LOVE

REAL

This is how i imagined 141 looking at Konig when he's added to the story with no context:

Also, when he's replacing Gaz.. like, who is this guy..

first mini fanfiction im so sorry if its horrible guys im trying😭🫶 (disclaimer: hate will be blocked and removed, this is jst smth silly i thought maybe ppl will be intrested in, may be spelling errors and grammar errors)

pink is yn, pink and slanted is yns thoughts, blue is ghost

Ghost being your mentor in the 141

-

Youve just arrived at the 141 base a few weeks ago, your previous CO has bumped you up to a higher role, joining the 141. Which means higher pay, higher respect and more experience!

0630, training begins. On your way to the gym, you check the bulltin board in the hallway, which reads what higher up youll be training one on one with. Oh no. Ghost. Look, its not like you have bad blood with Ghost, hes just well.. huge, and very scary. Well thats probably better then Soap, whoever that is. Whats with his callsign? must be a good cleaner.

You make your way to the gym, opening the door and taking in your soroundings, all the rookies, a few of them being roudy and shoving eachother around, a man with a bucket hat and a beard... and the infamous skull masked man staring directly at you. Shit. You lock eyes. Staring compititon? Maybe? No? Is he zoned out? Whats happening right now? He beckons you over with a nod, you slowly approach.

"Hi."

He nods. "Ghost. Your trainer."

He speaks?

"Hi."

"Youve already said that."

Whoops.

You look up at him in fear.

He sighs.

"Name?"

"Y/n."

He walks to the sparring mat, expecting you to follow. You follow. He turns to face you.

"Lets start with the basics. Step up on the mat."

You step up.

"Stand like this." He stands like hes prepared to fight.

You copy. Your not very good at copying.

"No. Like this. Fists higher up."

"I am?"

"No your not."

He grabs your wrists and adjusts your stand.

"Better, Try and throw a punch."

You awkwardly throw a punch at his side. He dodges

"That was shit, harder. Be quicker on your feet."

You throw another punch at his gut, actually hitting him.

"Better, not hard enough."

You punch again. It hits his side.

"Harder."

You punch and miss.

"Harder."

You punch harder.

"Atta girl. Again."

You throw a punch, instead of just dodgong, he dodges and grabs your fist and sweeps undrr your legs.

You fall. Your on the ground. This is embarrassing.

-

Uhhh, past 2? this is short i dont plan on making it a full fanfiction but maybe?

I’M TIRED OF SMUT, I WANT TOOTH ACHING FLUFF AND HEART SHATTERING ANGST.

👑Platonic cod with a younger reader who has adhd and got extremely over stimulated by rude soldiers? (People suck)

Thank ya😙

K first of all I don't know hoooow tf I missed that you made a request, thank you, and I gotchu (people do in fact suck).

I'm not sure if I wrote out what you asked for, but this is what I came up with. I do hope you like it.

(This will be a gn!reader I hope that's ok!)

Platonic!141 x gn!reader

Warning: bullying, swearing, badly written fight scenes, actually just bad writing in general.

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Working with the best of the best comes with a very heavy burden.

For one thing, all of your relationships end up in the gutter or strained even if they're family, friends, or even actual people you're interested in.

But this was an outlet for you to better yourself.

It gave you a routine, and it taught you discipline.

Even if all you wanted to do was sit down and let your mind spiral for even a moment. Even if you wanted to get up from your seat and just fucking move.

How you ended up here is something you have a hard time understanding. But you climbed your way to the top. You've earned your place. So well in fact you've found a home with Laswell. She introduced you to John, and thanks you him, you have a new calling.

Unfortunately, that leads everything full fucking circle.

You start over again. The only ones who know who you are are John and Laswell. The other three know you, but from passing conversations when you're in meetings with them.

They just know you as the backup thanks to Price.

At first such a name easily put you down. No matter what you did, it wouldn't chance the way you felt about certain things. Like if there was a new mission, how everyone treated you like some low-man. Someone to just clean their shit everywhere they fucking go.

And to see the pity come from Garrick or the words of assurance from MacTavish. Oh, you felt tiny.

