#modern warfare x you

[konig-is-bbygrl]

“Ghost is rough during sex!”

“Ghost is sex repulsed!”

No, you know what Ghost is? Ghost is pleasure driven and pleasure focused. Let me explain…

Ghost can’t stand the thought of someone hating sex after being with him. So he focuses on giving you as much pleasure as he can.

This often means his head, buried between your thighs, ripping orgasm after orgasm out of your writhing and spent body, mumbling sweet praises against your heat.

Once he’s made you cum on his face more times than is frankly necessary, only then will he use the length between his legs. He knows you’ll be sensitive, and you’ll mewl and moan at him, pawing at him. But he continues on, wanting only to give you high after high.

Normally, this ends in him getting himself pussy drunk, mumbling sweet things against your neck as he clings to you and thrusts in and out of your wet heat.

“Tha’s it… good luvvie… yeah, yeah… sensitive I know… lemme make you feel so damn good… lemme help you, luvvie…”

After he’s pulled a few more orgasms from you, and you’re a sweaty, twitching, moaning mess on the bed, only then will he allow himself the pleasure of finishing. Usually this means giving himself the final few strokes and spending his seed against your soft tummy.

Afterwards, he pulls you close and makes sure to clean you up good, nuzzling against your neck and telling you just how good you were for him.

Just my thoughts anyway.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease. 

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.” 

“She’s here!” 

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms. 

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call. 

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals. 

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes. 

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting. 

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?” 

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this. 

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself. 

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist. 

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.” 

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute. 

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon. 

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves. 

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!” 

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids. 

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens. 

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you. 

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!” 

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow. 

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders. 

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom. 

A tool. 

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!” 

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high. 

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you. 

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass. 

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen. 

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid. 

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic. 

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!” 

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing. 

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.” 

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer. 

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!” 

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think! 

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing. 

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!” 

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin. 

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand. 

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl. 

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control. 

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?” 

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.” 

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny. 

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension. 

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually. 

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment. 

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth. 

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust. 

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood. 

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease. 

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic. 

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart. 

He wouldn’t kill you…would he? 

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate. 

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat. 

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?” 

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes. 

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin. 

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—” 

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth. 

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be. 

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close. 

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter. 

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it. 

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness. 

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table. 

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated. 

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood. 

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches. 

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.” 

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands. 

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers. 

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer. 

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words. 

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly. 

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering. 

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous. 

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?” 

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?” 

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…? 

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that. 

You’d never live like that here. 

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could. 

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist. 

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.” 

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window. 

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think. 

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck. 

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone. 

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.” 

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you. 

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.” 

“...Stay with me?” You ask again. 

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?” 

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood? 

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want. 

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

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[moon-fics]

Pretend-Simon Riley/Ghost

A/n: I found another old fic of mine and decided to post it just to have it back up! I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: You and Soap are forced to pretend to be a married couple on a mission. Ghost doesn't enjoy this in the slightest.

Warning: Swears, angst, jealous Ghost, bad jokes, Gender neutral reader

You wander the streets hand in hand with Soap, gripping his as tightly as possible. You hate going undercover in situations like this because you’re barely armed. You have a single knife in the purse you were allowed to bring while Soap is unarmed. If things go haywire you’re stuck defending the both of you in an impossible situation. You’re just grateful that Ghost will be watching over you two. 

“This is the market we’re supposed to stake out, see if anything is fishy.” Soap reminds you, pulling you forward. He stops at the first stall where the fruit is being sold, some you’ve never seen before. You have to pretend to be madly in love with Soap and the idea makes you sick, you’d much rather have someone else in his place. Preferable a tall British man, but you can’t swap now.

“Aren’t these beautiful, honey?” You give Soap an adoring glance and he smiles at you. He agrees, picking up an apple from the stall and handing it to you. You pull out your wallet and hand the seller a random amount, and he thanks you gratefully. You assume you gave him way above the price, but you don’t mind. 

“Would you like to look at those wooden sculptures?” Soap offers, pointing to a stall where a woman is carving into wood. Her stall consists of wooden figures of a large variety. Your eyes land on a small skull sculpture and you instantly think of Ghost. “I’ll take the rose-carved one,” Soap speaks up. The woman stops carving and picks up the rose-shaped wood. She gives Soap a wide smile as he hands her money. 

“Of course, he would.” Ghost’s voice cracks through your com and you have to stop yourself from laughing. You’ll enjoy Ghost’s commentary on Soap’s actions, it’ll get you through this awkward mission.

“What a lovely couple!” She hums, handing over the figure. You can hear a grunt in your earpiece that’s hidden by your hair. She congratulates you and your eyes are still on the skull. “Oh, do you want the skull?” She asks, picking it up gently. You nod, digging for your wallet again. She holds up a hand and places the skull into your palm. “No need! It’s a gift for your wedding!”

You walk away from the stall after thanking her, taking Soap’s hand again. You’re about to drag him to another stall near a sketchy alleyway you want to check out. Before you can tell him about it Soap grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest. He places a finger over your lip and plants it on the other side of his thumb. Your lips don’t touch but it would be easy to assume you’re both kissing. You can hear more noise through the coms, but you can’t make out what Ghost is saying over your pulse rising. You aren’t attracted to Soap in any way, but the closeness is intimidating.

You want to ask why he suddenly decided to do this until a group of men in enemy uniforms stomps past you. You realize it was his way of blending into a crowd, because who wants to stare at a couple displaying PDA. He pulls away once he believes it’s safe, wiping his thumb off.

“Rude!” You tease as Soap rolls his eyes playfully. 

--

You’ve scoped out any suspicious activity in the area, to the point where you can name every stall with your eyes closed. Your feet are killing you and the heat of the day is making you too sweaty to be comfortable. You’ve already eaten your apple from that one vendor and yet you’re still starving. You just want to get back to base and eat an actual meal. 

“Are you ready to leave?” You ask, stretching your legs to give them a break from your weight. Soap gives you a mischievous look before grabbing you and picking you up. You don’t know what cogs are turning in his head but you know he’s planning something. 

He pushes his face against your ear where the com is, whispering as sweetly as possible, “I’m so glad you’re finally mine. Marryin’ you was the best day of my life and I’m glad we met.” Your eyes widen at his words. You don’t know where this romance came from and honestly, you’re confused about whether he’s being serious or still playing his part.

“If I knew any better I’d assume you’re whispering sweet nothings to Ghost.” You joke and earn a laugh from both men. Soap begins walking away from the market with you in his arms. 

“Just trying something out.” He explains vaguely and a part of your stomach drops. What does Soap have planned and why did he have to make sure Ghost heard? You’ll probably never get your answer from him.

--

Once you get close enough to the safe house without any risks of being seen, Ghost joins you. His attire stands out from the clothes you and Soap chose for your fake date. His mask is clinging to his face, the skull covering what the rest of the balaclava can’t. He’s looking straightforward, silent as a mouse.

“See anything we should know about?” You ask Ghost, Soap’s interest peaking. Ghost’s eyes look at you through the corners of them, the usual dead look in them. You honestly find his get-up interesting, it’s unique. 

“A few cars slowed down while passing the market.” His voice is monotone and you miss how he’d comment on Soap’s acting. You thought it was hilarious how he’d mock Soap and make quips whenever he spoke to you. Now he’s barely talking and you feel disappointed. If you’re being honest, you imagined Ghost being your date instead of Soap. 

“I invented a new word recently,” Soap speaks up and you just have to hear the word he’s going to drop on you and Ghost. “Plagiarism.” You let out a giggle but Ghost remains cold. You’re worried now, he usually enjoys these types of jokes. 

“I saw a guy spill a bunch of Scrabble letters on the road once,” You start your joke, hoping Ghost will join in after you. “I asked him what the word on the street was.” Soap pats your back with a grin.

“Tha’ was garbage!”

--

You sit on the bed of your room in the safe house. You were lucky the safe house was pretty big, but not a place you’d enjoy staying. It’s an abandoned house filled with cobwebs and rotting wood. Since the sun has set the house is ten times worse. Every shadow looks like a person and right now you really want a snack. Sadly, Soap left his protein bars on the first level of the house. 

You gather your courage to walk down the creek stairs. You feel like a child as you grab your flashlight and a knife. You shouldn’t be scared of the dark, you’ve spent a lot of time in it. But this house is terrifying to you. 

You exit your room, slipping down the hall past the other bedrooms. You get halfway down the stairs when someone clearing their throat startles you. You trip a bit and use the railing to stop yourself from falling down the rest. You spin around to see Ghost standing at the top of the stairs with an amused look in his eyes.

“You need a bell on you!” You hiss and Ghost chuckles. The tension inside you disappears at the sound of his laugh. It’s nice to hear it every once in a while, even though it’s not a full laugh. You’re just pleased to see him in a better mood.

“What are ya doing up this late?” He questions, still not moving from the top of the stairs. You have no idea how late it is, you assumed it was about 10 PM but from the way Ghost phrased his question you’d change your guess to past midnight. 

“I got hungry and Ghost left his snacks in the kitchen.” You answer. You conclude that he won’t bother you anymore and begin down the stairs again. You enter the kitchen and see a small bag that Soap uses for food. You zip it open and pull out three protein bars. You know Soap will complain to you once he realizes you took food from him.

You sit down in one of the rotting chairs, open a bar, and take a bite. The taste is nice but you miss the meals you’d be able to make yourself. You shut your eyes from exhaustion, mindlessly biting into the bar again. You rest your head on your hand, hoping you don’t fall asleep like this.

“You’ll choke if you aren’t careful.” As if he’s a profit you choke on the bite from surprise. You’re getting pretty pissed about how silent he is and you’re genuinely thinking about getting him a bell. You clear your throat and glare at Ghost. He’s no longer wearing camouflage and is instead in a black t-shirt and jeans, the mask still on but the skull is gone. His arms are covered in veins poking out, the moonlight from a window illuminating them perfectly. You can see his tattoos and they’re hard to see from how chaotic the scene on his arm is. You can make out a skull and a soldier, barely able to confirm dog tags. 

You both sit in silence while you finish your second bar, already full. You quietly hand him your extra bar and he stores it in his pocket for later. You stand up and begin heading back to the stairs.

“Do you like him?” His voice stops you. You spin on your heel but he’s not facing you. You’re not sure what he means and he must pick up on that, “Soap.” You wonder what happens if you lie or tell the truth. What are the consequences of your choice? It's not like this is any of Ghost’s business.

“Why does that matter? It’s not like anything will come of it.” You test the waters. You want to see his reaction being answering him. There has to be a reason he’s asking you besides curiosity.

“It doesn’t.” He responds. You’re not satisfied. He can’t just as a personal question after being so closed off and why even ask if it doesn’t matter? You’re upset now and you can’t pinpoint why exactly. Because he asked a personal question or because he doesn’t seem to care about you the way you care about him?

You thought you were close enough to consider yourself a friend of Ghost but now you’re not sure. You’re beginning to doubt if he even likes you or if he’s tolerating you. Have you just been making up answers for yourself this whole time?

“Then why ask, huh? Why are you so interested in my love life? For all you know, I’m madly in love with Soap!” You taunt and you can see his arm muscles tense up. You don’t stop though, “I get that you’re the lieutenant and all but what do my feelings have to do with this mission?” You huff. He abruptly stands up and marches over to you. His eyes are dark even with the moonlight reflecting off them. You stare deep into his eyes, trying to figure out what his issue is. 

“Are you?” There’s a long pause where your breathing can be heard. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly at the position you’ve put yourself in. He’s so close to you, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You want to reach up and touch his face even while angry, but you close your fists instead. “Are you in fucking love with him?”

“No.” You answer right after he finishes his question. You furrow your brows and frown. There’s no change in his eyes and you’re certain he’s going to scold you. You hate how many pauses you’ve taken in this conversation so you speak again, “Someone else.” You bite your tongue at your response, hating how it came out.

He steps away from you and cold air rushes to your skin. His eyes no longer harbor anger, instead, there’s a distance. As if he’s pulling away from you mentally as well. You can’t describe the emotion his eyes are presenting you but it makes your chest ache. You reach out and grab his hand, staring at the connection.

You partially believe he’ll rip his hand from yours and reject you in every way possible. Instead, he adjusts his hands to fit your better. “Me?” He mutters softly. You nod and avoid eye contact with him.

