#amalgamation!soap

[cthulhusstepmom]

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

ITS BEEN STARING US IN THE FACE THIS ENTIRE TIME COMRADES WE'RE FOOLS

GHOST IS THE MOTHERFUCKING HEADLESS HORSEMAN

imagine with me a monster au

Price: gargoyle. stony skin, nigh impenetrable but pieces can snap off. he lost a horn that way. during the day he's restricted mostly to the indoors or he'll turn into a statue. he has wings he most definitely has wings. he smokes because he likes the tickle of it and he despises getting wet cause it makes his joints ache and his skin swell. he eats a balanced diet, mostly birds and the occasional green thing(he prefers moss) and he needs to swallow rocks to help him digest.

Gaz: naga. I like the idea of him being a sassy little rattlesnake. he does have venom but he can control it so it's not like he's gnawing on a steak with enough punch to knock out a platoon. he does swallow prey whole, it's really fucking disconcerting, and he eats like once a week. not completely cold blooded but much below room temperature and he gets really slow. he gets crabby in the winter because nagas naturally hibernate. nagas will only bite as a last line of defense because their fangs are actually pretty fragile in comparison to most real snakes.

Soap: amalgamation(think Frankenstein's monster). he's technically undead but it's kind of confusing because he is a completely separate person than any of his parts (legislation on this is a bitch and it flip flops every election cycle). amalgamations are usually not purposely made, they can happen just about anywhere, usually in morgues, funeral homes, or graveyards(lots of them crawl out of mass graves). no one has ever seen an amalgamation naturally come together, despite hundreds of years of trying (the magic works with Toy Story rules) but they can also be purposely made(very fucking illegal and unethical). a lot of times amalgamations are pretty off-putting, most undead are, but Soap is just like the best parts of everybody crammed into one package. and he's trans cause I said so and it's thematic.

Ghost: people jokingly call him a horseman of the apocalypse but oh if only they knew. no one is quite sure what Ghost is, bets are mostly on amalgamation because of just the sheer number of scars he has when people catch a glimpse; it can look like he's literally sewn together(natural amalgamations have smooth seams, made amalgamations are usually sewn or stapled). those who know are aware that Simon Riley went missing as a human man and returned as Something Else. he was beheaded before they buried him, in a world of monsters Manuel Roba isn't going to take risks, kicked his head into the coffin with him before nailing it down and shoving it back into the earth. but now his head is gone, destroyed, ripped to bloody pulpy, bits, instead of his traitorous commanding officer, Ghost used his own jaw in his desperation to escape the grave as a newly wakened undead. everyone wants to see what's under the mask, see behind the black pits of the skull, but the ringing hollow truth is that there's nothing there. and there can't be, not anymore. he doesn't eat, but he will absorb the energy of those around him and it can affect his mood if there are strong emotions. over the years he's learned to control it, to only take a little from everyone but he can siphon all the energy out of a person (if they don't have much his power literally starts burning fat to convert it and consume it, it withers you from the inside out).

I will be writing this stay tuned

#Ghost arts and crafted a firm inner shell to the balaclava using a $20 beginner mold making kit meant for dildos + a foam head from walmart #he perceives the world around him a lot like those visualizations of LiDAR #and he can echolocate by making rumbling sounds that the human ear cant pick up #gaz and price can and it drives them nuts #proce knows it's ghost but the sound vibrates through his skin weird and gives him a headache #gaz has no fucking clue and hes pissed about it #gaz also has heat pits and his snake half is an Arizona Ridge Nosed Rattlesnake #because fuck it #why not #they don't even have rattlers in that backwards country #cod mw2 #headless horseman!ghost #amalgamation!soap #naga!gaz #gargoyle!price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #monster au

[charliemwrites]

Bark bark bark awoooo

You’re gonna fucking combust.

Somehow, someway, this is Johnny’s fault. You’re not sure how yet, so he it isn’t fair for him to be in trouble, but you know it.

“This is your fault,” you tell him, pouting in bed — bare ass naked, but that means nothing to him, he’s a dog. He cocks his head, and you wave your (broken) vibrator at him. “I don’t know how, but it is. Is this because I wanna chop your balls off?”

His mouth closes, eyes big - like he actually understands you. In your horny delirium, you almost believe he really does.

You flop onto your back with a sigh, eyes a little wet with frustration.

It’s been two months since you last successfully got off. Your vibrator (and its replacement… and its replacement’s replacement) keep breaking, or running out of battery. The plug is defective or falls out of the socket.

Once you successfully got right to the edge - just for it to die. You almost did cry that time.

Sure, there’s your hand. But every time you try ol’ reliable a certain four-legged roommate interrupts one way or another. And when you tried to kick him out of the room, and then ignored the howling, scratching, and general drama - there was loud and rapid knocking at your door.

Like fucking clockwork. If you get anywhere at all, you never get to finish.

It wouldn’t be so bad, either. Your libido isn’t anything crazy, you don’t think. At least it wasn’t before. But now there’s Soap.

Soap who you should not be so attracted to. Who has no sense of propriety or boundaries, who murmurs the dirtiest things to you in the most public and otherwise mundane places. And he just keeps. Showing. Up.

Like he’s got a tracker on you or something. (You’ve checked, he doesn’t.)

He’s like every guilty fantasy you had as a good, studious girl back in high school. The kind of guy to grab your thigh under your parents’ dinner table and take your virginity in the back of his car. Maybe corner you by the lockers between classes to kiss you silly and drive up your absence record.

You never actually went for those boys — and perhaps gratefully, they never went for you. In romance novels, it would be a quaint little coming of age story. The stuff to swoon over. But reality was a lot scarier for you, especially with your older sister always keeping an ear out to report back to your parents and… well, yeah.

You’ve always been a firm introvert, anyway. That’s why you live out in the woods with only a dog for regular company.

But Soap. Soap is some unholy amalgamation of those innocent, shy girl fantasies turned R-rated. Like the grown-up version of those cute YA novels.

And you have no defense for it — except distrust, that is.

Soft-hearted as you are, you know you don’t do casual well. And you know that guys like Soap just like to spin you up and up until you finally give in, think the dreaded words “maybe it’ll work out” despite that rational voice in your head saying, “don’t bet on it.”

Doesn’t stop you from secretly wanting him though.

Fear is the only thing keeping you in check now. Some of it for you own feelings; of getting invested in a guy that has done nothing but treat you like a prime cut of meat. The rest of it is a genuine concern that he might be a bit dangerous. He’s so much bigger than you, visibly stronger. Has gone out of his way to make you uncomfortable (doesn’t matter that a very dark and slutty part of you liked it) and ignored your attempts at brushing him off.

Fear, unfortunately, is beginning to add to the temptation.

“I’m not going to do it,” you tell yourself, or maybe Johnny. Soap’s contact is on the screen. You don’t remember putting it into your phone, but you must have at some point. “Nope. No way.”

You slide a sideways look at Johnny, tail wagging at a steady clip.

“He’s probably a former frat boy or something, right?” you muse.

Snort.

“No, you don’t think so?” you question, sitting up. He happily crawls into your lap when you pat your thighs, chin resting on your tummy. “Nah, you’re right. Could almost imagine him beating the hell out of one for pissing him off.”

A little grumbly noise. You smile and start petting absently over his head and ears, phone forgotten now.

“This is dumb anyway,” you sigh, head tilted back to the ceiling. “You don’t like men. I couldn’t bring him back here.”

Johnny’s ears flick. You giggle and start flopping them around, making airplane noises. Eventually he huffs and starts licking at your face until you stop, complaining that you’ll need to wash off now.

—

“Fuck it.”

Johnny picks his head up, staring at you as you run a hand down your face.

“Fuck it all. I’m going to a bar. I’m getting… I dunno. Laid or something.” Thank god it’s only Johnny here. You don’t think you could live with the embarrassment of someone else hearing the way you talk.

You set your hands on your hips, nod to yourself.

“And if it happens to be Soap, then… sign from the universe, right?” You grimace a bit, striding for your bedroom. “Please don’t let him be a murderer or something…”

For once, Johnny is perfectly behaved as you get ready. He doesn’t try to lick at you when you come out of shower (freshly shaved and lotioned and everything). Sits patiently on the bed as you pick through your closet, even noses at a pretty pink dress you rarely wear but were considering for this.

He doesn’t try to bump your arms or hands while you do your makeup, just watches attentively. You choose a pretty, matching bra-panty set, apply a light spritz of perfume. Hesitate over jewelry.

“Is it normal to wear jewelry when you plan on fucking?” you wander allowed.

A little “boof” from the bed. You’ll take that as a yes.

You decide on a set of faux pearls with a gold heart pendant in the center. Not quite a choker, but high enough on your throat to suggest one. A delicate bracelet, a pair of stud earrings, and you’re just about set.

“Christ, I hate doing this alone,” you mutter, fumbling with the zip on the back of the dress.

Lastly, the shoes.

“Fuck it,” you say again. Your mantra for the evening, apparently. Wobble into a pair of heels, a bow on the outside of each ankle where you buckle them.

You pause when you’re done, giving yourself a once over in the full length mirror. Pleased with what you see. Coquettish and pretty, not necessarily bombshell sexy maybe, at least not on first glance. But the necklace, the heels, the cutouts at the waist of your dress… it’s all exactly what you wanted.

“Alright,” you breathe, tummy swooping with excitement. “I can do this… right?”

Johnny’s gotten down off the bed, is keeping a respectful distance. You appreciate it, don’t want to have to lint roll hair off yourself.

“Oh, god. What if he’s bad?” You ask, giving him a horrified look. “What if he’s been, like, compensating?”

To your shock, he stomps his paw and starts damn near howling. Carrying on and on like he’s bitching you out. You blink in shock, almost laugh — then check the time.

“Oh! Don’t worry, baby. I won’t let you starve!”

You toddle off to the kitchen and prep his dinner, scrunching your nose at the raw chicken and beef liver. He grumbles and fusses the whole way, making you laugh as you pretend to have a whole conversation about the economy with him.

“Okay, bonnie Johnny,” you coo, setting his bowl down. “Be good, okay? If I bring someone back here please don’t eat them, okay?”

More grumbles and whines and growls. You roll your eyes, blow him a kiss, and slip out the door.

You tell yourself you just need action with someone. Don’t admit to yourself that there’s really a specific someone you’re hoping to see.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #woof woof johnny #woof woof au

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐁𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 8: ROLEPLAY

könig x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat.

cw: f!reader, roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (könig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating. 

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 9: WITCH!READER ⇾

The answer is unyielding and finite; ❝ no ❞. 

König was consistent in his promise to separate work from pleasure, so to speak. He refused to amalgamate something as pretty and delicate as you with something as ruinous and hideous as war— as his job. 

KorTac and Task Force 141 were unaware of your existence. König assured you it was for your protection. The less his allies knew about his valuable and beloved, his adversaries knew little still. Despite this, he offered you insight into his hostile world through a minute embrasure; the Scottish bomb disposal expert, Soap, the handsome Gaz who König colloquially named ‘helicopter boy’. Ghost. 

