#soap’s got a box of secrets

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Soap has a box that sits under his bunk and stays locked at all times. Everyone’s seen it at one point or another but nobody actually knows what’s inside and so they’ve all got their bets on what could be in it.

Gaz said there was a bunch of porn mags in it and got so severely judged for it that he considered changing his bet, but nobody would let him do so.

Price bet that it was family stuff. Pictures, heirlooms maybe some trinkets or what have you from family members (eg. a hair clip from his sister, a cigar from his dad, etc.)

Alejandro said it was different bottles of booze he had picked up from missions, reasoning the man was Scottish so it would make sense.

Rudy had gone the opposite direction and said it was food cause they all knew how much of a foodie Soap was and how severely pissed he got when any of them took his food form the common rooms.

Ghost had shrugged and said it was filled with his old journals since he knew Soap worked through them so fast, and he had never seen what Soap did with old ones anyway.

Soap knows about the bet and he refuses to tell any of them what’s in the box, always deflecting and shrugging whenever he’s asked about it. Because it’s his box of secrets and for once, he doesn’t want to share it with anyone else.

While him not telling is in part due to his own embarrassment it’s also because the box is filled with what the others would consider trash, but they’re special things to him.

It’s filled with trinkets and little bits and bobs from his team members. Different things they picked up during a mission and gave to him or something he had picked up to remember a particular mission for whatever reason.

There’s pretty rocks from Gaz that caught his eye and he just brought with him. They always end up with Soap cause the other man just leaves them in his pockets and forgets about them.

Price gives him snacks and foods from the regions he’s gone on a mission to and Soap keeps the packaging. Cleans it out and keeps them cause he’s a bit of a hoarder like that.

He’s got bullet casings and beer cap lids from missions and nights out with Rudy and Alejandro. No two beer caps are the same cause the two like giving him different alcohols to try and the bullet casings are from the last bullet that ended a mission.

Ghost gives him little vials filled with dirt and he always claims that it’s only because he had picked up too much to fit in his mason jars but Soap knows he does it on purpose. He knows that Ghost picks up his dirt jars and thinks of Soap and getting him some and it’s so heart touching.

It’s also got photos of the team from the ends of missions or night outs and some sketches that he considers too private to leave in his journals. Nothing erotic or anything but things that show the softer moments of their lives or, on occasion, Simon’s face.

So yeah, maybe it is filled with trash and useless crap but it’s his and he doesn’t find any of it to be useless. He loves his little box of trinkets that remind him of times with his team mates, it’s a home away from home for him.

[paint-the-walls-white]

I don't share

Pairing: Possessive!König x Fem!Reader

Summary: König doesn't like sharing you, which is exactly why you had been married for almost ten years and none of his comrades knew about you. At least, not until he drunkenly spilled the beans and you showed up the next day with a box of cookies..

Warnings: Bondage! MDom! Doggy! CreamPie! OverStim! Oral(M2F)!

König was very secretive of his personal life on account of his social anxiety. He had been transfered to Task Force 141 for a while and had made pretty good friends with them, but of course, one night TF141 was making fun of him while drinking and in his own drunken haze he blurted out something that didn't go unnoticed,

"If you keep making fun of my wife, I'll kill you. Oh wait, that sounded like a joke; I will actually kill you."

He was very protective and possessive of you, which you didn't mind in the slightest. But he had accidently revealed that he had a wife, and everyone kept pestering him about it.

"I bet she's a strong lass aye? Big as an Ox! Only person that makes sense fer a mountain" Soaps slurred comment made him scoff as König kept sipping on his vodka, aggravated and embarrassed.

"What she do fer a living König? She a construction worker or somethin?"

König looked at Gaz with bewilderment. "A construction worker? where the hell did you get that? Gott.. Nein she's a baker."

Even Ghost was muttering how she probably had massive arms to carry 8 trays at once of protein bars. König kept to himself the rest of the night before returning home to you.

"Hi mein Liebe, I'm home." He pressed a kiss on your forehead, stripping off his tactical vest and mask then kicking off his boots.

"How was your night with the boys? Was it fun?"

He lied down on top of you, burying his face in your chest, crushing your small frame as he huffed annoyed.

"Kept making fun of you...Arschlöcher.. kept sayin you were a big burly lady.."

You snorted, running your fingers through his hair. You told him to ignore them because they didn't know what they were talking about, they were just trying to get a rise out of him.

He sighed, content in your arms as he fell into a drunken sleep on top of you, the crushing pressure more than welcomed.

The next day you decided to surprise König on base with a little gift. The guards of course did not believe that you were his wife so you pulled out the marriage certificate and your spouse ID card to shove it in their face. They were gob smacked as they discovered he had a wife and informed you he was currently at the cantina.

You were directed where to go, a box of chocolate chip cookies in had as you made your way there. Once inside, the place gradually got quiet as you made your way over to your husband giddy as his back faced you.

König was currently berating his friends about making fun of you again until he noticed that they weren't even paying attention, they were looking behind him.

He turned, and there you were, barely meeting his eye level while he was sitting, a box of cookies in hand adorned in a pleated pink skirt and a white tank top with a knit sweater and chunky white heels.

"Surprise! I brought you cookies Liebe!"

The horror that flooded his gaze was unmatched. He quickly wrapped around you to hide you from onlookers, glaring in their direction.

"Mein Liebe, what are you doing here? You are for my eyes only!"

You pouted into him, pushing off of his chest, "I wanted to surprise you," His eyes softened and he huffed, turning to glare at the men at the table who were still gaping in your direction.

"Thas your wife König? The lass is like half your size!" Soap stared on in horror, you could tell what he was thinking about so you hid in his shirt.

"Let's go." He stood, throwing you over his shoulder and flattening your skirt over your ass. Your face was red as you tried to keep the box from being crushed, and you just stared down, completely embarrassed.

"König put me down!" You kicked your legs, trying to fight him off, but he just smacked your ass and carried you out of the cantina, everyone completely silent.

"What the hell just happened." Ghost shrugged at Soaps comment and just kept eating silently.

König had carried you all the way to his quarters, gently placing you on the bed. The blood had rushed to your head so you were bright red.

He knelt, taking off your shoes and rubbing at your sore feet.

"Why did you think this was a good idea mein Liebe? Hmm?"

"I just wanted to bring you a treat.. I thought you'd like seeing me here.."

König sighed, kissing your shin before he looked up at you with his piercing gaze.

"Lamm, I can't keep my eyes off of you, which means neither can other men. I'm the only one that gets to look at you. Du bist mein."

You huffed and averted your gaze, cheeks a bright pink as you handed him a cookie.

"Still, you didn't have to make a scene.." He simply chuckled and stood.

"I know you like it when I toss you around Liebling, you cant fool me. I know you loved the attention."

He caged you in on the bed, prompting you to lie on your back, legs hanging off the edge. You pulled up his mask to reveal his mouth and pressed your lips to his. König groaned softly, slanting his lips against yours, intensifying the kiss.

You moaned and panted into his mouth, whimpering at the flavor of his tongue against yours. He ran a hand up your thigh, squeezing your soft skin in his calloused hands.

He pulled away to attack your neck, sucking and biting at the exposed skin

"K-König.. what if someone sees-!"

"Don't care.. they need to know who you belong to... Du bist mein..."

You squirmed underneath him, far too excited at the attention he was giving you, especially when he slipped a finger under your panties and rubbed at your sloppy folds.

"Scheiße.. du bist so wet for me Liebe.."

You watched with dazed eyes as he slid off the bed onto his knees, dragging you to the edge of the bed where he ripped off your underwear and started sucking on your clit. You immediately grabbed at the fabric of his mask and threw your head back, arching into his mouth as you moaned loudly.

König quickly sunk two fingers into your wet cunt, rubbing at your sensitive walls as he fucked you with his hand. You met his gaze and whimpered as he continued eating you out like a starved man. He moaned against your pussy as you came on his hands and face, plenty of slick being absorbed into the fabric hiding his face.

A soft whine escaped as he cleaned up your mess with his tongue, savoring every drop of your arousal. He stood, sucking his fingers clean as he stared down at your spent form lying limply on the bed.

"Braves Mädchen.."

You lied there, staring at him as you tried to grasp a single thought after that mind blowing orgasm, but you just blushed when you noticed his dick straining against his pants.

"What is it Liebling? You want more? Dirty little slag..."

Gnawing on your lip, you nodded, completely drunk on his attention. The sound of his belt being unbuckled and shucked from his pants immediately made you throb for him.

He bound your wrists with the belt, flipping you on your stomach so you were bent over the side of the bed. You had to stand on your toes, causing your legs to shake at the stretch.

"König.. Please.." He chuckled at your desperate plea as he forced your knees back onto the bed so your hips met his. He rubbed the head of his cock along your slick folds, teasing you by swiping over your clit.

You whined, burying your face further into the mattress as the friction of the blanket rubbed against your knees. König sunk the head of his cock into you, eliciting a pitiful moan as he stretched you wide, this fat cock stuffing into you inch by inch.

He groaned softly at the friction, praising you for taking him so well, "It's like you were made for me Mein Liebe, wrapped so fucking tight around me... Scheiße.."

He slowly pulled out then sunk back in, reveling in the feel of your gummy cunt wrapping tight around his meaty shaft. You whined, pressing against him to meet each thrust, tears staining the mattress as you took his cock.

König nearly growled every time you sucked him back in, head thrown back as he pulled your hips against his.

"I don't share Liebling.. You're all mine.. Only I get to see you.. get to fuck you... Scheiße.."

He moaned as you tightly squeezed around him, creaming on his dick. He watched as a ring of white collected at the base of his cock, stuffing it all the way in before spurting thick ropes of cum into your cunt.

He pulled out slowly, his cum leaking down your thighs as you whimpered at the empty feeling. He gently undid the belt around your wrists and pressed a kiss to your forehead through his mask.

"Stay there Liebling, Ill clean you up.."

König stepped away to get a washcloth soaked in warm water, gently cleaning off the arousal that had covered your legs and folds, placing a gently kiss on your ass and putting your underwear, socks and shoes back on for you.

"Now let's get you out of here, I don't need anyone else looking at my beauty.." you just nodded slowly and tried to rise on shaky legs. Clinging to his arm, he walked you back to your car, many onlookers staring in shock and utter horror.

He raised his mask above his nose and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before letting you leave. When you started the car, window still rolled down, he listened intently to the radio, realizing you were listening to his playlist.

Rein, Raus

Rein, Raus

Rein, Raus..

You flushed, turning down the radio and meekly met his gaze, "I like that song.. Reminds me of you.."

His piercing blue eyes told you all you needed to know. When he got home, you wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

Because he was going to make sure you couldn't walk.

[neoarchipelago]

Just saw a TikTok where a kid send their favorite stuff animal to his dad who's deployed. Just imagine this happening with 141 🥺 (I'm actually sending this to my favorite writers hoping I can get a cute scenario 😅)

That sounds adorable... I melted at the thought. Sorry it got very angst with Ghost but I'm feral for this man and I'd give him babies any time he wants.

Warning: slight NSFW, f!reader, angst and comfort

Price:

Price would frown but have a little smirk, watching the recruit hand him a cardboard box. His smile spreads when he notices figures of who it is from.

He wouldn't mind opening it in front of the team. They'd be busy bickering anyway.

He swears his heart stops for a second and he sees the soft thing. He could recognize it in the middle of the battlefield, the awful thought putting a ping of anger in his heart.

He'd be silent for a moment, looking at the round pink thing, his mind instantly wandering home, to you and your daughter.

He took the tiny note, scribbled a bit. "Keep you company daddy. Love, mom and me"

He swears he could cry right now.

He keeps it in his barracks, hidden so well no one ever glanced at it until he left. He wouldn't dare taking it with him, not wanting to soil it with he horrors of the battlefield.

He hugs it at night, until the day he returns, his daughter running to him as he holds the stuffed animal who kept his sanity strong.

He makes sure to worship you that night, thanking you silently for making him the happiest man on earth. In the morning you're sore but oh so happy. He whispers sweet nothings as he helps prepare breakfast, thanking you for giving him a daughter and home to come to.

Soap:

Soap would be thrilled to see the box for him. He wouldn't even wait to open it, under the amused gazes of the team.

He'd smile brightly at the sight of the little shark, immediately taking the note to read it out loud "to help you fight daddy!"

He run around the room, holding it up in the air, voicing to his team how happy he was, how proud of his son and how he absolutely loved you for giving him such a gift .

He'd keep it at all times at base. The round thing on the table in front of him during meetings.

He calls it Sergeant Sharky, everyone starting referring it by the same name.

At night he hold it tight, it's more intimate. He can let himself feel the way he misses home, almost tearing up. He knows you're waiting for him at home, probably preparing for his arrival.

He swears he's the happiest man alive.

When he gets home he tells stories of Sergeant Sharky on the battlefield (never anything gory) his boy being in absolute amazement over how his favorite stuffed animal was a hero with his dad.

He absolutely ravages you that night, almost begging you for another kid, begging to make him a daddy again. He just praises you for being the best mama, the best wife. He has you limping by morning as he holds his son, running around with him as he winks at you, subtly hinting to his son to ask you for a sibling.

Gaz:

I feel like gaz would open it with the team too. Though he'd be much more hidden and private about it.

He immediately smiles when he sees the little white bear inside of the box. He can't help the sadness and yearning he feels almost immediately.

The images of you, laughing in the morning as his son jumps on the bed to wake him up makes his throat burn slightly.

He found the indulging gaze of Price who noticed the fluffy thing.

He'd read the note to himself, hiding it from anyone's gaze.

