottle down and nearly jump into the ceiling at some shape moving to the living room from behind you. Only in your periphery, only vague images, leaving you uneasy. You toss and turn when you finally get into bed. It still feels like you’re being watched. Like there’s a camera just over your shoulder, or in the ceiling fan, staring down at you. For the first time since you were small, you bury yourself under the covers and screw your eyes shut, hoping it will save you from the monsters under your bed and in your head.

You stir at a weight dipping your bed. It’s slight, so slight you almost miss it entirely, until it isn’t. Until whatever it is moves again and you feel something brush over your legs. In a panic, still half asleep, you turn onto your back, fists flying through the air only to be caught by inhumanly large hands. You flail, kicking as a scream catches in your throat.

“Shh, sh, yer a’right.” A distinctly Scottish brogue coos, pinning you to the bed without so much as a grunt. You finally manage to open your eyes properly. He’s big - eyes a bright, unnatural blue with a wild light in them. When he grins at you it exposes long fangs where his normal canines should be. Two horns poke out from his head, the shorn sides of his haircut further exposing them. There’s an unnatural red tint to his skin, darkening to nearly pure crimson at the ends of his exposed limbs. A shiver runs down your spine.

“Wh- who the fuck are you?” You squeak, far less threatening than you might have liked.

The beast’s grin only widens. “Donnae ye know? Ye called me, after all.”

Your eyes widen to saucers as you stare up at him. Did- there’s no way that stupid spell worked! It was a cut out from a damn off-brand Cosmopolitan. It was stupid sleepover bullshit. It was - It’s wasn’t- You couldn’t have summoned a real, actual factual demon into your apartment. No, this has to be a prank or intruder or - or hallucination even.

You try to shove at his chest as soon as he retracts his hands, a weak attempt at escaping. Part of you expects to phase through him - to wake up in your quiet, dark bedroom. Except his hands are very much real and warm as they pin your wrists back against the mattress. The silhouette of massive wings block out the little bit of moonlight that might have otherwise drifted through the slit in your curtains. You can barely make him out, now. Those too-bright eyes glint like a cat’s as he stares down at you.

“Now, why did ye call me, little one?” He leans in, nose brushing against yours before ducking his head down to lick a long stripe up your neck.

Your face heats, mouth struggling to form words. “I… didn’t think it was real…”

“Tha’s not a reason.” Too-sharp teeth nip at the shell of your ear.

“I just… why do you want to know anyway?” You spit defensively, thrashing under him in a sudden burst of confidence - or desperation. You’re not sure. It does fuck-all for you, the beast pinning your thighs under his weight. A deep, warning growl rumbles in his chest. You freeze at the sound - some ancient instinct telling you to stop all action and pray it saves you.

“It’s no’ polite t’dodge my question, bonnie.”

You whimper involuntarily, his sharp teeth grazing the soft skin of your neck with just enough pressure to threaten a bite. The words tumble from your lips near incoherently, “I haven’t- I’ve only been with one person… for a long time. I’m nervous… about a second…”

He hums. Something brushes your shin - a tail, you think. You can’t make it out in the dark. “Whit’s yer name, doll?”

You blurt it, a little horrified at giving that information to some supernatural creature. For some reason you find yourself following it up with, “What’s yours?”

He laughs and mulls it over, jaw clenching briefly, as if he can’t make up his mind about what it is. “Call me Soap, aye?”

You snort despite yourself and he - Soap - quirks a brow. “Weird name for a demon.”

“Incubus.” He corrects.

You have half a mind to complain when he tears your nightgown off before you can react. The cloth rips fast, practically disintegrating in his rough hands. That’s until he climbs down the bed, taking one nipple between his lips and flicking the other. Your back arches, hands fisting the sheets. You let out an indignant ow when he bites down on the fat of your breast, leaving a mark just shy of drawing blood. Soap ignores it, continuing to lavish them with attention as he sees fit. Your thighs press together and you can’t help but squirm, becoming desperate for more in spite of the voice in your head telling you to run. He senses it, you think, moving down your body leaving nips and bites in his path before settling between your thighs. He takes your underwear off in much the same fashion, turning them to shreds in barely a moment. His wings disappear into the shadows - there but not simultaneously. Shifting in and out of your vison.

“Look a’ tha’.” He sighs. “Whit a pretty pussy. Cannae believe yer lettin’ her go unused.”

You whimper and attempt to close your legs, failing when those massive hands hook under your knees and push them up to your chest as far as they can go. His nails - near claws - dig into the flesh of your thighs. A gasp tumbles from your lips as his tongue drags through your folds. Soap places a light kiss your your clit before following with a harsh suck that leaves you twitching and whining. Part of you feels ashamed for enjoying this as much as you are - for lapping up the attention from this stranger like a starved dog - but it feels too unreal for you to really care. Too fictional to apply your real world morals or sensibilities.

You yelp in surprise when his tongue flicks over your back hole, causing him to chuckle and mutter, “Tha’s for later.”

He doesn’t leave you time to think on that promise. You throw your head back as he slips his tongue inside. Fuck, it’s deep. Unnaturally long - built to systematically pull pleasure from you just like the rest of him. You find yourself grinding down onto it despite yourself, pent up body giving into instinct and abandoning rational thought. You grab onto his stupid hair to further press him into you. He doesn’t seem to mind as a low guttural sound rumbles through his chest.

A thick finger circles your entrance, replacing his tongue in one swift motion. He doesn’t wait to add a second - the stretch causing you to hiss. His fingers are big. His proportions just on this side of incompatibly large. You wonder briefly, distantly, why his claw-nails aren’t hurting you. It’s hard to care much when the pad of a thick finger presses roughly against that spot that leaves you gasping. His lips wrap around your clit again, sloppily sucking and licking at the little bud as you careen closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches harshly, almost painfully, as you tumble over with a choked moan.

“So easy.” He chuckles. Your face gets hotter, an indignant pout forming on your lips. Rude. Your eyes drift over his body and, somehow for the first time tonight, you realize he’s already naked. Not a single piece of cloth in sight upon his arrival. You let yourself take in his strong torso, the thick dusting of hair from his chest all the way down to a healthy happy trail, down to-

“That’s not gonna fit!” You squeak, clumsily trying to back away. His cock hangs heavily between his legs; thick and veiny and already leaking. His hand on your sternum stops you in place. You’re sure he can feel the way your heart hammers away in your chest - practically beating against your ribcage. For a moment, you think you see sympathy in his eyes. Rather quickly you realize that warmth is, instead, hunger. An eagerness to swallow you whole dances across his sharp grin.

“We’ll make it fit.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s bullying his cock inside you, inch by inch despite your shaky pleas to slow down. It burns, just crossing over the threshold into too much. Your teeth grind, a deep whine resonating in your throat. Your fingers claw at the sheets below you and your body jerks with odd shocks of pleasure and pain all tied up into one.

“Fuckin’ tight…” Soap groans.

“S’too much!” You practically sob, hips squirming to get away from the intrusion.

“Y’can take it.” His other hand grabs onto your waist to still you. You can’t stop the moan that forces its way past your lips as his hips meet yours.

You expect it to hurt when he fucks you - he doesn’t allow you time to adjust, each thrust practically punching the air from your lungs. Instead, it sends electricity up your spine. Your brows knit together, eyes screwed shut as warmth pools at the base of your spine. Soap hooks one of your legs around his hip, the other over his shoulder. You watch him through bleary eyes, the strange red of his hands contrasting with your natural, human skin. The way his hand nearly wraps around your thick calf. The way his core flexed with every thrust. The pleasured knot in his brow.

