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doodling a bunny vs doodling a hare

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I refrogged it

Boss is asleep, cannot stop me from frogposting

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Same Timezone

John 'Soap' MacTavish / fem!Reader

Summary:  Johnny is finally coming home to his girlfriend.

Content:   pure fluff, long-distance relationships, coming-home-from-deployment, civilian girlfriend

Word Count:  1.4k

Notes: For @buzzyb33 who asked for a continuation of Different Timezones! 🫶🏻 However, this can also be read as a standalone piece.🤍 I hope y'all are ready to meet my favorite oc character: Soap's grandma.

Johnny’s leg bounced nervously as he watched the citylights and snowflakes drift past the window of his taxi. Glasgow had been blessed by some heavy early snow instead of rain this year, people milling about on the sidewalks with thick scarfs and red cheeks, an old man complaining as he tugged his dog along.

He saw it, but didn’t actually take anything that was happening around him in. 

His flight had been delayed by almost two hours, and his thunderous mood must have shown on his face, since not even the usual (and quite lovely) customs control lady, Martina, had said a word about his newly collected passport stamps. She’d just waved him through in a hurry after checking his gun licence, casting nervous glances at Johnny. Maybe he’d bring some cookies around when he left for deployment as an apology. 

But, in his defence, he was late for his own coming-home party. 

So late in fact, that Johnny was sure no one was waiting for him any longer, and that their friends and his family had all gone home before the forecast blizzard hit. 

He’d only gotten his request for leave approved at the very last moment, and taken the next flight home two days later. His phone had died approximately three hours ago, just as he had been about to land. To say that he was in a foul mood was putting it mildly.

They pulled up to his address, and he hastily paid the outrageous fare as he exited, then rounded the booth and slung his heavy backpack over one shoulder, not even waiting for his change. 

The brick house was dark from the outside, a thick layer of snow making the steps slippery as Johnny rummaged around for the keys. One of their neighbours had already put up Christmas decorations, and a blinking reindeer shone down at him through their fogged up window. 

The front door fell shut behind him with a heavy clang, and then he was bounding up the stairs, trailing snow and sludge behind as he went. 

No noise was to be heard outside their sunflower yellow entryway, courtesy of the time his girlfriend had watched one too many DIY videos during lockdown, and Johnny’s heart sank a little as he dropped his bag by the coathanger and then kicked off his boots.

He’d secretly hoped that at least his girlfriend would still be awake, and perhaps-

Just as he scraped the key around the lock, the door flew inwards. Bright lights suddenly turned on all at once, and the sheer wall of noise that greeted him was enough to make Johnny stagger backwards in a fright.

About ten different people hollered “WELCOME HOME!” at once, and then suddenly, blissfully, a warm body slammed into him. 

He just about managed to catch his girlfriend as they almost tumbled down the staircase, her legs around him and face pressed so tightly into his neck that he couldn’t make out a single word she was shouting. Her soft hair brushed over his cheek and Johnny pressed her against himself tightly, breathing in the sugary smell of baked goods and her skin. 

“You’re back!” She sobbed, disentangling herself long enough to pepper his face with kisses, then hugged him again. 

“You’re late, laddie!” His grandma complained instead as she hobbled over to them, pinching his ear painfully and Johnny yelped in protest, laughing. “I dinnae have much time left on this God given earth an’ you go an’ make yer poor mhamó wait, John?”

“It was the plane, the weather-”

“T’was fine enough when yer wife picked me up. On time I might add,” she grumbled, then accepted his kiss to the cheek with an angry mutter. 

They’d stopped correcting her about the ‘wife’ part of their relationship two years ago, and Johnny couldn’t bring himself to argue about the fact that people didn’t have to get married in a church anymore to belong to each other. She was his either way.

His girlfriend let go of him, wiping under her eyes as she stepped back and let their friends take over the rounds of hugs and pats to the back. 

Johnny kept an eye on her as they all herded him inside his flat, the small living room even smaller now that they had expanded the dining table and put so many chairs around it. 

Steaming pies, vegetables and sausages were kept hot under one of her fancy kitchen gadgets, and her brother lit copious amounts of candles around the place as a friend from uni turned the news channel on the TV up again.

“Did ye lie in wait for me this whole time, mo gràidh?” Johnny whispered, pressing his lips to her temple as they stood amidst the chatter of excited people.

“We turned it all off when we saw your taxi pull up,” she admitted, grinning up at him as she wound her arms around his waist. They usually weren’t the kind of couple that showed a lot of affection in front of others, but Johnny felt that he could be forgiven for being extra clingy that night. 

“Cheeky,” he said, then grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her into a proper kiss, earning them a few wolfwhistles and cheers. When he pulled away with a smirk, she stared back up at him, red-cheeked and smiling then pulled him over to the dinner table to push him into the next best chair.

“I made your favorite,” she whispered in his ear softly, hands on his shoulders as Johnny leaned back with a sigh, the long journey home suddenly catching up with him all at once. 

They opened a few bottles of beer and wine, shared the food and Johnny mostly just sat and listened, his right hand intertwined with his girlfriend’s as the night went on. 

He’d waited so long for this moment. The thought of being here with her in their shared home had carried him through bellycrawls in the desert, waiting out snowstorms and hails of bullets, only able to hear her sweet voice every other week or so, whenever he was back on base.

Each time he returned, it became harder and harder to leave again. To exchange her soft skin and their king size bed for bloodshed and long nights spent in the back of nondescript transporters. 

He looked at her, at the way she was practically glowing in the candle light, how her eyes lit up with a smile as his granny complained about yet another neighbor in the assisted living home.

“Stop tryin’ to guilt her into coming around every day, mhamó,” Johnny laughed, and it earned him a kick under the table. “She has a life and a job outside of you.”

