#made me think about how gaz is still figuring out the soldier he wants to be in mw

[kanescrochet]

Beneath the Mask

Simon "Ghost RileyXReader(Prices Daughter)

Word count: ~2140

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t want to go.

That morning, I stood at the edge of my bunk with arms crossed and a scowl deep enough to scare a soap bar into submission. Dad — Captain John Price to everyone else — had already knocked twice.

“Come on, love. It’s just a bit of morale-building. Team spirit. Sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes. “Forced fun, you mean.”

“That too.” He smirked. “But you’ve been cooped up too long. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not one of your recruits, Dad.”

He raised an eyebrow under the brim of his boonie hat, the same hat I’d seen in every childhood photo. “No, you’re worse. Which is why you’re coming.” Then, with a softer voice, “Field Day might surprise you.”

It didn’t. Not at first.

By noon, I was in a black T-shirt and combat boots, standing awkwardly near a folding table of grilled burgers and lukewarm Gatorade. Around me, soldiers laughed through tug-of-war matches and obstacle courses. Soap was leading a three-legged race with dramatic commentary, yelling like he was announcing the World Cup.

“Come on, Gaz! You run like my gran!”

I sighed, stuffing my hands in my pockets. I didn’t belong here — not really. I wasn’t military. I wasn’t even cleared for most of the missions Dad led. I was just the daughter he worried about too much, dragged to base while I “figured things out.”

And then I saw him.

Simon Riley. Ghost.

He was standing by the arm-wrestling table, arms folded, mask in place. His black hoodie sleeves were rolled just enough to reveal tattooed forearms, and even with the skull mask on, you could tell he wasn’t there for the games. He was watching.

Everyone.

Including me.

Our eyes met — or at least I think they did — and I quickly looked away, pretending to be fascinated by Soap’s barbecue apron. My stomach fluttered in a way that annoyed me. He was intense. Mysterious. Off-limits. Dad had made that very clear.

“That man’s been through hell,” he once said. “Don’t go digging where you don’t understand.”

But maybe I didn’t want to dig. Maybe I just wanted to stand in his shadow and feel a little less lost.

“Wanna try your luck?” a deep voice asked behind me.

I turned. Ghost.

He was holding out a small bean bag. One of those ridiculous carnival games — toss the bag, knock down the cans.

“You don’t seem the type to enjoy bean bags,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I don’t,” he replied, voice low and dry. “But you look like you need a distraction.”

I hesitated. Then took it.

From there, everything changed.

The next six months passed in a blur of stolen conversations, late-night walks across base, and whispered jokes over coffee in the mess. Ghost — Simon — opened up slowly, like a lockbox with worn hinges. He told me about Manchester, his brother, the silence that follows war.

He never took off the mask. Not for a long time. But somehow, I didn’t need to see his face to know how he felt. I could read him in the way he stood closer than necessary. How his gloved hand brushed mine when no one was looking. How his voice lowered when he said my name.

The first time he kissed me, it was behind the motor pool, just after a rare rainstorm. His mask was still on, so he kissed my forehead — gently, reverently — and I felt something in my chest crack open.

It was terrifying. And beautiful.

The only problem was my father.

Price knew something was up. He’d always had a sixth sense for trouble, and to him, Simon Riley was a ticking bomb with a decorated file.

“I don’t like it,” he said one night, arms folded as he stared me down in the comms room. “He’s not right for you.”

“Because he’s damaged?” I snapped. “Because he wears a mask?”

“Because he’s dangerous,” he said, and for once, he didn’t sound like a captain. He sounded like a father who was scared.

I didn’t listen.

And Simon didn’t push.

He respected Price too much to lie. But he respected me enough to stay — quietly, patiently — until the day came when we could be more.

That day came exactly six months after Field Day.

We were in the clearing behind the motor pool. The same place we’d shared our first kiss. The stars were out—sharp and glittering — and I was wrapped in his jacket, leaning against his chest.

Simon didn’t say much that night. Just held me, fingers tracing small circles on my arm.

Then he shifted.

“Got something for you,” he said, voice tighter than usual.

I turned, curious. “Yeah?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

My heart stopped.

He didn’t open it right away. Just held it, staring at the thing like it might detonate.

“I’ve been shot,” he said. “Stabbed. Tortured. Burned.” He looked up, eyes dark behind the mask. “None of that scared me as much as this.”

“Simon…” My voice caught.

“I’m not… normal,” he continued. “I don’t know how to love easy. But I know how to fight for something. And I’d fight for you. Every day. If you’ll let me.”

He opened the box.

Inside was a simple silver ring, nothing flashy. Just real.

“I love you,” he said. “Marry me?”

I couldn’t breathe.

Tears blurred my vision, and I nodded so fast my neck ached. “Yes. God, yes.”

He slipped the ring on my finger — his hands trembling — and I kissed the side of his mask. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen his full face. I’d seen everything that mattered.

Telling my dad was... not romantic.

We did it the next morning, in his office. I had my hand in Simon’s and my heart in my throat.

Price looked from the ring, to me, to Simon.

Then he stood up slowly.

“You think this is a joke?” he said to Simon, voice low and dangerous.

“No, sir.”

“You think you can protect her? Love her right? While carrying the weight you do?”

Simon didn’t flinch. “Yes, sir.”

For a long moment, Price said nothing. Just stared. Then:

“If you ever hurt her—”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll end you, Riley.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Then, Price sighed. Rubbed a hand over his face. Looked ten years older.

“…She’s my whole damn world,” he muttered. “So don’t give me a reason to regret this.”

Simon nodded once. “Never.”

And just like that, it was real.

We never had a fancy wedding. Just a small one, later, with Soap and Gaz making crude jokes and Price pretending not to cry.

Simon still wore the mask.

But when we danced that night, under the same stars we first kissed beneath, he leaned close and whispered:

“I’ve never felt more seen.”

And neither had I.

[girl-lostconnection]

hallo love your work it's so delicious. I also love how you show emotions. I wanted to tickle your brain for a sec if you don't mind (no pressure). What would happen in your AUs (like the acceleration au) if the reader was more um- violate like when simon decides oh this stranger yep he's going in the bed with us, (even if mind you she was chill about the strange man before if a bit hurt) she gets stern and simply tells him to get out of her house. That if he wants to bring his soldier fine- but that is not her problem that is her home her life. Also I saw you had a fic of gaz with what was basically a gym rat reader and omggggg it's so muahhh. I love strong reader.

Finally got to your ask, anon. So I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of days now.

I think the reason why Reader doesn’t outright put her foot down or why nothing too rash actually happens from ANY side of their throuple is from how slow it all burns. The temperature is going up degree by degree, so the frog doesn’t jump out of the pot.

Now, if Simon tried to ram his way through her stating clearly and plainly that she’s uncomfortable with something, than yes, it would be a recipe for a disaster.

But yk the AU works only because these guys listen to each other. Simon knows Reader and Reader knows Simon and Johnny knows Simon and Simon knows Johnny and Johnny tries to know Reader.

The AU works because they try to get attuned to each other and not because one or all of them try to forcefully slot themselves into each other’s lives.

I get where your question is coming from, I’m just explaining my thought process behind the structure of their relationship.

So their relationship however strange it may seem works because they are adults that while have some unhealthy attachments or coping mechanisms are still capable of processing their own emotions and giving each other space.

I know that I don’t go into too much of a detail exactly how it works/feels/goes between them but for me personally that’s part of it. In life for me oftentimes relationships can get complicated and sometimes you do in fact realise that the person you called best friend for years is actually the person you love.

Also, sometimes when coming from a not very fortunate or healthy family you may not know how different types of love feel like. You have no model to take example from so yeah, sometimes it’s a lot of stumbling around and nuzzling into people and taking time a shit ton of time to figure it all out.

And while I get that Simon may seem really annoying to some people, for me he’s actually really endearing because in this AU I understand him perfectly. He’s a man, he has some issues he never worked through, he dislikes conflicts and tries to avoid them, he takes the coward’s way out because he hopes maybe things will fall into place on their own.

And I understand Reader because she loved him all her life, she never said it, she always dreamed about the life that she wasn’t brave enough to live, she’s really jealous that Soap was brave enough to do what she didn’t, she feels ashamed that she’s jealous, she made mistakes, she hates that she did, she is difficult and isn’t sure she’s worth this much trouble. It’s okay, she is. You are. All the trouble and effort.

All worth it.

And I understand Soap. I think I understand him the best out of them all. He’s jealous, he’s used to work himself to the bone, he’s incredible aware, he’s insecure, he’s feeling like he could be left behind (he wouldn’t be), he likes Simon, he likes Reader, he has different needs than Simon or Reader have and he’s not sure how to voice them. He’s there but is he really present? Is he wanted? Is he needed? Is he loved? He isn’t sure. He doesn’t know whether he should ask.

So the thing is that they are all difficult and complicated and multidimensional and honestly, I love the three of them so so much.

Even if they stress you, guys, out sometimes

[lemonwrap]

Mistletoe Mishaps

This is a gift for @tetradfreaker for the 2024 Ghoap Holiday exchange, hosted by the wonderful @forsaire!! I hope you like it :)

Read it on Ao3

Ghost doesn’t really do parties. 

Soap knows this because Ghost hasn’t attended a single Christmas party in the three years Soap has known him. …Actually, now that Soap’s thinking about it, Ghost hasn’t shown up to most of the various celebrations thrown and usually made an Irish exit when he had the chance. 

Having grown up in a big family with three sisters and a plethora of other relatives, Soap is used to every celebration being made into big events packed with people. It’s the typical kind of ‘party’ thrown on base—food, unfortunately nonalcoholic drinks, cheap decorations, and about fifty people gathered in the mess hall. It’s also exactly the kind of event Ghost would prefer not to attend, so Soap can’t be blamed for being surprised when he spots his lieutenant’s hulking figure in the tinsel-strung doorway.

“Lt, you made it!” Soap grins, abandoning Gaz and a few other soldiers to give Ghost a friendly punch on the arm. “Good to see ye this year.”

“Nice sweater,” Ghost deadpans, glancing at the garish red and green reindeer sweater that Soap is donning. “Dressed for the occasion, I see.”

“Nice mask,” Soap remarks. “Wasn’t Halloween a few months ago?”

At the quip, the corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkle in a smile, and Soap’s stomach definitely doesn’t do a little flip at the sight. 

“I’d rather have a Halloween party than this,” Ghost comments. 

“Why’d you show, then?” Soap asks. “Get visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Just Price,” Ghost says. “You know how he is around the holidays.”

“Aye,” Soap says, thinking of their captain’s insistence on ‘team bonding’ whenever Christmas rolls around. “Want a cookie? Dawn brought some.”

“Have they got sprinkles?” Ghost asks. 

“Of course,” Soap replies.

“Good man,” Ghost says in that same approving tone he uses on ops, and Soap hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they suddenly feel. 

…Okay, so maybe Soap has a bit of a crush. Whatever. Despite what Soap’s pastor growing up would have said, it’s not a crime to like looking at Ghost’s biceps or his deep, dark brown eyes and his long, blonde lashes, the only visible part of his face. Or his ass. Can’t forget that ass. 

Most of the tables have been pushed out of the way, so it’s easy for them to weave through the partygoers and to the front of the room, where a table filled with drinks, cookies, and other treats sits. A fake Christmas tree only three or so feet tall is set on it near the edge, adorned with a handful of ornaments. Most of the food is okay, but Laswell’s wife, Dawn, has a knack for baking and brought what Soap considers to be cookies just as good as his mum’s. Dawn herself is nowhere to be found, probably off with Laswell, but a few of her revered sugar cookies still remain on a plate.

“Got here in the nick of time,” Soap says and takes a cookie, round with red frosting. Ghost nabs the cookie with the most sprinkles, a green one shaped like a Christmas tree, and lifts up his mask to take a bite. The half Glasgow smile that runs from the corner of Ghost’s mouth and travels up until it’s hidden by his mask catches Soap’s attention like it always does, pale and long since healed. Soap likes watching how it curves on the occasion he can get Ghost to smile and has imagined how it would feel against his lips a few too many times. 

“Gonna eat that or just stand there?” Ghost asks, pointing at Soap’s cookie.

“Huh?” Soap says. Upon realizing that he’s been standing there and watching Ghost eat like an idiot, Soap hurries to eat his cookie. It’s pretty good, but he’s more distracted than usual by the man of his dreams. Sue him, but Soap knows what he wants for Christmas this year.

“Why are Christmas trees bad at sewing?” Ghost asks out of nowhere, his mouth quirking up but not smiling yet.

“I dinnae ken, you tell me,” Soap replies.

“‘Cause they always drop their needles,” Ghost says, and Soap chuckles a little. He’s liked Ghost’s horrible jokes since day one.

“Alright, what does a gingerbread man put on his bed?” Soap asks.

“A cookie sheet. I’ve heard that one, Soap.”

“Bastard. Alright, what do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? Frostbite.”

That one gets Ghost to truly smile, just a small thing, and Soap treasures it. They quickly fall into their usual routine, telling shit jokes and borderline flirting with each other, like they have been for nearly three years at this point. 

Ever since Las Almas, Ghost has always matched Soap in every way, from being his equal in a spar to their endless back and forth bantering. Ghost was only trying to keep him calm and get both of them out of the city alive, but their talks continued long after Las Almas, with Ghost’s deep, gravelly voice haunting both Soap’s dreams and his waking moments. 

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Soap gets the feeling Ghost isn’t opposed to going a little further than over-the-comms flirting. They just need to find the right moment.

So when Soap watches over Ghost’s shoulder as a mischievous soldier pins a mistletoe right over the doorway leading in and out of the mess hall, he has a brilliant idea. 

The mistletoe! All he has to do is get Ghost under it, and a kiss should naturally follow. Genius, really. 

It’s a few minutes before Soap can manage to subtly herd Ghost towards the doorway. He’s pleased with his progress until Corporal Hodges approaches, smiling.

“Lieutenant Riley! MacTavish!” he says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at a Christmas party before, sir.”

“You haven’t,” Ghost says, already getting that bored expression he has when he’s not interested in talking to someone. Soap knows the feeling.

Amazingly, Soap doesn’t find Hodges annoying because he’s American. It’s actually because he’s a kiss-ass and tries to butter up his superiors, Ghost included. Ghost cuts it short every time, including today, in which he not-so-discreetly moves away from Hodges only thirty seconds after the corporal started talking. Unfortunately, that also means that Ghost moves away from the mistletoe hanging nearby, and Soap groans internally when Ghost strays far enough that Soap can’t guide him back without arousing suspicion. 

To Soap’s dismay, that pattern continues. Every time he tries to even get Ghost close to the mistletoe, his plan is somehow foiled. First it was Hodges. Then Ghost goes off to talk to Price. After that, Soap nearly has Ghost where he wants him, and then a private taps Soap to get his attention and asks him when his next demolitions demonstration will be. Soap would usually be thrilled to talk about demolitions, but he’s a little preoccupied, damnit!

“It’s hopeless,” he finds himself lamenting to Gaz after Ghost walks right under the mistletoe twice without pausing on the way to and from the restroom.

“Maybe he didn’t see it,” Gaz suggests, taking a sip of his soda.

“There’s no way he didnae see it, Gaz!” Soap exclaims, nearly spilling his own soda on Gaz when he throws his hands up in exasperation, “Look at the size of ‘im, his head nearly touches it!”

Soap is beginning to come to the conclusion that he will not be getting a kiss from Ghost tonight.

The final nail in the coffin is when two soldiers steal a brief peck under the mistletoe amidst the oohs and whoops of their peers, with Ghost being entirely unaffected by the display from where he’s standing next to Soap. Soap is pretty sure the universe is just messing with him at this point.