Still, he insisted upon keeping you pure. Scratch free, barren from the agonising shrapnel of grief and the devastating shells of brutal warfare. 

So when you pose the idea, quiet and shy in your approach, of König wearing his tactical uniform and treating you like a captive… The ‘no’ is adamant. However, as with everything you do or say to König, the idea worms its way into his mind. 

Days pass, but the thought seems to stick with König. He’s unsettled, fidgety almost. You suppose he thinks he’s being subtle, but with a frame as enormous as König lugs around, it’s almost impossible for the pitiful giant to do anything indistinctly. One nervous bob of his knee appears to set off avalanches in Tibet. 

When you return from work, everything is still, and abnormally quiet. It’s unusual for the house to be vacant upon your return from work, König always at the door as if ready to spring and remove the damn laptop bag that threatened to pop your shoulder from its socket as though it were an incendiary with a lit fuse. Nevertheless, the lights are off today, and the TV is silent. 

Creeping forward into the apartment, the door slowly swings shut behind you. The click of the lock setting into place isn’t alien to you– but neither is it, it seems, to your attacker. Poised and lethally swift, your assailant leaps from the shadows of the dimly lit apartment and smothers your mouth before a scream can even bubble past your trembling lips. Soft hushes breathe against your ear before terror can truly kick in, a familiar lilting accent turning your knees soft beneath your weight.

“You are to do as I say when I say it, Meine Perle.” König sounds so relaxed, as though he’s not breaking a sweat beneath the tactical vest you can feel digging into your shoulder blades. With a fizzling arousal skittering up your vertebrae and trembling beneath his touch, you nod your head slightly. It earns you praise, whispering a quiet ‘good girl’ against your hairline. 

So in tune with König’s non-verbal commands, you kneel as though he had barked the order when you feel him tap your shoulder absentmindedly. It’s foreign, the disregard König shows to your knees by making you settle on the hardwood floor in front of the entrance door– usually he would situate a pillow beneath you to ensure you didn’t bruise. Not today. You were his hostage. His plaything. 

Gazing up at the startling bulk of the behemoth standing before you, a thrill prickles at the nape of your neck when you watch him unzip his camo trousers deftly. It’s as though your taste buds tingle with anticipation as König pulls his already leaking cock from them, the leather of his gloves protesting quietly as he grips his length hard. 

“Open your mouth.” It’s an order. A threat. Excitement rouses between your thighs as you do just that, gazing up at your captor demurely and situating your palms on your lap. He’s unforgiving, winding your hair around his fingers and violently pulling your mouth onto his twitching cock. 

You barely register what’s happened before the rumble of his groan reaches your ears. A quiet ‘fuck’. 

Then he’s pushing, using the heel of his palm on the curve of your skull to sink you down his length before you’re ready. Firm, velvety flesh hits the back of your throat and sends you reeling, tears welling in your eyes as you gag around him, attempting to draw back. 

“Stop,” he barks, the frigidity of his tone triggering sparks in your abdomen– so unlike König. He halts your retreat, shoving you forward onto his cock until your nose is buried in the thatch of dark curls at the base of his shaft. Salt burns in the back of your throat, and tears spill down your cheeks. There’s a gleam in his eye that tells you he’s grinning. 

“If you value the air in your lungs,” König murmurs, voice sticky and thick with arousal as he rocks his hips slightly, your nose bumping his pubic bone and the head of his dick nudging your at your gag reflex, “it’ll do you good to stay put.” 

Heaving breaths through your nose, you flinch as König raises his leather-clad palm. It strikes downwards, connecting with your cheek harder than you suppose you’d both anticipated– because König lets out a sadistic groan of bliss, head lilting to the side slightly as he tries to bury himself further down your throat. It crushes your nose into his abdomen, and you feel the skin stretched above the bridge wrinkle. 

“Shit–” you hear him heave, the fingers in your hair tightening mercilessly, “I felt that in my cock.” The murmured admission, a slight deviation from that character König was attempting to play. Glee buries itself at the base of your spine, pulses in your clit. 

“Again,” he snaps back into character, with his dick buried as far down your throat as possible. Again, he lifts his wrist, bringing it down with a brutal smack against your cheek. The skin prickles, and you heave against the intrusion of his cock until tears spill down your cheeks. 

König’s lungs rattle with the force of his growl. His eyes are dark behind the mask, pleasure swallowing the pretty jade-green of his irises and he watched you choke on his length. 

Of course he’s getting off on you kneeling in front of him, dick buried in your throat and making a mess of your work makeup— but he can feel the vibrations of his slaps in your mouth around him. It’s making his nostrils flare; you can hear it. 

“A-gain.”

The crack that sounds against your cheekbone this time makes you whimper with the pain that follows. König loses control of himself, it seems, grasping desperately at your skull to hold you in place while fucking into your throat wildly. His head rolls back, grip bruising as his whole body seems to seize. 

Cum spills down your throat, heavy and thick and plentiful. König sounds almost pained by the force his orgasm is ripped from him, groaning loudly and high pitched to your ears as you gag around him again, the squeezing of your throat muscles adding to his bliss. 

“Hah—“ he gasps, pulling himself from your mouth to allow you to breathe. It’s not pretty, the ridiculous sounds of your frantic breathing, but when König kneels in front of you and cradles you in his massive arms, you feel precious. Priceless. 

König presses kisses to your temple, pushes your hair from your face and tells you just that. 

“Meine Perle.” 

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh @km-ffluv @decaffeinateddinosauronearth @domaniquessidehoe2 @arrozyfrijoles23 @amisouki @sleepysheepsstuff @chunguk @lundenloves @marylovesdilfs @ninahhh-brahh @namelesshumanperson @limegreenbabx @doggydale @wiltedwonderland @justsayk

#꒰꒰ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱ #꒰ ‧₊˚ könig ˚₊· ꒱ #könig #konig #könig call of duty #cod smut #könig smut #konig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig smut #konig mw2 #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig modern warfare #könig imagine #könig mw2 #König smut #könig fanfiction #konig fanart #könig cod #könig x y/n #könig x fem reader #cod mw2 #cod imagine #call of duty #konig x y/n #konig imagine #kinktober 2023

[carlyraejepsans]

Rate UT characters on likely they are to eat spoiled food

premise: as monster food does not spoil, this speculation is based on how i think they'd treat human food in the post pacifist ending

frisk. trash burger. enough said. (also i hc that they grew up on the streets, so... not a lot of chances to be picky with your food.)

sans. second most likely. there's milk in the fridge bought specifically for him to drink out of the carton whenever frisk's or papyrus' friends come to visit, like a stereotypical disney channel older brother (he loves being annoying on purpose). it's been there for a month. he's still not done with it. it's probably rancid. enjoyer of food and lover of even shittier food. mr worst burger on the menu. he is ESPECIALLY gross about food and he is gross about it on purpose, he will peel an apple for papyrus and then take a bite out of it before cutting him a slice. and then call him a wuss when he acts disgusted. ("stop being a baby bones, we have the same germs anyway" "NO WE DON'T. *YOU* HAVE GERMS! AND I DON'T WANT ANY OF THEM!!" "why? they're pedigreed" "OUGH!?!!"). he mostly uses it as a chance to make a gag (or a lack of gagging, lol) but his strong stomach did also come in handy in the early days of papyrus' interest in cooking

mettaton, of sequins-and-glue hamburgers fame. he's technically tied for 2nd place with sans, but i put him in third because i feel like sans does it on purpose, for mettaton it's more like... a side effect of starting life off as a ghost. few people question it since he's a robot now.

alphys. she doesn't go out of her way to do it, but she buys her snacks in industrial pallet-fuls to reduce social interactions to a minimum, so by the time she reaches the last 3 or 4 packets of blue takis, they're well past their expiration date. not that it stops her. now, this wouldn't happen on the surface because she gets better and has a solid support system, but if monster food could spoil back when she was going Through it with the amalgamates, i feel like she'd either be too depressed or tired to care and eat it, or she'd tumble into a "g-god. you can't even take care of your own f-food. is there anything you can't fuck up" self-deprecation spiral and lose her appetite altogether

flowey. did it to see what would happen. nothing did. never did it again. tbh I just don't think he eats much of anything, spoiled or not.

undyne. getting into the "wouldn't eat spoiled food" tier. she actually thinks it's really gross but papyrus tricks her into doing it by challenging her machismo. she gets SO sick from it. they do this aprox 3 times a month. rinse and repeat

asgore. he's a gardener, and i can see him working in a community garden on the surface, so he'd have access to a lot of fresh produce, for both himself and to give away. however, if some of it were to go bad, he'd probably cut off the affected bit and eat the rest so it doesn't go to waste.

toriel. she is SUPER careful about expiration dates and mold and checks to make sure all she owns is still safe to eat almost weekly. this level of care, however, is mostly meant for other people, not herself, but she would really rather not eat anything that's gone bad. same reasoning as alphys', IF monster food could spoil when she was still in the RUINs, i could technically see her biting the bullet, if only because 1) she was also heavily depressed and struggling to take care of herself, though i think she might sooner skip out on the meal altogether, rather than eat something spoiled, and 2) the awkward stares from the other monsters in the RUINs supermarket might not be something she's willing to deal with on any given day.

papyrus. he would NOT. no way. master of cleaning, germophobe extraordinaire papyrus (well, not really, but he plays the part). if toriel is meticulous, papyrus is obsessive. there better not be a SINGLE spot on his food. and no lines or plaid patterns either!! he WILL wash it untill it goes away. with soap probably. canonically a picky eater to begin with (his picks are just weird as balls). can should and WILL get on sans' ass about his unhealthy eating habits, and that includes eating food that's gone bad.

#answered asks #undertale #sans #papyrus #toriel #frisk #alphys #undyne #asgore #mettaton #hey look the whole gang is here!

[celestialwhoree]

same anon as the K9 riley

https://www.tiktok.com/@innanord/video/7060537854744726831?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc

simons kid when they grow into a teen. i feel like the kid will most likey be emo.

Ugh baby you're feeding me good today 😚🎀

Simon also loves when his daughter steals his shirts, his wife too. Frankly he loves everything that they do but that's irrelevant.

Often, when he comes home from work, he'll find the two of them cuddled on the couch watching some crappy soap opera, wearing more of his clothes than their own, but all of his shirts and sweaters are so big and worn in the perfect amount that it's impossible not to be tempted by them.

His daughter was bound to have an emo phase at some point, especially considering how much she looks up to her dad, and this man walks around in a skull balaclava calling himself Ghost, so...

As she gets older her emo phase sort of mellows out a bit, she starts looking up to her mom more as she grows to respect how tough it must be for her to hold down the fort whilst her husband is off God knows where doing who knows what. She's still totally her father's daughter in her music taste, dark sense of humour and her chocolate eyes, but her attitude is all her mom, fiery and self assured and whip smart. Simon adores her, adores both his girls, and when he looks at her curled up on the couch with her mom, the perfect amalgamation of him and her? Yeah his heart just squeezes. Like it does every time.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #tf 141 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x f!reader #Simon ghost Riley x yn #Simon Riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #Simon Riley x yn #Simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x y/n #ghost simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #cod #cod simon riley #ghost #ghost riley #call of duty #Angies asks!