You hear fabric moving and your eyes are swiftly covered by a hand. His hands are rough but you don’t mind it. His other hand lets go of yours and grazes over your lips. You swear you can sense him smirking.

“’m gonna erase his kiss from your mind forever.” His voice is low, dangerously low. You don’t have the heart to tell him Soap faked the kiss, not wanting to ruin the moment. Ghost slams his lips onto yours, and crosses your cheek. He’s rough at first, hungry for anything he can get from you. After a while, he slows down and his kiss is more gentle. His thumb rubs up and down your cheek and your heart skips a beat. He removes his lips from you but his hand remains over your eyes, “You’re mine.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” You tease. 

[multific]

Modern Warfare Men with a Housewife - Preferences

Simon Riley, John MacTavish, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Kyle Garrick, König x Fem! Reader

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

Simon Riley

The thought of going back home and you are just there is enough to keep him going for months.

He loved the idea of having someone home at all times, during the hard times, he would just need to imagine you in your shared house, curled up on the couch, watching a movie. It was enough for him.

But coming home and actually being there is everything.

He always gets this feeling in his stomach as he drives home, fear. The fear of finding an empty home or worse, a burnt-down home.

But each time, the house is still there, with you inside.

Each time you would run into his arms and kiss him. Each time you would tell him to eat something because you cooked.

Because of course, you cooked.

Johnny MacTavish

When you met Johnny you had a nice job, you were overly fond of it, but you did have one. But after your marriage, Johnny asked you to stay home. He explained he earned enough, you wouldn’t have to worry. He said it was so that he can be sure you are safe.

And how can you say no when he is asking so nicely?

You noticed just how much calmer he was after you agreed. But you also noticed that there was nothing to keep your mind truly busy when he wasn’t home.

You began to worry a lot for his safety and feared that any phone call or letter you received might be bad news.

But he always came home to you.

You even learned how to cook the dishes he enjoys the most. He would often call you “Little Wife” which was a very cute nickname, you thought.

Kyle Garrick

It wasn’t fully his idea for you to stay home and stop working. It just… happened. 

He adopted a cat, which couldn’t be left alone while he was gone, then you got married and you quit your job which you hated.

But Kyle loved it.

You would send him pictures of you and your cat, Cinnamon.

Kyle loved to arrive home to a warm house and your smile.

John Price

John is a very cautious man.

He has probably five houses each location confidential, so much so, that you don’t even know half of their actual place.

But let’s be honest, he would be upfront and tell you that he wants you to stay home long before you marry him.

He would let you choose a house and give you everything you want.

John would come home to you, smelling of cigars, gunpowder and death.

But you never tell him that you know. You let him shower while you prepare a simple meal for him.

Alejandro Vargas

He probably has a huge family, I can see his mother being a housewife herself. So he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of you being one, but if you want a job, he wouldn’t mind that either.

So when you ultimately decided to stay home, he wasn’t fully on board. He wanted you to have everything in his absence. 

And when he was gone, he was worried, he hated to leave you alone. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be wearing his ring proudly. He was a proud husband, and you were hidden, even with the ring, no one would find you if anything happened.

But nothing ever did.

Alejandro always came home to you, asked you to join him in a hot bath, and neither of you would put on any clothes after.

König

He actually begged you to stay home and work from home. Later on, you decided to take over the house and became a full-on housewife.

He had a huge house even before you married him, so the home became your DIY project very early.

It did help to keep your mind off of him not being home, you always had a room to decorate, paint or rearrange to your liking. It became your project that each time he left, you did one room so that when he came home, he could be surprised.

König is a huge man with many years of experience in the military which did make him into a hard man.

But with you, he could be so soft and kind. 

Much like how he was when he arrived home after every mission.

He loved to come home, seeing you sleeping in your bed or on the couch, it would fill him with warmth.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  

[sickuma]

TULIPS — a König fic.

❱ This will have two parts (or more) depending on how the comments on tiktok are /j but it'll probably be more than two! please keep in mind that the **" "** in italics are their memories, or something they said before the incident.

ꜝ？angst warning, as well as mentions of injuries. pairing is König x reader !

this is unedited, grammatical and spelling errors are to be expected.

➴ SYNOPSIS — You and König were in a mission when you see a lens-flare aimed right at his chest, without hesitation, you lunge and take the hit for him.

VORFRUEDE — the joyful intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

"[name], call for backup." 

You nod, doing your best to comply as much as you can despite the exhaustion which enveloped your body,

It's your duty. It's your job to protect,

"Backup's on the way, König. Evac is almost there too, we just have to—"

You will never die for these people,

You wouldn't allow yourself to die for the military. No matter how brutal your battles are, you've sworn to always put yourself first.

"König."

A ragged breath escaped your lips.

You would never choose someone else over your own life.

No one would come first before yours,

No one else but him.

"König!"

It was as if you caught a brief glimpse of your world crumbling down, seeing that red dot aimed right at his heart, you couldn't hear anything else but this blinding ringing.

Without another thought, you lunged towards his direction. Pushing him aside roughly as you take the hit for him,

As if this moment was purposely slowed down, you saw his eyes widened through your blur of a vision, you saw the glint of panic in his eyes.

"König, when we retire, 

let's have a small house and garden."

"[name]!"

König found himself falling on the hard floor, not feeling the impact of your push as his attention focused on your trembling figure,

He saw it,

He saw how you froze, how your head slowly turned down to look at the horrifying wound. Raising both your hands weakly to look at the stains of blood.

"In that garden, we'll grow tulips."

His frightened gaze laid on your collapsing figure. Without wasting a moment more, he rushed towards your limp body, lifting you up to sit you somewhere safer.

With tears stained eyes, he dropped to the floor, holding your trembling body close to him as his clouded vision attempts to stop the threatening tears,

"Keep your eyes open, [name]."

His body shook, he could feel his hands shake terribly. Looking down at you with a horrified expression.

The love of his life laid limp on his lap,

And it's because of him.

Of all the reasons, did it have to be him?

"Evac is— evac is coming. Please please please."

He knew the bullet hit somewhere fatal, otherwise you wouldn't have gone into shock. He saw the life fade from your eyes,

But you raised your weak hands to caress his clothed face, a smile making its way to your blood stained lips.

"The tulips, könig, they're gonna be so pretty."

"no, no, no." He shook his head as he saw the acceptance in your eyes.

"I've never loved anyone as much as I did with you, Keep that—keep that in your mind könig."

He shakes his head vigorously, screaming for you to wake up. Shaking your trembling body, 

The tulips, we still haven't planted them.

Wake up.

"[name] you can't, please, the tulips."

Who knew loving you would be a beautiful tragedy?

Have you known,

[name]?

Have you known that you'll be taking my heart wherever you go?

Have you known I'll grow those tulips, just for you?

"Grow the tulips for me, my love."

"I won't." He shook his head repeatedly. 

"Without you, I won't."

With your weak, strained voice you spoke. For him you kept trying,

"We'll plant them together—right Liebling?" He desperately spoke, keeping his hand tightly placed on your wound to apply pressure.

"Just as we planned. Together. In our small house. After we—" he paused to sob, letting out the clashing emotions that pierced through him.

"You even said that we'll have a cat, he's gonna be named Leaf because of our garden. You said I'll wake up next to you, I'll wake up to you playing with my hair—because I like it so much—right? [name]?"

"We still have to do those."

His lungs felt trapped in every word he spoke, it felt as if he’d pass out. Never had he felt so weak and hopeless, not for a mission, not for something,

Especially not ever for a person.

And yet here he sat, crying uncontrollably for you to stay and fulfil the plans you’ve made together. 

"You still have to—"

"You still have to marry me," he whispered. 

"Schatz bitte."

He cried, as he couldn't do anything else but wait for evac. He needed you, 

He can't lose you.

Not now. Not ever.

"I know I sound selfish, I know you're hurting and you want to rest but—I just—what would I be without you?"

Tulips,

Without their roots, they are lifeless.

Tulips without their sunlight are bound to wilt.

You felt your own tears trickle down your face,

"Liebling, I won't just let you go. I won't. Even after we planted those tulips," He paused, unable to control his emotions as he looked into your weak eyes. Your eyes that are on the verge of giving up,

"I'll keep needing you, I'll keep holding on."

And as if on cue, he hears the door thump. For a moment, he felt relieved, his tears abruptly stopping as his head turned towards the door. “[name], see? Evac is—” His heart dropped when the realisation hit, it wasn’t evac. They would have asked first, they would have given callouts. It’s the syndicates,

With an exhausted breath, his eyes grew darker, placing [name] on the corner hurriedly and gently. “Stay here, call for evac again alright? Don’t—don’t close your eyes [name], please.” He placed a kiss on top of your head before he picked his weapon up once again, sparing you one last glance before he quietly made his way towards the entrance. The sadness fading for a moment as rage replaced the burning emotion in his heart,

They did this.

They're taking you away from him.

With gritted teeth he strides, coming in contact with the geared enemies. As if he’d forgotten how exhausted he was, he fought efficiently. Taking hits and giving just the same, he was enraged, and they felt it. How he grunts and how he raised his hand. His strength and size overpowered them easily, 

It was as if he lost himself, he looked almost unreal. Taking lives with a clenched jaw, he felt anger. As he remembered what could possibly happen because of what they did,

What he can possibly go through.

He pants, staring down at the bloody sight. Taking in the smell and the horrendous end he made them face,

It didn't feel accomplished. Inside that room, you sat with a bullet deep inside your body. Defeating these people didn't feel as accomplished as it did before.

He weakly walked back—praying to whoever that you’re still breathing, that you’re still alive to continue on with your lives, still alive to plant the tulips with him. With droopy eyes he saw your bloody figure, sat with closed eyes and the talkie wrapped around your hands,

His tears fell once again, “schatz, I'm back.” he whispered, collapsing beside your body. Throwing the talkie and replacing it with his hands, clasping yours together with his tightly. 

The tulips,

“We couldn't separate them so we had to fit both of them in one evac vehicle.”

The captain looked at horangi in question, “Couldn't separate them?” “König held them too tightly, we were only able to separate them when we arrived here. Roze suggested letting them share a room together but due to some policies, the hospital didn't allow it.” he explained further, as they looked at König’s sleeping figure,

He had a frown despite being in a deep sleep.

“I see.” the captain mumbles, “make sure to let him know that [name] is safe, I'm certain hell would be loose if he didn't see them near him.” Horangi nodded, he spoke just before the captain reached the door. “[name]’s in a coma, doctors have informed us that they’re unstable.” “They’ll pull through, for König they will.” the captain replies without turning his head back. “They spoke of their retirement recently, [name] wouldn't disappoint König.”

“What color of tulips will we have?”

“Mm, white.”

“Why's that?” he asks you,

“To symbolize how sorry I am.”

He gasped, sitting up on the bed with his hands tightly wrapped around his neck, attempting to catch his breaths. The dream had hunted him, the look on your face,

The apologetic tone you spoke with,

What did you mean by that? What are you sorry for? Before he could take in his surroundings, he exited the room. Uncaring about the chords that connect to him, he walked and walked till he reached the front desk. “[name]. Where is their room?” He spoke sternly, catching the nurse off guard, he knew he looked terrifying but that’s not of his concern right now. He needs to know you're here, he needs to know you have a room, because if you dont it can only mean one thing.

And he’ll refuse to believe that. “Ah— [name] under the KorTac factions is it?” the nurse stuttered, flipping through the pages of their record book frantically, not wanting to cause the soldier any more agitation.

“Room 405 sir. The patient who’s in—” Without hearing any more words from the nurse, he ran, hurriedly ran to wherever that room could be. Worriedly reading the numbers in each room as adrenaline enveloped his body. Relief, happiness, everything all at one, he could cry.

But not yet, not until he sees you, not until he holds you. “[name]!” He chimes, barging inside the room recklessly. There was no one else inside, only you on the bed, sleeping soundly. He pants, walking closer, feeling his hands tremble by the sight of you. “Liebling.” he mumbled, reaching for the chair and sitting by you. “Love, you're here.” He could feel the tears fall at last, feeling his heart at ease. The sight of you removed the thousands of worries on his shoulder, that dream meant nothing, you had nothing to be sorry for. You didn't leave him, “You didn't—you didn't go.” he broke down, laying his head down on your hands which he held. Sobbing to you. “When we go back, let’s retire as soon as possible, okay?” he mumbled, lips trembling as he spoke. His voice broke with happiness. Croaking out whispers of  ‘I love you’s’ while he laid on your hand. “No more of these. No more.” “Let’s buy a house, a small one. Then we’ll go get leaf and—and, the tulips, my love.”