Ghost isn’t even looking directly at him. Having given up on the mistletoe being his chance, Soap indulges himself by silently gazing at his lieutenant instead. Ghost is as beautiful as ever, even surrounded by half-assed Christmas decorations and holding a plastic cup of soda. Not a supermodel or conventionally pretty, no, not with his scars and face shape that gives off the impression of a very ordinary-looking man, but Soap has spent enough time trying to put Ghost’s likeness down on paper to be certain that Ghost is all he could ever want or need.

“Did you want to come back with me?” Ghost says, turning his head to look at him.

“Um, what?” Soap fumbles, mind blanking and trying to look like he hasn’t been staring longingly at Ghost for the umpteenth time tonight. 

“I’ve got a gift for you,” Ghost explains, seemingly unaware of Soap’s hopeless pining. “Meant to bring it with me, but I forgot it in my room.”

“A gift?” Soap asks, and hopes Ghost doesn’t see the flush that must be on his face at the idea of Ghost getting him a gift.

“I can show you,” Ghost says. 

Soap doesn’t even bother to look up at that useless sprig of leaves as he hurries to catch up with his lieutenant, trying not to be disheartened by the whole thing. The mistletoe was decidedly not as brilliant of an idea as Soap had originally thought, but he’d like to think he has the balls to make a move anyway. The night’s not over. 

“So, is it a book?” Soap asks. The hallway is still brightly lit, not having reached lights out yet, so Soap can easily see how Ghost’s eyes shine with humor.

“No,” Ghost says. 

“Okay, a sketchbook.”

“Still no.”

“Matching pajamas.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Something very obscure that took you months to find.”

“You’ll see,” Ghost says, sounding amused. 

They stop in front of Ghost’s door at the end of the hallway before Soap knows it. He’s not expecting Ghost to turn around, pull that damned mistletoe out of his jacket pocket, and hold it over their heads. Stunned, Soap doesn’t make his move even when Ghost pulls his balaclava off, and oh, he’s just as stunning as Soap imagined, all dark brown eyes, scars, and blonde hair staticky from the balaclava, and—and then Ghost’s lips touch his.

It shouldn’t be anything special. Ghost’s mouth tastes like too-sweet icing, his lips are a bit chapped, and the hallway lighting isn’t exactly romantic, but Soap has died and gone to heaven, because Simon fucking Riley is kissing him. 

It’s over so much quicker than Soap would’ve liked, but it’s worth it when they part and he sees Ghost’s pale cheeks flushed pink and his eyes locked right on Soap.

“Not bad,” Ghost comments, sounding a bit winded, and his scarred lips curve into a smile—just how Soap likes.

“How’d you know?” Soap blurts out. “About the mistletoe.”

“It got kinda obvious after the third try.”

“Seriously?!”

————

“Thank god,” Gaz says to Price when the two finally leave the room, Ghost discreetly plucking the mistletoe from the top of the doorway and stuffing it in his pocket. “The puppy dog eyes were starting to get painful.”

[bigassmoonchild]

i like to think ghost have a partner that expresses love by biting { totally not me i wouldnt even think of chomping} but hes so used to it that he doesnt have a reaction when his wife is in nibble mode

but

everyone else loses their complete shit thinkin that a random person just bit ghost { i also love the idea that ghost doesnt tell soap shit jus to fuck with him }

i absolutely adore this bc i definitely do this 💀 (i've had this in my drafts for a few days now, but just finally figured out how i wanted it to go)

🫶🫶

simon would sit in the mess hall, not just to show face but also to be with the rest of his squad. price had to push him to join, but now he came of his own choice. it was something he did, not too often, but often enough.

on this particular day, you had gotten back from a mission all but a few hours ago. simon had been gone for a few weeks prior to you leaving, so you hadn't seen him in nearly a month and a half.

you walked into the mess hall, simon could see you from where he was sitting. you grabbed your tray of food and looked around to find where you were going to sit. he saw you move towards your squad before spotting him, sitting in front of soap and gaz.

so you made your way over, shuffling between people who were standing around and having to take a few different routes to get to them. dropping your tray down, you sat next to simon.

soap went to snag some food off of your tray and you smacked his hand, giving him a face as you did so. the three of you were talking, about what simon wasn't entirely sure of. he was trying to look at you while not completely giving himself away.

god, he loved you. more than you'd possibly ever know. catching his eye, you gave him a slightly confused face and you could see his eyes slightly squint with a little smile.

smiling back, you dove back into your conversation with soap and gaz. '...didn't realize that was something he did,' you said as simon came back into the conversation.

soap gave a little laugh, rolling his eyes. 'oh, gaz is a real charmer. spilled his pint o' beer on a lady once in a bar. you remember that, right ghost?' and simon nodded, giving a little grunt as he did so.

he still watched you, the light shining in your eye and the color slowly returning to your face as everything began to go back to your normal. he knew how much you missed this during missions, and even with the bags under your eyes he still thought you were as beautiful as ever.

the conversation waned, soap and gaz beginning to argue a little. your knee pressed against his, allowing your legs to touch. the only bit of pda he would allow with other soldiers around. with his mask on.

even though gaz and price knew, he kept it a secret from the loud mouthed scot. he knew, as much as he (unwillingly) cared for soap, word would spread fast if he knew it.

and the two of you spoke often about possibly bringing him in on the secret. possibly even just coming out as a couple at the nearest milball.

as much as the conversations happened, that was two milballs ago. three years you had been together, and just six months ago he had popped you the question. he knew exactly where that ring lay, on a long chain sitting just on your sternum.

some nights, he would kiss it. long and hard as he prayed to whatever being would listen that the two of you returned safe from the mission you were next on. other times, he tugged on it to pull you in for kisses.

there would even be a few nights that he would just play with it, feeling the heat of the metal from where it would rest against your skin. he loved that you kept it so close to your heart, and kenw that once the two of you married you wedding band would sit just there.

his own would sit against his heart, as soon as he got it.

a sharp pain from his bicep pulled him from his thoughts, looking down at where you bit him. clenching your teeth a little harder, you finally released him.

'what the hell was that,' soap sputtered out. looking between you, then simon and gaz. gaz gave him a little shrug, looking away as you leaned for another bite.

simon pushed your head away from his arm. 'don't bite me, you little mosquito,' he huffed at you. you gave him a cheeky little smile, winking at him before digging back into your food.

soap gestured wildly. 'no, i want to know what's going on. what the hell. why the hell?'and you gave soap a little laugh.

pulling the chain from under your shirt, you dangled the ring and chain in front of him. 'technically, we are still planning the wedding,' and you grunted as soap kicked you.

'and why wasn't i told?' he hissed at the two of you. you gave a faint shrug, playing with some of the food on your plate. you faught like hell to tell soap, but respected simons decision.

'you've got a loud mouth,'

'i do not!' soap nearly shouted. 'i absolutely do not,' he then whispered. you laughed and tapped your knee against simons.

[motzglorp]

I kinda wrote the first version of this for @morphoportis and it inspired this one, so I might as well post this in public. Should I use a title? I am still figuring things out.

Summary: afab!Reader is for the TF 141 what Pepper is for the Avengers but there is more and Bucky learns a new thing about himself.

Bucky struggles a bit, trying to find his (although temporary) place in the 141 team dynamic. Since they are waiting for intel, there is not much to do, other than training, relaxing for a day. He is not really used to free time, wary of the carefree attitude Soap and Gaz are showing, but they remind him of Clint and Tony. Ghost seems to get it, joining him at the table, cleaning their knives in silence.

They are family in a similar yet different way the avengers are. Secretly he thinks Steve could learn from Price about leadership but he immediately feels a bit guilty about that thought.

And then there is you. You shouldn't be here. You are too soft for this place, too precious to be around these dangerous men. If you were his (you are not, you are theirs, never forget that, it is not his place to judge), he would make sure you are safe, even from himself. Especially from himself.

But you don't seem to realise that you are surrounded by weapons in human form. You had explained it to Bucky in words that almost make sense.

"You know how Tony Stark could do all these stunts because he has Pepper Pots, yes? Nobody really wants to admit it, but without her, he would be buried in paperwork, meetings, everything. No PA I have heard of can do what she does, she is a genius and instead of following a career of her own, she dedicated her life and brain to the man she loves and the family around him, the avengers. I am their Pepper. Well, I try to be. I mean... I do what I can to make their work easier. I know, that I am no use in battle, but I have contacts, I am good at seeing patterns and I know what they need and I can make sure they get it. I am their lifeline, if needed. And just to make it perfectly clear, as long as you work with them, all of that's includes you." You had giggled and added: "For the time being, you are mine, Sgt. Barnes"

Something settled inside of him. You are mine.

The part of him, that was once The Winter Soldier recognised the meaning behind these words. It was simple. As long as he was here, he belonged to you. To this little pack.

A commotion from the sofa put a stop to his thoughts.

"Johnny MacTavish, you did not just jump my leg like a fucking mutt!" Your voice sounds more annoyed than angry, still everyone in the room is suddenly looking towards Soap, who has the decency of putting on an apologetic smile. "A joke, please forgive me. You know I am.stupid around you sometimes.."

"Sometimes?" Ghost mutters and Bucky is wondering if something like this is a usual occurrence. He never noticed anything so far.

"Oh yes, I know. And I was thinking about rewarding you with a treat tonight, because I know you really behaved like a good boy so far." The expressions on Soaps face changed rapidly from hopeful to realisation.

"So far? Don't joke like that, bonnie, I beg you."

Bucky froze. There was something in your voice, a new quality, like the promise of a command. And watching Soap slowly sinking down on his knees, shoulders straight, hands behind his back, made The Winter Soldier curious and calm at the same time. He didn't even notice that Gaz had left for a moment and now came back with a small box, placing it into your waiting hands.

"There is my good boy. I am so happy, you remember the rules now. I know it has been hard for you, having someone here, in your safe space, that you don't know yet. But we talked about it and you agreed, that we all behave until we know him better, yes?" Your voice is so soft yet stern, understanding, yet disappointed. Soap stays silent, except for a small whine. The Winter Soldier couldn't move, no, he didn't want to move. He had never before heard such a soft command between the words. Making him wish to obey, not forcing. Making him wish you were talking to him, not to the Sargent. He follows the movement of your hands, opening the box and taking out a metal chain, with a small golden ring in the front and a lock in the back. You smile as you turn your head and look Bucky directly in the eyes. "Sorry, this must be a bit confusing. I will answer any questions you might have later. But if you feel uncomfortable, please leave the room." You wait a moment and when Bucky shakes his head you nod and turn back to Soap, putting the chain around his neck, the golden ring right above the clavicle. Another sound escapes Soaps lips, a bit shaky, even if nothing in his posture signals unease. If anything he seems to relax as soon as the chain is on, even more when you lift his chin and cradle his cheek.

"Feel better? You are being so good for me, Jonny. Kneeling so beautifully, showing me, what you need. Even when there is someone watching you, who might not understand. That was very brave and I am proud of you. Now, your actions will still have consequences, but for now I give you a choice. You can stay here with me, just like that, until the movie is over and I will punish you myself. Or you can get it all over with right now and accept your punishment from John."

Another shaky breath and then: "John. Ah need John, please."

Bucky doesn't know how to feel. Why is everyone so calm about this. You are talking about punishing a team member and nobody is stepping in. Instead you seem to be happy about it, genuinely relieved almost. Not the fake softness a sadist would show. Not the cruel games Hydra would play. But how can a punishment be a good thing?

Ghost is watching the Soldier, like he is waiting for something. Your voice is so full of... Love? When you thank Johnny and tell him go find Price in his office. Jonny hesitates for a moment, looking at you with a little uncertainty and you just sigh, but there is a smile on your lips.

"It's okay, Johnny, I am not mad at you. You are still my good boy." Soft, but firm. The Winter Soldier shudders with... what is it? Longing? He doesn't understand the meaning behind everything, but when Soap is gone, he notices how your posture softens and Gaz tucks you onto his lap, holding you in a way, Bucky wished he was allowed to. You must be so soft to hold, to cuddle. It is even more confusing since he just witnessed you commanding a man to accept punishment, who could easily break you in half.

Ghost is still watching him, obviously thinking. "When she sais, she knows what we need, she means it. Not just for the work we do. She knows what we really need, deep inside, where most people don't dare to go. Johnny needs to know that someone cares enough to put him in his place, when he acts out. We all have our things, some similar, some very different. But she gives us what we need. Keeps the team dynamics stable. Keeps us human. Reminds us, that we have something to fight for, to come home to. Grounds us."

There is movement from the sofa as you get up, pulling Gaz with you. "'m tired, bed is calling." You mumble as you come over and place a quick kiss on Simon's shoulder. Then you look at Bucky, brows furrowed for a moment as if deciding what to do with him. It feels almost exciting. Then you smile again. "Thank you for staying calm and not interfering. I know you must have questions, I will gladly answer tomorrow. And remember what I said, as long as you are with us, you are mine to care for. As far as you let me."

It's an invitation. And something inside of him is warm and fuzzy already. He did good. He did not disturb the.. that. You are happy with him. For a moment he wonders how it would be to kneel like that before you, to make you proud. You just smile and turn around one last time before you leave the room.

"James, be a good boy for me and write down all your questions on a piece of paper and bring them to me tomorrow morning. You know where my room is, I will get up around eight."

Another invitation and instructions. Bucky is almost disappointed about the lack of command in your voice, but he feels the Soldier relaxing. Good boy. He can be that. He can be your good boy. Yours.

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇ ☉ ∇

"Songbird on a Wall" Pt.5

pt.1 here

pt.2 here

pt.3 here

pt.4 here

[ tw for foul language, conflict, mentions of ptsd, light emotional hurt/comfort

]

Scanner threw the door to Price’s office open with complete disregard for military protocol or respect.

The Captain jolted upright from where he’d been reclined in his chair, dozing. He took one look at the smoldering anger in Scanner’s eyes and sighed heavily.

“Sit.”

Scanner, his mouth already open to start making accusations, stopped abruptly at the command. The steam had been snatched from his whistle, cutting off the tirade he had prepared on the walk over.

He sat. His body dropped into the seat in front of the desk with a soft thud. He looked like a naughty schoolboy called into the principal’s office.

“Captain, I–” Price raised a hand. Scanner instantly went quiet.

“I’m going to tell you a few things, and you’re going to listen,” Price said firmly. He slid a bottle of whiskey over to Scanner, who hesitantly picked it up and took a swig. Price nodded in approval. “Good lad. Now, you’re in a mood. You’re upset and you feel like the team has been speaking behind your back. Right?” “Aye,” Scanner muttered begrudgingly, chasing the admittance with another swallow of the drink.

Price nodded again. “I thought as much. I’m guessing that something happened with Soap?” “He said that you told him about–” Scanner stared down at his scarred hands. He had forgotten to grab his gloves. “Well, about my hands, at least. He didn’t say what else. I guess… I guess I didn’t really give him time to.”

“And that made you scared, did it? Thinking that the team knew your past.” “I wasn’t scared–” Scanner snapped defensively, but a hard look from Price made him stop, take a breath, and try again. “I… suppose that maybe I didn’t like the thought of you blabbing about my history without giving me a chance to tell them on my own. I don’t want them to…” He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“To judge you,” supplied Price. Scanner gave a small nod, brushing back a stray curl from his face.

Price exhaled quietly. “Son, they’re your team. They deserve to know anything that could… affect your performance in the field. I had to tell them about your PTSD.” “But I’m doing better,” Scanner protested feebly. “You know that. I’ve never had an episode in the field. I barely have episodes at all.”