"to take care of you daddy" he has to blink away the blurriness.

He'd be more secret about it, but as soon as his in his tent the toy is with him at all times. He finds himself sometimes talking to it. "Yeah... I miss home too. We'll go back to them."

He finds himself with a new strength, the battle almost feeling less heavy on him. He's doing it for you. For his son. To try and make the world a better place.

He almost runs home from the airport, throwing the front door open, bags dropping to the floor as you see him. Your mouth opens slightly, shocked, but he sees the relief in your eyes. He kisses you deeply, the sound of tiny running footsteps from the hallway making his heart stammer in his chest.

He's home. That night he makes love to you, lovingly, sweetly and with such love that you find yourself crying and clinging to him. He finds himself absolutely loving the way your son runs into the room by morning, waking him up. He doesn't give a shit how tired he is.

Ghost:

Oh god... Here I go...

When he's handed the box, he frowns. He immediately retreats to his tent to open it. He freezes when he sees the white and brown bunny.

He's scared to touch it. His gloves feel disgusting and tainted with horrors. He rips them off his hands, putting the box down on his bed to rush to wash his hands. They're clean, albeit sweaty but he just can't seem to shake away the feeling of blood on them.

When he finally let's himself touch the soft thing he holds it like it's the most fragile thing he ever touched. It shouldn't be here. So close to him when he's a monster right now.

The note breaks him. "Come back to us" it's your writing, she's too small to write. But there's a tiny sun scribbled in pencil next to it.

He rips off his mask bringing the bunny to his forehead as his head bows down, closing his eyes. He's crying. He feels guilty from being away from you. From his daughter. From home. Home that you allowed him, after he had thought he'd never be worthy of it.

It stays in his things. Hidden. He very rarely takes it out. Tries to not look at it too much. He's almost protecting it from even witnessing the base. Keeping it away from Ghost. That he tried to keep at the front door every time he came home.

When he gets home he needs time. It's always the same. He calls you, announcing that he is back. He takes 24h to remain on base, letting himself split from the battlefield. He needs time. You know it. You understood it.

When he gets home you notice something else this time. His eyes look at you with such adoration that you catch yourself almost hyperventilating. He often looks at you with love and care. But right now he looks at you like you were his goddess, his air and life essence. The same look he gives your daughter, like she's the only thing that ever matters to him.

He sits on the couch later, handing the bunny to his daughter who beams at the sight of her bunny back. He softly thanked her for sending the bunny to him. Softly explains that she should keep it home, it'd get dirty with daddy. You noticed the subtle message underneath his words. You want to hug him. But of course she understands. Such a clever girl.

He fucks you passionately and hard. He marks you with hickeys and bites, he gets lost in you, lost in your scent, the soft sheets are freshly clean. Your moans anchor him to his new found paradise.

He's got a small need to breed you again. But he'd talk to you about it. Beg on his knees if necessary, hoping that you'd be merciful to grant him another miracle. (As if he needed to do anything else but simply ask. Like you weren't the one who'd kneel for him if he asked.)

If you were the one to start the conversation, about, perhaps, maybe, if there was a chance, at some point "just spill it out love" "I want a baby... Again"

Absolutely feral. Literally throws your pill to the trash. It's on.

Doesn't let go of his daughter for days. She's in heaven as daddy holds her whenever she wants, reads her stories and plays with her. He keeps bending you over the nearest surface if she's napping or playing at a family's house (extremely rare, he's a protective wolf over her)

Spoils her rotten, he feels so guilty for leaving for such long periods of time. Spoils you as well.

[fortheb0ys]

FUCK ME LIKE THE MEN BETWEEN THOSE PAGES

Bottom John Price x Top Male Reader

Just Price brain rot🤤 I've always wanted to a model for MLM porn sites ngl so I'm living through this fic🙏 As usual not proofread :)

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

Prices would be one of those faceless models for those erotic gay romance novels. All his work would be faceless. Just something he did to make money on the side.

It was a secret that was long forgotten. Memories replaced by his military service. His body more scarred than his younger self's. His own books but they were just collecting dust in a box.

When you got together, you had found one of the books Price had forgotten that was on a shelf. Your eyes grew wide as you noiced it was Price's shirtless body on the front cover. A small mole on his left hip was telltale that it was him.

Flipping the book over and reading the synopsis reveals the dirty content of it. All the colour washes from Price's face as he sees what you have in your hand.

Price was about to open his mouth to quickly deny it but saw your giddy excitement. Though Price felt a bit shameful, he told you that there was more. A lot more.

With much hesitation from him and a whole lot more convincing from you, Price lent you the books. His amazing body on every single one of them. A new scar here and there as the

He had been surprised that you never poked fun at him and that you were genuinely interested in his past works.

You'd admit that the sex scenes depicted were the main thing that got you interested. You'd imagine Price vividly as the characters he model on the front covers. It didn't take long for you to read through the lot of them.

When Price would be on deployment, he'd get a text from you.

Cum on the front cover or on the pages. Or others with your erect cock slotted like a bookmark between the pages with the dirtiest scenes, precum dripping onto the sheets.

You'd send worded texts underneath the photo like "Try these with me?" or "What if were we the ones to do this?"

Price hated himself for showing you the books right before the mission, making the wait painfully long.

Sexualy frustrated and slightly pissed he had to wait for his deployment to end, Price would have a lonely wank in his barracks. His fingers didn't feel right. His fantasies never felt like details in the books. Nothing felt like you.

Once he got back, Price had to fight back a boner as the anticipation took over him. He went through countless cigars trying to get his mind on something else. The 141 Boys knew something was up. Soap had to control the intrusive thoughts to ask if you were waiting naked when Price returned home.

Which he wasn't wrong. The moment Price came through that door he was already painfully hard. Before he could even open his mouth to greet you, you were on him like a fly to honey, attacking his neck with bruising kisses. Whispering the dirty dialog from one of the books made Price weak in the knees.

Thus was the beginning of your roleplay sex.

Your playtime is always different. Numerous scenarios with one thing in common: Mind blowing sex.

Price would play a royal guard, and you, the prince. A prince in a loveless engagement to a princess. A guard pleading loyalty as he rides the prince on the royal throne.

A grade slipping college student fucking his teacher in an empty classroom for extra credit. Blowjows underneath desks replaces the outdated method of study and paying attention to lectures.

A hunter who falls in love with a werewolf he's supposed to kill. The wolf is just a dumb puppy who needs to be told what to do. With a collar around his neck, ready to be tugged at and the willingness to please his master, puppy soon becomes skilled at lapping at master's hole.

A rowdy rockstar and his stressed out manager. The musician needing to burn off the adrenaline after the show and the poor management needing the stress fucked out of him. The real show was played backstage. The manager put on quite the proformance, his deep moans sounded much better than your singing.

A sex therapist that prefers to take on a more hands-on approach. That skilled tongue was used more than just giving advice.

Or lastly, a priest beguiled by a gorgeous sinner. Guilt was all he felt but it felt like true heaven. God would forgive any sin if he showed true repentance, right? Wouldn't Jesus have died for nothing if we didn't sin?

Sure, some where terrible written and some were written by women with a fetish for gay men. Seeing you act out the scenes without missing a beat or breaking out into laughter while you quoted the dirtiest and most ridiculous things.

You'd remember every dirty word uttered. Every scenario memorized. Price was starting to understand what those white women on TikTok saw in those fucking books. It was just too bad they couldn't live it out like he could.

[cloudypariah]

How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies.

- The creation of the board (and its subsequent discovery)

Summary: Step One: host a brainstorming session with your teammates on how best to kidnap your future abductee. Step Two: have said abductee show up half an hour into the session and begin correcting your entire plan. Step Three: realise at the beginning of their impromptu presentation the target has absolutely no idea that they’re the target. Step Four: fail anyway.

Pairing: Dark!Poly!Task Force 141 x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Content tags: Dark content - Discussions around kidnapping, tense situations. If this is not your cup of tea, please go and find something different might better suited your palate. This is an 18+ fic meaning minors do not interact with this work. No one has permission from me to repost, copy or translate my work. No one has my permission to put my work into any AI source.

Notes: This is my first foray into the COD fandom and will be the first part in a dark comedy series. Please let me know what you think. Not proofread very well, sorry for any mistakes! Thanks for the motivation @live-love-be-unique !

Link to Task Force 141 masterlist / Link to COD masterlist

Captain John Price likes to think he knows his men well enough to trust them when his back is turned. Now that itself doesn’t necessarily mean knowing each and every one of their dirty secrets - he definitely wouldn’t come out smelling like fresh daisies if any number of his were revealed - but it does mean that he has the awareness to recognise that they all share one particular secret.

He sees it in the way Lieutenant Riley’s body language shifts when you give him his medical forms to look over, your consideration at offering him the option to disclose only certain personal information making the reserved soldier relax just enough to offer you a low thanks, accompanied with a stare that stretches on for a few moments longer than considered socially polite.

It’s also so amazingly obvious with Sergeant MacTavish. John’s surprised everyone else misses the way Soap’s smile takes a little longer to fade after departing for yet another mission, your swift congratulations on completing yet another physiotherapy appointment - “ Keep it up the good work big guy” - leaving the Scotsman floating on cloud nine damn near until the plane lands.

And how could he forget Sergeant Garrick? The man’s quick to change his tune and focus up, but the captain has observed Kyle absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, thumb gingerly stroking the spot where your palm was only moments before, your figure long gone as you retreat down the corridor to where you came from.

No, Jonathan Price doesn’t miss a thing about his men. And it only takes two weeks and a long chat in the corner booth of the bar one quiet night - sans you or Laswell - before somehow his place becomes the meeting point for an unusual, though not unwelcome, topic - you.

More specifically, how to keep you.

The wooden shit box of a sports bar was where the first two facts were confirmed amongst them: 1. Every single one of the 141 men wanted you for themselves, but they weren’t above sharing. 2. You weren’t worth killing each other over, not when there was a much easier solution staring them in the face.

John’s house became the go-to place to discuss fact number three - They needed a plan.

It was Gaz who initially suggested the whiteboard after numerous interjections from Ghost and John; from everything to how to keep this from Laswell, to deciding which of your usual hangouts would provide them with the best opportunity to commence your “relocation”, to how to delicately but firmly explain said "relocation" to you once it was complete. Kyle loves his brothers in arms and never regrets a moment where his life is on the line if it means saving any one of them, but his patience began to wear thin when Soap got bored and started using goddamn paper planes instead of words to get his point across. At that Price finally relented and bought the damn thing.

Now, John was expecting you to pop by his place on Wednesday night to drop some papers off. A perfect opportunity, were it not for the fact that the gentlemen were still disagreeing on where to relocate you. However, it’ll allow you to grow more comfortable with him while he has some alone time with you, your presence like a balm on a wound - soothing and necessary (at least to him).

He had been looking forward to seeing you… tomorrow. So when you turn up not just on the doorstep but in the middle of the bloody hallway in his own bloody home halfway through the 141 “guys night”, his secondary action of shitting bricks quickly overrides his primary instinct to eliminate the threat.

He’s on his way back from the bathroom when he sees you standing, familiar folders firm in your grasp - fucking hell, is that his spare key too? - and a sour expression on your pretty face.

Your eyes narrow further when you spot him, striding over with fury rolling off you in small waves. “Captain Price, I know you did not leave these dossiers on my desk just before the end of my work day with a note stating they all need to be completed by the end of the work day.”

John’s senses are briefly overwhelmed by you being so close to him, the sight of you angry having a different effect on him than what you had originally intended. He’s never seen it before, and his hand twitches when you’re less than a foot away - fluctuating adrenaline or the desire to reach out and hold you, he’s not sure which is more prevalent. 

He always forgets to not be so obvious around you, but it isn’t as though you usually notice. (He’s not sure if the thought should make him feel sad or grateful.)

The sounds of his men arguing in the background, merely the next room over, are enough to bring reality crashing down hard.

His voice is deliberately loud and stalwart when replies. “You can’t be here.”

“Tough shit. Your lads night can wait.” You lean past him to the origin of what your gut was telling you was the sounds of the remaining 141 members quarreling. It’s easy to slip past Captain Price once your mind is set, the push of files against his chest preventing him from reacting for a few seconds - all the time you need to move down the hallway to where everyone else is bound to be.

John is quick to rush behind you, the arguing noises having swiftly changed to near cartoon-like crashes just moments before you enter the room. 

Ghost has migrated to the corner of the sitting area, standing as stiff as a fucking nutcracker, a mountain of crumpled notes and paper planes spilling out from between his arms. (His mask is still on thank god because it’ll hide exactly how caught out he feels, and if there’s one thing Simon Riley cannot stand it’s feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar). His eyes instinctually watch your every move, waiting for your reaction.

Both of your gazes drift to the other side of the room, with neither of you failing to notice how the couch cushions are strewn widely across the space, (with one being stuck on top of a bookshelf for some odd reason) to find not one, but two soldiers gecko’d to the standing whiteboard.

Their demolitions expert is currently splayed out on the left side of the board and desperately grabbing the top of its metal frame, his stomach pressed into the cold porcelain and a left leg hitched up in a poor attempt to conceal the incriminating writing.

Price’s protégé is in a similar state. Dear Gaz has his back against the right side, with his arms outstretched to - much like Johnny - cover as much of their group planning as possible, a coloured marker clasped in each fist.

Two deers in headlights.

The sight of his task force is enough to bring back flashbacks of his original conversation with Kate about bringing these men together because Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck was he thinking?

There are a few moments when nobody moves or dares to breathe…

… except for you, of course.