The tulips,

In our home.

Let’s grow the—

“Tulips?” His breath stopped, he froze as you spoke. He raised his head to look at you, weakly staring back at him. “What tulips?” “Where am i?”

The rasp on your voice was heard, the confusion evident and visible from the way you spoke and looked at him. He felt his heart drop, 

“Who are you?”

[rascal-xo]

I genuinely like to think that Ghost has a massive sweet tooth. It’s always the people you don’t expect imo

Could you imagine reader casually bakes an apple pie one day to let ghost try and he goes MENTAL like I’m talking bro is hearing colors

I just envision him as a big hulking gorilla scarfing down his lovers pie and having crumbs all over his face. Aaaahhh my sweet big bad boy

Sweet Indulgence |Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader|

Chapter Summary: The one where his woman and a sweet and simple pie is Simon Riley's ultimate weakness.

Warnings: Sweet tooth rotting fluff, Domestic!Simon

Word Count: 819

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request!!

You carefully mix the flour and butter, the sweet scent of cinnamon and caramelized apples filling the room as you work. The breeze flowing in from the open windows brings in the fresh aroma of blooming flowers and fills your senses with the promise of spring.

Simon has been off on leave for the first few weeks of spring. The weight of the world is on his shoulders when he's on missions with he team, but being at your shared home is nothing less than heavenly for the Lieutenant.

Simon is out in the yard, planting flowers in your shared garden. You smile to yourself, catching a glimpse of your husband bare faced and hunched over on his knees in the grass, carefully tending to the pink lilies, completely lost in the peacefulness of his own home.

As you finish preparing the apple pie, you slide it into the oven and set the timer. You take a moment to peek out the window and watch Simon in the yard, the gentle breeze ruffling his blond hair, which turns golden under the sun.

You grab a glass of cold lemonade and make your way to the yard to join him. The sky is painted with hues of pink and orange, the air now a few degrees cooler as the evening approaches.

"Hey there, soldier," you say as you approach him, placing a kiss on his cheek. Simon turns his head, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

"Hi, beautiful." he replies with a smile. "Missed me?"

"Just wanted to come and see you up close," you say, taking a seat next to him in the grass. "And to bring you some lemonade."

Simon takes the glass from your hand and takes a sip, his eyes closing as he savors the cool drink. "Mmm, this is perfect," he says, setting the glass down. Simon wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to him to leave a kiss in your hair.

"The gardens coming together nice." You notice, looking at his handiwork.

"Yeah, I think it's looking pretty good," he says, his gaze lingering on the flowers. "But it's nothing compared to the beauty that's sitting right next to me."

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, leaning into his embrace. "You're such a smooth talker," you tease, looking up at him with a grin.

Simon chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Only for you, my love." You leave him to his work, with a sigh of contentment, you take the pie out of the oven to cool and head upstairs to take a quick shower. The warm water soothing your muscles as you let your mind wander.

After your shower, you towel off and change into a comfortable sundress, the fabric light and airy against your skin. As you make your way down the stairs, you can smell the sweet aroma of the pie filling the house, making your mouth water. "Si, the pies done-" you begin to call out but stop in your tracks when you make it to the kitchen.

As you enter the kitchen, you see Simon sitting at the counter with a slice of the apple pie in front of him. His broad shoulders are hunched forward, and he's digging into the pie with a fork, his movements almost primal as he savors the sweet treat. Crumbs and bits of apple are scattered all over his face, and you can't help but chuckle at the sight.

"Was gonna say that the pies ready, but seems like you figured that one out." You tease, making your way over to him.

Simon turns his head, smiling in surprise when he sees you. "Hey, I was just testing it out," he says, trying to wipe the crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. "You've outdone yourself, darling. This is the second best thing I've ever tasted." You chuckle and shake your head at his eyebrow raise, reaching for a napkin to help him clean up.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, taking a seat next to him. "But you have to save some for me, you know." Simon grins, his eyes lighting up mischievously. "I don't know, it's so good, I might just have to finish it all."

You playfully swat his arm, rolling your eyes. "Don't you dare, Simon Riley." He chuckles and leans in for a kiss, the taste of the apple pie still lingering on his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it, my love," he says, pulling you in for a warm embrace.

"I'll save you a slice, I promise." As you settle into his arms, the warmth of his embrace and the sweet aroma of the pie filling the air, you can't help but feel grateful for the simple moments of happiness and peace that you share with your husband, even in the midst of chaos and uncertainty.

A/N: Domestic Simon >>>>>

[simping-overload]

ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴡ ᴍᴇɴ

best combo: food & men

if you want to support me, please consider donating to my kofi <3

characters: john price, kyle "gaz" garrick, simon "ghost" riley, john "soap" mactavish, phillip graves (in that order)

tags: cooking, fluff, hugs, kissing, lowercase is intentional, gn reader

text divider by saradika

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

john price is an excellent cook. his specialty is breakfast food, and he makes really good french toast and hash browns. john would totally serve you breakfast in bed, esspically if you had a bad day. he likes cooking with you in the early mornings, finds it very comforting to have company and new ideas on what to cook

kyle garrick is a decant cook, though he prefers to bake, which he does every so often, when he went off to the military, his mother gave him a book filled with family recipes. he likes cooking with you, sharing recipes with one another. he's not an early raiser so you're in charge of breakfast.

simon riley can not cook and should not be allowed in the kitchen unsupervise, he will burn down your kitchen. he is, however, very much willing to learn how to cook(& how to not burn water) he really likes cooking with you and considering his love language is quality time it does a lot to strengthen your bond

john mactavish is also a decant cook, often is the one to make breakfast, and he always uses the recipes from his family, if you wanted to cook, he would happily let you take the reigns, will help if you need it. he takes cooking with you as an opportunity to fool around a bit, you will always end up with food in your hair

phillip graves is admittedly a very good cook, esspically when it comes to grilling & barbecue, he doesn't usually eat breakfast, if he was hungry he would just have some cereal, though if you happen to start making breakfast, phillip would opt for eating your food instead of cereal, he won't go back to cereal after having your food

[imaginesheaven]

Fem!Reader x TF 141 - Undercover Mission

It’s time to get out the badass playlist you have been saving to make you feel incredible while reading this ;)

Warnings: Badass reader and cursing

This particular mission is quite a pain in the ass. Especially for you. Laswell declared it as an undercover mission for you and one of the boys. But that evil woman did not tell you that you had to wear an incredible breathtaking dress to blend in.

No one on the base has ever seen you in different clothes than the usual cargo pants and shirts. The worst part? You have to walk in incredibly high heels through the whole base to the car that’s waiting for you.

“I swear to God I’m going to kill you, Laswell.”

John Price

With quite a grim face you walk through the base dolled up like never before in your whole life. To be honest it’s quite the confidence boost as all the tough men and women turn their heads to stare at you in disbelief.

Some of them run against walls or against each other not looking where they are actually going. A few of them let go of everything they have in their hands. Your absolutely horrific mood shoots up into the sky. Smiling you wink at little group of men as you walk past.

“Where is she? We need to get going”, John feels like he’s suffocating in his suit. Undercover missions are the worst if you have to wear formal clothes. “Keep cool, John. (Y/N) is a Lady. It takes time to get ready”, Laswell can see right through his poker face. The Captain is kind of nervous and the reason is for sure not the mission.

“Oh shit”, usually Kate is not the one to curse but she couldn’t help herself as she sees you coming closer. You looking incredibly breathtaking got a trail of lost men and women stumbling behind you like lost puppies. At least none of them is drooling.

For the first in forever John is at loss of words. He can feel how his ear tips start to get red and suddenly the collar of his button down gets tighter. How is he supposed to think straight when you are by his side looking like a literal goddess? This is going to be probably the hardest mission for him.

“(Y/N), you look absolutely gorgeous”, John tries to focus on your face even if the rest of your body is very distracting. “Just let get this over. I’m dying in this thing”, you let out a deep sigh hoping he can’t see the slight blush on your cheeks. The Captain is way too handsome in his suit.

His hand hovers over the small of your back guiding you to the cars. He doesn’t dare to touch your bare skin without your consent. What a gentleman, right? When you aren’t looking at him, Price throws death glares at the other soldiers to scare them away. They start to scramble away into different directions.

You are a Lady. You are his Lady.

“Have fun, kids. Don’t be back too late!”, Kate grins at them knowing exactly what she has done choosing the two of you for this undercover mission.

Simon Riley

You are in an incredibly bad mood as you stalk through the base with your high heels and backless dress. The stares from the other soldiers makes this whole situation worse. Your death glares keep them away yet they still keep hollering and catcalling. Not once in your entire life you have felt like this. A walking piece of meat.

Ghost has definitely the easier part since he has only to play your bodyguard. So, at least he is wearing normal clothes. He already knows how pissed you are going to be. This man prepares himself mentally for the fallout of your mood.  

“There she is. Grim as always”, Price comments the situation quite amused. They are used to your resting bitch face, but now you have written murder on your face. Your facial expression doesn’t dull your beauty at all. Simon is thankful to wear his usual mask, because his face is red as a tomato.

Usually Ghost knows how to contain all his emotions yet his body betrays him on all levels. His hands start to get incredibly sweaty not knowing how to compliment your looks without getting killed in the next second.  

“Hey, baby girl! Give me a smile that suits you much better!”, one of the soldiers yells stopping you dead in your walk. Something dark and dangerous twinkles in your eyes as you turn around slowly towards the man.

“Fucking hell, get her, Ghost, before she kills them”, Price orders needlessly because Simon is already on his way. Softly but with quite a grip he grabs your shoulders to guide you towards the car. You are actually not tossing and slashing at him, which makes his task rather easy, but you keep yelling out all the curse words you ever heard in your life.

“It’s okay. You will get your revenge when we get back from the mission”, Ghost knows how to soothe your raging soul with a few words. “Don’t you dare to break your promise”, you point your finger at him. A cocky smile on your lips stops his heart for a second.

“I literally don’t have a death wish, (Y/N)”, he closes the car door after you got into the vehicle. Of course, Simon looked away when the leg slit revealed way too much of your skin than he could take in this moment. Ghost takes a deep breath to calm himself and his racing heart down.

You are going to be the death of him.

John MacTavish

You are literally glowing wearing this dress with the matching high heels. Usually you are already overly confident, but now you are walking like you are owning this whole place. The soldiers on your way through the base don’t know what is actually hitting them. The mixture of the clothes and your confidence is incredibly hot.

No one dares to speak to you or do something stupid like catcalling or hollering. The soldiers are way too intimidated by your beauty. They know you are out of their league. You are otherworldly.

“Don’t make a fool out of yourself this time, Johnny”, Ghost stares at Soap as he nestles with his button up shirt. “You are never gonna drop that, right? It was one fucking time”, he gives Simon a goofy grin, but he returns it with his usual “you fucking serious?!”-glare.  

Both turn their head at the same time to see you walking straight towards them with an incredible smile on your lips. Johnny fights the urge to stare at you with a gaping mouth and eyes big as saucers.

A part of him works on auto-pilot as he holds his hand out for you. Happily, you take it and swirl around for him to see you from all sides. It takes just a second and Soap is back to his old self burying the gentleman thousand feet under, “Don’t tell me you got some nice weapons hiding underneath.”

Ghost rolls his eyes annoyed by his stupid words. You give him your sweetest smile as you pull him closer at the collar of his shirt. His lips are so close to yours now, “I don’t need weapons, Johnny. I am the weapon.” To emphasize your statement you wink at him, before you let go of him and get into the car without any help.

“I told you don’t make a fool out of yourself…”, Ghost shakes his head slowly disappointed, but Soap’s mind is way too far away to register his words. His heart still beats oddly painful against his chest riding through the high of almost kissing you. The smell of your perfume lingers in his noise lulling him into fantasizing about your lips on his.

“Get in the car, Johnny”, you bring him back from his little dream world. With burning cheeks and ears from embarrassment he runs around the car. He’s trying not to think too much about spending the next few hours so incredibly close to you playing your lover. He’s probably going to get a heart attack very soon…

Kyle Garrick

Not caring about all the soldiers staring your way you keep walking through the base. It’s a mission like every other… Just in very elegant clothes… And playing a young married rich couple in their honeymoon phase with Gaz by your side. Just another Monday in your books like always.

