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duck-a-doodle · 9 months ago

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COD Headcanons: Soft Intimacy

SFW thoughts on what would unravel the COD boys. This is my first post for this fandom, and my entry point to it was the MWII campaign and a few comics, so it might be slightly OOC. In the meantime, I will keep doing research and I hope this brings you joy! :-) -CH

Masterlist 7/14/2024

Simon "Ghost" Riley silently relishes light scratches. The kind that runs slowly, gently down the scalp or round the ears, feathering across his scapula over the thin fabric of his shirt and the underside of his arms. He shudders at getting his spine or ribs traced, head spinning at the idea of fingers so tender taking long, tantalising hours to outline all of himself, the electrifying comfort flickering his heavy eyelids. Heavy as he is, the man is quick to persuade that you rest your weight upon him during such domestic ministrations; he curses, however, at your much more compelling affections, falling prey to the charms of your worship. Slowly, but surely, he leans forth — first dropping his head to your shoulder while languid nails crawl down his cheek, then falling to his hands and soon, his elbows — gliding his head down your collarbone and onto your beating chest, where he recognises that you are most ardently obsessed of him as he is of you. “Obsessed” is much too simple a word and “reverent”, too large an understatement. His skin is yours, his mind is yours, his breath, his tongue, and every crevice of himself he can count; a gift and homage to your hands, his temple. As he finally sinks all of himself into you with a groan and a sigh, he gingerly lifts his heavy hands, resting them warmly by your sides and over your ribs, in hopes to return all your love with the altogether humble gesture. On days which he stubbornly wishes to do the same for you, he mimics the way you touch him, in every precise manner and every exact order, seeking nooks and crannies that warm your skin or hitch your breath. He will weakly protest, however, moments which your hands reach too close to him outside of these intimate instances, causing light, inadvertent whimpers from the back of his throat.

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Captain John Price likes using his hands for carrying. “Brutish” is an adjective familiar and frequent to his bear paws, trained to caress cold, carbons steel and paint itself in red, smelling only of matches and rust. The warmest things his hands have known are the arms and backs of his fallen men and the barrel of his heartless iron, the touch of it comparable to a Londoner’s December. You, in place of the metal, you, strong yet brittle and you, lighter to him than a C4, grenade or flashbang, are his respite, reprising over the smoke of his numerous deployments, where his hands took more than they gave. He cannot help the pliant hips and waist that fit his palms seamlessly, more harmless than the many miry grounds he trekked before — a kind, relenting texture which spoil his weathered, calloused digits with the knowledge that they are utterly malleable to you, benign to you, void of all menace. Coarse fingers drag and curl your silhouette as your mass rests weightlessly on his arms and shoulders, yielding to his calculated strength. That he can evoke a laugh or an exclamation of surprise is a source of endless pride; a gentle nudge that the Captain John Price can tickle fancy by exercising a fraction of his brawn on something worldly. He could lift your groceries, the couch, your books — but he likes to sweep off your feet the most. Trailing your thighs, calves, the small of your back are the hands that seek reminder of his humanity, tendons and phalanges flexing with every curve it meets, venerating eyes never leaving yours which watch his display of muscle with great wonder. For you, he would carry the world. Thus, in his words, “my back is strong enough to carry both our weights for a lifetime, if you’d let me.”

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John "Soap" McTavish has developed a habit of pawing. The abundance (if not exclusive presence) of tough military equipment, smoking alloys and dogged combat routines necessitated his use of hard, impenetrable gloves. Its rugged, protective textile has unwittingly sensitised his hands to various surfaces, including bare skin. He hesitated to touch you, timorous from his own want, curiosity and the unknown. Gone are his inhibitions when graced with your guiding hands, easing the earth-riddled cowhide off his palms. Aimless hands follow your lead, pressing into you over his Henley you borrowed. Finding purchase upon your stomach, he gradually grows accustomed to the fondness of your abdomen, shortly braving his way to your chest with sturdy yet clumsy paws. A current crackles down his body as he toys with the ripples of fabric adorned by your skin, indulgence rapidly surging from his fingers to his giddy head — he is soon to be all over you, his newfound contentment switching into overdrive. Respiration turning laboured, those once shy hands grow ravenous and wayward, roaming under the influence of his enthusiasm; every sharp inhale and strained noise he extorts from you only serves to encourage him further, inciting cheeky gropes at your sides, inner thighs and behind. What would eventually drive his mind over the edge, when you finally decide he is too much, is your folding a very surprised McTavish down onto the couch over you, keeping his head to your tummy and his hands tucked to your sides, imploring him to behave himself. Chiding him to act proper was an error on your behalf; his demeanour shifts, mischief clear in his eyes as he unabashedly explores all of you, pawing at you with every naughty intent fathomable.

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Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is crazy about being sat on. By no means a foolhardy nor gormless soldier, he holds himself to high decorum with immense discipline, ever an air of diplomacy about his person. None would have imagined that a simple act as sitting on his lap would send him reeling, rendered silent for fear of speaking with neither form nor cohesion. He turns light-headed watching your thighs pool like molten lava, quads sweltering from mere contact, let alone the pleasurable tension of your weight balancing precariously off his trembling knees. Worried that his legs would tire, you made to rise, wanting to relieve him of your own gravity but you were firmly held in place; two large, veined hands anchor you resolutely onto unmoving thighs, and any attempts of persuasion, made in the interest of his own comfort, faced flat rebuffal. Gratitude towards Lady Luck nearly spills from his lips, numb with inadvertence, as you nestle your heft upon him, for want of better comfort. You mistaking his lap for an empty stool was akin to setting his legs on fire, but to make yourself comfortable against him? For a man who prided himself for his class and propriety, he quickly found himself immensely burdened with sin, and subtlety became a language long forgotten. Had he any sense left in him that was not knocked out of the ballpark by your charming self, he would not be finding himself gently playing with the hem of your shirt, folding funny shapes with the fabric between his clammy fingers. Savoury dreams of you enticed him, swimming behind his glossy eyes that are unresponsive to the lights that danced across his features. Oh, you were so much trouble to him, colouring him brazen and so very warm. He loves it, however, and you will soon find what a fiend and a devil you can be when you later use this against the soldier's poor heart.

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Alejandro Vargas will die for your scent. Tantamount to a hound, no vaquero could catch the winds of change for miles around the way he could. The smell of burning tyres against the asphalt of the streets, the oils and perfumes of the same shop houses, the settling dust of his own base, and the routine spritz of air freshener that now smelled of lemon instead of mint ever since the new hire came on duty. Where Alejandro worked, the bittersweetness of gunpowder that sweeps his olfactory is his peace, and the constant heatwave that boils a Proust phenomenon out of the hanger persists in the back of his senses, subtle yet certain. No delicate change challenged his sharpness. He has a full bible to list it all, memorised from the front to back — and though he may not be religious, he is a madly devoted man. A hypervigilance that cannot be removed must find a reprieve, and only a single odour, long seared into his mind, pulls at him not first from the mind but from the heart. You, who smelled of his blankets, you, whose shampoo and T-shirt he recognised not from the brand but from its lingering aroma, and you, who could never surprise him with your presence because the scent of you would enter the room before his name falls from your lips, and before his eyes could reach yours. You remain the only person who turned his head with such impassioned and obsessed vigour, and he knew he was done for ever since. He would press his nose deep into your cheek, your neck, or the back of your nape and find himself at home as he stood in a room full of coldhearted artillery. No proper explanation was ever given when you find a shirt or two missing over the months of his deployment, but secretly, you had always known. And like the cheek you are to his mischief, you bask in the darker colour of his cheeks when you find that mysterious missing shirt hidden in the pile of laundry from his deployment.

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Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra likes soft whispers. Such light, airy and vertiginous words that kiss the shell of his ears — they would rob the man of his joints. Everyday exchanges of each other’s day ground him and ruin him, discernible only by both your ears. While he lends his body to the field, bloody and savage, in his heart there stands a single white flag signed in your name, by his hand; in a head overrun with sounds of distorted infrared voices, caterpillar tracks crushing against gravel and of heartless iron shells dropping at two hundred rounds per minute, your quiet words remain. A man of few words must have so much thought that weighs on his tongue, until it becomes too heavy to express. Surely, you must be a godsend. The way you effortlessly loosen the words from his hardened teeth, clenched too tightly still lest a bullet comes to bite, pulls shivers from his lips and down his watery lashes. Something about your bottom lip renders him helpless, and he finds that he must rest his thumb on your lower lip to lessen the giddiness that threatens to beat his heart out of his flaming chest. Permanently latched onto the rich timber of your voice was a man desperate to preserve you, so much that he keeps all your voicemails to him and labels them by the topic, just so he can find exactly when he needs to hear, when he needs to hear it. Moments of quietude in his bunk led one thought to the next, and he often ended the day with your voice embracing the deepest parts of his soul through an old, wired earpiece, wondering if you knew what gravity you had upon him. Perhaps you do know, he believed decidedly — because when he played a new recording you sent him during his deployment, his fingers violently mashed the volume-down button of his device at your rather unique choice of words, spoken at a careless whisper. You knew he had listened to it, as the first thing he did when he returned was to hold you in your place, and return all the salacious whispers he received right back to the bane of his heart. Ten-fold.

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König has an obsession with trapping. Hugs come rare to a man of his nature; imposing, wild and unacclimated to the civilised world. When arms do find their way around him, his own snakes around them, encircling the sensation, holding it close and praying that it seeps into his skin, permeating his senses to remain seared in his remembrance. Yet, more than once, he finds the same arms, over and over, routine the way the birds must sing and the poets must write. Always your arms, by his initiative. Greed will be his downfall and he knows, and he gladly embraces his defeat, relenting to your winsome self without remorse. Never would he deem himself a small man, albeit despite the notion, he shrinks; younger and younger he becomes with you, compressed to his front as much as your skins would let, as much as his strength allows without colouring your flesh a bluish-purple, until he is but a boy cradling his most dear Bärchen, unwilling to let go. He watches with blooming gratification, the exhale that falls from your lips as you press together, eyes drooping from the pleasant pressure that grounds you to earth, all because it is he who holds you. He drinks the sight and lets the view inebriate his already intoxicated mind. On the occasion when he becomes the bear-trapped, he will amuse himself with your too-small arms that fail to close around him, and will quickly turn the tables, subjecting you to his drunken coos with an onslaught of “mein Schatz”es, “Schnuckiputzi”s and “liebling”s. Greed will be his downfall, but you must be his renaissance.

P.S.: Can you tell that I read Pride & Prejudice before writing the TF141's and König's parts? I can. :'-)

#call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #captain john price x reader #captain johnathan price #johnny mctavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro x reader #rudy parra x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #konig x reader #chuwonwrites

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kiidwritings · 4 months ago

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🐾 weird quirks cat hybrid! 141 + könig do

word count; 4744. tags/warnings; cat!hybrid 141. maybe ooc. KONIG IS NOT PART OF 141 but he is here for funsies lol. konig is fat both in human form and cat i dont make the rules. failed attempts at writing a scottish accent sorry 😿. no beta read. possible grammatical errors. lmk if anything else!

a/n: (rewriting this cuz tumblr is a bitch, dont tell me "draft saved!" when it clearly fucking didn't) anyways I LOVE HYBRID AUS I WISH I WAS PART ANIMAL RAAAHHH!! i forgot when i started this but it was definitely way after i discovered hallohello's cat cafe au on ao3. i see a lot of silly cat tiktoks on my fyp, so each character (except price, sorry peepaw ;-;) has a video linked) i did extensive research (not rlly lol) into what type of cat they'd all be cuz im insane and love cats meow :3 edit 12/24/24: holy fuck uhh hi. school started when i was like 70% finished the art for this and so im just now posting it here. im no longer fixated on cod so this'll probably be my last cod writing ough. plz enjoy anyways

pawprint divider by @/saradika-graphics. banner art by me! inspired by @/i-am-hungry-24-7 's cod cat cafe au

pairing(s): poly! cat hybrid! 141 + konig x gn!reader, platonic cat!hybrid price + reader

READ ON AO3!!

Price

If they were wolves, Price’d be the alpha no doubt

He’s the dominate male of 141 (duh, he’s the captain), not only keeping the boys in line, but also you

Just like an actual father, he gives you disappointed looks in both human and cat form when you do something even slightly against his wishes

Woke up late for work? Disappointed sigh

Fell for Soap’s pleads for more treats? A disappointed glance

He’s favorite way of spending time with you outside of going out to eat or maybe a shopping trip together was by sitting with you whenever you do work. Whether it's on your lap (which actually helps with your posture), behind your laptop, or even the majority of the time, watching the screen as you type away at some document.

Its both a blessing and a curse because he keeps you focused…even when you just wanna scroll on your phone for five minutes, he’s putting a paw on ur hand and giving you that disappointed cat dad look

You had a backload of documents and work related to the cafe that you’d been putting off but the guilt was eating away at you like a child quickly makes do with a candy bar, so instead of snuggling with Soap and Gaz on the couch to binge watch a show that took you forever to finally start up, you were sat at your desk, fingers flying across your keyboard as you inputted this month’s numbers into an excel sheet. Price, layed with his chin against his chest next to you, his ginormous and fluffy body splayed out upon the darkened wood and some extra papers you’d have to shimmy out from under him later. (Being that big made it hard to fit into places thinner cats usually could.)

You had been working for sometime now, making sure to stretch and take water breaks in between…but, all the numbers and math on your laptop screen were blurring in your head and your eyes were straining! You needed more than 5 minutes away from your screen.

With a groan, you crack your joints and lean back against the cushions of your chair. Price’s ear swiveled in your direction and he cracked an eye open. His bushy tail flicked and he left out a yawn, showing off his great fangs before shuffling around more comfortably, slowly morphing into a loaf.

You smiled and gave him a scratch behind the ear, which was met with a low rumble of purring and a tilt of his head. With your other hand, you grabbed your phone (which had been on do not disturb) and read through any notifications you got within the last three hours.

You took your hand away from Price and began to reply back to a text. He fully opened his eyes and glanced over at you. With your phone in hand, you were now hunched a bit using your elbows to keep you propped up on the desk.

Price let out a small sigh and stretched himself, back arching upwards.

Your text message conversation was obstructed by a large brown paw placing itself on your screen. You looked up and Price was staring at you with his brown eyes, pupils expanding and his ears swerving to the sides. He lets out a crunchy meow, a warning.

“What? I’ve been working for like three hours straight, don’t I deserve an actual break?” You huffed. His paw stayed and he squinted his eyes at you, before giving a slow blink. You slowly blinked back.

You knew he was just being the father figure that he was, watching out for the ones he loves, but you wanted to doomscroll dammit!...just as a little treat.

Price finally removed his paw before jumping down from the desk (his tail brushing against your nose and causing you to sputter). He looked back at you as you stared from your desk chair. You knew what that meant- he wanted you to follow him. With a sigh and a small smile, you got up from your chair, feeling how heavy your limbs got from sitting still for all that time.

With a pleased mreow, he led you into the living room before stretching himself up to the twine pole on the cat tree. Ah, he wanted you to stretch too!

Remembering some warmups from your Sunday yoga class, you felt your joints pop and muscles strain as you stretched your achy body.

Once satisfied, he jumps atop the couch and slow-blinks at you again. You join him, lying down and staring up at him. He continues to purr as he lets his tail slump down and brush against your nose again, causing you to erupt with giggles.

Soap

Out of all five cats, Soap had to be the most chaotic one.

Whether it was failing to jump from one perch to another and pouting about it, getting bopped in the head by Ghost, or his meows that lasted so long you’d wonder how strong his little kitty lungs were, he was definitely the one who got the most attention for his silly antics at the cafe

He was like this even in his human form, he’s following you around the apartment, chatting away or always keeping a hand on your figure (it was no doubt his love language was physical affection, you had so many pictures of him all snuggled up with the others)

Whenever you found something that triggered a silly response, you would milk it till it became a new normal

But one thing that’ll never get old is his reaction to butt scratches...

When the weather was bad, the cafe was usually pretty quiet. Few customers came in and the cats were rather calm. Price took his usual spot upon the highest wall perch, Gaz was grooming himself and purring at people’s feet, Ghost was helping in the back, König would occasionally stick his head out from his little hiding box, and Soap was unusually sleepy. He’d let himself get fonded over, meow a bit, try and rile up the other, but he mostly lounged around. You could see in his little cat face that something was up.