“And do ye know what the poor lass dinnae got, John?” The old woman shouted down the table over the heated discussion some of his friends were having over a recent rugby game. “A proper husband and kids to care for! It’s not right to make her wait so long just so ye can pin some more medals on yer coat-”

His grandma continued to rant some more, but Johnny was much more interested in the sudden blush that graced his girlfriend’s cheeks, and the way her fingers cramped around his at the mention of kids. With raised eyebrows, he leaned in closer to her, so that it was just them amid the crowd of people, and whispered.

“You alright, dove? Don’t listen to her, you know she’s just talkin’ to talk.”

“I know,” his girlfriend sighed softly, and played with her dessert absentmindedly, not meeting his eyes. “It’s just… have you ever- I mean-”

“Thought about kids?” Johnny smiled. “Of course. Just say the word and we’ll get started on a whole football team.”

His girlfriend groaned, then put a hand over her eyes as she giggled despite herself. She threw him a smile that had his stomach do a little flip, and then she kissed the back of his hand quickly before putting her other hand right on top of it and resting them in her lap. 

“Let’s talk about it some other time, yeah?”

Johnny nodded, smiling as well, content to sit among people that had no interest in war or politics. 

Who saw him as nothing more than John from university, John from church, John the brother-in-law. 

Who were only here for him, who cared enough to wait for hours for his return, who were steadily getting snowed in more and more as time passed and made no move to leave. 

Who made him feel, at last, that he was safe and loved.

Squishing my cheeks right now, Soap is so cute. I hope y'all liked it🫶🏻 Do you love his grandma? Because I am obsessed with that woman.

Anyway, you can find my other COD works here, if you're interested!

Much love, stay healthy, and until next time! - A✨

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He has no idea how beautiful he is.

Inspired by this post:

Check them out!!

CWs: low self esteem (simon), harsh description of himself (simon), gn!reader, implied ptsd, reader is sweet and patient af

He doesn’t understand.

He just doesn’t understand. Simon Riley. Born broken and he knows it. His crooked nose that never healed properly, puffy scars new enough that they still made you frown every time you saw them. His hands were starting to become shaky from arthritis and years of tissue damage. Hooded and droopy eyes that lacked the levity that he loved in yours. He had seen to many things to ever dream about smiling like you do. Its fine though, he knows hes the definition of unattractive.

Then why, for fucks sake do you light up every time he pulls off his mask, revealing his broken and rotting features. Always dirty no matter how much he cleans them, there will always be blood on his face that he cant see. Why do you cup his cheeks, stiff with scars, and kiss each one like that will fix the damage. It wont. He knows it wont. You know it wont. But you do anyway and he lets you.

You don’t understand how he could hate how he looks. His features were strong and jagged, but so fragile when you looked closely. You’d tried to tell him that his scars were beautiful, and that he was the definition of perfection. But he would always chuckle and say he was broken and damaged, that you didn’t have to lie and he knew how he looked. But you weren’t lying. After all, the light in your eyes that he adored, only sparkled so bright because of him.

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Simon Ghost Riley homes home early from deployment to find his partner having a depressive flair up.

CWs: Depression, skin picking/scratching, gender neutral user, relationship anxieties+worry spirals, SFW, (slightly) unreliable narrator

not proofread for grammar and written on low sleep- so sorry if the qualities less than ideal

When you first got together with Simon, the hardest part of being with him was when he was deployed. Fighting for his life while you ate Cheetos on the couch. Weeks on weeks of radio silence, not knowing if you’re anxieties were right, and he had found some pretty little replacement on base. You knew he wouldn’t, but that voice in your head, the one who told you things that would break your mamas heart, it was very convincing.

Dating a soldier wasn’t romantic like the media portrayed. There were no spine crushing hugs or long drawn out kisses when he got home. Usually the two of you would just press your foreheads together and you would guide him to the bed for sleep.

You would only get your holywood moments a few days after he returned home and had properly dealt with his post deployment anger. You didn’t mind, but.. you sort of did. You just wanted to see Simon when he got home, not Ghost, but it was just part of the deal.

But god, did he love you. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, the reason he was so hesitant to take his mask off when he first came home was that the Simon he knew was ugly on the inside, and that he had to eradicate any possibility of that ugliness bleeding out and hurting you. The only thing that scared him was becoming his father. Continuing the cycle. It was better if he was cold, at least then he couldnt burn you.

Thats how you got to now, lying in bed, curled up in an old blanket to avoid all the cracker crumbs in the sheets. Your nails absently dug into another scab you have yet to let heal, the stinging bringing you back to earth for a while.

Youre focus shifted from the twisting shapes in your popcorn ceiling to a key clicking into the front door.

Either Simon was home weeks early, or you were going to be kidnapped for ransom. There was a good chance it was the latter, but you figured it would probably be safe to assume otherwise.

A familiar grunt confirmed this, the sound of your boyfriend taking off his gear.

Youre excitement over seeing him was soon drenched by a realization that you wouldnt really get to see him until he cooled off.

He called for you, voice rough, a scratchiness to it that told you he was smoking again.

“Im coming, Simon, I’ll be there in a second” you pulled on the closest available sweater and padded out to the kitchen.

Seeing him again, all of that feeling of apathy slunk into the gutter to wait for the next seed of doubt the distance planted.

Your feet carried you to him, absently drifting into his arms. After a moment of contemplation, he raised a hand to rest quietly on your back, a subtle gesture, but it meant he cared.

Simon was pleasantly surprised when he managed to finish the job weeks early. He wanted nothing more than to come home to you, come home to your messy house, your shirts scattered across the floor of the bedroom, come home to your smile and your love.