Gaz fumbles around with his tie feeling like this thing is going to choke him in the next few seconds. Nervousness is eating away at him. Undercover missions are always particular dangerous and this time it’s just him and you.

“Calm down, kiddo. You are going to be fine”, Price puts his heavy hand on Gaz’s shoulder in a calming gesture. For a second Gaz actually calms down his racing heart, but then you stop in front of them.

The way you are standing in front of him hands on your hips, which are perfectly wrapped up in this tight dress of yours. Kyle can’t help himself but stare at you. Sweat starts to pool on his forehead and in his clammy hands. Since when do you look like a goddess?

“You look absolutely beautiful, (Y/N)”, Price gives you a fatherly smile showing how proud he is of you. “Thank you, Cap”, you turn around to Gaz to see what he has to say. His eyes are not searching for yours. They are definitely locked on the target. Your chest.

“My eyes are up here, Gaz”, you cross your arms in front of your chest making the target even more prominent. “I-I-I wasn’t... I wasn’t staring! I swear”, Gaz stumbles over his own words with a burning face full of embarrassment and shame. He probably can never look at you ever again.

“Way to go, buddy, way to go”, Price looks at him deeply disappointed by his non-gentleman behavior. Unimpressed you raise an eyebrow waiting for a better excuse. Gaz raises his hands in surrender”, I didn’t mean to! I-I … They looked at me first!”

Realization slowly sinks in. Doomed by his own words he gets into the car without a further word. Gaz will probably jump in front of the first bullet he can find.

“Go easy on him. We don’t want a broken Gaz”, John can’t help himself but smile. You only shrug one of your shoulders, “Can’t promise anything, Cap.” Like the true gentleman he is he helps you into the car, “Have fun, kids.” It’s going to be a very long mission…

[jagdkommandos]

NSFW alphabet template (König Edition)

I made this account to try and get into writing more so i thought a prompt template might be a fun way to start it off….various headcanons of König because I spend too much time thinking about him🥰 maybe some brief mentions of harder kinks but nothing graphic/detailed or illegal dw

Original Template here!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Always concerned with your wellbeing when you finish, he’ll immediately get you water and hold you. Afterwards he’ll get your clothes if you ask, or let you lay in the bed and rest as he makes dinner. Loves to do things after, and will make snacks so you can stay in bed and watch movies or spend time together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For his partner’s body, their legs/hips. He’ll cover them with kisses and bite marks, manhandling them any chance he gets (only with your enthusiastic consent, of course)

For himself, his arms. He loves being able to hold you so strongly, and carry you around in them. He also loves watching you grab his biceps during missionary, they make a great holding bar so you don’t slide away from his force.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

cums A LOT. With little experience, and not making masturbation a habit, when he does go at it he goes hard. Not only does he have a huge load, but he’s gonna want to come multiple times. He loves seeing it on or in you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

ties into wild card a bit further down, but he’s definitely into some more degrading stuff. He really loves that he’s basically guaranteed to be bigger than his partner, because he loves feeling like he has control, but he goes to great lengths to hide it because he feels bad about it. In theory, he’d love to call you names or be rough during sex, but the one time he tries he probably feels so terrible he stops, even if you like it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s definitely had a couple partners in his life, but he hasn’t been sleeping around. He knows the basics, but if you wanted to try something spicier, he might need some direction.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

On top, facing you with your legs on his shoulders. dunno what you’d call that, but it definitely gives the perfect view of your reaction and the best angle for kissing and biting.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s too self conscious to act silly or weird during sex, and will try to act reserved, but he’ll match whatever mood you’ve set once he’s more comfortable.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Relatively well trimmed, I don’t think he’d be totally bald or have any designs but he likes to keep the hair short and out of the way.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Super romantic, the first few times you had sex in a relationship he would definitely always initiate it with a date first. Even when it became too regular for that to be convenient, he’d still approach you in a very loving way.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it a lot, his anxiety gets in the way when he’s left alone for too long and he gets paranoid about someone catching him. He’ll do it if he gets worked up enough, though.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

any sort of marking. He would probably never admit it, but anything like branding, biting, any sort of symbol of unification.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

A good old bedroom, preferably one set up beforehand to be suited for a few hours of intimacy (think big bed, lots of pillows, flowers on the table, toys in the bedstand, waterbottles on hand for when you take breaks. He’s a sucker for cheesy romantic settings.)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Any buildup of sexual tension drives him mad if he wants you. Interrupted before he has to go to work? he’ll spend the whole day with you in the back of his mind. Edging him or teasing him? He’ll get so frustrated he wants to throw you on the bed and have his way. He’s also totally into restraining his partner, because he loves watching them try to resist the pleasure he gives them. Anything that shows him you’re overly eager for him will drive him crazy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything public. This dude def even locks the bedroom door when you go at it. He doesn’t want to be caught in an awkward position, and he doesn’t want to put you in one, either. He’d be too busy watching his surroundings to enjoy himself.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves receiving, but he’s a fan of giving too. He’d never demand it from you, but if you initiate head he’ll lose his mind. He’s pretty good at giving, and he’d offer to pretty often, but he loves being able to watch your face as he receives.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He starts out slow and romantic, trying to be gentle, but has a hard time containing himself and always ends up increasing his pace after a while.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not a fan, He doesn’t feel like it provides equal satisfaction to both parties. He much prefers multiple short rounds in a row, or one long session. Quickies feel too impersonal and almost disrespectful because he doesn’t just bang to get off.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He likes the idea of risks, but only in controlled environment. He wouldn’t be able to do anything genuinely public or rank-risking, but he’d probably be into roleplaying it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He doesn’t last long before nutting, but he regains energy fast (you can’t tell me this massive specops dude doesnt have record breaking recovery time) and is ready to go for multiple rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He wouldn’t use anything like a fleshlight, but he’d keep a small collection of various toys of your choosing for him to use during sex.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bigger on being teased than teasing. Egging him on when you can’t have sex will basically ensure a wild time when he gets you alone. He won’t be able to stop thinking about it the whole time. Once he’s comfortable though, he’s definitely more eager to tease you back or start it, because he actually enjoys the dynamic.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Tries to be quiet, fails miserably. He’ll start out with heavy breathing, but it’ll descend into a series of swearing, german words, and loud grunting. He also LOVES to hear you make noise, otherwise he worries he’s doing it wrong.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Into some more extreme things, but he’d never tell anyone that. Knifeplay, blindfolding, branding, biting, etc. but only, ONLY if you are the one who initiates it, and you’ll probably have to practically beg him, because otherwise he will always feel bad about it, even if you agree and he asks first.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

dude is RIPPED. He has largely athletic related hobbies, and an active job in the military, so he stays in top shape. He’s got pretty clear skin because he’s got good hygiene, and all his body hair is either trimmed or removed because he doesn’t like how it looks or feels under all his gear. He’s got a decent amount of scars from work, mostly along his chest and arms but also some on his lower body and maybe a couple on his face. Also definitely packing, because he is 6’10 and because I say so. It’s gotta be like 13 inches long.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a high sex drive, but the average person would never know because he has it under great control. Unless you initiate, he’s never gonna harass or beg because he’s horny, but he will take care of himself once he’s alone. Live with him as his girlfriend though, and you’ll never have a free moment.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

sex wakes him up. You’ll wake up hours after sex and find him still busying himself with various tasks and hobbies, cleaning the house, etc. as if it reinvigorated him. Sometimes he’ll even ask for it if he knows he has a lot to do in a night, because it motivates him and acts as a stress reliever.

-

A/N: I hc könig as a huge service top and i cant stop thinking about it so thats what 90% of this is sorry i need him to be my husband rn

[bitchysouljellyfish]

König Relationship Headcanons

He is so big and so dumb and one day I'm gonna top him 💋💋💋💋

Listen, he has social anxiety, that doesn't necessarily mean he's shy, but he is slightly reserved.

If you want to date this man, you're going to have to be friends with him first, I feel like he's needs to have that connection with someone before feelings develop

Sure, he'll admit your attractive but it's once that seed of friendship is planted that he starts seeing you in a differently light. He notices things about you that he didn't before, notices how you always seek him out to make sure he doesn't hide away, or let him go when he needs time to himself.

He starts with small gifts, food or little trinkets that he'll say "it reminded me of you!" He'll start to listen more when you two talk, loving the sound of your voice and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you through places and make sure your safe.

When he does confess though, it is soft and quiet and when you two are alone. He'll give you a little flower, either one that he remembers you saying you liked or one that he reminds him of you and more than likely stammers through the confession. He can't keep eye contact with you as be waits for your answer, but He'll meet your eyes when you take his hands and accept the flower with a kiss to his cheek.

From then on he's very mindful of everything he does. He wants to hold your hand but doesn't know if you want to, or kiss your head or give you a hug, so he'll lovingly interrupt you and ask.

"I-im sorry, liebling, but could I hold your hand?"

Like that and he melts every time you agree. He's very big on touch, taking off his gloves so he can feel your hands or wearing short sleeve shirts to he can feel more of you when yall cuddle.

The first time he takes his mask off for you is an almost reverent affair. Most likely you ask him too, explaining: "König, I would really like to kiss your lips, but if you aren't ready I understand."

He almost passes out from how sweet you are, and from how soft your lips are when he lifts the mask, hands shaking slightly and a shy smile on his face. He is definitely blushing, bright red that apparent on his cheeks that only gets worse as time goes on.

From then on though, when you two are alone, he asks you to take off his mask. Letting you feel the shape of his face, the indentations of the scars, and the feel of his hair. He adores every second of it.

Tries to keep battle König from your König because there is a difference. He is sadistic on the battle field, happy to kill and torture enemies if it means he can spend more time with his team, get them home safely and come home safely to you. Because of that he almost doesn't want to touch you, not when his hands have spilt so much blood.

Ultimately he is selfish though, holding you tight while you sleep next to him, committing your shape to memory, kissing your knuckles, your neck, your lips whenever he can.

He is smitten with you, and adores everything you do for him.

Big thank you to @mangoholder!

[konig-is-bbygrl]

Sometimes, you feel bad for Soap. He has no control over his mouth sometimes and it lands him in some compromising positions. Like now.

He’s on his back, you sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. You’d been edging him for hours, bringing him right to the edge and stopping.

His cock was so hard, every throb leaving the member shaking. The tip was red and angry and his balls were pulled taut as he fought desperately for release.

To make matters worse, you’d made him wear a strap on just above his own cock. The whole time he was edged, he was jerking the fake cock just above his real one, while you stroked his actual member.

He was sweating, shaking, wrecked moans leaving his mouth.

“P-please! Please let me cum already! We’ve been at this for hours! I-I can’t take anymore!”

As he begs and moans, your slow pace up and down his cock continues. Eventually, you stop, your hand resting on the base of his cock.

His hand picks up the pace on the fake dick, jerking it furiously as if it were his own. His body couldn’t take it anymore and he came, but it was nothing like a real orgasm.

Cum dribbled out weakly as he moaned through a wet mouth. He was panting hard and his face was flushed.

“Oh Johnny… you came. Now let’s see if you can do it again.”

He was in for a long night.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, pining, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, fade-to-black, nudity, suggestive descriptions, dirty jokes, etc.

A/N: Taglist is full.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Johnny watches you slap another news clipping to the board he’d bought you for thirty-two dollars and twenty-three cents, tired eyes blinking slowly. Standing in his apartment’s living room in his boxers and an oversized shirt, he’d woken up to the sound of muttering, and it had been just that for the last week. 

When he’d allowed you to live in his spare room until you could find a new apartment building to call your own, he didn’t expect you there to be so much grumbling. Like a little bug in his ear—not that he minded all that much. At least, if you were that bug.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you groan, running a hand down your face. “How did he find me? How did he know I already knew so much about the case?”

He, the arsonist.

Your entire building had been a total loss—and, sure enough, the lock had been busted off of your apartment door just like the scene of the fires that resulted in casualties. You had been targeted, and it wasn’t just an accident. There was intent there; a threat. 

Stay away from me, or else. 

Johnny had sighed long when he read that in the report he’d gotten his hands on—there was no way in hell anything was stopping you except…well, except yourself.

While he had envisioned one day potentially asking you to move in with him, he hadn’t expected that to happen so soon. Certainly not before the first fucking date. He hadn’t even gained the courage to ask you out yet, and here you were—pajama pants polling at your ankles and Johnny’s baggy sweatshirt loose around your shoulders. The Scot stands with the heat of sleep and attraction on his skin. 