He slacked a bit when it came to helping clean up after closing and upon returning to the apartment, flopped down on your bed. With his face fully engulfed in the pillow, he seemed dead to the world. Kyle made a teasing remark which was only met with an exaggerated groan and a sad flick of his tail.

Everyone else had gone to do their own things; Price went home, Kyle and Ghost were on the couch watching TV with König (still in his cat form) lounging on the latter’s lap, purring up a storm.

“You haven’t been yourself today, Johnny. What’s wrong?” You ask, slipping into some lightweight sweatpants and sitting next to his figure on the bed. His cat ears flick up and towards you and he let out another groan and turned his head towards you. Johnny’s got that look on his face, it's different from his pleading pouts- which never falls you make you fold for him.

No, this look is exhaustion, like he’s been drained of all his usual boyish enthusiasm. Like he can’t find a reason to get out of bed. There’s no usual purr resounding from his chest or a mischievous glint in his eyes, in fact, they looked clouded with depression like the sky outside, focused on nothing in particular.

Your heart ached from him. Seasonal depression was a bitch. When the seasons shifted and the clouds lingered in the sky more than you would like, it made the world seem less enjoyable. Constant rain made you want to sit in bed all day and binge eat and when the snow fell from the sky like flour through a sifter, you couldn’t even bring yourself to open the blinds, knowing the sight of the powdery white clinging to buildings would send your mind spiraling.

Not only that, but the dreary weather caused his knee to act up, like the joints were stuck together no matter what stretches he did.

You climbed into bed behind Johnny and wrapped your limbs around him, giving him a squeeze. His tail snaked around your leg and you felt his body relax. The added warmth was what you and Johnny needed to fend off the mysterious draft flowing through the flat.

His ear twitches as your breath fanned over it, “Why don’t you shift and we can snuggle, hmm suds?” You whisper to him and give him a soft smile.

He mumbles something at the nickname but compiles, slipping off his clothes and shifting into a brown Scottish fold, his blue eyes still shining. Johnny plops himself on your chest and makes some soft biscuits, his purr rattling your chest. He looks so much more relaxed now- he was your living weighted doll.

Johnny begins to settle down enough to doze off while you scroll on your phone. You scratch behind his ear a little and he tilts his head at maximum relaxation. Your hand slowly moved down his body- you went from his chin, to his back, poking his tummy a bit, then to the base of his tail. It twitches, swishing a bit against your hand but when you start scratching, Johnny’s butt lifts and his eyes crack open.

You giggled at his enjoyment of simple butt scratches, but this was the beginning. You shape your hand into a claw and scratch a bit more intensely. His purring increases and he lifts his head in pleasure, arching his back. Johnny let out a long meow followed by what can only be described as ‘wah wah wah wah wah’.

Nevermind the fact that his claws were digging into your chest, you both were enjoying the moment. His tail was practically wagging and he looked blissed out from butt scratches. Unable to control yourself, you burst into laughter and stopped scratching. His body went back to its relaxed state and he stared at you, his little blue eyes wide.

Johnny turned away with the best equivalent to a pout a cat could give. “Feel good, suds?” You asked through a laugh and all he responded back with was a ‘mrow’ of embarrassment.

Kyle

Kyle was the certified pretty boy, both in the group and according to the cafe’s customers

Every video or picture with him on the cafe’s socials gets a shit ton of likes

(you most popular post is gaz licking soap’s head while soap licks ghost’s head, who seem rather calm with everything and König watching from the side, wanting to join in)

He’d sit and flaunt himself in little cat outfits, or meow sweetly at the customers who couldn’t help and coddle him, like mind control, and even using that boyish charm on you and the others (he’s been found snuggled up to Ghost on more than one occasion, the pair’s tail tangled together and occasionally chirping at each other)

Kyle enjoyed watching you cook both as a human or cat. he was also one of the only ones who could be trusted up there; Soap and König stole food, Ghost couldn’t care less and when he did, he would knock things over (and although Price doesn’t live with you all, he got a bit sneezy around all the spices and seasonings)

Tonight’s dinner was chicken parmesan and spaghetti, so after Kyle helped with a bit of prep (being the gentleman he is), he shifted and hopped onto his little spot on the counter

After breading the chicken breasts, you popped the first patch into the air fryer. You set a big pot upon the stove, turning the flame to medium and drizzling some oil into it. Kyle sat loafed, observing you move around the kitchen, gathering ingredients, keeping an eye on the chicken, as well as having to shoo some mischievous kitties out the kitchen.

Once the water begins to bubble, causing Kyle’s ears to swivel in its direction, you slide the noodles into the water. You stir them around before opening up the air fryer. Steam poured out along with a wave of heat and the delicious smell of chicken.

“Oh man, I can’t remember the last time I had chicken parm.” If you were in a cartoon, you’d be comically salivating at the sight of the crispening chicken. Kyle seemed just as interested because he stretched his neck out a bit and you could see his little pink nose wiggling.

You started flipping each piece over, allowing for equal crisp on both sides, when you held up a smaller piece. “Want a sniff, pretty boy? I can trust you not to snatch this away from me.” You cooed at him, lowering the chicken to his nose. He instantly began to sniff, his tail swishing a bit. His pupils expanded and his mouth became ajar, and he started huffing like his nose was clogged or something.

You snorted as he turned away, mouth still agape and his eyes wide. Was this some weird cat quirk? None of the others did this and Kyle has had chicken before, but damn if this wasn’t cute!

He could get away with almost anything if he flashed his big brown eyes at you. (When he scratched your hand up after König tipped over the catnip jar, he just rubbed his little kitty face against your bandages and gave you a small meow. Or when he’d eaten the last brownies you were looking forward to after a long and hard day, he kissed along your neck and face before whispering sweetened apologies in your ear.)

“Smell yummy, hmm, Kyle? Never seen you do this before.” You giggled as he licked his lips and closed his mouth. He meowed back before stretching his front limbs, going into Sphinx-pose.

After a couple moments, you move onto the pasta, taking a noodle out and blowing before nibbling on it. ‘Needs more time…’ you thought as you looked over at Kyle, who’s eyes were closed and his tail flicked momentarily. You smirk as you grab another noodle and shimmy over to him. His ears swivel towards you and he cracks one eye open.

“Give this a smell?” You asked as you held the noodle in front of him. Like clockwork, his mouth parted as he huffed and sniffled at the semi limb pasta.

You laughed as he even squinted his eyes, as if in deep concentration over the smell of this bland noodle.

And just like a cat, he reacted faster than you, jumping back at Johnny jumped on the counter and snatched the noodle out from between you two fingers, skidding out the kitchen and under the cat tree.

“NO! Dammit Johnny! You’re so greedy!” You fumed as you went to scold him. Gaz’s eyes closed in satisfaction and he went back to lounging.

Ghost

You’re still finding out things about simon

Not that there isn’t some level of trust between you two, but he’s just an enigma to everyone

It took him almost 6 months for him to finally agree to sit in at the cafe as a cat and not just help in the back

Unlike most black cats online, he doesn’t really have any of those quirks

Sure he likes to knock things over, bat at the other’s (mainly soap and König) when he was annoyed, and hit your legs whenever you walk by, but those were normal cat things

He spent more time in his human form (unless he needed his alone time, then he snuggled himself into his cat cubby), so when he was shifted, you enjoyed spending as much time observing him like he was his more bigger counterpart- the black panther

Simon was overall a pretty normal cat

You’d learnt all his favorite scratching spots, his favorite football (im so american RAAAAGHHH) team, his designated spot on the bed, and exactly how he enjoyed his tea

He was never really as vocal as a human or cat. If he wanted something, he’d either stare you down or bat at you. If someone was annoying him, he had a hardy hiss that got anyone backing off (he’s only ever growled at price, having too much respect for the man)

When out, Simon was protective; walking on the outer part of the sidewalk, opening doors for you, making sure you were always walking in front of him, even when snuggling he’d hiss at the others so you two can be alone

Who said Simon Riley wasn’t a softie under all that eye-black and classic skull balaclava?

Spring was finally here, long gone the days of constant clouds hanging over the city and random cold fronts. The city planters had bedded tulips around the neighborhood flower beds, people were out and about during the weeks, outside tables at diners and cafes finally being occupied, and the sun warming up your apartment and your heart.

The cafe was busy today, groups enjoying pastries and drinks while the cats ran around.

Gaz and Soap were playing around, slipping under tables and playing with the customers. König even let a few people pet him (which caused him to chirp and get even more pets). Price was helping in the back (people always complimented the drinks when he made them, so you let him handle those to help boost his ego), and Ghost sat on a high perch attached to the window, too high for anyone ton reach him, but in a good spot to catch some of the breeze that came through the screen door.

You came over to check on him and all he did was swish his tail and slow blink at you. You could hear people coo at his bright pink beans as he stretches before rolling back over. It was nice to see Simon out and about during busy hours, he’d usually hide away from everyone, including Soap and König who loved his personal space. (Out of the two, Soap has gotten the most bats to the head while König has been nipped twice.)

You’re chatting with some customers, Gaz sits proudly in the lap of one of them when there’s a clattering outside and you see someone passing by has knocked over the black board outside. You roll your eyes a bit, excusing yourself and exiting the cafe to pick it up back.

“Some people…jeez.” You grumble as you straighten it back up. As you're crouched down, a shadow casts above you and when you look up, there’s a brunet giving you an apologetic smile. His hair is sleek and he’s wearing a cool gray office suit.

“Ah, sorry about that, sweets.” The unnecessary pet name has your nose wrinkling, but you keep your displeasure masked.

“It’s ok, nothing’s broken.” You say as you brush off your knees and straighten up. He’s average height and build, nothing to gawk over but not bad looking. He’s got a glint in his eye and before you can turn away, he’s opening his mouth.

“I pass here everyday and I’ve seen you hustling around, like a cute little maid. You own this place, eh?” The more he talks, the more you get the urge to spit at his feet- those obnoxiously shiny loafers. You just grit your teeth and force a polite smile.

“Mhmm, yup. I’ve got some order to make so I’ll be-.”

“I never liked cats, too hairy and mean, but I’d come here for you.~ You should be the main face of this cafe instead of those...pets, sales would be booming if you just flashed a pretty little smile.” He flashes his pearly whites and you suddenly feel exposed under his sultry gaze.

“I, uhh, appreciate it but I have to go-.” He takes a step towards you, his hand ready to grasp onto your arm when there’s a clunk against the window behind you.

Ghost, with big eyes and his body fluffed up like a sea urchin stood on his hind legs, body pressing against the glass like if he tried hard enough, he could phase through and slice the bastard's face into flesh ribbons. His claws scratch at the glass and he lets out a hiss that sounds loud even through the window. Customers and the other cats look over at the scene and the office man wrinkles his nose. Ghost keeps hissing and presses himself more into the glass, definitely leaving marks where his nose and paws were pressing.

In human form, you were blessed if you never at the receiving end of Ghost's intimidation, but as a cat, seeing him before a black puff ball of rage was certainly cute.

“You keep feral cats in your cafe?!” The man asks, disgusted by Ghost's actions of pure rage. You’ve never seen Ghost get so aggressive, but in this moment, you’re thankful.

“Yep, so maybe it’s best you don’t stop by!” You huff at him and turn curtly back into the cafe, ignoring his grumbles and curses at Ghost as he continues to stare down the sleazeball.

Even after the man has gone down the street, Ghost is still seething. He stills alert in his window perch and watches the people go by. Some stop to coo at him through the glass despite his deadly glare so he goes to his hiding spot to brood.

Once the last group leaves and everyone shifts back to help clean up, Ghost peeks his little head out. You squat down and give him a smile. He just glares.

“Thank you, Si. I appreciate the backup.” You boop his nose and he growls before batting at your hand. You just laugh and coo at him more.

“Seems like you have a little katze bodyguard.” König teases as he wipes down some tables. Ghost hisses and slinks out of hiding, making his way to the back area to get dressed and wash dishes.

König

being raised in a poor household with just his mutter and oma, he struggled but was also spoiled, wanting to be given the best life they could provide for him

His mom would sometimes not eat just to provide her growing boy a full meal

And man did he grow…

At age 13, Anton was 5’11 and 145 lbs. And according to his doctor, he wasn’t done growing yet!

He was outcasted by his peers, bullied and teased for how his second hand clothes never truly fit over his stomach or how his shoes were slowly falling apart

Over his years of being in the military, a balanced diet, and an intense workout routine, some of that fat turned to muscle but his body was still plump

His stomach hadn’t formed any abs, his thighs spread when he sat, and his arms if not flexed jiggled

He’d gotten better with his body issues, and with the help of loving partners and therapy he didn’t scowl looking in the mirror

He’d still grow flustered when you’d playfully pat his stomach or when soap’d tease about getting him into something more revealing to show off his fat ass, his creamy white skin blooming a bright red which ensued even more teasing

Add onto being a maine coon hybrid, his cat form was also a bit chubby under all that fur

When he ran, his pouch swung side to side and he had trouble fitting into smaller perches kitties like soap and gaz lounged on with ease

Each of the cats had a specific level of the cat tree dedicated to them. König’s favorite spot was a little perch in the center of the cat tree that had a small hole in the middle. It was meant for cats to stick their heads through and play with each other, but with his large physique, he took over that whole platform

Sundays were usually when you tried to get everything done before the work week started back up again. Groceries were dwindling and Price wasn’t gonna let you eat take out anymore (you’d accidently let slip on the phone that you got the same delivery drive twice in a row and he pressured the rest out of you).

Kyle had just ventured to the bedroom to receive some clothes, wanting to spend some time with his Captain and his partner, Simon and Johnny opted to stay home, and König…you actually hadn’t heard from him in a while.

Pulling a shirt over your head, you headed into the living room. The TV was playing a rerun while Johnny splayed his legs over Simon’s, who didn’t seem bothered. Entering the living room, you pass by the couch and to the cat tree, where a big mass of dusty orange fur sat, front legs dangling off the edge.

You poke his back, and the skin jumps as he lets out a ‘merr!’ and lifts his head. König yawns, sticking his pink tongue out and you boop the tip. He snaps his mouth shut and gives another chirp. His long ear flicks and he licks his lips as you speak.

“You thinking about joining us, we’re heading to the store. We might need your muscles carrying the bags, big boy.” You stroke his back and you feel him arch up a bit.

König seems to be thinking in his little kitty mind before laying his head back down with a small and dainty, “Maow!”

You giggle, he’s always had a high pitched voice. He was another silent kitty next to Ghost, only using his meow at home or occasional chirps in the public eye of cafe customers. (This didn’t stop them from cooing at his squeaky voice and he’d grow embarrassed.)

“D’aww, ok. You can stay home with the lovebirds, König.” You scratch his back some more, before you see a mound hanging down from the platform’s underside.

“Oh? What’s this?” You tease as you squat down. You knew what it was, you were just feeling a bit cheeky today. König chirped and his tail swished and he watched you gaze at his belly.

It was round and a nice cream color compared to the rest of his fur. It was also weirdly the softest part of him. You grinned as you poked it, running your hands along it like feeling a baby bump. König chirped again, it sounded like a whine, but that didn’t stop you.

“So chubby, no wonder even Ghost has trouble picking you up. At least we know you’re eating well! I like my partners' big boned and my cats chonky.” You jiggled and played with his stomach more before König let out a meow of annoyance, but it was too cute for you to take offense to!

You straightened back up to give him some deserved chin scratches for putting up with your antics. But with a huff, König stood up and turns away, making sure to smack your face with his tail before jumping down and off to the bedroom, pouch swaying as he trotted off. (You heard Kyle give a kiss to the gentle giant and offer him the same deal, to which he agreed to! So cheeky!)

“Ya’ gotta quit bullyin’ the lad! No wonder he ‘as a new favorite!” Johnny says as his eyes were now on you, but his gaze focused elsewhere but your eyes. You stammered to defend yourself. König truly didn’t mind, you’d talk about it before but you always kept it to light teasing and never any insults. He’d tease you back, despite how reserved he was, his hooked nose would scrunch when he made a remark that had you gawking and pouting at him.

“I-I wasn’t bullying König! Also you saw his stomach, it’s like this when he walks!” You mimic the motion by making a side to side motion with your hands, feeling flushed now having been called out.