You waste no time walking over to the two youngest members of the 141 as you attempt to shove them off the board. “Move,” you demand, palms pushing firmly against their sides. “I want to know what’s so important to everyone.” When they refuse, you do your best to stare at them, pleading with a pleasantly soft, “Please.”

Yeah, they both do what you say with ease when they hear that, giving you enough space to take in the somewhat smudged scribbles.

You miss the signal John gives Simon, the Ghost moving closer to your position as John quietly locks the door, and when your attention is drawn back to the board after the other two move you also miss all of the knowing looks shared behind your back. This was very far from ideal, but how can they recover from this?

They hope you understand that whatever comes next, they didn’t plan for it to start this way.

Kyle and John call your name but you ignore them, still processing the information written in front of you.

Johnny flexes his hands, preparing for the worst as you step back and say, “This is… bullshit.”

Every single member stops. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

Turning to face the group, you scoff. “I’m not even kidding. Firstly, you’re using guys' night to work, which is horrible for your mental and emotional health. And you should all know better.”

Four sets of brows furrow in united confusion. You don’t let that deter you from continuing, your arms gesturing haphazardly at the whiteboard. “Secondly, this is hands-down one of the worst brainstorms I have ever seen. This is not cohesive in the fucking slightest. Garrick, mark me.”

Kyle chokes on his spit, his brain short-circuiting before he sees your fingers wiggling at one of the markers he’s holding. The sergeant promptly gives it to you.

Your free hand takes turns pointing at everyone else in the room, a verbal command of, “sit down” directed at each man also. Dumbly and cautiously they all do. Ghost places himself at the end of the couch nearest the entrance, John strategically chooses a spot between yourself and the kitchen, and Soap and Gaz sit closest to you, where the two of them can hear you muttering under your breath as you draw what appears to be a massive cloud shape in the middle of the board.

Once completed, you fill your shape in with the word ‘TARGET’ and slam your free hand against the board. No one flinches, but if one were to look closely there would be some eyes widening in response. Johnny swears he sees one of your eyelids twitch.

“So,” you call out, “what do we know about the target?”

There are not only wide eyes looking at you, there are full glances exchanged between your audience.

“Seeing as you had the nerve to not invite me in your little meeting while keeping me on overtime” - Kyle and John squirm at that, and your finger makes a little circle - “we are going to be working on this project together. With all due respect, I’m not asking.”

Surely not…

And it’s when Captain John Price reviews the writing left over from the others that he realises Kyle and Johnny did one thing right during their clusterfuck of a coverup.

They managed to erase your name.

… you have absolutely no idea you are the target.

 A piece of writing far in the coroner catches your attention, and your shoulders slump. “The target likes knitting and ‘The Karate Kid’. In another life we would have been the best of friends.” A dramatic sigh leaves you, “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to give you some insight into the mindset of this individual. Any questions?”

Four hands shoot up.

Rubbing your hands together with glee, a maniac smile grows on your face. “Excellent.”

[cordeliawhohung]

ignore this if it doesn't make sense buuut

we know what mafia!simon can get for shy!reader. so what would shy!reader buy for mafia!simon or what would she do to make him happy?

!!!!!! such a sweet question!

it's not a secret that mafia!Simon is very much into touching. it's his love language, and not even in like the pervy way either. he doesn't mind pda, always wanting to hold her hand, kiss her, etc. shy!Reader is obviously, well, shy lmao. freaks out about stuff like that, what people would think, is overly self-conscious, things of that sort, so obviously trying to fill part of his love language without compromising herself too much was a challenge!

until she figured out this man loves her cooking. the first time she cooked something for him, the man was grunting the entire time, hardly speaking because he was too busy shoveling food into his mouth, and still went back and got seconds. so she cooks for him regularly, and even looks into meals that fits with his work out regiment (because this man still boxes and goes to the gym lmfao).

every now and then she dabbles with baking, just simple things like cookies or cupcakes, and he swears she's trying to kill him. light butter cream frosting, airy cake, thick breaded cookies; how is he supposed to resist that?

"it's like you're tryna fatten me up to eat me."

now i'm imagining her packing a lunch or a dinner for him when he's gotta spend a late night at the club or something like that and packing a cute note inside!!! something with little heart doodles and x's and o's. god forbid if the others (soap and kyle lmao) see him because they will bully him relentlessly :) he keeps his favorite notes taped to his fridge

they're so cute it's killing me <3

[writingoddess1125]

Nerdy S/O 🎮 📖 🧛

The guys and their uniquely nerdy S/Os who they love!

Soap 🧼, Ghost 👻 , König 👑 x GNREADER

Soap + Cosplayer 🧛

• Johnny had met you when you were both at a bar, You typically werent too into the bar scene but it had lead you to meet the man of your dreams.

• Afterall who could resist that Scottish Charm?

• It had been 3 years of bliss shared between the two of you-

• Johnny knew from the beginning you were- quite the Nerd. He found it cute however! Even if he didn't understand it fully-

• Often getting back from deployment in the nice flat the two of you shared to see you dancing around listening to music while stitching some sort of fabric together.

• Johnny spent hours with you, Enjoying the craft of building your costumes and often wanting to join in the fun. Even if he knew nothing of the media this was involved in.

• "What is this costume for again?" He asked setting down the freshly cut foam to the side while you glued your peices down on some fabric-

• "This my Darling is a costume from the 1999 Mummy with Brendan Fraser" You say cheerfully as you stitch the costume.

• "Movie?-" He questions and you comfirm "Movie-"

• Will eventually start watching the Movies and TV shows with you. And gets really really into them as well- Turns into a big fantasy guy

• "Love- I want to cosplay with you at the next convention.. I wanna be a elf" He said shyly

• You damn near cry at this and hug him "Oh Honey I've waited to hear those words!"

• "I need to do the inseam-" You mumbled as you measured inbetween the man's leg to get the measurment.

• Will definitely want to roleplay in the bedroom. Feels like it has opened a new door for him and is more then excited-

• Comes in dressed like Han Solo with a wide grin- Fake gun and all on his hip as you laid on the bed in your own costume. "I do believe that you ruined my last smuggling trip- Sorry darling but you'll be paying for that another way"

• Will show you and his costumes off when he visits friends on base. Showing the last convention the two of you went to together- if anyone gives him shit he has no issue punching them.

Simon + Book Nerd 📖

• You and Simon had been married for years, the famed Lieutenant knowing from when he first met you that you were a book fiend

• It was a major part of you- And one he adored

• Simon was quite the reader himself but truthfully not as deep as you. Havibg seen you so engrossed in stories before that you forgot to eat.

• But books were also how you showed love.

• "Love, I know this is a long deployment for you.. so I want to send these with you so you don't get bored" You say softly, holding up a 3 book series to your husband as he prepared for his job.

• Of course he accepted and read them while on his missions.

• Enjoys whatever you give him, be it fantasy, sci-fi, historical fiction or what have you. He will always read them through and even take a note so he can talk to you about them later.

• Will also love when you read outloud to him

• "Honey I just got this series I want you to check out" You called out excitedly as you rush to your husband who is watching his Football (Soccar) game and sees you holding the collectors box. Calmly mutes the TV and gestures for you to sit and read out loud to him the new book.

• He had built you a library and Many shelves to store your hoard of books and got you a special couch to sit in and read.

• Does have a deep appreciation for Spicy Books and will happily warm up to prepare for your want to experiment.

• He had gotten you the book 'Den of Vipers' and had heard from the book store owner it was a spicy one- so he waited.. It took a few hours but you came into the bedroom flushed face. Simon having already stretched and was ready-

• He also knew about your fanfiction even if you were embarrassed and secretive about it. Occasionally you'd let him read over your work, which he would appreciate and genuinely enjoy the stories.

• Also will grab books while he is on his deployments or secretly read your fics on his phone.

• Buring a Mission he is stuck in a book store, as he is ready for the attack he spots one of the fantasy books you had wanted that had sold put before you got your little hands on it... so he slips it into the vest of his armor and goes on with his mission.

• Saved him 50£ anyway-

König + Gamer 🎮

• When you and König start dating he is a bit surprised by you playing video games.

• He was taught it was something children do- so to see his Partner playing is a big surprise for him.

• However you help him open his eyes to the media and introduce him to the fun interactive stories and escapism that video games help you with.

• This peaks his interest and ask to join your gaming adventure.

• "Schatz are you sure about this?" He ask softly as you get him to play some Mario Kart 8. He's nervous at first but after a round his competitive spirit comes out and gets very good quickly- Cheering loudly as he wins and gets first place.

• After this a massive gaming room is built in his home for the two of you to share. König now understanding why you love games so much and supports you hobby fully.

• Even if it's a very expensive one.

• The two of you having funny cute arguments over the games subtitles or language.

• "I want it in German with English subtitles so I can practice" You wine as König shakes his head- "Liebling I want English with German subtitles"

• This often ending with the two of you giggling together over it and a passionate session between the two of you.

• Will support you wanting to decorate the home with some gamer merchandise and even gets his own to throw in there.

• Will eventually start playing some other games without you. Something to help him relax and take his mind off things-

• Mainly Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing are his favorite at the moment. It helps him unwind after his deployments

• After the hardest of deployments will just want to relax with you and watch you.

• Will love to just have the two of you cuddle in a warm bed and watch game play videos if you guys aren't up to playing a certain game. YouTube being a wonderful addition

• Will download some games on a burner smartphone he keeps and play it in his bunks. If it's multi-player will invite you to join him so the two of you can spend this time together even at a far distance.

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you please do 141 where the reader and them are talking about there Highschool years and like “I would have dated you in high school “ type thing THEN they see a pic of reader in high school (prom,first day,or any thing for that time) SHES FINE FINE like imagine 90s type vibe, then they remember what they looked like in that same year and they say back “ IM glad u didn’t meet me then cause u would have no interest “ AND SHES STILL FINE FINE where they think it’s a recent photo!

idk know what I’m doing I just got an idea and your my favorite writer so I wanted to let you know!!!!

YOU ARE LOVED!!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️

thᥱ most bᥱᥲᥙtιfᥙᥣ ᥕomᥲᥒ ιᥒ thᥱ ᥕorᥣd

Task Force 141 + fem! reader

I ABSOLUTELY love this idea!!!! Like as soon as they see your pictures they‘re like "damn. I‘m glad we didn’t meet back then because she would definitely reject me and on top of that probably make fun of me." I‘m sorry but especially with Soap😭 This dude probably had the craziest hair back then (he still has but we love him for it).

Also I‘m so thankful for your kind words🥺🥺 They really mean so much to me and you just lighten up my entire day<33 I wish I could hug you right now☹️ Remember that you’re also always loved by someone and MEEE🫶🏻🫶🏻💘💘

Thank you really so so much 🌸💕💕

‿︵‿︵ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ・❉・ ʚ˚̣̣̣͙ɞ‿︵‿︵

Simon Riley

It was a quiet evening at the your apartment . Simon found himself reminiscing about your high school years. As the conversation flowed, nostalgia filled the air.

"You know, Y/N, if we had met in high school, I would have totally dated you." Simon said with a playful smirk, leaning back against the wall.

You chuckled, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. "Oh, really? And why is that?"

Simon's gaze turned thoughtful as he recalled those distant memories. "Well, you are always confident and stunning. I would have been a nervous wreck around you."

Grinning, you teased, "Are you saying you weren't attractive back then?"

Simon chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair. "Let's just say my teenage years weren't my finest hour. I had an awkward sense of fashion, let’s not talk about my hair... Definitely not the smooth operator you see in front of you today."

Curiosity piqued, you both began reminiscing about those high school days. Simon had a mischievous idea and suggested pulling out old photo albums to see just how different you both were.

Rummaging through the dusty boxes, you stumbled upon a photo of your younger self. It was a picture from prom, in your beautiful dress. You were radiant, your smile lighting up the frame. Simon's eyes widened as he took in the sight.

"Damn, Y/N, you were fine then, and you're still fine now!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise.

You laughed, not realizing his little trick. "Well, thank you, Simon. I try my best."

Simon's expression shifted, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. "You know, seeing this picture reminds me of why I'm glad we didn't meet back then. I don't think I would have stood a chance with you. You would've rejected me in a heartbeat."

Your smile softened as you leaned in closer. "Simon, you underestimate yourself. I would have seen the incredible person you were, braces and all. It's the person you are inside that truly matters."

Simon's eyes locked with yours, and a genuine smile graced his face. The air was filled with a sense of camaraderie as you both laughed at the absurdity of it all.

As the evening came to a close, Simon made a decision. He carefully tucked the photo of your younger self into his pocket, a keepsake of a moment he cherished. You remained unaware of this little secret, but somehow, deep down, you felt that this memory would always be a part of your bond.

John MacTavish

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and John and you were lounging on the couch, flipping through old photo albums. The nostalgic memories flooded your minds as you reminisced about your high school years. The room was filled with laughter and teasing as you playfully pointed out your younger selves in various snapshots.

John looked at a picture of you, radiating confidence in a stunning prom dress. He couldn't help but stare in awe, captivated by your beauty and timeless charm. With a grin, you turned to him and said "You know, John, I would have totally dated you in high school."

John's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at your words. He never expected you to make such a bold statement. "Really?" he asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief in his voice.

You nodded, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh, absolutely. You are the mysterious and brooding type. I was drawn to that kind of intensity back then."

A flicker of doubt crossed John's face as he remembered his own high school years. "I'm glad you didn't meet me then" he said, his voice tinged with self-deprecation. "I had this crazy hair phase, and trust me, you would have immediately rejected me."

You chuckled, playfully swatting his arm. "Come on, John. Show me that picture. I'm sure it couldn't have been that bad."