He tried not to stare, really he did, but the way you looked in his clothes was too much of a distraction for his own good. 

The man clears his throat, face burning. 

“I’m beggin’ you to give it a rest, Dearie. At least five minutes.” Johnny sighs. “It’s not healthy.”

He doesn’t think he’s seen you shed a tear over your apartment—about your belongings. In reality, he was taken aback by it. Soap wouldn’t have blamed you at all…but you just seemed angry. It worried him, but the emotion was well within your right to hold. Just as it was within his right to try and keep you from rushing into danger.

“Not now,” you grumble. “Not until I know how he found out my room number.” 

“You aren’t exactly unknown.” The fireman walks closer to your standing form, hand moving up to scratch at his back as he gunts. “Mostly everyone who would care to look into your career knows about you. It wouldn’t be hard.” 

Johnny moves his vision over the board, pausing before he licks his lips.

“...They’ll be needing me in today, Hen,” he breathes. 

Your lips tighten, and you glance over quickly to find blue eyes already looking. Snapping your attention back to the board, you push back against the burn of your face.

“It’s your job, I’m not going to tell you not to go in.”

“If you need me here, then I can—”

“John,” you interrupt, shaking your head with a heavy frown and turning his way. “No way. Go in.”

Johnny’s serious face doesn’t lessen, and you’re struck with how often those lines on his face are becoming commonplace.

You wouldn’t say that you were taking this well. 

Forcing yourself to work; making your mind push back at the deep pit that seemed to be growing. Everything you’d worked for—everything you’d had. Gone. Up in smoke.

Two people had died in that inferno, and you can’t help but put that on yourself. 

Fingers going up to tap at your chin, your attention goes back to the board, the heavy weight of bags under your eyes from lack of sleep. You’d tried to re-write what you had in your notes as well as you were able, but there had been a reason for making a physical board in the first place. 

Johnny watches you, his brows tight and his fingers twitching. Sighing, he fixes his feet and lightly places a hand on the back of your spine, blinking quickly your eyes dart over before the tension begins to bleed from your muscles. 

Your gaze begins to soften, but your voice is still a light firmness. “Stop that.”

The man blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop being all…” You huff, sagging into his hand. “You.” 

Johnny pushes a chuckle, shifting to stare at you fully and letting the smirk move over his lips. His fingers move along your back, rubbing tiny circles as the room goes airy—how quick it was that you could fall into this sense of attachment. To anyone outside of the apartment, it would seem the two of you were in a strange relationship, and that would be true to some extent. 

Your face heats up, and Johnny’s large palm flattens. He moves and presses his nose into your hair.  

“Now what’s that supposed to mean, then?” He grunts, and you can feel his flickering smirk as clear as day. 

Leaning over into him, you sigh, glaring at the board as your heart patters. 

“It means you’re distracting me.”

Johnny hums, thumb moving up and down over the knob of your spine.  “Talk to me,” he mutters. “Let me help, aye?” He blinks slowly, face hot and his lungs palpitating in his chest. The man cared about you so much—his heart ached for what you’d been put through. Losing a home like that. 

Your lashes flutter, a near purr emitting from your throat at the hypnotic movements of Johnny’s grip. Like a damn harpy, he was digging his claws into you; it had been happening for months. Of course, you’d let him touch you—how could you not? Even his sense of courage and justice was something that let you know his character, his honor. 

This case was just as important to him as it was to you. 

“Go,” you mutter, shifting your head so that you can stare at him. Johnny’s visage pulls back, his stubble moving with the worried angle of his lips; his skull tilts, almost like a dog cocking its snout. “We can figure something out later—if I get you fired I’d finally gain a conscious.” 

Johnny sighs, looking you up and down. “...I’ll be making dinner tonight. Just,” he breathes, and as his hand leaves you, your body fights the instinct to shiver. “Wait for me, Bonnie.” 

You take in the closeness between the two of you—how your bodies melt into one another as if on instinct. Something was startling about how easy it was to live in the same apartment as Johnny. It had almost been too easy. Sharing food, blankets, and looks.

Your eyes follow after Soap as he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand before turning and walking back to his room, bare feet padding over the floor. His legs move, small burns and scars all over before your vision travels up the broadness of his back; the stretch of his arms as he brings them up with a groan to itch at his head.

Licking your lips, the sight is enough to quiet your mind. Seeing how, like water, his clothes morph into the swell of his thighs and the…your face bursts into fire, and your head snaps away. 

Clearing your throat, you blink quickly and try to re-focus on your board of suspects.

—

Johnny tightens the belt over his waist, huffing softly as he walks into the fire department’s bay door—passing the red trucks and patting the dogs as they come up to mob him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, the clicking of little claws tapping over the concrete floors and the panting of hot breath. “Good to see you too, little rascals.” 

The fireman looks around the area, seeing some of the boys mulling about doing repairs or fixing up the slight mess. Johnny motions a hand when he’s greeted, and before long he’s entering the main hub of where he wants to go—the kitchen. 

Grabbing a cup, the Scot’s intention is to get some water before settling into his desk and diving into something that can take his mind off the woman living in his apartment. Licking his lips, Johnny gets momentarily lost in the remembrance of your skin—your determination. 

He’s angry. Angry that someone’s done this to you; had disrupted your life so violently. A question was stuck swirling in his head as he began hearing the murmuring from the walk-in pantry. 

What would have happened if you hadn’t been with him that morning? 

“What do you mean ‘that was you?’” Johnny’s fingers freeze around the rim of a glass, blinking into his own smaller reflection. Brows furrowing, the Scot’s head swivels to the kitchen pantry and the barely cracked open door and the voice that emanates from it.

For some reason, the stagnant air after that sentence makes Johnny’s spine straighten. Blue eyes stare blankly, and fingers twitch as the same voice starts again.

“I thought you said it was over?! That the last one was,” a strangled word, a fast inhale. “We had a fucking deal.” 

Heart slow in his chest, Soap stares the longer this seemingly one-sided conversation goes on. There was something off—the words seemed hurried; panicked, even. It wasn’t the usual emotions you had when having a talk with someone. 

Taking a steady step back, the Scot remembered how fast your pulse had run when he had you at his chest a week ago—the fast slam and the whites of your eyes on full display. Even if you didn’t confess it to him, Johnny knew you’d been afraid of the fire. Fearful. He knew you weren’t sleeping. 

Maybe the fireman was being paranoid, but anything that he didn’t understand made his hackles rise like a feral dog—certainly with you, technically, under his watch now. Everyone was a potential threat. Face stiff, Johnny begins walking over to the pantry with nearly silent feet, boots softly flattening to the tile floor.

Stopping outside of the door, his ears hone in. 

“This isn’t right! There’s a difference between what you do and what I do! We stuck together, but this is it. I’ve covered for you—I’ve tried to smooth everything out, but this isn’t something that I can look past anymore. She wasn’t even involved yet!”

Johnny’s lips tighten, his eyes burning through the barrier until he lifts his hand and settles it loosely on the doorknob, not pushing even as the thin material shifts minutely. The alarms in his head were going off, and he didn’t like that. 

Muscles tight, the Scot moves a bit closer, shoulder just beginning to touch the wood before—

Kurt Matthews, one of the rookie firefighters, shoves himself through. 

Johnny strangles a gasp as the two men nearly collide with one another, only shoving out, what he hopes to be, a casual call of, “Hell’s bells. Careful there, Kid.”

The man’s wild eyes lock on him, stumbling back before Soap’s hands move to grasp his arm, a dark phone held lightly in Kurt’s hand. Johnny looks at it silently before he forces a blank chuckle. “Sorry, then. Was going to get some bread—you know how it is, eh?” Kurt looks frazzled, a sheen of sweat over his face; eyes tiny. “The boys never fill up the bread box after they finish a loaf.”

“What?” Matthews quickly mutters, before shaking his head and waving a hand. “Yeah, right, whatever.”

He swiftly moves past the Scot, brushing shoulders. The mohawked man’s nose pulls in, and blue eyes watch the disappearing individual. 

Johnny’s throat swallows down saliva. 

Kurt Matthews smells like gasoline.

—

You hear the sound of the TV and sniffle, pushing the heels of your hands into your stinging eyes. 

It wasn’t a question as to why you had waited until Johnny left to let yourself feel the hopelessness that was sinking into your chest—you were surprised you lasted that long, though. Tiny tears dribble out over your cheeks, but you fight them with a growl. 

“Keep it together,” you sigh harshly. “C’mon, keep it together.” 

Your heart jerks when the front door of the apartment opens, and you’re quick to stand up from the couch where you had been sitting, clearing your throat as Johnny’s call echoes. 

“Just me!” 

You divulge immediately into your hurried sentences, waving a hand. The shake in your voice is obvious. “I have some of the names I remember writing down—it isn’t much but I—”

“What happened?” Johnny’s hands capture your face in a swift second; he isn’t even out of his work clothes before he’s over and touching you. It’s like he teleported over at the slightest hint of distress, not even a moment of hesitation. “Whoa, hey, hey,” he breathes a bit slower, softer. “What’s this then, Bonnie?” 

Delicate movements of his fingers scrape your flesh, thumb running as blue eyes come into focus. Your lungs tighten up again at the sight of tense worry—Johnny’s face all hard with the lines of his forehead and the narrowing of his eyelids.

“Let me see,” he utters, tilting your head up so the brightness of your eyes is visible to him; the wetness of your flesh. “Hey, now.” 

The man’s attention goes up and down on the off chance this is physical pain instead of the internal kind. But he knows better than that. So, Johnny stuffs down the hunch he had about the man in his own ranks and places all of his concern on you and your bitter tears. 

Even when you try to grumble his worry away.

“It’s just stupid tears, MacTavish,” your voice cracks as he drags you to him, curling his arm behind the stretch of your shoulder blades in an addictive display that leaves your nose sniffling again. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Quit it,” the Scot pleads. “Jesus, Pencils,” he sighs, arms trapping you in just like before. “Just let me hold you, yeah? I swear, you’ll make my heart burst ‘fore I get you to admit you’re feeling something.”

Your glossy eyes flinch into a weak glare. “I’m not that emotionally constipated, jackass.” 

Johnny’s breath moves over your scalp.

“You sure about that?” Your face goes to an annoyed sheen, and from the soft rest of Johnny’s chest, you look over at him. He’s trying a light smirk, but his eyes are still serious. 

Letting yourself melt into him, you take in his scent and the heat he offers you, surrounded by the remnants of his life and future—this apartment that offers you a reprieve. 

You close your eyes and let your hands shift up to grab at Johnny’s shirt slowly, your heart gradually easing. Unaware of the soft gaze watching every second; his own grip tightening.

“...You’re like a dog,” you whisper, tears drying. “Always running over.” Your pause lays out a beautiful scene. “I like it.”

Johnny’s cheeks flare to a bright red. He clears his throat, glancing away from your face. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“Hm,” you hum, shrugging and nuzzling your nose into his pulse. You hear it racing. “Up to you, I suppose.” 

The man laughs, chest jerking. 

The silence that falls after is like a blanket—settling thickly over the space as the last of your sniffles finally halt. You didn’t like crying; not in front of others. It was easier to just push through it, but Johnny’s presence made you soft, at the same time you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. But it did make your fear lessen, and maybe that was something you couldn’t overlook. 

You tighten your hold on his waist, and he grunts, glancing down at you as his gut swirls. The man’s half-lidded eyes flutter, fingers flinching along your clothes. The room gets warmer, or maybe it’s just him. 

“I guess,” you begin under your breath, voice muffled by his skin. “I could use your help. Officially.”  

“Ooo,” the Scot whispers. “‘Officially’—look at that.”

You huff, lips pulling up. 

“Well,” the man mutters, chin resting on top of your head as the sun outside begins to dip lower. “‘Officially’ I have some information that my Bonnie little boss might like to hear.”

Your smirk grows wider, your heart hammering faster as your pulse moves with fire. 

“Oh?” Your nails drag his sides, and you feel Johnny’s breath hitch, a low purr emanating from his chest. 

“Oh, aye,” a hand grips your chin, dragging you back until you’re once more blinking into his gaze head-on. His finger pets your flesh, your breath puffing out as he stares down at you. He swallows down the nervousness in the back of his throat, the urgency that instinct pushes away in this moment of anticipation as he watches your face. “But I’m having a moment, it seems—can’t think straight.”

