i-thewriter

[i-thewriter]

You may appreciate my work, but I constantly struggle with the feeling that it doesn't deserve such admiration.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #writing #writeblr

[i-thewriter]

Cherry Coke Zero, Cigarettes and the Big Dipper

Summary: in the middle of the night you meet the strangest people

Words: 2,044

- Cherry Coke Zero for you, sir.- The glass clinks lightlyon the table, and the gas bubbles pop quietly, lost in the noise of the fan, the old fluorescent lamps above, and the soft voice of the singer from the radio - Can I get you something else?

- No, no, thank you.

The girl smiles politely, picking at the hem of her white apron, slowly pulling out one thread at a time. She slowly turns to disappear behind the counter again, her red sneakers screeching against the tiles at the movement.

- Actually...

She looks at him over her shoulder, her fingers instinctively tightening on the already crumpled fabric.

- Do you mind if I smoke, miss?

There is a no-smoking sign on the glass door, along with no pets and no filming without the owner's permission. There are quite a lot of prohibitions for a small, suburban cafe.

She glances over her shoulder at the rest of the place for a moment, as if her boss might creep out of some corner and scold her for even considering an answer.

But it's 3 a.m.; it's just the two of them. And what the owner does not find out will not harm him.

- No, please. Should I bring you an ashtray?

- Thank you - he smiles, but something about this smile seems to be not alright because the wrinkle between her eyebrows distorts her features in nervousness. She runs her tongue over her cracked lips, her eyes roaming his features, searching for something.

It only takes a second, maybe two. Because in the third one, she is already in the back, having not found what she was looking for. Or, on the contrary, what she saw chased her as if the devil himself was hot on her heels

He takes a sip of coke, taking the package out of his pocket with his other hand.

It's quite a nice place, although it's old. In the style of those American restaurants where young girls worked in short dresses serving the best milkshakes.

He tries to light a cigarette, but there's no gas again. How much did he smoke again? He's sure he topped up the tank just a few days ago.

The song changes to something happier; the boy sings about the date he had with the girl. He wishes that time would pass faster, that it would already be nine o'clock, and that he could take her out.

Halfway through the second verse, the girl from the cafe returns carrying a small white plate, probably a cup saucer. It has small golden patterns painted on it, designed to make the coffee look as aesthetically pleasing as it tastes, but tonight it will serve as a substitute for an ashtray.

He nods his thanks to her; his thoughts are far away from here, somewhere beyond the Vatican, beyond Europe. Maybe in Alaska, in the endless snow, under layers of eternal ice, there can be beauty and, therefore, peace.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her hopping from one foot to the other, her fingers digging uncomfortably into her arm. The soft body buckles under the pressure of its owner. Before he can lift his head and look at her fully, she's already moving, taking the seat across from him. The only sounds of her moving are the rustle of the bench under her weight and the squeak of those awful sneakers.

- If you don't mind - she asks gently, although she has already permitted herself - I don't like sitting alone behind the counter.

He just nods again, slowly and lumberingly, bringing his mind back to reality. The thought crosses his mind if she works like this every night, tending the café where no one comes, with the fear in the back of her mind that this might be the one time someone decides to come, but their intention is not just for a cup of espresso.

He briefly wonders how old she might be. She looks so young in the yellowed light of the lamps.

- You're an American.

- How can you tell? - the corners of his mouth involuntarily turn up. In the middle of the night, he feels a little less heavy and more playful than in the light of day.

She smiles at him, as amused by his cheap humor as he is.

"You don't live here," she continues without taking her eyes off him, still searching for something with confidence in the look. A strange contrast to her nervous tics - but not a tourist either.

- Accurate deduction. What betrayed me?

- Tourists don't come here - she says simply.

Then she leans towards him, resting her elbows on the counter, as if she were about to tell him the greatest secret of the universe, the most closely guarded secret, the worst sin that you can only tell God.

- Neither the locals do.