[ghcstao3]

soap learns things about ghost just about every day of his life—which makes sense, considering the man is an amalgamation of secrets from the life he’s lived, and never really having had the right outlets to share those parts, soap gets to be the one experience it all

but where some things are less shocking than others, this… this sure is something

with time and love and building a relationship there comes the inevitable point where ghost meets soap’s family, extended family, so on. and such comes a point when ghost meets soap’s niblings who want to do everything they can to impress uncle soap’s boyfriend

in the case of one thirteen-year-old niece, that means skateboarding tricks

and somehow it devolves into asking ghost if he knows how to skate

before there’s a response, soap decides the image of his 6’4 brickhouse of a partner on a skateboard is just about the funniest thing, and too absurd to ever happen—until he learns that ghost is really fucking good at skateboarding for whatever fucking reason, which earns the lieutenant an incredible amount of brownie points with the niblings

soap will have to ask more about that at some point. because he’s not sure he’s going to be able to peacefully sleep at night knowing he’s dating some tony hawk ripoff, apparently

#john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap

[bingoboingobongo]

something to be grateful for

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Smut (minors dni), fluff

Summary: Ghost’s never celebrated Thanksgiving before. For one, he’s not even American, and two, he never had anything to be thankful for. But this year? This year he’s thankful for you.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: use of feminine body parts, explicit language, fingering, choking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), guided masturbation (?)

A/N: welp. idek what to say. this started out as a fluffy thanksgiving drabble and now it’s this. is it good? idk. is it bad? idk. is it accurate? idk. my experience is in the negatives so this is just an amalgamation of all the knowledge i have gained from reading/reddit threads. happy thanksgiving to all who celebrate, and as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism as always appreciated, enjoy :)

Masterlist

Before the 141, Ghost had never celebrated Thanksgiving. He had heard of it, of course, but he would never partake in it. For most of his life, it was just an odd American holiday, a way for them to show their gratitude by gorging themselves on turkey and pies and mashed potatoes. He always thought it was a dumb tradition. If you were really thankful for something, you should show it everyday, not just once a year. But maybe that was just him being bitter, he knew, after all, life had dealt him a shitty set of cards, and he never had much to be thankful for.

Until he joined the 141; until he met you. Ghost had served in the military before, he had liked people before, but there was nothing quite like the 141, nothing quite like you. For one, the 141 was a multinational special operations task force, unlike his last battalion, which was full of Brits. The 141 was filled with operators from all sorts of places, Britain, Scotland, Australia, the Czech Republic, and of course, America. Even though he rarely engaged with the other soldiers, except for Price, Soap, Gaz, and you, he had heard them whispering to each other about Thanksgiving a few weeks back. 

And you. There was something different about you. Maybe it was the fact that you were in the 141 with him, that he saw you almost constantly, that he didn’t have to leave you for months at a time. Or maybe it was something else, maybe it was the way you never took yourself too seriously, even when you were in the field; maybe it was the way you hummed to yourself whenever you reloaded your gun; or the way your laughter tugged at his heartstrings whenever he heard it over comms. Whatever it was, it set you apart from everyone else he had ever liked. 

He was still thinking about you — not that that was uncommon, he was always thinking of you — when he heard an awkward knock at his door, followed by a muffled call of his name. He looked up from the book he was supposed to be reading, his hand instinctively reaching for his mask on his bedside table. Tugging it over his face, he made his way to the door. 

Usually, he could tell who was coming to his room just based on their steps in the hallway. Price’s were solid and firm, like him. Soap’s were heavy and brushed against the floor a lot, as if he was trying to make as much noise as possible. Gaz’s were usually light and quick, like he was rushing somewhere but didn’t want to run. And you, your’s were short and cheery, and almost always accompanied by the sound of you humming. But he didn’t hear any steps recently, not that that was surprising. The rest of the task force had spent the last few hours celebrating and the noise made it hard to hear anything. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t care. It was probably someone’s birthday.

Someone called his name again and carefully, he opened the door a few inches, just enough for him to see out of. He looked down to see you, wearing sweatpants and a tank and carrying two large plates of food. “Do you need something?” he asked.

You hummed, “Can I come in first?” you asked, lifting the two plates up for him to see.

He looked back into his room, checking to make sure it was fit for you to come in. He turned back to you, widening his door and stepping to the side to let you in. He watched as you set the food down on his desk and looked around his room. For some reason, he didn’t know why, he felt slightly nervous as he watched you take in his room. He hadn’t done much to it, the walls were light gray and completely barren; his desk was empty except for a few books, a laptop, a cup of pencils and pens, and an old journal he barely used; his blankets were folded and placed neatly at the end of the bed, which was pushed against the wall, and the only thing that signified that anyone had used it was his slightly crumpled pillow and the book he had left behind.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “what do you need?”

You hummed absentmindedly, tilting your head to read the books on his desk. “We missed you at dinner,” you said finally, turning around to look at him.

“Who’s we?” he asked.

“Everyone. Me, Soap, Gaz, even Price asked if you were coming.”

“I never come to dinner,” he said, “why’d everyone start caring now?”

You rolled your eyes in disbelief, “Because those were all normal dinners. This was a special dinner, we thought you’d come join us.”

“What’s special about this dinner?”

“What's special?” you asked, your jaw dropping, “what do you mean ‘what’s special?’ It's Thanksgiving, Ghost.”

Oh. He never knew the exact date of Thanksgiving. He knew it was near the end of November and that was pretty much it. If he was being honest, he had assumed it had already passed. “I don’t celebrate,” he told you, “and what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with the others, celebrating? And what’s with the food?”

“I know you don’t celebrate, '' you said, “but neither do Soap or Gaz or Price or like, half the people here, and they’re still hanging out with us. And since I knew you wouldn’t come to the party, I figured I’d bring the party to you.”

“I’m not really a party kind of guy,” he said, watching you scrunch your nose in annoyance.

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes, “then we can just have a lame Thanksgiving in here. What plate do you want?”

He sighed, if there was one thing about you it was that you were stubborn as hell. If you had set your mind on celebrating with him, it was going to take a lot to get you to leave, not that he minded. To be honest, having dinner with you wasn’t the worst way his night could’ve gone. He walked over to the desk, examining the two plates. “They’re the same thing,” you said, “just one has apple pie and the other has pumpkin.”

He turned to you, “Which one do you want?”

You shrugged, “I’m fine with either. You pick.”

He reached for the plate with pumpkin pie, offering the apple one to you. “Sit,” he said, nodding to his bed as he sat down on his desk chair a few feet from you. He watched you take the plate and sit on the bed, scooting carefully until your back rested against the wall.

“Dostoyevsky?” you asked, looking at the book he had left behind.

“Crime and Punishment. You read it?”

You nodded, “Back in high school. I actually really enjoyed it.”

“Me too, figured I’d reread it though. It’s been a while.”

“Oh wait,” you said suddenly, scrambling to put your food back on the desk, “don’t eat, we gotta say what we’re thankful for.”

He leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes as he put his plate down. “Do we really have to?” he asked, “I don’t see the point.”

You scoffed, “The point is expressing your gratitude, Ghost. That’s why it’s called Thanksgiving.”

“But if you were really thankful for something, you would show it everyday. Not once a year.”

This time it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Wow, great philosophy, Ghost,” you said sarcastically. “But for the rest of us who aren’t as noble as you, Thanksgiving is a time for us to remember to be grateful. Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually follow your little philosophy,” you said, shooting him a pointed look. “Alright I’ll go first. I am thankful for,” you paused, biting your lip as you thought of an answer. You looked good when you did that, he thought. He wished he could be the one biting it though. “I’m thankful for the fact that I’m alive right now,” you said, “I’m thankful that we don’t have to be in the field today, and I’m thankful for you.”

“You’re thankful for me?” he asked.

“Of course I am, you’ve saved my ass like twenty times in the field and you’re a nice guy anyways. I like hanging out with you.” God, he wished you liked him in other ways too. He knew you would, if you would just give him a chance, he could show you. Show you how good he could be to you, how good he would make you feel, how hard he would make you orgasm. He would make you scream so loud the entire base heard, even with all the noise they were making. “Your turn,” you said, blissfully unaware of his thoughts.

“Do I have to do three?” he asked.

“Mmm, yeah. Why not?”

He sighed, “Alright, I’m thankful for… I’m also thankful for the fact that I’m alive and we don’t have to be in the field today, and,” he paused, trying to think of a third option. “I guess I’m thankful for you too,” he said.

You scrunched your nose at him, “You literally just copied everything I said, Ghost. And also, you suck at showing your gratitude for me every single day.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you give me a chance to make that up to you then?” he asked, his voice lowering.

You stiffened, clenching your thighs together. Was he going where you thought he was going with this? He couldn’t be right? He was your boss, he wasn’t supposed to think of you that way. You weren’t supposed to think of him that way. With his head buried in between your thighs or his hand wrapped around your neck as he slammed into you. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice a lot smaller than you intended.

Shit, Ghost thought. What was he doing? Why did he say that? Why did you clench your legs together like that? Was he turning you on? Was he making you wet? God, he hoped so. He hoped you were thinking the same filthy thoughts as he was. You pinned underneath him with your legs wrapped around him as he thrust into you, or you on your hands and knees with your ass pressed out for him. Fuck, he could feel his cock twitching in his pants already. “What do you want me to mean?” he asked slowly, leaving you to decide how the night would go.

He watched as your eyes flickered down to his cock. He looked down too, he could see it pressing against his sweatpants. He looked back at you as you licked your lips, shifting your weight on your thighs. You slowly brought your gaze up to his, “I want you to mean,” you whispered, so quiet you didn’t even know if he could hear it. “I want you to mean that you want to fuck me.”

It was quiet for a moment, and you held your breath for what felt like forever until he spoke again. “Take off your pants,” he whispered. You didn’t move at first, just stared at him with those big doe eyes of yours. “Don’t make me tell you twice,” he said, his voice laced with lust and menace. You sprang into action, scrambling to kick off your pants as your mind raced with ideas of what he would do to you.

You sat on your knees in front of him, your hands toying with the hem of your tank. You watched him lean forward in his seat, his head nodding at your legs. “Open your legs,” he said, “I wanna see how wet you are.” Fuck, his voice was doing things to you, you could feel yourself get wetter everytime he spoke. Slowly, you opened up your legs, memorizing the way his pupils dilated at the sight of you. 

“Touch yourself,” he whispered.

“What?”

He looked back up at you. “I said touch yourself. Rub your clit for me.”

You watched him tilt his eyebrows at you as if to encourage you and you bit your lip. You snaked one of your hands down between your legs, sucking in a breath as you began to rub small circles on your clit. The friction of your underwear was working wonders on you, sending jolts of pleasure up your body whenever the cloth rubbed it the right way. You threw your head back, letting the feeling wash over you as you clenched around nothing.

“Look at me,” you heard him say. You picked your head off the wall, focusing your eyes on his. He wasn’t staring back at you though, he was staring at your cunt, at the way your fingers circled the bundle of nerves at the top, the way your underwear was starting to darken with how wet you were. 

