#ghost x roach (mentioned)

[the-raindeer-king]

Simon would love a little freak (affectionate) of a partner. Like you collect weird things, like taxidermy or bones? Say less, babes. He's getting you an animal skull for your birthday.

Is your thing clowns? Man is scouring the internet for some obscure clown clock because you saw it on Ebay once and complained about the price.

You likes bugs? Great, he's got a friend named Roach. Y'all be freaks (affectionate) together. But also he's building you a butterfly garden, or buying you a pet spider, or whatever.

It doesn't even have to be weird. You could just really like the ocean, or horses, or whatever. And I just realized what I'm getting at is that Simon would love a neurodivergent partner...

And he would!! He'd listen to you ramble and rant, and he'd be making a mental list of things to look for when he buys you presents. You could be hyperfixated on literally anything, and Simon would find a way to get you a present related to that interest. This man would move heaven and earth, if it meant making you happy.

[molotovmetro]

The 141 + König with a s/o who goes non-verbal

Tiny disclaimer: im autistic and have moments of being non verbal during breakdowns etc, so this is based mostly off of my own experience, but if anyone feels like ive said inaccurate or offensive things, please let me know as that would never be my intention. The way I've written this suggests this is a negative feeling (, since thats how i experience it) but I understand that might not be the same for everyone. For some people this might just be a daily or

Requested by @apocalypticseagull

Warnings: mentions of stress and the slightest hint at possible injury, besides that nothing I can think of

M!reader

Ghost

Ghost relates to you. While he wouldn't claim his experience is the same, he gets moments of overstimulation where he wants everyone to leave him alone, and will just stop reacting to people.

When he feels like this, he prefers to sit in his room, either completely in the dark or with only a small lamp on, and have as little noise around him as possible.

If you're in a stress situation, not knowing what else to do to help you, that's what he'll resort to.

He'll take you into either his room or yours, whichever you would prefer, and holds you while letting you get away from all the triggers for a bit. Unless you're dealing with life or death situations, whatever work you have left for the day can wait. Your wellbeing always comes first.

Soap

Soap is a lot more observant than people give him credit for. He's the king of avoiding stressful situations for you whenever he can.

But alas, he can't avoid it every time. Whether you start saying less and less as the minutes go on, or just stop talking suddenly, he notices immediately.

Not that he'd be quick to admit it, but he's got a written list of everything you like, even if it's just something you mentioned in passing. He absutely will use this list to do whatever he can to make you smile and relieve some of your stress.

He'll make sure to find a way to still communicate that both of you are comfortable with. He'll happily lend you his journal to write in, or he'll ask Roach for some lessons in sign language. He'd break his back bending over backwards to make you comfortable if he had to.

Gaz

No matter how often it happens, Gaz still feels a jolt of panic whenever you don't respond over coms when you're on a mission. He almost sags in relief as soon as he hears you hum, or even just hears the crackly static of you pushing your radio's button.

He knows you're a talented soldier and you're more than capable of handling yourself, he still prefers to be near you at all times. What if something happens and you can't tell him? You could be in trouble without him even knowing. He'll, just knowing you're stressed is making him want to reach for you.

He likes his job, likes helping people and ridding the world of danger, but his favourite part of every mission is when you're sitting in the exfil helo after a good mission, and you give him that wide smile he's been waiting hours, if not days to see.

Price

You and Price have been working together for so long, you both know the drill. When he starts to notice you going quiet, he makes sure he only asks yes or no questions. On your side; one click of your radio button for no, two for yes. Throw in some improvised morse code when necessary, and you've got a solid communications system.

Having this system is also a huge bonus during stealth missions, when he can't talk freely without risking being spotted.

He loves hearing your voice, but he doesn't treat you any differently when you can't talk. He'll support you in whatever way you need, without making it feel like he's babying you.

The two of you are a well oiled machine. No matter how stressful the situation, usually you can tell what the other one is thinking just by looking at them. You know you both have each other's back, verbal communication or not.

König

König doesn't mean to make a big deal out of it, and he won't if you don't, but he does worry.

After a situation like that happens once, he commits everything that helps you to his memory, and uses the knowledge to help you the next time it happens.

Even down to the tiniest detail, he'll remember. If you don't like a certain texture or can only stand a certain flavour of drink during moments like this, he's making sure you have everything you need and are as comfortable as possible. Whatever is stressing you will be dealt with by him while you're resting and calming down.

If you want to be alone, he understands and respects that, and gives you the space you need. But if you don't, there's nowhere he'd rather be than by your side.

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 6)

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Soap goes to see Male Reader after the incident between him and Ghost.

Word count: 2033

Warning: none.

You know you’ve fucked up. Losing control over your own actions and unleashing your emotions on your L.T. in front of everyone. Now you’ll be seen as a liability. If they’re kind enough, they may cross your name out of the upcoming mission and will take care of you later after the mission is over, and if not, they can get rid of you, making you transfer elsewhere and then you will have to start from scratch again, trying to build relationships with new faces while coping with the strange circumstances. Not that you are anything near as close with the other men of the 141 as they are to each other, but at least they’ve been around you enough to understand you to a certain extent and will let you have a leeway occasionally with the meetings or the paper works when they notice you’re not really OK for those seemingly effortless errands. With new people? You probably will have to shut your mouth and forget about your own emotional needs pretty usually so as not to be the center of disdain and labeled as an incompetent outcast.

As these thoughts run through your mind like midnight trains that seemingly carry with them the hope and dream of a lone onlooker into the pitch darkness, you sit in your room, door is locked, all windows are closed shut, with hands covering your face. You dread the thought of having to adapt to a new environment with new people so much that you think if the worst-case scenario ever happens, you will just end it all to save yourselves from further suffering and your stupid, unrealistic expectations. 

What kind of expectations specifically? Well, you’ve never created a positive impression on any other teams before the 141 since you’re always that timid, reversed, and obviously mentally struggling pathetic wet blanket that stayed in the corner every meeting. No one wanted to talk to you or spend their precious leisure time with you because no one wanted to waste their time on a depressed little shit, or get heavily attached to by a crybaby that demanded their attention 24/7 or else he’d think he was worth nothing to them. Therefore, whenever you received the news that you’d be transferred to a new team, you always expected a new chance to be a different person. You would always try to muster all your courage and all the…qualities closest to extroversion inside you (if it ever exists) with the hope that this new team could be different. You would present them with a more optimistic, outgoing, and attractive picture of yourself, and they would remember to include you in everything, like some silly card games, some sparring bets, or simply just listing your name along with theirs when they plan to do something. You thought the feeling of loneliness and isolation that you used to feel among your old teammates would end. You thought you would stop feeling so invisible. 

Technically, you do achieve these things while being with the 141, although you’re still the depressed, pathetic boy that refuses to open up for fear of your expectations not being lived up to; it’s your coping mechanism: you’d rather have nothing after all than risk being hurt. The 141 consists of kind and considerate men; they all have their secret, traumatic background stories so they understand that sometimes you need your time alone to process your own emotions without even having to know the exact reasons why; they always include you in everything they do, and it warms your heart every time they call out your name and insist on you going with them to different places. Still, one problem persists though, which is the inevitable fact that you have grown so attached to them that you feel impossible to ever have to leave. Even the thought of it makes your heart sink and your stomach lurch. It makes you feel physically sick. What’s worse is you probably mean nowhere near as significant to them as they are to you, which is a truth you cannot escape but still try so hard to ignore.

It was about some hours after the incident when someone knocked on your door. You try to stay as quiet as possible, even going as far as holding your breath so that whoever is on the other side of the door will think you’re not inside or you’re sleeping and will go away. 

“I know you’re inside, and I know you’re not sleeping, Y/n.”  Soap says with an unusually stern voice.

You groan loudly and stand up. Upon opening the door, you’re greeted with the sight of a big, angry Scottish man crossing his arms in front of his chest, his arm muscles stiffening. Apparently, he is here because of the stuff between you and Ghost. A thought suddenly crosses your mind, as you wonder what it would feel like if you also had someone who cared about you that much. It must feel nice. You think despairingly to yourself, though on the outside, you still keep that expressionless face before Soap.

“What do you want?” 

“What do I want?” Soap scoffs, “Do you realize the dire situation you’re in right now?”

“Of course I do, you think I’m an idiot?” You grimace, feeling the indignation building up inside you again while the jealousy is burning your organs.

“Then why did you ask me that question?” Soap almost screams at your face.

Something suddenly snaps inside you, and you growl like a hurt animal, “YOU ALL WILL KICK ME OUT ANYWAY, SO WHY BOTHER?”

The Scott is obviously taken aback by your emotional explosion, his eyes widen and he takes one step back, “What do you mean by…kicking you out?”

“What’s else besides kicking me out of this team? Isn’t it obvious?” Your chest rises and falls noticeably as you feel like a combination of violent emotions is choking your throat. Anger, jealousy, despair, regret, hopelessness,... the worst-case scenario is so close to stopping being a scenario as you are actively making it truly happen. You scoff at yourself when the Scott is still trying to come up with the right words, a term that you despise so much suddenly pops up in your mind. Self-fulfilling prophecy. You despise that term with all your heart because you feel like whoever coined it and whoever uses it is blaming you, the person who has suffered so much in the past and is the victim of his own circumstances, for not being able to break the cycle yourself. How can anyone expect a deeply wounded soul to save itself? How can they expect right from the start that the soul knows how to achieve such a feast? 

“Y/n…we’ve never planned to kick you out…” Soap carefully speaks with his softest voice possible, aware that acting impulsively right now will probably result in catastrophic consequences that can never be undone.

“It’s either today or some day in the future. It’s inevitable.” You coldly say.

“Why? Why are you so sure that we’ll get rid of you sooner or later?” Soap asks, clearly puzzled by your certitude. 

“BECAUSE I’M REPLACEABLE!” You scream again, this time your heart feels like it’s being ripped open by all the overwhelming emotions which have been bottling up inside you ever since you, as a little boy, became known of what loneliness was. All the questions ‘why no one wants to play with me?’, ‘why am I always alone?’, ‘what do they have that I don’t?’,...‘what is wrong with me?’ and all the memories of how you always stood from far away, watching the kids laughing and playing with each other, or when you were on the street getting to your destination, and you suddenly stopped just to look at a group of young people sharing with each other about their normal days and talking about the new cool song they came across on a social app. The feelings that dominated your senses at those time are hard to describe. They are a mix of jealousy because you knew those people had what you’d never have, despair because you realized who you inherently were was the reason why you’re never meant for such relationships, hopelessness because you had come to terms with that loss, and, strangely, nostalgia. Nostalgia because you used to be in a couple of relationships that could’ve become the same as theirs, like what was going on between you and Fyodor, and you missed those feelings. You missed the touch, the care, and the fire. You missed the person you could’ve become.

“I am replaceable, alright? It has always been like this! Always! I’m nothing to any of you. I’ve always been nothing to every. Fucking. One!” Before you know it, tears are welling up in your eyes and your tough, emotionless facade collapses in front of Soap, revealing the broken, sensitive, and wounded boy behind. You collapse on the floor as well, your legs and one of your arms support to prevent you from hitting yourself against the cold cemented surface, while your other arm cover your shameful face as you cry like a baby in front of one of the greatest soldiers of the base. 

“Just go.” You say between your pathetic cries as you try to swing your door shut when still crawling on the floor. 