Soap lets your raised leg drop, pressing his weight down onto you and bracketing your head with his forearms. He smells so good - spices and trees. It invades your senses, leaving your mind somehow foggier than it already felt. He pulls you into a kiss. It’s not romantic, not emotional, just a searing exchange made up of messy teeth and tongue. He tastes like cinnamon. His fang catches your lip and copper coats your mouth. A light whine escapes him as he licks it up and sucks at the small wound.

“Please, please, please.” You pant rhythmically, chest heaving.

“Please, please, please.” He mocks, chuckling at your begging as he presses his thumb to your clit.

You practically seize, already overdone and so close to another. You’re babbling, you know that much, but the contents of your words are lost on you.

“Gonnae cum f’me?” Soap presses his nose to your temple. “Gonnae cum on this cock?”

You nod vigorously, nails leaving half-moons his strong shoulders. His thumb swirls your clit as he continues to spill filthy words into your ear. Things you’ve never thought of, otherworldly promises no man could keep, and groaned nonsense to match your own. Your climax slams into you. You practically howl, whole body shaking. Soap’s tongue drags up the side of your face, licking up sweat and tears. He’s not far behind, a growl rumbling through his chest; his hips stutter as he spills inside you.

You think, for a moment, as you desperately try to catch your breath, that it’s over. He’ll disappear off into the ether and you’ll wake up tomorrow from this strange dream. All of it a lonely, mentally unwell delusion that you can tell your therapist. After you book her. You really should if your brain is coming up with shit like this.

Except, he doesn’t stop. The slowed rocking of his hips immediately picks up again. He leans up, hands gripping your waist as you let out a long, keening whine. You try to shove at his hands, to kick your shaking legs. They’re clumsy. Weak and used and uncoordinated. The sweat on your palms leaves you slipping, unable to get a grip around his wrist. Soap just laughs - dark and unnatural. Far too entertained by your panic. A malicious spark lights his eyes as he stares down at you.

“S-soap!” You gasp, mind and body going into overdrive. “P-please! You don’t have to - you can - fuck - just stop!”

He laughs again, only speeding up - using the hold on your soft waist to fuck you back onto him. An anger flares up in you and you reel back, slapping your open palm against his face as hard as you can manage. It doesn’t do anything to deter him, his hips still slam full force into yours without so much as a stutter. His chuckle cuts off into a gravelly groan. “Do tha’ again.”

As much as you don’t want to give in to him, you do. You batter your fists against his chest, his arms, anywhere you can even slightly reach. You dig your nails into his hands. He just speeds up, lewd, wet sounds an loud slaps echoing in the room along with your moans and shouts. Soap pulls out just long enough for his arm to encircle your waist and flip you over as if you weigh nothing to him. You hardly get your bearings before he’s forcing his cock back in your cunt. His hands latch onto your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll bruise, if not be crushed completely.

“Please! Fuck - Soap - please - st-” You choke out, barely able to lift your face out of the sheets to breathe. Your whole body tremors violently. You try to reach behind yourself for him - to get some purchase, but all you’re met with his a hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades to hold you in place.

“Whit? Ye think tha’ was all? Jus’ one round an’ yer done?” The beast condescends, voice rough. “Nae, we’ve go’ forever. Well, until yer body gives out, at least. Gonnae shove my cock down tha’ pretty throat next, I think.”

The hand still on your hip lets go. Gathering slick from between your thighs, Soap pushes his thumb against your back hole. You gasp and attempt to lurch forward, to get away, but it doesn’t work. You can’t move out from under the weight of him. You feel a glob of something land there, quickly realizing he spit on you just to gasp as his thumb pushes inside. Part of you hates that it feels good, hates the words spilling from his lips about your unused ass. The rest of you succumbs to the fullness as his thumb is replaced by a finger, then another, working you open.

You whimper, fear mixing with the ongoing growing pleasure in your gut. It’s all too much. You’re overstimulated, soft body bruised and exhausted. Filled to the brim. Soap drapes himself over you, removing his fingers with almost a pop, and sinking his sharp teeth into the crook of your neck. His arms bracket your head once again, nearly flattening your against the mattress underneath him. You cry out, tears streaming as you feel another climax approaching, your pussy drooling down your thighs.

Something deep in the back of your brain snap as you cum. You lose yourself to base instinct. The heat in the room and anger in your chest consumes you. The air burns as it enters your lungs, sparking and electrifying your skin. Your head turns, eyes locking on the strong forearm anchored just above you. On impulse you lurch up, sinking your teeth in as far as they’ll go. A dog with prey caught in it’s maw. Soap growls in your ear - deep and animalistic. His blood isn’t quite coppery, not like yours, it’s far too sweet. It only spurs you on, your fingers twisting so tightly in the sheets you hear threads pop. Your other hand reaches back to dig your nails into his upper arm, to scratch at wherever you can reach. The sounds tearing through your throat aren’t right. Aren’t human. His arm muffles them slightly, the grunts and growls becoming borderline screams as you cum again so soon.

Soap flips you again, tearing his arm away from you and planting his feet flat on the bed, using his inhuman strength to help bounce you on his lap. You snarl, nails digging into his pecs to draw more blood. It drips down your lips, onto your chest, it covers the pads of your fingers. It’s animal. You’re just an animal.

“There ye are.” He grins, eyes practically glowing.

You don’t think much of it, you can’t think at all, really. Not in words, or even images. Pure instinct drives every action, your nose flaring at the scent of sex and blood that’s filled the room. Your skin is feverish, limbs shaking. Frenzied. That’s the word. Frenzied and rabid as you reach for strength you don’t have an meet his thrusts.

The two of you keep going that way - for how long, you aren’t sure. At some point you end up on the floor, at another he holds you against the wall by your throat. At another you hear the bed frame crack in two. Claw marks and bruises litter your body - litter his, as well. He pushes his cock into your back hole, not caring about the minimal stretch. You don’t need lube, you’ve drenched the both of you enough. The last thing you’re conscious for is Soap moaning in your ear as your hands wrap around his horns, holding on with all you have as your lips meet.

When you wake, your body feels heavy. Buried under something - blankets, you think. Though, your blankets at home have never had this weight to them. It’s more than quilts - your fingers tentatively running over both the texture of soft cloths and thick furs. It feels luxury, buttery smooth under your touch. Briefly, you shut your eyes again, content to drift back into blackness out of this cozy dream.

When you do peek your eyes open, a shudder runs down your spine. This isn’t your apartment. You shoot up, looking around the odd bedroom. It’s strangely decorated. Modern but with hints of something more scattered about. The smooth, painted walls of a modern home and ornate, lit fireplace of a castle mixed with current and antique furniture alike. A large couch sits in front of the mantle with embroidered, thick blankets hanging over the back. There’s a cracked door that seems to lead into a walk in closet. The area rug covering the far half of the room is a rich emerald green embellished with flowing designs in various golds and darker tones. Drawings and random scrawl are pinned to the far wall. There’s an open sketchbook on top of an old, hardwood desk with similar designs carved into it as the mantle.

Panic begins to surge as you open the massive curtains on the wall opposite the mantle to reveal floor to ceiling windows. They’re heavy like tapestries. You realize quickly that two of the panels are sliding doors onto a balcony, though you hesitate to step out. It would only corner you further. The sky looks like fire - waves of clouds lit in orange and yellow hues. It moves to fast. Streams of flames twist and run across the sky, overtaking one another.

You swing open the only other door that doesn’t appear to be the main exit. All it leads to is a bathroom. Large and expensive but nothing abnormal. Except for your shampoo inside the shower upon further inspection. Memories flood you, the night before comes in flashes. Was it the night before? Time feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. You’re sore, eyes heavy and body weak. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, dressed in some gauzy, black floor-length thing that leaves little to the imagination.

