#cod 2022

[robinthisbank]

Cod loading screen artists try not to make Soap and Ghost look like they’ve been married for 10 years challenge level impossible

[beebear55]

COD fanart from yesterday + one from today (losing my mind) more below the cut

[xpaintedladyx]

This amazing commission from @bluegiragi with Ghost and his daughter my oc.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

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

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. 

Until he showed up. 

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences. 

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you. 

Well…externally, at least. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame. 

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there. 

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan. 

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.” 

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass. 

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage. 

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips. 

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast. 

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior. 

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that. 

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed. 

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face,  recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down. 

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?” 

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it. 

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.” 

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face. 

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing. 

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion. 

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words. 

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips. 

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.” 

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship. 

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”  

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought. 

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable. 

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side. 

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.” 

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go. 

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away. 

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.” 

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead. 

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.” 

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows. 

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.” 

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips. 

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?” 

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart. 

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists. 

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.” 

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?” 

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.” 

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes. 

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh. 

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes. 

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?” 

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else. 

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation. 

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.  

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before. 

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part. 

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?” 

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand. 

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.” 

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful. 

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy. 

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting. 

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.” 

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man. 

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?” 

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him. 

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due.��

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on. 

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker. 

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow. 

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence. 

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that. 

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant. 

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head. 

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.” 

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours. 

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you. 

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this. 

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat. 

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.  

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.” 

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.” 

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.” 

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him. 

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back. 

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?” 

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”  

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air. 

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone. 

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat. 

What in the hell is going on? 

That’s when the bearded man speaks. 

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other. 

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat. 

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?” 

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.” 

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression. 

“I’d get on that, Son.” 

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope. 

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you. 

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen? 

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays. 

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!” 

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…” 

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp. 

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits. 

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling. 

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting. 

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine. 

But he remembered it. 

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face. 

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today. 

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk. 

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful. 

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment. 

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves. 

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much. 

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?” 

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower. 

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment. 

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid , @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210 , @antigonusyuki , @aerangi , @spikespiegell , @lora21 , @330bpm-whiplash , @michirulol, @john-pricee , @cl0wncxre , @jade-jax , @anna-banana27 , @lothiriel9 , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghost-with-a-teacup , @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @bespectacledhuman, @uberraschungg , @neelehksttr, @wolfyland07 , @shoe1412 , @levietc , @shmaptin, @dilfsaremyfavourite , @astronaut2029, @kk19pls , @omeganixtra , @semieitabby , @thriving-n-jiving , @voidinfernal , @sukunas-left-nut-sack , @cringe-kats , @serpahic , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @n1choles , @gaychaosgremlin , @icepancakes , @batmanunicorns523 , @gills-lounge, @nanialis, @pukbadger , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet

(sorry that some of these don't work! I have no idea why!)

[lay-z]

knights in shining tactical gear | 3

s. 'ghost' riley x f!reader x j. 'soap' mactavish

Summary: There lies normalcy in domesticity and as it turns out, you're not the only one trying to rebuild something that could last to survive.

Warnings/Info: Zombie Apocalypse AU | 18+ | angst; hurt/comfort; fluff and flirting; some general awkwardness; slowburn-ish; humor; strangers to lovers; found family; multiple POV's

I'm still working on a taglist, my loves, so please bear with me 🥺 and I hope there is no confusion about me using their names instead of their call signs. There is a good reason for that. 😊 Consider this a Christmas/Holiday present 🎁 Happy Holidays! Cheers ✨️❤️🍷

💀》 Masterlist

"Ouch! Ah, Gosh darn it"

You drop the metal pot back down on the kitchen counter and swiftly suck the burning spot on your index knuckle into your mouth. The oven mitten, too big on you, had slipped on your left hand, causing you to burn yourself.

You've been trying to cook something homey wherever you can, whenever you find the right utensils and space. Something that could bring some normalcy back perhaps, but the equipment and supplies you've found today prove challenging to work with.

The men are always on the move; looking for better shelter, ammunition, food and supplies. They're trying to fix something, a kind of military radio, and they're always on the lookout for the right spare parts.

"We need to keep moving and find a place to stay for the night", they both say in turns like some sort of mantra.

Life has become...somewhat easier since you met John and Simon, and while they also take care of Zack, as they soberly call them, make supply runs and switch being on guard 24/7, you've started feeling guilty for being so, well, useless.

The upside is that you're finally able to focus your attention on Sadie though you've realized how little you actually know about a child's natural development. She's almost nine months old and slowly starting to crawl, now that you can put her down on a blanket without having to fear and be prepared for a quick escape.

And yet, you need to find a way to figure out how to stay aware of her development; how to raise a child in this...mess. Thoughts about the future make your stomach drop and keep you up at night lately, but they also mean that you still hold on to some kind of hope.

You absentmindedly continue to stir the stew in the pot. Chili with rice and beans, made from scratch, but then again everything is. You've added nearly every spice you've looted so far, just to add some flavor and change. It smells good enough and tastes better than it looks, plus it's a hot meal, a wee bit of comfort.

You catch the sound of Sadie's soft cooing coming from the living room; she's waking up from her nap and you know she's hungry again, so you take one of the empty pots and use a cup to measure the water for her bottle first. You know you have to act quickly to prepare her milk. Sadie has become more demanding since two more people are taking care, no, pampering her now.

While the water heats up on the stove, you decide to check on her, but as you enter the living room, you're surprised to find Simon by her crib. His back is turned towards you, but you notice the way he's lifted his balaclava mask as he leans down. He's talking to her, too quiet for you to catch what he's saying, but her happy noises speak for themselves. You clutch your heart, smitten by the sight, and then your curiosity make your eyes linger on his side profile.

A sharp jaw, covered in dark blonde stubble. A prominent, straight nose which probably has been broken before and a pair of plump lips, the Tom Hardy kind. He looks...boyish almost; too young for his deep voice and collected behavior. There might be scars, it's hard to tell from this distance and angle.

Then you feel guilty for staring because there must be a reason he's wearing the mask. You didn't ask yet, because it's none of your business, and you didn't want to push your luck before, but...Simon is handsome. A little rough around the edges, sure, but pleasing to the eyes nonetheless.

He pulls the mask down again, straightens his back with a roll of his broad shoulders, then looks directly at you and your breath catches in your throat. You're like a deer in headlights; frozen in place as your blood rushes to your head while he stares you down mercilessly.

"I'm sorry...I -"

Your heart throbs and you feel like crumbling in his presence. You didn't mean to be creepy or weird, but it feels like you've disrespected his privacy.

"No worries", he says with a casual shrug, but his eyes tell a different story, an exhorting one, and it only stokes your curiosity. "I just wanted to check if she's alright"

"O-of course! That's so thoughtful of you. Thank you"

He nods his chin towards the kitchen as he walks towards you.

"Ya need some help with that?"

You look over your shoulder as if you've forgotten what you've done in there, and when you look back at Simon, he's nearly towering over you. The height difference forces you to crank your neck to look up at him and it is...something.

"Uh I don't know. Perhaps you could feed Sadie while I finish up dinner? That'd be lovely, but I could also ask John if -"

"I'll do it", he cuts in swiftly then scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "Soap's checking the perimeter again before sundown, that'll take some time"

Soap. John. Ghost. Simon. Call signs, they explained it to you a few days ago, because they kept and keep calling each other by their alias. Old habits die hard and they've been through a lot together in the military, that much you can tell.

"Alright then. I appreciate that Simon", you say, offering a gentle smile, and when you wipe your sweaty palms on the old, corny apron you found in the closet, you flinch when the rough fabric rubs over the burn on your finger. You click your tongue in annoyance and shake your hand to get rid of the pain.

"Ah shoot!"