To your surprise, however, the man grabs the door to prevent you from closing it, he does this with so much force that the veins bulge on the back of his hand.

“What the–?”

“Listen to me, Private Y/n.” Soap grunts through his clenched teeth. “We have never thought of you that way. You’re not replaceable to us. You. Are. Important, alright? We can never get rid of your ass because we love you so much, like a real family. Am I understood??”

You looks up at the angry Scottish with your widened brown eyes, still the same innocent, puppy eyes that followed his every step when you’re first transferred to the base of the 141. Soap looks at those eyes and immediately the rage ignited inside him dies out. How can he be angry at you? How can he be angry at those eyes? The man kneels down and pulls you into a big embrace. His warm, large hand rub your back and you can feel his heart beats wildly as your chests touch each other. 

“This is how you have been feeling all this time?” Soap asks, his voice rumbles. You flinch a little as his warm breath tickles the sensitive skin on your neck. It feels so strange to be this close to someone.

“This is how you felt that night, after we arrived at the base from the bar? When you stood alone in the parking lot? When you spent the whole day training without eating? This is how you feel all the time with us?” 

You cannot reply. Instead, you are clinging on to him as if you’re clinging for your dear life, screaming into his shoulder. Your fingers sink deeply into his clothes, wanting to make use of any other ways to release the powerful tensions within yourself besides screaming your heart out.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you feel this way. It’s okay, I’m here now, baby. I’m here now.” Soap keeps pouring sweet words of solace and affirmation into your ears as you let all of the suppressed emotions out. Both of you know that this isn’t the end, your pain and deep-seated traumas will not be magically healed right after this embrace just because you finally have the courage to talk about it with someone. But it is enough for now. Soap is proud of you. He is proud because, either deliberately or not, you have decided to open up. Maybe getting help wasn’t what you thought you’d gain when you screamed words deep inside your heart to him a few moments earlier, but this presents a new beginning, a beginning to a life where you believe that you can actually have what you thought you’d never have. And you deserve it. All of it.

To be continued... (dang, when will I be able to finish this?)

Taglist: @justdawn @killmeprettypleasee @livelaugh-light @therealppboy @arthurmorgansballsack @redjeanjacket @gay-as-hell-blog @b0g-b0y @somothegraffitiartist @kodasstar @teippirulla @aphroditeslovr @peter-the-pan @wvandahoe @c0nny3917 @talia-the-gemini

[calic0o]

HAIIIII HELLOOO im thinking about. Ghoap grieving over Roach. After. Yk. the events. but. got me a little twist to it. :3

Cw// Grieving (?), Mentions of burning alive, Lots of pain. Mcd (or is it.)

Whenever he thinks about Roach, which is a lot. Ghost feels himself burning in that pit once again, crawling out, rolling on the ground in pain to put the flames out. Pain fueled tears downing his eyes.

He remembers looking at Roach’s burning body, yelling at him to get up, get out, roll. He remembers the sounds of Roach’s equipment cracking.

Whenever he thinks about Roach, which is a lot. Soap remembers screaming into his transmitter. Yelling them not to trust Shepherd, his heart squeezing, head pounding from the stress. The doom feeling.

All confirming when Price says ‘They are dead.’

How it felt like a ton of ice water just got dumped over him.

Then, he remembers how it felt when he got the information about Ghost being alive and rescued. He was happy, oh so happy. But, what about Roach ? What happened to him ?

Then, another question comes in. If he is not there, where was his body ?

Ghost remembers passing out, looking at Roach’s burning body. He remembers waking up in a hospital, not able to talk about what happened.

But nonetheless, he was shocked to learn Roach’s body was missing.

They didn’t dwell on it, they couldn’t. They wanted to grieve, they needed time. They couldn’t stress over it yet.

They got a tombstone made for him, left flowers there. Both added Roach’s dogtag next to their own. And shut up about it. Grieving in silence.

Roach, remembers waking up. In pain, oh so much pain. Tears rolling down his eyes, dripping on the bed he’s laying on. Looking around in pain filled panic, trying to figure out where he is, where is Ghost.

Then he hears the door cracking open, getting eye to eye with Makarov.

[harveywritings92]

R/n: If you had a shot for every bad decision you’ve made would you be sober?

Gaz: I’d be dead.

Roach: I’d also be dead

Soap: I’d be very dead.

Price: I’d be Extremely dead.

Ghost: I’d be decimated.

[saschax]

delirium

(n) a sudden and serious change in mental abilities that causes confusion and reduced awareness of the surroundings.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: delirium (as the name suggests), a bit boring?

ghost is sick, and he was shot on his side, causing alot of blood to spill out.

however.

there was one problem.

the radio was broken, reader accidentally dropped the radio somewhere around her run, and since ghost was shot at the moment- she had no choice but leaved the radio (she didnt know where it was, and the two was being shot at) and recused ghost.

she cursed herself for dropping the radio, but she just couldn't help but flinced when she heard ghost lets out a pained grunt.

thankfully, ghost was awake at the time, so reader didn't have to carry him- correction: she couldn't carry him, she's not that strong.. so ghost limping, but reader trying her best to make him walk, they both went somewhere.

they're safe. for now, and when they got to a safe location, she patched up ghost to the best of her ability.

ghost, passed out behind her, and the two is in an abandoned barn. ghost been passed out for, 20 minutes now? she thinks.

she makes sure to stand watch, and also making sure to check other windows to make sure no one is sneaking up on the other side.

she hears a shuffle, and immediately turns, her gun pointing at the noise.

false alarm.

its just ghost moving, but just incase- she did a quick scan over in the building.

she moves towards the injured lieutenant, but then moves to the side slightly to pick up an uncapped water bottle, almost full.

handing ghost the bottle dutifully. he takes it, lift his mask slightly above the nose, drains it in entirety (reader watches with bug-eyes), then passes out again. she could tell because his head just lopsided, and his hand that held the bottle just fell to his side, releasing the bottle in the process.

she watches the bottle slides somewhere, her eyebrows arched in amazement.

"...well." she says, staring at him, "he was definitely thirsty."

looking out the window, its starting to get a bit dark outside. she sighs, hoping no one- well, she hopes their team finds them, but she certainly didn't want any enemies to find them, capture or kill them.

that didn't sound too ... good.

she giggles a bit when she leans in and down a bit to lower ghost's mask.

—

the next time ghost wakes up, its in the middle of the night.

its not hard to miss, when reader is watching outside the window. he jolts up like someone just shocked him, suddenly breathing erratically, and she nearly drops her weapon in an effort to get to his side and makes sure he doesn't ruin the stiches she made.

"hey! its me—reader!" she drops the weapon, raising her hands to show she means no harm as she quickly approaches. ghost's head snaps up to her, then stares.

reader experienced him in this state (usually happens when he get nightmares) plenty of time, enough to know to what to do.

when he doesn't do anything, reader motions for him to stay where he is and grabs any water bottle in her backpack.

like before, ghost downs it greedily, only giving it once the bottle is sucked dry. and after that, he lowers his mask this time. she takes it gently away from him.

"you must be thirsty," a weak smile makes their way onto her face.

nothing, and the silence made her laugh nervously, haha..

"Haw aa ya feelin'?" she asks him.

moment went by, and ghost is still staring at her. making reader go uneasy.

whats even more uneasy is..

ghost who is jumpier than both her and the entire army combined; ghost who stays up all night with twitchy hands; ghost who scarfed down anything they gave him without preference or complaint like he was starving; ghost who was so goddamn weird that it made her head hurt.

the masked man felt untouchable— a phantom, a ghost.

ghost was painfully palpable to the point where even he seemed surprised when someone else would touch him. as if he thought they would just phase right through him somehow.

really, seeing him injured and hurting felt impossible. like reader had forgotten that under that mask of his, he was just some regular guy that could get shot and pass out as much as she or gaz-- price-- or the entire army could.

it confused her more than anything.

and she can't tell if ghost is processing anything. even with the mask on, he seems dazed. not all there and struggling to process what reader is saying at all.

then abruptly, he jerks forward and grabs one of reader's wrist. she freezes but ghost didn't pay much attention to that, instead looking at her very seriously - or at least, it feels like he is.

then he surprises her by speaking.

"not safe here," ghost's voice is strangled and cracks, but he forces the words out urgently. "you need to run- leave me- you need to get out of here-- makarov!"

its the mention of makarov that has reader catching on. she cuts ghost before he gets hysterical. "we're not there anymore- we moved to a different place! we're safe, i promise."

an empty promise, but she hopes ghost'll calm down.

its hard to get a read on him without seeing his expression. reader thinks that was purposeful, but his grip on her does go slack in disbelief.

"its fine," she continues, because the last thing either of them needs is him freaking out like a madman. "makarov, he's not here. its safe."

she thinks he believes her. she goes to pull away, but then ghost tugs him back, less urgent but still insistent.

she frowns but ghost ignores her. his head drifting down to look at her hands. when reader tries to move again, not only is she pulled back but ghost's grip is tightened. not painful but it certainly catches her attention.

ghost shifts, audibly wincing at first but seems to make room like he wants reader to shift next to him. this fact is confirmed when he tugs reader's wrist again, pulling her closer.

curious, she complies. she carefully settles in the now empty spot next to ghost, unsure of what exactly he wants.

it feels uncomfortable, leaning on this wooden pole.

ghost finally lets go but moves hastily like he thinks he’s on some sort of time limit. one of his gloves is tugged off revealing a pale hand underneath, then said hand quickly grabs reader's wrist again.

skin touches skin and ghost's breath hitches but he seems focused on something else. two fingers are pressed against reader's wrist, and after a moment, reader realizes that he’s checking her pulse.

she looks up, her eyes landing on ghost's mask. then it went down to look at ghost's ungloved hand.

she never really saw his hand before, despite knowing eachother for months.

this is the first time she saw something of his skin.

she doesn't understand why he is doing this, but it seems to calm him down slightly so she doesn't make any objections.

"alive." ghost rasps. he seems to be mostly talking to himself.

okay.. so he thinks she was dead? "yes, i'm alive." she confirms.

his head jerks up, looking around wildly, "roach—! soap—!"

she stares at him confusingly, brows furrowed. roach? soap? who the-

ghost starts to get up, making her panick and blurt out some words. "they're fine! they are just.. just picking some things." audible gulps came from her.

his hand curls around reader's wrist again, almost… protectively? “makarovl won’t toch you— i swear it.”

“there’s no danger—” she tries but ghost cuts her off.

“can’t risk it. you can’t die.” His tone sounds desperate now. 

she nods absentminddly, she never knew ghost.. ghost would act or behave, or even talk like this. seems way out of his character, what is going on?

"okay, okay.." she relents. "ill stay here.. not. going anywhere.."

ghost seems to melt with relief and presses against reader's side like he’s afraid she's suddenly going to disappear on him. which is weird because reader was under the impression that ghost actively didn’t like being touched from how he flinched at so much as someone brushing up against him but now he seems almost… content? is that the right word here?

“uh.” she says, because what else is she supposed to say?

moments passes.

and the next words suprised her.

"fix it." he breathes out, moving closer to her. like he's about to lean her head against her chest.

"fix what?" she asks.

"me."

and that made her quiet, but ghost didn't mind. that was evident as he fell asleep.

—

she hears doors opening, which caused her to try and get out of ghost's grasp, whose grip becomes even tighter.

