#escape to exfil

[ragingbookdragon]

“I never knew the LT was good with bairns,” Soap says, watching, as he sits along the wall, their superior entertain a few local children.

She doesn’t bother to look up from knife she’s been sharpening for the past few minutes. “Simon’s always been good with kids.”

“How do you ken?” he asks, shifting his gaze to her; her eyes shine in the glow of the setting sun in the rundown gas station they’ve been waiting for exfil at.

“He had a nephew,” she replies simply. “His name was Joseph.”

“Had?”

“Had.”

Soap’s brows furrow and he looks back at Simon who is now kneeling down and hushing one of the children who’d apparently fallen and skinned a knee. He watches as the man gently helps them sit up, wipes away the dirt, and puts a bandaid on their knee; his hands move to the child’s face where he gently wipes away the tears falling down their dusty cheeks.

“How old was the bairn?” he asks quietly.

“If I recall correctly…Joey was only four.”

Soap’s expression falls and he looks back at her. “No…”

“You recall in Mexico when he said he had a cold heart, yeah?” he nods. “Simon’s lost too much to let it be warm again,” she murmurs, eyes finally lifting to the LT, a fond look in her gaze as the man gently brushes the child’s hair as the young boy reaches up to touch the skull mask, not a hint of fear in the boy’s expression. “But even the cold can’t survive the warmth of memories.”

By the time exfil comes, they practically have to pull the man away from the children whilst he unlatches their arms from around his legs, laughter and tears in the air as the kids run down the street waving at the back of the jeep driving off into the distance.

She busies herself with letting her loved ones know she’s alive and well, occasionally glancing at Soap next to her whose leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since they got in the jeep.

After a moment, Soap pulls his phone out and nudges Ghost, waiting until the man looks down at the screen.

“Wanna see my sister and brother’s bairns?” he asks quietly, a hopeful smile on his face.

Ghost blinks, expression stern, and Soap expects a no, but then the LT’s head turns and looks down, eyes softening at the sight of a pair of triplet boys dressed in Sunday finery, baby newsboy caps on their heads, fire on their heads as they grin toothily at the camera.

“Tha’s ma sister’s bairns. Angus, Alastair, and Arran. Their heids are licks of fire, rambunctious lot they are. Only four the lot of them but they—”

She quietly observes the scene unfolding beside her, gaze soft as she sees the reflection of the same gentle love in Ghost’s eyes, even more when he plays a video of the three boys tackling Soap into the hills of the Scottish highlands, squeals of laughter and love escaping the boys as Soap hugs them tightly and pretends to gnaw on their arms and necks.

“They’d love you,” Soap murmurs. “If ya wanna come for Christmas, mam would love to…” he trails off.

“We’ll be there,” she says before Ghost can reply and the man looks over at her; she cocks a brow. “What we don’t have plans for Christmas?”

Ghost is unusually quiet for a moment then he nods. “We’ll be there.”

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 12

Kinktober Masterlist vi coactus - "under duress" Simon "Ghost" Riley/TF141 x f!reader Kinks > SHAME, forced orgasms, bimbo/dumbification Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

“Under duress” — A quick exfil means limited seats in the TAC-V. Simon lets you sit on his lap, but it’s a really bumpy road. When you realize that his thigh is the perfect shape, and that it’s pressing against your most sensitive spot, there’s not much you can do to stop yourself. Might as well enjoy the ride.

Warnings: SHAME! EMBARRASSMENT! SHAME!!!!, mean teasing, slut shaming, it's not non-con but no one asks for permission; this truck is not a safe-space.

No one said a word. Once the noise of the petrol explosion and the machine guns faded from your ears, all that you could hear was the rattle and rumble of the engine of the TAC-V. The mission had been successful, but barely. You’d secured the package, but it had cost you the chopper exfil that you’d been desperately counting on. What was a quick twenty minute flight was now an eight hour drive through the bumpiest mountain road known to man, and you were sitting on Ghost’s lap for the entire trip.

The TAC-V sat two in front and three in back, so with Price and Gaz up in the driver and passenger seats, you should have been able to fit in the rear with Ghost and Soap. But, the care package was taking up your spot. As the smallest member of the squad, you were relegated to lap-status, much to your audible dismay. 

“Shut your mouth and get in the truck, Corporal!” Price had shouted, spraying cover fire over the hood of the vehicle. 

So, that’s where you found yourself. Mouth shut. Seat secured. 

There was only one problem. Ghost’s thighs were enormous. He never skipped leg day, and when you tried to sit against his hips to distribute your weight, his gear vest was in the way. So, he’d shifted you over onto his right thigh, forcing you to straddle him, and now you could feel… everything. 

Every time Price hit another bump – which was once or twice every few seconds at this point – Ghost’s rock-solid quad muscle would jerk up into your pussy, shaking your most sensitive bits. It was savage, but it was making your body respond in ways that you did not appreciate. And now, you were in the middle of fighting off the most embarrassing orgasm of your life. 

You could feel how wet you were through the canvas pants you were wearing. Your panties were soaked in the first hundred kilometers, so they were useless against your slick pleasure. Soon, Ghost would be able to feel the warm stain of your cunt imprinting itself on his own trousers, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had tried to shift away in the beginning of this trip, rotating your hips back and forth, trying to search for a less-shameful angle, but he had grumbled, 

“Sit still, love. Tha’s enough squirmin’ around.”

His hand had reached out to secure your hip, pulling you down into a deep seated position, crushing your soft lips against his thigh and spreading them apart unknowingly.

You’d managed to suffer in pure silence so far, but that was becoming more and more challenging as the ride got rougher. The desire to roll your hips against him to take the edge off of the blinding friction you were experiencing was mind-numbing. You were sweaty from battle and now you were sweaty from nerve-racking lust, and there was no escape. You still had hundreds of kilometers to go, and you didn’t know what you were going to do.

Your body knew exactly what it was going to do, though. It was going to come whether you wanted to or not. 

“You alright, lass? Car sick?” Johnny asked, peering over at you as your head rested against the driver’s headrest in front of you. 

“Need a break, babes?” Gaz turned in his seat to check on you. 

“No can do,” Price shook his head and peered at you in the rearview mirror, “Still in the red zone. We can’t stop here and expect to make it out without drawing unwanted attention.” 

“Here,” Gaz reached back and unclipped your vest, “At least take this off so you can catch a breath.”

You let him slip the vest off your shoulders and stuff it in the footwell on the floor in front of him. He passed you his canteen, and you tried to open it with trembling hands. 

“She’s not fuckin’ sick,” Ghost hissed, grabbing the canteen and opening it for you before lifting it to your lips so you could drink.

The rest of the truck-full of men waited to hear the rest of Ghost’s explanation. You felt heat rush to your cheeks in painful humiliation as you waited for him to reveal your predicament. You knew, now, that he could feel you. You had thought you’d gotten away with it so far, but it was too obvious. He could feel the wet, sticky patch on his quad growing with every tremulous shake of the truck, and he knew what was happening to you. You could almost hear the jeering smile on his lips when he told them, 

“She needs a quick wank, innit that right, Corporal?”

You tried to keep your eyes trained on the floor, but you had to see what their faces looked like. You lifted your gaze to meet Price’s bright blue eyes in the mirror, the evidence of Ghost’s truth written all over your expression. 

The silence was broken up only by the road noise. No one spoke and no one breathed. You looked to Gaz and saw his mouth open in shock, curling at the edge of his lip with a boyish glee. Soap’s brow was furrowed in disbelief,

“S’that true, bonnie?”

Ghost didn’t even give you a chance to answer him. He shoved his gloved hand under your crotch as if to feel the evidence on his hand that he was sensing on his thigh, chuckling at your sorry predicament,

“Bumpy road, been wet and warm for almost an hour. Gonna have myself a pretty little pussy stain by the time we get to base. And if I give her somethin’ to work against…”

Your lieutenant curled his fingers that he had shoved underneath you, finding your swollen clit with a surprising ease. As if he’d pushed a button, you let out an obvious moan. You cut it short, unable to hold it back from crawling out of your throat, but the damage was done. 

Silence again, and then Gaz’s low voice,

“Holy fuck.”

Ghost removed his hand and settled back in his seat, keeping his grip on your hips with a steadfast strength. He was looking at you in the mirror along with Price who kept glancing up from the road. The message in Ghost’s eyes was a clear challenge; he wasn’t going to give you any more relief, and if you wanted to come on him, you’d need to figure it out yourself. 

The urge to hump his solid thigh was overwhelming, and now that the cat was out of the bag, you thought it wouldn’t be possible for you to be any more ashamed, so you started to hump your pussy against him, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly… but, Ghost couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“See? Needy thing’s grindin’ on me. Can’t help yourself, huh, love?”

You shook your head, looking to Price for some sort of rescue, but what could he do? Your captain was driving as fast as he could out of enemy territory, and you were stuck in place, tumbling into an orgasm and suffering the pain of embarrassment in front of your whole squad. 

You moaned, trying to hold your breath, but your whole body shook as you came. Your hole was so wet and burning hot, and you could feel yourself gush as you clenched your muscles around nothing, wishing you had something… someone… inside of you. 

“There she is… good girl,” Ghost teased you, rubbing your back as you shuddered above him, rolling in your high. 

“Did she just…” Soap gaped.

You looked up at him, and even though your eyes begged for pity, you received none from him. He met you with a filthy grin,

“Come over here with me, lass. I’ll give you somethin’ to fuckin’ sit on.”

He reached for your arm, attempting to drag you over the care package, but Ghost jerked his hand away and wrapped his arm around your belly, forcing you to lean back against him, the tools in his vest digging into your flesh,

“She’s fine where she is, Sergeant. Aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You felt hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, whispering,

“I’m s-sorry…”

“Shh, love. Nothin’ to be sorry for. Can’t be fuckin’ helped. C’mon,” he snarled in your ear, his mask smelling like his menthols and sweat, “Beg me to help you. Beg for my fingers, princess.”

“Simon,” Price warned, watching your degradation unfold behind him. 

“Eyes on the bloody road, Cap,” Ghost chuckled, “Bumpy enough back here as it is.”

Gaz hadn’t stopped staring, and you watched in horror as he palmed his hard length over the rough denim of his jeans. 

You felt yourself building to another crescendo, the waves of your first orgasm swelling to threaten a second, easier now that you’d let down so much silky come, allowing your pussy to slip that much faster over Simon’s huge thigh. 

“Beg me, baby,” Ghost growled in your ear, “Beg me to fuckin’ touch you right here where they can all watch me make you come.”

“No…” You gasped, “I can’t… I’m not…”

“Not what? Not a dumb little slut? Oh, sweetheart. Yes, you are. You’re so fuckin’ wet it looks like you pissed yourself. I bet those pretty knickers are fuckin’ ruined, aren’t they?”

He grabbed you by the chin roughly, startling you, making your core clench tight, turned on by his cruel aggression as he almost shouted in your ear, 

“Aren’t they? Tell the fuckin’ truth. Tell it to him,” Ghost’s eyes turned toward the rear view mirror and you looked up at Price, pleading with him for forgiveness in your tone. You mumbled, 

“My panties… are…”

“He can’t hear you, baby.” Ghost held your face, forcing you to look at his captain in the eyes through the reflective glass.

“My panties are ruined, sir.”

“Is that so, Corporal?” Price asked in a low droll, and you saw him readjust himself in his pants before putting both fists back on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned as white as bone. 

“Better see for myself, yeah?” Ghost chuckled, unbuttoning your trousers and yanking down the fly. 

He reached inside and grabbed the fabric roughly in his hand and, with a strength that shocked you, he tore them right off of your body with a loud rip, breaking the elastic at the seam and slipping the scrap from under your lips and ass. He held it up for the entire truck to see, showing them how the gray cotton was stained dark from your wetness, how they gleamed in the light of the setting desert sun. 

Soap reached out and snatched them from his hand, and Ghost laughed out loud, watching Johnny shove them to his nose and moan out a breath of satisfaction. 

“Go on, then,” Ghost turned his attention back on you, “Beg me for it. I wanna hear you say please, sir. You got that, Corporal?”

He snaked his hand back down the front of your belly, barely touching your furry mons, resting his gloved finger just above the hood of your clit, touching you with a light, teasing pressure. 

You could feel the rough canvas against your soft pussy now, and the seam was giving you something to grind against, but it was nothing like the feel of a strong finger. You chased another orgasm, but it was just out of reach. You were humping him lewdly, at this point, rocking your hips back and forth with abandon, unable to stop yourself from chasing your second, hard burst of pleasure. 

You bit your lip, struggling with all your might, but you were failing to surge over that exaltant peak. You needed his help, but you didn’t want to beg for it. You couldn’t. You were too dismayed at your fallen state.

You looked at Gaz, hoping he could talk some sense into your lieutenant, but he was jerking himself off with a hand down his pants, watching you through hooded eyes. You turned your gaze to Soap who had your ripped panties in his hand and was using them to wet his own heavy cock, smearing your juices all over his ruddy head. 

Ghost’s grip tightened on your jaw, and he turned your head toward his passenger window, stopping you from looking at the other men, 

“They can’t help you, love. Just me. Now, use your fuckin’ words.”

“Please… touch me,” your voice was barely a whisper.

“Please, what?” He bit back.

“Please touch me, sir,” you whined, sick to your stomach at your own weakness.

“Tha’s a good girl,” he smiled.

He moved his fingers lower, shoving two of them between your lips, applying firm pressure to your clit. He didn’t even need to rub you. Your pussy started to come the moment it had his relief, and you cried out like a paid whore, keening into the hollow cab, rolling your hips against him, chasing your crashing orgasm. 

Then, he started to move his hand frantically, rubbing you back and forth, dragging out your bursting come even further than you thought was possible, turning one orgasm into two, back to back, a painful overstimulation, enough to make your body convulse from his effort.

“No, no… oh, fuck!” You screamed, trying to close your legs but his thigh was in the way, and all you could do was ride him. 

“Yeah, tha’s it, love. Give it to me. Come on me, you filthy fuckin’ slag. Let ‘em hear what I’m doin’ to this needy cunt.”

“Mmngh! Please… Ghost, please, oh, fuck…” 

“Listen to that sound, lads,” he grunted, commenting on the wet, milking noises your cunt was making under his hand, “Runnin’ like a hot tap.”

“Hurry up, LT,” Soap barked, pulling on his cock with your panties wrapped around the hard shaft like he was furious with it, “I’ll only be so patient.”

Ghost shook his head,

“Tsch, tsch, alright, Johnny. If you insist. C’mon, baby. Keep those legs spread f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

You felt him ruck down the back of your pants and shove them onto your legs, exposing your ass to the whole truck. Then, you felt the tell-tale drag of his cockhead over your folds, and before you could even think to protest, he was shoving himself inside of you, slipping through your slick without much resistance, your wet come helping guide his length all the way up to your womb. 

Once he had whet his prick down to its root in you, he used both hands to lift your hips and slam them back down, using you like a cocksleeve. He was so thick, but your body was primed and ready to take him, and you found yourself without words, only able to moan and whine as he filled you up. 

Gaz reached over, leaning out of his seat to grab your face, turning you towards him so that he could kiss you. You couldn’t even kiss him back, you were so mindless, and he spent most of his time licking your lips and sucking on your tongue as you whimpered for Ghost’s heavy dick, your body jerking up and down as he slammed you onto his steel-hard length repeatedly. 

“Does he feel good, babes?” Gaz asked you, sticking two of his fingers into your mouth and down your throat, making you choke on him until you started to instinctively suck and swallow against him, “Tha’s it. Pretty thing just needed somethin’ in her mouth, didn’t she?”

Every time you choked from Gaz’s hand in your throat, you clenched around Ghost’s cock, and he begged his sergeant for more,

“Choke her again, Garrick. Makes her so fuckin’ tight.”

Gaz laughed, full of mischief, and reached up with his other hand to pinch your nose. Then, inside of your mouth, he pressed his fingers in a downward motion over and over and over, making it feel like he was fucking your face with a throbbing dick, too big for you to breathe. You gagged, and then, when you tried to take a breath, you gagged again, your whole body spasming, fighting for air. You could only suck in short breaths when you opened your mouth wider, and Gaz held the relief of those moments from you for as long as he could. 

Finally, Ghost wrapped both of his hands around your torso and ripped you away from Gaz’s cruel hand, laying you against his chest and fucking his cock up into you from below, creating loud, pornographic slapping sounds that filled the truck. 

“Fuck!” Ghost groaned, “Gonna make me come, love. Say please, baby. C’mon. You can do it. Say it.”

“Dinnae think she’s still with us, LT. Fucked her brains right out of her head,” Soap chuckled. 