It's not even funny, but he laughs like he hasn't heard anything funnier in years.

It's a tragic attempt at humor. The failing dream of a man who wanted to have a cafe like in a movie and a girl who will lose her job in the next few months.

But it's so down-to-earth that it's relaxing. That's why they're both giggling like teenage girls sharing gossip about boys.

The smoke burns his throat, and the cold breeze of the fan gives him goosebumps even through a thick sweatshirt, his cheeks hurt from smiling. He hadn't felt more alive in a long time.

- You're not from here either- The accent is familiar, but he can't put a finger on it. One moment he seems to be able to identify where she's from, but then the next she seems to be speaking in a mix of several accents, as if she's learned words from overhearing people.

- What are you doing here, kid? – he doesn't catch himself using a nickname before it's too late.

It doesn't seem to bother her if her amused smirk is any indication. He has a vague feeling that it will turn against him, only people who cause trouble smile like that.

- I study, I work. I'm trying to find a place for myself, Father - he knows she's teasing, that she's joking about calling her a kid, but he can't help but freeze for a moment. She doesn't know who he is, she can't know, for once he's nothing again.

It only lasts a fraction of a second, but he still feels like her sharp eyes have picked up on his hesitation.

- How it's going? - he asks almost nonchalantly, putting out his cigarette so he can light another one.

- I'll let you know if I succeed.

Equally confidently, she reaches out her hand towards him and pulls a cigarette from his fingers. His eyes follow her fingertips, her hand, her wrist, and finally her goosebump-covered forearms. Further behind the elbow, there are vertical lines, some fresher, others faded by time and sun.

He counts seventeen of them before he's interrupted by a cough. He looks up at her flushed cheeks and the remnants of smoke escaping from her mouth. She almost throws the cigarette back at him and reaches for his glass of Coke.

- You don't smoke? - he asks, half-amused.

-I don't like it - she grimaces, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

- You have to get used to it

He takes a drag as if to confirm his words and gets the most scandalized look he's ever seen.

- I'll stick to Coke.

- My cherry coke

- You haven't paid yet

They sit like that for a while in a relaxed atmosphere. Now the song in the background changes to a more melancholic one, the girl encourages you to smile because before you look back you won't smile even once. It's a popular song, it has the title on the tip of his tongue

- And you sir?

He murmurs incoherently in question but doesn't open his eyes. If only every night were as peaceful as this one.

- What are you doing here?

A clock ticks in the corner, reminding of the passing time.

What is he doing here? In the middle of the night in the only cafe open at that hour. Or maybe it's about his goal in the Vatican? Or maybe in this world?

- I don't know anymore.

- I think you do - he opens his eyes to look at her through his eyelashes. There is no trace of amusement on her face, her eyes sparkle like stars, like the Big Dipper next to which God lives.

She states that seriousness doesn't suit her, it looks too sad on her features.

- You just don't know how to do it.

If this would be so easy. If it was the only thing that was sitting on his shoulders and pressing him into the ground. He would like this to be the only cross he has to bear. The heaviest, but still lighter than all the things it has to carry

How to be a pope? Head of the Catholic Church. Mother and father of over a billion people. The successor of Peter, from whom I expect to lead people to eternity, showed the way to Paradise. Is it possible to answer this question at all? Just? As if someone knew how to be a person who would show people what is good and what is bad.

How do you do that if you're only human? Nobody seems to know.

A young boy sings about going to the seaside. He wants the ships not to sink in the blue waves.

She doesn't place her hand on his, it feels like crossing an invisible boundary between two strangers. Instead, her fingers beat the rhythm of the song, gentle vibrations spreading across the table.

- You're human and it's okay if you make a mistake. You won't find your way if you don't get lost, you mustn't lose sight of your goal.

Red sneakers, a T-shirt with white daisies, a sun-kissed face, and eyes like stars.

- This is…

- Sounds philosophical, I know - he smiles brightly

- Worst advice I've ever heard - he tries to sound mean, but he knows his smile is giving it away.