"ghost- let me go-" she whispers as quietly as she can, keeping her eyes on the door. now she's not trying to get out- but get her gun thats laying in front of her.

ghost mumbles something incoherently, can't care about this now- she grips the gun, held it correctly and aims it at the door.

fuck- get off me ghost!

and to her relief, she sees captain price going through the door. not some enemies.

how did they find them?

"price—!" and when price immediately turns to the two, her heart jumps and she splutters, "blue! blue!"

that seems to get price to slightly lower his gun, looking at them with widen eyes, specifically at ghost.

the man in question has his head pressed against reader's chest, and is sprawled out on top of her, his arms seem tightly wound around reader's torso.

"is he fucking cuddling you?" price blurts out the second his thoughts catches up to him. he shuts the door behind him at last, and makes his way over to them like he can't believe his eyes.

"uh, yeah. i think so?" she laughs quietly, looking down at ghost. "he kinda just did that. on his own." after a pause, she adds, "he's really out of it."

“yeah, I kinda figured that part out.” price can’t suppress a laugh. “this feels like a fever dream.”

"mmm." is what she responds.

and ever since ghost got better, he been avoiding reader like a plague.

thanks price, for telling him and the whole damn team! she groans internally in her mind, fuckin' price can't keep a damn secret.

and worse is.. task force 141 thinks they're in a relationship or somethin'..

A.N i gave up on pervert könig, there were hardly any details about him, and i dont know what to search up on youtube because its all.. edits, not him. so, i cant find any ideas for him, sorry guys.

[ghostroachtruther]

ghostroach idiots to lovers fluff comedy slowburn 700k words except ghost and roach drag soap and gaz into it kicking and screaming

soap has to hear EVERYDAY about how impressive roach's skills are, how calming he is to be around, how trustworthy he is as a soldier — which doesnt seem like much, but coming from ghost? thats basically him getting on his knees and kissing the ground roach walks on

meanwhile gaz gets notes passed to him hourly about how the lieutenant complimented the way roach shoots earlier that day, how him and ghost shared a really meaningful little glance during their latest mission, how he noticed that ghost's posture relaxes ever-so-slightly whenever he walks in the room. gaz always has ATLEAST 3 new sticky notes on his table whenever he walks away from it for a prolonged period of time

soap and gaz complain to each other about it CONSTANTLY, they're both so sick and tired of the painfully obvious pining the two have for each other, to the point where they've asked price to step in because it was genuinely starting to bother them (price didnt step in, saying he had "better things to worry about" when in reality he just wants to see how long it would take for roach and ghost to get together on their own)

they keep trying to push them to go on a date but it never works out because ghost will say "i dont see gary that way, johnny" (yes, he does.) meanwhile roach will say "i'm probably just fooling myself, simon could never view me romantically" (yes, he can.)

at this point gaz and soap have completely given up and just listen to their assigned in-love idiot talk about the other in-love idiot with a scowl on their face

[cod-dump]

SoapGraves: Something Might Be There

(Onesided SoapGhost, mentioned/past RoachGhost)

___

He noticed small things here and there. Lingering stares, and if they brushed fingertips passing something off Graves would take his time pulling away. A pat on the back felt warm, affectionate. Ghost noticed too and when they were alone, he brought it up.

"He's taken a liking to you."

Soap scoffed, "Sure he has."

It was like as soon as Ghost said something, Soap started to notice it more. He swore he caught Graves just daydreaming while he looked at him, just slightly smiling. Soap didn't say anything, he wasn't sure what he would say if he did. Graves was attractive, charming. Much more attainable than Ghost. Whenever he tried to be friendly, Ghost brushed him off. Sure, sometimes he would laugh at his jokes or even make dumb jokes himself, but didn't seem to really mean anything to him.

It was like Ghost, in the beginning, was cold and uncaring. Then he began to open up, started to put down his walls. Then, without warning, the walls came back up. Soap never stopped trying, but it was getting more and more discouraging. One evening, after a mission that went sour (thanks to Soap ignoring a direct order), Soap tried to ease things over with Ghost after getting chewed out by Price.

"How 'bout a drink, yeah?"

"No, I have files to fill out after you botched the mission."

It was such a cold exchange and Ghost shoved past him so harshly that Soap almost lost his footing. Soap knew Ghost was mad, but he didn't think he was that mad. His words had stabbed into Soap's heart. So he decided he would go have that drink... Alone. Soap made his way to the local bar in the town neighboring the base. He saw a few fellow taskforce members and Shadows there, plus some of the locals. Soap found himself a isolated spot at the bar and got himself a drink.

Apparently Gaz was there and noticed him. The man made his way over after excusing himself from the table he sat at.

"Hey, man. You look like you had a rough day. Or should I say week?"

Soap knocks back his drink before asking the bartender for another.

"Week has been shit, but today makes it seem like that was a walk in the park."

Gaz sucks in some air through his teeth before sitting next to him. Soap gets his drink and doesn't waste time downing half of it.

"Slow down! It's not going anywhere."

Soap humorlessly laughs, "Plan on downing as much as I can before I have to go back to the base."

"Shit, what happened?"

"Fucked up on the field. Pissed of Price and Ghost. Especially Ghost. And the good lord and everyone and their mammy knows that Ghost does not let shit go easily."

Gaz winces. He sits there silently and Soap decides to talk. To rant, actually.

"I feel like no matter what I do, if I fuck up or not, Ghost just doesn't care. He pushes me to the side whenever he doesn't have to interact with me, sometimes he doesn't even acknowledge me on the field!"

Gaz has a look on his face that was full of pity. Soap finishes his drink and asks for another.

"God, we were doing so good for a bit. Felt like there might've actually been a connection! Like he was opening up to me! Then in a blink of an eye he's back to acting like- Like-"

Soap groans loudly in frustration before hitting his head on the bar counter. Gaz pats his back, shaking his head.

"I know you like him, but I don't see it going anywhere. He's too hung up on the past to focus on the future."

"Roach died fucking ten years ago!"

Soap winces when he realizes how loud he said that. Gaz glares at the people who stared until they looked away.

"Look, he needs a therapist. That much is certain."

Soap laughs, "Damn straight."

The rest of the night goes by quickly. Soap ended up getting cut off and in his drunken state became royally pissed off. Gaz did his best to herd Soap out of the bar with the help of some buddies but the Scotsman was proving difficult. Right as they got to the door, Soap whipped around and pointed at Gaz.

"I-I'm not going back! I live here now!"

"Johnny-"

"Don't call me that! Don't you dare call me that!"

Gaz stepped back as Soap stepped closer, a fire in his eyes. The bell rings as someone walks in and Soap turns to see Graves. It was surprising to see him considering he almost never went out to drink unless he had something to celebrate. Much like Price.

"Easy, soldier."

Gaz turns to look at the Shadows who had gathered at a couple pushed together tables not long after Soap started to get rowdy. Two of the Shadows pointed at one of them who held up his phone and shrugged. Seems like Soap was at that point where the Shadows thought it was necessary to contact their superior officer. And it did seem necessary.

"How 'bout we go out and get you something to eat, how does that sound?"

Gaz was almost surprised to see Soap visibly calming down in Graves' presence. Graves looks to Gaz and the others and waves them off in a "Everything is under control" manner before turning back to Soap. Soap was swaying in place, and if a strong breeze were to flow by, he might tip over. Over a long silence, Soap nods. Graves wraps a arm around the man's soldiers and leads him out of the bar.

Soap was practically leaning his full weight against Graves as they walked down the street. They went to a Mexican restaurant and Graves got Soap some tacos. They sat at one of the outside tables, Graves figuring the cool night air would help Soap sober up. Though he doubted that he would be sober at any point in the near future.

"How's the tacos?"

"Fucking delicious," said Soap, mouth half full.

Graves takes a tip of his drink as Soap eats. Once he got to his third taco, he spoke.

"Did you drive to town?"

"Walked."

"Ah. Well, I don't see you walking back. How about I give you a lift."

Soap starts to laugh loudly, "I'm not that easy!"

Graves snorts at the combination of Soap's thickened accent and the slur in his voice.

"Not like that, Soap."

"Nuh uh. So is!" Soap leans close like he's trying to tell Graves a secret, "I see how you look at me."

Graves flushes and Soap laughs again. He then winks, "I don't mind. You can look all you want."

Graves shakes his head as Soap finishes his tacos. Graves helps Soap stand who found it hard to get out of the chair, "C'mon, let's get you back to base and in bed."

"Wow! You can't wait, can you?"

Graves seems to ignore him and leads him up the street to where his car is parked.

"Y'know, maybe I will be easy. Just this once."

Graves keeps quiet as he let's Soap ramble. At first it was very, very bad and corny pick up lines. But it turned into Soap just talking about whatever came to mind. The night sky to the cracks in the sidewalk. When they got to Graves' car Soap pointed at Graves, his finger inches from the American's nose.

"You're drunk! I'll drive!"

"Sure, fat chance."

After several minutes of struggling to wrangle Soap, Graves manages to get him in the car, Soap finally gives and sits. As Graves reached over him to buckle him in, Soap gropes his bicep and whistles.

"When we get married, you're carrying me down the aisle."

Graves mutters to himself, "Lord give me strength."

"Think he already did."

The drive to the base seemed impossibly long considering they had to stop several times for Graves to get Soap in the seat after he took his seat belt off. When they finally got to base and were walking in, Soap stopped and grabbed Graves by his shoulders.

"Let's go on a date."

Graves shakes his head, a fond look on his face, "Try asking me that again when you're sober."

Soap stares at Gravea before he twirls in place. After spinning three times and almost falling, he stops and turns to Graves.

"I'm sober now! How about a date?"

"Soap, you're still drunk."

Soap frowns, "Oh..."

Graves laughs and puts a arm on Soap's shoulders, "C'mon, time for bed."

It was safe to say that they did not make it to the barracks with Soap's dignity in tack. Graves felt bad for him as he managed to get to Soap's room finally. He had to take Soap's shoes off and force him to lay down in bed. Soap kept insisting that he wasn't tired, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out. And when he woke with his head pounding and a sense of dread, he knew he acted like an idiot the previous night.

He tried to piece together what all had happened the night before but after his fifth drink everything went black. He remembered Gaz being there so he decided to go talk to him about what happened. It took him a minute to find him considering his phone was dead, but he eventually found him in the gym. Gaz noticed him quickly and walked over to him.

"Hey man, how you feel?"

"Like shit. Listen, I do not remember shit about last night. Do you know if I did anything stupid?"

A Shadow laughs loudly, "Did you do anything stupid?"

Soap turns and Gaz glares, "I got this, Rico. Go mind your own business."

The Shadow holds his hands up and leaves them be while snickering. Soap turns back to Gaz, "What happened?!"

"Well, you had a bit too much and, um, started to get a bit much to handle so, uh, someone called Graves to come get you. That happened after you made several comments about Ghost being um... Actually, I didn't really understand what you were saying."

Soap's eyes widen, "No..."

"Yea..."

"Oh god... What else happened?"

"Don't know. After Graves got you no one knows what happened except when he took you to your room. Farah said you were singing. Quite horribly, might I add."

Soap covers his face, "I was an ass to Graves, I just know it."

"Most likely."

Soap groans. Something tells him his actions from last night were going to bite him in the ass.