Johnny just smirked as Simon spoke up, “Unless you plan on shopping in your knickers, I’d suggest you finish dressing.”

As if on queue, a breeze ruffled the satin curtains and tickled your bare legs, skin erupting with goosebumps. You blush harder and stomp past the couch, not without receiving a swat on the butt from Johnny, who can only laugh as you swear back at him.

(With each trip that issued carrying groceries, you were left struggling, hands burning from the strain, while König chivalrously took bags from Kyle's hands, them both throwing you smug smirks.)

#💣 - cod:mw #cod x reader #📁 - kiid.write #📎 john “soap” mactavish #📎 jonathan price #📎 kyle “gaz” garrick #📎 könig #📎 simon “ghost” riley #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #konig cod #konig x reader #cod mw2 #soap cod #gaz cod #john price #konig call of duty #ghost cod

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kivino · 2 months ago

Text

MEANT FOR EACH OTHER || ZOMBIE AU || KÖNIG X READER || PART II

sum. A deep-seated paranoia takes hold of you. Every hour of the day, you feel like you’re being watched. Followed. And you’re not wrong. So observant, so beautiful and perfect, but always dismissed by your group, left behind, not paid even a sliver of attention. How tragic. It’s okay though. König is here to do right by you. F̶̖̓͆̕͝o̷̢͚̲̬̍͠r̶͖̝̾̊̍̾e̸͔͇̣̓̈̊̾v̶̛͚͕́͗͝e̷̤̻͔͎̅̑̽r̴̝̬̩̘͒̒̃ ̴͔͆͋̈͝ȃ̷̢̭̯n̶̡̜̫͚̉̌̊̒ḍ̷̩̲̹͝ ̷̖̔͌͘ả̶̡̬̥͊l̶͕̇̓̄w̴̺̥̋̂͠ä̷̢̢̝́̒͗y̴̳̦̙̕ŝ̶͕̋̀.̵̝̱͒̌̅̆

tags. zombie au (twdg inspired), stalking, obsessive behaviour, themes of paranoia, fear, distrust, isolation, creepy behaviour on könig’s part, arguments, swearing (obvi), some ocs for reader’s group

w.c. 3k

a.n. i just want to preface by saying i do not condone any behavior of such sort, and if someone displays tendencies like that towards you seek help and support! i wanted to include more interactions with the group to show the process of reader completely losing it, so this will be the second chapter and everything will come to an end in two chapters – reader will finally meet könig and he will try to be on his best behaviour. which will not work out…

taglist. @sirbonesly asked to be tagged in this, so here you go, love! thank you so much for your sweet comment on part 1!

|| PART 1 || || PART 3 ||

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link || ko-fi

Loud, hungry rumbling in your ear, hot, wet breaths fanning over your face in impatient, shaky puffs, greedy, needy hands pawing at your body, unable to settle on one thing. Your blood ran cold in your veins when in the restless, all-consuming sticky darkness you could feel a body press against you, almost as if the inky blackness itself formed into this…unknown, rabid creature snaking its way from behind. Entwining itself into your arms, pressing against the curve of your hip, forcing its way in-between your legs with animalistic abandon. Growling, dripping saliva...

Inescapable. Terrifying. And worst of all, forceful and undeniable, not even entertaining the possibility of allowing you the luxury of resistance. All-consuming and merciless, heart hammering against your ribs, cries, and whimpers of despair torn from your lips, as fingers reached to tear away desperately at anything you could reach – relentless darkness, your tears, and flesh….

Snap!

A loud noise of a twig breaking finally helps you to will yourself out of your restless, suffocating sleep. You sit up with a storm of shuffling around you, your stained sleep t-shirt soaked with cold sweat, sticking to you like a second layer of skin. Your blanket lay beside you in a dense, and unusually giant pile, the burning fire under your skin too hot to even entertain the idea of wrapping yourself in it. Trembles wreck you still after the nightmare, the air in the tent is unpleasant and heavy with moisture, settling down at the bottom of your lungs and making it so much harder for you to breathe.

It takes you a second before you take in the lack of light penetrating your tent. It’s clearly nighttime. No one is supposed to be walking around the camp at nighttime.

You need but a second to reach under your pillow to find a hunting knife, unsheathed and ready to be used (not effectively, but that worried you the least at the moment), before your other hand reaches the zip, yanking it down with a force that almost makes the cheap material get stuck in the mechanism. Your head is immediately on a swivel, looking for the active threat with burning eagerness to dispose of it. All before your eyes settle on a dark silhouette of your group member, Scott, who was heading off…somewhere? Your hand with a knife clutched in an unsteady, shaky grip stays within the confines of the tent. You can see the man turn his head towards you.

“Hey there.” Scott’s quiet greeting paired with a quick (and rather unsuccessful) attempt at a reassuring smile does little to ease the way your mind was fraying at the edges more and more, leaving you a mess of tangled, tense nerves. From the group that accompanied you, he was the only one you knew from before. You could be called some things, colleagues, acquaintances, but definitely not friends. Which you only realised after throwing him a pleading glance from behind Jay yelling at you, recklessly throwing accusations about your being a liability, that did more harm than use to the group; after silently reaching out to Scott for anything — support, help, whatever words he could spare to refute Jay’s claims you were only met with his brown eyes avoiding yours, much preferring the look of moist ground underneath his feet. That’s when you realised you had not a soul to confide in among your group.

“Mm.” You mumble something incomprehensible to him, remembering that a greeting demands a response, even a low-quality one.

You notice that he’s about to speak up again, opening his mouth, unsure of his next move. After Jay’s weekly outbursts (most often on you; because of that you were almost positive the asshole despised you with his whole being) he wouldn’t even try saying anything afterwards. As if agreeing with the accusations through his inaction and timid glances thrown your way. Well, he could stay silent all he wants, you were not going to start this conversation with Scott.

It’s not like the man was particularly brave or outspoken, even before the entire world went to shit. He was your age, which, sure, didn’t warrant him extra respect among any social circles you’ve shared, but any time he’d witness a creep hitting on you during a night shift he’d just avert his eyes, heading away in a visible hurry, trying to look as busy as possible. He’d lower his eyes and walk away when the manager would take out her anger on you, who just ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not only that, but he’d also be the one to nod and smile anytime somebody would talk shit about you (or any other co-worker you had, you’d wager) in the break room. He never interfered with anything. Never stood by what he believed to be right. Never really got in the way. Never escalated. Never talked back or was mean to anybody. You’d call that complicit. Meek. Weak. But if you were being nice, you’d say that Scott wasn’t good or bad. He was just…. Nice. So very nice you’d lost any wish to converse with him beyond the necessary, knowing it would take a miracle for him to stick by you, or anyone, for that matter, because spines don’t grow overnight.

König will enjoy killing him. Or, rather, he would take pleasure in it, but sadly, he won’t be there to deliver the final strike, observing how life would leave this man’s eyes, draining along with viscera into the hungry, festering earth. But perhaps, he could allow himself this small pleasure? It is not for him, but for you, after all. Your safety, your wellbeing, and your peace of mind. Maybe a quick axe to the head would do the job. A broken neck, or a crushed windpipe. Perhaps, a throat sliced into minced meat? So many options that didn’t involve shooting the man… But that would mean blood on König’s clothes. You always seem to overthink or be suspicious of blood. Such a pure, and fascinating force of life…

He could hear his own breath becoming heavier, each second of silence filling König’s mind with images of Scott staring up at you with that absolutely pathetic look he always had. Did he think to earn your favour by squeezing all the pity you had in you, little by little? König wanted to laugh, really. This man didn’t deserve you. Your group didn’t deserve you. You were wasting yourself and your talents with them. You kept your wits about you so carefully, which not only drew more respect from König towards you, but at times also caused unwanted, rather irrational fearful reservations about you being able to pinpoint König with uncanny accuracy. But no matter how careful and smart you were – it never happened. Especially after your group insistently discouraged you from pursuing any leads he would place so lovingly for his special darling.

Tonight, however, was different. König, at times, would allow himself the simple, satisfying pleasures of being sloppy. A second more to take in your beauty was all that he needed to get through the day at times. König’s blood rushed through him like a mad storm, his ragged, dirtied hood soaked with condensation from hot puffs of air coming out of his mouth along with sweat. It was maddening, having to wait this long to put his plan into motion and not allow himself to approach you. At least while you were awake. Which is why he had to take in the beautiful sights while he could – in your sleep. Lashes fluttering in your sleep, restless, helpless to resist him, and oh, so beautiful in your rare lapse of awareness.

But this time was more than sloppy. It was simply careless, disregarding any worries and fear in favour of letting himself take you in completely, one last time, before having to do such a cruel thing to you. Hanging over your body, captivated by you trapped within nightmares, a theatre of your mind that clearly had you cornered – small whimpers leaving your lips, laboured breathing making your chest rise up and down underneath the blanket.

He couldn’t help himself, letting the palm of his hand rest on your chest, trembling with agitation at the ragged, hurried motions of your breathing. Your life, so fragile in his hands. König took in each and every detail, eyes not closing even for a second in the hot cocoon of the tent encasing him and his darling. You were perfect like this. He was so close. Separated from your slick skin by a measly layer of fabric, he could feel himself tremble from excitement at something so intimate, every loud beat of your heart hammering through his limbs. Along with a reverent, sweet shakes from allowing himself to touch you, you! König wasn’t even able to notice how his palm was pressing too hard on you, blinded by his utter adoration. Oh, how he would like to act on it. But it’s okay. He will put everything in motion tonight. Right after that fucking nuisance near your tent goes to do his business and you fall asleep. Hiding in the pile of blankets within your tent was the best he could do when you so unexpectedly woke up.

As good as König was with planning on the fly, there weren’t that many resources he could spare to rid you and himself from those pieces of human rubbish that you stuck by. So, he decided to make it easy. The spacious storage house you camped out inside had three exits, with your tent conveniently set up right beside one (always the smart one, you). König noted that usually only one out of three exits was being kept open, the other two locked with multiple draw-bolts and latches. He would open them beforehand, sneaking into the storage house under the cover of the night, just like usual. Then he will dip into the measly ammo supplies your group had, taking it for himself, along with emptying every loaded weapon there. A pile of melee weapons will also get cleared out by him, but he will just dispose of them, instead of taking for himself – if you recognize any of these knifes, pipes or bats (and you will, he was sure of it), he’s done for. He knows better than to underestimate your caution.

Then, the next stage of the plan will be put in motion. König will sneak out and make a loop for another storage house half an hour on foot down the road. Why? Well, that’s all because he’s been luring more and more walkers in that storage house, locking them up in there, waiting to gather enough of them in order to take out your group. It was rather inaccurate to call them walkers at this point. Some of them would run like crazy after feeling the smell of fresh blood. König will lure them back to the storage house your group rests at, which will probably take him quite a lot of time. Technically speaking, it wouldn’t be him, so there is nothing to blame him for. König was only going to nudge them in the right direction, not kill all those people with his own two hands. As such, he’s blameless. Not guilty. You’ll have nothing to be suspicious about.

Of course, there was a lot that could go wrong about the plan, but this was precisely why he was planning on sticking close by to keep an eye out for you. The storehouse was surprisingly dark in the dead of night. Then, once you run out of the exit, closest to you, he will follow, closing the door behind, so none of the walkers follow. Wherever you decide to stop, he’ll pretend to find you and offer his help. Easy. Surely, you’ll have no option but to rely on him. Scared and desperate, nearly escaping your death, there was no way you’d refuse him. And that thought made König’s mind race even faster each second.

“Not sleeping well?” Scott finally asked, after standing in one place for what felt like an eternity to you. Containing a scoff was not easy, but you managed it – what did he care? Not like he’d make your sleep any easier, with the same disregard as anyone showed you so far. Gulping down your pride – you still, after all, relied on the group for your survival, and your chances would drop dramatically if you were to compromise your already questionable standing even more, you speak up.

“No, no… I just have a bad feeling.” You rub your brow, hiding the frown, scrunching up your brows. Yeah, like he fucking cares if about your gut instincts screaming at you that something bad is going to happen.

“M-maybe you should…should try to sleep?” The man asks, visibly uncomfortable with such sudden straightforwardness from you. He clearly didn’t know how to comfort you either. “We can., uh…figure it all out. When you wake up. Does that sound okay?” You know that you won’t figure anything outcome morning. The ginger looks at you quizzically with an expression that oozed an incredible lack of assurance in his own words. Scott obviously didn’t care. You sigh, looking at him through your murky vision.

“Scott, you don’t have to even pretend to give a shit about me.” You blurt out before you can weight your words properly. Thankfully, the darkness doesn’t allow you to see the degree of shock on his face. “But at least have the decency to pretend you care about yourself and all those friends of yours.” You gesture towards the tents that contained all the warm sleeping bodies of your group, hammered into the ground a little further away from yours, clearly suggesting the dynamics in the group. Scott’s voice trembles with your name, as the name responds to you.

“You know I do care. I just…” The silence, as he’s unable to give you a sound argument to refute your statement is already quite telling. “I don’t like confrontation. You know it! I’m not heartless! I care. About everyone here. Which is why I don’t want to get into the conflict with anyone, or make somebody mad.” Scott’s voice is soft as he says that, you could almost picture him looking at the ground, as he usually does when an unpleasant conversation comes up.

“That is such a childish perspective.” You mutter, with the same disregard you’ve been shown. He should know how it feels, to be constantly reminded of no one believing something that was there, always. “By avoiding conflict, you help nobody, especially not yourself.”

“I can’t go around picking sides! I thought you understood!” His low, whispery voice comes to a higher point, still quiet enough to not wake anyone up with the racket, but already suggesting the heat building up from the argument.

“It’s not about who’s right and who’s wrong, you dipshit. It’s about our safety. I know we’re not safe, I see all the signs, yet all of you just turn the blind eye” You explain to him yet again, losing count of how many times you had uttered these words hoping that someone, anyone, would take you seriously.

“Blind eye to what? Some critters shuffling in a bush? Our own footprints? Shadows from the trees? Extra food in the bag that you forgot about? You sound crazy! Every time it’s something new, and it sounds more ridiculous than before!” Scott’s voice rises once again, and you swear you could hear some shuffling inside the tents. For some reason, even your own fills with the noise.

“There it is! You think I’m crazy! Just like the rest of them, you do!” You say with a painful laugh welling up within your chest, triumph and bitterness halved inside of you. “How I hope whatever it is that keeps coming around this camp finally shows itself, and you’ll eat your damn words.” You tremble from the cold air scorching your skin, while rage licks your insides with its flames. You were done with it. With everything. You’ll pack up and leave tomorrow. Because by god, dying of dehydration, hunger, or being torn to ribbons by a bunch of bloodthirsty walking corpses was preferable to being with this bunch of dimwits.

“Nothing is going to show up, because there is nothing, you stupid piece of shit!” Scott hisses out, giving the conversation a sense of finality, leaving the last word for himself. Oh, so he’s afraid of confrontation, but not when it’s with the bottom of the barrel member of the group. Cool. Fan-fucking-tastic. Your jaw tightens, and you glare at man’s silhouette, harbouring hope he’d drop dead from your stare. However, no such luck. He stands proud at his five-foot-something, rooted to the ground with shoulders rising and dropping from the laboured breathing.

“You’re a spineless suckup and an ignorant dick, Scott. I hope you fucking die.” You finally spit out your verdict, yanking up the zip of your tent and falling on your blankets in exasperation, venom bubbling inside of you. Wishing you could say more. Wishing you could cuss him out like he deserves, instead of being so concise. All your frustrations during these long months of being on your own in this built up to that. This fight with Scott. You leaving. It’s been a long time coming. Maybe in the morning you should duke it out with Jay as a little goodbye present, for all the months he made your life a living hell, giving you shit for just trying to protect everyone and be careful. If so, everyone should receive some insults – Rory for her rude-ass behaviour, Amy for constantly making you do all of Jay’s laundry, like he wasn’t her own damn husband, Tom, for being Scott’s father, and Tiny, for blindly supporting Jay in every fucking argument that sparked in the camp, towering over you, attempting to intimidate into silence each godforsaken time.

Oh, how you hated this. Bastards. All of them.

König will set you free into his bloody embrace, never to let go.