“She can do it,” Ghost insisted, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re not gettin’ my come until I hear you beg for it.”

 You looked at his eyes in the mirror again, not recognizing yourself in such a mindless state of indulgence, drowning in pleasure and losing yourself to it. He was looking at you with such an intensity, you wanted to please him. You wanted to follow his orders. You wanted to show him that you could be such a good girl. 

“P-please…. Please! Ungh, please, sir… Give me your come. Please, sir… I need it. I need it. I need… mmnff-fuck!”

You felt his cock swelling, throbbing, and bursting with hot, sticky ropes of his cream, buried deep inside of your walls, coating the head of your womb as your pussy squeezed out another orgasm, milking him like a hungry mouth. He pulled out a bit only to ram himself back in, deeper this time, stretching to touch the end of your sheath, aching to plant his seed. 

“Fuck, finally,” Soap grunted, reaching over the crate with both hands this time to drag you from Ghost’s lap, “Couldnae wait much longer, LT.”

You felt Ghost’s cock slip from you, spilling his come down your leg, your pants sliding down to your boots as Soap dragged you into his lap.

“There she is,” Gaz smiled, returning to his efforts and shoving his fingers back down your throat, this time shifting them back and forth, massaging your tongue as he fucked you on his hand, “Suck them for me, baby. It’ll be my turn, soon.”

“Better enjoy the easy ride while you can, Corporal,” Price sneered, “You’ve got PT in my quarters as soon as we get back to base. Might take all night.”

As Johnny’s fat dick squeezed into your come-soaked pussy, you wanted to protest. You wanted to make some snide comment back, but your usual biting retorts were unavailable at the moment. You really were blissed out of your mind, and the only thing you could do was fuck and suck like the dumb little slut that you were.

If anyone comments on this OBVIOUSLY TAGGED shame kink fic that it was "too embarrassing to read!! huehueuhe"/"i tried but i couldnt do it. too cringe!", I'm gonna come to your house and shit in your shoes, you coward. Get the fuck off my page.

[lunarw0rks]

Hiiiii❤️ I idk if this is a Drabble or a headcaon but here I go anyways😅 . Hear some context So you don’t think I’m some weirdo. So in the 2017 movie called the babysitter and this character Allison got shot in the b00b and she “omg he shot me in the b00b what kind of dçk shots a girl in the b00bs” (funny scene) so basically fem!reader with platonic!taskforce141. And there on a mission and suddenly they hear the same line on their coms and they’re like 😳

(feel free to ignore)

A/N: LMAO - I had to look up the scene for this as a reference. Just picturing Price's paternal disappointment when he realizes his team acts like a bunch of children. Sorry, this is rlly short!

Summary: Your attempt at comedic relief sets off a chain reaction of immaturity.

Warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical mild injury, suggestive language, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 554

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver. | PART TWO

No Filter // 141 Drabble

Compared to some of the other operations you’d done with them, this was a piece of cake. A simple infiltrate and exfil mission where you’d be clearing house in one of Hassan’s safehouses—a mere breadcrumb leading to the man himself.

Price thought it would go smoothest if everyone split up, but to keep within shouting distance. It was only a small facility, after all.

Being ambushed? Shot? That was not something you saw in the cards for today.

Luckily, you got a bullet in him before he had a chance to do worse. But here you were, slumped against the wall with all the air knocked out of your lungs.

“Heard the shots, Sergeant. You broken?”

Captain Price’s voice crackled through near instantly, the second he had pulled the trigger on you. Though it took a few seconds, you managed to recuperate, and asses the room in front of you. The man who shot you K.I.A, and you very fortunate.

You peered down at your chest; indeed not broken, but injured. The vest had absorbed the shot, causing a relieved sigh to escape your lips. Obviously, if you really had a bullet in your chest, you wouldn’t just be sitting there—but the adrenaline of escaping death eliminated any rationality.

You unbuttoned the first few buttons on your shirt, seeing a welt on your breast as if the man had his gaze set on them when he pulled the trigger. Still, with your hand on the button of your radio, you finally gave some sort of answer.

“Bastard shot me in the boobs.” It was a mumble, but there was no way in hell they didn’t hear that.

As you winced, you seemed to forget that the entire team was on the other line—probably way more concerned with your life than the health of your tits. “What kind of dick shoots a girl in the boobs?” You asked rhetorically, despite the astonished silence on the other line.

“You were shot in your…?” Gaz was the first to speak up, his tone practically painting the picture of his signature squint.

Before the next voice chimed in, you could swear you heard whoever it was stifling a laugh. “Thanks for that.” Soap chimed in, accent crackling against the static. His smirk was visible even if his words; the natural flirt in him coming out no matter what.

Ghost had remained silent, probably muting his comms so he didn’t have to listen to this. And Price? Oh, Price… He’s got his head in his hands with pure disappointment. How did this status update turn so unprofessional, so quickly?

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Soap comes in again, a smug sneer on his face. “He shot you on the—”

“Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Price blurts, interrupting the immature banter daring to be further set in motion. He was fighting every urge to crack a smile at the pure ridiculousness, but his poker face and stern tone prevented it.

“Tactical or not, John, it’s a tough break.” Laswell comes in, your only saving grace against Price’s father-like disappointment. She was the last superior of yours you’d expected to find it humorous, but she did, nonetheless.

This would definitely be the source material for the next HR meeting, you could see it now.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

More of You, Pt. 2

Part 1

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC)

Word Count : ~ 2.4k words

Warning : tooth-rotting fluff and good ol’ cursings.

Title and story inspired by the song with the same title by JP Saxe!

*****

"--ra 4 this is– tcher-1 do y– copy?"

Jade opened her heavy eyelids at the sound. She blinked a number of times to wake herself up and find out where the voice came from. 

"Sierra-4 do you copy?"

She’d recognize that voice even if it was filtered a thousand times. Laswell's voice. It came from the radio that she had put on the bedside table the night prior as the CIA said that she'll contact her about the exfil for both of them. Finally. From the colours she got in her eyes, she could tell that it was early in the morning as the sunlight wasn’t present yet.

However, when she wanted to move her body to reach the PTT, a mass of weight seemed to hold her in place, and it was looming all over her back, even to her front. That was when Jade realized how she's not in the position she first slept in. Ghost was supposed to be on her arms with her arm as his pillow to support his neck. 

Now it's the opposite. She's on her opposite side, Ghost on her back, hugging her close to him while he placed his own arm on the bed to be her pillow, and he even covered her with the blankets, so beneath the sheets, their legs were entangled together. What's even more shocking was the fact that his other arm was on her waist and stomach, pressing her body to his. 

Jade wanted to scream right now. She was going implode on his arms from the situation she found herself in.

Ghost was surely still asleep judging by the sound of his steady breaths and his unmoving limbs as he absolutely needed all the rest he could get. However, Laswell's trying to comm her right now, and she needed to get out of his enveloping arms – yet her mind was adamant to do that as it was really warm and comfortable. 

"Jade. Can you hear me?"

Goddamnit. Dammit! Dammit!! Why now Kate?!?!

Jade tried to get out of his arms, try being the keyword here. She evidently failed to do so as Ghost kept on pressing her hips back to him, his voice rumbled lowly before going back to sleep. She tried to escape another time, but the result stayed the same. 

While she found herself very amused by his unconscious actions and how almost childlike he was while doing this, Jade needed to reply to Laswell, or else she'd think they were dead. 

And so, Jade lifted her upper body ever so slightly and leaned as far as she could to the bedside table while her lower body was still wrapped by Ghost's arm. He did mumble a bit, but Jade finally managed to reach the PTT, bringing the device close to her mouth, still laying on the bed. "Watcher-1, this is Sierra-4 I copy. Send traffic."

A sigh of relief could be heard. "I thought you were dead. What took you so long to reply?"

"I was uh… drying the clothes…" 

"Well, How's Ghost doing?" 

'He's currently asleep but he's hugging me from the back and he's refusing to let me go' was the thing she wanted to say, but instead, Jade only said, "He's alive."

"Okay. I've contacted Alejandro and his team to pick you guys up for exfil. He's currently on the way to the facility to clean the place and he'll be with you in any time now."

Oh. God bless Alejandro. She's missed him since the Las Almas missions. "Copy that. Thanks Kate."

"You're welcome. Bring him home safely, Jade."

"You know I will." She smiled. 

"Take care, Watcher-1 out."

Putting the PTT back to the wooden table, Jade huffed in relief. The fact that she just answered Laswell’s call while still wrapped around Ghost’s arm was such a comical scene, prompting a chuckle out of her. Alejandro’s coming very soon, and they really needed to get ready. She had to check his wounds, change his bandages, and then prepare for the Mexican colonel’s arrival. 

A light snore from her back interrupted her thoughts.

Wow. He’s deep deep in sleep. 

The woman smiled in amusement. He really was just a regular bloke, huh?

Really slowly, She rolled her entire body, finally facing Ghost in his sleeping state – No scowl in sight, his guard completely down. His light eyelashes rested on his eyelids perfectly. He’d admitted in Las Almas that he slept with his mask on ‘soundly’. She wondered if this was one of those rare moments where he slept with his mask off during a mission. This was probably the closest she’d been to his face, or anyone, really. Heck, this is probably the closest she’d been to any man. 

...He’s quite a gorgeous man up close. 

Realizing that she was starting to blush profusely against her will, she shook her head to delete that cloud of thoughts from her mind and focus on the task at hand. 

Putting her palm on his forehead gently, Jade felt relieved that he was not burning up like yesterday, albeit still warm to the touch. His bruises obviously needed some more time to heal, and now she needed to check his shoulder and side, and that required her to wake him up. 

He’s still snoring. 

Dammit she didn’t wanna wake him up!!

Suddenly, his snore hitched, surprising her. Right at that point Jade couldn’t think of anything to do. A part of her just wanted to back away and stand up, but what would he think? He'd think that she didn't want to be any close to him and that could not be farther from the truth. 

So she stayed frozen there, trying to stay still all the while Ghost woke himself up. And with a little groan, he finally opened his eyes, focusing his eyes before quickly finding Jade’s face right in front of his and how his arm was still on her waist.

Ghost’s eyes widened at the sight, quickly lifted his hand up and leaned back to distance himself, all without uttering a single word. And boy oh boy, she never expected to see the Ghost himself blushing profusely like this. Did anybody ever see this face of his? Another medal to her collection then.

“Sorry.” He muttered with a voice deeper than the depths of hell from sleep, looking to the side to see anywhere but her face or he knew he’ll be even more embarrassed. “Must’ve… moved in the night.” 

Jade let out a light chuckle, “Relax, it’s fine. I like it when you hug me though.” Whoa. Did she just say that??

His eyebrows lifted at that statement. “Really?”

Fuck it, she’ll just continue. “Yeah. And while we’re at it, don’t you have the most beautiful eyes.” Ghost would’ve exploded at that. “They’re like uh… Like a stream of light going through a glass of bourbon.” 

He couldn’t rack up any response to that poetic description of his eyes. “...Thanks. Picked them myself.” 

Her lip curved into a smile seeing him like this, “Where did you get those?”

Right at that moment, Ghost decided to just play along. “Down the market.”

“Yeah? How much did you pay for it?” 

“A few quid.” He replied, “What about yours? They’re the colour of… like a stream of light going through a bottle of Tanqueray Gin.” Ghost recited the same words to her, prompting them to laugh at each other. 

Trying to dial down her laughter, Jade answered back, “From the streets, so I got 100% discount.” 

That got a wheeze out of him. “You got your eyeballs from the streets?” 

Jade laughed out loud, “You got yours from the market! Which unfortunate bloke’s eyes did you buy?!” 

This was gonna be an inside joke between the two of them, they were sure of it. As they guffawed at each other’s jokes, Ghost lifted his hand to her cheek, making Jade flinch. He put his finger under strands of her red hair, before softly tucking them behind her ear, all the while she just stayed there watching him. God, she wanted to see him smile and laugh like this more. Didn’t feel like a few months ago that she heard him say that he had a ‘cold heart’. 

“Sierra-4, this is Victor-1 do you copy?” 

Out of nowhere, her radio buzzed, catching both of them off guard.

“This is Alejandro, Jade, Ghost, Do any of you copy?”

Shit shit shit. Jade forgot about Alejandro coming to get them an exfil. Ghost’s eyes widened as she urgently rolled over and sat on the bed, taking the PTT close to her mouth. “Victor-1, this is Sierra-4 with Bravo 0-7, I copy.” 

“Es bueno escuchar tu voz, Jade. Is Ghost okay?” The colonel asked with his usual gritty voice.

“Yeah, he’s solid. A little banged up, but you know how he is.” Jade answered while Ghost sat up on the bed. “Are you at the warehouse already?”

“Si, me, Rodolfo and the others are here, and madre de Dios, you didn’t leave a single body alive, huh.” Hearing those words, Jade looked back at Ghost who was checking his own injuries.

Looking back at Ghost's extraction from the facility yesterday, Jade only cleared the exterior and some goons on the first floor. The basement was crawling with Narcos, yet the injured, tortured, dehydrated and malnutritioned Ghost managed to kill his way out. This fact reminding her once again of how much of a beast the lieutenant was.

"We did what we had to do to get them off our tails.” Jade said to the PTT.

“As long as you both are okay, then I'm grateful. Thanks to Ghost’s hard work in locating this facility, we can cut out the supply.” Alejandro continued, “I’m coming to get you in 10. Can you be ready by then?” 

“Claro. See you in 10 then.” 

“Okay, Victor-1 out.” 

With that, Jade put her PTT back to the table, scooting aside to check on Ghost’s wounds. “Those hurt too much?”

“Not something I can’t bear.” Ghost looked to his shoulder. Some of the blood seeped and coloured the bandage into pink. It was a bad wound after all. 

After she finished re-dressing his wounds, Jade stood up and tidied up the table, taking the used portable bonfire and both ration packages, and putting them inside her backpack all the while Ghost slowly stood up, trying to hold his weight. He must admit that he’s still dizzy from all the blood he lost. If he’d been alone, he might have had to survive the wilderness of the rainforest alone, eating any animal he could hunt. Hell, that was only if he could get out of that warehouse alive with all the injuries that was inflicted upon him.

Jade turned around to find him standing up, holding the side where a bullet grazed him. “You good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here, take it.” He looked down, finding his skull mask on her hand already cleaned from the blood and dirt, most importantly dry. “I put it beside the little fire all night. Looks good as new. Thought you’ll need it.” Jade smiled as she looked up to accommodate their height difference. If he were to be honest, he didn’t even realize that his face had been out in the open for so long. When was the last time he had his face open this long on a mission, outside, and spent a night with a woman like this? 

Still, he owed her so much after this one. She essentially saved his life.

Ghost smiled softly, taking the mask back and wore them over his head, finally covering his face. “Thanks, Lottie. I appreciate it.”  

“Anytime, Love.” 

Jade turned back to the table to tidy up and wear her gear, but Ghost could only stand dumbfounded at the word that just came out of her mouth. 

Love.

Thank the heavens he’d worn the mask already or she would find his face as red as her hair. Fuck. 

Well, at least that’s an improvement from ‘Beanpole’.

-----

Alejandro arrived ten minutes after his call with Jade driving an SUV alone. He found the safehouse after Laswell had given him the location. Alejandro was welcomed by Ghost and Jade already outside, gears on and ready to go. 

“¡Hola, Ghost, Jade!” Alejandro shouted to them as he stopped beside the wooden cabin, a wide grin on his face. He got off the car to approach Jade, who had the same grin on her face and hugged the woman as a greeting. Ghost's body tensed beside them.

“Cómo estás, Hermana.” The Mexican colonel said, patting Jade’s back in the hug.

“Muy bien, muy bien, Coronel.” 

Seeing Jade smile like that while in someone else’s embrace irked Ghost. Huh.

Alejandro leaned back, looking at the lieutenant up and down, “You good, Ghost?”

“Not dead yet.” He replied. 

“Good to see you alive, Hermano. If you both are ready, we can get out of here, and we’ll get you both home.” 

Something clicked in Jade’s mind. “Oh, Lord. I forgot one of my knives under the bed. Sorry, can I go back for a sec?” 

“Sure.” Alejandro replied, leaning back to the side of the car before Jade walked towards the warehouse to find her blades.

As both men waited, the Mexican glanced at Ghost, who was staring at the woman’s back as she walked her way to the cabin. He knew that since the Las Almas mission, something was going on between these two Brits, prompting an amused scoff out of him. 

“Told you not to get lost.” 

The Brit flinched and looked at Alejandro, a small smile on his lips. He remembered the last thing that he’d said before leaving Las Almas along with the rest of 141. 

‘¡No te pierdas, Carnal!’