You just tried to fit in as best as you fucking could.

So you thought maybe making some friends would do you some good.

Until that turns out to be your biggest regret.

Every mistake someone else made, your name had to get thrown in there somehow.

One soldier didn't strap something down, right?

"(L/n) was supposed to help."

Another soldier didn't show up for inventory?

"(L/n) was holding me up."

Soldiers made a riot coming back into the barracks?

"Had to be all (L/n). Rather loud that one."

Jesus Christ, it was incredible the way your name was being drugged through the mud. Eventually, you just stopped interacting with people altogether unless it was absolutely necessary.

Like right now. It's sparring time with your teams. The 141 were busy training among themselves while you were left with your usual 'team.'

One of them straight up walked right up to you, leaning in close so you were the only one who heard. "Honestly, a runt like you doesn't fuckin' belong here." they snicker. "You really think the 141 took a liking to you? You only got to where you were because you got Laswell wrapped around your little finger."

You roll your eyes, ripping away from them before stepping up to the ring. The previous pair had ended their session.

The original partner you were sparring made no sign to move, until you realized the soldier who was just talking to you was making their way into the ring.

You sigh in defeat, unable to think of a reason to get back out. What were you gonna do? Cry about? This wasn't a schoolyard, this was the military.

"Whenever you're ready, runt."

Unbeknownst to you, a few sets of eyes were on you, and not just from your training group surrounding the ring like a pack of wolves.

You felt trapped. You felt targeted. For a while of this happening, it was just too much in this instance. Your head wasn't in the fucking game.

Without that focus, that soldier took you down like you weighed absolutely nothing. One grab and a trip over his foot, you were on your back.

Not even the blows you were landing on the side of his face were doing you any good. Eventually, you did get the upper hand, only to humiliatingly get kicked right in the head.

Everything went dark after the pain blossomed from that side.

This wasn't you. You knew that. You knew you were so much better than this. But how the absolute hell were you to fight this without getting into some drama?

How were you going to prove to those asswipes you belonged here?

Waking up, you squint your eyes at the blinding white light just above you. Blinking to settle them, your sight lands on Price sitting in the corner right next to the door.

His arms are leaning on the armrest as his eyes bore into yours.

For a second you don't say anything until he clears his throat. But even then, he beats you to it.

"Seems I came at the perfect time." He grins. It's small, almost friendly. With a level of professionalism behind it. "Was wanting to talk to you about what happened."

Like a balloon, you feel yourself deflate. Your eyes refuse to meet his after that sentence and all you let out is a quiet, "Oh."

The captain coughs, a light smoker cough you would guess before sitting forward and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"That soldier you were sparring with. Has there been any altercation with 'em?" Price asked, earnestly curious. "Maybe something that was done a while ago that hadn't been brought to my attention?"

You inhale, holding your breath. This felt childish. Right? Tattle-telling on a soldier?

It wasn't like you guys weren't already fighting so...if anything this was on you. It had to be. You just need to better your skills. There is always going to be someone better. There is always going to be someone stronger. There is always something-

"(L/n)." Price interrupts your racing thoughts. "It's up to you if you want to say something. You're not in trouble."

He stands, his hand holding his wrist right in front of him as he slowly walks towards the foot of your bed.

He reaches over, tying your bootlaces as he speaks.

"I know you, (L/n). You're strong. But I'm sure you know there is always someone stronger. That's why your speed and that mind of yours are what drew Laswell to you. You know this."

You finally let a long breath out of your nose, blinking rapidly. "I know."

"Good."

Price gently finishes the bow he made out of your laces, and pats your boot. Another sly smile on his face. "Well, you know," He continues, "This isn't a friendship club. We're all adults here. And you surely won't get in trouble if you know..."

He stares into your eyes knowingly. "...decide you've had enough of the bullshit. Right?"

Your brows slowly furrow in, unsure if you're reading his words correctly. But he doesn't elaborate further. Instead, he turns and walks to the door. "Oh by the way," He turns to look at you. "Ghost and the others will be handling your training during your conditioning hours. Be on time now, (Y/n)."