[pxnkedniall]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John Price (Call of Duty), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Rodolfo Parra, Alejandro Vargas, Valeria Garza, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Kate Laswell, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, König (Call of Duty) Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022), soap is a shit head, ghost is a shit head too, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Repressed, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Roller Coaster, Swearing, I swear a lot I'm not sorry, Abuse of Authority, slight ?? saw a post about it on tumblr that ghost should hold his power over soaps head, The Author Regrets Nothing, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Has Played Call of Duty, attempting to make ghost more flirty instead of closed off and cold, soapghost, Updating tags as I go, dad price is concerned for his boys, influenced by tiktok and tumblr, Protective John Price (Call of Duty), John Price Acting as Task Force 141's Parental Figure (Call of Duty), Parental John Price (Call of Duty), Simon "Ghost" Riley Has PTSD, Soft Simon "Ghost" Riley, ghost is soft for soap, ghost gives soap a sweatshirt, Hurt John "Soap" MacTavish, Emotional Hurt, Angst and Feels, Mentioned Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Dead Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Mute Gary "Roach" Sanderson, König is a Task Force 141 Operative (Call of Duty), Mentioned König Series: Part 1 of It's Not Living (If It's Not With You) Summary:

Being a part of Captain Price's Special Task Force 141 was no easy work. Often away from loved ones for extended amounts of times, dropped in the middle of nowhere, with intelligence that could crumble life and society as we know it today or could launch another world war with only your closest battle buddies being there to support you; sometimes it was someone you had only known for six months being on your six and trusting they were going to get you out alive. Being killed or captured was always a threat and work was never easy. Missions often went sideways, and you sometimes only had the supplies in your bag with the clothes on your back. Blood often stained the hands of the members of the 141, they flirted with the grim reaper often, and any distractions could risk your life on the field.

So why couldn't the tall Manchester rainstorm get the short Scotland sunshine out of his head?

Something in the Orange - Zach Bryan These characters are from Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022) developed by Infinity Ward and published by Activision

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SEVENTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, degrading, mentions of death/blood, dove is called some nasty words, please heed warnings for this chapter masterlist a/n: girlbossed a little too hard and finished the chapter a day early. posting this after my 14 hour shift with nothing but hope and dreams. this chapter is a long one, i think the longest one so far, so have fun :p

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Up close, Graves was even more sinister than imagined. It was as if you were living in your own nightmare come to life, with beady eyes crinkling back at you as a curled smile stretched over his face. Adorned in all black from head to toe, with the only spouts of color being the mess of dark blonde atop his head, nearly covered by the old, leather pirate hat.

His skin was deathly pale, a feat you knew to be from his reaping sins. To take a life in return for a piece of his—a soul bind.

If he weren’t such a sick man, you’d dare say he’d been handsome, if it weren’t for the look of rotting to the core. His personality did no justice, something cocky and mighty. He knew exactly how to play his game, and he played it well.

In your turmoil, you dared to wonder if all of this was indeed another nightmare. Perhaps you were still asleep, stuck in an endless loop until Soap or Gaz awoke you as they always did; but with a sharp pinch on your thigh beneath the thin covers of Price’s bedspread, the world remained at ease.

This one wouldn’t be easy to get out of.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Graves mused, smile so wide you worried the corners would crack and bleed. You wished you could see him writhe like a helpless roach beneath your shoe. “Why the long face?”

“How—” You swallowed, fisting the sheets. “How are you here?”

Graves stood straight, glancing around the room. He pretended to ponder, holding his arms up to shrug. “I let myself in.”

Your eyes followed his every move as he slowly stepped throughout Price’s quarters, taking it in. You sat as still as a statue, completely frozen in place. The sound of his heavy boots along the wood floors rang alarm bells.

The air in the room fell icy cold, rising goosebumps on your skin. There was that frigid chill that felt as if you’d just stepped into a slaughterhouse, a hint of decay tickling your nostrils.

This was the feel of death you’d always felt, lingering behind you, watching. He’d always been there, even if only in your mind.

“Where is the Captain?” you asked, attempting to make your voice firm. Show no weakness—it was the very thing you’d been taught since your first day on the ship. You hoped Price would be proud that you remembered.

Graves’ eyebrows raised and while his smile remained, it only seemed to glimmer with excitement when the question was asked, as if you asked a dog if he wanted a bone.

“He truly has you on a leash,” he snickered, finding something amusing in all of it. “You’re like their little bitch, aren’t you?”

Your blood ran hot at the demeaning nature his words brought, but you knew better. They were for show, something to make him appear taller. If you fell for it, you’d only be digging a deeper grave for yourself.

“No,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I am a pirate, just as them.”

Graves barked out a laugh, one that made your ears bleed. It was meant to deplete your confidence, poisoned with arrogance.

“Is that right?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. “A pirate, are you?”

Graves stalked towards you, agonizingly slow, stopping when his knees bumped the side of the cot. He leaned down so his face was level with yours, empty eyes peering deep within your soul. His breath reeked of death and despair, nearly knocking you unconscious.

“I’d like to test that.”

His icy hand wrapped around your bicep, hauling you out of the bed. With a yelp, you stumbled to your feet, bare of their shoes. The world beneath your soles felt foreign now, ever since Soap had given you your gift and you’d never take them off unless you were falling asleep.

The grip was tight, causing your heartbeat to thump through your muscles angrily. Your skin under his hand paled from the sheer force.

Graves tugged you along as you fought to resist him, squirming and attempting to plant your feet to the floor. Without the help of your shoes compared to his unruly strength, your fight was deemed useless. He continued dragging you, so much so you could feel little splinters begin to dig into your soles and invoke dull pangs of pain.

Fear filled your body from head to toe, your heart pounding against your rib cage. A lump filled your throat, coated with anxiety. Your mind filled with millions of thoughts, smothering any confidence you previously had and replacing it with the idea of death.

Was this where all would end? Your crew was one of the most feared among the seas, a healthy bounty placed over their heads. But there would always be one person above, and that person was Graves.

Every kick, bump, resist was fruitless as Graves hauled you to the door. What lay beyond it terrified you, images of your men dead flashing before your eyes.

Coated in their own bloodbaths, bodies laid limp amongst the floors of their own homes, sprawled out as if they meant nothing. Oh, you couldn’t bear it. You’d have to go, too—you’d have nothing left.

When Graves opened the door, you weren’t sure if the sight was any better.

It was dark, the moon only a sliver in the sky, granting no room for light. A single lantern was all that was left to cast orange shadows, its fire flickering in a dance for a way out.

Your crew was lined shoulder to shoulder, on their knees in a submissive front, hands bound with thick rope behind their backs. Graves’ men, his Shadows, held the barrel of their guns to each of their heads.

Though the sight was an improvement from what you initially prepared yourself for, it was far from good. It was bordering those images, a glimpse into what could be a massacre.

The moment you were out of Price’s quarters, Graves let go of you, shoving you. You lost your balance, tumbling to your side, your head slamming into the deck. Pain blossomed under your skull and you hissed in pain.

“Dove?” you heard one of them call out. Your head spun, making it hard to figure out who it was.

A heavy blow landed on your side where you lay, and you wheezed, Graves’ boot unexpected. It kept you in place, applying pressure to guarantee you wouldn’t try to flee and fight back.

“Get the fuck off of her,” Price growled. You could recognize it, filled with a burning venom that dared to kill anyone that was in its crossfire. “This has nothin’ to do with her.”

“It’s all to do with her,” Graves spat, digging the toe of his boot into your rib cage. His previous cockiness had melted away, revealing his boiling rage. “Isn’t that right, dove?”

Graves lifted his boot, granting you a brief moment of relief before it slammed back down. It knocked the air right out of your lungs, leaving you croaking out a plea to stop.

You coiled in on yourself, curling into a ball in attempts to lessen the damage. It did nothing to stop his boot from weighing on your side. The pain felt like nothing you’d experienced before, and you were sure you felt a bone crunch.

“Dove,” Gaz called out, frantic. He tried leaning forward to get a glimpse of your face, to search for your eyes, but the barrel of the gun only pressed deeper into the back of his skull in warning. “Dove, it’s okay. Just listen to my voice, alright? I’m right here.”

Your eyes were widened with fear, chest heaving to catch the breaths that were stolen from you. You couldn’t move, frozen in place, even as Gaz called out for you with the threat of a bullet through his head.

“I don’t know what you’re plannin’, Graves,” Price snarled, “but this is between us.”

Graves laughed diabolically, throwing his head back. It only made everything much more tense.

“Isn’t she apart of you now?” Graves humored, cocking his head. His fingers drummed along the gun in its holster on his hip. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s a pirate. I believe those were your words, Price.”

The realization that Graves knew had you going cold. The closer he got, the stronger the connection became.

“What the hell is it ye want?” Soap asked through gritted teeth. His eyes were darting back and forth between your crumpled form and Graves. “S’always somethin’ with ye, aye?”

Graves eyed Soap, a glint in his gaze. There was something unfamiliar in it, as if he held a personal grudge towards the man in question.

“There is something I want,” Graves agreed, letting out a dramatic sigh. He tapped at the gun once again, staring up at the sky in thought. “I think dove here knows exactly what that is.”

Graves dug his boot once again, peering down at you as if you were scum. You couldn’t stop the small whimper from the agony drumming in your side.

“Go on, dove,” Graves taunted, grinning. “Tell them.”

“I don’t know,” you panted. You were unfocused, eyes staring at the old floor from where your head rested.

You tried recalling what it is he could want, anything at all, but nothing was becoming clear. You scavenged through the deepest parts of your brain for even a simple clue, but the blows had made you dazed.

“I swear, I’ll fuckin’ kill you—”

“You do know,” Graves repeated, cutting off the Captain. His tone grew annoyed. “Think real hard, dove.”

“I don’t know,” you cried, shoulders beginning to shake. All the built up confidence to fight back had vanished into thin air. Now, you felt like a scared little girl, begging for mercy.

Graves’ boot lifted, then returned back down. A string of curses were thrown his way from your crew, who were thrashing in the binds, unable to aid you under the lineup of guns to their heads.

You felt wetness cascade down your cheeks, dampening your skin and falling down to the side of your head from the angle you laid. It was then you realized you were crying, embarrassingly so.

Only mere hours ago you were deemed a pirate, and yet at the start of war, you fell apart like a damsel.

“The telescope,” Ghost said, voice low. It was the first he’d spoken, only sitting there silently as you were beaten down. His head hung low, as if ashamed, though the darkness in his eyes was enough to cast doom across entire continents. “He’s talkin’ about the telescope.”

You blinked away the tears, eyes burning. Realization dawned on you the moment Ghost spoke. Through your huddled position, you tried to tilt your chin down to meet his eye. As if thinking the same thing, he lifted his head, connecting your gazes. You could see that familiar apology pooling out of him, expressing everything he needed to say.

Washed away to land and shore,

shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.

The telescope you found for Gaz was an innocent gesture. The sight of it called out to you, as if meant to be owned by you. If you would’ve known it was Graves it was calling, you would’ve thrown it into the deep sea so it could never be found again.

“So he speaks,” Graves mused sarcastically.

Ghost broke contact first, eyes boring into Graves. He looked murderous, plotting his own bloodbath with just a simple look. The dim light of the single lantern did nothing to lessen the ominous glow, only highlighting it.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk to him,” Soap hissed, scowling. The look of pure disgust was such a contrast to his normal, boyish grins.