Just as you exit the bathroom to look for somewhere else to hide or run, the main door opens. Soap steps in, adjusting the sleeve of his t-shirt. You freeze, as if he won’t see you as long as you’re still.

It doesn’t work, of course. Those bright eyes lock onto you, thick brows raising. “Bonnie? Yer up!”

He looks… different. Less demonic. Not that anything has visibly changed much besides the fact that he’s wearing actual clothes. He simply fits into the scenery better - the room made to accommodate him. You realize part of the strangeness of it is the furniture size; meant for someone much taller and wider than you. The light helps as well, defining the contours of his face that you couldn’t make out in the dark. You back away from him as he approaches, pressing yourself against the wall as tightly as you can.

“So glad yer up. Are ye hungry? I can-“

“Where am I?” You cut him off meekly, eyes darting around the room.

“Och, my home of course.” Soap grins as if that explains anything.

“Why?” It doesn’t come out like the demand you want it to, more like a plea. Your voice cracks and you can’t meet his eye.

He tilts his head, eyes watching you, raking over you from head to toe. A predator observing it’s prey - deciding how best to catch it. “Ye live here, now.”

“What?” You gasp, trying to back further into the wall as if you could phase through it should you just try hard enough. “No- no, please! You have to let me go home! I need to go home!”

Johnny shrugs far too casually for your liking. “A soft little thing like ye? Nae, think I’ll keep ye fer the time bein’. Never met someone who could keep up like ye can. Go’ a lot of pent up energy in there, hen.”

“I don’t-“

“Yer gonnae feed me fer years tae come.” He continues as if you didn’t say anything at all, “Besides, I’ve go’ some friends tha’ I think would like ye.”

[penelopepine]

Mother Knows Best!

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

Summary: Soap's mom trying to set Ghoap up with Reader! She loves Reader and she's going to make her a part of her family! Content: fluff Word Count: 1012

You had started working in Mrs. MacTavish's bakery a few months ago. She was a kind older woman who had welcomed you with open arms when you first started. Her two daughters were just as kind as well. 

They had come in one day, just checking in on their mom, and the rest was history after that. The three of you quickly became thick as thieves. After spending so much time with Mrs. MacTavish’s family they honestly felt like your own now; the only member you have yet to meet was her son, John.

If only you had known what Mrs. MacTavish had planned for when you did. She brought you into her family, and what better way to make that official than by having you date her son. The son who was already in a long term committed relationship with his lieutenant. That was just a two for one deal for you in her eyes. 

-

The day Johnny came into the shop it had been a surprise for everyone. He hadn’t told anyone that he was arriving home early. When he first stepped into the bakery he was expecting to see his mum, but instead saw you working behind the counter. He remembers her mentioning getting a new worker at the shop. 

“Hello, lass! You must be the one who has captured my mum’s heart! Anyone who can do that might as well be family; feel free to call me Johnny.” He introduced himself to you with a wink. “Speaking of my mum, is she in right now?”

You're shocked for a second upon a stranger coming in and introducing himself to you. Regaining your composure though you quickly introduce yourself to himself as well; excited to finally be meeting the son you’ve heard so much about. “Oh, yes! She’s back in the office right now, and I’ve heard my fair share of stories about you as well.” 

“All good things I hope. Would hate it if she gave a bad first impression.” 

“Don’t you worry I’ve only heard the best!” You two bantered with one another before Johnny steps away and makes his way towards the office.

He knocks on the door, and waits until he hears his mum’s muffled voice come from the other side, “Come in!” 

Without waiting for another second he throws the door open, and there sitting at the small desk is his mum. Standing in the doorway he basks in the surprised and excited shrieks when she realizes that it's him.

"Oh, Johnny! Come in come in! Let me see you." She calls him further in as she stands up herself with open arms. She holds him tight when she finally gets her arms around him. Johnny knows she's probably feeling a bit overwhelmed right now, and lets her hold him as long as she needs. "I've missed you so much!" 

"It's good to see you again mum." He whispers into her hair, "I've missed you too."

She pulls away and her eyes have a glossy sheen to him as she urges him to sit down in one of the chairs alongside her. Once there she asks him about Simon, and tells him what's been happening while he's been away. 

They continue to talk and catch up with one another before his mum asks him about you, "So … what do you think of her? She's cute isn't she!" 

Johnny couldn't deny that you were rather pretty; if he wasn't currently in a relationship he would have been all over you. He didn't know why his mum was asking him that though. "Yeah, she's cute. Why? Are you planning on playing matchmaker again? Which one of your friend's sons are you thinking about for her?" 

"Actually I think you should ask her out; I think she'd be good for you." 

"Mum! You know I'm with Simon!" Johnny's voice rising with anger at the thought of his mum wanting him to leave his partner. 

"She'd be good for him too!" She quickly reassured him, “I can see it now. The three of you living life to the fullest with one another.” 

Johnny feels absolutely shell shocked right now; unsure of how to really respond even, "Wait? You want me and Simon to date her?"

"Exactly!" She exclaims, "She'd be perfect for the two of you!" 

"Mum-"

She interrupts before he can continue though, "Just talk to her! If you don't like her like that, or if you and Simon don't want that kind of relationship then I won't mention it again. I promise!" 

"Fine, fine I'll talk to her," He agrees, "only because she's working for you though, and I need to make sure she's not a troublemaker."

"Of course! You should do that now then." She stands up and ushers him out of the office, and shuts the door behind him. Johnny is left standing there mouth agape as he stares at the office door. 

After coming to terms with what just happened he turns and makes his way back to the front of the bakery. He didn't go to talk to you with any romantic intentions, but it seems his mum really does know him too well. Not that he’s going to complain about it right now; not when it seems there honestly could be something romantic here. 

He ends up staying for the rest of your shift talking and helping you with the customers, and afterwards he finds himself calling Simon. Telling him all about the bonnie lass that really is perfect for them. All he needs to do is meet her to find out for himself to see that it’s true. 

If after that Simon ends up in town as well as coming to the bakery who can really say why. It's also a coincidence that the three of you are seen out at a pub together just a couple days later. 

Mrs. MacTavish is very pleased with herself when you, Johnny, and Simon are then coming to her and informing her that you are now a part of their lovely relationship. 

Taglist: @zarsghost

[bagofshinyrocks]

Giant Dinosaur

Prompt: For Christmas, you buy your man the giant dinosaur from Kohl's. [Requested by @airghostlyfox]

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: profanity; gaz is ooc but it all felt repetitive

A/N: not super proud of this one, but i hope y'all enjoy it anyway because i thought it was fun :-)

He.

John Price

It was hard to hide a dinosaur plushy that big. But there was a linen closet you only kept tablecloths and spare towels in, and now a very smooshed dinosaur crammed into the top.

Christmas morning, you wriggled free of John’s death grip on you, muttering something about needing to pee. A few minutes later you slipped back into his arms and kissed him good morning.

He smiled sleepily and nuzzled his face into your neck. “Morning,” he purred, beard tickling you a little.

“Morning, baby. Santa left you something.”

He opened his eyes a little more and looked around. Lurking right behind him, spooning him, was the giant dinosaur.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

John jerked and punched the thing across the room.

“John! What is wrong with you?” You were halfway out of bed to go grab the thing before he tugged you back into his chest and pulled the blankets up again.

“Too early for presents, luvie. Not until 9 AM. Need more kisses.”

You didn’t have any real desire to protest with your lover’s mouth already against yours and his arms squeezing you close.