Ghost only scoffed, shifting his weight to his leg, recalling a conversation he had years ago with Price back in the SAS base.

**

“You ever think about settlin’ down, Simon?”

“....No.”

“Maybe we’ll break a leg, get shot, and our career’s over. Think you’ll find yourself a woman?”

“...She’s got to be one crazy bird, then.”

A wheeze from the captain, “Takes crazy to love crazy, innit.”

“If only there’s a woman insane enough to love me.”

**

With the sight of Jade running back their way with the said knife, Ghost turned to Alejandro, surprising him a little bit as he didn’t expect Ghost to say anything, saying,

“I’m found, Hermano.”

The Mexican colonel laughed at Ghost’s response and patted his back. “That you are. Now let’s get you home.”

fin

WOOHOO! There it goes! Hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and replies are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[credince--writes]

Would König ever get rough with "reader"? Like he thinks his size and strength is intimidating enough he doesn't want to be too rough so he's always gentle until they practically beg him to be rougher.

One Would Think

Prompt:

One would think the large man would have reservations about his strength, it is rare he is able to be soft. To be gentle.

König x Fem!Reader (More medic prompt because I am a one-trick pony)

Find all my König shit on AO3

One would think the large man would have reservations about his strength, it is rare he is able to be soft.

To be gentle.

The reservations of his touch- nearly hesitant some nights. Others gripping and grasping, tugging on your flesh as if he constantly questioned if this was real.

It all spiraled from a moment of weakness. Medics weren't supposed to be injured, after all. The transport (of you, as well as some supplies) had been ambushed as you moved through the desert.

You were out in the wilderness for three days.

For three days you clung to the truck's corners- barely slept. The dwindled supplies and caked-on blood and dust holding the seams of you together.

Finally, they had exfiled you.

The radio chatter was confirmed with the sound of trucks approaching, hesitantly popping your head out as if you were a groundhog peeking for its shadow.

König was there, exiting his own truck and stalking toward you before grabbing hold of your shoulder and squeezing.

He wasn't one for much PDA- but you knew what he meant.

..

You were dog tired, and by the time you'd both crawled out of the shower (him half holding you up, washing your hair, and kissing every inch of skin possible in the small space) you'd both made it into the room.

Your room.

Our room.

You'd managed to escape with just some bruised ribs, you'd laughed dryly at the thought of 'just'. You can't remember how many times you'd said the phrase yourself. But feeling it was entirely different. It wasn't just- but you suppose it just was.

You leaned into König, hands trailing up onto his shoulders and leaning in for a kiss. Soft, slow, capturing the small sound of surprise he'd make as you leaned forward and cupped his cock through his shorts.

He reached for you, then stop.

"You're hurt." He protested, quietly trying not to push. His paws for hands barely hovering over your skin.

"Stop." You replied. "Stop-" You sighed out. "Just for tonight- I... I don't want to feel weak. Don't coddle me, unless I ask."

His head leaned forward, forehead against forehead.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I want to feel you, but I don't want to be treated like glass- just-" You paused, trying to find the correct words.

"I don't think you are weak, Shatz." He nearly whispered out.

"Then show me."

His hand lowered, grabbing hold of your hip and pulling you closer into him- pressing your tits against his chest. He started moving, walking you back up to the bed and pushing you down against the soft surface.

As your back hit the bed, you suddenly felt your body flipping over- your tummy slapping against the bed and your ribs screaming. Letting out a whine of pain at the unexpected pressure against your injured rips, he leans forward, back draping against you.

"Are you sure?" He asks, once more cautiously dragging his hand down the expanse of your spine.

"Please."

His hand slid down the spine, over the swell of your ass, and a single finger pushed into your cunt without a tease, pumping into it lazily as he spoke into your ear. "When I heard about the ambush I was so worried about you Shatz." He exhaled, the familiar sneer finding its way into his voice and you could visualize perfectly the little twitch of his lip quirking upward. "They made me wait three, fucking, days."

He slipped another finger into your cunt, pumping it in and curling it up against that spot.

All you could do was open your mouth and pant.

"So imagine how I feel walking up to that truck and finding you- injured- covered in dirt and blood?" He questions, pushing his hip against your ass and dragging his clothes cock against it.

"H... How did you feel?" You gasped out, a particularly cruel curl of his fingers as he ground his cock into your back.

"I wanted to kill, Shatz."

There it was.

That voice-

The one you'd only hear with him in the field, maybe once or twice after a particularly bad mission.

The sneer.

The cockiness.

He only ever spoke to you in a calm tone- muted. Sure, you'd catch a faux sneer or a cackling laugh. The glint that shone in his eyes when he could smell fear.

But he never directed it at you.

"But I wanted to take care of my kleiner Arzt, so I took you home."

"Yea." You moaned, leaning your head back and feeling your ear brush against the side of his face.

"So I am taking care of you, am I not?" He pumped his fingers, thumb reaching up and spiraling around your clit.

The feeling of his thumb pushing against the bundle of nerves made your entire body clench- a squelching sound mingling with the whine of pain escaping your throat as your chest tightened.

"Ah, I am taking care of you. Your pussy is so wet..." He fell silent, testing his fingers in and out. Completely pulling them out before plunging them back in. "You like it, no?"

"I like it! König please-"

"I knew you liked it, I can feel your cunt tightening around my fingers." He stated, so matter-o-factly it felt like he was testing you, speaking down to you like you were too dumb to really know what you liked or not.

His fingers left you, and you nearly whined at the loss of him. He must've noticed the confused frown falling on your features, his free hand snaking up around your throat and lifting your body flush against his as he stood back up. Pushing his knees onto the mattress as your bare back became flush with his chest. A finger from your neck curling up and tucking itself into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue and forcing your mouth to hang open.

His hand pulled from your cunt and yanked down the waistband of his shorts, cock springing free in the process as he grabbed it, leading the head to press up against your entrance.

"Show me how badly you want it." He urged, accent thick with lust.

His hand gripped your hip, and you nearly saw white spots in your vision as his hand squeezed around your neck. The pads of his fingers on your hip digging into your skin- harsher than you'd ever felt before.

You rocked, desperately back down onto his cock, shifting your hips back and forth and letting out little moans and groans of effort as his large cock speared into you.

"Is that it?" He questions, the snark dripping from his voice as his hand left your throat and let your body drop forward onto the bed. Your arms reach out to catch yourself but his hand grabs the back of your head and shoves it down into the mattress.

He snaps his hips back and forward once, fully sheathing himself inside your tight heat.

He groans, head leaning down and panting hot breaths against the shell of your ear. "So good for me." He praises. There's a slight tremble to his hands as the hand on your hip detaches, grabbing onto the soft flesh of your sides, pushing up against your breasts, and grabbing hold of your nipples.

"Let me take care of you Shatz, make you feel good." He says so sweetly, rocking his hips back and forth as you acclimate to his size. The wet squelch of your pussy fills the void expanse of sound in the room.

You felt it, the back slide of him easing back. The hesitancy in his voice, trembling in his hands.

Your arm reached back, hooking around the back of his neck as you pushed your back flush against his chest, leaning to the side and capturing his mouth in a kiss.

Tounges meeting and fight against one another, a thick trail of saliva connecting your mouths as you lean back panting for breath.

"König, please." You whine.

"Please, what, Shatz?" He asks, nudging his mouth against your neck as he starts to suck up your neck.

"I can feel you holding back."

He doesn't respond for a moment, as if he was trapped in his thoughts as he continued to rock back and forth slowly.

The shift happens in an instant.

His hand reaches up, wrapping his fingers into your hair, and yanks your head to the side.

Then he bites down on your shoulder before pulling his cock out and pistoning back into you.

You can feel the tremble again, as if his whole body is vibrating with energy as his thrusts become rougher, snapping in and out of you.

The pull of your hair back as he continues to suck on the soft skin of your neck, makes your insides flutter with the combination of sensations.

You choke out a whine when his cock rams against that spot deep within you, your head trying to lean back against him. Chest heaving with the dull throb of pain in your ribs as you try to catch your breath.

"Thought I was going to lose you, Shatz." He speaks, and his voice cracks. His grip was so firm you were sure there would be the handprint remnants of the bruising, desperate grip on your body.

"I can't lose you," he adds to it, hand dropping down and finger circling your clit.

You weren't present in your body, it felt like. It was as if you were on cloud nine, the feeling of his strong grip grounding you to the present. Making it feel so real- letting you know that this was real.

That he was here.

That you were okay.

Your body tenses- constantly rubberbanding from going limp to tense at a moment's notice. The cord pulls tight in your stomach as you try to shy away from his hand on your cunt, the burning build of pleasure becoming too much.

"Cum for me, I know you're close." He growls in your ear.

It'd be rude not to listen when he asks like that.

He follows soon after, the deep grunts with the thrust of his hips.

He pants, leaning forward with his arms caging in around you so he doesn't put any unnecessary weight on your chest.

"Are you ok?" He asks, a mild worry poorly hidden in his tone.

"M'good." You mumble, rolling over and letting out a wince at the groan of your ribs. "Never better." You add.

He reaches forward, pulling you close and holding you to his chest as he pulls one of his shirts over your body. Helping with your arms as you start to become much more aware of how much pain you were in.

"We shouldn't have done that." He says, hands going back to the constantly hovering, never touching.

"I'm the doctor here." You reply, groaning and laying down.

"I don't want to break my doctor." He replies.

You snicker. "Can always get a new one."

He tenses- gaze hardening as he cups your face.

"I never want a new one, mein kleiner Arzt."

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 1)

Word Count - 3k 

Summary - Doc (y/n) is a medic at a base camp when they meet Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley, when they meet for a second time it is because he’s been injured. During the two weeks it takes him to fully recover they develop an unspoken friendship. Simon’s next assignment is to escort a convoy across enemy lines, which would have been a walk in the park if they weren’t a part of that convoy. Even worse is when his worries and fears become real. 

Tags/Warnings - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Trauma, Opioids (they’re prescribed but i just want to add this in case), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut  

A/N -  im working on part 2 rn but it may take a little time for me to finish and upload but im in the middle of finals and have been busy with studying so please forgive me  

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The first time Ghost came through your tent he was bringing in his comrade, Soap, for medical attention. It was a gunshot to the arm but nothing detrimental. A clean shot and the bullet had gone right through.

Ghost had remained quiet and observant but answered any questions you had about the wound. 

“When did this happen?” 

“Half an hour ago. Give or take.”  

“Any meds?” 

“Shot of adrenalin.” 

You had sewen up the gunshot and nursed Soap back to health. However, Mr.MacTavish had been a difficult patient and after a week you discharged him early just to get him out of your hair. On multiple occasions you caught him trying to escape, claiming he was fine and ready for combat at least once a day. Most special ops were deluded like that, most thought they were superhumans. In a way, they kind of were with the speed at which they recovered. You would never tell them that. It would just go to their head.   

Your tent has since been upgraded to a deployable field hospital. With a total of 50 beds and 15 staff members. 

The second time Ghost made his way your way was on a stretcher. It was a deep and disturbing stab wound to his side, and if it were even an inch deeper it would have punctured his lung. It took you the whole two weeks he needed for recovery to get the full story out of him. Apparently, it was a series of unfortunate events which resulted in a hand-to-hand scrabble. He’d dominated his opponent and came out victorious but not without injury. He’d been all on his own for hours before finally making it to Exfil. In those few hours, he lost a lot of blood and was without any sort of analgesic until he was in the helicopter on his way here. Whatever the field medic had given him for the pain was enough to completely incapacitate the beast of a man. All the same, it was doing its job and controlling the pain. Your team had to do an emergency surgery at the base camp because he wasn’t stable enough for a medivac to a major hospital. 

The man was in a foul mood when he awoke the next day. He wasn’t rude and uncivilized, but he made it clear the last place he wanted to be was bedbound in a field hospital. When it was mentioned he was going to be sent back home for recovery, he downright refused.  

Strangely enough, it was also the first time you saw his entire face. When he first came in you were so amped on adrenalin and stressed that you didn’t register that his mask had been removed. It was immediately established that no other personnel apart from the small 3-man team already working on him would be allowed to interact with him to ensure his identity remained confidential. It was more for their safety than his if everyone was being candid. Even in his charts any identifiers were redacted and replaced with “John Doe”. 

Two days post-op he insisted he be relocated to his barracks because he “could handle his own”. You compromised and told him you’d allow it under the one condition that he lets you come and check on him at least once a day. He did, but he didn’t exactly have a choice either because you would have shown up anyway. 

That was where you were right now. 

You knocked and waited for a response before letting yourself in, your supplies and kit in hand. It was just after noon when you arrived. You scanned his room. It was clean, almost barren. His blinds were half open, and the window cracked to let in the cool, fresh air. The clothes he was wearing when he came wounded were still in the biohazard bag we gave him when he left. The tray of food on the desk beside his bed was left untouched, and judging by the food variety it was from breakfast. 

Upon hearing your arrival Ghost had forced himself into a sitting position. His face flushed with the change of position. His dark eyes were rimmed red from a lack of sleep, and his facial hair was growing. He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants with the insignia of his old company and a plain black shirt. The shirt was loose and thin, but it did nothing to hide the muscle hiding underneath.   

You rolled your eyes, blew out a breath, tossed your bag onto the bed beside him and pulled out the rolling chair at his desk to sit in front of him. 

“You look like shit,” you knocked his elbow in a silent demand to lift his arm. 

He grimaced but did it without complaint, “Ya, well I feel like shit.” 

You lifted his shirt to get a look at the bandage underneath. There wasn’t any shadowing or blood seeping through so you gave him a quick nod before dropping the shirt, “Have you taken anything?” 

He jerked his chin to the little orange bottle on his desk, “One of those.” 

You picked it up to read the label, Oxycodone 10 mg OD.  

“Nice, but you should be taking it with food,” you tilted your head in the direction of the untouched food. He merely shrugged, his eyes weary. His eyes turned the same golden brown of a whiskey glass in the sunlight.  

You discreetly took his respiratory rate before moving on, “Any side effects? Nausea? Headache? Upset stomach?”  

“Nope,” he said in exasperation. He leaned back onto his elbows, his long body stretching out across the width of the bed with his legs still hung over the side in preparation for you to change his dressings. 

You gave him an unimpressed look, before pointing to the garbage bin he had at his bedside. There wasn’t anything in it but it was placed here in preparation,  “If you aren’t going to be compliant I’m going to bring you back to the infirmary.”   

“It came and went already. I’m fine,” he moved to lift his shirt, hinting at you to hurry up get the dressing change done and leave. 

You scooted the chair closer, preparing your materials and supplies on his bedside table. When you removed the bandage and revealed the stitches you clicked your tongue, he hadn’t pulled any of them but the fact that it was still bleeding made it apparent he’d been more active than he should have been. 

“How’s it lookin’ down there, Doc?” He rolled, his gaze following your movements with predatory grace. You glowered at the nickname. 

You hummed, “Mhm.” and started cleansing the wound with saline before donning gloves and cleaning it more thoroughly. He hissed at the contact and you looked up, he had pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. His body tensed, and his muscles taut. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. Alluring even. Especially when he was in this position, and had that look on his face.  

“Are you going to survive?” You asked pulling back slightly.

“Just cold s’all.” 

He made it through the rest of the dressing change without so much as a flinch. In fact, he might have fallen asleep near the end for a second. He didn’t open his eyes until you finished securing the gauze with the last piece of tape. His lids were heavy and his mouth was pulled down into a slight frown. 

“You going to eat lunch?” you tugged off your gloves and threw them into the bin beside you. 

He nodded sluggishly and laid back on the bed, folding his hands over his abdomen. Maybe the Oxycodone was making him drowsy, but he looked like he desperately needed rest. 

“Did you sleep well last night?” You rolled back on the chair, giving him space. He shook his head. You quickly finished cleaning up any remaining supplies or trash before filling out his chart, “Maybe if you didn’t keep reopening your wound you’d be healing faster and sleep better.”     

He replied with a quiet, almost boyish chuckle, “I’ve been behaving, don’t worry.” 

“You’ve been nothing but extra paperwork,” you retort, tapping his leg with your foot. You stood with a snap of your notebook. “What do you want to drink with your lunch?” 

“Just water,” his eyes remained closed and you made your way for the door, bringing his cold breakfast with you. 

You returned with a new tray of food, this time you picked foods that would be easy on the stomach. The damn fool must have smelt it as you walked down the hall with it because before you could knock he was opening the door and stepping aside to let you in. 

“Such a gentleman,” you tapped his shoulder as you passed. 

He seemed to perk up at the brief contact, “As always.” 