He’ll bathe the whole world in blood if it meant you were his forever.

check out this masterlist for more cod fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

#cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #mw2022 #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig #konig x reader #cod #cod konig #konig x you #konig cod #konig call of duty

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karlachismylife · 6 months ago

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Saw this and immediately thought of you! I hope your hiatus goes well!

Thank you so much, love! This cuteness was helping me keep it together during my hiatus and as you can see I survived, all thanks to you! Honestly the "thought of you" part just makes me tear up. Being the Hyena CEO of COD fandom is one of my biggest accomplishments (and also the most pleasant one cuz I get cute hyenas in my askbox).

So now that I'm out of my hiatus, let me tell you that these two? SoapGaz all the way.

CW: basically a short spinoff of the Queen of the Clan, can be seen as both canon and non-canon to the main story, so fem!chubby!reader and this is already established poly 141 x reader (ooh spoilers), a little bit of animal (well, shapeshifter) genitalia touching (non-sexual no matter how hard Soap- okay I'm out)

It's already at dusk that you're suddenly tasked with a simple thing everyone just kinda forgot about: there are new camera traps that need to be installed in the further part of the sanctuary, in the middle of the hyena territory, and since your reputation of a hyena whisperer has been firmly established, no one even thinks of other candidates for the late job.

You'd be quite grumpy about it if you didn't know you'll have the sweetest company to keep you safe and entertained.

Once you load the equipment into your backpack and receive written instructions - at least they didn't make you remember all the complicated measurements you'll have to make before setting up the traps - you roll your scooter out onto the dirt road and set off into the quickly darkening night. Fresh wind smells a little bit like sun-warmed dust and grass as it hits your face on the moderate speed, crickets and night birds weaving their song of nature cooling off after sunset, sounds loud enough to fill your head through the revving of weak engine and air swishing in your ears.

Not wearing a helmet is one of the least reckless things you've been up to just last month, and you can't lie, you feel a little bit power-drunk and allmighty after what you've gone through. Certain fellas do nothing to put you back on earth, shamelessly encouraging your power trip.

After all, the more confident the queen, the stronger the clan.

It's as if the wind picked up your thoughts, filled with the same four someones as always, and carried it over into the breathing with full chest savannah - because you're not even halfway to your end point and there's already loud whooping, two familiar voices, cutting through the air closer and closer to the road. Luckily for all of you, they make sure to get even louder and run a few dozens meters through the tall grass framing the curb, before two large silouettes jump out on the road to escort you in leisurely pace.

There's something so satisfying in the realization that you actually managed to indentify them just by their voices - Gaz's melodic, always slightly purring whooping somehow still distinct even when there are Soap's excited, hasty whoops, almost tripping over themselves and getting grabled with the inexplainable accent he carries into his hyena form too. Their big forms traverse the road effortlessly, even Soap's bulky body taking on that predatory elegance to match Gaz in his dark, determined trotting - they make some loops around you and your scooter, tails raised in excitement, and and shut up only after you turn the engine off at your stop, propping the machine on its stand.

Soap nearly jumps you, balancing poorly on one hind leg and trying to paw at you with both front ones, screeching and whining with his widest smile and tongue lolling out. You chuckle and boop his wide nose, ready to bend down for some kisses, but Gaz, ever the polite one, nudges your hip with his dark muzzle and raises his leg too.

Right. They really wanted you to get in onto the whole greeting ritual - sitting you down for a gentle talk and reassuring it that it's not weird, if it's them. They're not animals, they're just... animal-shaped. Your arguement about palming crotches as a greeting being weird with humans to was kinda just thrown away. After all, they're your clan, they're yours, why would anything be weird between you?

So you oblige, crouching with a sigh and running some quick bellyrubs down their patiently waiting bodies, until you reach two proudly erect hyena members. It's just a ritual, it'll help them with watever scent-hierarchy-service thing they've got going on, you have to remind yourself, as you briefly skim over their genitals and pull your hands away, wiping them off on the boys' fur and slapping Soap's fluffy butt for trying to grind into your palm.

"You try that again and I'm never touching you again, Stinky, you hear me?" You even make a point out of returning the old nickname, and watch with satisfaction as Soap's fluffy ears lower miserably and he dips down to the ground, the embodiment of guilt.

Not for long, though - after he gets a kiss on the nose from you, Gaz jumps Soap and bites his scruff, starting a scuffle. Their commanding officers seem to be busy, so Sergeants have a lot of energy to spare - you know that better than anyone.

Yesterday bitemarks on your thighs still sting as you unload your backpack and pull all the equipment out. Leaning your butt against the scooter, you put on the little headlamp and start reading through your instructions, laughing and fighting off both Soap and Gaz that stopped playfighting just to rummage and sniff through your things.

"Shush! Mum's reading, it's important," you throw at them, earning two sets of outraged huffs - no need to understand hyena language to hear the "you're not our mum" hidden between grumpy sneezes. It works, though, both hyenas plop their asses next to you, Gaz leaning against your hip to get some chin scratches and Soap playing with the strap of your backpack, throwing it around, tugging and chewing on the buckle in the middle. "Okay, it shouldn't be long. Hey, can you help me?"

They both jump up immediately, Soap puffing his chest out and fluffing up his mane just to show how helpful he is, Gaz just standing patiently, only reaching his neck to try and sneak a peek into the paper you're holding.

"I'll be doing some measurements, and you guys please dig a little holes where I say, okay? Not deep, just... well, to fit that thing, see?" You nod at one of the camera traps and after they both inspect it with thorough sniffs and shy nibbles and grumble in understanding, you get that laser tape measure - much easier to use alone and in the night.

Finding one of the spots you need to measure from, you crouch, set the laser and look down at the number on the screen. Too close. With a grunt, you scoot a little further and press the button again. Aha, there!

"Okay, so can you now make a hole right where the laser dot is? Guys?" Confused by the lack of movement from your usually very eager to help and serve hyenas, you look up.

Only to see them both staring at the little dot of your tape measure with tails on high alert and legs in a wide stance, prime for pouncing.

For fuck's sake, you forgot they're basically overgrown spotted cats.

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

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machveil · 6 months ago

Note

I couldn’t be on a mission or training or even just generally living in the same space as any of these men because I would constantly have to fight the urge to smack them on the ass, and I know I would lose that fight

-🐸

HELP I was literally thinking about this lmfao

CoD Headcanon: Cop a Feel

these men have asses meant for grabbin’, is a handful too much to ask for? featuring: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, König

CW: groping, generally getting handsy, suggestive, Johnny being a dog is it’s own warning

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

god forbid you smack, grab, or fondle his ass on base or on a deployment. Ghost does not have the patience for that, you’re playing a risky game with him right now and Ghost never loses

it doesn’t matter if you’re friends or dating or something in between, if you land on a hit on him you’re getting put in your place. especially if you do it in front of other soldiers, in front of his team. as soon as he can, he’ll be dragging you off somewhere secluded - you think you’re funny? or are you just that desperate for attention?

Simon, off duty, at home or in public, is a little more open to the attention. he himself isn’t opposed to slipping his hand into your back pocket - an innocent act of affection until he squeezes. he’s fair, if he gets to do that then you can feel him up a little too

he’d prefer it to be at home, but if you cop a feel while walking down the street, or in line at the check-out, he won’t say anything. at home though? he’s flesh and blood, can you blame the man when he scoops you up in his arms, hands grabbing the back of your thighs as he nips and kisses your neck? “You started it, lovie.”, is all you’ll hear before he’s marching to the nearest surface

John “Soap” MacTavish:

are you dating? are you just friends? it doesn’t matter, before you can even think about getting handsy Soap is already sneaking up on you. full gear or dressed in civvies, his hands are finding their way to your ass first. it’s fun for him— don’t look down, keep your eyes on his

Soap has self control, not a lot, but he does. he’ll try his hardest to keep his hands to himself. but, if he feels you grab a handful and squeeze? he’s grinning while you laugh, already pawing at your hips and kneading the fat of your ass as payback

Johnny is an absolute dog at home, just a mutt for your attention. he goes crazy for a hand on his bicep, eyes half lidded when you place a hand on his knee - grabbing his ass? he’s practically drooling when you smack it, groaning when you squeeze. you’ll be nice to him and let him feel you up too, right?

it’s only fair, bonnie! he’ll be gentle, just let him love on you— no! don’t walk away smiling, is that a fit of giggles he hears? “Naw, get over here! Dinnea think you’re getting out of this!”, he’ll chase after you, all toothy smiles and booming laughter

König:

do not embarrass him, Maus. he’s a well respected, feared Colonel, he has a dangerous reputation. a behemoth of a man that can snap someone in half with pure, brutish strength alon— “Ach—! Du kleiner Schlingel!”, he’ll get red in the (thankfully hidden) face, his neck to his ears burning as he gasps. on duty! on duty, in front of his men! how dare you

he can take a joke, physical and verbal, but don’t expect him to walk it off - König lives for messing with people, a little mischief never hurt anyone. so, go ahead, grope him on base if you want to! just don’t whine when he spanks you later in passing, heavy handed and laughing as you yelp

when König comes back home? oh, please touch him! he’s starving for affection, even if it comes in the form of you kneading his ass especially then. is he tall, and strong, and overall intimidating? yes, yes he is. is he a wet sock of a man that’s desperate for you? oh, of course

he’ll purposefully turn his back to you when you’re in the kitchen, acting surprised when you wind up for KO. he’ll knead the fat of your thighs, grope your hips, kiss your neck, anything if you promise to keep touching him. he’ll be embarrassed in public if you rest your hand on his ass while walking, a hushed little whine when you squeeze, but it’s exactly what he wants

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xo-cod · 1 year ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/xo-cod/738798264594415616/141-k%C3%B6nig-sex-bloopers

sorry yeah that's it i meant irl it's not perfect and stuff happens sometimes :) whatever ignore this im silly

you're not silly, i loved this :') <3 this might be cringe and it's ooc/rushed/headcannons but LMAOO i tried my best :") nsfw/sfw ahead!

part 2

the not so sexy moments of sex with the 141

price trying to be all sexy and suave loosening his top and removing his bucket hat in an act of seduction which results in him stubbing his toe and yelping in pain for a good few minutes

gaz panicking at the thought of his cum going into your eye after a blowjob and proceeding to scare himself for days on the off-chance you develope some sort of eye infection

soap after getting slightly confused with what he was doing grabbed a diagram of a vagina and made you hold it so he could have better success rate of making you cum

simon screeching loudly after snapping on his latex condom a little harder than recommended. bear with him, he has to take a few minutes, his body took a screenshot from how intense it was

price ending up falling asleep during a hand job but in his defence he was on five days with three hours of sleep and a whole bunch of coffee that was keeping him going

gaz very confidently and with that half smirk of his, mid way giving you the best head asking you if you're about to have an organism

soap realizing very quickly that food play is not like the movies and that it stings/burns, proceeds to awkwardly hop and waddle into the bathroom

simon trying be all cute and romantic which results in him spooning you close to his body, only to proceed to hack and choke when he inhaled your hair by accident

price having the lack of coordination after he tried to undress himself trying to come over to the bed and ending up face planting into the floor with a huge thud and a string of curse words following by (this mans just stays falling LMAO)

gaz genuinely ashamed about tearing your expensive lingerie in his excitement that he gives himself a time out and learns the true meaning patience

simon, bless his heart, already breaking the bedframe in his excitement when he grabbed you and pinned you against it.

gaz frantically trying to get it back it up, cussing his cock out and trying to awkwardly laugh but it comes out as a cry for help

simon slamming his forehead into the doorframe when he tried to be all hot and sexy, proceeding to cut himself and cuss everything out within a 10 mile radius (never you though :3)

soap's confidence absolutely obliterating when he was so turned on he ended up cumming while trying to get inside you

gaz making you take a survey after sex and telling you to rate the experience and what he could improve on next time

simon absolutely enraged at the mark on your neck thinking someone had hurt you, completely forgetting he was the one to leave it on you and it was a hickey

soap falling asleep while trying to go down on you after he finished a long mission. his head was buried between the warmth and comfort of your thighs and his eyes fell like shutters, nuzzling deep unconsciously into your heat

simon just zoning out when staring at your tits, lost in a trance and you're wondering if he's going to actually touch them. he does so but after a good 15 minutes

price squeezing your tiddies to paw at them and get them all perky but ends up feeling your ribs in the darkness and gets excited.

soap just poking at your nipple mid thrust in pure curiosity. not even to flick or pinch them, just a small poke before he goes back to doing what he was doing

gaz having a sneezing fit when he tried to lick your neck and chest only to be allergic to the perfume you were wearing

#asks #LMAO i'm so sorry if you cringe 😭😭😭#simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #john soap mactavish #cod 141 #141 x reader #task force 141

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mi-i-zori · 10 months ago

Text

With Love and Purrs

CoD - Shifter!AU - Cat Shifter!Nikto x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : A kind of headcanon-like thingy about Cat Shifter!Nikto meeting his reason to live.

WARNINGS : Mention of Nikto thinking about how deadly his job is for a moment. Otherwise, this is pure fluff.

Author’s Note : I’m back, and I’ve got a few things to share, starting with this ! The worms have been wiggling about hybrids and shifters lately. Maybe it’ll become a new AU.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Nikto catches sight of Reader multiple times during a long stay at the base they work at. He quickly learns that they have a job in the administration, and comes to appreciate the aura they exude. Their smile seems engraved in his mind both day and night, refusing to leave his thoughts. He finds himself wishing to be the source of their happiness, even if just for a fleeting moment.

Yet he can’t stop his mind from lashing out against this feeling, screaming about how doing so could lead him to another path full of pain ; like it always seems to be.

Which is why he decides to find a compromise with himself and approach them in an… Unconventional way.

He comes to them in his animal form - a black, rugged little stray cat with piercing blue eyes and patches of scarred skin lingering among his already unruly fur. As always, he stays silent ; making them jump when someone points out that a peculiar feline is following them at a distance, never letting them out of its sight.

They immediately start cooing at him, lowering their voice as if to not startle him. They stay where they are, calling him with a hand outstreched towards his form. Despite his usual wary self, he immediately grasps the opportunity between his paws, giving their fingers the tiniest sniff before timidly snuggling against them.

Still, it takes him quite some time before he manages to not instinctively shy or jump away from their touch. Yet they never seem to get tired of him - smiling and slow blinking at him as he lays on what quickly became his special chair and blanket in their office, sometimes talking to him quietly, allowing him a glimpse of their thoughts.

They respect his space, which he is constantly grateful for. They ask for his permission before petting him, slowly coming to hold a hand in front of his nose, and never getting upset when he doesn’t feel like cuddling. They apologize whenever they accidentally spook him, and try to calm him down with a few peaceful words and coos. They try to contain their excitement whenever he allows them to pet or kiss him, yet he can feel it radiating from them.

He become the source of their joy more and more, and he can’t help but feel a little smug about it.

However, he isn’t really fond of their colleagues. Some of them try to force their need for feline cuddles on him despite Reader’s warnings. They make a show of lightly scolding him when he scratches, bites or hisses at the idiots, but never fail to smile and reassure him when he grumbles about it after the unwanted attention-seeker leaves.

« They never learn the lesson, do they ? » They say. « I’m sorry, Baby. » Nikto wishes he could tell them they are not the one who needs to apologize, especially not when they are so good to him.

He also likes that name. Baby. But don’t tell anyone.

One man, though, is worse than the others. He never comes to try and pet him, and Nikto doesn’t care about the way he looks at him, as if he were the scourge of the Earth - he is used to the negativity dancing in the eyes of others on his path, even more in his human form. But the man flirts shamelessely with his human, and he loathes it. He can feel Reader’s discomfort the second that arrogant bastard’s footsteps echo down the hall, and sees the exasperated sigh that crosses their lips just before he automatically makes his way through the door as if he owns the whole place. Nikto makes his point by glaring at him until the idiot gets uncomfortable enough to leave, and hisses when he breezes past his chair on his way out. He relishes in the satisfied smile they give him, the kisses they blow his way as a relieved thank you.

Then comes the day he has to go on a mission again. He doesn’t know how long he will be gone, if he’ll even be able to see them again. His shoulders are heavy as he boards the plane, glancing one last time at the door beyond the tarmac wondering if, somewhere in the building, the one that holds his heart will be waiting for his return.