“Why’s that?” You lick your lips and see cobalt blue follow them.

“Because this Hen in front of me has been a damn tease since I’ve met ‘er.” 

Any snappy reply is cut short before it even can fully register in your head, and all thoughts halt the second his firm mouth is on your own. 

You gasp, but there isn’t an ounce of yourself that pulls back, not when Johnny’s fingers play at your shirt-hem, or even when your own slide under his clothes. You don’t pull back when they hit the floor—don’t pull back when your bodies follow suit. 

A dance of fire and ice moves with the writhing of flesh and the passing of heavy kisses; panting breath. Grunts and groans as if every pass of lips and teeth is a knife into supple skin. Tense legs and flexing arms—dragging fingertips digging into every latchable dip even as the dead of night grows longer. 

It’s only after every desire has been satiated that you finally utter about the finer details of this mess. 

Johnny’s hands move down your bare back, slipping to grip your waist and drag you into him as you sigh. Your thigh lifts to rest over his hip, leg hanging uselessly over as it brushes the ruffled sheets as lips find your neck, tiny nips and passes of skin mixing as your eyes flutter. 

The fireman makes a noise of satisfaction in the back of his throat, hand sliding to hook under your kneecap, caressing. 

“So attentive,” you murmur, and your fingers run through his hair, itching at his mohawk as the longer strands slip through. Johnny burrows closer, nose pushing your head upwards as he kisses the space where your neck connects to the underside of your chin. 

He chuckles smoothly, stubble scraping along as you shiver at the sensation. The hard press of his pecs shove into you, and you lightly breathe; fingers twitching.

“How are we feeling?” Johnny grunts in between his worship.

“Energized,” you grin, half-closed eyes shimmering. 

The man smiles widely, grip sliding downward slowly as he chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Not like that,” you groan, shoving his hand away as he laughs, rolling onto his back and folding his arm over his eyes. 

“Ah,” Johnny’s chest jumps with his amusement, itching at his bare abdomen for a moment. “Worth a try, then.”

“Dog,” you roll your eyes. “You’ve had enough of a fill.”

“That’s all up to opinion, Dearie.” He smirks, peeking at you as your face heats up.

Shoving at his shoulder, he laughs again and pushes up, hands melting into the mattress beside your head as he looms above you as a large wall. 

“I’ll never have enough of a fill when it comes to you and your wet c-”

You snap a hand to his mouth, covering it as you glare openly, sneering. “Finish that sentence and you’ll never have me in this bed again.”

Johnny’s glinting eyes stare from above your hand, and you feel his smile as clear as day as his face stays stuck close to yours. 

A teasing kiss is leveled on your palm and you roll your eyes, pulling away to lightly push at his forehead. The Scot lets you shove at him, and you sit up fully as he grunts and rests his back on the headboard. 

Shifting your body, you straddle his lap and grasp his chin.

“A few hours ago,” Johnny’s eyes are blown, and you feel his touch on your hips. He hums in question, barely listening above the squeeze of your legs. “You were going to tell me something—a lead.”

“Was I?” The fireman breathes, licking at your finger as it goes to rest on his bottom lip. 

You cock your head with seriousness and a level of amusement in your gaze. “You were. Tell me.”

“You need to work on your pillow talk, Pencils.” Johnny sets a sloppy kiss on your collarbone and sighs. 

There’s a moment where you both stare into one another, and the gravity of this begins to set in once more. Carnal desire and feelings aside, there was always an edge to the both of you—this need to be seen through whether for some sense of justice or care. 

“Kurt Matthews—rookie fireman,” Johnny grunts, looking away for a quick moment. “Heard him speaking on the phone, got a bad feeling ‘bout it that I can’t place. Might be nothing, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t tell you.” 

“Kurt,” you breathe, brows pulling in. There’s a long pause. “Kurt Matthews…that sounds familiar.” 

Hopping off Johnny, the man groans softly, a slightly needy look following after as your bare body slips away. He knocks his skull against the headboard, side-eyeing your backside as you hurry off to your board. A light smirk makes itself known before your voice snaps him out of his memories. “Stop looking at my ass, MacTavish!”

His face goes beet red as he grunts, quickly snapping his eyes away. 

You wrap yourself into one of the blankets that was on the couch, letting it hang off of your shoulders as you snatch one of the papers on your mess of information. 

“A fireman,” you mutter to yourself, finger running down names and brief descriptions. “An inside job? No, that would be…” Your eyes spark to life as Soap shuffles in, running through his hair. “That would be one hell of a story.” 

Attention locked in, your eyes instantly stop on your own chicken scratch—the name at the bottom of the page. 

Kurt Matthews. Witness to fire on the fifth; one dead. 

“Off duty? Or not hired yet?” You ask, lips tightening. “Why was he at the scene? Johnny,” your curious voice calls to him, and he slips up behind you, flattening his front to your back. You lean into him, showing him the paper. “When did he get taken on into the department?”

“Month ago,” Johnny’s face pulls, frowning. A name catches his attention, and he tilts his head. “Why’s Duncan on there?”

Your attention moves to the scribbled title. Johnny continues as you read, your stomach sinking. 

Duncan Ballard. Employee of Warren Electrical. No involvement.

You wave a hand. “He has nothing to do with this case. That was back when I was looking into the money laundering—”

“They’re cousins.” 

Your body twists, face confused. “What…?”

Johnny blinks, glancing at you and then back to the paper, he vaguely gestures to the two names. “Duncan and Kurt—they’re cousins. Met him at one of the department cookouts. Strange bloke, but I never thought much about it. Just thought he liked the profession a bit because Kurt was getting involved.” 

You stare at him, a million thoughts dashing from behind your eyes. “Duncan was the man I interviewed about the Warren Electrical case. He was cleared by the police,” you stutter, looking to the side. “He was the only employee of the company that didn’t confess or implicate someone else. There was no evidence to…”

You trail off before your spine tightens. Your body pushes itself out of Johnny’s hold, rushing to his computer and opening it like a bat out of hell. 

“Give me the name of one of the fire victims.”

The Scot watches after, hurriedly forcing out, “Mike Lane.”

An article pops up—one that you hadn’t written but that another journalist had. Warren Electrical Employee Exposes All. 

“Another,” you breathe, eyes stuck on the screen.

“Kit Cannon.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

“Johnny, one more.”

“Hadden Taylor.”

Warren Electrical Employee—

Your throat closes for a moment before you force out in the middle of Soap easing out another name, still not sure where you’re going with this. “He’s trying to kill off anyone who snitched.”

Johnny pauses, coming over to look as he thinks—as he looks over the articles you show him with a grim face, he tilts his head.

“Even then, why were you a target? All you did was interview him. And why now?” 

“He knows I have all of the resources,” you begin. “If anyone can catch him, it would be me—I interviewed him when he was in temporary custody. It would have seemed like he didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to keep his appearance of innocence.” 

Your mind struggles through the potential answers. “But you’re right—why now? Is it because of the trial coming up? And how does this connect with Kurt?”

“He smelled like Gasoline when he walked past me,” Johnny adds, rubbing at his chin; itching at his scar. He spares you a look, mulling over the words that he’d heard in the pantry. “...I think he’s trying to cover his cousin’s crimes with his own. Make it seem like they’re all a part of one damn scheme.” 

“He’s the one going for the abandoned buildings,” you agree, nodding a few times, looking over into Johnny’s eyes. “Kurt Matthews and Duncan Ballard. Okay. We have our leads.”

Before the Scot can speak on it, you’re rushing past, grabbing clothes from the floor and shoving them on. His face moves in, confusion overtaking his building shock. 

“What are you doing?” You shove into your pants, not sparing a look before you button them. 

“Get dressed, we’re going out.”

Johnny’s left in the middle of the room, naked, watching after you with a slack-jawed expression of disbelief. 

“...What?”

—

You hang up your phone with one of the many people you know in the city, dropping it to your side as you and the fireman stand in front of your car. You have an address for Kurt’s home—not one for Duncan, but that can happen later. With what Johnny had said not moments before, Matthews was expressing hesitation. Go for the weaker link first. 

The streets are lit up. It’s still night out but the long hours are beginning to thin into morning; it can’t be later than three AM. Vehicles rush past, and, occasionally, people walk to wherever they are off to. The city never sleeps, just as you don’t. 

“Woah,” Johnny grabs onto you before your hand can latch onto the driver’s seat door. He waves his other hand and stares at you heavily. “We can’t just go into this with our dicks in our hands, Bonnie.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have one of those,” you huff. “That’s why I keep you around.”

“That isn’t,” Johnny sighs aggressively, shaking his head. “I’ll not have you in danger. We need to pass this along the chain.”

“The chain,” you grumble, “hates me. We’re the best bet right now.” Raising a brow you point a finger under his nose. “If I recall, you asked to be involved.”

Johnny frowns heavily, looking unimpressed until he takes a deep breath. He rasps out, “You’re lucky you’re damn near a goddess—”

His phone goes off in his pocket, and not a second later, he’s answering as you mess with your satchel. Taking out a piece of paper, you try not to show how much his little comment made you want to float into the air, giddy, nearly, as you write down Kurt’s address sloppily. 

“MacTavish,” Johnny grunts out, turning slightly away. 

You open your car door, but a hand moves out and keeps it closed enough to a point where you can’t slip inside, you pout and Johnny raises a brow as he listens. Your eyes notice how his jaw clenches, and he lets off an aggressive sigh like a boar when he registers the words being said from over the line. 

Your heart drops when you watch his shoulders sag, hips moving as they situate themselves.

“Right. I’ll be over.” Cobalt eyes snap to yours when the call ends, deathly serious. “One of the boys had to run out tonight during his twenty-four-hour—family emergency. I was on call for him.” 

You open your mouth to speak. 

“No,” Johnny points at you, digging out his own keys from his pants as he backs up. He shakes his head. “No—you’re not going alone. Don’t even ask it, Pencils.”

Your loud scoff echoes. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You fucking thought it,” he grunts, glaring. “Get your pretty arse back inside the apartment and we do this together tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes,” you wave a hand, stepping back onto the sidewalk as the Scot moves to his vehicle only two cars down, sarcastically monologuing. “All naked and waiting to be ravished by your brutish body. Whatever will I do without you, my brave firefighter?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Soap mutters to himself, and just as he unlocks his car and opens the door, you’re there at his side. A light kiss is pressed into his flesh, and he freezes. 

“Be safe,” you mutter, and he melts—tension loosening. He smirks and glances over, carefully grabbing your face before connecting his lips to yours with a low groan.

“Maybe you should be naked and waiting for me—”

“Go!”

Johnny chuckles against your lips. “Keep your head on for me, Pencils. I’ll be back soon, and we can find the fucker that did this, eh?”

As he gets into his car and drives away, you watch after him and bite at your lips. And then as he turns the street corner, you jog over to your car and slip inside.

—

The home was run down.

It wasn’t a place where you would want to raise a family, and neither was the neighborhood. In fact, barely anyone seemed to live on this street, and even if there were entire rows of houses, there weren’t even any lights on—nothing illuminated the streets except the lamps, and you were parked under one with your satchel in your lap. 

Experience didn’t mean you never get nervous.

You feel the clamminess of your palms as you flex them, replaying Johnny’s words in your head over and over. You knew the house was here, so, you could always just…come back later. There was no harm in it. 

Yet, your eyes narrow, and your rage builds. 

This fucker was related to the man that burned down your apartment building—was potentially covering for him so you wouldn’t break the case on Duncan killing off the snitches for Warren Electrical’s schemes. But all because of an interview with him? All you’d done was sit down with the guy; why did he feel the need to track you down? Breaking into someone's house and lighting it up with matches was personal—incredibly personal. 

Duncan had given you a warning to keep away, and you hated warnings with a fiery passion. If anything, it had just set you on his ass more. 

“Okay,” you huff, and reach inside of your satchel, flicking on the recorder you stuffed inside and stating your name, age, and important information. 

And then you open the car door and exit. 

Speed walking to the door, you look down the dark streets and hunch into yourself, the calls of crows and the wind moving the overgrown grass. Cracked concrete hits the ground as you kick pieces away, and at the two steps leading to the front door, you think that perhaps this might be a bad idea.

Bad ideas are what make good articles.

You hum, face innocent. “Johnny’s gonna fucking kill me.”

Knuckles raising, you send three firm knocks into the paint-speckled wood, and wait. And wait.

And wait. 