Graves paid no mind to him, stuck in a contest with Ghost. The two of them had a dark force swirling between them, one that even outside made the air heavy and suffocating.

“A point for your bravery, Ghost,” Graves sighed dramatically, breaking his stare. He looked between each and every man, sparing you no glance while his boot remained in place. “My telescope. Give it to me, and I’ll let her go.”

You instantly shifted your eyes to look at Gaz, who seemed to be struggling with a decision. You knew why he was having a hard time—you gifted the telescope to him, unknowing of who it truly belonged to. It was something he treasured, something he didn’t want to let go of.

“I have it,” Gaz said lowly, head bowing. “It’s in my quarters. I’ll take you to it.”

Graves sucked his teeth, feigning pity. He shook his head, hand fully resting on the gun at his hip. “Not going to work on me, Gaz. I’m quite capable of getting it myself. You sit tight, aye?”

Gaz stiffened, expression growing grim. Nevertheless, he said nothing, deciding silence was the best contender for a fight bound to end in loss.

Graves gestured for the man behind Price to fetch the telescope from Gaz and Soap’s shared quarters. Price didn’t tear his eyes away from Graves once, even as the Devil of the Seas took out his own gun and pointed it right at Price’s forehead.

He pressed the barrel of the gun into Price’s forehead, indenting the skin. It was a snug fit, a perfect shot for Graves if he wished to end things the easy way.

Graves didn’t like it easy. He liked it fun.

“Scared we’ve caught on to your trail, aye?” Price bluffed, voice gravelly and malicious. “That’s why you came out here like a fuckin’ mutt, hidin’ in the storm until you found the right time to ambush us?”

“You have your dove to blame,” Graves replied nonchalantly, rubbing his boot back and forth along your side. The pressure had you sucking air through your teeth, eyes clenching shut. “She might be your new toy, but she’s just as much a mutt as I am.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Price snarled, body shaking with feverish rage. If he could pounce on Graves, you knew he would.

“Looks like you finally grew some balls, Captain,” Graves snickered, pulling back the hammer of the gun. It resounded a loud click, which translated to a warning bell in Price’s favor. “Such anger. That anger has never worked for you, Price. It didn’t work for Ghost—it won’t work for her.”

Price let out an animalistic growl, his lips pulling back in a sneer. You’d seen the Captain angry, and you’d seen him under the guise of a scary, ominous pirate who would kill any innocent bystander that stood in his way.

This was entirely different. This was personal. A build up. This was a storm that had been coming for ages, and you were only toeing the edges.

The Shadow returned, holding the telescope you’d gifted Gaz. It shimmered in the lantern’s glow, glinting its gold details and showing it off. It felt like a goodbye.

“I’d be real careful from now on, Graves,” Price warned. It was the first you ever heard him speak so menacingly, like the demon inside of him was erupting with a stream of hot lava filled with nothing but spewing hatred. “When I find you, I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself. String you up on my sails until you’re dry, toss you into the ocean to the sharks. I’ll take pleasure in watchin’ you burn until there’s nothin’ left but ash and dust.”

Graves took the telescope from his Shadow’s hand, inspecting it. The words Price spoke clearly struck a nerve, for the arrogant grin had vanished, replaced with a gloomy, threatened expression.

“Hm,” Graves huffed, letting his gun fall and placing it back in its holster. He signaled for his men to follow suit, and you watched as all weapons dropped. “I await the day that happens, Captain. Until then, keep your mutt on a leash, aye?”

Graves made no effort to untie the crew, leaving them bound as he gathered his men to walk the plank connecting the two ship. A long, woden plank that creaked under the weight, one od wish you could kick from its balance and send them flying into the dark sea.

The moment was brutally silent as they left. Nobody moved a muscle until Graves was on his ship, the plank pulled from its placement, and the skull flag waved goodbye as they set sail into the pit of the night.

Time stood still, but the second Graves and his crew were hidden in the waves, all hell broke loose. Price and Gaz worked together to unbind each other with their backs to one another, frantic to be released. Ghost sat silently, eyes staring into the floorboards as if they’d speak to him.

“Say somethin’, dove,” Soap begged, scooting on his knees to be by your side.

As if the dam broke, you began to cry once more, heartbreaking sobs coming right from your core. You curled up tighter into your ball, your hand resting on your side as if it would magically ease the pain.

“It hurts,” you replied, voice cracking.

You’d stayed strong up until that point. Now, you couldn’t hold up your front.

You were scared. You felt more helpless than ever. You couldn’t remain strong for the sake of pretend anymore. Everything hurt, and Graves’ presence shook you to your very core.

“I know,” he cooed. He made a frustrated noise when he struggled against the binds. “I know, dove. We’re right here, alright?”

It felt strange, being on the other side of the spectrum. You were used to being the one to aid people in their injuries, but now, it was you being comforted. You couldn’t grasp what your life had become.

Price was released from his binds, quickly helping Gaz slip out of his. While Gaz made quick work to move to work on Ghost, Price was by your side in an instant.

One hand rested on your hip, turning your body towards him while the other found your face, resting his palm on it. His eyes were filled with worry when you faced him and he urgently wiped at your tears with his thumb.

“Dove,” he breathed in relief, his heart aching at the sight of you so broken. This was his fault. “You’re okay, I have you.”

You whimpered when he shifted so he could slide his arms beneath you, one under your shoulders and the other in the bend of your knees. The movement flared pain all over again, and Price murmured apologies, unsure of what to do.

He hurried to his quarters, his men following closely behind like scared dogs with their tails between their legs. Gaz held open the door, and you only caught a glimpse of his guilt-stricken expression before you were ushered in.

Price carefully slid you on to his cot, wincing every time you whimpered or cried. The pain felt excruciating, your breathing quick and labored.

“She needs a medic,” Soap stressed.

“She is a medic,” Gaz reminded, resting his hands on the edge of the cot so he could lean over and inspect your face. “We have no help besides her.”

“Well, she can’t treat herself, ye fuckin’ oaf,” Soap snipped, shooing him away from your space. “Cap, she needs to get checked. She can’t even breathe properly!”

Your head began to pound from the sheer loudness that filled the room. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the ache while simultaneously trying to correct your breathing.

You knew well enough that there was something shattered or broken. A rib, though small in theory, but dreadfully painful without the correct medicines. Not to mention the amount of force Graves had used—it was pure hell.

Price was silent, as was Ghost, the two of them sharing a conversation with just a look. There was an understanding shared, and Price gently shoved Gaz and Soap aside, replacing them.

He mimicked Gaz’s previous stance, leaning on the bed. His hand came to brush a stray tear away, frowning embedded in his mouth.

“Tell me what to do, dove,” he said softly. “I’ll do whatever it is.”

You sniffled, hand shaking where they rested on your side. You shook your head, nearly deranged from the shock and horror of it all, unable to snap out of it.

“I—I can’t fix it on my own, Captain,” you quivered, lips trembling. “It hurts.”

Price nearly broke, filled with guilt. He glanced behind him at Ghost, who quickly looked away, hands balling into fists.

“I know,” he assured calmly, brushing his finger along your cheek where he wiped the tear away. “We’ll fix it, aye? You just have to sit tight until we can. Can you do that for us, dove?”

Though you knew the wait would be cruel—a slow healing process until you could receive proper care—you found yourself nodding shamelessly, instantly trusting Price and his promises.

Price nodded along with you, giving your cheek a comforting pinch. “Attagirl,” he praised, calming your nerves.

“I’ll fuckin’ gut him,” Soap muttered, jaw pulled tight. “He’s fuckin’ dead.”

Gaz reached up to grip Soap’s nape, tugging at his hair. Soap threw him a glare, one Gaz promptly ignored, turning his attention to you.

“Listen to Cap, birdie,” Gaz encouraged warmly. “We’ll get you all fixed up. You won’t even know you’re hurtin’.”

Price had a look of hesitation when you caught his eye. You furrowed your eyebrows, frowning in confusion before he spoke again, causing you to grow uncomfortable.

“We need to check it first, dove,” he said apologetically. “If you don’t feel well with all of us bein’ here, you can pick who you prefer. No hard feelin’s, hm?”

The idea that one, if not all, had to see you undressed in order to inspect the damage was one that made you a bit dazed. You’d never been seen beneath your raggedy clothes in the village, and the same applied for your time on the ship. It felt sacred, like your vulnerability was on the line, but you had to remind yourself that it was purely medical—you’d done it plenty of times when in practice at your old home.

“It—it is fine, just… just turn away, yes?” you pleaded, unable to meet any of them in the eye.

You heard a round of shuffling, only seeing Gaz elbow Soap in the corner of your vision. Once you were sure they feasted their eyes upon the old wall, you began to carefully lift your hips, biting your lip to muffle the pained noise that threatened to leave.

The hem of your dress was swiftly pulled up past your thighs, all the way until your torso was exposed. You stopped it beneath your breasts, quick to tug the blanket over your nakedness that remained uninjured and in no need to be checked.

The anxiety that pooled in your stomach left you queasy, but you toughed through it, knowing how important it was. If you had more than a mere fracture, it could become worse over time.

“Okay,” you said quietly, cringing when they turned to take you in. The men did their best to make you feel as at ease as possible, gearing their focus towards the nasty swelling on your side.

You dared to take a peek yourself, fearing for why they were so quiet. What you saw was ugly—swollen and puffy, beaten to the point it was already turning purple and blue. It was tender to the touch, even more so without clothing as a barrier.

The worst was the gnarly, black veins that spouted out like roots, dipping deep into the new bruising. It was inhuman, something completely out of the ordinary. You knew it was Graves’ dirty work, and it reminded you of when Ghost had cut his finger in the kitchen and his blood turned black, vanishing into thin air.

When you shifted your eyes from your injury, you searched for Ghost’s, who was hard-stuck on the veins. His body was tense, a darkness swirling in his irises.

“Ghost?” Soap tried, nudging the brute lightly. “Any idea what that is?”

Ghost glanced over to Soap before returning to your side, taking in the sight. “Could be anythin’,” he muttered, unsure. “I don’t know what all he’s capable of. For all we know, it could already be infected.”

“Infected?” you asked, a worried chill racking through you.

Price reached out a careful hand to spread his fingertips along the veins. You choked on a gasp at the immediate discomfort, face scrunching up into a wince.

“We’re goin’ to a doctor,” Price nearly growled, taking his hand away. “I don’t care where. The moment we spot land, we’re goin’.”

“We still have bounties on our head, Cap,” Gaz reminded with a frown. “We can’t just go anywhere. It’s not the same as shoppin’. If we end up in the wrong place, we might get ourselves in deeper shit.”

“That is a risk I’m willin’ to take,” Price argued, firm in his stance. “If we start nitpickin’ where to go, it might be too late. You’re either in or out.”

The room fell silent as the men stared at their Captain. The answer to them was obvious, though you knew why they hesitated; if they were imprisoned, it would do you no good.

Emotions were high and the clock was ticking. It placed everyone on edge.

“I agree with Price.”

All heads turned to Ghost, who stood with his arms crossed, eyes boring into yours.

“It’s my fault she’s marked. So long as she gets fixed up, I could care less about bein’ thrown into a cell. I’m with Price,” he finished.

“Ghost—” you tried.