You placed his tray on the table before picking up your bag to get ready to leave for the day, “Any last request?” When you turned to face him your cheeks heated at the way he regarded you. His face softened, melting into something akin to respect. He was so expressive and you didn’t think he was aware. Perhaps it was because he had grown accustomed to the protection of his mask. You almost didn’t wait for his answer before taking your leave, making an excuse that you needed to report back. You did, but it wasn’t anything urgent, you just needed to get out of his room. Away from him. If only to remember how to breathe. 

The process for the following two weeks was the same, only each day you stayed a little longer. You talked a little more. Despite his reputation, he was… normal. He was a little aloof and standoffish at times, and horribly, criminally unfunny, but he grew on you. You were slightly upset and maybe even a little scared you’d never see him again when you officially discharged him. Even worse, you were scared to see him again. Only, every time he returned from a mission he would come to pay you a visit. You might have considered calling him a friend. Might have considered wanting more from him.  

Soap would sometimes occupy Simon, having made a connection with you of his own. A different type of connection, but a wholesome one. Soap had made a jest about just recruiting you as the 141’s personal field medic instead of bothering you at work every other week. Simon had shot the idea down like water on a fire, and the topic was never brought up again. He simply stated, “Never letting that happen.” 

He had his reservations about you entering an active warzone, let alone going on assignments with a squad like the 141. He’s never outright said it but he developed a soft spot for you. Over the months he had unintentionally carved a hole in his chest just for you; a place where he could protect and watch over you. His fondness for you only made it all the harder when he received the 141’s next assignment. It was a regular convoy escort but he felt sick when he read your name on the list. He even went so far as to double-check the itinerary with Captain Price. Went so far as to try and get you removed from the assignment. When you learnt of what he was doing you cornered him and chewed his head off. You understood his trepidations and his actions, but both of you knew he was out of line when he tried getting you booted from the mission. 

The convoy, mainly consisting of medical personnel, equipment, and supplies, would be moving right through enemy lines to get from your current base to a new one a few towns over. It would be dangerous, you weren’t naive, but you were your own person. You were simmering, but you couldn’t help the twinge of regret for yelling at him. 

In the days leading up to the mission Simon had grown distant, but remained watchful of you. He kept quiet, but you could see it in the shadow of his eyes, and in the muscles between his shoulders that he had a lot to say. 

There was a total of 5 medical personnel that were being transported, yourself included. You would be a vehicle with Butters, who was elected as the head medic for the new base, and your driver was going to be none other than Captain Price. 

As everyone was preparing to leave and loading up the last supplies, you caught Price and Simon in a quiet conversation, you couldn’t hear their exchange but you could tell it was heated. Price rolled back on his feet, fixing Simon with a tight-lipped smile before shaking his head. With that Simon backed away from him, pointed a finger at him saying one last thing before he turned and stalked towards the vehicle he would be in, obviously unsatisfied with Prices’ response.   

Butters sidled up next to you, his pack slung over his arm and offering you yours in his other hand, “There has been a slight change of plans,” he sighed, “Our voyage is now split into two days, we'll be staying overnight in a town in between. Our route hasn’t been completely cleared yet.” 

You turned your attention to him, your brows furrowing, “So they want us to have a sleepover behind enemy lines?” You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. 

Butters shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the turn of events. Butters always seemed to keep his thoughts and feelings close to his chest, but it was clear very little invoked thoughts and emotions out of him. He enlisted when he was 18 years old; he was 32 now with a wife, 3 kids, and another on the way. There was a high probability he would be asking for leave in the next couple of months so he could be there for his next child's birth. It sucked because he was the only other medic you were close with. You’d miss him. 

Butters and you jumped into the back seats of one car with Price, you’d be in the middle of the convoy, Ghost, Soap, and another medic in the other would take the rear, and Gaz and Roach would be in another vehicle at the front. There was also a total of five transport trucks. The convoy would be a giant target as we passed through, which is why the 141 was tasked with our protection.   

Price explained that the ride would be slow-moving and briefed the two of you on what to expect. He instructed you both to stay alert and that there was a chance of running into a hostile.   

The first couple hours were incredibly boring, but Butters alleviated some of it by tasking you with going over the manifestation of everything you guys were hauling with you. You also made conversation with Price about his last leave, he had returned home and “sat on the patio and smoked cigars” for two weeks.

 The sound was louder than anything you ever experienced in your life. You didn’t even have time to scream before the force of the detonation knocked you unconscious. 

It couldn’t have been longer than a couple of minutes when you finally regained consciousness. The vehicle was now completely upside down, the wheels still spinning as they faced the sky. The seatbelt was the only thing keeping you from landing face-first into shattered glass and rubble. 

In front of you, Price was already pulling himself out the window and onto the street. He looked back into the cab and for you and said something. 

Nothing was processing right. Not his words. Not your thoughts. Not the sight before you. Everything was foggy, as if it was a dream. 

Price reached back for you, bracing you with an arm before releasing your seatbelt. Your knees cracked as they hit the roof, the glass ripping through your uniform. The pain didn’t even register. Price hauled you out with him before going back in for Butters. 

Only he didn’t. 

Instead, he returned with his gun. Before he could stop you, you crawled back in for Butters to get him yourself. 

You froze. There was no saving him. There was almost nothing left. 

He was on the same side the anti-vehicle mine went off. 

You slowly backed out, shaking your head not believing your own eyes. 

Price was crouched beside you, his back to the vehicle, his eyes revealed no emotion. 

You looked back down the road you had just come down and the transport truck that was tailing you had stopped before entering the intersection. Beside them was the truck that Ghost and Soap were in. Ghost was jumping out, his gun drawn. Soap slid from the passenger seat to the driver's side. The medic they were escorting jumped out the back and ran for the transport truck. 

It was then you noticed that Price was shooting at something down the intersection. You could see the flash as the bullets left the barrel and smell the gunpowder, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything. 

You brushed your fingers to your ear and when you looked at them they came away red. Blood.

The sheer force of the blast ruptured your eardrums. 

You watched as Ghost applied suppressing fire and sidestepped in time with the truck as Soap rolled it into the intersection.

Price looked over his shoulder at you, his mouth moving. You could see it in his eyes the moment he connected the dots and caught that you couldn’t hear he turned to Ghost. Who jerked his head towards you and met your gaze. His eyes were wide, panicked. He ditched the cover of the truck and sprinted over while Price took over the covering fire. He slid into you, his gloved finger coming up to grab the sides of your face. He was gentle but urgent as he turned your head from side to side to inspect the damage. 

You caught your reflection in one of the side mirrors, and couldn't recognize the person staring back at you. Their expression cataonic. Blood leaked out their ears, down their neck, and blood dripped out of their nose. Their teeth had gone through their bottom lip from the impact of the blast.  

A low ringing began as sounds started to come back to you. Then it turned into an agonizing peal like you had stuck your head in a fire alarm. Ghost didn’t give you a chance to cover your ears because he was already pulling you into his chest, pressing one ear into his chest, and covering the other with his free hand. Using his remaining hand he raised his gun and pulled the trigger. 

Soap pulled their truck up next to yours, making a barricade with them. He slid out, being careful to keep his head down and ready to join the fight. 

Ghost started walking back towards the buildings behind, using his body to shield you from stray bullets. He smelt of gunpowder, sweat, and dust. He smelt familiar. His hard body against yours felt familiar. You felt the reverberation of his voice in his chest as he yelled something. You stumbled back with him as he moved, but he was practically carrying you at this point so you wouldn’t fall. His gun dangled at his hip. Soap was at the door to the nearest building, kicking the door open, the lock shattering. 

The ringing in your ears was still present but you make out their muffled yelling as the rest of them filed in. Ghost sat you down at the far wall and behind rows of shelving units. Price and Soap guarded the entrance.

Price started talking into his radio, “Gaz! We got enemy fire coming from southwest of the fire hall. We’re down one and another has been wounded. We are fresh out of wheels, they planted fucking mines,” he yelled into his radio over the sound of oncoming and outgoing gunshots.  

“We’re on our way,” Gaz’s voice replied through the Ghost radio that was attached to his shoulder.  

Ghost then knelt back down in front of you and swore. His hands shook as he reached for a rectangular pack at his hip, a little red insignia printed on the front. A med-pack. He dumped its contents onto the floor, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for. 

He lifted your leg and started wrapping your thigh, but not before you saw what he was swearing at. There was a two-inch gash in your leg exposing raw flesh and muscle underneath. 

“That’s not good,” you breathed. It felt like your throat was torn to shreds; as if you had inhaled the explosion itself. 

“You’re fine,” he didn’t look up as he wrapped. It was tight enough that it hurt and you could feel your heartbeat crashing against the pressure. Despite that, the bandage wasn’t going to last.

You choked a laugh, “You might want to get out your, ‘I told you so’s’ while you still can,” You meant for it to come off as nonchalant but your voice quivered. 

“You’re fine,” he repeated. 

“I left a kit in the back seat,” You sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled the gauze one last time to tie a knot, “I don’t know if it survived though.” 

Because it was right next to Butters before the mine tore through the side SUV he was on.

Before I could say another word, Ghost was moving towards the door. Requested for an update, then asked for covering fire before exiting the door. He returned moments later with the kit. When he brought it over he made sure to place it behind him so you couldn’t see the condition of it. You imagined it to be macabre. 

As the adrenalin pumping through your body drained it began to tremble, cold rushing into your bones. Blood was already starting to dot the surface of the bandage. 

“Powder,” You instructed Ghost. He moved fast, cutting the bandage away with the blade he pulled from its sheath at his thigh, and tearing open the packaging. It was a quick-clotting powder used to stop the bleeding. 

You were no doubt in shock because you couldn’t feel the pain anymore. He rewrapped your leg; somehow, it was even tighter than before. You heard Gaz give an update over the radio, asking for more details and you could hear Price relaying the plan. 

Your breaths became shallow and sedated, your strength ebbing away. You fought the urge to close your eyes in fear of never opening them again. 

Ghost tapped a hand on your cheek, “Don’t be falling asleep on me, now Doc.” 

You were barely able to ground out a “Sir, yes, sir,” before your chin hit the front of your chest and succumbed to the darkness pulling at you.

Part 2 

Masterlist  ❤︎ 

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [3]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader - tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - 3.4k words

“I’ll freeze to death.”  

You utter, voice low and tense; your cadence despite your effort is sheepish, as though you’re exerting every effort to reassert yourself as brave and unflinching. A mask to veil the shivering little rabbit you must spend most of your life trying to conceal.   

Ghost isn’t fooled by your disguise, by your attempts to obfuscate your vulnerability – no, he can scent your panic, that frightened wee animal at the centre of you, hidden beneath the baiting curves of your flesh. He might be able to see its reflection glistening in your nervous eyes, once he’s able to rip that sack off your head.  

The thought tempts a vengeful smirk that tugs at his lips. One he wished you could see, if only to witness your quaint bravery be exsanguinated from you at the sight of his amusement. 

Still, you’re not wrong.  

The dry air of the midwinter night must be dipping below the double-digit negatives. A frigid cold that Ghost himself had scarcely noticed on his expedition to your estate – shielded by many layers; woollen fleece under windbreaker under thick, gore-tex parka, face kept warm by his balaclava, fingers protected from frostbite by waterproof gloves. 

It’s a short ride to exfil by snowmobile, less than ten minutes – but, in all likelihood, long enough that the exposure could kill you by the time he hauled you to the helicopter.  

Long enough that it might freeze the mucus of your throat and lungs into crystalline shards, might blacken and petrify your extremities, might have your exposed skin sloughing off in a few days' time.  

Ghost knows he must return you to base alive. But, alive is the only condition that is expected of him. No expectation of unharmed. So, he is left to place bets on whether you’ll survive the journey.  

He could make a sport of it.  

He plays with your possible fates as though they were marbles in the palm of his hand, rolling them between fingers and uncaring if he drops them. 

“You might,” he chides gruffly, finally offering you a response. “It’d be your own fault for wearing a fuckin’ tissue.”  

His glower scrutinises you as he releases his hand from the doorknob, whose rattling must have informed you that he intended to drag you outdoors. He keeps his other gripped around your bicep, wrenchingly tight, he anticipates, hopes, that his grasp might leave bruises on your soft skin. You, slippery vermin, seem liable to flee at any moment, so he justifies it to himself.  

He watches your chest rapidly rise and fall, gratuitously exposed décolletage shimmering with a thin coating of sweat, it glows silky in the moonlight that illuminates you.  

You, standing as still as you can muster, covered only by your peony pink lingerie and a black hood over your head, hands bound with thick black cable ties – look like a scene out of a snuff film.  

Maybe you’ll end up in one. 

He finds himself silently appreciative you don’t have the satisfaction of seeing how long his hedonistic glare lingers on your cleavage; on the tightening of the edges of your lacy cups, cutting into the swell of your breasts with each of your quaking breaths, allowing them to pillow out of the top.  

Still, a small derisive scoff escapes you through the fabric. “I didn’t anticipate an outing.”  

You facetious little shit. Almost makes him laugh. 

Fine.  

With a shrill rip of Velcro, he tears open one of the flaps of a pocket on his tactical vest, plucking out a loudly rustling emergency blanket; a foil shawl folded neatly into a rectangle the size of a playing card, tucked into a plastic pouch.  

You step onto your back foot in an anxious reflex at the noise, little rabbit, maybe you’re expecting the worst. He hopes you are. 

But he’s doing you a favour. He grimaces in revulsion at the acknowledgement of that fact. Resents that you might be thankful for it. Tells himself it’s for the good of the mission – nothing more, nothing less. Reminds himself how much he’d otherwise relish in watching your skin turn indigo, left exposed to be ruined by the fatal ice of your country’s stark winter.  

Unwrapping it promptly, he tosses the thin foil to unfurl it, before floating it behind you. He pulls it over your shoulders, watching you wince at the sensation of it brushing against your bare skin. With rough haste he grabs hold your bound wrists, tugging them upwards and shoving the edges of the foil into your grip. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, a disingenuous show of sarcastic gratitude, as you roll your shoulders to adjust its coverage, holding the emergency cape tightly in your bound hands. The fabric of your hood sucks inward against your nose and mouth as you draw in a lengthy breath.  

“Don’t thank me,” he grunts, as he finally unlocks and pulls open the gargantuan, ostentatious entrance to your mansion; a towering double door, two thick slabs of carved wood. The frigid gale immediately floods into the gaudy foyer, forcing him to squint, its iciness pricking shards at his eyes and threatening to freeze solid the water that lubricates them.  

“Rgh – fuck,” you groan through gritted teeth, faltering bravery quickly giving way to squeaking panic. Your entire body tenses at the sudden gust of ice, toes curling and head twisting away from the blast of ice.  

He spectates amusedly as you immediately pull the thin foil to better cover yourself, admires as you struggle to do so while your wrists are bound.  

He adds, “…only delaying the inevitable.”  

Your negligée billows in the invasive wind, exposing your skin even further to the frost; not to say that otherwise it would do much to protect you from it.  

He takes an impatient grip of the back of your neck, the impact of his palm on your nape loud enough to emit a smack. He burrows his fingers into the fleshy bands of your tendons, driving you ruthlessly you towards the exit. Holds you upright by the neck like trapped game as you stumble over your bare feet.  

“Move.”  

You didn’t expect to be gracious of the sack the dog had secured over your head.  

Your unstable breathing warms your cheeks, the hot vapour of your adrenaline pumping from your lungs is trapped in by the thick black cotton, preventing the membranes of your nostrils freezing solid.  

The vice like grip of your hunter has not faltered, dragging you by the neck down the winding stone steps of your estate – the slabs free of snow by virtue of the heated coils beneath them, a renovation you yourself had requested. Of course, your husband had obliged. 

But your abductor isn’t steering you down your driveway, it seems, as you are instead led off the path.  

A gasping shriek jumps from your throat as your feet touch the layer of powder, snow packing between your toes; the frost immediately burns the soles as though you tread over shattered glass.  

“Where are we going,” you question through a clenched jaw, chattering with the cold, having to push your weak voice out of your seizing diaphragm. 

As you had anticipated, he says nothing. 

Stays dead silent, the peculiar beast.  

You’re frightened of him. Suddenly unconfident in your attempts to read him.  

It’s typically your strongest talent, a perfectly honed skill – reading men.  

Every one of them like a children’s book, predilections and intentions so blatant that they may as well have been scribbled in crayon. They believe wholeheartedly that they are mysterious, too cunning to be understood, so mistaken in their conceit; expecting that you as a mere woman are simply unable to comprehend them. 

Yet you have made a craft of determining what makes each one tick. Disassembling them like the gears and screws of a clock, surveying their quirks and components through your looking glass.  

Once reduced to their basic constituents, their most primordial parts, they are all the same. Always want the same thing. Always boil down to the same creature.  