And said heart leaps with delight when he finally steps on the base’s grounds again ; battered and bruised, exhausted and sore, but alive. He doesn’t waste a second to let his little paws follow the lines of the corridors leading to his Reader’s office. The arrogant flirt is there when he arrives, and Nitko is more than happy to tear their attention away from him the second he walks through their door. He rubs his entire side against their legs, his face against their fingers. He preens as the idiot bites back a snarl and almost runs out of the room ; his love doesn’t even notice, to busy running their hands through his fur as they ask him where he’s been.

« I’ve been thinking, » they say, sounding like they are about to make him the most outrageous of confessions, « would you like to come home with me ? »

Nikto is too focused on trying to quell the erratic beating of his heart to register their nervous babbling about how they asked around and learned he was a stray hanging around the base, and how they have been thinking about it for months. He cuts them off with his first meow in what feels like an eternity. It’s rough, and almost sounds nothing more like a disgusting gurgle in his ears ; but their eyes lit up with happiness, their excitement wafting off of them in unrestrained waves as they pick him up. And he lets them, his claws digging into their shirt as if they were going to vanish right before his eyes.

His new reality settles in as they put him down on the floor of their apartment. The scents are the first thing that hits him. It smells like them, feels like them. The cushions on their sofa are the softest against his rugged pawpads, but so are their carpets and their bed. They let him explore every single corner of their home - his home, they insist on saying, and Nikto’s heart threatens to burst out of his ribcage.

He now spends his days lounging in their office, learning to indulge in his teasing side more as he rolls around on their desk, and his nights in whatever free space of their apartment he feels like invading. He learns to meow more, his voice sounding the tiniest bit clearer every time, and to purr too. The rumbles are awkward and raspy, but he happily lets them out as Reader combs through his erratic fur.

He sighs dreamily whenever they turn their back, wishing he could give them everything they offer him back tenfold. So he takes it upon himself to « groom » them whenever they try to detangle his fur, showering them with his own kind of kisses and silent love. He fights his aversion for touch to cuddle more, savoring the smiles it brings out on their face. He goes to sleep next to their pillow, and wakes up sprawled on top of their chest, listening to their quiet heartbeat.

There’s this one time when they tell him how much he reminds them of a certain masked soldier they crossed paths with a few times back at the base. They gush about the piercing blue of the man’s eyes, so similar to his ; his confident strides, the nods of greeting he took the time to offer them, his silent, brooding and soothing presence in the elevator. They recall the time the soldier shielded them from a pushy idiot, telling him off with the silent sharpness of a stone and the coldness of ice. Nikto doesn’t need to be told the details of this story ; he remembers well the blush coating their cheeks as he escorted them back to their office, wary of the glint that danced in the flirty soldier’s eyes. A blush so similar to the one they carry as they gush about that « imposing gentleman of a stranger » - and probably to the one warming up his own face under his fur.

A part of him is terrified at the idea that they might end up catching on the situation - that the cat they adopted, that they worry about for months when he disappears, is actually that man they would love to know more leaving on deadly missions. He considered multiple times faking his death once more to finally be able to stay with them for good, protect them too. But the thought of being rejected, thrown out for being a disgusting creep, tears his heart apart.

Yet another side of him starts purring the second he thinks about how he could finally be accepted for who he is. A feline shifter, yes, but also a broken man, yearning for love behind the many walls and barriers he hides behind in order to protect himself.

They don’t know the truth, obviously. He’s been very careful about everything, though he can’t do anything about the deployments.

But for the first time in forever, Nikto hopes.

And for the first time in forever, he might be surprised by how sharp his dear Reader can be…

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dollygirl808 · 1 year ago

Text

Ch. 4 of A Helping Paw

Obsessive! Werewolf/Weredog 141(+extra) x Chubby! OC Freya

Masterlist

The drive into town didn't take long, and when she parked just a little ways away from the front door, she could spot the dark outline of a dog laying off in a corner, likely chewing on something. He was too far away to really get a good look at him, but she'd get to meet him soon enough.

Soap behaved well enough as she clipped his leash on, getting her things as she stepped out of the car, the brown fluffy dog following after her, nose twitching as he scented the air.

"Is that your friend?" She asked, smiling when his tail started wagging faster, likely smelling someone familiar.

The doorbell jingled as she approached, Nikolai standing just inside his shop and holding the door for her, thick, hairy arms on display as he wore just a dark t-shirt that clung to his form, his soft stomach and pronounced pecs.

"Come in," He ushered, hand low against her back as he guided her past him into the shop, the bell chiming as it closed. She let go of Soap's leash, and he wasted no time racing over to the pretty, black gray and brown dog laying in the corner, barreling into him and making him yelp in surprise.

"Soap, be gentle!" Freya chastised, although it was no use right now.

Gaz, an absolutely stunning black gray and brown dog that sort of resembled a doberman to her, didn't seem to mind the roughhousing much, rolling over onto his feet and popping up on his paws in a play bow, the bone forgotten.

The two hopped back and forth for a second, then Soap enticed a game of play by dashing away, headed directly for her.

"Ah- no!" She yelled when Soap bumped into her leg, then Gaz ran underfoot just a few seconds later. Luckily, Nikolai caught her as they circled around the pair then ran back to the other side of the shop, Gaz tackling the fluffier dog where they then engaged in a fun game of bitey face on the floor, sharp canines on display as they rumbled and huffed at each other playfully.

"Thanks," She said, looking up into Nikolai's eyes as he looked down at her, thick fingers splayed over her waist.

"Of course, detka," He told her smoothly, lifting her back up to stand up straight. How embarrassing! Knocked over by a dog into the Russians thick, strong arms. If she didn't know any better she'd almost think that the dogs did it on purpose. When she realized she was still holding onto his plush bicep, she hastily let go and took a half-step out of his personal space, face feeling heated.

They both stood there for a moment, watching the two dogs play together. They're both very happy to be reunited, even though it's only presumably been a few days.

Soap play growled at the other dog, nipping at his triangular cropped ear, hopping over him from one side to the other, and Gaz opened his muzzle, chasing him with his teeth. Before he can get in a nip, Soap runs away and he gives chase.

The two zip around the open floor space, staying in the front area of the shop. At one point, Soap attempted to barrel into him again, but Gaz darted out of the way and the brown dog ran face-first into a shelf instead, knocking a heavy looking metal pan off, and getting hit in the head with it.

Nikolai clicked his tongue to his teeth and sighed out, shaking his head. "All brawn and no brains, that one," He told her.

Soap let out a small yelp and pinned his ears, nails skittering across the tile floor as he ran away from the shelf and back to her, nearly knocking her over with how he bullied his way between her thighs.

Gaz did a thorough shake off on the other side of the shop before padding his way over to the three just as Nikolai headed to pick the pan pack up.

"D'aww, poor baby, did you get bonked good?" Freya cooed out in a slightly teasing tone, scritching his flank.

In response, Soap whined in a drawn out, complaining 'aarrraruu!' At her backside, long muzzle tilted upwards against her ass. She chuckled, giving his fluffy butt a little dad pat before walking forward so he was no longer between her legs.

"He will live, I'm sure," Nikolai mused, watching from next to the shelf.

Gaz took this time to properly introduce himself, pushing into her space, chest and neck pressed against her thigh as he looked up at her, beautiful hazel brown eyes staring into her soul.

She scritched between his ears, "Why hello handsome, aren't you a pretty boy?"

Suddenly, Soap gave the other dog a not-so friendly growl, body language tense and mouth closed. She retracted her hand, taking a sideways step away from both dogs.

Gaz mimicked the other, posturing with his chest out and tail high, a deeper growl ruminating in his throat. The two had a tense stare down until Nikolai spoke up, accent thick with his annoyance as he called out, "Boys!" That made Soap finally give in, pinning his ears and ducking his head with a low whine, looking down as he flicked his tongue in an appeasing gesture.

Proudly, the beauceron trotted over to her, tail giving big, sweeping happy wags side to side as he pressed close for pets. Apprehensively, she scratched under his chin while throwing sideways glances at the shepherd who just sat off to the side, watching with big, begging puppy eyes.

"Sorry about them. Soap gets jealous easily and forgets that he is under Gaz in the pack, even if only by a little."

Freya nodded, still petting Gaz as she looked up at him. She isn't entirely sure what he meant by the pack, but he knew these dogs for longer than her, so surely he must know what he's talking about.

"If you agree to watch them both, they'll behave better, promise." He said suddenly, walking closer with cash folded between his fingers as he held it out.

"Oh, no- I couldn't," She shook her head, intending to push his offering hand away, but he just pushed it further into her palm.

"John insists. It was payment for the sitter, and they've now bailed, and you're watching Soap already. If you don't want to take Gaz too, you can take half and I will watch him." Gaz whined at that, like he knew he was about to be left behind by the pretty lady that scratched just right against his skin with her nails, and poked her in the stomach with his nose.

"I- " She looked down at the pup licking at her wrist, pretty hazel brown eyes flicking back and forth between her and Nikolai standing over him, "Ok, I'll watch Gaz too. And accept the money, even though I don't need it." She conceded not too long after, taking the cash from his hand and quickly tucking it away in her wallet.

Gaz let out a happy yip, play bowing at her before turning and initiating a much lower energy, friendly play fight with Soap, who happily engaged with the other.

"I will put his food in your trunk, watch them for me, detka?" He told her, even though it was posed as a question as he quickly disappointed behind a doorway, only to quickly re-appear and walk out the door, heavy red cooler held in one hand.

She watched from behind the glass door as he loaded the cooler into her trunk, and the dogs danced around her, actually being careful to not knock her over now, only bumping her with their tails occasionally.

After he came back inside, Freya called the dogs to her and leashed up Soap, then stood up and looked down at Gaz, not sure what to do.

"Well.. I have to go get another set of bowls anyways, so I guess I'll leave one of you in the car while I buy another leash," She told the dogs, mostly just speaking her thoughts out loud.

"Ah, don't be silly kukolka, here," Nikolai walked around the counter and grabbed something from underneath, and held out a nice, brown and gray biothane leash with a gold clasp, "For Gaz," He told her, and she took the leash. He then bent down and picked up two stainless steel bowls, setting them on the counter.

"Those are his as well. Take them for now," he told her, nudging them closer to the edge. She nodded, and hooked Gaz's leash to him before grabbing their bowls.

"Ok, well I guess I'll see you in a few days. By Nikolai!" He held the door for her, and the two dogs walked outside first as she followed, waving bye to him as the bell chimed a second time when it closed.

They both hopped into the passenger seat, Gaz sitting half on top of Soap and half on the seat as the brown dog lay partially in her lap. Gaz seemed really interested in the view outside the window as they drove back to her house, so she rolled it down and let him stick his head out. He really enjoyed it, as evident by his black-spotted tongue lolling out to the side.

By the time they got back, it was 2pm and her car, and her boyfriend by association, were finally back, parked somewhat hastily in the gravel parking space despite not having anything to rush to.

After pulling up to the side of her car farthest from the house, she tied both dogs to the passenger seat headrest so they couldn't escape and possibly maul Jake, then left the car running as she stepped out and locked it.

She forgot to ask how Gaz was with men and strangers.. she'll have to call Nikolai back and ask.

"Hey babe," Freya smiled at the man as he got out of her silver car. He only frowned at her, crossing his arms.

"I've been waiting in the car for the past thirty minutes," Jake told her in a condescending tone, staring down his nose at her despite only being a few inches taller than her.

"Well, if you had been here at 10 like you said, you wouldn't have had to wait," She told him, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

"Well, I overslept!" He huffed, getting unusually defensive.

"Do you expect me to wait for you all day? I had things to do," She told him, motioning to her car where both dogs were staring intently at them, "If you had bothered to check your phone you would have seen that I found a dog and he'll be staying with us until we leave."

The man looked over at the dogs, one of them already mean-mugging him through the windows of both cars, and the other just tilting his head as he watched them curiously.

"That's two dogs," Jake pointed out unhelpfully, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Yes... congratulations you can count," Freya deadpanned, putting her hand on her hip and cocking it to the side.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up as he went to storm off. "Wait! Wait, I'm sorry. I just got annoyed with you for being late. Will you get the cooler in the trunk and put it in the big box freezer for me?" She asked with a sigh, motioning to the car.

"Yeah, sure," He agreed, not particularly happy but still doing it. As he got closer to the red truck, Soap started barking at him, brown paws up on the center console as he growled, making Jake hesitate for more than just a few moments at the truck bed covering before rolling it back and picking up the cooler.

While he was putting that away, she got the two out of her dad's car and let them sniff and smell her boyfriend's scent by her car. Gaz stuck his nose to the gravel driveway, and Soap peed on the front tire.

Just as he was coming back outside, Soap found something interesting and hot pink stuck in the driver's side door and began tugging at it with his front teeth. Gaz became curious and started sniffing at the thin lacy fabric as well.

"What the fuck?" She spat out indignantly, snatching up the fabric from the door, only tearing them a little as she held them up to the sun.

Jake's face went white as he saw what she was holding, a hot pink, lacey pair of crotchless panties that clearly didn't belong to his girlfriend, considering they were way too small to fit over her ass or even on her thighs. "I-I can explain!" He stuttered out quickly, stumbling down the stairs in his rush to get to her.

Freya threw the offending fabric down on the gravel, and before it hit the ground Gaz snapped it up in his maw and gave it an aggressive shake, whipping it back and forth. Soap sank his fangs into the panties as well, snarling as they quickly ripped it into lacy pieces.

"Babe, wait, look- she was flirting with me, like she was a total whore and-"

"And- and- do you ever shut up?" She snapped, mocking him, "And if she was a whore what does that make you, hm? Just get the fuck out of my face. I'm breaking up with you." She sighed, her anger dissipating almost immediately as she realized.. she really wasn't in love with him. And this vacation had really proved to her what kind of person he was.

"Babe please, we can still make this work, yeah? Where- where would I even go?" He asked in a pathetic voice.

"Just- take my car and get a hotel for all I care. Or drive back to our apartment. I don't care, but you can't stay here. Go pack your stuff, Jake."

Thankfully, the man conceded without much more fanfare, solemnly packing up all his clothes and hauling his suitcase to her silver car. The three of them watched as he drove away, the only evidence of his cheating laying in tatters in the gravel.

Freya didn't even cry as she picked up the hot pink scraps, only throwing them away in the trash with a heavy sigh. Soap and Gaz hovered around her the entire time as she absent-mindedly cut up their lunch and served it to them, curling up on the couch with a bowl of cereal when she was done.

(Break)

Gaz approached her slowly, still licking the up juices from his maw as he stepped forward. He stared at her with his pretty hazel eyes as he set his head on the edge of the couch, tail giving full, slow wags side to side.

"Hi pretty boy," She reached out from her spot lying on her side, petting between his ears, "Do you wanna join me on the couch?"

Carefully, he climbed onto the couch next to her and curled up, just barely fitting all of him onto the space left between her torso and the edge of the couch, brown paws tucked between his body and her soft tummy. His gray-tipped black tail thumped calmly against the couch cushion next to them

"Your fur pattern is beautiful," She thought aloud, smoothing her palm over his side, and the pretty mix of black and gray, the short coat like pebbled stone against a black silky void. He had two brown dotted rottweiler eyebrows and the upper half of his top jaw and his wet nose are black, but the lower half of his top jaw, along with his bottom jaw is brown, outlined by black down the side of his neck.

Her fingers brushed over his ear, causing it to flick. The inside is completely brown while the edge and outside is black. There are a couple of gray spots above his left eyebrow, but other than that his forehead is mostly black.

Soap whined, fluffy ears lowered slightly as he begged to be let up on the couch too, with his striking blue eyes.

"Ok, c'mere you big baby," She called, patting the cushion next to her legs.

He hopped up, letting out a happy little vocalization as he did so, turning in tight circles between the back of the couch and her bent calves before settling with his chin resting over her plush hip. The slightly smaller dog let out a long, exasperated sigh from his nose as if the other's presence was a massive inconvenience for him, but settled his head over the armrest nonetheless, like he was settling in for a nap.

Soap huffed, tucking his front paws tighter against the back of her thighs as his eyes closed. Apparently, she was now having dog-mandated group cuddles and nap time.