You wanted to touch him, or for him to touch you. You stifled a whine as you thought about what it would feel like to have his fingers inside of you. You started to rub your clit faster, biting down on your lip as you tried rocking your hips against the bed.

Meanwhile, Ghost was watching you like you were the most captivating thing in the world, and you were. He could feel his cock getting harder in his pants as it strained against the fabric of his boxers. He had to swallow down a groan when he heard you start to whine. He could see you fighting the urge to close your eyes as the pleasure washed over you, your hand working on your clit furiously.

He grabbed your wrist, effectively stopping your wrist. You looked at him confused, your chest heaving. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you slowly before lowering his gaze to your core. You watched with bated breath as he stood up from his chair, his hands still on your wrist as he moved to the bed. Slowly, his hand lifted yours away from your clit, laying it next to you. He moved his hand to your cunt, his fingers sliding over your folds, admiring how wet he could tell you were even through the underwear.

“Ghost,” you whimpered, looking up at him.

His eyes snapped to yours, “Tell me what you want darling,” he whispered, his voice sultry sweet.

“Touch me. Please,” you mewled. 

“I am,” he said, and you could see his mask shift as he grinned.

“Ghost,” you whined, “you know what I mean.”

“Actually,” he said, pulling his hand away from you, “I don’t.”

You huffed at the lack of contact. “I want… I want you to finger me,” you said, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Perfect,” he said slowly. His hand slid down your panties and he let out a groan as his fingers came into contact with your wetness. “Shit, all this for me?” he asked, causing you to look away. “Not so fast,” he said, clicking his tongue, “eyes on me, remember?”

You nodded, training your eyes on his as he continued running his fingers through your wetness. You whined as you felt his finger brush over your clit, your breaths shallow as you tried to focus on his eyes. “Ghost,” you whimpered, gripping onto his wrist when you felt him stick a finger inside of you.

He looked up at you lazily, his finger pumping in and out of you. “You like that?” he asked in that gravelly voice of his, causing you to clench around his finger. You nodded, a moan slipping out of your mouth when his palm brushed against your clit. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, think you can take another?” he drawled, one of his hands snaking up to grab at your tit.

You whined, nodding your head fervently. “That’s my girl,” he said, adding another finger. You let out a gasp as he started using his thumb to rub steady circles on your clit, your thighs trembling as you tried to keep them open for him. Your mouth fell open as he continued fucking you with his fingers, the sound of his fingers fucking your wet cunt filling the room. You moaned as you felt his fingers curl up inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. He added a third finger, drawing another moan from you as you threw your head back, too consumed by the pleasure he was giving you to remember what he said.

He growled, the hand on your tits snaking up to wrap around your neck as he forced you to look at him. You whined, your hands wrapping around the hand on your throat as his fingers continued thrusting into you. You rocked your hips against his hand desperately, crying out his name as you felt him scissor his fingers inside you.

“Ghost,” you cried, your voice breathy as he kept fingering you. You could feel your orgasm growing, your entire body growing warmer and the knot in your stomach getting tighter as you approached the edge. You didn’t even need to tell him you were close, he could feel it in the way your body began to stiffen and your cunt squeezed him tighter. He kept working you, his fingers sliding and scissoring inside of you until you were at the very edge of the peak, ready to fall over. And then he pulled out.

You whined, your chest heaving from your lost orgasm. You stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “What was that for?” you gasped.

He chuckled, admiring your lust-blown pupils. “I want your first orgasm to be with my cock inside of you,” he explained, pulling you up from your knees.

He laid you on your back, letting out a whistle as he peeled your underwear off of your legs. You pushed yourself onto your elbows, watching him with wide eyes as he pulled off his sweatpants. You could see his cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, and you licked your lips as you watched him pull it out.

“You like that?” he asked, and you nodded. “You wanna suck it?” Another nod. He let out a low chuckle at that. “Maybe another time. Right now, I just want to be inside you.” You felt your heart flutter at his words, so this wasn’t a one time thing. There would be more times. What did he want out of this, did he just want a fuck buddy? Or did he want something more? You swallowed, silencing your thoughts as you watched his hand pump his cock as beads of precum pooled at the tip.

You sucked in a breath as he leaned over you, one of his hands caging you in as another lined up his cock with your entrance. You gasped as you felt him stretch you out, your eyes squeezing shut. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, you just didn’t realize how big he was. “Shit,” he groaned, dropping his head to your chest as he continued pushing into you, “you feel so fucking good.” You whined, your hands sliding under his shirt to feel his back.

You mewled as he bottomed out inside of you, your chest heaving as you clenched around him. It felt so good to have him inside of you, it was like he was made for you. He stretched you out so perfectly, leaving you teetering between the edge of pain and pleasure. Slowly, he started moving his hips, dragging his cock in and out of you. “Ghost,” you whined, “give me more.”

You heard him curse to himself, “Are you sure?” he asked.

You nodded, letting out a moan as he began thrusting into you faster. Ghost groaned as he fucked you. You felt so good squeezing around him. How long had he wanted this? He couldn’t remember. He could barely think, if he was honest, his whole world was consumed by the way you took him in so easily. He snaked a finger down to your clit, reveling in the way you moaned so loudly for him, reveling in the sounds of his cock slamming into your tight cunt. He slammed his hips into you harder, savoring the way your mouth dropped open and your eyes squeezed shut whenever he hit your sweet spot. He could practically feel his chest swell with pride as moan after moan fell from your lips, your voice raw from crying out his name. 

You could feel your orgasm coming again as he continued fucking you, the coil deep in the pit of your stomach tightening and threatening to burst. You could barely even register the sounds coming out of you, they sounded foreign and distant, unnaturally high pitched and whiny to be your own. “Ghost,” you cried out, wrapping your legs around his waist, trying to push him deeper inside of you. “I’m—”

“You about to cum?” he asked, recognizing the way you stiffened and clenched around him. You nodded furiously, your eyebrows knit together. “Fuck, the way you’re squeezing me I’m about to cum too,” he said, with a low chuckle, “go ahead and cum for me darling. Let everyone know how good I make you feel.”

You cried out his name, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back as the coil in your stomach finally snapped and your orgasm washed through you, racking your body with delicious waves of pleasure. You could feel him continue to thrust into you as you rode out your orgasm, your mind hazy and lust-drunk. Through lidded eyes, you watched his hips begin to stutter inside of you. You watched him dip his head in his shoulders, moaning your name as he came inside of you.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, with him on top of you, slightly heavy but not suffocating, both of your chests heaving as you thought about what happened. 

With a grunt, Ghost pushed himself off of you, stopping to admire your lust-blown pupils, messy hair, and unfocused eyes. He watched you blink slowly, your eyes turning to his as a smile came over your face. “What?” he asked, standing up.

“Since your whole thankfulness philosophy says that if you’re grateful for something you should show it every day, does that mean we’re gonna be doing this every single day?”

He rolled his eyes, “You still on about that?” he asked, making his way over to his bathroom and wetting a towel. “I thought we already established that my philosophy needs some work.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to have sex with me every day?” you asked, sucking in a breath as he wiped you down.

“That’s not what I meant, don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, pulling on his sweatpants before tossing you yours. “Put your pants on, the food you brought’s cold now, let’s get another plate,” he said, glad that the mask hid the childish smile. You rolled your eyes, tugging on your pants but leaving your ruined underwear on his bed. He could keep it, you had plenty more.

Ghost chuckled as he watched your legs buckle when you tried to stand, letting you struggle for a moment before he went over to help you. In a way, he could sort of see why people celebrated Thanksgiving. Before, he never had a reason to. He wasn’t American, he didn’t have any friends or family to celebrate with, and he didn’t have anything to be thankful for. But now? Now it was different. Now he had you.

#bingoboingobongo.com #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost modern warfare 2 #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost fluff #ghost imagine #ghost angst #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #simon riley mw2 #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader

[moongreenlight]

Greek mythology/the Olympians has been my hyperfixation for going on two decades now and I just… Soap as Dionysus.

Always brings a good bottle of wine and a few rooted cuttings of ivy as a housewarming gift. If he’s fixed his attention on you, he’ll also put a few sex toys in the little bag he brings. Puts them right on top for the pleasure of seeing your scramble to try to shove them in a drawer or tuck the whole gift in the closet.

He’s a great time. Has this intoxicating way about him. Like life is a stage and he’s the director. Playful and fun, though a little too enthusiastic at times. Handsy when the two of you hang out. You assume that’s just his nature and excuse it accordingly. Hard not to, gorgeous man that he is. A divine kind of handsome. Like his features are an eons-old amalgamation of all the most beautiful features humans have ever had.

And he gets strangely possessive, even after you’ve been nudging back his wandering hands or putting your hand between his mouth and your neck all night. Borders on vindictive and aggressive if he’s not in the right headspace.

It’s a bit terrifying to see him snapping his teeth in the face of some man at the bar who had only just asked you if you’d wanted a drink. You swear later in the night you see him babbling feverishly to a group of his friends. It sounds like total gibberish, and his friends look even more confused than you feel, but his eyes are wide as saucers and his hands are flying about hazardously. You don’t think much of it after Soap pulls you by the waist to the corner booth and tips a cocktail up to your mouth.

He keeps you out until all hours of the night. Insists on staying jovial. Club-hopping to find the best crowd, best music, best conversation. Keeps you up and active for so long that the confines of reality start to become fuzzy at the edges.

Sexuality expressed through bodies writing and twisting in drunken dance. Bumping up against one another. Collecting strangers and your own sweat in fat beads on your skin that make you shiver when they get heavy enough to trail down the small of your back.

When the room is spinning enough to make you stumble just a bit and you’re unable to do anything but giggle about it, he’s somehow able to make sneaking off into the family bathroom together seem like a good idea. He seems just as drunk as you are, slinging an arm around your shoulders when you walk. Bellowing a laugh when his hand grazes your tit but making no attempt to pull it away.

It’s less easy to be oblivious when you’re in the bathroom together. The muffled music filtering through the bottom of the door. He’s pressing up against you even though now there’s no crowd to excuse his practically grinding his groin on your hip.

It smells like sweat and generic brand bathroom cleaner. You hum when he staggers to the urinal instead of griping at him about how crass it is to take a piss right in front of you. He props himself up on the wall with one hand and a moment after you hear the teeth of his zipper come undone, he lets out a throaty, satisfied groan.

You busy yourself looking in the mirror. Checking your makeup. Seeing if you look as drunk as you feel. It’s filthy. There’s a web of cracks coming from the bottom left where it looks like someone tried to send their fist through to the wall behind it. It makes you a bit dizzy to look at and you have to bend at the waist to get close enough to see the way your mascara has smudged all around your eyes.

And all of a sudden there’s a burning heat behind you. Sickly, feverish heat pressing straight into the pillows of your ass. Soap’s spidery reflection shows up just over your smile sporting a wicked grin. Teeth and eyes flashing.

You try and swat him away, all too used to his comings-on, but he digs his fingers into the fat of your hips bruisingly hard.