You laugh nervously when you notice how intently Simon looks at you; he's always watching, observing, brooding. The most taciturn fellow opposed to John.

"Let me see", he requests suddenly and you're embarrassed by the swiftness of your obedience as you hold your injured hand out to him.

He grasps it surprisingly gently and studies the degree of the burn while you use the moment to study his eyes. They're a clear shade of brown like liquid caramel, depending on how the light catches the color. There a bags under his eyes, not too bad but present beneath the smudged camouflage paint, and you catch a glimpse of freckles starting at the bridge of his nose.

"I was clumsy...burnt myself on the pot like a klutz"

Then his eyes catch yours and your mouth goes dry. He is still holding your hand in his grasp and it's starting to have an interesting, unexpected effect on you.

"Ya need to be more careful, lass -", he mutters while his calloused thumb brushes over your uninjured knuckles. "can't get hurt on my watch"

There are no words left for you to say as his words slowly sink into your mind. You didn't expect him to be this caring, not about you at least. He's so gentle with Sadie, you've seen it just now, but Simon has kept his distance from you like you're nothing but a nuisance he's tolerating. It's hard to read him, impossible for you to know his thoughts.

"I'll try my best, Lieutenant"

Simon is sitting in the easy chair by the large front window in the living room. This must have been the place where the elderly owner of the house used to sit and read; judging by the bookshelf in the corner and the frumpy standard lamp nearby. He peers down at the baby peacefully sleeping, cradled in his arms and as always, he asks himself how the hell he got here.

One day, he's on the airplane with his comrade, on their way home to finally get a chance to enjoy ten of the many accumulated days of leave they have left. The next, they're in the middle of the apocalypse, fighting both ruthless civilians and undead cannibals to survive.

And oh how Simon has survived so far, like every other shit situation that has been thrown at him throughout his life. There is no way he'll bow to death now, not after everything he's been through already.

Suddenly, some quick movement in the front yard catches his attention out of his peripheral but Simon stays calm and lingers in the shadow of the living room. Too quick for Zack, too sneaky for some unskilled civilian.

Five knocks on the front door; a rhythm they have settled on to let each other know it's them.

Simon rises from the chair with a quiet huff and his knees pop, a byproduct of dedicating the best years of your life to the military. Bloody great. He's definitely getting too old for this crap.

He walks up to the front door, quiet as to not disturb neither the baby in his arm nor her aunt napping in the master bedroom upstairs. The door opens and a wide grin appears on John's face as soon as he sees Sadie in the Lieutenant's care.

"Dae ye prefer ta be called Daddy Ghost o' Daddy Simon?"

There's a brief moment where Simon's grip tightens around the door's edge while he ponders about slamming it in John's face.

"Bloody hell, Johnny, neither", Simon grumbles before turning his back on John to reclaim his seat in the armchair. He can hear the latter snicker quietly as he locks the front door, locking it precautionary. Neither of them is Sadie's daddy even if John keeps joking about it; you're not even her mother after all.

"Where's our lass?"

Simon's eyes involuntarily flick up toward the wooden stairs leading to the upper story before he rolls them in annoyance about John and himself, and he chooses to simply ignore the question.

"I found it in a house down the street. Could be helpful ta transport Sadie from now on, I just couldn't figure out how the bloody thing works"

John walks into the living room, his rifle dangling from its sling at his side while he's holding a rucksack with various straps in front of him and Simon matches his clueless look when he come to stand in front of him.

"Ya wanna put her in a rucksack?"

The Scotsman clicks his tongue snidely.

"Nah, o' course not. It's a uh whaddaya call that thing -"

John twists and turns the object, looking at it as he thinks of the right turn until Simon butts in coolly.

"A baby carrier"

He remembers Tommy and Beth buying one of those for his nephew and how Simon was just as clueless about the thing back then.

"How -"

"Ya cleared houses by yourself? Thought we agreed we don't do that when we're alone, especially if it ain't necessary"

It's the fact that John has been acting more reckless and incautious since they saved you and the baby that pisses him off so much. Sadie stirs as soon as Simon tenses, raising his voice, and he immediately tries to calm down for her sake.

Meanwhile, John looks like a scolded child with pursed lips and slouched shoulders as he fumbles with the deep blue fabric of the baby carrier.

"Took out three Z's with a knife. The rest of the houses were abandoned. Front doors closed n' all"

"Doesn't matter -", Simon counters dryly. "ya should know people are a worse threat than Zack. Fear and desperation...that's a dangerous mix, brother"

They can't afford to be that stupid, that careless, and risk getting injured...or even worse, killed. No, not after surviving for so long together.

Sitting at the kitchen table by himself, John quietly eats the leftover dinner straight from the pot; a lighted candle being the only thing illuminating the dark room.

The food is cold now, but turning on the camping stove to heat it up again would only be a waste of gas. It still tastes good though, better than anything he or the Lt. have managed to cook in the last couple of months, and he's a soldier, so he's eaten worse during his career anyway.

He's finished cleaning his guns, his combat knife, and checked his gear twice; everything Simon is currently doing in the living room by himself.

John used the chance to get away from Simon when you came downstairs to take back Sadie. You looked exhausted, but you demanded to watch her so they could get some rest at last.

You might not be her mother or a mother at all, but you sure act like one. So gentle and kind, nurturing and innocent. He still can't grasp how you managed to survive and protect the baby for so long. It must have been hell, a true nightmare, but you've barely talked about it yet, and his stomach drops with a severe feeling of guilt because they didn't find you sooner.

Cautious footsteps from behind make his ears perk up; they're too lightweight for the Lt., too cadenced for any Zack, so there is only one option left. Then a warm hand comes to rest on his left shoulder, briefly brushing over the fabric of his shirt before the touch ends and John is left craving more after a slight shudder runs down his spine.

You walk around the table to take up the seat across from John, deliberately trying not to make too much noise as you pull the chair back.

"You're still up", you say, almost reproachfully as you watch him scrape the spoon over the bottom to get even the last bite.

Your bonnie face is illuminated by the candlelight, your eyes nearly sparkling in the warm glow as you hold his gaze while John doesn't quite know what to response.

"I hope it tasted alright. I tried my best to cook something edible"

You do look worried when you say it and John notices; as if you're fearing you've disappointed him. It's a gut-wrenching sight and he acts instinctively when he pushes the pot to the side and reaches over the table to rest his hand on yours.

"It was delicious", he assures you truthfully, but you still scoff, waving him off with one hand.

"Aw, stop it...don't be sarcastic, please"

"Am not! I mean it, lass. Ye have no idea how thankful I am for yer cooking skills. I was so sick of cold beans, chicken soup and protein bars"

You giggle then, covering your mouth, and it's a precious sound, one John hasn't heard often before. It makes him grin triumphantly and his heart flutters with excitement. Then you squeeze his hand, brush the tips of your fingers over his rough knuckles gently, and he freezes for a second, registering the softness of your simple touch.

"Are you alright? John?", you ask quietly concerned, stopping your movement at once.

John nods, chuckling bashfully as he tries to shake off the unholy feelings which have caught him off guard. He cannot be thinking that, feeling that, for and about you, so he pulls his hand back reluctantly, observing your face for any reaction.

He imagines a look of disappointment ghosting over your face, or perhaps it's just his wishful thinking, the candlelight playing pranks on him. Either way, he knows he should be more careful from now on, for all of your sake.

This dynamic is still too new and too fragile to pursue anything like that, and John is aware that, as of right now, he's the weakest link when it comes to restraint.

"I'll take on first watch. Ye should head back to bed, lass."

There are certain things he must clear his mind of; things not even Simon should know.

[ravenmichaelisstuff]

I like to think that Ghost realizes that he is in love with Soap after he has a really bad day. He comes back from a mission absolutely devastated and exhausted but he tries to act like always.