She takes off an invisible hat and bows comically while still sitting, which loses some of the charm, but the message remains clear.

The clock strikes 4:35

- Call me Lenny.

She tilts her chin up, licks her lips, and smiles in a way that can only mean trouble

– It seems inappropriate - she pauses for a moment, as if considering the right choice of words - because retirees deserve respect.

The smile slips from his face. -Don't overdo it.

She throws up her hands in surrender, but still rolls her eyes at him.

He imagines what a handful he must be at school. A seemingly quiet student, but she can quarrel with her teacher over any trivial matter and come out victorious, but also with a reprimand from the principal.

He sighs to himself as he slowly stands up.

- Why were you talking to me?

She shrugs carelessly as she straightens her apron, much more carefree and relaxed than she was at the beginning of the night.

- I've always liked quiet people: You never know if they're dancing in a daydream or if they carrying the weight of the world.

- Now that's a quote from something.

- Looking for Alaska, John Green - quietly walks to the counter to set down the now-empty glass and plate.

With his hand on the doorknob, he glances back as she reaches on the tips of her fingers for the fan switch standing on the shelf behind the cash register. As if feeling his gaze, she abandons her task and stares back.

- And who did I turn out to be?

- I'm not sure yet.

Big Dipper. A constellation that helps you find your way in the sky and on earth. Known for centuries, painted on the vault in Seti's tomb, hidden in a painting by Vincent van Gogh. Next to God's house a half a semi-detached house with a swimming pool.

- Maybe you'll find the answer next week. Bring a real ashtray this time, it's the last time I make a concession.

She salutes like a wind-up soldier, her shoes squeak unpleasantly, the night air rushes in, and the doorbell plays its melody.

#the young pope #lenny belardo #no romantic relationships #just friendship #attempt at humor #reader #fanfic #I wrote this to get this show out of my head #and I wanted something sweet #but you can read it if you want #bad english

[i-thewriter]

🥲🥲🥲

#it's me #crying 😢

[i-thewriter]

foolish girl

Summary:

To Markarov, you were just a stupid girl. Despite this, he still cared about you.

Words: 546

You were too young, too naive, and too foolish for him.

He was constantly annoyed by your smile and cheerful attitude. How gracious and kind you were all the time, even when others behaved like animals.

You just smiled charmingly, despite all the humiliation. It was so easy to use you.

He wanted to shout in your face how pathetic you were, grab you by the shoulders, and shake you.

Because that's how he saw you.

A pathetic little girl who has daddy issues

That's probably why you stayed with him. You got it into your head that he could play a father for you.

He wasn't father material, especially not yours.

But he would be lying if he said he never treated you like his daughter.

Several times, when you went out, he caught himself commenting on the length of your skirt. Whenever you talked about your academic achievements, he was proud.

Many times, he had trouble sleeping when he knew you were out late. All you needed to comfort his worried heart was a text message confirming your safety.

It was funny in an annoying way.

You meant nothing to him.

You were just a stupid girl who was only meant to be a one night stand.

However, unlike many other times he had done this to other people, he couldn't leave you. There was something in your eyes as shinning as the stars he watched over his childhood home.

For this reason, he allowed you to drag himself around the city and talk to his ear about its greatest symbols for the whole night.

And as time went on, one night turned into two, three, and more.

However, this did not mean a change for him.

He remained cruel and harsh. He did not treat you specially.

He yelled at you a lot. He insulted you.

He once raised his hand against you.

You accepted it like everything else in life. With a trembling smile and sad eyes.

But you didn't cry. You didn't even flinch.

For the first time since he met you, you didn't make a sound.

You stood there like a marble statue.

Beautiful and cold.

He left.

He couldn't bear to see you so lifeless. You should laugh at him, tease him, and annoy him. And in return, he should treat you with indifference.

He is the one who has to break you.

As with all the other beautiful things in his life,

Not the bastard you call father.