With that, he slips out the door, leaving you to dwell on his hidden messages. If that's what you should call it.

...

"Again."

You groan from the ground, eyes landing on the hand in front of you and the grin from Soap. "Come on, then. Up ye go." He quips as he pulls you to your feet.

"Try tha' again. And remember to put all that strength into that kick. That's yer knockout. Ghost? Ready?"

The lieutenant's brown eyes bore into yours. It reminds you of Price sitting intensely in the corner of the medical room. Fighting the lieutenant doesn't feel as...well...violent? If that's the right term to use.

Sure this lean, mean, killing machine is a much harder target to fight. But you can't complain. Especially since he is kicking your fucking ass.

"If you step to the left again," Ghost warns. "You'll be rollin' off the side of that ring."

Yeah. Safe to say you've been at this for a while now.

Before you can even begin, the door to the gym opens and a whistle sounds out. "Tav!" Sergeant Garrick's voice sounds out. "Price needs you!"

Soap breathes out his nose before nodding towards you. "Strengthen that kick, you'll have the fucker down before he even blinks." He speaks as he starts to walk to the doorway. Something tells you he isn't referring to Ghost.

The sergeants tap each other, sort of like they tap each other into a situation, which brings a small chuckle to your face.

"Come on, (L/n)." Ghost calls to you. "Need your focus, not trying to send you back to medical."

The recent memory deflates your newfound joy just as Garrick reaches the end of the ring. Before you could even take your stance, you see Ghost wag his finger at you. "Try that again."

You frown. "Sorry?"

You begin to maneuver your stance, thinking you were off balance or something of the sort before he walks up to you and pokes you right between your collarbone.

"When someone is fucking nitpicking you. Stop givin' them a reaction." He grunts. "They know how to hurt you. People you trust would even use that against you."

Garrick leans on one of the ropes, adding in. "Keep your face straight when you're up against someone." He points to Ghost. "If you can't see their emotions, you can't predict their next move."

Just as he says that Ghost becomes lax, looking into your soul with his hands to his sides. You swallow a groan, feeling your body screaming at you.

Like, you fully believed Sergeant Garrick, Ghost really didn't have to show you what he meant.

But then the lieutenant just starts...stalking around you. The both of you go in circle after circle until he finally,

and might I say finally,

strikes.

You jump in your skin, feeling one arm go around your waist, the other hoisting the rest of you up and just dropping down onto the mat with a loud 'oof'. The impact takes the wind right out of you.

You lay there for a moment, with half of the 141 task force staring at your position.

"You really didn't have to do all that." You wheeze out. "I fully believed you."

A hand is outreached to you, and with mild (not so mild) hesitation, you take it. Ghost pats you on the back as you take your walk of shame to the bench right on the side, next to Gaz.

"You know, that was a lot more patience than we thought you were gonna show." He smiles. "Truly. The amount of times Ghost gets Soap with that trick? Never gets old."

He reaches behind you, grabbing a water bottle that was passed to him by your lieutenant and handing it to you. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen you make that first move before, Ghost."

The lieutenant chuckles, leaning on the ring. "No. The little soldier had me tired of waiting." He opens his own bottle, picking it up to his lips. "You could really use tha' the next time that prick wants to give you shit."

You frown, confused. "What do you-"

"Soldier," Gaz sighs. "We see the way you let these tossers treat you. You could have said or done something about it a lot sooner."

You're quiet for a moment before sitting up straight and taking another drink of water. "Just don't want to cause issues. Laswell wanted me to take care of myself."

"But to let these nobody's treat you like shit? For the sake of laying low when you don't have to?" Gaz's words have you making eye contact with him. He's staring at you as if he's trying to pull you apart, find out something that really isn't hard to find.

You don't like confrontation. Never was your strong suit. If you needed something shut down, it was difficult to do on your own.

Not impossible sure, but when you're constantly the punching bag it takes a toll on your confidence.

Hell, that's why you joined the military. What else did you have going for yourself?

"Yeah...I guess I just didn't wanna hurt anyone."

"Well, we're not telling you to kill anyone." Ghost cuts in. His steel eyes bore into yours. "Not now anyways."