“I am quite firm in what I’ve decided,” he interrupted harshly before realizing his mistake, calming himself down. He looked away from you, crossing his arms a bit tighter. “I’m in no mood for arguments.”

You went quiet, watching Ghost turn towards the door and plot his escape. You knew out of everyone, he was affected the most, tormented with sickening guilt for all that’s transpired. You could only imagine how he felt, now that times had grown darker.

“Let him go,” Soap murmured softly, gaining your attention. “He’ll be alright. Let’s just worry ‘bout ye, aye?”

You were torn, but you nodded nonetheless, silently agreeing.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Price explained. “No use in movin’ you anymore than I have. I’ll get you situated for now, and then you can rest.”

Gaz, Soap, and Price muttered amongst themselves, discussing a brief plan of what to do. The two set off to find more pillows to extend your comfort while Price remained by your side, plopping himself in his chair with a heavy sigh. His elbows rested on its arms, his fingers coming up to rub at his temple.

He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes becoming more prominent the longer you looked.

“I am sorry, Captain,” you said quietly, eyes glueing to the ceiling.

“What have you got to be sorry for?” he asked, frowning. “Got nothin’ to apologize for, dove. Our worry stems from care.”

“Yes, but,” you paused, gathering the words, “I have caused much trouble since my arrival. Things only seem to be harder for you.”

“Life was hard before you, dove,” he assured, letting his hand fall from his face. “That’s the way it goes. It is to no fault but the world.”

You took in his words, letting them sink in. You hadn’t known a true life of trouble before, the only hardships being your utter loneliness and daily taunts from the local villagers. This was something beyond your knowledge, and you were beginning to understand that there was more to life than simply displeasuring people. There was more than what meets the eye, but there was also light at the end of every tunnel.

“You do not see me as a mere burden?” you asked, and he huffed.

“What have I told you before?” Price pressed in return, tilting his head. “You are one of us. A true pirate, if that is what you’d like.”

“I am far from a pirate,” you scoffed to yourself, ashamed. “I could not even defend myself or any of you.”

“Dove,” Price called out softly. He scooted his chair closer to your bedside, forcing you to turn your head and look at him. “A loss is not always a failure. Some wars are too big to handle on your own. There’s nothin’ wrong with that. Why must you speak so lowly of yourself?”

You stared at him unblinking, studying the furrow of his eyebrows and the curl of his lips, hidden beneath his beard. The worry lines on his forehead showed years of hardship, and you wondered how he managed to live through it if you could barely survive your own smaller ones.

“I have known nothing else,” you confessed bitterly, though not towards him. You were angry, not only with yourself, but at life for dealing its deck of cards in such an unfair way.

“I see,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair. He tapped his fingers along the armrests, getting lost in thought. “It was the same for me as well.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he sighed, picking at the splintering wood of the armrests. “My father was a captain before me. Had the tongue of a devil. Always angry, always cold—treated me like scum, even as a child.”

“I am sorry,” you murmured quietly. Price bristled, frowning.

“That is not the point, dove,” he replied. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the side of the bed, mere inches away from where you laid. You waited patiently for him to continue, keeping your gazes connected to show you were listening. “Some may treat you like a mutt on the street and deem your worth how they please. The only thing that matters is how you take it and how you come out of it.”

It dawned on you what he was implying. It was his way of comforting you, shielding you from your own burdening insecurities that never seemed to escape your mind.

“I could’ve remained angry and bitter, but now I captain my own ship and crew. The same applies for you—you may have experienced cruelty all your life, but you must take the reins on your own worth and decide what it is, dove.”

A blinding warmth shrouded you, like a blanket after being trapped in the icy cold, and you welcomed it with a smile. You’d never known Price to be so well with words, not int he way he was expressing now.

He knew what you needed to hear after being trapped in your own world of darkness, and he provided the light you needed to find your way out—all of them did. A glimmer of hope in a world full of loss.

“I am very thankful you kidnapped me,” you blurted, unable to contain your inner thoughts.

Price laughed, boisterous and loud, a smile washing over his face. It was a lovely sight, one that made your heart pound. Even through your pain, you found solitude in the aftermath, reaching a level of comfort you’d always wished to feel.

“I am happy to have you here despite it,” Price teased warmly. “I can say the same for the rest.”

You laughed, almost immediately regretting it at the shooting pain coursing in your side. He shot you a sympathetic smile, slowly standing from his chair.

“I will let you rest,” he said, giving you a gentle pat to your thigh over the blanket. Your heart jumped at the action, and you repressed it.

“You are not staying?” you asked, deflating.

“Soap and Gaz will be here with some more pillows soon. I must gather a plan so we can get you to a medic as soon as possible.”

It made sense, and you knew it was important. There was no telling what was flowing through the black veins, but your heart longed for more of his presence.

“Just for a moment longer?” you dared to request, voice small.

Price peered down at you from where he stood over you, a hint of surprise flashing on his expression before it softened. He nodded, reaching over to give your hand a gentle squeeze. You held on as long as you could.

“Just a moment then,” he repeated. “I will do it for you.”

You squeezed his hand in return, feeling as if you were on cloud nine. Your feelings were uncertain, but the more you spent with them, the clearer your vision became. It was an inner battle, forcing yourself to push them back in order to protect yourself. Now, though, you decided to allow yourself the comfort, just for a little while.

“Thank you,” you told him, unaware your voice had become a mere whisper. The air between you felt heavy, as if something unspoken was there.

Price glanced down at your hands that remained interlinked before shifting his gaze back at you. The gears in his mind were turning, and just as you were about to ask if it was alright, he beat you.

“I am not an emotional man,” he murmured quietly, seeming just as unsure as you were. “I make very stupid decisions and take paths I shouldn’t take. One of them is tellin’ me to kiss you, and I’m not sure if that’s alright.”

You froze in place, eyes growing wide. You were unable to look away, lost in your own little moment. Everything in you was yelling yes, yes, yes! and it was hard to ignore. You had always been weak in your feelings.

“Gaz tried to when I gifted him the telescope,” you said, unsure of why you did. “I hope that is okay.”

Price broke out into a smile, huffing out a breathy laugh. “So long as he did not beat me to it.”

You released a relieved breath, a shaky smile spreading on your lips. Price did not seem angry, and for that, you grew more enticed for a kiss. While your feelings for the others were all different in their special ways, having Price be the first was not something you could deny. It excited you more than it should.

Before you knew it, Price leaned down, capturing your lips in his own. There was no spark like you’d read in books you’d read at merchant stands when you couldn’t afford them, nor were there fireworks.

Instead, it was a calm sea that smothered you in peace, easing every worry that crowded your mind. They washed away, replaced with a warm buzz.

He was gentle, hand still grasping yours, the other coming to rest beneath your jaw. His skin was hot to the touch, rough from the callouses on his palm.

The moment wasn’t long, and when he pulled away, you wished you could reel him in for more.

“Rest,” he encouraged, his smile brighter than a thousand suns. “We’ll get you fixed up and better before you know it, alright?”

You nodded dumbly, your head empty. You were practically vibrating with excitement, the feel of his lips still tingling on yours.

He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone before pulling back, stepping away from the bed. He gave you a soft farewell, reminding you that the boys will be back soon and to try and sleep until then.

Once he was out of the room, the quiet didn’t bother you. It wasn’t maddening, driving you up a wall, suffocating you with loneliness—it was peaceful and kind, welcoming you with open arms as you slipped into unconsciousness, the images flashing behind your eyelids of the four of them in your life only bringing you true comfort after the storm.

[pinkslaystation]

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

[cherie-doll]

Hi! Good Evening/Morning! Can I request cod men x reader who is rich, but didn't keep it as a secret or anything, just didn't mention it ?Reader likes to spoil them without a second thought! Also i describe reader being a calm person!

you can delete this ask if it's a bit too much to do, thank you for your wonderful writing! 😍

First of all, I wanna thank you for being so respectful, literally I have the most respectful and patient people here and I'm so thankful for it <3

ᡴ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

COD Men Being Spoiled !!

۶ৎ Price...

he'd appreciate the occasional gift but overtime when you love throwing gifts at him because you seriously can't walk past a shop without seeing something and immediately thinking of him

and you do it so nonchalantly too that he's confused when you've gifted him the 5th most expensive watch he could only ever dream of getting, he's not a huge materialistic guy so before he would only glance at it on display and think it was a nice watch but didn't expect you to gift it to him

he lovingly thanks you and as much as he appreciates you and your gifts you don't have to drain your bank account on him, oh, but then you drop the bomb on him that you're loaded

well, he doesn't make a commotion out of it but he's sitting there thinking, now all the puzzle pieces connect, that's why you're always so decked out when you got out even if it's something simple

۶ৎ Ghost...

loves your quiet acts of love, you gift him little fragments and pieces that remind you of him, which in the end, make him up in some way

he even started getting used to your ways that now he leaves little stuff for you here and there, everyday one of you is uncovering gifts from the other

sometimes you don't even talk as you hand him something you bought for him, he also prefers gifts that have some sort of use to them, there's only so much clothes and accessories he stuffs in his drawers not really knowing what to do with them

but get him something he'll need and he's over the moon for the whole week, you can tell because at night he's been hugging you extra tightly that the next morning you wake up with him tangled up with you

۶ৎ Soap...

he's always wanted to do his best to charm you when you first started your relationship, but man was he taken aback and slightly humbled the moment he started paying attention to your things

he was the most oblivious to it despite the obvious signs, and it's not like he's dirt poor, then why can't he help but feel slightly intimidated by you like when you first met

would literally aim to spoil you so much more, with loving acts and gifts you cherish, you prefer simpler things, you couldn't have found someone better to date

he knows his way to romance you and it's worked every time since you met him, secretly you might be a little shy, so his bold acts definitely make your heart stumble

۶ৎ Gaz...

he knows that as soon as you approach with that mischievous smile like you did something and hiding something behind his back, he better sit down because you probably just bought him whatever was last in his wishlist

he thinks you ought to use some of that for yourself, really he thinks you should buy yourself a little something, but giving makes you feel so good

unknowingly to you, he somehow always manages to do something or get something that makes you forget you could buy it yourself with the money you've got

he thinks he could go on forever living like this, with you being such a calming person he can enjoy his evenings with, it makes him forget everything that you've got and just appreciate and breathe you in

۶ৎ Roach...

poor guy gets at least a little overwhelmed when you gift him something because it's surely something fancy again, it's not that he doesn't like your gifts

he just can't help but feel his heart doing flips and bouncing against the wall of his chest, his thanking you comes out softly from his lips

still he thanks his lucky starts because overtime you've learned about his interests and adjusted your gifts accordingly, now he has a collection of knick-knacks from you that he just loves organizing and admiring

you also fuel his strangle little obsessions that otherwise couldn't have been paid for, he'll also show up with somewhat unusual gifts, but you love your little weirdo :)

۶ৎ Alejandro...

he's got style he knew what you were like, but even then he wouldn't let you pay for anything, not even dinner, no matter how many times you went out

better put that card away, he'll take care of this one.... again

he also loves how confident you are, you never boast about your money, you have your quiet ways of making him feel loved and he can see himself committing to you

and what he loves most about you is that not only do you use your money to live your life how you want but you also help out whoever needs it, he could seriously learn a thing or two from you

you're such a pure soul deep down that wants to show their love in the only form they know how to give

۶ৎ Rudy...

used to shyly take but now he doesn't even feel worthy to reach his hand out until you're practically shoving it into his face, still he can't help but feel at least a little bad for easily accepting your gifts, and so he tries talking to you about that

you really don't have to go out of your way to show your affection for him, still you won't give up

the type you sit you aside that he actually wants to be the one to provide for you and you're like "i'm good tho" and proceed to shock him with what you have

still, you've never felt as loved by anyone else than him, he strives to make you feel the warmest sensations that you're constantly thinking about him, which reminds you to buy more stuff for hum...