It's not hard since he always looks kind of upset and sulking so no one really notices. Except the loud Scot who has his eyes on him the moment he stepped in the mess hall. And when Ghost goes to sit at a table by himself, Soap follows him immediately and sits in front of him. Soap looks at him like there is no mask in between them.

"Talk to me. How can I help?"

And there he is. Realizing he loves him.

Probably doesn't make sense, but we roll

[fxckingghxst]

Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

CW: a little bit of angst in beginning, mentions of Simon’s past (nothing descriptive), fluff, no pronouns mention for reader, establish relationship, not proofread.

Simon doesn’t remember what a good night's sleep is. Sometimes it feels like he hasn’t slept in years. Nights are spent staring up at the ceiling of wherever he's been told to lay his head. The quiet is what kills him- would rather prefer the sounds of bullets whipping past him than the stillness of a room at night.

The quiet allows him to be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts about his past. His mom. Brother. Nephew. Sister-in-law. His dad. They pop into his mind daily, but he’s usually able to distract himself with his work. Now- when he has nothing to keep his mind busy- does he think about them and all the what-ifs. 

Usually, his nights are spent at his desk, going over mission information and combining through the details once, twice, three times if needed. He’ll stay into the bitter hours of the morning, grabbing another cup of tea and then starting his day early. 

It wasn’t until he met you did everything change for him. 

He no longer hated the end of the day. He actually looks forward to it. Because he knows when he gets back to his room, you’d be there. Telling him what a long day you’ve had- how this one rookie keeps getting on your last nerve with his smart mouth. He’d laugh- telling you to instill some fear in these newbies and show them who’s boss. You’d laugh, sarcastically, and tell him that you’ve been doing that for the last week. 

Sometimes you’d already be in his bed when he comes in, sleeping soundly. He’d be extra quiet when winding himself down, but most of the time you wake up when he comes to lie down. He’d apologize for waking you and tell you to go back to sleep. 

“I will, but I need to tell you about…” And you’d talk. Filling his mind with rambles of your day- important or not- as you throw an arm around him and lay your head on his chest. He laughs at how much stuff you remember. At how you have to tell him everything. But, you just shush him and tell him to go to sleep now- that you’re exhausted. 

For being known as one of the best, Ghost was a bit slow. It took him a long time before he even realized you were flirting with him- that you even liked him. And then even longer for his feelings to be realized and reciprocated. So, of course, he’d be a little slow to catch on to what you’ve been doing. Talking to him before he goes to bed. Getting his mind off of whatever he might be thinking of and filling it with gossip that you’ve overheard or whatever had ticked you off that day. 

He had given you very little background about his life, but with the pieces he’s given you, you could connect the dots here and there. He’s told you about his resentment for sleeping. Seen him working late into the night and early into the morning on multiple occasions. You could understand how much a past could haunt someone. 

He would tell you about his day, too. About the dumb shit Soap had done. About the piles of paperwork he insists on looking through (but then complains about later). About the disgusting lunch that was served in the cafeteria- he was never a fan of meatloaf and now he’s not sure he’ll ever eat it again. And you’d laugh; agree with him on the disgusting block of meat that was served today. 

You’d try to look into his eyes, to see if they’re starting to droop before officially trying to go to sleep yourself. He’d always kiss you when your eyes would meet, gently and full of love. Love. Something he was sure he’d never feel again. And he’d see it in your eyes when you’d tell him to sleep tight. You cared for him- you really did. He doesn’t know why, but he’s not about to ask questions he’s not sure he wants the answers to. 

masterlist

[loadedberetta]

hospital!141 will always have a special place in my heart

Price is the leader of the unit, he transferred from family medicine; craving the rush of the hospital setting and settling for a position in the ER

Ghost (dr Riley sounds so GOOD) is a pathologist; that man hates interacting with people and the meticulousness is right up his alley. bonus: interest in microbiology and mortuary medicine

Gaz still wears his fresh white coat he got gifted after he finished residency; he's trauma med right up there with Price, eating 24 and 36 hours shifts for breakfast. bubbly and kind with a sweet spot for the nurses of his unit. always so respectful and level with them

Soap is the best orthopaedic surgeon you'll ever have the pleasure of meeting. he's bright, always has a solution for everything, and is a wizard with the scalpel. how, you don't know, as you've only seen him running around the hospital, never backing down from an extra shift yet still being there on the unit hike the following Sunday

[decaf-mother]

EVEN more COD as things I've said out of context

[fictionalmenxyn]

¡Incorrect quotes!

Tw: inappropriate jokes and I believe that’s it

*Y/n and Gaz walked into the break room*

Soap: oh how about, are you a roller coaster cuz I’d like to ride you

Gaz: *looks at Y/n confused*

Y/n: *looks at Gaz confused*

Ghost: oh yeah what about, are you a that arctic monkeys song cause I wanna be yours

Y/n: *giggles quietly*

Gaz: are you trying to rizz up Soap?

Soap: we are thinking on W rizz pick up lines

Gaz: *looks at Y/n laughing* did you give them TikTok?

Y/n: maybe?

Ghost: ok, are you a cream donut cause I wanna-

Soap,Y/n&Gaz: GHOST!!!

—

Gaz: Y/n, give me attention!

Y/n: bro, I just made out with you a second ago and made you waffles. What more could I do?

Gaz: *gives thee I know what you could do look*

Y/n:… funny… no

Gaz: *tut* your no fun

—

Soap: go over to Y/n and tell them what I just taught you

*Gaz goes over to Y/n*

Y/n: hey Gaz

Gaz: hey are you a sea lion, cause I can sea you lion in my bed later (ultimate rizz)

Y/n: you have to take a break from Soap

Y/n: *looks over to Soap and death glares him* tell him better pick up lines!

Soap: *slowly backs out of the break room*

—

Ghost: I have never see someone with more than two brain cells in this room before

Y/n: I’m quite smart, actually

Ghost: what’s the capital of Brazil?

Soap: Rio!

Ghost: Brasília is the correct answer

Y/n: I knew that

Ghost: how do you spell necessary?

Y/n: ….

Ghost: there we go then… my point proven

—

Y/n: *manages to get Ghost on the ground in training* LETS GO!

Soap&Gaz: *cheers*

Ghost: I was tying my shoe…

Y/n: NOPE, don’t take my moment from me!

—

Soap: *kisses Ghost on the cheek in the break room*

Y/n: Pda much

Ghost: you ligit are sitting on Gaz’s lap right now

Y/n: that’s because he stole my seat so I’m making him pay

Gaz: finders keepers, losers weepers

Y/n: *gives him a side eye*

—

Soap: hey, did you hear about the a man eating fireworks and another man drinking battery acid

Y/n: omg when?!

Soap: the other day, but they let the one off and charged the other

Y/n: we’ll that’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?

Soap: *about to burst out laughing*

Ghost: *shakes his head and wondering about how your mind works*

Hope you enjoyed!

Make sure to request or message me if you want me to write something

Have a good day/night!🫶

[negativecharm]

Masterlist ,

+ Older boyfriend!Ghost +sfw Hcs

- Older Boyfriend!Ghost .

- Older Boyfriend!Ghost(pt.2).

- Older Boyfriend! x reader & how he adores you.

×

+ Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader +sfw Hcs

- Sugar Daddy!Ghost x reader.

- Sleepy Simon Riley x reader.

- Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader.

- Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader (pt.2).

- Simon with a small reader.

- Husband Simon Riley x f!reader ♥

×

+ >..Drabbles..<

× Task force 141 Headcanons ×

- 141 Task Force Headcanons. [SFW]

.

× NSFW & Dark Themes under ×

NSFW hcs

- Mean Simon Riley x reader hc.

- Ghost treating you like his personal doll~

- War God!Ghost x Princess!reader.