At that, and you're not sure why, but you crack a smile. Nodding you finish off your water bottle and stand up.

"Am I excused, sir?" You look to Ghost, who only nods his head.

"See you tomorrow, soldier."

...

The next day, both the sergeants and the lieutenant meet you in the gym. It's eerily empty again, save for a few stragglers talking in the corner.

Soap spots you first, giving you a grin. "Righ' on time. In the ring, now."

A sigh leaves your lips as he ducks under and over the bars of the ring, seeing as you're fighting the most excited member today.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did ye wan' Gaz to be in front of ye? We can arrange tha'-"

"No!" You hiss out. "No, please God, no. This is fine. Just...just don't do that fucking thing with your arm and your thumb."

Gaz heaves a large sigh. "Soap we told you to stop doin' that to the rookies."

"Aye, but they're not a rookie now? Are they?" Soap grins.

"MacTavish."

"Aye, sir."

You laugh, setting down your items before joining Soap in the ring. "Alright. What are we working on today?"

The room falls silent, watching as the smile remains on the sergeant's face but then he leans back into the ropes, shrugging.

"Last day of conditioning. Just wanted to talk."

Your brows furrow. "Sorry?"

"You heard him." Ghost calls from behind you, on the other side of the barricade. "You're just talking."

"Aye." Soap puts his hands behind his back, walking towards you. "And just know, truly, 's nothin' personal."

Confusion hits you harder than any punch you received this week. You didn't know what that meant. Nor what it could mean. It scared you only for a moment until Soap reached out and shoved you off balance.

Immediately, you try and position yourself before he tuts at you. "Nae. I'm not fightin' ye today."

You lower your hands, the body still tensed because you don't know what's happening.

"Sorry, I'm lost here."

"Aye. Small minded. Cannae says I'm surprised."

What?

"Sorry?"

"Stop apologizing." The sergeant snaps. "We'll have to work on tha' too."

You're arms crossed, almost like you're guarding yourself. A confused smile breaks through your face, and now you're really unsure of what the fuck is happening.

"Can someone explain to me-"

"Ye need an explanation?" Soap sneers. "Need someone to hold yer fuckin' hand all the time?"

He's walking right next to you, going around you like a shark in the water. "How have ye made it this fuckin' far?" He laughs, and a deep grave tone settles in his voice. "Ye think people owe ye the respect we've earned?"

Ouch. Yeah, that one hurt a bit. You've only been a part of this task force for a fucking year. And you assumed you and Soap formed a small friendly bond.

"How did ye survive selection." he continues. "Honestly. The amount of fuckin' crap ye must've tapped away on should be extraordinary."

"Dude." You scoff. "What the fuck is happening?"

"Again with the fuckin' questions. Ye really think you're gonna get any answers," for once, from this weird interrogation (if that's what you call it), he hesitates. His eyes glance at Ghosts, staring before he nods. You don't even get the chance to say anything or even look behind you before he hits you with it. "A runt like ye doesn't belong here."

The room falls silent. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

If it wasn't for the way Soap's Adam's apple was bobbing around, you would've taken him very seriously. His eyes refused to leave yours. But you can see the nervousness.

You understood what this was.

Your anger dies down, and you fight any emotion that threatens to come up. It's not easy. You spent years trying to control your emotions. Holding things in, disassociating as a coping mechanism.

This is not the time nor the place to do that, however.

"Nothing to say? Runt?" Soap smirks. It's breaking him.

"Runt's never have a thing to fuckin say. Too busy worrin' bout-"

"Say somethin', (L/n)." Ghost states in the middle of the sergeant's degradation. "Go on then. Give him what he wants."

'Try that again.' the lieutenant's voice goes through your head. 'They know how to hurt you. People you trust can use that against you.'

"Come on then. Say somethin'." Soap hisses right beside your ear. "Aren't ye just dying to run along? Tell me? What'd ye plan on doing, runt?"

You stay rigid as can be. Your eyes never leave a spot you choose to stare at. If you stared at it long enough, you can just mentally check out of this. It'll go by faster.