“C’mon, hen. Been driving me mad all night. Relax a bit. Jus’ need this. Need you. Please.”

He has to lay flat over your back to hiss in your ear. Teeth clenched like he really needs to put some effort behind his words to sound polite. Like a petulant child who’d just been reminded by their mother to practice manners.

You were practiced in batting back his advances, but for some reason his grit made you falter. His gaze seemed to be burning a hole through you in the mirror. The idea that something inside him was hitting a roaring boil that he couldn’t stop from flowing over made your brain go foggy. The opposite of sobering. His aberrant need was contagious and catching quick.

He smelled like sweat and cheap cologne and dry, sweet wine and woods. Flirty and masculine and overwhelming. And he’s warm and strong behind you, even if he’s pushing his hard cock into you.

Who were you to deny him the pleasure of snapping his hips into your backside a few times? Letting his fingers impatiently tug at the button of your jeans and hastily tug them down with your underwear until they pooled around your ankles?

It didn’t help that the sound of him sending a glob of spit into his hand made you clench around nothing. A familiar warmth gathering between your thighs that made you shift a bit to chase the momentary relief even a touch of friction could provide.

He couldn’t even afford you the decency of pretending not to see. No. Instead he points a spotlight on you and insists you perform for him again. Nudging your legs apart and pressing his thigh flush against your core while purring the filthiest things in your ear.

“Ken I jus’ needed to wear you down, mm? Thought ‘bout this before we went out. Always did get sloppy when you drink. Jus’ needed a little push. That’s it -Jesus- cunt’s so wet. Gonna take good care of her.”

And the club is so packed full of drunken, dancing bodies that hardly anyone notices the way you two stumble out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later. Even though you’re still fumbling with the button of your jeans with shaking hands.

#this is so self indulgent #he’s fowl and deranged and sure I wrote him this way but idk what you want me to say other than that #he brings the ivy not only because that’s his thing but also because once you plant ivy it’s all but impossible to get rid of. #god forbid you plant it in your front garden and let it crawl all up the side of your house #it means almost nothing to anyone else but Soap sees it as a sign that you’re as devout to him as he is to you #hyperfixation I’ve had since I was ten years old and I could do it for all the boys omg. #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap smut #soap x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish

[loadedberetta]

hitman!141 as I currently cannot see the end of the au brainrot

have at it, treat this post like a group of vultures do a rotting corpse

Ghost is a shadow. barely a speck on the periphery of his victims, if that. he doesn't talk much. wears black, and that stupid skull mask (sometimes only a faint chalk outline of it on a ski mask). the default would be a pistol, silenced. no; he prefers something else. knives. it brings him a special kind of satisfaction to go completely unnoticed by his victims, still being able to shiv them on a whim. it's one of the last things that still get his blood flowing.

Gaz always romances his way into places; going with the heiress, the target's friend, or as the wife's "bodyguard"; he's handsome and capable, and he knows it. but rarely does he get his hands dirty. he prefers a silenced pistol, and makes sure he doesn't have to resort to anything more unconventional. a disciplined and trained killer, Price's prized boy.

Soap has a flair for the dramatics; he stages his murders. doesn't form a bond with the target, but won't shy away from the cat-and-mouse game. a piece of broken glass lodged in the victim's throat or a bit of contaminated food, he's done it all; filed away as an accident by the authorities. maybe he's seen inside the law enforcement machine, that's why he knows them this well.

and Price... he doesn't do hits anymore. he's the man behind the computer, the man who earned his place behind that mahogany desk. he's the amalgam of the boys; they learned all that they know from him.

#berettalks #tagging hell #cod au #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #tf 141 #cod mw ii #task force 141 #ghost cod #soap cod #gaz cod #price cod #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #ghost call of duty #simon riley #john soap mactavish #cod fanfic

[diejager]

Hello! I've been wanting to make a request like this for a while now as I've fallen back down the rabbit hole that is Bloodborne + the MonsterAU, and your writing is amazing! I have fallen in love with it! You are free to ignore this crazy request XD

What if during an incident at the base (could be Hunter bullied by recruits simply because Hunter sides more with monsters than with humans) and Hunter looses control, they all discover that Hunter is actually a monster too, though not exactly a natural monster or hybrid like the rest of the guys?

At first the monsters and hybrids of 141, Laswell, Los Vaqueros and KorTac believe Hunter is a werewolf but all of them are somewhat concerned and puzzled as to why they could never tell Hunter was a monster, plus the bestial form Hunter possesses is grotesque in appearance compared to the fantastical appearance of Soap's wolf. While Hunter is flattered to be considered a monster like them, she later explains that she is not a monster as such, but a Scourge Beast: a person infected with a plague that turns her into a beast. Hunter also explains that is never in control while in beast form and advises that if were to ever go in a killing spree, requests to be burned alive 👀.

Here are some references to what Hunter would look like lol:

Again feel free to ignore! XD

Plague Cw: blood and gore, bullying, anger issues, cannibalism, mutation, hate, tell me if I missed any.

Soap hadn’t expected you to growl, something so low and guttural —dangerous. The hair on the back of his neck rose high, his body tense as it reacted to your animalistic sound when some men approached you both with smug grins and cockily raised brows to raise hell between him and their pro-human thoughts. And it seemed that those men hadn’t expected you to act so aggressively, so beastly, after seeing you ignore their jeers and degrading words. They flinched back, fearful eyes fleeting from him to you, Soap’s eyes trailed down your shaking figure, hands clenching and unclenching with black claws, they were so sharp that it threatened to cut your hardened palms. 

“Fuck off,” you flashed sharp teeth, molars and incisors turned into an amalgamation of werewolf teeth, crooked and much sharper. 

Perhaps you weren’t truly a human, at least not fully with how vicious your expression looked like, a wretched image of your softer figure shaking and shuddering, trying to contain a beast that would ravage the frightened men before you. They scurried off when you curtly nodded to your left, shoving past some people that stood and stared at you and back into the base. He followed you closely, ears twitching at your growls and rumbling, teeth grinding together in an ear-piercing screech and heavy puffs of hot air from your nose. 

“What was that, Bonnie” Soap coaxed you into your room, frantic and concerned at your sudden shift of demeanour, “Ye okay?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Johnny,” you sighed, shoulders slumping when you sat on your bed, letting out shuddering breaths.

He sat beside you, giving you enough space but keeping a hand on your shoulder, circling your tense muscle. 

“ ‘m fine, Johnny, I swear,” you promised, blinking slowly at your retreating claws, “I’ll tell you later, hmm?”

Soap had warned them about your shift, the nagging curiosity that filled all their minds the day they heard from him that you weren’t human, neither monster nor hybrid, but the result of a plague —a sickness. He’d been with you during your shift, letting the others know before he turned too, his body burning away his amassed energy into steam and smoke. His change was strainous and energy-dependent, but yours was downright bloody and gory, your skin bubbling as dark fur grew from your raised spine, blood popping and spewing from every part of your body, staining the ground with dark and sickly and viscous blood. 

You were a crooked beast, limbs too bony and spine too sharp, your maw too elongated and teeth too misshaped. You were a feral mixture of beast and werewolf, horrible yet intimidating, something that rang hundreds of bells in his mind. You looked like a starved dog, abdomen caved in and hair course and dry, a terrible creature that ate through the enemy, sinking your teeth into their muscles and fat and devouring everything down in wet gulps and guttural rumbles. 

You made quick work of the enemy despite being their medic, striding back with him side to side (you towered over him in your beast form, a shock if he was honest). He wasn’t sure if their silence was from the sheer size of you, looming over everyone with white, beady eyes blinking owlishly at them or from your bloody and matted fur, guts and hair sticking between your teeth. He knew you were monstrous, but it sent a thrill up his spine.

“Was hungry,” he was sure he jolted when you spoke, a deep, deep growl from the back of your bony throat, it was gravelly and raspy, more so than Ghost or Prices, “Clean up when- back.”

He learned that you were a Scourge Beast, sometimes a permanent change and other times a temporary one that left you somewhat conscious. You might’ve been there, but never in complete control of your body, lingering at the back of your mind, a passenger of your hungry and rage-prone body. You warned them that you might go into a famished frenzy, ripping into anything and everything you could get your hands on, and if it were to every happen, they would need to contain you. Be it knocking you out or killing you, you made them swear, but Soap doubted he could do it, he couldn’t and wouldn’t do it despite how much you stress how dangerous you were.

They could be able to stop you without harming you, they’re conscious of both their weakness and strengths, but they knew, if it ever came to it, they will stop and contain you until you’re back to your sense. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #konig mw2 #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #captain john price #price mw2 #price x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #horangi #alejandro vargas #rudolfo parra #monster 141 #monster cod au #Scourge beast!reader #Bloodborne crossover #soap mactavish #monster 141 au #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #blood and gore #tw blood #cw: gore #cannibalism

[dantakeyoman]

away an' bile yer heid!

     ♡ dana! 8teen. she/her. brownskin. jersey girl. neteyam & jake’s mate, roronoa’s one and only, katsuki’s firecracker, megumi’s gf, sanemi’s girl, randy’s baby, johnnycake’s darlin’, SOAP MACTAVISH enthusiast. mother of romantic neteyam. ask me anything <3

     ♡ this is a 16+ page. but i’m to lazy to be checkin’ for you sooo. i don’t write none of that scat, piss, bdsm, pedophile, threesome shit so don’t ask. this is an amalgamation of all of my writing accounts cause i’m sick of hopping back and forth.

     ♡ all my stories are written with fem!black readers in mind unless stated otherwise.

  masterlist!

     ♡ all my stories are written with fem!black readers in mind unless stated otherwise. ♡

avatar: the way of water

one piece

the last of us

the outsiders

karate kid

sym bionic titan

zombieland

call of duty: mw2

#masterlist #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #na'vi x reader #na'vi x y/n #omitacaya #metkayina #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #outsiders #the karate kid #karate kid x reader #karate kid #sym bionic titan x reader #sym bionic titan

[babyboiboyega]

Not what I Heard (Matt Murdock x GN!reader)

A/N: Hiatus who?? Hiatus where?? Nah, just kidding; definitely still on a hiatus. I just got a very strange boost of motivation and wrote out this very short drabble that I think is really adorable

ENJOY THIS SHORT MATT MURDOCK, FLUFF, CUTE AS HELL DRABBLE I DID

Matt Murdock x GN!reader

Content: fluff, no use of y/n

Babyboiboyega’s Marvel Masterlist

Babyboiboyega’s Masterlist of Masterlists

It had slipped out, purely on accident; a result of hearing that Matt would be home earlier than usual and the excitement that it caused. You hadn’t even noticed the impact of your words until he had stopped, his eyebrows furrowing as his head tilted slightly. 

“What did you just say?”

You paused, directing a questioning gaze at him before replaying the words you had just spoken. The realization made your eyes widen.

“I…I think I said ‘I’ll see you at home.” You nodded once as if he could see you, and in an effort to make yourself more sure of the lie you had just come up with, you nodded again. 