- Toxic Over Protective Boyfriend Simon!

[vixenemesis]

They all look funny and cute 🥹🩵 (not shepherd.)

[iblameashley]

More König stuff.

Y'all gave me another mental illness.

Headcanon W/ Civilian | Male | Gay | Mildly NSFW

Please don't roast my ass for my terrible attempt at Soaps accent. I'm Canadian and did my best, besties.

(König)

He prefers to date outside the military. He tried dating other guys within the special forces, but found it more stressful.

Everyone tends to be smaller than him, so he's leaned into his short-kings.

Loves chubbier guys.

Worried you wouldnt like him because of his facial scars. Or the bullet wounds in his arms, chest and abdomen. He was taken aback when you didnt even flinch when you first met in person.

Has a hard time verbalizing his thoughts to his partners, but will leave notes everywhere. Usually simple "I love you." or "I miss your smile." notes are left for you at the beginning.

Flexes his hands when nervous. It gives him something to focus us when he's having an anxiety attack.

Nothing calms him down faster than you putting your fingers at the base of his neck and gently caressing him.

When he does become more verbal with you - usually after several months - he will stutter and stammer when he talks. He gets so excited to tell you about his day, or how much he missed you, etc, that he cant get it out fast enough.

Giving? Receiving? Yes. He has no preference when it comes to sex. The first time he had sex with you, you were bent over a table, and it took the better part of an hour just to get him in. But he was fine to take his time, he wanted you to enjoy it as much as he did.

He is big, yes, but his cock isn't massive. He's thick, and a little over 8" uncut.

He is very much into after-care. He scooped you up in his arms after the first time and carried you to bed. He loved to give you kisses and ask you how you feel, if you're OK, what you liked, didn't like, and would like to try.

He loves to sleep with his head on your chest. He also loves how you play with his hair as he's laying there.

He does have nightmares. The first time it happened he was so embarrassed and tried to leave. You wouldn't let him. That's when you started playing with his hair to calm him down.

You tried for a while to get him to wear his Balaclava while he fucked you. He denied it every time, and said he wanted to keep that part of his life and you separate. You did manage to convince him to wear a face-mask you bought.

You cook him breakfast every-time he stays the night. He always stands behind you as you cook and wraps himself around you. "Smells great." He says. You aren't sure if he means the food, or you. Likely both.

He cleans up the kitchen after you eat. You've told him he doesn't have to, but he says he's used to it and doesn't mind.

When he has something important he wants to say or ask you, he'll pace around the room. You've had complaints from the down-stairs neighbour about stomping.

He loves to carry you. Will swoop you up in his arms randomly so he can stare into your eyes and give you a kiss. But only in private.

He has a hard time showing affection in public. It makes him anxious. But if you really want to hold hands, he will tough it out.

On particularly bad days he will go to the shower to cry. You know what he's doing, but give him that space. When he finally emerges, you always tell him you love him and give him a kiss.

He. Is. Such. A. Nerd. And he only shows that side to you. Star Trek? Star Wars? BSG? Yes. Hes watched every episode and movie and quotes them often. Also very much into old-school Gundam and model kits. Gaymer.

He once spent the whole day re-organizing your closet. It was amazing and you loved it. When you asked why, all he could say was "I just wanted to."

Need something cleaned, moved or tossed? He's your man. You barely have to get the words out and hes on it.

You only ever see him smile around you. In the few times he's interacted with other people, he always reverted to his resting-bitch-face. When he wasn't wearing the face mask. It helped his anxiety in public.

He never used to like bubble baths, but you changed his mind. He would come back from deployment tired, sweaty and sore. So you drew him a bath and washed him down. It became a habit, and something he looked forward to.

He had an unplanned coming out to his squad mates. You two were on a date around town when they happened to be passing by. When they asked who you were, you tried to come up with something on the spot, but König just blurted out "My boyfriend." In a matter-of-factly tone.

The one wearing a skeleton face mask looked at you and just gave an affirming nod. The one with the Mohawk looked like he was about to have a stroke. "Yae gay?" He asked. König nodded. "Ane yae ne'er told mae? I spenn months try'nae set yae up with women, ane yae said nottin?!" König shrugged.

You learned through his squad mates his favourite colour (Pale Blue), and foods (Mostly German, to no ones surprise) and that he actually had a bad sweet-tooth. You learned to bake for him.

When you had stuffed him (full of food!), you'd both flop down on the couch and binge-watch something. He'd lay down on your lap. Your hands would work their way up his shirt to caress his stomach.

[madameducyberversailles]

Doing Mehndi/Henna with the 141+Los Vaqueros

In honour of the past Eid (why do I have so many undone Eid fics on my main) I will be making a set of headcannons for Eid even though it was a month ago because I want to and time is an illusion. Also, reader is South Asian-coded, and I’ll use gender-neutral pronouns but it’s kind of fem leaning due to the cultural aspect but all are welcome!!

(Also if I didn’t spell anything right please let me know I’m just writing this in a hurry I am so sorry) 

Warnings: mentions of violence and war, foreign language use. 

Doing Mehndi/Henna for the 141 + Los Vaqueros 

There was some downtime in the base after a successful mission just a few days ago, meaning that everyone was trying to relax after the harrowing mission that took so much time and effort and caused so much pain to everyone. Finally, it was time for some rest and relaxation, and the base’s atmosphere was a little more calm than the frantic hustle just days ago. Funny how it all changes so fast, but it is what it is, and probably for the better. 

You sat at a table with a small conical tube, piping a brown paste out onto your skin, using the tube as a calligrapher uses a pen, or an artist uses a paintbrush, to draw floral and fractal designs upon your skin. The reason you were being so artistic today? The downtime was just perfect, right at the end of Ramadan, meaning that it was time to celebrate not only the mission but also the completion of a religious month of fasting. The paste would dry and leave a natural, temporary tattoo on your hands, and as you painstaking created the masterpiece, people would stop by and see what you were doing. 

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He sees you putting some kind of paste on your arm and is...confused. 

‘Bloody hell is that’ the first thing into his mind and out of his mouth, actually. Mans is big confuzzled 

You tell him its Mehndi or Henna, and he...doesn’t know. Wasn’t really exposed to different cultures as a kid, and difference was not seen as something to be celebrated. 

Is very curious. He appreciates the time and art, as he has tattoos that took time to make. He’s interested in what’s going on cause it’s you and he cares about what you do and how you are, shhhh

He has no idea how it works. The Hell you mean, it’s a tattoo? Doesn’t believe you. What do you mean this paste will leave a temporary tattoo? Is curious. 

Will use this as an opportunity to sit with you and learn about you

If you explain it to him, he’ll not say anything and at first you think it’s because he’s disinterested, but he is actually quite focused on what you tell him and is absorbing the information. He is learning the history behind the art and like his tattoos, he has an appreciation for wearable art. 

He likes watching you sketch out the designs on your skin. It’s nice to see flowers and leaves and birds and pretty things after all the blood in the military. 

He will ask questions about what kind of designs, the longevity of the art, and if they’re restricted to a certain aesthetic. Will ask only a few questions, but its because he mostly likes just watching you do your thing. It’s satisfying to see it. 

If you ask to do some on his arm, there is a 50/50 chance he’ll let you, because on the one hand its time consuming to do on him and wait for it to dry and he’s a busy man most of the time, but on the other its wearable art and looks relaxing. Whether or not he does let you depends on how close you guys are. 

But if you hand him the mehndi tube and allow him to draw something on you...your friendship points in his mental scoreboard just skyrocket. You’re letting him make something for you to wear on your arm? Like a tattoo? You’ll wear a design a la Riley? He is willing to do anything for you now. 