The dinosaur lay on the floor for a while, before John finally allowed him to sit on the bed during the day. Though that bad boy would get punted once it was time for bed. Poor guy :-(

Simon Riley

He found it before Christmas morning. On the hunt in the guest bathroom for some spare shaving cream containers, he pulled aside the shower curtain and hollered.

You came running from the bedroom.

“Simon! Simon, what’s wrong?”

You collided into him as he came out of the bathroom. Strong hands gripped your shoulders and he took a deep breath.

“Why is there a giant fuckin’ stuffed Grinch in the shower?”

You blinked. Then groaned in defeat.

“Aw, damn.” You squeezed past him and plucked the stuffie up. “He’s a dinosaur, Simon.” A little scratch to the plushie’s chin. “And part of your Christmas present.”

“No.”

“It’s only part of your present, Si. You’ve got other goodies waiting.”

He took it from you and gave it a shake. Nothing inside made a noise, so he started squeezing its limbs, its stomach, its face. You looked on, smiling. That wasn’t the usual way of playing with a stuffed animal, but it’s cute.

You must have said that last bit aloud because he fixed you with a withering glare and suddenly you had a mouthful of dinosaur fluff.

Kyle Garrick

Kyle got home the morning of Christmas Day. Well, technically morning, as it was 3 AM.

You picked him up at the airport and welcomed him with a bear hug and several kisses. He was exhausted. Eyes barely open, face buried into your neck. If he were still a little kid, you would have carried him and strapped him into his car seat.

You walked arm-in-arm back to the car, chatting about your plans for the afternoon, all the food you’ve been making, and that Santa had already dropped off his presents.

“Oh, boy, I can’t wait to see what I got.”

“I brought part of it with me.”

Kyle grinned and immediately tugged at the waist band of your clothes, seeing if your undergarments were the present. You scoffed and gave his nose a gentle flick.

You opened the trunk of the car and helped him load his gear in. Sitting in the passenger seat, he saw a large, fluffy, green shape.

“Wha’s that?”

“For you!”

He all but skipped to the passenger seat and laughed at the dinosaur strapped in. Unclicked the seatbelt, scooped him up, and traded spots. You sat in the driver’s seat and gladly accepted all the happy kisses he gave you.

“Thank you, baby, this is very sweet.”

The first ten minutes of the drive home was filled with him saying thank you and leaning over to give you a kiss.

The rest of it was him sleeping on the dinosaur, quiet snores and the same death grip he gave you around the mass of green fluff.

Johnny MacTavish

Johnny burst out laughing when he looked at the mass of wrapping paper next to the tree.

“Steamin’ bloody- What the shit?”

You tried so hard not to laugh as you told him to go ahead and open it. He tore it open like the dinosaur was suffocating and smacked it on the ground. Chest compressions, mouth-to-mouth. Then slapping its face and begging it to wake up.

You may have peed yourself a little bit at his shennanigans.

And it got so much worse, as he decided the giant dinosaur was a punching bag or sparring mannequin. He called it “Boss” and treated him like his number one enemy.

Whenever you put Boss on the couch, Johnny would take a running start and body slam it off. Tuck Boss into bed, and he’d driving-elbow-drop on the motherfucker and the bounce would almost launch you off the mattress. The dino never fought back, but you sure did.

“Fucking launch me like that again, I dare you.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You will be living in the barracks and Boss will get your side of the bed and the sink.”He took more care in reducing collateral damage when attacking Boss, and you got really good at repairing that dinosaur. You didn’t want Johnny to know he was being too rough. Or for him to stop. It was Penelope and her shroud, you and that stupid fucking dinosaur.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2024 January 2

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Plan: Simon Ghost Riley x f!wintersoldier!reader

"This has to fabricated."

"It's not-"

"What the fuck is going on?"

"This can't be fucking real, Kate. There's no way."

The room had erupted with anger soon after the perpetrator was revealed to be you. After the initial shock came the denial, the anger that every single one of them felt because of the disturbing information that still displayed on the projector.

No one could believe it. No one wanted to.

"It's someone who looks like her." Price declared as he refused to look at the projector. "She's MIA."

"You really believe that, Cap?" Gaz scoffed and though he seemed like he was trying to keep his cool it was easy to see on his face he was just as distressed as everyone else.

Ghost hadn't said a word since his eyes landed on you. He was stuck frozen in his spot, his hands curled into fists that shook slightly as he burned holes into the screen staring at your image.

It was you. He knew the moment Laswell zoomed in on you. He may have avoided looking at any pictures of you he came across but he could never quite forget your eyes, not when he had spent so many times staring at them when you'd sit by his side or when you were across the room from him.

No matter how hard he tried to forget about you, to selfishly convince himself that you were dead so he didn't have to deal with any of the horrible emotions that still wounded him to this day, you were always in the back of his mind. He could truly never forget you.

But even with the shitty quality of the CCTV he could tell that something was different with you. You stood differently, more rigid than he had ever known you to be. From what he could see of your face, you looked hardened and angry, completely different from the last time he had saw you.

But there was no denying it. You were the one who stole the USB.

"It's her." He managed to say through a clenched jaw.

Ghost felt bile in his throat. He could hardly keep his thoughts straight with the storm of emotions that raged inside him. It was like his entire world was crashing down around him and he naively wished this was some horrible nightmare but it was real, all of it was.

"I cannae believe this." Soap mumbled. "She wouldn't...turn on us would she?"

The room went silent again.

You wouldn't. Ghost knew you wouldn't do anything to harm them or betray them, not with how close you were with them before you disappeared. You were loyal, almost to a fault and to even suggest that you would do something to betray the 141 made his blood boil and yet...you had stolen intel from them. Very valuable intel that could end lives.

You were working with some group, a bad group he knew that much, that was in direct opposition with the 141.

"It doesn't matter if she would or not." Laswell tried to keep a level voice but hidden in her eyes was pain and conflict as well. "She stole the intel and we need to get it back."

None of them missed the way she avoided speaking about what they needed to do to you. It seemed like none of them could fully believe that you betrayed them, that you would work against everything that you stood for.

Ghost denied it. You wouldn't do this willingly. You had to have been blackmailed or threatened. That was the only reason he could justify it.

A pit formed in his stomach and his throated tightened at the thought of you with this group, what that could really mean, but he ignored it. He turned to Price and gave him a firm stare, one that he hoped would get his point across.

"When we get the intel back, we're getting her back too." He said it like there was no debate because there wasn't.

Ghost was bringing you back whether Price or Laswell allowed it or not.

Luckily Price nodded and he spared one last glance at you before he looked at Laswell.

"We need to find out who they are." He said and she gave him a look.

She hesitated before she nodded. There was uncertainty in her eyes but she closed her laptop and looked to them all.

"Get into contact with Nik. I'll ask my contacts if they know anything."

When she left the room fell silent. There was nothing any of them could say to each other that would make the situation better, nothing that would help them believe that this wasn;t real.

You were alive. You had reappeared.

And you were against them.

the tag list is closed!