Not when, all your life, he treated you as if you were worthless. He didn't deserve you. No one did.

That's why he came back to your door that same day with your father's blood on his hands.

That's when he spent his last night with you. When he was in your arms, he forgot all his plans for a moment.

Only once he loved you as he always should.

The next time you saw his face, it was a blurry photo taken during a terrorist attack at the airport.

The last time you saw him was many years later, when all your wounds, even those on your heart, had healed. You found him in a forgotten rural cemetery.

You spent your last night with him, looking at the stars.

#fanfic #call of duty #cod mw2 #vladimir makarov #x reader #it's silly #don't take it seriously #makarov x reader

[i-thewriter]

exosphere

Summary:

When all hope is lost, Captain Price prays for a miracle. Fortunately, someone is listening. To his horror, someone responds.

Words: 1,820

Screaming, crying, pain and gnashing of teeth. The whole world groans and creaks. Walls, floors, people and animals—everything is intertwined in a grotesque dance. The last day is coming.

- My God, why did you leave me?

The great earthquake opened the ground, throwing out the bent bodies that she had caressed in her arms for so long. The moon was flooded with blood, the stars fell to the ground, the water became bitter, and a third of the forests and pastures burned.

-Merciful God, save us from your wrath

The Great Day of His Wrath has come. Woe, three times woe to the inhabitants of the earth.

An angel ascended from the east, shining like the most precious crystals and burning like a sun. In a voice as if many different people were singing a song of praise, he says:

"Do not be afraid"

- Please, God...

"You are special. You have been chosen for great things"

And the whole world seemed to have fallen silent. A new sun came out of the horizon, climbing upward in the new sky. The first heaven and earth have passed away.

"I swear that you will no longer suffer. There will be no more tears"

- What do you need?

And one word echoed off the yellow walls of the hospital. It's shook the bed frame, banged on the windows as if want to escape.

"You"

- I agree.

- I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do.

No one wants to hear those words. Nobody wants to say them. Everyone knows that it is like issuing a death sentence. It is unbelievable how one simple sentence can hurt so much. Deprive a man of all hope.

Only a miracle can save the patient's life.

And Captain Price didn't believe in miracles; he didn't believe in anything particular. But now he wanted fall to his knees and beg whoever could hear. He would become the greatest believer if someone were able to perform a miracle.

Save Sergeant Kyle Garrick's life.

Somewhere in the back, Soap curses and kicks plastic chairs. Ghost, on the other hand, stands next to him, deadly silent and motionless like a marble statue.

He does not fully understand further doctor's words. He says something about contacting Gaz's family. The world reach him as if through the surface of water, blurred and drowned out.

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder and pushes him into one of the chairs.

-It will be a miracle if he survives tonight- The doctor continues, but his voice seems weak and his face pales, as if he were about to pass out- If you want to say goodbye, now will be the best time to do it.

As he walks down the sterile corridor, his footsteps echo off the empty walls.

John thinks about the moment when he met the sergeant for the first time. The desire to help and fight was written on his face. His radiant smile when he offered him a seat in Task Force 141. Or that time when everyone had Christmas dinner together. He fainted after just three beers on the couch, barely remembering the feeling of a blanket pulled over his shoulders.

Now he realizes it must have been Kyle.

Kyle, who will never smile again. He will never take care of his teammates as if he did it for family members. It was he who deprived him of the chance to live and start a family. It's all his...

- It's nobody's fault.- It may seem like Ghost does not care, but Price knows him well enough to catch the anger in his tone and the sadness in his eyes.

- I'll stay with him overnight. I don't want him to be alone.- His lips are numb. He doesn't feel like he's saying that. Nothing feels real.

-Like hell, we'll let you be alone. Gaz is also ours...

Oh Soap. Poor Soap, who always felt too much. He loved too much, became too attached to others, and could never let go. If he hadn't felt so unreal, maybe he would have noticed the tears in Johnny's eyes. Maybe he would even comfort him and promise him that everything would be all right.