He’s not the best at drawing but he does have good control over his hand-eye coordination, so his designs are not that bad. He just needs time to decide what the hell to draw on you...give him ideas please. He will need your help with the tube as this man has sausages for fingers, and he’s trying, please be patient. Keep a few Q tips and tissues handy for wiping off the few mistakes he may make. 

He likes more of the floral designs, especially the intricate floral fractals. Flowers are pretty, and he knows how unique designs ought to be appreciated. 

He’s a bit of a perfectionist so be prepared for a numb arm afterward. But it’ll be work it when you see the joy in his eyes when he finishes it to his liking.

Will wait for it to dry with you if he’s not busy. He needs down time too, and spending time learning about something else is nice you’re also just really nice company and he feels bad that your religious holiday is being spent all alone

Will genuinely thank you if you do a design on him or let him do a design on you. It makes something in his heart warm up at the thought of knowing that he made something for someone else and its not only artistic, but you’re wearing it with pride. If you actually show it off he’ll huff about it but its a farce cause his posture improves and his chest is puffed out at the fact you’re showing it off.

If you were close enough that you did a design on him and it starts to wear away he will march up to you whatever time he can and demanding you retrace it. Or give him a new one. It’s like a friendship bracelet, GIVE!

All in all, he likes it. Anytime you do Mehndi from then on, he’ll be there, either chilling with you or getting some on himself too. 

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish

He spots you sitting down and squirting something on your skin. 

‘What is that?’ Genuinely intrigued and curious. Likes the designs! 

You did those yourself? That’s so cool! The patience and artistic ability is quite interesting to him. 

If you tell him the history behind Mehndi/Henna, he’ll ask questions and engage in conversations about it. He has an appreciation for the historical aspect, and he’ll likely ask multiple questions. 

He’ll watch you do it but he’ll also get fidgety after a while. You have to wait for it to dry too. But he’s not leaving! He’ll just need to move around a bit. 

If you ask him to get anything for you for nourishment he will. He’ll feed you himself but also tease you while you’re at it. 

Will blow on it to help it dry. When you tell him its cold he’ll just keep doing it because he’s a gremlin. 

Finds it satisfying to watch. Will make suggestions on what to do next. If you incorporate it, he’d be over the moon! Just know that he’ll suggest some joke stuff and will veer from the intended aesthetic, so it’s up to you at that point. 

There are some trends in mehndi where people who get their mehndi done will hide little cameos or names of people in their designs. Soap will suggest his name cheekily, believe me, but if you actually do it, he’d be forever thankful and in awe that you’d allowed him that honour. To him its like getting his name tattooed on you so its a high degree of respect given. 

If you offer to do some on him he’d be glad to! He’ll eagerly give you his arm and ask you to either go ham or will have a design in mind. If you have his name in your design somewhere he will ask for yours too, it’s only fair! Bestie’s honour! 

If you let him do a design on your skin, he’d be floored. He’d be so eager and happy! He grabs the tube and is ready! You’ll just have to limit him cause his imagination is going wild so please just tell him what to do before you sign some Ursula-esque contract and end up with some stupid-ass emoji or slogan like ‘Soap waz here’ on your skin for the next few days. 

Surprisingly, he’s very good with handling the mehndi tube. He was named Soap for a reason, and he’s very good at putting the right amount of pressure for the right design. Not the best artistically but he takes his time and is genuinely careful with the fun. He treats it like a tattoo, it’s something he’ll spend time on. 

That said, he is also an eager beaver and in his excitement he may, at any point, accidentally mess up some wet mehndi. When he does so, he will absolutely be a mess about it and apologize profusely for it. Help him please, keep some tissues nearby, please forgive him too he promises he didn’t mean it!! 

If you allow it on a visible part of you he’ll be so happy to see it. If you actively show it off and tell the others he did it he’ll enthusiastically tell them how he did it because he’s just so happy he did that! Will have his arm around you too, you’re precious now for letting him do that. Will take offense when the others may not believe that he was the one who made that part of your mehndi.

When he’s done he’ll chat and eat with you, and make sure you’re okay. If your design is on the inside of your hand he will make a point to feed you himself. It makes him happy to do so. 

He really likes the fractal designs, the ones that look like multiple layers of leaves or scales, lattice patterns are nice for him to look at. 

If the design you give him starts to fade, he will ask for another one. Will show off every one you do for him. 

Cptn. John Price

Price is not a complete stranger to the art, but it is one that he’s never really seen up close. He is aware from his life that there are other civilians he’s seen in the city have it done, he has travelled before as well and seen it too, so not entirely unfamiliar but very clueless. Seeing you do it awakens a curiosity, and he wants to know how its done. 

He is a history nut, not that many people will know, so please tell him everything. Let him know the history of what you’re doing, its purpose, and how it relates to the holiday, etc. 

Price enjoys thinking about other perspectives, so if you ramble on he’ll listen. It’s nice to hear some chatter about creative things rather than fearmongers, warlords, cartels and such. He’s happy to listen. 

Will watch with attention as you do it, and when you talk to him he will engage in conversation as he absorbs the information. Has some questions and they’re all fairly relevant, Will periodically hum in thought or shift or gesture, showing you that he is in fact listening, and sometimes in the middle will interrupt to talk to you about something you said. The best part is when he interrupts you after you tell him the art of mehndi is thousands of years old...now he’s making mental notes and wanting to know more. 

Will absolutely talk with you for the entire time you’re waiting for it to dry. Has the patience of a saint. The only time he’ll leave is if its an emergency, or if there’s a lot of paperwork he’ll just grab it from his office to do near you while you wait. Will let you talk about whatever you want. But if you let him talk you both are going to be there a while, John’s a very charismatic person and easy to talk to, so you could find yourself sitting for 3 hours just talking to him when your mehndi dries in half that time. But it’s time well spent, he absolutely appreciates it. 

If you need him to get you any food, he is already on it, and regardless of which side of your hand the design is, he is a gentleman and will feed it to you. The best. 

Likes to watch you do the designs, it’s satisfying to watch. He really likes quiet, creative times. 

If he accidentally messes up your design by shifting and wiping it off he will not stop thinking about it for the next week. Forgive him please he didn’t mean it! He feels really bad and will offer help to fix it or clean it up. The more intricate it is the worse he feels. 

If you want to do some on him, he might let you do it, just a small one in a hidden place. It has more meaning for him that way, and he also doesn’t know if he’s even allowed to have such things peak out, so he just wants to keep it on the low. Also it feels like a piece of you, someone he cares for, so its very personal to Price and he’s keeping it discreet like a well-loved secret. He’s so proud of it though. Others might notice, cause he will try to show it off in subtle ways. He always feels a smile on his lips when he notices that you notice the design. 

When Price asks for the design he’ll also deviate from the aesthetic, maybe make it something else a little more to his interests, as the cultural rules of the aesthetic are not one he completely understands, as he thinks of it like a tattoo as well if just a little more flowery. If you do something floral or whatever he’d still appreciate it, but if you indulge in it by like, making it a collage of compiled mehndi aesthetic to make a shape similar to what he wants, he’d beam about it for months, long after that design fades. He will take numerous pictures of it but they’re all blurry cause he uses a phone like a grandpa and only a few of them turn out slightly legible.

If you let him do one on you? Price’s entire body is filled with warmth. You’re letting him design something on your body? Something that has cultural relevance to you, and in a design he wants? He feels honoured. He will have the highest reverence for that moment, it feels like you’ve given him a tremendous amount of trust. Price will actually try to back away a few times as he feels he might not have the cultural relevancy to administer it, but if you insist, he’d be so ecstatic. He is going to do his absolute best, Captain’s honour! 

That being said, his drawing skills aren’t the best, so he’d try to talk about it a little bit. You’ll need to teach him how to grip and use the cone because otherwise its either too much or too little pressure, no in between. 

Sausage fingers again, so please keep some tissues on hand. It will take time, but he is meticulous, he wants to make you proud and do you justice. 