When he stepped through the door, the air didn’t change. Usually it was like a weight lifted from his chest. Your levity was magical, but he couldnt feel it. The apartment was lit up by his laptop still on the pause screen of an abandoned movie. When he called to you, part of him thought that you left. That the one constant in his life evaporated just before he got the chance to really appreciate them.

He was proven wrong by the tired words that escaped your lips, just loud enough to be heard from the bedroom. As you walked to him, arms slightly red and covered in angry scratches and empty pimples. You werent all the way there, he could see that. Maybe his good luck about coming home early was only there because it had been taken from you.

He wrapped you up in his arms, he could tell you were hurting. He could feel the vacant uncertainty radiating off of you in waves. Its good he got off work early, he thought. He was going to spoil you rotten, at least, he would try his damnedest.

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John "Soap" Mactavish - behind the Red Skull mask

(Hey cod fans please help me to be in your circle with a reblog)

Tiktok entire video

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Frozen Blood and Warm Hands

Summary: Price knew that you were aching to get back out on the field and get your hands a little dirty. You'd been stuck on base for too long and he could tell that you were starting to get antsy, so he assigned you to a mission that would have you stationed out in Russia for a few months. He also assigned Lieutenant Simon Riley and Sergeant John MacTavish to join you on said mission, hoping that the tight quarters of the little safe house you'd be stuck in would resolve whatever tension set between the three of you. Fortunately for you, the tight quarters and a near-death experience would force the three of you to acknowledge the elephant in the room: the love you three shared for each other and what the fuck you were going to do about it.

Note: This is my first COD fic so I'm a little scared to post, but I hope y'all enjoy :)

Word Count: 7224

The light knocks you rapped against your Captain’s office door had been quiet and polite, almost as if you hadn’t wanted to bother him (even though he had quite literally been the one to summon you to his quaint office). A muffled “come in” sounded out from the other side of the thick door and you waited another beat before swinging it open. 

“You asked to speak with me, sir?” you said as you stepped into Price’s office. 

“I did,” he said, adjusting his posture to sit up in his seat properly. You shut his office door behind you and stood at attention in front of his wooden desk. He paused his movement and glanced up at you for a few moments before chuckling to himself as he shook his head. “At ease, Frost.”

“Thought you were gonna have me standing there all day, Pricey,” you joked, adding on the little nickname you had so graciously gifted him a while back. 

A small smile graced Price’s face, one that he didn’t mind you seeing. He knew that the second he dismissed you, the typical military formalities that were ingrained into every soldier’s mind would be thrown out the damn window. Meetings with you were always a rollercoaster, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You walked forward and plopped down onto one of the comfy chairs set in front of his desk. He casually held out his cigar to you—as he did every time you came into his office—and you kindly plucked it from his calloused grip, taking a deep drag for yourself as he shuffled a few files around. He eventually flipped one of them open, scanned the papers, and then set it down in front of you. 

“I have your next mission,” he said, sliding the file over while holding his other hand out. You took one last solid drag from the expensive cigar before handing it back over to him. You picked the file up and flicked it open. Your eyes trailed over the small words printed in fading black ink, taking in the surprise of the mission. 

“You’re sending me to Russia?”

He nodded. 

“In the middle of winter?”

Another nod. 

“For a month?”

One last nod. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” you said, shaking your head as you dropped the file back onto his desk. 

“Come on now, don’t fret. You won’t be freezing your arse off alone,” he said, letting a tight-lipped smile pull over his face. You knew that look all too well. “I’m sending Ghost and Soap along with you.”

“You know, I think I’d actually prefer to spend a month on my own in the snow, sir,” you muttered, eyes flashing wide for a split second as you snatched the file back up to look over the fine details. 

“You say that as if you don’t spend every waking moment with them,” he said, giving you a pointed look. You sent him a faux glare and reached over to pluck the cigar from his hand again. A smug smirk fell over his lips as he leaned back in his seat. “Thought you’d be happy to spend a month alone with your lover boys.”

“Don’t call them that,” you said as you looked away and sank in your seat, but that wasn’t enough to hide the light blush that had dusted over the expanse of your face. 

Truth be told, you were absolutely ecstatic to be sent on a long-term mission with Ghost and Soap. 

They would make the job easier. 

Make the days pass by a little faster. 

Make your life a little more enjoyable. 

And perhaps the close quarters would give you the courage to finally answer the salient question that they had asked in the privacy of your own room. Much to your surprise, they had proposed an offer of being a beloved addition to their relationship. 

To be the muse of their waking moments and restful dreams. 

To be one of the very reasons they fought every night and day to stay in this torturous reality no matter how dark and scary it could be. 

You had been mulling over the damned question for the past week even though your answer had been set on the tip of your tongue the moment they had asked. 

You just couldn’t seem to get it out. 

You had shared intimate moments with both of the men before. 

Nothing crazy. 

Just little things. 

Little things like sharing the quiet moments after a long, rough mission to patch each other up. Or waking up on a cold morning to see a steaming cup of fresh coffee sitting on your bedside table with a little note scrawled out in Soap’s handwriting, letting you know that breakfast was ready whenever you were. Or the peaceful nights where you sat on the roof of the barracks, watching the stars in good company. Or even the times when you’re tucked away in Ghost’s room, taking long, burning sips from a bottle of bourbon he’d stashed in his desk drawer while Soap schooled you both on why Scotch was a much better choice when trying to soothe a soldier’s soul. 

You had always thought that they were just playing nice with you; per Price’s orders, or something along the lines of that. Taking care of a fellow soldier who was a part of their team because that’s just what you did with the people you knew were watching your six out on the field. 