---

Taglist: @cringeycookies @sleepydang

#A Helping Paw Cod #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #werewolf au #werewolves #werewolf!soap #werewolf!gaz #task force 141 #nikolai cod

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 1 year ago

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TF141 Meeting Soap’s Little Sister (a.k.a. You)

CoD ML

The task force didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. They already have to deal with Soap’s husky antics, which can already be too much to handle. Multiply that by two and no one, especially Simon, wants to deal with that.

But they certainly wouldn’t mind the company of the woman in the doorway.

Why on earth didn’t Soap warn them?

For John, it’s the sweater paws. For a second they make him selfishly want to dress you in one of his sweaters.

For Simon, it’s the way you shyly hide behind your brother, a habit you still have at your big age. Normally he loathes shows of fragility, but yours is endearing to him. For the first time in a very long while, it kindles something in him.

For Kyle, it’s your eyes. He simply can’t look away even though he’s aware it makes you uncomfortable.

“Lads, meet my sister, Y/N.” The adoration Soap has for you is plain to see in the gentle smile that plays out on his lips, proud to be your brother and amused you’ve barely changed from your younger days. Why else would you look at him, lowkey terrified of the strangers he’s brought into your home. “It’s awright, hen. They’re good men, even the big bawbag with the skull mask. Go oan an’ introduce yerself.”

Clutching your brother’s sleeve, relieved he’s home and glad for his protection, you introduce yourself. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

And in that moment, without so much as trying, you have your brother’s unit wrapped around your finger.

So much so that Simon removes his balaclava before he even crosses the threshold. Unbeknownst to you, it’s extremely rare to see the man without his mask and always leads to the unit members exchanging surprised glances.

“What’s this, LT?” your brother asks, badly faking disbelief.

“Proper etiquette. Plus, I can’t eat with the thing on.”

“Oh, so you do eat. I thought ghosts didn’t have ta.”

“Johnny…”

“Just messing with ye, Ghost.”

“Ghost?” you ask.

“It’s my callsign, miss. I- I mean, Y/N.” He keeps his distance, but tries to make himself as small as possible to seem less intimidating. “We ain’t on duty now, so’s just Simon.”

“I see.”

Throughout the night, your brother’s comrades try to win your favour. Kyle offers to help set the table, teaming up with John who beats him to it by lifting the stack of plates in your hands. “Can’t have the lady of the house do everything, can we?”

“But-“

“Please, Y/N, allow me.” His features soften, though there’s a strange glint in his eyes you can’t name. Nevertheless, it sharpens further into sterness as John turns around and starts speaking like you’d imagine he does out in the field. “Gaz, get over here. We have to help our hostess out.”

“You… you really don’t…”

“It’s the least we can do,” Kyle reassures you, shown up at your side at the first word of the captain. “We’ll try to do it neatly.”

“Oi, Gaz, stop being cheeky and get moving.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle sighs. “He makes it sound like we’re on a battlefield. Fortunately, this is less severe, innit?”

“It might be if there aren’t glasses between now and ten seconds,” John mutters, circling around you two to put the last plates down and move on to cutlery.

“Ever the perfectionist. Where do you keep them?” Kyle asks.

You point at a cupboard. “Right there.”

“Okay. Y/N, we’ll do a proper job. Promise.” And with that, he’s off to help set the table.

While cooking, you observe Simon dawdling around the kitchen. Or, rather, as you discover when you lift your head to check what’s going on, he’s forced to thanks to Johnny.

“Och, just offer yer help. Ah dinnae ken, chop some veggies. Also, she’s into video games- Y/N!” Johnny slaps Simon on the shoulder, feigning ignorance. “Can this wee bawbag help ye with anything?”

“Stop calling me that,” Simon grumbles through gritted teeth.

“Do you cook?”

“He-“ Soap opens his mouth to answer for his friend yet finds himself cut short.

“Haud yer wheest, John. I was nae asking you, I was asking Simon.” Holding out your spatula as a threat to your brother, you turn to the gentle giant.

Simon looks at you through his lashes, but quickly averts his gaze when your eyes meet. “I dabble. Try to put proper grub on the table sometimes.”

“Help me do the same?”

“Uh… sure.”

“Lovely!”

“Have fun, LT.” Johnny offers you both a cheeky grin, then turns on his heel to return to the others.

And so Simon finds himself cooking alongside you. Truth be told, you partially did it to save him from his brothers in arms. Regardless of how well he knows them and the amount of time he’s spent with them, their extroverted personalities still wear him out. His silence is telling, different from the intimidating version he dropped the moment you opened the door. You’ve seen how his eyes glaze over, occupied with dreams you can only guess at. Occasionally he’ll nod and make a noise to make the others think he’s listening.

Nevertheless, it’s still surprising Simon tries to start a conversation.

A conversation that goes in all sorts of, mostly nerdy, directions. So soon you find yourself listening to elaborate explanations of the lore of various FromSoftware games, a topic Simon passionately enlightens you on.

He stops mid-sentence when you chuckle. “What?”

“You have a nice voice.”

“Oh… uh… thanks.”

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re some kind of miracle worker.” Gaz walks into the kitchen to grab another beer from the fridge. “How’d you get Ghost to talk?”

Simon glowers at his companion, but stands down when you gesture for him to remain calm. “Sometimes you simply need the right person, a genuine heart that listens. Now, boys, let’s eat.”

“Food?” Johnny calls from the couch.

“My days, what are ye? A husky?” you call, only partially truly annoyed.

Dinner is an amiable affair. The men (yes, even Soap) censor themselves, finding it inappropriate to start effin and blindin in your company. All the same, they include you in the conversation however possible and fall silent when they notice you want to chime in. Unbeknownst to you all, Johnny is especially vigilant none of the other men makes an advance towards you. Sure, you’re a grown woman. Nonetheless, to him, you’ll always be the wee bairn he held as a four-year-old boy, the barely grown girl who couldn’t stop crying when he was deployed for the first time.

You’re his little sister, the only girl he’d gift the moon if he could.

That being said, though, should you end up with any member of the unit, he dearly hopes it’s Simon. So it’s actually quite reassuring for him to see you two get along as well as you do.

“Two peas in a pod,” Soap mumbles, the words muffled by beer and the clinking of cutlery.

The lads gesture for you to remain seated while they clear the table and do the dishes.

“‘S alright, Y/N. Leave it to us,” John says when you try to get up from your chair.

“You really don’t-“

“No, no. Please.” The bear-like hand on your shoulder is gentle though strong, persuasive in its conviction for you to remain seated. “A small favour, really, to repay your kindness.”

The table cleared, John and Simon excuse themselves for a quick smoke. In the meanwhile, Johnny and Kyle wash the dishes.

For dessert, you sit the men down with coffee and tea to enjoy with a scone.

Kyle falls a little more for you when you show you’re full of contrasts. Shy on the surface yet so fierce when defying your brother. “I was doing fine, crocheting my time away without puppy antics.”

“I’m nae like a dog.” Your brother stops mid-bite to protest.

“Johnny, yer a bloody husky.”

“Well, at least I’m one that did nae get shot.”

“Oh, haud yer wheesht, like you ever will. Just enjoy yer scone and tea. Wait!” You hasten to the fridge to retrieve a jar of orange marmelade. “Here, have this.”

“Homemade?”

“‘Course. It’s not like I’ve forgotten how you dislike store bought.”

“Thanks, sis.”

“Thank you for coming back in one piece, bro.” You turn to the men, who all sit up, alert. “And thank you for bringing my brother home.”

John has to restrain himself and not give into the urge to plop you in his lap. To make sure he won’t, he tucks his hands between his legs when you brush past him to retake your seat across the table.

Simon is good at hiding his emotions, but definitely wouldn’t mind it if you leaned on him and talked some more about video gaming. He loves the way your whole expression brightens when you do and would like nothing better than for you to be his player number two.

Stories and small talk, with the occasional silence to appreciate being alive and well, fills the kitchen as the arms of the clock creep closer to midnight.

At some point you stifle a yawn. Unfortunately, not before your brother catches you doing so. Johnny looks at the clock then back at you. “Alright, lads, it’s been great. However, despite her stubborn arse refusing to admit it, Y/N’s getting tired. Now being the great big brother I am,” the harsh slap on the upper arm does little to make him pipe down, “I think it’s time I show all of you the door.”

John, Kyle, and Simon get up without so much as a word of protest. After all, it’s bad etiquette to wear your hostess out nor does it help your chances with her.

You expected only a handshake as a farewell. Nevertheless, it’s hard to refuse the open invitation for a hug John gives you. His embrace is warm and gentle, testing out the waters to see what you will and won’t allow. His chest rises and falls with a satisfied sigh when you let him rest his head on top of yours. To be honest, it’s nice and comforting, the way he rubs some heat into your arms. “Goodnight, love. Thank you for the splendid evening.”

Kyle’s hug is more casual, like you’re a dear friend he’ll see again in the short run.

“Can I get a hug from you too?” you ask the man standing by the door, who has his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. For a moment Simon seems about to step forward. Yet, for whatever reason, he remains where he stands.

“I don’t think-“

“Please?”

How can he say no now? His mind short-circuits when you wrap your arms around his waist. His hands hover in the air for a moment before he places them lightly on your shoulders. “Thanks for tonight, Y/N.”

“Had fun?”

“I did.”

“Glad to hear it. Also,” you lean back to look at him, “keep the mask off. You’re not a lieutenant here, not Ghost.”

An amused hum escapes Simon, though later in the car he’d have to keep denying Kyle’s allegations he saw him smile. “Copy.”

“Go oan, I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

You watch the men clamber into John’s car. They’re all staying the night at his place before heading off home.

“You like him, don’t ye?”

“Who?”

“Ghost.”

“I don’t know him.” Johnny gives you a quizzical look. “Simon, though, perhaps. He’s a good man.”

“He is.”

The only man who has his blessing to court you.

Who he hopes will truly be family one day.

His future brother-in-law.

#CoD x Reader #Soap McTavish #John Price #Ghost x Reader #Simon Riley x Reader #John McTavish #John Soap McTavish #Kyle Gaz Garrick #Captain John Price #Simon Ghost Riley #CoD MW Ghost #Ghost CoD #CoD Ghost

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cmncisspnandmore · 1 year ago

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One Night Stand; Part 3

Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Warnings: OOC Simon (kinda?), fluff, alcohol, pregancy, talks of abortion, vomiting,

Summary: Its been 3 months since your night in the sheets with Simon and your life just got a whole lot more complicated.

A/N: I know, I know. okay. I get it. Not everyone like the pregnancy trope, so if you dont im sorry. If i lose some readers for this then im sad to see you go but i hope to see you in future writings i do for the COD men. This is not going to be like other pregnancy tropes that get all mushy and fluffy and light after. This story will be filled with dark themes coming in later chapters that i hope will keep people interseted. We all know Simon Riley's life cant be easy, so if you're still here after this part. Buckle up. Its a wild ride.

Word Count: 5,015

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2

The bar looked exactly the same as it did three months ago. The music wasn't as loud, but that was probably because it was still early. Many people were still at work at 5pm on a Thursday.

Not you, you had found a job working online, writing articles for business pages. It wasn't the most exciting thing in the world but it paid well, and it occupied most of your time. An added bonus of not leaving for work was you never had to worry about coming home from the office to find someone on your couch. You shake your head trying to clear the thoughts. You weren't even 100% sure why you were here, the chances that Soap even knew Simon were slim. But he had said he knew almost everyone that came to the bar.

So there was a chance.

One you couldn't pass up, you had to at least try.

Wrapping your coat around you tighter, you walk into the bar. The dim lights reflect off the shiny tables. A few people sit at them, watching a replay of a game on tv. You glance around behind the bar, looking for the familiar mohawk.

It pops up from behind the bar towards the end, Soap holds a bin of limes in his arms. He sets the bin down on the shiny black countertop, pulling a small cutting board out from the top of the bin and a knife. He slices a lime in half as you slide into the seat in front of him. His blue eyes meet yours and a smile breaks out on his face.

“Lass! Good to see ya, you disappeared on me the last time ye were here!” He smiles, turning the lime and cutting it again.

“Sorry about that, I needed to clear my head, I hope I didn't upset you,” you smile back, placing your hands on the bar.

“Nay, what can I get for ye? Vodka Soda?” he asks, setting the knife down as he turns towards the shelves of alcohol behind him.

“Uh, actually, can I just have water instead?” You bite your bottom lip and Soap nods, grabbing a glass and filling it. He slides the glass of water in front of you, and you stare down into it.

“Everything okay?” he asks, looking at you with one raised eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, I'm fine. Early day tomorrow ya know? Don't want to be hung over is all.”

“Aye i get that, so what brings you here?” Soap leans his forearms against the bar, “Miss me?” He smiles.

You can't help but roll your eyes, “Oh totally,” you laugh.

“I knew it, not many women can resist the MacTavish charm,” Soap grins, he stands back up and picks up the knife. He cuts each lime into wedges before putting them in the bin, you reach over grabbing one from the cutting board and squeeze it into your water.

“Aye! Paw off,” Soap smiles, shaking the knife at you. A smile of your own breaks out on your lips as you watch him.

“You have plenty to spare, plus someone around here has to keep you busy.”

“I assure you Lass, the folk around here keep me plenty busy,” Soap points over your shoulder where Price and Gaz are walking in. They’re deep in a conversation as they make their way over to where you are sitting in front of Soap.

Kyle is the first to notice you, and he pauses looking at you over. “Y/n, it's good to see you again, not going to lie. I was kinda sad you left without a goodbye last time,” Gaz takes the seat on the left.

“Sorry about that, I promise to say bye this time. I don’t want to bruise your ego,” You say over the rim of your glass.

“Good, I don't think I can hear him wallow about it anymore,” Price says as he sits in the stool on your right. “So what do you think of London? Everything you could’ve imagined?”

“It’s alright… It rains a lot more than I'm used to, but it's not too bad. Definitely different from the small town I'm from,” you look over at him. He gives you a small smile, and turns towards Soap.

“Soap, we ship out tomorrow morning, be ready at 0600 hours,” Price grunts as Soap puts the last lime into the bin.

“Yes sir,” Soap turns towards the bottles of liquor on the shelf and grabs a bottle of bourbon. He sets it down on the counter with a soft thud, he then grabs two glasses for them, pouring each man two fingers. He slides the glasses across the bar to them, the acidic smell of the bourbon makes your stomach turn. Saliva pools in your mouth as you desperately try to swallow.

“Oh uh, Soap, I wanted to ask if you knew someone actually,” You take a sip of water, your eyes following him as he moves behind the bar. Soaps bright blue eyes look over at you, his brows furrowed together.

“I might,” he smiles. A loud noise from behind you startles you, and a drunken man tumbles into the back of your stool. His drink spilling down your back as he leans against the back of the barstool, the smell of the alcohol hits your nose.

“Oops,” the drunken man mumbles, his breath wafting over your face.

Your stomach rolls, as Price and Gaz help the man up. Gaz and Price half drag him away from you as he continues to mumble about his drink. Gaz says something and pats him on the chest as they pull him to the door. You stand from the chair, the fabric of your coat and shirt now sticking to you. Nausea rolls through you as you try to breathe through your mouth.

“You alright lass? You look a little green,” Soap is now standing in front of you, a clean bar towel in his hands. He gently pats the towel against your soaked shirt and coat trying to soak up some of the liquid that's seeping into your skin.

You can't answer, if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll throw up so you push past Soap and hurry towards the bathroom. Soap follows behind you, pausing at the door to the women's room. You shove open one of the stall doors and drop to your knees. The cold tiles bite through the fabric of your jeans, as the contents of your stomach is emptied into the porcelain bowl. It takes you several minutes to stop dry heaving, your stomach clenching painfully with each contraction of your abs. When the feeling settles you stand, before rinsing your mouth out with some water from the tap. You grab a paper towel, wiping your hands and mouth.

“You alright in there?” Soap calls through the door, his voice laced with concern.

“Yeah..” you call back, tossing the paper towel into the bin and pulling open the door, “Sorry about that.” You shove your hands into your pockets as you come face to face with Soap. His eyebrows knit together in worry as he looks over you, one hand hovers in the air as if hes going back and forth on if he should touch you or not.

“You su-” he pauses looking over your shoulder, his eyes widened slightly.

“MacTavish, the bar can't run itself…” A familiar voice rumbles, the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Memories of your night 3 months ago rushes back, that same voice that murmured praise to you as he pounded into you.