John hesitated for a moment, then reached for another album. He turned to a page and revealed a photograph of himself, his hair styled in an over-the-top, eccentric manner that seemed to defy gravity. His expression was a mixture of embarrassment and amusement as he looked at his younger self.

You burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your stomach. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to compose yourself. John couldn't help but join in, the embarrassment fading as he found joy in sharing this memory with you.

Once the laughter subsided, you looked at him with a smile. "John, you have no idea how much I would have loved to meet that version of you. That hairstyle is absolutely cute!"

John's face softened, his heart swelling with affection for you. "You're incredible, you know that?" he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Even if I looked like a total goofball, you would still find a way to make me feel special."

You reached out and took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "That's because I've always seen the amazing person you are, regardless of how you looked or what hairstyle you had."

John leaned in and gently kissed your forehead, his love for you evident in his eyes. "I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side," he whispered and kissed you on the lips.

John Price

You and John sat side by side on the couch, flipping through an old photo album filled with memories from your high school years. The two of you had decided to take a nostalgic trip down memory lane. You couldn't help but smile as you stumbled upon a particular photograph that brought back a flood of memories.

"Oh my gosh, John, look at this!" you exclaimed, pointing to a picture of yourself at the high school prom. You were dressed in a stunning vintage dress.

John's eyes widened as he gazed at the photograph, taking in your breathtaking beauty. "Wow, you were absolutely stunning" he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "If I had known you back then, I would've also been head over heels for you."

A playful grin spread across your face. "Oh, really? So you're saying you would've dated me in high school?"

John chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I probably would've been too intimidated to ask you out. Plus, I had a weird sense of style back then. Trust me, you wouldn't have been interested."

Curiosity piqued, you leaned closer, showing him the photograph of yourself. "Well, let's see if that's true" you challenged him.

John's eyes widened even further as he looked at the picture. "Wait a minute, is this recent? You look exactly the same!"

You burst into laughter, your heart warming at his genuine surprise. "No, John, this is me in high school. That's why I said I would've dated you back then."

He let out a low whistle. "Well, damn. I definitely lucked out then."

You playfully nudged his shoulder. "Come on, John, you can't be that bad. Let me see your high school days."

John reluctantly handed you another photograph from the album, showing his younger self with a mischievous grin. He sported a rather peculiar outfit that seemed to be a mixture of different styles. It was elegant and had a touch of cowboy style, mixed…

You burst into laughter once again, unable to contain yourself. "Oh, John! I can't believe this was your fashion sense back then."

He smirked, looking slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I had a bit of a weird phase. Trust me, if we had met during those years, I would've been instantly rejected."

You shook your head, still laughing. "Oh, John, you have no idea. Even with that fashion sense, I would've been all over you."

His eyes sparkled with affection as he pulled you into a tight embrace. "Well, I'm glad we met when we did, then. I wouldn't change a thing about how we found each other."

You smiled, savoring the warmth of his embrace. "Me neither, John. We're perfect for each other, weird fashion choices and all."

Kyle Garrick

Kyle and you sat side by side on the couch, surrounded by photo albums from your high school days. You decided to take a trip down memories from back then together. As you flipped through the pages, looking at the good old times, you stumbled upon a photo of yourself from prom night.

"Oh, wow!" You exclaimed, holding up the photo for Kyle to see. "Look at me back then. I can't believe how much has changed."

Kyle's eyes widened as he took in the sight of you in your beautiful prom dress, radiating a timeless beauty. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as he thought back to his own high school days.

"I would have dated you in high school" you mused, oblivious to the effect the photo had on Kyle. "You're such a great guy, I would have definitely dated you."

A small smile played at the corners of Kyle's lips as he stared at you, captivated by your words. "Thank you love, but believe me, you're better off not having met me back then. I was a total nerd."

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "What are you talking about? I‘m sure you were cute."

Kyle's expression turned pensive as he reached for another photo album and opened it to a picture of himself from the same year as your prom. His hair was a mess, his glasses too big for his face, and his clothes screamed "geek."

"See?" Kyle pointed to his photo, his voice laced with self-deprecating humor. "I was a freak. If we had met in high school, I would've been immediately rejected. You would've never given me a second glance."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and then you burst into laughter, shaking your head. "Baby stop. You look adorable!!"

He blinked, unable to comprehend your words. "Wait, what?"

"I'm serious!" You continued to laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you. "You're looking at this picture like it's some embarrassing relic, but all I see is the person I fell in love with. Baby Kyle looks so so cute here"

Kyle's gaze softened as he absorbed your words. The weight of his insecurities began to lift, replaced by a newfound confidence in your unwavering love. "I‘m 17 here love… not 6…"

Placing the photo album aside, you leaned in closer to Kyle, intertwining your fingers with his. "High school was just a phase, but what we have now, this incredible relationship, is what matters. I love you, Kyle Garrick, then, now, and always."

Kyle smiled, his heart overflowing with love for you. "I love you too, more than words can express."

[nixie-writes]

I had asked this before

Human alastor with a s/o who comes from a greedy rich family in New Orleans in the 1920s, but they also fall in love with him.. and when they find out about his killings, they help him hide the bodies. (?)

Hello, I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this!! I had a lot happen in a short amount of time and I got caught up in it but I'm back to writing for good now!

-mafias and gangs weren't uncommon in the roaring 20's. You see them everywhere - in clubs, bars and on soap boxes preaching their beliefs, almost like a religion to them.

-you came from one such family. A family of rich bastards who looked down on others from beneath their nose. From the moment you were born you never had to beg for anything, it was always yours.

-one thing you found yourself vying for was the attention of your boyfriend, Alastor. He was so busy with his radio shows he forgot to eat, so you'd bring him lunch. He always returned the favor with a peck on the cheek and an offer to play a song for you.

-lord knew you loved him but you wanted more than a spared glance when he was working. And why did he slip away at night when he thought you were asleep? You began sleuthing, using the riches you had at your disposal to learn as much as you could about the man as possible.

-it was maybe 2 in the morning one night, he was gone yet again and you couldn't sleep. The home you shared was too stuffy and hot, so you chose to take a stroll down a sidewalk, looking through your papers of evidence, trying to draw a clear conclusion as to why he acted so strangely.

-it was on your walk back home, tiredness finally settling in, that you heard a blood curdling shriek cut off by a gagging noise, then nothing. You stood still as a statue, as though you were sculpted by ice under the moonlight.

-you were too terrified to make a move for cover behind a hedge, you could only watch as a slim, tall figure dragged the limp body of an older man out into the moonlight, heaving as he did so. What took you by surprise wasn't the fact that the dead man was your boss, what grabbed your attention was the one dragging his body. It was Alastor.

-looking both ways to ensure no one could see you, you rushed up to Alastor, whispering his name in a hurried voice as you approached, praying he recognized you before you met the sharp end of his blade. Thankfully he realized who you were before he struck out in defense.

-"Alastor, what in god's name are you doing?! You could get caught!" you scolded him in a hushed voice. You weren't much bothered by the fact your dead boss was his doing, you were more concerned about him getting caught. Gripping the papers of evidence in your fists you realized it all made sense: the short interactions, slipping out at night, coming home in fresh clothes... He was a killer. And you'd be damned if anyone else found out.

-you took the shovel from Alastor's hand and pointed behind a hedge. "We've got to hide this body before it's found; are you going to help or stand there?" you asked him, pointing to a row of bushes. Snapping out of his stupor he nodded his head, hauling the bloody mass behind the bushes. You got to work digging the hole while Alastor made quick work of cleaning up the blood trail he'd left behind. When you were both done you kicked your boss' body into the hole. You never much liked him, and almost considered what Alastor had done to be a favor. You took one of Alastor's bloody napkins and wiped your hands.

-before you could turn to walk back to the home you shared Alastor grabbed you by the shoulders. "Dear, let me be honest; I've been doing this longer than I've known you, and if you risk me being caught I'm afraid I'll have to take you out of the picture. Can I trust you to keep this little secret between us?"

-maybe it was the sadism buried deep inside you, maybe you were a little gone yourself. You nodded your head solemnly, sticking out a pinkie finger. "We're partners, Alastor. You'd be more efficient if we worked together," you promised him. He hugged you gently, then took your bloodier hand. "Shall we go home and wash this off?" he inquired. You smiled up at him. "Yes, let's."

[velvetures]

Helluuuu!! I saw your post about sending requests and mine is actually a really simple one cause I don't have a creative but I just though about a ghost hurt/comfort story

Little Secrets

A/N: So this is very self-indulgent... I hope you don't mind. I think there are quite a few people who struggle with taking meds for depression/anxiety or feel guilty for it. Me included. Hopefully, this helps everyone feel valid, seen, and supported. Summary: Task Force 141 is where you belong. But it doesn't make the work easy by any means. You finally get the help you need and try hiding it. Ghost notices and is the one who sets you straight. T/W: depression/anxiety themes, medication, guilt, insecurity of reader, fem reader, and I'm sure I've missed something, so let me know.

photo by: pedropcl

You couldn't keep fighting it for any longer.

Staring down at the two orange bottles of pills in your hands and the directions packets in the other, you felt like you'd failed despite the psychiatrist you'd spoken to reassure you that this was certainly not a failure. Your brain kept refuting that this was a step in the right direction. Working as a professional and legal murderer should've meant you had no feelings. No failures of regulating your emotions or having such miserable trouble falling asleep at night. That nice woman who'd put the prescription in for you said it would take two to three weeks to see a difference. It felt like no time, yet an eternity all at once. Relief felt so far away, but insignificant compared to other people you often compared your personal struggles with.

You weren't homeless, you could eat without worrying, you had clothes and shoes all of the time, and never needed to wonder if you would have enough money to take care of your responsibilities. Education hadn't been a problem, you were well-respected despite being a woman in such a male-dominated field and kept up with your work extremely well. At least, when your brain decided to deny that you had the ability to do anything. Or... repeatedly try to convince you that nothing you did was worth a damn or actually made you useful. Vicious cycles of fighting with your own brain, knowing that you shouldn't feel or think this way but have no strength or way of stopping. None of the "hacks," meditations, or affirmation bullshit touched that panicky feeling you had mere minutes after laying down at night.

The pills shaking around in your hands were your last resort. And they made you feel so fucking embarrassed as you tucked them in your pockets before entering back into HQ. Praying to god that none of the 141 would see you with them or hear that slight sound of them rattling in their bottles. By grace or luck, you were able to avoid all of them and got back to your quarters to stash them under your bed in a small ammo box repurposed for some personal belongings. The directions you'd thrown away on your drive back, just taking a picture of them for reference and ditching the paper copies so you wouldn't have to keep track of those.

"This better fucking help," You breathe out heavily to yourself.

Staring up at the ceiling and almost dreading having to take one tonight before bed and the other when you wake up the next morning. Daily reminders of how you couldn't be hard and cold like the others. Cool and collected like Gaz, confident like Soap, unaffected like Ghost, or just so very reliable like Price. It made you feel like the weak link needing support. You'd never needed it before, and within two years you'd suddenly realized that your own mind was winning in a fight you'd never even been aware of fighting in the first place.

Keeping all of them in the dark about this would be safest. If they didn't need to question your stability, then it wouldn't feel like such pressure to perform. And hopefully, after a few weeks, things might start to shift a little. Maybe enough to where you could begin sorting out the other problems without the image of a cluttered attic representing the state of your head. Taking care to not raise the alert of the 141 wouldn't be easy. Always noticing everything out of sheer training and sharpened instincts. Having no other good ideas... You just settled on doing everything you could to keep your little secrets under wraps.

In the following couple of days, you’d become adjusted to the routine of taking your medications on the surface level. While the one tasked with easing you anxiety and depression wasn’t going to take effect for quite a while longer the other -a sleeping aid- was definitely making a significant impact. You were able to actually fall asleep and stay that way, problem was, with a couple missions impending in the near future, you were getting concerned that if you took them when you were supposed to -on a schedule- that staying awake would be next to impossible. And if you didn’t take them at all… you didn’t want to deal with the consequences of breaking a much more healthy habit.

And the reason you were so worried about the missions was because of a reoccurring problem that the 141 began finding you falling victim to. Thankfully you were all on leave, making it a lot more acceptable, but they still began walking into different rooms around HQ to see you sleeping soundly. No matter the noise level, temperature in the room, or the space you’d fit yourself into. And no one was quite as intrigued with your sudden change in behavior was the Lieutenant.

Ghost liked things to have order, and often used regiment or habit as a very small form of comfort when he felt that his physical situation was one that could be trusted. And while the others just thought you’d found a new safety in HQ and enjoyed sleeping somewhere safe, Ghost could see that something much different was happening. Your sleeping wasn’t a new habit.

It appeared far too quickly, and you oftentimes didn’t look like you had much control over it. There had already been three times where he’d watched you fall asleep on one of the guys late in the evening without as much as a single attempt to fight the drowsiness. While Ghost didn’t like to think that he cared that much about you, he found himself paying even closer attention to you than he had before.

“There she goes…” Soap chuckled quietly, pointing to you on the couch; head laying in Captain Price’s lap, eyes closed and sleeping deeply with your arms tucked against your chest and lying on your side.

Price had a loving hand on your head, and had been idly petting your hair much like a father would despite being hardly of age to act it. Yet, Ghost felt that Price’s warmth towards you wasn’t the entire reason you had yet again fallen asleep before 11 o’clock. Purposefully he’d been keeping count, and this was the fifth time in a week. More than enough to raise alarm with the others… but he was still waiting silently for someone else to bring it up.

Price chuckled, glancing down at you. “I carried her to bed last time,” His pointed look at each of them was more than enough to guess what he was about to say. “Someone else needs to, otherwise you’ll be voluntold.”