Dogs. 

You’ve gotten good at baiting them. Leashing them. Taming them.  

This one is guarded. Keeps his teeth bared, keeps you guessing when he might maul you.  

So far, the only quirk of this one that you been able to deduce is that he wants you to be scared of him. Doing his best to terrorise you with his threats while enacting none of them.  

If he wanted to hurt you, or rape you, or kill you, countless opportunities to do so have been presented to him. You’ve been offered up to him so freely you may as well have been gifted to him wrapped in a bow.  

And yet, he hasn’t unwrapped you.  

That’s where your scrutiny has failed you. Like static distorting a radio signal.  

He provides you no tells. Tips no hand.  

He continues to act as though he is yet to impart his worst upon you. Vague about his intentions with you, in spite of his wandering eye. At least that is consistent with what you would expect from any of the dogs you have so far encountered. Acts too good, too moral, too chaste to take you; yet still gropes and licks and fingers and fucks you with his wanton glower. All the same.  

His claws cut deep into the cartilage of your neck as though he might hang you from it, unaffected by your whimpers nor your looming hypothermia. You feel it sinking beneath your skin. Freezes your nerves, turns the blood in your arteries into icy sludge, sends your muscles into irrepressible spasms. Your lungs ache, forced to suck down the very air that will inevitably freeze them solid.  

You gasp as you feel your knees knock against something solid; the dull ring of thick metal. 

His talons release your neck, finally, though you find yourself immediately longing for the warmth of his grip – the nape of your neck prickling with gooseflesh as it’s bitten by the frigid cold. 

Quick to thwart your opportunity at freedom, he takes prompt hold of you, gloved hands shoving past your foil cape and tucking under your arms. You squeak as you are lifted, uncertain how high off the ground you might be, though grateful that your frozen feet are finally free from their bed of snow.  

You’re lowered, then, your feet and ankles quickly parted by whatever frosty metal is now beneath you – then he drops you, and you land on your pelvis with a sore thud, abruptly bestriding whatever vehicle it must be. A snowmobile, you suspect.  

You feel him mount the vehicle behind you, his form hulking even when you can’t see it. You feel his breathing through the fabric on the top of your head. Heaving thighs on either side of you, you’re nestled between them. He even tugs you back with an arm hooked around your stomach, so you’re pressed more firmly against him, prevented from wriggling free. A couple fewer layers of gear and his body heat might even bring you comfort.  

Through his touch alone he seems unbothered by your proximity, by the pressure of your ass against his crotch. Not lascivious, though not disquieted. Steals no grabs, no rogue touches of any of your more intimate parts – though you’re not daft enough to assume he would shy away from it.  

You can feel the fleshy mass behind his trousers despite the thickness of the weatherproof fabric. Formidable even soft.  

Perhaps you could tempt him.  

With just a shimmy, an innocent readjustment of your ass between his legs – you offer just a touch more pressure. You might bump against him while he rides through the snow, might feel that pliable weight turn rigid against your back.  

You admit that he doesn’t seem the type to offer you special treatment if you offered your cunt to him. He’s made it known that he thinks you’re a slut, after all. In your experience, though, it works in your favour most of the time. Where’s the harm in trying?

But you feel the fabric of your sack hood twitch and quiver as his head lowers beside yours, he growls into your ear; 

“That’s not gonna help you.”  

Fine. Whatever. 

Worth a shot. 

It sounded as though he had uttered it through a grin; a very slight, near imperceptible drip of amusement in his malicious tone.  

But, with your hands bound, near naked, and blinded, your survival is dependent on him. Rather, it's entirely up to him.  

So you play it cool.  

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sheepishly respond, sweet and naïve, you get back into character. 

He huffs derisively, impatiently, perhaps. You let his arms envelop you as they reach for what must be the handles of the snowmobile in front of you, quickly deafened by the roar of the engine as he tugs on the throttle.  

Your body is abruptly forced backwards, tossed against him like a ragdoll as he suddenly accelerates - your fabric mask now provides you utterly no protection from the icy wind as it breaks through the weave. Your foil cape billows in the gale of his speed, rendering you entirely defenceless against the vicious knives of the cold as he speeds through the snow.   

Dropping your head, curling inwards on instinct, you find yourself nestling deeper into his shrouding form if only to shield yourself from the deathly cold he has purposefully exposed you to.  

After what feels like an agonising hour of having your bare skin dragged over a steel grater, you feel the snowmobile begin to decelerate, its roaring engine growing quieter and eventually grunting to a stop.   

You had thought you might be granted a reprieve from the painful gusting wind once the mobile finally came to a halt; but you’re still in a whirlwind of ice and glass, so disoriented you feel as though you’ve been spun on your heel and then cast out into the barren wilderness to find your own way.  

In the malevolent hurricane you lose your grip on your foil blanket, your only respite, it flies off into the ambiguous void of black forced upon you by your hood.  

But that mechanical thunder is unmistakable – an aircraft you were well acquainted with. A helicopter.  

A transport you frequented in your days of luxury, often to your warmer getaway home further south. To your Petit Trianon, another gift from your husband – one that acted as a clear means of getting rid of you for weeks at a time. Not that you complained. 

The begrudging protection of your hunter is stolen from you as he dismounts, leaving you utterly exposed to the blizzard, shivering with such intensity that your muscles burn with the acid they involuntarily excrete.  

But you’re quickly hauled off the vehicle, gloved grip under your arms once again, picked up with ease as you feel your body get tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour. His thick arm hooks over your hip, you feel the veil of your babydoll flutter up and expose your bare ass to the icy gale - it humiliates you as if spanking you with its frozen hand.  

You hear the metallic rumble of a rolling door amidst the bellow of the rotating blades. 

“’Bout fuckin’ time.” The irate roar of a new man.  

You bounce on the shoulder in your stomach as you are carried within, listening as the door is slammed shut. After a few steps you are unceremoniously dropped onto a seat, a weak yelp escapes you at the pain of the impact.  

“Jesus fucking Christ, LT.” Yet another. Scottish.  

LT. Lieutenant? Military?  

Blind and defenceless, you stay seated but adjust yourself so that you sit upright, exerting every effort to catch your breath and steady your chattering bones. But despite effort, your body rolls around in its seat as the helicopter presumably begins its wobbly ascent.  

“What?” Your hunter growls.  

“Couldn’t give her a jacket?”  

“Why the fuck would I do that.”  

“It’s negative fifteen out there. Look at her, she’s just about blue.”  

“Mm. Maybe I should’ve given her the chance to pick out her favourite mink coat, eh?”  

You hear a huff of laughter from another man. “You just wanted to keep her in her knickers.” 

“Mh. Might loosen up her husband.”  

A chortle. “Could loosen up anybody.”  

Dogs. 

You stay silent and listen shrewdly.  

“Bravo Six to Gold Eagle Actual – double jackpot. We’re RTB.”  

Military, you are now certain. You can tell by the codeword gibberish without needing to understand it. You wish now that you had watched enough Western war movies to be able to translate it – but they’re all banned in Russia, of course.  

There’s a quiet murmur of a static-ridden voice emerging from a radio, but it is drowned out by the humming of the helicopter. 

“Fuck’d you do to Zakhaev?” Your hunter asks, throaty voice almost taunting. 

Your husband. Was he in the aircraft with you? Could you call for him?  

“Squealed like a pig when he came to. Knocked him out again.” The Scotsman. 

But, in spite of your effort to distinguish them, the unfamiliar voices quickly begin to blur together.  

“Tracks.”  

“Separate them before he wakes up.”  

“Why?” A new voice.  

“Can’t have him knowing that we’ve got her already. We need to surprise him with it.”  

“Kinda fucked up, Cap.”  

“Ts’all in a days work, Sergeant.”  

Captain. Sergeant. British Army? Airforce?  

There’s a few moments of silence, you shuffle disquietly in your seat. Oh, if only you could see what was happening. It was already hard enough to hear them over the roaring of the chopper. Deaf, dumb, and blind. 

“Christ, she’s a looker, though, isn’t she?” The Sergeant.  

A chuckle follows from the Scotsman. “Can’t even see her face, mate.”  

“Don’t need to.”  

“Never know. Could be all botched by filler and botox and shite. All those fuckin’ oligarchs are.”  

“Mm. Nah. I’ve seen the photos.”  

“Take a long hard look at ‘em, did ye?”  

“Definitely hard. Dunno about long.”  

A laugh. “You nasty fucker.”  

Dogs. 

You’re even further discomforted by the fact that your hunter knows you can understand every single word that these men are uttering around you. And, evidently, feels no need to inform his comrades that you know exactly what they are saying about you.  

He wants you to feel uncomfortable.  

He wants you nervous.  

You hear the thud of boots against the metal floor, uncertain of whose nor which direction they are coming from, though they approach you. You shrivel on instinct, curling in on yourself to hide your near-nudity from whichever of the lecherous men is standing before you. 

You jump, squeaking in fright as something heavy is tossed around your shoulders. Fabric. Wool, judging by the thickness and scratchiness of it; you use your bound hands to grab at the edges of it to blanket yourself, finally able to conceal your body from them.  

“Согрейтесь.” Warm yourself up.  

The Captain, if you remember his rumbling cadence correctly. 

“You’re too soft, Cap. She’s a prisoner of war not a fuckin’ damsel.” Your hunter.  

The man who had given you the blanket addresses him. “We need her alive, don’t we? I’m keeping her alive.”  

“Fuck’s sake. She’ll be fine.”  

The charitable one speaks to you again, voice low and close, as though he has bent down intending for only you to hear it.  

“Он ничего тебе не сделал, да?” He didn’t do anything to you, did he? 

“Oh, piss off. Who do you think I am?” Your abductor immediately disputes, having apparently overheard.   

You consider your options. Maybe this captain could take pity on you, if you played your cards right. You can deduce his type through his words and actions already. Nobleman. White knight. It’s a façade, of course. If he’s a captain as the others say, he has probably orchestrated this entire operation.  

Though, inexplicably, you decide honesty is your safest course. You want an ally out of your hunter.  

“Нет, он меня не трогал.” No, he didn’t touch me. 

“Told you.” Your hunter grunts.  

A laboured sigh follows from the captain. “I never know with you, Riley.”  

He scoffs disdainfully.  

Leaves an ugly silence.  

“I’m not an animal.”  

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch2

Description- the second chapter! I don’t know if I warned y’all that it’s gonna be the slowest of slow burns. You’re welcome! Anyway, Laika meets the 141 in this chapter and she is terrified of them all! Poor girl. Of course, sweet, handsome Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is the first to gain her trust. 🫶🏼

(Cont from Ch1 - link below)

I stand in a sort of semi-shocked state, just staring at the man. It was probably only for two seconds before he moved and shook me from my stupor, but it felt like time had frozen. I make a dive for the door and have almost made it through before I hear Dr Dimitrov's voice bellow down the hallway. I then feel a rough arm wrap around my waist and a hand cover my mouth. He whispers harshly in my ear "must'a been hiding like a little mouse in here" shaking me slightly to make me move with him into a better defensive position against the incoming tide of guards. I start rapidly shaking my head, trying to fight against his tight hold on my mouth. My eyes wide and terrified.

"Sit still, lass. You'll get us both in trouble." My eyes flash towards his as he starts tying my wrists with a makeshift bandage wrap to keep me secure. "You'll stay behind me - d'ya speak english, lass?". I nod my head. Obedience gets rewarded. That's what I had learnt over the years in this facility.

"You a hostage?" - I shake my head, no.

"Are ya' one of them..?" - my eyes must give me away. Technically, yes, I am one of 'them', but do I want to be? No, I do not. I just stare back at him. His eyes narrow, eyeing me with suspision now.

Dr Dimitrov's voice grows louder, as does the crashing of cell doors and the shouts of "CLEAR" from the guards. The sound of gun shots crashes to life. I’m shaking like a lead. All of a sudden the man's radio crackles. It's the smooth voice again.

"Soap - careful, they're looking for the asset. He's dangerous. Get out of there and clear the area. We have the hallway covered. Over."

He pushes me further back and keeps his large hand tightly around my lower face, squeezing tightly, almost to the point of pain.

"Bit of an issue, Gaz. Found a little lass in a cell. No sign of the asset though. Leaving in five - cover me." I shake my head against his grip. I wanted to tell him. It's me they're after. It's me. I'm the asset. But I'm scared. And obedient. I don't bite. Yes, I am a trained asset with lots of kills to my name, but I don't bite. Before I have time to say anything, I'm shunted by the large man, pushed forward toward the door. Bullets fly - metal and glass shatters and clangs. Everything is blurry. Numb. Apart from the tight hold on my upper arm. Warm. Bruising.

We clear the hallway without too much issue. I'm pushed into another corridor and shoved again to keep me running, faster than I thought I could run with my wrists tightly tied. I gasp, deciding now is as good a time as any, now he hasn't got my mouth covered.

"It's me they want" I breathe

"No, they want the asset. Stay quiet, Lass. We will figure out who you are later." he says roughly.

I shake my head again. "It's me. I'm their asset. They won't stop chasing me. I'm the last one.. Just-"

He cuts me off, shouting into the radio. "I've got the asset. What do I do now?"

"Just shoot me" I whisper. His eyes flash to me over the crackle of his radio.

"Bring him to the exfil point. Is he alive? Over."

"Alive. And She.. He's a she. Over".

The radio goes silent.

"Please. Shoot me. I'm a monster.. Please."

My mouth is covered with another makeshift piece of cloth, fashioned into a gag. I'm pulled off the floor and roughly thrown over his shoulder.

"Shut it, Lass. If I had known you were the asset, you'd be dead already. But orders are orders" He grunts, angrily. A noise escapes my throat, a whine.

The sound of bullets flying begins to dull, the corridors open up to a door - a door that I had never seen before as I had always been transported with a sack over my head. My stomach is sore, his shoulder digs in with every stride he takes. My eyes start to leak. I close my eyes and just sniffle. Weak. Hopeless, again. Not that I ever stopped feeling hopeless in the first place. But, yeah..

I am uncerimoneously slung to the ground and I groan quietly before looking up at the man who had delivered me to whatever fate I now face. He stares back. Blue eyes, dark hair styled in a strange sort of grown out mohawk. Unusual for a soldier. He looks suspicious, or curious. I can't tell. I hadn't been studied like this for a long time. I am utterly predictable to my captors. They knew my triggers and my commands. 'Laika sit, Laika move, Laika shoot, Laika kill, Laika - lick your own wounds, Laika - cage! Bad Laika.'

Every miniscule movement I make is studied by the man with strange hair and blue eyes. I stare back at him with big, wet, sad eyes. I hate being gagged like this, hate being restrained. They do this to me when I am punished for disobedience. He tutts at me. It's a surprising noise to hear coming from him when he had just told me that he would have killed me quicker if he had known it was me.

"Asset secure at exfil point. How far out are you? Over."

"Two minutes, Soap." The reply crackles back.

I continue to stare at him. Two minutes till I'm either killed or tortured. I start to count down. Death would be the best option, but I doubt it would be that easy. I close my eyes and lower my head. I give up. Surrender to whatever is going to happen to me.

I hear three sets of boots approach and smell the thick scent of Alpha. I don't dare open my eyes. I just sniffle quietly with my head down, leaning against the wall where the man with strange hair had dropped me.

"Fuck Soap, is that the asset?"

"Aye, Apparently.."

"Did she put up much fight? We were told she's dangerous."

"Quiet as a wee mouse.."

"You sure it's her.. how do you know..?"

"She said it wis her.. wanted me tae shoot her"

The man, 'Soap', is interrogated by his team. I finally find it in me to open my eyes. I wish I hadn't. I'm surrounded by four massive Alphas, armed up to the eyeballs, all staring down at me. I flinch. I inhale sharply as one of them, with unusual facial hair and a floppy hat, steps forward. I try to shuffle away before a surspisingly gentle hand falls on to my shin, just below my knee.

"Captain John Price.." he nods in greeting. He has a rough voice.

I look down at the ground and try not to shake. He tutts. Why do people keep tutting at me?

The Captain glances back at the others. "Johnny, this ain't no asset. Get the gag and arm restraints off of her. She speak English?"

"Aye Captain, she does. She told me she wis the last one.."

"Can't be. Not this little thing. She doesn't look like she could harm a fly. What is she, Omega?" He sniffs the air, being unusually respectful - usually Alphas just stuck their nose in my neck and inhaled. "Hmm, no scent. Beta." He concludes.

Soap rushes forward to untie me and I flinch away from him. He steadies his approach but tries to grab my wrists again, I dodge his hands again. A smooth voice, the one I recognise from the radio, pipes up.