You whip around, at the end of the hall stands Simon, his black hoodie pulled up over his head, his mouth and nose covered by a skull print face mask. His brown eyes widen slightly as he sees you. “Y/n…” he whispers.

“You two know each other?” Soap muses from behind me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulder as he walks by. An uncomfortable silence settles over the hallway and Soap slips by, muttering “I’ll leave you two alone…”

Simon takes a few steps towards you, and it seems like he takes up the whole hallway. You look up as he towers over you, his face is unreadable, he lifts a hand, brushing his fingertips across your cheek. It sends electricity skittering across your skin, your breath catches in your throat.

Over the past 3 months you have tried to forget about the man whose brown eyes haunted your dreams. Whose touch caused your mind to go blank. Like someone wiping a harddrive. But there was no forgetting, not anymore. He was here in front of you, sure, you had come to ask Soap if he knew him. But you hadn't expected to run into him tonight. You still had no idea what you were going to say to him. How do you justify just leaving his house at 3am?

“You could've said goodbye, you know… You didn't have to sneak out and call an Uber at 3am..” Simon whispers, and guilt slams into you. He knew you left. He wasn't asleep like you thought…

“I-I..” you stumble over your words, unsure what to say. There wasn't anything you could say really. You knew you should’ve just waited, dealt with the awkward small talk. Maybe even exchange numbers you would never plan on using. But nope.

Instead you fled. Just like you fled after your sister's funeral.

At least you were consistent.

“I’m not upset, I understand.” Simon adds after a moment, his hands shoved deep in his pockets of his hoodie.

“Simon.. I.. I’m sorry.. I’ve been going through a lot. And i didnt .. I couldn't face you after that. Not, not that you did anything wrong. Because you didn't! I mean you were great. I just,” You run a hand through your hair. “God, this is not how I wanted this to go.”

“Breathe. Love, breathe.” Simons hands cup your face and you freeze. “It’s okay, like I said I'm not upset with you,” he lets his hands drop, and you nod.

“I didn't know you knew Soap,” He muses, leaning against the wall. You shuffle your feet, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah… I met him the same night I met you… You know him too, yeah?”

“Soap, Gaz, Price and I all serve together,” Simon rubs the back of his neck with his hand, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh! I don't know how I didn't pick up that you were military,” You bite your lip looking down at his black boots.

“We didn't exactly get to know each other very much that night..” Simon says, and a small blush creeps up your cheeks at the mention of your night together. “So what brings you here tonight?” Simon asks.

The familiar feeling of nausea swirls in your stomach again, you clench your fists, nails biting into your palm. Something you have come to do a lot over the past few months. “I came here to ask about you, actually. I needed to talk to you..” You whisper, and Simon's brows furrow.

“Well you found me.. What did you need to talk about?” He asks, as you chew your bottom lip. Anxiety creeps into your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs like an icy hand. The air rushes from your lungs, your eyes burning with tears.

How the hell could you turn this man's life upside down?

“Hey, hey,” Simon whispers, his large hands clasp your shoulders steadying you. The world feels a million miles away, like you were floating out in space untethered. Everything sounds muffled, and the lights are suddenly too bright in the hallway. You raise your shaky hands, running them through your hair. A large hand guides you down the hall a little until the bitter cold air of winter in London hits you. You gasp, your lungs filling with the cold air, goosebumps break out along your heated skin.

The world slowly comes back into focus, soft murmuring in your ear as large arms wrap around your middle holding you against a solid chest. “Breathe, you’re alright, you’re okay… Just breathe, Love.” Simon murmurs into your ear. Tears fall from your eyes, trails of hot tears stream down your cold cheeks.

“I’m sorry I left that night…” you gasp in between sobs, “and i am so sorry im going to say this…” You whisper the last part. At first you aren't sure Simon heard you but after a moment he turns you around. His arms are still around you as he looks down at you, your teeth starting to chatter from emotion and the wind.

“Whatever you have to say can't be that bad, love. Did you find out you had some like STI or something? Do I need to get tested?” He asks, his brown eyes searching your tear stained face. His hands moving up and down your body in an attempt to warm you up and comfort you at the same time.

You shake your head, if only an STI was the least of your problems. “N-no, i didn't give you anything like that…” you choke out.

Simon watches you as you stand face to face with him in the same alley you met him in 3 months ago. Although this time you’re different, instead of the woman who was caught in her own head. Who was running from demons he couldn't see, trying her best to show the world it couldn't break her. Instead standing in front of him was a woman who was scared, who looked so lost in the world, like she was barely hanging on. He studies you, even as you stand in front of him crying, your entire body shaking. You were still beautiful, and he would be lying if he said he didn't think about you.

You had haunted him every moment since he heard you leave the apartment. When he heard the door click shut it took everything in him not to follow you out. But he didn’t, he laid there staring up at the ceiling until almost 5, before he got up and started making himself some tea. It was then he noticed the note you left your swirling handwriting on the scarp paper wishing him well. He was saddened to see you hadn’t left a way to contact you, but part of him understood. He had offered you a chance to get out of your head for a while. He hadn’t asked you on a date. He DIDN'T date.

The onslaught of disappointment was tough for him to swallow. Simon was never upset when a woman he brought to bed left with no goodbye, and a hasty note. Simon preferred it that way, it was better if the one night stands didn’t stick around but for some reason Simon couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how your curves felt beneath his palms. The silky smooth expanse of your skin. The way your moans stirred something deep in him, or the way your eyes told him more than you ever would.

Now as he looked down at you, standing in the darkened alley way. He knew whatever you wanted to say was about to bring his world crashing down. But instead of the overwhelming feeling to flee, that he normally had when confronting emotional issues like this. Simon wanted to hold you close and tell you that it was okay, that whatever it was you could face it and make it out the other side. During his years of doing interrogations and studying people he had learnt the signs of when someone was teetering on the edge. It was clear in your face and body language that you were one gentle gust of wind from toppling over. Crumbling into pieces he wasn’t sure anyone could put back together.

“What is it then Sweetheart? I’ll help you figure it out, whatever it is.” He whispers, pulling you closer to him, his body heat seeping into you, as the wind blows. You sniffle, your shaking hands coming up to swipe at the tears under your eyes. You take one last breath, eyes closed as you brace yourself.

“I’m pregnant.”

It’s like the world stopped spinning.

Time was suddenly suspended, as you pried your eyes open to look at Simon. His brown eyes were guarded. His brows pulled together, as his hands stopped their motions for a fraction of a second. Your lungs burned from holding your breath, your throat tight. Every muscle in your body was tense, as you waited for him to say something. Do something. You needed some sort of reaction from him. Yelling, screaming, swearing, anything was better than the earth shattering silence that took place after you muttered the two words you hadn’t yet said out loud since you found out.

It wasn’t like you planned on getting pregnant by your one night stand. Hell. It was the LAST thing you wanted. You were always careful to get your birth control shot every 3 months. But with the chaos of the last few months, somewhere along the line you must’ve missed your last appointment. It wasn’t until you went into your appointment earlier today to get a shot that they had informed you they couldn’t administer it. That you were already pregnant.

“Okay.”

The word shocks you, and for a moment you aren’t sure you hear him right. You raise an eyebrow, as you look at Simon.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll figure it out.” Simon states, his hands resuming their soothing motion up and down your sides.

“You’re not.. not going to freak out?” You whisper.

“There’s nothing to freak out about, this isn’t just going to go away. So we need to talk about our options, and we will. Just got standing in the back alley of a pub.”

“Okay…” you whisper, as Simon’s hands guide you towards the emergency exit door that he brought you through. The inside of the bar is louder than before, more people have shown up. Soap, Gaz and Price are all talking at the end of the bar. Your glass of water is filled and sitting on a napkin. They all look over when you two walk over.

“Ghost, Soap was just telling me that you and y/n know each other. Small world isn’t it?” Gaz smiles, his brown eyes looking between us.

“We do,” Simon turns to Price, “I’m going to be bringing her home, I’ll see you at 0600 tomorrow, Captain.”

There’s a look that passes between Price and Simon, but he just nods, then turns towards you. “I hope to see you again, dear, maybe next time we can all have a nice meal.”

“Maybe,” you smile, after waving goodbye to Soap and Gaz, Simon leads you out to the street where the cars are parked.

“Did you drive here?” He asks, looking down at you.

“No I took the bus,” you shove your hands into the pockets of your coat. It was still wet from where the guy spilt his drink, and you shivered.

“I’ll drive you home,” Simon takes your hand, pulling you towards his truck. He pulls open the passenger door and waits for you to get settled in the seat before shutting it. You run your hands together as Simon climbs into the driver's seat. He starts the truck, turning the heat on high.

“Where do you live?” He asks, as he turns on the headlights.

“On Ashton street, the apartment complex there” from the corner of your eye you see Simon visibly stiffened, but he doesn’t say anything as he pulls away from the curb. The ride is mainly quiet, neither one of you having much to say. As you get closer to your apartment your anxiety starts to grow again. What if he tells you to get rid of it?

Is that what you wanted? What if he decided he would rather give it up for adoption? Would he help you find a family? Maybe he would tell you he didn’t want anything to do with a baby? Could you deal with a baby? Bile burns in the back of your throat, and you try to swallow it back down. You weren’t about to throw up all over his nice truck. The grimy bathroom of a bar was one thing, but Simon’s leather interior of his car was not an option. Simon turns down a side street, there weren’t many streetlights on this stretch of the drive. You try to focus on the passing shadows but the rolling and twisting in you hug doesn’t let up.

“Can you pull over please?” You whisper, and Simon glances at you. Your hands bunched in the fabric of your coat, your eyes closed as you take deep breaths. Simon eases the car over, barely putting the car in park before you flung the door open and hop out. You move a few feet into the woods, your hands scraping against the tough bark of a tree, as you get sick. Bile burns your throat and nose, tears stream down your cheeks.

Warm hands gather the hair from your face and hold it back. Holding your hair back with one hand the other rubs up and down your back. It takes several minutes of dry heaving for you to be able to stand up. A handkerchief is suddenly floating in front of you. You take it and wipe your mouth with it, shoving it into your pocket after.

“You okay?” Simon asks, as you take a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sorry..” you mumble, as you turn back to the car and climb back in. Simon doesn’t say anything as he climbs in and continues to drive to your apartment. As he parks his car, he glances around, his eyes resting on the boarded up windows of the glass door.

“Everything okay?” You ask, noticing as he stares at the glass like he’s trying to get it to tell him what happened to it.

“Yeah. Sorry, let’s go inside,” he mumbles, climbing out and coming to your side. He pulls open your door and offers you a hand. You walk towards the building Simon’s entire body is tense as some residents barrel out of the door. They’re shouting and swearing as they stumble out, a lit cigarette dangling from their fingers. Simon pushes you behind him, as they pass, he watches as they head over to a parked car and continue arguing in front of it.

“They’ll stop arguing after a while. They do this often..” you mutter to Simon as you take his hand pulling him towards the door. He grunts and follows you up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. You hesitate, your hand on the knob as you take a deep breath. Entering was always the hardest part now, every time your hand touches the handle the images of your family break through the mental box you shoved them into. You let out the breath you were holding and pushed open the door. Flicking on the light switch next to the door.

Your eyes falling on the empty couch against the far wall in the living room. Some of the tension leaves your shoulders as you stare at the threadbare fabric. You step further into the apartment allowing Simon to slip in behind you. He turns the locks on the door, and reaches down unlacing his boots.

“I don't have much to offer.. Is water okay?” You ask as you shrug off your alcohol stained coat. The fabric is a sticky mess, the fabric ruined from the drink spilt on it at the bar. Tossing it onto the counter, you head over to the cabinet and take down two glasses.

“Water is okay,” Simon walks into your living room and takes a seat. He watches you fill the two glasses with water and you come and sit on the other side of the couch, handing him the glass.

“When did you find out?” Simons asks, taking his face mask off and shoving it into his pocket and taking a sip of water.

“This afternoon… I went in to get my birth control shot and they make you do a pregnancy test…” You pull your legs up to your chest, holding the glass of water in one hand. The other hand wraps around your shins keeping them pulled up to your chest.

“Did they tell you how far along you are?” He asks, “So we know what our options are, I mean.”

“They said based on the blood work, 12 weeks. But I have to go in to get an ultrasound next week..”

“Okay, so we don't have a lot of time to make a choice… have you thought about what you want to do?” Simon sets his glass down on the table next to the couch.

“I .. I don't know.. I was waiting to hear what you had to say before I made up my mind.” You mumble, your eyes trained on a spot of carpet that is fraying.

“If I'm being honest, I never wanted kids. They were never in my cards… I'm not saying I don't like them, kids are great, I just never pictured myself having any,,” he admits.

Your heart sinks.

Here we go, he's going to tell you to get rid of it, and tell you to delete his number, forget he exists and move on with your life.

“But, with you, it feels right.. There's just something about you that I can't get out of my head and at the risk of sounding like a total barbarian. The thought of having you in my life until I die because of this baby fills me with excitement. I wanted to go after you when you snuck out of my apartment but I didn't want you to be uncomfortable. The night I spent with you was one of the best nights I've ever had. So if you would like to, I would love the chance to raise this baby with you. Even if it's as friends and nothing more. Because I know that you were put into my life for a reason, and I'm going to take any chance I can get to keep you around,” Simon finishes, his hand coming to rest on your ankle.

You sit there for a few moments, mind reeling with everything he just said to you. He wanted to raise a baby with you? Just so he could get to know you? Did you really have that much of a profound effect on him? Would he still feel the same when he found out what had happened to you? Could you do this? I mean really do this?

Babies are huge commitments. They were for life; there was no backing out. But the way Simon was looking at you, like he would take on the world for you with barely knowing you. It made you feel like you could do it. As long as you didn't have to do it alone, well, at least not completely. You chew on your bottom lip for a few more minutes, the thoughts rolling around in your head as Simon's eyes trail around your apartment.

“Okay…” you finally whisper and Simon's head whips towards you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I-i don't think i can get rid of it anyway… The thought makes me feel sick,” you confess and the tension in Simon's shoulders all but disappears.

“Alright, we can figure this out. No pressure for us to be together, we can just start by becoming friends, and seeing where things go okay?” He smiles, and its a real genuine smile. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you can't help your own smile that spreads across your lips.

“If we’re being honest here,” you sigh, wringing your hands together in your lap,”I couldn't stop thinking about you either… I mean, even before all… yeah.. You know.”

Simon's hand comes over to rest on the side of your face, and he leans forward pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I'm glad to hear that I wasn't the only one with lingering thoughts,” he chuckles.

Simon drops his hand and looks around your place once more, a furrow deep in his brow. He opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it, before he notices the time on the clock hanging on your wall. It was almost 10 and he needed to check over his gear before he shipped out in the morning.

“I hate to do this… but I have to go,” his lips pulled down into a thin straight line.

“Oh right.. You told Price you would see him in the morning…”

“Yeah… Look, i can't tell you much, but i don't know how long i’ll be gone…” he looks around, and grabs the notebook you write your ideas for articles down in and scribbles on a spare piece. “This is my number, i won't promise i’ll respond while i'm away, but if anything happens, call this number 3 times in a row and you’ll get through to someone who can get a message to me okay? But that is only for emergencies, otherwise just text me and i’ll do my best to get back to you, alright?” He tears the paper out, coming to stand in front of you. He presses the paper into your hand. It crumples slightly as you close your hand around it.

“Okay,” you murmur, looking up at him from your spot on the couch. His fingers crush along your cheek as he brushes a strand of your hair back from your face.

“Be safe, keep the door locked… i’ll be back soon and we’ll go do something fun and get to know each other.” Simon smiles, as he takes a few steps backwards towards the door.

“I’ll hold you to it,” you smile, “Be safe out there.”

The only response is the soft click of the door.

Next: Part 4

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ghostsforghosts · 6 months ago

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Have Dinner With Me?

This is the third part of the COD AU: Beauty & the Beast, the first and second parts can be found here. Reminder, this Reader is male.

Since you were prone to eating later than most people, you didn't often eat dinner with everyone else in the castle. You'd sometimes eat with your father, if he had been too busy checking out one of the other people in the castle to eat dinner with the rest.

You didn't mind though, you quite liked the solitude most of the time. Though sometimes, you wished one of the others would come and join you without you having to ask.