It comes out a little more austere than the usual flowery lines of traditional mehndi, but anyone can see it is made with love. Price is proud of it at the end, but will seek your approval before he dreams of celebrating that accomplishment. When you give your approval, he is glowing and thinking about any compliment you may have given him as he waits for sleep that night. 

Once the mehndi vanishes, he’s sad to see it go, but is eager for another one should you ever do it again. So every Eid or any type of holiday you may celebrate, he will pop in to check on you and if he sees you doing mehndi, he’ll sit down and ask if you can do some on him too. You didn’t hear this from me but he discovered Pinterest mehndi/henna designs and has a...hundred saved.

He really likes the mehndi and has a reverence for it now, and makes a point to sit with you and give even one greeting any time there is a cultural or religious holiday to celebrate it in some way with you. 

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

When he sees it he will automatically pull up a seat and sit next to you, eyes wide, staring at it. You’d think he was a scientist looking at a newly discovered microbe. 

The first thing out of his mouth is: ‘Bloody hell that’s gorgeous’. Is very intrigued. Eyeballing your design. 

Could sit and watch for hours. It feels therapeutic to him to just watch mindlessly as a cone leaves an artistic trail on your skin. Is absolutely hypnotized. 

Will be so glad if you tell him what you’re doing. Seriously, creativity is something he cannot appreciate enough. Probably the most viscerally appreciative of this art out of everyone. 

Will literally sit next to you watching for hours or talking non-stop with how happy he is to see this going on. There is no in between, don’t ask. Gaz deserves to speak. 

Please, please for the love of humanity tell him the history of it. Nerd wants to know. It. All. He will soak up the information like a sponge and will relentlessly look up designs and look at the history of it. He can’t believe this form of tattooing is that old! He can’t wait to gush about it with you, seriously. 

He would try to guess what your design is. He would watch the lines and try to predict what you’re going to draw next. It becomes a game between you both, and to humor him, sometimes, you would draw what he guessed. Hey, he gives good ideas. 

He will actually look up designs and marvel at them and give you ideas if you want. He’s very considerate of the art and wants to see how you do it. If you do the signs he suggests, he’d be over the moon! 

If you do some on him, he’d be out of orbit. He’s so pumped when you do something with mehndi on his skin, and he’ll show off the colours and designs to anyone he sees. Will gush for days and will whine when the design starts to fade. 

He really likes fictional characters so he will ask for symbols, logos, etc, but he will also try to incorporate the traditional mehndi designs as to him the traditions need to be respect regardless of his out-of-pocket requests for some mehndi designs. He will ask for memes I am so sorry.

If you let him do any mehndi designs on you...WHOOO BOI, his soul is A S C E N D E D. Out of this galaxy. He’s so thankful, he honestly is so honoured he is ready to give his life for you. 

He will ask what you’d like from him, and will do his absolute best, Soldier’s honour, he will use his steadiest hand. He’s very good with his hand-to-eye coordination, and he is very good at drawing from a reference and replicating it he’s not the best without one tbh

Will take his time and it will take a while. Perhaps a few hours, depending on how complicated or exact you want the design. He’ll try to challenge himself and also honour your hands with an intricate design so unless you have time, are able to go without food for a bit (or plan ahead and have it with you) and are okay with almost complete silence as Gaz works, choose something simpler. Please, he really wants to do good by you. When he’s done you will be floored I promise. 

Once the design fades he will ask when is the next time you do mehndi, and will respect your decision if you choose to do it only on holidays, but if you just whip out the tube and offer to do one, he’ll beam like the sun for the rest of the day. Nothing will happen to that smile no matter what. 

Has a high respect for the creative craft and can’t wait to see you the next time you do it, and is so heavily invested you’ll think he invented it. A wonderful buddy for the arts and cherishes the time and knowledge you gave him. 

Col. Alejandro Vargas

He literally stops to look the first time he sees it. ‘What are you doing, cariño?’

He lives in Las Almas, and there is Middle-Eastern history in Latin America including Mexico, so it is probable that he has seen women have these designs on them before, or knows of their existence and use. But the intricate designs are very much a subject of interest, and to see you do it makes him ponder if there is a special reason you’d do it. 

When you tell him why, he’s surprised as to why he didn’t connect the dots but he’ll sit down and watch, with your permission. He’ll talk to you as you do it, wanting to spend time with a friend and a religious holiday is the perfect excuse, no?

He’s not truly interested in history unless its the history of those who he knows or wants to know about, both friends and foes alike, but if you tell him he’ll gladly listen! He wants to get to know each and every one of his friends better and what better way than to listen to them. 

He will be a bit shook when you tell him that it’s thousands of years old. Like on the one hand it makes sense but on the other, they knew how to do this thousands of years ago? When you tell him the history he will interrupt a few times and converse with you, you’ll have to actually tell him if you need a moment to talk, but he is always respectful and engaged when you talk to him, a proper gentleman. 

While some from 141 may try to guess what you’ll do next, Alejandro will actually ask you what you’re drawing next, wondering if there is a process to the way you’re thinking of doing your designs. He will try to guess like Gaz, but mostly he will try to understand your own artistic visions and where they stem from. Psychology of Mehndi taught by Col. Alejandro Vargas, anyone?

If you ask him to bring you some food or water he is speedwalking and grabbing you as much nourishment as possible. If you’re doing something he can see is intricate he will make a whole meal platter because ‘your creative brain needs energy, no? and will cook you something quick and easy to eat. He will feed you though, not letting you touch or halt the process, because he’s that considerate. Just be careful when he tries to give you water, ask for a straw or you might clink your teeth against the glass when he tries to get you hydrated, bless him.

He’ll ask questions about the designs and your own experience with it, expressing a vested interest in your connection to the art as he’s more used to one type of culture, so if you come from a different culture then he’ll want to know about your own cultural experiences and compare. He will also tell you stories of the few times he’s seen mehndi on people. He will also try to pronounce it as closely as possible to the way you do, he has a lot of respect for different languages and cultures. 

If you offer to let him do a design he is both very honoured and also extremely nervous, simply because he had never done it before and while he is very good at using weapons, art was not his best subject in school and he will need guidance. Please be patient with him, and have some tissues ready to use, he will need the whole box by the end. He is determined to do your trust good.

Will make designs based upon his own iterations of what would be acceptable from what he’s seen of your designs and those of the past. He knows that it is often floral patterning, so he will try to make something unique. It might not be as intricate but one can easily see it is heartfelt.

If you let him sneak his name anywhere or sign his design? You’re forever one of his favourite people like that’s such a high honour to him, you’re family now. He is protecting you so hard for allowing him a chance to do something creative, nice and sweet. And if you show it off? The man’s chest is puffed up, and he never stops smiling. The rest of Los Vaqueros actually worry that something has happened to one of his enemies. 

Now, Alejandro knows it is originally an art meant for mostly women, so if you offer to do some for him, he will assess the situation and likely say he’s not sure or a soft no. If you insist upon it though, he will allow you one design, something preferably in a small place as he is at work often and so he will likely want to have it be small and personal and somewhat hidden, like the inside of his elbow or between his fingers, a small one inside his wrist, that kind of thing. If you still make it intricate, dear God he is the happiest alive. Will subtly show it off like Price would, too, as he is so proud to wear something by you. If anyone in Los Vaqueros makes fun of him for it though they’ve fucked up. No one insults a gift from you!

He prefers designs that are less floral but definitely has a softer aesthetic, and if you do something that depicts Mexican culture, he’s over the moon and will actually show it off all the time. He’d be more towards animal-like designs.

If you did one on him and it fades, he is sad to see it go but does not demand to make it happen again. He knows the religious importance and just subtly asks you when the next holiday is, and if you’re doing mehndi for it. But if you notice and just offer to touch it up he will not stop you. The soft look in his eye and his relaxed posture show how thankful he is to be treated to this.