A/n: i hope this makes sense I struggled a little bit. we'll get into the meat of it later on

Tags: @bucky-lents @theweirdgeninistuff @igotchuuknj @rafaelacallinybbay @yyiikes @paintlavillered @tacticalanklebiter3000

[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Summer With Them

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ׂׂૢ Y’all have no idea how much i hate summer i defrost from vampire to weird nerd -1000 aura points or whatever they’re saying on the clock app

Anyways i finished this while at the laundromat

Ghost

Prefers summer nights to summer days or evenings

Sits on the porch at night with you listening to the cicadas sing

And during this time you can’t take showers together bc he won’t let you adjust the temperature, he takes his showers ice cold

Don’t ask me where I get this from but he vibes with that one Type O Negative song bc according to him it gives “summer” (iykyk)

Prob has sun sensitivity

Cannot leave the house without his sunglasses

And he avoids driving when the sun’s too bright

Soap

Bastard who enjoys summer #1

He likes summer because it means going down to the beach and showing off his muscles that stay clothed under uniform throughout the year

Wants to buy swimming trunks that’ll match your swimwear

He likes joining teens in volleyball and flying kites with kids

Loves going on walks on the beach at dawn and dusk

He once gave you a bad scare when making you think the dolphin fin in the water was a shark

Even if you’re at home he’ll drag you out of bed to join his morning walk and evening walks after dinner

Gaz

He’s content with summer

Will come up with tons of things to do

Picnics he prepares every weekend

Cloud watching

Catching fireflies in a jar and setting them free all at once to see them glow

Running his fingers through your hair as the breeze blows

Making lemonade together to stay cool outside

Buys a vintage camera to take lots of pics of you

On every evening walk you take together he picks something small like a leaf or flower and saves it

At the end of the season he gets everything together and creates a page in his scrapbook

Alejandro

Bastard who enjoys summer #2

He likes the feel of summer breeze on his bare skin and you look forward to seeing that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Likes to sleep with the windows open at night

Blasts music

Carne asadas

Frequents the local ice cream shops to buy mangonadas

Throughout the entire summer your kitchen has fruits of all kind that he eats with tajin

Will take you for a drive around in his truck and then find a quiet little spot like a lake or mountain to park and sit on the truck bed watching the sky

Phillip Graves

Sits outside with sunglasses on and beer in hand

Calls for you to come out and sit with him to watch the sunset

Cookouts

Anytime you complain of the heat you better hope he’s not around to yap your ear off about some anecdote from when he was a child

“It’s hot” “Ain’t that hot” he responds whilst his face is sunburned bc he refuses to wear sunscreen

Will only wear sunscreen if you are able to catch him before he goes outside and apply it for him

Keegan

It seems like summer evenings are the perfect time to do stuff

For some reason likes to do things shirtless in summer: yard/garden work, mowing the lawn, washing the car..

You set up a chair on the porch to watch him

Falling asleep on a soft patch of grass under the shade of a tree

Will start a bonfire and sit around it with you for hours into the late hours of the night

Sometimes you’ll stay out so late with him that both of you fall asleep

König

He’s not fond of summer

Would prefer to stay inside but if you want to he’ll go out as well

Sprawls on the floor with the fan on

He’ll drive where you want to go and then sit in the car watching you

Prob keeps ice packs in a cooler to keep cool when going outside for a long time

He’d rather be outside when the sun starts to set and the sky turns orange

Sets up a hammock

Afternoon naps on the hammock with the gentle sway of the wind

Horangi

He likes summer and prepares for it

Just imagine him getting out a little backpack with a sunhat, sunglasses, sunscreen, water bottle, umbrella, cooling sleeves, etc…

That’s not for him tho that’s for you he puts on sunglasses and is good to go

During summer he loves going to markets and buying fruit bc that’s when it’s best

Lots of strawberries, grapes and tangerines

Constantly reminds you to wear sun protection

He likes being outside a lot actually and will take you to his favorite parks and places to hike

Nikto

The change of seasons does not affect him much

He’ll notice the change of weather one day and mention how much warmer it is

“It’s summer” “Oh, we should go camping soon…”

He’ll take you camping whether you like it or not insisting that you will like it

Sets a tent near the river to catch fish

He also likes to plant vegetables during the nice weather and bring them to you, proudly showing off his hard work rewarded

He likes to cook meals together and eat outside

[sunshine-sunni]

I have bad baby fever so take this.

—★! Tags: Established relationship, baby? Afab!!

Ghost never thought about having children before. He didn't understand them; they confused him. Worst of all, he envied them. How could someone willingly bring a child into a world filled with so much chaos that men like him and the task force had to clean it all up? How could a child smile so innocently while his childhood was nothing short of a nightmare?

He didn't want kids.

That was until he met your niece, Lola. She had to stay overnight, interrupting the plans he made with the team. Johnny wanted to sit down and play a game of drunk poker, but upon seeing chubby little Lola sitting on the rug playing with her blocks, his heart practically melted at the sight.

"Lt., you didn't tell us the missus gave birth," Soap teased, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Ghost snorted, shaking his head. "She's not mine, Johnny. That's my niece, Lola."

The men exchanged amused glances, but their attention quickly turned back to Lola, who looked up from her blocks with a bright, toothy grin. She babbled something unintelligible and held up a block as if showing off her masterpiece.

Ghost found himself smiling beneath his mask, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. He wasn't used to this feeling—this softness. It was alien to him, yet he couldn't deny the tiny spark of joy Lola brought into the room.

The poker game was postponed as the men took turns entertaining Lola. She giggled at Gaz's funny faces, clapped along with Soap's silly songs, and stared wide-eyed at Price's stories. But it was Ghost who seemed to captivate her the most. She crawled over to him, tugging at his pant leg until he picked her up.

Simon held her awkwardly at first, unsure of what to do. But as Lola nestled into his arms, a sense of calm washed over him. She looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, and for a moment, all the chaos and darkness in his life faded away.

He still didn't understand children, and they still confused him. But holding Lola, Simon began to see a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for a bit of light in his shadowed world.

Needless to say, after that eye-opening experience, Simon quickly became attached to the loveable child. He tells your sibling to call on their work days if they need a babysitter, claiming he's just trying to help lift the burden. Family helps family, after all.

Wrong!!

In reality, that man is completely smitten by Lola. Loves her to death. The moment he gets free time Simon is calling up your sibling, asking if they need any help, maybe needing a break from the child for a while and if Simon gets the okay, he's speeding to pick up Lola and whisking her away to your home.

Simon drops everything for her. In the middle of a workout? Give him 5 minutes. He's a fresh man, ready to play dinosaurs. Hell, he doesn't even know what playing dinosaurs is besides the fact Lola loves t-rex and being chased in her green dinosaur onesie. He went as far as to buy countless toys and books for Lola to play with in his home office, no less! Her favorite story books are tucked away in his desk, burying the paperwork he was supposed to have done for Price.

If Lola throws a tantrum with you, he immediately gives you a side-eye. What did you do to make the princess unhappy?

The man absolutely adores that cute muffin, and you couldn't be more shocked. Simon "Ghost" Riley, your husband, who refused to think about children, was now wrapped around your tiny niece's finger! Heck, she's practically your kid now, especially since Lola sleeps in between the two of you, cuddling up to Simon contently.

Simon treats Lola like she is his own child, so imagine his heartbreak when your sibling gives you two the news that they're going to be visiting home for a while. He's distraught, already missing the tiny ball of life, moping about your shared home putting away Lola's toys when suddenly an idea rings in his head.

His beautiful, hardworking doll can give him a child.

♡! I have a lot of drafts, and this was one. My writing is all funky and all over the place bc it's written between being awake and having no sleep!! I have more stuff I want to post, and I might continue this.

[rileyslibrary]

may i request ghost seeing reader making something (maybe a get well soon card or a papercrane or sth idk) and then someone accidentally ruining it? like how would he react? what would he do next etc

doesnt have to be a fic if you decide to write it, could be bulletpoints or something ez🥰🥰

thankyouu🥺✨

I love getting requests like this one; thank you @lululandd! Also, there’s a very important A/N at the end, so meet me there. Buh-bye for now, enjoy! 🍫

———————————————————————

Price got hurt. It was a terrible hit, and everything happened so fast. You were there, at the crime scene, as everything unfolded right before your very eyes.