Ghost internally groaned. Not only was that kind of behavior what made people soft, but it also made seeing through the mask of affection far more difficult. But before Soap or Gaz took initiative, the Lieutenant was up on his feet and approaching Price with every intention of being the one to take you back to your quarters. Looks got thrown around the room, and Ghost wasn’t stupid enough to not notice. It was the first time he’d gotten this involved, and there was certainly a spectacle of him picking you up carefully enough to not wake you.

Even though he was quite certain it would take a lot more to get you up than that.

Your door opened up into warm, glowing light from a little lamp you’d left switched on. He catches sight of your quilt on the bed and the little rug that made the polished concrete floors look so much less like the jail cell his own quarters resembled. The whole room smelled like you too. Sweet, and a lot like cinnamon rolls. Probably some type of candle or other smelly thing that you had thought was worth spending money on. Plenty more reasons added to the list of what separates the two of you. Debating your differences or the reason you preferred your quarters smelling like a bakery wasn’t his purpose for bringing you back to your room.

But even with laying you down on your bed and pulling the sheet and blankets over you, Ghost wasn’t seeing any of the possible signs that could lead him to better understand what was going on with you. Nothing is out of place though. Your room is pretty much spotless save for a sleep outfit you’d laid out for tonight, but wouldn’t have the chance to get changed into. And right about the time Ghost decided he’d been looking into your business too much, he bumped into your nightstand.

It knocked something off into the floor, bouncing under the bed and clattering a bit.

Ghost sighed, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling and having quite the frustrating experience of dealing with the sudden responsibility of making sure you were cared for. And that meant picking up whatever shit he’d been too busy watching you, to not knock somewhere under the bed he’d have to fish around and find. So he knelt down and pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flash to spot a tube of chapstick near the bed frame foot.

That, and an ammo box with your initials spray-painted onto the side of it.

Compared to everything else, it didn’t look like it fit amongst the rest of your things. And damn if Ghost didn’t have a sudden gut feeling that it was the reason you’d been sleeping so much. Why you’d been so out of character; Setting his teeth on edge. Reaching out… Ghost grabbed the lip balm and got back to his feet and sit it down on the nightstand where it couldn’t be as easily disturbed again.

“G’night kid.” His whispers fell on your unconscious ears as your Lieutenant dismissed himself from your room and back down to his own space.

***

You woke up in your bed after falling asleep somewhere unintentionally, for the who-knows-which time. Just like before, left in whatever clothes you’d been wearing and all of your blankets tucked up tightly around you. It left a lingering sense of disappointment in yourself. A little pinch of sadness rested like a rock in your stomach. You couldn’t really remember falling asleep to begin with. If you ended up keeping this little habit going, there’d be no doubt you would risk everyone on a mission falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

All because of this damn medicine.

One that you needed to grab from under your bed, and sneak into the kitchen so that you could have some water and food. You'd seen one of the tens of sites -during your research of your pills- that it would help digest it better... whether it actually worked or not wasn't something you could tell. But either way, a doctor had said it, and plenty of people taking it agreed. So you grabbed the pill, shoved it in your pocket, and went out into the kitchen to find a glass.

The floors felt cold even with socks on. And while a steady rain poured from the sky, you were more heated with concern that someone would notice you. Notice your sleeping issues, the way you crawled around in the morning for the first couple hours before the pills began working, or the shady way you hid your face in the refrigerator while swallowing down your medication. Surely the stuff had to be working since you'd not been struggling to get your work done throughout the day. But maybe that was the hard part. Taking pills to fix your head, but needing your brain to recognize whether or not you felt better.

"Oh god help me..." You mutter quietly, searching past Soap's energy drinks and Gaz's revolting jug of green juice to find something you could make for breakfast.

A cabinet door shutting behind you nearly stopped your heart. Seeing Ghost's dark eyes evaluating your reaction didn't make your heart rate drop back to normal either. In his typical day-off wear, a pair of well-worn jeans hung low on his hips and an old SAS t-shirt you'd seen him wear countless times stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. No doubt he'd been up since four. Quite certain he never actually slept, you wondered momentarily if he could benefit from the sleeping tabs you took. But quickly that got covered in anxiety when his eyebrows furrowed at your expression.

"Nothin' to eat?" He asked with a smooth voice, nodding to the refrigerator door you still held open dumbly.

"N-no... just a bunch of shit drinks." You reply, letting the door shut and noticing that he's got a brown bag with grease spots at the bottom corners. He just nods, looking off into the empty common room. Like he's trying to think of the right way to talk shit about both Gaz and Soap's bad choices in hydration.

"Sit. I've got enough to share." He jerks his head to the other side of the counter, turning that wide back to face you, leaving no room for argument.

You're swallowing down a thick bite of a bagel with god-knows-what in British style as Ghost brews tea. Silently making you a cup as well and standing stiffly with both milk and sugar on the table with the expectancy that you tell him how you like it. Not really unusual behavior from him... typically you get along just fine. But it's the fact that he watches so heavily.

"Just sugar, please." You say through a mouthful, covering your mouth with your hand.

He nods, but then starts putting the sugar in, mentioning something about fucking Americans before sliding the mug closer to you with a couple of fingers. Those damned eyes are just as observant as ever when you crumple up the finished sandwich before he even steeps his own drink. It made you nervous. Wondering if those pills were helping with your appetite too. The psychiatrist said it could; Something about feeling less stressed can give your body more opportunities to worry about being hungry. It was one of those facts on the medication packet you'd taken pictures of.

"Plans for today, L.t.?" You ask, sipping the tea, eyes grazing over the cup rim as you stare at the back of his head.

Mask rucked up high enough to eat and drink freely he nods his head. Leaning his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter

and resting one hand back.

“Yeah, you?”

You shake your head uselessly, “No. Maybe some laundry, but I’m not really even due. Wouldn’t be worth the water in the machine.”

He hums lowly, taking a drink of his tea. You can hear his swallow and a steady exhale of air that follows. Whether it’s him cooling off the steaming cup or just breathing, you cant tell. But it’s so steady that you actually mimic the tempo of it. Feeling the way it expands and contracts your lungs smoothly. Almost settling. Much like L.t. himself in that way. Terrifying until you see just how easily you can be around him. He’s always quiet and composed, even when there’s plenty of reasons not to be. You wished it was something you could do too. Maybe it would help the task force if you didn’t have to spend your energy keeping yourself at an unnoticeable level of consistent panic.

“Know anythin’ about cars?”

“No,” You’re quick to add on. “But I can learn fast.”

You watch the way the back of his mask slides down further and how his head tilts from side to side to settle it comfortably. Seeing the rest of the tea get dumped into the sink and his own sandwich bag get crumpled up. He’s silent as he washes the cups used and methodically cleans up after the pair of you. Even reaching across the counter to swipe a couple of crumbs off your t-shirt with a subtle nod to his own satisfaction.

“I like to hear it,” His hand palmed at the back of your neck. Gently tugging you off the barstool, and grabbing your jacket to toss it to you. “You’re comin’ with me then.”

Learning about cars actually became quite easy… when Ghost was teaching.

He explained the parts clearly, what his goal was, and didn’t get pissed when you handed him the wrong size socket wrench on the first try. On the other end, you’d only been working next to him -well, sitting on the wheel well- for a couple of hours when you started getting tired again. Almost helpless to your own frustration, you yawned. Fighting the sleepy feeling valiantly, and taking as detailed of mental notes as possible while watching Ghost’s greased knuckles tighten a bracket holding his master cylinder in place. Surely it was a cosmic joke. L.t. was fixing his brakes, and it felt like someone had stomped on yours.

“Hand me that,” He muttered, head stuck down in a gap between his engine block and alternator, still effortlessly pointing at a pair of channellocks. “And get in for me.”

You did as he asked, yawning one more time. Trying to blame your sudden exhaustion on the rain pelting the metal roof above you. Sliding into the back of the car and kicking off your boots to let them rest on the concrete floor outside of it. Attempting to be polite by not getting any dirty spots on the mats of the -very original- DB4 GT Aston he’d given you trust to even sit in. The leather seats help you glide into the driver’s seat, giving you a very slim look at Ghost through the gap in the hood.

“What exactly am I doing in here?” You ask, loud enough so that he can hear you.

It prompts his head to pop up from inside the engine bay, giving you those same, observant eyes from earlier. He looks back down, reaches in and taps on something harshly, then looks back to you.

“Roll it over.”

The car starts effortlessly. Practically purring under you, and echoing in the metal hangar making it sound all the more ruggedly beautiful. The whole car hums, and as you watch Ghost go back to focusing on something in front of him, you feel the heat come through the dash. It’s a perfect storm that lulls you even closer to sleep. A dangerous thing, considering the one man who could figure out what was wrong with you was the only one close enough to see. Hell, you weren’t even sure he didn’t already have it figured out, and wasn’t planning some way to tell Price about it and have you removed from the task force.

Unfit for duty.

You could just picture it now. Red pen in Price’s handwriting detailing your medications and how it was grounds from honorable discharge. Perfectly common in the military, but it felt like death in your hazy mind.

Not that you could fight it for much longer.

Because by the time the Lieutenant had finished his little bit of work, he came into sight of you, slumped over in his driver’s seat with you lips parted and your arms wrapped around yourself. Nothing short of a pretty sight for sore eyes. His car had damn near rocked you sleep, and for once, Ghost felt his heart couldn’t take the feeling of waking you up. He’d watched you all morning. Gauging your reactions, your lack of conversation, and the way you tried to keep from showing him any sign of being tired. Initially he wanted to be angry. Mad that you were hiding something from the team… from him. But seeing you sleeping there, he knew there was a fight in your head. A fight he knew well. So he left you there to sleep.

Turning off the engine to keep from filling the garage with exhaust, but pulling up one of the small space heaters close to the open door to keep you from getting cold while he worked. Making small adjustments, looking over future jobs, and even entertaining the thought of adjusting you over in the seat a little bit so that he could drive-test his handiwork. But that didn’t come, because Soap arrived with a grin on his face and no idea that you were sleeping.

Until Ghost told him to lower his goddamn voice.

“Sleepin’ again bonnie?” Soap chuckled to himself, looking at you before back to Ghost. “How long’s she been out?”

Ghost shrugged, “Few hours.” Really he hadn’t been watching the clock; far too comfortable to concern himself with it.

“I know you’ve been tryin’ to figure it out,” He started back, resting his hands on the hood. “Why she’s doin’ this so much. Have ya’?”

Ghost shook his head. “No. Not yet, but I’m not concerned.”

Johnny laughed softly, slapping Ghost on the back and beginning to walk away. “I never took you for the type to be worried, L.t.. But since you’re so reassurin’ I’ll take it t’heart.”

Any way Ghost came at that statement, he felt himself on the end of a losing battle. Maddening. Losing a fight wasn’t in his nature. Even if that meant he had to take some of the most fucked up torture to reach it. But what bothered him more than Soap knowing he was concerned about you was the knowing you weren’t okay.

Days out in the field were bad enough. But when they got worse, you were always there. And maybe you didn’t feel much better than he did, yet you always held softness. For everyone. For him. A kind of understanding and acceptance that wasn’t required, or exactly approved of in this line of work. You could keep a secret better than anyone he knew, and while he didn’t burden you with a single one of his, there was always the foreign comfort in being able to come with them if he wanted to. Hiding your own feelings wasn’t right though.

Selfish maybe. Thinking it was okay to linger in his own issues and still demand you give him yours.

But hiding behind his rank and position over you meant he could make that kind of decision without any questioning. A type of don’t fucking ask why that saved him face when carrying you from his car back to your room after you still hadn’t woken up nearly seven hours after passing out in his car. Shouldering open the door just like the night before, he expected to see nothing out of place. The same lip balm on the side table, the same rug, and maybe a different night shirt since you’d mentioned doing laundry. But there was something out of place. And damn if it didn’t make his gut twist up in a ugly kind of feeling. One he’d not felt in years, but certainly recognized as soon as he spotted the orange pill bottle sitting on your bed.

It made sense.

The sleeping. The different behavior. The reason you’d practically swallowed a whole fucking sandwich for breakfast when a cup of tea would typically be all you stomached until afternoon. And thank god… you were finally starting to look a bit fuller. Getting prettier every day, and he finally had something to place the blame on. All hesitations about you being able to handle the upcoming missions faded once he got a good look at the bottle. A medication, funnily enough, that Ghost was well-acquainted with. It wasn’t part of his own personal line-up in his medicine cabinet, but it was one he’d taken for a while.

You’d been in need of some help, and luckily for you, it hadn’t been nearly as hard for you to get help as it had been for him. Actually asking for what you needed -and while frustrating- decided to try and manage it without anyone else’s knowledge. Ghost couldn’t think of a better scenario. Realizing that the only thing he needed to know about was your side effects, and how to best manage them alongside you. Thank fuck you weren’t sick… well… sick in a way that someone couldn’t help you with. A way that he couldn’t help.

So, he sit down in on the floor in your room and waited.

Your wake-up call came in the form of sleepy eyes opening to see the massive silhouette of Ghost sitting in your floor. Dark eyes much softer than you’d expected, and a much more concerning sight of your pill bottle resting in his massive hand. A sight that sat you up ramrod straight in your bed, gasping softly and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell Price.” You sputter, rushing to get the words out of your mouth. Terrified that he’s going to get up and run out the door. Just sitting long enough to let you get a good look at his plan before exposing you to the Captain as some sick kind of satisfaction.

His eyes narrow a little, “Don’t tell Price?” His voice sounds hoarse. “Don’t tell Price?”