However, there had always been moments where you truly started to question whether or not they were doing it just because you were a fellow soldier or if it was because you meant more to them than just someone they worked with. 

One of those moments had been when they had found you tucked away in the dark expanse of your room. Harsh tremors shook your hands, ragged breaths overtook your tight lungs, and jarring meaningless words slipped from your lips in self-deprecating whispers. 

Your mind felt as if you had slipped through the cracks of thick ice over a frozen lake and started drowning in the freezing murky water of your own thoughts and memories of the traumas of life and war. 

Simon and Johnny had somehow found a way to ease you out of your own chilling mind. They seemed to know exactly how to calm you down and how to bring you back to the reality your mind had managed to fret from. They had set themselves at your sides, pulling you into a tight press between their large figures. And it truly wasn’t until Simon had lifted the bottom half of his mask up to his nose and pressed light kisses to the crook of your neck as Soap gently grazed his calloused fingertips over your face that you realized that what you thought was just simple care from your comrades was much more than just that. 

They had stayed with you, just like that, for the entire night. 

They asked you to be with them a few weeks later. 

Touching on how much they adored you. 

How much they craved to have you by their sides every moment they could rightfully steal you away. 

How much they loved you.

And good Lord you wanted to say yes right then and there, but you knew that there were things that you had to work out before giving them an answer. Things you wanted to figure out before stepping into something you so desperately wanted to be a part of.

After all, the military was an unforgiving place and you were a little terrified that it would tear the three of you apart if anyone with ill intent were to find out. 

So you told them that you had to… think about it.  

“Are they supposed to be babysitting me or am I supposed to be babysitting them?” you asked before taking a nice slow drag from the cigar pinched between your fingers. 

“A bit of both, just to be safe,” Price answered, humor lacing his tone. 

“Fucking fantastic,” you muttered, setting the file back down with a sigh. “When do we leave?”

“Two days from now at 0600.” He took the cigar back with a wink and a nod. “Have fun in the cold, kid.”

“God damn, it’s as cold in here as it is out there,” you snapped as you stepped into the safe house that you, Ghost, and Soap were meant to be sharing for the next month or so. A shiver ran down your spine as you stepped further into the house. 

“Someone get a fuckin’ fire started,” Soap said, rubbing his hands over his arms in an attempt to warm up. 

“Do it yourself, Johnny,” Ghost said flatly as he shut the door behind him. Soap huffed a bit as he grabbed a few pieces of firewood that were neatly stacked and kneeled down in front of the fireplace. You smiled a bit, finding it amusing that he was actually doing as he was told. 

And while the two of them figured out the whole fire situation, you decided to take a look around the small cabin that you found yourself situated in. Honestly, it wasn’t all that bad. There was a decent-sized kitchen, the living room was surprisingly cozy, and there seemed to be enough firewood to last you ages. 

The only thing that really seemed to strike a nerve with you was the bedroom. 

You swore you were going to strangle Price when you got back to base. 

In the very middle of the cozy room was only one comfortable-looking bed. Sure, it was large enough to fit the three of you, but you’d have to be really snuggled up together to make it work. You silently cursed Price again, making a mental note to snag one of his nice cigars as payback. 

“Anything exciting in here?” Soap asked, appearing right behind you in the doorway. He spotted the one bed you had been staring at and huffed out a heavy laugh. “Hey, LT, get a load of this!”

The other man in the house silently stepped up behind you, shamelessly pressing his chest up against your back. He immediately spotted what you had been grimacing at and what the Scotsman beside you had been grinning at. 

“I’ll take the couch so you two can have the bed,” you said, not wanting to deal with either of their badgering about who’d sleep where. 

“Not so fast, lass,” Soap said, shaking his head with the same grin on his face. 

“It’s too cold to be sleeping separately out here. We’d be better off sleeping together,” Ghost said, backing Soap up without a hint of hesitation.

Regardless of the cold, you felt a light wave of heat fall over your face and a faded red dust on your already rosy cheeks. He could have worded that better, the three of you knew it, but it didn’t matter.

“I think I’ll take my chances with the couch and the fireplace in the living room,” you muttered, not wanting to overstep a boundary, especially when you still hadn’t given them an answer to their proposition. 

And although you were acting in protest, you knew that they were right about the cold. The three of you would be better off sleeping together in one bed, sharing all the body heat you could to keep your toes from freezing off.

So to avoid any further argument, you sighed and tossed your rucksack into the room, simply letting it be. Ghost and Soap took that as your resignation from the couch and into the bedroom with them. Without another word, you pivoted on your heel and walked back out into the living room, hoping to get the chill out from your bones by sitting next to the fireplace.  

“Jesus fuck—if this place doesn’t warm up soon, I might actually lose it,” you said, switching between rubbing your hands together and holding your palms out towards the fire. 

“You could always come cuddle up to me, Frost,” Soap joked, sending a cheeky grin and a wink in your direction. You rolled your eyes and tucked your chin into the popped collar of your coat, hoping to hide your face enough so neither of the men could see the light blush that had graced your face. Then again, you could always just play off your rosiness by blaming it on the damn cold. 

“You two need to rest up while you can. We head out at 0800 tomorrow,” Ghost said, his eyes flicking between you and Soap before he slipped into the bedroom. 

“He’s right. It’s already pretty late and we have an early morning,” you said, nodding your head as you stood from your place in front of the fireplace. The three of you had arrived late in the day at the drop point and with the additional couple kilometer hike to the safehouse—it was safe to say that you were ready to tuck in and fall asleep. 

“And bring some of that wood in here. There’s a fireplace in the room too,” Ghost called out from the bedroom. You grabbed a few pieces, passing them over to Soap as you both made your way into the room. Ghost got to work on the fire while you quickly changed into a few thick, comfortable layers to sleep in. 