"Yer just gonna stand there, are ye? Keepin' quiet like a good little solder? Doin as yer told-"

Your eyes snap to his. Emotionless, with a cold smile on your face.

It successfully stops Soap from whatever he was going to say next. The both of you stare at one another for a moment before Soap is the first to break. "Good." He grins. "You finished your last training."

Soap pats you on your shoulder, walking away from you until he's out of the ring.

"What the fuck was that...?" You question. "What You just...hurt my fuckin' feelings and call it training?"

"If we gave you a sticker would you feel better?" Gaz asks, sarcasm dripping though his teeth. "We're teaching you what to do the next time you're in a pinch."

Ghost knocks on the ring floor from his side. "You can't always use your fist, (L/n). But you can always trust that minimal interaction is the best way to get them frustrated."

"And if they decide they need to get physical," Gaz points to Soap, as the other sergeant sits on the bench, finishing his sentence. "Then ye have full authority to let loose!"

"To an extent." Ghost warns.

You blink up at the ceiling, light huffs of laughter breaking from your throat. "You guys are tellin' me," You walk towards the edge, leaning on the ropes. "That this is all because you want me to-"

"earn your respect, (L/n)." The Captain's voice rings out from the entryway. "Show these muppets just why you were handpicked for us."

...

The next team training came a lot sooner than you thought. You've had minimal interaction with the prior group until you were in sparring teams again. What was supposed to be four groups of six, ended up turning into a giant turn-taking fight. People were standing off to the sides, watching the fights go on.

The same asshole from before walks right up to you, standing shoulder to shoulder as you watched the first two soldiers go at it.

It ends with one picking the other up, and dropping him upon his side, a sticking crack sounding from the fall.

A series of 'ooohs' goes around the ring, even the winner kneeling before his partner and helping him out of the ring.

"Take him to medical." The Captain excuses them. He turns to you, motioning to the ring. "You're up (L/n)."

You choose not to make a sound, nor give much of a reaction. Until the asshole's name gets called out to enter with you. His sickening laugh prickles your skin as you make eye contact with all three of the other members across the gym. They each nod at you before you turn around and face your opponent.

"You ready for another beatdown, runt?" He smirks, fists up.

"Keep it focused, Soldiers. if you have time to talk, you have time to waste. And I don't want my fucking time wasted." Price hollers from the side.

Your opponent grins at you, watching your every move. You don't take a stance right away. Your arms appear limp y your sides as you begin to circle each other. You're on high alert, unsure if you would be at this for some time like your training with the lieutenant.

"Come on, runt. You gonna make a move?" He teases. "Come on. Show me that big guy mental the boy showed you this week."

His comment breaks you. A smile cracks through your facade and you can hear Soap speak. "Show time."

Your opponent's patience wears thin, as he rushes and throws a punch right to your left side. Where you had the habit of turning to. But you step to your right, reel back your hand, and land a punch right to his throat.

The soldiers around wince and groan at the sight. But you take no moment to stop before you wrap an arm around his waist and flip him over when the other lifts his legs over your shoulder.

He hits the ground with a loud thud, immediately trying to get back up. His sight must've not been all there, as he stumbles and lands on his knee. "Piece of fucking shit-"

"Oh shut up." You groan out before you swing your leg around, your heel meeting his jaw, and knocking him out.

You sigh, relief flooding your veins as you put an arm up in victory. Turning to the guys with a bright, toothy grin on your face.

"There's that bright smile." Laswell chuckles beside Price. "Hasn't done that in some time."

The captain nods, watching as you make your way straight to his three teammates, each of them patting you with their own words of praise.

"Oh, yes." He sends you his own nod of approval when you turn to look at him with a light that seems to return to your eyes. "Glad it came back."

Thanks for requesting- so sorry it took forever to come out.

Please comment and/or reblog I'd appreciate it! Requests are open!

Caulder in hunter green

pov: movie night with the riley’s 🫶

AAAA

pov: you just looked up from flirting with sgt. mactavish for the past half hour in the rec room wyd

Simon riley as not-terrible-but-struggling dad hcs :

Simon really thought he could do kids. For you. After all, you managed him, didn’t you? You loved him gently, without breaking him. You softened the edges of his sharp, jagged past, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t the monster his father had always painted him to be.