Your face tightens, your legs shifting minutely as the seconds draw long. A part of you is somewhat relieved until you hear a small creak just when you’re about to walk away. You freeze, and your eyes move slowly to the glass of the side window in a gradual glance. 

Your eyes lock onto a face staring back. 

Gasping, your foot takes a rapid step backward, but before you can rush away, Kurt rips open the door and pleads in a tiny voice as he grabs your arm. You flinch, raising up a heavy fist. But his words stop you from sending it forward.

“No! No, you can’t be here!” Your eyes blink rapidly, stuttering through your initial panic.

“What?”

“Leave!” Kurt snaps, eyes wild. “While he’s still asleep—he can’t see you here or he’ll—” There’s a splash of liquid and you shout. Kurt lets go of you quickly as he looks down at himself as his clothes get flooded from behind. 

The sharp smell hits you before your ears twitch to the sound of a lighting match. 

Kurt screams, snapping around as you fall backward off the steps, slamming into the ground with a panicked flinching in your lungs. A large shadow stands in the doorway. “I didn’t say anything—I didn’t—!”

Kurt Matthews goes up in flames, and in the fire and the rabid screams of sizzling flesh, you’re left shouting in pure fear. Duncan’s familiar face was illuminated by an orange and red inferno and he watches you blankly with a box of matches in his right hand.

You run off so fast, your heels get kicked off in a flurry of a chase.

TAGS:

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[lazycats-stuff]

141 TF x male reader

This is the continuation to this oneshot. It's mostly fluff and kind of dates with the guys. It's probably going to be over 2k too, so just get prepared.

Summary: The TF is ready to work together in order to date (Y/N).

Warnings: Fluff, cute dates, just cuteness overall, author may have procrastinated and just took sweet time writings and then rushing at 11:30 pm and is tired...

And yes, another Ghost gif. I love this man too much....

After about 3 days of deciding on how to approach (Y/N), they just decided to talk to him in his room. And they all wanted to see the little kitten. Price knocked on his door, the other 3 members were behind him. For the first time in a long time, they were nervous.

And they were military men.

(Y/N) opened the door, smiling at the sight of the men. "Hey guys. What's up? "

" Can we talk to you? " John asked, anxiety building up.

" Sure. " (Y/N) said, stepping aside to let the men in. All of them went straight to the little kitten, giving it a pet or a scratch, then sitting down somewhere in the room.

" What is it that you guys wanted to talk about? " (Y/N) asked, sitting down at chair close to his desk.

Everyone glanced at Price. (Y/N)'s eyes went to Price's.

" Okay, now I'm nervous. Is it bad news or- ? " (Y/N) asked, confused and anxious.

" No, no, no. " Price said, calming the man down. " It's just... All of us find you attractive. " Price started, watching (Y/N)'s cheeks getting red. Wow.

" And we have all... Got feelings for you. And that's what we are here to talk about. We wanted to ask you to date you. All four of us. " Price said, watching (Y/N)'s face. It was red and he seemed flustered.

" Okay, um... Are you sure? I mean, dating somebody who doesn't know who he is or knows what he likes? " (Y/N) said softly, looking down at his lap.

" We know what we are getting into, if you decide to date us. Do you really think that we won't take that into consideration? We don't want to date you for your looks, we want you for you. " Gaz said from the bed, gently patting the cat.

(Y/N) took it all in. He didn't think he was attractive to the point of attracting 4 guys, whom he assumed were straight. And they want to date him, despite the amnesia and the incomplete memory and not knowing what he likes or dislikes?

" You don't have to tell us now, you can tell us later. " Price said, standing up.

" No, I... Okay, I want to just say this. I am interested in dating you guys, but... I have to say this. I want to be taken out on a date first. Individually. Also, I think that my love language is physical touch... Okay, that's not the point now. Don't go overboard too, please. "

The boys nodded, smiling. Ghost's soft smile was hidden by his balaclava, but (Y/N) could see the wrinkles around his eyes. He should really smile more.

" Okay, tomorrow one of us will take you out on a date. Do you want tell us which one or do you want us to surprise you? " Price asked.

" You can surprise me. It's more fun that way. " (Y/N) said laughing.

Price had to admit, he was right.

" We will let you know who will take you out tomorrow. Now we need to talk amongst each other. So, we will leave you alone now. "

Price said and all of them shuffled out of the room. (Y/N) smiled, moving to lay down on the bed next to his kitten.

" Hey you. You might have more dads in the future. "

The cat meowed, purring and nuzzling against (Y/N)'s hand. " You do like that? Who would be your favorite? Maybe Ghost? He does seem like that type. " (Y/N) said to the little kitten. Kitten kept on purring, making (Y/N) doze off.

It was decided that Ghost was going to take him out on a first date. Ghost wanted to do it in the base, not wanting the people to look at him weird because of his mask.

So what did Ghost decide to do?

A movie night in their living room. He made a little pillow fort and with a few tries made popcorn and some chocolate muffins to soothe the sweet tooth, should (Y/N) have it.

(Y/N) came around 8, just like they agreed on. He was wearing comfortable sweatpants and one of Ghost's shirts that he has borrowed from Ghost.

" Pillow fort? " (Y/N) asked, getting into it immediately.

" Is it bad? " Ghost asked (Y/N), afraid that it was wrong.

" No, quite the opposite. I like it. Come on, I need my heater. "

Ghost raised his eyebrows. Heater? " A heater? "

" Yes, you are very warm. Now come on. " (Y/N) said, patting the spot next to him.

Ghost huffed, but complied none the less. (Y/N) laid down on Ghost's chest, getting himself comfortable. Ghost wrapped his arm around (Y/N) and turned on the movie.

" (Y/N)? "

" Mhm? "

" Do you want me to take of my mask? "

(Y/N) lifted his head up. " Only if you are comfortable. I don't want you to do something that you are not comfortable. "

Ghost nodded. Most of the people would ask him to take it off, but not (Y/N).

" Okay. Popcorn? " Ghost asked, taking the bowl and offering it to (Y/N).

" Sure. "

Next evening, it was Price's turn to take him out. Price was a bit more old fashioned, so he was going to take (Y/N) out of the base, seeing how he didn't like being in the base so long. The plan was to take him to the cinema and afterwards to a diner.

Price waited for (Y/N) by the car, in civilian clothes. It has been a while since he got a chance to go out like this, carefree and just in civilian way.

He looked up from his watch to see (Y/N) walking towards the car. Price smiled, pulling (Y/N) into a hug. (Y/N) smiled too, before hugging Price back.

" You look stunning. " Price said to (Y/N) after letting go.

(Y/N) blushed and complimented Price too. Price led him to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for him. (Y/N) thanked him and sat into the seat.

Price closed the door, moving to the driver's side. He got in and started the car.

" Where are we going? " (Y/N) asked Price.

" That is a surprise darling. " Price said, patting his thigh.

" Really? " (Y/N) asked Price.

" Yes. I wanted to surprise you. "

(Y/N) just intertwined his fingers with John's and turned his head to look at the window. Their intertwined fingers were laying in the middle, next to the what (Y/N) called the stick. John parked near the cinema, turning the car off, forcing the two to release their hands to step out. Once they were out, they took their hands again.

" Is that the cinema? "

" Yes. I thought that you would like to go off base. You looked like you were couped up in the base. "

" You are right, I was couped up. As much as I love the base and the wonders that the it provides, you can feel couped up and like you are in jail. " (Y/N) said, using his free arm to gesture.

" Well, I can't say that, but for someone like you with memory loss... I can understand that. " John said, looking at (Y/N) with so much love in his eyes that he would have that his eyes turned to hearts.

" What are we going to watch? "

John just smiled at him. (Y/N) huffed. Another surprise it seems.

" And what are we going to afterwards? "

" That, my love, is another surprise. "

(Y/N) leaned in and gave John a kiss on the cheek. Price put his arm around (Y/N)'s shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Next up was Gaz. He also decided to take (Y/N) out of the base, but not to the cinema and the diner, but instead to a picnic. It was a nice sunny day today in London, so why not take advantage of it? Gaz has prepared everything that he thought that (Y/N) would like.

Which consisted of some sandwiches, chips that he liked, some fruit and some chocolates. And the drinks? There was of course water and some juices that (Y/N) had said that he liked.

And that's why Gaz and (Y/N) were in the park, in the shade, just enjoying the weather. Gaz opened the container with sliced apples. He offered some to (Y/N), who gladly took it. It was a green apple, since (Y/N) preferred sour apples rather than the sweet ones.

" So, how do you like it? "

" It's nice Gaz. "

" And how do you like the base? " Gaz prompted, watching (Y/N).

" I like it, but I wish that I could do something more than just stay in my room or just move around to the gym, shooting range and others... I just feel like I'm mooching, you know? "(Y/N) said, fiddling with his hands.

" Maybe you could talk about Price about working on the base? Maybe you could work with recruits or something like that. And you are not mooching off of anybody or anything. You are a SAS. Once a SAS, always an SAS. "

(Y/N) nodded, moving closer to Gaz. He took (Y/N)'s hand and kissed it.

" Thanks, I just... I guess I got into my head way too much. "

" Don't apologize for that love. " Gaz said, kissing the side of (Y/N)'s head.

" Now, lets enjoy this great weather. " (Y/N) said, smiling and making himself cozy on the blanket.

And Soap was last and he often says that they have saved the best for last. (Y/N) didn't know how to feel. The Scot was the most energetic person that (Y/N) had encountered in the entire base. He doesn't know where Johnny gets all of that energy.

" Johnny, where are we going? "

" Are you afraid? " The Scot said, smirking as he led him into the building.

" I mean, you are the most energetic person I have encountered on the base. I don't know how you can be so energetic. "

" Well, that is not important question now. You are important now. "

(Y/N) sighed as they got into the junkyard, filled with cars. What the actual hell?

" Okay, so, we have it for about hour and a half. " Johnny said, handing him gloves and the protective glasses. " So, we need to make the best out of it. "

" Okay, so we are going to smash cars? "

" Not just smash. I am going to make a few explosions too, just for you. "

(Y/N) laughed and grabbed the hammer and allowed Johnny to put the safety glasses on. He put the big hammer over his head and smashed the car away.

(Y/N) and Johnny were laughing away and (Y/N) was fascinated by the explosions.

After those dates, (Y/N) now had four boyfriends and his kitten whom he named Ghost, because the cat was quiet and sometimes scared the shit out of him, got four cat dads, which meant a lot of cuddles.

(Y/N) also started working at the base, finally feeling useful and not like he was mooching. He worked in the infirmary where he recovered and was there studying more about medicine.

And the boys got more excuses to visit him. (Y/N) might kill them one day because of the constant, intentional way. But he wouldn't change it for the world.

[moon-fics]

Who Is She?-Simon "Ghost" Riley

A/n: This is definitely a slay! REPOST! This is my work I'm reposting it! I hope ya'll enjoy it!

Summary: You're new to the team but there's something about you Ghost can't quite understand.

Warning: Swears, mention of injury/blood

When Ghost first saw you, he was caught off guard by your appearance. You had a mask that covered the bottom half of your face, an emotionless glaze over your eyes. He almost attacked you with how tense you looked while under his glare, assuming you were an enemy spy snooping around. You got lucky that Price appeared right behind you with a warning look pointed at him. When you noticed Price your body relaxed enough to put Ghost at ease. 

“Simon this is-” Your eyes widen as he begins to introduce you. Before Price can continue, you butt in.

“Trick.” You finish Price’s sentence with a low tone. Price is unfazed by your interruption but waits in case you have more to say. After a few seconds, he guesses you don’t want to talk anymore and pats your back. 

“She’ll be joinin’ you on the Taskforce’s mission. She’s got inside information that we can use and she’s a bloody good shot.” Ghost is barely listening to Price as he observes you. Your eyes are locked with his and he can’t tell what you’re thinking. Usually, he’s able to read someone quickly, but he can barely stand looking at you directly. There’s something about you that makes him uncomfortable and he can’t figure out what.

“I hope you two can work well together since she’ll be next to you the whole time.” Price has a tone that tells Ghost not to argue.

“Him?” You point at Ghost with curious eyes. Price raises an eyebrow in amusement and nods. Ghost is sure he’s missed an important conversation to make Price chuckle at your confusion.

---

You took Price’s words literally because even before the mission you stand near Ghost. Not close enough to bother him or get in his way, but enough to be noticed by the other teammates. Soap has tried to make conversation with you but whenever it gets too personal you put up a strong wall. 