But nothing will be right.

-That's enough, Johnny- One look at Ghost is enough for Soap to shut his mouth. He clenches his hands into fists and turns on his heel, only to disappear around the corner a moment later.

For a moment, the two of them stood and listened to his footsteps as he moved away.

When Price finally spoke, he felt much older, as if he had lost 10 years in a matter of minutes.

-Take care of him, Simon.

Ghost just nods and disappears right after, following Soap.

Somehow, loneliness puts him in an even deeper state of numbness. He stands alone in an empty corridor, and everything suddenly seems much larger. The door to the room where Gaz is located is kilometers away. He is afraid to open them.

He wonders if Gaz was afraid. Knowing him, he probably only worried about how his death would affect his colleagues. Or how many people has he not had time to help yet.

Sweet Kyle has always been the heart of the team. The world will never know a man who cared about the welfare of them all. Death will pluck the least-ripe but sweetest fruit from the orchard.

John feels detached from reality. Even days later, he won't remember opening the door and going inside. But what he will remember for the rest of his life is the sight he finds when he looks at the bed.

Kyle lies pale and small on a white sheet. He looks as if he is no longer alive, surrounded only by the machines that keep him alive. What assures him otherwise is the constant beeping of the heart rate monitor.

40 minutes passed before he was able to get professional help. His heart stopped three times on the way to the hospital. The last one was right in front of the door. Kyle fought death to the very end. But he is not able to win this fight.

John Price lived life and saw all its horrors. He also committed many of them. Too many for one man to be able to do. He saw more deaths than a normal person could handle. But this is the worst of them all.

He is not a believer, but right now he is praying to anyone who can hear him. He prays because he feels he doesn't deserve to cry. Not when it is all his fault.

It's almost one o'clock in the morning when he hears footsteps in the hallway. Ghost and Soap left a long time ago. Now they're probably in some bar, losing their monthly salary for alcohol.

Johnny had to be forcibly removed after refusing to leave his dying teammate's side. Now he is probably drunk to unconsciousness, with a dark shadow watching over him. 

At first, he doesn't even think about it. It's probably one of the doctors or nurses on the night shift. But then quiet footsteps stopped in front of the door to the Gaz room.

There is absolute silence for a moment. The only sounds are the hum of medical equipment and cars passing outside the window. When the door handle turns, the light illuminating the room starts flash. For a moment, it lights up and goes out as if it had a short circuit before it calms down.

But you're not a doctor, not even a nurse. You're wearing white pajamas and shoes that the hospital gives to their patients. On your right wrist, you have a light blue strip of plastic with your name on it. You are standing straight like a soldier, with your chin slightly raised and your gaze fixed on him.

A shiver runs through him, and he feels inexplicable anxiety when he looks at you. There's something wrong with your eyes—something that causes him to see red flags.

- I did not know anyone was still here- Your voice is quiet, slightly hoarse. Though your words indicate surprise, you don't seem surprised.

You take the first step towards the bed, which makes him jump to his feet

- Wait there. Who are you?- You look like one of the patients, but you have no reason to be here. And life has taught him to be careful with everything he sees.

You ignore him until you stand on the other side of the bed with Kyle as a barrier. Then you look up at him again, and Price can finally name what is wrong with your gaze. There is nothing human about it. You look at him without any emotions or thoughts that could be reflected in your eyes.

- I am y/n

- You know Kyle?

- We never met. - either you avoid the question again or you tell the truth. But it doesn't make sense. You suggest that you know him, but you have never met him.

There's not much time to think about it when you reach out and place it on the sergeant's forehead. It grabs your wrist, but it doesn't stop you. As if you didn't feel it at all.

Not even 5 seconds pass before the machines start to howl in alarm. The air is electrified. All it takes is a spark to blow everyone up. And Price barely stops himself from throwing at you.

- What the hell did you do?!

- Kyle will wake up in a few minutes. I suggest you to be with him then.