“But the fact remains,” Price said in a no-nonsense tone, “that the possibility is there. Just as it’s there with Ghost or Soap or Gaz or Roach. We’re all fucked up here, lad. You just have a certain higher level of fucked-upness than some of us. And that’s not your fault or anybody else’s besides the bastards who ambushed your team. I need you t’ understand that.” “I understand, sir,” Scanner said miserably. “But–”

“But you still feel like the team will judge you. It’s an easy assumption to make, but it’s not the correct one. They’re worried for you, yes, concerned for you, but it’s with no malicious intent. Mander, the team are your brothers. We might be soldiers first and foremost, but we’re family second. It’s alright to let down your guard. You have to be able to trust.”

“But it’s hard,” said Scanner without thinking. He flushed in embarrassment as he realized how young and petulant he sounded.

Price’s gaze softened. “Mander. We’re the SAS. Every part of our lives are hard. This is no different.” He leaned forward to clasp the younger man on the arm. “Just try, Mander. For your own sake, and for the team’s. And maybe it won’t be as hard as you think.”

*  *  *

“Get your arse in here, MacTavish,” growled Ghost’s voice, low and menacing. Soap froze, and then winced. It didn’t take him long to figure out that the Lieutenant had found out about his apology-turned-argument to Scanner.

“Simon…”

Ghost stared him down through the mask. “Now’s not the time for niceties, Sergeant.” Soap’s wince turned into an even deeper grimace. Ghost only ever called him by his rank when he was about to get a very stern talking-to. Best to just stay quiet and let himself get chewed out.

“The hell were you thinking, barging into Mander’s room and pissing him off?” demanded Ghost. “Because, y’ know, he went straight to complain to the Captain, and then I got told to keep you under better watch. Y’ not my fuckin’ ward, Sergeant. I expected you to handle yourself with a bit more tact, but apparently that was too much to ask of a man-child like yourself.” “Ah’m no’ a man-child–” Soap exclaimed, but was cut off by a sharp cuff on the back of the head by Ghost’s monstrously heavy hand. The Scotsman gave a low grunt from the impact, stumbling forward a step. “Th’ feck was that for, y’prick?”

“Because you’re an idjit, Johnny,” replied Ghost roughly. “And I’m bloody tired of tryna wrangle your attitude. I don’t know how you made it past basic training with the sheer fuckin’ snark in you, but it’s time you learn that actions have consequences. Thirty laps around the training field. Go.”

Soap was absolutely gobsmacked. Thirty laps? He could do nothing but stand and stare dumbly up at Ghost. The training field was roughly twice the size of the average high school track. Thirty laps would be almost fifteen miles. Sure, he could do that, but not without breaks, which he knew Ghost would not give him. Soap was fit, but not superhuman.

“That’s an order, MacTavish,” barked Ghost, making Soap startle. The Scotsman stumbled out of Ghost’s quarters and down the hall to the exit, heading for the training field.

It was slightly cooler than the previous day, but still torturously sticky, the humidity cloying. The sun nearly blinded him the moment he stepped outdoors.

Ghost trotted behind him, waiting to pounce the moment Soap tried to argue the unfairness of his punishment. Thankfully, Soap had a bit more self-preservation than that, and he broke into a shambling run around the training field.

His boots thudded against the hard-packed earth. Shame made his ears burn hotly when several other soldiers snickered.

“Oi, MacTavish! What’d you do to be runnin’ laps?” one of them called.

Soap spouted off a round of curses that would make a sailor’s jaw drop and continued to run with the sharp gaze of Ghost pinned to his back.

*  *  *

Nearly three hours later, Soap was close to dropping. The sun had long since gone down, leaving him chilled and clammy with sweat that dried cold in the night air. His legs felt like jello and his side had a terrible stitch that made him limp as he ran. Though, by now, his run had slowed into a staggering jog. He’d lost count of how many laps he’d done, likely more than thirty at this point, but Ghost hadn’t called him to a halt yet.

Soap’s lungs felt like they were on fire, his chest heaving. He didn’t register Ghost’s presence at his side until a strong arm was curled around his torso, yanking him to a stop. Gloved hands were smoothing down his ribs.

“Easy, Johnny. Catch your breath. Y’ alright.”

Soap leaned against the Lieutenant, eyelids fluttering shut. His fingers tangled in Ghost’s shirt. “Knackered,” the Scot muttered hoarsely. “Aye, y’ should be. Come on, let’s get you to the showers and then into bed.”

Soap didn’t protest as he was guided to the showers and stripped of his clothes, too fatigued to object. Ghost shucked off his own clothes and stepped into the stall with him, his body a firm wall of muscle to hold Soap up as the Sergeant lagged in exhaustion.

After Soap had been properly lathered, scrubbed, and rinsed, Ghost turned off the showerhead and toweled them both off, helping Soap into his sleep clothes before dressing himself. They walked together back to Ghost’s quarters, where Soap – Johnny – promptly threw himself down onto the bed with a pitiful groan, sprawled out like an oversized lapdog.

Ghost got out a heating pad, nestling it against Johnny’s legs, which were twitching weakly from overuse. The Scotsman would be sore and achy in the morning, but there would be no lasting damage-- Ghost had calculated as much before he'd dished out the reprimand. He would never do anything to endanger or injure his lovely boy.

“Easy, Johnny,” the Mancunian murmured, easing down beside the Sergeant and gathering him up against his chest. He reached for a water bottle on the nightstand and nudged the rim to Johnny’s lips, coaxing him to drink.

“There y’ go,” Ghost reassured his partner. “You’re alright. You learned your lesson, aye? You’ll be a bit more judicious in the future, ‘specially wiv Mander.” “Judicious? Donnae be usin’ y’whole vocabulary in one sentence, Simon. Ye’ll blow a gasket in ye brain.” Simon gave a deep, rasping chuckle. “Quiet, Johnny. Go t’sleep. We’ll have a li’tl sit-down wiv the rest of the team, Mander ‘n Price included, and debrief this entire situation. Get the story straight, from the horse’s mouth.”

“Aye?” mumbled Johnny, his head resting against Simon’s broad, thick clavicle. The scent of lingering cigarette smoke and aftershave enveloped him in a hug as warm as the one he was receiving from the Lieutenant’s expansive arms. “Hope s’not a Trojan horse.”

“Go t’sleep,” Simon repeated. He pressed a tender kiss to Johnny’s temple, their soldier personas completely shed for something softer, more intimate.

Johnny slept.

[alwaysshallow]

Tomato emoji here.

I would love to request a little cute gaz fic yk? I feel like my boy doesn’t get enough love at all..

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x gn!reader

You watch a movie with your boyfriend, after he comes back from deployment. (2,1k)

AO3 version

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long!! Yet again, I hope it's gonna satisfy you! <3 Late birthday gift, I'd say.

It's the third Avengers movie, and Gaz still doesn't want to tell you what is going on.

Instead, he stares at you. Not like that surprises you in any way. It's a habit of his, you figured it out in the beggining of your relationship with him – he has his days, where he just needs to... zone out and stare. It happens more after he comes home to you, tired of everything that happened.

Mostly, he speaks about his deployment. Talks how they got the bad guy, or intel – really depends what it was about, but mostly he acts almost boyish, like he wasn't talking about some mission where his life was on line. He treats it like an adventure, something he wants to share with you because he's so proud that he not only made that far, but he made the world a better place with his fight. You appreciated it every time.

Now, he just stares at you. He doesn't even watches the movie that he carefully picked. He didn't even pay attention to the previous two before, he's just beside you, looking at you with unreadable face. Even if you want to, you can't read him, Kyle is like a walking mystery. You'd like to solve it, but it's harder than you thought it would be.

Nonetheless, there's a strange kind of understanding between you two. Gaz has never confessed, but you know that it's bad now. It's this kind of bad, where you want just to hug him and tear every worry he has off his face, whisper some soothing words. Everything for a man that did so much for you, a man that really brought the best of you.

The man who actually fought for you, when you wanted to leave him, when you told him it won't work.

He made it work. It was hard, but he made it work because he loved you. And, he still loves you.

You don't know this, but he wants your face to be the last thing on his mind before he dies, that's why he stares. Just in case something will happen, he has to remember your face.

“Tired?” Kyle asks quietly, tugging the strand of your hair behind your ear. You’re dozing off on the couch, and he feels pretty bad for keeping you up. It's almost three in the morning, you should sleep. It's his fault; he wants you by his side because you soothe him.

"A bit." you shrug, looking at him. It's not a big deal for you – even if your eyelids are way too heavy, your boyfriend's sake is more important than anything. "I can't sleep anyway." you lie swiftly.

Even if you won't sleep that night at all, it's all fine for you. It's about his comfort, not yours, and it's about making him confess what happened. You both know that he always feels better after a quick talk, but he's always so torned between telling you and keeping it for himself. Bad things shouldn't include you – he thinks, and he tells you this every time you two are fighting.

It's always about him being too secretive about things that bug him. Not that you counted, but most of the times, he always talked about his traumas so casually, after weeks. "I almost lost a leg" or things similar to this, concerning for normal civilian – like you – were pretty "normal" for a soldier – like him. You told him multiple times his explanation was shit, and he learned it the hard way, when you refused to go to bed with him because you were mad.

Apparently, nothing worked on Garrick as well as a threat of not spending a night in his arms; the captain of Task Force 141 always joked about this being his potential punishment, not 100 push-ups.

"Yeah." Kyle murmurs eventually. "Me, too." his voice is raw with emotion, and you can feel how much he wants you closer, he doesn't even notice your lie. You can't help but wonder, even if nothing is said out loud, how you came to understand each other so well. Was it because you loved each other so much, or your character was similar?

"I know." you just say, as you stare back at him.

He's a strange man, you know it – sometimes he was cutting you off, sometimes he had to have a quick break from everything, including you. The longest break was three days, and he came back on his knees, apologizing.

Most of the times, he was kissing you breathlessly, whispering sweet nothings to you, as his hands were working on unbuttoning your shirt. He needs this kind of contact, it's the love language of his. It's something comforting, being in your close embrace, without having to think of the rest of the world.

You know it, he knows it, so without any hesitation from your side, you come closer, sitting on his lap. Next thing you do is hugging him, tight; Kyle wraps his arms around you too, immediately. He feels your warmth, his body pressed against yours. He inhales your scent - the perfume you chose is his favorite.

Probably because he chose it for you as a Christmas gift, but it was really pretty, too.

This is a comfort he desperately needs right now.

"God," he sighs, burying his face into your neck. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm a mess." he speaks in a harsh whisper, like he doesn't want anybody around you to know, even if it's only the two of you awake. The rest of boys are sleeping in your house, Johnny wasted in the kitchen, Ghost probably in the bathtub, Price... well, Price probably outside. Smoking cigar or talking to someone over the phone.

You can't care less about this in the moment.

"I have these..." he starts, but pauses. "Bad dreams." he whispers eventually. "Really bad."

You try not to ask, so he won't trouble himself with speaking; that's the level of being close that you two have. Unspoken rules, so he will be comforted enough to eventually open up, while you listen, caressing his back in circular motions, her eyes shut, when his face is in her neck.

"About what?" you ask quietly, trying not to push him, but five minutes passed, and he got quiet again. "About what are those dreams, Kyle?"

He sighs. "Bad things. Bad things I've done. Bad things I've seen." Kyle pauses. Then, very slowly, he starts again."It feels real. In one moment, I'm sleeping by your side, and by another one, someone is kidnapping you. And I can't do shit about it" There's a deep, primal terror in Kyle's tone. "Then, when I wake up..." he trails off. "And you're here, sleeping. I'm feeling like I'm losing it, baby."

Your face is a definition of worry; you weren't aware how nightmares were affecting him. It feels bad not to know. You feel like you are a shitty girlfriend, but Kyle seems to notice that, as you take a deep breath. He hugs you tighter and places a kiss on the top of your head.

"I don't want to wake you up, but it's your presence that I always want. I don't know what I would do without you." he pauses. It looks like he wishes this moment would never end; because he knows it will end, sooner or later.

Probably sooner. They already have a mission they talk about, and Kyle, quite literally, wants to vomit every time they bring that up. It's not one of the hardest, but one of the longest. Three months without you is like a dagger to his heart, he already feels so tired, but asking Price for a break feels wrong.

Task Force 141 was formed for something and that certain "something" is: being ready whenever the world needed them.

"I'm always gonna be here with you, Kyle. No matter what, no matter what you are dreaming of." you whisper, kissing his head again. "Always. Come on, with a boyfriend like you? I'm the safest in the whole world."

He's silent at that statement. It's not like he doesn't believe you, but he knows how fucked up the world is. How fucked up people are, to do anything to get something.

Probably that's why the only people that knows about your relationship is his closest family and Task Force. Other people? It would be dangerous.

"I was going to tell you something," he eventually murmurs again, staring at you. He wants to change the topic, badly. "Ask, if we want to be precise. I don't know if I should. But I want to."

You kiss the top of his head, your eyes shutting for a moment or two once again. You're tired, but not ready to go to sleep without Kyle feeling better. "What is it? You know you can tell me anything, Kyle."

"You can read me like a book." he chuckles, shaking his head.

"And you happen to be my favorite book." you point out, chuckling under your nose too. "Tell me."

"It's something I wanted to do for... a few months."

Those words hang in the air. Kyle doesn't feel the urge to add any further details; he wants to see how you react, if you react. If you might know something, if you get the idea he's trying to tell you. In his opinion, you should be able to fill the gaps, the blanks, with your own intuition.

It doesn't help you to figure his thoughts, when he stares at you with those pretty, deep brown eyes. He expects you to know, you are together for two years already, but you really don't want to overinterpret this because if you would, he'd never let you live through it.

"You want to buy an apartment together?" you ask, even if it's not what you are thinking about. Kyle scoffs, as he kisses your neck; his face is still burried here.

"No." he raises his head. His back straightens up. "I want to marry you." Garrick's words are so genuine, so full of that sincerity you needed right now. You slowly clear your throat, as you look into his eyes.

It's important moment for you.

"And you're telling me this now, so I can expect this? Or you want a clue about a ring?" you grin, as you give a little peck to his lips.

Before he speaks, you know from his look that it's not exactly it.

"I was on that long mission, deep inside enemy territory. It took... a toll on me. Listen" he sighs, interwining your fingers with his. "You're my rock, my life line. You've always been the one for me. And I want to marry you now. As soon as possible."

"As soon as... we don't even..."

"Don't worry about your family. We can arrange something small for now, and have a big wedding later. But I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

He wants to marry you. A thought, a thought that he wants to realize as soon as possible, maybe even twice; something small, and then, something big for their families. You look at him, softly, as you think. It's hard to get the rush coming from him words, to not have second thoughts why exactly he wants it so soon.

Is it because he knows something bad is coming? You're overthinking this, sure, but it's a big life decision, it's something you could regret if you wouldn't think of it after.

"Please." he adds after a moment. "I need an answer."

Kyle acts like he can read your thoughts; he drops to one knee right in front of you, looking up at you – it's clear you're the love of his life.

"I don't want another day, another mission without you being my wife. Missions are getting tougher and I want..."

He doesn't have to say anything else; you understand, so you interrupt him, as you kiss him. You know you will have a wonderful life together. Your own family, together. You were meant to be a team, both in this life and the past. It's the order of things.

"We can marry soon, yes. Something small." you intertwine your fingers with his. "But, then, something bigger, alright? Exquisite. With everyone around us" you kiss him.

A small, hopeful smile spreads across Kyle's features. "And babies?" he asks, as if he knows the answer to that question. You can't help but laugh.

"You're speeding the process, Kyle. We will talk about it after the ring" you tease, as you kiss him.

You know that you will have babies with him, though; but the later he will realize, the longer he will want them.

[literatecowboy]

Dr. Feelgood

3. Physical Exams

Part 4

Start at part 1 here!

Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley.  Warnings: Gunshot wounds, medical terminology and procedures, finger up the butt, touching, allusions to NSFW

-----

Ghost lay alone in the medical bay, thoughts racing through his foggy mind. For once, he’d gotten Feelgood to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. After his flirtation you’d squeaked, snarky reply dead on your lips, and made an excuse to leave before bustling out, the door slamming behind you. 