His injury, however, wasn’t the result of a mission gone wrong; no. Some idiot forgot to put the warning sign on the wet floor, which caused the poor man to fly into the air and crash to the floor.

The good news is that he's recovering quickly and is now being held at the medical centre until he's ready to be released.

The bad news? Without a captain to guide the team, there was no mission to undergo. And, without a mission, none of you had a clear direction or purpose, leaving you all floating in a sea of mundane tasks and boredom. So, for the past few days, you and the rest of the team have been doing mind-numbing chores ranging from scrubbing the kitchen’s greasy ovens to meticulously organising the cluttered armoury.

While Soap and Gaz are on patrol, you and Ghost are taking a break in the mess hall. He’s cleaning his gun by disassembling it and wiping all its metal components with an alcohol solution. You sit across from him, working on a different kind of project: making a get-well-soon card for Price.

Last night, you snuck into HR’s office and “borrowed” some supplies to help you with your craft: a piece of white paper from the printer, some markers, and a pot of blue-coloured glitter dust you found in one of the drawers. It was a mystery as to why the military’s Human Resources department possessed glitter. Still, it will undoubtedly prove helpful with your "crafty" mission.

You also went to the doctor and requested some “normal-sized” bandages to help with your secret project. The doctor leaned back in his chair, raising one eyebrow. He asked why you wanted the bandages, but you were so vague with your answer that he became suspicious of you. So he pulled his desk’s drawer and gave you one fucking bandage—just one. So you had to make it count.

You folded the white paper in half and carefully attached the bandage horizontally to create the outline of Price’s body. The only thing left is to paint his face on the bandage and draw a hospital bed underneath it. That, and getting the team together to write some kind messages on the card.

Ghost looks at you every now and then, mildly intrigued by your artistic creation. You catch his eye, and he quickly turns away.

“Do you like it?” you ask.

“It’s a bandage on a piece of paper,” he says, shrugging. “What is there to like?”

“It’s not just a bandage on a piece of paper,” you explain and gesture to the figure on the paper; “it’s supposed to be Price lying in his hospital bed, recovering.”

His response comes in the form of a lengthy, dismissive snort. He points to the glitter pot in front of you.

“Why the glitter?” he asks.

“It’s for the bedsheets,” you murmur.

“I didn’t know they transferred Price to a love hotel,” he mocks, turning away from you to resume his task. You roll your eyes in response and shift your focus to your craft. This is the same guy you’ll later ask to write a few pleasant words on that card. Fun stuff.

You can still feel his gaze on you as you work on the captain’s card. Despite his best efforts to appear apathetic, you notice him leaning in slightly, pretending to stretch or yawn while sneaking peeks at your project. His body language betrays him; even though he tries to be tough and keep up the act, you know that deep down, he’s a huge softie who can’t resist a heartfelt gesture. He coughs, pretending to clear his throat, and you stifle a laugh at his failed attempt to seem disinterested. You roll your eyes and slam your hand on the table.

“What’s your problem, Lieutenant?” you ask with an amused smirk on your lips.

“I just don’t understand,” he says as he wipes the gun barrel. “Why bother making a card from scratch when you can buy one?”

“Because it’s more meaningful,” you explain. “When you take the time to create something yourself, it shows that you care. It’s not a generic card; it’s a heartfelt statement.”

He lets out a sarcastic scoff.

“I’d do the same thing for you, you know.” You whisper.

He puts down his rifle and looks at you. “You would?” He asks, surprised.

You nod. “Of course, I would,” you reply, “but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that; I’d rather you stay injury-free.”

He chuckles and turns to look at the mess hall doors as they open, with Soap and Gaz carrying a large box and approaching you both.

They slam the box on the table without assessing its weight, causing the entire surface to shake. The impact knocks Ghost’s alcohol solution over, spilling it all over the table and, even worse, all over your hand-made card.

Your heart sinks to your stomach as you helplessly watch the liquid soak into the card, smudging the ink and warping the paper. Ghost throws the gun on the table and grabs your card as quickly as he can. Soap curses under his breath, and Gaz grabs some paper towels from another table, attempting to rescue anything he can. But it’s too late; the damage is done.

You look up to see Ghost standing there, pinching your card between his fingers.

He is livid.

“What the fucking fucking shit, sergeants?” He murmurs.

“Apologies,” Soap replies, utterly unaware of what he’s done, “Hope we didn’t ruin anything important.”

“This,” Ghost says quietly as he raises the destroyed card, “was a get-well-soon card for Price.”

“Sorry guys,” Gaz apologises as he wipes the table off. “Soap and I will go buy another o-”

“SHE MADE THIS!” Ghost yells at him, “SHE MADE THIS WITH HER OWN HANDS!”

Soap furrows his brow. “Why would you make a card when you can buy one?” he wonders.

Ghost slaps his thigh, muttering profanities under his breath. You try to convince him that it’s alright and that a store-bought card will do just fine, but he cuts you off and looks at the sergeants.

“Why make a card instead of just buying one?” He asks and brings the tips of his fingers together, waving his hand back and forth in front of the two sergeants. “Because a hand-made card is more meaningful and personal than buying a generic one, you dimwits,” he lectures them and turns to you.

“Can you make another one, Y/N?” He asks softly.

You lower your head to the ground. “I’m afraid I’ve run out of banda-”

“SHE DOESN’T HAVE ANY MORE BANDAGES, YA PRICKS!”

“And I had only one sheet of paper.”

“AND SHE HAD ONL-” he pauses. “How come you only got one sheet?” He asks, and you explain that you weren’t supposed to be on the HR premises, so you had to act quickly. Ghost lets out a deep sigh as he looks at the ruined card.

“Sergeant Mactavish, go get a few sheets of paper from my office,” he instructs before turning to Gaz. “Sergeant Garrick,” he orders, “go to the medic; tell him that your new boots have caused blisters on your feet, and you need a few bandages to patch them up.”

They both nod and leave to go fetch your supplies. Ghost turns to you and crumbles your—already—destroyed card.

“Don’t be sad, kid,” he comforts you, “I’ll help you make another one.”

“Really, Lt.?” You ask, grinning.

“Damn right I will,” he says as he takes off his gloves, “and it’ll have bandages and bedsheets full of fucking glitter and everything nice on it.”

———————————————————————

A/N: The card was inspired by this tutorial from Jennie Moraitis; all credit goes to her. Here’s a picture of the card from her website!

[unreliablesnake]

You're reading what? (Ghost x reader x 141)

Summary: Soap finds out you're reading porn in your free time. Ghost decides to ask you about it.

Note: Barracks bunny, barracks bunny, barracks bunny! Sorry, reader's a slut. (affectionate) / I'll probably write more parts, maybe smut, maybe suggestive stuff, maybe fluff... I don't know yet. Check the #barracks bunny fics tag for more. / If you want to know when I post new stuff, follow @unreliablesnakefics and hit the get notifications button.

It was Soap who found out what you were reading in your limited free time during missions. You left your Kindle on the table while you went to the bathroom, and he wanted to see what book you were so invested in lately. When he read the first two paragraphs, his jaw dropped and a wide grin crept on his face.

"Hey, LT, you won't believe what she's reading," he said while he checked the title of the book just to know what to check later.

Ghost rolled his eyes, completely uninterested at the moment. He was busy writing a report that was due by the end of the day, and he had promised Price that he would do it on time. So he didn't have time to think about what stupid novel you were currently reading.

But Soap didn't give up. He put the device back where it was before, then took the chair next to the lieutenant. "It's porn. I'm not joking, she's reading porn," he said excitedly, keeping his voice down as he spoke.

With mixture of disapproval and interest in his eyes, he turned to the sergeant and asked, "And?"