But when it came to his own children? It wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just flip a switch. He couldn’t be gentle like you were. With them, there was no softness in his hands, no warmth in his words.

He was too afraid, always second-guessing, always wondering if the anger he fought so hard to bury would surface. He promised himself he’d never turn out like his father, but the fear never left. And now, standing there, unable to reach his kids the way you reached him.

"He’s Your Dad, There Will Always Be Some of him in you" His mother’s words would haunt him. Some nights, while deployed, he would stare at pictures of his kids and wonder if the parts of himself he hates are already in them — if he’s ruined them without even meaning to. (He'd never say this aloud, not even to you.)

When he’s home, he would stand in doorways a lot, just watching. He doesn’t really know how to join in. If the kids are playing, he’ll awkwardly clear his throat and maybe say, "Crack on," before walking away.

If he tries to play with them, it's stiff, military-like "Right, team, operation clean up toys" and the kids just kind of stare at him like he's grown a second head.

His eldest looks up to him desperately, but Simon is so afraid of 'messing him up' that he keeps him at arm’s length. It kills him, because deep down, he wants to throw the football around, teach him how to build things, even just sit on the floor and play video games — but he doesn't know how to be there without feeling like a fraud.

He’s even worse with the girls. He thinks he's too rough, too cold for little girls who deserve someone softer. Once, his youngest proudly handed him a card, the words "Velcom back dady" scribbled on it in crooked letters. It made Simon’s heart swell, but the warmth in his chest but he didn’t know what to say beyond a simple "Thank you" and an awkward hug, followed by a quick kiss on the cheek.

He felt like he should do more, like he should say something meaningful, but all that came out was a stiff smile and a quick retreat into his own discomfort.

He kept every card, every messy scribble, locked safely in his drawer, a secret place where he could look at them when the weight of being a father became too much. But no matter how much he treasured those little moments, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his kids, especially his daughter, thought he didn’t appreciate them. That maybe, in their eyes, he wasn’t doing enough.

He watched how natural you are with them. How you can make them laugh until they’re red faced, how you know exactly what to say when they cry. And somewhere deep inside, he resents himself becausw he thought he'd be better for you.

But he is the dad who checks the locks three times before going to bed. Who makes sure the first aid kit is fully stocked. Who taught his son how to throw a proper punch "just in case" but can’t tell him he’s proud out loud. His love comes out in safety, in protection but not words, not warmth.

He genuinely believes his kids prefer you. And it's true. He tells himself he’s just the "boring parent," the "strict one," the one they tolerate until he goes away again. (The reality is, they miss him constantly. They just don’t know how to bridge the gap either.)

His son once left a drawing on Simon’s desk, a picture of the whole family holding hands, and Simon stared at it for an hour, too scared to pick it up.

And when all three of them in their teenage years, they've entered that "I hate everyone" phase, and if things weren't strained before, it's worse now. The snide remarks, the cold stares, the refusal to engage, it all hurts more than he admits. And he tries not to take it personally but damn.

One evening, Simon catches his eldest daughter sneaking out of the house, heading toward a car that's waiting outside. It's late, and she's dressed up, clearly for a date. He watches from the shadows, unsure of what to do. He doesn't want to be the overbearing father who controls every move she makes.

He doesn't know how to approach it without making her feel trapped, especially when he's barely ever around to set any kind of example. Instead, he stays back, watching as she disappears into the night.

Whenever you try to talk to him about it, Simon nods and says, "Yeah, you're right. It's just a phase," but he never admits that part of him feels useless. He feels like an outsider, like his kids would rather be anywhere but with him.

He doesn't voice it because he knows it's irrational, they're growing up, they're becoming independent, but the guilt lingers. He doesn't know how to connect with them when all they seem to want is space, and that makes him feel like he's failing them.

(honestly cried a little thinking too much about it bcs most of this just me projecting my own relationship with my father) (I'm sorry)

"I love Kentucky"