You were infuriating. The way you bossed his colleagues around as if you had some sort of authority over them, the ways you tried to control him by cornering him and forcing him into bed, allegedly “for his own good.” The softness of your skin against his as you held him while he collapsed during his panic attack. The way he wished he could shut your smart mouth up with your plush lips wrapped around his–

The door to the med bay swung open and pulled him from his thoughts. Gaz poked his head in and glanced around, raising an eyebrow at Ghost.

“Where’s Feelgood?” he asked, wandering into the room with Soap trailing behind him. 

“Left.” Ghost grunted, shrugging his shoulders and scowling under his balaclava. 

“Where to? Price was asking after her and I think she has some questions for him too,” he said, peering into the office through the window in the door. 

“Didn’t ask.” the masked man grumbled. 

“How you feelin’ L.T. - seems like the lass is doin’ a lovely job,” Soap remarked, plopping down in a chair at his lieutenant’s side. 

“She’s competent.” Ghost said. What he wanted to say was ‘She’s a feisty little thing. I quite like her.’

“She’s scarier than you, mate. If I ever get shot, promise you’ll protect my arsehole?” Soap asked, snickering. Ghost fixed him with a glare. 

“Bring that up ever again, sergeant, and you’re a dead man,” he growled lowly. 

“Bring what up again?” you called out as you strode back into the med bay, a tray piled high with food in your arms. 

“Got you something to eat from the mess, Lieutenant,” you said with a smile, setting the tray by his bedside. 

“Hey, Feelgood, Price was askin’ after you earlier. Said you should head down to the office when you get a minute.” Gaz said, coming out of your office and offering you a smile. You returned it. 

“Thanks! I need to ask him about hiring medical support staff for this place. I’m sure you guys would be happy with more than just me poking at you all the time.”

“Hey lass, what does Feelgood mean? Where’d you get the callsign?” Soap asked, leaning back in his seat. 

“Oh, it’s stupid. Do you like classic rock?” you asked with a laugh, sitting down and sweeping your hair back into a ponytail. 

“I know enough to know Dr. Feelgood is the title of a song - Motley Crue, right?” Gaz asked, sitting next to you. 

“Yeah! I got it when I was still doing fieldwork and running missions with soldiers on the ground as a medic in the marines. One day three of us are headed into some little village and we get hit by an IED and the Humvee we’re in flips. So I crawl out, and my guys are still alive but they’re fucked up pretty bad. 

“My buddy Marston’s lost an arm so I tourniquet it and pump him full of drugs and he starts feeling good again before he passes the fuck out. And I figured fuck, why stop there? We’re all fucked up and bloody and we might die here in the sand so why not go out feeling better than just comfortable? So I offered some to Duncan after I’ve finished bandaging him up and he was like, ‘Sure, why the fuck not?’

“Then I patch myself up and put the needle in my thigh. Next thing I know I’m waking up driving a little donkey cart down the road and there are evac vehicles coming towards us. Marston’s passed out in the back and Duncan’s singing something made up - I think pretending to be the radio. 

“Anyway, I got into a metric fuckton of trouble even though we all made it out alive. I fucked my shoulder badly in the wreck, too bad to keep doing fieldwork, so they shipped me off to work in the base hospital’s emergency department. I got my shit together and went to medical school after that. 

“But the name - when my buddies came around enough to joke about it with me, they started calling me Dr. Feelgood after the song. See, it’s about a drug dealer called Jimmy who manages to evade trouble for a long time, but at the end of the song, he finally goes down on charges. They kinda reckoned my story mirrored Jimmy’s, but instead of going to prison, I got reprimanded and put in a more boring environment.” You finished. 

“Steamin’ Jesus lass, that’s–”

“I wasn’t aware you did field missions.” Ghost’s voice cut through Soap’s, silencing him. You smiled thinly. 

“Used to. Now the closest I get is coming with evac to stabilize wounded soldiers before they reach a proper hospital,” you admitted. 

“Sorry, Feelgood, but that’s pretty funny,” Gaz said with a grin, patting your knee before standing. 

“I just feel bad for whoever’s cart that was,” you admitted with a laugh, making Gaz shake his head. 

—

You went to see Price not long after the conversation died down under the assurances that Gaz and Soap would watch over Ghost. The door to his office was shut so you knocked softly. 

“Come in!” he called. You stepped in, taking in framed pictures and documents lining the back wall. A little plant sat atop the sill of the little window on the left wall and a couch was leaned against the right wall. 

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, slipping inside, the door shutting behind you.

“Yes! I wanted to let you know that I’ll be going on a mission with Soap and Gaz in a few days. It won’t last more than a week, but I wanted to check in with you and ask your professional opinion about Ghost’s condition before we leave. How’s he healing?” he asked, closing the laptop on his desk and fixing his gaze on you as you sat down. 

“Ghost is healing remarkably quickly and I’m confident he’ll make a full recovery provided he follows my instructions. Whether or not he does that is a matter of question,” you admitted with a smile. 

“Ah, I understand. I also wanted to ask - do you have any other concerns about the medical bay? Are there any supplies you’d like me to request for you, are we running low on anything?” Price asked. 

“What I need the most right now is support staff. Nurses, care assistants, other doctors? I know that those positions might be difficult to fill, but I’m one woman. I’m also not an anesthesiologist, an orthopedic surgeon, or a psychiatrist - my scope is very limited. 

“I also looked back at old records and I’ve noticed that none of you have ever provided medical history or undergone a physical. Before you leave for your mission, I’d like to do that for each one of you to get a baseline to compare later records to,” you said, counting each thing off on your fingers. Price nodded. 

“I can get the boys to get looked at for sure, but extra staff will take time to find. If there’s ever an emergency that you can’t tackle, we go to the general base hospital, but that’s discouraged due to the secretive nature of the work the task force does,” he explained. 

“Sir, I’d like you to undergo a physical too. Not just the boys. Do you have any reservations about seeing me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t doubt your competency, Feelgood, and I mean no offense, but I…dislike the idea of being prodded at.” Price admitted. You nodded sympathetically. 

“What if I gave you a questionnaire and you wrote things down? I’d settle for that and a check of your vitals - that’s really what I want from you guys anyway.”

“I’ll think about it.”

—

“Oh, come on, you’re telling me you aren’t appreciating being pampered and doted on by a cute girl while you’re laid up in bed?” Gaz asked teasingly. Ghost grunted. 

“I’d rather not have been shot, Sargent,” he said dryly, poking at the buttons on the side of the hospital bed. The bed alarm was blaring, signaling that he had gotten up, but you were too far away in Price’s office to hear. 

“But you think she’s cute, right? Come on, how could you not? And she’s got fire, too, I like her.” Gaz teased, making Ghost roll his eyes - but he didn’t respond. He finally figured out how to silence the bed alarm and the room went quiet again.

“Oh my god, you do think she’s cute! Come on mate, at least ask if she’s seeing anyone!” Soap almost shouted, laughing in disbelief. 

“If anything, I’d like to see less of her. She’s fuckin’ everywhere, buzzing around me. Won’t shut the fuck up.” Ghost said. This was a lie - he just didn’t want his teammates to see how you got under his skin. Soap and Gaz groaned in unison. 

“You should see if she’ll come out with us before we leave. I wonder if she likes bars?” Gaz wondered aloud. Ghost stiffened where he stood. 

“You’re leaving? All of you?” he asked.

“Less than a week, it’s a quick one this time. It’ll just be you and the–” Soap’s eyes widened in realization.

“Steamin’ Jesus it’ll just be him and the doc!” he exclaimed, turning wide-eyed to Gaz. 

“If anything happens–”

“Watch your mouth before you end up with me here in the med bay.”

“--you’ll tell us, right?”

“It’s perfect, you’ve got a whole week to flirt with her without him bothering you,” Gaz said, jabbing his thumb back at Soap.

—

Gaz was your first physical patient. You’d offered to take him back into your office for privacy but he said he didn’t mind Ghost sitting in. Ghost was on his phone on the couch in the corner with a cup of tea and hardly paying attention to the world - it was a compromise you’d come to once you found out he’d broken the bed alarm and he’d threatened to go back to his room permanently. 

“I didn’t know your name was Kyle. I like it, it suits you,” you remarked as you took his blood pressure. 

“Thanks, Feelgood.”

“Makes you sound like an American frat boy.” Ghost quipped from the corner. 

“Hey, be nice. Is HIPAA a thing over here?” you asked. Gaz laughed and shrugged and you went forward with the exam.

Overall he seemed to be in exceptional health and you were satisfied with your findings. Gaz seemed oddly relieved when you told him so, almost as if he was worried he’d fail the health exam. You sent him outside and called Soap in. 

“Hey, lass, no finger up the arse today right?” he asked nervously, sitting down on the gurney you’d set up as you took his temperature. 

“Not unless you’re into it,” you said dryly, earning a surprised cough from Ghost and a laugh from Soap. 

Soap’s exam went as well as Gaz’s had and he walked out with an inflated ego when you informed him that he was in excellent physical shape. You decided to approach Ghost next. 

“Your turn big guy,” you said, gesturing for him to raise his arm so you could attach the blood pressure cuff.

“I’ve been in this fuckin’ bay for days, don’t you have enough?” he grumbled but reluctantly obeyed - only so he could feel your warm hands against his skin as you secured the cuff. 

“I’ve been managing your wound and making sure you don’t get infected, not doing full physicals every day,” you said with a laugh. “Give me your hand?” 

He held it out to you and you took it, gently attaching the clip. His hand dwarfed yours and your face warmed slightly as you lowered the hand back to his thigh. Ghost watched you attentively, doing his best to read your expressions. You cleared your throat. 

“So, got anything cool you like to do on leave?” you asked, doing your best to strike up a conversation. 

“No.” Ghost grunted, a little too harshly. He winced and immediately felt bad. You took the equipment off of him when it had finished reading his vitals and tucked it away in the corner again, a little hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a minute as you fiddled with your stethoscope. “I didn’t mean to say that so aggressively.”

“It’s alright. Can I listen to your heart or would you rather me not touch you?” you asked briskly, watching him. 

“S’alright,” he grumbled, sitting forward and tugging his shirt off. 

“Oh, you didn’t have to– that’s okay, I can check your bandages afterward,” you said, your face hot as you took the sight of him in. Scars and old wounds crisscrossed his chest and a large bruise extended from beneath the bandages near his side. 

You put a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, carefully listening to his heart through your stethoscope. His skin was warm and it made butterflies take flight in your stomach. 

“Can I hear from your back?” you asked softly after a moment. Ghost grunted his assent and bent forward. You leaned over his shoulder slowly, pressing your stethoscope to his back. 

Ghost couldn’t help himself as you leaned over him. Your soft skin practically burned him where you touched him and his heart rate picked up quickly. He took a deep breath and gently wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying his hand on your lower back. 

You looked at him in surprise but didn’t pull away. He met your gaze for a moment before pulling away and sitting forward again. 

“M’ sorry. Should go get something to eat.” he grumbled, picking his shirt up and moving to put it back on. 

“It’s - uh…it’s okay! Can I…change your bandages first?” you asked softly, your voice coming out as almost a squeak. Ghost nodded and waited patiently as you gathered the supplies you needed. The feeling of your touch against him made him shiver when you returned. 

How he wished he could reach out and sweep you up in his arms, press a kiss to your lips, whisk you back to his room, and never leave. As you changed his bandages, he watched and imagined you trailing those delicate fingers up his chest to ruck his mask up and pull him down into a kiss. 

“Thanks,” he uttered as you finished, and that’s all he did. He tugged his shirt on and was almost to the door when he turned around. 

“Soap and Gaz wanted me to ask you if you’d come out with the lot of us before they leave,” he said. You didn’t have to think about it. 

“Of course!”

-----

taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000

[ohmygraves]

let me share a bit of my self insert details for cod, since i figured out i can write smth while i think about how to continue the other wips i have

with callsign "rookie", a first generation immigrant. they're the youngest between all the 141, and was recommended by laswell. still, their rank is definitely under both soap and gaz. a non-binary person, though don't mind any pronouns.

here's a few sketches of them (i made it to my likeness because, y'know, "self" insert)

the change in haircut is intentional as it should reflect my continuously changing hairstyle since my hair is a dumbass who can't make up its mind in how it should present itself.

i made a "relationship chart" to explain the dynamics of rookie with the other members of 141

gaz ⇄ rookie

gaz and rookie i'd imagine to be some kind of the ride or die best friend, which unfortunately often happened because rookie has the worst kind of luck, but just good enough that they get out of danger somehow in the last second. the kind of best friend that you could understand being so close because you'd known eachother really well. it's probably the case of them being quite similar in age (rookie is still younger though), so he took pity of them at first and happily accompany them everywhere. he knows how anxious it can be to be around something so unfamiliar and scary, and he understands how it feels to be frustrated knowing that you can't save everyone (he hopes that rookie can be more mature but for now he'd gladly sigh at their naivety).

soap ⇄ rookie

maybe because i view soap to be slightly older than gaz i feel like soap and rookie are more like siblings? i feel like if soap became best friends with rookie, he'd be too much for the poor lad. soap as best friend is a good trope but he's a wild card that he could show up at your doorstep either with a bong or a shovel, and i'm not sure if rookie can handle all that. he's a good friend, sure, but one that gaz hope that won't influence rookie too much because what is he going to do with not one but two soap at the barracks?

that being said, i think that soap treats rookie like somewhat of a younger sibling that he gets to pick on from time to time, but in a nice way. like he'd wear their stuff that he found on the laundry, strutting a booty shorts (and killing it) while he makes some coffee for himself as rookie hunts his head for sports since all their clothes get stretched because of him. or the one that tells them that price likes spicy in his sandwich causing rookie to witness price choke on a sub slathered with hot sauce, getting them in trouble. he takes advantage of their naivety in a funny way and he teaches them weird things. definitely gets him in trouble with ghost though because of that.

price ⇄ rookie

now don't come at me for being so overrated, but i see price as a father figure. if activision don't want me to commit fatherless behavior, then they probably shouldn't make him so dad material in the first place. that being said, i like to think that when price sees rookie's files and do a small "interview" with the lad, he feels like he was responsible for a new teammate. like mama hen finding a kitten and taking care of it like a chick.

he understands that rookie is very, very new to everything, and that's saying it lightly. being the youngest of the group, an immigrant, not to mention very naive made him pity the newbie, which of course made him go "dad mode" and teach them things from time to time. he has definitely been called "dad" by accident a few times by rookie, but he didn't seem to mind. didn't seem to enjoy the fact that soap's influencing them to act up too at times.

ghost ⇄ rookie

now ghost is my favorite (obviously), so this might be long. in general, ghost didn't like how inexperienced rookie is. they're in 141, working as an sas soldier, and they're going to fumble on their guns like an idiot?

preposterous, why did laswell let them in the team?

it's not like he has any say in it, and unfortunately he had to mentor them and make sure they're doing a good job (read: babysitting, as he would say), and it didn't make him feel better about it. sometimes i want to see him just grab the poor newbie and just scream at their face like "what do you want!? i can't believe someone is this bloody fucking incompetent, you might as well be a sea cucumber!" like this man would not hesitate to insult the newbie to the point that they're crying.

and he should be. he's not going to put his life in the hands of some dumbass who can't shoot right half the time.

of course, it'll take a long, long time for him to acknowledge their skill, even getting a small "passable" from him is worth celebrating. literal years to be close to him, share the fact that they're both fatherless people who used to live in an abusive household and maybe he'll start to acknowledge them (anything that's beside work ofc). little affirmation that they've gotten this far somehow even after such horrible things happening to them.

i only ever pair rookie with ghost and soap (or both of them together as a throuple) romantically, gaz is more platonic and price is more fatherly.

i know this is a different post from what i normally would post but if you're all interested in getting to know rookie more, feel free to interact. my askbox are open for requests or something a bit more casual, don't be shy. i don't bite.