There were already at least three blankets on the bed and you prayed that the blankets combined with the boys’ body heat would be enough to keep you warm throughout the night. You looked back at the bed for a moment, taking a deep breath as you tried to piece together the words that were scattered in your skull.

It’s not like you three hadn’t shared a bed before. 

It would just be like all those other times. 

Except this time, you knew something that you hadn’t known before:

They loved you. 

At least, that’s what they told you. 

“Have you thought about what we talked about the other day?” Soap asked, slinking up behind you. He rested his hands on your hips, gently squeezing your supple skin. You smiled softly, catching yourself leaning back into the warm embrace of his broad chest. 

You appreciated how Soap didn’t let a teasing tone lace his words this time around. 

The jokes had been set aside. 

Now he was just truly curious. 

You took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh, one that Ghost noticed, regardless of how subtle it had been in your mind.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” you said, nodding your head. 

“And?” Ghost said, stepping in front of you. 

The two men had successfully pressed you between their bodies, keeping you nice and warm. You kept your eyes away from them for a moment. Well, there’s no better time than the present, you supposed. You slowly lifted your head and took a deep breath. 

“We’re gonna have to hide this from certain people, you know? People who are too stuck in the old-fashioned military ways to acknowledge something like this,” you said, looking between the two men. “We all know how the military feels about there being more than two people in a relationship and with you two technically being my superiors…” 

And though you had been trying to address a serious concern of yours, Ghost and Soap couldn’t help but feel ecstatic because the fact that you were bringing up your concerns meant that you were willing to try. They knew that airing out your concerns was your way of saying “yes” to them. 

“We’ll figure all of that out together, if you’re willing to,” Soap said, resting his face in the crook of your neck, something that you had learned to love so tenderly. Simon leaned his forehead against yours and you willfully closed your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m willing.”

“Are we clear to move forward?” you asked over comms, waiting for Ghost to give the all-clear to proceed. Your lieutenant was hidden away in a treeline not too far from the base you and Soap were meant to be infiltrating. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out intel retrieve. 

Quick, stealthy, and easy. 

“Affirmative. You two are clear to move in,” Ghost said, his raspy voice reverberating over the comms. 

You glanced over at Soap and nodded your head towards the door, earning a nod back. The two of you entered the building and went your separate ways. You made your way down the dark corridors, shouldering your rifle as you aimed to favor the small pistol in the holster wrapped around your thigh. While the others on your task force seemed to prefer to keep their rifle in hand when clearing a building, you learned that you preferred to have something a little smaller and lighter. It made life a little earlier when it came to sudden close combat situations. 

You carefully checked each corner, going through all the straights and turns you needed to go down in order to get to the room you were meant to be in. Comms had gone silent, a mutual understanding of the peace and quiet needed when it came down to a mission like this. The three of you couldn’t necessarily talk unless you wanted to get caught. Wouldn’t be much of a stealth mission if you were just out in the open for everyone to hear and see. 

A couple of gunshots popped and echoed throughout the dark hallway, making you halt and press yourself against the nearest wall. Shouts of Russian orders followed the loud gunshots and you let out a quiet groan. 

“Soap, please tell me that wasn’t you,” you muttered into the comm system, trying to keep your voice as quiet as you could. 

“Yeah about that—” he started, sounding out of breath as more shots began to echo throughout the corridors. “Get the info and then meet at the rendezvous point. I’ll lead most of them out of the building to buy you some time.”

“God damn it,” you said, shaking your head as you continued down your path. 

You were surprised that Ghost hadn’t chimed in and said something about Soap’s position being compromised, though you were sure that he’d say something sooner or later. 

You hastily found the room you needed and immediately got to work, searching for the important files that Price needed you to retrieve. Thankfully, they were easy to find. A deep breath heaved out of you as the file began to download onto your hard drive. The gunshots outside started to get closer and closer, making your knee involuntarily bounce and your nerves cloud up in your throat. The system finally chimed when the files were done downloading. You snatched the hard drive up and shoved it into one of your pockets. 

“Alright, time to go,” you muttered to yourself as you grabbed your pistol. You made your way out of the room, keeping a wary eye on your surroundings. “I’ve got the files. En route to the rendezvous point.”

“Both of you need to hurry your arses up,” Ghost snapped, annoyance lying in the undertone of his deep voice.

“Thanks for the outstanding advice, LT. I’m hauling ass as fast as I can,” you said, rolling your eyes as you continued to make your way out of the building. “We’re going to have to lay real low for a bit after this one.”

“No shit.” 

The moment your boots met the snow outside, a loud gunshot cracked in your direction. A group of Russian soldiers were heading right for you, guns in hand and braced against their shoulders as they started to gain some ground on you. You immediately started running and Soap suddenly popped up beside you. 

“What the fuck happened?” you shouted. 

“Slight complication,” he said through heavy breaths. 

“You mean you got caught.”

“Oh haud yer wheesht,” he snapped back. 

The treeline that your rendezvous point was set in quickly came into view. Your eyes fell upon the frozen lake set between you and the treeline and you let out a huff of a breath. 

“We can get to the rendezvous point faster if we cross over the lake instead of going around it. We can take them out once we get some cover in the treeline,” you said, jutting your head towards the frozen lake beside you. 

“ Take the damn shortcut,” Ghost snapped. “I’ll give you two some cover fire.”

You prayed that the lake was frozen all the way through. 

Only one way to find out. 

You took the risk and let out a sigh of relief when the ice didn’t budge beneath your weight. 

“Shortcut it is,” Soap said, dropping onto the ice beside you before taking off again. 