Other members of Los Vaqueros may actually come to you too after seeing what you did for their leader, as Alejandro repays your artistry by telling others who are interested. On some days when there is no missions and it is a more civilian time, the partners and children of the Vaqueros may come to you too for mehndi/henna. You could make a business out of it, just saying. 

Rodolfo ‘Rudy’ Parra 

Purest angel is confused but so very into it. You’re putting paste onto your arm and its coming out in pretty designs? Wow! He needs to know more asap. 

He’s going to sit and stare at it, tilting his head and following the directions of your hand. He looks like a curious puppy as he quietly watches you. 

He is quiet curious, and will ask very quietly about what it is you are doing. If you tell him its for a religious celebration, he’ll listen intently. He will sit and listen to you without speaking or interrupting, saving any questions for last. Like Alejandro, he has some experience with differing cultures and wants to give you as much respect as he can, cause you do the same for him. 

You mean this is thousands of years old?! Is incredulous but in a good way. Genuinely cannot believe it but it makes him believe in humanity more because he thinks of it as representing innate human goodness in creation than destruction. Is genuinely impressed and will try to do more research on his own time.

When he hears its a religious celebration his heart kind of breaks and he looks like a wounded puppy cause he feels awful knowing that he’s done nothing, even if he’s not consciously at fault he does feel really bad. He’ll then spent the entire time you are doing your mehndi, and the rest of the day, doing everything your mind can come up with but first he’ll enjoy mehndi with you because that is what you’re doing right now. 

Tell him about your culture. PLEASE. He wants to hear more about the outside world and about the people he works with and would love love love to vicariously travel through you when you tell him about every experience you have had with mehndi. He needs to know so leave no detail out. 

Like Alejandro, he will not try to guess but will observe and ask what you’re making, wanting to hear the process and familiarize himself with the traditions of the art, or just your own style and creativity if you’re not going traditional. He just likes to see what others do, he likes observing people he almost got knocked out for it once by an angry misunderstanding Alejandro years ago but it never got too big and they’ve been friends since. It’s very different from traditional Mexican arts so he will be very interested to learn of it, a very visual learner. Stares at your arm the way a scientist stares into the microscope at a tardigrade of interest. Please forgive him he’s just very curious-

If you ask him to get you food or water he absolutely will because he was raised to be the most gentlemanly of gentlemen in Las Almas. He will give you water in a straw to prevent spilling and have some food that he can just scoop and make it easy for you to bite into at your own time, giving you pace to eat when you’re ready. He is an okay enough cook for simple recipes so expect something with eggs or veggies, something with little cleanup or change of breaking. He will hold the food out and let you eat when you’d like, or if its on a stick just let you munch off the skewer to prevent you from losing time. 

If you offer to do a design with him as an inspiration or part of it anywhere, he is going to whisper a thousand good wishes of health, luck, prosperity, fertility, wealth, happiness, wellness, safety, fortune, every blessing under the sun. You want to put something on your skin in remembrance of him? He is deceased. He will die and kill for you and name an operation after you, you’re the best-

He would love anything you do, even if its just his initials, and he will always always smile when he sees you in public. He would love his initials or name hidden like a signature on the fanciest cast even though there is no injury. Is so flattered. The more elaborate you do it, the closer he comes to grateful tears. 

If you offer to do some on him, his sleeves are getting rolled up faster than Snoop Dogg can roll a joint. He will excitedly hold out his hands and actually tells you to go ham. If you do take a minute or so to ask what he wants he’ll give an honest answer but it might be incoherent just cause he’s so excited. Will accept anything. He particularly likes the lattice-work, as it looks like intricate lace, and a few flowers are cool too! But you get infinite respect points if you use historical references of Mexican culture and literature or environment in the design. The man will be floored so hard he’ll come out the other side of the globe. 

Will try to show off the mehndi when he has a chance and he gives zero fucks if anyone says anything because both he and Alejandro will beat their ass. Is not going to be loud about it but the smile on his face and the consistent flexing in the sun trying to show it off is enough for people to get the obvious hint to look at it. 

If you let him to one one you, he’ll actually try to pull back, as he feels it might be disrespectful to take hold of the actual item rather than just having someone from that culture doing it onto him. It will take some time for him to give in, like a while. He actually doesn’t want to do it. If you just let him do something small though, he’ll be much easier to negotiate with. Also, he’s insecure about his hand-eye coordination, so he’ll just make small cute things and its really up to you to connect them or leave them be. He will most likely do floral patterns on you, flowers or vines or something simple and easy to do that can be easily integrated into your own style and design. 

When the design fades, it makes him slightly sad but its completely up to you if you want to do it again. He’ll never say no to another application, as he sees it as a chance to get creative, but it will be totally up to you. 

Like Alejandro, will ask when the next holiday is because he is invested in the lives of his friends, and he will forever do whatever he can to make sure that you have a chance to celebrate it with your beloved tradition. He will literally just buy you a new tube of mehndi whenever you ask, will go shopping with you for it because he believes you know best. Purest boy, protect him. 

Sources: 

Barraza Carlos, Arabs in Mexico. Assimilation and Cultural Heritage (link)

Bonus: Phillip ‘Shadow-1′ Graves 

Fucker thinks its weird and teases you about it

But if others around the base do it he’s like ‘oh wow that shit rocks’ 

Gets jealous and wants one 

Note: Absolutely not 💖🖕🏽

[mutantthedark]

Happy friday, folks! I have an annoucement to make...

Next month I'm not gonna post anything because of exams (っ◞‸◟ c) BUT... there are some exciting news!

Since one of you really curious about Sigma more...

I'M PLANNING TO WRITE HER STORY SOON!! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

You'll find out how she met Soap and the others, she'll face the dangerous situations, betrayal... and her childhood... how her parents were killed...

But don't get confused if I change the story a little bit because I'm planning to! But please, bare with me, like I said before, I'm not a good writer and my English is really bad...

Have a lazy drawing poster of her! (I wasn't in the mood to put colors)

Without the brave efforts of all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines and their families, this Nation, along with our allies around the world, would not stand so boldly, shine so brightly and live so freely. - Lane Evans

[lolchicsa]

Skulls and Chaos

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, nsfw, description of gore

Part 1 of 2: smut in next part (link here)

No use of y/n

Loosely follows the events of the ‘Alone’ mission. Reader’s vacation was ruined by Shadow Company going on a genocidal rampage :( But fear not dear reader! Mr Ghost is here to make it better ;P

A/N: First time using Tumblr to post stories and using mobile to write this. Apologies for bad grammar, it’s been a while, and I have no idea what to tag for this story. Story inspiration comes from a post by @fanficsforfun so here’s my twist on it.

Chaos.

The streets of Las Almas could be described using only one word. Chaos…

Usually, at this time of night, children would be asleep, lovers back in their homes and just a set few would be enjoying the dreamy sight of stars littering the night sky. It is truly a beautiful place to visit, if you can ignore the cartel’s presence that is. The cartel is known for being violent… but this… this was different. This wasn’t the cartel.

The screams and cries of children and parents echoed through the city. Gunfire sounded off at irregular intervals, surrounding me in fear. I had abandoned my hotel room when the screams first started, trying to find my way out in this maze of a city. The first dead body I had come across was that of a young boy. A trail of blood, starting from a small hole in his head, ended on the ground in a pool of crimson liquid. At first, I was fear stricken and unable to look away.

My reality felt surreal, a distant nightmare I could escape when my mind decided to end the torture. But no, I wasn’t dreaming, I was wide awake and running for my life. I officially lost count of how many dead bodies I unfortunately came across after seeing an alleyway filled with them. I wanted to cry, to curl up in a ball and forget the world exist. But I couldn’t bring myself to do so.