[flying-thing]

Kiss Me in the Rain

This is a SoapGhost fic for Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2. No one requested this, but my heart yearns for more angst, and as such, here we are. This is all based on the new Ghost skin in the war zone part of the game that I've never touched.

I'm not typing out Soap's accent.

..............................................................................................

Playlist:

Work Song - Hozier

My Love Mine All Mine - Mitski

So My Darling - Rachel Chinouriri

Atlantis - Seafret

Here With Me - D4vd

Romantic Homicide - D4vd

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

Advice - Alex G

The View Between Villages - Noah Kohan

..............................................................................................

CW: major character death, broken promises, gore, unreliable narrator, angst, domestic fluff, zombies

Word Count: 3457 (Unfinished and not edited!!)

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

It was no surprise when Price told Simon and John that it was close to the time in which they needed more supplies. They were the scouts, after all, and it was their job to go scavenging. They still had a few days before they needed to leave, and as per usual, the two were enjoying their time together until they needed to leave.

Simon walked out to the garden the team had started a few days ago, and he found John watering the plants. It was a lot easier for sprouts to come out when there weren't birds and squirrels to steal the seeds from the soil. It has become oddly peaceful since the outbreak, nobody to disturb your slumber, no wars to fight, and barely anything to worry about. Recently, the 141 have been looking for any type of farm animal so that they can fully sustain themselves without needing to leave every month or so for supplies. Everyone has taken to reading books, whether it be to pass the time or to learn how to do certain things. Price has figured out how to build buildings— after some much needed practice. Gaz has learned to make soap and cook delightful food (when there was actual food to cook), and Soap has put his demolition skills to good use in that he can make things that create electricity and even plumbing. Simon has become very interested in gardening, interestingly enough.

Everyone had a place, and the routine worked. The rest of the world was plagued, but here in their little home? It was perfect. Most of the soldiers left when the outbreak happened so they could protect their families. The rest died when the undead broke in. Simon wonders sometimes what it would be like to be dead. He fantasized about it a lot when he was younger, but now that there was little to live for, life was everything to him.

Before he got too lost in his thoughts, John walked over to him. "What's happening in that brain of yours, Simon?" He asks. Simon snaps out of whatever trance held him, and he shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it, but it's nothing exciting. What are you doing out here?" He counters, earning a grin from the scot's face.

"Just trying to find out why you enjoy this so much, and I think I've just about figured it out."

Simon looks at him amused. "And what is the reason?"

"I said 'just about,' not completely," he jokes, making Simon laugh. He did that more often now that he barely wore a mask anymore. John was fascinated with how expressive he was. Crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the barely-there blush on his cheeks, the corners of his mouth lifting. Apparently, when he called Simon gorgeous in his mind, he said it outloud, and it made the taller man smile more.

"You flatter me too much, Johnny. Do you want to know the reason I enjoy it?"

"Would you tell me if I said yes?"

"Probably not."

John scoffed playfully and shook his head, his eyes closed with the gesture. "Has Gaz made dinner yet?"

"He's about to, I think. He's excited for everything to start growing so we don't need to live off unseasoned and almost expired canned food."

"I'm in the same boat with him. Cannot stand what we're surviving off. Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose." John said solemnly.

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Did you learn that phrase from Price?"

The comment earned him a punch to the shoulder, and Simon just chuckled again. "I've been around you English folk longer than you think, bastard." His words held no venom, and Simon rolled his eyes. "Thanks for watering everything, even if you didn't find answers to your questions."

John looked up at him and nodded. "I'm glad you found something you enjoy. I don't need to understand it."

It was always a change of pace from when Simon was tearing himself apart to find out the answers to unspoken questions he had about himself to John wholeheartedly accepting him, no questions asked. He'd slowly started adopting the mindset of not needing to know everything for there to be understanding. Johnny really rubbed off on him, he supposed.

"Price wants us to leave tomorrow. We need more food and blankets. Winter might be harsh, and we still don't have a heater that works," Simon said, changing the subject.

The shorter man nodded before chuckling. "Can you imagine us bringing back mattresses? That'd be feat."

"We would probably need to bring the four of us for proper backup. There's a mattress store in the mall we go into sometimes," Simon said. John thought for a moment before nodding his head. "Project for another day."

---

Simon got his and John's clothes while the latter got the shower ready. The routine was comforting for Simon after their 'normal' was all discombobulated. He had folded the clothes as neatly as he could before walking into the shared restroom that was slowly fogging up the broken mirror. He set the clothes on top of the closed toilet seat and made sure their towels were still where they were supposed to be.

"The water's just how you like it, Si," Johnny said, peaking his head out of the curtain. He had always looked at him like he was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, and it was sometimes overwhelming for Simon. He didn't deserve this. But he had it, and so he would enjoy it until the world decided it was time to tear them apart.

Simon only smiled as he undressed and put his clothes next to the pile Johnny had already made before getting inside the shower with him. John made room for Simon to feel the warmth of the water. His eyes closed for a moment as he basked in it. When his eyes opened, Johnny had some of the homemade shampoo in his hand and Simon leaned down so he could wash his hair.

Soft moments like this made him feel all warm inside, and he never could resist melting into his lover's hands when he'd held him. They took their time in washing each other, not wanting to waste a single moment together. The water was still hot when they finished and they dried off and got dressed. They spent the time in a comfortable silence, both having acknowledged that no words needed to be shared.

After they climbed into bed, Simon wrapped himself around John. He wanted to tell him about the feeling of dread he felt but got lost to the sound of John's heartbeat. John rubbed Simon's shoulder with his thumb as they laid there.

"I have a bad feeling about tomorrow," Simon said. John hummed. "Do you know why?"

Simon shook his head. "Just feels like something is going to go wrong."

"We haven't had an incident in a while. We cleared out most of the hoard that went through the city," John said, trying to clear the other's worries.

"Maybe that's the problem," Simon said. He'd never been scared to go out on a mission. The zombies were no more a threat to him than a soldier would have been. A little less if he thought about it.

"Promise me you'll be the one to kill me if I get bitten."

"What are you talking about? You're not going to get eaten. Stop talking like that," John said.

"Johnny, I need you to promise me. I don't know what I'd do if I was the one who hurt you in the end," Simon says, sitting up to look at him.

"I will protect you, Simon. I promise that if push comes to shove, I'll kill you. I'm not going to lose you to a damn biter though, you hear?" John said, pulling Simon in for a light kiss.

John sat up with him and cradled Simon's face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away tears that Simon hadn't even realized were falling.

"Don't cry, my love. It's okay."

"I don't understand why I'm so upset," Simon said. "But I just can't stand the thought of hurting you. You're so dear to me."

"Don't get too sappy on me," John chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "I love you, Simon."

"I love you too, Johnny."

John's eyes widened, and Simon didn't think he'd ever seen his face get so bright.

"Well, you can't die now. Not when you're finding your voice. I'm so proud of you, Simon."

"It's all because of you."

---

Beep beep be- click.

John clicked off the alarm clock with a sigh. He sat up and rubbed his face before turning to look at Simon sleeping peacefully. His light brown hair is laid across the pillow, and his mouth is slightly agape. His hair had gotten longer as he had not cut it in a while. It looked so soft and John couldn't help but carefully run his fingers through the other's locks. The action woke him up and he opened his glossy eyes to see that it was only Johnny there.

"Good morning," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Morning," the other responded. John removed his hand and allowed Simon to do a full body stretch and yawn before sitting up as well. He leaned on John's shoulder, his cheek smushing up against it.

"You're like a cat, Simon. It's sweet," John said endearingly.

"I blame you for making me soft, Johnny," Simon mumbled, making him chuckle.

"We should get up soon. Gaz ought to be making breakfast by now."

"Let me go to the bathroom first," Simon said, getting up and stretching again, yawning as he scratches his stomach.

John followed behind him and then to the cafeteria after, sure enough hearing Gaz making noise in the kitchen.

They walked up to the window in the wall and watched the man do his thing. "Good morning, Gaz," John says loudly so he hears him. He looked over and grinned. "Morning, boys. How'd you sleep?"

"I slept well enough. Simon's still waking up, if you couldn't tell," John answered. Gaz nodded.

"Breakfast is almost done, if you two want to sit down. I'll bring it out to you."

"Make enough for me too," Price said, his voice carrying through the room. Gaz rolled his eyes. "No, I think I'll let you make your own food," he said sarcastically. It made Simon laugh and he covered his mouth with one of his hands.

"Don't think you'd want me messing up your space. You'd probably kill me if I set the kitchen on fire."

"Damn right, I would."

They all laugh and after a couple minutes, Gaz walked out with two trays with two plates on each tray. He sat them down on the table they routinely sat at.

"I found a hen in the woods yesterday, so I went and grabbed it. I need you to make a pen for it," Gaz said to Price. The three of them grinned. "So we get eggs more often?" John asked, earning an excited nod.

"Yes!" John exclaimed, doing a little happy dance. Simon laughed and shook his head. "Eat your food. We should leave soon."

"Aye, you're right, but we still need a list of what we need to find. You're also not even dressed yet," John said amusedly. "Neither are you," Simon quipped.

John rolled his eyes and grinned, eating what was on his plate. The four of them conversated for a while even after they'd all finished their food. It was calm; exactly what Simon needed after stressing all last night.

When they finally got dressed, it was about noon. Simon slipped on his vest and grabbed his knives and backpack. He waited for John to finish putting his boots on before walking out to Price's office. John knocked, and Price called them in.

"I've got your list here. It's the normal stuff with a few additions," the older man said, looking between the two.

Simon nodded and took the list from Price's outstretched hand. He looked it over before handing it to John, who put it in his bag. "We'll be back in a couple days then," Simon said, putting on his mask.

"Be safe, boys. We'll be waiting for you."

"Of course, sir," John said, putting on a mask of his own. They walked out of the room and saw Gaz waiting for them at the door. He hugged both of them when they got close enough. "Don't get lost, got it? We'll come find you if you don't check in properly, so don't leave us hanging."

John grins and fist bumps the man, holding their fists together. "We'll come back. Don't miss us too much, yeah?" Gaz nodded and looked at Simon.

"I'll keep him kicking," he said with a grin. "Good man," Gaz responded, giving him a fist bump too. He opened the door and watched them head out and down the road.

"How long do you think we'll be out this time?" John asked, his head slightly elevated to look at the tops of the trees. Simon hummed in consideration. "Four days. Only because we have a lot to get and ground to cover."

"I'll say a week then. Factoring in anything potential issues," John said in consideration. Simon nodded, "Makes sense. I don't think we will though. It's been a while since we've seen so much as a group."

"Better safe than sorry, hm?" John said playfully. Simon chuckled and shook his head. "Learned that from Gaz? Picking up all sorts of things, I see."

"What do you expect? I'm around you guys all the time. Bound to happen," John said, amused.

"We'll be at the city soon. I can see it ahead," Simon said, changing the subject. Since they left so late, they wouldn't make it in daylight and would need to set up camp and get there the next day. Walking give miles takes longer than one would originally expect. They were pretty close by the time the moon was a quarter of the way up in the sky and decided to make their border so they could sleep.

Simon threaded three lines of barbed wire around the trees where their camp would be; one close to the ground, one about torso level, and one in front of his face. After that, he pushed leaves closer to the wire so it would be easier to hear if anything on through. John made a small upside down fire in the meantime, putting down their sleeping bags and using their bags as pillows.

"Did you remember the spoons, Johnny?" Simon asked as he watched him pull out a couple cans of food. John looked around as he thought about it before grimacing. "I'll take that as a no. Good thing I remembered for you," he said, pulling a couple out of his own bag.

"I can't go anywhere without you, Simon," John said playfully, knowing full well that he would forget his sleeping bag if Simon wasn't there to remind him or grab it for him. "I know," the other responded, handing him a spoon.

They ate in a comfortable silence and watched the fire. When they finished eating, Simon took the cans and put them in a spare bag he had brought, putting the spoons in with them to wash them when they got to the stream on their way back. They sat next to each other, their shoulders touching.

"We should sleep soon," Simon said as John leaned his head on his shoulder. "You won't sleep, so I won't either," John said in determination. Simon chuckled and shook his head. "Sleep, Johnny. I'll watch over you."

The man was already asleep, much to Simon's amusement. He never could stay up like Simon could. He fell asleep a little after, laying them both down to get comfortable. Simon layed on the sleeping bag while John was sprawled out on top of him, his head on his chest.

Simon woke up to rustling and at first thought it was John moving. He soon realized that he would have felt the man move and opened his eyes to see a walker fallen over the wire. It was quickly crawling towards them and Simon grabbed the knife from his side pocket and slipped out from under John. He met the zombie halfway and he stabbed into its ear. It was a clean kill, if he did say so himself. The sun was decently up and thought it would be good to get up and go before it was super bright. Sunglasses are hard to put on over the hard shell of a mask.

John woke up from the commotion and shot up when he saw the dead zombie slumped at Simon's feet, thinking it was still alive. "It's alright, Johnny. Took care of it," Simon said, easing John's worries. "We should go soon, so get ready to leave."

He nodded and stretched before getting up and taking deep breaths to calm his adrenaline. He always feared Simon would get bit protecting him. He rolled up the unused sleeping bags and put them away while Simon undid the wiring. They both took a whiz before continuing their trek to the city.

They took their knives out just in case something came at them. Every now and then, they would encounter a runner and they were the worst of them. John opened the makeshift fence they'd made to keep the area contained. Ammo had been exhausted at the beginning of the outbreak and they didn't have much left. As such, guns were rarely used.

They'd never found other survivors. It was hard to live in a world like this and not many had good survival instincts. It really was a wonder the military fell so soon when they were supposed to be trained for it. Oh well, Simon supposed. More resources for my group.

Closing the fence, they ventured further in. "What store should we hit first?" John asked, his eyes scanning the area in front of them. "Necessities first. Probably the chicken feed since the store is farther away. We can work our way to the front."

"Makes sense. It would keep us out here longer though. I don't remember where the store is exactly."

"Neither do I. But if we want eggs, we need to hope we find it quickly and that it's even there."

John nodded, and they kept walking. "We should stock up on toilet paper as well. Maybe grab a thing of water until we get the well pumping properly."

"Should get some for our vacation."

"While this isn't a vacation I would want, it's funny," Simon mused. John stifled a laugh.

They spent most of the day walking down the streets until it got dark enough that they would need to find a building. They found one without a bunch of broken windows and it looked secure enough. They went to the door and carefully opened it, hoping it didn't squeak too much.

The windows let in enough light that they could see well enough. Simon walked over to the wall and banged on it a few times. The door was still open in case a crowd came and they could easily leave. The downside was that the noise could have attracted some outside. It would do them no good to be cornered. When nothing came and no sound was made, John closed the door. They scouted the room and found nothing. The windows were stable and the door leading upstairs was barricaded. As long as they secured the door leading out and stayed out of sight, they would be just fine.

They were unable to make a fire, much to John's dismay, but they did have an electric lantern still. Price was able to fix a solar panel onto it and now they could test to see if it worked. Simon desperately hoped that it would work like this, although he would never admit it. He wanted to be able to see everything if anything happened. That would have been his explanation. The real reason, however, is that he wants to be able to watch John. He didn't know how much time they had left and he wanted to see as much of him as possible.

It's not creepy. It's endearing, Simon thought. How many times will I see him before our inevitable deaths?

He broke free from his slightly morbid thoughts after seeing John grin at him with his teeth showing. It meant that he was pleased. That's good. It was moments like this that made him feel the urge to commit whatever crime he needed to just to see him smile all the time. Not that there was any structure anymore, but his point still stood.