It sounds that much more broken and gritty when he repeats it. Standing up to meet you a bit more level, fisting the pills in his hand, and lightly making them shake. He can’t understand your fear. Completely blind to the fact that -much like him- you’re fearful of being shamed. Misunderstood for it. Or worse. Ghost can’t recognize why you’re looking at him as if he’s going to be the reason your life ends. When in all reality, you don’t see how he’s trying to figure out why you didn’t feel safe coming to him.

“You’ve been takin’ these… fallin’ asleep on everyone, and-and struggling for who knows how the fuck long…” It’s hard for Ghost to keep his tone even, thinking about it. “Why didn’t you tell me. you should’ve told me. Said something. Anything.”

Caving in on itself, your chest burns. Eyes locked on his and scanning every confusing moment of emotion and each shift as it comes and goes.

“You wouldn’t…”

Ghost takes a fast step closer, “I wouldn’t what?” His hand drops the pills on the bed and quickly grabs your face, soft fingers pressing into your jaw. “I wouldn’t get it? I wouldn’t do what you needed me to? Wouldn’t let you sleep on me?”

Your lips open in surprise at the softness in him. All of him. The gentleness of his fingers, how his eyes lay silkily on you. Even his voice, falling so softly despite it’s rough tone and deep sound, feels like he’s terrified of you being scared away from him. Like that gentle hold on your face is all he can manage, and he’d rather do anything other than let you pull away from it.

“You have to know…” he starts weakly. “You have to know that - that I would do… anything you needed me to. Anything to make this easier for you. Even somethin’ small, I’d do it for you, honey.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated 🤎

[lovebugism]

sleepover !! on the plane of dad!steve: what about steve finding out reader’s pregnant? they’re young enough for it to be a shock, but established relationship or casual hookup is up to you

i hereby name this the first installment of my dad!steve blurb series: the "crazy little thing called love" universe &lt;3

By all accounts, you and Steve did everything right.

Sure, you got married pretty young, but after surviving the end of the world four separate times, you thought you were deserving of the rapid elopement. You moved into a little apartment outside of town shortly after, working like dogs until you could afford a down payment on one of those pretty houses people put in magazines. 

Neither of you minded that it was in the middle of the suburbs — that it was “expected” of the Harringtons to live within white picket fences. You were just grateful you didn’t have to live in his vacant childhood home that his parents were kind enough to offer as a present for a wedding they didn’t attend. Steve was more than happy to let the place rot. 

It takes your entire first year of marriage to fully decorate the place. 

The pool in the backyard is lined with white and yellow striped lounge chairs. The living room is more plants than furniture. The kitchen cabinets are painted green to match the tile in the bathroom. And the bedroom’s got a gallery of photos of the both of you on one side and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase on the other — Steve stores his vinyls on the upper shelves and you stash your books on the lower ones.

You’re finally getting settled into your new life in your new house when you realize your period is late.

By two weeks, to be exact.

You don’t even realize it until you’re grocery shopping. 

Steve mans the cart while you strike through the list, as per usual. He’s trying to choose between two similarly scented body washes — accidentally squirting some on the tip of his nose in the process — when you return from the feminine hygiene section. 

You didn’t need tampons, you realized while standing in front of the vibrantly colored boxes, because you had a full pack at home for a period that never came.

Steve uses his sleeve to wipe the peppermint-scented soap from his nose when you return, looking pallid and ghastly — like you’ve just seen a ghost looking for period underwear. His hand slows before falling to his side. “You okay?” he cautions.

You nod before the words catch up to you. “Yeah… Yeah, I’m— Yeah.”

“You could at least try and sound a little more convincing,” he laughs as he puts both bottles back. Neither was worth getting soap up the nose, turns out. “C’mon. Just tell me. It can’t be that bad, right?”

In his head, you’ve just seen someone from high school. You saw an old friend or a mean girl who hated you for no reason or a boy you had a fling with. They tried to chat you up while you were deciding between regular and super tampons, and the unexpected encounter’s got you all shaken up.

The image is so vivid in his head, Steve could laugh just thinking about it.

You clear your tightening throat, inching closer to him when another couple enters the aisle. You whisper like you’re telling him a secret. “My, um… My period is late. By, like… a lot.”

Steve’s blood runs cold. His eyes go wide and he forgets how to breathe. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. That’s— That’s bad, huh?”

“Yes,” you agonize, breathless. “Yes, that’s bad. That’s very, very bad.”

“Alright, c’mon. I’m standing right here,” he half-jokes.

“I just got promoted. If I have to take a year off work for maternity leave, I’ll be right back where I started.”

Steve can sense the panic radiating off of you. It’s rising with vigor like a faucet turned on high in a stopped-up kitchen sink. Once it starts overflowing, it’s harder to stop. Despite his own distant worry, he tries to quell your own.

“You might not even be pregnant, right? So why are you already worrying about maternity leave?” he questions with a gentle laugh. He takes both your arms in his hands, squeezing you in a soft reassurance. “You’re right. You just got promoted. Maybe, you know— Maybe you’re just stressed out about it. That’s all.”

“Yeah… You’re probably right.”

“Let’s take a test first, huh? Then we can start panicking.”

He presses a kiss to the tip of your scrunched nose. 

You’re able to breathe again.

You pick out three different brands of pregnancy tests, shoving them quickly into your cart and hiding them beneath your groceries like sex toys. 

The boxes are stacked on top of each other as they move slowly on the conveyor belt at the checkout counter. The older woman with pink lips and pinker nails smiles as she scans them through.

“It’s exciting, huh?” she gushes, smacking bubble gum between her teeth.

“Yep,” you nod, though the word comes out slightly strangled.

Steve’s charming smile wavers. “Totally.”

The paper bags of groceries are quickly abandoned on the kitchen counter when you get home. You’re far more worried about the pregnancy tests, and Steve’s more concerned about calming you down.

He sits with you on your shared bed, back propped up against the headboard, with you in between his legs. He works your palm with his thumbs, smoothing out the tension you seem to hold there. His chest you lean upon rises and falls with deep, even breaths. 

You’re not sure how he can be so calm about this, but you’re almost comforted by it.

Almost.

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, you know?” Steve admits after a minute or more of pure silence. “If you were pregnant. Actually, you know, I think I’d be pretty happy.”

“I know you would be. It’s totally different for you.”

His brows furrow, though you’re not looking at him to see. “What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have to be the one to take off work. I’d have to drop my entire career, and I’m— I’m just getting started. It would change everything for me.”

Steve hums to himself. It’s not the pregnancy that scares you, not the birthing process or the late nights or the constant crying. It’s the thought that you wouldn’t have a life outside of it all.

“I’d be here to help you, you know?”

“I know,” you sigh softly, tiling your head on his shoulder so you can stare up at him. His chin juts closer to his neck so he can look down at you too. “But for a while, we both couldn’t work. For the first couple of years, probably. And we can’t get a babysitter because we wouldn’t have double incomes, and… I don’t know if I’d trust someone to take care of our baby anyway—”

Steve tries not to smile but completely and utterly fails. 

You’re already talking like it’s a for sure thing — you having a baby. His baby. 

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up too high.

“Hey. It’s okay,” he almost coos to end your panicked rambling. “We’ll figure it out, I promise. Let’s just take this one step at a time, yeah?”

You take a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Yeah…”

He waits for you in the bedroom while you check the tests in the adjoining bathroom. He offered to come with you, of course, but you told him you could do it on your own. You said they’d probably be negative anyway, that it likely was just stress delaying your period, and that you were just making a fuss over nothing.

It’s quiet for all of ten seconds.

“Fuck!” you shout, a bit louder than you intended, muffled from the bathroom.

Steve winces.

“I take it they were positive?” he questions when you storm back into the bedroom, completely and utterly frazzled.

“We’re so stupid,” you chastise, pacing ahead of the bed. “We’re so, so stupid.”

Steve finds it in him to laugh, still a bit dazed by the results. “We’re not sixteen anymore. We’re married. Married people have kids—”

“But I’m not ready yet!” you shout with wild eyes. Your hands flail at your sides as you gesticulate. “I wanted to wait, like, five years, at least. I wanted to be CCO before we even thought about having kids.”

“Things don’t go as planned sometimes, babe. We know that more than anybody.”

He was right. After saving the world, you shouldn’t be shocked by anything anymore. You were so jaded by the time spring of 1986 rolled around that Vecna hardly scared you. The thought of uprooting your life to raise a child frightened you far more than any alternate dimension and monsters without faces.

“I was just announced Vice President, Steve. No one else in company history has gotten to oversee the marketing department so quickly. You don’t know what it’s like in the firm, alright? It’s vicious. They’ll replace me the second I’m gone.”

“No, they won’t,” the boy says with so much confidence it almost makes you angry.

“You can’t know that—”

“I do know that, actually,” he argues as he slides to the edge of the mattress to meet you. His larger hands engulf your shaking ones. His honey eyes twinkle as they gaze up at you. “‘Cause they’d be idiots to let you go. ’S why I married you, yeah? There’s not another person in the whole world like you.”

“It’s just something I’ve always wanted, you know?” you sigh, less prickly than before, but still visibly terrified. “I’ve been dreaming about corporate savagery since I was twelve…”

Steve grins. “You can still have all that. I’ve seen you set monsters on fire — you can raise a kid and run a company. You’re the most badass person I’ve ever met.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“If I can’t work, we’ll be living on your income. I don’t… I don’t want you to have to work more than you already do.”

“I’ll be okay,” he promises, squeezing your trembling fingers. “You’ll take maternity leave for however long you need to, your coworkers will grovel hands and knees to get you back, and I’ll… I’ll stay home with the baby.”

Your face scrunches with worry. “Is that something you want?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a dad, you know? I can’t… I can’t really see myself doing anything else.”

Steve always thought he was broken in that way. His dad was already building businesses by the time he had a kid. He coached Steve to do the same — to graduate, to spend thousands on a degree, to have ten assistants by the time he was twenty-five. But Steve never wanted that. Not Ever. Especially not after the tenth near-death experience.

He just wanted to have a family of his own. 

He wanted to be with you and to be still. That was all. 

“Besides, you always said you wanted a house husband,” he jokes with a crooked smile.

That makes you laugh. A giggle sputters from your lips before you can stop it. The sunshine feeling overpowers your lingering worry.

“I would like that,” you concur with a sheepish grin. 

You can picture it so clearly — Steve with a baby, greeting you with a kiss when you get home, a spit-up towel thrown over his shoulder, hair mussed and jaw stubbled. It was something dreams were made of. 

Your potential reality. 

Your future.

“We’re gonna be the happiest damn people on the planet, babe.”

You lean down to kiss him. It’s hard, though, because you’re both smiling so wide.

Your laughs entwine, pressed into one another, as Steve flops back on the bed and drags you down with him. He rolls you onto your sides, one hand propping his head up and the other resting on your belly. 

My kid is in there, he marvels in his head. This is where my baby’s gonna grow.

“What do you think about Apple?”

Your brows pinch together. “What?”

“For, like, a girl name?”

“…Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Apple for a girl and Wolfgang for a boy,” he jokes with a wide smile on his rosy lips. He shrugs. “And if we have twins, they can be Apple and Wolfgang. Really rolls off the tongue, don’t ya think?”

“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

With your hands cradling his jaw, you pull him down for another interrupted kiss.

“What about Moon or— ah,” he gasps with wide eyes. “Or Rainbow?”

“Steve!” you groan.

“What? Tell me Rainbow Harrington isn’t the cutest damn name you’ve ever heard.”

“That is so not a baby name.”

“Anything can be a name if you make it a name,” he argues with all of his Steve Harrington sass. “Like Queen… Or Journey.”

“Yeah, let’s just name all our kids after your favorite bands,” you quip, giggling.

“I know you’re joking, but that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

You shake your head at this boy and his wild head filled with wilder thoughts. 

You sit in silence in your marveling, letting him ramble on — “There’s Roxy and Berlin and- wait, do you think babies can be named after numbers? Because, like, B-52 is a badass name. Sounds like something out of Star Wars, huh?” 

You can’t believe you married this man. You can’t believe you get to be married to this man.

You’re stuck with Steve Harrington and his dumbassery for life.

God, you can’t wait to spend forever with him.

[secretlovezz]

I was wondering I could request headcanons with König, Soap, Price and Ghost celebrating a birthday with their s/o who thought that they’d forget/didn’t know? If it’s too many characters (😭I know writing is a struggle) maybe it’d be okay with just Ghost?

By the time I’m writing this, my birthday would’ve been tomorrow :]

I hope you have a good afternoon/day/evening/night

I'm so late omg (I'm horrible at getting requests done I'm so sorry!!!!) but here it is!!! I ended up only writing for Soap and Ghost even though the goal was to write for all of 141+konig so maybe there'll be a part 2 with everyone else eventually😭 Happy belated birthday babe and thank you for the request 🫶🫶🫶🫶 ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Simon "Ghost" Riley

I feel like because Simon most likely doesn't celebrate/do things for his birthday he won't do too much for you (this doesn't mean he doesn't care though).

He gets you the cutest presents, ones with meaning and love, ones that'll last for as long as possible.

Although he's nervous Simon is slick about the process of giving you your gift.

He's hiding it behind a cushion while the two of you are casually watching a movie together on the couch.

He hasn't said much to you all day (he is horrible at keeping secrets from you so he's kept his mouth shut so he doesn't spill the fact that he got you something).

You notice his silence just like you notice how Simon is being twitchy next to you, the arm around your neck is flexing and his free hand is wiping against his pants to get rid of sweat.

You don't think you've ever been more anxious and on your birthday no less.