Exhaustion took over a few minutes ago, leaving me walking through the streets of death alone and on edge. The sound of death still polluted the air, I was trying my best to avoid the gunfire and escape. Easier said then done, trust me. It felt like the chaos was following me, taunting me with thoughts of escape.

And then I heard voices. Must be a sick joke my mind was playing on me. Logically, I knew there was very little chance of finding a living soul, but hope has shimmering at the back of my mind. Maybe these people can help me, maybe they know how to escape. I travelled closer to the orchestra of voices until I noticed something… odd.

They where speaking calmly to one another, acting like this was a pleasant walk instead of hell on earth. It made me uneasy, but something caught my attention. Their accents. Not to different then my own, but definitely a rarity around here. Americans.

I round a corner and there I saw them. All black tactical gear, guns, knives, they looked ready for war. My heart leaped into my throat, a surge of newfound adrenaline propulsed me closer to them. These soldiers most be here to bring an end to this chaos.

“Man, that Ghost guy gives me the creeps” One said, the pack turning their attention to him. They where huddled close together, seemingly enjoying a 10 minute break of freedom before continuing on. A few snickers broke the silence following the soldiers comment.

“It’s only one guy, c’mon he can’t do much against all of us” replied another.

“Don’t forget about the other one” a third chimed in. Their conversation helped keep their attention off of the street corner I was currently stalking. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in eavesdropping on these guys. The more you know, the better right?

“You mean the one that goes by Soap? Ha! What kind of name is that anyways? How can you be scared of a guy like that!”

“An angry Scotsman is not to be trifled with, trust me”

“Man if you get killed by someone named after a cleaning product, no matter what he is, you’ll be a laughing stock in whatever hell we end up in”

“Oh so getting shanked by Ghost is better?”

As far as conversations goes, this might be the worst one I have had the privilege of eavesdropping on. Their arguing… over names? I don’t get it.

“Hey you! We know your there! Come out with your hands in the air and slowly walk towards the middle of the street” yelled on of the soldiers. The command was directed towards my general area and my stomach dropped. Anxiety started prickling through my veins, thoughts racing through my head a mile a second.

Just do as they say, my conscious brain screamed. It’s the only way to survive this nightmare. With that, I made my way towards the middle of the street with my hands up, just like I was told.

“Mind explaining to me what you are doing here ma’am?” asked one of the soldiers. From the looks of things, he seems to be the leader of this rag tag group of men. He’s got the scariest voice of them all, I would say. Sounds like the type of guy you can easily trust, but would stab you in the back if he had too. He didn’t have a gun pointed at me, not yet anyways, but he did have a death grip on his rifle.

“Please, I mean no harm. I was here on vacation and I just want to go back home” I begged.

“You’re American? Odd to see you here. You’ve got ID to prove your story miss?” His grip on his rifle loosened and his posture reflected that of a calm man. I started searching through my small purse, searching for the requested object.

The moments leading often where a blur. Adrenaline had left my system, leaving me tired and emotional. I remember giving my ID to the man, which I now know goes by Graves. Something in him changed, going from the on edge soldier to overprotective best friend. One of his men was ordered to strip off his armor plate and give it to me. A jacket was placed over my shoulder, a signet stitched on the jacket sleeves. I was told it was their company’s logo… Shadow company.

Graves had me follow a couple of his men out of the city to safer location. They where ordered to protect me with their lives. I felt safe, like really safe. Here I was, following three armed men, tasked with protecting me, out of this city of nightmares and closer to my warm bed back home. Currently, our small group was engaged in conversation. The topic? Well…

“These guys don’t play around. All this death? They caused it. We don’t know why, but we’re tasked with hunting them down” specified one of my bodyguards.

“Specifically that Ghost guy. He has this weird mask thing he wears all the time. It’s like a skull and it covers most of his face. Scary fucker” another added.

I hear admiration when they describe this guy, that and fear. My gut tells me there is more they are keeping from me. Part of me couldn’t give two shits, but another was curious.

Fwoosh

My brain froze, my body stopped moving. The world shifted, the quiet chatter turned into loud commands I couldn’t make out. I saw red. Blood red. This time not painted on walls or flowing down the cheeks of children. This time, I saw it spray out of the neck of one of my new friends. A blade had materialized out of thin air, implanting itself into the soldiers neck.

His body made a sickening sound as it hit the ground. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, but fear stricken as I was, I could only watch. Watch as the other two had knives plunged into their throats like the first. Watch as lifeless bodies hit the floor.

My body moves, but not because I ordered it to do so. The colours shift into each other, sky and ground blurring together. It only last a couple seconds, but has an everlasting effect on me. Slowly, my senses come back to me and I realize something is very very wrong.

It’s him.

It’s the man with the skull face mask.

It’s Ghost.

He’s the first thing I see when my vision finally focuses. I’m to unfocused to realize what’s going on, but I can feel a wall behind me. His eyes are staring into mine, hands holding me tightly to the wall behind me. I can feel the heat radiating of his body and I can’t help but feel attracted to it.

That’s when I realize he’s shouting at me, but I’m having a hard time making out what he’s saying. I feel trapped, unable to move, forced to keep eye contact with this dangerous killer. His eyes are mesmerizing. I can’t look away, I can’t focus on anything other then his eyes.

“Tell me where Graves is and I promise to give you a quick death”

His words still sounded unclear, but the anger rolling off of them helped snap me out of my daze. This is the killer the soldiers were talking about, the dead soldiers. He killed them… just like he killed everyone else. Fear gripped my soul, my fight or flight instincts finally kicking in. I started trashing about, trying to loosen his hold on me. The wall of pure muscle in front of me didn’t seem fazed by my attempts to escape.

“Answer me now, shadow bitch. I’m losing my patience!”

His hand bolted towards my throat and gripped it with a force I have never felt before. It was getting hard to breath, my already tired body didn’t know how to react. He wasn’t playing around, he’s making that very clear. I have a feeling he’s the type to not make empty threats, especially when it comes to death threats.

Wait, did he call me “shadow bitch”? Hold on.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! I’m not part of that group! I just stumbled upon them and they were gonna bring me home! I swear! They were protecting me!”

His grip on my throat relaxed and for a second I thought I was in the clear. That’s until he moved impossibly closer to me. My head rested on the wall behind me, tilted up so I could keep eye contact with the behemoth in front of me. Our chests was flush to each others. His breath slowly fanned over my face, his warmth bringing some sense of safety.

We stood in silence, staring at each other for awhile. I had to remind myself of the atrocities this man committed… the children he killed. But something felt off.

“Why… why do want to know where Graves is? Are you going to kill him? Like you killed these civilians?” My tone was shaky, filled with whatever authority I had left. I hope this doesn’t get me killed.

Instead, the man stepped back from me, leaving an empty void where his warmth was moments ago. He acted like I had just stabbed him through the heart… if he even has one that is.

“What? You think I am responsible for this genocide? No, the Shadow’s are responsible for that”

This new information served to confuse me even more then I already was. Did Graves lie to me? Or is Ghost lying to me? Who to trust? Graves did seem like the lying type, and if Ghost really was behind all this, why was he being so nice? Well, as nice as someone could be in a situation like this, I should say.

“We have to move. Forget about Graves, survival is a priority. If the Shadows find you with me, they will kill you” His tone suggested he wasn’t lying about that last part. My gut told me to trust him, follow him. So I did and I don’t regret a thing.

A/n: omg I’m finally out of writing hibernation and boy does it feel good. I plan on making shorter stories that focuses more on smut eventually because Ghost melts my brain and I need to share. Pardon any grammatical errors and the fact that I split this in two. Any criticism is welcome, like straight up tell me if this is shit cause I’m trying to get better. Might do story requests if people are interested enough. Anyways, I hope every single one of y’all has a great day!