With confirmation that it works, they turned it off. No use in wasting electricity when there was still light outside.

"Hungry, Simon?" John asked as he rifled through his bag for food. Simon nodded when he looked at him. “These are so much better when they're hot, but here you go.”

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Shoutout to my Google doc for reaching 200 pages. Sometimes I'm worried it will crash and die because of how long it's starting to take to just load the entire thing :)))

Also on AO3, I give each chapter a title, which I never add here.

This one will be called "Our Story's End"

The courtyard is surrounded by bleachers, benches full of dark figures. Spectators for Graves’ twisted theater, soldiers melting into the night sky. The stars are so bright here, a passing thought graces Ghost.

“Simon?” Price’s voice fills his mind, almost a whisper, “get Soap out of here. Graves is going to-”

Ghost tightens his hold on Johnny’s hand, “I can’t. He won’t let you die, Captain.”

The onlooking Shadows turn their heads to watch Soap and Ghost walk into the court. Price and Gaz are held at gunpoint, made to kneel with bound hands.

Blood is covering Garrick’s left shoulder, the man shuddering periodically.

Gaz’s face screams of desperation, the Sergeant wordlessly asking Ghost to turn around, look away, just do anything to stop Graves’ plan.

Ghost continues walking.

“Our main guests are finally here.” the Shadows say as one, guns raised at them, “drop your weapons and keep your hands where I can see them, boys. No funny business, alright?”

Soap instantly throws his rifle to the side, motioning Ghost to do the same. His heart wrenches when he thinks he’ll have to let go of Johnny, but his Sergeant simply lifts their joined hands, glancing at him before glaring back at the Shadows.

“Good… now, I’m going to keep this simple.” the soldiers holding Price and Gaz press muzzles to their temples. 

Limbo screams at the back of his mind, warping and mixing with Price’s near begs to run away.

“All I want is Sergeant MacTavish. This entire… situation has gotten out of control, and for that, I’m truly sorry.” 

The Shadows stand up, rush down the steps to circle the 141.

“Deal’s this: give me Soap, or I kill everyone here, starting with these two.”

Ghost doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Everyone knows what Johnny will pick, the choice is obvious. 

Why is it, then, when Soap lets go of his hand, warmth leaving him in a frozen world, that Ghost reaches over to grab it again?

They both know how this story ends.

Johnny’s eyes, blue skies that hold an infinite number of stars, plea for him to let go. But Simon needs a different ending than this. It can’t be over, ripped away from him like that.

Johnny’s lips start moving, and Simon barely catches the words he mouths before he turns to walk into the Shadow’s arms.

“Find me on the other side, Simon.”

He will regret his inability to answer back for the rest of his life, body and mind so strong they could topple whole empires, yet too weak to do any more than watch Johnny be dragged away into dark vans.

The Shadows drive off, dust kicking up and engulfing the remaining taskforce operatives, the stars gone, muddled by clouds.

All other Shadows melt into the ground, the battle abruptly over.

People are talking to Ghost. Hands hovering over him concernedly. He paid them no mind.

All Simon can see are stars, weakly shining in the vast darkness.

Shining until they, too, leave him.

The Vaqueros drove everyone to the safe house, with many needing medical attention, and the main base still considered under enemy control.

Price and Gaz have stayed with him, when he took 20 minutes more to get out of the truck. When Ghost walked off to the barren lands surrounding the house. 

When he just stood there, in silence, staring at the sky slowly turning a pale grey.

Price eventually pushes Gaz to find someone to fix him up. Something about a bullet wound. Ghost couldn’t really focus.

“We will find him. I’ve already contacted Laswell, she’s working on getting information out of Shepherd. I trust we’ll have something by tomorrow at the latest.”

Ice-cold rage spreads through him at the mention of the General, and Ghost can tell Price notices it.

The Captain sighs, “I should’ve warned you, red tape be damned. I knew Shadow Company wasn’t comprised of actual people before shit hit the fan, but Shepherd fuckin’ stopped me.”

Ghost doesn’t take his eyes off the fading stars, “‘should’ve’ won’t help anyone now…” 

He lets himself indulge, for a moment longer, until the night sky disappears completely. Only then does Ghost let fury fuel him.

Price hurries to follow his fast pace back to the safe house.

They can sit here regretting all day. It won’t bring Johnny back, it won’t defeat Graves.

It’s time the American sees what it means to go against the Ghost.

Their allies have started planning without him, soldiers running here and there, bringing up every piece of intel they could find. Ghost approaches Rudy and Alejandro. 

The men order their soldiers in Spanish, their demeanor cool, but with Vargas’s hands constantly phasing through papers, and Rudy having to keep his own away since everything he touches freezes, Ghost watches a mutual anger take control over their powers.

“Fantasma…” Rudy notices him first, leaving the full table to face him.

Ghost doesn’t let the full force of his emotions waver his voice, “tell me you got a lead.”

The Sergeant Major looks away for a second, “I wish we did, hermano… all we know is Graves is likely trying to get to the border, get Soap over to his home grounds. Beyond that, how, when or where?” the Vaquero sighs frustratingly, “nothing. Shadow Company always covers their tracks.”

Ghost nods. He doesn’t dare putting hope on anything right now. Still, he tells Rudy, “Price got Laswell on intel. She’s close to Shepherd, and with Graves still under his command…”

“The General will know where they’re taking him.” Rudy seems to cheer a tad, “I’ll let Alejandro know, our forces will be ready to deploy the moment we get a location. You won’t be fighting this battle alone, Ghost.”

He doesn’t bother answering him. It doesn’t matter if they have a thousand revenants if they don’t know what to expect.

Graves have spat in their face twice now. He’s far too aware of each and every one of their weaknesses; in Alejandro’s inability to phase underground, in Price’s lack of physical prowess, in Farah’s attachment to Alex.

In Ghost’s vow to grant any of Soap’s wishes, and in Johnny’s greatest fear of seeing the ones he loves get hurt, in hurting innocents himself.

They were daft to think they could walk into the prison, while Graves expected them, and walk out with no major complications.

As he watches the revenants argue about plans of attack, soldiers gathering weapons, organising vehicles, Ghost understands that there’s only one way this could succeed.

Remove all other variables. Any leverage Graves could have on Soap and Ghost.

He must do this alone.

Ghost sharpens another set of knives. They’ll be useless in the upcoming fight, but the repetitive motions calm him, push back the incessant screaming at the back of his mind.

He found a small unoccupied room, and set to check all his weapons, disassembling and assembling guns, in a way Ghost wishes he could do to his brain sometimes.

Deconstruct, clean off the junk, put back together. More efficient. More deadly.

His pattern of movement is interrupted when someone knocks on the door. Ghost has half a mind to scare whoever it is away, but he fears he won’t be able to stop once he starts letting his anger out.

And so, he grunts a ‘come in’, watching the door slowly creak open to reveal Garrick, eyes sunken and arm in a sling.

The Sergeant takes stock of the amount of polished weapons strewn about the small room, and leans on the desk facing the chair Ghost is in.

Gaz seemed to hesitate for a moment, swallowing and exhaling, shoulders eventually drooping in defeat. “It’s my fault, sir.”

Ghost frowns in confusion, Garrick continuing, “I shouldn’t have gotten caught. Price tried to warn me, he told me to leave him behind, but I didn’t listen.”

Garrick’s eyes glance at his before they can’t take the eye contact anymore, “I didn’t want- I couldn’t leave him again. It was my fault the Captain was there to begin with, if I took him with me when we ran away from Graves, he wouldn’t… Soap wouldn’t be-”

“That’s enough, Sergeant.” Ghost sets the knife he’s been clenching on the table.

Gaz looks at him, “but-”

“I am your commanding officer, and so is Price. The fault falls on us.” Ghost raises from his chair. “We’re all to blame, and none of us truly are. I won’t accuse you of Johnny’s kidnapping.”

Garrick’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and Ghost’s tone softens, “and I’m sure Johnny will agree with me. What he wouldn’t have forgiven you for, is if you died out there anyway, after all his efforts. Focus on that.”

Gaz inhales shakily, “yes sir. What about the rescue? I can help, scout ahead-”

“You’re injured. Your job is to heal, nothing else. That clear?”

The Sergeant huffs, “crystal, sir.”

Ghost twirls a knife in his hands. His attempts at gathering his own intel have been fuckin’ useless at best. He has a new appreciation to just how much information they usually start with, and the amount of help Laswell lends them.

He has to find out where Johnny is before the rest do. They can’t barge in while he’s saving Johnny, it will destroy the only advantage Ghost has on Graves.

In one of his rounds, inspecting the papers Vaqueros have left on tables, and the markings on their maps, Commander Karim catches his attention, nodding him over.

They walk over to a quieter spot, Farah leaning out of a window to look at the rising sun. The light shines over her skin in an otherworldly way, flecks of gold embedded in her tan skin.

“I’m sure you want revenge. For your… partner.” she starts, assessing him.

Ghost squints, but lets her go on.

“I’d kill him, if I were in your place.” she straightens her back, “but I have a request from you, Lieutenant. I need to find my soldiers, my brothers and sisters. If there’s any chance they’re alive, I’ll do anything to bring them home.”

Ghost looks over the landscape, the golden hues the world sinks into. Farah has garnered his respect and trust, she worked time and time again to keep the 141 safe. 

They want the same thing, in the end. To protect the people they hold dear, to keep them by their side, despite the forces trying to separate them.

“Graves is working under Shepherd. The PMC probably doesn’t know where your people were imprisoned, but the General does. He’s all yours.” he turns to walk away, “I’d gladly bring him down after I deal with Graves.”

Ghost doesn’t wait for her answer, but he already knows how eager she is to find the American.

He harbors a similar taste for comeuppance.

Ghost doesn’t sleep. His frustrations build and build, desperation and despair setting into the Vaqueros, the 141’s heart.

Laswell calls them the next day, and he sees how everyone holds their breath. Something sours in him - she’s their last hope.

“Kate.” Price starts, taking his hat off, “tell me you have something, anything.”

The CIA chief sucks in a deep breath of smoke, exhaling it slowly. The silence is answer enough, but she still responds.

“Yesterday at 5:00 AM General Hershel Shepherd went off grid. His office was cleared out, computer wiped clean.”

Ghost swallows thickly as Limbo wails, begs to be let out and destroy everything. It mourns its light, its flame in the dark.

“Anything he ever had on Graves is gone. Any location of the revenants he hid - deleted. If you were here, I’m sure we would’ve found him eventually, but…”

Price lowers his head, “it would be too late for Soap.”

Laswell frowns, looking guilty of having to be bearer of harsh truths.

“I’m sorry, John.”

Ghost storms out of the room, his ears and eyes not sensing this world anymore. Limbo screams, violent more than ever, shouts at him to let them out.

He runs. Far, far enough that the void won’t consume what little he has left on this earth, and lets the realm break out of him.

The victims of the void cry around him, little moths littering the empty ground. Unmoving and lightless.

Ghost feels light trace down his cheeks, a worn path tears take again. He wipes them off, rubbing at his burning eyes. 

Oh, how he wishes the world would let him hope once more, the uncaring universe let him have this chance, just this one.

When he opens his eyes, Limbo is not as barren anymore.

Ladder-like patterns, as well as achingly beautiful, burning moths swirl around him.

“SIMON RILEY.” two voices call, one weaker than the other, softer.

Ghost feels a flame light in his heart.

“Reaper.”

This chapter really ties in a lot of the themes I've been going for in the fic. Hope it's obvious enough haha

[the-whispers-of-death]

more titbits about my ocs

Hazzard became radio active due to an unfortunate stint in Chernobyl. the merc group was getting paid hella cash to hunt down some people and said people didn't want to get caught so they booked it in a random direction that just happened to be radioactive. the groups commander was the type of man to care more for results and money than his soldiers so he ordered them to advance anyway (while they had no protective gear against the radiation) Hazzard in all his wisdom went after them and of course got their asses but spent just a little too long in there and the radiation got him. now he didn't really get sick or anything (i have an au where he got cancer from it and that's the reason Romanas joined tf 141, to pay for treatment) but the radiation stayed on him. the thing that saved him was probably his height (205 cm) and density (man is built like a brick tank). Romanas, who was on the mission with him spent three days throwing up from the radiation (and stress from almost loosing Hazzard but he won't tell anyone that). Johan made fun of him. so yeah it's not fully fleshed out and i might rework it but that's the main idea on how Hazzard became radioactive (there's also a version where it happens because of a lab accident but idk because most of Hazzards backstory is a lab lol)

now Void is a different egg. you see i have the "now" and "after" of his story figured out but the "before" is beyond me. i was of the mind that the fact i don't have much of a backstory for him only adds to the whole "nobody knows anything about him" bit. i was planning on making him a lab experiment gone rouge (since commander did find him in the woods eating a deer carcass. after that the guy just appeared in the groups base) but idk about that. what i am certain on is that his tongue and vocal chords were removed surgically. who did it and why we may never know (i have like two certain story points for his backstory but i think the lack of it kind of adds to it y'know? he's Void just Void nobody knows anything about him)

also Selga trying to feed people has everything to do with the fact that food depravation was a common punishment under commanders rule so literally everyone in that group has food anxiety

also all of my ocs are very touch starved and very cuddly with eachother but they hate outsiders touching them or who they consider "theirs" (if they accept you be prepared for hesitant and testy touches and if you allow it or encourage it you'll have several grown men laying down on you like you're a bed, grumbling into your ear while they nuzzle your cheeks and under your chin) they also take group naps in cuddle piles. sleep is very important to them due to some stuff with..... "training" so sleeping and napping is among their favorite things to do once commander is no longer in charge

Since I've gotten so much information, this response probably won't be lengthy. But know that I adore what you've typed.

Stone was originally an OC where no one was supposed to know much about him (I still think Johnny & Gaz don't know too much about him) but then I got excited about his backstory and told literally everyone. So I'm rocking with the fact that not much is known about Void's backstory.

Selga trying to feed people because they all have food anxiety hurts me deeply. I hope the commander's dead. He deserves to be dead.

We love cuddle piles here, The Lions share barracks because they like to cuddle.

[lovethyauthors]

OP I LOVE YOU

I’ll just be over here not thinking about how their hearts drop when reader says that and panic takes over. Definitely not thinking about how the confusion fades into heartbreak when reader refers to herself as a burden, and their minds are racing trying to figure out how she could possibly think that.

Not thinking about how Price was only used to reader calling him captain in a flirty way at home or on missions, always feeling grounded when she says it, and how wrong it feels now, hearing it dejected and pained and it’s his fault, it’s all his fault, he’s let his team down. Everything he’s done is to keep his team safe and this means he’s failed, spectacularly.

I’m also not thinking about ghost and how this makes him feel, growing up believing he wasn’t worthy of love but then she came into his life swinging, and knocked all his walls down, made him believe he was worthy! And good!! And deserving of the little family their team had become!!! And now feels his heart cracking at having it all ripped away from him, a persistent voice in his head taunting him, telling him he should’ve known it was too good to be true, telling him he didn’t deserve it, not after all the things he’s done.

And SOAP and Gaz who can’t stop thinking that they’ve known better, should’ve done more, when they smelled her sour scent, should’ve been more persistent when she slammed the door in their face. And now they’re losing her, they’re losing their family!

Don’t mind me, I’m not thinking about how delicious the angst will be when they try to explain that no she’s not a burden, they’ve been distant not because they don’t love her but because they’ve been so caught up dealing with a threat against her life, or whatever other reason they’ve been acting like assholes, and didn’t want to scare her. They’re not excluding her from the meetings because they don’t want her there, they’re just trying to protect her without scaring her.