Matt’s lips started to curl at the corners, and before long, a full blown grin was on his face. He pushed back from his desk, standing and walking around it until he stood right in front of you. 

You couldn’t have calmed your racing heartbeat if you tried; and even if you could, he’d have already picked up on it. Almost a year together and he still had this effect on you. 

Damn him and his charming grin, and his perfect lips, and his stupid suit, and his glasses-

“That’s not what I heard.” 

“‘That’s not what I heard’; well between us two, one of us makes it a habit to get punched repeatedly in the head, so maybe your hearing isn’t as good as you think it-oof-.”

In one smooth motion, he leaned back against his desk while grabbing your hands and pulling you with him. A huff left your mouth as your chest connected with his, but you couldn’t stop your own smile from forming.

“No, my hearing is just fine. And I know what I heard. Just like how I can hear your heart rate increasing right now.” He emphasized his words by guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders before letting his trail down your sides, lowering to your hips, and squeezing affectionately. Your eyes narrowed at him and the game he was playing.

“Matthew, we’re in your office. There are people outside.”

“Foggy and Karen went to get lunch. It’s just us.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to participate in this…delinquency.”

You lightly pinched his shoulder and he flinched dramatically, immediately easing your worries with the way his smile grew. Instead of pulling his hands back, he only pulled you closer until he could rest his chin on the center of your stomach. Without thinking, one of your hands raised and landed in his hair, lightly drawing your nails across his scalp. You may not have had his super hearing, but you felt the pleasant chill that raked his body at your actions, prompting you to continue with your motions.

“Delinquent or not, it doesn’t make any difference, because…”

His words trailed off and you furrowed your eyebrows. Your hand in his hair stopped, but all it took was a gentle nudge into the palm of your hand for you to continue.

“Because…of what?”

He seemed to be savoring the seconds between your question and the words he knew were about to come out of his mouth, but all the silence did was make you grow nervous. The look on his face could only be described as blissful, and anybody in his shoes would attest that “blissful” was the only word to describe this moment.

Matt was sitting in an amalgamation of sensations that emphasized your presence, something he could honestly sit in all day and night. Your signature scent that had a mixture of your soap and just a hint of his apartment paired with the feeling of your nails slightly dragging against his scalp almost had his eyes fluttering closed beneath his glasses. The steady rising and falling of your stomach made his slightly uncomfortable position worth it. But as much as he wanted to stay in the moment, he had to do something.

“Matthew Michael Murdock, because of what?”

“Sweetheart, can you take my glasses?” 

He could practically taste your confusion as you complied with what he asked, gently removing his glasses and setting them on his desk behind him. Your hands cupped his face and you let your thumbs rub across the stubble dotting his cheeks; a movement that was as natural as breathing to you.

Matt’s eyes radiated such a strong look of adoration and…love that it made your breath hitch. His smile softened.

“Just wanted you to see my eyes when I say…that I love you, too. More than anything.”

He didn’t need his sight to know that the smile that had taken over your lips was blinding in its entirety.

************************

Hope you all enjoyed this! Hopefully things will get to a point where my motivation is a little better and I can post more! I’m definitely continuing to write; but what I write is solely for my enjoyment, and I don’t exactly feel all that comfortable putting them out to the public.

What I can remind yall of is my other, other account (@finnlandiaaa) which is where I post what I write in my free time if its in “script” form (still have not found another name to call it). I literally only have one piece up on there, BUT it’d be cool if you check it out!

#Matt Murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock oneshots #matt murdock drabble #matt murdock x gn!reader #daredevil #daredevil imagines #daredevil x reader

[arsonsara]

Welcome Home Theory that's been running around in my brain. In the recent update, Food comes up quite a few times. Sally asking Poppy to bake her a cake, Sally buying some goods from Howdy, Frank helping Poppy to bake and the multiple times we see Frank in his garden, using chopped up vegetables as fertilizer.

One thing I noticed in particular, especially when it came to Sally, is that Sally doesn't particularly assign the concept of Eating with Flavor at all. Howdy sold Sally a box of Soap Flakes as Instant-Mashed Potatoes, a Sponge for Bread, and Wood Chips & Sawdust as Cereal. And when asking Poppy for a cake, she was more interested in the cake's aesthetically qualities more-so than how it actually tasted. Now this could just be seen Howdy fleecing Sally and Sally being quirky, but I couldn't help but feel that was...weird. Especially the idea of Howdy selling Sally a bunch of actual junk and calling it food. Sure, he seemed eccentric but he wouldn't sell anything to a friend that could actually hurt them just for a quick buck! Heck, he doesn't even take money! What reason would he have to fleece Sally, much less recklessly endanger her like that? Than there's Poppy and Frank with their...muffins? I mean, they're baked in Muffin Tins but they're just an amalgam of seeds and peanut putter from the sounds of things! And aside from the Peanut Butter it doesn't sound edible, it sounds more like a cartoonishly exaggerated idea of what a Giant Puppet Bird would eat from an aesthetic perspective, not so much a realistic one.

My guess is the Puppets don't have access to actual food. They probably couldn't even eat actual food! They're puppets! Everything they "Eat" are arts-and-craft amalgams or props of what would look like food for a show!

It would also put more focus on when Frank said "You eat with your eyes first." Whether he knew it or not, that's literal! It doesn't matter if it's actual food, just if it looks like it!

The only thing that could disprove this theory are the decomposing vegetables in his garden. Wheras every other bit of food we've seen could be written off as meant to look like food and not act like it, his torn up peppers and tomatoes look fairly realistic. That being said, they also don't look decomposed either. They look like they were freshly torn into and just plopped onto the ground. But at the same time, it's hard to say. Now, what does this imply? So what if the Puppets are eating fake food? Well, it's just a hunch, but I think this adds credence to the idea that the world the Puppets exist in is fake and manufactured, like the show they supposedly come from.

Another detail in the Bug Videos is that, as opposed to the Lost Media that was posted onto the website, the Bug Videos are far more candid and calm. They feel more like Slice of Life segments than they do cut up moments from the show!

I think this is meant to imply two things! 1. The Puppets in Welcome Home are real. And I mean that as in, they aren't just puppets. They have feelings, emotions, and they do things when the cameras aren't rolling. They have lives outside of the show they're a part of and broadcasted at towards children. 2. This world is fake, and was made by someone. More than likely the Playfellow Workshop. Whether or not this is a literal world the staff made, or simply that the Puppets see the sets they live in as a world and the Playfellow Workshop does a good job to prevent the puppets from being Truman Show'ed is another thing. Heck, maybe it isn't even the Playfellow Workshop! Maybe it's another third, unknown entity we have yet to encounter! Either way, I get the feeling this theme of the Puppets being in a Fake World, as well as the details of Wally pushing past the fourth wall of reality, imply that the story takes place in two realities: The real world, and the puppet world, and that the main conceit of the story and the horror come from how the two worlds blur together.

#Welcome Home #Welcome Home Spoilers #Welcome Home Theory #Wally Darling #Barnaby B. Beagle #Poppy Partridge #Eddie Dear #Julie Joyful #Frank Frankly #Howdy Pillar #Sally Starlet

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 13 / Ghost x Soap

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Disclaimer: I've played a lot of Ghost Recon Wildlands this past weekend (damn, I almost forgot how much I love that game) and it shows :D

Previous chapter | AO3

Ghost plays much less in the following days. Instead, he spends the majority of his time in the mission editor. The new mission is going to be much bigger and more complex. Ghost raked his memory until he came up with a perfect scenario for a fire team of five. It’s an amalgam of several missions he’s done. Hostage rescue from a heavily fortified base with little to no intel. Difficult terrain, lots of guards, unknown layout of the compound.

He builds the base meticulously on a rocky hill overseeing a valley, with watchtowers and unclimbable walls with coils of razor wire on top. Oh, and there are cameras along the perimeter wall, too—absolutely the worst tactical situation.

Ghost places the A. I. controlled enemies throughout the base. Some walk in pairs, some go solo, and others oversee the situation from a vantage point. Most of them have visibility on another patrol at any given time, and their paths cross here and there. They have good weapons on them, but the base also has some pretty nasty surprises.

As a cherry on top, the hostages are civilians, so he adjusts their stamina to be lower than the default setting for the soldiers. He also can’t forget about the exfil, placing checkpoints and random patrols along the way. The mission won’t be over until they manage not only to free the hostages but also to cover some distance so the extraction helo will be able to land safely.

Frankly, if Ghost had been given this mission back in the day, he would have told his CO that it could not be done. The only way would be to wait for the enemy to transfer the hostages and intercept them. In this instance, however, they’re going to tackle it head-on. He’s done his fair share of miracles and impossible missions, but this right here? That is absurd, which is why it’s going to be so much fun.

Especially since there’s only one way for him to play it with all the knowledge he has: he’s going to be on the other team. The defending one. And with a little luck, he’s going to have a teammate, too, apart from the AI.

It takes him a week to fine-tune it to perfection. Or, well, as close as he can get with AI guards. There are a lot of them, but they wouldn’t pose all that much of a threat to a well-trained and professional unit. He’s so immersed in the preparation that he even turns down John’s numerous offers to play together. As much as he’s sorry and misses his voice and stupid jokes a little, this is going to be so much better.

Right now, he only needs to confirm one last thing—the piece de la resistance. Ghost takes his phone and dials the number. Honestly, Soap is doing wonders for his social life. Simon knows that Kyle will call him out on it soon, but it doesn’t matter. If it goes smoothly, the payback will be very much worth any and all ridicule from his former Sergeant.

The call is actually not very long at all. Because Kyle always has been and always will be up for some good old fun. Especially on the account of men under his command. He accepts Ghost’s offer for a 2v4 match under one condition: the boys can’t know it’s him. Simon happily agrees.

Finally, the day comes. Simon joins the voice chat and receives a warm welcome.

“Almost thought you’d fallen from the face of the Earth,” Soap jokes, yet his voice is slightly serious. Maybe Simon wasn’t the only one who missed the other’s voice and jokes.

“No, but I’ve been working on another mission,” Simon says as casually as he’s able.

There’s an excited “ooooh,” from Rudy, who, apparently, managed to get a new headset in the meantime.

“Don’t leave us hanging, mate,” Roach joins in, albeit keeping his cool, at least for now.

“This one is a bit different. Here’s the briefing,” Ghost uploads several files. It’s a briefing stack, alright. Map of the area, outline of the mission, and all the details the non-existent command has on the mission. Which is not much, really. Also, photos of the hostages and some bullshit story about them having information on a local drug cartel. He waits until the first person gets to the part of the brief where it says that there will be four operators.

“Wait… four?” Soap asks, audibly confused. “But there’s five of us?”

“I’m relieved you can count to five, Johnny,” Simon smirks. “That’s correct. I won’t be joining you. It would hardly be fair since I created the mission, no?”

“Uhm… I guess? But… why design a mission if you’re not going to play it?”

“I didn’t say I’m not going to play it. I said I won’t be joining you. See you in the lobby,” Simon says cheerily before he disconnects from their voice chat. He is going to have his own, after all.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Gaz greets him, his grin audible in his voice. “Ready to kick some ass, Ghost?”