You and Soap made it close to the treeline, almost off of the faulty ice when a piercing crack near your feet echoed over the horizon. The two of you slid to a stop, knowing exactly what the sound was. The ice had cracked somewhere near. You forced yourself to take a deep breath as you tried to figure out what your next move would be. Slowly shifting your weight between your feet, the ice started to crack even more. 

“Oh, we’re pure pan breed now,” Soap muttered under his breath. 

“Fuckin’ Scots,” you muttered back, wishing you knew what he had said. 

“What the fuck are you two muppets standing around for? Keep moving!” Ghost snapped over the comms, no doubt watching us from the little perch he was hiding away in. 

“Ice cracked, LT,” Soap said, looking around just as you were. Bullets flying in from behind started to crack the ice even more, making you and Soap flinch. He grabbed your wrist and whipped you back into motion. “Fuck it, we have to go!”

He was right. You needed to move and—at the very least—make it to Ghost. Let the damned ice crack behind you, you were not about to get fucking shot—

And just with your luck, a gleaming bullet whizzed through the thin air and lodged itself right into your back, nuzzling into the small gap of flesh that your tactical vest didn’t cover. There was zero traction between the soles of your boots and the ground and you soon found yourself slipping and crashing through the thin ice beneath you.

Icy water encased your entire figure, seeping through all of the trusty layers you were wearing until you were soaked down to the bone. Your body had immediately stiffened, lungs filling with the chilled liquid. The pain in your side could barely be felt as a prickly sensation overtook your limbs, leaving you with nothing but a stinging sensation to crawl over your skin. 

Your mind had stopped working.

It was as if the painfully low temperatures had severed any connection from your brain to your body. 

You tried to wade your arms through the water to keep yourself afloat, but the harsh convulsions racking through your shrinking lungs and tingling hands made it nearly impossible. 

You tried, and tried, and tried. 

But to no avail, you felt the cold completely set in and your mind finally blanked. 

“Grab her, Johnny! I’ll cover you!” Ghost shouted, finally appearing from the treeline.

Soap rushed over to where you had disappeared through the ice. He reached his hands into the dark water to grab onto your limp figure that had started to sink further into the freezing water. Ghost made quick work of the remaining soldiers, lodging two bullets in each of their figures until they were all slumped and limp on the ground, completely out of commission. He turned around just in time to see Soap pulling their own limp soldier from the icy depths. 

“Come on, Frost. Up and at ‘em,” Soap said, hooking his arms under yours and dragging you off of the cracked ice. You groaned and opened your eyes a sliver, teeth chattering. He easily spotted the crimson blood seeping through the layers that were covering your lower back and staining the white snow beneath you. 

“We need to get them to the safe house,” Ghost said. 

“We’re a solid klick out, but we can make quick work of it if one of us takes their heavier gear,” Soap said. He grabbed the bandana tied to his belt and placed it over the bullet wound on your back, putting as much pressure on the wound as you could.

They were lucky that you had fallen into the ice water right after getting shot. The imminent level of hypothermia would help with slowing the bleeding down, hopefully giving them the leeway that they needed to get you to the safe house without you bleeding out on them. But Soap knew that the ill temperatures wouldn’t stop the bleeding altogether and none of that would actually matter if the hypothermia took you from them first.  

He quickly gathered all of your gear and strapped it to his own body. 

“Let’s get going,” he said, nodding his head. 

Ghost managed to get you on his back, keeping your cold body draped over his. He could hear the shallow breathing of his companion, your teeth chattering louder and louder by the minute breaths you had been taking. 

“Stay with us, Frost,” he said, his voice fighting against the whipping wind. 

You let out a quiet grunt in response in hopes of letting him know that you were still around, but you could feel your eyes closing as your head dipped further into the tall man’s shoulder. 

The trek to the safehouse had been horrid. 

The two men completely dreaded the kilometer they had to run with all of the extra weight on their shoulders. Though, to be perfectly clear, they weren’t dreading the actual work of the trek. It was more so they were dreading how long it took because they knew that every minute—every second—that passed was another moment closer to something fatal happening to the person they had come to love so dearly. 

Ghost’s usual nerves of steel were rattled. 

This was the first time in a very long time that he had felt like this. 

Scared. 

This was the first time in a long time that he had felt truly scared. 

Johnny seemed to always test his resolve when they were out on the field together, but the Scotsman always found his way home (never completely unscathed, but he would, at the very least, make it to his own bunk after every mission). When your life was added to the roster of people Simon cared about, his worry nearly doubled any time their military-issued boots touched hostile ground. 

Watching you crash through the ice and take a die into the dark water had practically made his heart stop in his chest. It was enough to make him willingly blow his cover in the safe depths of the treeline that the three of you were meant to rendezvous in. 

He wasn’t ready to lose you. 

Not when he had just let you in. 

He had opened the doors and let you in to see the chaos of his mind and heart, something only Johnny had seen before you had managed to slip into their lives. 

He didn’t want to lose the gentle touch that you had brought into his life. 

The gentle touch of your hands as they ran over the dark tattoos painted over his forearms. The gentle touch of your voice as you eased him through an episode after a mission. The gentle touch of your eyes as they raked over the bottom half of his face when he lifted his balaclava to his nose in order to take a sip from the burning bottle of bourbon they had decided to share. 

He refused to lose you. 

Simon refused to let you be taken from him. 

“Thank fuck, we made it,” Soap breathed out, snapping Ghost out of the trance of his own thoughts. 

They had finally made it to the safe house. 

Once they were inside, Soap immediately started working on getting a fire started while Ghost set your limp form on the floor near the fireplace. 