I’m even more so not thinking about how long it’d take them to try to convince her they still love her, how much it’ll break their hearts that even after she forgives them, there’s still a piece of her heart that doubts them, because it’s not so easy to repair things you’ve carelessly broken. They’ll need to earn back her trust piece by piece and it’s like walking over hot coals to think that they’re the reason why she feels like this now, but by god they’ll do it like the good soldiers they are, nothing in their training has taught them to back down from a fight and they certainly won’t in the most important fight of their lives.

Yup, definitely not thinking of any of that at all, no thoughts, head empty. Excuse me while I go sob in a corner 😭😭

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How to Plant Snapdragons | 6

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist / Discord

CONTENT WARNING: Strong Language and Violence, Implied Sexual Content (?) WORD COUNT: 2.6k

“Tie him up,” Price ordered. “Bravo 0-6 to Shadow 0-1, we’ve got the package. I repeat, we’ve got the package.”

“Copy, Bravo-6, the Shadows are still holding down the militia. But better move fast,” Graves demanded through the comms, his voice a bit stifled.

You got up from the man, putting your gun away, and stood beside Ghost, glancing up at him. “What’s on your mind, Lt.?”

“I’m wondering what else ya can do,” he responded in a low voice but kept his eyes focused on the Brazilian.

Gaz and Soap dragged Fabricio up to his feet, trying to remove himself from the soldiers’ death grips, a string of curses in Portuguese and English leaving his mouth.

You chuckled as the sergeants pulled out ropes from the pockets of their vests and bound his wrists on the nearest house’s window railings. “Why don’t you find out, sweetheart?” you questioned, playfully nudging his side.

Upon contact, you felt him stiffen and you quickly withdrew your arm. "Sorry."

He remained silent for a good second and turned to you. "Why not just tell me?"

You looked at him, surprised that he didn’t comment on the nickname you gave him. You smiled. "Eeey, Lt. Ya like to be called sweetheart?"

He frowned. "No, I—"

"Eeey, no need to be shy, buttercup, sweet cheeks, stud muffin—"

"Don't—"

At this point, the rest of Task Force 141 were looking at you two, invested in what kind of cringe name you would give the ever so cool and stoic Ghost. Even Fabricio kept his mouth shut, wondering if you were a mad woman who escaped the Mental Ward and sneaked in with these guys.

"Don't stop the music!" You exclaimed, suddenly pumping your fist in the air and shuffling your feet, before whipping around to Ghost just as he was about to step away. "Where are you escaping, my Pookie, bebegurl, acoochie coochie coo—"

"Enough," he grumbled.

You nodded immediately. "Copy that."

The Sergeants exchanged looks and the Captain sighed, shaking his head.

“Que diabos você quer de mim?!” Fabricio yelled, taking the opportunity to talk, his eyes darting around your figure and the Task Force veiled by the night. Only a flicker of light and your voices could inform him that there were five of you.

“What rubbish is he saying now?” Soap asked, turning to you.

You sauntered towards the target and crossed your arms. “He says, what the hell do we want from him.” Then, you leaned down, leveling your face to his. “Você conhece o inglês?”

(Do you know English?)

His eyes averted for a split second, seemingly thinking, before he shook his head furiously. “Não.”

(No.)

You huffed and glanced over your shoulder to look at the 141. “He knows English, you guys can talk to him instead.” You turned your head back to the Brazilian, who had a frown on his face, knowing you had already seen through his lie. “Say a single word in Portuguese or lie again, you’ll wish you had never messed with these guys.”

Maybe, you were really from the Mental Hospital made in the depths of Hell, because you looked like you added crack instead of salt on an egg at breakfast just now and switched to a seemingly normal soldier who just happened to know Portuguese.

If Bipolarity has four stages, you'd be on twelve.

“I have never messed with any of you!” He shouted, clenching his fist and tugging on the ropes as if he could escape it. “You are the ones who—ugh!”

Soap grabbed his neck and squeezed it tight, his veins raising on his skin. It got you arching your brows, smiling wide, and stepping to the side to let him do his thing, while Fabricio wheezed. What a lucky guy he was to have a beautiful necklace.

“Where is Hassan Zyani?” Johnny questioned, lowering his voice making it sound like a snarl. It made you want to be in the lucky guy’s place, meow, and bark at him if he wanted to.

You were so thankful you had borrowed a mask from the Lieutenant, otherwise, these people would already be dragging you to the mental ward for smiling like a maniac, ready to be a pet for Soap.

Who wouldn’t?

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” claimed Fabricio, his eyes darting from left to right, seemingly looking for something.

You glanced at the other three and it appeared they had noticed the Brazilian had looked around by the way they had also batted their gaze in different directions. Perceiving that as permission to let you and Soap to the rest of the interrogation as one of Price’s tests again, you drew out your knife.

Soap pulled his hand away and stepped aside, eyeing the knife on your hand, before your face covered with mask and night vision.

“It’s no use to lie, sir.” You approached him, holding his hand. “We already know your deals with Hassan. Now, where is he?” you asked and slowly started to drive the tip of your knife on his under the nail of his thumb.

He screamed in pain, his loud voice echoing along the series of gunshots in the air.

These noises were some things you were already used to or rather, they haunted you wherever you went, like a phantom you couldn’t chase away.

Yet it never ceased to be exhilarating.

“I, I don’t—” another scream cut off his words as you lifted his nail from his finger, letting it fall on the ground. Warm blood stained your glove, seeping through the fabric that kept your hand clean.

Just as you were about to do the same to his index finger, he exclaimed, “He’s in Mexico!”

“Where in Mexico?” Soap questioned, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I—” Fabricio stopped as you pointed the knife to his eye and you could see the big yet dry gulp he had, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “Las . . . Las Almas, Mexico. That’s where I last heard he was going!”

“Las Almas, eh?” Price averted his eyes for a second, appearing to be thinking of something before he stared at the man. “What’s he doing there?”

You slowly planted the tip of the knife under his eye, a warning for him to speak only the truth to the Captain.

“I heard he was making a deal with a person called El Sin Nombre.” Fabricio’s eyes then shifted to you, a bit glossy as tears formed, making you smile. “Please, that’s all I know!”

You kept the knife's blade on his cheek as you turned to face the Captain, quietly waiting for the order he was going to bark. He motioned a hand, swiping his neck which got Fabricio to yell curses at you in his mother tongue, struggling to escape his binds to no avail. With one slash through his throat, his insults that swam to your ears died in the breeze of Rio’s summer night.

You stepped away from the corpse, wiping the knife on your pants, and sheathed it back. You looked from yourself to find Soap, staring at you. You tilted your head in question. “Something the matter, sir?”

“Ah,” Johnny turned away, “nothing.”

It neither looked nor sounded nothing.

“Bravo 0-6 to Shadow 0-1, we’re done unpacking the package,” Price announced, beckoning for the four of you to follow him in an alleyway as he started to jog. You and the guys followed his lead, hugging your assault rifle tight to your chest. The Captain and Gaz were in front of you, while Soap and Ghost were on your rear.

“Copy, Bravo 0-6, that was fast,” Graves immediately replied, amazement evident in his voice.

“She did the unpacking, Shadow-1,” Priced told him, his voice cool, and sounded like a bit of a proud parent when their child achieved something, even if it was small. 

You threw your bag on one of the couches and looked around the place, while the guys scattered around, the Sergeant Duo and the Captain yelling at one another when they found alcohol on the shelves.

You and the 141 were currently in one of Graves' facilities, but this one could be called more of a mansion than a facility. You had heard that this one in Salvador was often only used when he and the Shadows would go on a short vacation after missions. And damn, you had always forgotten the prick was rich.

He had let you and the 141 occupy adjoining rooms with a living room, a kitchen, and a dining place. He might as well call this a suite.

You felt your muscles tremble and the wounds, you realized you had when you got on the chopper, ached.

Not bothering to tell anyone you'd be heading to the bathroom, you got your wallet of personal hygiene, sluggishly dragging your feet towards the bathroom. You slipped off your gear, mask, shoes, and shirt. Then, looked down at the monitor—the bane, the pain, the curse of your life.

You slipped off the first half of your pants, freeing one of your legs—Good—and started fighting for your life, pulling the pants past the monitor with one good arm. You even had to sit down on the cold-ass floor but to no avail.

You rolled down on the floor and kicked the air, breathing heavily through your nose, and got back up again to continue your struggle.

"Look at these goddamn pants and monitor having a relationship stronger than most relationships of kids these days," you grumbled, smacking the monitor as if it would break it down to the point your mind became too occupied with your grumbles and constant motivational speeches to realize the voice outside the door and the sound as Soap entered.

And Johnny was too busy to care about the weirdass pose you were making on the floor as his blue eyes raked over every inch of your skin. His brain took note of the curves of your body, the shades of your skin, your toned muscles, and the wounds you had gotten that he wanted to kiss better and caress each part of you gently to make you relax.

Because you looked angry and his instinct was to cover the growing tent on his pants as he locked the door behind him.

"Wait, shite, wrong, wrong—" your foot slammed on the door before he could make his escape, trapping him.

He couldn't help but glance at your leg, eyes traveling to your thighs and to your clothed cunt, making him run his tongue over his lips. Then he continued up to the flat of your stomach where he'd see the outline of his cock if he was pounding you against the bathroom wall, pretty legs over his shoulders, chest bouncing at every movement, and moaning his name.

Oh, you could feel the desire in his gaze right now and you could see the way his tongue moved across his lips and the attempt to hide his hard-on. And you couldn't help but pursed your lips for a moment, bringing your foot down to the cold tile as heat gathered between your thighs.

The sooner he left, the sooner you could take care of it. But you need his help right now. "Take off my pants."

The lingering blush on his cheeks spread to his ears and neck. "What? No, no, I—"

"It's stuck on the monitor."

"It's stuck . . . ?" He looked down on your leg and almost slapped himself upon not noticing that your pants were indeed stuck on the monitor, and couldn't help but cackle, remembering your position earlier. "That's why yer on the floor!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm Scottish."

"No shit, Scotlock."

"That's even worse. Alright, stand still. I'll grab a bathrobe." He patted your head and picked up your vest, shirt, mask, and shoes from the floor, putting them on the sink's side. Then, he proceeded to get a bathrobe and slipped it on you, even fastening the ties for you.

“Now then.” He reached down and scooped you in his arm, making your lips part and heart leap in surprise. He set you down next to the sink and gave your thigh a small pat. “I’ll get scissors.”

He turned away and opened the door. “Let’s keep this open, okay?"

"Okay," you replied in a small voice and brought your good hand to your face. "God, he's bad for my heart."

But for the first time, you were thankful you had an ankle monitor.

"Did he just come out of here?" Gaz's voice echoed and popped out behind the wall, raising a brow at you. A chuckle left his lips and he approached you. "Ah, no wonder."

"Don't laugh," you whined, waving your leg and whacking him with your pants like a whip.

His laughter only got louder and you pulled a face. He grinned and pinched your cheek. Then, he frowned as he saw blood soaking the white bathrobe. "What the hell, you're bleeding!"

You looked down at your thigh and clicked your tongue. "Damn, it's on the—"

"Got the scissors," Soap announced and his brows flew as he saw his fellow soldier. You noticed that Ghost was behind him, holding a first aid kit. "Hey, Gaz. By the way, I told the Lt. 'bout your wounds." He gestured a thumb over his shoulder.

"He said you have cuts that are large enough to need stitches," Ghost claimed, raking his light brown eyes over your frame. He could see your hand and thigh bleeding.

"Ah, I was planning on taking care of it later," you said as Soap began cutting the pants and finally pulled it off your ankle monitor. He set it aside and inspected the monitor if he accidentally damaged it.

His eyes narrowed as he placed the kit down next to you. "Later won't cut it, sweetheart." He slipped off his gloves and washed his hands clean on the sink, before patting it dry on the towel hanging on the wall. He extended his hand. "Let me see your hand first."

You put the back of your hand over his, showing him your palm. A cut across greeted his sight, blood running out and making him sigh. "Not so deep to need stitches, this one, but we need to bandage it up." He opened the tap and guided your hand under the running water. "Gaz, put pressure on her thigh. It's bleeding too much."

You winced at the sudden sting as the water hit your wound and the Sergeants had begun to press clean towels on your bleeding cuts, but it was nothing you couldn't take. Soon, after cleaning the wound, he applied down ointment and bandaged it up.

"Alright, your . . . thigh." He looked you straight in the eyes. "May I?"

For someone who had strangled you with his godly thighs, he sure was a gentleman. But more than that, you had noticed that as you had grown closer to the Sergeants, it seemed the more you grew distant from the Lieutenant. He had avoided your touches, even a simple nudge.

You nodded. "Of course, sir."

Gaz removed his hand away from your thigh and Ghost carefully lifted it to look at the wound. His rough, scarred, calloused hand felt warm against your skin.

"We'll have to stitch this one," he claimed and gently set your leg down.

"Are you good at it, sir?" You questioned as he rummaged through his kit. He pulled out a kind of needle you were so familiar with—a curved one.

"Very," he said confidently, putting a thread through the eye of the needle, and disinfected it with alcohol. "Go hold onto something. This might hurt."

"Want to hold my hand, Bonnie?" Soap offered, taking your good hand in his grasp.

"Please," you replied, squeezing it.

"Come closer," Ghost demanded and you inched yourself closer to the edge. "Lift your leg a bit for me."

Ah, another one that was bad for your heart.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own / Discord

Taglist: @yyiikes, @the-faceless-bride, @sae1kie, @sarahedwards16, @kenma-izhu, @kkaaaagt

[callofdudes]

Can have funny Headcannons for Ghost, Gaz, Alejandro, and Soaps see their s/o who came back from long mission and they are cover in dirt and mud with very grumpy expression walking pass and saying: “Don’t. Ask. Or Say. Any. Thing.”

Here ya go! 😄

Ghost 💀

Ghost hadn't seen you for a whole month. Your mission was supposed to only have lasted a few weeks, but you were being held up longer than expected and he wasn't getting told why.

Honestly he was a bit worried for you, not having much information on your whereabouts.

Plus this was your first solo mission, it made him even more worried.

He felt relief, utter relief when he was addressed down to the landing strip a couple yards from base. You were on that helicopter. He couldn't wait to see you again.

He waited there, watching the helicopter come in and land, the back ram opening and hitting the ground.

And you came out....

Oh my.

Ghost stared as you tromped down the ramp. Your clothes were ruffled and you were covered head to toe in mud. Sticks in your hair, caked, drying mud on your cheeks. And that scowl. A scowl for the books...

You noticed him and trudged over.

He opens his mouth to speak and you just keep walking. "Don't. Ask. Or. Say. Anything." You hiss angrily.

It didn't take him much time to figure out you had headed straight for the showers. You were in there for over an hour, picking away at the mud and twigs in your hair. Scrubbing yourself clean in every crevice and corner. Shivering when you found leaves and mud places you'd never want it.

Simon looks from you over to some of the soldiers offloading equipment. They shrug, giving him some information and leaving him to his own devices.

He snickered, he could only imagine what happened.

But finally you came out, refreshed and less disgusting.

You redressed in fresh clothes and walked out, spotting Simon leaned against the building entrance. You playfully scowled at him.

"How did it go?" He leaned off the wall and approaches you, slipping his hands around your hips.

You scoff, rolling up his mask and sinking your lips to his, missing him after the exhausting mission.

"You'd never believe me."

He hums, pulling away and kissing your nose. "Try me."

"I'll tell you later. For now, I just need rest."

"Fair enough, I'll let you go then."

"Thank you."

You kiss him again and head off to your bunk to catch some rest. You needed it.

Gaz 🧢

Gaz was excited to have you back. After two weeks finally you were coming home! He was so relieved to have you back it made his heart spark to life.

Unfortunately your trip was delayed so he was waiting out on the tarmac for you a little over 20 minutes.