“You should have seen us on our last mission! We barely made it out alive, I’m just glad Ghost didn’ crash the car we used to get away!” Soap explains with a large grin. You nod along, listening to his every word. Ghost is sitting next to you busy making sure Soap doesn’t fabricate any details to make himself seem cooler. “You ever been on missions?”

“I have and they’ve all been successful.” You say nonchalantly as if that isn’t something to be proud of. Ghost can’t help but want to hear about them, but he knows you won’t tell. However, Soap does not and he presses deeper.

“Any impressive injuries? I’m sure ya have a few intense scars!” Just as Soap finishes his sentence there’s a shift in you. From a willingly social attitude to an empty person, your smile falls. The wall builds itself back up and just like that Ghost loses you.

Not a single member has been able to get a single detail of who you are, but Ghost has seen a few things. 

For example, you always smell like roses, except one day when you smelled like vanilla, you seemed upset you had a different shampoo. He also notices you like watching him polish his guns, even if that means sitting in silence awkwardly. 

Even though you hide the bottom of your mouth he can still tell when you’re smiling or frowning because you’ll allow your eyes to give it away. Those are the only times he can actually get a read on you, any other and you’re like a brick wall. It’s not because you show too many emotions or hide your eyes, you just have nothing within them. Nothing he can understand at least. 

You sit next to Ghost as he sharpens his knives carefully. Your eyes never leave his hands and it makes him feel nervous. He doesn’t understand why his hands are sweating and why your eyes are so pretty in this light. 

He reaches for another knife to sharpen and your eyes lock onto it. There’s the smallest amount of interest showing and he can’t help but enjoy how comfortable you’ve become with him. It’s only been a couple weeks but you’ve been showing more emotions around him, only him. He sharpens the knife and puts the cover over the blade. He sighs heavily before handing you it. You give him a smile that not even the mask can hide and gladly take it. 

Ghost doesn’t converse with you often, instead, he has small moments like this. He honestly prefers silent company over eggshell conversations and he can tell you do too.

A week before the mission you seem to sit closer to him and try to be closer physically. He can’t tell why, but he assumes it’s your nerves. You seem protective over him, keeping an eye out whenever you’re around him. He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy having someone to be alert with.

---

Ghost sits next to you on a rooftop, sniper rifles resting on the edge. It’s dark out now, the stars lighting the sky beautifully. Both of you are sitting against the roof edge waiting for the signal to aim. He hasn’t said a word and neither have you.

After a few minutes, Soap comes on the line telling them the targets are in sight. Ghost was assigned one man while you got the other but knowledge was limited on what to expect. Ghost already has his rifle aimed at his target, but something doesn’t feel right.

“I used to know him.” Your voice is low while staring through the scope of your rifle. It takes Ghost a second to realize you’re talking to him and not yourself. His eyes land on your figure, your hands trembling over the trigger, hesitating. For the first time since he’s met you, he can tell exactly what you’re feeling and he wishes he didn’t. When you pull away from the scope your eyes reflect such an empty void. “It’s a trap!” You yell right as gunfire rings out. Bullets barely miss Ghost’s body and you quickly knock him down. The border around the roof is the only thing keeping the two of you from getting shot. 

Ghost watches as you crawl to the roof ladder, the only way off the building. He’s quick to follow, hoping they aren’t too exposed. He’s about to ask how they’ll get onto the ladder without getting killed when you quickly lift him up to his feet. He’s amazed at your strength, almost bamboozled by it. You shove him over the edge and he almost misses the ladder’s steps, gripping them to stop from falling to his death.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy?!” He yells. He’s safe on the ladder, whoever is shooting at them can’t get a view of him here. You on the other hand are extremely exposed and you know this. You have mere seconds to join him on the ladder and yet you don’t. Instead, you disappear from his view, retreating back to the rifles. He screams your name but gets no response. He hears you fire your gun and the sound of screaming from below. You hit your target but compromised yourself in the process. He begins climbing up the ladder to make sure you aren’t dead when your covered face reappears. He sighs in relief, climbing back down to give you room. You make it over the border of the roof and climb down as fast as you can, but it’s not enough. A bullet grazes your shoulder and one hand lets go of the ladder. Blood is soaking through your sleeve and your grunt in pain. 

“Fucking climb, dumbass!” You scream at him and he follows your orders even though he’s in charge. You struggle to reach the ground successfully and Ghost has to grab your waist to make sure you even touch it. He’s still surprised by your tone earlier. Not once have you ever raised your voice like that and it kind of amuses him. Once the mission is over he’s going to get more information on you one way or another.

----

You’re leaving the Taskforce soon, you said so yourself yesterday. He was minding his own business, walking back to his room when he ran into you. You didn’t smell like roses, you didn’t smell like anything actually. You seemed distant towards him, unable to make eye contact. Your mask was sloppily put on, revealing a bit of your nose. The way you spoke was cold and it stung him. It felt like all the progress he made with you had been crushed by your wall.

That’s when he decided to confront Price, to get answers on who you are and how you knew the enemy enough to know the mission was a trap.

“Who the bloody hell is Trick? Why did you bring her in for this mission?” He demands. Price is sitting behind his desk, files piled in front of him. He’s not new to Ghost’s frustration and he understands where it’s coming from. You seem to know way more than you let on about the people the force is targeting. Price also understands that it’s not his place to talk about what you’ve gone through.

“Either she tells you or it remains unknown.” Ghost knows better than to argue further, but he can’t watch you leave without all the answers he needs. It’ll eat him up inside with all the questions swarming his head.

So, he heads to your room, his feet stomping the concrete floor. Once he reaches your room he knocks loud enough to wake someone up. He waits a few seconds before banging again. This time he can hear movement from the other side.

You open the door with your mask perfectly on. You have the same infuriatingly empty look on your face and he can’t stand it anymore. He can’t handle all the new emotions inside him, especially how scared he was when he watched the bullet scrape your arm. How fragile you looked as you helped you onto the helicopter back to base. You weren't masking yourself anymore and he could see the fear in your eyes the entire ride back to base.

“Who the fuck are you?” He’s harsh with his words and you don’t even move. He’s never been angry towards you, sure you’ve seen him yell at someone, mainly Soap, but never you. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually ask.” Your words reboot his brain. He was expecting push back or a refusal of information, instead, you step away from the door and wait for him to enter your room. It’s going to be a long night.

-

“I knew the target because I used to date him.” You explain, sitting on your bed. You’ve answered all of Ghost’s questions, every single one he can think of. You were open to him for the first time and you didn’t hide your emotions, you let them out. It’s a sight only he’ll get to see and he’s happy about it. “It was before I knew what he was doing, I swear. I had already been trained for combat before I met him so it was easy to escape. I had already begun taking out his connections when Price invited me to the team.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Is all he can ask, it’s his last question. He knows you’re probably exhausted from hearing him ask so many things.

“I was ashamed that I dated a man as bad as him. I know it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t know about what he was hiding, but still.” You hum. 

There’s a long silence, Ghost digests the information you’ve given him and he begins to understand you more. Price most likely handed you to him because he knew you’d be comfortable around someone who doesn’t talk as much as the rest of the team. You wouldn’t be questioned by him and you wouldn’t feel as inclined to hide. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see your hands coming up to your face. You remove your mask revealing a scar along your lip. It’s not deep but it’s noticeable. That’s the final indicator that you trust him, that maybe these feelings he’s been having aren’t solely his.

“So, what now?” You question, your voice soft. A single word pops into his head the second you spoke, and it grows bigger the longer he remains quiet. It’s practically screaming itself in his head.

“Stay.” Your eyes are wide when looking at them and he loves what he sees inside them. There’s a spark of hope, something he’s never seen from you. It makes him challenge himself to see if he can cause that same look every day. 

“Maybe I will.”

[sickuma]

TULIPS (2) — a König fic.

❱ this 'might' be the last part but we'll see. Since I am working on a König fic on Wattpad :D also I cannot create c.ai bots at the moment since I have like, 4 hours of waiting time smh. this is unedited! errors might be seen please bear with me ! ➴ SYNOPSIS — After taking the hit for him, you wake up without memories of him, nor the incident. He tries desperately to retrieve your memories.

LATIBULE — (n.) a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort.

How did this happen,

How did our memories vanish before your very eyes?

Have I lost them forever?

Have I lost them with you?

Will you find it in you to fall in love with me the second time around?

“Do you remember these, hm? [name]?” He shows you the pictures, holding them out one by one. Each and every photograph you took together, he remembered dreading those but he would always be happy to see your smile each time he agreed,

“You would force me to take one specific picture, to show our future family! We have a lot by now we—we…” he paused, staring at you.

“We had a lot of memories.”

You looked back at him, feeling your headache ever so slightly crack you head while you looked and observed the pictures. Closely looking, trying to find a speck of remembrance, a sign that you remember. Instead you got nothing but the skull crushing headache.

The doctor had released you for a week now, after the dischargement you both had gone back to the base. You took time to get used to everything, since you have your complete memories except for when you’ve joined the KorTac factions,

In your mind, you still think you’re a trainee who volunteered for the military.

Memories after that are as visible as a blur. Not even a blur, they were just gone. It was a trauma response, the doctor says. You could still remember the look on König’s face as the doctor explains. He looked defeated, almost lost.

But ever since then, he hasn't given up.

He would visit your quarters, picking you up for meals at the mess hall, wishing you goodnight for whenever you’d sleep. He didn't miss a single night,

The soldiers had asked him why you were not sleeping in one room, they claimed you both fought really hard to be permitted to do that. König simply responded that you needed space as you are still trying to retrieve the memories he spoke of, you were grateful for that, he’s willing to distance himself,

Of course it pained him, without you beside him he cannot sleep properly.

But for your sake he pulled through, hugging the shirt you left in his quarters. Holding it close to his face every night, taking in your scent, missing the times when you’d be beside him at night, running your hand through his hair as he dozed off.

Right now you’re with him, outside of the base, away from the guns and military equipment. The captain had convinced you to try, to try to remember him. The captain made sure to let you know just how agonizing this is for König, telling you how much he cried and telling you that he’d never seen König act as such.

You felt terrible,

Because of your incapability to remember, he suffered. Yet when he faces you, he's always got this slight smile, always has a glint of adoration in those pretty green eyes of his.

You found yourself fond of it once again,

Again?

“This… I always force you to take these?”

He grinned, nodding eagerly. “Mhm, every month, without fail.” he spoke so proudly of it, you almost felt a sense of pride spring upon your forgetful heart. You nod in response, looking at the pictures once again,

“König?”

He looked back up at you, “hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

His smile fell and he dropped the pictures carefully on the table, sitting closer to you but far enough to not cause any discomfort. “For what, liebling?”

“For this,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “For forgetting.”

“Dont—dont ever feel sorry alright?” he spoke, not being able to control the urge to hold your hands. And so he did, placing his hand on yours soothingly. “It's not your fault, never has and never will. You did that for me, and I’m just—just so happy you're here, and proud of you. So so proud, schatz, that you managed to survive that. You did so well,  my love.” he rubbed the back of your hand using his thumb, looking up at you with nothing but genuine eyes. “I love those memories,” he paused, “but not as much as I love you.”

“So there is no need for sorrys, liebling, we can retrieve your memories but if I lost you that day, there would be any possible way to get you back.” He spoke quietly yet you could hear him very clearly, it is then you realise just how much he loves you. This man is willing to set aside the way you've just forgotten every memory with him, and is glad to still have you here. His only fear was losing you,

Suddenly the headache is gone, replaced by the dawning realisation. “We’ll make new ones okay? New memories, just as we did before.”

Just how could you forget his eyes?

“If you’ll just let me, I know I'm not more than a stranger to you right now but if you'd just let me in your heart again, I'll surely—”

Just how could you ever forget the blossoming emotion of being in his arms?

How could you ever forget that voice of his which lovingly calls for you,

How could you have forgotten the plans to grow— 

“Tulips.” He looked at you with wide eyes. “What did you just—”

“The tulips, König.”

Tears stained his eyes as he sat unable to form a word. He looked at you and only you, letting the emotion surge through his body, letting himself cry for you once again. “We promised to plant the tulips.” Together,

Right König? Our tulips, Just like we promised. In our small house with leaf,

Of course I’ll remember.

[donnas-dollface]

Valeria is the embodiment of a mother who didn't want a cat and the cat enjoys picking on her