Has he forgotten?

You feel sick to your stomach, nausea overtaking you and making you uncomfortable. Your body wiggles against your boyfriend's side and his eyes drift to you. His brown eyes are searching you intently; his gaze makes you all the more nervous.

He contemplates saying anything before his lips finally part to ask, "You alright, Dove?"

Your head is snapping in his direction before he can even finish his question, eyes wide in a way that make Simon's squint in confusion. He twists his body to face you a little more forcing you to look at him.

"What's wrong," He asks, your eyes are darting to any place that isn't his eyes because if you do he'll see straight through you. Sometimes you hate that he can just tell when you're upset.

When you don't answer him Simon sighs and stretches his arm to reach behind him. Your eyes water and your plump bottom lip quivers in response to his movement but when he pulls his hand back in between the both of you he's holding a little box.

Now your eyes squint in confusion causing a tear or two to fall out. Your boyfriend is quickly dropping the box and reaching to wipe them from your face pressing a swift kiss to your forehead before pulling back.

Before you can ask him anything about the box simon is grabbing your hands putting them together in a cupping motion and dropping the box into your hands. You look at him doe eyed and he motions for you to open it kissing your temple once more. If you weren't a little sad you would have laughed or giggled at the horrible attempt of a bow around the box. You pull at it and it comes loose and falls into your lap. You glance at Simon once more eyes still a little watery and he nuzzles his nose against your cheek.

You open the box slowly a little worried of what you might find inside.

When you open it to see dog tags you choke out a sob.

"It's a replica, not the real thing but still, happy birthday dove," Simon says while swiftly moving your face into the crook of his neck. You move yourself to straddle your boyfriend arms wrapping around his neck. You stop your cries to place a quick kiss on his neck. Your professions of love mumbled into his neck as you hiccup.

"I love you, hm? So much," he says and Simon chuckles when you whine at him.

"So so much," He whispers.

《---------------♡

John "Soap" McTavish

I lowkey feel like there's no possible way for you to feel like he's forgotten.

He's talking your ear off about what you guys are gonna do weeks before.

But imagine he gets called away just days before your birthday, he'd get so sad :(

He wanted to celebrate it properly; take you out to dinner buy you some flowers and a present that you would adore one that could make you smile.

So alas he's away on your big day and he's so busy and has so much work to do he almost doesn't get the chance to call you.

You try to watch a movie, one that you and Johnny would enjoy together if he were home, cuddled up against each other, slipping gentle intimate kisses to one another, laughing and giggling at stupidly cringe movie scenes. His hands would never leave you, they never did.

You miss him.

The thought made your lips quiver and your eyes water. You felt that you usually did okay, good even when Johnny wasn't around but today was your birthday and he wasn't here and it was harder than you thought it would be.

You picked up your phone and turned it on.

No notifications.

You'd hoped he'd at least text you but it was rounding 10:30, it was dark out and the lack of natural light was making you sleepy, but there was still nothing from him.

You're nodding off trying to keep yourself awake but eventually, your eyes are closing and your head is leaning back towards the cushion of the couch. You're snapped out of your closeness to sleep by the ringing of your phone. You scrambled for it moving quickly to answer whoever was calling you.

"Hello?" You answer.

A rumbling chuckle on the other line causes tears to gather at your water line, "were you sleeping, can hear it in your voice," you could imagine the smile gracing his face.

Your voice is shakey and quiet when you respond, "I miss you," you pull your knees to your chest, "I wish you were here."

You hear the ruffles of fabric, you wonder what he's doing.

"Wish I was there too believe me... Jesus, I miss you. Was gonna have flowers sent to you but Cap'n's threw me into somethin' I couldn't get out of and-"

You smile, cheesing into your pajama pants, "You were gonna buy me flowers?"

Johnny scoffs softly, "'course, my pretty girl deserves her flowers always and when I get back I'm gonna get you so many flowers you won't know what to do."

You laugh and he thinks he's never heard a sound more beautiful. He joins your laughter for a moment before the both of you quiet down slowly.

"Happy birthday sweet girl," Johnny whispers, "I love you"

[kakushino]

Relax

Tomioka Giyuu x GN! Reader

As the Water Estate's Kakushi, it was your duty to make Tomioka Giyuu's stay as comfortable as possible while he recuperates between missions.

Tags: fluff, domesticity Word count: 0,9k

AN: One of my dearest friends sent me a message one time saying "I think Giyuu would find it so relaxing when you take care of him. Let him bathe, brush his hair so gently and while he soaks in the water, you make some tea for him." Minus the tea, I think I nailed it.

Masterlist

It wasn't the first time you prepared a bath for him nor was it the first time you saw him naked - though it had been entirely innocent the last time, as you wanted to help him relax by giving him a massage. It was the first time you offered to wash his hair though, and also the first time you were in the large bathtub with him - in a bathing yukata, of course. Giyuu hadn't protested, and you'd taken it as a sign of approval. 

You moved your sleeves away from your hands while preparing for it. Giyuu's hair was… a mess, a tangled mess which would need quite a long time untangling, but determination filled you anew. He spent days, weeks, years fighting demons to keep everyone safe; it was your duty, a kakushi’s duty, to support him in any way you could, even if it was as small as helping wash his exhausted body.

"I will tilt your head back now, Giyuu-sama," you murmured before you acted, keeping him nice and pliable under your hands. You had already taken off the tie which usually kept his hair back.

You used a small cup to collect the water before you carefully poured it over his hair. With gentle hands and gentler touch, you used the special hair soap your friend recommended you on the mess on Giyuu's head, trying to work it in to let it work its magic. To make the wait less tedious, you made sure to give Giyuu's scalp a massage.

The Hashira, on the other hand, was on cloud nine. It had been years since he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable in front of another person. And you? You brought him so much of that comfort he could melt under your skilled hands. A slight flush took over his cheeks, one he would blame on the hot water if you pointed it out.

As you worked through each knot and tangle loose with your fingers, you hummed a simple rhyme you learned from your father when you were young. Your fingers were sore and pruney by the time you deemed Giyuu's hair sufficiently soaked.

While washing out the hair soap, you took time to scratch him gently, eliciting a shudder that made you smile in secret. He seemed to be enjoying himself if the blush on his face and peaceful expression were anything to go by.

Once done with his hair, you used a tie to hold it up and got to washing his back gently. His skin was littered with scars of various origins, and you tried to be gentle around them, knowing the nerves can be a bit sensitive. Yet again, you made sure to scratch him lightly with your nails and knead his muscles where he accumulated the most stress of his days, particularly in the shoulder area. His sighs of content were music to your ears.

As the water gradually got lukewarm, you coaxed him out of the bath.

Your bathing yukata was thick enough to not be see-through thankfully, and he quickly put a robe of his own on while you averted your gaze. The air was thick with steam and smelled faintly of sakura blossoms.

“Giyuu-sama, please sit here,” you fetched a stool for him so you could continue the hair treatment, this time with oils to help with combing. You’d also noticed his hair was a little- okay no, very dry, and you were damned if you didn’t try your best.

You quickly found out the ends were irreparable.

“May I cut your hair, Giyuu-sama?” you whispered, trying not to break the tranquility of the bathroom. He tensed under your hands as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Just the ends.”

“Fine,” he muttered, not unkindly. 

A smile bloomed on your face and you quickly grabbed scissors from the box where you kept your bath products. You’d been meaning to cut your own ends soon, but Giyuu took precedence.

Giyuu always took precedence.

You straightened out his hair as much as you could with a boar-bristle brush and snipped away, evening out the choppy hair strands as much as you could and cutting through some of the unsalvageable knots. You continued humming the tune from before as you worked.

This kind of domestic peace was rare with your charge… and crush. You were determined to enjoy it to the fullest.

You put down the scissors when you deemed that part done; now you just had to comb out his hair.

Giyuu was so quiet you nearly didn’t hear him. 

“Thank you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “It’s no problem.” I enjoyed it.

It brought you joy to be able to glide through his hair smoothly now, though you knew he would go and mess it up by going to bed with wet hair the minute you released him from your clutches. An idea sparked in your mind - one which you immediately acted upon.

Starting at the nape of his neck, you weaved a simple braid into his hair, tying it off with the tie from earlier.

“All done, Giyuu-sama,” you told him and took a step back, collecting all the products and putting them away, quickly getting rid of the mess of snipped strands as the Hashira walked off. 

You wondered if he noticed, and if he did then if he liked it.

He did notice and insisted on you caring for his hair the next time he stayed at his estate again. One day, he would also offer to wash your hair, he promised himself.

dividers made by the amazing @/benkeibear

[rascal-xo]

What's up! Umm, I got a request another actually ideas be popping in my head. For ghost x reader, where the reader is a world-class boxer and is like undefeated like the reader is pretty much female Mike tyson (BTW if you don't know who Mike tyson is he was pretty much a scary boxer who knocked people ass out , people were scared of him and he bit someone ear off ) and reader is like so deadly in the ring she almost kills someone or gets called this pretty sick nickname and everyone on the task force is afraid of her but ghost being ghost doubts the readers skills and challenges the reader in the ring and gets his ass beaten badly like a REALLY bad broken nose, jaw or like gets his ass knocked out. Just a thought: I hope this is acceptable 🙏. I love your writing.

Sunday Punch | Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Chapter summary: You’re a lethal fighter in the ring, and a seasoned soldier in the field. The 141 get front tickets to your underground double life.

Warnings: Fights, bodily injury, blood, language

Tags: @glitteryeggalmondherring @fiveshelmet @madamemelancholysstuff @myguiltypleasure @pukbadger

A/N: Ty for sending in another amazing request! you keep my brain happy lolll 🩷🩷 I hope you enjoy! (It’s a long one i’m sorry LMAO i got carried away)

P.S: Sunday Punch is just another way of saying KnockOut.

It’s no secret that you’re a talented soldier. With every move you make in the field, you showcases an unrivaled combination of skill, agility, and raw power. You holdheld quite the reputation around base, especially for your skills in combat.

Most of the younger cadets at the academy were also hesitant to be paired up with you, mostly afraid to get knocked out.

Whether it's engaging in close-quarters combat or taking down enemies from a distance, your every move is calculated and executed to your advantage. Your training has molded you into a formidable force, capable of adapting to any situation with ease.

But you haven’t always been like that. Going through the ranks before and during your recruitment to the 141, you were pushed beyond your boundaries and worked through.

Now you’re lethal, and one of the military’s strongest assets. But like anyone else, you have hobbies. Dangerous hobbies.

You step into the dimly lit underground arena, the air thick with anticipation. It's early, and the entire space lies empty, granting you a moment of solitude before the chaos ensues. The only sound is the distant hum of the overhead lights, casting an ethereal glow over the barren ring.

With a focused gaze, you tighten your fists and step forward. Your first strike connects with the bag, and the impact reverberates through the arena like a gunshot. The sound echoes off the empty seats, filling the air with the thunderous force of your blows.

The scent of sweat and anticipation lingers in the air, fueling your senses. Your muscles ripple beneath your skin, coiled and ready for action.

Your teammates on the 141 know you lead a mysterious life when you’re not at work, but have never seen you in action. You decided that it was time to let your most trusted friends in on your endeavors. Mostly because Soap was dying to see you in the ring.

The Captain isn’t very fond of you putting yourself into dangerous situations outside of your already severely dangerous occupation. He’s like a father to you, but he also understands and respects your talent.

Now as you sit in your dimly lit dressing room, the anticipation of the upcoming underground boxing match courses through your veins. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and determination, mingling with the faint echo of distant cheers from the eager crowd.

The mirror before you reflects the flickering glow of a single bare lightbulb dangling from above, casting shadows across your face.

You take a deep breath, the adrenaline surging within you as you run your fingers through your hair. The rhythmic motion of braiding your hair has always been a ritual before each fight or mission, a way to focus your mind and steel your resolve.

“Quite a crowd tonight, Bullet.” A voice breaks the silence. You look up to see Anchor, the man who arranges the fights. You’ve been fighting in his arena for 3 years.

He’s wearing his signature navy blue suit, his hair gelled and a championship ring on each finger. He throws you an envelope and you catch it on your bare lap. “Three thousand. Five when you win.” He winks, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve got Tank Gomez tonight.”

You open the envelope and glance at its contents, the crisp bills tucked neatly within. Anchors the only other person you’ve ever trusted besides your team. He trained your mind to always be lethal and ready, coming from a fighting background himself. “Copy that.” You say, a smile at your lips.

“When do you deploy?” He asks, crossing his arms. “People don’t seem to care about me when ‘Bullet’ isn’t in the ring.” You shake your head at the nickname you’ve acquired.

“3 days. So don’t scuff me up too bad.” You tease, getting up to put on your robe.

The crowd awaits, hungry for the spectacle that is about to unfold. But it's more than just a performance; it's a test of your mettle, an opportunity to showcase your mastery of the craft.

With Anchor's support, you step forward, ready to embrace the chaos and reclaim your rightful place in the ring. The anticipation builds, the sound of the crowd growing louder as you make your way through the corridors.

As you step into the ring, the air crackles with anticipation. The crowd roars, their excitement reverberating through the arena. Across from you stands your opponent, a formidable figure, a big man whose sheer size alone could intimidate the faint of heart.

As you take your stance, a flicker of movement catches your attention from the corner seats. Soap, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, are there, watching you intently. Soap sends an energetic thumbs up, cheering you on.

Yet, as you meet Ghost's gaze, you notice his eyes. The usual seriousness is replaced by a coldness, an intensity that makes it unreadable. He looks away. Ghost has never been one to support your hobbies, but watches along anyway.