Simon closes his eyes for a moment and feels the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. God, so many memories. And it feels pleasant and warm, this years-old familiarity. They saved each other’s lives many times, shared so many pints, so much banter, and some hurt and misery, too.

“Let’s show them how it’s done,” Simon agrees as he joins the lobby along with Gaz, who has a completely inconspicuous nickname of GhillieMan854. As soon as he sees all six of the players in the lobby, he starts the game.

Ghost didn’t spend the week just tweaking the mission; he was also easing Gaz into the game. Luckily, the Lieutenant was always good at picking up technology-related skills, so it was a fairly quick process. They also discussed the strategy and their roles. Both of them can efficiently work alone, and that is what they’re going to do. Lure the unit in, let them think they have everything under control.

Just a few minutes after the start of the mission, it starts to rain. Just as planned. It’s not just any rain, too. A downpour bad enough to lower visibility to shit. Ghost slips out of the base and disappears into the jungle just behind the walls. Kyle might have a “Ghillie” in his nickname, but it’s Ghost who’s wearing a ghillie suit. As he takes the position on a small hill hidden in the forest but with good visibility of the base despite the weather, he becomes pretty much invisible. Thermal vision would be the only way someone could spot him; too bad it’s raining hard enough to render thermal useless.

Now he waits. Just like Gaz waits, hidden somewhere inside the base, silent and deadly. They have the comms, but it would be stupid to talk shit now. They need to listen closely.

For the next thirty minutes, nothing happens. Ghost is sure the unit is scoping the area and studying the guards' routes, who are not too keen to stay in the rain. The rain, that is gradually losing intensity until it morphs into a mere drizzle. Ghost remembers how miserable he’d been years ago, alone in the Bolivian jungle. Drenched to the bone, cold and tired. That’s the undeniable magic of video games; you can do whatever you want while sitting in the comfort of your home. That, and you probably won’t die playing them.

Ghost looks through the scope, carefully checking all probable points of breach he can see from his position. Then he hears a faint rustle to his left. He freezes. Another rustle. A little bit closer. If they have a thermal on them, he’s fucked. If not… Simon smiles but stays completely still.

Soon enough, one man enters his field of view. It’s hard to say who it is, but Ghost is more concerned about the number rather than identity. Did they actually split up instead of creating two teams of two people, like the brief suggested? That would be either very stupid or very clever. They would play Ghost’s expectations, but at the same time, they would be much more vulnerable. It could also be a trap. The bloke in front of Ghost could be bait, with a partner waiting nearby. If Ghost makes a move, he could either take the man down or be killed before he gets to him.

Ghost opts for patience. But he can’t resist taking a screenshot. He loves the feeling of having an advantage. The moment right before he seizes the opportunity, knowing with absolute certainty he’s going to prevail. This is what he feels now. Yet he’s careful. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody turned the tables on him. The man moves forward, looking cautiously around him. He can’t hope to see Ghost. Not a chance.

However, Ghost is now reasonably sure he’s alone. Good. Painfully slowly, he lowers his head to the scope. Slower still, he turns the silenced, foliage-covered rifle a little bit to the left. Strictly speaking, he could do that shot without the scope; the bloke is close enough. Better not risk anything, though.

Ghost caresses the trigger, taking a breath, holding it.

The sound of a silenced shot is lost in the sounds of the jungle: one down, three to go. And Ghost needs to change position.

When Ghost chimes in, Gaz is sitting in the control room, looking at the monitors with camera feeds. “Got one. Seems they split up.”

“Bold,” Gaz grins, fully aware that Ghost and he are doing exactly the same thing. Three highly trained operatives? Could be anywhere. Gaz takes his SMG and goes on a patrol. It would actually be hilarious if they mistook him for an AI. Gaz wishes they would. He would’ve given them so much hell.

The guards are on the same team as he and Ghost, so they ignore him, and Gaz does his best to imitate the lifeless guards. The rain has let up, but the dusk has fallen. Strong lights come to aid, illuminating the base with white light.

Gaz is vigilant but not overly so. That could tip them off. He makes a round and starts back to the main building where the hostages are held. He sees one of the guards on the right stop. The AI-controlled body hesitates before the programming commands him to investigate whatever seems suspicious. Gaz also remembers his plan and stops, pausing and following the guard. Could be nothing.

Unless… there! A movement behind a tent. Time to play. Gaz drops lower and slowly makes his way around, SMG poised to shoot anything that sticks its head out.

He seems to be in luck. As he rounds the corner of the tent, sure enough, there’s a soldier there. With his back turned to Gaz. What a treat. Now, Kyle could make it fast and painless, but that would also mean loud since he doesn’t have a silencer on his weapon – that would set him apart from the bots. So, instead, he whips out a knife and presses the key for the slowest, quietest movement possible. He’s barely breathing, staring at the display, clutching the mouse way too tight as he crosses those last feet.

The bloke turns in the last second. Kyle can see the jolt of surprise in the movement, but this is a very skilled operator he’s dealing with. The rifle comes up, Gaz immediately dives forward. The knife finds the target, slashing the leg. A burst of gunfire misses Gaz narrowly. He won’t be so lucky next time. Switching back to the SMG, he doesn’t even have time to aim; he just pulls the trigger, sprays and prays.

The soldier staggers and tries to disengage. Gaz is not going to allow that. Rolling on his back, he aims upside down, and another salvo hits. The man is done for. A second later, a bunch of bot-guards show up. “Thanks for the help,” Kyle mutters, then informs Ghost. “Got one, too.”

“Good, they’ve managed to take out the lights by the back entrance, probably some of the bots, too. Might be close to the hostages now.”

“You going to greet them on their way out?”

“Already in position. I think that was their strategy: distract us and grab the prize.”

“Could be. Risky as hell, they lost two teammates, but if they were fast enough, might just work.”

“We will see,” Ghost muses, and he sounds like he’s really having fun. It’s nice to hear.

As a matter of fact, Soap and Alejandro are close to the hostages. So much so that they’re already leading them to the small hole in the perimeter wall. Ghost has placed several because this is supposed to be a bit of a run-down place in the middle of nowhere, not a high-tech prison.

Alejandro is taking the point as Soap ushers the package to walk faster and be quiet. They haven’t heard from Rudy or Roach, meaning they probably didn’t make it. It sucks, but it’s just a game, and they agreed that they will win this, no matter the cost. Who dares wins.

Soap is promptly reminded they’re far from safe as a bullet ricochets from the wall nearby. Sniper. Fuck! “Sniper!” he hisses into the comms, laying on the ground and taking the hostages with him.

“Where?”

“East, bearing one-ten-ish,” Soap makes an approximation.

“Okay, I’ll cover you; get to the jungle; we will lose them there. On my mark,” Alejandro hides behind a rock. “Now!” he gets up and fires somewhat blind in the direction Soap told him.

The Sergeant gets up, orders the hostages to do the same, and runs to the tree line. It’s not far, thank god for that.

“Fuck!” Ghost curses as he misses the soldier’s head. Stupid mistake. He prepares to change position the moment the second soldier opens fire in his direction. Ghost ducks, but a lucky bullet still finds him. It’s not fatal, but it’ll definitely hinder his movement. “Bloody hell… Gaz, get to the eastern wall. I’m hit, but we can still get them.”

“Rog,” Gaz confirms, easily slipping back to Ghost being in command. It’s how they served for many years, after all. Yet he knows who he can get away with. “Hold on for me, old man.”

Gaz arrives some two minutes later and patches Ghost up. Good thing he equipped the first-aid kit. “So, how do you want to play this?”

“Good old manhunt,” Simon smiles, shouldering the rifle.

“I’m up for that,” Gaz agrees. “Think they’ve changed the LZ?”

“No, the jungle is too dense elsewhere. Let’s go.”

Soap and Alejandro trudge through the jungle. It would be much less of an issue if the bloody civilians could keep up. Damn Ghost and his attention to detail. The escape was exciting, Soap would even go as far as to say it really rattled him a little.

But now they just make their way through an endless sea of green. Well, it’s mostly black now since night has fallen. Luckily, they brought night vision. The jungle in the eerie greenish-white and black tones is almost ethereal. But they can’t stop. It’s still quite a long way to the extraction point and Soap seriously doubts that Ghost and his friend are going to let them win just like that.

Ghost’s friend. Hm. Soap finds himself thinking about the unknown variable. Well, he assumes it’s Ghost’s friend, but it could be anybody, really—even some random bloke. No, no way, Ghost wouldn’t invite a random to a custom-made game with his friends. Who the hell is it? Someone from Ghost’s past? A fellow retired soldier? If he has someone like that, why did he never mention them?

“Soap? Focus, hermano, you’re thinking too loud,” Alejandro chides him, and deservedly so.

“Aye, sorry,” Soap answers sheepishly.

Ghost and Gaz track their prey like professional hunters. They, too, have night vision on them. And they know the terrain better. They are quiet, brushing through the undergrowth, guns in their hands. Their great advantage is that they can move quickly and silently. The civilians the other group is dragging along are bound to make some noise.

And they do. Footsteps are easily discernable in the background noise of the jungle. Ghost signals to Gaz to stop. They listen, gauging distance and precise location. Ghost makes a decision, gesturing to Gaz to go around. They will flank the group.

Alejandro stops and looks around.

“What is it?” Soap asks, looking around as well. He can’t see anything. Anything but trees and undergrowth.

“Not sure,” Alejandro says. Then there’s a burst of bullets from SMG, tearing through the night like a disembodied terror. “Mierda!” Alejandro cries out as he’s hit.

Soap turns immediately, finger on the trigger. At the same moment, someone tackles him on the ground. The last thing he sees is a swirling mass of foliage very loosely resembly a man and then a glint of a knife.

Alejandro tries to stand but is immediately mowed down by the SMG.

That’s a game over for the rescuers.

Have a little bonus of totally-not-Soap from Wildlands :)

#Gaz kicks ass #Ghost woos Soap by knifing him #Just the usual business at 141 #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

[jacksprostate]

The narrator's office decor. Desk toys. You know what I mean

Obviously minimalist, he doesn't want to enjoy anything. @a-forsteri and I came up with two items we think would be featured though

I think at mandatory holiday gift exchange a coworker gave him one of those little drinking bird desk ornaments. These guys:

He feels ballistic rage whenever some secretary or asshole who is tired of his haikus and wants to wage passive aggressive war puts a paper cup of water from the water cooler on his desk and sets the toy to bobbing. He does not do a single thing to move the toy away from any cups, cease its movement, or get rid of it. He just seethes and uses it as an opportunity to develop a hernia

Secondly we think he would have a pile of teeth he scrounged off the floor at Fight Club. Probably in whatever little soap dish he's using as an ash tray for his also unallowed in office smoking habit.

The key is he would enjoy that, which makes it risky, but it falls in the same category as the smoking and the looking disheveled where his primary sense of enjoyment is from making everyone around him deeply uncomfortable. And if someone asks him about it —

My friend and I are of two schools, she thinks he would simply say they're his son's baby teeth. Is that a problem. Despite them clearly being grown men's molars, evidence of years old dental amalgam, etc. Pulls a tooth out at his desk. Puts it right into the dish without thinking. He'd get off on the lie enough to justify doing it instead of the uncomfortable truth.