"Fuck sake, Johnny. You've scared her. C'mon, let me do it."

He steps forward as Soap, or Johnny, retreats. The Captain steps back too.

"It's okay, just going to get these off. Can I touch you?" The man asks softly.

I stare at him with wide eyes before glancing back up at the others in the team. The Captain seemed trustworthy. Fair. Soap, or Johnny, seemed sharp and unpredictable. This one seems calmer, kinder. Looking at him, I find deep brown eyes with vast softness to his expression. He has kind and honest eyes. My head nods. He steps forward again and slowly lowers himself to my level on the ground. He gently takes my wrists and starts removing the restraints. "You aren't going to try anything once these come off?" He hesitates. I shake my head, no. He then nods and removes them completely.

"Ok, now this.. lean forward so I can get the knot at the back of your head". Obedience is rewarded, my brain recalls. I do as I'm told and lean forward, exposing my scent glands in the process due to the position I am in. He respectfully places his hand on the back of my neck and unties the knot, letting the gag fall free.

"There you go, now.. What is your name?" He asks as he stands up slowly and steps one step away to give me space. I stare up at him and answer his question nervously. "L-Laika..?" I sort of question my own answer, not sure what they were wanting to hear.

He looks round at the others and the Captain beckons him over to the others. "Gaz- here a minute" he calls. Gaz obeys and leaves me with a small smile, I just stare back at him. I watch him walk away from me and glance around, trying to think of my options.

It’s only then that I clock the absolute behemoth of a man with a skull mask. He was terrifying, something from nightmares. I find myself shuffling away from the group. Of course, he is the one who notices my movement and quickly makes a move to stop me.

I release a hollow yelp and leap from my position on the floor. I quickly weigh up my options, there is no point of running from him, he would catch me in three strides, no point of fighting him, he is huge and armed. I do the next thing my stupid brain thinks to do and run and hide behind the kind one, Gaz, I think. He looks just as confused as the others. The scary one stops his approach immediately and stands seperated from the group.

"Thought she was about to leg it." he explains to the others in a voice I can only describe as a growl, rough as gravel. He is terrifying.

I whimper from my hiding spot as he continues to stare at me though his mask. Brown eyes, but not kind - his were hard. Gaz slowly turns to face me, as to not startle me again, he lifts his hand and gently touches my arm to try and comfort me - I remove it from his reach. "Sorry, sorry - look, we aren't going to hurt you, okay? I'm not asking you to trust us but we have a lot to talk about. We need to figure out who you are" he explains softly.

"I'm the asset" I say, "They - they call me Laika." His deep brown eyes don't ever leave mine, I feel a fleeting sense of safety staring back at him.

"If you're the asset, we need to take you back and ask questions. You understand that, yeah?" I nod. I then find myself spilling information before I can think of what I am saying.

“It was me.. the other two assets died. I - I killed lots of people but I was told they were bad. They punished me if I disobeyed, if I didn't complete the objectives correctly.." my voice wobbles.

His gaze leaves mine and looks towards his Captain. "Cap.. what -" he is interupted by his Captain.

“We move out. Gaz, she is with you. She obviously trusts you most. We figure this mess out back at base" the pack leader orders.

They all start to move and Gaz turns back to me. "C'mon, stay close to me. I won't let anything happen to you". I scurry behind him. He doesn't say anything but his inner Alpha preens thanks to the fact he is the one you trust.

We turn a couple of street corners and arrive at a black jeep. The Captain jumps into the drivers seat, the masked man in the passenger seat. I pause. Gaz obviously senses my insecurity.

"Would you rather sit in the middle between us" he glances and nods towards Soap "or.. I can sit in the middle so it's just me.." he asks. I stand in silence, shocked that he actually asked what I was comfortable with. I hadn't been asked for my consent for years and it had happened twice with him in the last ten minutes. He was a kind Alpha.

“J-just you… please" I respond nervously. He nods sympathetically and gets in the car, patting the seat next to him for me. Soap climbs into the seat beside Gaz on the other side of the jeep.

I step into the car and close the door behind me. I feel surrounded and claustraphobic. In the small space of the car, the scent of all four men mix and mingles together. It almost burns the back of my throat. This is strange. I'm not usually sensitive to other designations thanks to the supressants.

I notice, as I shuffle in my seat, that the scary one with the mask is seated directly infront of me. Gaz notices, ever observant of my smallest of tells. "It's fine. None of us will try anything. We aren't feral Alpha pieces of shit, okay?" I slowly nod my head "Ok" I whisper.

He smiles at me. I almost smile back.

[ohmygraves]

Hello, this is my first time jump into someone's ask box. May i have a request Gaz or any TF141 men you think would fit with reader who has big bruises on their body (they got it from mission or simply after training) but reader choose to hide it and tend the bruises by them selves. The man found this out by accident when they're changing clothes or whatever scenario you would put up. It's a bit angst but with a lot of comfort afterwards. You may ignore this if you feel uncomfortable with this trope..

Sincerely

Anon from Indonesia UTC+8

hello anon, thank you so much for requesting! i feel like they all would be concerned if the reader got hurt but refused to go get it checked with the medics (⁠ ⁠･ั⁠﹏⁠･ั⁠) so i will try to write some bits for all of them 💖 i hope you like it, sorry it took so long!

you got hurt on the last mission you went to with gaz.

you, captain price, and the sergeant were on the comms line together. you're in charge of backing up kyle when he infiltrates the building, and was talking with laswell and price. some dumb jokes, catching up with the station chief, stuff like that. the mission had been slow, and you're getting bored staying out there alone glued to the scope.

looking back, you probably shouldn't have joined in on the banter. you completely missed an enemy ambushing you from behind, and had lost communications for a few minutes as you got slammed against a huge boulder, tossed around by the man who attacked you. it was a miracle you got back in one piece, only bruised and some small cuts after the scuffle. you were lucky, so lucky that you're not sure if this were to happen again, you'd probably not going to be able to return at all.

you noticed how kyle, price and laswell was worried during your disappearance from the comms line, especially since kyle kept calling for you a few times and you wouldn't answer. after you shot the man down, you brushed off your clothes and returned to your post, apologizing to everyone and explaining what had happened. you assured everything is fine, and that you're okay and can still keep going. you didn't bleed out or anything.

oh, how wrong you were.

as you sat on the exfil vehicle together with price and gaz, you're starting to feel sore. the adrenaline coursing through your veins must've dulled the pain earlier, and now that it's gone down, you're feeling the pain.

honestly, pain might be an understatement, because you feel like you just got hit by a car.

god, your body hurts. every inch of your body feels like it's screaming for mercy. you're sure that bruises are forming somewhere under your clothes, but you honestly can't be bothered to even go to the medic for this. not when kyle is bleeding beside you and price is stressed because the target escaped.

it's fine, you can deal with it later. frozen peas and some painkillers will do the job.

you didn't realize that someone did notice how you're nearly limping around to go catch up with price for a debriefing...

john price

he'd noticed that you were hurt after you returned his calls on the comms, just after you finished shooting the guy who messed you up on the field. although, he was too occupied to even press you more about it, deciding to trust you that everything is fine on your end. thankfully, you did returned to the helo in one piece, which eases his mind.

still, he couldn't help but notice how off you're walking to his office, wincing slightly as you take each step. something must've happened back then when you were cut off from comms, and he needs to know. he quickly finished debriefing and dismissed everyone else, but told you to stay behind.

you feel your bones creak every time you move, even if that doesn't seem physically possible.

"are you sure you're okay?" price asked you, crossing his arms over his chest as he examined you top to bottom, "you're limping quite awfully, doll."

"'m fine, captain... gonna go check on kyle..." you replied curtly, not wanting him to make a big deal out of it. it's just a couple of bruises, nothing bad surely.

"get it checked with the medics. and i'll know if you don't." he sighed, "i know you think you can fix it yourself, but you should get it checked either way. you may be able to fix some scrapes, but you'll need to see if you broke any ribs or not."

"but—"

"it's an order, soldier," price snapped, "no ifs or buts."

you didn't say anything, simply nodding and turned back to leave his office. you might actually do it, given how sore your body feels right now. you didn't hear that price approached you, holding your hand over the doorknob. his eyes looked closer to examine you, his free hand moving to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping off the dirt on your face.

"take care of yourself, love. please."

"i'll try, captain..."

"good. that's all i asked."

simon "ghost" riley

you decided that you want to take a shower before going to see kyle at the infirmary.

he was bleeding a lot, it might take a while to see him anyway. and you were rolling around on mud that whole mission, you feel like you were covered in dirt from head to toe. gross.

the communal shower is just a few meters away anyway.

you took a small detour to your room to grab a change of clothes, thankful that you prepared it in advance. grabbing a cargo pants and a pair of clean t-shirt, you walked into the communal shower at the base, taking off your dirty clothes and setting it aside. it'll be cleaner if you wash them yourself.

changing was hard, your arms feel like it's so sore that it's about to fall off, and not to mention you can't even move freely. maybe price was right, you broke a rib because your chest is hurting slightly when you try to pull your dirty t-shirt over your head.

"what the hell happened t'ya?"

a rough voice called out to you as you heard someone stepped closer. you glanced to see who it was as you struggled to take off your clothes, seeing the familiar mask over the face and a bare, scarred chest. oh, it's just ghost.

"ya looked like a bruised apple."

you laughed, knowing how much your body hurts right now, you kind of feel like one too.

"got thrown around during the mission with gaz and the captain," you replied, trying to wrestle your t-shirt out over your head still as you wince slightly, "just... god, no big deal, really... gaz got shot..."

ghost hummed, nodding slightly as he sees you struggling to undress. "need help?" he asked, eyeing your bruises under the t-shirt peeking out while you try to peel off the fabric off of your body.

"please do, i'm losing my mind..."

"guess someone needs t'see medic after this..."

you rolled your eyes as ghost yanked the shirt off of your body in one swoop, making you groan and hiss at the sharp pain you felt. clearly he wasn't gentle enough.

"sorry," ghost apologized. you didn't really mind, brushing it off as you kicked off your boots and pants down, throwing it somewhere in the room.

"i'll live... thanks, ghost."

he nodded, giving your head a small pat as he turned around to his own locker, his fingers messing your hair up. "don't act tough, go see the medic after this."

you didn't want to tell him that you liked that he patted you on the head, so you grumbled up a response, pouting. "yeah, yeah... you're such a worrywart."

"i mean it. those bruises are messed up."

"i know, i know... geez."

ghost shook his head as he patted your head again, a little more roughly this time, messing your hair as he got dressed and left the communal shower.

john "soap" mactavish

the moment the water hits you, you couldn't help but groan out in pain. you weren't expecting hot water or anything, but at least not something that would literally freeze your arse up. you weren't sure if cold water is better since you're far too distracted from the pain by how cold your fingertips are.

you wondered if there's any way you could get some hot water, most of the time it's always broken.

your fingers started messing with the dial, fumbling as you tried to dodge the cold water hitting those sore spots on your body.

"jesus wit happened to ye, bonnie?"

you turned around seeing soap in his naked glory, somehow. having seen everyone naked at this point, you didn't care enough to mention it. it's the shower anyway.

"got smacked across the face by the enemy earlier on mission."

"yer like a bruised pear."

you shrugged it off, "lt said apple earlier, but same difference i suppose."

he chuckled, looking at what you were doing. he didn't say anything, simply moving to adjust the water for you. after fiddling for a while, he managed to find a good enough temperature that you could enjoy.

"need help, bonnie?"

"'m good, soap. you should go see gaz."

he didn't fight you, simply giving you some head pats, chuckling when he sees your pouting face. sometimes you feel like he's treating you like a kid or like a younger sibling... well, until he gave your butt a squeeze anyway.

"ow! soap!" you yelped in pain, knowing that a bruise has formed there too. soap laughed, giving it a small pat as he teased you again.

"careful, bonnie. can't get our star all bruised now~"

you rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue at him as he walked out of the communal shower.

kyle "gaz" garrick

after taking about an hour on your "quick shower", you get changed and decide to go see gaz in medbay. knowing that he got shot made you feel awful, so you just want to see if he's okay. you're sure he's fine, but he's going to keep bitching about it for weeks.

you made your way to the medbay, seeing if you could visit kyle. he was on the bed, pouting, so you decided to walk in and sit by his bedside.

"hey, you okay?" you asked him, seeing how he's wrapped in bandages.

"have a few extra holes on me, but i'd say i'm feeling better... you?" gaz let out a sigh as he looked at you, noticing the way you sit uncomfortably on the chair because of your bruises.

"i'll live."

"they got you too, huh?" gaz sighed, looking disappointed at you, "i'll call the medics."

you didn't want to bother him, so you tried to stop him.

"what? you're hurt. just because it's bruises doesn't mean that you can just brush it off." gaz shakes his head, taking your hand in his. "i don't like seeing you get hurt."

that made you blush, your heart thumping as kyle called for the medics to check on you too. you could feel his hand on yours, thumbs caressing the back of your hand as medics approached you.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Undying Stupidity

Summary: After raiding a strange facility, 141 takes you back to base with them, where they interrogate you, and after shooting you in the head, quickly discover that you’re an immortal.

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

Warnings: blood, mentions of abuse, dead ppl, being shot in the head?? gaz being pretty

A/N: was giggling while thinking abt this today at school, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

They needed information, and where they got it from didn’t particularly matter.

A strange facility filled with what looked to be mostly dead or dying patients, the rest of the guards taken care of once Task Force 141 arrived. And they found…you. Locked in maximum security, malnourished with marks of what seemed to be abuse, but still able to walk.

Gaz and Soap exchanged a look as Ghost yanked you to your feet, dragging you along. You looked more annoyed and offended than afraid. An odd response for a teenage girl locked in enemy territory. You had a hint of a British accent, but also other accents as well. Weird.

“Uh…can we not yank on my arm?”

You said, looking in mild pain. Simon sighed, throwing you over his shoulder instead as the entire team began moving out. Price shot Ghost a warning look at the little ‘oomph’ you made. They needed you alive for the possible information you could have, and if he was too rough, he might break you.

Oh, how wrong they were.

Eventually opting to knock you unconscious once they got to their exfil, they put a white bag over your head. Couldn’t have you waking up and seeing where you were. Wouldn’t be great in case you escaped.

When you woke up, you were tied to a steel chair in a dark room with gray walls. The paint was peeling. In front of you was a table, and across the table, one of the men from earlier sat. The prettier one of the group. When you woke, he gave a little faux sympathetic smile, glancing over at what must’ve been a watch concealed within his sleeve.

“Right on time.” He said, putting his elbows on the table. A gun was in his holster and a few pairs of pliers and knives were on the table. You felt a bit mildly uncomfortable in the situation you were in.

“Look, I don’t think you know what you’re doing-“

You began, but he cut you off with a raised eyebrow.

“Really? I think I know exactly what I’m doing, now what’s your name, hm?”

You sighed, glancing down at the rope bindings chafing against your wrists, leaving angry red marks behind. The ones on your wrists weren’t any better.

“Y/N.” You said glumly, and he pulled a small notepad out from his jacket, writing things down on it with a small pen.

“Good, always easier when they cooperate.” He said, seemingly talking to himself, before glancing back up at you with deep brown eyes.

“Now, can you tell me why you were at that facility?”

You frowned, nose scrunching up slightly as you tried to find a way to explain it. He waited patiently, and you could hear his foot tapping against the floor.

“I was an…experiment?”

You tried with a little shrug. And he looked at you point blank, eyes running over your small form.

“Just shoot me. It’ll make sense after that.” You said with another uncomfortable look. It seemed to be your default. The strange man seemed a bit surprised at your words, but his features quickly tightened.

“Why would I shoot you?”

“I mean—I’ll come back, promise.”

A pause on his end and his gaze turned almost concerned. He stood from his chair, turning to face the door, and as he walked out, you heard him mutter under his breath.

“Didn’t think she was a crazy one. Could’a fooled me.”

Before he closed the door and left you in the room alone again.

It must’ve been a few hours before the door opened, except this time, it was the bearded man coming in. You’d decided that he wasn’t as threatening, not as the giant skull-faced one, anyway. The pretty man from earlier followed, looking panicked.

“Cap, you can’t just-“

A man with a Mohawk filed in after, a confused frown on his face, and the man with the mask stood by the door, silently watching.

“Anyone wanna explain wha’ tha hell is goin’ on?”

Mohawk-man spoke, with a Scottish accent. It made sense, you supposed, since he had a Scottish flag on his uniform.

“I’m gonna test somethin’, is what’s gonna happen.” The bearded man spoke, his voice gruff and low, and pretty-boy tried to stop him, but the man grabbed his gun from his holster, pointed it straight at your head, and fired.