The referee's voice cuts through the tension, signaling the start of the fight. The world around you narrows, and everything else becomes a blur. It's just you, your opponent, and the dance of combat.

You move with purpose, your training guiding your every step. Dodging, weaving, and countering, you navigate the ring with grace and precision. Each blow is calculated, your fists finding their mark with practiced accuracy.

The big man lunges forward, his power evident in every punch he throws. But you refuse to be overwhelmed. Your speed and agility become your greatest assets, allowing you to evade his strikes while retaliating with your own punishing combinations.

“Argh!” One of his punches land, striking you right under the eye. You curse knowing the bruise it’s gonna leave later. You feel a little blood drop down your cheek. Recovering quickly you bounce back.

With each passing second, the intensity of the fight grows, both you and your opponent refusing to back down. Sweat beads on your brow, mingling with the taste of blood and adrenaline on your lips. The rounds blur together, time becoming inconsequential as you immerse yourself in the battle, fully present, fully alive.

As the final bell sounds, the crowd erupts in applause. The fight is over, your opponent is out cold, and you've given it your all. You stand tall in the center of the ring, catching your breath, as the referee holds your victory arm up high.

After a grueling workout, you find yourself in the open gym on the military base, sweat glistening on your brow and a towel draped around your neck. Your bruised knuckles draw your attention, serving as a reminder of the battle you fought in the ring just a week ago.

As you examine them, lost in your thoughts, the door swings open, and Ghost walks in, his presence commanding attention. “Hey.” You say to him, with a nod.

“You’re here.” He replies, monotonously. His normal gear is now replaced with gym shorts and T-shirt. He trades out the full skull mask with a black balaclava.

“Why wouldn’t I be.” You chuckle, watching as he sets down a weight. You would normally work out with Ghost as you’ve got sort of a friendship that’s built over the years.

Today he seems awfully distant. You feel the tension growing between the two of you. You knew he was never a fan of you fighting for show, he was the first person you told about your endeavors, and he wasn’t too thrilled.

Ghost's eyes briefly meet yours before shifting away. You lean against the hanging punching bag, and cross your arms. It's evident that he's harboring a deep anger, his normally calm demeanor shattered by the concern that has festered within him.

“It was nice of you to come out the other night.” You say, testing the waters. His head turns in your direction as he takes you in. His gaze stops at your knuckles.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He says, looking right through you. You scoff a dry laugh.

“Haven’t yet.”

“You think this is funny?”

Ghost's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. You straighten up, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. The tension between you escalates, the air crackling with unresolved emotions.

"No, Simon, I don't think it's funny," you reply, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and defiance. "But I also don't think it's fair for you to dictate what I can or cannot do. This is my choice, my path."

Ghost's eyes narrow, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Your choice? This isn't just about you, Y/N," he snaps, his voice biting with a sense of betrayal. "Every time you step into that ring, you're not just risking your own life; you're risking everything."

His words hit you hard, the weight of his disappointment bearing down on you. You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to convey your own perspective.

“I've trained for this, I know what I'm doing."

Ghost scoffs, his disbelief evident in his tone. "Trained? You think a few months of underground fights make you invincible?”

“Fuck you. You never fucking supported anything I do!” You throw your towel down, needing to get away from him and get some fresh air into your system.

An hour later, Price calls you and the guys for the group training session. He divides the team into pairs for sparring, and to your surprise (or perhaps fate's twisted sense of humor), you find yourself standing face to face with Ghost.

The tension between you is palpable, the lingering anger and hurt casting a shadow over the training session.

Price's voice breaks through the silence, setting the rules and reminding everyone to "play nice." But deep down, you know that the emotions swirling inside you threaten to break through the facade of control.

The bell rings, signaling the start of the spar, and you and Ghost cautiously circle each other. As the seconds tick by, you feel the anger inside you bubbling to the surface, fueling your movements.

His movements are measured, his punches and kicks executed with surgical precision. He weaves in and out, his strikes landing with pinpoint accuracy, but you matche him blow for blow, refusing to back down.

The sound of fists meeting flesh echo through the training room as your strikes collided. The intensity of their spar escalates with each passing second, the energy between you crackling like electricity.

Without warning, you lash out, throwing a punch fueled by a mix of frustration and pent-up emotions. Your fist connects with Ghost's nose, the impact resounding through the air. Time seems to slow down for a moment as he staggers back, blood staining his balaclava from his broken nose.

The realization of what you've done hits you like a punch to the gut. The anger dissipates, replaced by a flood of guilt and regret. His eyes meet yours, raging and stone cold. “Fucking hell. You just don’t know when to stop do you?”.” He curses, his shoulder hitting yours as he leaves the mat.

“Si-wait!” You call after him, but before you can say anymore Price stops you.

Enough," Price's voice cuts through the air, firm and resolute. His gaze shifts between you and Ghost, assessing the situation. "Take a breather, both of you."

He gestures towards the side of the mat, signaling for you to step aside. You comply, your mind filled with a whirlwind of emotions.

A/N: That’s all I got for now or else imma be writing like 10,000 words just on this LMAO

[rpreaperperson]

What happen if Claw got too many catnip?

Zoomies..absolutely zoomies..

Masterlist

Puffing out a cloud of smoke from his mouth Price relaxed in his office sitting on his dingy sofa

The smell of cigars scattered around his office, he's done with his paperwork and reading the report

"Hmm...at last some quiet time.." closing his eyes while exhaling the cigar, so unusual that the boys (and one hybrid) become so quiet these days, but at least they didn't do anything ajjs@!jq#qjk or something disaster

Or so he thought...

A loud thump of boots coming from outside then his door is slammed open

"No knocking?" Said Price not opening his eyes, but his forehead could be seen frowning

"S-sorry Cap, its urgent" Gaz approached Price slightly huffing, let out a hard sigh Price put out his cigar and adjusted his hat

"Who is it this time?" asks Price as they walk out of his office

"It-" Before Gaz could even tell him, they heard a loud crash and a couple of distressed voice

then there they saw....

"NYAHAHAHA I'M UNSTOPPABLE!!"

"F***! "

"Someone block her way!!"

"Fuckin' trying over here!"

"Nyahahahaha!!"

Price furrowed and pinched the bridge of his nose shutting his eyes tried to hold down the headache, the fluffy hybrid ran around the trail puff of smoke spreading everywhere where she transformed into a cat and a human

Some of the recruits that helping Soap try to catch her coughing because of her smoke

"I-I don't know why she getting like this, but after she got a package from someone, she's been like this"

"Did you go search for the package?" asked Price, he got a very bad feeling about this

"Well...she hid it in her room its like she doesn't want us to know what's inside the package, now Ghost went to investigate it" explained Gaz, on time Ghost arrived with a medium box in his hand

"That damned..Mexican Cat lovers.." mumbled Ghost as he showed them inside the box

"Cat nip..." grunted Price

"Bloody hell...and so many variations.." Gaz stare at it flabergasted

"she's getting high on a Fucking Catnip" Ghost narrowed his eyebrows, cursing certain Mexican cat lovers

"Not that all that Professor of her secretly send a bunch of snack to her " huffed Ghost, the moment he entered and searched around her room he found a secret snack stacks there

"aside from that scary face she has, she does have a soft spot for Claw... " Gaz muttering about the stoic cold face of old Professor

"what the plan Price?" gruff Ghost still holding the box

"let's catch the fluff --"

 "CAPTAINNN~~!!" squealed a certain hybrid as diving herself into Price

Wh- UAGHH!" suddenly his face was being struck by a soft sensation, Gaz gasping and Ghost just stood there like a statue watching their Captain fall off on his back while his bulk arm wrapped around the hybrid waist

As the other recruits stared wide eyes, Gaz tried to take Claw off Price he could almost see Price's soul just snuff out from his mouth

"C'mon sweetheart off you go --" he grabbed her shoulder, then Claw swatted his hand away hissing at him 

"NO! NO! My Captain!!"

.

3 hours later...

They manage to calm Claw down and put her to sleep on the sofa, the panting Soap lets out a sigh of relief as he crouches beside the sofa and caresses her hair

"Damn... she's really wearing us out, good job there lads... ya can go now.. get some rest" Soap waves to the recruits that helping him as they walk out and wave back at him with a grunt some of them snicker in amusement

"Gonna ban those catnip" grumbled Ghost crossing his arm and eyes on the hybrid

"Couldn't agree more...you okay over there Cap?" Gaz glances at the slumped disheveled Price, his hat placed on his lap you can see a red bump on his forehead

"....Just..leave me alone..and let me rest" Price almost forgot that he got another troublemaker...a big one infact, then he raise his head stare at the sleeping woman on the sofa

Huff in amused, he just couldn’t be mad at her no matter what  

Just another day in 141 base...

taglist: @lilpothoscuttings @unicorngirly1 @kaoyamamegami

[eiraeths]

do you guys want some of my cod 141 headcanons you’re getting them anyways

SOAP

-puts stuff in his mouth a lot to hold it when he runs out of hands (this includes when he’s making explosives, it stresses everyone out)

-gets cute aggression and bites people

-will also bite in a fight

-has bits and pieces of rubble from explosions that he thought looked pretty

-is feral, like he takes a hit to the face during a spar and grins with blood trickling into his mouth

-had a graffiti phase as a teen that never fully left and because of it he writes in all capital letters. this is great when they need something written down where no one can read it. (the 141 probably had a meeting where they went over how to read his handwriting)

-has dreams so realistic he wakes up confused wondering if it was a memory he forgot about even if it didn’t make sense

-military grade anger issues

-never fully grew out of his punk phase

-his childhood room was full of road signs and traffic cones

-is actually a hardass when it comes to training recruits (i think the proper term for privates in the sas is troopers but im calling them recruits cause that seems to be the term everyone uses)(everyone thought his bright attitude meant that he’s laid back and easygoing. no. he’s not. yall ever seen those videos of drill sergeants coming up with the most creative insults? thats him)

-randomly says “i am normal and can be trusted around military grade weapons”

-his journal from the og games is a must in the remaster sorry i don’t make the rules

GHOST

-can play guitar super fucking well, im talking full on fingerstyle ballads

-major staring problem, if he doesn’t want to talk to someone he’ll stare until they go away. sometimes stares at people for no reason. also stares when he wants something. he’s always watching.

-would be interested in getting into blacksmithing if he didn’t grow up poor and hates spending money on himself that isn’t out of necessity (seriously you need like 30k to start a forge)

-can and will obsess over damascus patterns in blades (i feel like his favorite pattern would be fish bone or those really complicated mosaic patterns. he gets soap into it too by showing him fireball patterns)

-never grew out of echolalia and because of this is amazing at mimicking noises (he mimicks smoke alarm battery low noises and phone chimes to troll people sometimes.)

-road rage, but its quiet fuming comments that make you grip the oh shit handle for dear life (“you better turn off your fucking highbeams or i can’t be blamed for the head on collision that’s about to happen”)(no one can tell if he’s serious or not)

-hates tin foil, hearing it or touching it makes him clench his jaw because it feels like he can feel it in his teeth

-secret sweet tooth, but it comes and goes. sometimes he’s disgusted by anything sweeter than white bread and other times he can fuck up an entire box of lil debbie cakes

-can hand sew efficiently and fast as fuck

-his favorite type of blanket is a heavy quilt

GAZ

-is aggressively hydrated and is one of those people who carry around those big 128 oz water bottles

-gets competitive over karaoke (it took him months to convince everyone to join and he only got the idea after finding out soap wanted to be in a band as a teen and that he spent days learning how to properly vocal fry)

-says WOO! when he’s super fucking excited (will throw his arms up as well if soap is around because the two of them are an echo chamber of emotion)(the WOO! might actually be canon theres a voice line in warzone)

-probably the most up to date on modern fashion trends (get this man a long cashmere coat he deserves it)

-he does own a bedazzled cap he found at a gas station though (it’s hideous)

-elaborate skin care routine (he’s conned everyone to have some sort of routine. especially ghost. he got so concerned when it hit him that ghost was always wearing the eyeblack)

PRICE

-listens to black label society (i won’t budge on this its not even a head canon to me anymore its fact it was revealed to me in a dream)

-plays solitaire (he’s a very high level and it took him less than a year to get there. no one knows where he found the time to play for that long)

-drives a manual and shames people who don’t know how to work a stick

-literature nerd (im talking all the classics and philosophy books this man can get his hands on)

-discovered tennessee moonshine and has thought about it ever since

-smacks people on the back of the head when they’re doing something stupid

-if anyone makes a negative comment on his facial hair he gives them the dirtiest side eye

GEN/MULTI

-gaz and soap carry those big contractor waterproof sharpies and leave gaz was here or soap was here everywhere they go (this stemmed from soap’s graffiti phase and gaz turned it into a competition. they once got into a competition on who could leave the most signs until price called them muppets and confiscated their sharpies)

-ghost put soap in air jail once, it was very effective

-gaz and soap go to the gym together and take photos in the mirrors after they’re done (somewhere there’s a photo of the time they got ghost to join and they even got him to flex an arm)

-ghost and soap are professional assholes to each other.

-none of the 141 are allowed play card games and gamble with each other because they’re all dirty charlatans

-price tried to stop smoking only once and carried around gum and peppermints. ghost stole the peppermints and soap wouldn’t stop asking for gum

-gaz and ghost are the only ones who really try to adhere to the lights out rule. price and soap can be seen drinking coffee throughout the day

-all of them can hold a grudge for life

-ghost clears his throat loudly when any of them smoke by him. or stares. depends on the say

-if any of the smokers see another outside smoking and decides to join them it turns into a drawn out conversation about the most mundane topics

-the 141 can have full conversations of pure sarcasm nons