Thus, you were surprised to say the least when you walked into the kitchen for your late dinner, only to see Ghost cooking away despite him usually cooking for everyone two hours prior.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you said automatically, moving backwards as if to leave. "I thought no one would be here."

Ghost looked up, his brown eyes so soft beneath that wolf mask that you were sure if the mask wasn't there, then you'd see him smiling at you. "No, it's okay. I'm cooking this meal for us."

You were confused at that, tilting your head at his words. "Us?" you asked.

"Us," Ghost repeated, continuing to cook. He let out the smallest chuckle when you continued to look at him in confusion. "I've noticed that you eat later than everyone else, and usually alone. And I too eat later than everyone else, so I thought we could eat together. If you'll have me, that is."

"Yes," you replied instantly, barely waiting for him to finish speaking his last sentence. You grew flustered at your own eagerness, ducking your head down instinctively to hide any sign of embarrassment. You cleared your throat before adding, "I'd be most grateful to share a meal with you. Though, perhaps, may I help you with cooking? I'd feel guilty if I were to let you do all the work."

Ghost nodded and gestured for you to come forward, telling you what you could do to help. With your help, soon food was on the dining table and you two sat at the large dining table.

Since it was only the two of you, Ghost didn't sit at the head of the table and instead he sat side by side with you. Every brush of his shoulder against yours sent shivers down your spine, but you managed to remain cool-headed even with the touches.

You ate a bite of turkey, humming in approval at the taste. "This tastes delicious," you said, licking your lips clean after you swallowed your bite. "Thank you for this."

"You say "thank you" a lot," Ghost replied, gently teasing you. He seemed to move as if to touch you, but then he pulled back, keeping his hands to himself. "You helped me cook, remember? You're part of the reason it tastes good."

You grew flustered and simply smiled at him. Silence enveloped you two and after a while of eating, you realized that Ghost was struggling to use the utensils with his big paws.

"You don't have to eat with utensils if you don't want to, you know." You gestured to his obvious struggling, reassuring him that it was okay. Still, you gave him a warm smile to assuage any embarrassment. "I won't judge you for not using utensils. I understand that it's probably hard for you to do so with your paws."

Ghost relaxed at that, setting down the utensils. "Thank you," he murmured simply picking up the food with his paws now. "Various others have tried to help me hold the utensils in my paws, but that's just not the way my paws work."

You nodded in understanding, not even batting an eye at the sigh of him eating with his paws. You looked down at the food on your plate and decided you'd also forgo the utensils, just to reaffirm to Ghost that you really didn't care about him not using utensils.

Ghost was shocked at your kindness, no one ever joining him to eat the same way he was eating. Even if people let him eat with his paws and not with the utensils, they usually opted to eat with the utensils. But here you were, doing something so simple so he wouldn't think feel alone or left out just because he couldn't eat with utensils.

The two of you ate in silence once more, Ghost seeming happier now that he could be his true self around you. It made you smile, seeing how relaxed he was.

He deserved to be relaxed, you thought to yourself as you finished your food. You'd strive to make me relax more often.

After dinner, you went to the kitchen to help Ghost wash the dishes, but he shooed you away after you washed your hands.

"No, no," he said with a deep rumble in his chest, which was a rumble of amusement. His brown eyes had a twinkle in them, drawing you in. "You've helped enough. It's time for you to relax. Go, I've got the dishes."

You tried to protest, but he wasn't having it. Soon, you caved in and with one last look at Ghost, you left. There was a skip in your step, happy to have had a nice dinner with the man.

Ghost waited until he was sure you were gone to let out a sigh that was full of longing as he washed the dishes.

He was so deep already, but surely you didn't feel the same way.

Banners made by @/cafekitsune & separator made by @/dollywons

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thedovesaredying · 1 year ago

Text

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 2

Second chapter of the Cowboy!Nikto AU. Written from the POV of Nikto this time. A reminder once again that there's a prologue and "part 1" is only the first full chapter. The original cowboy AU is owned and created by @ghouljams.

A/N: I'm a day late on my estimation for when it would be done, but life decided to get me sick, busy with uni work, and put one of my legs completely out of action. I also realized about 3 husbandry manuals deep into my research that the chapter would be a bit too long if I included that much information. Instead, the info will be sprinkled in among the next few chapters.

Warnings: Sputnik being a silly girl.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

First | Prev | Next

The weather is downright miserable. While one might assume the worst weather would be torrential rain or unforgiving hail, Nikto is firmly of the belief that there’s nothing worse than a hot, sunny day. It’s hard enough to be constantly covered from head to toe, but to then add on the Texan sun beating down at its full strength? He’s certain he’ll be nothing more than a puddle of sweat by the end of the day.

At least Sputnik seems to be enjoying the disgusting temperatures. She’s running around the front of the property, completely unfazed by the heat. She welcomes it, in fact, using it as the perfect excuse to paddle into the large dam for a cool swim at the day’s warmest.

Her paws are caked with mud and grass, so much to her sadness she’s been barred from entering the house, forced to wait until she’s dried off and all the muck has fallen off of her paws. If she’s still dirty by the end of the day then a quick hosing down will be in order, but she’ll likely consider that a fun game too.

For now, she’s content to lay stretched out on the porch, her side rapidly rising and falling as she pants.

The weather isn’t the only thing that’s miserable, however. Nikto’s mood has been foul ever since his forced trip into town for new supplies. A certain hyena had decided that she was bored while her owner was away and had decided to chew a rather large hole in the wall of the shed.

The hole was easily large enough for her to climb through and so, after having already spent most of the day hard at work, Nikto was forced to leave for the only hardware store in town. Some new planks of wood and a hammer not riddled with rust later, and he’s reminded of the invoice he received the vet clinic a few days prior and has also yet to pay for.

He’s not quite sure what possessed him to go to the clinic in person, but he was disappointed regardless with what greeted him. The receptionist was painfully cheery and seemed determined to dig into his business with her endless questions. He’d left feeling completely drained from only a single conversation with the woman. You hadn’t been there. He can’t fathom why that annoys him so much.

The hole in the shed was simple enough to fix, even under the intensity of the sweltering heat, but the issue of Sputnik remains.

Clearly, he can’t leave her unattended for several hours at a time just for work. She’s never had to entertain herself in such an environment and clearly, it’s stressing her out being without her only packmate. She requires both social interaction and physical activity, but above all of that, needs mental stimulation.

Like a toddler left without a guardian, Sputnik has decided that she can tear apart the house and garden while unattended. Plants have been torn out of the ground, wooden structures gnawed to bits, and most concerningly, large holes dug along the fence line.

The situation is far from ideal, but Nikto does not abandon his own. He isn’t like those bastards at the CIA who are willing to leave those loyal to them knowing full well they will perish without help. He made that decision a long time ago, and Sputnik’s very name is a tribute to that.

It was only three years ago, but it felt like eons. It started with a small enemy group hidden deep within the South African wilderness who were utilising spotted hyenas as guard animals. Nikto and his team had cut through the animals both outside and inside the building, even the ones hidden away in the basement below.

In the end, only a single cub remained; a tiny girl still nestled up against the steadily cooling body of her mother. She couldn’t have been more than a week or two of age, bright eyed as all hyena newborns are, and covered in scraggly fur.

The other men on the team planned on putting the animal out of her misery, but the sight gave Nikto pause. She was small and defenceless, and abandoned by her cowardly handlers to be killed by their enemy. It was a story he couldn’t help but find familiar. Picking up the infant, she snuggles into his vest, completely trusting of him despite not having known him for more than a few seconds.

She whines and licks at him as he tucks her into his shirt, safe and warm pressed up against scarred skin. No one says a word, when he leaves the compound with the cub and boards the waiting helicopter for the trip back to base.

His first thought was to name her Laika, but that name seemed a little too common for his taste, and so he chose Sputnik, the name of Laika’s space capsule and eventual tomb. A tribute to yet another stray who was left behind by those who should have protected her.

Sputnik would not suffer the same fate; she would never be disregarded like a broken toy thrown into the trash. She’s good, she’s loyal, she trusts Nikto unconditionally. Destroying a bit of property would never be a reason to break that trust.

Instead, he presses dial on your number and holds his phone to his ear. He’s been thinking it over for several minutes, finger hovering over the button with your contact listed, before forcing himself to press it. For a long while it rings and he’s about to give up when you finally answer with a bright greeting to whoever is on the other side.

He grunts out your name, listening as you happily chirp his own back at him in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask. He can hear the soft rumbling of a car’s engine in the background and can only assume you’re driving somewhere.

“I require... assistance,” he says after a long pause, letting the conversation drift into silence. While it isn’t necessarily help he’s asking for, it still rankles deeply that he isn’t solving the issue alone. He despises being indebted to anyone for anything, but for some reason he doesn’t get the feeling you’re out to acquire favours from anyone. You’re a professional merely doing what you’re trained for and nothing more. He can admire that.

“What can I help you with? Is Sputnik alright?” You sound so genuinely concerned about her, so much so that it sounds like you almost drop your phone.

He glances down at the hyena laying happily at his feet, panting up at him with a broad grin. “She is fine,” he confirms, catching the relieved sigh you let out, “it is behavioural issues she is dealing with.”

You make a soft sound, clearly intrigued, “well, I’m on the road at the moment heading toward my next appointment, but I should have time to drop in to your place in a few hours. Will you be around then?”

“да,” he hums, “we will be here.”

“Perfect! I’ll be there in a few,” you confirm, and after offering an acknowledging grunt, he ends the call.

He goes to pocket the phone but pauses, glancing at your number. Mulling it over for a good long while, he selects the number and adds it to his contacts. There’s only two other people there, one of them his current workplace and the other one of his old acquaintances from before even his time in KorTac.

A rather dramatic huff from Sputnik draws his attention from staring at his phone, and he watches her with hidden amusement as she rolls over onto her stomach. She looks up at him with big, sad eyes and a pathetic whine. When he merely rolls his eyes at her she playfully snaps her teeth in his direction.

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” he growls back, curling the undamaged part of his lip at her.

The hyena, fortunately, can tell he’s still joking despite his deadpan tone and leaps to her feet with a delighted cackle. She shakes out her coat, biting at the air. The moment he so much as twitches a finger in her direction she turns and leaps off the top of the deck, forgoing the stairs so she can sprint across the yard.

Nikto stands from his chair but doesn’t give chase, watching as the crazy animal spins around in circles before darting off toward the dam again. She dives into the water with a splash, sending muddy water in all directions. He cringes slightly at the sight of the hyena now dripping with muck. At least he was already planning on hosing her down. The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, with Nikto taking some time to rest while Sputnik causes minimal trouble.

When your car finally does pull up, the poor girl has exhausted herself again, laying in a pile of leaves while she happily naps away. The moment her flicking ears pick up the sound of your truck on the gravel she jumps up again, eyes wide as she takes in the familiar sight. She’s already giggling to herself with excitement, looking between Nikto and your vehicle.

“место!” Nikto calls, ignoring the sad whimper that earns. He approaches when you pull up, patiently waiting as you drop out of the front seat and close the door behind you.

When you spot him, you offer a wave and grin, “hey, Nikto!” You take a moment to glance over at Sputnik and he can see her near enough vibrating with how excited she is to come over and greet you out of the corner of her eye. “How’ve you been doing?” you stop just before him, looking him right in the eye, completely unfazed by the monster you’re facing down.

“We are fine,” he says, perhaps a little too firmly given the way you blink at him, “we require some assistance with behavioural issues.” He quickly amends his statement in the hopes of not immediately scaring you off.

Fortunately, you’re quick to bounce back, a smile returning to your face, “of course, what sorts of problems are you experiencing?”

“Спутник!” The hyena’s head shoots up upon hearing her name, “ко мне!” She sprints across the grass, very nearly crashing into his legs with her enthusiasm to heed her owner’s command. “She is getting bored when left alone,” he explains, watching as you reach your hand out for the hyena, “eating walls, digging holes, breaking everything she can reach.”

Sputnik snuffles at your hand, before whining and immediately shifting to lean up against you, demanding pets. You scratch behind her neck and Sputnik’s tongue lolls out of her mouth in delight. “I’m sure we can work something out to help prevent her from damaging anything else or accidentally eating something she shouldn’t be.”

“She struggles when left alone, especially during work hours,” he adds on, turning and starting to stalk toward the side of the house where the majority of the damage can be seen.

“Okay, well she sounds like she just needs some enrichment to keep her occupied while you’re away,” you nod to yourself as you follow Nikto around to the side of the house. Several of the small plants that had been happily growing in little spots around the yard have been either pulled from the soil or completely shredded if they couldn’t be moved.

You look at the scattered remains of the poor shed’s wall, but don’t look entirely surprised by the backyard warzone you’ve stepped into. You frown down at Sputnik, scratching her between the ears, “what a silly girl,” you coo, rubbing at her ears as the hyena grins up at you with half-lidded eyes, “you shouldn’t be eating all this stuff, it’ll make your tummy sore!”

Somehow, your baby-talk voice just serves to make Sputnik even giddier, and she eagerly licks at the tips of your fingers. Nikto almost rolls his eyes at the little heart eyes the animal is subjecting you to. It’s impressive, really, how she can remember someone is a friend from only a single interaction.

When you snap back from your babying of the animal, you quickly refocus. “Hyenas have very powerful jaws, and they love to chew things, so if she doesn’t have enough to keep her entertained then she’ll find something to destroy.”

“She was given an old tyre a few weeks ago, but it only lasted a few days.” To say he was deeply unimpressed with how quickly she’d torn it to pieces would be an understatement. He knew that Sputnik had quite the bite on her, but to chomp through nine millimetres of rubber like it’s cardboard? Impressive, if a little annoying.

“How big is your freezer?” you abruptly ask him, and Nikto suddenly worries where this line of questioning is going. Does he need to check the trunk of your car? Regardless, he offers you a nod.

“Perfect!” You clap your hands together, making Sputnik jump excitedly at the sudden sound, “it’s supposed to be quite hot tomorrow, so I can think of at least one idea for her.” You start listing out what the two of you are going to do rapid-fire with the same confidence and efficiency of any commanding officer.

You’re in your element, your passion for your work clear as day and you have him following your every instruction. You’re like a fount of knowledge when it comes to anything and everything husbandry related, suggesting changes to Sputnik’s diet, new toys to keep her entertained, and ways to prevent her from destroying anything she really shouldn’t be messing with.

When you finally end up leaving, it’s long past sundown. Sputnik has grown bored of watching the two of you working in the shed and has retired to her massive dog bed for a nap, so the two of you have been working in comfortable silence. He’s glad you don’t feel the need to fill the air with irritating chatter, only offering corrections here and there.

He escorts you to back to your truck, closing your door behind you once you’re settled comfortably into the driver’s seat. You roll down the window and offer him a grin, but he can see just how tired you are given how your eyes are slightly drooped. “How much do we owe?” he asks, quickly tearing his gaze from your sweet smile.

Little wrinkles appear across your forehead as your lips turn downward, an innocent, confused look on your face, “owe you?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead just huffs in mild amusement, “payment, for your work.”

Your eyes light up in understanding and you laugh, “oh, no, don’t worry about that,” you wave him off, “I’m just happy to help out.” You just smile up at him, as if you can’t see anything wrong with what you just said.

Nikto is forced to remind himself that you’re a civilian, not another untrustworthy operator. Not everyone does things purely for the pay they’ll be rewarded with, even if the very thought of not giving you something in return makes him uncomfortable. He holds his hand out to you, “phone.”

You blink at him for a second, but quickly do as you’re told, just like the good girl you are. He goes into your contacts and adds his number and details, hitting save the moment he’s done. He doesn’t bother adding a picture, passing your phone back to you, “call us when you require assistance.” He waits until you offer him a nod before he steps back from the side of the car.

You have an odd, flustered look on your face for some reason, but you’re quick to snap out of whatever daze you're in and give him a quick wave as you put your truck into reverse. He watches silently as you disappear back down the driveway and into the steadily darkening evening, waiting until you’re out of sight.

Sputnik is absolutely delighted the following morning when Nikto presents her with her blood and peanut butter ice block.

Translations

“да,” - “Yes”

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” - “I didn't know you were such a drama queen,”

“место!” - “Stay!”

“Спутник!” - “Sputnik!”

“ко мне!” - “Come!”

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #call of duty nikto #cowboy au #nikto x reader #fanfic

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