You faintly heard yelling and fighting, your vision blacking out not too long after, and a warm liquid dripping down your face, dripping into your mouth. It tasted like iron and copper at the same time. Your senses faded to nothing, and then….

Groaning, your previously limp body straightened back up as you sat up in your seat, an empty bullet shell falling from a rapidly closing wound in your head.

Bearded-man watched, only nodding as if that had confirmed his suspicions. The pretty boy watched, mouth slightly agape, pure confusion and disbelief clouding his features. The Scotsman stared for a while, before letting out a breathy laugh and clapping you on the shoulder from where you were still in the chair. You winced.

“Well, that was one helluva show,”

He said, and the masked one just stared from his spot in the doorway, uttering the one thing most of them were thinking right now.

“Wot.”

The bearded man put his gun back in its holster, undoing the rope bindings on your hands, and the Scotsman followed his lead, taking a knee to free your ankles.

“Captain John Price.”

He said, shaking your hand. His grip was firm. Mohawk-man grinned and took your other hand.

“Johnny, but you can call me Soap.”

Your hands were limp in their grasp, still trying to recover from the bullet to your skull. Pretty-boy still gaped, mouth opening and closing, before Price explained, probably having known the shock the poor team would have.

“Immortal. Injuries don’t kill ‘er, she jus’ heals.”

A moment later, a skeleton-themed glove was in your hand, shaking it.

“Ghost.”

Was all he said, before the pretty boy came up, hesitantly shaking your hand.

“Kyle, but just..call me Gaz.”

He backed away quickly, still eying you like you might bite. Instead, you groaned, head falling against the chair.

“M….hate getting shot in the head.”

You mumbled, one hand going to rub your head where the bullet hole had now closed up. Your head was pounding, your mind swimming, and generally, it was not a good experience.

“I’d imagine,”

Soap said with a snort, and Price gestured to Soap.

“Walk ‘er to a room. Might as well get her acclimated. Laswell’s gonna want to hear about this.”

Soap gave a nod, a little grin remaining as he approached you, cocking his head slightly as he glanced down at your legs. Injuries didn’t remain on you, not much at least, but some scars did. Little indentions or light pink circles from bullets pockmarked your skin.

“Can ya walk?”

You glanced down at your legs, a doubtful frown crossing your face.

“…maybe?”

“Good enough excuse for me.”

He said, using one large arm to lift most of your body. Your arm slotted around his shoulders surprisingly easily as he carried you in one arm like a rag doll. He walked down endless hallways, until he stopped at one door, opening it up. It was mostly empty, with a thin mattress on the floor in the corner, a small window that was more like a slit on one wall, and a small dresser.

The bare necessities, but more than enough.

Soap set you gently down on the mattress, and your body relaxed into it, eyes nearly shutting from pure bliss. You’d had enough of stiff chairs, sore joints, and achy limbs. Just because you could survive almost everything didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt.

“I would say we’d get you medical, but…”

He glanced down at the spot in your forehead where the bullet had been, and you shrugged.

“I just wanna sleep.”

You said, and he chuckled, ruffling your hair before stepping towards the exit.

“We’ll get ya some food in the morning,..and maybe a bed frame. Wouldn’t count on the bed frame, though.”

Your lips quirked into a tiny smile at that, amused. He must’ve considered it a victory, because his grin widened, and he gave a little jerk of his chin upwards that looked like a goodbye.

“See ya la’er, kid.”

You knew one thing as you drifted into some much-needed sleep that night.

Life was going to get much more interesting from this point forward.

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Call An Ambulance

You've been taken hostage by a terrorist cell. You're no one important for most people, but to one man, you are his entire reason for existing, Simon "Ghost" Riley. He has a plan to save you, and no one is going to be able to stop him.

"I think there has been some confusion. I'm not the one in trouble here. You are."

"What?" The man holding him hostage looks stunned and bewildered at the casual confidence of that statement.

"There's only 4 of you. You'll need more than that." Suddenly, Ghost stands up, hands untied with a knife clasped tightly in one. He makes quick work of the stunned men, then the two that came at their shouts. Hurrying into the hall, he finds you in the third room being questioned by men, tortured for information you don't have.

Ghost cradles you gently, binding up what he can and arming himself from their bodies. It takes him less than ten minutes to escape the enemy's stronghold with you over his shoulder and another ten to reach the exfil point. In less than an hour, you and he are sitting in front of a doctor despite their best attempts to separate him from you. He has you back. He won't let you out of his sight again anytime soon.

[sweetsreverie]

Thanks to You

Thanks to Y/N's quick thinking, 141 escapes a sticky situation with their lives... Barely. pairing: task force 141 x reader wc: 1,320 warnings/notes: canon-typical violence, near-death experiences, my attempt at angst after mostly writing and reading fluff, incorrect military terminology probably.

Terrorism in Mali had been on the rise for months, and the team had been notified of a growing terrorist cell in Bamako, the capital. The team had arrived early in the morning, now you and the rest of 141 were waiting for exfil that night after successfully raiding the base of operations. 

While you were inspecting some of the stolen weapons and ammo that was in the building, your radio along with everyone else’s crackles to life.

“Bravo team this is Watcher-1. We've got eyes on four vehicles heading your way. They’re not friendly. Stay alert.”

You look over at Price and the others, and Ghost lets out a huff in annoyance more than anything.

“Fucking hell.”

“They must have called for reinforcements once they knew we were here-” You say quickly as you look over at Price, and he nods in agreement.

“Precisely.”

Just as Price had finished speaking, the five of you heard the vehicles outside, along with dozens of voices speaking a language you didn’t understand. You had hardly any time to react before grenades were blasting the doors open, and you were ducking for cover. Quickly assessing the layout of the place, you identify three doors ahead of you, and you know there’s a door behind you. Hopefully you could use it to escape.

“We’ve got to get to the truck outside if we’re to catch the helo for exfil.” Soap calls as the five of you begin to fire your rifles at the combatants that were entering the building.

“We’re not going anywhere until these fuckers are dead!” Ghost shouts over the sound of gunfire, and you briefly glance at the double doors behind you. The truck was parked a few dozen yards away behind a treeline, if you ran, you could make it. It’s going to take quick thinking to get out of here with your lives.

“We take this back door to the truck- Go! I’ll cover ya!” You call out to them, and Price looks at you briefly before he tosses a frag grenade towards the other side of the building.

“Hell no, there’s too many of them Y/N.” Price says firmly, his knuckles turning white as he grips his rifle.

“We don’t have time to argue about it!” Ghost shouts, and your mind is racing, trying to think of how the hell you’re going to get out of here with the team.

“Wait- I- I planted C4 when we finished clearing the place-” You ramble quickly, and Soap’s eyes are wide as you explain.

“Laswell wanted us to destroy any contraband we found- I planted it to take this building down, I can detonate it if you guys go for the truck!” You say with wide eyes, and the corner of Soap’s mouth raises slightly. They hadn’t even noticed you had done it. Sometimes you were just that quick and quiet.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here then. Go! Go!” Price shouts, and the five of you move away from your cover and duck out of the back door of the building as the gunfire continues from behind you. Bullets whizz by, flying past you and hitting the concrete walls.

Once you’re out and a few dozen yards away from the building, you activate the detonator. The five of you duck briefly as a loud boom sounds through the area, and the building comes crashing down. The screams of the men inside nearly make you sick, even though they were just trying to kill you.

“Steamin’ Jesus Y/N- Can’t believe you thought of that. We all got outta there thanks to you.” Soap calls over to you as you all pile into the truck.

You gather your bearings once you’re seated, and you cough a few times to clear your airway of some dust and debris from your surroundings. When you pull your hand away, there’s a splatter of blood on the palm of your glove.

Fuck.

Gaz notices the way you briefly freeze, and he sits up in his seat stiffly.

“Y/N- You good? Hey-” He says before he turns on his flashlight to see you in the dark truck, and when the light shines on your abdomen and waist, Gaz and Soap see your uniform was stained with blood. Your dark blue coat was shining with the blood that was rapidly flowing from your middle.

You don’t know when it happened, and you didn’t even feel it until now, now that the adrenaline has worn off.

“Captain- Y/N’s hit, we gotta move fast.” Soap calls out, and when he leans over and begins to undo the velcro of your vest, you let out a whine as you’re slightly jostled by the motion. Searing pain was blooming throughout your body, and every movement made by the truck worsened it. 

Soap moves your vest to the side before he unzips your jacket, and he sighs when he sees the lower half of your gray shirt was now almost totally soaked in blood. Amongst the blood, he sees two exit wounds; you had been shot from behind.

The pain was growing to be unbearable, and as you close your eyes, Soap gives your arm a firm squeeze.

“Hey- Y/N, you gotta stay with me, aye? It’s not your time yet. We’re gonna get you fixed up.” Soap speaks quickly as he leans over and begins to apply pressure to the wounds as best he can, and his heart breaks when he hears your cries of agony. 

The truck soon comes to a stop at the set rendezvous point. Luckily for you, the lights from the helo soon appear as the helicopter begins its descent to get your team out of there.

“C’mon kid, you’re not getting away from us this easily. Someone’s gotta help me keep Ghost and Price on their toes.” Soap says as he begins to help you out of the truck. Ghost comes around the side to help Soap move you, and he puts his arm around your back so you could lean against him.

You’re the youngest of 141, and they were going to make sure that you had a future with them. 

The next time you woke up, although your vision was bleary, you recognized your surroundings as the infirmary on the base. You remember what happened. Soap’s words, and him and Ghost loading you into the helicopter. The rest is fuzzy. 

Considering you felt no pain, you could only guess what kind of cocktail of medications the doctors had you on.

As you regain consciousness, you hear voices nearby. You recognize Ghost first, followed by Soap and Gaz. You guessed Price was working on the debrief. How long were you out?

Just like that, a few pairs of footsteps approach, and when the nurse pulls back the curtain, you’re met with Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. Ghost has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, Soap is holding a stuffed dinosaur and Gaz is holding a few of your favorite candy bars.

“Maybe I should get shot at more often.” You murmur, and Soap grins while he hands you the stuffie and the candy that Gaz had been holding. 

“Looks like you’re feeling good then. You gave us a scare back there, Y/N.” Gaz says while Soap sits down in one of the chairs near your bed.

“I feel okay- The drugs are helping.”

“Your quick thinking saved our asses back there. I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt though.” Soap says seriously, and you look down at him with a little smile.

“I’m young, I’ll heal in no time. At least it wasn’t one of you.” Ghost rolls his eyes at that, but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“And… There it is.” He says, having been waiting for your smart ass to say something. That’s how they knew you were feeling like yourself again.

[ineylesian]

hey!!!

I was wondering, how would Ghost react to the reader scolding him?? like, something happens that disrupts the mission and it's his fault and the reader scolds him, not aggressively, but still I would like to know Ghost's reaction

Also, the idea that he and the reader have a romantic relationship but he's still a bit strict :)

(I used the translator to write all this!! sorry if there are any translation errors, English is not my native language :D)

WALK AWAY FROM THE SUN

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY X READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 3k

— WARNINGS | canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, mentions of weapons, arguments, mentions of trauma.

— SUMMARY | you often meet ghost at his shortcomings, but nothing serious as this has yet to happen.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | tysm for the request 🫶🫶 i wanted to expand on this just a lil but made sure to keep the original prompt, i hope you enjoy!! hope the scolding isn’t too strict :)

Ghost thinks he’s having trouble breathing.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of the worry sanctioning in his chest, or the bullet lodged in his ribs. It takes a few seconds, he breathes, and a slightly ragged puff of air crawls its way back up his esophagus. Shallow wounds never hurt him, but ones that fester in the mind nearly paint his vision black. 

It was a bad mission, destined to go wrong the moment Price laid out the plan. Too many HVTs to secure in such a dangerous zone, touched down in a land similar to post scorched earth. Calls of concern were dismissed by Shepherd, this mission was too important to let go, and they were to complete it, no matter the cost.

Nevertheless, things went south, fast. Nearly an entire squad of foot soldiers dead in under one hour, and only 2 out of 4 targets eliminated. It wasn’t long before Price called in evac, the mission’s end along with it. There was always time again to try again. Until the screaming started, and Ghost was nowhere to be found.

It was capture or kill, and it was certain no one was getting captured at this rate. You’d seen it all, the look he gave Price as he was getting into contact with Shepherd, and the miniscule shake of his head as he tightened his gear. The screams were yours, are you out of your fucking mind?-- hair whipping against the wind as you watched him disappear into the flames, yelling for the pilot to touch down. 

Any sane soldier would have shaken their head and waved to confirm exfil, but this was nothing near normal. The 141’s purpose isn’t sanity, it’s loyalty. Price wasn’t going to allow himself to lose more than one soldier, and it was apparent that you were leaving with or without his permission. He strapped a tracker to your vest before you jumped.

Ghost wasn’t expecting to get shot. Maybe the adrenaline kicked in too early, or maybe the opportunity was just too good. The last two HVTs right in his line of sight, running through the open, unarmed. 

Or so he thought.

He sits slouched against a wall, the hand clamped over the bullet’s entryway growing progressively more damp as the minutes pass. He should’ve expected someone with a target on their back to run around with a gun, anything lethal, even, especially after watching his friend’s jugular fly from his neck. Pointed a gun and blindly shot. A rookie mistake that put him and his whole squad at risk because of some halfhearted words Shepherd hammered into his head. 

He believes in no matter completely. Maybe that’s where he comes short.

Frankly, Ghost isn’t even worried about the lingering pain in his abdomen, or the fact that the last target escaped. He’s worried about the person coming to find him. Something in the back of his head grows into a throbbing pain in the frontal lobe and he closes his eyes, hoping it’s not you that’s coming.

Who could he be kidding? Of course you were going to come for him. You always did, and always will. It’s a danger that follows when you happen to love someone you run into the frontlines with. Something that was going to get one of you killed one day, purely because he knows he’d do the exact same thing.

Ghost curses under his breath. You’re just like him sometimes, blindsided and hard headed as they come. 

Falling debris and the thud of boots join the rasp that serves as his breathing. You’re here, and it looks bad, worse than he expected. Your eyebrows are knit tightly together, and he can see the dribble of blood that rolls down your chin due to how hard you bite your gums. Your skin is laced with sweat, and you’re panting, hard. 

He’s only been bleeding out for three minutes. With you here, it feels like an eternity, and the grasps of something much worse than death are holding time still. When he finally shifts his lips to speak, you shove a cloth against his ribcage, hard. All that comes out is a strangled grunt, and he falls silent. No one renders him as speechless as you do.

He hasn’t felt so small since his father. It’s deserving, every last bit of it. He let go of himself and you still came to save him. He should be feeling nothing short of gratitude, yet he only feels as though someone dragged him into the undertow and left him to drown there. The way you refuse to meet his eyes strikes harder than any other bullet, and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. 

All he can feel is the fear that you have instilled in him, and his consciousness slips before he can think of anything else.

—

Forgiveness is a hard thing to earn. In the 141, it seems more rational to die than seek it.

Ghost doesn’t consider death. He’s considered nothing, not since a bullet put him into a coma for a week. In that time, he dreamt of choppy waters and black riptides. The slosh of imaginary waves greeted him more times than your voice did.

He only remembers it once. You asked one of the nurses how he was doing. When she said he’d wake up, you left.

You don’t wait up on people, Ghost knows that. No part of him holds the expectation that you would’ve cared just a little more and stuck around. You knew he’d live, and that was the end of it. You walk away from the sun when it burns you.

When it comes to the battlefield, you’re cold as ice and follow rational orders to a tee. You keep your head on straight until you don’t, because taking care of others feels better than sprinkling soil over an empty grave. The way you think is profound yet humanity never fails to escape you, it’s what dragged you to him, stone-eyed and indifferent on the surface. 

People around him always say it’s impossible to get attached in the military. He almost believes them, but he thinks of you and all else fades. Like a moth to a flame, he knows you’d follow his trail into hysteria. He knows it frustrates you, habits such as those are hard to shake. You’ve spent too much time by his side to quit. Couldn’t shake you even if he wanted to.

It reminds him of three years ago, with you curled up beside him in the depths of Syrian mountains. You’d offered him some bourbon for the pain– he’d been stabbed in the leg, covering up with the excuse that it’d help with the cold. You knew how to tempt him, just one drink turning into the whole bottle empty at your feet. Only you could make him succumb to something like that, listening to you ramble on about how careless he was to get stabbed, hours of it, the coziness of you and the blankets drilling static into his head.

Ghost could hold his alcohol better than you. Barely felt a buzz from the drinks in his system. But this.. your head lightly bobbing against his shoulder, haphazardly checking on his bandage before kissing the exposed skin beside it. You were right, his whole body was on fire, so enamored with you, the feeling of home creeping along his skin in short, fatigued breaths.