“We gotta warm them up slowly and take care of the bullet wound,” Ghost said, kneeling down in front of you. You had stopped shivering. He knew that you were hitting a detrimental point in your state of hypothermia and that in tandem with all that blood loss… it could be a matter of minutes before you slipped from their hold. “Alright, Frost, I’m gonna start undressing you now. You still with us?”

You barely nodded in response. 

“I need a verbal confirmation, Frost.”

“I’m… I’m still with you,” you forced out, your words slurring as your blue lips barely moved. 

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Everything felt… hot. 

It felt as if you were fucking burning from the inside out. 

You were practically begging Ghost to just take all of your layers off. You knew that you passed the point of feeling cold and you couldn’t seem to fully process the way your skin tingled and burned. Ghost’s hands unbuckled and unstrapped the rest of your gear from your body, dragging away the heavy tactical vest (that should have stopped the damn bullet that was wedged in your lower back) and the belts and holsters that were wrapped around your limbs like damned vices. 

Soap had gotten a fire started in both the living room and the bedroom, grabbing the med kit in the process of making his way back around to the pair curled up near the fire. 

“Help me sit them up, Johnny.”

Soap carefully sat you up and set himself behind you to keep you propped up just as Ghost wanted. You winced as you felt your skin stretch from the movement, the edges of your wound being pulled into an uncomfortable expanse. With your mind lacking the energy to make you scream, you were reserved to quiet winces and groans to show your pain. 

Your skin had paled far too much and both of the men started to feel more and more frightened for your poor state of well-being. They had never seen you in such a state of weakness. You had always been the bright-eyed addition to the team. The soldier that lifted the morale of others around them no matter how shitty the situation was. 

To see the star of their life so dull in their arms terrified them.

Ghost made quick work of peeling your boots and pants off next, glancing up at your eyes here and there to make sure they were still open. They were half-open, but they were still open, which was all that mattered to them right now. 

Soap put a heavy hand on the bullet wound on your back, keeping pressure on it as he looked down at your face. He craned his head to the side, trying to keep sight of your paling facial features. The fact that you looked so near to the color of death… he couldn’t bring himself to finish his thought. 

His eyes were stuck on the light ice crystals that had clung to your lashes, hovering over your heavy-lidded eyes. Eyes that he had easily lost himself in before. During long mission debriefs, in the mess while you joke around with the rest of the task force, and when you would solemnly stare off on the way to another mission drop point. 

Though, his favorite time to lose himself within the pools of your eyes, was when you were laid out on his or Simon’s bed, talking about everything and anything that came to mind. He fell in love with the way your eyes lit up every time you talked about something you seemed to have so much passion for. He adored the way your eyes seemed to brighten every time he sent a harmless flirt your way. He craved to see the way your eyes melted into his every time his hands touched your skin. 

“Get them talking,” Ghost said, looking up at Soap for a moment. The young Scotsman cleared his throat, thoughts of the warmth their eyes usually provided dissipating from his mind. 

“Hey, lass,” he started, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he tried to get your attention. Your head lifted slightly, brow furrowed, and your eyes—the eyes he had fallen so in love with—gleamed with confusion. He prayed that the memory loss that typically came with the harsher levels of hypothermia hadn’t set in yet. Your head lulled to the side for a moment before you looked up at him. “Can you tell us what your name is?”

You muttered your own name, the dull whisper almost getting lost in the whistling of the wind outside. 

Soap hummed in response. 

“And what do the boys in uniform call you?”

You took a moment to remember your own call sign. 

“Frost,” you answered. 

“Good that, Frost,” he said, nodding his head. He used his free hand to open up the med kit, knowing that he needed to work fast. 

Ghost stood to his feet and started stripping away his own gear, throwing everything aside as he worked quickly. He silently winced as the cold air nipped at his skin. The fire had started to warm the cabin up, but it still wasn’t enough. If he was still feeling cold, then he couldn’t imagine what you were feeling. 

“Let me take them,” Ghost said, sitting in front of the pair. Soap nodded and let Ghost take you into his arms, but he kept his hand firmly planted on your wound. Ghost sat you right in his lap, pulling your chest against his own, letting your skin finally meet in hopes of warming you up. You winced, the stinging pain spreading through your body just as the warmth does. He wrapped a blanket around both of your figures, having to keep part of your lower back clear so Soap could get to work on your still bleeding wound. He kept one of his arms around your shoulders and the other near your hips. 

“Alright, lass, I’m gonna get this bullet out of you and get you all stitched up,” Soap said, pulling a fresh pair of gloves on. 

“Come on, Johnny,” Ghost said as he rubbed one of his hands over your freezing skin. The Scot knew that the taller man was worried about you. His voice didn’t shake, but there was a sense of urgency that followed his words. The same urgency that Ghost had revealed back in Las Almas when he had been shot. 

Soap got to work, disinfecting the area as much as he could before grabbing a pair of dull tweezers and hovering over the wound. 

“This is going to hurt,” he muttered, grimacing to himself before diving in. 

Even in your nearly unconscious state, you sucked in a sharp breath and pressed yourself against Ghost’s chest, trying to escape the freezing edge of the tweezers that had just been inserted into your lower back. You let out a cry of pain, limbs finally starting to work again as your hands grasped onto Ghost’s shoulders. Your nails dug into his skin and he clenched his jaw, holding you a little tighter in an attempt to keep you still so Soap could do his work as quickly as he could. 

“Fuck!” you gasped, clenching your jaw as you shoved your face into the warm crook of Ghost’s neck. Your skin rubbed against a mixture of his own skin and the thick material of his balaclava. Tears pricked your eyes and you immediately closed them, not wanting them to fall but the pain in your back threatened to make all of that happen. “Fuckin’ hell—”

“We know, love, we know,” Soap cooed in hopes of soothing you. He furrowed his brows as he continued to fish for the damn bullet. When he finally grasped onto it, he slowly pulled it out, relieved to finally see the glint of metal getting pulled from your wound. 