I think he'd follow his standard pattern of monologuing to any concerned parties about how if they know of a coworker who seems to violently collect human bones, that it sounds like said coworker is deranged, dangerous, a major, major threat. Carefully watching to see how who he's talking to gets further disturbed.

To be honest it's probably both and he mentally flips a coin when someone asks about it.

#fight club #this was too funny to me not to archive in some way

[coneyislandbabey]

prologue; bug spray and bonfires and booze. -> w.rojas

WARNINGS: alcohol, cursing

SYNOPSIS: This is the prologue to the Camp Wawayanda Lake series! You arrive at camp and reunite with old friends. There's a drunken bonfire, and Warren is suddenly, distractingly beautiful. word count: 2,079

NOTES: I'm so psyched for you guys to read this series! it feels like the perfect thing to write as summer comes in. I hope you love it! check out the official series playlist on spotify!

“Fuck! What did I do with my bug spray,” you muttered, sifting through the growing pile of random crap amassing on your bedroom floor. It was an amalgamation of stuff you had half-unpacked from college during the few days you’d been home, and stuff you’d been gathering to pack up for the summer. Daisy and Simone were due to pick you up any time now, and your duffel bag of summer camp essentials was still only half packed. 

“I can’t believe you’re already off again,” your mother said, suddenly materializing in the doorframe of your bedroom. She maneuvered through the mess to drop a can of bug spray in your open bag, and you shot her a grateful smile. 

“C’mon, mom, do you really want me moping around the house all summer, eating all your food?” you asked with a laugh. You spotted your sunscreen partially buried under a mound of sweatshirts from college, and tucked it away in your bag. 

“Actually, yes, I wouldn’t mind it,” she responded indignantly. 

“I know, mamma,” you said, standing up to press a kiss to her cheek. “But you know I wouldn’t miss a Wawayanda Lake summer for all the world.” 

“I know, I know. Don’t forget to say hi to Uncle Rod for me, alright?” 

“Of course,” you waved a hand dismissively. “And Teddy, too.”

“Very good,” she poked your nose. “Don’t forget to pack your shower stuff.”

“Shit! That’s what I’m missing,” you huffed, tottering through the mess in your room and out to the hall closet, where the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and soap you had bought specifically to bring to camp were waiting for you. As you made your way back to your bag, a car horn sounded from the street below. You unceremoniously dropped the bottles in your hands, making a beeline for the window. A cherry red Firebird was parked at the curb, Daisy’s familiar flaming head emerging from the driver’s side door. 

“Gotta go,” you announced to your mom, hastily zipping up your still-open duffel and throwing both of your bags over your shoulder. 

“Did you pack everything you need?”

“Guess I’ll find out! Bye mom, love you,” you grinned, dragging her into a quick hug before shooting down the stairs and out the front door. 

“My girl!” Daisy called as you emerged, throwing her arms wide as you emerged. You trotted down the driveway, dropping your bags on the sidewalk to launch yourself at her. 

“My hazy Daisy,” you grinned, arms still locked around her neck. “I missed you so much.” 

“You don’t even know the half of it.” 

“Where’s my Simone?” 

“Asleep in the passenger seat,” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Better not wake her when you get in. She almost bit my head off when I picked her up earlier.”

You laughed, ducking down to glimpse Simone’s sleeping form in the car. “She’s always so grumpy when she’s tired.” 

Daisy hoisted up one of your bags and you took the other, opening the back door and shoving them across the bench seat before climbing inside yourself. Daisy resituated herself in the driver’s seat, shooting you a grin through the rearview mirror. 

“Ready for another Wawayanda summer?” she asked. 

“I always am.” 

The ride up to Camp Wawayanda Lake was several hours, and you spent every minute with your head leaning against the open window, feeling the wind rush across your skin, singing along to the music blaring out of the radio. You watched as crowded suburbia turned into rural towns, as flat stretches of field turned into the winding road up into the mountains straddling the border of New Jersey and New York. With each mile that you traversed, you grew more excited at the prospect of everything this summer would bring. 

Undoubtedly, your closest friends in the world were those you had met at Wawayanda Lake. Some, like Daisy and Simone, you had met when you were children, attending summer camp together. The others, like Karen and Eddie, you had only met once you had all started working as counselors together back when you were sixteen. After days, it had felt like you’d known each other for years; never in your life did you connect with anyone that fast– even your college friendships paled in comparison. A part of you thought that Wawayanda Lake had to be magic in some way, the perfect conditions of summer sun and woodland isolation leading to you forging the most important relationships of your life. 

“We’ve arrived!” Simone shouted, breaking you out of your reverie. You shifted to look through the front windshield, catching a glimpse of the ancient wooden sign bearing ‘WAWAYANDA’ in faded white letters. A few minutes later, Daisy parked alongside a small group of other cars in front of the welcome building. 

“Looks like we’re the last to arrive,” you noted as you climbed out of the car, pausing to stretch your stiff limbs. 

“Yeah, we’re technically a little late,” Simone said, glancing down at her watch. 

“We’ll be fine, Roddy never gets mad at his little niece,” Daisy said, pinching your cheek as she walked past. You rolled your eyes at the gesture, following her and Simone up the front steps of the welcome building. 

Sure enough, everyone else was already milling around the main room, catching up with one another. You spotted Uncle Rod close to the door, back turned to you as he chatted with Teddy, and bounded over, scaring the shit out of him when you tackled him from behind in a hug. 

“Jesus fuck, kid,” he said, after realizing who it was who had accosted him. 

“Hello to you, too, Uncle Rod,” you grinned, detaching yourself from him in order to hug Teddy as well. “Mom says hello to you both.” 

“How is she these days?” Teddy asked, while in the background Rod muttered something about you nearly giving him a genuine heart attack. 

“Jealous that you two get to spend so much time with me,” you answered. “I’m very much in demand, you see.” 

“Of course you are,” Teddy chuckled. 

“Speaking of which, I’ve got places to be and people to see. I’ll talk to you guys later,” you winked at Teddy, hugged a still-grumbling Rod, and turned to your friends. 

“There she is!” Eddie said, the first to see you making your way towards everyone. He maneuvered around Karen and Graham to squeeze you in a hug so tight that it lifted you off of your feet. 

“Roundtree, wonderful to see you again,” you grinned, patting his cheek when he finally placed you back down on the floor. The next to reach you was Camila, whose hair was impossibly longer than the last time you’d seen her. You were enveloped in her familiar, comforting vanilla scent when she hugged you, a scent that could rocket you right back into memories of every previous summer of your life spent in this little stretch of woods. You made your way through Karen, Graham, and Billy as well, before looking around the room in confusion. 

“Where’s–” you started to ask, turning in a circle. You were cut off by the curly-haired boy you were seeking coming around the corner, grinning and already making a beeline towards you. 

“Warren!” you shouted happily, closing the distance between the two of you and launching yourself at him for a hug, completely trusting that he would catch you. His strong arms encircled your waist, clinging tightly as he spun you around in a circle. 

“There you are, angel,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” 

“Manage to pass all your classes this year?” you asked, and Warren rolled his eyes fondly. You had teased him all of last summer for failing his writing requirement first semester because he slept through every class, having to retake the following semester. 

“Yes, mom,” he returned. “I learned my lesson and stopped scheduling classes before noon.” 

“I don’t understand you, Rojas. You wake up before eight in the morning every day when we’re here, but you couldn’t manage a ten-thirty class?” 

“Well, I don’t get to look forward to seeing you every day when I’m at Penn State, do I?” 

You rolled your eyes, smacking him on the chest and ducking your head to ward away the blush warming your cheeks. That only made it worse, when your hand made contact with the hard expanse of muscle that was Warren’s chest. You took a step back, taking him in as he told you about something stupid his college roommate had done. 

Warren had always been something to look at, even when you met at sixteen and he was scrawny and growing like a weed, but something had happened over the last year. It was like he turned twenty and his body said got it, we have to look ridiculously beautiful and grown up now. His hair was longer than usual, his curls deep black and shiny and unruly as usual. He must have started hitting the gym or something, too, because the way his t-shirt stretched tightly over his chest, arms bulging strong and tan from the sleeves, was almost lewd. 

Fuck, you thought. Every preceding summer, you had been able to convince yourself that you didn’t like Warren than anything more than a friend. Anyone can appreciate eye candy, right? At least, that’s what you told yourself when your gaze lingered too long on his bare chest when he was on lifeguard duty at the lake. You had a feeling you weren’t going to be able to lie to yourself like that this summer. And that meant you were totally fucked. 

Night came quickly after a long afternoon of running orientation for the crop of new, baby-faced sixteen year old counselors. As you walked them through the camp and explained their responsibilities, you marveled at how you possibly ever looked so young. 

Now was the time for fun. You all had exactly two days to yourself before the kids arrived: days that were meant for setting up the camp and making sure everything was in working order. But those nights, they were just for you. And like any adolescents alone in the middle of the woods, you spent them getting drunk around the bonfire. Rod and Teddy turned a blind eye to your antics, hoping you could get most of it out of your system before about a hundred children became your responsibility for the rest of the summer. 

The bonfire was already raging, reaching warm, orange fingers up toward the star-scattered sky. Counselors new and old (when did you get to be on the old end of things? Where had all the time gone?) gathered around, drinking a truly disgusting mix of whiskey and several other things that you didn’t want to know; Eddie’s invention, of course. 

You sat on one of the benches, at that giddy sweet spot of drunkenness where everything was warm and hilarious and you weren’t hammered yet. Camila was trying to teach Eddie and Graham an old Girl Scouts song– really, kind of morbid, about the Titanic– and you couldn’t stop laughing over the fact that they were so drunk they couldn’t sing a single note on key. 

“I would knock them both out of the water if I tried to sing it,” Warren said, dropping down to sit next to you. 

“Oh? So let’s hear it, then,” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Can’t embarrass them like that,” Warren shrugged faux-apologetically, sending you into another fit of drunken laughter. 

As you quieted down, Warren bumped his shoulder against yours. “I missed you a lot this year.” The soft, low tone of his voice had an instant calming, sobering effect on you. 

“I missed you, too, War,” you said, turning to smile at him. Your breath caught in your throat at the way the firelight danced across his face, reflecting brightly off the sheen of his curls and brightening his eyes so much that it looked like the light was spilling out of him, not the fire. For the second time that day, you were confronted with how incredibly beautiful he was. 

“We better make the most of this summer, then,” he said. 

You hummed your agreement. “If we do, maybe we won’t have to miss each other so much.” 

“Lost cause,” Warren said, waving a hand dismissively. “I always miss you if you’re not right next to me.”

tag list: @iwantloveletterss @boredshit-shadow @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @lilyhw1 @graziellasnotes @nicostars @robinismywife @xxxlaura @hella-sirius @everyonesannoyedwithme

#daisy jones and the six #djats #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #graham dunne #simone jackson #daisy jones #karen sirko #karen karen #camila dunne #billy dunne