He vaguely remembers when you turned to your side, hands hot on his pulse and sinking underneath. Everywhere, you were everywhere. You had taken him by storm and the buzz of the bourbon heightened his senses to a point where it was nearly unbearable. It took every fiber of his willpower to listen, straining against the irrevocable hold you had placed on him, fighting to restrain himself.

Amidst the haze, you asked him if he would do something for you. In that state, Ghost thinks he would’ve tried to overthrow the entire planet if you wanted him to. Instead, you uttered something short of ten words, and he made one of the biggest mistakes of his life when he answered.

“Promise me you’ll look out for yourself, Simon.”

Your inquiry seemed small, fragile, and simple to be compliant with in the moment. He shuns himself for failing to remind you of who you were, what you were fighting for, and that looking out for yourself is a restraint only some can hope to afford. It’s a luxury that separates people who want to save the world from those who do.

“Alright, then.”

Drunk or not, he made a promise. Broke it just as easily. He resists the urge to bash his head against the wall as consciousness returns to him, opting to thank the nurse with a few words scribbled on a napkin before disappearing. 

As much as he wants to scrub the sickening scent of antiseptic and illness from his skin, Ghost can’t bring himself to visit your room right now. He knows you’ll check the infirmary soon– despite what you say he knows you stop by, even if it’s for a second, yet he opts to leave base regardless if you come to find him or not. He’d rather speak to you when you’re on those terms. Guessing by the freshly washed sweatshirt that sits zipped up to his neck, you probably don’t want him dead. 

He’ll cut his losses there.

—

The early hours of the morning creep along the skyline, spilling over the roads below. You walk, dismissing the dull ache in your feet from miles of dug up sidewalk and the scorching ground you had run across some days ago. It’s not long before the breeze picks up the scent of saltwater, light ripples rock calmly against marsh and you sigh.

You knew he’d be here. Always came when tragedy struck and life wasn’t fair. It reminds you of a homage after nights of terror in Urzikstan, peaceful, and nothing else. Somewhere you go when you can’t quite reach the ocean.

Ghost sits with his back to the sun, perched against a dock overlooking the water. Your legs come to a stop, and you stand still, wondering if this was all a mistake. Maybe you should just turn around while you can, run to the safety of a home that only carries a lingering scent of him. Here, the breeze makes you nauseous. 

Everything here is riddled with sorrow and buried in tears. The cycle repeats, you think you deserve to cry.

You take a look to the sky and the clouds point you offshore. Saline winds pull you farther and it’s too late to reconsider leaving when your foot creaks against the dock. Ghost catches you in his peripheral, approaching slowly, the distance polarizing. It feels like glass is lodged in your feet. The gap waged feels something like No Man’s Land. 

Ghost sits on the edge, one leg hanging over the water while the other sits folded at the knee. You lean against a support beam across from him, one glance and you think you might choke. Flashing rays dawn over the baclava settled over his face, drawing light to the skin bridged above his nose. Eyebags crawl and tear at paint ridden skin, blond eyelashes fluttering against smudged black, over the one part of him that feels normal. Nothing else does.

He stares ahead, umber hues washing over ripples cast by fish in waiting. You feel like you do everytime you come here, except sadness is held back by frustration, boiling underneath your skin and rising to the surface. Moments pass, the breeze dies down and beckons for you to speak. 

“You broke your promise.” Pressure settles within your chest. Hurt floods the atmosphere and Ghost’s eyes leave the water. He thinks, you lie in wait, arms crossed defensively over your chest. 

“You can’t rely on intoxicated words.”

It’s fair, yet completely unfair at the same time. You know it was an unreasonable thing to ask, came straight from the alcoholic worry that seethed in your mind. Normal people don’t make promises they know they won’t be able to keep. People that care too much ask of them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

Ghost says nothing. You know he wanted to keep that promise. Held it over his heart for three years, let it slip under his sleeve as all other things do. Something that happens when war is all you know. He knew you, too, but warfare is different from anything else. You understand that.

The smell of antiseptic reeks off of him, the sun licks at black paint and chips crumble. He’s nonchalant on the surface like always, but you know him. Underneath blood stains the hole in his abdomen that put him here. He leans toward it as if pain has become him.

He’s always been like this, body hungry for violence, mind begging for reconciliation. It’s how his mind is wired, shutting doors on people makes them want to close it in another’s face. You learned to coincide with it, but there’s still a line. The fact he crossed it so easily sparks the worry within and you fight the tears that push against your sockets.

Anger resides and reels back in, lapping at the shore and bringing you to your knees. You fear you’ll lose him that way.

It’s all you think about.

“What made you think that was a good idea?” You bark, grasping his chin to face you head on. “You think putting yourself in danger is no big deal, don’t you? Worried everyone sick because of a stupid HVT.”

He sees right through you. Worried me sick, he hears it as he would an echo. It’s a profession of worry, he knows you worry because you love him. 

“We all have to make sacrifices.” His response is a dull front, you hear the guilt laced within. “You know that.”

You do. Things stay strict on the battlefield and remain that way. Until it’s him. When there’s Ghost, there’s always Simon. You learned to make that exception because you understood that. Ghost is not afraid to die. Simon is.

“What good are you to anyone if you throw yourself in the line of fire?” You spit, pointer finger snapping to hover above his wound.. “There’s no guarantee that someone will always be able to save you when things go wrong. You know that.”

He knows that, and he knows you. 

You know there’s a darkness that lingers within him. It’s inevitable. Something that festers, building up until it’s strong enough to lash out. It’s selfish, cares and waits for no one. A walking death sentence that hangs over his head no matter the value he places in his life.  It chases him in his dreams, trails a dark shadow over his head that turns him into the person he fears he’d become. Adapted him so the only thing he feels when he pulls the trigger is recoil.

“We win together, and we fail together, Simon. It’s not your responsibility to change that.”

He hates that side of his head that made him think otherwise. Hates himself more when he makes you worry. 

Old habits die hard. It’s not easy to take, the way he knows those parts of him linger. You know when it comes, the front he manages with surgical precision shatters and he breaks down into hysteria because it’s too much for one person to handle. 

Regardless, he tries. You love him for that. He loves you because you walked into his life and it gained purpose.

All that’s good in his life comes from you. The first nights in his life he felt welcomed to sleep because you were in bed beside him. Days fly by and he changes. You change with him. The small room he occupies at base doesn’t seem so lifeless anymore because you’re always in it. 

He damns the way you smile at him, infectious, a snapshot memory he keeps in his thoughts. Thoughts that draw a compass in his mind that routes home to you.

Every part of him feels selfish for making you feel this way. It tears through him as a knife does and his nerves flay from the heat.

“I’m sorry, lovie.” It feels like he’s suffocating, drawing on the tears that slide down your face and drip onto your hands. He takes dampened skin and holds onto it as if he’ll lose you forever if he lets go. “‘M so sorry that I made you worry. Bastardish thing to do.”

His accent is heavy, dripping with resent and pleading for composure. It’s everything and nothing all at once. Your tears stain his hands and he feels like he always does when things go wrong. Except, it’s always you who quells him in the midst of nightmares. His mind races at the stutter of your breath, hands fumbling to push stray hairs out of your eyes.

“I love you, so much. Wouldn’t ever wanna make you worry, yeah?”

Silence passes for a minute. Seagulls chirp and water sloshes against eroded rocks.

Your eyes peek out from his hands, slotting your arm between his, reaching up. You tug and his mask bunches up at the nose, fingers smoothing over the surface of his skin, warm, grasping for affection. You yearn for his touch and he gives it to you without question.

Ghost tastes of gunpowder and the bask of the sun. It reminds you of home, slightly chapped, never wanting more than what he can give. He’s gentle, canines gently poking against your lips, perfectly still. You sigh inwardly at the feeling, reveling in all that he is until you can breathe no longer.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Your chest heaves, breath leveling with a rough scoff. His eyes crinkle like they do when he notices you packed extra eye black for him. Mouth parted, a ghost of a smile curving at his lips.

“I know, can’t seem to get myself sorted.”

There’s an underlying meaning to it. Passes through like the wind that cards through your hair. Guilt rides the waves, but you don’t want to cry anymore.

You just want to heal. Ghost understands that more than anyone else.

[cristaq]

Og Price and Soap being hungry for each other after barely getting to exfil and cheating death once again. As soon as the helicopter lands back in Credenhill, they rush to the first private room they can find and they kiss with otherworldly passion, riding the waves of adrenaline caused by combat. They are constantly reminded how little time there is for them in this world and any of it spent apart is wasted. Their mouths become a battlefield just as active as the one they've escaped, with tongues fighting through it with unwavering determination to live: attack, retreat, take cover. Hands start roaming through the valleys and trenches of their bodies, most of them caused by bullets and knives rather than nature.

The battle ends in a tie, as both of them decide to live and let live, breaking the kiss in order to catch some breath.

“See me after debriefing.” Price words are but a low jerky whisper as he is still panting.

Soap smiles wickedly and gently strokes Price’s beard. He doesn’t answer.

Price kisses the palm of his hand. “Please…”

“That, I can work with.” Soap’s smile changes to a warm one as he goes for one last kiss. “I love you…”

“I love you too, you muppet…”

And you would believe that the debrief will be followed by steamy action, but unfortunately (for you) Price has to show Soap his collection of empty cigar packs for the 100th time before anyone loses any clothes. And Soap doesn’t mind it one bit.

[rendomski]

So…

Omega devises and almost implements a sound escape plan.

Echo follows Omega's actions and just provides her with exfil support. Recruits Emerie on the way.

Basically, the only two persons necessary for a successful mission “save Omega and get coordinates for Tantiss” were Echo and Omega herself.

But then three living legends, the ¾ of former Clone Force 99 get injured even before reaching the base, then get themselves captured as soon as they do. And instead of going to Rex’s base, Echo and Omega have to go back to rescue them.

My lovely old boys, if you were still wondering if it was time to retire already, this was a Sign! 😄

(I'm joking, of course, they were marvellous decoys, first for Tantiss security squads and then for the Operatives.)

[ghcstao3]

I am back at it with sleeptalking!Soap because why not!

Anyways, Soap's sleep talking stops being so much of an issue for Ghost after a while. Part of it is he just becomes used to his lover spouting nonsense in his sleep, and the other part is because hearing Johnny talking, even while asleep, is so comforting because it means they're both alive.

Ghost just loves hearing Soap's voice at night; somewhat gruffer than normal due to his sleeping state, but still proof that they both made it another day, that Simon made it another day.

But then Soap realizes he's only ever talked in his sleep with Ghost. He's only ever gotten sleep so deep it allows him to start talking in his sleep when he's with Simon. He only ever sleeps like this when his Simon is wrapped around him because "Johnny~, you're so warm and I'm so cold~"

And it's a nice revelation for them both, despite neither sharing their sentiments about Soap's nightly one-sided conversations. So it becomes their little secret, something for them to hold and share together to remind them of how far they've come.

At least, it is that way for a while. And then the one mission happens and Soap falls asleep during exfil.

The actual exfil isn't even a one-way ticket out. They first have to spend several hours cramped in a truck with the rest of the team and their friends from Las Almas. But still, it isn't the worst and allows some recovery time before making it back to base. Soap and Ghost had spent a couple of days straight trapped in a rather awful situation, and the truck was roomy enough to allow the two to curl up together in a small corner of their own and drift off to the dull rumble of the truck.

Except Soap is the only one able to fall asleep, and judging by the way he forces himself into Ghost's side in his sleep, it's clear he was very tired indeed. So what if Ghost and Soap never actually openly addressed their relationship to Alejandro and Rudy? Ghost knew that they knew and he was too tired to do anything but wrap his arms around his sergeant.

And what no one expects, especially not Ghost, is that Soap will in fact be so tired and will fall in such a deep sleep, he begins to mumble. Incoherent mumblings at first, with a few Gaelic phrases thrown in here and there, nothing too much but still warrants confused and mildly concerned glances from Alejandro, mostly. Gaz offers at least one side-eye at the snoozing Scot, but is too tired to be concerned.

But then the one-sided conversation starts as Soap sweetly nestles further into Simon's neck. And suddenly the atmosphere inside the truck is incredibly awkward. Ghost can't even muster a dark enough glare to dissuade the others from staring; he's too busy trying not to laugh.

"No, yer wrong. Clearly's got himself a whole fuckin' bakery." Soap's first coherent sentence of the night. Not quite enough to rattle everyone, but enough to earn him a few confused glances that don't last long.

"It's nae even close. He'd out cake yer cake any day." Now that? That earned a couple of lingering, very confused stares. Even Ghost couldn't help but look down at the peacefully sleeping Soap and think 'what the fuck' to himself.

"Just admit yer jealous of me and move on, Garrick!" Soap's angry little outburst actually elicited a couple of nervous laughs from some of the others, and Ghost was extremely tempted to wake him. He only decided against it because fucking hell, even though they weren't alone and this was supposed to be their secret, Soap hadn't slept in a couple of days and he deserved such deep slumber. Besides, it's actually incredibly rare for Ghost to hear Soap address any specific person during his sleep rants. Not to mention the awkward half laugh that escaped Gaz at the mention of his name was too good to ignore.

"Yes yeh are jealous! Yer jealous cause I get all the cake!" Chaos. Gaz leaning into Price, absolutely wheezing from trying not to laugh so as to let Soap stay asleep. Alejandro dropping his head down and practically falling into Rudy's lap with a silent laugh. Price and Rudy both letting out small chuckles and snorts. And Ghost? Man's is shaking from how hard he's trying not to laugh. Why his love was arguing with his friend about cake in his dream is beyond Ghost, but by god is it hilarious.

"Yeh could just ask him, Gaz. It's nae even mah cake, it's Simon's." Soap mumbles, a frown drawing on his sleeping face. Ghost matches Gaz's wheeze as they exchange confused, yet amused glances.

"Aye, ah ken we're datin' but there's no shame in asking. I dinnae blame yeh, why'd ya think I liked him in the first place?" Everyone has mostly calmed since apparently in Soap's dream world, Simon must make some really good baked goods.

"Ah know, Gaz! It was the fuckin' thigh straps tha' got me. Just the icin' on top of the cake, yeh ken?" If Ghost wasn't so busy trying not to laugh loud and hard enough to startle Soap awake, he would've been much more concerned for Gaz. The second the statement left Soap's mouth, Gaz let out a rather inhuman wheeze as he collapsed to the floor of the truck. Alejandro is back on Rudy's lap, loud laughs only slightly muffled.

Unfortunately for them, Soap begins to stir at the sudden uptick in commotion, as Gaz remains curled on the floor laughing his ass off. Even Rudy had hidden his face in Alejandro's shoulder to hide the tears of laughter. Price attempts to check on Gaz but is laughing too hard to be effective.

And Ghost, well let's just say Soap was okay being woken up by laughter. It was genuine belly-aching laughter coming from his Ghost, his Simon, whom probably hasn't laughed so hard in his entire life. Soap, of course, is incredibly confused as to what the fuck was so funny it was making Ghost choke from laughing too hard.

"Wha's so funny?" Soap slurs, sleep still clinging to him. Ghost can only wheeze in response, hugging Soap closely in an attempt to show he does love him despite what they are laughing at. Ghost even has to remove his mask and wipe the tears that have now begun to make his eye-black run.

"Do you remember your dream, Love?" Simon asks in between giggles. Soap slowly shakes his head, as he normally did when asked this question. Ghost can only laugh again as red floods Soap's ears as he realizes he must've been talking in his sleep.

"I didn't know I wanted your cake so bad, Lt." Gaz finally manages to say, causing Alejandro to let out the most startling high pitched laugh anyone has ever heard. Ghost snorts and laughs so hard he ends up coughing again, yet Soap isn't really paying attention. He's too focused on the beautiful way Simon's face lights up with laughter, the way his cheeks redden and emphasize the scars that litter his face.

And then he processes Gaz's words, and suddenly his entire neck is red with embarrassment. He hides in Ghost's neck again, to which the elder can only keep laughing.

Safe to say, Soap is only okay with the others knowing he sleep-talks simply because it let him witness the most beautiful thing on earth: Simon Riley's full belly laugh.

(This somehow turned into laugh headcanons for the 141 and Los Vaqueros, idk how that happened??? I can make an official post about it because, as someone with a very weird laugh, it's nice to see people depict them with silly goofy laughs like normal people)

Also this was soo much longer than I originally anticipated??? Sorry??

don’t apologize!! i loved this!! soap defending his bf’s ass in his sleep is so silly

also i would love to see a laugh hcs post that would be so fun