You turn your back on him to walk away, and he uses it as an opportunity to grab your elbow and pull you to him. He won't let you go without answering what you've done with the machines. What did you do to Kyle.

You look at his hand for a moment and then catch his gaze. You look at him almost with disgust and something akin pity.

This is not the face of a person who has done nothing. And he will find out what the hell have you done.

- Who are you?- he asks quieter and more menacing than before.

The lamp casts a white light on you, making you look unnaturally pale. Your eyes shine like two lightning bolts. You look powerful and big, but somehow out of this world. He swears that for a moment your features are blurred, and the shadow on the wall behind you stretches out to take a shape of bird wings.

- I told you - Although you speak English, your accent is heavy and voice as deep as the ocean that he can barely understand your words

- What. are. you?

- I am an angel of the Lord.

Between one wink and another, you disappear as if you were never here.

The doctors rush into the room when Kyle opens his eyes.

#fanfic #call of duty #cod mw2 #john price #reader #kyle gaz garrick #i just had this idea

[i-thewriter]

How to meet your lieutenant's roommate, with whom he is secretly in love

Summary:

Soap meets Ghost's roommate. She seems a little strange, but that's apparently what made Simon fall for her so hard.

Words: 1,369

Their vacations are short. It's just week to gather strength and lick wounds. Though even then, Soap knows that if Kate finds some trace of new threats to humanity, their vacation may be over before they start.

That’s why he decided it wasn’t worth coming back to the family house. Moreover, he won’t be able to rest if his mom notices the new bruises he got on his last mission. It’s also possible that his mother will call Price again to tell him how to properly take care of her boy. After she did this, he couldn’t look into his capitan’s eyes for a week, while Price couldn’t stop laughing at him.

And although Soap loves his mom, he will not survive this same thing again.

That’s why he decided it was worth complaining to Ghost about it. Over and over again, like an annoying mosquito in a room.

But hey, in his defense, he thought Ghost would understand his problem. Soap seriously doubted that he would have a charming house in the countryside to return to after a long mission. It suits him better to hide in a cemetery with other ghosts as company. He probably has his own comfortable coffin, from which he gets up only at midnight to drink the blood of virgins.

He got an extra bruise on his arm for this joke.

That’s why he is only partially surprised when Ghost says he knows the place. At first, he thinks about a hideout or a motel for hours.

That's why he’s so surprised when Ghost asks him (which sounds more like an order) to join. Soap, being Soap, immediately agrees. He doesn’t even think about how awkward it might be to be locked together in one dingy motel room for a week.

But as they say (no one says that), it’s better to make decisions right away and regret them later.

Making stupid decisions, is not stopping the warmth blooming in Soap’s chest at such a sign of trust from the cold-hearted lieutenant. It’s a transition to the next level of their growing friendship.

(He wonders at what level of friendship he will unlock Ghost’s tragic backstory.)

To say he’s just shocked is to say nothing.

He really expected some kind of dungeon without running water, but not this. The apartment is nice. Flat with three doors, a small kitchen with an island, and a charming living room.

At the entrance, Ghost tells him to take off his shoes and put them by the doormat. He goes deeper inside and sees more things that don’t make any sense. A thick chemistry textbook is next to the sink, along with a Star Wars mug and one pink sock on the couch.

Pink what?

When the rest can be explained as Ghost’s twisted hobbys, it can’t be. Maybe in his free time, the lieutenant reads collage textbooks or blushes while watching Kylo Ren take off his helmet (don’t ask him how he knows who Kylo Ren is), but the sock?

Hell will freeze over before Ghost wears something pink.

But before he can start racking his brain trying to connect all the facts, Ghost asks him if he wants some tea. Like a good host, which of course he isn’t based on how forced it sounds.

And Soap wants fucking answers to questions he will never ask because he wants to live. He doesn’t want a fucking tea made by this speaking Mount Everest. But like a polite Scot who they both know he isn’t, he opens his mouth and says:

- umm.. Yes, please.