"What do you mean? She's reading porn. No wonder she dodges every question regarding the books she's reading all the time," he replied before he typed something into his phone. "Here, this is the one she's currently reading."

Ghost took the device from him and tapped on the first search result. He read the summary, then moved on to some quotes the users highlighted. It was interesting to say the least. Were you really into this type of stuff?

When they heard your voice from the hallway, Soap took back his phone and closed the browser before you entered the room again. To you it probably seemed like they were talking about the mission and the report Ghost was writing, and this is why the lieutenant felt a little bad for this invasion of your privacy.

After being on this mission for so long, he was obviously frustrated. He couldn't just go to a bar to pick up someone, and his hand was less and less satisfying these days. His mind recently began to travel back to you and your book, and one afternoon, when he had some unexpected free time, he found himself buying and downloading that novel on his phone.

He got quite far in a matter of hours, and he couldn't help himself when he found you alone in a room after dinner. Ghost sat down across from you and took the Kindle from your hands to take a look at it. "Still reading porn?" he asked teasingly.

You gulped, your cheeks probably burning from the embarrassment you clearly felt. "H–How do you know about that?" you asked him after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Soap stole this the other day," he replied as he gave back the device. "Don't worry, I think I'm the only one he told about this. Your secret's safe with me."

"I don't even want to know what you think about me now," you said with your head buried in your hands.

Ghost let out a dry laugh as he peeled your hands off your face. "Hey, it's okay. We spend way too much time here, I think it's safe to say we all need our fix one way or another," he assured you while holding your hand, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles into your skin.

Maybe he was flirting with you. The more he thought about you and what he had read in that novel, the more he wished he could do that in real life with you. He had always liked you; the disciplined, tough, but also kind soldier that got along with everyone on the team.

And the one Price played favorites with, he reminded himself. They all had their suspicions about the captain's motivation, believing he himself had a crush on you from the start. After all, why else would he bring you small gifts every time you met again? Why would he spend hours talking to you alone?

Sometimes Ghost wondered if there was anything between the two of you. Were you off-limits? Or was it a one-sided thing?

"And what do you do to get your fix?"

Your question brought him back to reality and he instinctively let go of your hand. He couldn't say that he jerked off to the thought of you. No, that would be way too creepy. So he shrugged, hoping this was enough to answer your question.

After a short pause, Ghost folded his hands on the table and leaned a little closer to you. "Have you ever tried anything that you read in your little books?" he asked you with a grin under the mask.

With your head tilted to the side, you watched him in silence for a while as you thought about your answer. "Do you even know what's in them exactly?"

"I began to read one of them. The one that reminded me of the Fifty Shades of Grey stories, only in a hardcore version," he replied casually.

An amused hum left your lips. "How do you even know what those stories are about? You don't seem to be the type who's into them."

Of course, Ghost had an answer to that. "I had an ex who made me watch the whole series. I didn't like it. Back to my question, have you tried anything from that book for example?"

"I have," you replied immediately, shamelessly grinning as you watched him.

It was hard to surprise Ghost these days, but hearing you answering so honestly definitely took him off guard. "The whole power play thing?" You nodded without hesitation as you took a sip of your soda. "With who?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, it doesn't," he admitted, knowing full well he probably wouldn't know that person anyway.

The pair of you sat there in silence for a while, your eyes locking every now and then before you flashed a smile at him then dived back into your book. He didn't mind, instead of complaining he just leaned back in the chair and watched you.

Ghost hated feeling this way, he hated that he could do nothing but wish for a cold shower in your presence. If he stood up now, you would surely notice how excited he was to be near you. He wanted to play with you too, he wanted to find out what you had learned from those books of yours.

Gaz walked into the room with a stupid smile on his face then put his hands on your shoulders as he leaned closer. "Price wants to see you," he announced before suddenly taking the ebook reader from you and taking a look at the page you were at. "Ooooh, another one? Do you even read anything else?"

Biting on your lower lip, you exhaled through your nose angrily. "I'm gonna kill Soap. I swear to God I'm gonna shoot him before we go home," you told them before snatching your Kindle from Gaz's hands and heading towards the door.

But on the way there you stopped behind Ghost and leaned down to his ear. He could feel your hot breath on his skin which made his cock twitch in his pants. Fuck, what were you doing to him?

"By the way, if you want to know more about what I want to try from those books, just say it. I'm sure we could arrange that," you added as your hand squeezed his shoulder.

Before he could say anything, you left the room, leaving him alone with Gaz. "Oh, you haven't figured it out yet," the sergeant said with a laugh.

"Figured out what?" Ghost asked, completely dumbfounded.

But Gaz only shrugged. "She's fun to be around. That's all I'm saying."

And with that, he left too. The lieutenant had absolutely no idea what to think. There were you, probably suggesting sleeping with him one day, and there was Gaz with his mysterious comment about you. As he let out a groan, he let his forehead hit the table with a loud thud. Why couldn't things be simple?

[ghosts-bandwagon]

could you do hc’s for the 141 + könig with a reader who has iron deficiency anemia? like maybe readers iron drops to a low level and they nearly faint and they take care of them after?

Ooh! I can relate! Except I haven’t fainted but I’ve definitely gotten close lmao whoops

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

My man has both eyes on you at all times, especially if you’ve told him you woke up with a headache that morning

He’s watching you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself but when advil doesn’t touch your headache, he starts to worry

I personally headcanon him as being hands off but always close, so he won’t be fretting about you, he gives you the space and the chance to decide when you need help

But when you start walking a little lopsided, with a hand against the wall for support, he’s sprinting towards you, his heart is hammering in his chest as he catches you before you lean a little too far off to the side

“Alright, back to bed with you.”

“Si, I’m fine.”

“I look like I’m muckin’ about? Bed. Now.”

It’s one of the few times he’ll assert himself when it comes to your well-being, not his fault you gave him a fright, darling!

Soon enough, he’s back at your side with a sandwich and some juice, he’s not sure what happened but some food is a good place to start, he crawls in bed next to you as your eating and turns on the tv to whatever you’re feeling (he’s particularly fond of Bake Off, so he won’t be opposed if that’s what you choose)

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

When you woke up that morning massaging your temples, he was a little worried but he shooed your hands away and started massaging your temples and your scalp instead, kissing the side of your head

It seemed to help a little bit but it wasn’t enough to chase the thrumming pain away, still it wasn’t that bad so you decided to go about your day regardless

That wouldn’t stop him from checking up on you every chance he had, he’d laugh when you elbow him and jokingly tell him to back off, he’d pull you against him and kiss the crown of your head

“Not on your life, bonnie.”

But then he saw you tumble to the side a little bit, arm reaching out to balance yourself and he was at your side in a heartbeat, steadying you by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and holding you against him,

“Alright, hen?”

“Yeah just a little dizzy that’s all.”

“More than just a little I’d say. Come on, let’s get you in bed and I’ll get you some food, aye?”

“But it’ll mess up the bed.”

“Then don’t be messy.” He winked and kissed the side of your head, you shoved him playfully before clinging to him again. Sure enough, you’re back in bed with Soap, half eaten sandwich on the nightstand, both of you back asleep with the tv lulling you even deeper.

John Price:

Sweet man doesn’t let you leave the bed for anything as soon as you tell him you have a headache

“Don’t bother liftin’ a finger, darlin’. Shout if you need anything.” He kisses your forehead and leaves a glass of water, a cup of tea, and some headache medicine, he’s in the other room if you need anything

At some point, you get bored and decide to do some chores you’ve been putting off for a while, so you’re folding laundry when John walks back in the room

“What’re you doin’, thought I told you to shout.”