And then the helicopter arrived. He smiled, ready to welcome you into his loving embrace, kiss you all over and tell you have much he missed you.

His smile disappeared when the lift of the helicopter came down and you walked out.

He most certainly would not be hugging you...

You had an angry scowl, covered in mud and dirt. Some of it still looked fresh. Your gun was jammed and cakes in the stuff.

You walked over when you saw him, face set on one hell of a glare.

"Well-"

"Not. A. Word Kyle Garrick."

Kyle shut his mouth and watched you pass by. Boy, you'd think he was responsible for all that mud.

He wouldn't ask, but he'd help. So he followed you back to the showers at a safe distance - he's not crazy.

You pulled off all your gear and hopped in the shower, growling and whining about all the mud.

Kyle went after you, stepping in behind you and cupping your waist.

"Kyle-!"

"Just miss you." He decides on that, grabbing your shampoo to try and help you wash the mud out. You whine, never able to say no to Kyle's head massages.

"Don't judge me."

"I didn't say anything love." He rinses some mud off your shoulder and kisses it. You sigh, leaning back into him. "Thank you."

Alejandro🎖️

"Anytime love."

"You did look ridiculous though."

You sigh loudly, you couldn't argue that, you probably had.

Alejandro misses you. And you know what happens when Alejandro misses you. He missed his one and only so much. His other half.

But, unfortunately you were out on a mission with Rodolfo. Alejandro trusted his soldiers well, especially you two. Some of his best soldiers, he had no doubt you would do well.

He has gotten word the trucks had picked you up just north of one of the lakes by the building you were raiding. And you were now headed home.

Alejandro was happy to see both of you. To know you were alive and well after four days. (Yes, he's a bit impatient if he isn't on the mission too ☹️)

He was waiting in stance when you both arrived, ready to greet you. He smiles when the door opened. And out stepped Rodolfo.

Oh my.

Rodolfo was absolutely drenched. He was covered in a blanket, his gear stuck with wire and his hair was all out of place.

"Rodolfo." Alejandro greeted him, wrapping his arms around his shivering friend. "What happened??"

Rodolfo shook his head. 'Im sorry colonel, the mission was a dud..."

Alejandro frowned. "Where is y/n, are you both alright??"

Rodolfo nodded.

And sure enough, out you came from the truck. Slathered in mud. Absolutely caked in it. Some of it was still dripping off your uniform. You had a scowl, the scowl Alejandro only saw a few times through your cheery disposition.

You stomped over, arms crossed. Mud all down your body.

"Mi amor-"

"Don't. Say. A. Word. Don't. Ask."

Alejandro shut his mouth right away. You stomped past him toward the showers leaving him a bit dumbstruck.

"Rodolfo, you should go wash up with them, no?"

Rodolfo nodded. "Yes colonel."

Alejandro figured out what had happened from the soldiers and waited till you retired to your room to talk to you. You flopped down on your shared bed and groan, snuggling up to him now that you were clean.

"I'm not mad the mission went bad, if that's on your mind, my little mud monster."

You shake your head. "Just... Hold me. Please?"

Alejandro pulls you into his arms and kisses your head. "Of course mi amor."

Soap 🧼

Today you were back! The sergeant is coming back!! My babe for life is returning!

Johnny skipped along the hallways. After two weeks you were home!! You were home! He'd been worrying sick about you but now he has nothing to fear.

He skipped out across the yard and wandered down to the tarmac where your helicopter was landing.

He couldn't wait to see you again, make out with you until his lips were sore and his jaw locked up.

You stepped off the helicopter and he physically recoiled. It was like he could smell you from there. Oh my goodness you looked awful.

You were covered in drying and dripping mud. You were scowling as you approached him.

"Not. A. Fucking. Word. MacTavish!!" You snap at him.

He blinks at you, whispering, "Damn, you smell bad."

Your eye twitches and you yell in exasperation. Stomping over to the showers. Johnny looks between you and a few recruits who shrugged, too afraid to ask you on the plane.

Johnny falls in line after you and makes a break for the shower where he knows you'll be.

He waits outside for you, smiling when you come out. "Look at you, all nice and clean!"

You roll your eyes and walk over to him, letting his wrap his hands around your waist. "it's good to have my love back, not whatever sludge monster took your place." He grins.

You smack him and press your lips to his, pulling him in. He hums excitedly, pushing for his tongue in your mouth. Lapping and exploring you all over again. He missed you so much.

When you pull away he's panting. "You're so amazing, sludge monster or not."

"Johnny. Shut your mouth and kiss me, I had s long fucking mission, this is the least you could do for me."

"Yeah, you're right." He cups your jaw and begins to kiss you again.

[kalixora]

It is what it is

Price x (f)reader

Part 2

ALEXIA! Play Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood

@tapioca-marzipanpan

@do-leannan

@yooforia

Summary: You weren't seen as a high-ranking solider, and you were stuck in a position you didn't want, directly by General Shepard's side. You get a call one day about a new opportunity that will help you.

. Reader is presumed female

Note: I've never played any of the games, so please excuse any inaccuracies. Due to the use of Google Translate, any languages displayed may potentially be incorrect.

There will be explicit sexual content, as well as instances of harassment, cursing, and drug usage.

Callsign: Hound

You had to confess that getting back together with Price and Gaz excited you. Heck, even meeting Soap and Ghost made you happy even though you didn't really know them yet. You settled into your new room more quickly than you had anticipated. Thank goodness, there is still time before lights out.

You sat on your bed, unable to suppress your excitement. This was how peace felt, and you hadn't felt it in a long time. There were no prying eyes on you now. Now that you were able to breathe, you huffed and sat back down on your bed. You stretched your hands to the ceiling. This is something you can get used to every night.

A soft knock came on your door. You raised your head and shouted a quick come in. The door opened to reveal Price, who appeared to be holding something behind his back as he opened the door more to make himself more visible to you.

"Got a minute to spare Hound?"

You sat up and patted the spot on your bed next to you with a smile. Price entered your room and closed the door behind him with his foot so you couldn't see what he was carrying behind his back. He approached your bed and sat alongside you. He was close enough that if he stretched his legs, they would touch yours.

Price cleared his throat before revealing what he was hiding behind his back: a plushie, a dog plushie. You gazed at him for a bit before taking it from him with a chuckle. "What is this for?"

"Well, I figured you can grab this and keep it close if you ever experience nightmares," Price said with a faint smile as he turned away from you a bit.

He genuinely thought about you...

"Thank you John, I love it already, but what if you have nightmares?"

Price chuckled, "I doubt I'll be needing it."

You smiled at Price, and there they were once more—those butterflies. You can briefly detect a change in Price's eyes when he turned to face you, but it just lasted a split second if you were lucky enough to notice it. You placed the plush on your lap.

"What made you pick me?" You inquired. "With all due respect Captain-"

"Had to find people I trusted, and you are someone I trust with my life," Price hummed.

He trusted you, and you trusted him. So, what made you respond the way you did when he touched you? A reflex, perhaps? It was only a polite, welcome gesture… so why? Why do you feel both unsafe and secure at the same time? You were safe, safe with everyone, safe with John...

"I trust you as well, John," you said, exhaling. "With everything…"

Price chuckled a little before asking, "With anything, soldier?" in a softer tone.

"Yes sir."

Price gave you a nod and a little smile as he rose up and shifted your bed. He opened your door before closing it gave you a last look then a salute, "Have a goodnight Y/N, sleep tight yea."

You adjusted yourself onto your bed, letting out a sigh as you closed your eyes soon heading off to sleep.

. . .

Price stared through your file, a grim expression on his face, rereading it over and over, oblivious to Ghost's presence.

"Something the matter Captain?"

Price's eyes never leaving the paper as he answered with gruff hum. Ghost tilted his head slightly confused by the captains response.

"This doesn't seem right..." Price muttered. "You'd think the signs would be there eh..."

"Price."

"Yeah Ghost I hear ya."

Ghost pointed at the file in Price's hands, "That Hound's?"

"Yeah… ever get a gut feeling something's wrong but can't put a bloody finger on it?" Price inquired, lowering the file and closing it.

"Every day, sir," Ghost responded. "Something wrong with the file?"

"Take a go at it, either I'm losing it or there's something else going on," Price said as he slid the file forward.

Ghost took the file and scanned it, his eyes immediately falling on the name Shepard. It was your last name.

Ghost looked at Price then back at the file.

"How long have they-"

Price cut Ghost off, "Look at the other paper."

Ghost slid the first paper, then the second; it was an older picture of you, one in which you appeared younger, as seen by the form of your face. He looked up your surname, it was L/N.

"I don't get it…" Ghost inquired as he examined both documents.

"Me either, mate," Price sneered as Ghost handed him your file back. "You'd think I'd notice something so obvious as that the first time."

Ghost hummed, "Maybe it was an off duty decision."

"No, no, Hound has a family, parents and siblings, this would've come up," Price grumbled, carefully examining the two documents.

"Disappointed you weren't invited to the wedding, Captain?" Ghost commented.

"Far from it," Price sneered. "This doesn't sit right with me, not in the slightest."

"Are you gonna to ask her about it?”

Price shook his head, “No.” 

The way you tensed when he touched you said more than words could. Something happened to you. You were a tough nut to crack, based on the situations you, Gaz, and him had been through.

Kate told him to find out what’s going on through you while she started digging into Shepard. He trusted you, as well as you trusted him, that he knew for sure. Should he wait for you to tell him? Or should he just be straightforward with you?

“Fuckin Hell,” he mumbled under his breath. “God, Y/N what’s going on with you…” 

… 

“Morning Hound, how’d you sleep?” Gaz called out to you from the mess hall. You approached him and gave him a little wave. He was the only one at the table.

There were a couple other people in the mess hall who smiled at you before going about their business.

"Good morning, Gaz," you replied. "Where is everyone?"

"In the training room, Soap wanted to confront one of the novices while Ghost monitors," Gaz shrugged.

You raised your brow, “Right…”

Gaz simply smiled at you. It was a gentle one, able to melt a frozen heart. Although it appeared as though he was gazing through you, you can tell that he was still taking in the reality that you were in fact here, in front of him.

“You okay?”

"Yes, it's bloody brilliant to see you alive and well, it's been so long I nearly forgot what you looked like," Gaz chuckles. "You haven't changed a lot."

You sat across from Gaz, smugly smiling. “Really? Kindly elucidate."

"You still look absolutely stunning," Gaz remarked.

"Pft, you're just saying that," you scoff.

"No, it's true, you still look beautiful, maybe not as good as me, but-"

"Oh really," you said, covering your mouth and laughing.

“Y/N…” 

“Yeah?” 

"We really missed you, and I'm happy you're here," Gaz replied softly.

"I'm glad too," you said while grinning at him.

Gaz missed you. And so did Price. They never forgot about you, you were still dear to their hearts. It hasn’t been a solid 24 hours and they’ve already made you feel warm and fuzzy. They made you welcomed, made you feel safe. Although trust comes a long way, and it isn’t given it’s earned, Soap and Ghost have to earn that trust as you need to earn their trust as well. 

“What were you doin all this time? Like I mentioned yesterday all I heard was that you were doing solo missions.” 

“… the higher up’s like the work I do I guess…” 

Shepard liked the work you did too. A little to much...

“Pretty face does equal elegant work,” Gaz mused. 

"Oh hush you," you giggled. "But yes, I've been doing a lot of solo assignments, took it a day at a time."

"Have you spoken to your family since then?"

A tsunami-like sensation of dread rushed over you. It felt like a spear right through your heart. Shepard killed your parent …  They were taken from you. Not metaphorically or rhetorically or poetically or theoretically or any other fancy way, they were gone. Straight up.

"Hound?"

"No Gaz, I haven't spoken to them… gosh, I don't even remember the last time I spoke to them," you shook your head, sighing.

"Hey, it's alright, it's been awhile for me too," Gaz said softly. "I'm sure Price or Laswell can arrange something for you."

"I don't know-"

Gaz opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it; you looked at him then turned your head to see Ghost approaching the two of you, Soap jogging straight behind him. While catching up to him, Soap had a stupid smile on his face.

"Mornin' Hound, Mornin' Gaz," Soap said as he sat down next to you. You raised your brow at him, greeting him and then Ghost.

"How was the match?" Gaz asked.

Ghost shook his head while Soap grinned. "I wiped the floor with those little fuckers."

"You don't say," Gaz hummed.

"So... anyone up for a match?" Soap asked looking between you and Gaz. Gaz shook his head, "Hard pass."

Soap turned to you, "How about it Hound? Want a go at it?"

"Eh, I don't know..." you hummed.

"Oh come on, it'd be great practice, plus captain says you're a big deal, I wanna see for myself," Soap says, elbowing you slightly.

"I'd tear you apart Soap."

"Oh! Well then come on," Soap says standing up jogging lightly on his feet. "Let's see what you got Hound."

As you stood up from the table, you exhaled a trembling breath. As soon as Gaz got to his feet, he hurried up to you and put his hand on your shoulder while turning to face you. You felt your body stiffen up again, and your gaze rested on his hand, and you hastily shrugged off before giving Gaz a faint smile and trailing after Soap, while Gaz followed behind.

As you reached the training area, you noticed a few other people engaging in their own individual training and competitive matches. You noticed the large ring in the center of the room, where Soap cheerfully walked inside and signaled for you to join him.

You entered the ring looking at Soap, "You sure you wanna do this?"

"Bring it, show me why they call you Hound."

"They call me Hound because I'm good at finding people… but alright," you scoffed.

Soap and you both took a position. You both circled each other until Soap made the fourth move, approaching you and throwing a punch, which you blocked and returned.

The others in the room stopped what they were doing to watch you and Soap, and out of the corner of your eye, you observed them. You also got sight of a man wearing a bucket hat enter the room. Price had came.

Soap had landed a hit on the side of your stomach, so you grunted and elbowed him back, raising your leg up to knee him in the stomach and sending an elbow to his back. You kicked the back of the calf, causing him to stumble slightly but soon recover and throw another fist your way.

"Good shit Hound."

As soon as you heard what Price was saying, a cozy sensation returned to your tummy. For a brief instant, you almost lost focus on what you were doing. But what would his voice sound like in a low whisper…in your ear?

"Shepard knows how to pick em." You overheard someone say. Every single one of the butterflies in your stomach started to burn. You had Soap trapped down with his arm in your hand before you realized it. You lightly stepped on his back. Shepard. Fucking Shepard. Because of him, you're still here. You can't avoid his name no matter where you go. Worse than his presence was his name.

"Ah- okay- okay Uncle!"

You walked out of the ring, past Gaz and Price, after dropping Soap's arm in a huff. Gaz gave Soap a puzzled look, and Price followed you.

"Hound."

As you were ready to enter your room, you paused in your tacks and sighed, turning on your heel.

"My office, now."

You followed Price back into his office, closing the door behind you. His office had a bar-like odor. "Yes sir?"

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on in that head of yours?" Price asked you as he reclined against his desk, arms crossed and head cocked.

"I'm sorry?"

Price hummed, "I've known you long enough to know that look in your way Hound."

"What look sir?"

"Lost."

"I'm fine Captain, just got heated in the moment," you said with a smile.

Price locked his gaze on you, scanning you up and down. It sent shivers up and down your spine. You needed to leave immediately, you needed to think.

"May I go now?"

"What's the rush?" Price asked his voice sounding stern.

You shook your head, "My family...I- I haven't checked in on them."

"Homesick?"

You nodded, "Very."

As you approached, Price sighed and gave you a faint smile. "Understandable; if you'd like, I can work something out for you, yeah?"

"Thank you sir," you said.

"You can leave now," Price remarked, motioning to the door. He observed you exit the space as swiftly as you entered.

"What's goin' on with you kid..."