The release of pressure in your back made you sag and slump into Ghost’s hold, no longer fighting against his strong grip on your body in an attempt to keep you still. Everything about him was warm, comforting, and inviting. You could feel yourself slipping away into his kind embrace. Ghost must have noticed because he jostled you around a bit, forcing you to keep your eyes open. 

“We need you awake, Frost,” he said, holding you a little closer as Soap started to stitch you up. The moment the cold metal needle laced itself into the top layer of your skin, you jolted. 

“Sorry,” Soap muttered, trying to work as quickly as he could without hurting you. He soon finished and tied the stitches off, patching it all up with fresh gauze and a bandage to keep everything covered. “Alright, done.”

Soap grabbed another blanket and wrapped it around you and Ghost before running his hands over your back, soothing you as you started to regain control of your uneven breathing. 

“Get your gear off and meet us in the bedroom. They need all the heat they can get,” Ghost said, nodding his head towards the bedroom that you three had been sharing. Soap nodded as he started to work on all the gear strapped to his body. He hadn’t realized that he hadn’t taken anything off as he was trying to get you all patched up. Everything suddenly felt much heavier and a whole lot colder, giving him a little more incentive to get everything off in a timely manner. 

Ghost set you down in the middle of the bed, resting blankets over your still form before sliding under the covers behind you. Soap soon appeared in the doorway, looking over the sight set before him. 

The sight of the two people he loved most lying in bed together, legs entangled beneath the many layers of the blankets resting atop them. His heart yearned to lie beside them, to let himself entangle in the precious bond in front of him, but he couldn’t help but just watch them lie peacefully for a few silent moments. 

“Get in here, Johnny,” Ghost beckoned as he pulled his balaclava off and threw it onto the nightstand behind him. Johnny’s eyes widened as Simon brought a single finger up to his lips, telling him to keep quiet before nodding his head down at you. Simon settled back down behind you as Johnny slid into bed right in front of you. 

You still looked a little hazed, but the way your hands were reaching out to him, practically pulling him in closer until he was flushed chest to chest with you… It drove him crazy. Your cold fingertips urged him even closer and he complied, happily following your touch. He rested his arms around you, his hand meeting Simon’s arm that was wrapped around your waist. The two men kept you pressed up between them as they watched some color return to your skin.

“Hey,” Johnny whispered, nudging you gently. He knew that you shouldn’t fall asleep just yet. They needed you to get a little more color and a little more warmth in you before you slipped off from the conscious world. “Tell us how you got your callsign, Frost.”

You took in their warm embrace for a few moments longer before answering. 

“When I was younger—when I first joined the military—I was always a little too serious out on the field. It was almost kind of ridiculous how serious I tried to be as a private,” you started, your words no longer slurred, but the exhaustion in your voice was still evident. “My old team used to say that I would turn into a stone-cold killer when I was out on the field. So they started calling me Frosty, but it changed to Frost as I got older.”

Johnny chuckled a bit, thinking about how you’d probably lose your head if the team started to call you Frosty nowadays. And while he thought about that, you couldn’t help but think about the low rumble of a deep laugh you had felt reverberate from his chest and into yours. 

You loved his laugh. 

You loved him. 

You wanted to stay here forever. 

Just like this. 

Tucked away in every crevice of Johnny and Simon’s hold. 

Warm. 

Safe. 

You’d do anything to stay here, but you knew that it would have to come to an end eventually.

But for now, you were content with living in the moment for once. 

Simon placed a gentle kiss on the crook of your neck while Johnny placed a delicate kiss on your forehead. A quiet sigh slipped past your lips as you melted into them, but a gasp filled your lungs again the moment you realized that you had felt Simon’s lips graze over your skin and the stubble that covered the bottom half of his face scratched against your skin.  

He wasn’t wearing his mask. 

He wasn’t wearing his fucking mask. 

Johnny soothingly shushed you with a small smile on his face as he ran the back of his fingers against your soft cheek. 

Johnny was okay with this. 

Simon was okay with this. 

“Relax, love,” Simon whispered into your skin, letting his breath warm your neck. He ran a hand over the bandage on your lower back and a light shiver ran through your body as his fingertips grazed the edges of your fresh wound. He muttered a quiet apology, going back to resting his large hand on your hip.

“Don’t go tearing my stitches, Si,” you muttered, laughing lightly. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Simon and Johnny felt a heavy weight finally lifted off their shoulders. You were joking around again, which meant that you’d (most likely) be okay. They both let out content sighs, glancing at each other as they noticed that the other had done the same thing. The two men smiled softly at each other, eyes meeting in a warm stare. 

Johnny looked over Simon’s face, wishing he could reach up and trace the jagged scar that ran through his lover’s smile. Simon wanted to melt into Johnny’s mouth, yearning to press his lips against the Scot’s, just to make sure he was really there—that everything happening was real.

“Acting like a bunch of lovesick teenagers,” you muttered, a giddy smile falling over your face as you closed your eyes.  

“You say that as if you don’t act the same way, lass,” Johnny muttered back, keeping a smile on his face. You snuggled your face into his chest to hide your growing smile. He and Simon chuckled, shaking their heads at you.

It was a rare occurrence to hear Simon laugh.

You only got to hear him laugh in quiet moments like this. 

Moments that only you and Johnny knew existed. 

“Get some rest, love,” Simon whispered before pressing another kiss to your neck. 

And just like that, the soft touches of their fingertips grazing over your skin lulled you closer and closer to sleep until you finally relaxed completely into the darkness of their embrace. 

[snburntandsad]

Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”