“I’m not gonna shout at you put away the laundry, especially when I’m the one that started it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you know I love it when you shout.” He teased, you threw the tshirt in your hands at him with a laugh and a blush, he caught it with ease and started to move to put it away

He saw you take an unsteady step back with an arm outreached to balance you out, in two long strides he was at your side, gripping your arm to steady you

“Right. Enough of that, back you go.”

“John-”

“Don’t you ‘John’ me, back in.” He’s guiding you back in bed and coming back in the room with some fruits and a sandwich, he’s not leaving your side until you’ve eaten all of it. And when you’re done, he kisses your forehead and crawls in bed with you. Nothing wrong with a lazy day.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He’s so extra omg as soon as you tell him you’ve got a headache, he’s wrapping you in your favorite blanket, brewing a cup of your favorite tea, he’s got you sitting on the couch, buried in blankets, and he’s got Uber Eats pulled up and ready for you to order

“Babe it’s just a headache, I’m not dying.”

“Irrelevant. Just order something, yeah? My treat.” He winked at you. You share a checking account. He loves making that joke. (So do I)

He walks away and comes back with your tea and some medicine, “No love of mine is going to have a headache and not be spoiled.”

On your way back from the bathroom, you start the feel the walls spin and the floor slip away from you. You called out to him and he was there in a heartbeat, he gently and slowly picked you up and carried you back to the couch

“Aren’t you glad you’ve got me here for you?”

“Don’t get an ego, just shut up and keep taking care of me.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He kissed your cheek with a big wet smooch and went to grab the door for your order, he settled next to you on the sofa and started laying out the food for you.

König:

Much like Ghost, he lets you get up and be about on your own but he hovers much closer

He gets you some medicine and some water, and he brings you those fruit gummies you love so much too

He’s ok with you moving about but he’s always close by, and by close I mean he’s attached at the hip (just bump him away with your hip and he’ll laugh enough to let you be for a little bit)

In one of those moments you managed to successfully bump him away from you, your dizziness seemed to hit. You nearly dropped the dishes in your hands as you took a few steps to the side, König was there in seconds to get you steady again

He took the dishes from your hands and gently put them in the sink,

“Come now, schatz, rest, please.”

“Köni, I’m fine, I promise.”

“Nonsense. Bed. Now.”

He never used that tone with you (ok maybe sometimes but this isn’t that context), so you supposed you wouldn’t fight him on it. Not that you could but you appreciated that he gave you the option.

So he carried you to bed, your gentle, sweet, mountain of a man, and set you down, burying you in blankets. He crawled beside you and started running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp, peppering kisses on your cheeks.

Before you knew it, you’ve dozed off in his arms and he’s kissing the crown of your head.

[makeyoumine69]

Clingy!Patrick Bateman x Insecure!Fem!Reader | NSFW HEADCANON

— A/N: This is the winner of my poll about headcanons, you can leave comments about what headcanons you want me to do in the future, hope you like this one!

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [buy me a coffee]💓

Being Bateman's lover was not easy at all — the constant attention, the greedy looks and flirtatious smiles from everyone who saw him actually made you sad, even insecure.

And Patrick knew that, and he didn't really like it, so no matter where you were — at his or your family's house, at some random party or dinner — his strong hands were always on you, stroking your back, squeezing your hips and groping your ass. Sometimes he'd even get his hands on your breasts, and you'd squeal with surprise and embarrassment, but Bateman would just chuckle and try to play with your nipples through the fabric of whatever you were wearing, especially if you didn't have a bra.

If you ever told him that you were insecure or even afraid that he was having an affair, it would certainly boost his ego and he couldn't help but laugh at your worries, while the sadness and pain would tear him apart from the inside because of how many times he had told you that he had his eyes only on you.

Your anxiety would only encourage him to be more overprotective and intimate with you, even though Patrick never liked the intense physical contact during sex, he would let you hold him tight as he fucked you senseless. He would let you pull on his silky hair while he devoured your soaped pussy, moaning as you grinded against his face. Marking would become his favorite kink, after each passionate love session he would admire the result of his work, tracing his fingers along his bite marks. It would hurt but you could take it because you were his good girl.

Even one mention of another woman — Jean, Evelyn or Courtney — would be enough for him to bend you over the back of his white couch, pull up your skirt and give you several hard slaps on your butt.

"Mhm! Pat-Patrick!" You moaned as you felt his long fingers work between your legs, smearing your wetness along your delicate petals.

"Have I told you how much I hate it when you say things like that?" Bateman growled into your ear after kissing the length of your neck. "Have I told you that, brat?"

"Yes," your voice trembled with the excitement of his firm hips rubbing vigorously against your dripping cunt. "I'm sorry, Daddy!" You whimpered, trying to get up, but he pushed you back, pressing your face against the couch and grabbing your throat.

"No, no, no, little one. You're not going anywhere until I say so." 

With that, Bateman would undo his pants with ease, grunting from how painfully hard he was — his throbbing dick would pop out of his expensive underwear, and he wouldn't care to prepare you properly after your bad behavior.

Savagely, Patrick would thrust into your little hole up to his heavy balls, burying his digits in your soft skin and closing his eyes from the blissful sensation of your hot, soaked pussy.

"F-fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart," he hissed and gave another long stroke, reveling in your lewd sounds as you tried your best not to cum here and now — you didn't want to feed his ego any more, because this bastard was arrogant enough. "Mmmm, I'm gonna fuck all those stupid thoughts out of your head!"

His low panting echoed in your voice like a hypnotic melody, and the only thing you could do was to bend even lower and spread your legs for him as he railed you hard, spanking your ass and yanking your hair. 

Bateman always kept his word and maybe one day you would finally believe you were his only one, yet sometimes Patrick thought you were doing it on purpose as you just loved being fucked like a whore.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[harveywritings92]

[Part two of this} Simon glares at a wall as R/n sheepishly sits next to him; fidgeting with her shirt...Soap and Gaz watch them while eating a bag of Cheetos.]

Soap: Wow...Two hours since he started not talkin’ to R/n, Ghost’s a stubborn one that’s for sure!

Gaz: It’s amazing how he turned this whole fiasco around on R/n, that’s some serious talent...*Soap nods*

{Meanwhile with Simon and Reader.}

Simon: I have nothing to say to you...

R/n: C’mon Si, it was an honest mistake...It could’ve happened to anybody.

Simon: But it happened with you of all people.

R/n: It’s not that bad...

Simon: Not that bad?...How could you say that when you forgot what I look like? I’m your husband for fuck sakes! 

R/n: You walk around base day and night wearing a dang skull mask 85% of the time I see you.... How the hell do you expect me not to grow accustomed to the mask more than your actual face?!

Simon:....

R/n:...

Soap & Gaz:...

Gaz, under his breath: I mean... She’s not wrong.

Simon, sighs: That’s fair....Tell ya what, How about we just forget everything that’s happened the last couple days, and move on wit’ our lives? (Simon put his mask on)

R/n: ...What about-

Ghost: Already dealt with it.. I doubt that recruit will try anything like that again.

Soap: Yeah...Especially after the vicious verbal tear down Ghost gave her...

Gaz: ...Not to mention he made her run 10 laps around the entire base; in the heat, causing all that make-up she threw on to melt! She looked like something out of a Picasso painting when she finished her laps. 

R/n:...What?

Ghost: We’ve been together for five years love, did you honestly think that some whelp whose barely got any dirt on her boots could sway me away from you? My silly girl?

[R/n’s face felt hot as Ghost pulled her into a one armed hug as Soap and Gaz took that as their cue to leave. Ghost and R/n had a make up date after this.]