۶ৎ Phillip Graves...

he just adores having you dote on him, in any way or form, he didn't even figure how much money you had because he was never big on luxury brands or stuff like that

anything you give to him on the pretext that it will look good on him, he's a sucker for that, feels like you're already married to him when you do stuff like that, and he awaits your gifts eagerly

likes to act all surprised when you do start gifting more often, "that's for me? you really shouldn't have bothered" as he smiles smugly and gives you a kiss on the cheek for it, but he also loves buying you things, you never bring money when you go out

and when he asks where you'd like to live, you say you already have your dream house, he thinks you're bluffing at first until you bring him over

well, you just keep surprising him don't you?

۶ৎ Makarov...

he loves spoiling you but then you also slide your card through at any store without even giving it a second thought, so watching you two exchange gifts is sort of hilarious

he'll gift you a beautiful and expensive jewelry item for your hand or neck and you show up with the latest in men's fashion that you just KNOW will look absolutely dashing on him

for the longest time he felt like it was competitive almost, he genuinely almost got upset because he was frustrated how you seemed to show up with your card everywhere, ready to pay for the extravagant meal when he planned to pay

he loves boasting about how much money he has and shows you off when he showers you in gifts yet here you are able to buy it all yourself and even do the same for him

you end up having to compromise and put your card away for certain things, at least when he's around, because he loves that feeling when you lean on him, depending on him almost completely

۶ৎ Keegan...

he just figured it out right away without you having to tell him, he read the way you carried yourself even though you never bragged about the amount of money you had

you were a hard worker and loved to lavish in your wealth, and you invited him too, but despite how much gifting was your love language he liked showing you a different perspective of things

he might've been the one to teach you to enjoy an evening out without having to spend money just to make things pleasurable

but he also never forgets to show appreciation for a gift you lovingly though of, he's lucky to have you even be interested in him, he'll let you dote on him so long as you let him impress you too

it's only fair of course that he take your breath away with a romantic date that may not be as expensive but the thought and effort is all the same

۶ৎ König...

he can't help but get all flustered when all you've done recently is dote all over him with gifts every time, he would be melting in your hands, head cradled between your thighs as you reach down and pinch his cheeks only to slip a gift in his hand

his eyes would be flickering between the box in his hand and your face, "another one?" he'll ask softly, a little hurt because he thinks you're spending too much on him

but you would have to reassure him with all the dulcet words in the world to convince him that you truly do love him, better that he get used to it because you'll be doing it a lot more often now

"you... you're-" he can't even form a sentence when you finally do take him to your place, "mhm" is all you even say before whisking him off to some other place

۶ৎ Horangi...

he's learned a thing or two from his old, bad habits, so he's surprised to see new packages constantly arriving at your doorstep, and from luxury brands too

you'll sit on the living room floor unboxing everything and you'll randomly extend your hand out, gesturing for him to take it because you saw something you thought he would like and probably didn't even bother to check the price as you added it to your cart

and he'll proudly wear all the stuff you've bought for him, like a pet wearing a collar signifying that they've got an owner who cares for them, he doesn't hold back from boasting to his buddies

"oh, this thing? yeah, my partner bought that for me"

you and him would match the lavish lifestyle very well without a doubt

۶ৎ Nikto...

he would silently accept the first few gifts, not really noticing the signs until suddenly he's "..." and you love teasing him, saying he must be speechless at whatever present you bought him but in reality he's now realizing what type of person he bagged

he loves that you're thriving and aren't completely depending on him, at least financially, with your extravagant tastes you are sure to drain his savings fast, but you never were the type to excessively spend

still, he accepts your presents without a word but the best you could really do for him and at least be soft to him, despite not looking like it, he's the type to like seeing a side you never show to anyone else, maybe be gentler, softer, warmer and more vulnerable

that's something priceless he secretly loves, feeling you mold right into him, feeling like everything's right because his larger frame shields you, making you feel safer than money ever could

[meowpupp]

as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.

poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.

you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.

a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.

at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.

your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.

and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming… closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however… as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.

the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.

price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.

it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.

price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.

ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.

ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.

it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.

gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.

he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.

and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the ‘misogynistic asshole’ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.

you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.

he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.

you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a ‘reward.’

its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.

it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.

it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.

“It's like an initiation,” he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, “think of it kind of like…. hazing.” his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, “if you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.”

it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.

ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.

after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.

a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.

when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.

price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.

“if you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.” he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, “id be more than happy to include you.”

roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.

he kisses your neck, “price wants to see how pretty you are,” his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, “let's give him a show, yeah?”

cont.

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 5)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male reader

Summary: A person from the past appeared in front of Male reader, and they would have to work together on the new mission. It was not a comfortable reunion.

Word count: 3323 words

Warning: Mention of self-h4rm behaviors.

Price had announced that on the next mission your team was going to collaborate with another team from Russia, mainly because the location of the mission would be a little bit challenging, and you would need assistance from people who were accustomed to that kind of condition for safety and efficiency. Informed that the new mission would be a tough one, you and the other men of the team had been training especially hard to prepare for it. Ghost’d been helping you and Roach with improving your close combat skills against big men as your enemies would be the Russian “bears”–a nickname given to them due to their considerable height and exceptionally powerful physique. 

Soap was standing from afar, watching you and Ghost on the sparring ground with amusement as the smaller you tried to pin the towering Brit down. It was then that Price approached him and said, “The Russian team who we’ll work with will arrive at 1400. I have a meeting with the higher-ups concerning the mission at that hour, so you tell Ghost and Y/n to go greet them.”

“Can I tag along, Cap’?” Soap smirked.

“Do whatever the hell you want, just don’t act stupid like usual. Save me some face.” Price shrugged and hurried to leave the room, not allowing Soap a single chance to bite back.

Soap was about to curse at the older man when a roar of applause attracted his whole attention. He turned his eyes back to the sparring ground, and his mouth lifted in a broad, proud smile the moment he saw you sitting on top of Ghost, your hands gripping him by the wrists and your legs pinning those of his own. The recruits were screaming, whistling, and jumping in excitement, which was an understandable reaction of them given all the fear and respect Ghost had earned from the sparring ground during the training. Every time new groups of recruits arrived, in the very first training, that masked man always made sure to literally kick some newbies’ asses in front of everyone as a way to warn them and keep them in the right place. Sometimes some men of higher rankings would challenge Ghost as well, but of course none of them ever won. 

“You won.” Ghost looked up at you, his eyes, which were the only thing not covered by his skull mask, softened almost like those of a proud big brother.

“I think you have a soft spot for me, Ghost. You underperform to let me win.” You released his wrists, pouting a bit at the thought of Ghost deliberately letting you win.

Then, your body shuddered as you could feel his touch on your inner thigh, “I never do that for anyone, even if it’s you or Soap.”

His eyes were burning, the man beneath you, and for a moment you were taken back to that early morning in the TV room when his hand caressed your cheek, drew a gentle, burning line from your neck down to your lower back, and then snaked under your shirt to fondle your warm flesh. You jumped, standing up so quick that your body almost lost balance and fell outside of the sparring ring, the alarm run off inside your head as you feared that he might know. He might know so damn well that you had already been awake at the moment he showed love interest in you and your body, and he was also aware you were pretending you hadn’t realized that.

“Sir, are you okay?” A recruit that was standing near the ring held the sides of your arms to help you regain balance. 

“Hah, I’m fine. Thank you.” Your timid and soft nature made you turn your head and smile at him, only for you to find out that this boy was a head taller than you, and from the position that the two of you were in right now, it looked like you were nestling into his embrace.

Your face turned bright red at the realization, but before your brain could come up with the most normal and “no homo” way to sneak out of this awkward situation, a strong hand grabbed the collar of your shirt and lifted you up.

“What the hell–? Ghost, put me the fuck down!” The man dragged you out of the arms of the recruit and down to the ground below the sparring ring. No matter how hard you were punching and kicking him, which was almost nothing to his thick skin, he continued to walk to where Soap was standing, unbothered by your resistance. Soap laughed so hard at the sight of him holding you up like a cat–and you’re a grumpy one–that the man fell to the ground, hugging his belly.

“You’re such a dramatic bitch, Soap. I hate you two.”

“We love you too.” Soap winked at you. “OK, no more jokes. Your dad was just here, Y/n, he told us to welcome the Russian team at 1400.”

“My dad…?” You panicked at the two words, a familiar and frightening face emerged from the depth of your memories and filled your head.

“Who else besides Price? Why do you look so scared?” Soap’s facial expression dropped for a moment, realizing that he might have mentioned a disturbing piece of your past. 

“Nothing. Let’s get lunch before they arrive. Ghost, put me down!” You pretended to miss Soap’s question and came back to throwing your fits and kicks to the larger man who was built like a fridge. 

Fortunately, Soap didn’t intend to pry either, “No, no, don’t put him down hahaha. Let’s get to the kitchen like this.”

“No fucking way! Put me down!!!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Russian team finally arrived. You, Soap and Ghost went to the ground outside of the base where the helicopter would be dropping them. 

“I heard they’re very huge, like you, Ghost.” Soap chatted.

“What with all the fucking tall people.” You mumbled, clearly not amused by the fact you’d keep being the shortest one in any of the teams you were and would be working with. 

“I feel you, boy.” Soap put a hand on your shoulder, and you were almost touched by him trying to be understanding when he proceeded to say, “I used to be the shortest one, but luckily you and Roach have taken my place.” 

“God damn it, Soap Mactavish!!!” You nearly threw yourself at the man, and finally Ghost had to step in between you two to prevent any embarrassing occurrences in front of the very eyes of another team that could forever change the image of Task Force 141 in the stories people had been telling.

The helicopter was roaring above your head, and as it landed, you felt Ghost’s strong hand again on your bare skin, or specifically the nape of your neck. You glowered at him since you knew damn well what this man was thinking that led him to do this kind of gesture, “I’m not gonna be blown away, Ghost.” You couldn’t–and hell you didn’t want to–recall the first time the men of 141 did this to you, being unnecessarily worried about your light weight and slender body, always acting as if you’d be blown away, broken apart, or kidnapped the very moment they didn’t notice.

“Better safe than sorry.” His eyes looked down at you for a few seconds before lifting up to meet those of the Captain of the Russian team who was heading their way.

Ghost obviously heard your murmured curses at him, but chose to ignore to exchange a handshake with the Captain.

“Nice to meet you, the legendary 141. I’m Captain Alfred.” The man smiled amiably. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties and you could almost sense from him the same vibe as from Price. ‘Seriously, are all the Captains like this?’

“Ghost.”

“Of course I know who you are. All the three of you.” He eyed the three of you, from Soap on the left to Ghost in the middle, and then to you. “Especially you, Private Y/n.”

“Huh?” You were lost for a moment. What did he mean by that, especially you?? Were there any bad rumors about you that had been circling around without your notice?