Ghost nods once and starts the horrifying process of making tea. He takes three mugs, including the Star Wars one. When Soap stupidly starts to wonder if Ghost will drink from two cups, the front door opens. He almost throws his bag on the floor and reaches for his gun, only to remind himself that he’s in civilian clothes.

- Easy, sergeant - Ghost’s voice makes him relax and he hates how he reacts like a damn Pavlov’s dog to the bell. But at the same time he’s happy that whoever opened the door is not a threat.

- If it’s your other PTSD bullshit- soap does a double take at a woman’s voice coming from the door. Woman visits Ghost?!- I swear to God I’m calling...- she stops as she notices him.

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and... she is pretty (and younger than he expected but will never say this loudly). Even though her hair is disheveled, she has dark circles under her eyes, and the crooked collar of her shirt... she looks beautiful. As if she had just rolled out of bed after a long night of... No..NO! He’s not going there. He’s not thinking about her long l..

Soap almost jumps out of his skin when Ghost puts the mugs on the island with a bang.

Fuck, he forgot Ghost was there.

And he stared at his friend/ girlfriend? Like a creep. In his defense, his tired brain just lagged after seeing first pretty girl after that long time. But his mom raised gentlemen, he will apologize later. Her and Ghost to make sure he survive that night.

The girl recovers from shock faster than him (which is humiliating for him and all the military training he has undergone).

For a moment, the three of them stand in an awkward silence that only he seems to be only one who feels nervous. Ghost looks at him as usual, that is, in a terrifying stillness. She, on the on other hand, looks him over from head to toe without any signs of shame. Finally, after what the animals in the zoo must feel like, her eyes meet his and recognition shines in them. Which shouldn’t be because he’s sure as hell he’s never seen her before. Maybe Ghost told her about him?

And then she steps forward, smiles wider than the devil himself, and holds out her hand to him. He carefully takes her hand in his own and doesn’t even marvel at how soft it is. He’s more worried about Ghost’s gaze burning holes in his head.

-Simon didn’t say he will bring a friend from the team - when she talks, her eyes never stop exploring his features—and never said he had friends.

- I have friends- Simon grumbles.

- Soap remembers to take his hand out of her grip before Ghost decides he don’t need friends any more.

- Now I see it. - she says and then introduces herself- I’m his roommate.- she adds at the end.

...they are not together?

But before he has time to ask this question and probably get himself a death sentence, she passes him and goes to Simon. - I started to think you were dead - she says when he takes the bag off her shoulder and puts it on the table.

- Would you cry for me? - there must be something wrong with Ghost’s voice, it should never be so soft.

- I would if you bought me this lucky cat I showed you.

- NO.- Normally, cadets faint under this look. Why not her?

- Then you lost your chance to have me as a weeping widow.

- I think I will survive that.

Then you just stand on your tiptoes, grab Simon by the lopels of his jacket, and kiss him on the check (he’s wearing that creepy mask). Soap’s jaw didn’t have time to hit the floor when it was all over, and you turned around, sat down on the stool, and took a long sip of tea.

It’s hits him like a brick that all these things that don’t fit Ghost are yours. And it hits him like a truck that he hasn’t introduced himself yet.

- I’m John MacThavis, you can call me Soap. -he says this with a slight blush on his cheeks. The twinkle in your eyes at his code name makes him blush so hard he has to hide behind his steaming mug.

Then Simon’s hand brushes against your back as he takes the seat next to you. At this moment, John recognizes a glint of softness in Ghost’s eyes and knows that you are more unavailable than Pentagon.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #x reader #fanfic #simon riley x reader

[i-thewriter]

About me:

I'm writing for fun. I'm not the best at it, so please don't expect much.

English is not my first language. Don't be afraid to point out my mistakes.

I have an Ao3 account. I also publish there. ofeliaa

Ask me anything but I don't promise I'll answer you quickly.