“Why do you look so bewildered?” Alfred chuckled. “My Private has been speaking so fondly of you, Y/n. Ever since he’s transferred to my team. The kid was so shy about sharing his past but you were the only exception. Fyodor, come here!”

Fyodor…

Oh.

Fyodor.

Your heart skipped a bit. It almost felt impossible to breathe normally at that present. For no tangible reason, your vision went blurred and you were taken–no, more like violently hit by a train–back to one of the times in the past that you had been successfully burying deep into your consciousness, or at least it was what you thought so. 

His likable smile. His silly laughter. His stupid humor. His Russian-rich English accent. His breath lingered with the smell of the cheap cigarettes that you two shared your little money to purchase at a convenience store which now had been replaced by a coffee shop. You had fooled yourself that it was easy to forget him, and forget all the slow, calm moments you spent with him outside of that convenience store, talking away all the past trauma, the intolerable pressure life put on the tired shoulders of two young men who were forced into adult lives too soon. You had fooled yourself that it was easy to forget your feelings for him as well as your desire for something between you which was destined to never happen.

And now he was here, in front of you. His strong build and massive body still carried the smell of the exact cheap cigarette brand from when you were close. The version of a world–empty but manageable–inside of you crumbled, and once again you felt like you were the heart-broken boy in that damn night, lonely and heart-wrenchingly pathetic, sitting alone in the balcony at 3AM in the morning, ignoring the fact that you’d have to wake up in two hours for a training to smoke two whole packs of cigarettes to repress your overwhelming emotions. A piece of screwed-up paper sat quietly at your feet that night, and it was from him. Fyodor.

“Hi, Y/n.”

“Fyodor.” You nodded, your face looked as cold and expressionless as ever, till the point that Alfred thought he was seeing a smaller version of Ghost.

“What is this? I thought you two used to be close friends as recruits?” Alfred blurted. He was exactly like a father who was trying to make his child get along with another kid.

Soap shrugged it off, “Well, I guess our boy Y/n here may get influenced a little bit too much by his admirable Lieutenant. After all, Ghost is just a legend here. Everyone wants to be as good as he is.” 

Alfred laughed out loud, “Well, I guess!” 

“Shut up, Soap. Let’s get back to the base.” Ghost said to Alfred.

“Alright boys and girls, follow Lieutenant Ghost.” 

You glowered at Fyodor before turning your back on him and following your Lieutenant. You despised yourself for doing so, seeing that Fyodor was still the kind and quiet boy as he always was, while you just became more and more selfish and sinister day after day for being consumed with bitter jealousy. You knew you were angry at him for nothing, it was not his fault in any way, but you could not stop yourself from doing so. You would never forget that night, being wide awake until the morning after, fighting with the inner demons every fucking second to keep yourself alive from your own hands. Neither could you stop feeling it was not fair for you, trapped with feelings that could never be relieved, while he could go out anywhere, hitting on and getting any girls he wanted. 

It just hurt so bad. 

And you were so fucking stupid for falling for a straight dude, a hot one even, with a smooth mouth that never failed to attract any women.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghost led all of you to Price’s room. He knocked on the door to inform Price that you had arrived and opened it for everyone to get in. 

“We will have a brief meeting about the next mission, and tomorrow at 0500 we will hop on a helicopter to get transferred to the target location, that’s where we will have some training together to get my team familiar with the weather condition before getting into the real fight.” Price perfectly asserted himself in front of the Russian team with confidence and dominance.

As the meeting went, your eyes locked on Price’s face and the projector screen, but at the same time you couldn’t help watching Fyodor from your peripheral vision. He stood there attentively listening to you two’s Captains, and whenever he was quiet like that, the man always gave off a kind of passively intimidating vibe, like a bear enjoying his peaceful slumber that would turn into a furious monster and easily bite your head off if you dared to disturb his sleep. During the whole meeting, he did not look at you for once, and to be honest, it made you feel horrible. That was just it, right? Everything that used to be going on between you was just a complicated lie that man had been weaving to lead you around like the stupid laughable loser you were. 

“I will always be here for you bro.”

“If there is anything, just tell me. I’ll always try to help you as much as I can.”

“You mean a lot to me.”

“I will never give up on you.”

Lovely words they might sound. But you’d learnt the hard way that those were just downright lies and hollow promises. Your ‘brother-like’ relationship was as fragile as a thread that when the smallest unpredictable thing happened, it tore apart. When you stopped being a useful weapon or a great listener to be taken advantage of and showed your broken heart and bleeding soul, you stopped being of value to him, and he would withdraw his effort put on your relationship and start to hang out with the other recruits.

The funny thing was it was not the worst you had been through, because during your childhood you’d been literally through hell. It was not the reason why you two ended up like this, you asking to be transferred to anywhere but that base and leaving him behind, and him getting over the loss of your presence too quickly by being sent back to his home country, Russia. The real cause of it was because you accidentally fell for him, a straight man who had a pretty impressive number of body counts. You’d known that he was straight right from the start of your situationship, but you couldn’t help it. The way he called your name. The way he looked at you as you shared about your traumatized past with so much care in those dark eyes. The way he seldomly touched your shoulder, grabbed your arm to drag you around. Along with some trivial moments you spent with him that probably meant nothing to him but so much to you. Like when he tried to include you in the conversation with other recruits. Or when he laughed at your jokes. Or when he held the lighter in his big hand, lighting the cigarette that was in between your lips for you. You had never been showered with that amount of intricate care and love from any men before that you felt weak in your knees. You could not help falling for him.

As the meeting was announced over, you almost stormed out of the room. Tears were threatening to brim over your eyes and you could not afford anyone to see that, especially Fyodor. You turned your back to everyone else there so fast, and as a result you missed the worried look of your team, as well as Fyodor’s.

Running to somewhere quiet and normally no one would pass by, you put your trembling hand into your pocket, fumbling for the pack of cigarettes to try to put yourself together by smoking it away. And before you knew it, the head of the cigarette was already pressed against the skin of your arm. You exhaled in relief, feeling thankful that the temporary pain on your flesh always succeeded in repressing the agonizing pain inside your heart. You threw that extinguished cigarette down to the ground and violently stepped on it, as if it was that same piece of paper that Fyodor sent you on that night, almost begging you to call him back to talk and resolve whatever conflict you two were finding yourselves in. You lit another cigarette, and were about to press it on your arm against until a strong hand grab the wrist of your hand that was holding the cigarette.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You heard the angry howl from the Brit.

“Let me go.” You murmured.

“Private, I’m asking you. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” Ghost heavily seethed out every word.

“Y/n… why are you doing this?” Soap arrived a few seconds later than Ghost, and in contrast to the masked man, he was trying to be soft to talk you out of this behavior.

“Let me fucking go. Why do you care so much??” Your stomach was burning with how much indignation you were having. Sensing the Brit’s grip on your wrist was as firm as a rock, you growled in your throat and bared your teeth at the two men like a disturbed stray dog. 

“Why do you keep pushing us away then? Why do you refuse our care and love?” Soap reached out his arm to touch you in an attempt to somehow calm you down, but quickly withdraw it back as he saw you set your jaw.

“I don’t fucking need your kindness! Whatever the fuck you’re doing, it’s only out of pity. Now let me the fuck go!!!” You got extremely violent and began to do absolutely anything to make the Brit let you go. You screamed at him, scratched his arms, punched his face, kicked his legs. Your aggressiveness definitely took the two men aback as they wondered how much rage must be stored inside that small body of you to make you behave like an absolute wild animal. 

“What is going on here?” Price and Alfred arrived at the scene, and behind him was the rest of the two teams, which certainly included Fyodor. 

You could see how he was looking at you at the moment. Bewildered eyes and a terrified face. Everyone else here was with those kinds of expressions. Nice. Absolutely fucking nice. Now you were like a fucking joke in front of everyone. The utmost shame and anger filled your whole body and made your blood boil, and suddenly you were fueled with the most destructible power ever–the primitive force when an animal was pushed near the verge of extinction, when it realized that if whatever was happening kept happening, it would die. And that was the scariest power ever, what one could do when they realized they had nothing else to lose. 

You could not remember much about what occurred after that. Everything flashed before your own eyes, and the only two things that your five senses could make out of was the pained expression on Simon’s face and his reddened eyes. Another thing was how you run off from that place where everyone was surrounding you and watching you as if they were the concerned citizens and you were the rabid stray dog being restrained by officers from the animal control and welfare service in the broad daylight.

to be continued...

:)) the reason why this part is so long i bc im having the second mental breakdown in the month and have come back to skipping meals and smoking 2 packs of cigarettes every day.

Taglist: @q8852p

[calic0o]

Rambling about Ghost Roach n Soap again gET YOUR ASSES HERE !!?!!!!

(Both Ghost and Roach gets out alive from the betrayal!)

Cw// Uhh Mentions of burns! burning alive ! scars! and a tad of emotional hurt . i think. a tiny tad . (im lying! )

Roach and Ghost sleeps together. It’s not out of love or lust, no. Not at start at least.

There are, things others don’t understand. Ghost loves Soap, with all he has. But he just doesn’t understand it.

He doesn’t understand how Simon felt when they were betrayed by Shepherd, he doesn’t understand how it felt to be burned alive.

He tries, he really does. But Simon doesn’t want his pity. He sees the way Johnny’s eyes glaze on the burnt parts of his body in the showers, changing rooms, when they are fucking. It ticks him off. Makes him feel like a fool.

He knows it’s not the case, he knows Soap feels a deep regret for not understanding the betrayal sooner, not being able to save them from it. But oh how it ticks him off.

Roach, on the other hand, understands it. He was there with him.

They burned together.

Roach doesn’t look at him with that, weird eyes when he sees him naked, he doesn’t feel afraid of touching the burnt flesh on his body.

Maybe it’s because he had it worse with burns, but it’s still good. It feels good to feel his grip on the burnt and healed parts on his body, not afraid of touching, afraid of hurting him.

He understands, when they cry in the middle of it, he understands.

They understand each other.

The doom feeling, the overwhelming emotions and shared trauma is what bonds them together.

They burned together.

Thats what links them together, what makes them knock on each others doors in the middle of the night.

[harveywritings92]

{Grim reaper au: R/n is a new reaper and Ghost is her mentor. she doesn’t want to take souls and tries to weasel out of appoints. This time however she did see the guy die, but didn’t take his soul. Simon’s sitting in the diner the reapers meet at. Waiting for her appointment’s status.]

R/n’s thoughts: Oh, crap he staring, now seems like good time slip under the radar.

R/n: Well, my guys dead, what’s the soup of the day?

Ghost: Cream of bullshit!

{R/n looks at him startled.]

Ghost: You really fucked the dog on this, Kid.

R/n: What?

Ghost: What? You had an appointment.

R/n: I didn't make an appointment.

Roach: Beat her down.

Ghost: Doesn't matter who made the appointment. You had an appointment.

{R/n reminds him she was there she saw the guy die.]

R/n: Correct me if I'm wrong but- mission accomplished.

Ghost: You're wrong. That was me correcting you.

R/n: I'm confused.

Soap, referring to the dead man: He's still in there, lass.

[Flashback to the dead man's soul screaming as he is forced to watch his own autopsy.]

R/n, horrified: Holy shit! Is he in pain?

Ghost: Physically, no. He's dead. But emotionally, I imagine this sort of thing is pretty traumatic.